Chapter Text
See, it’s the constant ringing in the background that wakes Bruce up. It’s not the broad daylight hitting his eyes, or the uncomfortable crick in his neck for choosing to fall asleep in the chair in his office instead of his own bed. It’s not even the fact Bruce fell asleep in his office to begin with that wakes him up.
No, it’s the song. The stupidest and most obnoxious song one can imagine playing. I would walk five hundred miles, the phone screams at maximum volume, as the strumming of guitar playing strongly behind it. And I would walk five hundred more!
He opens his eyes, letting out a tired and defeated groan. Much to his horror, the song continues to play. And plays. It seems like Jason managed to crack his phone’s password. Again.
Damn it.
Now, deep down, Bruce should have known there was something up with his son. Jason’s most recent behavior, like yesterday for example, had been too good to be true. Everyone knew that his youngest son was a fan of playing jokes. Of course Bruce wasn’t the exception. He had lost count of the number of times he or Dick had fallen for one of Jason’s pranks.
For a single second, Bruce imagines ignoring it out of spite. He doesn’t know what time it is, but surely it must be early. The second time The Proclaimers start to sing, his mind decides, alright that’s it. He opens his eyes and starts to look for the offending object.
Once his eyes adjust to the brightness of the light engulfing his study, he locates his phone soon enough. Stacked under a disarray of papers— the same papers that Lucius Fox wanted to be signed this week. No, actually, scratch that. Those were papers Bruce had to sign or Lucius would probably have his head on a plate— was his cellphone.
Dragging a palm over his head, Bruce snatches the phone from the pile of work and taps the screen. Unknown number, it says and for a second, Bruce silently debates putting his phone on mute and continuing his nap. It’s a tough choice to resist. If his math is correct, it’s been no more than three hours since he got back from patrol. Add six hours of unrelenting street roaming and crime fighting, and you have the perfect recipe for post-shift exhaustion.
His knuckles are still sore from stopping a thief that wanted to rob a bank, a few hours ago. And he is eighty percent sure he has a cracked rib somewhere. Surely the call can wait a couple hours, to when Bruce is more alert.
Then again, it’s not like he gets calls often. Only a select number of people have his number in the first place. Most of the time it’s work related problems that usually involve paying a visit to work. Or it could be Jason’s school.
With that in mind, Bruce presses the phone against his ear and answers it. If it’s not important, at least it will stop the stupid, forsaken song from playing.
“Bruce speaking.”
Who knows, maybe it’s nothing serious. Maybe it’s one of those phone companies trying to sell them their latest offer. Or the wrong number. The other half of him can’t stop from thinking of catastrophic scenarios.
And then he waits for the other person on the line to answer. Over the hushed voices, he hears a voice say cautiously, “Is this Bruce Wayne?”
“Yes,” he says in a clipped tone. No time to play introductions. It was time to get to business. “Who’s asking?”
“I’m Martha. We’re calling you from Gotham Academy,” the phone almost slips through his fingers as the words take him by surprise. Any residual tiredness evaporates into thin air as his brain processes the information. Gotham Academy.
That’s Jason’s school.
In an instant, his mouth goes dry as his mind, on the other hand, starts conjuring the worst case scenarios that could prompt a call like this; an accident. Or maybe it was a fight. That makes his heart skip a beat because that’s simply not possible.
Jason had been doing so well these last months. He is finally settling in at school. He’s even made a couple of friends, whom he’d invited over to their house last week to play videogames.
What happened?
“There's a student who gave us your number as his emergency contact,” the female voice continues speaking. The worst part? She sounds worried, which does absolutely nothing to soothe his anxious mind. Nothing good can come out from a call like this.
“There was an accident during recess and…” His breath catches in his throat. Bruce feels as if he’s turned to stone. An accident. An accident. He inhales sharply, his mind going at a thousand miles an hour.
“It would be better if you came here for us to explain.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he replies, nearly tripping on his way out of his office. Without waiting any further, Bruce ends the call and bolts. It doesn’t matter that he looks like he just woke up. That is something he can fix later.
As of right now, all that matters is getting his hands on the steering wheel and driving as fast as he can to Jason’s school.
So focused, in his quest to find the car keys he forgets one key detail.
He was never told the student's name.