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The next punch rattles Jason’s skull and nearly knocks him flat on his ass. It’s only years and years of training that keep him upright and moving while the pain almost blinds him, bile rising in his throat.
God, this is so fucking stupid. He should've known Bruce wouldn't notice. And why would he? It was stupid to expect things to be different. Childish. Which is something Jason has never been, even back when he was, technically, still a child. He doesn't know why he expected Bruce to see him and just know . It's not like the man has ever seen him before, seen Jason for who he really is.
Thief. Street rat. Criminal. Robin… Or should I say soldier?
“Is that all you got? You getting old, B?”
Batman just grunts, but his next swing comes in that much harder and Jason laughs as he narrowly jumps out of the way, before he charges forward again, catching Bruce around the middle and slamming him against the roof access door, which splinters under their combined weight.
Bruce never saw any of that and not in a romantic 'I see past your circumstances' kind of way. No. Bruce only ever saw Jason how he wanted to see him. As someone to be saved and molded into something he wasn't. Jason didn't used to care about that. As long as he got to stay with Bruce, be close to him, as long as he had Bruce's attention, what did he care what the other man saw? But the older Jason got the harder the judgment and disappointment (because of course he failed all those unreasonable expectations) got to bear until he finally couldn't take it anymore and confronted Bruce. Challenged his mentor to see him for who he really is. Without success. Obviously. Bruce is one stubborn bastard, but Jason was prepared to keep trying.
But then he died.
Sure, he came back, fully prepared to pick up where he left off with Bruce, but… Well. Turns out it wasn't moral compunctions or anything similar that kept his mentor from seeing him. It was simply a lack of care.
Bruce booted foot connects with Jason’s chest and Jason feels at least one of his ribs crack from the force of it. Somehow he still manages to break his fall and roll back to his feet, but now he’s playing on borrowed time. It won’t take long for the ribs to impede his movements too much. Adrenalin can only get you so far.
Jason has always been nothing more than a soldier. A means to an end, so to speak, easily replaceable, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet. So he did what he did best after realizing Bruce has moved on without him: fight crime and piss Batman off to get his attention.
Right now though it seems that it worked a little too well, Jason thinks as he dives out of the way to narrowly avoid the three batarangs thrown his way.
A feral grin suddenly works its way onto his face, because the way the batarangs were aimed… They could’ve done some real damage. Permanent damage. Of the variety Bruce says he’s above of. The kind he keeps condemning Jason for. Oh yeah, Jason definitely got under the old man's skin tonight. Just a little bit more.
“Not playing by the rules tonight, boss? If only you’d have had that idea sooner your poor little soldier kid might still be alive.”
Batman actually howls with rage at that and Jason isn’t quite fast enough to dodge this time. Bruce’s foot connects with his shin and the following crack is somehow deafeningly loud. Looks like Jason won’t be winning this one.
Somehow he manages to fling himself backwards, out of Batman’s iron grip, but he stumbles and falls to his knees as his ankle protests the awkward movement. Must be twisted. Oh yeah, it won’t take Bruce long at all to finish him off.
With shaking fingers, Jason reaches for the pistol strapped to his thigh when there’s another barrage of batarangs slung his way. One of them connects. It hits him right in the neck, slicing the artery there in a flash of white-hot pain and warmth instantly starts to soak Jason’s shirt.
Seems like Batman really is trying to kill him this time around.
The thought makes him laugh. A wheezing, breathless, broken sort of sound that sets fire to his chest where definitely more than one broken rib protests the movement. All courtesy of Bruce not holding back in the slightest. Maybe he finally broke the old bastard.
At least then we’d be even…
Jason laughs harder as the pain makes him dizzy, inhaling lungfuls of the thick, muggy Gotham nightair, tinged with the cloying stench of his own blood. Lots of it. Jason throws his head back, grinning at the clouded sky. Appearently he can count on Bruce after all. Who knew?
"You really are just as crazy as him ," Bruce growls as he stalks towards Jason once more, looming over him, a grotesque shadow, like the rest of the gargoyles looking down from this city's rooftops. Magnificently intimidating.
Jason stares up at Batman, his face shrouded in darkness, and wishes he could see Bruce's eyes. He's always loved those deep blue eyes. They are so expressive. At least if you know how to read them and Jason sees himself as a bit of an expert. Even after three years apart.
"Just trying to do what you should've started doing a long time ago, B. You know they deserved what they got." Jason grins up at his former mentor as he pushes the man’s buttons and even though Bruce can't see it through the helmet, it's perfectly audible in his voice. Good. It will drive the old man crazy.
As if on cue, Bruce makes an angry, frustrated sound. His hand shoots out, grabs Jason by the lapels of his leather jacket and hauls him up, lifting him to his feet one-handed.
Not a mean feat, considering Jason is almost as tall as he is and almost as broad, and currently unable to take his own weight thanks to his broken leg and twisted ankle. Both of which are shooting nauseating amounts of pain through his body as they are jostled until Jason has to rapidly swallow back bile. Throwing up in the helmet is not something he ever wants to experience, thanks.
"People like you disgust me," snarls Bruce and Jason focuses on the proximity, the heat radiating off of Bruce's body, instead of his words. He's always known that he's wrong, twisted, definitely not good enough for Batman, never mind public playboy and secret goody-two-shoes Bruce Wayne. This entire cluster-fuck of a situation is just further prove of that fact. Which is why Jason decided to make himself memorable in the only other way he knew how.
“You have no idea how funny that is, boss,” Jason slurs. “At least I’m doing something for Gotham. Can you say the same?”
"If you really cared about Gotham, about doing the right thing, you'd have let them live, Red Hood! You'd have let the police take them to Blackgate or Arkham! You're just as power-hungry, just as much of a criminal as they are!"
"Don't you mean were?" mumbles Jason, delighting in the way Bruce's grip tightens around his jacket. He's never been able to leave Bruce alone, always trying to push his buttons. Now is no different. The blood loss starts to make him feel lightheaded, like he’s floating out of his own body, no longer tethered to reality.
"You'll rot in Aarkham for that. I'll make sure of it. And should you manage to escape, I'm going to be waiting to drag you back there, in worse shape than you’re in right now."
Bruce's voice shakes with barely restrained fury as he draws Jason in close to growl the threats into his ear. God, Jason thinks distantly, he really hopes Bruce will lose control if he keeps prodding and poking at him enough, hopes Bruce will break his one rule and prove, at last, that Jason is somehow special to him after all, that he cares. Even if it’s not in the way Jason wants him to care.
After everything that happened between them Jason still loves Bruce, will always love him, fucked-up as that is. So if dying by his hand is as intimate as they’re going to get? Well, Jason’s at a point where that’s not looking like too bad an option. At least that way the nightmares will finally stop.
It's with that thought in mind that Jason forces his bruised and battered body to gather what limited reserves it still possesses and reaches into his utility belt to draw a small knife. Of course it's knocked out of his hand almost immediately, but the slight distraction is all he needs to free himself from Bruce's hold and pull one of his guns.
"You'll have to get me there first, boss . A little red and green birdy told me your timing is absolute shit."
Of course the nicknames are deliberate, another little hint of just who it is Batman’s facing off against dropped at his feet, but like he did with all the other clues these past three months, Bruce ignores it completely and charges right at Jason instead, a furious yell echoing off of the surrounding buildings.
The ensuing fight is short but brutal. Jason’s gun is flung from his hand as Batman’s fists connect with every gap in his armor, every vulnerable part he can reach, exploiting weaknesses and slip-ups ruthlessly. Jason gives as good as he gets - impressive, considering his injuries - but Bruce is meaner, more vicious, than Jason’s ever seen him. There's more violence, more intent behind his unrestrained punches, thrown with lethal precision. Plus, Jason is in immense pain, rapidly losing blood and getting slower by the second, but he can't focus on that. Not when he’s so close. He can almost taste it.
Bruce is beautiful like this, exhilarating, and Jason laughs again when Bruce's gauntleted fist connects with his helmet hard enough to crack it open, rattling his already fuzzy brain and sending him rolling to the ground.
"You never hit the Joker this hard, boss. And here I thought your those little Robins of yours are interchangable. Guess that one was special after all, huh?"
Cackling, Jason throws his head back against the hard concrete floor and stares at the pitch-black night sky over Gotham. As usual, there’s not a single star in sight. Bruce stays silent. The world starts spinning around Jason and he has to close his eyes. He's cold.
“Afraid of admitting the truth, Bruce? We both know you never really cared about the little street rat you picked up. Probably glad the Joker took him off your hands.”
Somewhere above him Bruce roars, a wounded, animalistic sound and then a fist connects with Jason's unprotected temple.
Let me be special to you. Just this once, is Jason’s last thought before everything goes dark and the world fades to black.
"Batman! B, stop! Stop! You're going to kill him!" Dick's panicked shouts barely manage to penetrate the violent fog Bruce finds himself trapped in, but something in him recognizes his loss of control, makes him halt mid-punch to finally assess the situation.
Dick perches on the edge of the roof, staring at him in horror. Alfred must’ve contacted him. Or maybe Oracle did. Doesn’t matter. Bruce is ashamed to find that he's playing perfectly into the Red Hood's plans, ashamed that Nightwing - that Dick - had to see him like this. The Red Hood wants Batman to break his one rule - that much has been clear from the start. It's also obvious that he's changed tactics. Instead of trying to get Bruce to kill the Joker - the man who has taken everything from him, the monster that has destroyed Bruce's entire world with nothing but a crowbar and some C4 - Hood is now trying to get Bruce to kill him.
And I almost did…
Sucking in a shaky breath, Bruce lets his hand drop to his side, unclenching his bloody fist, only now registering the way he's kneeling over the Red Hood's unconscious form, pulling him up by that stupid leather jacket to give his punches more weight.
Bruce drops Hood like he's been burned and winces at the dull thud with which the man's now unprotected head connects with the concrete of the rooftop underneath him. If he didn't have a concussion before, he definitely does now.
But that's not why Bruce is so shaken, feels so raw and off-kilter.
It's not even that Red Hood's plan nearly succeeded. If Dick hadn't been here to stop him…
"B… What the hell happened?"
Bruce grits his teeth, but he doesn’t turn to face Dick and he doesn't answer his question. His focus is still on the man before him, underneath him. The Red Hood. Who showed up in Gotham three months ago with more knowledge about the city's underbelly than anyone besides Bruce should have, a penchant for murdering criminals and a disturbing habit of catching Bruce off-guard and getting under his skin.
And he knows about Jason.
Red Hood has dropped hints about Bruce's second Robin every chance he got, mocking him for his partner's death and feeding that dark part inside of Bruce that's still thirsting after the Joker's blood. The part that wants to see the world burn after it dared to take Jason from him.
"Batman?" Dick is now standing directly behind Bruce, radiating uncertainty, hand hovering over Bruce's shoulder, clearly waiting for Bruce to snap and that more than anything tells him how far he's allowed the Red Hood to push him. Unacceptable.
"I'm taking him to the cave for questioning."
"What?! To the cave? But B-"
"He knows who we are, has known our identities since before he first showed up and I need to know how. I can't risk sending him to Blackgate or Arkham. Not right now."
Dick clearly wants to argue, but knows better than to push Bruce when he's like this so he just gives a curt nod and takes a step back.
"I'll let the others know and cover your route," he says instead, sounding resigned, his hand already reaching for his grappling gun, before he takes a running leap off the side of the building.
"Be careful, B!"
Bruce's attention is already back on the Red Hood, as it has been for the past three months, while he calls the Batwing to his location. There's just something about this man that gets under Bruce's skin like nothing else can. Not anymore. Not since Jason…
Bruce shuts those thoughts down viciously. He knows he won't be able to stop once he starts to think about his Jaylad. It's the reason he hasn't allowed himself to really think about Jason at all for the past three years. Otherwise Bruce wouldn't have been able to function. Jason had been everything to him.
Which is why the Red Hood’s comments have hit so hard, threatening to break the seal to all the bottled up grief and rage Bruce carries around with him every second of every day, ready to destroy him. Like his very own self-destruct sequence.
Shaking himself, Bruce is about to start checking the Red Hood over, trying to assess the damage he’s done, when it happens. He’s leaning forward to examine the man’s head, when he sees his face through his shattered helmet for the very first time and it's only decades of keeping his emotions in check that keep Bruce from screaming.
Because, changed by the past three years as he might be, that is still definitely Jason’s bruised and battered face staring back at Bruce. He’s older, of course, but Bruce would know his Jaylad anywhere.
Bruce suddenly feels dizzy. His heart is pounding against his ribcage and a roaring starts up in his ears, drowning out every other sound. How is this possible? A part of him asks, while the other takes a whirlwind trip down memory lane, presenting Bruce with all the things he wished he’d told Jason before he died and didn’t. It’s entirely too much to bear.
Bruce lifts a shaking hand to his com and contacts Alfred.
“He’s alive, Alfred. I– I don't know how, but– but he's alive. I'm bringing him home. Prepare the medbay.”
He’s never been this inarticulate before and he doesn’t even think to use codenames nor is he able to explain what he means exactly. He’s too upset to really care about any of that. Tim would have a field-day with that, but Bruce doesn’t give a fuck right now. Not when he’s holding Jason in his arms again. Finally, after three years, Bruce feels like he can breathe again. Something he never thought he’d be able to do.
“The medbay is always prepared, Sir. Might I ask who it is you’re bringing home?” Alfred sounds concerned, rightfully so, considering Bruce’s emotional state. Bruce doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know how, because Alfred won’t believe him until he sees Jason with his own two eyes. Bruce can’t blame him for that. Still, he doesn’t want to waste precious time arguing with Alfred when it’s clear that Jason desperately needs medical attention.
And it’s not like Bruce has any answers for Alfred anyway.
He doesn’t know how it’s possible that Jason is back, is not inclined to question it right now, either. Too afraid, this might all turn out to be a dream after all. A cruel hallucination brought on by one of Crane’s toxins or Ivy’s pollen or something similarly sinister. If that’s the case he might actually break his cardinal rule and murder whoever is responsible, consequences be damned.
Bruce is saved from following that line of thought by the arrival of the Batwing. Carefully, he scoops Jason into his arms, mindful of the numerous injuries littering his boy’s body and makes his way over to the sleek black plane hovering near the edge of the roof.
Guilt gnaws at Bruce’s gut as he lets his gaze travel the length of Jason’s bloodied body, but he ruthlessly pushes it down. That can wait until Jason is tended to and safely tucked away at home. Everything can wait until then.
Once inside the Batwing, Bruce engages the autopilot. Unwilling to let go of Jason for even a single second, he holds him against his chest, rocking them back and forth, tenderly caressing his boy’s face and letting his fingers gingerly comb through his matted brown curls, discovering the white streak in his fringe like a punch to the sternum. High stress, most often a near-death experience, Bruce's brain rattles off and he briefly closes his eyes against the agony of that knowledge.
“It’s going to be alright, Jaylad,” he murmurs as he holds Jason close. The Batwing zooms through the city and back towards the manor, but Bruce only has eyes for the injured boy turned man lying on his lap. “I’m taking you home, Jason. No one is ever going to hurt you again. Not even me. I promise.”
-
“Oh dear,” is all Alfred says when Bruce carries a still unconscious Jason out of the Batwing, but the almost deathly pale pallor of his skin and the slight shake in the hands he keeps curled to fists at his sides betray just how shocked he really is. Bruce has learned to read his surrogate father’s tells decades ago. To see him this shaken is simultaneously a relief and incredibly disturbing. It confirms that this is not just a hallucination, but… it also confirms that this is not just a hallucination. Bruce swallows. Once again he hasn't been there for Jason, has left him to fend for himself for the past three years. Abandoned him after his death. The thought is unbearable.
Before Bruce can snap something undoubtedly harsh to get Alfred to move, dammit, Alfred is already straightening his spine and turning on his heel to lead Bruce towards the medbay and Bruce is so grateful, it's absolutely pathetic. He doesn't care.
As soon as Jason lies on the exam table, Alfred gets to work, quick and efficient as always and Bruce’s shoulders sag in relief.
Not wanting to let Jason out of his sight - never again, he’s never losing him again, never - but needing something to do to stop him from jumping out of his skin, Bruce busies himself with drawing a blood sample and analyzing it in his nearby lab. It’s close enough to keep an eye on his boy, but far enough away to give Alfred the space he needs to work.
Unfortunately, there’s not much Bruce can do once he’s fed the data into the Batcomputer and there’s no telling how long the analysis will take. Fortunately, it’s only another fifteen minutes later that Alfred clears his throat, stepping back from Jason and fixing Bruce with a stern glare. “Two broken ribs, one broken leg, one twisted ankle, several deep lacerations and bruises all across his body and one very dangerous cut to the left side of his neck that managed to hit the boy’s carotid artery. He is very lucky indeed to be alive at all and on strict bed rest for the foreseeable future. Miracuously, he shall make a full recovery.”
Bruce couldn’t have held back the relieved sigh if his life depended on it and Alfred’s disapproving frown softens the slightest bit.
“Maybe you should get some rest too, Sir. After I’ve taken a look at the numerous injuries you have undoubtedly accumulated over the course of the night.”
Bruce protests weakly, mind already occupied with the logistics of getting Jason out of the cave and into the manor proper, debating whether or not it would be wise to put him into his old room, but Alfred will have none of it.
“You won’t be able to take proper care of Master Jason if you ignore your own wounds, Master Bruce, and I for one think that should be incentive enough, don’t you agree?”
Any further protests Bruce wanted to voice die in his throat. Instead he nods and begins the arduous process of shedding his armor. Alfred steps forward to help him and within minutes Bruce is sitting on another exam table, next to Jason’s, while Alfred bandages the grazes Jason’s guns left behind on his arms as well as the various other wounds his boy managed to inflict on him. Knowing it was Jason who injured him like this makes Bruce strangely proud of just how difficult the fight was, how hard won his victory, but it also makes the reason for their fight just that much worse.
Jason, his grinning, easy-going Jaylad, had killed seven men. Right in front of Bruce, without the slightest bit of hesitation or remorse. The thought has bile rising in Bruce’s throat as an image of a sixteen-year-old Jason swims before his mind’s eye, grinning broadly as he tells Bruce he’s going to win him over one day, that they will be partners in every sense of the word and to mark his words.
“Age is only gonna be an excuse for so long, boss. Sooner or later you won’t be able to resist me anymore. We’re perfect for each other, you’ll see.”
Bruce squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know why that image comes to mind. Maybe because it’s the last one he has from… before? It was only days after that Jason ran away to Ethiopia. Whatever the reason, Bruce can’t reconcile what happened between then and now. Well, besides the obvious, but Bruce tries desperately not to think about that right now.
What could have driven Jason to become the Red Hood?
“Any ideas how this is possible?” Alfred’s soft voice cuts through the confusing mix of memories and emotions swirling around Bruce’s head, reaching him like a lifeline before he drowns.
Bruce exhales slowly. “Not yet. Alfred… I- I know we should wait for the DNA-Test to come back, check the grav– … the property, but.” He trails off, staring at his hands to avoid Alfred’s kind eyes. He doesn’t deserve that right now. Obviously he’s failed Jason yet again. He didn’t even notice he came back to life, didn’t notice his empty grave, and now something had driven his boy to utmost violence. Because I haven’t been there for him.
“I will prepare the young Master’s old room for him. If I recall correctly there is a rather comfortable futon there as well.” With that, Alfred ties off the last bandage and steps back, leaving Bruce to stare at Jason’s beautiful face, mind still reeling, because this shouldn’t be possible. Except that it’s happened before and now that Bruce's confronted with it he feels like he should’ve been prepared for this possibility.
“I won’t fail you again, Jay, I swear.”
Consciousness comes back to Jason in increments and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to determine he’s lying in a bed and an even longer time to realize that it’s his bed. The one he left behind three years ago when he set out to find his mother and met his death instead. Frowning, he sits up, slowly, biting back a pained groan as he takes in his surroundings, finding them completely unchanged from his last visit here. Jason would be convinced this was a dream if his ribs didn’t scream in protest at every movement and the cut in his neck wasn’t throbbing a painful rhythm in time with his racing heartbeat.
How the fuck did he get here? There is no way Bruce took him back here. The man made it painfully clear how much he despises the Red Hood. Even if he found out that it’s Jason underneath the helmet it wouldn’t change things. Why would it? Bruce has long since shown just how little he cared. Hell, the man hasn’t been to Jason’s grave even once. It looks almost exactly the same as when Jason’s crawled out of it, haphazardly covered up, no flowers no nothing and none of the intel Jason has gathered over the past few months held any reference to him or his grave at all. Which means no one has been there in three years
Swallowing thickly, Jason starts to turn, intending to make a swift exit before anyone comes back to find him conscious, and freezes, breath catching in his throat.
That is… that's definitely Bruce lying on the futon in the corner.
The same futon Bruce had bought shortly after Jason came to live with him because of Jason’s frequent nightmares that had him searching out his mentor in the middle of the night, shaking from head to toe and crying.
“It’s easier this way,” was all Bruce had said before he’d proceeded to spend the next three weeks sleeping in Jason’s room, on that damned futon, his presence slowly but surely making Jason feel safe and chasing off the remnants of his life before coming to the manor. Not completely, obviously, that shit is never gonna go away, but Bruce helped Jason focus on the good stuff. God, the memory hurts. Especially now, after he's been almost beaten to death by Batman. Almost being the keyword.
Not even special enough to kill…
Shaking himself, Jason forces his gaze away from the futon and back towards the rest of the room. He needs to get out of here. Even if he's not entirely sure this whole thing isn't just a hallucination. It happened before, side-effects from the pit and all that, but he can't take that chance. He's not telling Bruce anything and he's not going to prison.
Just as Jason is debating whether leaving through the door is worth the risk or if he should jump out the second story window despite his broken leg and bruised ankle, Bruce begins to stir and Jason finds himself holding his breath, suddenly unable to move.
"Jay?" Bruce's voice is a deep, sleepy rumble as he blinks those big blue eyes at Jason and Jason feels that look like a kick to the gut. He releases a shaky breath to try and calm his racing heart. It doesn't work.
"You expect someone else, old man?" He tries to infuse his voice with his usual level of venom, shield himself from how unguarded Bruce looks, but he doesn’t quite hit the mark and lands at wary instead. He grits his teeth.
This isn't real. It can't be. This is a dream, a trick…
Bruce sits up, any trace of sleepiness wiped from his expression, and isn't that weird, how he lets Jason read his face? But Jason is too tired to try and decipher it. He's convinced now that this isn't real and interpreting the flood of emotions coming from Bruce would just hurt him all the more once he wakes up alone somewhere in a ditch. He just wants this to end so that he can go and lick his wounds in peace.
Seconds later, Bruce is on his feet and has crossed the distance between them. Jason can't hide his flinch as the other man looms over him. He braces himself for whatever lecture or interrogation is coming his way, because even in his dreams Bruce is always disappointed in him, and forces himself to meet Bruce's eyes. Only to suck in a sharp breath when Bruce simply drops to his knees next to the bed, eyes shining with emotion, clutching Jason's right hand in both of his.
"I'm so sorry I failed you again, Jason. I should've realized… you were trying to tell me and I was too stubborn. All those hints you left me and all I did was hurt you. I'm sorry."
Bruce's words tumble fast and breathless out of his mouth as if he's afraid they're gonna vanish before he can push them past his lips. His eyes are boring into Jason's, so uncharacteristically open and vulnerable, and all Jason can see reflected back at him is pain. It makes his chest feel tight, makes something inside of him itch and burn, because Bruce has no right to feel like that. Not after everything he did. After everything he put Jason through.
And still Jason wants so bad to just turn his hand, intertwine his fingers with Bruce's, hold onto him. Find comfort like he used to do before.
Fuck, this sucks so bad. This is all Jason's ever wanted and it's not even real. Resisting the urge to rub at his aching chest, Jason sets his jaw and stares at the wall over Bruce's shoulder.
"Jay–" Bruce starts again, but Jason quickly interrupts him. He doesn't know how much more of this he can take. Why does his subconscious have to torture him like this?
“Just stop, Bruce. Just– I know this isn't real, okay? Don't make this worse for me."
Bruce frowns, his fingers gripping Jason's limp hand tighter. "This is real, Jason. When I saw it was you– when I realized what I've done–"
"What?!" Jason barks, interrupting again. "Don't tell me it changed anything, because it doesn't. You still think I'm a worthless criminal, on par with the Joker. You said so yourself."
Bruce flinches as if struck and Jason wants to feel satisfied - he finally got a reaction - but all he feels is bitterness.
"I was being stupid, Jason," says Bruce quietly and he sounds so damn contrite that Jason wants to strangle him. "You were dropping all those hints about yourself and I thought… I thought you were taunting me, that you had somehow learned what happened and the thought of someone disrespecting your memory like that-" Bruce stops himself, takes a shaky breath and for a moment he grips Jason's hand impossibly tighter. "I realize now you just wanted me to recognize you."
Something inside of Jason unwinds at Bruce's words and he suddenly finds his shoulders sagging the tiniest bit, his anger ebbing just a fraction. Enough for him to blurt out, "Don't take all the blame, old man. I could've just used the front door."
That startles a laugh out of Bruce, but it sounds wrong. Sad and hollow. "We both know I made that impossible for you, Jay. I never should've left you alone. We were partners."
There's a lump forming in Jason's throat. He's waited a long time to hear those words. But he's not sure he can stand to talk about that right now. Exhaustion is creeping back in, making his limbs feel heavy, his vision growing hazy around the edges. He must be on heavy duty painkillers. So he forces himself to change the subject while he still can. Clearing his throat, he says weakly, "Well, this was nice, old man, but I need to get going."
Bruce's brows draw together and something that looks suspiciously like panic suddenly enters his eyes. God, this is so weird! Bruce never lets anyone see his emotions like this. It makes Jason wary, makes him feel like he's being manipulated. He grits his teeth.
"Would you- I know I have no right asking this of you, but would you consider staying?" Jason doesn't know what his face does at the question, but Bruce's quickly adds, "Just until you're healed up a bit more. Please, Jason. Stay a few days. I - if an enemy found you in this state… Please. Stay."
It’s seriously weiding Jason out how easily the words ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘please’ seem to roll off of Bruce’s tongue nowadays. He never used to apologize and he never asked anyone for anything. Bruce ordered, demanded, commanded, but he never asked. That he is doing so now is really fucking with Jason’s head.
Though that might just be the concussion.
By now it takes Jason all of his considerable strength to even stay sitting upright anymore, despite the fact that he’s leaning against the headboard. His injuries ache and burn and if he's honest he doesn't know if he'd even make it to one of his safe houses in this state. He has a lot of enemies and Bruce is right, staying would be safer… but just the thought of giving in like this makes his skin itch.
He just doesn’t get what Bruce is getting out of this and he doesn’t trust him either. That man is a born liar and he’s only honed his skills since becoming Batman.
That’s when Jason makes the mistake of meeting Bruce's eyes.
Looking into their blue depths, seeing all those repressed emotions reflected back at him, it’s too much. Jason lets his gaze travel down, towards the big hands still clasping his own, desperately holding onto him as if Bruce is just as afraid as he is, and that is no better. What the hell is Bruce trying to accomplish? And why the fuck is it working?
Because suddenly Jason finds himself wanting to stay. If only to find out what made Bruce act like this. It can’t be Jason’s return. Jason did his homework (by which he means he’s bugged the manor to kingdom come). He knows Bruce never so much as mentions his name. He never goes into Jason’s room or visits his grave or anything grieving people do. It’s like he’s completely wiped Jason from his memory. But staying might be Jason’s only hope to finally get the answers he needs from Bruce, to get closure.
Why did Bruce immediately replace him? Why does he never visit Jason's grave? Why did he let him go after his mother alone? Why didn’t he trust Jason?
Why didn’t he love him?
Jason swallows thickly.
"Fine. A few days," he growls, but it doesn’t come out nearly as intimidating as he’d like. He’s too exhausted for that. So Jason avoids looking at Bruce's face, doesn't give Bruce time to answer, before he carefully lowers himself back into the bed, extricating his hand from Bruce's in the process, and turns his back on the man, uncaring of the way his lungs scream in protest.
Embarrassingly enough, Jason’s last thought before unconsciousness once again claims him, is that Bruce still smells exactly the same. Like Home. Like safety.
And most of all, like love.