Once upon a time – a lifetime ago, it would seemed – Bruce Wayne had turned around and sat on his massive bed, a slight smile forming on his face. He dusted off his satin pajamas and eyed a boy who was standing at his door. He waited. The boy, also in his night outfit, was hugging a pillow, appearing to be sheepish yet uncertain.
"Jason," Bruce regarded him.
"There's a storm," said Jason, ignoring how Bruce could probably hear every thunder and the sound of heavy rain drumming on the rooftop and deduced that there indeed was a storm.
"Yes," said Bruce, nodding. "That's why we're not patrolling tonight. This kind of weather is just too troublesome, and the waterproof suits are not quite ready yet."
"Oh."
Again, Bruce waited for Jason to say something else. In some other life, Bruce might not have the patience to put up with Jason's unusual behavior tonight. Or he may came to realize that he should give him all his time in the world, because someone might took him away in the future. With a crowbar. And a bomb. But Bruce did not know that, so he tapped his fingers on the bed, signaling Jason to hurry up and told him what was the matter.
"I ... It's my air conditioner. It's gotten all wrong and now the room's frozen."
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You didn't just set it up wrong?"
"No, sir, it's just broken, I guess."
"I'll send Alfred there to help fix it –"
"No!" Jason caught the look in Bruce's eyes and gathered himself. "I mean, he's been working real hard all day, it wouldn't be fair if you have to make him fix the air conditioner tonight, too ... sir." He coughed. "Maybe – you know, just for tonight – maybe I can sleep here. So if the storm stops and, uh, the signal lights up, it'll be more ... convenient."
"That makes sense," said Bruce, and he was now rolling himself to his bed, getting comfortable. "Well?" he patted the space next to him, "Are you coming?"
And Jason played it cool; he went up the bed without haste, though his heart hammered in his chest. He was very thankful that the air conditioner story worked. If he had to spend the night in the room that was not his, alone, surrounded by the sound of thunders and distant screaming of people (though this may or may not be his imagination) ... he could lose it. He would rather climbed down the window and run somewhere in the storm, because then at least the thunders would have a hard time catching him, wouldn't they?
"Good night, Bruce," Jason said, smiling in spite of himself.
"Good night, Jason," said Bruce. Then: "Nasty weather out there."
"Ye-es," Jason yawned.
"Jason?"
"Yeah?"
"I've never set up air conditioner in your room."
Silence.
"Bruce?"
"Mmhm?"
"Sorry," said Jason, but he did not dare to look into the man's eyes or got out of the room to and return to that lonely place. "Can I stay? Just for the night. I promise I won't bother you again."
Bruce smiled, ruffling Jason's hair and covering him with a layer of blanket. "Like I said: nasty weather. Sleep tight, Jason."