Chapter Text
The service was modest. It had to be. As far as the people knew there was no body to bury, so there was no need for a funeral. All they could do was hold a small gathering and say goodbye. Location, date, and time were all need to know. Wayne Manor, Sunday, the 23rd of September, 10:00 AM. Very few were invited to attend. Everybody came.
Alfred, of course, was by his side the entire time. He knew better than anyone else how hard Bruce was taking this. How much he felt like it was his fault Jason was gone.
Jason was gone. It is his fault.
Dick came to pay his respects, but couldn’t bring himself to face Bruce. In a way, Bruce was glad for that. He always saw so much of each of his sons in the other. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing ghosts while the pain of loss was still fresh on his mind. On the other hand, though, Dick’s silence only confirmed his sense of self-loathing. Dick knew he could have done something, anything , differently and Jason would still be here. He knew Jason should still be here. Why did he bring another kid into his dangerous world? Why didn’t he save him?
His friends and colleagues were in attendance as well, but who exactly was there and what exactly was said to him or by him Bruce can’t recall. He remembers the color of the grass very well - a yellow-ish green signaling the changing of summer into fall. He remembers the portrait of Jason on display at the edge of the trees very well too.
It’s after the ceremony, after everyone has paid their respects and said their goodbyes, that he even notices her.
They’d exchanged only a few words in passing. She was always trotting closely on Jason’s heels as he hurried them out the door. She’d come over for dinner once to meet Jason’s family as Alfred had told him after the fact. Bruce didn’t make it. He was “too busy.”
If only he could have seen the future and known how precious and fleeting his time with Jason was. How rare and beautiful it was that Jason trusted him with this vulnerable side of himself. How he’d wanted him to meet the girl he loved.
She stood alone, no more than three feet from Jason’s portrait, impossibly still, her back to him. The skirt of her black dress and little strands of her hair blowing in the breeze were the only things about her that appeared to have any life at all. He approached her slowly and silently, in his unique way, and came to stand by her side. If she realized she was no longer alone, she made no indication. From the corner of his eye, he could see her face. Pretty. She always had been. But where before her beauty was that of sunshine and youth, there was now the unmistakable mark of grief. He knew it all too well. She somehow seemed older than the last time he’d seen her, when he so very surely would have called her a child. Now she was very much the burgeoning adult as she shouldered the pain of losing her first love in such a brutal way. She had been crying, silent little tears. Her body did not wrack with sobs, as others who had been in attendance had. Her breathing was even and her face remained expressionless.
“He talked about you all the time, you know, '' Bruce attempted. He did not elicit a reply. “I’m sorry I never properly introduced myself before. I wish I had. I realize now how much he wanted... wanted my approval.”
She still gave no word in reply.
“If there’s anything I can do to help… I know I can’t make it better… But I want you to know you can always reach out to us for anything you need. I promise you’ll always be a friend of the Wayne family. I know he would want to make sure you were taken care-”
“Please stop.” She said, the struggle to fight back fresh tears audible in her voice.
He remained silent then. Never before had he felt this insecure. He so desperately wanted to make things better for her. If she could forgive him- she, who knew and loved Jason in a way no one else ever had, then maybe, just maybe, he could forgive himself one day. But she didn’t want his words, at least not now. What did she want? What would Jason have wanted if he was the one standing by his side?
Patience. Quiet. Understanding. Time to process. Space to think.
“Alfred is making lunch. Please come in and have something to eat. We don’t have to talk.”
She processes this silently for a moment, before turning her head toward him and nodding.
Inside the manor, Bruce directs her to the leather couch near the fire in the main living area. September had proven to be unseasonably chilly. He notices that she’s stopped crying as she thanks him politely. He does not know what she’s thanking him for, but he attempts a smile in response regardless. He takes his seat opposite her, in a large reading chair. With intent, he angles his body to face the fire rather than face her, in hopes that she won’t feel watched or stifled.
Ten minutes of tense silence, penetrated only by the ticking of the heirloom clock on the mantle, pass before Alfred breaches the room in his mercy. In front of him is a cart set with two bowls of soup and two mugs of tea. He sets their guest up first as the laws of hospitality would dictate, the cup of tea set on the end table to her left and the bowl of soup, wrapped in a knitted bowl cozy, placed delicately in her hands. For him, she manages a smile and thanks him graciously. Bruce realizes that this is because she’s familiar with Alfred, that Alfred is not a virtual stranger to her, and the guilt becomes stronger. Alfred similarly situates Bruce before excusing himself from the room.
They eat in a more comfortable silence than that which preceded the meal. The pretense of being too occupied with food to engage in conversation helps put his mind at ease. She does not eat for long, though, before she relegates her half-eaten bowl of soup to the side table next to her untouched tea. Bruce realizes that she looks much thinner now than she did before. He can’t find the courage (the nerve?) to bring it up.
“Thank you for inviting me in. I’m sorry I’m not better company.”
He almost has a physical reaction to her sudden and unexpected bid for conversation. So dumbfounded he is, that he forgets to reply for what he later realizes is an inappropriate amount of time.
“You don’t have to be good company.” He says matter-of-factly. “You’re allowed to be in pain.”
“I was still rude to you before. There’s no excuse for that. I’m sorry”
She thought she had been rude? Had she any idea what Jas-
…
“It’s alright.” He replies.
Their next silence is awkward. She pulls on her sleeves and shuffles slightly in her seat, almost as if trying to hide her movements from him. Didn’t she know he sees everything, everywhere, all the time? Why bother?
“Are you alright?” He asks with sincerity. She halts her fidgeting as though she had been caught doing something she knew she should not.
“I’m just a little cold.” She answers.
As if it made all the sense in the world, he stood without a word and without her request to retrieve a blanket from the linen closet off the entryway. When he begins the return trek to her, the expression on her face is one of a girl who fears she has overstayed her welcome despite all her best efforts.
“Mr. Wayne you don’t have to do that, really. I’m fine.”
“You said you were cold.” He says as he comes to a halt before her. Kneeling to her level, he drapes the blanket over her and worries the fabric obsessively, as though the way it has landed isn’t good enough. “And it’s Bruce. Jason never even called me Mr. Wayne, so you probably shouldn’t either.”
Bruce freezes once he hears the words he’s said and the glassiness of her eyes sinks in. And then the utter embarrassment of himself hits him. He’s made her cry all over again with a careless, throwaway comment. Helplessly, he watches her lower her face into her hands and her shoulders begin to tremble.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean…” Bruce tries, but he knows it won’t do any good. Awkwardly, he moves to sit on the couch next to her, resting a gentle hand on her covered ankle and resting his opposite arm against the back of the couch with caution. He’s terrified to invade her space and yet equally afraid that completely vanishing from her proximity would only salt the wound. He averts his eyes, attempting to let her maintain some level of privacy at this moment.
“I-”
She cuts him off before he can complete another word by launching herself against his chest. He’s stunned by the sudden movement (and, more concerningly, his lack of reflex against what could have been an attack), but his rigidity fades as she sobs with abandon into his shoulder. Timidly, he wraps his arms around her.
“Shh..” He attempts to soothe. “I know. I miss him too.”
At that, he can feel his own eyes begin to water and his throat grows tight.
Jason. His son . How is he ever supposed to recover from this loss?
Then they’re both crying, clinging desperately onto each other as if each saw the other as the only person who loved Jason as much as they did. Bruce remembered that he had held Jason like this once. The night he found out his mother wasn’t coming back. He stayed in Jason’s room until dawn, his son clutching him as if he were the only real, solid thing in the universe. He remembered how Jason’s cries got a little softer when he would pet the back of his head, almost as if Bruce possessed some kind of fatherly magic to erase the painful memories from his mind. He tries to do that for the young girl in his arms, but it seems to only make her cry harder .
“I’ve got you, you’re okay.” He coos, pressing his lips to her forehead.
With a hiccup, her sobs stop abruptly and she pulls back from him, staring up at him innocently with furrowed brows and Bruce understands the boundary that he’s crossed. This girl is not his child. This girl is not Jason . How horribly violated she must feel-
Suddenly her lips are on his.
He’s frozen in shock for what feels like an infinity. But her lips are gentle and soft and she’s bringing her hands up to clutch the collar of his shirt and he’d be a liar if he said it didn’t make him feel more than a little good inside. Her initial kiss was chaste, but once Bruce allows his eyes to close and buries his fingers in her hair and tilts her head backward it becomes impossibly deep, passionate. Instead of clutching his shirt collar, she's grabbing it fiercely, pulling him toward her in a silent message of Yes, I want this .
And how on Earth could he ever have resisted?
He’s pushing her back, ever so gently guiding her body to recline on his couch as he hovers over her. His tongue does not need to battle hers for dominance, she gives in immediately. Little moans and gasps and sighs leave her as Bruce does everything he can to kiss her senseless because this, this , seems to be the only thing he is capable of doing to make her feel better. His right hand caresses her hip, drawing little circles as he slows their pace, leaving one last kiss on her lips before he stops to look at her.
Her face is rosy again. She’s blushing and wide-eyed and her lips are swollen and red from his kisses and she is so, so beautiful. He understands what drew Jason to her.
Oh. Oh no.
As if her body was on fire he leaps off of her and takes several steps away from the couch to clear his head.
She sits up and calls after him in protest.
“What’s wrong?”
He looks at her incredulously. “What’s wrong ? That should not have happened. Why did you let me do that to you? You shouldn’t have let me do that!”
“I kissed you first, technically.” She counters childishly and, oh God , he’s remembering how much older than her he is.
“Well, you shouldn’t have!” He booms. She flinches.
“I’m sorry, I- I don’t know what came over me, I- just… You kissed my forehead and it felt so nice. I guess I just wanted to feel more of that…”
“But Jason- ” Bruce pleads.
“I know, okay!” She shouts, rising from the couch only to turn her back to him. “I know…”
He takes a moment to consider their circumstances and what he could do to salvage a platonic relationship out of this. She was one of the few ties to Jason left in the world. He didn't want to lose her too.
“We can just pretend this never happened.” Bruce begins. “I won’t ever cross that line with you again, I promise. I’m sorry that I lost control.”
She turns around to face him again and he is once again met with eyes full of tears.
“I don’t want that.” She says through shaking breath. “I want you to do it again. I want you to do all of that and more and anything else you’re willing to do with me.”
“You don’t mean that.” He rebukes.
“I do!” She cries. “I mean it! I want to feel good , Bruce. I’ve felt so awful for so long. For a few minutes you made me feel like myself again and you think telling me it was a mistake is going to make me feel better!? It doesn’t!”
He stares at her, in awe and confusion. How can she , grieving her first love, find comfort in the kiss of his father ? And yet, he could not deny that his experience and feelings surrounding their kiss matched her own.
She stands expectantly before him, and it’s clear the choice is very much his to make. She had made her feelings very well known, though he did not fully understand them. Hell, he didn’t even understand his own.
“ If we were to do this…” Bruce began. “You have to tell me the second you want it to stop. I will always stop when you tell me to, sweetheart. Do you understand?”
She nods quickly and the light of hope that’s entered her eyes at his words simultaneously makes him sick and yet somehow lights a fire inside him. This girl wanted him, trusted him to touch her in ways only one other had before. She was not meant for him . And yet they both understood that there was no one else in the world who could fill this void like the other could, even if only for a moment.
If hell is real he knows now with certainty that that was his destination.
In three paces he closes the distance between them and captures her lips in a searing kiss. She returns his affections and cleaves herself to him in a desperate effort to be as close to him as possible. It’s as if he’s trying to inhale her very soul with the vigor of his kisses. And she just accepts it, takes it, lets him have his way because it feels so good to have someone else be in control . He kisses down her jaw and her throat, settling in where her neck meets her shoulder.
“What do you want, princess?” He rasps, his voice impossibly deeper as a result of his desire.
“You, Bruce, please.” She gasps out.
“I need more than that, baby. Tell me what you want me to do.”
She shudders and it feels like pure electricity has just run through her body.
“I want you to fuck me.” She whispers it like a secret. He supposes it is a secret.
He lifts her by her thighs until she’s straddling his waist. She giggles like the girl he keeps trying to forget that she is as he walks them back to the couch. Seated above him, she attempts to make quick work of the buttons of his dress shirt as she reconnects their lips feverishly. His hands swat hers away.
“Just relax. Enjoy it. I’ll take care of everything.”
She melts into him once again, allowing him to take over the undressing and settling for digging her fingers into his dark locks and grinding against him, already firm and intimidatingly large even through his pants.
“Bruce!” She whines when his hands fly to her hips to grind her down on him harder. “Bruce, please!”
“Fuck, sweetheart. You really want this, don’t you?” He asks, hoping it will come off as dirty talk and not genuine astonishment.
“Yes! I want you!” She keens.
“Shh, baby girl, you’re okay. You’re going to get what you want, I promise.” His shirt is unbuttoned, but he doesn’t think there’s enough time to remove it fully. He desperately wants to know what her tits look like as she bounces on top of him, but with the urgency in her voice, he fears she’ll implode if he waits any longer. He unbuttons his pants and frees his cock. She can’t see it, but she feels it, hot and heavy against her inner thigh. Her gasp is like music to him.
“Are you sure you want to do this like this? Here? I can take you anywhere you want to go, baby.”
“I don’t need you to take me anywhere I just want you inside me!” She rebels.
“Whatever you say, angel.” He remarks with levity. His hands abandon her hips to push her panties to the site and line himself up with her entrance. He’s met with resistance as he pushes into her - with no preparation she’s incredibly, heavenly , tight. And wet . So very, soaking, wet, which is their saving grace. She gives a little cry when he bottoms out, and pants in his ear.
“Are you okay?” He whispers.
“‘So big.” She mumbles dumbly. He chuckles, moving his hands back to her hips to move her up and down on himself. She’s wanton and generous with her moans and cries and good God where has this perfect, little pussy been all his life?
You mean the half of it that she’s actually been alive? A voice quips in his head. He ignores it to the best of his ability.
“Fuck, Bruce!” She whines - he’s assuming in response to the increased speed and force with which he’s slamming her down onto his cock. “Feels so good! Fuck, I feel so full!”
“God damn , baby girl, that’s it. Tell me how good it feels.”
“So good, Bruce! Fuck! Thank you!”
He captures her lips again, in part because he missed them and in part because he’s realized he doesn’t actually know where Alfred went or what he’s doing and oh shit what if he’s heard them?
That’s what you’re worried about right now? You’re betraying your dead son by fucking his girlfriend and you’re more worried about getting caught? Typical.
That voice again. Still not his usual self-deprecating. He wishes it would go away so he could only hear her delightful little yelps and squeals as he grinds her down on him so her clit is rubbing up on his pelvis.
“That feel good, baby girl?”
“Yes, Daddy!”
Jesus fucking Christ this girl was going to be the death of him. He can’t take it anymore and has to flip them so she’s beneath him on the couch. The swiftness of the action makes him pull out roughly just to slide back in just as harshly not even a second later. The force of it takes her breath away and she’s left just staring up at him like he’s a god. To her, he is one.
He’s nestled between her legs with his head pressed against her forehead. He can feel her little puffs of breath against his face as she pants in time with his thrusts. Her pretty eyes catch his and he can’t look away.
“Bruce…” She whispers his name like it’s a prayer. “You make me feel so good, Bruce.”
He praises her name in return.
“Your little cunt is like heaven, baby. Wish I could be inside you every fucking day.”
“Do it, Bruce, please.” She says. It doesn’t really sound like dirty talk to him. “I want you to fuck me every day.”
He groans in response.
“Yeah, princess? You really want that?” He asks. The thought of it is pushing him closer to the edge.
“I want you to fuck me forever.” She answers. There’s tears in her eyes again.
“Fuuck!” He lets out. “Fucking hell baby you’re going to make me come.”
She’s giggling until he worms a hand between them to rub circles on her clit. Then her face contorts and her mouth makes that perfect little “o” shape. He hopes she means what she says, because he so desperately needs to know what her lips look like wrapped around his cock.
“Bruce…!” It sounds like a warning. He doesn’t heed it. Instead, he rubs circles a little faster, a little harder. With his other hand, he pushes a leg up towards her shoulder, using the extra space to get, somehow, even deeper inside her. She squeals.
“Oh, God! I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come!” The tears fall down her face now.
“That’s it, angel, let me feel you come on my cock.”
“Jason!” She screams, her back arching as she convulses around him. And fuck if she doesn’t come hard and if it doesn’t feel amazing on his cock but he’s pretty sure he heard her correctly and it tears a hole in his conscience. She comes down and he’s still fucking her, trying too hard not to lose his erection altogether and trying harder to hide it.
“Bruce…” she purrs, “I want to feel you come in me.”
That helps.
“Are you sure?” Not that it matters. Nothing money can't solve, after all.
“Uh-huh,” she flirts, raking her hands down his back and pressing him harder into her, making her desire ever clearer. “I want it. I want you to come deep in me. I wanna feel it dripping out of me for days.”
“God! Fuck yes, baby girl.” His cock is hard as ever now as he pushes both legs back toward her head and drives deep and hard into her cunt. He eats up her little cries. She’s definitely overstimulated at this point but she’s his good little girl and she can take it. Fuck he’s going to-
Don’t you fucking dare. The voice again. He shakes his head against it, afraid the distraction will risk him losing it for real this time.
Bruce don’t do it. Please.
He realizes with a start who the voice is and what it’s asking but by then it’s too late. He cries out her name and buries himself to the hilt and comes hard, letting out raspy grunts and groans while she mewls out her approval beneath him.
When he’s finished, he pulls out gently. Her still-clothed breasts are heaving with the effort of her breathing. Alfred had left them cloth napkins for their soup, he remembers. He finds one and brings it to her, cleaning their combined slick off of her before taking care of himself. He fixes her clothes and his own before finally allowing himself to melt into the couch and truly absorb what had just happened.
“That was amazing, Bruce.” She praises.
He turns his head to look her in the eye. “You’re amazing.” She blushes and smiles and averts her eyes.
“I meant what I said, by the way.” She says after a moment. “About wanting you to fuck me every day.”
“Sweetheart,” He begins, the disapproval clear in his voice.
“Don’t start, Bruce, please. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” She argues combatively.
“I can’t imagine you have many experiences to compare it to.” He reasons.
“Only a few.” She offers, a tinge of shame audible now.
He tries to find a way to say what he needs to kindly.
“I’m not him, sweetheart. I can’t be him for you. Much as you may want me to, I can’t.”
“I know.” She replies shortly, a puzzled look on her face. “What makes you say that?”
“You-” He attempts. “You said his… Do you not know what I’m talking about?”
“No…?” She admits, confused, after a moment’s consideration.
Oh.
She hadn’t meant to call him that. It was a reflex, of sorts, he guessed. Still, he isn’t sure he can enter into… whatever kind of relationship she wanted them to have with a girl who might at any point in time call him by his deceased son’s name while he was balls deep in her.
“Please…” She interrupts his thoughts with a pout. “You said earlier that you wanted to help me. To make it better. That I could come to you with anything I need. Well, I need this, Bruce. I need you.”
She really was still a child, wasn’t she? Unhealthy coping mechanisms and all. Didn’t she realize that no amount of mind-blowing sex would heal her wounds? And the added layer that the mind-blowing sex to be had was with said wound’s father? No way she doesn’t come out of this with even more issues to work out than she had to begin with.
And yet… no fault of hers was one that he, grown and mature and the God damn Batman for crying out loud didn't also struggle with. Among many, many others.
“Okay.” Bruce gives in with a sigh. “I think I need you too.”
Traitor. The voice says with vitriol.