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“This is the part when you try to stop me and I beat the hell out of you.”
Bruce had been tracking the Red Hood for what felt like an eternity. A sudden new player in the field, very good at what he did. Very dangerous. His kill count was growing, and Batman couldn’t seem to figure out what, exactly, his motivations were.
Attacking Onyx, however, was one step too far. And from the sounds of it, he was only getting started with his attack.
“No,” Batman said, stepping into view, “It’s not that part.”
Because this had to end. Now.
Red Hood was not going to end the night a free man.
“Wow. I didn’t even hear you land,” Hood said, turning casually to face Batman, his knife still at his side, “That plane is really a stealthy piece of hardware when you want it to be.”
Bruce just stood there, in the doorway, looming. He was used to criminals being mouthy. Some seemed to have more confidence and larger egos to them than they should, but there was something off about Red Hood.
Something strange in how he was addressing Batman.
The ease and comfort in his words. The absolute casualness of it all.
“You can just be so quiet,” he continued, pulling two guns from under his leather jacket, “so quiet.”
Leaping out of the way, Bruce took cover and listened to Red Hood explain to Onyx how the batplane worked. Still, chatting on as if he were out for a walk with friends. Discussing the finer details of how his own car worked, what he did at work. It was strange.
He knew the Red Hood was good. He didn’t realize how smart he was, too. Because to have figured out how it all works is just incredible. But there was still something else. Something off.
Something almost… familiar about his banter.
And when he pulled out a device to shock Batman right down his grapple line, a pit formed in his stomach.
How did Hood get that device? It was something Batman had special ordered. Not something available to the public, and certainly not available on the black market.
It was up on the rooftop that all the pieces fell into place. When they all came crashing down, making painfully clear what Bruce had suspected. What his subconscious had been trying to tell him. What he’d been completely ignoring.
Because it was impossible.
He’d realized it was true after he’d punched Red Hood. Slammed him into the ground. Kicked him. After they’d been fighting for weeks.
And Bruce wanted to be sick.
Because once Red Hood ripped Batman’s mask off, he paused in his attack and pulled off his own helmet.
All those pieces came crashing down, crushing Bruce. Knocking the air right out of him.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was stare.
Even with a domino. Especially with a domino. Bruce would recognize that face anywhere.
Those curls.
That smile.
He was older, by about four years. He looked like a man now. But his identity was unmistakable.
“Jason,” he whispered, frozen in place. His hands had dropped completely from their guarded position as he just stood there. He could feel his fists start to shake as his stomach threatened to release his dinner. Because there was no way.
No way this was happening.
How was this happening?
Jason was dead.
And yet. Clark had come back. Oliver had come back. Hal.
“This- this can’t-” Bruce said, taking a step backward, feeling for the wall to steady himself. Because here he was. Here was Jason, his boy. His little boy, standing right in front of him. Alive. So alive, and healthy, and so incredibly Jason.
The attitude, the confidence, the casual demeanor. It was so Jason.
Whatever had happened to him, whatever happened to cause him to kill, they could get through it. They’d figure it out.
Red Hood laughed, a deep, loud, troubled sound. His hand resting on his stomach, just like it always did. Like it always had, when his happy boy experienced such overwhelming joy he couldn’t even stay sitting straight. It was a posture that always brought a smile to Bruce’s face. Seeing just how happy his son was. So happy he couldn’t even contain it
Now the sound was off. It was full of pain and bitterness. It was older, deeper. And it was coming out of the person he’d just punched.
Bruce was definitely going to be sick.
“Here,” Jason said, taking a glove off and tossing it at Bruce, “That’s fingerprints.” After taking out a batarang and slicing his own head, Jason said, “and here’s blood, and even tissue. Check it all.”
Catching the batarang as Jason tossed it, Bruce just stared.
“You’ll find that it is me.”
The logical side of his brain, the skeptic in him, was screaming not to believe this. Not to trust it. But there was too much evidence. Too many similarities between his Jason and this boy that stood before him.
His brain might have been screaming, but his heart was yelling louder. Because this was his Jason.
The one he’d lost. The one he’d held the broken body of. The one he’d buried.
It was Jason.
Bruce looked down at the batarang and glove in his hands, then back up at Jason. Before he knew what was happening, before he even registered a desire to move, Bruce had dropped both items on the ground and closed the distance between him and Jason.
He paid no mind to how Jason took a quick step back, to how his threw his hands up in defense, because Bruce was done fighting. He was never going to fight this man again.
This man was his son.
“Jason,” he gasped as he pulled his son into a tight hug, almost eliciting a yelp from him, “Jason. My boy,” he whispered, tightening his hold around Jason’s back, burying his face into his shoulder, trying his best not to break out into full on sobbing.
Because this was his boy. In the flesh. Right in front of him. In his arms.
The last time he’d held Jason in his arms…
“Uh, Bruce?” Jason said, his voice strained as he was clearly uncomfortable in Bruce’s hold. He had somehow managed to go even tenser as Bruce began to weep, and was just standing there, his arms straight down at his side. “What the fuck?”
“I’ve missed you so much, Jay,” Bruce managed to get out. He needed to get ahold of himself, but it was hard. Because this was Jason.
“That’s bullshit,” Jason said, shrugging his shoulders up and pushing Bruce off him, much more gently than Bruce would have expected given his tone. “You replaced me.”
Just that statement itself was enough to snap Bruce out of it. Because it made no sense. How had he replaced Jason? How could he replace Jason? Taking a step back and wiping at his eyes, Bruce looked up and asked, “What?”
“Within six months. You had a new Robin.”
“Tim?” Bruce asked, taking a deep breath to steady himself, “He could never replace you.”
If Bruce could see Jason’s eyes, he just knew he’d see Jason roll them. “But he did.”
“No,” Bruce asserted, furrowing his brow. Taking a step forward, trying his best to resist the urge to hug Jason again. “He didn’t. Just like you didn’t replace Dick.”
Jason was quiet for several long seconds, before he shrugged and stepped back, placing a foot up on the edge of the roof, preparing to leap off. “Whatever. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m here to-”
“I love you,” Bruce said, hurriedly. Desperately. He couldn’t let Jason leave. Couldn’t let him just jump down and run off. Not before he got out everything he wish he’d said before. All the words he hated himself for never saying before Jason’s death. The things that haunted him to this day.
When Jason did nothing but freeze, his eyes locked on Bruce, he continued, “One of my biggest regrets in life was not telling you. Not showing you enough. I love you, Jason. You were my world, and when you- when you died, it shattered.”
Bruce was strangely thankful his mask had been ripped off, because the tears building up in his eyes would have made it impossible to see. At least without it on, he can wipe them away.
“What are you-”
Before Jason could finish the sentence, however, Bruce stepped forward and pulled him back down off the ledge, back into his arms. “Whatever is going on, we’ll work through it. You mean- You- ”
“Okay, I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Jason said slowly, reaching his arms up to push Bruce off him again, “but I don’t want to play.”
“It’s not a game.”
Jason scoffed, his shoulders stiffening. Where before he just seemed incredibly uncomfortable, now he was dropping back into anger. “If that were true, you would have avenged me.”
“What?”
“The Joker, Bruce,” Jason shouted, stepping forward to shove at Bruce’s shoulders, “He’s still alive!”
Bruce nodded, taking the push, stepping back with it to prevent either of them from getting hurt. To prevent angering Jason more.
“He killed me, Bruce,” Jason cried, loud and painfully, “and you don’t even care!”
“What makes you think I don’t even care? I mourned you. I still mourn you. Every day.”
“If that were true,” Jason said, dropping his voice back down in volume, “you wouldn’t have been so quick to replace me and let the Joker keep running about-”
“Every morning, when I wake up, my first thought is about you. Every single morning. It’s been four years since I lost you. Every time I sit at the breakfast table, and you aren’t there, I think about you. I think about your smile and your excitement for school. Your messy bedhead and sticky pancake fingers. When school lets out, I can’t even go pick up Tim. Because you went there. And all I can see is you skipping out the doors, grinning widely when you see my car and-”
“Bruce, please,” Jason said, and the absolute disbelief in his boy’s tone broke something inside Bruce. He had really screwed up, hadn’t he? He knew he didn’t assure Jason of his love enough before his death, but he hadn’t realized it was this bad.
“Jason. I miss you so much it aches. Most days, I’m not sure I can go on.”
“You say that, and yet you didn’t kill the Joker.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to! That I don’t want to now! Every single time I see that deranged clown all I can think of is the fact that he took you away from me. But if I murdered him, if I did that, I’d lose myself, Jay. I’d never be able to come back across the line. And I couldn’t do that to you, to your memory.”
After a moment to collect himself, Bruce took a deep breath and whispered, “I couldn’t use the death of my son as an excuse to become a monster.”
Jason shook his head and sat down on the ledge. Bruce could see the tremor in his hands as he pulled his mask off, hear the shakiness in his breath. Whatever was going on with Jason, he was certain they could figure it out.
Because this was his boy.
His beautiful boy who grew up to look so healthy. So strong and big.
It was amazing. The universe always seemed to take from Bruce. Everything in his life had been pain. But for once. For once, the universe had given him a gift. A wonderful, marvelous gift, and he wasn’t about to let anything get between him and his son.
Not even his son.
“Jaylad,” he whispered, kneeling down before his boy. Jason slowly looked up at him, and for the first time Bruce got to see his eyes.
And they were his eyes.
Those same eyes he’d looked into every single day for years. The same eyes he thought he’d never look into again.
“I am so happy you’re here.”
“But,” Jason whispered back, a broken, heart-wrenching sound.
“Shh” Bruce soothed, pulling Jason down off the ledge and into his arms.
Jason allowed it, but remained stiff in Bruce’s arms as he said, “I attacked you.”
“I know.”
“I tried to kill you.”
“I know.”
“I was going to make you kill the Joker.”
“Jason.”
“Gotham needs-” Jason said, and Bruce could hear the cracks. The cracks that had been getting larger and larger with every word. He was so close to losing it, all Bruce could do was hold on tighter. “it needs someone-”
“Jay, son,” Bruce whispered, resting his cheek against his boy’s hair and closing his eyes, “Come home.”
And sure, they had a lot to work through. A lot of problems to solve, such as Jason’s various ‘killings,’ as he referred to them. His violent rampage throughout Gotham. And the matter of the past four years.
But when Jason wrapped his arms around Bruce, he decided that for now, all he was going to do was hold his son while he wept.
Because all of that was a matter for another day.
For now, he was just going to revel in his son’s presence.