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His arm was broken.
Bruce sighed. The man twitched at his feet, the one that had slammed a tire iron unexpectedly at his arm and not his stomach, like he was anticipating. Pain blazed through his body and Bruce tipped his head back for a moment, almost letting the hurt consume him.
But then he snapped back to it and grunted as he headed back to his Batmobile. He would be fine.
At home, Alfred helped patch him up. Luckily, it was his left arm. Though it was still extremely inconvenient.
"Time to rest, Master Bruce," Alfred offered in a way that was not an offer at all, but more of a demand.
Bruce grunted. "I want to input my attackers into the database and cross-reference with the Bell attack last month."
"That sounds like it could be done tomorrow. Or even in a week, sir." Alfred's voice was nearing a certain sharpness that would shut Bruce down immediately. But Bruce was just as insistent and stubborn as the man who raised him.
"Or even in a second. I promise, Alfred. One upload."
The butler's frown spoke volumes.
It wasn't a second. Bruce tapped hurriedly at the keyboard, but the process was definitely much slower thanks to his injury. Damn.
There had been five attackers—and Bruce was certain they were involved with the assault on the newest mayoral candidate, Eleanor Bell.
As the computer loaded the matches for each criminal, Bruce felt exhaustion pricking at his eyes.
But then the hairs on the back of his neck rose and that tiredness was immediately swept away.
He jumped to his feet and whirled around, reaching back to hit the button that alerted Alfred.
"Relax, old man."
Oh.
Jason stepped out of the darkness, a cocky smile on his face. Bruce deflated, almost falling back against his desk.
"Run into a little trouble tonight?" Jason nodded at the cast.
Bruce glanced at it. It seemed unnecessarily large. He wouldn't put it past Alfred to wrap him up with a bigger cast to keep him safer.
"Just a...miscalculation."
He looked back up at Jason. The young man seemed energized and alert, with a clean suit and face free of dirt or blood or anything of the sort.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Are you spending the night here?"
"Are you inviting me?"
Bruce frowned. He still wasn't quite sure of their relationship. Jason never made it clear and Bruce was too stubborn and stoic to ask. But he was curious.
"You're always welcome to stay."
"That's not what I'm asking." Jason stepped forward. "Do you want me to stay? With you?"
They were only a foot away. Jason's blue-green eyes were piercing and unblinking as he stared at Bruce.
"I won't be good company tonight," Bruce calmly replied. "My arm won't allow me to move around much."
"Do you think I want to be with you for your damn arm movement?" Jason asked incredulously. "Or how much you roll around in bed?"
Bruce inhaled deeply. He wasn't sure what Jason wanted from him. Again.
"I'm saying it's up to you, Jason. I'm not insisting on anything."
Jason's face fell to a scowl and Bruce swore inwardly. He fucked up again.
"Yeah. That's your whole damn problem."
Jason backed away, turning on his heel as he muttered under his breath.
"Hope you heal up soon."
Bruce was left with a cold emptiness. His arm ached.
Although Bruce didn't go out as Batman when he was injured, he still went out as Bruce Wayne.
There was an important party he had to attend, a charity event for Gotham's children, and Bruce found himself minding much more than usual.
"Stop brooding, Master Bruce," Alfred admonished as he helped him prepare. "It's just a party."
It was. Except this time, Bruce had a severely annoying cast. They had to unbutton his left sleeve and leave it rolled up to his upper arm, then yank the suit jacket sleeve over the unseemly cast. Which didn't do much for its appearance, it was obvious there was something awkward and clunky under there. And also, Bruce moved that arm like a damn robot anyways—of course it was obvious.
"I'm tired," Bruce said in a voice that was inches short of a whine.
"So am I."
Bruce huffed.
The party was as good as expected.
So not at all.
There were dozens of politicians and wealthy benefactors milling around and even schmoozing up to Bruce. He had to try his hardest to hold back his frustration. At everything.
"Terrible about Mrs. Bell, isn't it?" A grey-haired woman asked him with wide, falsely sympathetic eyes. "I wonder if they'll catch her attackers."
"I believe they're working on it," Bruce responded as enthusiastically as he could.
"Oh well," the woman continued as if she hadn't heard Bruce at all. She probably didn't. "Maybe it's for the best. Bell's ideologies were a little...out there. Don't you think?"
Oh God. Another conservative. Bruce stifled a groan and smiled tightly. "I found myself agreeing with Bell, actually. She's hopeful and inclusive, and I believe that's what Gotham needs."
The woman's eyes narrowed. She plastered on a smile and tapped Bruce's chest with a condescending wink. "Oh sure, honey. With what extensive experience you have in politics, right?"
Bruce's grip on his glass tightened when a hand touched his shoulder.
"Mr. Wayne?"
He glanced back minutely and froze.
Jason stood there, an innocent look on his face. His hair was fully dark, and he wore a trim double black suit. He looked—well, he looked rather handsome.
Bruce's mouth was dry as he replied.
"Hey—hello. Can I help you?"
Jason flashed a welcoming grin and edged further into his personal space. "I just wanted to say thank you for donating five million dollars to the Children's Foundation. I'm a representative from the organization. Can I speak to you about what we'd like to do next?"
How unexpected. But Bruce quickly seized the opportunity to get away. He apologized to the surprised woman and ducked away with Jason to a quieter corner of the vast room.
Jason's normal, annoying smirk returned as he eyed Bruce's lumpy left arm.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Bruce looked around. "Not at all. Why are you here?"
"My Friday was free."
Bruce frowned. Right.
Jason rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall casually. "Fine. I'm on a case. One of my suspects is milling around here."
"Oh? Do you need any help?"
Jason scowled. "What help would you be with your arm?"
Bruce quieted. But Jason relaxed too, rubbing his brow as he took it back.
"Sorry, no. I appreciate it. But I got it. Just wanted to say hi...and save you from that lady."
"Thank you." Bruce wished he were a little better with words. He wanted to say so much to Jason. But he hardly ever could. "Good luck."
Their eyes met for a moment, and the noise of the party dimmed to silence. There was a certain pleading in Jason's, like he needed something from Bruce. And Bruce didn't know what it was.
Then it was over and Jason broke the contact.
"Right." Jason stepped away and began to head back into the crowd. Bruce's stomach flipped and he reached out, grabbing Jason's arm gently.
"I...look, Jason..."
"What."
Bruce breathed deeply.
"I always want you to stay."
The air around them swelled with tension.
But then it calmed and Jason tore his arm out of Bruce's weak grasp.
"Tell it to someone who cares."
And Jason was a part of the mass again.
Bruce hung back, burning with confusion and humiliation. He tried, really.
In his haze, Bruce tried to walk out of the room but only managed to slam into someone entering. They hit Bruce's broken arm with the full force and momentum of their body, and Bruce reeled back in shock and pain.
He clutched his arm, wincing at the fresh onslaught of hurt that shot through his arm and shoulder.
The person—an apologetic large man—offered to call an ambulance or even drive him to a hospital, but Bruce graciously refused.
He managed to stumble out of the building altogether, falling into his car as the driver pulled them out of the driveway as fast as they could.
Bruce sighed to himself as the ache came like waves. But it was nothing compared to how he felt when Jason walked away from him.
After reaching the manor, Bruce ripped off the damn suit—literally tore it apart—and slumped on his bed. His dress shirt was still pathetically pulled above his cast, and he knew he looked like a fool.
The gel was falling out of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut as he just lay there quietly on top of the covers. The pain in his arm had receded to a dull throbbing now. Who knew a broken arm would cause so much trouble?
Eventually, he slowly drifted off to sleep.
"Hey, B."
Blearily, Bruce blinked awake, adjusting to the darkness of the room as he pulled himself out of his sleep.
Jason stood above him, his eyes warm and tender as he looked down on him. He still wore the nice suit and had the hair dye in his slicked-back hair.
Bruce shifted, pushing himself up and immediately wincing as he put pressure on his bad arm.
"Jaylad. What's wrong?"
"How's your arm?" Jason redirected.
Bruce shrugged. He touched it gently, running his fingers over the hard plaster. "I'll be fine."
Jason sat beside him, staring at the cast like it was a monster or bug or something else strange. It was almost amusing.
"Did you find your suspect?" Bruce asked quietly.
"Yeah. He was the dumbass you ran into right before you left."
Oh. How strange. Bruce quirked his lip in thought.
"I know," Jason said, as if reading Bruce's mind. "I think he hit you on purpose."
"Ah. Well, that doesn't matter."
"He hurt you, so yeah, it does," Jason replied angrily. He looked around, clenching and unclenching his fists as he breathed deeply. "Morons..."
Bruce sighed. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you wanted me here."
Bruce suddenly felt so vulnerable, so confused. He didn't know what he was doing. He never knew with Jason. It must've shown in his face because Jason's eyes softened.
"I thought you didn't," Bruce tried to confess in a casual, unaffected voice. He wasn't sure if it worked.
"No, I know." Jason lightly touched Bruce's hand with his. "I was just mad. I'm sorry, B. I've been trying to figure things out and...I don't know. I'm sorry. Thanks for being honest with me."
Bruce nodded awkwardly, staring at their touching fingers.
"I understand. Take your time."
Jason sighed. But when Bruce looked up, there was a broad smile on his face.
"Shut up," Jason said, amused. He leaned forward and Bruce reflexively did as well. "I love you. Stop being so chivalrous and forgiving and gentlemanly."
Bruce flushed, feeling Jason's breath on his lips.
"I was just being me."
"Yeah, and you nearly drove me insane. Did you see yourself out there?" Jason laughed to himself. Bruce's heart skipped a beat at the sound. "That woman was all over you tonight. That's why I intruded. To get her claws off you."
"I'm honored," Bruce answered dryly, a smile growing on his face. He had been completely unaware if the woman was interested in him—she actually seemed rather annoyed by him—but Jason's jealousy always struck a pleasant chord in him, so he didn't argue. "Then I'm afraid of what happened to the man who even dared to touch me."
Jason's eyes darkened. He reached out to touch Bruce, his fingers delicately running along his neck and face.
"Let's just say he's in a better place now."
"Jason..."
"Don't worry, B," Jason reassured with an eye roll. "Not as good as where we're going to be tonight."
He kissed Bruce after that, pulling him in with the steady hand on the back of his neck that began to tangle itself in Bruce's dark hair. Bruce's eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, and he kissed back, clenching his hand in Jason's gorgeous black suit.
Between kisses, Bruce breathed, "I meant it. Stay. Stay with me."
"Always," Jason mumbled back as he pressed a light kiss to the corner of Bruce's mouth. "Broken arms and all."
Bruce laughed, overwhelmed with love.