Chapter Text
As the sun peaks over the horizon, golden sunbeams fill the room. Bruce’s tired eyes cringe at the sudden light, but he can't find the energy to get up and close the blinds. His back aches as he straightens up in his chair, phantom pains from old age creasing his brow in discomfort. His fingers ache as he reaches them back to his computer, and he takes this as a sign to finally stop working. He never got to change out of his costume, and his body yearns to be free from the constricting leathers and pads. He meanders his way over to the shower, feet slightly dragging behind him.
It’s quiet in the manor. In fact, he can't remember when he last saw one of his children. He certainly hasn't seen Dick in a while, not since their spat a few weeks ago. Damian has been distant as well, and Bruce has a feeling it's due to the influence of his eldest. He has tried to speak with Damian and explain what happened, but Bruce has been unable to properly explain his feelings. He himself still struggles to understand everything he feels regarding his estranged son. He knows that he needs to resolve the tension in the manor though, because it has started to affect their teamwork skills when out on a job. Just the other night, when he and Robin were working a case together, Robin had disobeyed a direct order to watch the doors and had followed Bruce into the fight. They managed to stop the criminals from escaping, but Robin wasn't able to escape Bruce’s harsh words afterward.
He finally reaches the shower and slowly begins to undress. His muscles pull with effort, but before long he finds himself under a warm stream of water. The sweat and grime from the night before wash down the drain, and Bruce finally feels like himself again. After he dries himself off, he realizes with a sense of embarrassment that he is starving. Checking the time, he is pleased to see that Alfred will have started breakfast for him. The scent of pancakes wafts into his nose as he walks down the stairs, and he is delighted by the sight before him. A huge plate of pancakes sits in a china dish by the head of the table. Next to it is a bowl of mixed fruits, containing strawberries, pineapple, cantaloupe, and blueberries. There’s whipped cream, maple syrup, and butter waiting for him to select. A steaming cup of coffee in his favorite mug was by his plate, a little black ceramic cup with the words “World’s most okay-ish dad” (It was a gift from Jason, from years ago when he was still acting as Robin and they still loved each other). He feels a small smile grace his lips, but he quickly frowns it away, unwilling to unpack the multitude of emotions that came with such a simple memory.
Alfred had his back turned when Bruce entered, and he makes a point out of saying as little as possible to him while still being professional. Bruce almost comments on it but stops himself. He knew how close he and Jason had been when Jason was younger, and he couldn’t imagine the betrayal Alfred must feel at Jason's most recent actions. He finishes his food very quickly and curses himself for not savoring it. After Alfred takes away his dishes, he sits and drinks his coffee, checking his phone for any messages or calls he might have missed in the previous night. He has no missed calls, but two unread texts: one from Dick, and one from Tim. He selects Dick’s message first and takes another sip of his coffee while his eyes scan the text. His heart tightens as he reads the text.
Damian asked to stay with me for the time being. He already brought his stuff over so don't try to argue. He will still uphold his Robin duties, but he wants a break from the manor. I know you won't, but try to respect his decision. We will talk later. - Dick
Bruce feels his hand tighten around the mug, threatening to break it. He puts it down quickly and tries to draft a response. Nothing sounds right, nothing properly conveys the emotions he is feeling, the devastation of losing another son. All he can bear to reply is a simple thumbs up. He decides to move on to Tim’s text next, trying to distract himself from the growing ache in his chest. Tim’s is much shorter.
I won't be at work today, something came up. - Tim
Bruce does know how to respond, letting Tim know it's fine, and that he hopes everything is ok. He wants to ask if Tim knew about Damian’s decision and if he had helped move all his stuff, but he refrains from asking. He doesn’t want to drive the wedge any further. He puts his phone down, utterly exhausted from the emotional distress he is feeling. He finishes his coffee quickly after that, eager to go back into the privacy of his room. He doesn't bother to say goodbye to Alfred, he just keeps his head down and practically runs up the stairs. He welcomes the comforting darkness of his bedroom, and though he just drank a cup of coffee, though he had much to do today, his body moves on its own and leads him to his bed. He lays down, thinking to himself he’ll just close his eyes for a few minutes. Before he knows it, he falls asleep, dreaming of smoke and fire and a small burnt body, limp in his arms.
*****
He really didn’t mean to sleep so much, he thinks as he rushes to get ready for the night. He woke up long after the sun had set and the criminals had come out to play. He has a big night tonight, having been tracking Killer Croc for months. Tonight was the night Bruce would catch him, unaware that Batman had discovered where Killer Croc had been hiding. Bruce, finally suited up, heads to the Batmobile to start his night, but something makes him pause and turn back to the cave. It was completely empty, even Alfred was busy upstairs somewhere. It has been many years since Bruce felt so truly alone.
The Batmobile races down the dark streets of Gotham, Batman behind the wheel guiding it to the destination of the evening. A warehouse on the ports of Gotham has been getting a lot of foot traffic lately, and eyewitness reports put Killer Croc at the scene, surely up to something nefarious. An informant he had who lived in these parts had told him that a big meeting was going to occur tonight, and he knew this was his chance to put Killer Croc away for good. As the warehouse approaches in the distance, Batman feels dread creep up his spine. He tries to shake it off, but something in him is nervous about tonight. He forces that feeling down as he parks the Batmobile a few blocks away, stalking quietly through the shadows to get closer to the warehouse. His plan is to wait for Killer Croc to show up and catch him red-handed in some sort of criminal act. Truthfully, he had been so busy dealing with the family drama in his daily life, that he was severely lacking in information about the crimes he was looking for. He just has to hope something actually happens tonight that is worthwhile.
He finally gets to the warehouse and quietly climbs to the rafters in the ceiling. Slowly, he crawls around until he finds the perfect vantage point to watch from. He settles in and waits. Hours go by, and his muscles ache from the position he's kept. Suddenly, movement catches his eye in the north corner of the building, and his dread evolves to anger as he watches a red helmet climb up and take a position in the same rafters he is hiding in. His hands shake with force as he crawls over to where his new companion is hiding. The red helmet looks up, and Batman knows his body language well enough to know that he has been spotted (He trained Jason too well. Jason was all the best parts of Bruce mixed with the best parts of himself). Red Hood shakes his helmet, signaling for Batman to not come any closer, but Batman ignores him. When he gets close enough to speak, he tries to keep his voice calm and steady.
“What are you doing here, Red Hood? I don't have time to deal with you right now. I’m busy,” The anger in his voice is obvious, but he is determined to try and be as civil as possible.
“Bold of you to assume I even knew you’d be here. I do have my own life, you know,” Red Hood’s voice is concealed with a voice modulator, but Batman would recognize it anywhere. Even after all these years, he still speaks with the drawl of Crime Alley. Batman feels his brows crease as he struggles to form a response.
“Regardless, this is my case. Your presence is not needed,” He tries to be authoritative, but he knows instantly that his words have no effect on Red Hood. In fact, he doesn’t even bother replying. His attention goes to the room they were above, the room now filled with random goons from different crime bosses. He curses himself for being so distracted but focuses his own attention on the people below him. Suddenly, Killer Croc enters the room. It gets very quiet, and Batman can hear his heart beating loudly in his chest. No one speaks for a while, everyone waiting tensely for Killer Croc to speak. He never gets the chance though, because, without warning, Red Hood pulls out a gun and shoots him.
The room breaks out into chaos, people shouting and running around trying to figure out where the shot came from. They never look up. Red Hood jumps from the rafters and lands gracefully amongst the goons, and Batman has to contain his rage enough to follow suit. Killer Croc is on the ground, bleeding from a small hole on the right side of his chest. It doesn’t look too deep, and he is moving around, groaning in pain. The tension in his shoulders slightly eases as Batman realizes he's not dead yet. But he will have to move quickly in order to keep Red Hood from finishing the job. He is on the ground, dodging punches from the goons, taking them out as sufficiently as he can. Red Hood is lost to him, somewhere in the crowd of violence. Batman is close enough to Killer Croc to keep an eye on him and make sure another attempt on his life isn’t taken. He defeats the goons quickly, giving no credit to whatever Red Hood is doing. With the room now clear, he can easily see where Red Hood has gone. He is by a stack of crates off to the west side of the room, looking anxiously through them for something. Batman, after checking that Killer Croc is still out for the count, stalks over to Red Hood with his fists raised.
He had tried to be civil, had tried not to start anything, but this, he couldn't let go. He doesn’t say anything to Red Hood, just starts attacking. He lands punch after punch, Red Hood too stunned to fight back immediately. He lands a solid hit against the side of Red Hood’s helmet and smiles in sick satisfaction when it cracks. Red Hood goes down instantly, failing to catch himself on the crates behind him. Batman grabs his jacket and hauls him back to his feet, shaking the boy violently as he yells.
“How dare you! My only rule is no killing, and you really tried to murder someone in front of me? Did The Penguin teach you nothing!”
Red Hood lifts a hand, but instead of trying to pull Batman off of him, he points to Killer Croc. Or rather, the empty floor where Killer Croc had been only a few moments ago. Batman throws Red Hood to the ground, not bothering to watch as he falls. He rushes over to the empty, now bloodied, spot on the concrete floor. There is a small trail of blood that leads to the front entrance of the warehouse, and Batman wastes no time in following it. He doesn’t realize that Red Hood is following him until he feels a hand on his arm. He immediately moves to throw the person touching him, but Red Hood quickly pulls his arm back and raises his hands in surrender.
“Calm down old man,” He says, a slight slur to his words. “I was just pullin’ a tracker off ya,'' He holds out his hand, and in his palm is a small electrical device that is most certainly a tracker. Batman sneers, self-criticizing at how he could have missed that. He rations out in his head that he was just too busy dealing with Red Hood to notice. He takes the tracker from the hand before him and puts it in his utility belt for later analysis.
“You have a lot of nerve coming up to me after the stunt you just pulled,” Batman says, fixing a hard glare on the young man before him. He was absolutely apoplectic, his rage barely concealed behind his mask. Red Hood snorts and shrugs his shoulders. Batman takes notice of how Red Hood is standing, clearly favoring his right leg. His shoulders are hunched, and there is a slight tremor in his left arm. Batman ignores all of this and moves to grab Red Hood.
“I don’t understand your problem, B,” Red Hood takes a step back, just out of reach from the man before him.
“My problem? My problem, Red Hood,” He says the name like it burned his tongue. “is that you tried to kill Killer Croc, right in front of me. I should send you to Arkham right now,” This makes Red Hood take another step back, his spine straightening out a little.
“What are you talking about?” While the confusion is clear in his voice, there is also a note of fear.
“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I’m talking about. That shot could have been fatal. The only reason I haven't arrested you yet is because he was still breathing when he left,”
“B…I wasn’t trying to kill him. I used rubber bullets and aimed away from his heart. I was just trying to incapacitate him so I could get to the crates he brought in,” Red Hood says with a tone suggesting this should be obvious, that of course he was using rubber bullets. However, Batman can’t help but get even more angry at the situation.
“Rubber bullets can be just as dangerous as regular bullets!”
“B, you're the one who suggested them to me,” Red Hood says. He is shaking just a little harder now. It would have been inconspicuous to anyone else, but Batman is trained to notice these types of things.
Batman takes a moment to think about what Red Hood said. It was true, he realizes, that he was the one to suggest them to Red Hood as an alternative to his regular choice of bullets. Batman feels some of his anger recede, placated by the explanation that was given.
“You still ruined my operation by shooting Killer Croc. It will take time to find him again, time that could be used doing other things,” Batman says, a silent agreement to drop the conversation of bullets.
“Luckily for you, I put a tracker on him,” Red Hood pulls a small device out of one of his pockets, and shows the screen to Batman. Sure enough, the screen shows a little green dot moving slowly amongst the Gotham sewer system. He moves to grab it, but Red Hood pulls his arm back, holding the device just out of Batman’s reach.
“Give that to me. I need to find him quickly,”
“Not a chance, B. I didn’t find what I was looking for here, so I’m coming with you to get him,” There is a smugness in his voice that reminds Batman of a little boy he used to know years ago.
“What could he have that you would ever need,” Red Hood ignores him and takes another look at the screen, shaking his head slowly.
“He's getting away, we should probably go after him,” It's a silent question, one Red Hood isn’t brave enough to ask outright. Will Batman go with Red Hood to find Killer Croc? As much as he wants to reject the offer, he knows using the tracking device will be far more efficient than tracking him through the sewers under Gotham. He doesn’t respond, just nods his head towards the door. Red Hood starts walking and Batman follows. It’s a quiet walk to the sewers, but once they crawl into the dark, damp, tunnels under the city, Red Hood wastes no time in complaining.
“Damn, it smells like shit down here,”
“That's because we are walking through feces,” Batman responds blankly, not in the mood for whatever games Red Hood is trying to play. This doesn’t deter the young man though, and he continues talking to himself.
“I get that, old man, but it really smells down here. Like dead bod-'' His sentence is cut short as he stumbles, reflexively reaching to Batman to steady himself. He stops himself just before touching Batman’s shoulders and reaches down to pick up whatever tripped him. In his hand is a human skull. Batman takes it from him and examines it under a small light he procured from his utility belt. Studying the shape and size, he determines it's a male skull, fully grown. He places it down slowly, saddened by the thought of leaving it here. He makes a mental note to tell the police later so that whatever bones may lie down here can be recovered.
“Keep moving,” he says, walking forward without waiting for Red Hood to follow. “How much further is he?”
“He's still moving away from us, so I’m not sure how long till we catch up to him,”
Batman doesn't answer, just continues down the dark tunnel before him. It is quiet once again, but he can tell that Red Hood is getting restless. He tries to ignore it, but the longer they’re down there, the more noticeable everything becomes. The way Red Hood drags his feet through the water to make a sloshing sound, the way he runs his hands against the wall, his gloves getting caught on every nook in the metal. The way he is breathing is harder than necessary, almost as if he is nervous.
“Is there a reason you are making so much noise?” Batman says as his anger rises once again. “You’re going to give our position away.”
“I’m not being noisy, B,”
“Yes, you are,”
“I think you’re just overly tense right now. Why don't you take a nice deep breath and-”
“And why are you talking so much,” Batman cuts him off, not interested in what else the young man has to say. Red Hood doesn't reply immediately. After a few seconds, he says
“You know, the last time I was this far underground, I didn't have the pleasure of your company. Maybe I’m just making up for lost time,”
This stops Batman in his tracks. He has tried, every day of his life, to forget about what happened to Red Hood. He has tried, with all of his might, to move on. To forget that he had once buried his own child. Nightmares have plagued him for years, thinking of his boy, alone on the cold ground getting eaten by maggots. The sudden reminder brings forth all of the emotions he was trying so hard to ignore, to forget. He drowns these feelings with an emotion he is much more familiar with: anger.
“You don't get to speak of that. You can’t possibly understand what I went through,” Batman says, his voice cold and flat.
“Can't I? I’m the one that died, B,”
With just those five words, his heart shatters all over again. The image of a broken boy in his arms, the smell of burnt flesh penetrating his nostrils, infecting his brain. He never recovered from Jason’s death, even if he pretended like he did. He never forgot how light Jason had felt in his arms, body so still, it seemed as if it had never been moving to start with.
“Shut up! This is not up for debate. You will not talk for the rest of this trip, Red Hood,” Batman feels the words clawing out of his throat, begging for control over the situation. Red Hood just laughs.
“Fuck you, Batman,” he says the words like an insult. “You don't get to control me anymore. If I want to talk about my traumatic and untimely death, I will,”
“I lost my child!” Batman, no, Bruce screams. The words echo, taunting him even after they fade away. “I lost my son that day. You will never understand,”
“I’m right here, dumbass,” Jason says back, hurt and confusion clear in his voice. His helmet is still on, but Bruce can imagine the look on his face: eyebrows scrunched, lips slightly parted, eyes watery.
“No. You are not the son I lost. I can never get him back,” Bruce speaks the words quietly, as though ashamed to have said them. Jason stares at him for a moment, before laughing. It’s not a happy laugh, but a cruel, desperate one. He laughs as though it is the only way to stay afloat in the emotions he's being drowned by.
“Oh, fuck you. You say you lost a son that day, well I lost my fucking life. I felt as my heart stopped beating and my lungs gave up on breathing. I felt as my skull shattered from the impact, and as my fucking organs gave up inside my body. Whatever suffering you think you've felt, it will never compare to what I have experienced,” Jason’s words are wet, and Bruce can tell from the shaking in his shoulders that he's failing to hold back tears. “I came back though. I came back to you, and it's as if you never wanted me to,”
“You aren't him. Whatever crawled out of that damn grave wasn’t my son, my Jaybird,” It hurt to say, to admit that he could never get his real son back, and Jason seems to understand this, to understand the conviction in his voice.
“You really believe that?” The words are quiet. So quiet, that Bruce isn’t sure Jason even spoke.
“My son would never have become a murderer. He would never have done any of the things you've done,”
Jason doesn't respond. He simply turns around and begins making his way to the entrance of the sewers. Bruce asks where he's going, but Jason ignores him. He makes it about five feet before Bruce starts moving. He grabs Jason’s shoulder and pulls him back, turning the man around so they are face to face. Jason struggles but gives up easily.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m leaving. I can track Killer Croc another day. I think I'd prefer dying again to spending one more minute down here with you,” The words from Jason’s mouth hurt Bruce in a way he hadn’t been expecting.
“You can't leave. I need you to track Croc so that I can arrest him,”
“Yeah, that's not my problem. You can figure it out on your own,” Jason rips his shoulder from Bruce’s grasp, but Bruce counters this by headbutting Jason. His red hood cracks even further, and Bruce, once again Batman, uses the opportunity to fasten a handcuff around Red Hood’s right wrist, the other side on his own. Red Hood noticed this and immediately reached for one of his knives, and Batman wondered if he would cut his own hand off to get away from him.
“You aren’t leaving till we find Killer Croc.” Batman doesn't even bother to ask for the device. He knows Red Hood would never give it up, not even over his dead body.
“You’re fucking insane,” Red Hood says, panic clearly building in his voice. His movements are harsh as he tries to pull his hand through the cuff, and Batman is suddenly unsure how far he will go to get out of this situation. He doesn't have to wait long, as within only a few seconds, Red Hood reaches down and uses his left hand to quickly break his thumb and pull his hand through the cuff. He turns and starts running away towards the exit, but Batman is fast and catches up to him without issue. Taking note of the fact that Red Hood was favoring his right leg earlier, Batman lands a harsh kick to Red Hood’s left leg. He goes down instantly, a guttural scream of pain ripping from his throat.
“Stay. Down,”
Of course, Red Hood doesn’t listen. He struggles back to his feet and raises his arms to fight. Batman dodges a few punches before landing one on the side of Red Hood’s helmet, the same side that was already damaged in the previous fight. Red Hood crumbles without a fight, body going limp in the water gathered at their feet. Batman is breathing heavily, trying to calm his body down. He waits for Red Hood to get back up, but the boy is still. He uses his leg to kick Red Hood, a silent order for him to get back up. Once again, the boy remains still. Batman bends down to take a closer look and notices that Red Hood’s breathing is light and shallow. He can tell the boy is conscious and sees his own training in the way Red Hood holds his body on the ground. The boy murmurs something, but Batman can’t make it out.
“What was that?” He says, patience for the boy in front of him running out. There is a panic in Red Hood’s body now, one that awakens the parental instincts Bruce has tried to bury. He shifts closer to Jason, and recoils at the way Jason flinches away. Anger has melted into concern, and Bruce once again moves closer to the boy. When Jason doesn’t flinch again, he reaches forward to remove the red helmet before him. He takes special care to remove it properly and holds back a gasp at what he sees. The right side of Jason's face, where the helmet had shattered, is bruised and bloody, with little shards of glass all over. His right eye is swollen, and the side of his head, starting from his hairline and traveling all the way down to his jaw, is slick with blood. Bruce notices how blown Jason’s pupils are, and he is sickened by the pain he feels in his heart, the hurt he feels at seeing this boy injured.
“You’re in no condition to continue. You've probably got a concussion, and you'll be useless in a fight with that broken thumb. Get up," Bruce says. Placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder to help him stand. “We’ll finish this another night.” Jason stumbles when he stands, his legs shaking with effort to stay standing.
“Which leg hurts more? Right or left?” Jason freezes at this, his eyes looking down with fear. He mumbles something, and once again Bruce cannot understand. He takes note of the rattle in Jason’s breath and wonders about the severity of his injuries.
“A little louder, Jason. I think you might have a collapsed lung.”
Something happens, right when Bruce finishes his sentence. Jason freezes again, but this time something primal enters Jason’s body. His unfocused gaze looks up to Bruce, and for the first time, he sees genuine terror in his son’s eyes. He tries to ask what’s wrong, but suddenly, Jason starts screaming and thrashing in Bruce's arms, doing everything he can to get away. He doesn’t understand what is happening and tries his best to keep Jason still so that he doesn't injure himself further.
“Get away from me!” he screams, tears streaming down his face. He tries harder and harder to break free of Bruce's grip and eventually, he does, body falling harshly to the floor. He starts mumbling something under his breath, his words getting louder and louder until it feels like Bruce will never be able to forget them,
“He’ll come for me…He won't abandon me…he’ll come for me…he will…” his words drive knives into Bruce's heart as he finally realizes what is going on. Jason has a concussion. He is in an unfamiliar, dark setting. He is injured, and is being held down by a man who was previously hurting him. Bruce feels tears form in his eyes as he looks down at the boy in front of him, at his son, who is now hallucinating the worst day of his life.