Chapter Text
Wedding planning is a pain in the ass.
Especially when your fiancé’s answer to every question about his preference is, “Whatever you want babe.”
Jason glares at Slade after the fifth time.
“If you’re not going to help, then we’re not going to get married,” he snaps at the older man.
Slade just smirks at him. “Fine with me, kid.”
“You’re a liar, Slade. A liar and an asshole.”
The bastard doesn’t even argue. They’re definitely getting married. At this point, Jason thinks Slade would seriously consider kidnapping him and hiding away with him somewhere their families wouldn’t find them.
But then that would solve their biggest problem anyway.
“I told you,” Slade says patiently, “we’re not doing anything until you fix things with your father.”
“It bothers me that you two are so chummy now,” Jason mutters.
“We have something in common now,” Slade answers easily, taking a sip of his coffee and setting another in front of Jason.
He cups his hands around the mug and lets the warmth seep into his skin.
“Don’t pull that sappy shit with me,” Jason says. “You two may be best friends now but he still fucked me over just to test you. He’s got some serious issues with boundaries.”
Ignoring Slade’s eye roll and infuriating snicker, Jason sips his coffee. Then nearly sips it out when a terrible thought occurs to him.
“You are not allowed to ask my dad to be your best man,” he says, leaving no room for argument.
“Billy is going to be my best man, Jason,” Slade responds without looking up from his tablet.
“Oh. Right.”
“You know, since Joey’s not an option anymore.”
Slade is grinning without looking up at him. Jason knows he’s teasing but he still scrunches his nose in distaste.
“I’m serious, Jason. Have you even told him?”
“I’m sure you handled it,” Jason snarks. Or one of his brothers probably did anyway.
With a sigh, Slade clicks off his tablet and gives Jason his full attention.
“You don’t want to do this without him,” Slade says gently. “You know you don’t. You don’t want to look back on the ridiculously expensive and somehow still shitty photographs and not see him there. You’ll regret it forever.”
He’s right. The asshole.
Jason flops back in his seat with a huff. He keeps thinking that if he gives it more time, he won’t be so mad. That some of the anger and disappointment and just straight up disbelief would dissipate. It’s been a year and a half since his dad cut him off to test Slade’s commitment to what, at the time, the older man wouldn’t even call a relationship.
And now they’re getting married.
The fight with his dad had been real. Bruce can say what he wants now, but he never approved of Jason’s future plans; kept trying to get him to switch majors. Get an MBA, join the family business. So the reasons his dad cut him off were real issues they had. And none of that’s changed. But would this whole engagement even be happening if his dad hadn’t done what he did? Would Slade have ever come around if they hadn’t moved in together?
It’s hard to figure the right balance between indignation and gratitude.
Either way, whether he’s ready or not, it’s time to work things out.
“I hate it when you’re right,” Jason growls.
“I know,” Slade responds, standing and kissing him on the head as he goes to get ready for work.
Two days later, Jason finds himself sitting in his father’s office, staring at each other from opposite sides of a large, gaudy mahogany desk.
They sit there in silence for several long minutes. Until Bruce’s posture relaxes and he leans forward slightly.
“So,” he starts. Jason can’t help but smile at the goofy, awkward look on his face. Which seems to help his father even more. “I owe you an apology.”
Jason’s brows shoot up. “Sorry, you what?”
Bruce narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t be dramatic, Jason. This isn’t the first time I’ve ever apologized to you.”
“Nothing comes to mind,” Jason mutters with a roll of his eyes.
It’s his father’s turn to raise his eyebrows, a small smile curling his lips. “When you were 12 and you told me you were never taught how to swim. You asked me not to mention it to your brothers because you were embarrassed.”
“You mentioned it to Dick and he pestered me all summer, trying to get me to let him teach me how,” Jason grumbles. It had been their first real bonding experience. Nearly a year after he got dropped on their doorstep.
He had been slow coming out of his shell. The memory is one of his fondest.
“I apologized then,” Bruce says with a smirk.
It pulls Jason’s lips up into a smile too. Truthfully, Bruce has always been pretty good about apologizing when he’s been in the wrong.
Bruce’s expression turns serious again. “Jason, I know I overstepped. And I’m aware that it was… ill-advised to use a real point of conflict between us as the instigating factor. I… shouldn’t have risked my relationship with you to test Slade. No matter how reasonably sure I was that I was correct.”
That’s another thing that Bruce does well. Not-so subtly remind people when he’s right.
“You—and your brothers—are the most important things in the world. I’m deeply sorry that what I did made you doubt that even for a moment.”
His father stands and moves round to his side of the desk.
Then he reaches down and pulls Jason up into a hug, holding tight.
“I love you so much, son.”
When he stops there and doesn’t add anything stupid like “even when I think you’re wrong or when you make bad choices,” Jason can’t help but melt into it.
He feels a little easy when he leaves; like maybe he should have made his dad work for it a little harder. But he’s always been quick to forgive.
Well.
Almost always.
Slade knows it’s kind of an asshole thing to do, holding the wedding hostage until Jason makes up with Bruce.
In his defense, he never pressured Jason to actually do it. He’s actually really proud of himself for that. For holding back that urge to take control and force the issue. Choosing, instead, to have a frank and mature conversations with his fiancé about the subject.
He feels like he’s growing. As a person. It’s slow, sure. But it’s something that not too long ago, he didn’t even realize needed to happened, let alone recognize that it was something he wanted to happen.
Regardless, once Jason finally makes up with Bruce, things ease into this weird happy family vibe which is entirely alien to Slade.
It’s… nice.
The Waynes offer their help and opinions without solicitation. Which is both endearing and annoying.
Rose and Joey also throw in their two-cents but it’s often to say something absurd and embarrassing. Like when Rose suggests they honeymoon in Vegas to get one of the cheesy heart-shaped beds.
Or when Joey asks who he’s throwing a bachelor party for, his father or his ex.
Suddenly the easiest decision Slade and Jason come to is that neither of them want a bachelor party.
Frankly, Slade would prefer to just go down to City Hall and call it a day. But he also wants to have an actual life with Jason, not just the few short days he’d survive before the kid’s family killed him for not throwing a proper celebration.
They’re good people. Better than him anyway. But fuck if they’re not exhausting.
Which is how Slade finds himself spending the week leading up to the wedding at Wayne Manor. Jason is, despite his bluster, a sentimental man and something of a wannabe hermit. Jason would never say it, but Slade knows that his father’s house is Jason’s happy place. A wedding will put the kid in the spotlight, it makes sense that Jason wants to get married at the Manor, where he’s most comfortable and can sneak away for a couple minutes to himself.
Since he didn’t have any preferences of his own, Slade was happy to accommodate that desire. He just didn’t think they’d have to move in for awhile to finish up the preparations.
It’s awkward to be eating breakfast next to his much younger fiancé’s father (who he used to try to seduce), across from his fiancé’s older brother (who he had a one night stand with), when said fiancé stumbles into the breakfast nook yawning and putting suspiciously finger-shaped bruises on display as he stretches.
“Good morning, son,” Bruce says lightly. He turns the page of his paper, wisely choosing to not acknowledge the situation.
Dick, however, glances up just as Jason walks by reaching high over his head. Right in time to get an eyeful of the couple purple marks peeking over the waistband of Jason’s sweats. The older Wayne boy blushes and turns a quick scowl to Slade before he focuses on his breakfast.
“Mornin’ dad,” Jason mumbles, slugging his brother gently in the shoulder as he passes. “Dickie.”
Slade gets a very chaste peck on the cheek. Again he feels a surge of pride in himself when he resists the temptation to pull Jason into his lap and shove his tongue down the boy’s throat for a sloppy, possessive make out.
They eat in a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by the odd comment or question about the wedding. Mostly between Jason and Dick.
After several minutes, Bruce slides the paper he was reading over to Slade without a word and retrieves his phone.
Slade almost makes a smart assed joke about getting all his papers digitally now and how it’s almost as if Bruce is the old-timer in the room when he notices the headline and grins.
Janus Industries Death Knell: How did one of Gotham’s most prominent corporations crumble seemingly over night?
It took surprisingly little, actually. All Bruce and Slade had to do was whisper in the right ears. Now Roman is looking at enough lawsuits to tank his company. Not to mention a couple that could land him some serious jail time.
Outwardly, not much changes about Bruce’s appearance. But the self-satisfaction is so thick in the air Slade can almost taste it.
Not that he’s not also quite pleased with himself. He’s just… very proud of Bruce remembering he has claws and actually using them.
He skims through the article for the main points then sends a couple texts of his own. Probably for the same reasons as Bruce. Janus Industries has a number of lucrative contracts and departments that can be salvaged or cannibalized.
Now that their alliance has born fruit, they can return to their cutthroat competition.
Eventually Damian, and finally an extremely groggy looking Tim, join them at the table. They sit next to Dick across the table from Slade and Jason. Then they all exchange barbs and jokes while they drink coffee and munch on toast.
He and Bruce exchange an uncomfortable look. With Bruce at the head of the table, Slade just to his right, and four young men laughing and teasing like the brothers they are it almost feels like they’re Slade is a second parent.
“So,” Bruce says pointedly after clearing his throat. “I spoke to Jack last night—“
The three raven-haired boys in front of him straighten and turn bright, excited eyes to focus on their father while Jason shoves a huge forkful of eggs into his mouth.
“Really?!” Dick exclaims.
“Is he going to make it to the wedding?” Tim asks, sounding as hopeful as Damian looks.
It’s a small nothing little movement; something easy to write off if you’re not paying attention or don’t attribute your entire emotional intelligence to the person. But Slade feels more than he sees the little flinch before Jason stiffens at his side.
“Who’s Jack?” Slade asks.
“Jack Napier—“ Bruce starts only to be interrupted by his youngest.
“Uncle Jack is dad’s best friend since forever,” Damian says. “He travels a lot for work and he’s lived in Germany for the last five years or so.”
“Belgium,” Tim corrects.
Damian scowls at him. “Germany,” he insists.
“It’s not important,” Bruce says. Then smirks at them and says, “But it’s Austria.”
Then he looks back to Jason. “Apparently he never received an invitation to the wedding.”
Jason finishes chewing. Slowly. Then takes a long sip of his orange juice.
“Must be a mistake,” he says finally, without looking up from where he meticulously scoops up the next bit of his breakfast. “International mail. Very unreliable.”
Knowing Jason as well as he does… the words sound exceptionally insincere to Slade. The tension and unease feel like they’re flowing off Jason in tangible waves.
However, no one else seems to notice. They just nod knowingly like the invitation (which almost certainly did not get sent at all) got lost in transit.
“I thought as much,” Bruce says with a bob of his head as he starts primly cutting his frittata. “I assured him it was a mistake and he promptly rearranged his schedule. He’ll arrive tomorrow afternoon.”
Subtly, Slade watches Jason out of the corner of his eye while the others wear their anticipation on their sleeves. All the muscles in the kid’s body is coiled and he seems to be carefully controlling his reactions and words.
“Where’s he staying?” Jason asks, still avoiding eye contact with anyone.
Even though he sounds fine—if a little uninterested—everything about his body language screams at Slade that there is something very wrong.
“Jason,” Dick scoffs. “Seriously? Uncle Jack is gonna stay with us, of course. Right, dad?”
Bruce narrows his eyes at Jason like is son has said something particularly silly. “Of course.”
Jason’s eyes finally dart up. He glances Damian’s direction so quickly Slade is certain no one else saw.
“It’s your wedding, Jay, and you’ve always been Jack’s favorite. I figured you could pick him up from the airport.”
The kid is quiet so long that everyone glances at each other.
“Jay?” Bruce asks, concern creeping into his voice. “Are you alright, son?”
“I’m fine,” Jason answers just a tad too sharply. “What time does he land?”
“3:15. He won’t have any checked luggage.”
“Can’t. I have a class. Sorry.”
It takes all Slade’s control to keep the frown off his face.
Jason does not have a class at all tomorrow afternoon.
It’s not like him to lie about things like that.
He should have known.
Everything was going so well.
It should have been his first clue but he was too caught up in the excitement.
But it seems to be one of the secret laws of nature that whenever something amazing happens to him, something awful isn’t far behind.
He gets tapped for a special school program for high achievers, then his mom gets really sick (eventually dying) and he has to drop out.
He finds out Bruce Wayne is his father, moves in with him and his wife who is so kind and understanding and gentle. Then Talia dies.
He’s top of his class despite starting off behind, makes his dad proud, finally bonds with his brothers and then…
Jason leans back against the bathroom door and takes long, deep breaths until the shivering in his guts and under his skin stops.
Slade knows something is wrong and Jason desperately doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s gone this long without talking about it and he sees no reason to change that now. Not here. Not where his brothers live.
Their wedding is five days days away. He doesn’t want it marred by… by this.
At least he and Slade decided to stay here before they found out Jack was coming. It would have looked suspicious if they’d done it now.
Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Maybe he’s just being paranoid.
They don’t know, after all. Dick was gone for college and Tim was just a kid. Damian was a baby…
And he’s still so young..
About the same age Jason was back then…
What matters is that Jason and Slade are here. They’re here and Jason isn’t an insecure, terrified kid anymore. He’s prepared. He knows what to expect.
Splashing some water on his face helps bring him back from his daze. But he still knocks his forehead against the marble countertop.
Jack Napier is the last fucking person Jason wants at his wedding.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Slade investigates his suspicions. Jason tries to pull himself together and brace for a few days of acting. Some brotherly bonding is deeply appreciated.
Chapter Text
It’s been over a year since Jason’s world changed like a princess in a fairy tale (not the prince, the prince is never the one who gets whisked away to a fancy castle. It’s always his castle). He still can’t get used to waking up in a soft bed with all the blankets he could want. Warm. Clean.
The bedroom they gave him is bigger than the apartment Jason lived in with his mom and da—and Willis, before he disappeared and she died.
He still can’t bring himself to call Bruce ‘dad’ even though he likes B a lot more than he ever liked Willis. The whole concept of a ‘father’ has just left a bad taste. But the man hasn’t pushed. And Jason appreciates that.
It’s been a little easier to think of the three other boys as his brothers. Even if Tim doesn’t like him very much and Dick is always gone and Damian is a baby.
Truthfully though, Jason feels a lot more comfortable with Talia. And he knows it’s a babyish thing to do, but he clings to her like a shadow.
She doesn’t seem to mind. She combs her fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to tame his unruly curls and always has a hug for him. They're warm and gentle and undemanding. It's the first time he's ever felt safe in someone's arms.
Jason meets Jack for the first time right before Talia gets ill. It's clear Bruce loves him. It's clear Talia doesn't. Dick comes home from college in Bludhaven to see him and Tim is clearly smitten.
They call him Uncle Jack and he insists Jason does too.
So he does.
Jason's seen smiles like that in the Alley during the couple months between his mom's death and finally getting snatched up by CPS. It's best not to get on the bad side of those smiles.
Uncle Jack says the same things to Jason that he does to the others. But the tone is different. Sweeter. Slicker. Darker.
Like candy.
But no one else seems to notice. Talia occasionally narrows her eyes at the man but there's nothing overt. And Jason tells himself he's being paranoid. Tells himself that the short time he spent sleeping in cardboard and trying to avoid those candy smiles has him imagining things.
The darkness of the slums doesn't touch the billionaires in their ivory palaces. He's safe here. He's never alone. Talia or Bruce is always there for them. When one is at work, the other stays with the kids. Jason doesn't need to worry.
Then Talia dies.
And Uncle Jack is all too delighted to prove that darkness touches everything.
* * *
Jerking awake because of nightmares is a familiar sensation, it just hasn't happened in a long time.
It's fucking cheesy and sappy as shit, but... Jason hasn't hardly even thought about Jack since Slade became a fixture in his life. Like the giant businessman had driven the scrawny creep out of Jason's mind completely.
Now though... now Jack is back in his dreams with a vengeance and Jason manages to hold his shit together just long enough to crawl out of bed, carefully so as not to wake Slade, and dart to the toilet in the ensuite before throwing up what is left of his dinner.
Pressing his heated forehead to the cool porcelain, Jason tries to get a grip. If he’s too anxious, Slade’s going to press the issue and Jason is pretty sure that Slade is the last person he wants to find out. After his dad, of course, but for entirely different t reasons.
He's not sure Bruce will believe him. Jack is his best friend, they knew each other before Jason was even born, let alone before Bruce knew he existed. And Jason isn't sure he can handle it if Bruce doesn't. He knows he won't be able to handle the fallout with the family if they think he's making it up or say that he was a kid and he probably misunderstood.
Slade, on the other hand... Slade will believe him. And there is zero doubt in Jason's mind that Slade will kill Jack.
So it's entirely possible that Jason loses literally everyone he cares about by the weekend if he doesn't keep his cool.
It'll be impossible to ignore the bastard completely. Jack will make sure of it. He always reveled in subtle comments and jokes and gestures that everyone else could write off but alluded to the truth. He won't settle for flitting around the fringes and leaving well enough alone.
Not to mention... Jason has to keep an eye on Damian. Jack's more of an opportunist than anything else, and Damian doesn't have the baggage that Jason did that made it so easy for Jack to dig his claws in, but... but now that Jason is physically capable of defending himself, he wouldn't put it past Jack to try. Just to dig the knife in deeper.
At the very least though, Jason can speak to the photographer and tell them not to take any pictures of the prick.
Just because Jack's going to be at his wedding, doesn't mean Jason has to remember it later.
Quietly, Jason untangles himself from the toilet and brushes his teeth.
It's just after 4:00 AM when he slips out of the bathroom, pointedly not looking at the huge lump in the blankets that cover Slade's relaxed muscles, and grabs the first jeans and t-shirt he can find.
He has to minimize his time around Slade. The older man can read him like a fucking illustrated book. Jason managed to make sure he was always with one of his brothers yesterday then hid out in the library until he was sure Slade would get the picture that Jason really didn't want to talk and stop waiting up for him.
It's just a few days, Jason thinks as he slips out the door and soundlessly pads down to the garage where he walks his bike down the drive to the street. Then Jack will leave again, putting an ocean between them, and Jason can go on his honeymoon with Slade, and things can go back to normal.
Just a few days and then Jason will never have to worry about the creep again.
Slade can't say he's particularly surprised to find Jason gone and the younger man's side of the bed cold when he wakes. But he is disappointed.
Usually, Slade is the one avoiding the necessary, emotional conversations.
It's a fruitless effort too. The longer and more desperately Jason avoids him, the more convinced Slade is of why the kid doesn't want Uncle Jack around.
And if Jason thinks not confirming his suspicions will stop him from murdering the fucker and dropping his weighted corpse over the Mariana Trench, the kid doesn't know him as well as Slade thought he did.
The only thing Slade doesn't really understand is how he seems to be the only one who's noticed. Jason's wearing his discomfort like a tattoo emblazoned across his forehead and every one just goes on like they can't see it.
The first person he runs into after leaving his room is Dick. Things are still... awkward between them. Mostly on Dick's part. Slade gets some wicked satisfaction every time the older Wayne boy sneers at him.
It's not jealousy. Dick is protective of his younger siblings; worries about their well-being.
So why didn't he notice?
He's the perfect place to start.
"Can we talk?" Slade asks, getting straight to the point.
The kid cringes where he sits at the counter, munching on a bowl of cereal and flipping through a comic book.
“I think the time to talk about things is pretty far behind us, don’t you?” Dick grumbles past a mouthful of Lucky Charms.
Slade snorts and pours himself a cup of coffee before turning his attention back to the eldest Wayne boy.
“Absolutely,” he agrees with a smirk. Then he frowns. “Tell me about Jack.”
Dick coughs on milk and blinks up at him.
“Where’d that come from?”
Slade shrugs. “Just curious. Jason’s never mentioned him before.”
The surprise is clear on the younger man’s face as Dick’s brows knit together and he cocks his head.
“Really? That’s weird. They were so close.” The kid chews on his lip and eyes Slade up, very clearly trying to decide if he wants to say more. After a moment he rolls his eyes, drops his spoon back in the bowl, and flips his comic closed.
“I wasn’t around much when Jason first got here,” he says, looking guilty and regretful. “I’d just started my first year of college and... well, finding out about Jason was kind of a scandal. Reporters waited for me outside my apartment and my classes... I knew it wasn’t Jay’s fault, he was just a kid, but I was mad at dad.
“I guess here at the manor, Tim was kind of cool towards him. He was already feeling pushed aside because dad and Talia had Damian and then Jason showed up and took what little attention was left for a while.”
He picks up the spoon again and idly pushes the dregs of his breakfast around.
“So Jay latched on to Talia. When I asked about it, dad said it was understandable so I always figured Jason’s stepfather was... well, to put it kindly, an asshole.
“Anyway, Jason had just started coming out of his shell, even let me teach him how to swim, after a lot of needling. Then Talia died and he was devastated. He’d cling to my hip every time I came home like he didn’t want to be alone but started avoiding dad again. Until finally he started pulling away from even me and was isolating himself from everyone. Except Damian. He kinda seemed to decide that without Talia around, Damian was his responsibility. It was sweet.”
Dick runs his fingers through his trademarked Wayne-black hair and sighs.
“Jack had always... I don’t know, felt sorry for Jason or something. He always put more effort into trying to make Jason laugh,” he pauses and chuckles fondly at a memory. “Jack isn’t exactly funny... just in that way that kids like, you know? His jokes are bad and he loves Whoopi cushions and those palm buzzers and lapel flowers that squirt water. But we ate that shit up as kids. And he always tried to make sure Jay felt included. He took a leave of absence from work after Talia got sick so that he could help out and stayed as long as he could after she died. There for a while, Jack was the only person Jason would let near him.
But whatever Jack did, it seemed to get through to Jay. Eventually he started to come around again and Jack went back to work. But he made sure to be around for every holiday and major event. Always made sure to check in on Jay. Jack got transferred to Europe around the same time Jason started college.”
The kid finishes with a look that seems to say, You wouldn’t have been able to sink your claws into him if Jack had been here.
But a different picture is forming in Slade’s mind. One that is a lot less... grateful for Jack’s assistance .
He has no doubt that from the outside, with no thoughts to foul misdeeds and no reason to think them, that Jack’s actions seemed motivated by love and a desire to help. And at the time... none of them really knew the new kid yet. They saw him as a victim of circumstance, moving from one tragedy and complicated situation to another and the perception of everything he did was colored by the knowledge that he was a child who couldn’t catch a break dealing with heavy, complex emotions.
Which was true. That’s the heartbreaking part. That Jason’s family gave him space to process; they tried to be supportive without being clingy... they tried to find a balance between letting him have time and being there for him without driving him away.
The story Dick told is much darker with Slade’s suspicions. Jason clung to Dick after Talia’s death because he didn’t want to be left along with Jack. He avoided Bruce because Jack was Bruce’s best friend and Jason was afraid that bond was stronger. Jason didn’t start “coming around again” because of anything Jack did... but because Jack left.
Hell, at this point Slade’s wondering if Jack decided to stay at the manor and “help” after Talia was taken ill... or before.
Slade has the sudden, sneaking, sickening thought that the only reason he was able to “sink his claws” into Jason at all is because of Jack fucking Napier.
He hopes he’s wrong. God, how he hopes he’s way off the mark. He hopes Jason’s discomfort is just embarrassment for how much he needed the goofy uncle with the bad jokes during a dark time in his life.
Not that the goofy uncle with the bad jokes made that dark time in his life worse.
He’s not overly optimistic. He knows Jason. If someone did all that for the kid out of the goodness of their hearts, Jason would be eternally grateful. He would have been gushing about Jack since day one.
But he hasn’t.
He would have made sure Jack knew he was invited to the wedding.
But he didn't even send him an invitation.
“Thank you,” Slade grinds out from between clenched teeth. “That’s very... enlightening.”
Dick’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is it? Because I honestly would have expected you to know all about Uncle Jack. If Jason has never even mentioned him before... I’m really confused. I feel like I’m missing something.”
Slade takes a big sip of his coffee while he decides how to respond. Dick is definitely missing something. But so is Slade. If his suspicions are correct... it'll kill the Waynes when they find out. Dick doesn't show it often, but the kid has a frightening temper. Slade still remembers the tabloid headlines when Dick snapped and beat the hell out of an old classmate of his who made a pass at 16 year old Tim once.
So no, Slade can't say anything until he's certain. And even then... is it his place? Or is this one of those things he should let Jason handle in whatever way he sees fit?
"I'm sure it's nothing," Slade says finally. "I've been told I'm overprotective and paranoid."
With a snort, Dick stands and takes his bowl to the sink, rinses it out, and puts it in the dishwasher.
"Shocking," he says sarcastically. Then he leaves Slade alone with his thoughts.
Everyone else seems to be out for one reason or another. Damian off to high school; Tim, who isn't doing college the traditional way his elder brothers did, choosing instead to take things at his own pace online, goes with Bruce to Wayne Enterprises.
One would think Alfred would be a font of information. But the old butler doesn’t have much to say, and no insights beyond Dick’s. Apparently, Jack was mostly around while Alfred was away for vacations or lengthy visits to his daughter still in England.
It doesn’t leave Slade with a lot of confidence that he’s overreacting. It seems... purposeful. Alfred has a fondness for all the boys but he and Jason have always had a special bond. That Jack was careful to keep his... interest in Jason in check while more impartial parties were around (first Talia then Alfred)...
Slade’s skin crawls more insistently the more he learns.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of waiting, Bruce and Tim return.
A tall, lanky man with a big smile and big, bright green eyes cracking jokes, hot on their heels.
Jason spends most of the day trying to unwind. He goes to all his favorite places, the ones that have always been havens when the world starts shifting under his feet and he needs to find some solid ground.
The Gotham Public Library, his favorite bookstore, his favorite cafe next to his favorite bookstore. He even goes to his favorite spot on campus and tries to get some work done.
Around noon he texts his dad and offers to pick up Damian after school since he’s in that part of town. Bruce happily agrees.
So Jason spends the next couple of hours trying his hardest to not think about tonight. Or the next few days.
And how much he resents the tainting of what should be a happy time in his life.
But Jack has a knack for ruining all the good things in Jason’s life. The first gala Jason went to (his second after arriving... he’d skipped the first because Talia had died); when he and his Academic Decathlon team won Nationals; his fucking prom.
His nerves are absolutely frayed by the time he picks Damian up at 3:30. Jack’s going to be at the manor when they get back and Jason feels like he’s going to vomit again.
Damian eyes him warily on the drive, concern etched into every line on his young face, as Jason fidgets. He can’t seem to stop his leg from bouncing, or tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, or fiddling with the temperature.
When Jason reaches for the “cooler” button for the fourth time, Damian puts his hand over Jason’s and stops him.
“Are you alright?” He asks, brows pulled together with worry.
Jason swallows hard and takes a deep breath before he’s able to glance at his little brother and meet his eyes. But he still looks back quickly to the road.
“Yeah man, I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. You’re acting... oddly.” Damian smirks. “More oddly than usual anyway.”
Smiling back, Jason reaches over to ruffle the teen’s hair. “It’s just wedding jitters.”
Damian looks up at him out of the corners of his eyes, obviously unconvinced.
“Honestly, habibi. I’m great. Everything is great.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You would tell me if you weren’t. Right?”
Jason gulps again. He hates lying to Damian. “Of course I would.”
They drive a few minutes in silence before Damian shifts in his seat and starts playing with the hem of his school shirt.
“You don’t have to call me that anymore, you know. I’m not a child and... and I don’t even remember her calling me that anyway.”
The turn for the manor comes too quickly. At any other point during the day, Jason would have been happy for a distraction. Anything to take his mind off the inevitable reunion.
But pulling up the drive... he wishes it wasn’t this .
Jason waits until he’s in the garage, car parked, ignition off. Then he turns in his seat to face Damian.
“First of all, you are still a kid. And you should enjoy that for the little time you have left with it. Trust me, squirt, you don’t wanna grow up too fast.”
Damian just crosses his arms and huffs.
So Jason reaches over and pokes him in the arm until Talia’s emerald green eyes look back up at him.
“I know it sucks that you don’t remember your mom. I wish you could have known her. She was... well, she was kindest, most amazing person I ever met. I wish we could swap. I wish you could remember your mom and I didn’t remember mine.”
Damian looks away, eyes glassy. Jason reaches out and clasps a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.
“If you want me to stop, I will. If it’s painful for you... well, I wish you would have told me sooner but—“
“It’s not,” Damian says quickly. “It’s just... if you were just doing it for me... You don’t have to. I don’t need you to take care of me anymore.”
Comprehension floods him so fast, Jason almost laughs.
“No matter what happens,” Jason says, gently but with clear conviction and determination. “No matter how old you get, no matter my relationship status—or yours, for that matter—I will always take care of you, habibi.”
Damian’s better about showing his emotions than their dad but it’s still a fairly rare thing that his infamous Wayne composure cracks. But he’s quick to give Jason a hug when they get out of the car and lets Jason keep him tucked under his arm as they enter the house.
Which might be the only thing that keeps Jason on his feet as they leave the mudroom and a too-loud, too-shrill, too-familiar laugh rings through the halls of his home.
Damian squints up at him when Jason’s grip tightens involuntarily. But the teen just adjusts the arm around Jason’s waist and squeezes back.
Jason is grateful his little brother leaves it that as they approach the open doors of the sitting room. Because when Jason takes a deep breath and fixes a smile on his face, it takes all his concentration to focus on maintaining the facade as he steps into the fire.
Chapter 3
Summary:
Jack is back.
Notes:
If you've come this far, you know what's going on but the nature of Jason's abuse at Jack's hands IS explicitly stated in this chapter. And there is a long, uncomfortable scene where Jason forces himself to interact with Jack as though nothing is wrong.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Talia's funeral is the most beautiful thing Jason has ever seen.
He didn't know something so sad could also be so lovely.
Alfred helps him into a nice suit that feels too stiff and it slowly suffocates him at the graveside.
A steady stream of silent tears runs down his dad's face as the heartbroken man stares resolutely straight ahead, not really seeing anything. Dick's lower lip trembles, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy, and he's blinking a lot, trying to hold it together because Tim is curled into his side bawling.
Jason fidgets and tries not to cry too. If Dick can hold it together, Jason should be able to as well. He doesn't feel like he's earned the right to feel as sad as the others. He didn't live with Talia for years and years; didn't know her nearly as well as them.
He shifts Damian's weight from one thigh to the other and snuggles the kid closer. He’s too young. He doesn’t really realize what’s happened. He keeps asking for his mom and Jason has started trying to run interference because he can see how each time crushes their dad’s heart all over again.
The atmosphere at the reception is muted and dull. Just as dignified as Talia was in life, but not nearly as bright and vibrant. Jason understands that they’re all mourning and he doesn’t particularly feel like being cheerful himself, but it still feels wrong.
He offers to take Damian up to his room for a nap when he starts getting fussy and their dad gives Jason a relieved smile and a grateful squeeze of his shoulder.
Damian is asleep before Jason finishes the first story, but he isn’t ready to go back to the crowd.
He slowly, carefully closes the door to Damian’s room, keeping the handle down until it’s pressed against the frame and releasing the latch so there’s no click to wake the sleeping toddler.
Then he turns to head to his room instead of going back downstairs and almost smacks into someone.
“Hey kiddo,” Uncle Jack’s high, nasally voice hums down at him from behind a too-sweet smile. A pale, long fingered hand rests on the same shoulder Bruce had squeezed earlier, stopping him from retreating too far. “Thought I might catch you trying to hide.”
“Uh... s-sorry,” Jason stammers, trying to pull away again. He likes Jack well enough but from a distance. Something about him feels... off. Jason has never fully trusted that smile.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not good with crowds either.” Jack tightens his grip on Jason’s shoulder and grins wider. “Why don’t you show me your room, sweetheart. I’ll help take your mind off your poor, departed step-mother.”
Jason is suddenly and overwhelmingly desperate to be back downstairs, suffocating under the pitying gazes of too many strangers. But Jack is already tugging him down the hall to the door with the brass “J”.
Uncle Jack turns the lock behind them and the smile on his face when he looks back around is missing that sugary sweetness. Something darker and hungrier in its place.
Jack’s touch is gentle where the fingers brush over Jason’s cheek, thumb following the line of his lips, before the hand slides down to cup the curve of Jason’s neck, heavy and menacing.
When the man’s thumb presses against his throat, Jason swallows hard.
It’s the first time Jack touches him.
Later, back at the party, Jason is grateful everyone thinks his tears are for Talia. He doesn't want to be any more trouble than he already has been.
Maybe it’s his bias going into this first meeting, but Slade’s dislike of Jack is instantaneous.
The man is loud and obnoxious and not funny in the slightest. His voice is high, his laugh is shrill, and both grate against Slade’s ears and his patience.
But worst of all is the way those acid eyes meet Slade’s and stick; twinkling gleefully as he tells story after story about how Jason was a quiet, shy kid who needed to be coaxed out of his shell by a loving uncle, determined to see the boy smile. Story after story about how Jack took care of Jason when he sneaked off to cry in private after Talia’s funeral because he didn’t think he had the right to mourn her like the others. Or the time Jason made it to the national level of some academic thing he was really excited about but it was scheduled for a time when neither Bruce nor Dick could leave Gotham, so Jack surprised Jason by showing up in Minneapolis half way through. Or when Jack had to rescue Jason from his handsy prom date and spent the rest of the night reassuring the teen that not all men are like that.
Jack hasn't even been in the manor for an hour and Slade's ready to see how much pressure it would take to break that scrawny neck. Instead, he grips the side of the rich leather chesterfield so hard he hears the wood creak, and absorbs everything.
The moment Jason walks in, Slade feels both an enormous wave of relief and a spine-tingling sense of dread.
There's a brief, almost non-existent, flicker of... something that flashes in the kid’s eyes when Jack leaps to his feet to make his way over. But his stiff posture actually relaxes and the smile that curls his lips almost even reaches his eyes.
No wonder the others never noticed anything. Jason's acting could win a fucking Oscar. He smiles warmly at Jack and the only sign of discomfort when the taller, thinner man hugs him is a slight twitch of his fingers.
Jack slots himself between Jason and Damian, one arm around each boy’s shoulders, and one would miss it if they weren’t looking for it, like the others, Jason’s posture doesn’t tense, he doesn’t jerk away… but his eyes zero in on the hand Jack has on Damian’s shoulder.
What bothers Slade more than anything though, is how small and young Jason looks next to the man. Jack is nearly half a foot taller than Jason (he’s taller than Slade, even if it doesn’t feel that way when they stand next to each other) and even though Jason is a bit broader, a bit more muscular, Jack doesn’t look as thin and scrawny next to the boy as Slade expected.
To the contrary, perhaps it’s Slade’s imagination (though he’s never been accused of having one of those before), Jason shutting down seems to have made the kid physically shrink in on himself.
“Can’t believe I almost missed your big day, kiddo,” Jack croons down at Jason, smiling too wide. “You should have called when you didn’t get an RSVP.”
“It’s been kinda hectic,” Jason replies easily. Slade doesn’t think anyone else notices the slight tightness in his voice when he adds, “Sorry, Uncle Jack. I’m glad you could come on such short notice.”
“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” His grin turns into a smirk and the hand he has on Jason’s shoulder moves to ruffle his hair. An inherently innocent, affectionate gesture; not something someone would think twice about. But Slade can’t help but read into the way the fingers linger to tug on the dark curls and scratch at Jason’s scalp. “I’ll always be there for you. You know that.”
Jason doesn’t cringe or gulp or stiffen. He just loops an arm around Jack’s waist, gives him a perfunctory squeeze, and then disentangles himself from the older man. But he does slip his own arm around Damian, dislodging Jack’s hold, and steering him to the sofa to sit wedged between Slade and Dick.
Dick, who is watching with a carefully neutral expression that Slade doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. His deep navy eyes sharp and critical as he tracks every interaction.
Good, Slade thinks, as Jason moves to sit on the armrest next to him. He puts his hand on Jason’s back, rubbing lightly over the ripples of muscles hidden beneath his t-shirt and has mixed feelings about the way the younger man relaxes into his touch.
“At least tell me I didn’t miss the bachelor party,” Jack says, resuming his seat in the large, cushy armchair at the head of the semi-circle of arranged furniture.
“Can’t miss something that isn’t happening,” Tim pouts.
Slade just barely manages to not scowl at the kid. He didn’t do anything wrong. Tim had wanted to throw Jason a bachelor party and even though he said it didn’t bother him that he wouldn’t get to, it clearly had. Slade can sympathize. A little. If he tries. But Jason also felt a little bad seeing that his decision bummed out his brother. And Slade doesn’t want any more weight on his partner’s shoulders.
Jack gasps dramatically and clutches his chest over his heart. “What?! You’re really not going to celebrate, Jay?”
Jason shifts his weight a little. “We’ve been living together for a few years now,” he says. “Neither of us really consider ourselves bachelors. And besides…”
He trails off, a tiny bit of color spreading across his cheeks, eyes dropping to the ground.
“Besides what?” Dick nudges gently.
Swallowing, Jason looks up to him. “I’m just not much of a party person, I guess.”
There’s a beat of silence as Dick searches Jason’s face for something. Bruce glances between them.
Then Jack’s shrill laugh slices through the silence.
“Oh kiddo,” he says, wiping at an imaginary tear before fixing his wide-eyed gaze on Jason’s eyes. “You can’t let your past experiences keep you from doing something you want to do.”
“It’s not—”
“Isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it what?” Damian demands, looking from Jason to Jack for clarification.
“It’s not that Jason doesn’t like parties,” the older man starts, eyes pulling away from Jason’s to Damian. “It’s just that he has… bad luck with them. Especially if they’re important. Your mother’s funeral, his prom, and so on.” The acid green stare turns back to Jason again, pinning him like a butterfly to a board. “Something always ruins little Jay’s night.”
The muscles under Slade’s palm go taught at the nickname as Jason subtly bristles.
“What happened at mother’s funeral?” Damian asks, focusing on his older brother with wide, concerned eyes.
“Nothing—”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of Jay, it’s sweet, in its own way. He just didn’t think he had the right to mourn Talia like the rest of you, since he hadn’t known her as long. But he loved your mother very much and tried to hide in his room so he wouldn’t be a bother. I had to coax him out.”
The way Jack licks his lips before the word ‘coax’ makes Slade’s skin crawl. Bruce, Dick, and Tim don’t seem surprised by Jack’s words though, so Slade can believe that it’s been discussed before and that there is a large amount of truth to it.
“Poor thing just had to be told it was ok to cry,” Jack adds with another insufferable smile that looks like it’s meant to be softer than the others.
“The bachelor party has nothing to do with—”
“I think it does, kiddo—”
“If,” Slade interjects loudly enough to be heard above the bickering and firm enough to grab everyone’s attention, “Jason doesn’t want to have a bachelor party, no one is going to make him.”
“Of course not!” The other man says brightly. “I just want to make sure that it is what Jason wants. I don’t want him to miss out on something important because he's afraid.”
Jack pauses and turns his attention to Slade. “Maybe it really isn’t about the past. Maybe he “doesn’t want” one because you don’t want one.”
Slade narrows his eyes and the tension in the room ratchets up. “Excuse me?”
“Maybe Little Jay thinks he doesn’t need a party because you’ve tainted the idea for him. But that’s not very fair to him, is it? After all, you’ve been married before; got to do all that stuff already. Not to mention you’re… quite a bit older. Younger men need to socialize and have fun. They need excitement.”
It’s bullshit, of course. Not only does Slade not care if Jason wants to go out with his friends, but he would never manipulate his fiance like that. Or at least… he wouldn’t on purpose. But there is that small nagging sensation that part of the reason Jason puts up with him, is because of the damage Jack did to the younger man as a child. That maybe Jason is, on some subconscious level, afraid to do something he thinks Slade would disapprove of.
Regardless, that’s something for Slade to work out with Jason. It’s none of Jack’s business.
Slade opens his mouth to give the bastard a real piece of his mind.
“I appreciate your concern, Uncle Jack,” Jason says calmly. “I’m really not interested in a big thing, but—” Jason glances at Tim who had definitely brightened at the possibility of getting to throw his older brother a party, “—maybe we can do something smaller. Just the family, maybe a few friends.”
“Really?” Tim says, moving to the edge of his seat. “Can I still plan it?”
Jason gives his little brother his first genuine smile since he walked through the door. “Sure. Just… nothing too crazy, ok?”
“Jason,” Bruce pipes up for the first time. “Just because we want to celebrate, doesn’t mean you have to. This is your wedding. You shouldn’t do something you don’t want to do.”
“I know,” Jason says. But Slade catches the slight flicker of his eyes over to Jack. “It’s ok. Planning has been stressful. It’ll be nice to let loose a little.”
“I’ll keep it small, Jay,” Tim hurries to assure him. “I promise. Just us, Rose and Joey if they want, Roy and Arty if they’re around already. It’ll have to be tomorrow, though. Is that ok or too many?”
As Jason promises Tim that his plans sound fine, Alfred enters the room to tell everyone that dinner is ready.
They all rise and start to shuffle out. Jack looks at Slade over Jason’s head. That wide syrupy smile drops, those acid eyes go bright and sharp, and Jack gives Slade a smug, victorious twitch of the lips. It’s just a brief moment because the gangling prick is back to excitedly discussing business with Bruce. But in that split second, Slade is certain that all of his suspicions are right.
And Jack knows that he knows.
It was always going to be miserable.
The moment his dad said that Jack was on his way, Jason knew the days leading up to his wedding were going to be… tainted.
But he didn’t expect Jack to come out, guns blazing, and immediately bully him into a bachelor party.
Jason picks at his food, ignoring the foot Jack keeps rubbing up his calf from across the table.
He had tried to take the seat next to him, but Slade had all but growled at him.
Unfortunately, all that accomplished was Jack sitting right where Jason didn’t want him.
Next to Damian.
So Jason deals with the foot. Still, he can’t help but fantasize about what would happen if he lept up in outrage, called Jack out in front of everyone. A very small smile creeps up on him as he pictures Dick punching the creep, Bruce throwing him bodily from the house, and Tim tossing his bags out making sure they smack him in the head. All while Slade holds Jason close and laughs at Jack.
But close behind that fantasy is the nightmare. Jason calls out Jack and everyone tells him he’s overreacting to an innocent, accidental bump.
He glances at Jack’s hands, making sure they’re both above the table. Then over at Damian who doesn’t look like anything is bothering him. Not that that means anything. Jason quickly learned how to pretend everything was all right.
He’s probably being paranoid. Jack has never shown or mentioned any interest in Damian and the foot trying to slide up the inside of his thigh is indication enough that either Jason hasn’t aged out of Jack’s range or that it was never about that in the first place. Not that the insistence on a party, and the reminders of all the other times Jack has used that as an excuse to help Jason “loosen up”, wasn’t a big blaring signal.
Not for the first time, Jason shoves those thoughts down deep. The why doesn’t really matter.
Dinner passes slowly and, since there are so many of them, Jason is able to tune most of it out. Slade sits very close to him and keeps a big, strong hand on him the whole time; squeezing his knee, holding his hand, wrapping an arm around him.
Since he spends most of the meal and the long conversation after zoned out, Jason doesn’t know if anyone else noticed that Slade was being especially clingy. But, as much as Jason is dreading the conversation when they’re alone in their room and Slade won’t let him hide anymore, he appreciates the silent show of support.
Until they all finally pile out of the dinning room and Slade announces that they’re going to head to bed early.
“No!” Jason says, too loudly and way too desperately. Everyone stops and looks at him. Jack’s thin brows raised, watching Jason closely over Damian’s head.
Jason doesn’t know if it’s on purpose or just the natural flow of the group moving around but he doesn’t like how close Jack keeps getting to the 15 year old.
“Jason...” Slade mutters, and Jason wants to get away, go hide in his room with the door locked, Slade between him and the entry point, the man’s solid, seemingly invincible bulk wrapped protectively around him. He wants so badly to curl up and pretend nothing is wrong.
He wants, so very desperately, for there to be nothing wrong.
“I’m not ready,” he says instead, refusing to look at Slade, attention catching on Dick’s narrowed eyes. “For bed. It’s still early.”
Then he turns to lead the way back into the den.
He is starting to unravel. He can feel it.
It’s Slade’s fault. Jason managed this act for years before Slade started slowly bringing him out of his shell. Now, with Slade obviously aware of something even if he may not be certain what, Jason feels it all slipping away. If he doesn’t pull his shit together, someone other than Slade is going to ask him if he’s alright.
And he isn’t confident that he’ll be able to convince them that he is this time.
Sitting around chatting for the next couple of hours is excruciating but Jason refuses to go upstairs before Jack and Jack is being a bitch, smirking at him every time someone checks the time before launching into a new topic or tale.
Finally, after Tim almost falls out of his chair, Bruce declares bedtime.
Jason makes sure he’s at Damian’s side as they make their way to the family wing and subtly escorts him to his room. It’s on the way to Jason’s anyway, so no one notices.
Other than Slade that is.
He can feel his fiance’s eye on him as Jason drops a hand to Damian’s shoulder and waits for the older man to pass.
“Lock the door for me, habibi?” Jason asks quietly.
Damian squints up at him and Jason is stuck by how that distance has shrunk when he wasn’t paying attention. One more growth spurt and Damian will be taller than all of them.
“Why?”
Jason smiles. “It’ll make me feel better.”
Damian’s eyes narrow further and he looks Jason up and down like he’s searching for an injury.
But he nods.
When he hears the bolt turn, Jason faces his own room and sighs.
There is no way to avoid the conversation that’s about to happen.
But he’s sure as hell going to try.
Slade comes out of the en-suite in the custom cotton pajama bottoms Jason got him for his birthday, featuring the prominent bat of the Wayne family crest printed in an obnoxious repeating pattern.
Jason’s attempt to wriggle out of a conversation is expected. But his chosen method is not.
It almost works. Might have if Slade’s own concerns were any different.
As it is, he grunts when his very naked fiancé flings himself into his arms. Jason presses their lips together earnestly, hands sliding around Slade’s waist and under the band of his pajamas.
He can feel tension leach out of Jason’s muscles when he reciprocates, wrapping the younger man in his arms and holding him close, meeting each desperate kiss with his own, hoping to communicate his unconditional, unwavering love and support.
Cupping his hands to either side of Jason’s face and breaking away is the most difficult thing he’s done in a very long time. Especially when the kid lets out a small, pleading whine.
“We need to talk,” Slade says, voice gentler than he thinks it has ever been before.
“I’d really rather not,” Jason grumbles, taking the robe Slade hands him and tying it off with quick, jerky movements. He carefully keeps his body turned away from Slade to hide his face.
Slade knows him too well at this point for it to make much of a difference.
With a deep breath, Slade begins the only way he knows how.
“Look, we both know I’m still not any good at this stuff,” he says plainly. He’d like to reach for Jason but given the nature of the conversation they’re about to have, he’s hesitant to touch him. He makes a mental note to slowly cut off each of Jack’s fingers if he gets the chance. “I’m not great at knowing when you need space and when I need to insist. So I’m sorry if this really is one of the former but… but it feels like the latter.”
Unable to help it, he rests a hand on Jason’s shoulder. Little, invisible tremors make the kid feel like he’s vibrating with the effort of holding himself together.
“You don't have to be afraid, Jason. I’ll believe you.” He thinks about the critical way Dick watched Jason’s interactions with Jack, after Slade voiced only the barest hint of a problem. “And I wholly believe your family will too.”
Jason is quiet for a very long time. Slade waits, patiently letting the kid sort through his thoughts and feelings for as long as he needs.
When he does speak, it’s quiet, and meeker than anything Slade’s ever heard from him before.
“What if they don’t?” He asks, still refusing to turn back around. But the next words come out in a rush, like he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve to say them. “What if they don’t and you do? What if they don’t and never speak to me again, and you do and you go to prison? Then I’ll… then I’ll… I’ll be alone again. I’ve had no family before. It… it sucked.
Instead of pulling Jason toward him, Slade steps around to stand in front of him. When Jason tries to stare at his toes, Slade gently tilts his chin back up.
Those bright, blue-green eyes are glassy with barely contained tears, but they meet Slade’s one grey one all the same.
“First of all, I know you aren’t aware of much of my time with the military, but I think you’re smart enough to have figured out that there’s more than one skeleton in my closet. If I killed him, they wouldn’t even be able to find the body, let alone evidence, and certainly none that would implicate me beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Jason grimaces but his muscles relax under the hand Slade still has on his shoulder.
“So I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll tell you that as many times as you need to hear it.”
The kid shifts and tries to look away. Slade doesn’t know if he should let him or not but just because he’s getting better at this stuff, doesn’t mean he’s good at it. And he’s still himself at the end of the day. So he doesn’t let go. Waits until Jason looks back up at him.
“Your family loves you. The last time you were afraid to tell them something they surprised you. As sanctimonious and obnoxious as they can be, they’re good people. And they’ve always supported you. They won’t let you down on this one, Jason. On the very narrow chance that they do… well, you’re better off without people who think you’d make that up.”
“You don’t even know what it is,” Jason mutters.
He looks and feels so small and insecure right now that Slade wants to stop. Wants to scoop him up and hold him close, cuddled up on the bed, like the world outside this room doesn’t exist. Wants to let Jason find his way back to that place where he could convince himself the horrible things in his past had never happened.
But Slade loves him too much to allow that. He wants Jason to be able to move on. He doesn’t want this hovering over their future. He doesn’t want Jason to have to worry about seeing Jack ever again, let alone for all the big moments; holidays, his brothers’ weddings, his own…
Slade wants Jason to have some closure; wants to give him some peace of mind.
Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe what he wants doesn’t and shouldn’t matter as much as what Jason wants. Bruce has a way of doing terrible things for good reasons and it works out for him more often than not (certainly more often than it should). While Slade had never been overly concerned with his own motivations before Jason, he’d always seen a lot of himself in Bruce Wayne.
The small bud of hope that blossoms in Slade’s chest at the thought that Jason might have chosen him for the qualities that remind him of the father he admires and not the monster who abused him is a foreign but not unwelcome feeling.
“I have my suspicions,” he responds. “Based on how well I know you, the little information I’ve been given, and observation. But you know I prefer facts to guessing.”
Jason chews on his tongue for another long moment. So long that Slade feels his own resolve crumble.
He’s beefing cruel, forcing Jason to do something he obviously doesn’t want to do. Just like Jack.
“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping his hands from where he’d been touching Jason, and stepping away. Jason just blinks at him like he’s acting strangely. “I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. That’s not… I don’t ever want you to feel like you… you don’t have to anything you don’t want to do. Ever.”
The wetness that has been clinging to the kid’s lower lids finally succumbs to gravity. But Jason keeps his focus on Slade’s face.
“I just want you to know that you can talk to me. You don’t have to carry this by yourself. You’re not alone.”
More tears fall. Jason swipes at them roughly and sniffles a little. His mouth opens and closes, like he wants to speak but doesn’t know how to start.
“I want to tell you,” he whispers eventually, “but I can’t… I don’t… I don’t know how to…”
Slade waits for an agonizingly long minute, until he’s certain Jason isn’t going to try again.
“I can say it,” he offers. “I’ll ask. You can answer if you want or, if that’s too hard, all you’d have to do is nod or shake your head.”
Jason chews on his cheek for a moment.
Then he nods.
Slade swallows hard, trying to work some moisture back into his suddenly dry throat and mouth.
“When you were a kid…” He has to pause and take his own steadying breath as reality sets in. Suddenly, even though this is one of the most important things he’s ever done… for once he feels his nerve faltering. When Jason answers, there’s no going back. There’s no more pretending. No more acting. Things will have to change. He thinks about his own son, his daughter… he was never very close to them when they were young. But if he had ever found out—if he ever finds out—that some creep touched his kids, the bastard would never be seen again.
Liquid steel fills his veins and rage surges at the thought of someone hurting his boy. The final words come out in a snarl, “When you were a kid, did Jack ever… did he ever put his hands on you?”
Jason is taking short inhales and pushing the breath out hard and for one terrifying moment, his face goes perfectly blank.
But his eyes meet Slade’s and he seems to find strength in the anger and resolve he finds carved into the lines of the older man’s face.
He nods again.
Slade doesn’t even decide to move. One moment he’s watching Jason brace for confession, and the next he’s holding the kid in his arms, one wet cheek nuzzling into Slade’s bare chest.
“Don’t worry, kid,” Slade hums, nosing at the soft, dark curls atop Jason’s head. “We’ll take care of it.”
Notes:
If you think of anything that needs to be tagged and isn't, please let me know.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Time to party!
Notes:
Check the end notes for a spoilery warning. This is still tonally the same as everything else this fic. There is nothing explicit. But it is tense and uncomfortable. If you're concerned, see the end note.
Also, you may have noticed I added another chapter to the total. This one took more fleshing out than I expected so I had to split it. The 6th and final chapter of this fic will be more epilogue-esque.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jason wakes with Slade’s arms wound tightly around him. No nightmares leaving a lingering, uncomfortable buzz under his skin.
At some point in the night, Slade had maneuvered them so that his own broad back faced the door, placing his substantial bulk between Jason and the only entrance to the room.
Warmth radiates out from Jason’s chest, suspiciously close to his heart. There isn’t much from Slade’s past that he’s seen fit to share, but Jason knows his military and subsequent mercenary days have made sleeping with his body facing the most likely point of entry second nature. But that would have put Jason in the line of fire and knowing that Slade actively went against his nature for Jason’s comfort fills him with a kind of affection that threatens to overwhelm him.
He lies there for a while, letting the steady rise and fall of his fiancé’s chest ground him in the wake of a slowly building panic at what the day ahead of them holds.
In the clarifying, bright light of day, coming clean to his family once again sounds like a terrible idea.
A couple days of putting up with Jack until the older man disappears out of their lives like a particularly gruesome ghost would be so much easier. In part, because he’s been doing it for so long now.
If Jason is honest with himself, even more than the concern that his family won’t believe him, is the fear from just speaking the words. The humiliation he’ll feel every time he meets their eyes and knows that they know.
How does one even phrase it? What words can even come close to capturing it? Over the years, Jason has played that conversation in his mind over and over again. He’s never found a balance of here-is-what-happened and yes-it-was-terrible that didn’t sound like it was no big deal or, even worse, fishing for sympathy.
But more importantly… how does Jason live with the pity written plainly in their gazes; flooding off them, thick as Gotham smog and just as unbearable?
With a deep sigh, Jason turns in the strong embrace to curl closer into Slade’s chest. He listens to the steady thud of Slade’s heartbeat against his ear and focuses on the older man’s slow, sleepy breaths, inhaling and exhaling with him.
Soon, the panic slips away, leaving behind a dull anxiety. Not perfect, but manageable.
Slade’s arms tighten around him. He nuzzles his nose into Jason’s curls and breathes deeply.
“Mmm,” Slade mumbles sleepily. “Smell good.”
They lie like that for a bit, curled together, comfortable in each other’s space in a way Jason would not have thought possible early on and now takes for granted. Eventually, one of Slade’s hands starts to gently rub up and down along Jason’s spine.
Warmth spreads from the light brush of the older man’s calloused fingers. The motion and heat is soothing.
Jason is almost back to sleep when Slade makes an uncharacteristically uncertain noise in the back of his throat and Jason feels the other man’s larger body go incrementally stiffer with tension.
He braces for what his fiance is about to say.
“Maybe we should postpone the wedding,” Slade says, voice stilted, like he has to force each word off a disobedient tongue.
However, when Jason jerks away in surprise, Slade lets him go easily.
“What? Why?”
It’s so out of the blue, so abrupt. There was no indication that Slade was… getting cold feet? Their conversation last night… Jason is pretty sure the man hasn’t changed his mind about them, about being together, their commitment. So what is this? Where is it coming from?
It doesn’t make sense.
“Do you… do you not want to get married?” Jason asks, steeling himself for the possible affirmation. “I’ve told you before, I don’t need a piece of paper to validate our relationship and commitment to each other...”
Although, at this precise moment he could use some kind of reassurance.
“Of course not,” Slade blurts quickly and for the split second before he continues, Jason curses himself for not asking the question in a way that would have provoked a clearer response.
“I mean, of course I want to marry you,” Slade hastens to amend. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
A weight lifts off Jason’s chest as suddenly as it set there moments ago. He knows better than anyone that no one makes Slade do anything. He does only what he wants.
“Then why—”
“It’s just… with everything—with the revelations of the last 24 hours… maybe it would be prudent to put it off a bit.”
Jason blinks at him for a moment. Then scowls.
“I’m not letting Jack ruin my fucking wedding,” Jason growls, spitting Jack’s name like a curse.
Briefly, so fast it probably doesn’t even count, Slade’s lip quirks in the world’s smallest, saddest looking smile before he sighs and his face falls back into a more thoughtful frown. He sits up, leaning back against the headboard. Jason follows him up, looking at him, watching all the small micro-expressions he’s become intimately familiar with over the years flit over Slade’s face.
Jason narrows his eyes. “You are having second thoughts. Why? What’s changed since last night?”
Slade arches an eyebrow. “Everything’s changed since last night, Jason.”
“Nothing’s changed,” Jason snaps, moving to get off the bed and find his clothes. Suddenly, he needs some air. “If you don’t—”
A big hand gently grabs his wrist, halting his movement. When Jason meets Slade’s eye, there’s something horribly soft and pained looking back at him.
He doesn’t like it. It isn’t right on Slade’s face.
“Just let me… It’s not… You’re…” Slade’s expression twists in frustration and anger. Which is better. Jason knows how to deal with that. “Fuck. I’m not good at this shit. I’m just going to say it.”
But then he doesn’t. Jason waits patiently for whole minutes for Slade to figure out how to phrase what he needs to say. After the fifth, his patience evaporates.
“Just fucking spit it out,” he growls.
Slade takes a deep breath and resolve settles across his brow. “Fine.”
That big hand leaves Jason’s wrist to drag through the older man’s white hair.
“I’m concerned that your past… experience with Jack may have influenced our relationship in unhealthy ways. I’m old enough to be your grandfather. The first time we fucked was after Roman sexually assaulted you. I’ve always been emotionally distant and you’ve always been endlessly patient. You’re always the one to give and I’ve always taken without a second thought. I can’t…”
He trails off and that pained look is back.
“I can’t stand the idea that you’re with me because I’m familiar. Because it’s what you know. What he made you think you want or need or what-the-fuck-ever. I can’t help but think that the reason you slept with me at all was just because I didn’t make you. Because you were grateful—”
“Slade that’s—” Jason tries to interrupt this horrifying monologue; wants nothing more than to make it stop. He doesn’t want to hear this. He wants to put Slade’s mind at ease. But his voice cracks and all he can do is stare at Slade, eyes wide and listen to the miserable things coming out of the older man’s mouth.
“—The mere possibility that you might have felt like you owed me something makes me sick. I shouldn’t have come in that night. I knew it then and I did it anyway. That’s the kind of man I am. And you deserve someone much better—”
“Stop!” Jason practically shouts. It would have probably been louder if Slade’s word vomit didn’t make Jason’s throat go dry. He doesn’t think he’s heard Slade say this much in an entire day, let alone a single sitting.
He almost wishes he hadn’t asked. He’s shaking and he doesn’t want to fucking cry but he can feel the pressure welling up inside him and it’s going to need somewhere to go.
Slade’s gaze is heavy on him, crushing and inescapable. He swallows a few times, trying to work moisture back into his throat before attempting to speak.
This is the most terrified he’s been since…
Since before they got together.
How does he assuage Slade’s fears? How does he say that none of that stuff matters because… because even if it’s all true, doesn’t Jason deserve the safety he feels with Slade? Even if it’s all true, doesn’t he deserve the respect of being allowed to make that decision for himself?
Maybe it’s unfair. To expect Slade to be ok with all his baggage. Maybe it’s unfair to say he doesn’t care how it started or what in his past may or may not have influenced their relationship. Maybe it’s selfish to insist it doesn’t matter how they got here, it only matters that they did.
Maybe.
But Jason knows that they love each other. He knows that Slade would move heaven and earth for him. He knows that Slade doesn’t have anything meaningful in common with Jack.
Isn’t it more unfair to ask Jason to give up a relationship built on mutual respect and love? After everything else that’s been taken from him, isn’t it cruel to take this too? This thing that he wants with all his heart and soul?
How does he say all that in a way that won’t have Slade comparing himself to Jack even further?
Staring at the man he’s supposed to marry in three days, Jason’s mind whirls.
Why is this happening to him?
With a deep breath, Jason scooches back onto the bed, moving just into Slade’s space. That cool gray eye tracks him the whole way.
“I deserve to make up my own mind about what I want,” Jason says softly, carefully meeting Slade’s gaze and holding it. “If you don’t want to be with me because you don’t like me or fall out of love, that’s one thing. But if you call off this wedding because you think I’m not capable of making healthy decisions about my sex life… it just becomes another thing I’ve lost to that bastard. One more thing he’s taken from me. The past and the present may not be mutually exclusive, but the past should never be able to take some important, something good, from the present, just because bad things happened there.”
Silence falls between them again. Jason watches Slade think things through, little ticks in the muscles of his face going from wanting to argue, to considering Jason’s words, to uneasy acceptance.
Which is fine. Jason can work with that.
“Ok,” Slade finally says. “You’re right. And I do respect your decisions. But I don’t want that fucker at our wedding. I know it’s going to be hard for you, and uncomfortable, but we need to tell your family.”
Nodding, Jason reaches out and wraps his arms around his fiance.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Slade mutters into Jason’s hair, hugging him close.
Jason clings tighter.
“Thank you.”
Jason’s reassurances go a long way to help soothe Slade’s misgivings. The kid made a good point and the fact of the matter is…
Slade’s crazy about him.
Still though, a foreboding discomfort sits low and heavy in his stomach.
Suddenly, Slade feels a much grander sense of responsibility. He knows that he should have never asked Jason to marry him if he wasn’t ready to give this relationship his all. And he felt ready then. Still does really it’s just… the stakes of going all in seem to have risen exponentially.
The worst part is, Slade is positive that if he told all this to Jason, the boy would understand.
For some reason, it kind of makes Slade hate himself.
He doesn’t really know why Jason wants him. But he knows why he loves Jason. Slade made the kid a promise and he’d rather die than break it. So he’ll fight for this with everything he has.
The whole long trek down the stairs and across the vast corridors of Wayne Manor to the informal dining room, Slade reminds himself that this doesn’t change anything. Jason is still the same man he was yesterday, Slade just knows him a little better.
Though the few years he’s gotten familiar with Jason is nothing compared to the kid’s family, who’ve known him for over a decade. And Jason still shared his most private secrets. Even if it did take some digging from Slade.
The fact that he knew the kid well enough to notice… well, Slade’s never been much for the idea of warmed hearts but it certainly doesn’t make him feel bad.
Slade squeezes Jason’s hand in reassurance as they turn into the dining room.
But Jack is nowhere to be found. And Bruce isn’t present either.
Dick looks up at the sound of their steps, pausing mid-scoop above the serving dish full of scrambled eggs.
“Good morning,” he says, brightly if not quite his usual chipperness, as his eyes fall on his younger brother. “Everything all right?”
“Of course,” Jason answers, clipped and way too quickly, before moving toward the table and grabbing an empty plate.
Dick freezes, glancing to Slade briefly before returning to Jason. Not the usual accusatory, assessing gaze this time, more… conspiratorial. Like he’s trying to gauge Jason’s sincerity and checking with Slade for insight.
Even Tim looks up from his phone, untouched plate in front of him, to find the source of Jason’s frustration. And Damian is looking at them with calculated interest, the same unnervingly knowing green eyes his mother used to pin Slade in his place on more than one occasion.
“Where’s dad?” Jason asks, throwing bacon, eggs, toast, and fruit onto his plate before plopping into a chair to pick at his food. The kid is trying to sound nonchalant but opening up to Slade last night must have made the act harder to maintain. He’s nowhere near as convincing as he was yesterday.
Slade follows his lead. As much as he would just like to fucking tell these people the truth, Bruce definitely needs to be there too.
“He and Uncle Jack left early,” Tim says, eying Jason now. It’s not as suspicious as the other two, but it’s still clearly articulating that Jason is acting strange. “A little business before lunch, get a tux for the wedding after. They said they’d meet us at the club.”
Scowling, Slade drops into his own chair a little heavier than necessary. Of course they did. Slade doesn’t doubt that Jack has thought of a way to keep Bruce busy all the way to the wedding.
Between them, Slade and Jason don’t eat much of their food. They both sit there, moving bits around their plates, only taking a bite when the others give them one of those concerned looks.
Or rather, when they give Jason one of those concerned looks.
When they’ve played out the charade as long as possible, Jason stands.
“I’m gonna go get dressed,” the kid says, pecking a kiss to the top of Slade’s head before going back upstairs.
Damian not so subtly follows seconds later.
No sooner have his footsteps faded down the hall than Dick pipes up again.
“What’s going on?”
Slade flicks his gaze to Tim who has finally put his phone down and started shoveling cold food into his mouth even as he clearly listens in.
“Nothin’.”
The younger man’s eyes narrow. “Yeah right.”
“If you needed to know, you would.” Slade shrugs.
Dick watches him for a moment. Slade just sips his coffee and pretends to ignore him.
“Does it have anything to do with what you were talking about yesterday?”
Very carefully, Slade sets his mug on the table and tries to choose his words. This is not the time or place. Wayne needs to be there.
“We didn’t talk about anything yesterday that should bother anyone.”
The complicated way Dick’s face twists into an unamused scowl is so funny Slade would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so serious.
“You know what I’m talking about,” the kid snaps.
“I really do not,” Slade says back evenly. And it’s mostly true. They’ve skipped a step. They didn’t really say anything yesterday that should bother Slade or Jason. And Dick hasn’t voiced any concerns that may have risen in the wake of that conversation.
Tim is watching them closely now. “I have no idea what you’re talking about either,” he says. “Care to share with the class?”
“No.”
“Slade told me Jason had never even mentioned Uncle Jack before,” Dick says at the same time.
Tim’s brows pull together and he frowns. “Uh, that’s weird. They’re really close and you two have been together forever now.”
“Guess they’re not as close as we thought,” Dick says pointedly, not breaking the stare down he’s started with Slade.
Tim shakes his head, dark hair flopping side to side. “No way. He talked to Jack on the phone for like, two hours after his graduation, remember? That was just last year…”
That makes Slade snort. Loudly.
Both sets of bright blue eyes, the same color as Jason’s, fix him in their sights.
“You boys are cute,” Slade says, knowing this will turn the conversation down a safer path. “Jason definitely wasn’t talking to anyone for those two hours.” He picks up his coffee and grins at them over the lip. “Well. God, maybe. But not full or even coherent sentences.”
It takes them a moment.
“Ew,” Tim starts, the same moment Dick’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Dude, what the shit? We don’t want to hear that.”
“Fucking hell, Slade,” Dick snaps again, rising to clear his dishes. “Keep your carnal activities with our brother to yourself.”
The look Dick tosses him as he leaves the dining room makes it clear that the conversation is tabled, not forgotten.
Slade leaves to find Jason immediately after.
And if he’s hiding from Dick’s and Tim’s inquisitive gazes, no one else needs to know.
Damian is just leaving Jason’s bedroom when Slade arrives. The kid gives him a calculating look and shuffles his feet, not moving out of the way.
“You need something, kid?”
The teens lips press into a straight line and it looks like he’s chewing on his tongue.
“Is he ok?” Damian asks finally, not meeting Slade’s eye. “I can tell something is bothering him but he just keeps telling me I don’t need to worry about it. Which, of course, just makes me worry more.”
It all comes out in a rush, like Damian would rather not have to ask Slade but sees no other option and is ripping off the bandaid.
For a moment, Slade considers his options. He’s obviously not telling the baby Wayne the details, especially when he wouldn’t tell the other two. But it hadn’t escaped Slade’s notice the way Jason kept slotting himself between Damian and Jack, the fact that Jason had told the youngest to lock his door last night.
All these kids are too smart for their own good, Slade decides. There’s no way Damian didn’t also notice these details.
With a sigh, Slade turns to lean back against the wall.
“He will be,” he says honestly, sighing again when the kid’s eyes get wider. “Listen, kid. You’ll find out eventually, it’s just… delicate. Your brother is just trying to figure some stuff out. As long as you’re all there for him when he needs you, he’ll be absolutely fine.”
Those clever green eyes examine every inch of Slade’s face.
“It has something to do with Uncle Jack, doesn’t it?” He says after a moment.
And the way his face twists… Slade figures once everything comes out, he’ll have to get to Jack before this fifteen year old slices the skinny bastard into sashimi.
“He was really weird about Jack last night…”
“Right now, the best thing you can do to help your brother, is respect his decision to keep whatever it is to himself until he’s ready.”
Damian scowls but steps away from the door.
Slade moves to enter but the brat is lingering in the hall.
“What?” Slade says, maybe a little snappish even though he doesn’t mean to be.
The kid takes it in stride, just looking Slade up and down like he’s really seeing him for the first time.
“You’ll protect him.”
It’s not a request, but it’s not an order either.
Just a statement. Like it just occurred to Damian.
“Always,” Slade says.
Damian gives him an approving nod before leaving.
Slade can’t help the fondness in the way he rolls his eyes.
Jason is just finishing up getting ready when he finally makes his way into their room. Slade takes a fast shower and dresses.
Then spends the rest of the day trying to take Jason’s mind off things, give him a little peace before the night makes things difficult again.
He thinks it works. The kid seems to visibly unclench. They get a work out in, endorphins doing wonders to lift both their spirits. Slade takes him home. Their home. Their apartment. Just to keep from going back to the manor and Jack and whatever dark memories held in those halls.
But eventually, the time comes. They change into something appropriate for the evening's activities.
Slade can tell Jason is torn between laughing at the tight fit of Slade’s black slacks, black t-shirt two sizes too small and pulling obscenely across his chest, and wanting to rip it all off of him.
Slade’s counting that as a win.
By the time he and Jason arrive, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, Cass and Damian are already there. Damian technically isn’t really allowed inside but being a Wayne has its benefits. Selina insisted that Damian wear a neon pink, glow-in-the-dark wristband, loudly announcing he isn’t allowed alcohol, but the kid turns his nose up at the idea of drinking anyway so it is an easy concession.
The others trickle in behind them, over the next fifteen minutes or so. It is an amusing, if kind of sad assortment of people.
Amusing in that the range of characters present is sure to keep things interesting.
Sad because most of Jason’s friends seem to be Dick’s friends. Sure there’s Rose and there are a couple of people Jason had met in college. Artemis and a giant hulk of a man Slade has only ever heard referred to as “Biz,” which he’s sure is a nickname.
But everyone else?
Most of them have been friends with Dick for years and years. Barbara is a close friend of the entire family and Kory’s been dating Dick on and off (though mostly on, especially for the last few years) since they hit adulthood, so Jason grew up close to them too.
There’s a dark haired man and woman chatting to each other and Slade knows he should know them but he can’t remember their names. But what he does recall is that they were in Dick’s MBA program with him.
Roy Harper is one of Dick’s oldest friends since they were both in diapers.
Slade scowls his direction.
Harper is a year or two older than Dick. And he’s Jason’s one ex.
Well… Slade tosses a glance to his own son, Joey, who had, with Dick’s help, dragged Jason onto the dance floor… the one relationship Jason had publicly, anyway.
The talk with Jason this morning helped Slade put his own fears in perspective. But it didn’t make them go away entirely.
Fact is, Jason’s seemingly singular interest in barely age appropriate partners, still makes Slade feel… a little gross. Like he’s taking advantage.
Everyone Jason’s ever been with is a chunk of years older than him. Not quite the chunk Slade is, but still.
He watches as Jason and Dick sneak up behind Harper and literally drag him out to dance, all four boys on the floor laughing and shouting the lyrics to the too loud music at the top of their lungs.
A new thought strikes Slade like lightning.
Maybe… maybe Jason was just protecting himself. Maybe it wasn’t even conscious.
As far as Slade knows, the kid had never dated anyone before Dick put a violent end to a friendship when one of his college buddies tried to seduce a very much too young Tim.
Perhaps Jason, consciously or subconsciously, considered the people Dick surrounded himself with after… safe. If Dick was still friends with them, they must be good people.
It isn’t perfect. There are flaws in that kind of thinking. But watching Jason dance with his brother and his two exes, seeing the tension of the last two days wash away, replaced with the carefree happiness of youth that he deserves… Slade can’t find it in himself to think of it as a bad thing.
He’s so caught up in watching Jason have fun, he almost doesn’t notice when Bruce and Jack finally show.
Almost.
After the relative quiet of the day, the frantic energy of the club with it’s loud music and flashing lights and neon is a little jarring at first.
This isn’t really Jason’s scene. He likes to go out with his brothers and friends occasionally, get some air and a change of pace. He likes the dim atmosphere and piles of people having fun. He likes the stupid drinks and he even likes dancing. A little.
But he and Slade had gone to the gym for a couple hours of boxing, followed by a long lunch and even longer lounge on the couch in their apartment before getting ready to meet everyone at Selina’s nightclub. And that had been the perfect balm for his dark mood.
Slade always seems to know how to get Jason out of his head, how to make him relax, when he needs it most.
The party isn’t so bad though. He has to hand it to his little brother, Jason is actually having a blast.
Once Dick and Joey managed to drag him out to the floor amid the mass of writhing bodies, that is. After a single song, it felt like he just disappeared in the wave of people jumping and bouncing with each pulse of the loud bass. And before he knew it, Jason’s worries slipped away in favor of screaming along with indiscernible song lyrics and helping Dick wrestle Roy out to join them.
He completely forgot about Jack.
Forgot he was supposed to come, never noticed when he finally showed.
Jason doesn’t know the man is at the club until he goes to take a leak.
He just barely gets his zipper down when the door opens again.
Reacting to the sound, Jason glances up and immediately feels like a weight crashes down on his shoulders. The happy flush from dancing and hanging out with the people he loves vanishes.
It’s not a conscious thought, his body just moves on its own. He turns away from the older man and darts into one of the stalls.
Jason isn’t fast enough, he’s a cocktail and six jello shots deep and he never built up the tolerance for it that Dick and Joey have. The door catches something solid before he can get it closed and Jason’s throat goes dry at the sight of those pale, slim fingers wrapped around the edge. Something clenches in his chest that makes it hard to breath.
“Privacy,” Jack says, as he slinks into the stall, closing and locking the door behind him. “Good call, kiddo.”
Jason tries to glare at the man. Tries to summon a rejection or some kind of retort. Hell, he’d be happy for just a single word to come out of his mouth. Anything.
Whether it’s the alcohol or the past, Jason just feels trapped. He feels small and helpless, even though he knows he’s not. Jack may still tower nearly half a foot over Jason, but Jason is bigger, stronger. And yet, standing there, trying not to meet the older man’s eyes, Jason feels like he’s thirteen and powerless again.
Christ, how could he have been so stupid. He let his guard down, he let himself think that maybe things would be ok. That maybe he’d have one happy memory of a special occasion that wasn’t immediately tainted by Uncle Jack.
Deep down, no matter how old he gets, Jason is still just that same dumb, naive kid who was dumped on his dad’s doorstep.
Even when he’s surrounded by people who care about him, he’s still easy prey.
Jack steps forward and when Jason tries to step back, he hits the metal wall, cramped space forcing them too close.
Too close, too close, too close.
He can smell the all too familiar sickly sweet scent of Jack’s breath, feels it ghost hot across his face.
Too close!
“Look at you, kiddo,” Jack purrs, one hand sliding up Jason’s thigh to toy with the still opened button of his fly while the other drags reverently over the curves of muscle on Jason’s arm. “You grew up so well.”
Jason can’t move. He’s trying but he feels frozen, a deer caught in the headlights, while Jack pets at him like they’re secret lovers.
Jason has a secret lover. Or had. Now they’re not a secret. They’re getting married. This can’t happen.
He’s pretty sure Slade wouldn’t leave him for this, that the older man would be more pissed at Jack than Jason. But there’s a wicked voice in the back of Jason’s head, whispering cruel words that sound like truth. That Jason is an adult now and he should be able to stop this. That the only reason it would happen now is if he wanted it to.
It’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong. It’s not the truth, it’s just fear twisting old insecurities adapting them to the present situation. He knows that.
He knows it. He knows it. He knows it.
But it’s hard to remember when the little voice won’t shut up.
Jack’s hand starts to tug at the waistband of Jason’s boxer briefs.
Again, it’s not conscious. But finally, Jason moves.
He snatches Jack's wrist and pushes it away from him without releasing his grip.
“Don’t.” It’s cracked and weak but at least he said it.
Jack laughs at him. That high, shrill thing that echoes off the tiles of the bathroom to sound downright maniacal. It makes Jason cringe and instinctively shrink away.
“Oh, little J,” Jack says as he nudges closer, not trying to break Jason’s grip even though the other hand comes up to tuck a stray strand of hair back off Jason’s face. Jason tilts his head away but there’s nowhere to go. His body is still shell shocked. “You haven’t played hard to get in a long time. I do miss that, but tonight’s not the night. Public place and all.”
Distantly Jason wonders how they’re alone in the bathroom of a club. How has no one else come in?
Maybe Jack is just being quieter than Jason thinks. Maybe the way each word booms loud enough to rattle his teeth is just in his head.
No one is going to save him.
And he’s too pathetic to save himself.
“Leave me alone, Jack,” Jason manages. It’s still too quiet but at least his voice doesn’t break on the words.
“Don’t be like that, little J. You’re getting married. We need to celebrate the occasion. Like we always do. For old time’s sake.”
It’s an effort to not vomit at those words, at the sickening glee in the too broad smile and the bright, acid green eyes, wide and fixed on him like he’s a particularly amusing joke.
“You can’t make me do anything now. I’m not a kid anymore—”
“Oh, please” Jack rolls his eyes. “Don’t start with that again. I know you like to think I forced you, but you and I both know that’s nonsense. You wanted it, kiddo, you just needed me to show you you wanted it.”
Jason says nothing. He remembers begging Jack to stop. But he also remembers the way his body felt when Jack touched him a certain way. The way Jack made sure he felt good too.
He used to think it made him special. Jack told over and over again how special he was.
The distance since Jack left has made that seem less true. But now…
Now it’s murky again.
Jack lets out a great, exasperated sigh. “Ok, little J. I can see you’re not in the mood.”
Jason squints at him in confusion. It’s not like him to back off so easily.
“If you don’t want to play anymore, I can find someone else. Maybe you are too old now, anyway. Damian does look a lot like you used to—”
The rest of that sentence never comes. Red fills the room and just like that, Jason can move again.
He throws Jack off him with all the anger he’s kept pent up all these years. He has every intention of beating the man into a bloody smear.
But he never gets the chance.
The door to stall is smashed open, the lock ripping out of the metal pillar, and slams into Jack’s back.
Before Jason can even blink, Jack is yanked out. The thuds and thumps of a scuffle reach Jason’s ears as he steps toward the gapping exit, stopping in a moment of clarity, to refasten his jeans.
When he finally emerges, it’s to the loud smack of a powerful fist to a skinny face.
Jason just catches sight of Jack falling through the bathroom door, a murderous flash of black following him out into the club.
For a moment, Jason just stands there. Just a heartbeat. Trying to decide if he wants to follow. If he wants the attention that is sure to be waiting for him on the other side.
Ultimately, there’s not really a choice.
The door hasn’t even stopped swinging when he finally pushes through it.
What he finds on the other side is not what Jason was expecting. But something warm spreads through his chest, chipping away at the wall of fear and doubt he’d built up for over a decade.
The music is still pounding through the club but all eyes are on the skinny, middle aged man sprawled out on the floor, blood trickling from his lip.
And a furious Dick Grayson-Wayne, fists clenched tight, body shaking in rage, looming over him, looking about two second away from killing someone.
Notes:
Warning for Jack accosting Jason in the club bathroom. Nothing explicit happens but Jack is trying to coerce Jason into sex and their conversation is fucked up. Jason's thought process in this scene is also extremely uncomfortable.
Anyway...
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Chapter 5
Summary:
The truth is out. There is no going back.
OR,
Misplaced Guilt - Trademarked by The Batfamily, Inc.
Notes:
Small warning in the end note
though if you've come this far, it won't be anything new.Special thank you to GavotteAndGigue and Bionerd2Point0 for the betas and helping me get this thing cleaned up.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Slade gets caught up in business talk with Bruce for two seconds—takes his eyes off of Jason for two fucking seconds—and when he looks back up Jack has disappeared from Bruce’s side. And Jason has disappeared from the dance floor.
Taking a split second to make sure Damian is still tucked into the booth in the VIP section, safely surrounded by people, Slade moves faster than he ever recalls moving before, even in his mercenary days.
When his quick scan of the club turns up nothing, he barrels through the crowd of people doing something the kids call “dancing” but in actuality is barely more than jumps and twists, on the dance floor, making his way to Dick.
“Where’s Jason?” he yells over the tedious, monotonous, throbbing bass.
Dick squints at him and turns his head to one side so Slade can shout the question directly into his ear. Then the eldest Wayne boy’s brows go up.
“He left a minute ago,” Dick yells back. “Thought he went back to the table…”
“He didn’t.”
Slade starts pushing through the people, turning every curly, black haired kid around to get a look at their faces. He can feel Dick following him.
It’s not until they start making their way through the sparse seating on the sidelines that Dick grabs his elbow to get his attention.
“What’s wrong?” the kid asks. “He wouldn’t have gone far…”
Slade only half hears him over the rush of blood in his own ears as panic starts to flood his veins. He’s not used to this kind of emotion, this kind of… fear. He fucking hates it.
“Have you seen Jack?” he barks, unable to keep the note of desperation out of his voice.
Dick’s brows furrow and he quickly scans Slade’s face, his body language.
“No,” he says, almost too softly to hear over the chaos of the club.
Huffing, Slade turns to continue his frantic search. He doesn’t have time to explain, to hold the kid’s hand through this.
But Dick is observant. Even if he doesn’t know precisely why Slade is worried, it’s enough that he is.
“We’ll split up,” Dick says, nodding toward one half of the room. “You take that side, I’ll take this one.”
With a nod, they go their separate ways. Slade is glad for the assistance.
The seconds tick by agonizingly fast. Each one is a small eternity where the worst case scenario plays over and over again in Slade’s mind, somehow managing to one-up the horror with each rendition. Until he’s so worked up he thinks maybe Jason was right to be worried about how he would react. If he kills Jack in public, his reassurances to Jason will be meaningless.
Even though it feels like forever and a day, Slade has probably only been searching for a minute or two on his own before he makes his way over to Dick’s side of the club.
He’s only a dozen or so steps away from the little alcove for the bathrooms—kicking himself for being too emotional to think clearly enough to have checked there sooner—when the door suddenly swings open. A tall, thin body flies out, lands hard on its back, and Slade has just enough time to register that it’s Jack before another storms out after it.
Grayson’s shoulders are hunched, coiled with violence, his face twisted in rage. He glares down at Jack, laid out on the edge of the dance floor, wiping a pale wrist over the blood pouring out of his mouth. Fury rolls off every inch of Dick in tangible waves.
Everyone in the club feels it so thoroughly that all eyes turn to the scene. The music still pounds through the air but it sinks into the background, almost as though it cut out the moment Dick stomped into view.
Slade doesn’t need a good imagination to know what the kid must’ve walked in on. Especially when, a moment later, Jason slinks out of the bathroom, all the color drained from his face.
He doesn’t look as disheveled as he could, nor as… affected. Slade feels a little tension ease on a sigh of relief. Whatever Dick walked in on, he walked in on it soon enough to stop the worst of it.
“You fucking monster,” Dick snarls at Jack like the world has narrowed to the skinny creep at his feet and nothing else.
Slade knows the feeling. Less a hunter cornering his prey and more a sniper with a lock on his target.
Some might say the difference is academic. But Slade has been hunting. And Slade has killed men. The difference is vast.
“Now, now, Dickie,” Jack says thickly, more blood trickling out. “Little J and I were just—”
“Shut the fuck up, you sick bastard,” Dick snaps, venom dripping off of every word. “Call him that again, say his name again, and I’ll break your goddamn jaw.”
A beat of stillness and then Dick seems to decide breaking Jack’s jaw sounds like a good idea anyway.
The kid lunges at the older man and Jack instinctively curls in to protect his organs.
Slade thinks Dick may have beat the prick into little more than a streak of blood and brains right there in the middle of the club if he hadn’t been scooped out of the air.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Bruce hisses just loud enough to be heard by those closest, while positioning his substantial bulk between his oldest son and his oldest friend.
The way Dick opens his mouth, the way his face is contorted in rage, makes it look like he’s about to punch his father in the face too.
But he doesn’t get the chance to explain.
“Bruce, baby,” Selina says, sliding out from the crowd with that easy, liquid grace and confidence that make her so irresistible. “You know I love you, but you’re going to have to leave for the evening.”
“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” Bruce responds, not taking his eyes off Dick.
Dick is still glaring at Jack (who is back on his feet, teeth bloody behind his big, lunatic grin) like he might be able to set the man on fire with just the heat of his gaze.
Jack agrees with Bruce that it’s “just a misunderstanding” in the same moment Dick snarls, “It’s not” and Bruce has to tighten the hold he has on his son when Dick tries to rush the older man again.
Finally reaching Jason’s side, Slade wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls the kid close. He’s shaking like a leaf but some of the color returns to his face and he looks absolutely livid. Like maybe if Dick and Bruce weren’t in his way, he’d have his hands around Jack’s scrawny neck himself.
Slade wonders, idly, what Jack said or did in the bathroom. Not that it really matters any further than how it’s affected Jason and that Jason seems to be holding up exceptionally well.
“Riiight. Regardless, one of you punched another in my club so you’re all gonna go. I’ll see you at the wedding,” he hears Selina say at the edges of his attention as he examines Jason for anything that might be off. Injuries. Bruises. If Slade finds even the slightest hint of a hickey, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. And probably his freedom.
At least Slade has always looked good in orange.
Fortunately, he finds nothing. Not a scratch on the kid. Thank fuck.
Slade can save his murderous urges for a less conspicuous time.
The bouncers escort them all out of the club to the street. Tim, in his wonderful, infinite wisdom, takes a moment to have a quiet conversation with the rest of the party goers, convincing most of them to stay behind, keep the party going.
He may not know exactly what’s going on, but Dick decking someone doesn’t just come out of the blue. Tim would know better than anyone.
Jason is immensely grateful.
It’s bad enough that his whole family is there. That Damian will have to see this. That Roy and Joey and Rose follow them out into the chilly autumn air, Kori hot on their heels.
The last thing he needs is every single person he’s ever cared about there to witness his humiliation.
Slade throws a heavy arm around him and tucks him into his side as they follow an irate Bruce—who’s wrestling with an even angrier Dick and a bleeding Jack—into the cool autumn night. The bruising grip is protective and comforting.
The bouncers follow them half a block away to make sure they don’t start anything near the line to the club.
And the moment they turn around, Dick leaps into action again.
He’s grabbed Jack by the lapels of his purple, crushed velvet jacket, thrown him into the bricks of the nearest building, and slammed his fist into the older man’s face again before anyone can react.
Warring emotions battle in Jason’s heart. He hates that Dick is in this position, that he walked in on what he did, that he found out this way. But Jason is also so grateful he could cry. Grateful that his brother didn’t hesitate to protect him and Damian. Grateful for such tangible proof of the thing that Jason always knew but, for some reason, could never fully let himself believe… that his older brother loves him, believes him. That he’s more important than Jack.
“Knock it off,” Bruce snarls, hand snatching Dick’s fist out the air and dragging him back far enough to stand between the two. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
Jason has never seen Dick this furious before. The older man’s body is shaking, unshed, angry tears making his eyes look wet, cheeks and neck flushed rage-red.
Someone takes Jason’s free hand, twining their fingers together. He can’t tear his own gaze away from the spectacle unfolding in front of them, but he feels Damian’s presence at his shoulder, and Tim’s just beyond.
The solidarity, even though they don’t know yet, makes that warmth in Jason’s heart spread through his chest.
It helps steel him for Dick’s response.
“He’s a sick fucking monster, dad,” Dick snarls. “You… you should have heard the things he was saying.”
Bruce blinks and takes a step back. Jason sees him squeeze Dick’s wrist in warning before letting go.
“Why don’t you tell me,” Bruce says. “Use our words instead of our fists.”
Dick’s eyes flick over to Jason and their dad follows with his own quick glance. Jason grips Damian’s hand tighter and leans harder against Slade.
Something calculating shoots through his father’s expression before it solidifies into something hard and suspicious.
Dick opens his mouth to respond.
“It’s nothing, Brucie,” Jack croons, safe behind the imposing figure of his friend. “Just a misunderstanding, like you said…”
Bruce is ready for Dick’s renewed attempt, catching him with both hands at the younger man’s rib cage. But his own words are directed over his shoulder.
“Shut up, Jack. You’ll get a turn.”
A tense, heavy silence falls over the group for a long moment as everyone takes a breath. Dick straightens his too-tight t-shirt and rolls his shoulders. He still looks pissed, but he seems less likely to fly off the handle.
“Now,” Bruce sends another quick look between them all, lingering on the way Damian is holding Jason’s hand and Slade has a protective arm around his shoulders. His arctic blue eyes meet Jason’s and Jason tries not to flinch away at the attention.
He fails. He casts a glance at Dick before his own eyes fall to the sidewalk.
Jason is weak. He should be able to do it. To stand up for himself, for Damian. Especially now, when it’s relatively safe. When he’s secure in the knowledge that his family will have his back. Dick shouldn’t be the one to say it. It’s Jason’s responsibility.
But he just can’t find his voice.
Christ, he’s such a coward.
“When I walked into the bathroom,” Dick starts, drawing Jason’s attention back to the standoff where Dick is staring past Bruce with unadulterated hatred, “Jack had Jason locked in one of the stalls. He… he was saying... “ his voice cracks, face crumpling, as he switches his focus to their father. “I heard Jason say… say that he wasn’t a kid. That… that Jack couldn’t… couldn’t make him do anything anymore…”
That hard suspicion on Bruce’s face goes cold. It’s eerie to Jason, how his dad’s whole body freezes. Bruce doesn’t look like he’s even breathing.
It makes Jason realize he’s stopped breathing too. He tries to force himself to take a breath but it’s short and ragged.
Damian’s grip tightens. Tim’s eyes are wide with shock and horror. He looks a little green.
“I froze. I… I didn’t know what was happening. Thought for sure I just didn’t have context. Then that fucker opened his disgusting fucking mouth. Told Jason he… he said Jason… ” Dick looks like he’s going to be sick too.
The whole world melts away, the only thing left in Jason’s perception is Dick and their dad, Slade and his brothers at his side.
The nauseated look on Dick’s face suddenly disappears, quickly quelled by another surge of fury.
His lips twist in an ugly sneer. “Jack molested Jason when he was a kid,” he snarls. “And he-”
Dick cuts off his own speech abruptly, seeming to rethink his next words. His eyes snap to Damian so fast one could almost miss it, before darting up to Jason’s.
Jason shakes his head, silently pleading with his older brother. Damian doesn’t need to know. If they must, they can go over the details later. When they’re not in public. When their 15-year-old baby brother doesn’t have to hear how Jack threatened to hurt him, how Jack tried to use him to hurt Jason.
Their dad doesn’t seem to notice that the last sentence died without an ending anyway. All the color was sapped out his face by the previous one.
Bruce stares at Dick for a moment. Jason can feel everyone staring at Dick in shocked silence, for what feels like forever.
Then, slowly, Bruce turns to Jason. And for some hysterical reason, that almost makes Jason laugh. He feels 13 again, his dad peering at him like the old man can read his mind. And there were times where Jason thought he could. It was always so fucking hard to lie to him. Like somehow Bruce could see dishonesty plain as day, read it in the eyes like text on a page. If Bruce had ever had a reason to ask Jason directly about Jack, there would have been no way to hide it. Jason used to pray that Bruce would do just that. He used to silently plead for his dad to ask something more pointed than simply “Is everything ok?”
Even then, he knew that wasn’t fair. But sometimes his dad almost seemed to have superpowers in that kind of stuff and Jason would cry himself to sleep wishing for it to be true. He would alternate wishing that his dad could look into his mind and see what was happening so he could stop it, and being horrified at the very idea (because what if Bruce saw the times Jack made him like it? He would definitely blame Jason).
This time, Jason meets his dad’s wide gaze. Watches as the shock and disbelief hardens into cold horror. Watches cold horror melt into simmering rage.
Watches his dad slowly turn his attention to Jack Napier. His best friend of decades.
“You touched my son?” Bruce’s voice is chilling. Quiet and icy as death. He glares at Jack like he can see straight through the scrawny creep to the blackened, putrid soul beneath the cheerful surface.
Jason can’t help the way he flinches at the words. Slade gives his shoulder a squeeze.
For a heartbeat, Jack doesn’t answer.
Then, a big smile splits his lips. It’s no different than any of the millions of smiles he’s given them through the years. But in the darkness, with the blood on his teeth, with the weight of the subject… it looks evil.
“Of course not, Brucie,” Jack says in that high, nasally voice. His tone is so light and so entirely unburdened that he’s almost convincing. “Dickie just misunderstood. Jay and I were just—”
“Liar.”
The sudden weight of everyone’s attention is what makes Jason realize he’s the one who spoke. It’s just a single word, but it was said so firmly, so concretely, that Jason is a little surprised he managed it.
Something settles in him then. They know. They know and they’re mad at Jack. Everything is going to be alright. The relief makes him feel a bit light headed, but the knowledge helps ground him, helps him feel more himself.
The fear is gone.
The helplessness is gone.
Jack’s smile slides off his face. The look he fixes on Jason is more revealing than words.
Jack would kill him now if he thought he could get past Bruce and Slade.
Jack snaps. “You ungrateful little brat—“
If he was going to say anything else, he doesn’t get the chance.
The crunch of Jack’s nose breaking under Bruce’s fist is loud as a gunshot.
There’s a slight pause where everyone stares in shock. Then Jason watches his dad throw another powerful punch into Jack’s ribs.
The steady warmth at his side disappears.
Jason is so distracted he doesn’t notice until Slade pulls his dad off of Jack.
He can barely hear Slade mutter “Not here. Not now.” over the pounding of his own heart.
It’s over. He never has to see the monster in his nightmares ever again.
It’s over. And everything is going to be alright.
Slade sits in the kitchen with the boys and Alfred. The others—Kori, Roy, Rose, and Joseph—had wisely slipped away when they realized what was happening, allowing the family to retreat home with minimal awkwardness.
Each of them have steaming mugs of tea in front of them. A plate of snickerdoodle cookies—Jason’s favorite—rests in the middle of the table. Alfred had made them for a late night/early morning snack when they returned from the club.
None of them have touched anything.
Tim filled Alfred in on what happened when they first walked in. There was a long stunned silence. Then tears. All of them. Even Slade found himself getting a little choked up.
Now they’re sitting in silence again, each and every one of them staring miserably into their cups.
It’s been about twenty minutes since they sat down.
Slade knows they’re all waiting for the same thing. For Jason and Bruce to join them.
What a fucking mess.
It’s good that they know. They needed to know.
But that doesn’t make any of this any easier.
Slade can’t imagine how they must be feeling. Can’t imagine the guilt they must feel as they sit there, combing through the past for any signs they might have missed. Can’t imagine the disgust they must feel knowing a man they loved hurt their brother so badly. Can’t imagine the sorrow of knowing that any happy memories they have of Jack are now tainted with this horrible knowledge of what was happening when they weren’t looking.
“How did I not notice?”
Grayson looks the worst out of them all. The rage is gone, replaced by heartbreak and loathing. Loathing for Jack, obviously, but Slade can hear that more than a little is directed inward. Dick hates himself too.
When no one answers, it’s clear they’re all thinking the same thing.
Slade doesn’t really feel like trying to make anyone else feel better. But… he also knows he can’t let Jason’s family sit there thinking they should have somehow magically known. Their suffering will just make Jason suffer.
“How could you have?” Slade asks gently, and it’s because he cares about Jason, not because he cares about them. It’s not.
They all look at him.
“You did,” Damian says quietly, without looking up.
Slade considers that for a moment before he responds. “None of you really knew him then. He was new, you were young or away. All of you got to know him while it was happening, while so much else was happening in his life. Even if you noticed something was wrong, there was no way for you to know what it was unless he had told you.”
Alfred buries his face in his hands. The others idly stir their tea or trace the designs on the cups, lost in thought. None of them look convinced.
With a sigh, Slade tries one more time. “How many times did you ask him if he was ok or if something was wrong? Even if you were asking because you thought he just had a bad day at school or something, it was an opportunity for him to tell you. And he didn’t because he was a scared kid. The fact is, this isn’t that simple. None of it is your fault. It’s certainly not Jason’s. The only person at fault is Jack.”
He has their attention again. So he makes his final point.
“You can’t treat him differently,” Slade sighs. “You can’t feel guilty. He’ll see it. It’ll make him feel worse. He’s spent the last fifteen years worried about your feelings and hiding his own. He doesn’t need to worry about your misplaced guilt too.”
“Slade’s right,” Tim speaks up for the first time. “None of that will help. Jason needs our support. Not pity, not coddling. And we can’t do that if we’re too busy thinking about ourselves.”
A long silence follows.
In it, Slade makes a mental note to talk to his own kids. They may not believe him, they may have every reason to ignore him, but he needs to tell them that they can always talk to him. If he’s learned anything in this mess, it’s that it’s never too late to try. Even families that love and support each other are capable of unwitting damage. Slade knows now that thinking his kids were better off without him was his own selfishness. He needs to do better by Joseph and Rose.
Movement in his peripheral catches his attention.
Alfred raises his tea to his lips. When he lowers the mug again, he smiles at them all.
The gloom over the table cracks. Finally, everyone digs into their drinks.
Slade feels a weight lift, a small bit of tension seeps out of his muscles.
It might take a while. But everything is going to be ok.
His dad doesn’t speak for a very long time.
They sit there, quietly. Jason fiddles with the hem of his shirt while Bruce leans forward on the couch in his office, elbows on his knees, and hides his face in his palms.
When he finally drops his shaking hands to hang limply between his legs, he looks utterly drained. His complexion is pallid, dark shadows beneath bloodshot eyes. The man is trembling, though whether from sorrow or anger, Jason can’t tell.
A muttered, “I can’t believe this,” is what finally breaks the pregnant silence.
Jason knows it’s not meant for him, that it’s said to the ether, just to get something out, just to relieve some of the pressure.
But the “I’m sorry,” comes out of his mouth anyway.
His father jolts. An icy blue gaze latches onto Jason’s.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes drifting down to his toes. He feels the color rising in his cheeks.
His father is quiet for so long that Jason can’t stop himself from looking back at him.
Bruce looks aghast.
“Jason,” he breathes and it’s ragged, like it’s ripped from the depths of his soul. “There is nothing you should be apologizing for.”
“I should have told you sooner—”
The “No!” that cuts in is spoken so sharply that Jason might have flinched a little if he wasn’t so fucking tired.
Something of that must still show on his face, because in the space between heartbeats, his dad is suddenly kneeling in front of him, taking both of Jason’s hands in his own.
“I mean… of course I wish I’d known sooner. I wish… I wish I had noticed something was off. I wish I’d somehow seen the kind of… monster he was before I ever let him near any of you.”
Bruce makes a strangled noise, like he’s choking back a sob, but his expression is clear and firm.
“I wish I could have protected you. And I’m so very sorry that I didn’t. But there is absolutely nothing you should feel guilty for.”
Realistically, Jason knows he’s right. But it doesn’t help. It doesn’t stop him from breaking down. It doesn’t stop him clinging to his dad like a toddler when the man quickly sits next to him and wraps him in those big, strong, safe arms. It doesn’t stop him from muttering “I’m so sorry” over and over again while his tears soak through his father’s fancy shirt.
His dad holds him through it, petting his hair and rubbing his back, gently shushing him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “He’s your best friend. I was too scared. And then he left and I thought that would be it. Then he came back and I didn’t think anything would happen ‘cause of Slade, figured I could fake it a little longer, but you all kept talking about how close we were and Slade got suspicious about why I’d never mentioned him and it was too hard to pretend anymore and then he threatened Damian and I just… if Dick hadn’t come in, I… I don’t know if I’d’ve killed him or… or…”
The embrace around him tightens even further and Jason doesn’t care that it’s getting hard to breathe. It feels so safe and comforting in his father’s arms.
But it’s definitely an angry shiver that runs through the older man this time.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bruce says after a moment. His voice warbles with poorly contained emotion. Jason can tell he’s trying to be strong, be the rock Jason needs to lean on. He appreciates it more than anything right now. “You’ll never have to see him again, I promise. I’m so proud of how strong you are, how you protect your brothers. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been, carrying this for so long, all by yourself. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore. We’re all here for you, whatever you need. We’ll help you get through it.”
They stay like that for a while longer, just holding onto each other so they don’t get swept away in the current of misery and heartache. It works better than it has any right, to soothe away the stress and fear Jason has felt building up inside him for the last three days.
Finally, his dad pulls back, just far enough to reach up and cup Jason’s face with both hands. He doesn’t bother to wipe away the tears. They’re both crying too much for it to do any good.
“And he was my best friend,” his dad says solemnly. “Now, he’s just the bastard who hurt my son.”
Jason snorts involuntarily and it magically turns into a small laugh. His father’s eyebrows arch and there’s a tentative twitch to his lips.
It’s amazing Jason can find anything funny right now, but it’s oddly comforting. It makes him feel like things are actually going to be alright.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call anyone a ‘bastard’ before,” Jason all but giggles.
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Bruce huffs out his own tiny laugh. It’s little more than a puff of air but it makes Jason smile anyway.
“I’ve used it a few times,” the older man says with a conspiratorial smirk. But he doesn’t elaborate, and Jason is content not to press.
Instead, he tucks himself against the solid breadth of his father’s chest, and lets himself breathe easy for the first time in… maybe ever.
Notes:
Small warning: Jason's line of thinking is still uncomfortable. Please note that his feelings on everything are rationalizations that are inherently unfair to himself. This kind of thinking is sadly not uncommon for this kind of trauma.
Comments and kudos are loved and appreciated ❤
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Chapter 6: Epilogue
Summary:
Some mysteries aren't all that mysterious.
Notes:
We've finally made it to the end of this part of the story! Thank you so much to all of you who've stuck with it and commented and kudo'd and reached out to let me know how much you enjoyed it. You're my story fuel 💜💜💜💜💜💜
I know some of you were hoping to see the actual wedding and I feel bad but it honestly didn't occur to me that it would be that important to you guys. I'm sure that seems pretty ridiculous, given that the upcoming nuptials is the whole setting, but the beats of this story and the ending in particular have been planned since before I wrote Mutual Relations, and for me, this story was never really about the wedding. I might write it as a one shot later, if you guys are interested. But it'll be after I finish a few other things.
That said, one of the things it would have to be after is the next part of this story, tentatively titled "Mutually Assured Destruction" where we can get back to all the lovey-dovey, tooth-rotting fluff that you guys are really here for 😊
So anyway, I hope you enjoy the epilogue and I hope it offers some satisfaction, even if you really had your sights set on wedding 😔
I'm always so nervous ending a fic that has become so important to me. Some fics you can hack out in a couple hours, just for fun, and then some fics are ones you want to put more effort into and really try to get right, and this is one of the later. I really hope this ending does right by the rest of the story. It felt right, but sometimes your gut instinct is wrong, you know?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce’s office is on the top floor of the Wayne Enterprises skyscraper in the financial district. It’s airy and modern, with gleaming pale hardwood floors laid herringbone style, and broad, sweeping views of Gotham’s glittering towers out the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up three of the four walls.
Today, however, Bruce still feels closed-in. It’s been two weeks since Jason and Slade’s wedding and only a little longer since Bruce’s world came crashing down around him in the shattered, jagged pieces of his worst nightmares.
It still feels fresh, an open wound that refuses to heal. It invades his thoughts in the moments his attention slips and his mind wanders.
He still feels a soul-deep sense of failure and sorrow.
Bruce doesn’t know how long that feeling will last, or if it will ever go away at all. He can’t stop thinking about his son, how his child’s youth and innocence, what little life had left him with by the time Jason had come into their lives, was snatched away so heartlessly, so cruelly, by someone Bruce had trusted and loved.
As hard as it was to let Jason out of his sight after the revelation, Bruce is actually glad that both Jason and Slade insisted on going on their honeymoon as planned. Not only does Jason deserve some time and space to decompress where the weight of everything might feel lessened, but, honestly, Bruce needs that cushion too.
He thinks the rest of his family might, as well.
Just looking at the old family photo sitting on his desk floods him with a fresh wave of pain. Being in the same room with his son and trying to treat him like the world hadn’t ended had been impossible.
Bruce’s eyes slide to the photo without permission. And like every other time in the last two weeks, he’s sucker punched by the thought “was my best friend already raping my son? Is Jaosn’s timid smile hiding his fear and pain?”
He knows it didn’t happen. Talia is in the picture and Jason had told him… Jason had said nothing started until after she had passed away.
Reaching out, Bruce brings the photo closer. Talia holds Damian on one hip, her other hand in Jason’s curls. Dick stands between her and Bruce, bent at the waist with his arms slung around Jason’s and Tim’s shoulders. His smile is brilliant and blinding, contagious in the way it infects Tim, crinkling those youthful features in delight. Bruce recalls how overlooked Tim had felt at the time, with Damian being born and Jason joining them just a year later. And Jason… even Jason, wary and displaced, is giving the camera a tentative smile as a result of Dick’s antics.
Finally, Bruce stands on the other end of his family, his own broad smile stretched across his lips. It’s one of the rare ones that reaches his eyes. He has one hand on Dick’s back, the other on the curve of Tim’s neck.
All his boys look so young. He and Talia look young.
Happiness bleeds through the photo.
With it in his hand, fingers trembling as they trace over the handwritten names of his children, Talia’s elegant signature, and where she obviously put a marker in Damian’s pudgy baby fist and helped him draw the letters of his name, Bruce feels that happiness soak into his skin.
On the top of the simple wooden frame, “#1 Dad” is etched in a big, shaky scrawl.
Dick had told him later that, after a great deal of prodding, Jason had finally caved to Dick’s persistent pestering and shyly suggested the words. Then, when Jason had seen Tim pouting at being left out, he’d handed the younger boy the box cutter to carve them into the wood.
Bruce smiles fondly at the memory.
They’ll get through this. By the time Jason and Slade return from their honeymoon, the horror won’t be so fresh. It won’t be so hard to look at Jason and not feel guilt or heartbreak.
“Mr. Wayne?”
The sudden burst of sound from the intercom slices through Bruce’s reverie and makes him jolt so hard he almost falls out of his chair.
Once his heart stops rabbiting against his rib cage, Bruce replaces the picture and taps the speaker.
“Yes, Mr. Thomas, what is it?”
The young man on the other end pauses. There’s a heavy tension in it that Bruce can’t put his finger on, other than the fact that Duke is not one for hesitation. Bruce has already decided to fund his scholarship at the end of his internship and keep an eye on him with designs on offering him a future position, in no small part because of his fearlessness.
“Commissioner Gordon is here to see you, sir.”
Bruce squints at the phone. That’s not as unusual or dire as Duke’s tone would suggest.
“Oh! What a nice surprise.” Bruce responds cheerfully anyway. “Go ahead and send—“
“And, uh, Detective Bullock.”
Ah. That is… less usual. And less pleasant. But equally surprising.
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. Send them in.”
Standing, Bruce, smoothes out his suit as the large double doors open and the two policemen enter.
Bullock looks disheveled, as always. His hat is squished, tie loosened, jacket rumpled, and shirt stained. Gordon looks more put together but characteristically tired.
And less characteristically, uncomfortable.
“Jim!” Bruce exclaims brightly. “It’s always good to see you—”
Bullock snorts. “May wanna hold that thought, Wayne.”
Puzzled, Bruce cocks his head at the detective.
“Sorry about this, Bruce,” Jim sighs. “But this isn’t a social call. Can we talk?”
With a nod, Bruce waves them over to the sitting area by the large windows.
Once they’re all comfortably seated, drink in hand, Bruce looks at the commissioner.
“What is this all about, Jim?”
The man opens his mouth to answer, but Bullock cuts in.
“Witnesses say you were one of the last people to see Jack Napier before he went missing. And that the two of you got into a physical altercation.”
Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing up under the pads of his glasses. “Christ, Harv. I told you to let me handle it.”
“Jus’ ‘cause he’s rich, don’t mean we have to walk on eggshells ‘round him.”
Bruce blinks between them, letting the words process.
“Jack’s missing?” he asks numbly, a creeping, tingling sensation crawling up his spine. The way Jack had looked at Jason when Jason confirmed Dick’s account of their conversation…
He wouldn’t try to follow Jason on his honeymoon, would he?
“Funny you didn’t notice, seein’ as he’s your best friend an’ all,” Bullock says nonchalantly, stirring the cube of ice in his whiskey with a dainty pinky and smirking at Bruce.
Bile and anger boil in Bruce’s belly and he almost allows his response to be the reactionary snarl everything inside him says it should be. The casual reminder that Jack was his friend makes him want to scream.
Instead, he swallows it down the best he can. He needs to end this conversation as soon as possible so he can call Jason and warn him. Or… or maybe Slade. Jason shouldn’t have to worry about Jack ever again and Slade has proven he’ll protect Jason.
Something must still flash across his face, because Jim and Bullock share a quick look.
“We… had a falling out—”
“Yeah, we heard. Was a pretty public display at the Catnip Club, right? You an’ your boy, goin’ after him like he was a punchin’ bag?”
Wait. Are they talking to Bruce because they think he had something to do with Jack’s disappearance?
“Shut the hell up, Harvey,” Jim snaps. Bullock looks at him in surprise at the harshness of his tone, mouth open to argue. But the look on Jim’s face makes him sink back into the sofa, arms crossed, and sulking.
Jim turns his attention back to Bruce, eyes meeting and holding for a brief moment. Sympathy is heavy in Jim’s gaze and Bruce knows that Barbara must have already, at least unofficially, given her father her statement of the night’s events. Jim knows what the “falling out” was regarding.
Oh. Bruce guesses that makes for a pretty good motive.
“Do I need to contact my attorney, Jim?” Bruce asks quietly. Of course he doesn’t know anything about Jack’s disappearance. However, the risk of accidentally implicating himself with an incorrectly phrased statement or, worse even, letting slip any of the quickly solidifying suspicions forming in his mind, is all too real.
“I’d never recommend against it, Bruce. It’s always a good idea, when talking to us,” Jim says with another sigh. He looks away and takes off his glasses, wiping at the lenses with his tie. “But right now, it’s just a missing person’s case, and we’re just trying to get all of our ducks in a row.”
“Just a missing person’s case,” Bullock mutters before surging forward in his seat. “What reason would your new son-in-law have for contacting your old father-in-law, huh?”
Bruce can’t hide his surprise at that comment. He blinks at the man, at an utter loss for how to respond.
“The only thing that’s kept Ra’s al Ghul outta the slammer is the fact he’s richer than you and has buddies in high places all across the world. Everyone knows he’s tits deep in all kinds of shit. Corporate sabotage, bribery and blackmailing top government officials… assassinations.”
“That’s enough, detective!” Jim barks. “Go wait in the car.”
“Ah come on, commish! You know there’s somethin’ slimy goin’ on here!”
“Now.”
Bullock glares, first at Jim, then Bruce. Finally, he gets up and storms out, muttering the whole way.
“Sorry about him,” Jim says. He looks exhausted. “It’s a high profile case and he gets… excited.”
Bruce scowls. He doesn’t have it in him right now to worry about Harvey Bullock.
“As you know, al Ghul’s contacts are monitored by the CIA and Interpol. We know that Mr. Wilson made a call to him, the day before the wedding…”
“If you have the records then you should know the reason,” Bruce interrupts. Jim gives him another sympathetic look, like he wishes he didn’t have to be there. But Bruce is at his wits end now. If things could just… slow down for a minute, let him catch up…
“The audio was corrupted—” Jim says softly.
“Ra’s is my children’s grandfather,” Bruce grinds out. “They’ve always stayed in touch and for all his other alleged sins, he’s always been great with them. He loves them and they love him. Jason and Slade are visiting him for a few days on their honeymoon. It seems reasonable to me that they would contact him to set their plans.”
Not that Bruce isn’t aware of the fact that Ra’s’ sins are only alleged for the exact reasons Bullock had mentioned. But he’s quickly losing patience for this conversation.
Yet, even though he knows he should bite his tongue and refuse to respond, he can’t seem to stop himself from answering, from needing to answer. Jack ruined his son’s childhood, raped Jason repeatedly for years, all while Bruce foolishly thought him a friend. He doesn’t deserve to be looked for when the horrors he wrought upon a child went so long without justice that it passed the reach of the law. They’d talked about it, turning the bastard in, but the statute of limitations has passed. There is nothing they could do.
Or… nothing Bruce could do.
Despite his protestations, Bruce can’t help but be suspicious too.
Jason may not know too much about Slade’s past, and, for the most part, Bruce is fine with that. Slade is an entirely different person and as dangerous as he is, he’s also fiercely protective. So Bruce has been content to leave Slade’s past in the past, let that be between him and Jason. Jason’s not stupid, he has likely made some connections and decided the details didn’t matter. Bruce is trying to not involve himself in things that are not his business.
But the idea that Slade and Ra’s might know each other, never crossed Bruce’s mind until this moment and it should have. Because when Bruce thinks about it for even a split second, there’s almost no way they don’t.
“I know, Bruce,” Jim says, standing. Bruce follows him up with a subtle shake of his head to refocus on the moment. “I really am sorry, but I had to talk to you about it. It’s our job.”
Grunting an acknowledgement, Bruce walks him to the door, still rattled.
Before turning the handle, Jim pauses and turns back to him, something conspiratorial in his expression.
“Just between you and me,” he says, lips twitching under his mustache, “there isn’t much to go on. Napier is confirmed to have boarded his flight back to Austria on Sunday afternoon, the day after the wedding. Slade and Jason had already left for their honeymoon, you and the boys were at Nigma’s new escape room with Barbara and plenty of other witnesses, and even if al Ghul was somehow involved, he still has diplomatic immunity here.”
“If he got on the plane, shouldn’t this be a case for the Austrian police?”
Jim’s bushy gray brows creep up his forehead and the twitch in his lips turns into a tiny, mischievous smile.
“Maybe. If he’d ever arrived in the country. That’s why there’s so little to go off of for this one. Witnesses and airport security cameras clearly show Jack Napier boarding the plane. But he never got off of it. We interviewed everyone on the aircraft. No one saw or heard anything suspicious. It’s… weird.”
Bruce just blinks at him. He has no idea what to say to that. How is that even possible? It’s not like a plane has a lot of private places to hide and Jack isn’t a small man. Taking him down would have certainly made a scene. Right?
With a nod, Jim leaves him alone with his thoughts.
There’s no doubt in Bruce’s mind that Slade or Ra’s or both somehow managed to… to… get rid of Jack. If anyone could manage what Jim just described, it’s those two.
It should bother him.
There’s a reason he and Talia limited Ra’s’ interaction with the kids, why they always kept such a close eye on things when he was around. Ra’s al Ghul is not a good man. But he is very devoted to his family.
And Slade? Slade was a killer for hire before he decided to go… well, not straight given how he did business before he got involved with Jason, but at least… less lethal.
Still, Slade is retired and Ra’s is far away. It never occurred to Bruce to worry about something like this.
Although…
In retrospect, he probably should have.
Slade’s words from the night of the revelation come back to him now.
Not here. Not now.
It’s clear in hindsight that he meant, “They can pin it on you if you kill him here. We can take care of it later.” And yet, Slade still had the sense not to say anything to Bruce about any actual plans to murder someone.
It should bother him. It should worry him that his son is married to a man who can so casually take another person’s life. Turning Slade in would be doing the right thing…
He wants to believe his hesitation, his lack of distress and concern, is because of how doing so will affect his son; how it will just take something his boy loves from him; just be another thing Jason loses.
But it’s not. Bruce doesn’t feel like something unspeakable was done. He doesn’t feel like a crime has been committed. He doesn’t find himself at war with his conscience. The unspeakable, the crime, is what Jack did to Jason, what he threatened to do to Damian. This feels like… like justice.
Bruce scrubs his hands over his face and flops back into his desk chair. When he peeks through his fingers, his eyes land on the photo of his family, taking in himself and all his children before fixing on Talia.
He hears her low, velvety voice in his head; knows exactly how she would have felt; exactly what she would have done to a threat to her kids. Jason takes after Bruce in more ways than one, after all, including a preference for dangerous partners.
It should bother him.
But it doesn’t.
Notes:
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