Chapter Text
Bruce knows something is wrong when he steps into the Cave.
His colleagues in the Justice League made the case for him to stay at the Watchtower but Bruce claimed he needed to return to Gotham to refamiliarize himself with the state of his city.
The truth is Bruce just wants to sleep in his own damn bed.
But as he makes his way through the cave, Robin close at his heels, he can already see things are changed.
Tim informed him Dick assumed the mantle of Batman while Bruce was trapped in the Time Stream, presumed dead. It stands to reason the Cave wouldn’t be as he left it. Bruce identifies some small changes immediately— a new Batsuit on display, a monitor replaced on the Bat Computer, a grapple gun left half-disassembled on a work table.
But Bruce can feel something larger off.
Maybe it’s in the way Tim won’t let him out of his sight. Maybe it’s the way Dick gives him a tight nod and says “we’ll talk later” instead of embracing him at his return.
Maybe it’s the way Damian is nowhere to be seen.
That first night, Bruce is too exhausted to look any closer. Whatever it is that changed in the months he was lost in time will have to wait until morning.
--
It’s Dick who breaks the news of the Joker to him.
Bruce was gone just under a year. But approximately six months after his disappearance, the Joker went missing from Arkham. With no signs of a breakout, investigators were stumped, and the only thing police could do was wait for the next Joker attack. Then, an anonymous tip led officers to an abandoned building in Amusement Mile where they recovered the Joker’s body.
Bruce reads the investigation report while Dick talks through the timeline of events. For a moment, he considers if Dick was the one to kill him, but then Bruce sees the crime scene photos. A single cut across the neck, determined by the coroner as the cause of death. Whoever held the knife cut so deep the laceration nearly severed the spine.
Bruce may have missed plenty in the last year, but he can still recognize an execution.
--
Weeks pass and Batman returns to the streets of Gotham.
But Bruce still sees the cracks in his household.
Dick practically throws the Batsuit at him before returning to Blüdhaven. Tim goes by Red Robin now. He still sticks closely to Bruce, especially on patrol. Bruce begins easing him into solo missions, giving him greater responsibility to investigate cases. Tim is a brilliant detective, Bruce’s return is a testament to that, and he carefully uses those skills to encourage Tim’s independence.
He sends Tim to Blüdhaven to help Nightwing with an investigation on missing organ donations. The relationship between Dick and Tim is still strained, but it’s a step in the right direction.
While Tim is in Blüdhaven, Bruce patrols with Damian. His youngest is the one who most visibly changed during Bruce’s absence. Damian shot up three inches in the past year and spent most of it as Robin to Dick’s Batman. His combat skills are as sharp as Bruce remembers but Dick clearly worked with him on acrobatics and his grappling is much improved.
During an apartment fire, Batman coordinates with first responders while Robin keeps the civilians a safe distance from the blaze. When all the residents are finally accounted for, Bruce finds a moment to catch his breath. He sees Robin holding a giant orange house cat nearly half his size. He keeps the animal still while one of the evacuated children carefully pets it. It’s the kind of civilian interaction that was beyond Damian a year ago and Bruce is surprised to see how naturally it comes to him now.
But while Damian seems to have found his footing with the people of Gotham, he mainly keeps clear of Bruce in the Manor. He spends most of his days cloistered in his own room, only emerging for meals and classes. He’s taken to wearing a motorcycle jacket of all things over his Gotham Academy blazer.
Damian’s tendency toward isolation is so great, Bruce is surprised one afternoon when Damian knocks on his office door.
It’s still several hours before patrol and Damian must have just returned from school. Bruce looks up from the Wayne Enterprises quarterly earnings report to see his son standing opposite his desk, looking like he’s facing down a firing squad.
“Damian. Is something the matter?”
“I must return to Nanda Parbat,” he says and something in Bruce’s chest freezes. “You need to sign a leave of absence request for my instructors.” Damian produces a permission slip with Gotham Academy letterhead and Bruce feels his panic subside. Damian’s already filled it out and he reads the dates requested on the form.
“Three weeks?” Bruce reads. It’s a significant amount of class for Damian to miss in the middle of the semester.
“I was informed three weeks will be sufficient,” Damian says, voice tight.
Bruce considers what he knows. Tim informed him that Talia is now in charge of the League. If Damian wanted to return to Nanda Parbat permanently, he would have left after she consolidated her takeover. His return now is likely at her behest, but the question is why.
“You’ve never made a request like this before,” Bruce points out. “Is there a reason for this visit?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s time sensitive,” Bruce infers given the date Damian wants to begin his absence at school is tomorrow.
“Yes.”
“Then we can leave tomorrow.”
“We?” Damian asks, looking suddenly concerned.
“Three weeks is not an unreasonable request,” Bruce says consideringly. If Damian falls behind in his classes, he will hire a tutor. His son makes so few requests, Bruce sees no reason to deny him this. “I’ll have Alfred find our passports.”
“What? No!” Damian blurts out. He gathers himself and clears his throat. “I mean to say, Father, I can go by myself.”
“Damian, you are a very capable young man,” Bruce says, watching how the tips of Damian’s ears turn red at the praise. “But you are still fourteen. I’m not sending you halfway around the world alone.”
Bruce pointedly does not bring up what happened the last time one of his sons went halfway around the world alone.
“You can’t come!” Damian snaps at him. His eyes go wide, surprised at his own outburst, before he turns his back and flees Bruce’s office.
Bruce sits there wondering what the hell just happened.
--
“Richard, I am going with or without your help,” Damian says over the phone. Dick has never heard him sound so desperate.
Talia would have only called him home for one thing. Jay must be dying.
“I’ll talk to B,” Dick promises, phone pressed to his ear. “But don’t call a taxi for the airport just yet. The private jet will get you there faster, just give me a chance to talk to him.
Damian is silent on his end of the phone for a long moment. “I cannot delay beyond morning,” he says finally.
“I’ll talk to him tonight then, before patrol,” Dick says with a heavy sigh. “And if he has a problem with it, I’ll drive you to the airport myself.”
Dick hangs up the phone and feels a headache building. Tim looks up at him from where he’s perched on the couch with a case file spread out on the coffee table, spilling onto the floor. Tim is visiting ostensibly to help Dick with an organ harvesting operation in Blüdhaven. But Dick knows part of why Tim is here is because his obsession finding Bruce took over every aspect of his life and he needs to relearn how to have some distance.
“What’s going on?” Tim asks, flipping to another page of the file.
Dick doesn’t know how much time Jason spent with Tim. He knows they patrolled together and busted an illegal weapons shipment at the docks, but were they friends? Did they have time to be before Tim disappeared chasing down a lead in the League of Assassins?
“I’m going to say something that sounds crazy and I just need you to hear me out,” Dick says.
Tim closes the file and glares at him. “Well doesn’t that sound familiar,” he accuses.
“Fair enough, I deserve that,” Dick says, putting his hands up. “Just give me a chance to explain.”
Tim rolls his eyes and flops back on the couch. “Fine.”
“Do you remember Damian’s older brother from the League? Jay?” Dick asks. “This is going to sound crazy. I think there’s a chance he might be Jason Todd, the second Robin. But I know that’s impossible because Jason died years ago—”
Dick cuts off when he registers the look of confusion on Tim's face. His brother tilts his head at him. “What?” Dick demands.
“I thought we all knew Damian’s brother is Jason Todd.”
“What do you mean you thought we all knew!”
Tim gives an exaggerated shrug. “I thought it was obvious!”
Dick thinks back on the Jason Todd he last knew—a scrawny fifteen-year-old kid with a permanent smirk and mild acne. He tries to reconcile that image with Jay, the international hitman who bullied Damian into doing his science homework. “How was it obvious? You just… figured it out?!”
“How did you not figure it out?!” Tim throws his hands up. “He looks just like him!”
“His eyes are the wrong color!”
“He literally moves the same!” Tim argues. “When we patrolled together, he stuck his dismount on a crane crossbeam the same way he did as Robin. How many people do you know who use a reverse grip on a grapple gun? He gave you hand-written mission notes and you didn’t think they looked familiar? I thought you knew and didn’t want to make it a big deal.”
“Tim, did you honestly think that our dead brother magically came back and I just didn’t mention that to you?” Dick asks in disbelief. He knows they have some work to do on their relationship but he didn't think it was that serious.
“It didn’t matter, Dick,” Tim sighs in frustration. “I thought maybe you sent him uncover in the League or something. But it wasn’t important because I was still searching for Bruce and that was the priority.”
Dick stares at him in a moment of stunned silence.
Tim crosses his arms and falls back onto the couch again. “Talia let me stay in his room at Nanda Parbat while I was helping her reorganize the League. He has a murder board of us.”
“A what?”
“A murder board,” Tim repeats, his mouth quirking up in a smile. “That’s what he called it, anyway. But it’s like a collage of all the stuff we’ve been doing. He had a flyer of the gymnastics center opening in Blüdhaven.”
“Huh,” Dick says, trying to imagine Jason keeping track of their lives from afar and how Tim is the only person in the world who would not find it even remotely disturbing.
“Why are you bringing Jay up anyway?” Tim asks. “Last I heard, he went back to the League once Talia finally killed Ra’s.”
Dick looks away. He doesn’t know how much of the situation he should explain to Tim. He doesn’t know how to explain Jason is dying.
“I need to go to Gotham to speak to Bruce,” Dick says instead. The hard change of subject makes Tim raise an eyebrow and tilt his head at Dick like he’s a puzzle to solve. “I think you should head out on patrol by yourself tonight. I don’t want us to miss this meeting and I’ll try to rush back when I’m done with Bruce.”
Tim narrows his eyes at him. But they’ve been working the case for days and Dick knows he doesn’t want to miss the scheduled organ auction in all its macabre glory.
“Fine. But afterward you’re going to tell me what’s going on. I deserve to know what’s happening.”
“That’s fair,” Dick agrees wearily. He doesn’t have a clue what he’ll tell Tim but it’s just another problem to figure out later.
--
Dick lets himself into the Manor quietly. He checks his watch. At this hour, Alfred is normally preparing a light dinner for Bruce and Damian before they head out on patrol. Which means Damian is probably finishing up homework and Bruce will be in his office doing Wayne Enterprise work.
Dick hesitates for a moment at the door to the study. He spent the drive from Blüdhaven trying to come up with a remotely plausibly story. Bruce already suspects Dick is hiding something about the Joker’s death. Or, more accurately, the Joker’s execution. Jason might not have tortured him or drawn out the death like Dick feared, but his chosen method still feels extremely personal. And Dick feels pulled between protecting Jason’s secrets and keeping his family from tearing itself apart.
He knocks lightly at the door before pushing it open.
Bruce is writing in an old-school ledger. He keeps paper records for some of Wayne Enterprises’ works—a skill he inherited from his own father and tried in vain to pass down to Dick.
“B, do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Alfred told me you were coming by for dinner tonight.”
Dick takes the seat by the window and Bruce waits for him to gather his thoughts. “I can go with Damian to Nanda Parbat,” he says finally.
Bruce raises his eyebrows at the offer. He gives Dick an assessing look. “Damian sent you to speak with me?”
“He didn’t. I’m here to warn you Damian is going whether or not you send him on the private jet,” Dick says, well aware there isn’t a force in the Manor that can stop his little brother.
Bruce considers the information an chooses his next question carefully. “Why is it so important he goes alone?”
“Because he doesn’t want anyone to see him upset,” Dick responds. It’s the same reason why, ever since Jason left, Damian spends so much time in his room. Dick looks at Bruce. He wants to let Damian go, agreed to support him, but he doesn’t understand the reasoning. “It’s his brother.”
Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Talia has another son?”
“James,” Dick says because if Bruce checks his story with Alfred, he’ll be able to corroborate Jason’s fake name. “He came to visit while you were… gone. Damian thought he wasn’t wanted and tried to go back to the League.” Bruce gives him a harsh look and Dick puts his hands up in defense. “Don’t worry, I told Damian no one way going to kick him out, but Jay was already here.”
“You let Damian spend extended time with a League Assassin.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Dick glares. “Jay wasn’t just some assassin who showed up on contract. He was Damian’s brother.”
Dick remembers how Jason looked in the Manor foyer, hands shoved in the pockets of his motorcycle jacket and hair mussed from his helmet. He remembers how he would always wave at the Manor while he waited for the gates to open as he left.
“He stayed for a few months to make sure Damian was okay and… he helped. I think Damian needed someone to vent to and I needed some space from Damian,” Dick admits. Going from his own life in Blüdhaven to a permanent caretaker for a teenager was a rough adjustment. Dick loves Damian but he can admit he needed the breathing room Jason gave him by taking custody a few days a week.
“But he left,” Bruce says. “Even before I returned, Damian was living in the Manor full time.”
Dick nods. “He’s sick. Part of why he came to Gotham was to tell Damian. He returned to the League a few months before you came back, but he was on borrowed time before he left.”
He watched Bruce do the mental math. “So if Damian is asking to return to Nanda Parbat now…”
“It’s because his brother is dying,” Dick finishes, voice tight. “Which is why he’ll go with or without your permission.”
Bruce considers the new information and stands from the desk to join Dick by the large office windows. On a clear day, they can see out to Drake Manor. But the sky is overcast and the grounds foggy beyond the tree line.
“I’ll speak with Damian,” Bruce says quietly. “He’ll want to leave tonight.”
--
Damian leaves for Nanda Parbat with a backpack of clothes and a glass container of cookies still warm from the oven. Bruce accompanies him to the private airport and Damian fidgets uncharacteristically with a strap of his backpack.
Before he gets out of the car, Bruce clasps him by the shoulder and tells him to text him when he lands, as if he won’t be tracking the flight the entire time it’s airborne. It takes nearly a full day for Damian to arrive, but when he thinks back on it, he won’t remember anything from the town car until he walks into Jason’s room in Nanda Parbat.
They bury him in the catacombs. Eventually, he’ll be moved to the ossuary.
When Damian returns from Nanda Parbat, it’s with a box full of letters. He left his clothes so there would be space in his backpack for Jason’s leather jacket. Damian unzips his bag every few hours during the flight to check it’s still there.
Bruce arrives to collect him from the airport. He doesn’t say anything, for which Damian is grateful. No sooner is the car stopped at the Manor than is Damian out the door and on his way to his bedroom.
Damian locks the door and slides down against it. He unzips his bag and checks for the jacket, this time drawing it out and pressing it to his nose.
There’s a gentle knock at his door.
“Go away,” Damian shouts, voice loud enough to carry through the heavy wood.
“Dames, it’s me,” Dick says. Damian is surprised to hear him still at the Manor. When Bruce returned, Dick ran back to Blüdhaven quickly enough.
“Go away,” he repeats quieter but just as firmly.
He feels a gentle thud against the door at his back. Grayson must be leaning against it.
“We don’t have to talk about anything,” Dick tries again. “I just want to see you.”
Damian doesn’t respond. He just sits there and waits for long minutes until he hears the retreat of Dick’s footsteps.
He stays there with his back against the door, eyes unfocused. He keeps waiting to cry. He's been waiting for days.
Damian remembers sobbing himself to sleep when Ra’s made him kill a rosefinch as part of his training. So why can’t he summon any tears for his brother?
--
The day passes. It seems he’s been granted extended leave from his lessons. Damian permits himself one entire day in bed before he drags himself into the shower and puts on his school uniform. The knowledge that Jason loved school and wouldn’t want Damian missing classes sits heavily in his chest until the guilt spurs him to action.
His Gotham Academy blazer is snug inside the arms of his motorcycle jacket but Damian won’t waste Jason’s leather jacket on something as pedestrian as school.
He takes his seat at the breakfast table while Dick and Bruce stare at him.
Damian returns their gaze. “I have a chemistry lab today,” he says by way of explanation.
Dick looks conflicted. “Damian… you don’t have to return to school if you’re not ready—”
“Why wouldn’t I be ready?” Damian challenges, hackles rising.
Dick looks at Bruce for help and Bruce regards Damian carefully. Damian stares back at his father. Eventually, Bruce nods. “I’ll drive you.”
It’s a silent car ride. Damian remembers the way Jason would drive him on his motorcycle, swerving in the lanes back and forth until Damian tightened his hold on him and tapped his leg to go faster. The air-conditioned town car can’t compare.
Instead of the road to the Academy, Bruce turns them up a road that carries them to an overlook of Gotham. He parks the car facing out towards the view.
If Bruce is waiting for him to crack open and pour his heart out, he’ll be waiting all day. Damian stares placidly out of the front window as if this is a typical stop on his way to school.
“I’m going to miss chemistry lab,” Damian says.
“You hate chemistry lab.”
It’s true and he’s not surprised a great detective like his father figured it out. Damian finds his science classes lacking. The subject holds no answers on topics like the Lazarus Pit, resurrection, or the All-Blades. And what use is science when medicine couldn’t save his brother?
Still, Jason would have wanted him to go.
Damian moves to unbuckle his seatbelt and begin walking when Bruce reaches out an arm to stop him.
“I know you’re hurting,” his father says. The words come out halting and awkward. Damian itches to get out of the car. He can’t sit through a heart to heart with his father. “The question is, what are you going to do with it?”
Damian freezes mid-escape attempt. He looks at Bruce’s eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I won’t claim to know your brother, but I am familiar with loss,” Bruce says. “Grief can be a paralytic or a motivator, Damian. But it cannot be ignored. So if you want to go to school this week or if you want to crawl back into bed, you’re allowed. But if you want to memorialize your brother, that is also an option.”
Jason was his protector in the League. A piece of home when he was adrift in Gotham. Their relationship was private…. sacred. The idea of parading it out for anyone to see makes him physically ill.
“I don’t want some gaudy statue—”
“Not a statue, a program,” Bruce stresses. He looks vaguely embarrassed at the misunderstanding. “Not so much a monument as a memorial.”
Damian stops and considers it. The idea has merit. “… I need some time to think about it.”
Bruce nods and turns the key in the ignition. “Let me know what you’re thinking at the end of the week.” He shifts the car back into drive and begins to trip back to Gotham Academy.
Damian looks at the clock and realizes he’ll miss his chemistry lab but will be on time to the rest of his classes. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smile.
He thinks about what kind of program Jason would appreciate being established in his honor. Perhaps something with the library.
--
Alfred is washing dishes after breakfast when the doorbell chimes through the Manor.
It’s rare for anyone to make it to the door without first setting off one of the alarms on the gates, but it’s not unheard of. The last person to succeed in making it to the door was an enterprising young reporter and rock-climbing hobbyist. No matter, Alfred will send away whoever managed it this time.
He wipes his hands on a tea towel and sets aside his apron, rolling down his shirtsleeves and sliding his arms back into his jacket. His oxfords click across the marble floor of the foyer as he reaches the front door.
“Master James,” he says with mild surprise. Mostly because he was recently informed of James’ death.
James, albeit very much alive, looks much changed from the last time Alfred saw him swaggering through the Manor. He no longer looks so much like Bruce it nearly knocked the breath from him. The most obvious change is James lost a significant amount of weight. He is gaunt, with a greenish tint to his skin that looks near cadaverous. He is also dressed more formally than Alfred remembers. Instead of leather jackets and motorcycle boots, Jay wears a dress shirt and bespoke trousers.
“Good morning, Alfred,” he says pleasantly enough. “Is Damian or Bruce home?”
“Damian is at school, I’m afraid,” Alfred answers. James looks sheepish, as if embarrassed he didn’t consider the option. “And Master Bruce is taking meetings from the study this morning.”
“Ah. Well, I can come back some other time,” he says.
“No, please allow me to escort you to the sitting room. Master Bruce may have time in his schedule for a meeting.”
In all honesty, Alfred is worried for young Master Damian. The boy has been withdrawn since his return from Nanda Parbat. As he leads them to a sitting room, he hopes maybe Jay can bring out the animated and opinionated teen Alfred remembers.
He then climbs the stairs to Thomas’ study and knocks at the door. Bruce sits at his father’s desk, work spread out in front of him. A glance tells Alfred it’s budgeting for the new project Damian proposed to him last week. The whole affair is shrouded in secrecy but Bruce treats it with the utmost care.
“You have a visitor downstairs.”
“Yes, I heard the bell,” Bruce says with half a smile, no doubt recalling the last unexpected guest and how Alfred sent them on their way. “Another reporter with a penchant for climbing?”
“Not quite,” Alfred tells him. “It’s Damian’s brother, James. He asked if you have time for a meeting today.”
The shift from businessman to investigator is instantaneous. Bruce’s eyes snap up from his work and he frowns. “Damian’s… brother.”
“I’ll prepare some tea for you,” Alfred says as Bruce stands. “I do hope you can convince him to stay for dinner, if only for Master Damian’s sake.”
--
Alfred gathers a basic tray with an assortment of teas. He’s not quite sure what the social protocol is for a faked death and return to the living so best to offer a variety.
James is still in the study when Alfred reappears, tray in hand. He bounces a knee nervously and runs a hand through his hair while he waits for Bruce to arrive.
“How do you take your tea?” Alfred asks.
“Black tea with one sugar, please,” he replies, eyes shifting back to the door.
Alfred prepares the cup and passes it to him. James takes a sip and places the cup and saucer on a side table.
The door to the sitting room opens and Jay gets to his feet. Alfred turns to prepare a cup of tea for Bruce when he notices him frozen in the doorway.
“Jay?” Bruce says, voice strained.
The young man stands awkwardly and wipes his palms against his trousers. “Hey, B.”
“Jason,” Bruce whispers. He rushes forward but stops just short of him, hands hovering midair between them, halfway to an embrace.
Alfred feels a wave of dread that Bruce mistakes Talia’s son for his own, that he’s confused James with Jason. But when Alfred looks at them standing beside each other, something slots into place in his mind.
“My goodness,” he says faintly, reaching out a hand to stabilize himself on the table. He very well might faint.
Jason was just a child when Bruce returned from abroad with his body in tow. Alfred remembers picking out the suit they buried him in—how he was careful to pick a warm pair of socks because Jason so hated the cold. He remembers how small the funeral was, how inadequate given how much the boy was loved.
The man who stands before them is not the child they buried. But he is. The way Jason holds himself reminds Alfred of a boy who stood uncertainly in the foyer of the Manor when Bruce brought him home a lifetime ago. He even takes his tea the same way.
“How…?” Bruce begins to ask, snapping Alfred back to the present.
Jason winces and rubs the back of his neck. “It’s kind of a long story.”
--
“…You really should’ve seen Talia’s face when I climbed out of the ossuary,” Jason says long after the three of them have exhausted the teapot. “Now that I think about it, it kind of looked like your faces right now.”
Alfred gives him a quelling look but to his surprise, Bruce chuckles.
“I’ve been racking my brain to think of some reason why this resurrection is different than the others,” Jason sighs. “Talia reached out to her contacts but they haven’t been able to determine any reason for the resurrections either. She’s able to pass is off as Lazarus Pit research for now, but she’s wary of letting too many people know about my ability. And she’s adamant I don’t take any League contracts while I’m still healing.”
Jason’s reveal of his time in the League of Assassins is certainly a surprise. Alfred can see by the set of Bruce’s shoulders that he isn’t pleased with it. But Bruce hasn’t brought it up again. Perhaps the shock of Jason’s return is putting off that particular argument.
“I have contacts in the Justice League who might be able to offer insight, if this is something you want to pursue,” Bruce offers.
Jason shakes his head. “You tried that already. No answers that way either.”
He lifts a hand and inspects the green tint to his veins. “I have my own theory. The other times I died, it was because of something—exsanguination, suffocation, or even exposure. None of them were natural deaths.”
“You think cancer mimicked a natural death?”
“I think it might’ve fooled my biology into believing it,” Jason shrugs. “At least until the Lazarus Pit’s regenerative factor took over. I just remember dying and wishing I could stay. I don’t think I need to be sure about the why.”
Bruce looks pensive. Alfred knows eventually he’ll insist on tests, something to prove Jason’s identity more than a story. But he seems content with Jason’s company for now.
Alfred clears his throat. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now?”
Jason looks over at Bruce. “I’m hoping to stay in Gotham,” he says tentatively. “Talia owns an apartment in New Town. I want to stay close by for Damian… and for the rest of the family.”
“New Town,” Bruce repeats, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, but it beats Cherry Hill by a mile and comes with free parking,” Jason shrugs. “I don’t know how long it’s going to take for the Lazarus Pit to finish healing me, so I’m thinking of taking it easy for a while. Maybe start a degree or something.”
He says it nonchalantly, but Alfred recognizes the way Jason breaks eye contact and looks at the carpet. He had the same habit as a boy. There’s something he wants, but he feels afraid to ask for it. Alfred realizes he wants Bruce's permission to stay in Gotham.
“You could stay here.”
Bruce surprises them all with the offer. He clears his throat. “If… that’s something you want.”
Jason is taken aback and does his best not to show it. “Maybe a few days a week,” he says eventually.
The grandfather clock chimes in the foyer and Alfred gets to his feet. “I should be starting dinner,” he says when he realizes how much of the day has passed. “Master Damian will be home from school soon. I imagine the two of you have plenty to discuss as well.”
“You should stay for dinner,” Bruce interjects, just remembering Alfred’s suggestion from the study.
“Oh, okay. I mean. Yeah, dinner would be great.” Jason gets to his feet at the same time as Bruce.
This time, Bruce reaches out and settles a hand on his shoulder. Jason rolls his eyes at the gesture and Bruce begins to withdraw when Jason darts forward and pulls him into a hug. He mutters something to Bruce too softly for Alfred to hear.
The embrace only lasts a moment before he’s withdrawing. Jason looks over to Alfred and smiles. “Need a hand with anything in the kitchen?”
“Your company would be most welcome, Master Jason.”