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So far, the party had gone smoothly. The big one was scheduled for the coming Sunday where all the socialites across Gotham and every other state in the world would shove themselves up his dad’s ass for his favor and congratulate forty-five years of life. The small party was for friends and family, and by family it meant the entirety of the superhero community, which is why Bruce wasn’t too entirely happy at said party. In fact, he looked like someone was digging him in the back with a stiletto but that was probably because Ted Kord wouldn’t stop bugging him about a cooperation with Kord Industries and he was pretty sure his father was about to deck the other billionaire in the face.
Jason fumbled with the little black booklet in his hands, eyes scanning over the lines as he reread it. There was no need though, he’d already memorized the damn thing, but it was the only way he could find to distill the anxiety skating through his gut and chest. Either his father was going to love the gift, or he wasn’t. Jason hadn’t gotten around to buying a present, but what could you give to a man who could buy anything he wanted? Apparently, there were a few things; Damian had a rare tea plant that only grew where the League was placed, Tim upgraded his tech, Cass handmade him a card, Dick even got him a plaque that said, “Best/Worst Dad Ever.”
“Master Jason,” a voice interrupted him from his thoughts. “Are you ready?”
He glanced over to see Alfred there, a calm smile on his face, a microphone in his hands; he’d already read Jason’s gift, approved it with tears. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered and took the microphone, flicking it on just as the music stilled; he handed the booklet to Alfred, trying to ignore the fluttering of his heart beneath his sternum, as he cleared his throat. The noise reverberated around the room, drawing his friends’ and family’s attention. “Good evening,” he greeted. “I hope everyone has had a good time so far?”
Various cheers, the loudest coming from Roy and Kyle who were stuffing their faces with free food, echoed around and he gave an overly polite smile, the type he gave people when he passed them in stores and didn’t want to socialize but he also didn’t want to look like a dick.
“We’ve already watched B open some of his gifts from a good few of you, but, uh…I have to confess that I haven’t given him mine yet.” Jason tried not to look at Bruce; it felt to awkward to do so. “As I’m sure many of you found, there’s not much to get someone who has everything.”
The base members of the Justice League cackled, making Bruce roll his eyes, but it made Jason smile. “My gift this year is not a tangible one. Well, it is, but you’re not getting my notebook. That’s personal.” More laughter followed and Alfred set the stand in front of him. “It’s a poem and if anyone laughs, I’ll punch you in the face…politely…with a lot of disapproving words about how you’re uncultured,” he warned with a glare.
Jason set the microphone inside it and cleared his throat as the older man walked off, leaving him alone, the entire room’s attention on him. There had to be at least a hundred people here.
He took a deep breath and looked up from the floor, eyes and voice firm. “My father is not a great father.” The very first line raised the eyebrows of every single person in the ballroom, and even his father’s eyes widened ever so slightly before coming back to that impassive, stoic expression. “His greeting pleasantries and bidding goodbyes to the untrained ear sing praise at the meeting but to the trained they cry boredom and displeasure.” He made sure to look around the room, dividing his attention to everyone. “My father is not a great father. He spends more time concerned with his alter ego than he does concerned with his own kids.”
There seemed to be general displeasure falling over the community at the admissions, some of them turning to glare at Bruce. “My father is not a great father. He doesn’t deal in “trust me’s” or trust well at all, and I have been the end of that damning lesson more times than I care to admit, sometimes I think I’ll never not be.” His jaw started to clench, and he forced himself to relax. “My father is not a great father. His words are clipped and ill-fitting in the moments when warmth and care are needed, he can comfort children as local legend, but he still has so much to learn about comforting his own children.”
He couldn’t look at Bruce the entire time, but even his siblings were wearing looks of shock because not even they had expected something like this in front of everyone; sure, they like to air their grievances with their father but never in public. Always in private, away from prying eyes. “My father is not a great father. He values the time he spends alone more than the time with his family.” He shifted on his feet, a telltale sign that he was beginning to become antsy under the heavy scrutiny of those steel-blue eyes. “My father is not a great father. Sometimes he misplaces his trust and assuredness in the worst circumstances and places in time. I, am a living legacy of those times.”
His mouth started to feel dry, and he wetted his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue. “My father is not a great father. He stands on the precipice of self-righteous arrogance and is hardly liable to change his mind for any reason. Sometimes I wonder whether he cares for the opinions of others, sometimes I feel that he never will.”
Tipping his head to the side, he delivered what was probably the most damning line. “My father is not a great father. I can count on one hand the number of times combined I have heard the phrases, “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” in my life.” He nodded to himself, like he was building up the courage to continue speaking. “Sometimes my father forgets that verbal affirmations matter just as much as the physical ones. A squeeze on my shoulder is not as assuring as hearing “I love you.”
He let out a shaky breath, cursing himself for putting such a raw line, feeling the corners of his eyes to sting but he cleared his throat and managed to speak a truth that everyone seemed to know but had never really wanted to admit. “My father is not a great father. I have seen men far more worthy and true of that title than he is and ever will be. Some of those men are the men he saves the universe with.”
His breathing started coming out a little faster, voice pitching higher in vulnerability because Jason never made it a habit of showing his emotion or feelings to the world around him. “But while my father may not be a great father, he is the greatest father I have ever had, and I would not trade what I was given for anything in this world, even if it meant I would have a great father.”
Jason finally let himself look over at Bruce and he couldn’t stop the tears from shimmering in his eyes; he swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and with the most honest and loving smile that Bruce had ever seen his second son make before in his life, he stood and delivered, “My father is not a great father, but he is my father, and it is more than enough for me.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected. Clapping, roaring applause, rage, hysteric blubbering courtesy of his eldest brother? Silence was not the answer though. Suddenly Jason was considering this gift a very bad one and the worst possible idea he’s ever had right next to walking into a warehouse instead of waiting, because no one was saying anything or doing anything and now Bruce was getting up from his seat, striding over with a purpose and Jason was ready to bolt with a speed that rivaled The Flashes’ because he was about to get punched for embarrassing Bruce like this. But his father appeared in front of him, and he braced himself for whatever foul reaction was about to come from this gift when his father grabbed his bicep and yanked him forwards, free arm curling around the younger’s back to clench in the charcoal suit.
Jason froze as Bruce’s hand on his bicep shifted to cup the back of his skull, thumb brushing tenderly into the lop of ebony curls and underneath the hair to his head. “I love you,” Bruce whispered harshly, no, not harshly, it was raw, it was all that inhuman control let go of for one single moment to let a son know what he always knew even when he felt like he was forgotten or broken.
Tears flooded his vision, he weakly gripped Bruce’s back, burying his face in his father’s shoulder, and that’s when the reaction reached his ears. Like the thundering of a thousand stallions across the plain lands. Every cheer was louder than the last, he could hear some sobbing too, but he wasn’t paying attention much to anything other than to his father.
He shifted his head and rested his chin on Bruce’s shoulder. “I love you, old man.”
The thumb at the back of his head, brushed comfortingly again. “I love you more, son. And, thank you…for reminding me.”
Jason smiled despite his tears. “Someone had to.” His lips wobbled a little. “You really are, you know? I meant it.”
Bruce’s pulled back enough to see Jason’s face and he cupped his son’s cheeks, brushing away the tears that stained his face. “I know you did. And I may never be a great father, but as long as I’m the greatest to you, I think that’ll be okay for me.”