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For someone entirely used to the unexpected, one would think Jason Todd would not react the way that he does. Full body stopping halfway through the entry into Bruce’s study, eyes blinking, blinking, blinking. As if to wipe away the image in front of him. As if to take it and shape it into something sensical.
Bruce is humming what sounds a lot like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Rocking from side to side, bouncing his upper body slightly. He has his back turned away from the door, arms wrapped protectively around a small bundle. And just over the top of his left shoulder, the tiniest head covered in soft dark curls.
A baby. Bruce Wayne is holding a baby.
“What the f—” Jason begins, but is quickly cut off by Bruce’s frantic shushing.
“She’s sleeping,” Bruce whispers, turning around. Her little baby body is wrapped in a light purple blanket, held closely to the man’s broad chest.
“Why is she here?” Jason whispers back.
“Found her on patrol last night. Parents are gone. I’m a registered foster parent.”
“And you hacked the system,” Jason finishes for him. There’s no way Bruce just happened to be the first foster parent they called up.
“She feels safe with me,” Bruce explains.
“She’s an infant.”
“Infants are more intelligent than we often assume.”
Jason crosses his arms over his chest, takes a couple steps closer. The baby shifts in Bruce’s arms, and both men go still, worried they have woken her. But she simply turns her face from being smushed against Bruce’s shoulder to lying sideways against it. Facing Jason. Tiny cheek squished, forehead wrinkling.
Jason’s heart tumbles from his chest and lands on the floor, a child’s ice cream cone going splat! on the pavement. He stares, wide-eyed, almost reverent.
“Her name is June,” Bruce says, and the moment is broken by the soft smirk on his face. Like he knew Jason would crack the moment he got a proper look at her.
Clearing his throat, Jason asks, “Any surviving family?”
“A grandmother in assisted living. Dementia. And an aunt with a criminal record a mile long.”
“Alone, then.” Jason cannot help it; he reaches out and runs a finger across feather-soft hair. Nothing so small should be left so helpless. Barely entered into the world, and already she has been uprooted. He wonders if the body remembers a thing like that, when the baby grows up. If the mind forgets what it was like to be left behind, whether intentional or not, does the abandonment still live inside you? Does it linger like an invisible disease?
He wonders if her eyes are blue, if Bruce has done it again, somehow.
“Would you like to hold her?” Bruce asks softly.
If Jason’s heart has already landed on the floor, he is slipping on it now. Crashing to the ground. Looking at his hands, used to break and tear, asking if they can be safe enough to hold. To hold something so perfect and pure.
But then again, there is Bruce. With calloused palms and knuckles healed a thousand times over. He is not one you would expect to express such gentleness. He is doing it anyway.
“Yes,” Jason says. Extends his arms. Accepts the carefully held out bundle and brings her close to his chest. She whines in her sleep, rubs her head against the fabric of his t-shirt. Yawns. Her face crinkles together in a cascade of movements, mouth opening, nose scrunching, cheeks lifting, forehead wrinkling. It is the most perfect thing Jason has ever witnessed.
Jason’s gaze snaps up to Bruce. “You can’t adopt her. You know the rules.” Rules put in place by the plethora of other children he has already adopted. No more kids until you learn to take proper care of the ones you have. That had been over a year ago. Bruce still has a great deal of learning to do.
“What was I supposed to do? Leave her there? Send her into the system?”
A fierce protectiveness sparks in Jason at the thought. No, none of that would have been the right thing to do. He switches tactics, although he can’t exactly name what it is he is trying to accomplish. Asks, “How old is she?”
“Three months.”
Jason hums in thought, looking back down at June. She is too fragile to be left in this giant house, full of ghosts, with only Bruce to care for her. He looks back up. “I’m moving back into the manor for as long as she’s in your care.”
Bruce’s jaw twitches, he blinks slowly. He certainly wasn’t expecting that.
“You’re not around enough, and Alfie isn’t a babysitter. Besides, we can’t risk you growing too attached.”
A heavy silence. Then, Bruce grunts in agreement. And that settles that.
*****
Uncomfortable as he feels with passing June back to Bruce, he cannot stay here without going home and packing a bag first. Not that Jason has a home, exactly. He has safehouses scattered across Gotham, around the world, but no permanent residence. One safehouse has been in use more than many of the others, however, and that is the one he goes to now.
He stuffs casual clothes and basic necessities into one bag, his Red Hood gear into another. Bruce said June would be in his care for a minimum of two weeks, with a high possibility for longer. He double-checks he has his “work” laptop and anything else he might need to maintain his work in the Alley while staying with June as much as possible. She needs him.
It’s an unexplainable thought, this deep certainly that he cannot abandon June. As if he has known her for more than a few short hours. As if he has some sort of responsibility to her outside the responsibility of any decent citizen.
And that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s his duty as a decent human being to ensure babies are safe, and June is a baby. A very cute one, taken in by a man that is technically safe, but also in many ways a massive dumpster fire of a human. She needs someone to watch out for her, and Jason just so happens to be in the position to do so. That’s all there is to it. And the fact that his heart temporarily escaped from his chest cavity has absolutely nothing to do with the matter.
Right. Good. He’s got that sorted, and he’s got what he needs, so he can pack up his car and head back. He would prefer to take his bike, but there’s no way he can safely transport both himself and his bags on a motorcycle. Besides, it occurs to him, babies can’t ride on motorcycles. What if he needs to bring her somewhere? He’ll have to buy a car seat.
The sun has fully set by the time Jason pulls back up the long drive to Wayne Manor. A soft drizzle of rain dampens his clothes and hair. Inside, a mountain of half-opened boxes fills the hallway, leading into the sitting room. There, he finds Bruce sitting on the floor, surrounded by baby things. Onesies, diapers, wipes, bottles, toys. A car seat, halfway out of the box. To his left, June sways gently in a little pastel pink bassinet swing, a pacifier in her mouth.
Jason sets his bags on the floor, carefully stepping through the mess of June’s new things, and makes his way over to the girl. He crouches down next to her, runs a finger along her cheek. Her eyes, unsurprisingly, are just as blue as he imagined. Blue like sunlight reflecting off of the ocean. Because of course they are.
“Hey, darlin’. B been nice to ya’?”
“I’m always nice to children,” Bruce says.
Jason stills, cuts his eyes over to the older man. “You know better than to start an argument in front of a baby.”
The muscle in Bruce’s jaw twitches. His hands hover in the air, a tiny white onesie suspended between them. He clears his throat. “I haven’t had a chance to put her bed together.”
Jason takes the cue and gets to work.
*****
As someone who rarely sleeps until he has extended himself to the fullest capacity, muscles aching and eyes straining and brain shutting down, Jason takes easily to caring for a tiny insomniac. Bruce is still Batman, after all, as Jason knew he would be, and so it is just him and June. Swaying in the moonlight peering in through cracked open curtains.
Ear-splitting wails have settled into soft, occasional whines at the sway, sway, sway of Jason’s body. One hand supporting under her bum, the other patting her rhythmically on the back. He wonders if his mother ever held him like this. Wonders if she felt like he does now, like he’s holding the entire universe in his arms, terrified he’s going to break it.
She must be so confused, he thinks. This tiny human, who has lost her safe place. Held in a strange man’s arms. A bird with no nest.
It is no wonder she is so fussy. When Jason was abandoned, he took to chopping off heads.
“You cry all you want, baby girl,” Jason whispers into soft hair. “You make the world pay for what it’s done.”
He holds her long after she has fallen asleep.
*****
“What an odd creature,” Damian says, looking at June as if she is some sort of alien. It’s kind of hilarious, coming from a boy who has just spent the past several days of his spring break with his best friend, a half Kryptonian.
It’s the first time Damian has been home since June’s sudden arrival. Also the first day Jason has been able to convince Bruce to go to work, that he can take care of June just fine, that it’s best the old man doesn’t get too attached anyway. Alfred is somewhere around here, doing Alfred things, leaving Jason and June to make their way through the morning in peace. That is, until Damian made it back home.
“She’s a baby, not a creature,” Jason corrects, testing the temperature of her bottle against the inside of his wrist. Just right. He walks over to where she’s lying in her little bassinet, sucking on a pacifier, Damian crouching in front of her. “You wanna feed her?”
Damian looks up with widened eyes. Fear quickly resolves into determination, his jaw setting in a way that is frighteningly similar to Bruce. “I have fed kittens before. And calves. It cannot be too different.”
Jason has to bite back a smile. He reaches in and scoops June up, instructing Damian on how to support her before depositing her into the younger boy’s arms. Damian’s shoulders scrunch up, betraying his discomfort.
“Babies can sense fear,” Jason says, then cracks up at the look on Damian’s face. “Relax. She’ll stay calm if you’re calm.” It’s not entirely true, but it does cause the boy to take a deep breath, widen his stance, and settle in. Good. Now the pacifier can be gently taken away and replaced by the bottle, and they’re all set.
Jason takes a step back, takes them in. Damian looking down, hesitant but softening. June looking back, trusting the boy she has only just met, allowing him to keep her alive. This boy has hurt people, too. Was raised in hell and then shipped off to Gotham, a sort of hell all its own. The same hands used to hurt, also used to nurse kittens back to health, to stroke Titus’s fur, to hold a bottle to a baby’s lips.
Maybe they are not so far gone. Maybe they could all find their way back.
He snaps a quick picture with his phone and sends it to Dick.
*****
They settle into a routine. Late in the mornings, when Bruce has woken and Jason has finally fallen asleep, Bruce comes in and scoops June into his arms. He changes her diaper and feeds her. Bounces her lightly on his lap while eating his breakfast. And by the time he has nearly finished his second cup of coffee, like clockwork, Jason is dropping into the seat at the corner of the table. He reaches out his arms. June reaches back.
From there, it is Jason and June time. Bruce goes off to work, whether driving to the office, working from his home office, or heading down to the cave. Jason starts June’s education early.
He starts with Dr. Seuss. Moves onto Winnie the Pooh. Holds her on his lap and tells her the plot of Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice and Romeo and Juliet, albeit a softened version.
When the weather is nice enough, he takes her outside and shows her around. Says, “this is grass” and “those are trees” and “that is a worm” and “that is the sun, but don’t look right at it.”
A couple of times throughout each day, they plop down on the blanketed floor for tummy time. June glares as if she has been greatly wronged. Jason laughs and boops her nose.
At dinnertime, June is passed around the various occupants of the table. Damian is still a bit hesitant, but when Duke shows up and makes silly faces at June, causing her to laugh and laugh and laugh, the younger boy takes it as some sort of challenge.
“I can be funny,” he says, making a face at her. June scowls and returns her attention to Duke.
Barbara even shows up one night. She spends most of her time shooting knowing looks at Jason from across the table. He pretends not to notice, his attention on the little girl in his arms.
When Babs has decided it’s her turn to hold the baby, she rolls her chair around to the vacant spot next to Jason. Says jokingly, “Well, let’s see what all the fuss is about, then.”
June stares at her with wide eyes. Reaches out a hand to tangle in long, red hair. Babbles out a string of baby sounds.
“Is that so?” Babs asks. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”
The two continue their “conversation” for the next fifteen minutes before Babs turns back to Jason and declares, “She’s had quite the eventful week.”
“She really has,” Jason agrees. A full week in the manor. A full week without her parents.
“You know,” Barbara says, leaning closer to Jason, her voice low. “All you have to do is say the word and it’s done.”
Jason’s heart lurches forward, threatening to tumble out once more. This isn’t supposed to be an option. He isn’t supposed to consider anything beyond the here and now, doing what needs to be done for a child in need. It’s what anyone would do. And yet—what if?
He swallows down the lump in his throat. Bumps his shoulder against Barbara’s. Says, “I’ll think about it.”
*****
Scarecrow breaks out of Arkham, and the routine is thrown to hell. Bruce is on the streets into the early hours of the morning, down in the cave until daybreak, passing out on a cot downstairs before waking up and starting it all over again.
Jason says he isn’t surprised. He shoots angry words and angrier looks at the man in the brief moments when he comes to the surface. He holds June and whispers softly, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I promise I’m not like him.”
He does not let himself think about what he is saying. June is not his child. She can’t be.
She can’t be.
*****
Jason swats at the bug tickling his nose. It goes away. And then laughs. And pokes him in the cheek.
“Go away,” he mumbles. “We’re sleeping.” At least, June is, her soft breath coming in little puffs against the side of his neck.
“I wanna hold the baby.”
Cracking an eye open, Jason glares at his older brother. In return, Dick shoots him a blinding grin. “You drove from Bludhaven just to see a baby?”
“Correction,” Dick says, making grabby hands at June, “I drove from Bludhaven to hold a baby. Now hand her over.”
Jason, scowling deeply, places a hand protectively over her head. “She’s sleeping.”
“And she can sleep in my arms just the same as yours.”
“No.”
Dick sighs, drops his hands dramatically onto his hips. Dad Mode activated and he’s not even the one with a baby. “You’re impossible. Fine. Tell me this, then. When’s the last time you took a shower?”
Huh. Um. A couple days ago? Probably. Definitely before Scarecrow broke out, but that was three days ago now. The days since then all bleed together. Jason shrugs noncommittally.
“Uh-huh. I thought so. And where’d your shirt go?”
Jason looks down at his bare chest, looks back up at Dick. “She threw up.”
This morning had been the roughest one yet. June, inconsolable through most of the night, slept for all of two hours before waking up full of tears once more. Jason slept even less. Alfred was kind enough to prepare both a bottle and a cup of tea, to feed June while Jason stared blearily at the table, occasionally finding the strength to lift his cup and take a sip. And then the tears were back.
Jason remembers being a kid and wanting his mom more than anything else in the world. Remembers what it felt like to be small, and alone, and wishing with all your might that things could be different. And so it did not matter that he was so exhausted he could barely see straight. He took June from Alfred’s arms and began to sway.
Several unsuccessful hours later, it happened. A little burp, followed by a surging forward. And then they were both covered. Jason cursed under his breath, then apologized for cursing in front of a baby, then rushed to the bathroom to plop her into the sink. Glossy blue eyes stared up at him, bottom lip wobbling underneath the mess on her face.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”
A little while later, with June freshly washed and diapered, Jason’s soiled shirt long discarded, they made their way back to the living room. He didn’t have the energy to find new clothes, or to start the laundry, or to think about anything besides sitting down. He held June out, her bare feet dangling in the air.
“We need a nap.”
Finally, she seemed to agree.
He a little bit wants to throttle Dick for waking him up from his blessed slumber. At least June has managed to stay asleep.
“So you don’t know when you last showered, but you do know you were recently covered in baby puke.”
“That about sums it up, yeah.”
Something softens in Dick’s gaze. “Give me the baby, Jay. Go take a shower. You stink.”
Jason wants to argue. Wants to hold June close and protect her from the world. But this is Dick, after all. Annoying as hell, but one of the people he trusts most nonetheless. June will be safe with him.
It does feel nice, loathe as he is to admit it, to let the hot water run over his weary body. To rinse the grease from his hair. To put on clean clothes and take a few extra minutes to himself before heading back downstairs.
In the kitchen, June is Wonder Woman. The onesie is one of the cutest things Jason has ever seen, little cape on the back and all. In Dick’s arms, she flies. Around the kitchen island, over Alfred’s head, giggling her way over to smile gummily at Jason.
“I’m the cool Uncle,” Dick declares, then lifts her back up into the air, making whooshing noises as she ascends.
It isn’t until several hours later that Jason processes what those words imply.
*****
Stephanie sprains her ankle and claims that the only thing that can heal her is baby snuggles.
“Besides,” she explains to a befuddled Jason, “Junebug needs some girl time. Too many men around.”
Which is how he winds up back in Crime Alley, doing a much-needed patrol of his territory, while mostly thinking about June. And Bruce. And things better left not thought about.
Like how every parental figure in his life has managed to abandon him in some way, most of the time in ways that they could have controlled. Choices made. They were damaged people, yes, but so is he. He wants to scream it from the rooftops, scream it at their faces, at their ghosts, at their graves.
SO AM I!!!!!
He’s a walking corpse, heart full of gaping wounds, and he would give absolutely anything to keep that little girl safe.
So why couldn’t any of them have done the same for him?
He thinks about what Babs said the other day. A single sentence, pulling at the foundations of the carefully placed walls inside his head.
Say the word and it’s done.
He never saw the point in legally coming back to life. He was a crime lord, after all. Why would he need to do anything the legal way? No one cared that he was gone, no one would care that he was back.
Even after it was proven that some people did care, in their screwed-up ways, he didn’t see a reason to go to all that trouble. End up back in the spotlight as the long-lost Wanye? Not exactly his idea of a good time.
When it comes down to it, he just never found a good enough reason to exist.
He thinks of Bruce, who found him in Crime Alley, but did not take him straight in. He tried to use the system, and the system failed. Sometimes Jason wishes he had never stolen the tires off that damned car. Never met the Batman. Never let himself end up as Bruce Wayne’s son. But now there is June. The unknown of Gotham foster parents, endless possibilities of hurt, of being tossed from home to home, of being abused, of being neglected. And suddenly it makes a lot more sense what Bruce did.
He pauses on the edge of a rooftop, teetering on the precipice. He could climb down carefully, one foot after another on the fire escape, or he could jump. Shoot his grapple and trust the fall.
He has always chosen to trust the fall.
He pulls out his phone, types out a message and hits send.
Do it.
*****
Jason Todd comes back to life on a rainy Thursday morning. By the afternoon, the press have crowded outside the gates to Wayne Manor, eager for a glimpse of the risen boy. Inside, Damian flips seriously through a children’s book about animals, explaining each one to June in great detail. She’s propped up on Jason’s lap, his hand running soothingly through her hair. Whether the motion is to sooth him or her, he isn’t quite sure.
“If they don’t give up soon I’m threatening legal action,” Bruce says from where he has taken up watch at the window. He’s still in his suit from the press conference where the news was announced. Apparently his statement was not enough to appease the hungry vultures.
“Let their fancy cameras and crap get rained on,” Jason replies. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
Bruce lasts three more hours before calling up his lawyers.
Jason isn’t sure what to make of this blatant show of protection. He’s still pissed as all get out at Bruce for dropping everything to chase down Scarecrow. And yet, what else could he have expected? There is a rhythm to Gotham, a push and pull, a story that plays out again and again. The rogues run wild, and Batman follows. Cat and mouse. There is no other way.
There was no other way for him either, he realizes in the deep of the night, June nestled perfectly into the crook of his arm. When he set the scene with Batman and the Joker, he was unknowingly playing directly into the story. Three performers on a stage. The good guy always wins. It does not matter that the good guy is also a self-righteous asshole. It just doesn’t matter.
When everything is stripped down to the barest of bones, the reality is crushingly obvious. There is no rewriting history. There is no altering the path of time that insists on repeating itself.
Bruce, at his core, is a man who fights for good. He is a man who, at his very best, can be a caring and attentive father. He will scare the press away. He will take in an orphaned baby and hum until she falls asleep. And then Gotham will come calling, and he will leave.
It is always like this, and Jason finds his heart thumping wildly in his chest at the thought that he, too, is caught up in the same old story. The gangs rise up and he rises up to meet them. Tears them right back down. Another cog in the machine, repeating, repeating, repeating.
In this story, he is never meant to win. He does not receive happiness; he is not even offered peace. There is no other way.
He cannot subject June to this. This life of hope lifting, only to be shattered every time. This life where a man meant to protect her will always choose something bigger than her to protect instead. It would not be fair. It would be cruel.
There is trust in these fragile bones, this soft skin, hands barely big enough to wrap around his thumb. Trust in her arms reaching out for him every morning, relaxing into his embrace. He said he would not leave her. He will not be like the others, those who make promises they never intend to keep.
To accept your role in the story is to accept that this is all you will ever be. The victim. The villain. The outcast.
But what if you stop? What if you turn on your heel and march in the opposite direction? Straight out of the story. What then?
*****
“I need your help,” Jason says to Barbara, to Stephanie, to Dick, to Tim.
“I need your help,” he says to those he has worked with most closely to harness Gotham’s underbelly.
“I need your help,” he says to Roy, to Kori, to Artemis.
A new path is taking shape, but it is not one that he can forge on his own. He has had enough of living like that.
*****
Dick and Tim are present when Jason breaks the news. This is a calculated decision, with Stephanie upstairs on baby duty, keeping tiny ears far away from whatever the fallout may be. Three against one at the kitchen table.
Bruce presses his palms flat against the dark wood, body poised to stand, but remaining seated. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do,” Jason says, voice kept carefully neutral.
“It is one thing to raise a child here, with a support system. But you think you’re going to raise her on your own?”
“Not on my own,” Jason corrects. “But far away from here, yes.”
Bruce’s body is a barely contained storm. His eyes gleam with an anger that would have frightened a younger Jason; now, he is only tired. Bruce looks to Dick and Tim, searching for someone that will join his side, join in his fury. Their faces are impassive. A united front against the Batman, who is ultimately just a man. A fractured, incredibly fallible man.
Jason clicks his tongue, says, “You can still come to visit, Grandpa . We’re not moving to Mars.”
“You realize this isn’t some game, right? This is the rest of your life. It isn’t even just eighteen years. You sign those papers, you move away, that’s it. Her life is your life, forever.”
The words sting, breaking past the practiced calm, stirring up the urge to strike. “Is that what this is? You got yourself tied down and now you wanna keep me from making the same mistake?”
Bruce huffs, muscle in his temple pulsing. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“Sure as hell sounded like it,” Jason says with a scoff.
“That’s not—” Bruce takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “You are my son, Jason. I don’t want you rushing into life-altering decisions.”
“He isn’t rushing, B.” All eyes turn to Dick. His mouth is set in a determined line, shoulders back. He is treating this with the very same gravity he treats leading the Titans, or even the Justice League. The tension that has been building in Jason’s chest eases. He is not alone in this fight. “We’ve talked it all through. His plan is solid, his reasoning even more so. I think this will be good for him. For June, too.”
“I agree,” Tim chimes in. He does not elaborate, but it is enough. Some of the fight drains out of Bruce. He leans back into his chair.
Batman always wins, but Bruce Wayne does not.
*****
As the month of June breaks forth with a sweltering heat, Jason Todd officially becomes a father.
Stephanie and Cassandra throw a baby shower, with “It’s a girl!” plastered all over everything, despite June now being a full six months old. Steph says it's "for the bit". They eat cupcakes with pink frosting and force Jason to unwrap the mountain of gifts they have purchased for June. He rolls his eyes and grumbles and feels his heart swelling up with relief. The story is changing. He is choosing a different one.
After the presents, he finds Roy in the corner of the room. Goes to hold up the wall with him.
“Who woulda thought, huh?” Roy says. “We both got little girls now.”
Jason crosses his arms over his chest, thinking. “I didn’t realize. Back when you…I mean. It changes everything.”
“It does,” Roy agrees, watching Lian chase after Steph, their laughter filling up the room. “Makes everything brighter.”
Jason’s gaze drifts over to where Dick is holding June while he chats with Kori. June reaches forward, determined to catch Kori’s fiery locks in her little fist.
“You know, I would have made so much fun of you for saying that a few months ago.”
Roy laughs, the sound rumbling and full. “But it’s true, right?”
“Yeah. Sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
*****
The Red Hood is careful not to leave a power vacuum. He pulls out of the city slowly, methodically, making it extremely clear who is now in control. He cannot fix anything, but he can do his very best not to leave a gaping wound.
He takes a final look at the gleam of his helmet before releasing it to the archives of the Batcave. There is a sting of grief, but mostly there is a wondrous, soaring wave of freedom.
*****
“I’m telling you, Dickie, this is unforgivable,” Jason says, phone sandwiched between his ear and shoulder while he chops vegetables to be cooked down and pureed. “You’ve corrupted my child.”
Dick laughs, unrepentant. “She likes it!”
“That’s the problem!” Jason pauses his chopping to look over at June. She’s seated in her highchair, patting away at a plastic bag filled with frozen peas in water. Tucked in at her side is a little grey plushie with an orange belly. A present from her Uncle Dickie. A Robin, because of course it is. Jason scowls. “When she turns thirteen and begs me to allow her on the streets as a vigilante, I’m blaming you.”
“Bold of you to assume she’ll wait until she’s thirteen.”
“One can only hope.” Jason turns back to his work.
“She likes it, though?” Dick asks, sounding almost hopeful. June’s got him wrapped right around her little finger.
Sighing deeply, Jason responds, “Won’t sleep without it.”
This time, Dick’s laugh is triumphant. “I am so going to be her favorite uncle.”
“You’re obnoxious.”
“Yeah, yeah. And great at distractions, too.”
Jason’s hands falter, his chest constricts. “He told you?”
“Tim found out.”
“Oh. Great.” He chops angrily at a carrot. “So now everyone’s going to be insufferable about it for the next week.”
“I’ll tell them to leave it.”
“Dick. I don’t need you to—”
“I’m serious. I’ll tell them, and if he gives you some BS speech begging you to come back I’ll come beat him up for you.”
Jason barks out a laugh. “I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”
“I know that,” Dick says without a hint of sarcasm. “I just like giving Bruce hell. Keeps him humble.” He pauses, the sound of the knife on the cutting board filling up the empty space. “When’s he coming over?”
Jason glances at the clock above the stove. “About an hour.”
“Okay. Well tell Junie I love her, and call if you need me.”
Turning to June, Jason says, his voice softening, “Uncle Dickie says love you.” She smacks at the floating peas. “Her response is violence.”
Jason can hear the grin in Dick’s voice. “That’s my girl.”
In his wishing for the next hour to go by slowly, Jason inadvertently causes time to rush forward. He is scrubbing unnecessarily hard at the sink full of dishes, glancing at the clock every few seconds, when the doorbell rings. Damn it all.
They’ve been in this house for nearly six weeks and this is the first time Bruce is coming to visit. He dries his hands on the towel hanging near the sink, takes in the space as if he is trying to see it through Bruce’s eyes. Dark wood floors and white granite countertops, bottles and formula and blenders arranged neatly across them. The walls are still mostly bare, but the stainless steel fridge is a mini shrine to their new life. A drawing from Lian, messy crayon figures depicting Jason and June. Two polaroids placed there by Steph, with bat-shaped magnets holding them in place. One is of June in her Wonder Woman outfit, Dick holding her in the air like Simba. The other is of Steph, Cass, Tim, and Duke, faces smushed together in order to all fit into the frame. There is a card from Wonder Woman herself, the front reading Congrats On Becoming A Mother. Inside, in her scrawling cursive, is a short message, one that had Jason needing to sit down on the kitchen floor to breathe and breathe and breathe. It takes great courage to choose a new life. I am proud of you.
He has chosen a new life in the suburbs, an hour and a half outside of Gotham. Gone, but not too far gone. A life of diaper changes and onesies and picture books. A life where, for the first time in his second chance at life, he can bear the thought of sticking around. Hopes for it, even.
He unsticks his feet from the floor and goes to open the front door. Afternoon sunlight pours in, darkening Bruce’s face into shadow. “Come on in,” he says, gruff. “I was just cleaning up.” He does not wait for a response, turning on his heel and returning to his place in front of the sink. Unwilling to see the worry lines permanently etched into his father’s skin.
He hears the click of the door behind him, followed by footsteps, heavy because he is Bruce, because it is habit to exist a certain way outside of the cowl.
June squeals when she sees her grandfather, and Jason hears Bruce chuckle in response. “Hi, kiddo. I missed you.” There’s a soft rustling, June being lifted out of her highchair. “You’ve gotten so big.”
“She’ll need a diaper change before we go out,” Jason says, hot water running over soapy hands.
“Which room?”
He nudges his head to the left, where an open doorway leads into the hall. “First door on the right.”
Bruce grunts in response, his footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors.
They do not speak until they are outside, Jason pushing June in her stroller, robin plushie on her lap. Bruce keeps pace beside them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. The heat of late summer beats down. Sunlight bakes into his skin. Different than the heat of Gotham, which weighs on you like a heavy cloud. Sweat beads along Jason’s upper lip, the back of his neck, at his hairline.
Bruce is first to break the silence. “I heard you’re going back to school.”
Unsurprising, that news has gotten around. For a family built on keeping secrets, they sure do like to gossip every chance they can get. He nods. Says, “Online only. Not paying someone else to raise my kid.”
Bruce hums. “English?”
“What else?” They lapse into silence once more. Part of Jason wants to leave it at that, refuse to divulge any other information. Another part of him feels a bit like that boy who lived in the manor all those years ago. Doing so much homework they had to tell him to take a break. So excited to tell Bruce he had aced his latest test. He lets that boy out, if only for a moment.
“I think I’d like to be a teacher,” he says. “High school, probably. Even middle school. Middle schoolers kinda suck, ya know? So I think I’d be good at it.” He takes a breath, feels the words tumbling out before he can reel them back in. “And by the time I graduate, June’ll be about ready to start going to school anyway, so our schedules would align. That’s the idea, at least. Although I can’t imagine sending her off like that. Have to vet the hell out of possible schools, choose where I teach based off where she’ll be.” He trails off, face reddening at his own rambling.
“That’s good, Jay,” Bruce says, and Jason is surprised to find that he is sincere. He stops walking, looks up, finally meeting the older man’s eyes. Hesitant. Hopeful. “You’ll make a wonderful teacher.”
Jason coughs past the lump that forms in his throat. Squeezes his hands tighter around the stroller handle. “Thanks.”
The moment is fragile, tender, a shadow of a relationship that, with the right care, could be rebuilt. It is quickly broken by June squealing indignantly at the ceased movement of her stroller. The men burst into laughter.
“I hear ya’, Princess.” Jason shoves the stroller forward. “Off we go.”