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your jay was back.
that’s the only thing you can think of as you stand, dazed, by the batcomputer.
He was arguing with bruce, that new, shiny red helmet thrown to the ground in His rage. your husband had his gloved hands up, placating, pleading.
“jay,” bruce says. he had taken off his cowl and you long to comb your fingers through the strands sticking up- “cowl-head”, as you’ve called it before, affectionately.
“don’t call me that!” He roars, jabbing an accusing finger into bruce’s chest.
bruce’s gaze shifts to you and it’s then you realise that you’re crying, tears pooling in the curve of your collarbone.
“you let the joker run free! you didn’t do jackshit to make sure he’d stop hurting people, bruce, how can you live with yourself?” He yells. you watch bruces face fall and your heart breaks in two.
“jay,” you say hoarsely, horrified and mortified at how your son is begging for your husband to do the one thing that will break him- will open the dam of his hatred, toss him over the point of no return- and he turns His wrath on you instead. that accusing finger gets pointed at you next, and He’s yelling while slowly getting closer to you, but the anger you felt early drips away until the only thing you can think is my baby boy is home. one strangled, mournful sob leaves your throat and you reach forward, taking your jay into your arms.
He’s tall, bulked out now. a grown man, as much as you don’t want to think about it. He is stiff in your arms as if He doesn’t know what to do with your affection.
your baby boy is home at last;
Jason.