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"Jason." Mute surprise and perhaps fondness.
"..Bruce." Almost reluctance.
Bruce strained a smile, looking back down at the batarangs he was sharpening. Every month or so, when he had the time, he liked to come down to the cave and do maintenance or weapons. He never got around to finishing them all, but he's gotten very close.
"..Have you seen my spare grappling hook?" Jason shimmied a bit closer to the workbench, glancing at at tools and the dirty whetstone.
"Hn." Bruce grunted, nodding his head over in a direction. "I fixed up the hooks and replaced the rope."
Jason's eyebrows rose for a moment. "Forreal? What about my smoke bombs?"
"Should be refilled by the shelves."
"Huh. Cool."
The moment stretched on, the scrapping noise of metal against stone becoming repetitive the longer they stayed silent.
"It's-uh, a birthday is coming up soon right?"
Bruce hummed, half-listening. "Dick's isn't for another while. March 20." He sat up for a moment. "Unless you mean Tim in July."
"What? No, I meant yours."
Bruce turned around, seeming surprised. "Ah."
"Yeesh, you're older than I thought." Jason wouldn't admit that he found it concerning that Bruce, the man who seems to always usually be on top of things and acted like the smartest in the room, forgot his own birthday.
"Do you..still like Earl Grey? Just- y'know, askin'. It's been a while, 'is all."
"I suppose I enjoy a cuppa every now and then. It's been a while."
Jason scrunched his nose. "'Cuppa'? God, you're so British."
Bruce huffed a laugh and got back to work. Jason,knowing the conversation was now over, strolled over to the back shelves for his gear before leaving.
February arrived surprisingly fast, the 19th just being a few hours away. It seemed everyone but Bruce was aware of how large of a day this was.
Perhaps Bruce didn't truly care, but he was turning 40 this year, and while that isn't incredibly old, it's impressive in their line of work.
Jason frequented the kitchen, usually early in the day when everyone was asleep or gone to work. Alfred was alone whenever the sun was high in the sky. Jason had planned this out before hand.
He would make a subtle Earl Grey cake. It would be small, enough for Bruce and Alfred to share on their own private time while someone inevitably bought a cake to go wild on.
Everything went well. By the end of the night, the store cake was decimated like he predicted and the Earl Grey had two evenly-sized slices taken out of it.
He made his way to the stairs, passing by Steph and Damian huddled together on the couch snoring.
When he got upstairs, he wandered through the halls, drawn to quiet murmurs coming from further down.
He knocked quietly, and the chatting stopped. The door slowly opened, revealing a father and son
"Oh, Jason, come in. We were just enjoying some cake you baked—"
"No clue what you mean, old man." Jason interrupted, shrugging. "Whoever made that cake must've been real talented though."
"Yes, though I would've preferred if we ate it downstairs. In the kitchen." Alfred raised an eyebrow, his cake relatively untouched except for a small bite.
"Oh nonsense, Alfred. Try to let loose a little every once a while." Bruce huffed, guiding Jason into the room, seating him in the reading chair.
"I'll be downstairs cleaning up after your children, Master Bruce."
Alfred got up, taking his piece of cake with him. He laid a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder.
"Happy birthday, my boy." Then he sauntered out.
Bruce, now a bit teary-eyed, sat in his seat with a quiet groan. Jason furrowed his brows at the noise.
"Patrol injury?" He questioned, feeling a bit restless, fidgeting with the threads of his sleeves.
"Hm?"
"Your breathing." He pointed out. "It's kinda off. Somethin' happen on patrol?"
Bruce stayed quiet for a while, the kind of quiet where he was thinking of the best response. "Something like that. It was years ago now, just.. flares occasionally."
"Ah." Jason wasn't sure how to respond to that. He could ask what happened, but it didn't really seem like a great subject for a day like this. "You, uh, need meds to help?"
"Hn. Yes, though I've been running low as of late." Bruce grunted, adjusting his seating position as he reached for an extra pillow. "You have questions. You can ask."
"What happened?"
"Bane." Bruce hummed, using a fork to poke at the mostly eaten cake. "Cracked me over his knee like spaghetti."
Jason frowned. "You aren't supposed to crack spaghetti."
"You aren't supposed to crack people's backs in half either, but not everyone adheres to such rules."
Jason hummed, something adjacent to 'fair enough' and settled further back. "When did this..happen?"
The room went silent. Jason glanced up when Bruce said nothing. The slightly clenched jaw told him everything he needed to know.
"I was dead, wasn't I." Bruce still didn't answer. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"When were we supposed to?" Bruce sighed, eating the cake that now was likely oddly warm.
"Just.. whatever. Should I just look for you pills then?"
"If you'd like." Bruce muttered. Jason sighed and got up, going to the master bathroom. He rummaged through the drawers until he found an almost empty bottle. He placed it on Bruce's desk before leaving quietly.
"Jason!" Bruce hollered, but to Jason's ears, everything was muffled as if underwater. He was frozen in place, the barrel of Joker's comically long gun was pointed right at his chest. "Jason, get down—"
Jason still hadn't listened. A body similar in size to his own crashed into his side, the bang of a pistol went off, metal colliding with Kevlar followed by a slight wheeze as the two of them crashed down to the uneven, concrete ground.
That got Jason to snap back to reality. The only person here to tackle Jason was Batman—Bruce, now hunched on the ground—who he is growing certain just took a bullet for him.
The rainy seemed to grow still, the water only washing away what blood dripped from Bruce's abdomen. Jason scrambled into a sitting position, his heart pounding in his head.
"Bruce?" His own voice sounded quiet compared to the hard rain hitting his helmet like rubber bullets. "Bruce!" He pushed himself to get up, to get to Bruce in some way or another.
He could hear the Joker cackling behind then, the laugh getting and loud in his mind despite the fact that the villain was certainly fleeing with all of his wounds.
Frantically, he searched for the bullet hole, doing his best to search for an exit wound and finding none. "Bruce? C'mon, old man, talk to me." He muttered, growing increasingly nervous. Jason put pressure on the wound. Bruce groaned, trying to sit up.
"Jas..on." The Bat breathed, gauntlet-covered hand on top of Jason's now. "You're panicking."
"I ain't panicking!" Jason immediately retorted childishly, annoyed that Bruce wasn't also stressed. "You're panicking. Just—Do you have the keys?"
Bruce grunted, but it was more of a wheeze. "Left most utility pouch." Jason nodded stiffly, reaching around Bruce to fiddle with the keys.
He reached for the side of his helmet. "Babs, I'm gonna need you to get us every green light possible." Here was some static, and Jason swore under his breath. Must've been from when he crashed against the wall earlier.
"Code names, Hood." A feminine voice on the other end lightly scolded, and Jason could almost cry with relief that his comms weren't broken. "Code names, my ass." He pressed the car keys, knowing the Batmobile would be zipping it's way over any minute.
"What happened? My cameras aren't working in your area." He could hear rapid typing from her end.
"Fuckin' Joker happened." He heaved Bruce up, the man hissing at almost every move.
"Call Agent A, prep med-bay and poison antidote."
"Poison?! Why didn't ya say anything until now?" The low blue headlights of the Batmobile raced towards them, turning and shrieking to a halt right in front of their persons.
"Already called Alfred." Barbara supplied, her chair rolling somewhere in her room if the sound of wheels meant anything. "We have an antidote but.. it's an older one, might not be that effective. How's our guy looking?"
"Pale as shit." Jason huffed, swinging the car door open and shoving Bruce inside. Well, not shoving exactly. He got in the front seat, ignoring the way his hands shook as he set the vehicle to auto-drive.
He clambered into the back seat, feeling too useless up in the front. "Alright, let's just.." He tugged the cowl off.
Bruce was.. disheveled. He had sweat beading on his forehead and his cowl hair didn't really help his appearance. His breathing was slow, like he was doing his best to not breath too hard or something.
Jason checked the utility belt again, looking, searching for anything that could slow the spread of poison, only to come up empty handed. He turned back to the dashboard.
"T-minus seven minutes, O. Think he's getting worse."
"'m sorry, son." Bruce muttered, face twisted and words airy in a way Jason didn't like one bit. "Need to.. rest my eyes."
"Oi! No, no, no, stay awake, B!"
Jason had been right, Bruce was getting worse. Worse enough that Alfred put him on bed rest.
He, of course, wanted to call the man an idiot to his face, but considering that Bruce was currently sleeping, it wouldn't have been as satisfying.
It took several hours of waiting, pacing, waiting, staring at the ceiling, waiting before he heard even the smallest inkling that Bruce woke up. And he heard it from Tim of all people. From a voicemail Tim sent days ago because he was too busy out Red Hood'ing.
"Uh, hey Jason. B woke up… if you care. He asked about you. Just- call me when you hear this? He's kinda freaking out about almost dying in front of you of something." Tim rambled. Jason listened in the still quiet of his apartment before abruptly getting up and grabbing his coat.
He kept the phone to his ear as he straddled the motorcycle. "It's not like this is the first he's almost died honestly, I don't know why he's so concerned but whatever." He raced up the streets of Gotham, zipping between cars, not caring as they honked and drivers yelled.
"Uhm, not sure what else to say." He was only a few minutes away if he took this shortcut. "Alfred misses you, I think? He's kinda.. y'know, so I don't really have him figured out but…" He needs to replace some parts, this isn't fast enough.
His bike came to a screeching halt inside the BatCave. "Yeah, just uh. I guess call when you hear this?" Beep. He shut is phone off.
Bruce wasn't in the med-bay anymore, if the lack of a human-sized lump on the bed. That means he was fine enough to go upstairs, by himself or with help, and no one said anything to him
(Lie. He was too afraid to check his phone.)
First thought was to look upstairs, because if Bruce isn't in the BatCave, he's in his office.
The stairs didn't creak, even under his weight, as he practically sprinted up the stairs. He exited from behind the grandfather clock, about to head upstairs once more when he noticed something. Someone was in the kitchen.
It wasn't Alfred, Alfred would've scolded him for having his shoes on the polished floor. It wasn't Tim either, this person was far too large. So the answer became painfully obvious.
Jason snuck into the kitchen. Of course, he wasn't spotted. He was trained by the best of the best after all—
"Jason?"
He whirled around, froze. "Bruce."
"I didn't realize you were coming over tonight. Are you alright—"
"How long ago did you get out of bed?"
Bruce blinked at him slowly. "Bed? Maybe 6 hours ago?"
"No, no, no," Jason shook his head aggressively. "Out of med-bay bed."
"Oh." Bruce paused to think, taking a sip of his stupid kale smoothie. "Three days ago? I'm not too sure."
"Three days?!—Y'know what. I'm just gonna ask: How many people know you're.. fine now?"
"Other than Alfred and Tim?"
"Other than Alfred and Tim."
"I'm not sure." Bruce looked pained to admit such a thing. "I didn't really think it mattered, plus, Tim surely told people."
Jason just stared, mouth agape in disbelief. "Wha—Didn't think it mattered?! Bruce, you idiot, what is wrong with you?"
He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, taking it out. It was a message from Barbara.
'Hey is B up? Haven't heard anything yet'
He could've easily texted back, but decided to call instead.
"Jason?" She sounded surprised. "What's up? I literally just texted you—"
"If Bruce got hurt, would you be worried about when he got better?"
"…Of course I would! Wait- Don't tell me he's been alright this whole time and told no one."
"Hit the nail on the head, Babs."
"What?! That motherfuck—I gotta go yell at him."
"Be my guest, he's right here."
The call went still for a single moment. "Put. Him. On."
Jason knew a threat when he heard one, quickly handing the cell to Bruce.
"..Barbara."
"Bruce are you outta your mind?!" Babs screeched in his ear, causing Bruce to wince.
Jason can easily admit Barbara was his favorite, and listening to her scold Bruce for minutes on end was the best thing ever.
By the end, Barbara was heavily breathing on the other end of the phone, and Bruce looked thoroughly scolded. "I am.. sorry. For not telling anyone I was alright."
"Fuck you, I'll talk to you later. Dad expects you tomorrow by the way." The line went dead.
"You seeing the commish?" Great, Jason always focused in the best things.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. He invites me over for dinner and cries about his ex-wife."
"How.. fun."
"Hm."
Jason would never admit it, but he does worry for his family. He notices small habits that they have, forgets about it, then late at night when he tries to sleep, the thought spins around in his mind like a microwave plate.
Last week, Timbit's habit of falling asleep in random places was his point of interest. Really, that boy could probably fall asleep in a cardboard box if he found it comfortable enough.
This week's target was different. Usually it was just a small habit, or something really obvious that Jason would fixate on, but Bruce was.. odd.
In the months leading up to April, he's noticed Bruce seeming to always have an empty glass by him. Be it his desk, at the manor's personal bar, or by the pool on rare days off.
It started small, 1 glass per day, usually a quarter or half full. But as the weeks went by, the number of glasses in the house seemed to increase. It wasn't until the second of April that he spoke up about this.
"Old man." He stood in front of the man in question, his somewhat old 'Don't yell at me, I'll shoot you' shirt wrinkly. In his defense, he woke up at around 4 am and didn't bother getting up until now.
"Yes, Jaybird?" Bruce looked down at his iPad, scrolling through some tabloid or another for a laugh. To his right was a small table, a table with an old-fashioned whiskey glass, half empty. He had glasses on his face, the kind that granddads would wear only to lower when trying to use their phones.
When Jason said nothing, Bruce finally looked up. "Is something wrong?"
"No, no, nothin's..wrong." Jason muttered, gaze snapping from the glass to Bruce's tablet. "Was just—bored, I don't know. Whatcha doin'?"
"Just reading." Bruce scrolled to one of the many articles released that week. Jason leaned over, staring down at the lit screen. He cocked his head at the title.
"'Billionaire Bruce Wayne admits to drunken night out with Oliver Queen'? I thought you came out already though."
"Yes, well, reporters didn't seem to connect the dots." Bruce huffed, letting Jason hold the iPad while he reached and took a sip of his whiskey. Jason thinks it was whiskey at least, he isn't an alcohol expert honestly, not yet.
"Hey Bruce?"
"Hm?"
"Why.." He stopped, unsure how to word this. "Have you always—drank? I don't..I don't remember you doing that."
Bruce froze, almost losing his grip on the cup, but he steeled himself together just before it slipped. "I—No. I suppose not.."
"Lemme guess," Jason sighed, sitting on the armrest, putting the tablet back on Bruce's lap. "It was after I died, huh?"
Bruce's silence again told him all he needed to know. "Jesus, man, seems my death really messed y'all up." He murmured, letting himself slip off the armrest and into the seat, squished next to Bruce. "At least it ain't beer."
"I'm.. I'm sorry, son." Bruce pressed his lips into a line, moving over to allow Jason to sit more comfortably.
"'s whatever." Jason hummed, practically curled up by Bruce's solid side. "I know just askin' ya won't change shit."
"No." Bruce combated with such conviction that Jason almost backed up a little.
"..No?"
"No." His father repeated, determination shining in his eyes. "Ask me."
Jason felt his mouth go dry. He could ask, that was the easy part. The hard part was if Bruce declined, or if Bruce said 'yes' only to go back on his word.
"Will you, could you stop drinking?"
Bruce's headstrong expression softened, and he nodded, his hand just carding through Jason's hair. "I will, Jaylad, I will."
Jason and Tim, weirdly enough, spent their day bonding and playing random games on Tim's pc. It ranged from FPS or TPS to some random monster romancing game.
They decided on Stardew Valley, some farming game Tim bought on a whim and randomly got obsessed with. Seriously, the kid already had hundreds of hours and practically was on the wiki site religiously. The family already had to sit through a presentation on why 'Pierre suck ass and I should be able to marry Caroline'—an opinion he swears is common in the fandom.
Jason was bored that day. Bored enough to barge into TimTam's room and ask if they could play Stardew together. It was fun, mostly. The fishing mini game was a bitch and a half if you asked him, and Timminator kept glancing at him—waiting for the other shoe to drop.
They played long enough, and with Tim basically speed-running the game to complete the community center in year one and get married, he got married to Haley. Jason raised a brow at the decision early in the game, but eventually thought it made sense.
"I wonder if Bruce'll try to get married again.." Tim muttered in what he assumed was a side comment, but Jason caught it, and was confused.
"Married? Bruce got married?" He paused his game, forgetting that pausing does nothing in co-op.
"Nah, almost though. You were alive at the time.. Not sure where you were though." Tim kept playing like this wasn't some world-shattering news, which, in hindsight, it wasn't. But still.
"Who'd he almost marry?!"
"Selina."
"Selina?!" He paused. "Never mind, that makes a lot of sense..Why didn't they marry?"
Tim shrugged. "Selina left him at the altar. He hasn't proposed again, not sure he ever will."
"Damn." He muttered under his breath. "Dude, I'd say that sucks but having Catwoman as my step-mom seems weird at this point.. How awkward."
"Awkward why? Because you saw her this week?"
"—Because I saw her this week- Wait." He narrowed his eyes at Tim. "Quit stalking me you weirdo!"
"If it helps, you seemed to have fun playing with Julio?" Tim shrugged, unashamed about his weirdo stalking behavior.
"..You know them by name?"
Jason can admit he liked snooping sometimes. Well‐ It's not snooping if he's given permission by the person in question.
Bruce asked him to grab his phone from his room—shocking considering the man held everything vulnerable to his chest, but he's definitely been trying lately.
He swears up and down he looked all over the room, practically turning the place inside out before finding something. It wasn't the phone, instead it was a black, velvet box.
Curious, Jason picked up the box and opened it. He breath stopped at the sight of a ring. It wasn't extremely gaudy and 'expensive-looking' like most socialites. Instead, it was a ruby-colored gem on a pinkish gold band.
He had questions for Bruce, most certainly. But he knew better than to bring up love now broken. Putting the box back down, he shuffled out of the room, heading downstairs to confess he couldn't find the phone.
+1.
It had been a while since Jason and Bruce spoke, one on one at least. They spoke a little at family dinners, whenever Jason decided to go at least. But they haven't talked much about the past.
Until late April, at least. April 26th to be exact. It was the eve of an unfortunate day, the Joker's celebratory victory even years after the incident.
It wasn't midnight yet, though Bruce had no plans to ready up for patrol, it was one of the few days he didn't go. Bruce spent his time in the library, holding a small book which was wedged between a thicker one and the shelf itself.
He had been here for several hours now, eyes gazing over the words while processing none of it. His mind tend to run a mile a minute, constantly thinking about everything and nothing at once, though the thoughts tended to err on the side of mildly depressing. He was knocked out of this pseudo-trance by the door creaking open.
He didn't look up from the book as whoever welcomed themselves in was stood right in front of him.
He stared at the still torso, aware of the person's breathing and their chest rising and falling slowly. Bruce glanced up. Jason.
"Jason."
"Bruce."
It was silent for a moment before the two men relaxed slightly.
"B." He hesitated.
"Jaylad.." Hopeful.
"Is that—" The boy man paused, pursing his lips, now flat in a tight line. "Do you.. know what that is?"
Bruce stayed quiet. No, he actually didn't. "I picked a random book from them shelf."
Jason seemed to resist the urge to fidget, to grab the book from his hands through force alone. "..Why."
Bruce didn't have an answer. He was simply drawn to the book and it's lack of a cover. It was papers bound with leather, the spine bent and rough. He closed it, handing it to Jason. He hadn't been reading it anyways.
Jason, cautious and perhaps nervous, swiped it quickly, holding it close to his chest. He anxiously flipped through the pages, looking up at Bruce before burying his nose in the book again.
Looking closer, Bruce realized it wasn't a novel. It wasn't a book written for the sake of entertainment. It was a journal, a diary of sorts. His first clue should've been the writing, and it would've been if he actually was reading.
"Did you—did you read any of it?"
"No, was I supposed to?"
Jason chewed on his lip, a habit he started after his revival and he didn't have a cigarette close by. He thumbed through the pages once more.
"I guess not? It's, uh, my journal." He took a breath. "From, from my time with them."
Ah. His time with the league. The horrible, horrible league. The same league who hid his sons away from him for years. If he didn't have some sort of lingering feelings for Talia, and a code against murder, he would've gone over and taken Ra's down himself.
"I'm.." What could he say to that? 'I'm sorry'? It wouldn't change the fact that those things happened, that his son likely went through the same vicious training he did and was probably treated much worse. "I wish you didn't have to go through that."
"Yeah well, shit happens." Jason settled next to Bruce on the chair, and it took everything in him to freeze up like a gargoyle.
"I can.. tell you about it?" Jason, his little boy—No, his actual size will never matter, he will be his little boy regardless—hesitated, like he thought Bruce would ever reject such a thing.
"Of course, Jaylad." He muttered, wrapping a cautious arm around his son, gently squeezing him against his side.
Jason leaned his head on Bruce's shoulder for the first time since he was a runt only a year or two off the streets. He had forgotten what it's like. What it's like to have a comforting father.
"After I woke up from the pit, I.. I was taken in by Talia." Jason fiddled with the pages, seeming to want to open it to one of the few pages in the beginning. "She trained me like the rest of them, I hated it."
"I lashed out, got into fights all the time, and the other assassins really didn't like me either. My trainer would lock me in a cage for days on end, in- in shackles like some medieval prisoner."
He gestured to his neck. Any injuries he had there were now healed, but the scarring remained—a ring around his throat.
"I couldn't count how many times I was punished on both hands." He sighed before cracking a tiny smile. "Unless each finger equals '5'."
"Oh Jay.."
"Shush, I ain't done." Jason narrowed his eyes at Bruce, and then the playfulness faded away.
"It was.. a lot. I know you always say you 'wish it was you' instead of me, but I don't—" He swallowed harshly. "I can't stomach the thought of that happening to you at all."
He then looked up, a strange conviction in his eyes, "So even after everything, I'm still glad it was me and not you."
"I'll be honest, son," Bruce started, processing everything. His son, his son with a bleeding heart of gold who thought of others before himself nine times out of ten, saying he wouldn't even want Bruce of all people going through the hell he experienced. "I'm sure my experience there wasn't much different—hell, it may have been worse, but it hurts more to hear your time there."
"Yeah well," Jason shrugged, leaning back enough to let the chair engulf him, at least the amount of cushion still available. "Ion care. I got to meet Damian as a baby at least."
Bruce couldn't help but smile at that statement. "Hm, you're right. What was he like?"
"Like a fat potato." Jason said with the seriousness of a 15 year old despite clearly not being 15 anymore, a cheeky smile on his scarred face. "Cute, but still a fat potato."
Bruce snorted, head leaned back to laugh in a way he hadn't in a few months. He rocked Jason next to him, knocking their shoulders against each other.
That day was one of his favorites. He saw Jason's wide, child-like grin again.