All Over a Sweater

by Jotaros_left_thigh

Summary:

The gang doesn't know about Jason's autopsy scar and are forced to come to some tough realizations.

Notes:

The SA and Child abuse are very implied but not explicit. The gore is only talked about and is kind of explicit?

“Hey, Jay? Can I have your sweater?” Tim called while walking into the living room of Jason's ‘safehouse’; it probably counted as his apartment at this point. The bats had recently gotten into the habit of all falling through Jason’s window after patrol, much to Jason’s great dismay (and delight). Jason had been having a relaxing night in– after he had spent the last two sleepless weeks taking down yet another trafficking ring that thought they could operate without him knowing. Typical– when all of his brothers began to pour through his living room window, barely greeting him before funneling into his kitchen at the scent of food. Well, now they’re back and Tim wants his sweater.

Jason looked over at him, lowering his book to his lap. “The one that I’m wearing right now? The one that is currently on my body?” He asked incredulously, quirking one eyebrow at the teen who was staring at him, almost having the decency to look sheepish.

“Yeah? I like that one.” Tim responded with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage. He had perfected the sad, wet, puppy look that always made his older brother fold. Like clockwork, Jason groaned in annoyance before he pulled the sweater over his head and tossed it at Tim, who happily caught it and began pulling it on. The sweater was nothing special– something Jason had thrifted a couple years ago, black with a faded graphic –but very comfortable.

“Tt. Pathetic, falling for such blatant manipulation.” Damian tsked from his place in the arm chair facing the couch Jason was sprawled across. He too, had a book in his hands, Jason’s copy of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ wrapped in the cover of ‘Art of War’. He still refuses to let his other brothers know he has taken a liking to Jason’s book collection.

“Come on Dames,” Dick teased as he wandered back into the living room before he paused at the sight of Jason. Without the sweater he was left in a grey tank top that had rolled up around his lower stomach. “Jay? What is that?” he asked with concern etched on his face, gesturing towards his younger brothers’ abdomen.

“What’s what?” Jay asked, looking down at himself, wondering if he had gotten something on his shirt.

“That scar” at this both Tim and Damian turned to look over at Jason. Tim visibly blanched, but Damian, with years of assassin training, only stiffened.

“Which one? I’ve kinda got a few.” Jason retorted, mock annoyance present in his voice as he rolled his eyes with a soft grin on his face.

“The giant one. The one that looks like you were cut in half.” Dick leveled Jason with a blank stare as he pointed to the Y shaped scar peeking out over his shirt. It seemed to finally click for Jason as he pulled down the neckline of his tank top and peered down his own chest. The scar spanned just under his collarbones, down his chest and tapering off a few inches under his belly button. It was a deep, painful purple-ish red at the center, blending out to a silvery white along the edges.

“Oh, this is my autopsy scar.” He said casually before lifting his book back into his view, unaware of all of his brothers gaping at him like fish. Well, of course he was aware, he was one of the bats afterall, he just made the executive decision to ignore it.

They all stared at him in blatant concern before Tim piped up, “...Autopsy?” A brief pause, “You were autopsied?” he continued after swallowing down the lump in his throat.

Jason curled his lip in obvious confusion, “I’m the dead Robin, did you forget?” They all know that he died, it’s not like it’s some kind of well kept secret, he jokes about it all the time for gods sake. To his complete and utter annoyance they just continued to stare at him in abject horror, even Damian, who had thus far done a pretty good job of looking as unaffected and uninterested as ever.

Unfortunately Dick was the one to speak up now, eyes watering, the fuckin sap. Jason rolled his eyes in preparation, knowing he wasn’t going to get out of this one emotionally unscathed. God, it was short of a miracle that they hadn’t already called Bruce. He couldn’t deal with three sets of sad, glossy blue eyes looking at him right now. Plus Damian's judgemental green. “Little wing. We…we thought Talia took your body before that.” Dick eventually got out, and…what?

What?

Jason's face scrunched even further, “Why on earth would you ever think that?” His voice raised slightly in disbelief, sitting up straighter, book still balanced in his lap.

“That is what mother told us concerning your revival.” Damian threw in, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that was so Bruce it almost made something within Jason ache.

Again. What?

“She-what?” That fuckin’ wretch. He took a moment to let the shock wash over him in waves, before- “WAIT!” he suddenly shouted, causing some of the others to flinch, “All my jokes about crawling out of my grave. You guys just didn’t get them this whole time?” He continued incredulously, he was pretty offended. No wonder they didn’t always get the reactions he wanted. Some of them were pretty funny.

“I thought those were metaphorical” Tim hedged and to Jason's great dismay, the others hummed their ascent.

“I’m calling Bruce.” Fucking Dickhead, can’t leave the big bat out of anything. Jason tipped his head back with a groan as Dick pulled out his phone, knowing he couldn’t actually stop him from calling their stupid dad.

Of course, being the paranoid lunatic he is, Bruce answers on the first ring. “Hello lad”

“B, can you come to Jason’s place near the Bowery? It’s important.” Before Dick even finished asking they could hear the telltale shuffling of Bruce hurrying to get himself ready to leave the manor.

“Be there in ten.” He grunted out before ending the call. Jason, yet again rolled his eyes with a scoff. The manor is damn near thirty-five minutes from this particular place, that’s why he picked it. B is going to have to break approximately 15 different traffic laws to get here in ten minutes. Just to be messy, Jason started a timer on his phone.

While they waited for Bruce to get there Jason tried to recall anytime his family may have seen him shirtless since he came back and somehow, he came up short. Dick once stitched up a gash in his side but that required no more than him lifting the side of his shirt. He typically licked his own wounds in private and for anything more extreme he made them take him to Leslie’s. He didn’t want to worry Alfie, though he knew he did anyway. It was just different seeing the worry present on his face and the constant shift from grey hair to white.

What about decontamination showers? Or maybe…actually he’s got nothing. It seems he keeps himself more separate than he initially realized. Though he knew that he kept himself at an arms length from his family, mostly out of a fear that he would be turned away, replaced (again), and rejected; he didn’t fully grasp the extent to which he pulled himself away.

How many times had he refused post patrol snacks at the manor? How many times had he turned down movie nights with his brothers? How many times had he blatantly ignored Bruce’s (normally pathetic) olive branches? What parent sends literal letters asking their children to go to lunch with them? Freak. How many times had he avoided entering the manor for fear of a look of disappointment on Alfred’s face?

Before he could get too in his own head he heard noises at his window and had to hurry to pause the timer. Ten minutes and 45 seconds. Damn. He’s probably worried, Jason thought, and one look at Bruce proved it. His normally well kept hair was slightly frazzled, brows furrowed, eyes slightly wild as they fell on Jason.

“Jaylad, are you okay?” His concern seeped into his tone as he waited for Jason’s response. Jason felt his heart swell, it was nice, knowing that Bruce still cared. They still had their squabbles but Jason didn’t think he could ever stop loving Bruce, another look at his dad confirmed he felt the same way. They’ve come a long way over the past two years.

He nodded slowly, “I‘m okay dad.” Jason watched as Bruce’s face softened and he nodded back, looking to Dick for answers as to why he was called all the way out to the Bowery in the middle of the night.

“Did you know that Jason was autopsied?”

Bruce whipped his head back to Jason, seeming to finally lock eyes on the scars spanning Jason’s chest and stomach. He moved forward, kneeling in front of his second son and reaching a hand up to trace along the scars along his left collar bone. His brows furrowed further, “I ordered one, yes. I thought- Talia said-” He cut himself off, he caused this, this is his fault. If he hadn’t selfishly wanted to know every injury his poor little boy had suffered, if only to torture himself with: Jason wouldn’t have these.

“Can someone explain to me what exactly Talia told you about my whole coming back to life thing” Jason asked as he took one hand off his book and took the hand brushing against his scars within his own, squeezing gently. Jason’s a lot of things but stupid ain’t one of em. It's pretty obvious that Bruce is beating himself up about it, it’s one of his greatest talents after all.

Bruce straightened his back, “She told me that when she heard of what happened to you she replaced your body with a fake and took you back to Nanda Purbat with her. She claimed she put you in the Lazarus pit to bring you back to life and subsequently kept you there to train you.” He said in his usual Batman Serious Business Voice ™ completely devoid of emotion.

Jason couldn’t help the scoff that sounded through the room, “Fuckin hell.” he sighed, finally placing his bookmark and setting his book down beside him.

“That’s not what happened, huh?” Dick asked, already knowing the answer as he and Tim sat down.

“Not even close.” Jason said under his breath, pulling one socked foot (Wonder Woman of course, he has taste) onto the couch to pull his knee to his chest.

“Tell us, son?” Bruce asked gently, still kneeling in front of his son with little regard for his old person knees.

“It’s not pretty,” Jason mumbled.

“I know,” Bruce responded, not unkindly.

Jason leaned forward, resting his cheek on the top of his knee and closed his eyes. “I woke up in my coffin.” Ignoring the small gasps, Jason continued, “I don’t know why, Talia doesn’t know why, but I came back. I came back scared, it was dark, cold, everything hurt, I could barely breathe. I was calling for you but you weren’t there.” Bruce gripped his hand harder, those almost slate colored eyes staring up at him sadly, “I don’t blame you for that by the way.” He added on to try and ease Bruce’s conscience.

“The air was running thin so I knew I had to find a way out. I was so confused though, I remember the bomb ticking down, I remember holding Sheila and trying to shield her from the blast, then I was waking up in the dark. There were bugs all over me and my throat burned, and I didn’t have any of my gear. It was too solid to punch through, especially with so little room. Also pretty difficult when you’re four foot six, barely eighty-five pounds, pretty much half of the bones in your body are broken, and the other half of your body is covered in burns.”

They all grimaced before he continued, “All of my fingers were broken so I had to reset them to get my belt off and try to use the buckle to break open the casket. Bruce, when I die again please either cremate me or put me in a pine box instead of whatever the fuck that was.” He tried for light hearted but Bruce’s face hardened.

“You will not die before me. I will never bury my son again.” There was such surety in his words, part of Jason felt like he was twelve all over again and the word of the man in front of him was god. The other part of him, the realist (or maybe the pessimist) knew he was making a lot of enemies, it was only a matter of time until he was back in the ground again. He couldn’t find it in himself to be mad at that though, he’s already overstayed his welcome in this world once. He hoped they would just cremate him, he doesn’t want to risk coming back again. In the end, Jason only squeezed his dad’s hand again.

“It was mahogany.” Jason let himself lock eyes with Bruce, “The coffin, it was mahogany. You said you liked the color one time when we were shopping.” When Bruce first took Jason in, he took him shopping to let him pick his own furniture and decor. The boy, who was wholly unused to nice things or even things at all, was too nervous to pick more than a bed spread, a few books, and a reading lamp. Though he did point out a beautiful grandfather clock, ornate filigree and mahogany wood. The boy had excitedly bounded up to it, staring up at the large clock with a shy gap toothed smile. He pointed out details that he liked, the main one being the color of the wood.

That clock still sits in the library, Bruce went back and bought it when he lost Jason.

Jason smiled, “Course it was. Hard as hell to break out of. Lost a like half of my fingernails trying to break it open, broke most of my fingers even worse banging my belt buckle into the wood trying to get out. Not gonna lie, I think I had like six separate panic attacks in there. Uh after what I’m pretty sure was like an hour ish of picking at the wood I got a little hole in it. I started punching it to make the hole big enough to start getting out and broke all of my knuckles doing that but I just couldn’t stop. Once I got the hole a little bigger dirt and mud started rushing in. It was raining so the graveyard was practically flooded. I was drowning in mud and just trying to get up.” A few devastated comments fell through the room but Jason had to get it out.

“I tore open my autopsy stitches and had to hold my organs in while climbing up. When I finally got out I just started throwing up, but it- it was just- it was all maggots and formaldehyde.” Jason leaned his head back over the back of the couch, letting a couple tears slip from his eyes at the memory. There are a lot of things that stuck with him from this experience, but the feeling of wriggling in his throat and the taste of formaldehyde on his tongue was something he could never forget. He still has a few foods he can’t eat, even seven years after the fact.

“Oh god.” Dick was fully crying, imagining his baby brother –so tiny at the time– going through something so awful. He and Tim’s hands were clenched together tightly as they listened to Jason regale, perhaps one of the most horrifying stories they had ever heard. Damian was surprisingly– or maybe not so, considering he had been getting better at the whole being a child thing– having a hard time schooling his emotions. While normally his face was either full of evil and hatred or neutral, the boy's eyes were widened slightly in shock, hands clenching in the blanket setting in his lap, his own book sat forgotten on the seat next to him.

Bruce was still sat on his knees in front of Jason, his earlier wave of self-hatred came back at full force at his son’s admission that the autopsy had caused him pain. If he hadn’t been so hellbent on knowing exactly how many seconds late he was to saving his son, or at least seeing a hint of light in his eyes, he could have spared his boy a fraction of the pain he endured.

“It’s all kind of a blur after that. Talia found me wandering Gotham, comatose. She doesn’t know how long I was alive before she found me but she took me back to the league. I actually stayed a comatose zombie for about two years before she threw me in the pit.”

“Why did she wait so long?” Tim asked hesitantly, picking up on the air of confusion in the room.

“She thought that once my body healed my mind would come back. That didn’t happen. Plus I don’t think any amount of medical intervention could have fixed me. Physically. It was bad.” Jason trailed off, leaving open air.

Bruce couldn’t help but think about when he had found Jason, frantically pulling him from the rubble, feeling bones shifting in places they absolutely should not have. Many of his bones were bordering on pulverized. He bristled at the idea of that broken little boy clawing his way out of his own grave with nothing but a belt. His broken little boy.

Jason took a few breaths before looking down at Bruce, using his other foot to tap against Bruce’s knee, “You’re too damn old to be on the floor like that. Get up here.” he said with a small smile and a softness in his eyes. Bruce pointedly ignored his knees cracking as he stood up to sit beside his son.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Jaylad. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you feel like you were some expendable soldier. You were never expendable and you were never a soldier. You were my son, you are my son. I’m sorry I’ve never been good at telling you that.” Bruce said, eyes tearful and genuine. “Or apologizing for that matter.” He wasn’t as good to Jason as he should have been, before he died and in that first year he had returned. He had a lot of regrets regarding his second eldest and he knew he still had work to do to regain his trust.

Once Bruce figured out that Jason never actually cared about whether or not the Joker lived or died their relationship was much easier to contend with. He only wanted to know that Bruce loved him, that he was missed. While Bruce was grieving Jason, Jason was grieving his whole family, himself, and the world he knew. He came back and everything was different, he was different, he just wanted some proof that he was missed, that he was loved. Bruce understands now that his stoic nature with his children has left some scars on them. He has been trying to be more forthcoming with his affection, both verbally and physically. Better late than never he supposes. He still has much to apologize for but it’s a start.

“Would’ve been nice to hear that before I got myself killed,” he teased with a roll of his teal eyes. “I already told you though, I don’t blame you. At least not for the coffin thing.” He added with a small hum.

“And for the autopsy?” Bruce hesitantly asked, not quite sure if he actually wanted to know whether or not Jason blamed him for this scar.

“Look it’s common procedure. It’s not like you requested something crazy but weirdly it feels kind of…violating. Please don’t go getting all angsty about it, B. I don’t know,” he sighed, pushing his hair back out of his face, soft curls still damp from a shower and the white patch immediately falling back into place.

“It doesn’t really make sense, I mean, I was dead but knowing that someone cut me open, dug their fingers into me, and touched me in a way that I’ll never know or whatever, I guess.” He’s having a hard time wording his thoughts, he knows what he means but he doesn’t know how to make it make sense to his family. “You probably don’t get it- or maybe you just can’t get it. It’s not exactly a universal experience.” He joked but it was clearly not as lighthearted as he was aiming for judging by the worried glances he sees on the faces around him.

“I- I think I get what you mean,” Tim tilted his head, “waking up knowing that someone touched you but…not knowing the details.” That made the rest of the family flinch, it all clicking into place.

Jason stilled, eyes going wide. He took a couple minutes, staring blankly at the floor before responding. “I- uh, yeah. I guess it kinda taps on a preexisting trauma, huh?” he sighed, gripping his fathers hand a little tighter but through it all he felt the phantom grasp of too large hands burning his skin.

“I’m so sorry.” For the second time tonight, tears welled up in Bruce’s eyes. It’s getting kind of creepy, Jay’s probably only seen him cry twice the whole time he’s known him.

“Shut up old man. This ain’t somethin’ for you to go self flaggellating about. Be normal.” Jason gruffed before swiftly standing up and walking off towards his room.

Once Jason disappeared past the threshold of his room three sets of eyes snapped towards Bruce.

“Bruce, what the hell!” Dick whisper shouted, leaning forward in his seat, arms gesturing wildly towards the older man.

“Tt, you know Todd does not like such blatant expressions of emotion. Especially pity.” Damian scoffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head in disapproval.

“Yeah, bad move B.” Tim nodded sagely and across the room Bruce sighed with a fond softness. It’s nice to see them so protective of Jason, he deserves to have them in his corner, even against Bruce.

Bruce knows that a lot of his and Jason’s problems have been directly caused by his lack of expressiveness. Jason is probably his most emotional child, the one who has been hurt too many times to count and has always found it hard to trust. He knows he wasn’t always there for his second eldest when he needed him but he’s trying now to be emotionally available for him. His little bird, the one so scared of men who had still granted him his tentative trust and later his love. He’s going to do better.

Before the others could get back into scolding him for scaring Jason off, he wandered back into the room, a Wonder Woman hoodie replacing the sweater Tim had stolen right off of his back. He paused for a moment as all of their eyes turned towards him in shock, “What? It’s Gotham City in January, it’s cold as fuck out here.” He mumbled defensively as he plopped back into his original spot, settling back into the comfortable crease of the couch. Bruce immediately reached out for his son's hand, leaving his own up and open between them, fingers just brushing Jason’s knee.

Jason’s head tilted at the touch, hesitating just a moment before he pulled one hand from his hoodie pocket, dropping it into Bruce’s and weaving his fingers together with his father’s. Bruce squeezed slightly, pleased to be trusted once again to hold his child.

“Look guys, great chat! As much as I just love your company, it’s like two in the morning and I would very much so like to go to sleep.” He said with a playful grin, looking over at all of his brothers.

“Tt we are not leaving after that you imbecile.” Damian tutted from his spot in the arm chair, arms crossed with a defiant glare thrown towards his older brother. To no one's surprise, everyone seemed to hold the same opinion. Jason resigned himself to his fate, all of the bats hanging out in his apartment until they felt comfortable enough leaving him alone. Quite frankly, if he was going to kill himself over the experience he would’ve done it years ago, but he understands their concern.

“Alright, yeah whatever. There’s food B, if you’re hungry. Extra blankets in the closet. I’m taking my bed, if you guys want to try and pile in, go ahead, if you value personal space, there’s the couch.” He grumbled as he stood up, smoothing out his hoodie and throwing a quick ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder as he wandered back into his room, sleep obviously pulling at his limbs, making every move a little more sluggish. The events of the last couple weeks, plus the last couple hours of emotional vulnerability have been exhausting, he could feel it tugging at his limbs as he fell face first into his bed. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow as he tucked himself under his covers, sticking to his normal side of the bed.

Not too long after he nodded off he felt himself rearranged slightly as one of the kids–Tim, if Jason had to guess–buried himself into Jason’s chest. Jason threw one arm over the kid just as Dick cuddled in behind him, only a little awkwardly considering Jason was bigger than him now. The bodies just kept coming as Bruce laid on the other side of Jason, trapping Tim between them, reaching one arm out to cushion Jason’s head and run gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. Finally Damian made himself known, humming as he stood over them trying to find a good spot for himself. Thankfully he is still quite small so he wormed himself between Tim and Bruce, reaching up timidly to hold Jason’s hand where it fell over Tim's shoulder.

With the scent of Bruce’s cologne, a gentle kiss at his hairline and the feeling of his brothers around him, Jason, begrudgingly, slept better than he had in years probably. Not the feeling of hands in his chest, nor the claustrophobic tightness of breath when he awakens far too abruptly to push away the thoughts of being back in that coffin.

Just the feeling of his family around him, protection, peace of mind. Something he hadn’t had since Felipe showed up. Just his family.

Notes:

I don't have it in me yet to write bad parent Bruce Wayne. It will happen though...eventually. I hope you enjoyed it!!