Chapter Text
For the past four years, all that Bruce could wish for was for his son to come back. Every fallen star or eyelash, every birthday, and every night before he went to bed.
He’d heard that grief subsides with time, but every passing day felt like it was deepening the hurt; it’d meant one more day since the last time he’d seen his son, one more day since he’d heard and held and cried over him.
There have been so many days.
And now, Bruce can’t quite remember all the cheeky one-liners Jason used to recycle through; he used to get so exasperated with him, so upset. He has no idea why now. He wishes he could have given his boy an easier time; he was just doing his job— being magic.
Or the loopy sort-of way he’d smile in the Robin uniform that was so different, yet so similar to his regular smile. Bruce had tried to recreate it in front of a mirror once, just to try and see his baby’s smile one more time; a little crooked, and showing too much teeth, but no one could ever smile that smile except for Jason. On more than a few sleepless nights, he’d scoured the internet to its deepest corners to try and find a photo of that smile.
Or the way his eyes sparkled when Bruce remembered details about him he’d expected him to forget.
Or the way he’s brows furrowed when he was reading old classics and battled with the old English.
Or how he’d stare at the isles and isles of books in the manor’s library in awe even after living there for years.
Suffice to say, his boy was everywhere and in everything but nowhere, all at once. There wasn’t a day he hadn’t wished to trade his soul and life for Jason’s (and he’d tried), no sun would set before he’d researched over and over again about resurrection. But still, after four years, the hopes of seeing his baby alive had dissipated.
Four years is a long time for being dead. Even without thinking about the state of the body (which Bruce would really like to never ever have to think about), just the amount of damage the brain had gone through, and the state of the soul, it’s impossible to resurrect back to full cognitive ability.
Bruce loves his son more than anything in this whole entire world. He has loved him ever since he’d became a part of his family and would continue to love and miss him till the day he dies himself and they’d reunite in heaven. And he loves him enough to know that Jason wouldn’t want to live dependent on others just to function.
So as much as it haunts him, even if someday he’ll find some crazy, out-of-this-world way to resurrect his baby, he knows he won’t go for it.
But it doesn’t subside the all-consuming pain that tears through him every waking moment.
--
When he daydreamed about Jason coming back, no fantasy ever involved sadness or hurt. How could it? A day blessed enough to grant him seeing his baby again would be the happiest day in his life.
Bruce had never considered what it would actually be like to stand in front of an alive Jason and see a boy much older than the one that’d left him. In all his reveries he’d never imagined that Jason wouldn’t come back home right away. That Jason was wandering around in the world without his guidance.
His guilt weighs down on him. He’d failed his boy in an unimaginable way when he hadn’t made it in time to save him from Joker’s hands, and now, he’d failed a second time when he wasn’t there when Jason had woken up. And even more so; he’d given up. He loathes to admit, even to himself, but he’d given up. The ever-present question of how am I going to get Jason back changed to how to wake up to another day without Jason in the world. He’d started working on his grief, trying to remind his body and mind that the world hadn’t stopped and so he has to move with it.
And he had.
Bruce went out as Batman, returned to his duties as Bruce Wayne, and got a new Robin.
And that hurts most of all. Even when he knows that the new Robin is nothing like Dick and Jason, that their relationship is only professional as mentor-mentee, it doesn’t ebb the nagging feeling that he’d replaced Jason.
Jason died. His youngest son died because Bruce’d failed to protect him and then he got another one. How could he have done that? Just put another little boy in that suit. Like there wasn’t a shrine for the last one? Like Jason’s death hadn’t mattered?
He had been so wrapped up in his grief to think straight. He should never have let the new kid in.
And now, in front of him stands a boy haunted and scarred by a journey Bruce wasn’t privy to, and next to him, the new Robin, as a reminder of all the ways Bruce let Jason down.
--
The fight was inevitable. Bruce knew it from the moment he’d realized just how badly he had fucked up. How could he have replaced his child like that? He knew how much Robin meant for Jason and he gave it to the literal next person to show up on his doorsteps. What kind of person—mentor does that?
He tried to prepare himself for that; focus on the details, make sure to show Jason just how loved he is, remind him that Robins are not replaced, but passed down to the next generation, that he can always come back, that the new Robin is not family.
He hopes it’s enough. They spent four years apart; Bruce won’t be able to live with himself if they spend any more time away. He’d cleaned Jason’s bedroom, making sure to keep everything as it was, just tidier, less dusty. Jason left his homework open on his desk before he’d taken off, he had clothes on the floor, a book under his pillow, and few snacks under his bed, Bruce put it all back in its place. Alfred stocked up the house with Jason’s favorite food, making sure to have at least one comfort meal prepared at all times.
They were both waiting for the next time Jason decided to come home, understanding that they should let him come at his own pace and time and ready to deal with the aftermath of all that had happened.
It was just a matter of time.
--
Bruce knew that it could be at any moment, but he hadn’t expected for it to be while driving Robin into the cave like a designated driver.
It was confusing, seeing them together like that. Bruce had imagined Jason not wanting to even look at Robin, let alone be in the same car with him, talking to him, especially after what happened at Titans’ Tower. He was prepared to let Robin go the second Jason asked for it. The only reason he hadn’t already is because Robin was the one to bring him home the first time, and Bruce couldn’t just fire him after preforming such miracle. But he’d do it. If Jason asks him to, or if he’s hesitant to come back because of it, Bruce would do it in a heartbeat.
Jason does talk about the new Robin, but surprisingly, he doesn’t ask anything of that nature.
He’s upset with Bruce, his anger written in every vain and crease on his face, yelling and punching. Bruce had prepared for that, his son’s words hurt, but they’re understandable. The only thing that Bruce can’t comprehend is why he is upset.
He’d thought Jason would appreciate him keeping the relationship between Batman and Robin purely professional. But for some reason, Jason seems to be angry about that.
And with every accusation thrown his way, Bruce can’t help but wonder, when did it all go wrong?
--
Later that night, when he’s lying in bed replaying the day in his head, snippets from the conversation—if you can really call it that—float in his mind; “it’s been four years since I died, and you mean to tell me that in all those years you haven’t recovered enough to love another person again?”
“You don’t even know him.”
“You’re a shit mentor.”
“Tim is just a kid! How can you just say that he deserves to be treated like garbage, nothing more than means to end, because you can’t handle your son’s death.”
“You should’ve done everything differently.”
Robin—Tim—Bruce had thought he was doing right by him. Well, not right, he actively put a him in dangerous situations, training him to take even the hardest hits and still get up, but he’d considered himself to be a good mentor for him. He cared about Robin, of course he did, the child was under his supervision and protection, but as Jason’s words seep in, he realizes that maybe he was too focused on keeping him at arm’s length to notice how far away they really were.
Jason’s death happened four years ago. It feels like just yesterday Bruce had held his crumbling body, but it has been four years. Four long years of self-loathing and pity. Of grief and melancholy. Of pushing away everyone who’d dared to come close, to make sure Jason’s place in his heart wouldn’t get filled.
It feels so childish now.
How could he had ever thought that his love for Jason could get replaced? There’s no limited well of love to be drawn from. It’s free to give and to receive for eternity. That’s the beauty of it. It’s why it’s so precious; it costs nothing to bestow, but so painful to lose. You have to be careful how openly you let your heart love. The more people you let in, the harder it’ll get when they inevitably leave.
Although, really, even a crashed heart can love.
It has been four years. Bruce should’ve been able to piece together what mangled pieces were left of him faster. Better. Should’ve made sure that in his pain, he wasn’t hurting others.
For fucks’ sake, he’s Batman. All he ever wanted was to help the people of Gotham and keep them safe. To make sure that everyone had the opportunity to grow and improve, to have their second chance, even the worst of the worst. He’d always believed people could change for the better.
(It hurts to see how he had changed for the worse)
Staring at his ceiling, Bruce remembers all the reports he’d dismissed in the year after Jason’s death. They’d called him a monster. A force of evil. Some had even deemed him worse than the Joker. “A nightmare Gotham doesn’t seem to be able to wake up from”, he recalls from one headline.
He’d rained terror on the streets back then. Not unlike a toddler having a melt-down. Wrapped in his own fury and grief, making all of Gotham pay for it.
And still, a kind child showed up to his doorsteps and forced him to get better.
Bruce drags a hand over his face. How could he have been so vain?
He’d spent about three and a half years going out with a child every night to fight crime and he hadn’t even known he preferred to be called Tim. Even now, meticulously going over his memories of the past few years, he can’t quite recall the last time he’d referred to him as Timothy.
How had he fucked up so badly?
With Dick and Jason, he made sure to know everything they were willing to share about themselves, nicknames, stories, likes and dislikes, fears and terrors. He’d even made a spreadsheet to keep track of their favourite colours, foods, and ice cream flavours. To make sure they felt as comfortable and happy as possible.
He hadn’t even known how Tim likes to be called. The most basic, first conversation information, and he hadn’t known it. Or maybe he had but decided to ignore it. Bruce isn’t sure which is worse.
And Tim never complained. He just took it all.
Three and a half years of being sidelined and mistreated and he never said a word. Never did anything out of line, never demanded anything more than he was given. Tim wasn’t the perfect Robin, Bruce isn’t sure there could ever be a ‘perfect Robin’, honestly, Robin isn’t supposed to be perfect, from the start his main purpose was to bring some light into Gotham’s grime world, but Tim, most definitely, was a perfect soldier.
A soldier from the age of eleven.
It hurts the most, realizing how mentally absent he was back then. He’d let an eleven year-old, a random eleven year-old, nonetheless, one who wasn’t under his custody, who has a family of his own that had never consented for their child to become Robin, to wonder the streets at night, with little protection. To act as Batman’s sidekick and fight crime.
He’s hit with the vivid memory of Alfred having to make a completely new Robin suit for Tim, a tiny little thing because all the old ones were too big on him.
Holy fuck, Tim was only eleven.
An eleven-year-old can’t legally ride an elevator alone, Bruce thinks hysterically, and he had made Tim prioritize the safety and health of Gothamites at the expenses of his own at that age.
He really had lost his mind back then.
It’s been three and a half years since he’d taken Tim as his Robin and now Bruce has a fifteen year old that thinks all he’s good for is being a soldier.
He has to fix this.
--
When Bruce wakes up, the light in the room feels too bright. How could a person who’d done so many terrible things like him deserve a brightly lit room, a soft bed, and birds chirping outside the window.
In the haze of just waking up, it feels safe to go back to sleep. The day could wait.
But the second his eyes drop closed, he feels suffocated.
Thoughts rushing in his head; every second he spends moping, is another second that Jason hates him and Tim thinks— well, he isn’t entirely sure what Tim is thinking right now. Bruce groans into his hands, he barely even spared a glance at Tim yesterday. He hadn’t asked him a single thing; not how he was doing, not why he was late, or why he was driven here by Jason, and most importantly, if he was okay.
He has no idea how the boy is doing or how he’s feeling.
But today, things will change.
Bruce will make sure to see Tim, really see him. He owns his Robin that. Even if it’s years late, he has to try.
The best course of action would be to contact Tim and ask him to meet. Though he has to make it known in the message that all he wants is a chat and nothing more. Which he had never done before with Tim. Every wording he works through in his head feels wrong. Either too straight-forward—too Batman-like, or completely out of character. He would probably think that someone else had sent the message, or worse, that Bruce was upset with him.
Bruce is out of his depth here. He has no idea how to communicate in a friendly manner with Tim.
After careful consideration, he settles on: ‘Tim. I would like to talk to you about yesterday. The conversation with Jason had made me realize a few things I’d like to discuss with you. Unfortunately, it is not appropriate to so over the phone, would you be willing to meet?’
Concise and straight to the point. Clearly indicating that he’d been thinking about the conversation with Jason and all that was said and wanting to make amends.
Hopefully.
He’s never been good with expressing himself, especially over text. He just hopes it’s enough to get Tim to see him.
All he needs is a second chance to make this right.
“Jason.”
“Tim.”
“Jason I’m going to kill you,” he snurls. He can’t believe it. All he asked from Jason was to not get him fired. A simple job considering he’s been good fucking Robin; he always listens to Bruce’s commands, never speaks out of line, never makes himself a nuisance, never intrudes where he doesn’t belong. He takes care of himself, learned from the best and became the best. He’s a fucking perfect sidekick and Jason straight up ruined it for him, against his wishes might he add, just because he’d thought he wasn’t treated kindly enough. Well, grow up Jason! Robin doesn’t need to be handled with kiddy gloves.
Tim lunges at Jason where he sits on a stool across the kitchen table. Jason, being the asshole that he is, lurches back just out of Tim’s reach.
“Whoa, whoa, let’s just both calm down,” he tries to sooth, but all it does is make Tim angrier. How can he act like Tim is the crazy one. Jason got Tim fired! He should get a pass to let out all his anger on him.
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” he spits, “I asked you for one thing. Only one thing and you did exactly that.”
Jason’s brows furrow, “I don’t follow.”
Tim huffs in irritation, “all I asked you is that I get to keep Robin.”
“Yes, I know.”
Tim huffs again. Why is Jason making this more difficult than it needs to be? Tim is a reasonable guy, he doesn't need a heart-felt confession or a sorrowful regret, he’d just like to get on with his revenge. “Then why is Bruce asking me to meet him after your talk?”
Talks mean bad news. Asking to meet is even worse. Good news, or just regular news don’t need to be asked to say. If Batman needs to tell Robin something he tells him to immediately get to the cave or whichever meet-up point he decides on. There’s never a query of will.
And worst of all, the detail that really drives it in, is Bruce calling him Tim. Like he’d already fired him in his head. No need to call for Robin when he’s not going to be Robin a minute into their ‘talk’.
“What are you talking about?” he asks warily, an exasperated look on his face. Tim chucks the phone at him and rolls his eyes when Jason fumbles to catch.
“Oh,” Jason says after reading the text, “well, he called you Tim that’s got to be a good sign right?”
“Why the fuck would that be a good sign?”
“’Cause he’s using your name?” Jason tries, but Tim is already shaking him head.
“He never calls me Tim or Timothy, you heard him yesterday,” Tim says and looks at the floor. It’s not like he needs Bruce to acknowledge him outside of the suit, he’s good with their relationship as is, but it hurts to see just how little he cares about him as a person. Jason has a pained expression when Tim gazes up, “clearly he doesn’t see me as Robin anymore,” he adds quietly.
“Oh, Tim, no. I’m sure there’s a better explanation to this. Maybe he realized how shitty he had been?”
Tim snorts, “yeah, right. We’re talking about Batman here.”
“People are capable of change.”
“Sure, but not overnight. Not this drastically.” As much as true, doesn’t quell both the hurt and hope.
“Bruce is different than most people.”
“Yeah, in the sense that he’s more dense,” Tim mutters.
Jason walks around the table at places his hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing once, making Tim look him in the eye, “You and I both know that Bruce’s shit at communicating, maybe you’re getting this wrong.”
“What else could it possibly be about?”
Jason puts Tim’s phone back in his hands, “maybe we should just hear him out.”
Tim stares at the open chat. A clean one apart the new text. It’s his civilian phone and Bruce never had a reason to contact him from there.
Jason nudges his hand, “Bruce sucks,” he starts, “he really, terribly, sucks right now, but he’s still Batman and you’re still his Robin. You want to keep it that way you need to hear him out.” He sighs, letting the heavy silence hang between them for a moment, “and for the record, I think this is going to be a good conversation.”
Tim raises a brow, “how could you possibly know that?”
Bright aquamarine eyes bore at his own, “Bruce is an overthinker to a fault. He basically lives in his head some days. And if he called you Tim here, it means he’s been thinking over all the shit I’d yelled at him yesterday. It means he understand that it was shitty of him to not know that your name is Tim.”
“That’s a really big jump.”
Jason raises an eyebrow, “you really think it is?”
“No,” he grumbles.
Jason huffs a laugh, “you don’t gotta answer. He doesn’t owe you shit.”
“But I want Robin.”
“But you want Robin.”
Tim groans, “fuck my life.”
“Hey, at least you’re still on your first.”
Tim pushes him playfully.
Fuck. He can’t believe he’s about to willingly have a one on one conversation with Bruce.