Chapter Text
Bruce wasn't impressed by Jason's safety systems. It took him one minute to find the safehouse through the stolen Batcycle (of course, it had a chip installed), five minutes to get there and only two to open the door without raising an alarm. Hazardous. They would need to talk about it later.
He stepped over the threshold, pushing guilt away. It didn't feel right, but he was only doing it to make sure Jason had treated his injuries and was now resting - if Bruce got lucky, he would leave without waking him up.
He was simply making sure that his help wasn't needed.
It was dark inside. The hall led to a single room with a small adjacent kitchen. It smelled of chlorine and gunpowder. The floorboards didn't creak under his boots as he trod carefully - he always did when there was a risk of getting shot involved.
A sofa in the middle of the room looked untouched. An empty glass stood on a coffee table next to a disassembled rifle and two guns. Red Hood's body armour lay on the floor nearby. Bruce made a few steps forward and stilled - a thin streak of light was coming through a half-closed door. Bathroom, perhaps. He could faintly hear ragged breaths through the other side. He walked closer.
"Shit," a voice muttered. "Fuck."
Bruce could've outstretched his hand and grabbed the door knob, but something stopped him mid-movement. He hadn't planned to intervene. He hadn't planned to let Jason see him at all - they weren't close by any means and he was trespassing, breaking the boundaries of their nonexistent relationship just by being there. It wasn't fair to Jason.
But. Not being able to reach for help when it was needed wasn't fair either. And if offering that help would destroy his last chance of forgiveness, that wasn't really a choice at all.
He knocked. There was no answer, no change in breaths, nothing to suggest that Jason heard him. He knocked again, this time longer, and waited five seconds. Nothing again. He opened the door.
Jason was sitting on the floor, leaning on a bath tub and grabbing its edge like his life depended on it. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Rivulets of blood ran down his left arm, a stark contrast to his pale skin in a bright light of a single lamp. It took him a second to focus his eyes on Bruce.
His face went from pale to white in an instant.
"Bat- the fuck are you doing here?" he shifted away a little, closer to the corner of the bathroom, still not trying to stand up. Chances were, he'd tried before and failed.
"Jason," Bruce said, unable to avert his eyes from his son. He hadn't seen him without a mask and armour since the funeral. "What happened?"
He got a look as an answer. "What happened?" Jason repeated with an edge of irritation, then froze in place. His face went blank.
He squeezed the tub tighter, as if preparing to rise, and glanced around the bathroom frantically. He looked for something, but there was nothing on the floor around - only a bloody knife in a sink that he couldn't reach while sitting. His eyes went unfocused as his whole body tensed.
"If you here for a fight you'll... you'll have t' wait a... few days," he exhaled. There was none of the usual growl in his voice, only poorly hidden desperation.
Bruce wondered how they'd ended up like this.
"I am not here to fight," he said gently, showing empty hands. Deescalate first, his experience told him, but Jason barely looked aware enough to listen. "Do you need help?" He made a step forward and regretted it immediately.
Jason flinched. His eyes were wide and pupils blown when he jerkingly got his legs under himself and tried to stand up. His fingers that were gripping the bathtub slipped and he staggered.
Bruce lunged forward, catching him before his head hit ceramic. He didn't let go when a weak punch connected to his armour or when Jason struggled against the hold, making short distressed sounds so unlike anything Bruce heard from Red Hood before. So unlike anything he heard from Jason before.
God. What did Jason think was going to happen?
There were too many hard angles around. The bathroom wasn't safe, even if Bruce lowered them on the floor. He needed to move them into the main room, slowly, but dragging would only add unnecessary panic.
"It's okay, Jay. It's okay, you are safe," he murmured, barely applying any strength to his hold. It was more of a support than a restrain at this point.
Jason didn't seem to hear him, but he continued talking. He still talked when the struggling stopped and Jason leaned on his chest, clearly exhausted. Bruce couldn't help himself. He cupped the back of his head and pressed him in gently, just to give a little more support.
They stood in silence for a short moment. Then, Jason moved again and clutched his cape with a weak grasp, like he was afraid of being dropped. He breathed heavily, making the same fearful sounds on each exhale that made Bruce's heart ache.
"I... d- nt feel good," he slurred between gasps, looking down, his hold weakening quickly.
Bruce knew exactly where this was going. "Let's lie down on your sofa, alright Jay?" he said hurriedly, listening to labored breaths filling the small bathroom. He made a step backwards, dragging them out, and immediately felt Jason's body going limp in his arms.
Bruce was ready for it. He shifted his hold on a fly and caught him, lifting him up not without some strain. Jason was much heavier than the last time-
He didn't allow himself to think so far back.
It only took him three steps to reach the sofa. He lowered Jason on it and elevated his legs with pillows to help restore the blood flow to the head. Then, he went back to the bathroom, looking for a medical kit.
It was in the tub. Bruce wasn't sure how it happened - either Jason had planned to get there himself or he'd dropped it accidentally and hadn't been able to get it back. Either way, it was stacked better than most med kits Bruce had seen before.
He walked back to the sofa, hitting the light switch on his way. Jason groaned quietly - he was already waking up.
"Jay?" he called and grabbed ammonia spirit from the kit. He heard some faint mumbling and leaned closer, listening in.
"m fine," Jason slurred. His breath staggered for a second when Bruce brought ammonia to his nose. His pupils were moving behind his half-closed lids in erratic patterns. He was still dangerously pale.
Bruce sighed, picking up an empty glass and walking to a kettle just a few feet away. "You are not fine. You shouldn't have pushed yourself to such a point." You are worrying me, he didn't add. Now was not the time - with Jason it never was.
The tiny kitchen was surprisingly clean. Polished, even. The fridge lights didn't work, but there was some homemade food, enough to eat for two to three days. He filled the glass with water and turned around, half-expecting Jason to be sitting already.
Jason was still lying on his back, a mask of exhaustion on his face, his hair in disarray. Bruce's heart skipped a beat in a wave of anxiety. Such a view brought up very specific memories.
He didn't remember how his fingers ended up on Jason's pulse point, digging in tight. There was a terrifying fracture of a moment when he felt nothing, and the wave rose without end. Then, a heartbeat. Another one after a second. And everything went back to normal.
"Stop that," Jason murmured tiredly. Bruce remembered himself and let go of his neck.
It was fine, he told himself as he supported Jason's back and helped him drink the water in small sips.
His son didn't die while he was turned away. It was fine.
Once the glass was empty, he took off his cowl and put it on a coffee table next to a disassembled rifle, then, after a brief consideration, swooped it all on the floor. He needed some space to lay down medical supplies.
The cut on Jason's arm wasn't too deep and the blood mostly stopped by itself, but it still needed stitches.
"Are you injured somewhere else?" he asked, taking out disinfectant and local anesthesia.
"...No," Jason mumbled. His brows furrowed in concentration. "I don't rem-ber what happen'd."
Bruce wiped away the sweat on his forehead and pushed his hair back. The color was slowly returning to his cheeks, but he lay limp and didn't try to move.
"Everything's alright Jay. Don't think about it now, just rest." It would be bad if he tried to escape in the middle of a medical procedure.
Jason didn't move when Bruce injected the anesthesia, nor when he cleaned the cut. It was only when the stitching started that he opened his eyes.
"Bruce?" he whispered. "Why are you here?"
Bruce froze with a needle between his fingers. It took a lot of self-restrain to keep his expression carefully plain. "I wanted to check on you," he said, trying not to notice how unnaturally green Jason's eyes looked in bright light.
"Did I mess up on patrol?" Jason asked, glancing around the room with a mix of wariness and curiosity. He almost looked like he didn't recognize the place.
He looked exactly like he didn't recognize the place.
"Oh, Jay-lad."
Slowly, Bruce touched Jason's cheek and watched his eyes flutter shut. The grief hit him like a tidal wave, all consuming, and his voice came out quivering. "You didn't mess up. You did well."
That was the truth, not only for today.
Jason hummed, relaxing a little. Bruce forced himself to continue stitching him up.
"Sorry," Jason whispered, his eyes closed. "For worrying you."
Bruce cut the thread, finishing the stitches, and willed his hand not to shake as he stroked Jason's hair in smooth, careful motion. The white streak had a slightly different texture, thinner and brittler and so out of place. He couldn't stop himself from running his fingers through it again and again.
"Of course I worry about you, Jay. It's not your fault."
Worrying was too light of a word. It didn't do justice to what had been going on with his heart for the last several months, years, but today was the first time Bruce felt... content with what he had.
Jason was alive. He didn't attack the last time they saw each other. And even if he didn't want to talk to Bruce after the confusion wore out, he would live, and that was all that mattered.
Years ago, that would've sounded like a fantasy.
He continued stroking his son's hair, listening to his breaths slowing down, and when he seemed to fall asleep, Bruce allowed himself to lower his ear to Jason's chest and listen to his steady heartbeat.
He wouldn't ask for more.