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If someone came up to Jason and asked if he was strong, he’d laugh in their face…unless it was a child. Then he’d probably do something dumb like flex for them and ask if they wanted to see for themself. Which would probably end up with them swinging from his arm or hanging from his shoulders.
God, he was weak for kids. Especially the street urchins. The little fuckers just tugged at his heartstrings.
Which was why he found himself lying on a bench in one of the few public parks in the area, one eye on the book hovering over his face and the other watching the kids play in a small fountain. The park and fountain had been one of the first things Jason had cleaned up when he’d established himself in Crime Alley, using the money earned from drug trades to hire a cleaning crew and plumbers to fix the rusty water pipes. All it’d taken was the Red Hood’s name drop to get the crews working, spritzing the place up just in time for a rare clear sunny day to settle over Gotham.
But getting back to the point at hand, it wasn’t a question if Jason was strong. He’s held his own against ten armed League Shadows and survived weeks of torture under the guise of training. And yet, the heavy sighs of some asshole sitting right behind him wore him down like no tomorrow. He tried to ignore the other person at first, he really did, but by what felt like the fiftieth sigh in the past ten minutes, he’s convinced he’s about to solve whatever the fuck this person’s problem was. How, you might ask? By eliminating them from the problem permanently right this instant, whether they liked it or not. A good strangling would do them plenty.
Jason’s book snapped shut with a loud bang. Birds scattered in the tree above him and he sensed the person tense at the noise.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” he gritted out, pushing up onto his elbows to glare at the back of the insufferable asshole’s head. “Why all the sighing? Why so woe is me? Tell me, please, because some people are trying to read.” From this angle, all he saw was black hair and broad suit-covered shoulders. The suit the person wore looked expensive enough to warrant an insurance policy and it made Jason’s lip curl because of course it was a rich person making their issues everyone else's problems.
What an inconsiderate—
“Sorry," came the response and Jason nearly shrieked, just managing to bite his tongue. The pit stubbornly yanked his soul back into his body before it could flee into the ether for yet a second time. “I didn’t mean to disturb you,” they continued, voice deep enough to originate from the core of the Earth itself…a voice that was nearly as recognizable as its owner’s face.
Just his damn luck.
Jason wanted to strangle himself now. Perhaps he could settle for smothering himself with his book or drowning himself in the fountain. It’d scar a few of the kids but it wouldn’t be anything they hadn’t seen before, depressing as that is.
The kids would survive.
Him on the other hand…now that he thought about it, he probably would too. If the person sitting behind him was who he thought it was, he didn’t stand a chance of expiring. Because he knew those sighs, those patented weary sighs. Hell, he’d been the cause of his fair share of them, running the old man ragged each time he got distracted during patrol or leapt into a fight without thinking.
If the Prince of Gotham decided to turn around right now, all of Jason’s plans burst into flames. There’s still more he had to do—more deals to make, more heads to roll—before he’s remotely close to being ready to cross paths with any form of Bruce-fucking-Wayne. He still had to break the Joker out of prison and have a good old reunion in the warehouse he’d stolen from Two Face a few days ago.
Know what, this was fine. Everything was fine.
They’re just two strangers sitting in a park. Strangers.
This was fine.
A cold sweat prickled Jason’s skin.
No, it’s too late, this absolutely wasn’t working, he was freaking out.
“Are you alright?” Bruce’s voice cut through Jason’s failed pep talk, hints of concern bleeding into his confusion. Because even to an utter stranger, the man’s got a hero-complex. It made Jason want to scoff and smile at the same time.
“I’m fine, mind your business,” Jason snapped far too quickly to be anything but suspicious.
You idiot, you blew it!
“Uh…” White knuckling his book, he racked his brain for a Hail Mary. “I saw a rat.”
Fabric shifted as Bruce turned and Jason could feel the scrutinizing weight of those dark eyes on him. Thankfully, he had the forethought to shield his face from view during his brief panic, landing Bruce with a face full of his book cover and a tuft of white amongst black hair. Bruce must receive the waves of “leave me alone” rolling off of Jason since he didn’t try to solve that issue, letting it slide after a contemplative moment. Though he did grunt in displeasure and Jason’s shoulders hiked up on instinct with childish indignation. That was another patented noise he’s heard his fair share of too.
“Alright,” Bruce said easily, turning back around.
Sweet relief—
“If you’re sure,” the patronizing son of a bitch tacked on.
—and irritation.
Two minutes. Two minutes and Jason was already considering giving into patricidal urges, identity reveal be damned.
“If yOu’Re sURe,” Jason mocked with ten times the necessary indignation, and if he flicked the middle finger at the back of Bruce’s head, then only he was the wiser. Was it petty of him? Frankly petulant? Yes. Did he care? Not whatsoever. He couldn’t help himself, feathers properly ruffled.
Why I oughta…
Making a statement by plopping back down on the bench and wrenching his book open—then immediately apologizing to it for being so rough—he grumbled to himself, loud enough for Bruce to hear. All of it was unintelligible and undoubtedly insulting, bouncing along the lines of hoity-toity stuckups and patronizing jerks. God damn Bruce and his uncanny ability to get under Jason’s skin in a way only family can.
He flinched, thumbing a page soothingly.
Ugh.
There’s that stupid word again, “family”.
“We don’t have a family anymore, remember?” A young voice filtered through his ears and he questioned whether hearing his younger self’s voice was worse than hearing the mad clown’s. “They replaced us...”
The words on the page blurred as he reread the same three sentences over and over.
A couple with a stroller walked by, the husband wiggling a baby toy in the air while the mother pushed it. Little hands reached for it, snagging one end and pulling it towards them. One after another, families walked by without a care in the world.
He wanted to scream. Perhaps punch something.
Sighing, Jason let his book fall flat on his face, breathing in the comforting smell of old pages. It always reminded him of a familiar library with a crackling fireplace and ceiling to wall bookshelves filled with book spines varying in age. He’d curl up on the couch, sometimes on a bed of pillows and blankets on the ground in front of the fire, with a cup of tea and a good book and wouldn’t come out until Alfred or Bruce came to draw him to a hot meal. He huffed, remembering the way Bruce would try and haul him out of his nook, coaxing him with promises of a swift return to his book after dinner while Jason would flop bonelessly backward.
Sneaking a furtive glance past the edge of his book, Jason really looked at Bruce. The man still sat there with his back to Jason, face hidden from view by the back of the bench, but it was clear he was lost in thought. The leaves in the tree above them rustled in the wind, sending down a flutter of yellow and a peek of orange.
The season’s changing. It’ll be fall soon.
Bruce loved the fall.
Jason growled, shaking his head.
Who cared if Bruce loved the fall? If he used to sit outside watching Jason and Dick chase each other through the leaf piles Alfred had meticulously gathered, knowing full well they’d be destroyed seconds later. Who cared if Bruce used to throw Jason into those piles, knowing he was perfectly safe?
“You do,” his younger self said.
Stop it, he chided, rolling onto his side to clamp his hands over his ears as if that would make the voice stop.
All he’d wanted was to enjoy a momentary lull in his plans, get some sun, and curl up in the park with a good book. What he got instead was a jump scare in the form of his former dad, homesickness knotting his stomach, and a hallucination of his younger self kicking him while he was down.
What an awful day this has turned out to be. And it’d been such a nice day.
“How old are you?” It took Jason a moment to realize Bruce was talking, much less talking to him. He blinked, disoriented. When had he closed his eyes?
“Huh?” He drawled, muffled by the book on his face.
“Your age.”
“Too young for you, perv.”
“I’m not propositioning you.” Bruce Wayne did not splutter but he damn well came close to it. Jason grinned at how scandalized he sounded, wishing he could lean over the bench back to see the range of emotions currently performing acrobatics on the man’s face. Better yet, snap a photo and put it in a frame.
“Why, am I not your type?”
“You’re practically my son’s age.”
He knew exactly which son Bruce was referring to.
“Bet he’s a great kid,” Jason tossed out sarcastically.
“He is,” Bruce said fondly and Jason just managed to keep his sound of disgust internal. Timothy Drake’s face popped up in his head, green singeing the edges before it fizzled out and died pathetically. He couldn’t really be angry at something that looked like it would blow over from a slight breeze, especially after running into the kid at Wayne Enterprises. Big eyes and that unnerving blue-eyed stare that simultaneously made every fight or flight instinct light up like the Fourth of July and pinned Jason in place, he shivered just remembering it. Batting away thoughts of Tim, he realized Bruce was holding something back.
Peeling one side of the book off his face, he raised a brow when the man didn’t continue. What he found was an expression of conflict and frustration. That alone had him sitting up, gnawing his own bottom lip in consideration. Should he just quit while he’s ahead? Conclude this freak interaction and mitigate the risk of being discovered? He swung his legs off the bench, sitting properly.
“But?” Jason prompted, like the nosy little shit he was.
Bruce startles briefly like he wasn’t expecting Jason to actually join in conversation. “But sometimes he acts so… reckless,” Bruce hissed through gritted teeth and, like a floodgate cracked open, it all came pouring out. It actually surprised Jason and he set his book beside him to settle in for the long haul. “I mean, he’s an incredible kid, really. He’s so smart and intuitive that it scares me sometimes. He actually blackmailed me the first time he met me; came right up to me and said that if I didn’t do what he wanted, he’d smear my name across the tabloids. And he’d just turned thirteen! What kind of thirteen year old does that?”
Impressive. “Only in Gotham.”
There’s the sound of Bruce throwing his hands up. “And he’s helpful too, so eager to prove himself that it drives me up the wall. Especially now that he has a younger brother, who seems to have it out for him for some inane reason. The two of them together…I don’t even have the words to describe it.”
Jason perked up. Tim and Damian don’t get along? What he’d pay to see that. “How bad?”
Bruce scoffed. His words came out muffled, telling Jason he must’ve buried his head in his hands. “Well, just this morning, my youngest tried to skewer him at the dining table with a butter knife just for apparently looking at him wrong.”
Ouch. But also, atta boy. “Why don't they get along?”
“I don’t know,” Bruce sighed, leaning back against the bench. The wood creaked and a whiff of his Armani cologne made Jason sneeze. “Maybe they—bless you—feel uncertain in the family now with the change in dynamics? My youngest didn’t even know he’d have to “compete,” as he says, with other children. Keeps demeaning the others just because he’s the only biological son.”
Jason winced. Yeah, that sounded like Damian. “Sounds like they need reassurance.”
“I’ve tried talking to them but they don’t listen. Now my youngest runs off at night by himself without a word, accusing me of not trusting him and that I’m treating him like a child. Mind you, he’s only eight. I can’t even recall the number of times I’ve told him off, even gone so far as to ground him with a babysitter, and he’s either managed to sneak out or give me the cold shoulder for the foreseeable future.”
Jason’s heart stopped. “He sneaks out?”
“Every night.”
Green flickered at the edges of his vision like a dying light bulb.
“And it terrifies me. I can’t lose another son. I barely survived it the last time.” Bruce gave a laugh that was borderline hysterical. “I won’t survive it again,” he whispered to himself but Jason heard it.
Right before the pit howled and latched on.
The Joker was back.
“Sound familiar?” The clown crooned. Goosebumps rose along Jason’s skin in the wake of something metal and cold trailing across his cheek. A phantom.
You’re not real.
“That’s not very nice, is it?” A jaunty shift of movement from the corner of his eye. Purple, green, purple, green, green, green—
Against his will, his gaze slid up and over. Bloodshot eyes and a red smile hovered centimeters from his face. Watching and waiting. Rot filled Jason’s nose. Dirt, wood, and maggots. Joker smiled, splitting his face in two.
“Robin number four’s flying without supervision? Oh, Bats always treats me so well,” Joker laughed as he danced back. “Such a shame he likes to play hard to get. He’s practically gift wrapped the bird for me! I bet I can make this one sing as well as the last, maybe even better. We can have our own private orchestra, just the three of us!”
Stop. Talking. To me.
The green shuddered, beaten back by the cool breeze brushing against Jason’s clammy skin. He huffed, intentionally sending another whiff of Bruce’s expensive cologne his way, and the force of his sneeze caused the green to snap like a rubber band, leaving his mind blissfully silent but for the park ambiance.
“Bless you,” Bruce said over the noise of laughing children and chattering passersby. Even wavering with fear and helplessness, his voice was a balm of warmth over Jason’s frazzled nerves.
“Thank you,” Jason rasped pathetically. Two birds twittered overhead, getting louder when a third one flew into the tree.
“Are you alright?”
Jason snorted half-heartedly, biting his lip on a grin. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“No biting retort this time?”
He could imagine the raised brow being sent his way. “Would you rather I tell you to fuck off and call you a monumental ass?”
“Language,” Bruce grunted exasperatedly.
This time, the grin won out. “I’m sorry if my crude language offended your delicate sensibilities.”
Bruce’s laugh caught them both by surprise. It was bright and genuine, and Jason couldn’t ignore the way it made his chest melt and twist. Leaning further back against the bench until the heat of Bruce’s body pressed against his back. Jason didn’t realize how much he missed hearing Bruce laugh.
“What?” Jason asked, failing to come off defensive.
“Nothing, you just…you sound just like my son.”
His breath hitched. “The one you failed?”
A bullet of regret tore through him. He waited to hear Bruce yell, to tell him off for speaking about his son like that because it was easier to deal with anger than grief. But instead, Bruce just got…sad. Like an unbearable weight had folded over his shoulders and he crumbled like a dry leaf. The silence was cold and jagged from a wound that never left, and Jason suspected it never would.
No child should see their parent like this.
“Yes,” Bruce finally whispered.
“I’m…sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean that.”
“No, don’t be. You’re right. I did. Fail him.”
The guilt and grief cracking Bruce’s voice was suffocating.
“People always said being a parent was hard,” Bruce said. “One moment you’re on your own and then suddenly you’ve got this small being who becomes your whole world. When Ja-my son entered my life, he came in swinging. Literally.” Jason remembered the tire iron incident bittersweetly. “He was by far the smallest of my sons at his age—”
“Hey,” Jason protested before he could stop himself.
“—but he was so bright and passionate that his sheer presence made up what he lacked in size. And then I lost him…and the world got a whole lot darker. Maybe it’s silly of me but I find myself going back, analyzing every infinitesimal gesture and every conversation we had, and asking myself where I went wrong. Wondering if I had just said something or done something differently, then maybe he wouldn’t have left me behind.”
Part of Jason wanted to jump up and leave. He didn’t want to hear this—didn’t want to hear Bruce’s regrets, his griefs, his love for Jason—not while the Joker still breathed. The sentimental part of him wanted to stay, to reach across the benches. To hug his dad and tell him he was here.
He did neither.
All he ever wanted since the Pit was to make Batman pay, to hurt him. Batman didn’t care about Jason enough to avenge him and Bruce Wayne didn’t love him enough to wait more than a few months before replacing him. Every night a Robin leaves the nest and every night he’s reminded why he never mattered.
At least…that’s what he’d thought.
Bruce groaned and Jason jolted.
“I shouldn’t even be telling you any of this.” His dad sounded beaten down, like he’d gone nine rounds with Bane.
“Who am I gonna tell?” Jason tilted his head back, eyes skyward.
“The media,” Bruce grumbled and he shared the sentiment. Vultures, the lot of them.
“Can’t really tell anyone anything if I don’t know who I’m ratting on.”
“You mean…you haven’t looked?” It’s one half disbelief and another half incredulous.
“Nah,” Jason lied easily before swallowing, suddenly uncertain. “...have you?”
“No…”
He shrugged. “Then that’s that. We’re just two people sitting at the park.”
They sit in contemplative silence, broken by the occasional family or child. It seemed neither of them were ready to leave just yet, caught up in old memories and a sudden calmness. A cloud drifted by in the shape of an upside down bat, a smaller cloud trailing behind it that vaguely looked like a bird.
Yeah, yeah, cosmic universe, I hear you.
“What are you reading?” Bruce asked, switching to lighter subjects.
Jason glanced down at his forgotten book. “Hamlet.”
“Shakespeare. Do you like classical literature?”
“You could say that.”
“Why Hamlet?”
He flicked through its pages. “I felt like I could relate to it. The whole revenge scheme and death,” he explained. “Metaphorically, of course,” he tacked on just in case. He doesn’t need Bruce thinking this random kid behind him was planning a murder.
“And now?”
“And now what?”
“You said ‘felt’, past tense.”
He hadn’t noticed. “I’m tired,” he murmured in lieu of an answer he didn’t have. His finger tapped over the long dried ink of a page. “I think…I want to go home.”
“It is getting late,” Bruce mused, checking his watch.
That hadn’t been what Jason meant.
He’d meant “home” to the worn, dark mahogany stairs with its ninth and twelfth creaky step. To the notches in the family room archway, marking his heights over the years, and Sunday brunches where he managed to persuade Alfred to join them at the table because everyone deserves to have a seat at family meals.
Jason hummed in acknowledgement anyway before his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, lit up with a text about rumours of a Blackgate prison break happening in the next four days. It’ll be easy to snatch the Joker up in the chaos, gag him and tie him to a chair. Visit him a few times before the grand finale. Jason shoots off a quick response, telling his Lieutenant to make sure the newbies weren’t scaring the street kids while making their food donations. Sometimes they didn’t remember to lead with a “I’m with Hood” and ended up getting a bloody bite to the hand or initiating a game of chase.
He got a picture in response. It’s his Lieutenant back at HQ with a newbie in the background getting his hand wrapped.
Amateurs.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he moved to stand up when he paused.
Just…one last thing.
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Bruce’s head tilt, clocking his pause in movement. Before Bruce could do something like ask if he was alright again or some shit, Jason spoke, taking a shot in the dark.
“If you could see your son one last time…what would you say to him?” The question must’ve caught Bruce off guard because there’s a distinct lack of breathing on his part. Seconds pass and yet they feel like hours.
“I’d tell him he is one of the best things to happen to me,” Bruce said with a steadiness and certainty that told Jason this was something he’s thought about before. Jason didn’t know how to feel about that. Happy that his dad cared? Sad that his dad apparently inflicted himself with self-flagellation? Angry that Jason wasn’t ever told this before? “And that I’m sorry.”
A lump grew in Jason’s throat. “For what?”
“For ever making him doubt that I loved him.”
Jason’s eyes burned and he couldn’t blame it on the smog on this stupidly beautiful day.
Fucking Bruce Wayne.
Subtly wiping at his cheek, Jason stood. For the first time since he’d burst from the Lazarus Pit, filled with unbridled rage and vengeance, he felt like the sun had come out behind the clouds. “You sure are a sappy son of a bitch.”
“Language.”
“Ugh, whatever.” Jason idly played with the shock of white in his hair, book tucked under his arm. “Don’t forget to remind your living kids of that once in a while ‘cause they’re clearly not confident when it comes to where they stand with you.”
“They’re my kids.”
“Who need to be reminded,” Jason emphasized. It’s easy to forget sometimes how much someone loves you.
Bruce waved a resigned hand. “How did someone your age get so wise?”
And it just slipped out.
“You learn a few things when you die.”
Bruce froze but he didn’t turn, holding up their anonymity agreement.
Jason smiled, genuine in his farewell. “It was nice chatting with you, old man.”
By the time Bruce broke, Jason was already gone, lost in the crowd.
“Back in the park…”
Bruce hummed in encouragement.
Jason’s brows furrowed, peering up at the man—his dad because “you’ll always be my son” obliterated all remnants of his restraint—who refused to release him after he’d done the impossible.
He’d come home.
Squished together on the well worn sofa in the library, bundled in a hug that was both suffocating and a safe haven while half his ass went numb, Jason didn’t want to be anywhere more than here. Even if the apologies and praises that spilled from Bruce’s lips like a severed artery kind of brought down the mood.
“...you really never looked?” He asked and immediately regretted looking at Bruce.
Head tilted, Bruce’s expression embodied parental awe and affection as he took in his son’s features.
Jason knew what he would see.
The tail end of baby fat shedding from his cheeks, the sharpening of his jaw, and eyes that couldn’t decide if they were blue or green under the light.
Uneasiness and insecurity knotted in Jason’s chest.
He wanted to look away.
“It didn’t seem right to invade your privacy when you were upholding mine,” Bruce murmured and, as if sensing Jason’s conflict, he swept a thumb across the ridge of a cheekbone, chasing it away.
Jason settled. “Did you want to?”
Bruce heaved a tremulous breath, eyes falling shut. “Yes. Desperately.”
Hands fell away from Jason’s face, and before he could mourn the loss of warmth, Bruce was tucking him back in close to his chest, shifting to nuzzle his cheek against the top of his son’s head. Jason’s limbs turned into jelly and he never did worry about his newfound bulk crushing his dad, not when he still felt like a little kid in his arms.
“You never did tell me how old you are,” Bruce reminded, and his voice vibrated under Jason’s ear.
Jason huffed, rolling his eyes. “Out of everything we talked about, you remember that?”
“You accused me of being a predator.”
“Fair.” He couldn’t argue that it wasn't a memorable moment. Clearing his throat, he fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. “If I tell you, promise you won’t get weepy about it?”
His disclaimer offered no reassurances, only dread.
Bruce’s grip tightened.
“I promise,” his dad started and Jason relaxed, “to weep out of sight."
Dammit, he knew it’d been too good to be true. Christ almighty.
“I’m nineteen.”
A wet gasp. “Oh good God.”
Jason jerked away, glaring up at him. “Bruce.”
The Dark Knight quickly covered his face, eyes suspiciously shiny. “Right, sorry, sorry.”
“If it makes you feel better, I was catatonic for a bit.”
Another wet noise. “It doesn’t.”
There was no saving Bruce’s promise.
“Er…sorry, dad.”