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“Move.”
Batman sidestepped, blocking Jason’s path further into the twilight lit cemetery. “Hood, wait.”
Behind his helmet, Jason scowled. “Y’going deaf already, old man? I said, move.” A solid shove to the chest got Bruce out of the way. It only irritated him more. Bruce gave in on purpose, to avoid riling him up further. Now the man was on his heels like a pointy eared shadow as Jason marched to the gravesite.
A backhoe was parked beside the mound of dirt it’d removed, muddy tracks leading back to whatever shed it’d been ‘borrowed’ from. Chest deep in the freshly desecrated grave was Nightwing. He was speaking, head bobbing in and out of view as he helped someone climb out of (presumably) a coffin. One striped hand pointed at Robin crouched at the graveside.
And then Dick was passing a young boy to Tim’s outstretched hands. No older than ten. Mud-streaked blond hair and play clothes. Tear tracks and snot and scrapped up hands. An innocent. A child.
“Jason.” Bruce said in a firmer voice this time. Jason was about to tell him to fuck off when he realized he’d come to a complete stop. And was breathing a little too hard. Was he okay? He’d have to be okay.
His mouth was suddenly bone dry. “How old?”
“Nine years old yesterday,” Bruce spoke in what counted as a gentle voice for him, “He was taken from his birthday party in the park this afternoon.”
Jason clenched his fists, forcing a breath out through his nose. “Go find the fucks who put him in there before I do, if you care about their lives.” He resumed marching to the grave, ignoring Dick calling him from inside the grave. Tim was wiping off the kid’s face and hands, prattling about something. Who cares? The boy was trembling, eyes wide and darting around, breathing as heavy as Jason was. Seconds awake from melting down and being consumed by unrelenting panic.
“Hey buddy,” Jason grabbed Tim’s shoulder and pulled him away from the kid. Tim’s complaints were also ignored. Jason knelt down and popped off his helmet. “I’m Jason. What’s your name?” The boy just stared. The dirty shirt twisted faster in his hands as whatever shock or distraction the masked vigilantes provided quickly wore off.
Tim leaned down to mutter in Jason’s ear, “It’s Calvin, you total ass.”
“Hey, Calvin. Listen, I’ve been through this exact same thing.” At least Calvin was present enough to frown a little, understandably doubtful. Jason gave him a wry smile, shoving his guns at Tim, who made an annoyed sound but took the weapons anyway. “Yeah, weird coincidence, right? I know you’re scared but I’m here to help you.”
A gust of wind ruffled Jason’s hair and he smiled wider at the boy. “You feel that? The wind pulling your hair? Blowing on your face?” Calvin hesitated, then nodded. “That wasn’t underground, was it?” A slow shake of the head. Jason pointed at a bush, shaking in the breeze. “Can you hear that? What’s making that noise?”
At last Calvin spoke in a meek whisper. “Leaves.”
“You hear anything else?”
“Trees.”
Jason gave him an encouraging nod. “Yeah, the wind is moving the trees too. What else?”
“Um…” The anxious fidgeting that had slowed for a moment picked back up as Calvin’s eyes darted around, bouncing from the trees to the three watching vigilantes. “Um, I-I…”
“Do you hear traffic? It’s night time but I think I see some cars on the road down the hill, do you?” Standing, Jason guided Calvin a few feet away, just enough so that the other bats weren’t in his eyeline. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Green.”
He knelt down again, keeping a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s see if we can find a green car. They’re noisy, aren’t they?” Calvin nodded with a bit more energy. “Phew, you smell that?”
Calvin wrinkled his nose. “Yuck. Exhaust.”
“Gross. But do you smell that other thing?”
Jason continued the questions, purposefully missing the green car that drove by so the distraction could keep going. Eventually, Calvin stopped twisting his shirt and began pointing at cars or other things Jason coaxed him to find. The distant panicked look in his eyes was gone and he spoke at a normal volume now. Just in time for the whole wagon train of official cars to come rolling up to the cemetery, lights flashing in the distance. It would take a few minutes for the police to reach them.
“Calvin, listen to me,” Jason said softly and the boy turned away from the road. “I’m really happy you’re feeling better right now. But later…you might feel scared again. Or like you’re back in there. And that’s not wrong. It takes a while to get over things like this, sometimes you never really do. But if you get scared, remember what we did tonight. Look for all the things that weren’t underground with you: sounds, smells, sights, even people. Okay? Think you can handle that?”
“Yeah,” Calvin nodded confidently, even smiling a little, “Thanks.”
“You’ve got this, buddy.” Jason held out a gloved hand for a high five before sliding his helmet back on.
“Is this what you did?” Calvin asked as Jason stood, about to lead the boy towards the police. “When you escaped.”
No, Jason didn’t have the luxury of gently soothing himself post-escape. He’d barely remembered who he was, stumbling around covered in mud with bloody, torn up fingers. “Yeah,” Jason forced a note of cheer into his voice, “this is what I did. And I still do it when I get scared so you know it works.”
“That’s kinda cool that we match.”
Jason couldn’t help his laugh. “Don’t let me catch you trying to imitate the Red Hood in any other ways, got it?”
Turns out Calvin’s parents were there with the police, sobbing and running through graves to their son. He watched the reunion from a distance with Dick and Tim. Bruce was talking to Gordon, likely updating him on whoever kidnapped and tried to ransom Calvin.
“You did a good job with him,” Dick said, nudging Jason with his elbow, “he was practically hyperventilating when I got to him.”
Calvin’s parents were alternating between kissing their son’s face and hugging him. They’d go home together, likely all sleep in the same bed in case of nightmares, wake up and have breakfast together, support each other through the arduous healing to come. Calvin wasn’t alone.
Jason swallowed hard. Out of the corner of his eye, Dick tilted his head, giving Jason a scrutinizing look. Great, was it that obvious? That a nine-year-old had it more together than he did?
“I need some air.” Jason muttered and stalked off to find his motorcycle.
He wanted to be alone. Which meant going to the Manor of all places. But Dick was heading back to his own place, Tim would be off with the Teen Titans, and Bruce wouldn’t leave the cave until close to 4am. No one would disturb him in the spacious backyard gardens.
Gravel crunched as he walked over to a wrought iron bench and collapsed onto it, carelessly dropping his helmet to the side. Wind. Rough iron. He ran both hands through his hair. One leg bounced relentlessly, rattling tiny stones. Sweat. An owl. Roses. Someone walking towards me.
Footsteps interrupted Jason’s mental list. He lifted his head to see Alfred heading his way and tying a robe around his pajamas. “I wake you, gramps?”
“Not at all, Master Jason. I was up waiting to hear news on the poor boy everyone was searching for.” The butler sat down on the bench beside him. “I hear you helped calm him down.”
Nodding, Jason pulled his gloves off and chucked them with the helmet. His eyes were suddenly burning.
“Very good,” Alfred patted Jason’s knee, “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked with a sardonic smile, even as his sight blurred with tears. The stupidest part was he didn’t know why his body wanted to cry so badly. The feeling came on like a freight train in the cemetery and he hadn’t been able to shake it. Alfred’s sigh only made it worse as his throat seized up.
Hunching over, Jason turned his head away from Alfred. “‘m fine, Alfie. You can go to sleep.”
“You are most clearly not alright.”
“It’s stupid.”
“There are many things you boys do that are stupid. This is not one of them.”
Jason managed a little laugh before his face crumpled and he buried it in his hands. Alfred’s warm hand remained on his knee, gently squeezing. He let Jason cry for a minute before gently asking, “Would you like to talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?” Jason shrugged harshly, wiping his face impatiently. Fuck, the tears just wouldn’t stop. “That I’m jealous of a little kid? That I actually felt angry seeing him with his parents? How can I be mad that he got help after being dug up when I’m the one who helped him?” His voice cracked because of course his body needed to further wound his ragged pride. “It’s stupid! So stupid!”
Alfred moved his hand from Jason’s knee to his back. “Not at all, dear boy,” he said kindly, “I find it perfectly natural that you’re both happy for that little boy while grieving for another.”
Grieving. Was that what this was? Grief for a world where that could’ve been him? Helped from his coffin by gentle hands instead of clawing his way out. Taught how to soothe himself through the inevitable panic attacks instead of choking on invisible mud. But what good was it to desperately want something when he was no longer soft enough to accept it? He’d walked away the second Dick sensed something wasn’t right. Even now, Jason battled the urge to rip himself away from Alfred when all he wanted was to be held like Calvin had been held.
“Jay?”
Oh the universe was being mean tonight. “Didn’t think you’d come upstairs before sunrise.” Not bothering to wipe his fresh tear tracks, Jason lifted his head.
Bruce walked over, frowning. “I wanted to check on you.”
“You’ve checked, your duty is done. Ciao.” Bruce grunted, ignoring the argument bait, and sat on Jason’s other side. “Careful, this iron is looking pretty rusty. Might collapse with all this weight.” At least Alfred chuckled at his joke.
“This bench has been here since before I was born. I fully believe it could survive a direct hit from a tornado,” said Bruce before looking at Jason. Moonlight made his eyes look silver as they took in his mess of a son. Jason looked down at his scuffed boots, cheeks heating with a tinge of shame. “Why didn’t you stay away tonight, lad? Dick and I both tried to stop you. Oracle said she also warned you.”
Stupidity, that’s why. Because you’re not my fucking boss anymore. Gotham is my city too, I don’t need anyone’s permission. You mad about it, old man? But none of those knee jerk replies made it out.
“Because…it’s what I would’ve wanted. If someone had been there.” Jason mumbled, wiping his cheeks at last.
Bruce didn’t say anything for a long time. The owl Jason heard earlier glided silently over them, zeroed in on something in the grass. “How…” Bruce trailed off, reconsidering, “What would help you recover now?”
Now that he’d cried it out a bit, listing sensations again would probably do the trick. But Jason couldn’t stop seeing that reunion every time he blinked, the image burned into his eyelids. He ran a hand over his face, fighting a stronger urge to get up and leave. Minutes passed. But neither man left his side.
At last Jason gathered enough courage to mumble, “A hug.”
For a beat, no one moved. Then Bruce was shifting closer, pulling his son into an embrace, one arm sliding over his shoulders like iron, the other gently cradling the back of his head like he was a newborn. It should've made Jason rear back like a frightened stallion. Instead the pressure immediately relaxed the anxious tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter in his chest. Closing his eyes, he hugged Bruce, Alfred’s steady hand still on his back.
“You made me very proud tonight.” Bruce whispered.
“Fuck off,” said Jason as he tightened his arms, feeling his dad chuckle and hug him harder in return.