A/N: Sorry, I forgot to crosspost here.


Bruce tried to keep his distance from Jason while the rest of the household was gone. He was careful to tell Jason where he would be, so he would know what to expect. Jason was tucked up in bed, holding a book limply in one hand but not reading it. Bruce left a bell on the nightstand for him to ring in case he wanted him to come and help him with anything or bring him more tea or water. Jason assured him that he would not, his voice rough and scratchy.

Bruce smiled and left the room. He set an alarm on his phone to remind him of Jason's next dose of medicine. Then he retired to his study to work, leaving his door open in case the bell rang. Though he was still officially on paternity leave, Lucius had sent him a stack of reports to glance over "in his spare time."

After about twenty minutes, he heard a scuff at the door and looked up to see Jason hovering just beyond it, watching him with a strange look on his face. He was wearing his pajamas, his hair disheveled and cheeks flushed. He was leaning on the doorframe with one shoulder, possibly because his head was spinning or his knees were weak.

"Do you need something, Jaylad?" Bruce asked, careful to keep his voice moderate.

Jason shook his head and backed off, then Bruce heard his footsteps tottering slowly down the hallway. Bruce frowned in worry and confusion, but went back to his work. A few minutes later, he was so buried in figures from the latest stock report that he'd forgotten about it.

But it happened again, some indeterminate time later. Bruce heard a noise in the hallway and looked up, and a couple of moments later there was Jason, hovering in the doorway with that uncertain expression, like he didn't know why he was there. His eyes were bleary, and it didn't look he'd gotten any sleep in the meantime.

"What I can do for you, buddy?" Bruce asked.

Jason shook his head. He started to back away, but stumbled and barely caught his feet under him. Bruce was out of his chair and moving toward the door before his mind engaged, intent on catching the boy if he fell. Jason flinched and went stock still in the middle of the hallway, just staring at him with his face chalky white.

Bruce halted himself before he got too close, silently cursing himself for forgetting. He flattened his hands at waist level, almost in a gesture of surrender. He didn't miss the way Jason's eyes flicked to his hands, then back up to his face.

"Jason," Bruce said levelly. "You're having trouble sleeping when you don't know where I am, aren't you?"

Jason blinked sluggishly, then nodded. It seemed to take a lot of effort.

"You're trying to ignore it, but you just keep thinking about the fact that you're alone in the house, except for me, and wondering where I am and what I'm doing. There's no buffer with everyone else gone, there's no one to guard you and keep an eye on me while you're out of it, and it's making you tense and afraid."

"Yes." The word was a bare whisper, forced out through a clogged throat and laboring lungs.

"What can I do to make this easier for you? What would make you feel safe?"

Jason somehow paled even further, and he swallowed like he felt sick to his stomach. "I don't know," he whispered.

Bruce stood still for a moment longer, thinking hard. What could he do to mitigate this? What could he do to comfort his son when he was the one causing the discomfort? Like the first day with the door, it seemed like a puzzle with no solution.

Bruce frowned. He thought about going to a room that had a lock on the door and giving Jason the key so he wouldn't be able to get out. But then he wouldn't be able to get to the boy if he got sicker and collapsed or something. Plus, well... Bruce didn't like the idea of being locked up, either. Just the passing thought made his skin crawl.

It gave him even more sympathy for the boys and the utter hell they had endured for five months, both locked in tiny rooms against their will. If he couldn't stand the idea of being locked up for even an hour, five months would have been an eternity.

"Would it help if you could keep an eye on me? If we were in the same room?"

Jason looked thoughtful. "I don't know," he said again, but there was a questioning lilt to it. He wasn't rejecting the idea.

Bruce gave him a half-smile. He gestured toward the comfortable couch on the other wall of his office, opposite the desk. "Why don't you have a seat?"

Jason eyed him askance, then began to edge toward the couch. Bruce stepped aside, giving him an encouraging smile, then walked out the door. "I'll be right back."

He went to Jason's room and gathered the various items from his nightstand that had accumulated there to deal with his illness: tissues, water glass, teacup, books. He took a pillow, too. He stopped at a linen cupboard on the way back to grab a couple of soft blankets. Then he returned to the office.

Jason, sitting slumped in the middle of the sofa, blinked at the pile of material in his arms. Bruce handed him the pillow and blankets, then went about putting all of the other items within easy reach on a sidetable next to the sofa. He stood back and looked over it with a critical eye. Everything seemed to be in order.

In the meantime, Jason had made himself a nest in the middle of the sofa and was curled up on his side, wrapped in blankets, the pillow propping his head up. His eyes were drooping, but he didn't let them fall shut.

"Comfy, son?"

Jason nodded slowly, then opened his eyes wide and looked at Bruce. His shoulders tensed under the blanket.

Bruce pressed his lips together and backed a few feet away. "Better?"

Jason kept his eyes on him the whole time. Once Bruce was a healthy distance away, he relaxed marginally. He nodded.

Bruce went back to his desk and sat down. He started looking over his reports again, but he kept glancing up to peek at Jason. He was unable to forget his presence in the room. He couldn't concentrate, constantly worrying whether the boy was comfortable and unafraid.

Jason's eyes remained open, watching him. He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep, because he wouldn't be able to keep watch on Bruce if he did. It hurt to see it.

It was probably exactly the same when he was in his own bed. Bruce began to doubt that this was any improvement at all.

Then he had an inspiration. He looked away from Jason, keeping his eyes studiously on his desk, and began to hum. It wasn't anything intentional or organized at first, just random noises. Then it began wandering into recognizable tunes, old and familiar and well-loved. He felt his shoulders falling down, his mind settling into established grooves. Then he began to sing.

Hello, Rudy, well, hello, Harry
It's so nice to be back home where I belong
You are lookin' swell, Manny, I can tell, Danny
You're still glowin', you're still crowin', you're still goin' strong

He kept his voice soft and relaxed, the embodiment of contentment. A sneaky glance out of the corner of his eye showed Jason's eyes drooping, his face going slack. Bruce smiled and kept going. By the second chorus, Jason was, by all appearances, fast asleep.

Hello, Dolly
Well, hello, Dolly
It's so nice to have you back where you belong

He kept his voice at the same timbre, the same pace, so Jason would always know exactly where he was even while he was asleep. It might have been easier to put on a bell or something. But this was working, and Bruce had to admit he enjoyed it.

He finished that song and started another one. And he kept singing, low and smooth and sweet. He didn't stop.

He was still singing half an hour later when the alarm on his phone went off, signifying that it was time for Jason's next dose of medicine. Bruce frowned and stopped the alarm. The instant he stopped singing, Jason woke up, cutting off in the middle of his sniffly little snores. His eyes popped open, and he stared blankly at the floor for a moment, then slowly raised his eyes to look at Bruce.

Bruce smiled at him as reassuringly as he could, still on the other side of the room with a desk between them. "Sorry, Jaylad. I didn't mean startle you. It's time for your medicine, though."

Jason nodded slowly, then began to push himself to sit upright on the sofa.

Bruce went to the bathroom to fetch the medicine, telling Jason he would be back in minute. He filled the little medicine cup to the correct line, then stood in front of the mirror for a moment, staring at himself. Bruce Wayne, at home on paternity leave, dressed in sweatpants and a navy blue turtleneck, holding a tiny cup of medicine in his hands for his sick son. He looked utterly domestic.

He kind of loved it.

He shook his head at himself, the corner of his mouth turning up wryly, then went back to the office. He scuffed his foot on the floor so Jason would hear him coming, and the boy looked up, weary but alert. He seemed more relaxed than he had been before his nap. He didn't even flinch or look worried when Bruce walked over to the sofa and held out the medicine, stretching the entire length of his expansive wingspan.

Jason drank the medicine willingly, smacking his lips at the end and wrinkling his nose at the strong taste. He handed the cup back to Bruce, then settled further into sofa. He seemed comfortable, at ease, every limb loose. Bruce badly wanted to ruffle his hair, but he refrained.

Bruce started to leave, to return to the bathroom and rinse out the medicine cup, but Jason made a small noise of protest. It seemed almost involuntary, squeezed out him like toothpaste from a tube. Bruce turned back instantly, eyebrows raised. "Yes? What can I do for you?"

Jason was staring at him wide-eyed, evidently surprised at himself. He did not speak, frozen where he sat. But there was a look of longing in his eyes that Bruce could not refuse.

"Do you need more water?" Bruce glanced at the half-full cup on the sidetable. "Or tea?" The teacup was bone dry, a faint tinge of greenish brown staining the bottom. "I'd be happy to make some for you."

Jason shook his head, wordless but certain.

"A different book? Would you like to watch something? I can fetch a tablet for you."

Another shake of the head.

Bruce smiled, small but full of humor. "Would you like me to sing again?"

Jason's expression softened. "It was nice."

"Then I will. Later. There's something else you want from me right now."

Jason nodded slowly. His hands clenched in the fabric of the blanket draped over his lap.

Bruce considered him silently for a moment, then set the sticky medicine cup on the sidetable. He could wash it later. He pulled over one of the cushy armchairs in the room, positioning it so it was perpendicular to Jason's sofa. Near enough that he could reach out and touch, though he didn't.

He sat in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands folded together. "Whenever you're ready to say it, I'll be right here."

Jason stared at him. His fingers clenched tighter in the blanket, knuckles blanching. "I thought you had work to do." His voice was a soft murmur, his voice scratchy but clearly audible.

Bruce lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "It's not important. Lucius...that's my CEO at Wayne Enterprises...just wants me to keep an eye on the reports even while I'm on leave. I don't have to, though. You're a lot more important."

Jason looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" Bruce prodded gently. "Something you want to ask me?"

Jason breathed quietly, in and out, staring at his lap. He didn't say anything, but Bruce could see the tension in him. He was slowly working himself up to something.

Bruce could wait. He would wait for as long as it took.

Then Jason raised his head and looked him in the face. He was pale, his blue eyes standing out sharply against his skin, but he was so brave. So steady. Bruce felt his heart melt a little bit more.

"Do you really think therapy would help me?"

Bruce gave a slow blink. He was aware of Jason's relief at not having to go to therapy today. He knew how much he'd been dreading it, how certain he was that it wasn't going to help. That nothing could help. It was a good sign that he was asking for a second opinion.

"Yes, I think it would be helpful," Bruce said. "I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't think it would be helpful."

Jason tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at Bruce from a different angle as if that would help him figure him out. "Have you gone to therapy?"

"I have," Bruce said gravely. "But those sessions took place when I was an adult, after my issues already had a long time to settle into my psyche. They were still helpful, but I have to admit that I'm too stubborn and stuck in my ways to take on board all of the advice that would be healthy for me."

"So you're a hypocrite." Jason's voice was challenging.

Bruce found that encouraging. Jason wasn't afraid to stand up to him, at least in conversation. He wasn't afraid to call him out.

It made him smile, though he did his best to keep his voice serious. "I am a bit of a hypocrite," he acknowledged. "Everyone is. I try to be as little of one as possible. But it is certainly true that I want my children to be better off than I am. I want more for you, and Tim, and Dick, than I want for myself. I'm willing to work harder for you and your health than I am willing to work for myself. It's hypocritical, yes, but I guess you could also say that I've found peace with my neuroses. Do you feel at peace with yours?"

Jason looked away, cheeks flushing.

Bruce sat back in his chair, heart twinging. Maybe he shouldn't have poked at him like that. Then again, maybe it was what Jason needed.

He looked away, trying to give him some space. "I think it would have benefited me to go when I was younger. Attitudes toward therapy have changed a lot in my lifetime. Nowadays an eight-year-old who watched both parents gunned down in front of him would probably find himself in therapy within a week. But back when that happened to me, it was just sort of...expected, I suppose, that I would be sad for a while and then...get over it."

Jason looked back to him, blue eyes piercing and bright. "But you never did."

Bruce shook his head. "I never did."

Jason's hands twisted in his lap. "I don't want to be like that," he said softly. "I don't want to be...stuck here. Forever."

"It's unpleasant to be where you are, isn't it?" Bruce asked gently.

Jason nodded, his lips tight.

"I don't want you to be stuck there forever either, honey. Rather, I want you to get out of that place as quickly as possible."

Jason swiped a hand over his face, his hand shaking. There were tears on his cheeks.

Bruce leaned forward in his chair, then forced himself to lean back again. God, he wanted to hold this child. He wanted to pull him into his lap the way he could with Tim and just...hold him. For a long time. Forever.

"When we were, when we were stuck in that apartment..." Jason started slowly.

Bruce held very still, listening intently.

"When all we could do was talk through the walls, Timmy used to tell me stories."

The corner of Bruce's mouth turned up, even as his heart ached. He could see them so clearly, those two little boys sitting on either side of a wall, communicating with each other the only way they could, trapped in adjacent hells but still reaching out to each other with their hearts and voices. "What kinds of stories?"

Jason drew a breath. "Stories about what our life was going to be like once we escaped." He looked at Bruce, then away. "Stories about how we would live in the same house and go to the same school and never be alone, because we would always have each other. And how Tim would get us lessons in how to fight and how to move so we would be able to defend ourselves and each other and we would never have to be afraid ever again."

The ache in Bruce's heart sharpened. "We'll still do that," he said. "I'll give you all the lessons you could possibly want. And I swear, you will never, ever be alone."

Jason nodded, biting his lip. He looked at Bruce again, and this time there was a tiny twinkle in his eye, even while it shone with tears. "Tim never told me stories about how we were going to get therapy, though."

Bruce laughed, the sound startled out of him. "No, I guess he wouldn't. Maybe he should have, though. Maybe you would be more willing to entertain the idea if it came from him."

"Yeah." Jason huffed a soft little chuckle and looked down at his hands, which were no longer clenched in the blanket, but lying loosely in his lap. "I think I'm starting to come around to it, though."

"Good." Bruce's pride and pleasure glowed in his voice. "I'm glad to hear that, Jaylad. Very glad."

Jason nodded slowly, still staring at his hands. He held his breath for a moment, and his shoulders were tense. Then he looked up at Bruce, anxious but forthright. He sat up, leaning toward Bruce, and held out his hand.

Bruce looked at his hand for a moment, then his face. "Do you want me to...?"

Jason nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Please," he said hoarsely.

Bruce hesitated a moment longer, then reached out in return. He had to sit forward in his chair, leaning against the arm, but it wasn't difficult. His hand reached Jason's and folded around it, small and shaking and a bit clammy. He held him gently but firmly, determined to do this right.

Jason stared at their joined hands as if he was studying them, the way they fit together, the way it felt. Then he sighed, and his shoulders relaxed, and he leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

Bruce sat there, holding his hand. His heart was very, very full.