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"You don't get it," Jason says. He's been pacing around the hotel room for half an hour, pulling open drawers and kicking at chairs. "Your parents were perfect."
"They weren't – perfect," Bruce finishes awkwardly, because Jason stops, glares at him. They aren't supposed to be Batman and Robin here, and so Bruce knows there's far less of a chance that Jason will lash out quite so violently as he would in the cave, but –
"Yeah, right," Jason scoffs. "Come on, man, I went to all the parties –"
For all that he participated in them, for all that he didn't disappear halfway through Bruce's speeches to sneak champagne and try to flirt with Babs, for all that he'd show up two hours later and three glasses tipsier and tug Bruce off somewhere, coming back ruffled and pink-faced –
"All I heard was about how great they were."
Bruce nods. Looks at his hands. Jason wants to shake him, hates when he gets so fucking still, so –
"They were people, Jason. Just like you and me. Well," he corrects at Jason's look. There's a small smile there, and Jason reaches over, traces the lines of it before he can stop himself. "Not, I suppose, like you and me."
"I've seen the pictures," Jason says. "Your ma could've pulled off the cape and tights just fine."
"Jason," Bruce says.
"What?" Jason asks. "That's a compliment."
"I know," Bruce says. "Jason, your –"
"I'm not going back until I find my mom, Bruce," Jason says. "You can leave me here, and that's – fine –" it's not fine, Jason doesn't know what he's doing - "but I've got one parent out there who's not dead, and I've gotta…"
"I know," Bruce says. He takes Jason's hand in his, stops it from shaking. Jason reminds himself to breathe. "I'm not going anywhere."