Chapter Text
Bruce's boots landed soundlessly on top of the building, the only noise being the whistling wind and pattering rain. He narrowed his eyes, trying to find his footing to grapple down the side of the wall.
The building underneath him was filled with around two or three dozen of Penguin's henchmen.
He wasn't fully sure exactly what Penguin was up to this time, but fortunately he'd caught them early enough to stop it before anything got started.
With an irritated grunt, he began inching down the side of the building. Tonight he was purely solo.
Not that doing missions alone was unusual, but it certainly became more and more unwelcome the longer he served as Batman. It was partially his fault; he had become too accustomed to always having one of his sons by his side. Maybe this was good for him. Maybe he needed to be less… "codependent" certainly wasn't the word, regardless of how many times Alfred loved to throw that one around.
Besides, at times patrolling alone was a nice break from the never ending quips and outbursts that came with the Robin package. It could be nice, freeing even to take little breaks from the constant business that was his family.
…And other times he missed having one of their mischievous voices teasing him through the comms, somehow simultaneously annoying and amusing him.
This was one of those nights.
Dick was busy in Blüdhaven.
Jason was… Bruce was unhappy to say he had no idea what that boy was doing.
Tim was doing Bruce a solid and attending a stupid Wayne Enterprises gala in his stead.
And Damian was benched because of course he was.
Bruce's grapple kept slipping. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, fruitlessly trying to readjust it against the slippery stone walls.
The whole night had just been plain annoying. Forgive him for daring to be sentimental, but he missed his kids, and taking care of crime had only aided the rapid decline of his mood.
The rain pelted harder and rolled off of Bruce's cape. Another grapple would be needed. Before he could stop himself, he said, "Robin, I-", before quickly clamping his mouth shut.
Make that the fourth time he'd slipped up that night.
He cursed under his breath.
It's not like he was lonely; the manor was rarely quiet, it was just that the past week or two they'd all been in and out, all occupied with heaven knows what.
Especially Jason, but that was far from unusual.
It… bothered Bruce. More than he'd like to admit. He wasn't exactly sure he had to admit it though; Alfred and the rest of the boys were all annoyingly perceptive of this fact. If Jason didn't want to talk, fine, but Bruce wanted to at least know where he was and what he was doing. Just in case. Heaven knew his son would pick up his phone calls maybe one out of a hundred times.
Bruce couldn't help being falling victim to his relentless paranoia. If anything happened to Jason, how would anyone even know? What if he got in over his head and didn't make it out? What if he was in trouble right now?
Bruce roughly shoved the grapple back in his belt and grabbed a spare.
At the very least he'd like to know Jason's patrol schedule so he could rest easy.
It was just plain stupid; Jason should have a comm just for precaution. Why was that so impossible to do? Was Bruce really that unpleasant? Was Jason really that stubborn?
He heaved a sigh, finally getting the grapple to stay. If he dared to voice any of these thoughts aloud, Alfred would just lecture him on how Jason must've gotten his stubbornness from Bruce, and he did not want to hear that for the billionth time.
He shook his head, ridding himself of all his pesky worries. At least until he got home. Maybe he would give Dick a call and see if he knew what his brother was up to.
Slowly, Bruce crept down the side of the building, already mentally ready to go home. Thankfully it didn't seem too difficult of a task; Penguin's workers were generally fifteen minute missions tops. There was a reason he had all the Robins' first few patrols fighting them.
He heard muffled noise from inside. The building was barely lit, but there was a touch of light coming through. It was just enough for Bruce to decide exactly where to land.
He readied himself, took a breath, and crashed right through the side window. He was far too impatient for stealth tonight.
Immediately there was chaos and a familiar cacophony of criminals who knew they were busted. He gave it three seconds before hearing a shrill, "It's the Bat!".
It all happened in a blur.
He fought with the same level of efficiency as he always did, but his heart just wasn't in it. It all felt so monotonous; he didn't even have to try.
He punched one moron in the face and kicked another. The kick he delivered was a lot harder than usual, the large man flying back with more force than Bruce expected, but he'd be fine.
They were all absolute amateurs. Dick could've beaten these guys by himself in fourth grade.
Practically a fourth of the room down already.
One tried to sneak up behind him, and failed. Tim would've stopped him before the man could even attempt such a foolish stunt.
Bruce knocked out anyone who dared to come close with ease.
Another pulled out a knife. Child's play. Bruce easily redirected the man, knocking him out on his way down to the floor. Damian could've done so in his sleep.
He had blood on his fists, on his arms and his face. None of it was his.
A hand flew past him, Bruce ducking just in time. He kicked the coward and sent him flying backwards. Jason as Robin or Red Hood would've had them face planted before Bruce could blink.
His irritation grew further. Why was this night dragging? If he had a Robin to say some sort of dumb joke he would've had more motivation, not to mention the henchmen would've been dealt with in probably half the time.
But before Bruce could further reminisce, a figure caught his eye.
Heading out towards the back door, one henchman, specifically the one he'd kicked before, was trying to escape. Bruce narrowed his eyes. He hadn't done all this crappy work for someone to get away. With one final kick, a smoke bomb with airborne sedatives, and a signal to the Gotham police, he immediately ducked out the back door, chasing the man.
Grubble and mud and all the other filthy contents strewn about Gotham's pavement were splashed and splattered with every step of Bruce's heavy boots. He was hot on the man's heels, hearing his own ragged breathing as he practically flew across the ground.
…But something about the way this man ran seemed… off.
Or no… not off. That wasn't the word.
What was the word?
He only just missed as the man skidded around a corner just a few yards ahead. Bruce let out a frustrated groan, already sick and tired of the shenanigans. He prayed the chase would end in the next minute for both of their sakes.
Lucky for him, as soon as he turned the corner, he found the man was in a slight predicament.
A dead end to be exact.
But the same nagging feeling crept into Bruce's head again as the guy turned around, seemingly looking for options.
The way he was built.
The way he carried himself.
Bruce squinted his eyes, realization settling in his chest.
Oh.
That was the word.
Familiar.
Before the guy could grapple away, Bruce flung a Batarang at his hand, knocking the grapple to the ground.
Bruce didn't feel the need to knock him out. Yet.
He stalked towards the man, who was fumbling with his pockets, seemingly trying to find another gadget.
"Don't even try," Bruce growled. "It's over."
But instead of the usual loud-mouth behavior he was so commonly subjected to, the criminal said nothing, instead just silently stepping back closer and closer towards the wall behind him. A part of Bruce was curious if the man would reveal himself.
Bruce stepped forward. "Nothing to say?" He asked darkly, merely… testing something.
No answer.
Bruce chewed the inside of his cheek. Screw it. If he was wrong, he could just knock the guy out.
…But he doubted he was.
"Jason," Bruce said sharply.
The man froze.
Yep.
No doubt about it. In all honesty, a bit of relief came back to Bruce. The two weren't as volatile as they used to be, but they definitely weren't on casual talking terms. Regardless of what the hell terms they were on, Bruce always felt a bit lighter running into him. It was just… nice to see him again, to know he was safe. It also warmed his heart ever so slightly that they had the same idea. Like father like son.
But instead of replying, Jason seemed to be conflicted on whether to answer or not.
Bruce leaned his head back with a sigh. "Jason, enough. I know it's you."
"No you don't." Came the muffled reply.
Of Jason's voice. He wasn't even trying to disguise it.
Bruce grit his teeth. "Jason, what are you doing here?"
"I'm not Jason,"
Bruce took another step forward. "Last chance."
Jason immediately straightened up. "Or what?"
"Or you can explain to the GPD instead what you're doing."
Bruce had no intention of handing his son in, but Jason didn't need to know that.
Jason made some sort of exasperated splutter before sighing as dramatically as possible. He had long understood it's nearly impossible to lie to Batman and get away with it. "What do you think I'm doing, B?" He snapped. "Same as you!"
Bruce squinted his eyes. "I doubt that."
Jason scoffed. "You know what I mean, don't play dumb. We were both there to take down Penguin. Only difference is my way was gonna keep Penguin's crime permanently."
"Right, because Penguin can't just hire other people." Bruce agreed sarcastically.
"Oh- you know what?" Jason snapped. "Don't you even-"
"Jason, Jason," Before Jason could finish, Bruce had to interrupt him. He had gotten ahead of himself, answered with a snarky reply too quickly without thinking about the fight that would bloom from it.
He would gladly give up being right if it meant they didn't have to argue.
"You…" Bruce sighed, finally stepping closer again so he was about a foot away from him. "I didn't- I don't want to fight."
There was a moment of silence before Jason scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. "You sure?"
Bruce took no offense to his son's defensiveness. He simply nodded. "I'm sure. …Now can you take off the mask? You're not one of Penguin's men, it's pointless to keep that thing on."
Jason hesitated.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Can you take off the mask?" He repeated.
"No- yeah." Jason quickly. "…I can." His tone droned off awkwardly, as if he was leaving out the second half of a sentence.
Bruce waited expectantly. "…So take it off."
"No, I can, I just don't want to." Jason explained casually.
Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"
"I don't know, maybe I'm not really feeling like talking to you face to face right now?"
While that definitely did sting a little, it stung far less because Bruce could hear how bad of a fib it was. He could hear the uncertainty lacing the clumsy lie the boy scraped together. Jason was always far quicker with insults than excuses.
Bruce frowned, crossing his arms. The problem with Jason was sometimes it was impossible to tell whether he was just being his stubborn self or if something was seriously wrong. And Bruce wasn't gonna take that chance.
Immediately he got to the point; they were far past taking the roundabout way. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"…No," Jason answered, crossing his own arms. "But if I did, it would be none of your business."
Bruce frowned deeper. "That's not true."
"Debatable."
"It really isn't," Bruce sighed harshly, wishing he could will his son's helmet off with his mind. What if he had seriously hurt himself and was just covering up because of some stupid pride thing? "Jason I just- if you're hurt, let me help you."
"The only thing I'm hurting from is that unbelievable donkey kick to the teeth you gave me," Jason said irritably.
"If I had known it was you I wouldn't have done that," Bruce explained with only a bit of guilt.
"Pssh. Yeah, right."
"I wouldn't have done it as harshly."
Jason clicked his tongue.
Bruce stared at him. "…Is that why you're not taking off the helmet?"
Jason stared back. "Sure, let's go with that. Okay, bye!" He said, trying to pass Bruce.
Bruce immediately stepped in his way, putting a hand on his shoulder. Although Jason was easily the tallest out of his sons, Bruce still had the slightest bit of height over him. "Hold on."
"B, I'm good. Honestly. And if you let me go now, I won't even be caught by the GPD, which means you won't have to answer my phone call from jail that you'd feel too guilty not to pick up and pay the expensive bail you'd feel too guilty not to pay. So let's save both of us some time," Jason explained lightly, trying to step past Bruce once more. "And just let me go. Okay?"
Bruce pressed his lips into a firm line. "Fine."
Jason stared, immediately backing up a step. "Uh oh."
"What?"
"Whenever you relent that easy there's always a catch. What's the catch, old man?" Jason asked alarmed, pointing an accusatory finger at his father.
"There's no catch," Bruce sighed. "Just take off the helmet."
"Oh my- what is your obsession with my headgear?" Jason snapped. "I can wear what I want. I'll do anything else, make me dance or do a cartwheel or anything, just let me go."
"You're only raising my suspicions," Bruce said flatly.
"Calling me suspicious Mr. I am the Night?"
"I guess I can let Commissioner Gordon know where you are," Bruce hummed.
"Are you serious?" Jason snapped. "You're seriously threatening me with the law?"
"I wouldn't have to if you'd just take off your damn helmet," Bruce said, a little more impatiently than he intended. "Why did you even pretend it wasn't you? I could've seriously hurt you."
"Oh, please," Jason waved him off. "I would've been fine."
"How's that 'donkey kick' feeling?"
Jason paused before seemingly deciding not to lie. "It frickin' hurts."
"You're lucky it wasn't more," Bruce frowned. "You would've rather me knock you out than talk to you?"
"Kind of!" Jason said, exasperated. "I don't know! I wasn't exactly expecting you to show up so I tried avoiding you and look how that turned out."
Bruce sighed, feeling that all too familiar frustration beginning to buzz between them. Why was he so awful with these things? How did he always manage to push Jason into avoidance or an argument? He took in a small, grounding inhale.
Tonight wasn't about rights or wrongs, he had to remind himself. No matter Jason's methods or opinions, he was probably hurt. And if he was, then Bruce really couldn't care less how volatile their arguments got; as long as Jason was alive, Bruce would be there to catch him.
If his son would let him.
"Just… please, Jason." He looked at his son, hoping he could see past Bruce's mask and into his pleading eyes. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I could turn you in. But I don't want to. You know I don't want to."
Jason stared back.
"I just want to know if you're hurt or not. And if you are, we can fix you up at the BatCave. No questions asked."
"No questions asked? I'm hearing that from a literal detective?" Jason said disbelievingly, but his voice was cracked with something more. It sounded like exhaustion. Maybe he was sick of his own stubbornness.
"Maybe a few questions," Bruce amended. "But answer what you want. I just want to make sure you're… okay." He would love to ask Jason a million questions. Would love to talk to him for hours and hours, even if it led to another fight.
But he doubted Jason wanted that. So he would take it at his son's pace.
Jason stared for a couple moments longer, probably weighing his options.
Bruce let him.
Sirens interrupted their silence. It must've been a wake-up call for Jason, who finally heaved a big sigh and put his hands on his helmet.
"Just don't… I don't know. Don't be like Dick or anything, have a- a normal reaction, okay?"
Well that was concerning. Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. "Will I see something abnormal?"
Jason hesitated. "Just… ugh." And with that, he pulled off the helmet. "Ta-da." He said sarcastically, tossing the headgear aside.
All of Bruce's training to keep a neutral face was came in handy.
Because on his son's face wasn't his usual scarred, pale skin, but instead a horrific pallette of all the colors a face should not be. It seemed to stem from his nose which was- oh, gosh- looked to be one thousand percent broken.
The bridge of it twisted awkwardly, no doubt cracked underneath. From it bloomed bright splotches of dark and bright purples, muddled oranges and even faintish yellows the further the injury pooled, all spider-webbing from his nose.
It looked awful. He must've been in a terrific amount of pain; no wonder he had complained about Bruce's kick.
Jason stared back at him with his tired eyes.
The boy loved to talk big, which sometimes made it easy to forget just how young he really was. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he wanted help. Maybe he didn't want to deal with it alone.
Maybe he wanted his dad.
Bruce's chest immediately ached a bit. He wasn't fully sure how to proceed. Wasn't sure just how involved he could be without scaring Jason off. Whether his son liked it or not, he needed medical attention if he wanted any chance of healing right.
"…How long?" Bruce finally asked. It seemed like a good, non-invasive question to start with.
"Well, good news is that donkey kick of yours isn't what did it, so not your fault," Jason sighed, looking away tiredly. Now that his helmet was off, Bruce could hear him more clearly; his voice sounded stuffy. "But you definitely made it worse."
"That doesn't answer my question," Bruce countered.
Jason huffed. "I don't know- a couple days ago. It was- I don't wanna talk about how it happened, it was stupid. But I just… yeah." He gestured at himself lazily, still avoiding eye contact. His voice had gotten significantly quieter, and his eye contact was scattered at best. Bruce didn't need to squint to see his son was tired and embarrassed, his behavior not unlike when Bruce caught him trying to steal the Batmobile when he was Robin. His little quirks reminded Bruce that both versions of Jason really were the same. "Can I… go now?"
Bruce furrowed his eyebrows. "Can you go now?"
"Yeah," Jason said, looking around in paranoia as the sirens got louder. "Please? I did what you wanted now, happy?"
Bruce stared for a minute before taking a small step closer. "Jason… are you seeing a doctor for that?" He knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway.
Jason stared angrily at him. "Can I go now?" He repeated.
Bruce stared back, once again unsure of how to proceed. He didn't want to let his son just… walk away to heaven knows where, to neglect his injuries, neglect his feelings. And for what, some stupid pride thing? Because of their fights? Because of Bruce?
After a few seconds, he decided he might as well take a leap of faith. "Jason." He started.
Jason looked warily back at him. "What. Make it quick."
"Can you let me… just this once… help you?"
Jason stared back, his eyebrows still knitted stubbornly, but said nothing.
Not an immediate no, Bruce noted. "…That looks bad." Understatement of the century.
"It's fine. I've got it under control." Jason said through grit teeth.
"It looks painful, chum," Bruce explained, the nickname instinctively slipping out. "I'm not saying you can't handle it, I'm just saying you don't have to."
Jason stayed glaring at Bruce. The fact that he hadn't brute forced his way past his father by then had to have meant something.
So Bruce continued. "You know me and Alfred can give you the best treatment you can get for that. No need to figure out how to pay for it, no need to hide identities and make it harder than it needs to be. We can get you all treated, no paper trail, no strings attached."
Jason swallowed and looked to the side. His face was still completely reluctant, livid even. But Bruce also knew how desperate he must be to even consider the offer.
He stared at Jason, praying that his words would get through to him. Praying that Jason would realize declining help would get him nowhere. That declining help had only ever gotten him nowhere. That Bruce wouldn't have to watch his boy sabotage and put himself through hell over and over again for no reason.
It was all up to Jason to accept his hand.
Bruce wished he could choose for him. He figured many parents felt that way.
Jason finally blew out an irate breath through his teeth, his gaze flitting back to Bruce. "…What are you planning to do?"
"Definitely Xrays," Bruce said immediately, seizing his chance. "And whatever we'll find from that. I can get you some good, low-dose painkillers if you need them."
Jason shook his head and waved him off distractedly, glancing over his father's shoulder, no doubt expecting the GDP to snatch him any minute.
Bruce knew he'd take the meds when no one was looking, but humored him anyway.
Jason stared back at Bruce. Hard. "So… you're not gonna make this into a thing right?"
"…A thing?"
"Yeah," Jason frowned, his eyebrows bunched in conflict. "I don't… shocking as it might sound, I'm not too eager to fight with you either, B."
Bruce took in his words and swallowed thickly. He nodded. "We both want the same thing then."
Jason nodded slowly, still wary. "…I guess. Just to get me in and out, right?"
"You can stay as long as you like."
"In and out, right?"
Not wanting to go back and forth with him, Bruce settled with, "Whatever you want." And he meant it. Just getting to talk to him for more than a few minutes was already more than he could ask for.
Jason sighed, running an agitated hand through his hair. "And- and Agent A's there, right?"
"Of course," Bruce almost smiled, reminiscing on how much of a soft spot Jason had for him.
Jason looked to the side again, chewing his lip. Bruce decided not to remind him it was a bad habit.
Rain still pattered between them. The building wall was accented with flashing lights of blues and reds, the sirens getting louder.
Finally the boy hung his head with a sigh. "Fine." He practically whispered. "Just where's the… the Batmobile." It came out as a mumble.
Bruce couldn't help smiling to himself, daring to put an arm around his son's shoulder, guiding him around the back of the building.
Jason made a weak attempt at batting his hand away, but Bruce paid it no mind.
They approached the Batmobile, boots crunching the ground in tandem. Bruce could feel Jason's reluctance, every footstep laced with apprehension. And yet Jason was pushing through it.
He had somehow, against all odds, gotten his son to willingly come home. And call him crazy, but he felt that somewhere deep, deep down, Jason might be looking forward to it too.