Work Text:
Slam!
“Jay, wait-”
“Jason, come on, he didn- Jason, please.”
The sound of angry footsteps echoing up the main staircase and towards where Bruce knew Jason’s bedroom to be, accompanied by the frantic shouting, destroyed his illusion of a peaceful night in an instant. Bruce could hear quieter footsteps which he was able to pinpoint as Tim’s chasing after Jason, as his eldest entered the room, holding tightly to the back of his youngest’s shirt.
“I do not understand, it is not as if Todd is subtle about-”
“Damian that does not give you the right to-”
“I was merely stating a fact-”
“You KNOW that-”
“BOYS.” Forsaking any hope of a quiet night in at all, the Bat stood, watching Damian’s expression grow more withdrawn as he looked up at him. He sighed, preparing myself for whatever story he was about to hear. “Explain. Now.”
After a few moments of silence, and a pointed look from Dick, Damian spoke up.
“We were consuming food from a street vendor Todd frequents, and Todd, as usual, could not stop talking. He made a joke at my expense, and I was not going to take that from an inferior robin-” Bruce noted that piece of information, as these days, Damian doesn’t usually rely on the elitist mindset he was taught in the league unless truly bothered by something, “-and I retaliated with information I know to be true about him.”
The gears in his head began to spin inhumanly quickly. He knows there is a lot from his childhood Jason is not afraid to talk about, but there is also a lot which he refuses to mention. He filed through what he knew, trying to discern what would have set him off to this extent. It isn’t like Jason to hide away, his anger usually manifesting by lashing out at those around him to deflect what’s truly hurt him. There is always the chance it was something intended to be small, taken the wrong way by his traumatized and volatile second son, but based on the reactions of the others, he assumed it was something blatantly uncalled for.
“Which was?” Another beat of silence. Then another. Bruce looked to Dick, hoping to get more answers out of his eldest, and his expression softened from the irritated look he had been wearing since they walked in.
“Damian, go back to your room. I need to talk to Bruce privately.” Damian opened his mouth for a moment, as if to say something, and then hurried off, most likely worried about the wrath he could receive if he stayed.
However, the oldest’s hesitance surprised him even more - what could have been said that it warranted this much of a reaction? Something about Jason’s mom? His death? Dick, sensing Bruce’s confusion, let out a breath and sat down on the couch next to his armchair, prompting the bat to sit again.
“Chum, what did he say?”
“Damian… made a comment about Jason’s time on the streets.” Taken aback, Bruce refocused his hypothesis about the comment that could’ve been said. Jason, while not proud of his time as a thief, acknowledges it as something that he needed to do, and he couldn’t see how violence would cause this reaction, so what else-
Oh. Oh .
He knew both himself and Dick had regrets when it came to handling those parts of Jason’s life.
He hadn’t even realized until an unsavory incident at a party, when he had to comfort his son after some unwanted looks, and words, which caused him to (justifiably) act out. It took him even longer to decipher that, after Jay had a nightmare about the situation and refused to go to Alfred or him for comfort, that he had expected Bruce to treat him like every other wealthy man who picked him up from the alley ( “Of course not, Jaylad, you’ll always be safe with me.” )
Dick’s regrets didn’t take the form of direct fear, instead of a sense of cruel replaceability he possessed as a teenager causing him to ignore and rebuff jason constantly, turning Jason away when he complained about leers and unwanted attention at galas ( “We all have to deal with it, Jay, you’ll get used to it.”)
Even when their relationship had mended as Jason grew, and forgave Dick after numerous apologies (and one punch to an especially disgusting senator, which, while a PR nightmare, Bruce believed was entirely deserved,) it was clear the acrobat had never truly forgiven himself for the way he first treated Jason, especially after his death, and it was obvious in his cautious but consistent attempts to connect with Jason now, inviting him to patrol and dinners and movie nights.
However they both knew, like many of Jason’s other triggers, that an off-handed comment can leave him feeling at best vulnerable and at worst volatile.
Bruce, deciding that he wouldn’t truly know unless he attempted to actually speak with his son, resolved to go upstairs and aid Tim in attempting to comfort Jason. As if summoned, however, his third son walked through the door looking defeated and slumped onto the other side of the couch. After a moment, he turned to us, and plastered on a dead-eyed smile.
“At least he’s still here? With his track record, I mean, that’s a miracl-”
“Tim.” Tim cut off as Bruce called out to him, slouching further into his chair. Dick placed a light hand on his shoulder, knowing that an emotionally vulnerable Jason had hurt Tim severely before and while he didn’t like to mention it, they knew it could still affect him. The two older members of the room watched, patiently, as the younger put his thoughts together.
“I think… Tonight isn’t the only thing that could’ve recently started this, because it was- it was bad. He threw something at me when we first made it to his room, and I expected a potential fight with the pit-” add that to the long list of things Jason (and Tim) had to suffer through because Bruce didn’t notice anything was wrong, “but now he’s just… crying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jason cry outside of a nasty case of fear toxin.”
Before he could realize what was happening, Bruce was standing and making his way towards the main hall. Suddenly, as if possessed, Dick snapped his head in Bruce’s direction, his eyes practically boring into his soul.
“Do not. Fuck this up.” Bruce nodded slightly, making sure both boys knew that he understood how delicate this situation was. Walking out of the den, he overheard his oldest reassuring his third son-
"You did great helping, Babybird, Th-"
-before escaping earshot as he climbed the main stairs.
Despite his silent reassurances to Dick and Tim, as he made his way up to his emotionally damaged son, he couldn’t stop picturing all the time’s he’s said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing, failed irreparably when it comes to his wayward robin. Just outside the bedroom door, he took another breath, and reminded himself that this wasn’t about him. It was about Jason.
Before he could even knock, a hoarse voice called from inside, “B… I know you’re out there. You can-” a sniffle, “you can come in.”
Slowly, he pushed the door open, not seeing the man until his eyes trailed down, landing on his son curled into an upright ball on the ground, his head in his knees. He kneeled down in front of his boy, calling out a soft “Jay?”
When tear-filled eyes met his, he could feel his heart break.
(“I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry, B, I…”)
“Oh, sweetheart,” before he could continue, Bruce suddenly had an armful of Jason, sobbing into his shirt. Closing his arms around the boy, he placed a comforting hand on his back and let his son cry his eyes out. As the sobs began to taper off, he leaned back, raising his son’s head to meet his gaze.
“What happened, Jay?” Expecting Jason’s side of the story Dick and Damian told him, Bruce was taken aback to hear Jason say-
“The Morelli- case-” Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He knew, immediately, that something must be wrong when Jason refused to immediately turn in a report from the stakeout he’d gone on about a week ago, but Bruce had refused to push out of fear of upsetting the balance they’d fallen into recently.
He also knew that, unlike the behavior of himself or Tim, bottling up and emotionless-ly reporting was not how Jason handled a patrol gone badly, and that if something had gone wrong he needed time to absorb the situation before revisiting it analytically. So he’d given his son time, in the hopes that it was something Jason would be able to work through (maybe he’d call Arsenal, as you don’t need to be the world’s greatest detective to see how those two hang off of eachother). When the report was turned in, he’d thought it was fine. Clearly, he had been wrong.
“Jaylad? Can you tell me what happened?” After some sniffling, his son looked up at him through red-rimmed, teal eyes, and slowly spoke.
(“It wasn’t like it’s not anything I haven’t done before, and even then I was compensated-”)
“I was- staking out the main warehouse- I thought I had time because it was just a drug ring but… there were- kids. Kids they were obviously not just peddling to- and one of ‘em, a little boy, got scared, tried to leave. Scumbags don’t take kindly to no, and- he was shot. So was his friend when she tried to help him. If only I-” When Jason cut himself off with another shuddering breath, clearly holding back tears, Bruce began to put into words what he had to teach his kids, what he had to learn, throughout the many years of vigilantism.
“Jaylad, we can’t blame ourselves for everyone we miss, and it’s hard every time, but those other kids that you helped? I know it’s hard, son, but you did so well, and I’m so proud of you.” Before he’d even finished the sentence, Bruce began to worry it was too sappy - Had he been picking up mannerisms from the after-school cartoons his kids used to watch?
However, the mushy words seemed to land, as Jason dug his face into his shirt again, wrapping his arms around his dad.
(“You were a child, Jay, and what they did was wrong. Not you. You were put in an impossible situation, and I’m sorry.”)
Returning the favor, Bruce leaned down to softly add, “They’re safe Jay,” and then, after a moment, “You’re safe, son.”
(“I’ll never let them get to you, Jay, I’m so glad you’re safe. You did the right thing in there, and don’t let anyone let you think otherwise.”)
And there they were, father and son, one comforting the other when he’d once worried he’d never be able to again.
When Jason leaned up to speak to Bruce, he prepared himself to help Jay more, and then his son declared, “I’d say sorry about your shirt, but it’s not as though you couldn’t replace it by snapping your fingers, rich boy.”
Despite the insult, Bruce chuckled, because a joking Jason was a recovering Jason, and it meant Jason wasn’t going to get defensive - if Jason got defensive, Bruce knew he might get controlling (it was one of his vices, and whether out of worry or not it always helped him drive his children away,) and then they’d lose the progress they’d just made.
After a sobering moment, Jason continued, “Do we have to go out there right now? I don’t… wanna talk about it…”
(“I don’t wanna go back to the gala, Dad, please.”)
“Of course Jay, we can stay here for as long as you need. We can stay right here.”