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Chapter Text

The fire swallowed the building in a rage of orange and black, thick smoke curling around steel beams and shattering glass. The exits were blocked. The Batkids on the other side.

And Joker stood in front of Bruce, grinning.

"You know," Joker mused, tilting his head. "I really expected company. You Bats are never alone. But look at you. so very, very alone."

Bruce didn’t answer. He was already scanning the exits, the structure, the ceiling above him. anything that could buy time until the others broke through.

Static crackled in his ear.

"—Batman, are you there?—"

Dick.

"B, respond!" Tim.

Bruce exhaled sharply. He didn’t want to say the words.

"I’m alone with him."

A moment of silence.

Then, Jason’s voice, taut with anger. "We’re getting in there. Just hold on."

Joker clicked his tongue, rocking on his heels. "Oh, I don’t think they’ll make it in time, Brucie. That fire’s hungry. It’s gonna eat the whole place up before they can do anything about it. So how about we speed things along, huh?"

He flicked open a knife and bruce braced himself.

The fight was brutal. Not like their usual cat and mouse games. This wasn’t a battle of wits or an elaborate scheme. it was just Joker, swinging wild, the heat of the fire making everything hazy, his laughter like nails on glass.

Bruce blocked a stab to his ribs, twisted Joker’s wrist, forced him back. The floor trembled beneath them.

"Batman—"

He couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe.

Another strike. Another dodge. Then the ground beneath them gave way.

Bruce crashed hard, air knocked from his lungs. His limbs felt slow, sluggish. he was losing oxygen, the smoke clawing at his throat. Joker cackled from somewhere in the haze.

"Not looking too good there, Batsy!"

"Father, we're almost there!" Damian.

Bruce clenched his jaw. They’re coming. He had to hold on. He had to—

The knife buried itself in his side.

His vision blurred, blood warm against his suit.

Joker twisted the blade and whispered, "See you at the end of the road, Bats."

Bruce collapsed.

The last thing he heard before the world slipped away was the sound of his kids breaking through the flames.

———

The comms had gone silent.

That was the worst part. Not the fire, not the collapsing steel, not even the knowledge that Joker was in there with Bruce.

It was the silence.

"Father!—" Damian’s voice was sharp, nearly panicked. No response.

"Batman, answer!" Dick again, urgency cracking through his voice.

Nothing.

Jason’s fists clenched as he stared at the inferno swallowing the building. The flames roared, mocking them, blocking every damn entrance.

They had been seconds too late.

If they had moved faster. If they had cleared the civilians quicker. If they had been there.

"He’s still alive." Tim’s voice was measured, forced steady. "He has to be."

"We need another way in," Cass cut in, her voice tight. "There’s no time."

Jason’s jaw locked. No. There wasn’t.

Joker was in there.

And Bruce was alone.

Jason turned to the others, his heart pounding. "We’re not waiting for the fire department. If we don’t get in there now, we’re dragging out a corpse."

Dick flinched, but he didn’t argue.

The building groaned, another section of the upper floors crumbling. Sparks burst through broken windows, glass shattering as heat warped steel.

Jason’s lungs burned, but not from the smoke. From the sheer, helpless frustration boiling in his chest.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Bruce always made it out.

Bruce always—

"Nightwing!"

Oracle's voice cut through the panic. "There’s a maintenance tunnel under the south wing!"

Cass was already moving. Jason bolted after her, boots slamming against the pavement. The others followed, moving on instinct, running on desperation.

It wasn’t much.

But it was a way in.

And they were going to take it.

No matter what.

———

The maintenance tunnel led them into hell.

Flames licked the walls, the heat pressing down like a living thing, warping metal, turning concrete brittle. Smoke coiled thick in the air, but the Batfamily barely noticed. gas masks filtering out the worst of it.

Bruce didn’t have that luxury.

Jason pushed ahead, ignoring the crumbling debris around them. He could hear Dick calling his name, but it didn’t matter.

They were too late.

Because there he was.

Bruce was slumped on the ground, a knife buried in his side, his mask gone, black soot streaked across his face, his lips slightly parted like he had tried to breathe but couldn’t.

Joker was nowhere to be seen.

Bruce wasn’t moving.

Jason dropped to his knees so fast he didn’t even register it, his hands hovering, unsure where to touch. Bruce’s chest barely moved.

He wrenched off his glove, pressed two fingers against Bruce’s throat. His pulse was there— weak, too weak—but he was still alive.

"Get the knife out," Tim ordered, already moving to stabilize Bruce’s head. "We need to him with gauze."

Jason didn’t hesitate.

The second the blade was gone, Cass pressed gauze to the wound, applying pressure while Tim wrapped Bruce’s ribs.

"We need to move."

That was Dick, his voice sharp, cracking under strain. The building wasn’t going to hold.

Jason hooked his arms under Bruce’s shoulders. "I’ve got him—"

Bruce suddenly twitched, a hoarse sound leaving his throat as he tried to breathe, tried to speak before his body went limp once more.

Jason’s grip tightened.

He could feel Bruce’s pulse getting slower.

He clenched his jaw, lifting Bruce fully, ignoring how his own hands were shaking. "Let’s go."

———

Jason could feel Bruce’s weight shifting in his arms.

He was too still.

"He’s not breathing!"

Tim’s voice cut through the chaos.

Jason cursed under his breath, but he didn’t stop moving. They were barely holding it together as it was. the walls groaning, another section of the ceiling caving in behind them. Flames surged, twisting and roaring like they were alive.

If they stopped now, they wouldn’t get out.

But if they didn’t do something—

Bruce was going to die.

"We need to clear his airway!" Tim shouted. "Jason, set him down—"

"Not here!" Jason snapped. "We have to keep moving!"

They couldn’t stop now.

Every second stretched too long, too unbearable, Bruce’s weight pressing heavier against Jason’s arms as each moment passed without him breathing.

Then the fire lashed out.

A beam collapsed, sending sparks and debris crashing down. The force of it slammed into Jason’s side, knocking him off balance.

Bruce nearly slipped from his grip.

"I’ve got him!"

Dick caught Bruce before Jason could hit the ground.

They didn’t have time to check for injuries. Jason pushed himself up, ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs, and reached for Bruce again—

Only to see his head loll back, his face pale beneath the soot.

His chest wasn’t moving.

Jason’s stomach turned.

"Hurry!"

They weren’t going to make it.

Bruce wasn’t going to make it.

The fire didn’t care. It kept burning, eating everything whole, chasing them like it knew they were already too late.

Then—

Light.

Fresh air.

The exit.

They burst through the doors, into the cold night, into freedom none of them felt. 

Not when their dad still wasn’t breathing.

They hit the pavement. Jason barely registered someone shouting for him to move, hands shoving him aside as cass dropped to her knees next to Bruce, fingers already pressing into his throat.

Checking for a pulse.

Checking for—

Jason didn’t breathe.

None of them did.

Then—

"No pulse."

And the world collapsed again.

———

The words shattered something in Jason’s chest.

For a second, none of them moved.

The fire behind them still raged, sirens wailed in the distance, but the world felt silent.

Bruce wasn’t breathing. His body lay limp on the pavement, smoke curling from the edges of his torn suit, his face slack, too still, too pale.

Jason’s heart pounded, his own breaths too loud in his ears.

Cass’ hands clenched into fists. Tim looked frozen, staring at Bruce like he could force him to wake up through sheer will. 

Dick’s hand was still pressed against Bruce’s throat, his jaw tight, his entire body locked up like a wire pulled too tense.

Jason had never seen him like this.

Not even when Bruce had been lost in time.

Not even when they thought he was dead before.

Because this, this was real.

Bruce was right there in front of them, lifeless, unmoving, with nothing in between them but the seconds ticking by too fast.

Dick’s hand curled into the fabric of Bruce’s suit.

"No, no, no—"

It was barely a whisper, but Jason heard it.

"Somebody do something!"

Damian's voice cracked, and it was enough.

Enough to snap them all back into motion.

Dick jolted, his hesitation gone. "Tim, get the cowl off, Jason, help me with compressions."

And just like that, the fight wasn’t over.

Bruce wasn’t gone.

Not yet.

Jason shoved his fear down.

They had work to do.

———

He dropped to his knees, pressing his hands over Bruce’s chest. Dick took position beside him, fingers already tilting Bruce’s head back as Tim ripped the remains of his cowl off, exposing his pale face to the cold air.

Jason locked his elbows and pressed down.

His mind barely registered the count. His body knew the rhythm, knew exactly how much force to use, how deep to push.

He had done this before.

But not to him.

Not to Bruce.

"Breathe, old man."

Dick gave two breaths. Jason pressed down again.

"Come on—"

He didn’t realize he was shaking. Didn’t realize his own breathing was coming too fast, too sharp, until Cass rested a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off.

"Again."

Bruce’s body rocked beneath his hands, lifeless.

His ribs should have protested by now.

His chest should have moved on its own.

"Dammit, Bruce!" Dick’s voice broke. "You promised."

Jason froze.

He did.

Bruce had promised.

"If I ever have to face him alone, I’ll come home."

That had been years ago. Some night when Gotham had been quiet for once, when Bruce had actually sat down, looked them all in the eyes, and said—

"I’ll come home."

Jason’s vision blurred.

Bruce wasn’t moving.

He wasn’t breathing.

They had done everything right, everything they were supposed to.

And it still wasn’t enough.

The rhythm of compressions faltered.

Jason’s hands trembled as he pressed down again, harder, desperate, furious, begging—

"Come on, you bastard, just—just—"

But Bruce didn’t wake up.

He didn’t come home.

———

Jason’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t stop.

He pressed down again, too hard this time. He felt the give in Bruce’s ribs, the unnatural movement beneath his palms.

But Bruce didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t breathe.

The world around them blurred. Sirens wailing in the distance, the heat of the burning building at their backs. But it didn’t matter.

Because Bruce was still here, but he wasn’t coming back.

"Jason—"

Dick’s voice. Raw. Unsteady.

Jason ignored him.

He couldn’t stop.

"One more— just one more cycle, he just needs a little longer—"

"Brother."

A hand wrapped around his wrist.

Firm. Steady.

Jason’s breath caught.

Cass.

She was kneeling beside him now, her eyes dark and unreadable, but her grip was gentle. Final.

Jason tried to jerk away.

He wasn’t done.

They weren’t done.

"He’s not gone— he’s—"

But Cass shook her head.

And Jason saw it.

Saw the way Dick had gone still, his head bowed, his shoulders hunched like the weight of the world had finally broken him.

Saw the way Tim sat frozen, hands curled in his lap, not even trying to wipe away the tears streaking his soot covered face.

Saw Damian bite her lip so hard it bled, his shoulders shaking.

His hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, his expression empty in that way that meant he was feeling too much but didn’t know how to hold it in.

Jason felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Bruce was gone.

This was it.

This was—

"No."

The word ripped itself from his throat before he could stop it.

His body moved on instinct. His hands were back on Bruce’s chest, pressing down, again, again, again—

"Jason—!"

Hands grabbed him, pulled him away.

Jason struggled, fought against them. he had to fix this, had to—

"Let go!"

"Jay, stop— stop, we—" Dick’s voice cracked. "We can’t—"

Jason wrenched himself free.

Bruce lay where they had left him.

Still.

Unmoving.

Jason’s vision blurred.

"No."

He didn’t know if he said it out loud.

Didn’t know if it mattered.

Bruce wasn’t supposed to die.

Not like this.

Not alone.

Not when he had promised—

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

A promise didn’t mean anything if it wasn’t kept.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that came with sleep or peace.

No.

It was the kind of quiet that ached.

The kind that settled into the walls, into the very foundation of the house itself, stretching into every empty hallway, every untouched room.

The kind that felt wrong.

Jason hated it.

A week had passed since that night.

Since the fire.

Since Bruce—

Jason exhaled sharply, gripping the railing of the grand staircase so hard his knuckles went white.

He couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t think about it.

Not when every inch of this place still felt like Bruce.

His stupid overstuffed armchair by the fireplace.

His untouched cup of coffee, still sitting on the side table in the study that no one bothered to clean, the surface long since gone cold.

The faint, lingering scent of leather and aftershave in the halls.

Bruce was everywhere.

And he was nowhere.

Jason clenched his jaw.

The others weren’t handling it any better.

Dick was trying— God, he was trying— but Jason could see the cracks forming every time he forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Tim had buried himself in work, disappearing into the Cave for hours at a time, but the dark circles under his eyes and the tremor in his hands betrayed him.

Cass hovered.

Damian hadn’t spoken in days.

And Jason didn’t know how to fix it.

Didn’t know if he could.

Didn’t know if any of them could.

Because Bruce was gone.

———

Jason’s hands were raw.

His nails caked with dirt, his arms aching from the weight of the shovel as he drove it into the earth over and over again.

The grave was open now.

Bruce’s casket lay beneath him, the final barrier between death and the insanity Jason was about to commit.

His breath came ragged, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts. His body trembled from the cold night air. Or maybe it was from something deeper, something clawing at his ribs from the inside out.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this.

Bruce would—

Bruce would hate him for this.

Jason let out a shaking breath, gripping the edges of the casket.

"Don't be mad, old man," he whispered, voice barely audible over the wind. "I just— I just can't do this anymore. I can't—"

His voice broke.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

This was wrong.

This was so wrong.

But he couldn't keep waking up every day to the suffocating silence of the Manor.

Couldn't stand seeing the light in Dick’s eyes dim, watching Tim unravel thread by thread, seeing Damian— Damian, who had lost so much already, retreat into himself more and more each day.

He couldn't keep doing this.

Couldn't keep living in a world where Bruce wasn't there to guide them.

Jason swallowed hard.

He had already cleared the path.

The Lazarus Pit beneath the Manor, the one Bruce had locked away long ago, was waiting.

All he had to do was carry him down.

Jason sucked in a breath and forced the casket open.

Bruce was—

He looked the same.

Like he was asleep.

Like he’d wake up at any second, let out that deep, weary sigh of his, and tell Jason to stop being stupid.

Jason let out a broken laugh, wiping his face with the back of his hand.

He reached down, fingers curling beneath Bruce’s shoulders, and lifted.

———

Jason’s breathing was harsh, his muscles screaming from the effort of carrying Bruce’s body through the winding tunnels beneath Wayne Manor.

The path to the Lazarus Pit was long-forgotten, sealed away, but Jason had found it.

Because, of course, he had.

Bruce had locked it up after Jason came back. After he saw what the Pit did to him.

After he saw what Jason had become.

Jason’s fingers trembled as he shifted Bruce’s weight in his arms.

Bruce would have never wanted this.

He would’ve fought Jason on it. Would’ve begged him to stop for even thinking about it.

But Bruce wasn’t here to stop him.

And Jason was too far gone to care.

The Pit shimmered before him, glowing a sickly, unnatural green.

Jason had seen it before.

Had felt it before.

The water still stank of something old and wrong, a sharp, burning scent that reminded him of resurrection and rage, of waking up in a coffin, lungs screaming for air.

Jason took a breath and stepped forward.

The water lapped at Bruce’s body, tendrils of glowing green curling around his limbs like hungry fingers, sinking him deeper and deeper.

Jason clenched his jaw.

“Come back,” he whispered. “Please.”

The water bubbled.

Then—

“JASON!”

The voice echoed off the cavern walls, and Jason barely had time to turn before a force slammed into him, sending him flying.

He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring through his bones.

His ears rang.

The world spun.

And when he lifted his head, he saw—

Dick.

Tim.

Cass.

Damian.

They were all there, panting, gasping for breath, eyes wide with horror.

Jason’s heart hammered in his chest.

Dick stepped forward first, his entire body shaking, fists clenched.

“Tell me,” Dick’s voice cracked, “that you didn’t.”

Jason swallowed, his throat tight, dry.

Tim's face was pale, his breathing uneven.

Cass was staring at the Pit.

Damian’s hands were clenched at his sides.

Jason turned, his stomach twisting as he looked back at the glowing water.

Bruce’s body had disappeared beneath the surface.

And the Pit was roaring.

———

The green glow deepened, turning darker, angrier, tendrils of energy crackling across the surface like lightning.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat.

Bruce was in there.

And there was no taking it back.

‘Tell me you didn’t.’

Dick’s voice rang in his ears, thick with disbelief, with rage. But Jason couldn’t look at him.

Couldn’t look at any of them.

Not when the water was shaking.

Not when the Pit had already taken Bruce.

"You absolute idiot—" Tim’s voice was sharp, cracking at the edges. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Jason knew.

Of course he knew.

But what the hell was he supposed to do? Just leave Bruce in the ground? Let him rot while the rest of them tore themselves apart?

Jason’s hands curled into fists.

"He’s coming back." The words felt hollow in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway. "He— he has to."

The Pit gave a sudden, violent lurch, a wave of molten green splashing onto the cavern floor.

Cass moved first, stepping back swiftly, pulling Tim with her.

Damian still hadn't said a word.

Jason could feel him staring.

"He wouldn't have wanted this."

The words were quiet.

Flat.

But they hit Jason harder than any punch ever could.

Jason’s throat tightened.

"Shut up."

Damian didn't flinch.

"You think I don’t want him back?" Damian’s voice was like steel, barely holding together, barely keeping from breaking. "You think I wouldn’t trade everything to undo it?"

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

He knew. 

But none of that mattered anymore.

Because the Pit—

The Pit was screaming.

———

A hand shot out from the water.

Grasping, clawing.

And the world stopped. 

The hand clawed at the edge of the Pit.

It was pale, shaking fingers gripping the stone hard enough that Jason swore he could hear the crack of bone against rock.

Jason’s heart slammed against his ribs.

"Bruce."

The water exploded.

Bruce came surging out of the Pit, gasping, choking, his body wracked with violent tremors as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

Jason staggered forward, instinct driving him to help, to grab him, to hold him up, to—

"Stay back!"

Dick’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate.

Jason hesitated, his pulse hammering, but—

Bruce wasn’t moving.

Not attacking.

Not screaming like Jason had when he first came back, lost in blind, seething rage.

No.

Bruce was shaking.

His breath came in ragged, unsteady gasps, his limbs trembling under his own weight as he tried to push himself up.

Jason’s chest ached.

“Bruce?” His own voice felt small.

Bruce’s fingers curled against the stone.

His arms strained as he lifted his head, slowly, like even moving hurt.

Jason sucked in a breath.

Bruce’s eyes—

They weren’t glowing.

No unnatural green, no Lazarus-fueled rage.

Just blue.

Clear. Sharp. Familiar.

But there was something else, something Jason hadn't expected.

Bruce looked at him and Jason felt his stomach drop.

Because Bruce wasn’t angry.

Wasn’t furious or betrayed or anything Jason had spent the last week convincing himself he’d be.

He just looked Worried.

Confused.

His brow furrowed as he glanced at Jason, then at Dick, Tim, Cass and finally, Damian.

"What... happened?" Bruce's voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Jason's throat went dry.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

Bruce wasn’t supposed to wake up like this.

He was supposed to be wrong. Twisted.

Supposed to scream and break things.

Supposed to prove them right— prove that Jason had screwed up—

But instead—

Bruce just looked at them all, his expression filled with something awful.

Something softer.

"Why?"

Jason felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs.

Bruce's gaze landed on him, and Jason suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Why did you do this?”

———

Jason couldn’t breathe.

Bruce was looking at him with that same soft, steady expression he always had when Jason was breaking apart and trying to pretend he wasn’t.

Like Jason was still that street kid with trust issues standing in the Manor’s hallways with blood on his knuckles and too many words stuck in his throat.

Like Bruce knew.

Like he always knew.

"Why did you do this?"

The words echoed in Jason’s skull, cracking something deep inside him.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

That he had watched Bruce die in his arms, choking on his last breath?

That they had tried to let him go, tried to be strong like Bruce would’ve wanted, but they couldn’t?

That he couldn’t wake up in that empty house anymore, knowing Bruce wasn’t coming back?

Jason’s breath hitched.

His body trembled.

And Something inside him snapped.

The first sob tore itself from his throat so suddenly it hurt.

And then another.

And another.

And Jason was shaking, gasping, knees hitting the stone floor as the weight of everything came crashing down.

"I—" His voice broke.

He sucked in a breath, tried again, but it still came out shattered, raw.

"I couldn't— I couldn't do it, B," Jason rasped, shoulders shaking. "I tried, I— I swear, I tried, but—"

His fingers curled against the stone, gripping nothing.

"But I couldn't live without you."

It was the truth.

All of it.

Ugly, desperate, and real.

"I couldn’t—" Jason let out a choked, broken sound, pressing his forehead against the ground. "I just—"

A hand touched his shoulder.

Solid. Warm.

Jason sucked in a sharp breath.

Bruce.

Jason blinked hard, his vision swimming, but Bruce was there. Kneeling in front of him, body trembling from the Pit’s lingering effects, but there.

Still him.

Still Bruce.

Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I— I know you didn’t want this, I know—”

Bruce’s grip tightened.

And for the first time since that awful, burning night, Jason felt like he could breathe.

———

Bruce's body ached.

Every muscle burned, his limbs heavy and sluggish like he was still sinking in the Lazarus waters. The Pit’s aftereffects clung to him, the edges of his mind hazy, but—

But he was alive.

He shouldn’t be.

The last thing he remembered was the fire. The heat. Joker.

The promise he'd made, to fight, to survive, to come home.

And then Nothing.

Only darkness.

But now he was here, kneeling on cold stone, staring at his children all standing before him like ghosts, their faces pale, eyes wide with a grief so deep it made Bruce’s stomach twist.

Jason—

Jason was sobbing.

Jason, who never let himself break, never let himself need, was on his knees, shaking, his voice cracking under the weight of something awful and desperate.

His breath caught in his throat.

Jason had done this.

Had dragged him from the grave.

Had carried his body down here, past the seals Bruce had put in place, and thrown him into the Pit.

Because he couldn’t let him go.

Bruce felt something deep in his chest ache.

He should be furious.

Should be lecturing Jason, shaking him, telling him exactly how reckless and dangerous this was.

But all he could feel was grief.

Because Jasonx his son, his angry, stubborn, hurting son, had been here before.

He had been the one in the grave.

And Bruce hadn’t saved him.

Bruce hadn’t been there.

And maybe, just maybe, Jason had spent every day since then waiting for Bruce to do the same.

Bruce swallowed hard, his throat dry.

His body ached, exhaustion seeping into his bones, but he forced himself to move, to reach out.

Bruce pulled him close, arms wrapping around him, ignoring the screaming protests in his limbs.

Jason stiffened Before collapsing against Bruce, fists clenching into his shirt, face buried in his shoulder as sobs wracked through him, uncontrollable.

Bruce held on tighter.

"I'm here." The words were rough, hoarse. "I'm here, jaylad."

A promise.

A reassurance.

A truth.

For however long he had, however long this unnatural resurrection allowed, 

He would be here.

———

Bruce didn’t know how long he held Jason.

Minutes. Hours. A lifetime.

Jason's sobs had quieted, but he was still clinging, fingers digging into Bruce’s back like if he let go, Bruce would disappear again.

Bruce let him.

He didn’t rush him, didn’t try to move. Just stayed there, held him close, and ran a hand over Jason’s back like he could somehow ease the years of grief he had carried alone.

Jason wasn’t the only one who needed it.

Bruce had died.

He had died.

And now he was here, kneeling on the stone floor, heart still beating, surrounded by his family.

When he finally lifted his head, he saw them.

His other children.

Dick, his strong, steady son, was barely keeping himself upright, hands shaking at his sides, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

Tim was still frozen, like he hadn’t fully processed what had just happened, his face pale with something that looked close to shock.

Cass stood beside him, her expression carefully blank, but Bruce knew her. Knew how she curled in on herself when she was overwhelmed.

And Damian had stepped back, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, shoulders trembling like he was holding himself together by force.

Bruce’s chest ached.

They had all thought he was gone.

They had all mourned him.

"Come here," Bruce rasped, voice rough but warm.

For a moment, no one moved.

Dick let out a shaky breath and stepped forward first, dropping to his knees and pulling Bruce in tight, arms wrapped around him like he was afraid to let go.

Tim followed, hesitant at first but collapsing against Bruce the second he touched him.

Cass wrapped her arms around them both, silent, but her grip was firm, steady.

Bruce turned his head, gaze landing on Damian.

His youngest stood stiff, watching him, expression unreadable.

Bruce didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

Because after a long, shaking breath, Damian finally moved.

And the second Bruce opened his arms, Damian rushed forward, pressing his face into Bruce’s shoulder, gripping his shirt in small, tight fists like he was afraid Bruce would slip through his fingers.

Bruce held them all.

Tightly. Desperately.

———

The group hug was clumsy, crowded, bodies pressing against bodies and the Lazarus water still dripping from Bruce’s clothes. But none of that mattered.

Bruce was surrounded by all of them. Alive. Warm. Holding on so tightly he could barely breathe.

And Bruce held them all.

He needed to.

More than he needed answers. More than he needed to scold Jason for what he’d done. More than he needed to question why fate had allowed this.

Right now, none of that mattered.

They were together.

And Bruce knew, without doubt, that whatever time he had left, whether it was years or days or just one fleeting moment, he would spend it with them.

He closed his eyes, his voice hoarse but steady.

"I came home."