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It took Bruce nearly two months to completely expunge Zur-En-Arrh from his psyche. Two months of being locked into a room with only the daily therapy visit of either J’onn or Dinah and a tray of food delivered three times a day through a slot in the door.
Safety wise, the room was designed like the typical one found in a psychiatric ward: walls with rounded corners, heavy furniture - also rounded - bolted to the floor, high ceilings, and no glass including windows. But aesthetic wise, they tried their best to make it as close to Bruce’s room as possible. Not his room at the brownstone, no, his old one in the manor. The room in the house he grew up in. The house where he raised his children - or at least tried to. The house where he lost three different parents. The house that was gone.
For the first couple of weeks, Bruce was sedated for most of the time because when he wasn’t Zur took the reins and was willing to do anything and everything to escape. And he got close multiple times, would’ve been back on the streets as Batman if it wasn’t for the constant supervision of at least two Justice League members.
Bruce didn’t hear a word from any of his children while in captivity - or intense rehab as Dinah more delicately put it. Not until Bruce was dropped off at his brownstone by Clark and Diana with promises of checking up on him every few days. There Tim and Damian were waiting for him. His two loyal sons, loyal to a concerning fault. Acting as if he hadn’t been gone for two months, physically at least, mentally he’d been gone for a lot longer. Acting as if they weren’t there to keep an eye on Bruce, making sure he didn’t slip out to patrol.
“It’s not forever,” Tim gently promised like an adult child appeasing their geriatric parent to avoid a meltdown. “Just until you’re settled.”
Bruce doubted he’d ever be settled, but he didn’t want to further burden his son so he kept that information to himself.
Cassandra, Stephanie, and Duke stopped by the brownstone occasionally. Cass would sit near Bruce but did not utter a single word just like she did when they first met, like all of the progress they’ve made was thrown away.
Duke would try to fill the silence with updates on the new story he was writing or the funny things he’d seen around campus, never anything about patrol. Steph, however, preferred to not stay in the same room as Bruce for long. While she wasn’t really one of his children, it still hurt.
Dick only came by once. It was mostly to check up on his little brothers, and behind closed doors, Bruce could hear them privately talk about their nightly patrol. He could also hear Dick try to convince them to live with him instead.
“There is plenty of space for you two also,” Dick said in a hushed tone.
Also. Bruce clung to the adverb. Dick could simply be referring to only himself in the “also”, but Bruce suspected that was not the case.
Dick did try to talk to Bruce for a little. He looked years older than the last time Bruce saw him, dark circles around his now dull blue eyes and a stern frown replacing his classic easy-going grin.
Bruce knew that Dick was once again wearing the cowl in his absence, even before he saw the toll it took on Dick, Bruce knew. There was no one else who would because despite how much Dick despised the pressure of being Batman and flourished in his own identity as Nightwing, Dick would never forsake his siblings to the curse of the cowl not until he was sure that they were physically, mentally, and emotionally ready. Not until he was sure that it wouldn’t ruin them like it ruined Bruce and now Dick himself.
Initially, they kept to safe topics like Duke and Damian’s progress in school, Steph’s upcoming residency at Gotham General Hospital, Cass’s last ballet recital, or the latest outreach program Tim was leading for Wayne Enterprises. It would’ve been … not pleasant with how blunt and brief Dick kept his responses as if he was eager to end the conversation but on the first steps to becoming pleasant if Bruce didn’t ruin it.
“How is Jason?” Bruce asked after an awkward lull in their conversion.
Bruce knew that he had no right to even utter Jason’s name, but he just couldn’t help himself, he had to know. Jason was all he could think about for the last few months, dwelling on the horror Zur put his son through. It kept him up at night.
Dick’s entire demeanor instantly shifted from begrudgingly civil to straight-up hostile. “Don’t,” he seethed through clenched teeth. “ever talk about him again.” And with that, Dick stormed out.
For a while, Bruce didn’t hear anything from Dick, not until Damian relayed a message to him. “Father, Richard requested me to inform you that he wants to see you.”
Bruce didn’t need Damian to specify who he was.
“They are residing at the penthouse,” his youngest clarified and effectively confirmed Bruce’s earlier hypothesis.
Bruce thought that the penthouse was one of the many assets that he lost, but he supposed Dick was able to buy it from the bank with the hefty inheritance Alfred left him.
Bruce knocked on the front door twenty minutes before the given time. Dick was the one to open the door, and it was clear that he was still worn out from last night’s patrol even though it was well past noon.
“You’re early,” Dick said in lieu of a greeting.
Maybe he was too early, and Jason wasn’t ready to see him yet. “I can come back later,” Bruce offered.
Dick shrugged. “It’s fine. We were expecting this,” he said as he opened the door wider, letting Bruce in.
Based on the living room that Dick led him into, the penthouse hadn’t changed much since Bruce owned it. The only differences really being the books strewn around the room, and the latest game console sitting underneath the flat screen.
Jason sat in an armchair on the furthest side from the entryway, waiting for him. Like Dick, Jason also looked years beyond his actual age. He not only lost a lot of his muscles, but weight in general, leaving his face hollow and clothes limp on his body. His teal eyes, which used to spark with mischief as Robin and glow with danger as Red Hood, now resembled the dreary, murky waters of Gotham Harbor. It was hard to believe that the ghastly man before Bruce now was the fearless boy who dared to try to steal from Batman.
Bruce wanted to scream.
“Stay here,” Dick ordered. He went over to his brother and placed a hand on his shoulder as he knelt down so that they were level. Bruce watched as his eldest son whispered something to his second who in response shook his head. During the entire interaction, Jason’s mistrusting eyes never strayed from Bruce.
Dick straightened back up. “I’ll be in the gym,” he announced. “Yell if you need me.”
Bruce knew that was more for Jason’s benefit than his own, but he nodded in acknowledgment anyway.
When Dick was gone, Bruce tried to move further into the room, but was rendered stationary by Jason screaming, “Don’t come any closer!” Gone was the power in his voice that it used to possess like he was afraid to speak over a determined volume.
So, Bruce stayed where he was. Worried that he’d further upset Jason causing Dick to kick him out.
A long moment of silent tension passed. Before he stepped into the penthouse, Bruce was so certain of what he wanted to say but now, in the face of his two greatest mistakes rolled up into one person, he had nothing.
“I thought you would be happy to know that I’m leaving Gotham,” Jason finally said. He paused, giving Bruce a chance to interject.
Bruce said nothing.
“Yeah it’s just getting a little too suffocating here, especially with living with Dick,” Jason continued, obviously trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “It’s always ‘Little Wing, do you need this’ and ‘Little Wing, let me help you with that’. I appreciate it, I guess, but it’s too much.”
Another pause. Another quiet Bruce.
“Also I heard that you’ve been hinting that you want to return as Batman.”
Jason was correct, of course. Didn’t really need Bruce to confirm it. Ever since Dick’s visit, he’s been hinting to Tim, Damian, Clark, and Diana that he was ready to at least start training again. Maybe Bruce would be better off staying away from vigilantism but Batman was his cross to bear, not Dick’s. Until Cass or Damian was ready and could transform the cowl into something other than a curse.
“I just can’t be in this damned city with you running around in that fucking fur suit,” Jason bitterly spat out, a bit of the old him finally shining through. “Well? Aren’t you going to say something?”
Bruce took in a stabilizing breath. “I’m sorry, Jason,” he apologized. “I’m so sorry that Zur-En-Arrah did this to you.”
“Zur?” Jason incredulously echoed as he shot up from his chair. “You did this to me! You’re Zur, Bruce. Did you know I could barely get out of bed the first week? Or that I still can’t hold a weapon without trembling?”
Bruce noticed that it wasn’t just when he was holding a weapon, Jason was even trembling right now. If it was due to fear or anger, Bruce didn’t know.
“No you didn’t,” Jason answered in Bruce’s stead. His face is now a blotchy red. “Because while you were playing house with Tim and Damian, I was left dealing with the fucking consequences! But isn’t that how it always goes? You get sad for a month or so but then you just move on while I’m left ruined!”
“Jay -” Bruce said. Unconsciously he tried to take a step closer.
Immediately, Jason took a step back. “I said don’t come any closer!” The intensity of the tremors raking through his body rapidly increased.
Jason wordlessly glared at Bruce like he was the most despicable rogue he ever came across. Bruce didn’t dare move or speak. Then his gaze, his entire body, drops, all of the fight swiftly sucked out of him.
“I love you, Dad,” Jason confessed in a whisper so soft that Bruce could barely hear it. “Despite all of the bullshit we’ve been through, I still love you for some fucking reason, but loving you hurts. Your love hurts. Maybe the whole ‘train a bunch of criminals’ scheme wasn’t the best idea, but I -“ Jason’s voice cracked a little, and he tried to hide it behind a cough. “I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”
“You didn’t,” Bruce lamely agreed.
Jason carried on like he didn’t hear him. “You left me alone, Bruce. Alone and too scared to even move. And you just wanted me to do what? Live a normal fucking life like that?”
Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that. At the time it made so much sense. Ever since he found him on the streets, the main thing Bruce wanted for Jason was for him to be able to live a safe and happy life. That’s what he wanted for all of his children, but when it came to Jason all Bruce seemed to be able to do was give in to his crueler side.
Luckily, Jason wasn’t waiting for an answer. “And I can’t keep doing this fucking back and forth where I'm pulled back in only to get pushed away.” Jason lifted his head and made direct eye contact with Bruce again, the dullness making way for a faint spark of determination. “I wanted to tell you this right to your face: I never want to see you again,” he declared. “Now leave.”
Bruce considered staying, fighting for Jason like he should’ve done countless of other times before, but in the end, he could only nod and turn back from which he came. Bruce stopped right at the door with his hand around the doorknob. “For what it’s worth, I love you too, son,” he said.
Jason didn’t say anything for so long that Bruce was worried that he already retreated further into the penthouse, but finally, he heard Jason reply, “I know, but that just isn't enough anymore.”
Bruce twisted the doorknob and walked out of the penthouse. The door slammed close behind him and just like that, Bruce lost his son all over again. This time he couldn’t blame it on Joker or the League of Assassins or an insane alter ego he crafted. He could only blame himself. Only him. Bruce did it. And there was no ancient pit of goo or alien technology that could bring Jason back to him.