Chapter Text
“You’re late,” Bruce comments, idly flipping through a binder of fabric samples.
“Sorry; patrol,” Dick answers, shrugging in response to Wally’s playful glare. “In Gotham? Why?” Barry asks, fidgeting as little as possible for the sake of the tailor working on his suit.
He technically has a valid point. Since the Lords took over, petty crimes have gone extinct, and “super villains” are easily and swiftly dealt with. So, really, there isn’t a reason for Dick to be out patrolling. But Gotham is quiet now, and his city is his city. Sometimes, he just wants to watch it. Make sure that the city that raised him, that raised Bruce, that raised Jason is still standing.
Instead of ruining Barry’s fitting/pseudo bachelor party with that particularly depressing factoid, Dick opts for a shrug.
“Anything interesting?” Kal-El asks, looking over Bruce’s shoulder at fabric patterns. Dick is aware that Bruce is only letting Kal look at fabrics to humour him. They all know B will choose two suits that complement each other, and Kal will have no input other than to be present at the fitting.
“Not really,” Dick shrugs again,” Some shots fired at the dock, but it was just some kids looking for target practice.”
“This is insane,” Barry murmurs, mostly to himself, but the occupants of the room can still hear him.
“I know,” Wally nods,” I can’t believe Aunt Iris said yes.” That earns him a gentle slap from Dick.
“You know what I mean,” Barry shakes his head,” I can’t believe I’m getting married.”
“I know. We had a betting pool on when you would get around to proposing, and you waited so long that we all lost,” This from Bruce, who is now sipping a glass of scotch that had materialised in his hand.
“Wait, actually?”
“Yeah, it went on for so long that our team got to join in,” Wally adds, winking at his uncle.
“I guess we were dating for a while,” Barry smiles in a way that-if you hadn’t watched him phase a still-beating heart out of Grodd’s chest-could almost be described as rueful.
“Nothing wrong with that, Barry,” Kal adds,” On Krypton, long betrothals were pretty typical.”
“Yeah, not everyone has to have a shotgun wedding,” Dick punctuates his words with a meaningful look to Bruce.
“It wasn’t my idea!”
“Technically, it was-” Kal is interrupted by his Justice Lord alarm going off. All around the room, simmilar buzzing or ringing noises echo.
“They found a body in Gotham,” Bruce reads off of his communicator,” Gunshot wound.” He rises as he says,” I’ll take it.”
“You want any help, Spooky?” Barry asks, still afraid of moving and getting nicked by the Tailor’s many needles.
He doesn’t receive an answer. The feared Bat of Gotham has already left, not so much as a door chime in his wake.
It has always rained in Gotham. That, regardless of whoever is in charge, is unlikely to change.
The rain is soft as Lord Batman approaches the body, as if the rain, too, is confused as to why a murder would occur in the semi-utopia that Gotham has become.
“Gordon.” He says in way of greeting.
The former commissioner has always been smart, and when the regime change began, he quickly figured which side was what. (The fact that his daughter was on board probably didn’t hurt; neither did the man’s long-standing grudge against the Joker).
“Victim was found by two college students. We have reason to believe this was a message.”
“For who?”
Gordon sighs,” See for yourself.”
The victim-a man, late fourties, brown hair, green eyes, physically unremarkable- is laying in what used to be Crime Alley, a smile identical to the ones the Joker put on his victims painted across his face.
A message for himself, then. But from who? And why?
“The…lips,” Gordon grimaces,” Were painted on with the victim’s blood, but I imagine you’ll find out more after you run it. This isn’t the normal look of freshly spilled blood.”
Gordon is right. The pool of blood the victim is laying in, and the blood on his face, has a feint green tinge to it, creating a unique colour that the Bat has only seen in victims of Joker venom.
A message indeed.
“Victim is Timothy Larkin, a mechanic at an auto shop downtown. But,” Tim spins his chair around in a victorious circle,” This is the good part,” He turns the Bat Computer screen to a window displaying DNA Test results. “I ran the blood you collected at the scene and found two things. First, his DNA was already in our files.”
“He was involved in a Joker case,” Bruce infers.
“Yes,” Tim spins around again, drawing out the word,” But you’ll never guess why. His blood was found at a very old Joker venom scene, but-“
“He wasn’t there as a victim.”
“You steal all the fun out of this job, I swear,” Tim sighs,” No, not as a victim. You had him on file as a Joker henchman. After the regime change, he was sentenced to a couple years in prison at the Fortress. After chemical and restorative therapy, he was released.”
The “therapy” at the Fortress does have a high success rate. (Mostly due to the more-torture-than-therapy approach used, but still).
“So this is connected to the Joker,” Bruce ignores the pang in his heart that always comes when thinking of the clown’s last act on Earth.
“Has to be. Traces of Joker Venom in his blood and everything. But the actual cause of death was the three gun shot wounds, obviously.”
“One to the head, two to the chest.”
“Professional.”
“…Is what I would call it if militaries or hitmen were still around,” Tim agrees.
“It’s personal but clinical, like someone checking off a list.”
“But it’s also a message?”
“Yes.”
The connection between the Batman and Joker was obvious. The catalyst, the regime’s ground zero, the proverbial shot heard round the world: Jason’s murder.
Jason.
Jason.
Jason.
He still remembers the first day, after everything had changed. The first day he had been allowed to grieve.
The feeling was indescribable.
Loosing his parents had been like fire. Burning, all-consuming, world-destroying grief.
Loosing Jason…Having his child ripped from him so suddenly, so horribly, so violently…
Loosing Jason was cold. Like the world had stopped, like time was frozen.
Bruce had learned, a long time ago, in the frozen wasteland of Siberia, that hypothermia could hurt just as badly as a third degree burn.
“Master Bruce?” Alfred’s voice was so soft, like he was afraid that being too loud would break something. Someone?
In an ironic turn of events, Jason’s favourite armchair in the library sat next to a window with a very clear view of the brand new headstone in the family cemetery.
“I had one job, Alfred.”
“Oh, Sir,” He sighed.
“One job.” Alfred sat down the tea tray and took a seat in the chair across from Bruce.
“The world is changing. For better or worse, I’m sure I can’t say,” He reached and grabbed Bruce’s hand,” But you changed it for him. You avenged him. You took that horrid creature out of this world, for him.” Alfred stood, and grabbing his tea tray, said,” I know, my dear boy, more than anyone how it hurts. But you loved that boy, and you gave him a home, and I think that that was one job you couldn’t have failed at.”
There was a copy of Northanger Abbey with a bookmark placed a little over halfway through. Jason had almost finished it.
Now he never would.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Kal grumbles,” Stop.”
“You don’t even actually have to sleep,” Bruce reminds him, snuggled up into the alien’s side.
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t nice. And I was shot recently, you know.” Bruce snorts. Kal had been shot by a man-made Kryptonite bullet. Once it was removed, he’d healed instantly.
“That was weeks ago.” Kal sighs and rolls over to turn on the bedside lamp. “Alright, what’s bothering you?”
Since the global leadership change and the subsequent end to most villainy, Bruce had been starting to get more sleep. Whatever is keeping him awake now is either something new, or something very, very old.
Or, perhaps, a mix of both. Such as, say, a recent murder.
During his tenure with Bruce (dating for six years, married for coming up on three), Kal has learned that once something snags in the Bat’s mind, it won’t leave until it’s gone. Which means that Bruce won’t be sleeping until he figures out this case.
“Tell me about the body,” Kal punctuates his words by running a hand up and down his husband’s side.
“Former Joker henchman, killed by three gunshot wounds. Traces of Joker venom found in his blood. Joker-esque smile painted on his face,” Bruce sighs,” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was some kind of vigilante.”
But, of course, vigilantes don’t exist anymore. There isn’t a need for them. Crime is immediately and swiftly dealt with. Criminal reform has a one-hundred percent success rate. Turns out, forcing people to associate certain actions with blinding agony is an excellent deterrent. (The reform programs happens to be one the rebellion’s biggest qualms. Something about humans rights violations- Kal doesn’t know, he never bothers to listen to them).
“So what do you think?”
“Joker associates are going to be the next targets.”
“You don’t think this was a one-off?” Bruce shakes his head.
“No, this was too-” He pauses to yawn. “-Too calculated, too angry. Whoever it is will want to kill again.”
“And what do you want to do about it?” Bruce blinks.
“You aren’t going to make me turn it over to the Representatives?” Kal shrugs.
“It’s been a while since you got to work a case,” He smirks,” I’d hate for you to get bored.”
“Funny,” Bruce rolls his eyes and rolls over, so that he’s facing the ceiling.
The room grows quiet, as if it’s holding its breath.
“What are you really thinking about?” Kal asks softly.
There was a statue in downtown Gotham. It depicted a Robin aiming a grappling hook towards the sky. Jason’s robin.
The statue had been blown up at one point, by a group of rebels, but Bruce intends to rebuild it. It had taken him almost two years to carve the last one, but with all the practice he’s gotten since, this one should be faster.
“I want to kill him all over again.” A statement, a fact.
“That’s not what you’re really thinking about.” Another statement, another fact.
“We have a lot of anniversaries coming up.” Kal hums noncommittally. He is intimately familiar with Bruce’s evasion strategies, in and out of battle. This is no different.
And it’s true, as well. They do have a lot of anniversaries in the coming months. Their wedding anniversary. Dinah and Oliver’s wedding anniversary. The anniversary of the Lords coming to power.
Jason’s death.
Three years turns to four soon. Kal’s lost a lot of things, but even he can’t image how Bruce must feel.
To lose a child is unfathomable.
But Kal doesn’t point out any of these things. Their relationship was never built on words. It was all subtext, with Bruce. It always was, always will be.
So instead, he says,” We have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.” It’s a gentle prod, a subtle reminder that more than just he and Alfred will be able to tell if Bruce has gone without sleep again.
“I know,” He sighs and curls back into Kal’s side.
And Kal knows that Bruce isn’t going to get more than three hours of sleep. He knows that Bruce’s tortured thoughts will keep him up almost all night.
That doesn’t stop him from turning off the bedside lamp and pulling his husband in close.
The second and third bodies drop the morning of Barry and Iris’s rehearsal dinner. Both are former Joker henchmen, and both have the same traces of Joker venom in their blood. Both bodies are painted with the same, sickly Joker-esque smile.
Bruce allows Orphan, Spoiler, and Robin to take the scene while Oracle analyses security footage and he himself…
Bruce sighs.
He is standing in his tailor’s office, getting fitted for the tuxedo he will be wearing tomorrow. His is a deep blue, essentially black, paired with a crisp red tie. Kal will wear a tux so dark red it is almost black, with a blue tie that will, ideally, pair well with Bruce’s tux.
Tim will undoubtedly groan at the coordination.
“B, you ready for my findings?” Tim’s voice crackles over Bruce’s ear piece.
“Go ahead.”
“Nothing in the blood work that’s different from the other victims. No prints or tracks left at the scene. Whoever he is, he picked up his bullet casings.”
“How far away was he?” From the body was left unsaid for the tailor’s benefit.
“Not more than ten feet. But Oracle found the good stuff.”
Silence.
Then, “Well? Will the World’s Greatest Detective hazard a guess?”
More silence.
“Fine,” Tim sighs,”Oracle found the same person at all three crime scenes. Tall, stocky, leather jacket, and this is the best part: He was wearing a red helmet. Covered his entire face, so we can’t get an ID just from the cameras.”
“Is there good news?”
“I have a print.”
“You just said he didn’t leave any behind.”
“No, I said he didn’t leave any prints at the scene. I never said he didn’t leave any prints.”
“Tim.” A warning growl.
“Okay, okay. Steph and Cass found a leather glove in a dumpster a few blocks away from the crime scene. Leather doesn’t hold a print well, and the print itself is a little messed up, so I won’t get a hit on any of our databases for a while.”
“Good work,” He pauses,” Everyone prepared for the dinner?”
“The girls’ dresses just came in. Went designer on them, huh?”
Bruce shrugs, even though he knows Tim can’t see him.
The rehearsal dinner of Barry Allen and Iris West is a smaller affair than their wedding will be, but Cass thinks that’s better than a massive party. This way, she can talk to who she wants and skillfully avoid the few she doesn’t care for. As far as entertainment goes, Cass knows Damian will have a field day with what little security there is. (She and Damian have a long-standing bet about who can smuggle the most weapons into any kind of event. She’s winning.)
“Catch his mood?” Stephanie asks, gliding smoothly next to her as if she was the ballerina between the two of them.
You’d have to be dumb and dead to miss it, Cass thinks, but says nothing.
“I haven’t seem him this angry since Talia tried to turn him.”
And hadn’t that been a sight. Talia, holding the son Bruce hadn’t known about captive in order to turn him against the Lords. As far as Cass knows, Damian still doesn’t actually know the truth about what happened to his mother.
Probably best that way.
To Steph’s credit, Bruce is, in fact, in some kind of mood. Not necessarily anger, but he’s definitely somewhere between deep thinking and planning a rampage.
Cass doesn’t voice any of this. Instead, she hums and takes a sip of sparkling apple cider.
(Bruce has taken over the world and still doesn’t let his underage children drink.)
“It has to be because of the recent…” Cass hears the pause where Steph makes sure she’s clear to speak freely,” murders, right?”
Obviously, Cass thinks.
Since the Lords came to power, Bruce hasn’t had nearly as much to worry about as he used to, especially since Tim started doing the brunt of the work at Wayne Industries. (Nowadays, the company worked to solve the few remaining humanitarian crises on the planet, while also working towards cures for various diseases.)
The point, anyways, is that Bruce hasn’t been like this in a long, long time.
This case is getting to him.
“You’re right,” Steph sighs,” That was a stupid question. But why? I mean, we’ll solve it. It’s literally the only criminal case in Gotham right now.”
Cass hums in agreement. She, herself, doesn’t doubt her family’s ability to find criminals. Still, Bruce’s reaction to this case is at least something to be concerned about.
But Cass trusts her family, and she knows their capabilities.
The case will be solved. She doesn’t doubt that.
“Dance with me, princess?” Bruce smiles at her, eyes gentle in a way they didn’t used to be.
Cass smiles as she takes his hand.
She is a ballerina, after all.
And she could never deny her father anything.
The result on the print they pulled from the inside of the killer’s glove comes in at 3 am, the morning of Barry & Iris’s wedding.
Groggy and still half-asleep, Bruce makes his way down to the cave, leaving Kal in their bed to do whatever semi-comatose thing Kryptonians do instead of sleeping.
He closes his eyes and stops at the bottom of the stairs. Breathes. Sits at the computer.
“Computer, pull up database results for Case 52766.”
The screen pulls up the case file, and then accesses the results from the database, hundreds of thousands of names scrolling across the screen. Finally, one name remains.
Fingerprint Analysis for Case 52766:
Recognized Match:
Jason Peter Todd
His coffee mug shatters on the floor.
Kal hears Bruce’s heartbeat speed up- hears the crash of a coffee mug-and is down in the cave immediately.
“Bruce?” Kal places a hand on his husband’s shoulder and reads the screen. He blinks.
The words don’t change.
“The-the print was degraded. The database could have gotten him confused with a-a distant relative. Or maybe Tim collected the print wrong.”
Tim doesn’t make mistakes, not on cases. Bruce had once told Kal that Jason didn’t have any blood relatives left. That’s how he ended up with Bruce in the first place.
Bruce built that database himself. It doesn’t make mistakes.
Kal knows all of this. He knows that Bruce knows all of this.
He doesn’t say anything.
Instead, he drags his husband upstairs and makes a cup of tea.
“This isn’t possible,” Bruce says after what feels like thirty minutes have passed; just the two of them sitting in the dark of the kitchen.
Kal stays silent, gives Bruce the space to work it out.
“His body,” Bruce spits the word, as if it is acid on his tongue. Maybe it is. “Is buried on the grounds. I saw it, Kal! I saw-“ Bruce breaks off with something akin to a sob. His heart is beating too fast. His breaths come in fast, desperate gasps.
Kal walks around the counter and pulls his husband into his arms.
Kal had known Jason back when he was Clark, when the relationship he shared with Bruce was still new. The kid had been clever, and excited, and scared. His antics always made Bruce smile in a way he never had before. And never has since.
“I need to see him,” Bruce whispers after a few minutes.
“Will that help?”
“I need to know. Just,” He sighs,” I need to make sure.”
Which is how they end up digging up a grave at 4 am the morning of Barry and Iris’s wedding.
Kal digs, and in less than a minute the shovel thunks against the wood of Jason’s coffin.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks, one last time. Bruce nods.
Kal opens the coffin.
He expects to see the rotting body of a boy, of a child he once loved.
Or maybe the embalmer did such a good job that Jason still might be in perfect condition, as if he is just asleep.
What Kal doesn’t expect to see is nothing at all.
“It’s time to come upstairs,” Kal says, watching his husband carefully for the minute changes in his face that seemed to count as expressions.
“If you think I’m going to a wedding while my so-“ He clears his throat,” While Jason is missing…”
“Oh, my sun,” Kal sighs,” Bruce, the wedding was yesterday.”
There’s a special kind of hurt in watching someone you love tear themselves apart.
Bruce blinks, and then turns back to the computer.
“I haven’t found him yet.”
“Bruce you need to rest. You haven’t eaten, you haven’t slept-”
“I’m fine,” Bruce insists, staring resolutely at the screen.
“You’re not.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I’m not asking you to give up, I’m asking you to take a break!” Kal sighs, exasperated,”Rao! Bruce, do you know what your absence is doing to the family? Your children are worried sick-“
“Don’t bring them into this.”
“It’s about them! Of course it’s about them! Because you’re going to kill yourself trying to find a ghost-“
Bruce stands abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the stone of the cave echoing off the walls. He faces Kal, and Kal’s suddenly struck with how shattered his husband looks.
“He was my son!”
“Bruce if you look for him non-stop, you’ll run yourself into the ground. And then what about the children that need you now?” Kal’s words are quiet, but sharp.
“How dare you.”
“Bruce-“
“No, how dare you try to tell me how to live my own damn life! I am allowed to make my own f*cking decisions. You don’t get to dictate what I do!”
“I do when you’re going to kill yourself!”
“I am doing my job.” Kal scoffs.
“No, Bruce. You want revenge. I know you, I’ve seen you. You think spilling blood just like the first time will make everything okay again. But what’s your plan here? Joker’s dead. Luthor’s dead. The League of Assassins are gone. There isn’t a villain left in the world, Bruce. So who do you blame now?”
“Don’t you dare-“
“There’s no one left, Bruce! We worked so hard to make a better world for our family. Why are you looking for the bad guy here?” He’s shouting, Kal knows that. But he can’t quite help himself.
“Because I failed him!” Bruce swallows. Then, quieter,” Because I had one job. One f*cking job. And I failed. And he died. And then what? I lost him again.” He breathes in shakily.
Kal honestly doesn’t know what to say.
How do you help someone that’s been mortally wounded by the same knife?
He doesn’t say anything, ultimately. He pulls his husband into his arms and takes him upstairs.
Kal holds him as he cries through the night.
Bruce hasn’t left his room in days. So Dick does the only reasonable thing you can do when you find out your younger brother has been resurrected:
He goes to find Jason.
The thing about having siblings is, whether or not you want them to, they know all your secrets. So while Bruce might not have known where Jason would hide after pulling a-frankly, dramatic-revenge spree, Dick might.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Hopefully.
God, he hopes he does.
Dick checks all the usual haunts: the library, the movie theatre, what feels like every cafe in Gotham.
No Jason.
Crime alley (which, for the record, the Lords have an excellent crime scene cleaning service) is also perfectly normal. Technically, it isn’t even crime alley anymore. It’s just…an alley.
Crazy how the world moves right on past tragedy.
Eventually, Dick enlists Oracle to check for recent renter’s agreements in Gotham, and has Cass and Time scour the apartments she finds.
Nothing.
They take to patrolling every night, just like old times. Dick takes Damian across the city, soaring like birds across the sky, while Cass and Steph stalk the streets, looking for clues. Babs scans over every surveillance camera in Gotham a million times.
Nothing.
A week passes. Dinah & Oliver’s wedding anniversary passes. Alfred sends a gift and the family’s apologies.
And then they settle into something of a routine. Dick wrangles his siblings while Alfred and Kal coax Bruce back into the land of the living, and they settle in.
They search.
And search.
By the time Kal and Bruce’s wedding anniversary comes around, Bruce looks like he used to. As in, Dick is horribly reminded of the early days, when it was him and Bruce and Alfred against the world.
When Bruce never slept, and worked himself to death, and survived off of painkillers and anger.
But Bruce smiles, so, Dick supposes, that’s something.
Clock hands spin, watches change, and eventually, they reach the fourth anniversary of Jason’s death.
And then the old playing card factory blows up.
Not quite three months since the last body dropped in Gotham, and Bruce finds himself staring at a crime scene on the anniversary of his son’s murder.
Kal and J’onn had taken care of the fire almost immediately, leaving him staring at a burnt building.
Another lifetime ago, there was another building dusted in ash.
Ash in the wind.
He searches the building alone, scouring over every inch, turning over every piece of debris. He finds what used to be the bomb tucked against the ruins of the chemical vat that had created the Joker. He takes it to the cave, reassembles it while fending off the concern of his family.
Bruce learns that, when he sacrifices eating and sleeping, he can reassemble a bomb in about eight hours.
“It’s definitely operating off of a receiver, so you were right there,” Tim says, scanning the remnants of the bomb’s circuitry with one of his homemade gadgets.
“Can you track it?” Bruce asks, not as patiently as he would have liked.
“Probably,” Tim says slowly,” But it’ll take the computer about an hour to find the source of the signal.” Tim leaves out the possibility that Jason tossed the phone he used to detonate the bomb immediately. Bruce looks like he hasn’t slept in years.
“Look,” Tim grabs his pseudo-father’s shoulder,” I’ll set up the trace. You should go upstairs. Damien has physics homework or something that he’s too incompetent to do.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Bruce sighs but acquiesces and goes to help Damien with his (Algebra 2, he’s 12) homework that they both know he doesn’t need help with.
Tim watches him leave with conflicting feelings.
If he starts the trace, they might be able to find Jason. But then what? Jason’s been gone for four years. He saw the rise of the regime, and he still chose to stay away instead of coming home. What if finding him again just hurts Bruce, and Dick, and Alfred more than his death already has?
Is it his place to prevent that? Should he?
f*ck he needs more coffee.
With a sigh, Tim slumps into the batcomputer chair and starts the tracing program.
“This is going to hurt,” He says into the empty cave.
The bats, deep in the cave’s crevices, agree.
Because Tim has literally never been wrong in his life (f*ck you Steph, no I haven’t), the program finishes exactly sixty minutes later.
Which is how Bruce finds himself in a park built on the remains of Crime Alley houses, dressed in civilian clothing, approaching a bench.
He tries not to get his hopes up, after all, there’s a very high possibility that Jason tossed the detonator and left Gotham without looking back.
He’s either going to round the corner and see his son, or find nothing waiting for him.
Right now, with this fear and this guilt and this love, Bruce doesn’t know which would be worse.
He is acutely aware of the weight of the package in his hands.
He turns the corner.
His heart stops.
Jason is 19 now, with broader shoulders and a white streak in his hair.
But he’s sitting here, and breathing and alive.
Bruce doesn’t know what to say.
“I assumed you’d track me down. I never was very good with technology.” His voice, years older, is slightly shaky, Bruce notices. Jason lights a cigarette.
Those are bad for you, Bruce wants to say, but he doesn’t, because he can’t seem to speak.
And what is there to say, really?
I’m sorry.
I missed you.
I love you.
“Jason,” Is what he settles on, choked and broken like it was ripped out of his throat.
“So they tell me,” He looks up, eyes shockingly green and glassy, and Bruce stops breathing.
“You planning on sitting down or standing awkwardly?”
Bruce sits.
“You’re alive.” Jason snorts.
“Very perceptive.” He takes a drag of the cigarette, exhales.” I used to live around here, you know. I think my house was somewhere,” He gestures vaguely towards the ground,” Like what you’ve done with the place, I guess.”
“Things needed to change,” Bruce says, somewhat cautiously. He knows they aren’t talking about just the scenery.
“I don’t remember much from my etiquette lessons, but I think I’m supposed to say thank you.”
Bruce chokes.
“Gratitude is the last thing you owe me.” Jason shrugs.
“He’s dead, I can appreciate that.” Another puff of the cigarette,” I got to say, I wasn’t expecting you to change,” He flicks his hand,” all of this, I guess.”
“Jay,” He says softly,” I’m so sorry. I should’ve been faster, I should have killed him way back before, I should have-”
“f*ck, old man, I don’t know. Talia told me to blame you, but after everything, after coming back to this, I mean…” He laughs,” Did you really kill the president?”
“That was Kal.”
“Clark changed his name?”
“Things are…different.”
“Yeah,” Jason jerks his chin towards Bruce’s wedding band,” I noticed.”
“Why did you blow up the factory?”
“Vengeance, I guess.” Another puff of the cigarette,” I blame him, and I hate him, and it seemed like one final ‘f*ck you’, you know?”
After a minute of silence, Jason speaks again,” How’s Alfred?”
“Good. He made dinner. And cookies.”
“He makes the best cookies, damn.”
“You could come, if you wanted. Home, I mean,” Then, almost silently,” You could come home.”
Jason clears his throat.
“What’s in the box?”
Bruce opens it and pulls out the book.
“It’s yours. I figured, even if you were going to kill me, you should have it.”
The copy of Northhanger Abbey is old and worn, yellowed by age. It’s older than Jason, than Bruce, even.
“Alfred always said I wasn’t allowed to take it out the library,” Jason murmurs, tossing the cigarette and gently grabbing the book. He turns to the page where his bookmark rests.
“It was my mother’s. He was always worried about loosing it.”
“Then why are you giving it to me?”
Kal used to say that Bruce was worse with words than ice was with fire. Bruce likes to think he’s improved at some point in the last four years.
So he decides to be honest.
“Because she’s not here, and you are. Because you’re the only one that reads Austen anyway,” He swallows,” Because you’re my son, and I love you.”
Jason blinks and looks away, gently running his thumb over the page.
“You’ve gotten…sentimental,” His voice is choked, Bruce notices.
“I didn’t tell you that…before. That’s been my biggest regret in the past four years.”
“What happened to the whole ‘I am the night’ schtick?”
“I have a family with an annoying habit of telling me to communicate more. I picked it up here and there.”
“Well, uh, thanks. I, uh,” He bumps his shoulder into Bruce’s,” What time is dinner?”
Bruce checks his watch.
“If we leave now we might be able to get a cookie before they’re gone.”
“What, is Alfred going to eat a dozen cookies?”
Bruce shakes his head and stands,” Probably not, but the rest of them might.”
“Who?” Jason asks, following him towards the car.
Bruce just smiles.
