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Oh, if the sky comes fallin’ down, for you
There’s nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do
—Avicii, “Hey Brother”
They knew.
There was no other explanation for the changes Bruce had been observing for the past week or so. Tim shrank away from him every time he got too close. Cassandra barely spoke to him. Stephanie wouldn’t look at him, but when she did, Bruce had caught a sliver of thinly veiled disgust. And Jason—
Bruce’s fingers stilled over the keyboard of the Batcomputer.
Jason already hated his guts for letting him die and not avenging his death. The Joker was still alive and well, roaming the streets of Gotham, wreaking havoc and it was all Bruce’s fault.
Jason was already a meager presence at the Manor and even more so in the Cave. But this past week he hadn’t shown up at all. Not once.
Bruce looked up at the screen of the Batcomputer, taking in the wicked grin splitting the Joker’s red-stained lips. That man had killed Jason. His second son. Had beaten him with a crowbar and left his body to explode in an abandoned warehouse. And Bruce had done nothing.
Bruce glanced down at his hands. Dark scars criss-crossed every inch of pale skin. They were the hands that had performed chest compressions on the Joker when Dick had finally had enough and beat him to death. These were the hands that beat down one son and brought back the other’s killer.
He let out a shuddering sigh. What could he have done? He couldn’t have let someone’s death weigh on Dick’s consciousness for the rest of his life. He couldn’t have let that happen. But the cost of that? That very man now roaming the streets, at the head of every act of carnage tainting the city.
Bruce had barely finished that thought when the roar of an engine filled the Batcave and a motorcycle swept into the garage. Jason’s motorcycle. Bruce’s head swivelled around in shock.
Quiet chatter filled the other side of the Cave as Tim and Steph descended the stairs from the Manor, stopping short when they caught sight of Jason yanking his helmet off.
Jason was in civilian clothes for once, a brown leather jacket thrown over a graphic t-shirt, black cargo pants and his usual combat boots. The streak of pure white hair at the front of his head made his black waves stand out starkly against his pale skin. There was something thunderous — murderous in his eyes as he wordlessly made his way over to Bruce.
“Jason—” Tim had barely begun when Jason spun Bruce’s chair around and punched his jaw as hard as he could. The metallic tang of blood filled the inside of Bruce’s mouth as Jason gripped his neck with one hand, lifting him clean off the chair and hammering punches all over the side of his face.
Bruce’s eye watered as his hands went automatically to his neck, gripping Jason’s hold on him.
“Jason, stop!” Tim’s voice. “You’re going to kill him!”
“Good.” Jason smiled darkly. “That’s what he deserves.”
Bruce opened his mouth to speak but was slammed backwards against the console, shattering the screen of the Batcomputer. The pain at his back echoed that of that night two years ago and Bruce closed his eyes as he sank to the ground, curling in on himself as Jason aimed kick after kick to his ribs and gut.
The assault ceased for a moment, and Bruce looked up to find Tim and Steph dragging Jason back by the shoulders. Undeterred, Jason shook off their grip, and advanced again, an inhumane scream tearing free from his throat. “You put your hands on my brother!”
Hauled back to his feet by the collar, Bruce found himself nose to nose with his second-eldest boy. There were tears in Jason’s eyes. “You made me punch him.” Jason’s voice shook with grief and rage. “You made me believe he’d just leave us for the mission thinking he died.”
Bruce’s other eye watered as Jason landed a fresh punch on it. “But it was never him. It was you. Always you.”
Jason let out another scream, thrusting Bruce to the floor this time and smashing his head against the concrete repeatedly with renewed vigour. Bruce took the assault silently, feeling wetness at the back of his head. He groaned and curled in on himself when Jason’s combat boot connected with his groin.
“This isn’t the answer, Jason” came Tim’s voice, tugging Jason back again.
“You shut up!” snarled Jason, throwing him back. “We all saw the security footage. You uncovered it. You saw what he did to Big Bird first!”
“I know!” Tim cried desperately as tears shone in his eyes. “I know what he did! But killing him will only hurt Dick!”
That stopped Jason mid-punch. “Fuck.”
He grabbed Bruce by the hair and thrashed him against the floor a few more times for good measure before pulling away completely.
Jason spat in Bruce’s face. “Piece of shit won’t even fight back. Knows exactly what he did.”
Bruce laid there, wiping the spit from his face, breath stuttering as his chest heaved up and down in uneven spurts.
Tim was crying now, one hand covering his mouth while Steph watched his broken form with disquiet.
Jason was pacing, trying to get his rage under control. He stopped suddenly and lunged towards Bruce as if changing his mind, but stopped at the last moment. His finger was in Bruce’s face. “You touch my big brother again — you touch any of them ever again and I will end you; Big Bird’s feelings be damned.”
“Understood,” Bruce ground out, voice hoarse.
Jason snorted derisively, giving him one last glare before he strode towards the garage. The motorcycle engine rumbled to life as he zoomed into the night.
“Don’t cry, Tim,” Bruce managed, turning onto his side with some effort.
It was Steph’s turn to snort. “He’s not crying for you.”