Chapter Text
John lifted his fingers and cast a simple visibility spell on the kid, causing the boy’s eyes to widen into wide circles and look back and forth between him and Bruce, obviously sensing the change in his form.
Before quickly dropping through the floor, disappearing into the flawless metal.
“Well, shit.” Constantine swore, “I’ve never seen ‘em do that before.”
“Where– where’d he go?” Bruce grabbed John by both of his shoulders and nearly shook the magic out of him.
John shrugged, “Earth’s core for all I know. He’ll come around eventually, they always do.”
“I thought you said you’ve never seen them do that?”
“Under different circumstances, I mean. Usually what they’re running from is what’s keeping them tethered here,” he explained. “And he seems to be runnin’ from a certain man dressed in black.”
“How can I find him?”
“You can’t, if a ghost wants to run they’re going to get away,” John explained, “but I’m sure he’ll come around, he ‘asn’t been stalking you all this time for nothing.”
Bruce looked down at his feet, or the place he’d last seen Jason, (John couldn’t tell which was intended) and started shaking ever so slightly. “How– how can I get him– back?” he stuttered.
“Leave shit out that he likes. They can’t feel anything, but they can see, hear, and have noses like fuckin’ hyenas. Sometimes–if they’re powerful–they can throw shit or possess people, but I would’ve sensed if he had any powers from the get-go, that kid doesn’t have more than the average ghost.”
Bruce looked back up at John with a worried expression. “And what does that entail?”
“Usually minimal light manipulation, and moving things slightly if they’re pissed, like pushing mugs off tables. If he’s smart, he’ll realize that he can manipulate the spell I placed on him to turn it on and off at his command.”
“I’ll trust I can leave you to the case?” Bruce let go of John and started striding towards the large monitor in the middle of the room. “I have… something to work on.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. Have fun with that, Batdad.” Constantine waved over his shoulder and started towards the door. “Gods, help that helpless sap of darkness,” he mumbled not long after reaching the rocky tunnel exit.
Bruce wasn’t freaking out.
Batman didn’t freak out.
Alfred seemed… unconvinced.
“He’s here, Alfred,” Bruce said, his words trembling on his tongue.
Alfred looked him up and down with an eyebrow raised and his lips pressed into a thin line. “Master Bruce… perhaps you’d like to go lay down?”
“Alfred, listen to me,” Bruce pleaded. “You’re not listening.”
“I’m listening quite well, sir. Why don’t I call Master Dick?”
“Don’t– wait until I actually–”
“Master Bruce, I’m calling your son, and you’re going to get in the bed I spent all morning making.”
“Alfred–” he started.
“Now.” Alfred pointed towards the stairs and stood his ground.
It was incredibly hard for someone–even the Dark Knight himself–to resist Alfred’s orders. So, Bruce begrudgingly trudged up the stairs, longing to run back into the cave and turn it upside down looking for his son. His Jaybird. He heard Alfred shut the door behind him as he collapsed into his satin bedsheets.
As unconvinced as Alfred was, Dick seemed somehow less convinced.
Bruce had started to question his own thoughts at some point whilst struggling to fall asleep in his room that was suddenly too big, but the memory of John revealing his son’s broken face before it quickly vanished… was vivid.
Dick sat next to Bruce on his bed. His son had woken him up with a plate of freshly cooked bacon and eggs, clearly Alfred’s cooking.
“You’re seeing things, Bruce,” Dick tried to sway him into his own easier fantasy. “I know, his– anniversary is coming up, but he wouldn’t want you too–”
“Dick, he’s here. I saw him,” Bruce explained. “Constantine was there too, he cast the–”
“Constantine? The guy who got so drunk at one of your galas and almost outed your identity after five minutes of knowing it?” Dick pinched the skin between his eyes. “Bruce, do you hear yourself?”
“Are ghosts so hard to believe? In our line of work?”
“They are when it’s been five years and at least three different sorcerers or ghosts have been through that cave since… he– y’know?” Dick trailed off.
“I really doubt that many have passed through.”
“Deadman, Zatanna, Raven,” Dick counted off on his fingers. “What’re the chances Constantine was the only one of them to find him?”
“It doesn’t matter because he’s here, Dick,” Bruce placed a hand on his first son’s leg.
Dick swatted his hand away, the energy in the room suddenly changing. “Goddamnit, Bruce! Can you just care about someone other than yourself for one second? Alfred and I are trying to heal, I thought you were too! Meanwhile, you’re over here trying to find any other outcome other than the fact Jason is dead!” Dick choked on the last word and tears began piling up in his eyes. “If not for me or Alfred… do it for Tim. He needs you, Bruce.”
He stood, brushing the salty liquid away and walking over to the door.
“Let me know when you’re done with… this.”
The sound of the door shutting was deafening.
Bruce didn’t cry.
Batman never cried.
Bruce woke up on his tear-soaked pillow what he could guess was a few hours later. The bacon and eggs still sat on his nightstand. It had gone cold and damp, sitting in its own grease piling up on the forgotten plate.
He picked up the plate and trekked to the kitchen. His eyes grazed over a specific door as he passed it. Bruce quickly snapped his eyes back to his plate. Once he’d made it to the kitchen, he opened the door to the microwave, cautiously placed the plate inside, pressed a few random buttons, and waited for it to finish.
The microwave announced the end of its timer and Bruce pulled his lukewarm breakfast out from inside.
He tried not to think about… him while he ate, but his mind kept picturing a specific door.
A door he hadn’t opened in close to five years.
He left his half-eaten plate on the counter and mindlessly walked back from where he’d come from. Except this time, he stopped a few rooms before his own and delicately twisted its handle, as if he could break it by turning it too fast. Pushing the door open and flipping on the light revealed a sight he hadn’t seen in a while.
It was just as he remembered.
The unfinished homework still spread across the wooden desk, the books still piled up next to the half-made bed, the Wonder Woman poster still held in with three tacks, its top left edge folding in on itself, and… the boy sitting in the chair with his feet propped up on the desk, looking right at Bruce with horror in his eyes.
“You– you don’t come in here– why are–” Jay trailed off, gripping the chair’s arms. “I don’t want you to see me… like this.” He curled his legs into his chest and shoved his head into his arms, still tensed and ready to run if he needed to.
Bruce made an attempt to approach Jason, before deciding to sit on the bed instead, not wanting to scare him off again.
“Please, go away,” Jason whispered into his torn up sleeves.
“Jay–” Bruce reached out to him, resting his hand on the chair and spinning it around until his son was facing him. “How–” he choked on his words and took a deep breath before trying again. “How are you?”
It was the dumbest thing Bruce could’ve said. Batman would’ve asked for answers, gotten the full story before letting emotions get the best of him.
But for once, Bruce didn’t feel like Batman.
All he felt was… sad.
Sad that his son was alone all this time. Sad that he didn’t realize his son sooner. Sad that he lost another five years with his son. Sad that his other son wouldn’t believe him, no matter how much he pleaded.
Sad.
Such a strange word.
Those three letters didn’t feel like enough to fully explain the whirlwind of emotions currently thrashing around inside of his hollow chest. It didn’t express the sorrow, the anguish, or the despair that came with being sad.
None of those words seemed right either.
Lost.
Bruce decided that one felt better.
He was in new territory with no armor to protect his fragile heart.
Did such armor exist?
Jason peeked out from his not-so-hiding place, the movement snapping Bruce back into reality, his single white lens caught a glint of light from the window. “Fine,” he answered weakly.
“Do… you need anything?”
Another stupid question.
“No.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
Why would he ask that? The last thing he wanted to do was leave.
“No.”
Bruce tried to rest a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder, but his hand slid through his son like there was nothing there to begin with.
As if he were nothing.
Bruce pulled his hand back, expecting Jason to lash out and leave.
But instead… “Can you… read something?”
“What?” Bruce asked, afraid he’d misheard his boy’s quiet words.
Jay swallowed dryly, “Can you read me a book?”
Bruce blinked. He hadn’t expected to get this far.
“Which one?” he asked carefully.
“I never got to finish that one,” Jay gestured weakly to a stained yellow cover resting against a couple of other books.
Bruce picked it up and gave it a once over before dusting it off and opening the cover, making sure to keep the bookmark halfway through untouched. It was pretty thin, but there seemed to be more than one story in it and the hard cover added to the overall weight.
The King In Yellow
“This one?”
Jason confirmed with a slight nod, lifting his head a bit further out of his arms.
“Do you want me to start from the bookmark?”
Jason shook his head. “Just start it over, you wouldn’t understand anything.”
“Alright then,” Bruce let a slight chuckle past his stiff jaw but cut it off abruptly.
He flipped a few pages in, ignoring the explanations and authors notes.
“There are so many things which are impossible to explain,” Bruce read softly. “Why should certain chords in music make me think of the brown and golden tints of autumn foliage? Why should...”