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He looks young.
That’s the first thought that passes through Bruce’s head when he walks into the library, finding his second oldest passed out on the couch, an open copy of Emma, is dwarfed laying on top of Jason’s now massive chest. His twenty one year old son is still sometimes so jarring to be in the presence of, pure bulk and mass, so unlike the tiny fifteen year old he had once been.
Jason’s right leg is in a cast, having fractured it two days ago, after an encounter with some of riddler’s goons that went south. That’s why he is here, normally he never stays at the manor for more than twenty four hours at a time. He had tried to go home that first night, but had ultimately been cowed into submission by Alfred’s disapproving, silent stare. How Alfred had such a handle on the headstrong, stubborn young man, Bruce had no idea but desperately wishes to understand.
Usually Jason’s face is filled with tension, not always negative, but one can tell he is obviously on his guard at all times. But when he’s sleeping? He looks young, peaceful in a way that achingly reminds Bruce of when his son was fourteen, and passed out on this very same couch. He can see his Robin, the baby bird that had cleaved his heart in two, leaving a gaping hole in his absence.
Back in the early days, after Jason’s fiery return to Gotham, The Red Hood had told Bruce that his son was dead, that there was nothing left of that kid, and Bruce, admittedly being a coward, had chosen to believe him. It had been easier. He couldn’t wrap his head around his son being the perpetrator of the kind of violence Red Hood had been inflicting on the criminal underground, and thus had elected to believe that it wasn’t truly his kid.
One day though, in a moment of weakness, he had tracked down one of Jason’s safehouses and had lurked, in the dead of night, hoping darkly to find some sort of concrete evidence to substantiate those beliefs, to assuage those doubts clawing at the back of his subconscious, screaming at him that his son was alive! His son was alive and in Gotham. Bruce, looking back, doesn't know what he was really expecting to see at Jay’s safe house, but his sleeping face had stopped him dead in his tracks. Much like today, he had seen what was indisputably his kid, clear as day. Bruce had run, feet pounding across rooftops, muscles burning, but he hadn't stopped. He ran all the way, without even meaning to, to Jason’s favorite gargoyle. He had broken down then and there, grateful for the dark, and the height, shielding his agonized cries from the prying eyes and ears of the city.
Smiling sadly at the memory, Bruce turns his mind back to the present. He and Jason, while not perfect, are doing much better. It has taken months of work, and more screaming matches than Bruce cares to admit, but they are mostly okay.
He pulls out his phone, and opens up the camera. Most of the photos on his personal phone are of his children, children adjacent, and future in-laws. Some of his favorite pictures are one of Damian, asleep while being carried on Dick’s back, Steph and Cass high-fiving with a very disgruntled Duke in the background (the two girls had very quickly learned why you should never start a prank war with a meta-human), and one of Tim and Jason hugging.
He snaps a quick photo of Jason asleep on the couch, wincing when he hears the clicking noise go off. Damn. Jason’s always been an extremely light sleeper, even as a tween. A byproduct of living on the streets of Crime Alley.
“Why are you lurking around being creepy, old man?” Jason says groggily, one eye cracked open.
“Is it a crime to lurk about one’s own home now? I am a bat you know” Bruce grins.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. I don’t know how you have all your little league friends convinced that you’re this scary menacing guy. You’re a sentimental sap.” Jason says.
“Hey! I am very menacing, thank you very much! I just also happen to have like six and a half children.” Bruce sits down by Jason’s head peering down at his son.
Jason snorts and looks unimpressed.
“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks. “Can I get you anything? Painkillers, water?”
“See what I mean? Sap.” Jason grumbles. “But no. I’m okay right now. Would be better if I was sleeping, but seeing as you came and ruined that.”
“You’re so mean to me” Bruce laughs. “It’s okay though, you can go back to sleep Jaylad.”
“Mmmm okay” Jason hums, “wake me up for dinner, Alfie's making pot roast.”
Jason tilts his head back, eyes closed, a silent invitation. Bruce takes it readily, carding his hand through his son’s hair. His tresses are soft and achingly familiar. He used to do this when Jay was sick, and once when his fever was high enough to the point of deliriousness, he had admitted that it reminded him of his mom.
They sit for a couple moments in silence, heavy, but comfortable.
“Hey B?” Jason asks quietly.
“Yeah Jaylad?”
“Do you think your life would be easier if you had never met me?”
Bruce suppresses his knee jerk reaction to immediately deny the question, knowing Jason needs a much more nuanced answer than a simple no.
“My life would be easier if I had made different choices all around. But I am Batman, I don’t do things because they are easy. When I met you that day, I knew deep down you were going to be my kid. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And despite the struggles we’ve been through I do not regret it, not for one minute.”
Jason smiles softly. “I don’t regret it either. In case you were worried.”
“Love you, kiddo.” Bruce murmurs, leaning down to kiss the top of his forehead. “Go back to sleep”
Jason does just that, clocking out in a frighteningly short amount of time.
Bruce keeps stroking his hair for several minutes, and thinks to himself that he must be the luckiest fucking man in the world. He still does not know how Jason came back to life, none of them do. It used to bother him not knowing, he guesses it’s just the detective in him. But now? Having Jason home? Safe and cared for? Bruce frankly doesn’t give a shit how it happened but he will eternally be grateful that it did.