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When Bruce walked into the kitchen at two in the morning, hair messy, in sweats and a tank top, he hadn't been expecting to see one of his children sitting at the kitchen counter. More specifically, he hadn't been expecting to see this particular child of his with a familiar white streak in his hair sitting on one of the barstools, staring at his hands which rested on the cold marble. But, here Jason is.
Jason's sitting and staring, not having realized that Bruce is currently also in the room. Not until Bruce opens the door to the kitchen again, making sure to make enough noise for Jason to slightly startle out of his daze. Blue eyes are suddenly on Bruce's own grey one's, and something within the older man's heart softens. It's been so long since he's seen those eyes so blue. Usually they're green, or a mix of green and blue. Never this blue. They only get this blue when he's home.
Only recently had Jason been coming home quite often. He never stays the night though, much to Bruce's dismay. If it were his choice, all of his children would be here every night. Now, he'd never tell Jason this out loud. That could scare the boy off.
Bruce doesn't look at Jason, only mumbles a, "Hello," before heading towards the fridge, and opening it up. He takes out the water jug, and places it onto the counter. Then, he turns to reach into the cabinet hanging up beside the fridge. Once grabbing two glasses out, he fills them both up with cold water, and then places the jug back where he got it.
"Thanks," Jason mutters when Bruce slides one of the glasses over to him. The billionaire leans his elbows on the counter across from his son, fiddling with the glass between his hands. "What are you doing awake, anyways?"
"Mm," Bruce hums, rubbing a hand over his face. He would say the corny; 'I was about to ask you the same thing,' but Jason wouldn't appreciate that, so he doesn't. "I was thirsty."
"No shit," Jason curses into his glass before taking a large gulp of water, cup clanging against the table when he places it back down.
Bruce only shrugs, not mentioning the fact that Alfred would make him put five dollars in the swear jar for that. When he studies Jason's face a little harder, he sees swollen, red eyes and big dark bags underneath them. "Sorry."
With a jerk of his head backwards, Jason scowls at Bruce. "Why are you sorry? I'm being a complete asshole to you."
Letting out a chuckle, Bruce ignores the urge he gets to move a small piece of Jason's hair out of his eyes. It's getting too long like it always does as Jason always puts off getting it cut. It gets curly when it's long. His mom had curly hair. And, Bruce never had the heart to complain about the kid's longer hair, even when it was constantly falling into his eyes. How could he complain? The kid was adorable with curly hair. Still is. Though, Bruce would never say that out loud. He's pretty sure that would earn him a punch in the face. And, anyway, Dick would probably make fun of Bruce if he admitted how badly he wanted to move the hair away, call him a mother hen like he always does.
"What's going on, Jason?" Bruce finally asks, not looking at his son while he does. He knows that making eye contact would be far too overwhelming for his son.
"What do you mean?"
When he looks up, Bruce expects to see a lighthearted smile. What he sees instead is a deep frown. He's got to tread lightly here. He must choose his next words and phrasing extremely carefully. He's always had to with Jason. One small miscommunication and the boy would be out of here in a dash. One of the unfortunate side effects of growing up the way Jason did. Never fully being able to trust someone's kindness. At least, not someone he barely new. When he really got comfortable with them, way back when, it had been so nice, so perfect. But, of course, everything was ruined. They've sort of started back at square one. With a few minor -- okay, major -- differences.
"You know I-- well I hope you know how much I love it when you're here," Bruce begins, mulling over every word, yet not taking too long as to not worry Jason. "However, I've noticed since you've gotten back, you haven't spent a night here. So, I guess I assumed something might be wrong considering the hour. But, if nothing is, and you simply want to stay the night, that's okay too."
A few moments of pure silence and absolute terror pass between the two of them. Though, Bruce is sure he's the only one feeling the terror. Jason's face passes through many different expressions, much to quick, as always, to tell what he's feeling. However, it lands on something downcast, chin hitting his chest like he's ashamed.
"I . . . I hate my apartment."
At the revelation, Bruce blows a breath out. At least his son isn't mad at him, at least this is something he can help fix. "Is there something wrong with it?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better view of Jason's face. It seems after being away from the boy for so long, whenever they're in the same room, all Bruce wants is to see his face. To make sure he's real.
"Nothing in particular." Jason shrugs, pushing his glass forward. "I just-- I can't sleep. I don't feel . . . ." 'Safe' goes unspoken, yet understood between them.
"What about it exactly do you think is making you feel . . . uneasy?" Bruce questions carefully, rubbing his fingers over the brim of his glass.
"Well, uh . . ." Jason fiddles with his long sleeved shirt, a habit he's had since he was just a young boy. "It's close to Arkham. So . . . I don't, uh . . . I--"
"It's--" Bruce takes a step back, like he's been slapped across the face. "You never told me it was close to Arkham."
Jason merely shrugs. "Thought you wouldn't care."
"Of course I do," Bruce whispers mournfully, reaching out to take Jason's hand in his own. It's scary how much larger Jason's hands are now compared to when he was a kid. Bruce remembers grabbing this very hand when crossing the street with Jason, and it had always been fully encompassed by the older man's. Now, they're about the same size. "Jay, you should not stay anywhere you feel unsafe."
"Stayed in worse places," Jason reminds his father, brushing off his feelings as per usual.
"That doesn't make it better," Bruce tells him, shaking his head. "You shouldn't stay there anymore, Jason."
"Where am I gonna go?" Jason asks, self deprecating smile on his face. "There's, like, no apartments out there. Trust me, if there was, I would have moved already."
"Well," Bruce starts, shrugging like he's casual, but certainly doesn't feel that way. His heart is practically beating out of his chest. "It's always an option to stay here. I don't know if you exactly . . . feel safe here, anymore. Or, um, ever did. But, your old room is still there. Hasn't changed."
"It's--?" Jason furrows his eyebrows. "You left my room the way it was. Why?"
Bruce gives a stiff shrug, looking away awkwardly. "It's hard to, uh, explain the exact emotions I felt when you, um, were gone. I just-- I couldn't take anything down. People said they thought it would be good for me, to help me move on, but . . . I don't know. I guess I didn't want to move on." He rubs a tired hand over his face. "Of course, though, if you don't want to stay in that room you can use a guest room until we make you a new one."
When Jason lets go of his hand, Bruce is worried he's said something wrong and internally cringes. It's hard to get himself to look back up at his son, but he forces his head to go up. And, he sees something he doesn't expect.
Jason has his hands pressed over his eyes, shoulders shaking as he cries quietly. He's always cried this way. Like he has something to hide. Bruce is a firm believer that no person should have to learn how to cry so silently. It was especially concerning when Jason was just a boy, a mere eleven, and stifled his sobs this way. It always broke Bruce's heart. It still does.
"Oh, Jaylad," Bruce murmurs, gently placing a hand atop the boy's head. He keeps it there, grounding his son until, finally, the nineteen year old looks up at Bruce from between his fingers. "I'm very sorry if I've upset you somehow. It wasn't my intention."
Jason shakes his head, wiping rather aggressively at his face. It makes Bruce want to pull his hands away from his eyes, but doesn't let himself give into the urge. "I thought that-- I thought you didn't care," Jason whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I thought you hated me."
"What?" Bruce rounds the counter within a second, scooping Jason up into his arms. "All this time you--?"
"No," Jason interrupts with a sob. "Not when I was a kid. When I came back I thought you hated me. I thought you got rid of everything that reminded you of me."
"Oh, Jason," Bruce mumbles into his son's hair, placing a kiss there. "I could never ever, in any life, hate you. You are my son. No matter what." When that sentence alone makes Jason cry harder, Bruce simply holds his son against his chest, allowing him to feel everything. He runs his hands through the boy's hair, and mumbles assurances whenever he can get a word in. It's rare for Jason to cry in front of people, especially now. So, Bruce doesn't say anything about, just holds him. "I love you more than I could ever even begin trying to describe, Jason. I'm sorry if at any point you didn't know that, or weren't sure. It's true, and it always will be true."
"But, how could you not hate me?"
"I'll be honest with you, Jason," Bruce says, rocking them slowly back and forth. "Back when you first came back and everything was . . . a mess. You weren't my favourite person. However, I never hated you. I couldn't. You're my son, all I can do is love you."
"I just don't--" Jason pulls away a little bit, wiping his face before looking up at Bruce. "I just don't get you. I've never understood you. Willis, he-- God, he hated me. He hated me with everything he had. He made it seem like it was so easy to hate me. And, then, when I got here you-- all of you made it seem so easy to love me. I've never understood that."
Bruce swipes a few tears away from Jason's cheeks. "I know, lad." He shakes his head. "But, Willis wasn't a good father. We've talked about this. You know he shouldn't have treated you the way he did. I make it seem easy to love you because it is, Jay. Easiest thing ever."
Jason looks away, sniffling as he ponders to himself. A long stretch of silence passes between them before he breaks it by blowing a breath out. "God, I'm so tired," Jason says, rubbing his eyes. "This is too much gooey shit for so late at night."
Finally, Bruce lets himself brush Jason's curly bangs out of the way, giving the young man a small smile. "How about you stay here for the night, okay?" When Jason nods, he's able to let out a sigh of relief. "Alright. Good. You wanna stay in your room, or a different one?"
"Different," Jason whispers, he looks up at his father through tears. "Can't handle seeing my old stuff. Too many memories."
"Alright, lad. Time for bed."