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Bruce Wayne knew many forms of manipulation.
He knew criminals who used fear. He knew politicians who used charm. He knew billionaires who used money. And then there was Jason Todd.
Jason had discovered something far more dangerous. The family card.
It started with Bruce saying no. Which, admittedly, was usually how Jason’s plans started.
“No.”
Jason stared at him. Bruce stared back. The Batcave was silent. Dick, who had walked in halfway through the conversation, immediately sensed danger.
“What did you ask for?”
Jason looked offended. “Why does everyone assume I’m the problem?”
Dick raised an eyebrow. “Because you are usually the problem.”
“Wow.”
“Accurate, though.”
Jason ignored him.
Bruce crossed his arms. “You cannot take the Batmobile.”
“I wasn’t taking it.”
“You asked for the keys.”
“For educational purposes.”
“You are not driving it.”
Jason sighed dramatically. “Bruce.”
That got Dick’s attention. Because Jason only used Bruce’s name like that when he was either annoyed…
Or planning something.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Jason looked around the cave. Then back at him. “Fine.”
Bruce relaxed slightly. Too soon.
Jason stepped forward. “I just thought…”
Dick immediately whispered, “Oh no.”
Jason ignored him. “I just thought maybe you trusted me enough.”
Bruce’s expression softened. Jason noticed. Of course he noticed. Jason Todd was many things. Observant was one of them.
“I mean,” Jason continued, “you trust Dick.”
Dick pointed at himself. “Wait, why am I involved?”
“You’re always involved.”
“Fair.”
“You let him do things.”
“Because I’m older.”
“And responsible.” Bruce cut in.
Dick paused. “Actually, that’s debatable.”
Jason nodded. “Exactly.”
Bruce sighed. “Jason.”
Jason looked down. And that was when Dick knew they were doomed. Because Jason Todd did not look down. Jason Todd stared down enemies twice his size. Jason Todd insulted Batman to his face. Jason Todd once threatened a criminal with a sandwich because it was the only thing he had nearby. But now?
He looked almost shy.
“I just thought…” Jason muttered.
Bruce’s voice softened. “What?”
Jason shrugged.
“It’d be nice if I got to do something normal.”
The cave went quiet. Because that was the problem. Everyone knew what Jason meant. He didn’t mean driving the Batmobile. Not really. He meant being included. Being trusted. Being one of them. And Jason hated admitting that. Which meant whatever happened next was going to be dangerous.
Jason looked up. “So…”
Bruce waited.
Jason took a breath.
Then said:
“Can I, please, take the Batmobile for a drive?”
Dick blinked. Bruce blinked.
Because Jason had said please. That was already suspicious.
Then Jason added, “Come on.”
A pause.
“Your son wants to drive the car.”
Silence. Complete silence.
Dick slowly turned toward Bruce.
Bruce looked like someone had just hit him with a chair.
Jason realised what he’d said. Or rather how he'd said it: a little too earnestly. A little too honest.
His eyes widened slightly. Because he hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud. Not like that.
Dick’s expression softened immediately.
Jason looked away. “Don’t make it weird.”
Nobody spoke. Jason pointed at them. “I mean it.”
Bruce was still staring. “You called yourself my son.”
Jason immediately became defensive. “I said don’t make it weird.”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The emotional dad face.”
Dick covered his mouth. Because it was true. Bruce was doing the face. The one where he looked like he’d just found something precious and didn’t know what to do with it.
Jason groaned. “Forget it.”
“No.”
Jason froze. Bruce stepped closer.
“No, I’m not forgetting that.”
Jason looked uncomfortable. “Bruce.”
Bruce smiled slightly.
“You know you don’t have to trick me into knowing you’re family.”
Jason looked away. “I wasn’t tricking you.”
Dick immediately interrupted. “You absolutely were.”
“I was strategically communicating.”
“You manipulated him with feelings.”
“I prefer strategic emotional negotiation.”
Bruce almost smiled. Almost.
Then Jason ruined the moment.
“So does that mean I can drive?”
“No.”
Jason looked betrayed.
“Wow.”
“You tried.”
“I called you my dad.”
“And I appreciate that.”
“And you’re still saying no?”
“Yes.”
Jason turned to Dick. “Tell him.”
Dick shook his head. “Nope.”
“Traitor.”
“You weaponised your own emotions and somehow still failed.”
Jason looked offended. “That’s impossible.”
“It happened.”
...
Later that evening, Bruce found a note stuck to the Batcomputer.
It read:
Dear Bruce,
I think you should reconsider letting me drive the Batmobile because your son asked nicely.
Love, Jason
Bruce stared. Because there were two things wrong with the note.
One:
Jason had never signed anything “Love, Jason.”
Two:
Jason had deliberately written it where Bruce would find it.
Bruce looked over. Dick was leaning against the doorway.
“He’s getting better.”
Bruce folded the note carefully. “He’s learning.”
Dick smiled. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“He called you dad.”
Bruce looked at the note again.
Quietly:
“I know.”
And somewhere upstairs, Jason was pretending he hadn’t done something that mattered. Because that was Jason’s way.
He would never say:
I love you.
Not easily. Not yet. But he would steal the Batmobile. Leave sarcastic notes. Start arguments.
And occasionally, accidentally admit:
You’re my family.
And for the Wayne family…
That was more than enough.
...
Bruce Wayne had learned a lot of things over the years. He had learned that Dick Grayson would always leave the window open, even in winter. He had learned that Tim Drake could survive on coffee and stubbornness alone. He had learned that Damian Wayne was, somehow, both the most terrifying and smallest person in any room.
And he had learned that Jason Todd was the one thing he could never prepare for.
Not when Jason was Robin. Not when Jason left. Not when Jason came back. Especially not then.
...
The Batcave was quiet. Bruce preferred it that way. Quiet meant nobody was hurt. Quiet meant everyone was home. It had taken him a long time to understand that.
Jason had taught him.
Or rather…
Losing Jason had taught him.
The sound of boots on the stairs pulled him from his thoughts. Bruce looked up. Jason stood at the entrance. Older. Different. Still Jason.
The same sharp eyes. The same defensive posture. The same expression that said: I’m fine. Even when he wasn't.
Bruce knew better now.
“Jason.”
“Bruce.”
A pause.
Jason looked around. “Wow.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You kept everything.”
Bruce looked confused. “The cave?”
“Yeah.”
Jason stepped further inside.
“The stuff from when I was Robin.”
Bruce went still. The old training suit. The photos. The things Jason had left behind. Things Bruce had never been able to remove.
Jason noticed. Of course he did.
“You’re weird.”
“I know.”
“You kept a memorial to a guy who spent years being angry at you.”
Bruce looked at him. “You’re not a memorial.”
Jason looked away. The answer hit harder than he expected.
...
A few minutes later, Jason was standing beside the Batmobile. Again. Because apparently some things never changed.
Bruce crossed his arms. “No.”
Jason looked offended. “I didn’t even ask.”
“You were going to.”
“I was thinking about asking.”
“That’s the same thing.”
Jason sighed. “I just wanted to take it out.”
“No.”
“Bruce.”
“No.”
Jason looked at the car. Then at Bruce. Then sighed.
“Fine.”
Bruce waited. Because he knew that tone. Jason was about to do something. Something ridiculous. Something emotional. Something that would ruin Bruce’s ability to stay firm.
Jason walked closer. “Okay.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Jason shrugged. “Nothing.”
“That’s never true.”
Jason looked down.
And suddenly Bruce remembered. A much younger Jason. A boy who had stood in this exact cave. A boy who had pretended not to care. A boy who had said:
Your son wants to drive the car.
Bruce had never forgotten.
But Jason had. Or he thought he had.
Jason spoke quietly. “I know I don’t get to do this anymore.”
Bruce’s expression changed. “Do what?”
Jason swallowed. “Ask for things.”
Bruce froze. “Jason—”
“No, it’s fine.”
It wasn’t. Bruce knew.
“I’m not Robin anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“I know.”
Jason smiled. A sad one.
“I know you all moved on.”
Bruce’s chest hurt. Because that was the one thing Jason still believed. That everyone had continued without him. That he was the missing piece nobody needed anymore.
Jason looked at the Batmobile. “I just thought…”
A pause. Then:
“Maybe your son could borrow the car.”
The world stopped. Bruce didn’t breathe.
Jason immediately regretted it. “Forget it.”
“No.”
Jason looked away. “Bruce.”
“No.”
Bruce stepped forward. “You don’t get to say something like that and then pretend it didn’t happen.”
Jason laughed quietly. “Yeah, well. I’m good at pretending.”
Bruce looked at him. “I know.”
And that hurt more. Because Bruce did know. He knew every wall Jason built. He knew every joke. Every angry comment. Every time Jason pushed someone away before they could leave.
Bruce reached out. Slowly. Giving Jason the chance to move.
Jason didn’t.
“You called yourself my son.”
Jason’s jaw tightened. “Don’t make it weird.”
Bruce almost smiled. Because there it was. The old Jason. The one who cared too much and hated being caught caring.
“You used that trick before.”
Jason frowned. “What?”
“Years ago.” Bruce glanced at the Batmobile. “You wanted to drive it.”
Jason looked embarrassed. “I was a kid.”
“You told me your family wanted you to.”
Jason looked away.
“And it worked.”
A small silence.
Then Jason whispered:
“Yeah.”
Bruce’s voice softened. “Because you were right.”
Jason looked at him.
“You were my family then.”
A pause.
“You’re my family now.”
Jason looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to say something sarcastic. Something sharp. But he didn’t. Because Jason Todd had survived death. He had survived rage. He had survived believing he was forgotten. And somehow…
That was the thing he couldn’t fight. Bruce loving him.
The Batmobile keys landed in Jason’s hand.
He blinked. “Wait.”
Bruce looked away. “You can take it.”
Jason stared. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“No lecture?”
“No.”
“No ‘be careful’?”
Bruce looked at him. “Be careful.”
Jason smiled slightly. “There it is.”
Bruce shook his head. “Come back.”
The words were simple. But Jason understood.
Not:
Come back from patrol.
Not:
Come back to the cave.
Not even:
Come back alive.
Just:
Come back.
Like he belonged.
Like he always had.
Jason looked down at the keys.
Then back at Bruce.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“I will.”
...
Dick found Bruce later. Of course he did. He always knew.
“You let him take the car.”
Bruce nodded. Dick smiled.
“He finally got you.”
Bruce looked at him. “What?”
“The family card.”
Bruce was quiet. Dick laughed softly.
“Remember when he used to do that?”
“Yes.”
“He hated saying it.”
“I know.”
Dick looked toward the tunnel where Jason had disappeared. “He still does.”
Bruce nodded.
“But he said it.”
A quiet moment.
Then:
“He came home.”
Bruce looked at Dick.
And for the first time in years…
That word didn’t hurt. Because Jason wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t a memory. He wasn’t a mistake they couldn’t undo.
He was Jason.
Their Jason. And he had finally stopped asking if he was allowed to belong. Because he already did.