Work Text:
It isn’t often Bruce sleeps without dreaming. One second, he’s laying his head on his pillow, the next he opens his eyes to daybreak. No clowns. No blurry faces crying out in pain. Just soft peaceful, quiet.
He’s surprised at the hour. After last night’s encounter with Mad Hatter he anticipated waking long into the afternoon. Fighting off mind control always leaves him exhausted. This time though there is nothing more than a slight lingering dizziness. Nothing an aspirin and one of Alfred’s omelets won’t fix.
Still in his sweats, he ambles down to the dining room. Towards the scent of fresh brewed coffee and the faint sounds of conversation. The timbre of the voices are much too deep for it to be Damian or Tim.
Dick sits at the table, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He’s in his pajamas, vestiges of sleep evident on his face. Beside him is a young man in a Harvard sweatshirt, scribbling notes in a book. Dick keeps trying to peer over to read them, but the boy swats him away.
Bruce freezes at the unexpected guest. It’s rare for the manor to have them. Most certainly never this early in the morning. Maybe one of the Titans? Their roster is constantly changing.
“Who’s your friend?” Bruce directs at Dick as he sits across from them. He pours himself a cup of coffee.
“Very funny, old man,” replies the other boy. “Christ, I’ve only been gone a couple months.”
Bruce stiffens at the sound of the voice, choking on his sip of coffee. More spills over the rim of the mug. Ignoring his burning fingers his eyes snap toward the boy and he stares, truly seeing him for the first time. He’s changed, yet unmistakable at the same time. How could Bruce not have realized?
“Jason?" The name slips from his mouth in surprise.
Bruce takes in the young man before him. His frame, while far from one what would consider scrawny, is lean, muscles closer to Dick’s rather than Bruce’s bulk. Dark curls, no shock of white in sight, fall across his forehead. Beneath them bright blue eyes stare back him at in confusion.
“Uh, yeah?”
“You okay, Bruce?” Dick asks, between bites of eggs.
“You’re here,” is all Bruce can manage. You’re so different.
It’s not just the changes in Jason’s appearance, but his very manner. He’s relaxed, casually sitting there drinking coffee, as if this is an everyday occurrence. No sign of the usual tension that seems to always permeate his entire body while in the presence of Bruce.
He can’t remember the last time Jason was here in the manor. The Batcave sure, for medical attention and debriefings. Even after they seemed to establish some sort of peace, Jason had been adamant about never stepping foot upstairs. Almost as if he were afraid to return to his old life.
Jason gives him smile that is half amusement, half bewilderment. “Yeah, I got in late last night. I told you I was coming home for fall break.” He raises an eyebrow at Dick. “He hit his head or something on patrol last night?”
“Wouldn’t know I was with dog-sitting with Barbara last night.”
“That a new euphemism the kids are using these days?”
Bruce sits and listens as the two go back and forth for a bit. He’s certain any second now the scene will vanish. He’ll wake up hunched over in his chair in front of the Batcomputer. Or more likely chained to a wall breathing in Cheer Gas. But until he does, he’s content in soaking in this strange normalcy. Two of his sons, happy and bickering like brothers should.
Bruce’s eyes fall again on the Harvard sweatshirt, his chest swelling with pride. This is the life Jason should have had. His brilliant, nerdy son at college. Probably pursuing an English degree. It’s all he ever wanted for him.
“How are classes going?” Bruce asks slowly, the question feeling foreign on his tongue.
Dick groans. “Ugh, don’t get him started again, please. I don’t think I can take another nerd rant.”
Jason throws a piece of bacon at him, which Dick catches with ease. He grins and makes a dramatic show of biting into it.
Jason’s face lights up with enthusiasm. “Okay but it’s ridiculous that my professor won’t let me write my paper on the political themes of Discworld.”
Quiet footsteps alert Bruce of another presence. “And you accuse me of being a dork,” Tim says. He’s dressed in a coat and scarf, a rosy hue to his cheeks. There’s a newspaper rolled under his armpit, Starbucks coffee cup in his hand.
“Hey, Timbers,” Jason says, drawing out the words. “You excited to finally introduce me to Bernard? Can’t wait to tell him all sorts of fun stories.”
Tim blanches before shooting a dark look at Dick. “You told him?”
“Damian did.”
“Of course, he did. Where is the little demon?” Tim sits down next to Bruce. He keeps the newspaper securely tucked under his arm. Almost as if he’s deliberately not drawing attention to it. Bruce isn’t the only one to notice either. Jason’s expression sobers as he studies Tim.
“Alfred and him went to the pet store,” Dick answers, apparently oblivious to the building tension. Or maybe he’s trying not to add to it. “Still doesn’t trust anyone to pick out the right food for Titus.”
“I swear he treats that dog better than m— ”
“Whatcha got there?” Jason interrupts, his voice too casual to be genuine.
“It’s nothing.”
“In Gotham? I doubt that,” Jason replies flippantly. “Something happened. I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”
Tim looks to Bruce as if asking for permission. Despite the cold chill creeping up his spine, Bruce nods. It was only a matter of time before this dream became a nightmare.
“Look, it’s all just rumors at this point. He’s still in Arkham.” Tim unrolls the newspaper, laying it on the table. There’s a photo of the Joker in his cell. Despite the straitjacket, he’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “There’s just been some weird activity. Some crimes last night that involved Joker venom.”
He continues to lay out the details, but Bruce’s attention is occupied by Jason. He’s staring intently down at the mug between his two palms, his jaw almost imperceptibly clenched. There’s a distinct lack of his customary rage at the mention of the Joker. But any mirth from before Tim’s arrival is gone as well.
He catches Bruce’s eye and gives him a faint smile. As if to assure Bruce he’s fine when he so clearly not.
“Sorry Jay,” Tim says, noticing the exchange. “We can talk about this later.”
Jason gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t be.” He laughs. There’s very little humor in the sound. “Honestly I should probably thank the clown. If it wasn’t for him, I’d still be running around in tights looking like a jackass.” He smirks, the expression forced. “You guys can talk shop. You want any more of this? I’m gonna start clearing it.”
Tim snorts. “Teacher’s pet.”
The jab is enough to bring real light to Jason’s eyes. “There’s a reason I’m Alfred’s favorite,” he shoots back. “Cause I’m the only one with any manners.”
Bruce watches him as he stacks up plates and heads off to the kitchen. He walks slowly, a slight limp in his right leg.
After breakfast, Bruce heads down to the cave to clear his head. Everything seems too vivid. Perhaps it isn’t a dream but something else. Another reality? Is he still under the Mad Hatter’s control? He distinctly remembers fighting him off. No gaps in his memory, nothing to suggest losing time. Something though is responsible for this place.
Strangely, he can’t bring himself to care very much. That drive of his to uncover the truth is muted. A casual whisper in the back of his mind. Rather than try to uncover the truth, all Bruce yearns to do is find out more about this world. So he buries his time and attention into research.
His own records detail that Jason ran off to Ethiopia to find his mother. He still disobeyed Bruce’s order not to after the Joker. There’s a detailed report of injuries inflicted, and Bruce forces himself to go through every detail, although he knows them by heart anyways. Except this time there are no burns, no smoke inhalation. Because Bruce managed to get there in time.
Managed to save his son.
He finds hospital records as well as an arrest warrant for Shelia. The Joker was returned to Arkham. While he’s escaped several times over the years, it’s still a comfort to Bruce to know he never targeted Jason again. Whether or not that has to do with Jason retiring from Robin, remains unknown. The extra safety precautions Bruce has adopted probably help. There’s a folder specifically for Jason including a panic button, regular check ins, and even tracking. The fact that Jason has allowed such intensive measures is surprising. The Jason he knows is too stubborn to ask for help. Too distrusting of Bruce’s intentions to keep him safe.
After researching Jason, he continues on to discover changes, though there don’t seem to be many. He finds newspaper articles dated a few months after Ethiopia, describing a subdued, distracted Batman. Bruce can only speculate that this version of him spent more time focusing on Jason’s recovery rather than fighting crime.
Another articles details Superman saving Bruce Wayne’s adopted son from a kidnapping attempt. He reads the line the boy is currently in the hospital and expects to make a full recovery and has to take a moment to compose himself. The difference between that outcome and Bruce cradling his son’s body is only a few minutes. One hundred and eighty seconds passes by like nothing and yet can still determine the fate of a life.
Six months after the article on Jason a blurry newspaper photo of him and Tim leaping across a rooftop appears across a front page. Everything continues on like Bruce’s version of events, with some exceptions. A few Joker encounters never happen. Bruce apparently never gets lost in the timestream.
Most importantly, the Red Hood never appears.
Bruce leans back in his chair, allowing a rare genuine grin to spread across his face.
“Jason?”
Bruce makes his way upstairs to Jason’s room. The door is open, the room empty.
Light spills from underneath the bathroom door. Bruce knows he shouldn’t—Jason never did like his privacy breached—but he can’t help but enter.
Before Jason came back, Bruce hadn’t let anyone disturb his room. The bed was still unmade, books still strewn around on the floor. Even the mug Jason had left on his bedside table hadn’t been touched (although Bruce had eventually allowed Alfred to throw away the molding teabag) Since Jason’s return very little had changed. It wasn’t as if he spent any time in it, but Alfred kept the sheets clean, and the place tidy should he ever change his mind.
The room Bruce stands in now is very different. There’s two more overflowing bookshelves. A couple Harvard banners adorn the walls along with various art prints. Bruce recognizes one piece in Damian’s style.
A cork board full of photos catches Bruce’s attention. One is of Jason clad in a graduation cap and gown. Bruce’s arm is around his shoulder, face brimming with pride. Next to it his four boys, standing behind Alfred as he blows out candles on a cake. Jason is throwing bunny ears behind a disgruntled Damien, who appears to be trying to shove him out of the frame.
Bruce unpins one to further inspect it. A group of teens, their arms around one another, are dressed as superheroes. Most of them have their tongues sticking out. There’s Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Black Canary, two Supermans, and surprisingly an Elongated Man. Bruce can’t help but feel slightly offended at the lack of Batman. Really Elongated Man? He scans the photo for faces he recognizes. None seem familiar at first glance. Then his eyes track back over to Wonder Woman. He’s wearing a terrible wig and ridiculously short skirt, but sure enough it’s Jay beaming at the camera.
A deep ache echoes throughout Bruce. He can’t remember the last time he saw Jason smiling like this. At least not since his Robin days.
“Uh, B?”
Jason appears beside him. The confusion on his face morphs to amusement as he notices the photo.
Bruce quirks an eyebrow at him. “Interesting choice.” He manages to keep his tone light, despite the emotion crawling up his throat.
Jason laughs. “Hey, I won best costume that night! Besides Wonder Woman kicks ass.”
“Has Diana seen this?”
“Yeah, she signed the back of it.”
Bruce flips the photo over to see Diana’s elegant signature, along with the message Anytime you want to borrow the lasso, just let me know.
Jason watches him, a soft expression on his face. “Everything okay?” he asks. “You seemed off at breakfast.”
Bruce puts the photo back. For a brief moment he wishes he could keep it. Wants to keep this version of his son with him. He’ll always love Jay no matter who he is. Whether it be college kid, crime lord, or reluctant ally. But if he had any choice in the matter, any way to pick Jason’s path, it would be one without trauma and pain.
“Everything’s fine,” he finally answers. “Patrol was rough last night.”
Jason nods. “Yeah, not gonna lie, being away from Gotham these past few months has really made me realize how crazy this city can be. Don’t get me wrong I miss it, but I really needed a break from crazy villains and vigilantes.” He lightly bumps his shoulder against Bruce. “It’s kinda nice meeting people who’ve never even heard of Robin.”
“Do…” Bruce trails off. There’s something he’s always wanted to ask his version of Jay, but never built the nerve to. “Do you ever miss being Robin?”
Jason sticks his hands in his pockets, leaning back on his heels. “A little. But after Ethiopia—” he winces “—I just couldn’t. I never told you this, but I tried once afterwards putting on the costume. Gave me a full blown panic attack.” He shakes his head as if clearing a thought. “Nah, I loved being Robin, but I like my life how it is now. I’m good with how it all turned out.”
It hurts knowing how close Jason was to living a life like this. How if Bruce had just gotten there sooner Jason never would have to watch a timer count down. Never had to claw his way out of six feet of dirt.
This time Bruce can’t prevent his voice from cracking “Have I ever told you how proud I am of you, Jay?”
“Yeah, all the time, old man.” His smile slips from his face, a conflicted expression replacing it. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
“Yes?”
Jason grimaces, running his fingers through his hair. “Six months ago I got a letter from Shelia.” He pauses as if to discern Bruce’s reaction. “I’m not sure how she got my address, But apparently she’s out of prison. It took me a while, but I wrote back to her. We’ve been going back and forth for a bit. Um, and now she wants to meet me in person.”
It isn’t at all what Bruce is expecting. “Do you want to?” he asks.
Jason shrugs. “Look, I know what she did was horrible. Selling me out to the—the Joker. You know she just stood there and smoked while he beat the crap out of me. But she’s still, she’s still—” The words come out thick and he swallows. “—she’s still my mom.”
“Jay—” he starts, his voice low and soft. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather the right words. Because he doesn’t want Jason to see her. Doesn’t want him to be anywhere near the woman who in another life led him to his death. But this isn’t Bruce’s decision, it’s Jason’s.
“Whatever you decide, I support you,” he says.
Jason nods as if letting the words sink in. He’s quiet for a moment. “Um…will you come with me?”
“Of course.” He pulls Jason into a hug. It’s been too long since his son last let him. Longer even since Jason hugged him back. But Jason wraps his arms around Bruce, burying his face in his chest. Bruce holds him tight, not wanting to let go.
He prays that this isn’t a dream. Because if it is, he has no desire to wake up from it.