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Chapter Text

Bruce was beyond exhaustion. He could barely keep his eyes open—yet they remain transfixed with the lights as his car passed through the highway. He was just coming back from another gala that Alfred (bless his heart) had arranged on behalf of him. The Jason Todd Scholarship Foundation, purely funded by Bruce’s personal assets. It was a foundation that he had set up after Jason’s death with the Joker. He had remained how Jason was born from an unfortunate circumstance yet remained sturdy with his desire to study and finish schooling.

He could have. Had he been safe. He could have. Had he not been with Bruce.

Bruce’s eyes watered, yet he refused to allow anyone else to see him at his lowest. He could already feel his driver’s eyes darting periodically at the rear-view mirror. He knew that his driver had noticed his exhaustion, probably could feel sympathetic about young Jason’s death, and had wanted to at least be polite and say something atrociously like ‘I understand grief, Mr. Wayne. I hope Jason is resting peacefully in Heaven’.

Gods, he was so tired of hearing that in the gala. It seemed like every attendee had been given the same script to say to him. All uttering the same politeness, the same fake sympathy. He shrugged. He had been forced to remain calm throughout the gala. But inside, he was a range of emotions—of grief, of anger.

At least, the beneficiaries of the foundation had been there. At least, they were not pretending with their gratitude. They had been thankful for Bruce’s initiative. And by extension, they had been thankful for Jason’s influence over it. They didn’t know his son personally, only through name. Still, they are thankful for him. And hearing their gratitude for Jason’s had made Bruce’s heart swell with pride.

Jason would have loved seeing how much he had helped children like him, born in poverty, given another chance to fight for their lives.

Bruce closed his eyes. A single tear forming at the corner of his eyes fell.

Would Jason be thankful for Bruce? Would he be proud of what his father had done?

Would Jason still consider and love Bruce as his father?

Red Hood made a swerve at an alleyway, his motorcycle roaring at the silence of the night, as he chased down a criminal that’s speeding through the streets. They were near the highway, and he was trying to force the criminal into somewhere that had less…pedestrians.

It was almost midnight, but there was still car flow in the highway, brought by people who worked late at night. They were filling some of the highway and Red Hood tried his damnest to cut through traffic.

He saw the incoming car too late. And both he and the car’s driver swiveled to the opposite side of the road—but unfortunately for the car, there was an incoming truck that was on the other side. The car’s side bumped into the incoming truck and, brought by the speeding momentum, twirled and circled in the road, spinning twice before laying flat.

Red Hood cursed and went immediately to check the car. He noted that the truck slowly came to a stop just a few streets down, still shocked by what happened. He saw the criminal’s runaway motorcycle speeding through the next alleyway. His morals got the best of him, and he chose to stay with the wreckage to help than run after the runaway.

He opened up the driver’s door, helping the driver who was trying to climb out of the seat. He was bleeding from his side, but he looked like he wasn’t at any immediate risk. He helped, nevertheless, pulling him carefully just as he had been taught by his pseudo grandfather. “Is there—”

The driver’s eyes were unfocused, but he quickly pointed at the back of the car, “He’s at the back, please—” he breathe deeply, “—help him,” he pleaded.

Red Hood nodded, helping him settle beside the car and went on to grab whoever passenger was at the back of the car—

When his breath caught on his throat.

There, at the back of the car, was his father, bleeding from his injured head.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Jason’s mind kept on screaming at his head. He was briefly rooted at the spot. His eyes trailing over Bruce’s labored breathing. Gods, his father looked already half dead, struggling to stay alive. His breathing looked restricted by the seatbelt around his chest.

Jason’s body moved on his own after that. His mind was taking a backseat as he moved purely on instinct. Without delay, he removed his helmet to get a better look at his father, praying that his brief hesitation wouldn’t cost his father’s life. As he went to help pull the stuck door, he dialed up the ambulance, pressing an emergency number he didn’t even know he still had, and finally helped Bruce out of the car. He cut through the seatbelt and rapidly checked Bruce’s breathing and any broken bones—Alfred’s voice guiding him throughout the ordeal.

The ambulance’s siren grew closer. And Jason helped Bruce settle down at the side of the car, still checking his father for other injuries. At the corner of his eyes, he saw the driver dragging his injured body towards him and Bruce, he settled beside Bruce—and Jason had to forcefully stop his instinct to defend and protect, lest he’ll add a broken wrist to the driver’s medical problems—and gently shaking his shoulder, “Mr. Wayne? Sir, please waking up.” He sounded just as concerned as Jason.

Jason’s concern grew double, though, when Bruce didn’t wake up.

His eyes remained tightly shut.

“Bruce!” Jason said, his voice increasing in panic. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest as seconds passed by with his father not opening his eyes. “Bruce! Bruce!” he kept on repeating, kneeling beside his father, and replacing the driver in his crusade to make Bruce respond.

But Bruce isn’t responding to anything. His father isn’t waking up.

“Please—” later, he’ll probably hate himself from sounding desperate, “—please, dad—” and he’ll berate himself from slipping. He wasn’t supposed to be compromised. He wasn’t supposed to remain attached. Yet, here he was, calling for his father like he was his young boy again, lost and desperate for someone to love him like a son.

It worked like magic, however, when Bruce’s eyes snapped open—like he had been called from the depth of his slumber. As if the simple word is enough to drag him back from death.

His eyes remained unfocused, but they were opened the same, “Wha—”

Seeing Bruce’s eyes trained on him felt like a pour of cold water. Shit shit shit—fuck!! What the fuck had he been thinking?! Jason screamed in his head. This was not how he was supposed to return—he had meticulously planned every little detail, even accounting for Dick’s intervention (had he still remain to be Bruce’s sidekick). He was supposed to make Batman regret not killing the Joker—toy with his mind till he could untangle Batman’s stupidest and shittiest reason for not taking a worthless life that would just keep on killing.

Yet, he slipped.

Yet, he cared.

Yet, he missed.

“I—” Bruce’s eyes watered and with a soft voice, he whispered, “—You’ve grown.” A proud smile forming at his lips.

Jason’s world came to a halt. He quickly tapped the side of his face, noticing that his black mask was still in place. He knew that wearing one underneath his red hood would be beneficial. But how—there’s no way that Bruce could’ve recognized him.

But didn’t you slip? Didn’t you call him ‘dad’?

He could see Bruce struggle as he lifted his right arm, wincing with every move—yet his stubbornness remains, and with a gently hand, he held Jason’s own hand over his face. “My son. You’ve grown.”

Jason’s body shuddered, because of the shock, he quickly pulled himself away from Bruce—and Bruce’s arm falling uselessly at his side again. “I’m not—“ his breathing became labored, as if he had been in the accident himself, green mist began to form at the corner of his eyes, and he could feel himself slipping back into the madness he had desperately fought his way out. His voice getting angrier, “I’m not—”

The recoil brought Bruce to tears. Tears that began to fall at the corner of his eyes, “Of course…” he sounded resigned, his eyes dragging downwards. “It’s okay…” he whispered more to himself than to anyone else. His eyes began to close, as if accepting his fate.

Fuck. Jason’s panic doubled at the sight. Fuck this old man! Seriously?! Dragged by the young boy that’s still yearning for his father’s love—Jason’s body surged forward. He immediately grabbed Bruce’s hand and placed it back to his face, forcing the words out from his lips, desperation multiplying at each passing second, “It’s me. Gods, it’s me. I’m him. I’m—”

Bruce looked up, but his eyes no longer held the same life as they had been.

Jason could hear him struggle with breathing as he pushed himself to reply.

“You don’t…have to lie…to this old man,” a soft smile appearing in his face, as if Bruce, in his stupidly selfless self, still wants to reassure Jason that it wasn’t his fault that he was giving up on his life. That he wouldn’t accept a lie even if it’ll help save his life.

For the second time, Jason felt like his world was coming to an end. All the anger, all the pain, quickly burnt like ash at the face of a possible death. Suddenly, Jason was a fifteen-year old boy, exhausted from the patrol, head resting on his father’s shoulder, lured to sleep by his father’s peaceful breathing. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be back at his father’s side, in the Manor, being the son that he once had been.

He wanted nothing more. He needed nothing more.

“Please—It’s me. Dad…it’s me.”

Pleading desperately to be accepted back. Begging to once again be his son.

“Jason?”

He had never seen a more beautiful sight—than life slowly fading in his father’s eyes. Bruce’s eyes widened. His hand twitched and settled at Jason’s face, feeling the warmth. His eyes glazed—as if seeing a face that is not hidden behind a black mask. He was staring right at Jason’s eyes—as if still searching for a hint of lie, for a betrayal that he knew was there.

But Jason continued to assure him, “yes, yes, it’s me. So please, please, hold on for me, okay? Help is coming.”

The words seemingly brought serenity back to Bruce. He smiled, the same way he does when he was about to praise Jason for his good grades or for his brilliant detective work, the same way he did when they were resting at the living room, both exhausted from the night’s patrol, sharing a popcorn while a lousy film plays in the TV. He had fallen asleep on Bruce’s side. And Bruce had let him.

“Anything for you, my boy…”

Jason’s eyes welled with tears. He began to sob uncontrollably, clinging to his father’s hand on his face as if it was a lifeline. As if it was the only thing that’s saving him from another madness brought by the Lazarus’. As if it was the only thing that’s tethering Bruce in the world.

Finally, the ambulance arrived.

Just as they gently placed Bruce in the bed and hooked him to the oxygen, Jason—with little hesitation—jumped into the back of the hospital and took a seat by the side.

The medic-on-duty looked at him. “uh—who?”

He glared at the person, daring him to oppose him, “I’m his son.”

The emergency personnel looked at him once and shrugged, before closing the door on them. He began to check up on Bruce’s injuries, with Jason listing the ones he noticed before.

Again, the personnel were too scared of him to say anything else besides a ‘thank you’.

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t realize that he had dozed off while waiting for Bruce to wake up, well not until the door was slammed open – the sound of the door hitting the wall echoed so loudly in the room that it woke him up from his deep sleep.

Instincts honed with his years spent training under the Batman immediately locked in. His mind booted immediately, and he pulled out his gun from his waistband, trailing them over the door and shooting—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”  he heard a yell. Then he saw the bullet missing a person and embed itself on the side of the door. His eyes widened in curiosity and silent awestruck at a teenager who managed to have the skills to literally dodge a bullet.

The teenager looked behind at the bullet hole before rounding back to him, eyes blazing with anger, his voice yelling, “you psycho—who the fuck are you—” then stopping immediately.

He looked like he had seen a ghost. His eyes wide with shock and his mouth wide open.

Jason isn’t even sure if the strange teen was even breathing at this point.

Time went still for a few seconds—before the teen’s brain somewhat rebooted, and all of a sudden, the anger had quickly morphed into…starstruck? “OH MY GOD ARE YOU JASON TODD?!”

Jason’s ears started ringing from the noise. Is this teenager serious? He might even wake up Bruce with how loud he was shouting. He did a quick glance at his father to make sure, but alas he remained in his peaceful slumber.

He turned back to the teenager, who looked like he was just seeing the greatest thing in front of him. His eyes were sparkling with genuine happiness and grinning so wide Jason could see the gums of his mouth.

He felt overwhelmed with the guy’s emotions…and uncomfortable too. “Uh…yes?”

That seemed to be a trigger to the guy because he yelped and jumped in the air, as if he just scored a goal. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE—” and then (honestly, Jason is so amused with how this guy’s emotions completely shift), seemingly just noticing that he’s in a hospital which means that someone’s injured, or worse—he stopped his excessive happiness to go to Bruce’s other side, “—HOLY SHIT—DAD?!”

For a third time, Jason’s world shifted. “Wait…dad?” what the fuck happened in the brief years that he had been ‘dead’ that there’s another child claiming to be Bruce’s son? He looked carefully at the teenager that he had dismissed earlier as a lunatic and tried to trace Bruce’s genetics—black hair and slightly paler blue eyes, he lacked the sharpness of his jaw that Bruce’s had, that could possibly mean that this guy takes off after his mom? But when did Bruce have a biological son? Did he marry? Did he have this guy as a secret, hidden son that’s such a plot point from the telenovelas they sometimes watch?

There are so many questions that’s rapidly firing up in his head that he couldn’t even begin to choose which one to ask first.

His dead stare must’ve been felt by the guy, because he was quick to straighten up and introduce himself. “I’m Tim! And no—sorry, it’s not official yet—” he began to move his hands, accompanying his words with gestures as if he was too anxious to stand and explain, “—yeah, paperworks, urgh, why does everything has to be complicated? PLUS!” he said, emphasizing his next points, “narcisstic parents who don’t want to appear neglectful—well, newsflash Janet, you’re a bad parent.”

Jason could feel a headache blooming in his head. He wanted to cut off Tim after the first few words, but he sat through to listen. But holy crap is this guy—why can’t he stop talking?! He groaned as he saw Tim taking a deep breath as if gearing up. “Uh—maybe—”

But that didn’t stop him. “and HOLY CRAP. Like okay, I’ve seen the pictures but they did not give you justice,” Tim finished.

Jason didn’t know if he should feel flattered or insulted.

And did he just say pictures?

But, by gods, is Tim not done talking—”OH MY, how did this happen? OH SHIT i forgot to bring my cards—wait, he’s back so he’s coming to the Manor, so he can sign my cards. OH MY GOD WILL YOU SIGN MY CARDS. wait TIM! please stop being creepy holy crap oh my god stop!!!!”

Jason will forever be grateful for whoever gods gave Tim a self-realization to shut up. He still doesn’t know where to even begin. “That’s actually—”

“—Too much?” Tim said, sheepishly. He brushed off the back of his head, shoulders hunching in embarrassment. “I’m well-aware. Gods, it’s my head,” he gave a self-depreciating laugh.

And for some reason, Jason felt compelled to assure him. But also tease him first.

He did neither.

Tim took his silence as a sign to continue with his speech, “Well, I was panicking when I heard Dad—

There it is again. Jason shuddered upon hearing that.

“—got into an accident, and then you showed up. And well,” he sighed. He paused, looking at his hands and then at Jason and then to Bruce—eyes glazing over Bruce. He softly reached for Bruce’s left hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

It’s honestly a touching gesture, Jason noted.

The brief reprise didn’t last long, though, because Tim was already back at his hyper self again, barring down question after question at Jason. “How did you come back? Cause’ afaik you’re super dead.”

Jason squinted his eyes. “Afaik? What the hell is afaik?”

Tim shrugged, like it was common knowledge. “As far as I know.”

Jason rolled his eyes. It’s obviously not so common if he doesn’t know it, is it? He crossed his eyes and went back to glaring at Tim.

Tim stared at him for a second before flinching. “Wait, did Dad know?”

Jason doesn’t have an answer to that.

Tim groaned. He bowed his head and massaged his head, “Oh crap. I’m definitely getting demoted.”

Jason was beyond exhausted. He had given up trying to understand Tim and whatever it is that’s happening in his head. “What?” Just once, he wished Tim could just explain his thoughts in plain simple words.

“I mean, obviously, we can’t both be Robin, right?”

Jason’s eyes widened. And suddenly everything made sense. Fuck, no wonder he dodged the bullet—embarrassingly, that has been his first thought. What follows was—“Where’s Dick by the way?” he had been hoping to see Dick at the hospital. At least, he can talk better to the doctors. They had been too intimidated with his appearance and brooding nature to answer without stuttering.

The question downed Tim’s mood. “Uh…” he looked at the side, playing a bit with the railing of their (we’re just accepting this now?!) father’s bed. “Alfred’s calling him now.”

“He’s not in the Manor?” Jason asked, concerned.

Tim, who had been so enthralled by Jason’s presence before, now couldn’t look him straight in the eyes. “Well, uh…this is awkward. But after your death, he and Bruce—well. It hadn’t been pretty. And it ended with Dick going to Bludhaven, just to have some peace.”

Jason swallowed. He felt saddened by the thought; bile starts to form at his chest. “Damn.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah—it, it was bad. Like super bad.”

Jason couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it. Why else would he spent years alone and unwanted, isolated from the world just because he was an anomaly—a young boy taken by a madman’s hand and then thrown guiltily into a boiling lake of sin? Why else would he held on to his anger just so he can drag his body back to Gotham and prove to his father what he had failed to do? Why else would he plan his return just so he can take revenge?

Are all of his sacrifices for nothing? Are all of it for nothing? He looked back at Tim.

Tim flinched.

He must’ve read the turmoil inside Jason from his eyes alone. “But it’s never that ‘bad enough’ to actually go after Joker, huh?” he said, sarcastically.

He didn’t know if it was the sarcastic tone or the statement itself that shook his self-proclaimed ‘brother’, but Tim suddenly gasped—which irritated Jason so much. He rolled his eyes, “What? You didn’t know that Joker’s the one who killed me?”

Tim swallowed. “I know that—but—”

Jason snapped.

“But what?!” he all but screamed at Tim’s face. How fucking dare he?! Walking into this room—calling Bruce his fucking dad—and then having the audacity to rattle Jason’s world with his gasp and stupid replies, making it seem like Jason’s the one who doesn’t understand the implication of his death, as if Jason’s the one that is blinded with everything that is happening to the City, as if Jason’s the one who doesn’t know Bruce intimately.

Well fuck him. He had been Bruce’s son and Batman’s Robin long before he stepped foot into the Manor. Jason earned his keep. He earned his place at Bruce’s side, and he doesn’t fucking like the idea of being challenged for it.

He knew where he stood. He knew what prevented Bruce from going after Joker. And even though it fucking pains him to speak those words out-loud, he’ll do so if it means it’ll shut up this—fucking replacement—up. “I know Dad doesn’t love me enough to avenge me—” and hadn’t that been the sole reason why he’s even here anyway? Why was he trying to ingrate himself deep into the city’s underworld? “—Had he—” Jason choked when the thought suddenly came into him. He looked down at his father, at the way his chest softly comes up and down, at his eyes which were still closed—he looked so peaceful. He looked…

In an alternate universe, he was the one who ended up caught in the crossfire. In a different reality, Jason had been stronger, Batman had been faster, and Bruce was the one who paid the price.

Jason could feel the grief of his alternate self as if it was his own. And for a brief respite, his father’s slumber looked like permanent death in his eyes.

After the pain comes the anger. “Had he been the one who went into the warehouse and got killed—” he looked up, and he knew that Tim could see the madness swirling in his gaze, “—nothing in this godforsaken hellhole could stop me from slicing that bastard’s throat!” the bedside railing rattled slightly from the way he clenched them tight.

Despite it all, Tim merely stared at him. “Dude…are you serious?”

Jason glared. “Fuck you. Are you going to start preaching about his so-called moral compass? Because I had that memorized.”

“No!” Tim looked rattled, but even so, he looked concerned. “I’m not—wait, there’s a manual?”

Jason just stared at him. “Are you on drugs?”

It took time for Tim to react, which concerned Jason, but he did flinch back as if Jason slapped him. “Of course not! What I mean—why do I keep getting sidetrack anyway?!” he slapped both of his cheeks then took a deep breath, and turned to Jason, his eyes more serious, “I meant to say. Dad did try.”

“What—?” the fuck?

Tim sighed, as if he’s about to start a graduation speech. “I said he did try. When I said that it had been bad, I meant it. You hadn’t been there. He had closed off to everyone. Dick tried—and look where he’s now—and even Alfred couldn’t get to him. And I—” he looked away and glanced at Bruce instead. A deep frown appears on his face, and he looked…so devastated, as if he’s relieving a nightmare, “He went after Joker. He had been so closed, you have to understand how…that was…” he grew silence, seemingly chocking on his own words.

And then his eyes returned to Jason.

And they looked so haunted that it sent a shiver down his spine.

“It broke him, Jason. Your death broke Batman,” he said, words feeling like dagger stabbing Jason repeatedly, “Joker didn’t just kill you. He killed Bruce too.”

Fuck.

Jason felt like he was gutted alive. He felt the air sucked out from his chest as the world seemingly lost its balance. Suddenly, time stopped just for him. There’s a loud buzz in his ears and it’s deafening him.

He could feel the frost at the tips of his hands, as if he had been digging in snow for several hours. He could feel the cold air wrapping around him, as if he had been pulled back into that night. There was only the deafening silence. He could see the warehouse at the distance, and he revered the motorcycle against reason, speeding into the night without care on his safety. He just needs to be there—he just needs to reach him—he needs to save—

He could hear his father’s voice calling for him, “ROBIN! JASON!” , and echoing around him. He could hear the fear in that voice, the silent plea for Heaven to please don’t let me be too late.

He could see the tragedy play so clearly in his head.

Bruce’s grief echoed inside him.

It aches.

But then—a soft groan pulled him back from the memory.

Jason and Tim’s eyes both turned to their father, who was slowly waking up. Before Jason could so much as blink once more, Tim turned towards him, “I’ll—”

Jason stared back.

Tim blinked before swallowing. He softly touched Bruce’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll get us some coffee,” he gave a short squeeze before turning to Jason and giving him a brief nod. “Take care of him.”

Jason’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, Tim quickly made his way out. Jason’s eyes followed him.

Bruce groaned. “W…where am I?”

There was silence.

Jason swallowed and turned back to him. He tried to flatten the shaking in his voice, “Gotham…City Hospital.”

Bruce looked like he had seen a ghost. “Jas—what?” His eyes were blown so wide as it stared straight at Jason. His mouth opened and closed like a fish flicked out of the water.

Jason gave a brief smile. “Uh—hi?”

Bruce forcefully closed his eyes. He bowed his head and suddenly began to count one to ten. The heart monitor suddenly spiked, its alarming noise echoing so loudly around the room mixing with Bruce’s breath which suddenly got labored. “This is not real. This is not real,” he said, like a mantra he practiced before.

Jason stood in alarm. He went towards his father, wanting to touch him to stabilize him when—

Bruce flinched back from it, as if Jason’s hand burnt him.

Jason frowned. And pulled back his hand.

Of course.

But the heart monitor’s alarm kept on blaring and Bruce kept on repeating the mantra, louder and louder as the seconds flew back.

Jason knew that at any moment now the doctors would come knocking to the room, alerted by the abnormality in Bruce’s heart monitor. It’s normal for a patient to feel panicked when he wakes up after an accident, doesn’t it? What’s abnormal is for a patient to wake up alone in a room with a son he thought was lost forever.

He swallowed. And pushed back all the hesitation away from his mind.

With new-found courage, he took a leap and grabbed Bruce’s hand, gripping it tightly as his father struggled against the sudden force.

“Dad—look at me!” he screamed.

Bruce began to hyperventilate.

Jason groaned. He shook his father’s hand and gripped it tighter.

But Bruce’s anxious state didn’t change.

Running out of option and time, Jason then tugged his father’s hand and placed it directly next to his heart. “I’m here—”

The sensation must’ve reached Bruce better than Jason’s earlier feeble assurance, because Bruce looked up. His face was wet, and his eyes were red with tears. He looked so lost, “What?”

The look of his father’s grieving face broke a tiny piece in Jason’s heart. He gave a soft smile. “I’m here Dad.”

Something rattled in Bruce. Suddenly, he tugged Jason closer. His hands were suddenly on either side of Jason’s face, seemingly seeking the warmth of it. His eyes still held doubt, but there’s a growing smile on his face. “Jason?”

Jason nodded, pleading with his father to understand.

Bruce’s smile widened. But his tears didn’t stop. “Jason?” he repeated.

Once again, Jason nodded.

Bruce’s eyes wrinkled in a soft smile. “Jason!” he called once again. His touch became frantic. On Jason’s face, and to his neck, and to his arms. “Jason!” he repeated the name, like it was something he needed to say in order to breath.

Ever the loving son, Jason nodded again. “I’m here.”

Bruce gave him one more look before pulling Jason into his embrace. He hugged him tight, burying his face into his son’s neck.

Jason smiled. Tears began to form in his eyes. He buried his head in his father’s shoulder, in a weak attempt to shield his weakness away from the world. He hugged his father tighter, afraid of letting go.

“Jason?” Bruce whispered once more.

His lost son, now back home, answered—

“I’m here.”