A/N: We're winding down now, and if you can't believe we're at this point, don't worry, neither can I. See you next time for the final chapter!
I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
The first thing Jason saw when his eyes opened was the window.
He blinked, squinting at the sunlight that poured into the room, covering the walls and floorboards in a golden glow. The peaceful light bathed him in warmth, and, in his half-asleep state, Jason wondered if he was dead again. The more he woke, the less of the dream-like state of bliss that had saturated him faded, bringing him to reality. A twinge of sharpness pierced into the muscles in his back, to the right of his spine. He wasn't dead, that was for sure. As he came to full consciousness he felt more of his body, twitching his fingers slightly as the feeling returned to them.
It took him a groggy few seconds to remember that the last time he'd been conscious, it had been night. Now he was lying on his stomach, his body pressed into a soft mattress, pillow tucked underneath his head. Jason closed his eyes again to block out the sunlight and focused on the darkness of his eyelids, trying to recall just what had happened. The memories came back to him slowly: fighting with Tim on the rooftop, taking off his helmet, Harkness getting him with the boomerang, and then passing out.
That explained the pain in his back. Although dull it was still present, the longer he was awake the more he noticed it. Jason opened his eyes again and looked around without moving his head, his eyes scanning the wall in front of him. He recognized the window and what he could see of the room, in a weirdly nostalgic way. For some reason, the sight of it wasn't enough to make the memory click. His mind held onto the grogginess, which was more than just the confusion of waking up. Jason had to wonder if there was something in his system slowing down his thought process. Still, the recognition prompted him to push himself up onto his elbows, clenching his jaw at the stabbing pain that followed. Slowly he rolled onto his side, releasing a breath from the pain and looking around further. Then it hit him where he was: his old room at Wayne Manor.
Once he realized it, he didn't know how he could have forgotten. Jason caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned his head, able to see fully now that his eyes adjusted to the light. Tim rose from a chair across the room, as if unable to contain his surprise. "You're awake."
"How long was I out?" Jason pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the sharp pain that came from it. He swallowed, not daring to lean back against the headboard. The grogginess faded the longer that he was awake, and the pain grew worse. Pain meds, Jason surmised, and they'd definitely run out.
"About a day and a half," Tim said as he walked over, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He looked Jason over carefully, deciding quietly on some sort of consensus. "You look better."
"I bounce back quick," Jason said, taking note of Tim's appearance now that he was up close. The teen's hair was ruffled, sticking up in odd directions that said it hadn't been brushed in a while. Dark circles hung under his eyes, sleepless bruises that marked his features. For being back at the manor, it didn't look like he'd recovered well from the night they'd all faced off. Jason frowned at him. "Haven't you been sleeping?"
"Somewhat," Tim admitted sheepishly. He seemed hesitant, as if knowing that he didn't have that good of an excuse for not taking care of himself. "I was worried."
"Hey, I can take a hit," Jason said. "That had nothing on Joker's crowbar."
Tim shot him a look that said he was not amused with the comment. But hey, it was Jason's trauma, he could deal with it how he wanted. And it was true—as far as Jason knew all he'd done was slept since the fight. Tim should have taken the opportunity and done so himself, especially when it was clear that Jason wasn't going anywhere. But he wasn't in the mood to chastise Tim when the teen had probably already heard it from someone else. Just like with them, he wasn't going to listen to Jason hound him about his health.
Instead Jason looked around at his room, jarred by its appearance. Now that he knew where he was, he got the chance to take it all in, and the result was shocking to him. None of it was different, and that was what made it so strange. It was as if he was sitting in the middle of his memory, as if he'd never left the manor or died at all. He hadn't thought that Alfred and Bruce left it like a tomb. Truthfully, he'd assumed that Tim had his old room. It was one of the many things that Jason had been wrong about, apparently.
"Are you okay?" Tim's voice broke him out of his thoughts, bringing him back to the present moment. The tiredness in his face made him look even more concerned, which only made Jason wonder if the teen was going to fall over and pass out at any moment. He wished he'd woken up sooner, if only so that Tim could get the rest he needed.
"It's just been a long time," Jason answered, mentally shaking himself out of his surprise. "Never really thought I'd be back here."
There were many events that had taken place recently that Jason never imagined, but that was the nature of his life. The last few months had kept him constantly moving, and he was just now feeling a reprieve from it. Jason hadn't realized how exhausted he really was, but sitting in the bed, as odd as it was, he was glad to have a chance to breathe. Tim nodded, pausing. Something in him shifted, the atmosphere around the teen growing somber. He said slowly, "Jason…"
"No apologies," Jason said before he could continue, shaking his head. He already knew where Tim was going with it, and they were words that he didn't need to hear. The last thing he needed was Tim hating himself for all that had gone on. "I told you I understood where you were coming from. It was my choice to stop you. I'm not going to hold it over you for the rest of your life."
Tim looked at him, momentarily unconvinced. He nodded after a minute, a nod that was more to himself than to Jason, as if telling himself that it was alright to accept the words. "Well, don't hold it against yourself either."
Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious," Tim answered, shifting on the bed so that he drew his legs up onto the mattress.
"So am I," Jason replied, his expression not bearing anything more than casualness, yet his tone stern. He was going to carry this with him for a long time, whether Tim liked it or not. Jason was an expert at holding grudges, and he could do the same with them against himself as he did with other people, if not worse.
"Jason, as much credit as you want to give yourself for this happening, it doesn't all belong to you," Tim said. He raised an eyebrow at Jason, "Do you really think I haven't wanted to kill Harkness? I've thought about it since the night my dad died. If this hadn't happened, I probably would have tried some other way, eventually."
That was something Jason didn't doubt. That hurt hadn't come from nowhere, after all, and not even the pain of believing Bruce had abandoned him was enough to send Tim on a vengeful mission. No, Jason knew how much the death of his father played into that. Maybe Tim was right and that eventually he would have tried another way, the rage at Harkness boiling over to where he couldn't stop himself from trying. As logical and probable as it was, it didn't ease Jason's mind all that much. "You were the one that made the choice to stop. I didn't make you do anything. You still could have done it."
"Yeah," Tim admitted. "But you cleared my head when I was too caught up in myself to see what I was doing."
The teen smiled faintly. "Thanks for not giving up on me."
"Giving up on you was never an option," Jason answered, giving a small smile back. The two of them had been through plenty together in the relatively short time that they'd known one another personally. They'd had each other's backs for long enough that Jason had no doubts in the teen. Tim wasn't just someone that he could fight alongside, he was someone that he knew he could trust with his life—and Jason didn't hand that out to everyone.
The bedroom door opened, and both of them turned. Bruce entered the room, looking at each of them, "I thought I heard talking."
"You know it's one thing to eavesdrop on strangers, but that was rude," Jason said. Joking at least helped him not feel so uncomfortable.
Tim laughed a little, standing up. "I'm going to go lay down for a little while. I'll be back later."
"Get some sleep. You need it," Jason said. He was half tempted to make up some excuse as to why he needed to be alone as well, but Jason fought down the urge. He wasn't going to run, not anymore. Obviously Bruce's entrance was some sort of cue, and Tim knew just as well as they did that the two of them had to talk, eventually.
The teen headed out the door, closing it behind him. Bruce walked over, taking the spot where Tim had sat. Now that it was just the two of them, Jason couldn't ignore the discomfort that he felt creeping up on him. It had been so much easier when they wore masks, when Bruce didn't know who he was. Now Jason felt vulnerable and exposed. Maybe it was the injury and the tiredness making him unable to put up his usual wall, or maybe something really had cracked in Jason over the whole ordeal. He wasn't quite sure about which was right.
Bruce looked to him, his expression, thankfully, not bearing anything that made Jason more uncomfortable. "How are you feeling?"
"I've been worse," Jason answered. "What happened with Harkness?"
He'd thought about asking Tim, but it was a topic that Jason felt best they simply put behind themselves. Luckily Bruce was good at delivering facts. "He's been transported back to Central City. Nothing more than bruised, either."
Jason nodded, glad to hear it. It would be a shame if Harkness went back completely unharmed. Even if Tim had initially agreed to give up his plan, Jason probably would have let the teen rough up the man a bit. It was good to get some of that anger out, after all. Bruce looked to Jason thoughtfully, which was something that he didn't like. He had absolutely no idea what Bruce was thinking, and he never gave any signs for Jason to hazard a guess. That hadn't changed in the time he'd been gone, and it still put him on edge. Finally Bruce spoke, "What you said to Tim, it worked. It was what he needed to hear."
Don't I know it. That wasn't what he was expecting his old mentor to say. But what had he been expecting? Bruce to scream at him? Bruce to tear into him for all he did to Tim and the rest of them? He'd get that—that reaction made a lot more sense to him than this placidness Bruce was showing him. But there was a fine line between what Jason expected and what he thought he deserved, and the line was exceptionally blurred. He glanced away from Bruce, "It was true, believe it or not."
"I believe you," Bruce answered without hesitance. "But I believe the good in what you said more."
That caused Jason to turn back to him, uncertain. He'd stood on that rooftop and told Tim not to be him. When he was saying it, he hadn't thought he was saying anything particularly good. But Bruce had always managed to see the good in people, even when others thought there wasn't anything particularly good in them. Could he really see that in Jason, even knowing all that he'd done outside of this chaos? Back when he was just a street kid stealing Batmobile wheels, that was more plausible. Now Jason had plenty of sins stacked against him that he wasn't sure he believed Bruce could forgive.
He couldn't think of anything to say to that, and so he said nothing. Bruce seemed to understand, and he asked carefully, "How are you here?"
Clearly the shock hadn't worn off entirely yet. Jason figured being unconscious since the reveal hadn't helped. It wasn't as if he'd had a chance to really be alive around Bruce without the guise of the Red Hood.
"Don't worry, it wasn't all some huge joke on you," Jason said. "I was actually dead."
"I know," Bruce said heavily, and Jason inwardly cringed. He was trying to pass it off like it was nothing, but it wasn't as simple as that. Sure, once he'd died the world went dark for him and he didn't have the privilege to watch what had happened after. But Tim had filled in the details for him, the ones he'd learned: Bruce had dug his broken body out of the rubble, had to carry his lifeless partner in his arms through the snow and back to Gotham, where the gray skies were suddenly darker and so was the city's protector. Jason's world may have ended, but Bruce's continued on with the weight of his Robin's casket on his shoulders.
Jason draped an arm over his knees, sighing. "It's a long story. But I'm guessing you have the time."
It took a while to explain all of it: how Talia had brought him back to life and sent him off to training. Jason told Bruce all about how he'd trained, with who, and when he'd finally came back to Gotham and found Tim. Even though he was ashamed of his thoughts now, he let Bruce know his original plan with Tim, and how it had all changed over time. He didn't really have reason to hide any of it, not now. The more he poured out into the open, the more relieved Jason felt, as if the weight of his secrets had been dragging him down all along.
Bruce listened intently through the story, interrupting on occasion to ask for clarification. When Jason finished, Bruce nodded, taking in everything he'd learned. The information passed over Bruce's face like he was calculating all of it together. "Damian mentioned when he came that he was part of what Talia owed me. He didn't know what else she meant. Neither did I."
"Wait, Talia is his mom? You have a kid with her?" That was ironic, to say the least. The woman had never mentioned anything about Damian to him, but it wasn't as though Jason had been there all that long. Talia had sent him off to train after he was back on his feet, and it wasn't as though he'd been a frequent visitor to the League of Assassins. As far as he'd been concerned, Damian didn't exist. Jason paused, thinking over all that he'd seen of the kid on their feeds, his fighting style, and his overall aggression. Then he raised his eyebrows, nodding a little to himself. "That actually explains a lot about him."
"I figured it would," Bruce said. He definitely had his work cut out for him with that one. And Jason thought that he was bad, coming off of the streets. At least he hadn't had years of assassin training under his belt when he'd first come to the manor.
"I guess we all know what she meant now," Jason answered.
They lapsed into silence, both of them unsure. Jason knew that usually he was the one to jump into these conversations, to raise the questions and demand answers. He didn't want to demand anything this time. Really, he didn't know what he wanted out of this conversation. It was far from the one he'd always envisioned—the one he discarded the way he'd discarded using Tim to get back at his old mentor. He flicked his gaze over Bruce, "You seem to be holding up well enough."
Bruce looked at him, and without the mask Jason could see all the conflict in the man's eyes. He saw the pain, perhaps the pain that Tim had told him about all along. It was raw, and it sunk into the scars that all of their history left on Jason, revived the memory of the hurt so strongly he thought they'd rip open again. Hell, he wasn't the Bruce Wayne that had given him Robin. It was a mangled, torn up version of him that the trauma spit out and left to crawl back to his feet. His voice, although that same, familiar timber, held more solemnity than he ever recalled hearing. "I tried to save you, Jason. I was almost there when…"
"Bruce, I was never angry that you didn't save me," Jason answered. "I forgive you for that. But when I came back and found out that the Joker was alive and you had a new sidekick? That's where I had an issue."
That's what his hurt had always been about. Jason knew that Bruce had tried, he didn't doubt for a second that he hadn't been on his way. That was a fact that anyone who knew about that day could attest to—Bruce hadn't left him to die. It was the aftermath that had sent Jason into a tailspin.
Bruce sighed, tiredly. "You didn't want to see me cross that line, Jason. You don't ever want to see that happen."
"You're right. I don't," Jason said, looking to Bruce, the firmness in his voice and in his face. "Not now, at least. I saw how it changed Tim and he hadn't even gone that far yet. So I can accept you not killing Joker, even if I still think he needs obliterated off the face of this earth."
"You aren't the only one," Bruce replied, meeting Jason's gaze with his own serious expression. "Just because I won't do it doesn't mean I haven't thought about it."
It was a weirdly grounding comment. Jason thought he knew everything about Bruce, that Bruce stuck by his code and shunned the idea of murder. He'd always seen his mentor having a strict, black and white view of justice. Getting that insight into Bruce's mind told Jason there was more to it than that. Maybe this time around he needed to really ask instead of making assumptions and arguing about who was right. He shrugged his shoulders, wincing at the pain. "So, is this the part where you lecture me about how killing isn't the way to true justice?"
Jason heard the challenge in his voice, his muscles tensing as if preparing for war. There was no getting out of this conversation without discussing it, and he was almost baiting Bruce into it. Deep down, Jason knew that. He was inviting Bruce to a fight, to see if his old mentor would throw his code, just so Jason could bite back with his own. It was, in his own way, a true test to see where he stood, and where his future led.
Bruce said nothing, mouth pressed into a thin line as he regarded Jason with nothing more than intrigue. At least, that was what Jason could pinpoint. He wanted to shake the answers out of Bruce—he almost wished for a fight rather than silence. Bruce watched him, and then he finally spoke. "You know what I think about it. And I know that you didn't always agree with my way."
"I tried it your way," Jason answered. "But not everyone is afraid of Batman. What do you do then, let them keep going? Because I'd rather take them out before they hurt anyone else."
Jason fixed his gaze on Bruce, his blue eyes sharp as he elicited the challenge. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"You're not wrong. I've seen the numbers," Bruce said. "Crime rates in Gotham are down. I don't know whether that's because of how many people you killed, or because you made a strong example. But in theory, you're not wrong."
If there was a proper way to react to the statement, Jason certainly didn't have it. He stared at Bruce as if he didn't comprehend what the man had said, and really, Jason wasn't confident that he did. From what he thought he heard, Bruce was agreeing with him. That was not something that Jason could ever remember happening with anything that went against Bruce's own beliefs. And so he stared, nearly slack jawed, until Jason closed his mouth to keep it from falling completely open.
"But you saw what happened with Tim. And that's why I can't condone it," Bruce continued. He set his gaze on Jason, not quite harsh, but stern nonetheless. "I know I can't stop you. Not completely. But if you're going to operate in my city, you follow my rules. Threaten them all you want, but no killing. Think you can handle that?"
If he was being honest, Jason hadn't thought too far into what he was going to do now. He knew leaving Gotham was an option, but he'd already established himself here in more ways than one. Not to mention he wasn't going to up and leave Tim just because his identity was out in the open. As unexpected as it was, Bruce wasn't running him out of Gotham for his actions. Really, he was doing the opposite: he was inviting Jason to stay on his conditions. It occurred to Jason that this might be one of Bruce's ways of trying to ask him to stay, when Bruce was never good about asking for anything.
"I might be able to make it work," Jason relented. He couldn't make a steadfast promise that he was changing his ways. At some point he'd mess up and do something that went against the code. He didn't really like the idea of following Bruce's code, either, when he knew his way worked. But he could attempt to rein himself in, to the best of his ability. It was either that or cause more of a divide between them all, and Jason had a feeling that even if he didn't know exactly what he wanted, that wasn't it. He was tired of fighting with them, despite them not realizing until now that he had been.
The man didn't give him any indication of what he thought about his answer. Instead Bruce glanced to the window, another thought seeming to take over him. Normally Bruce didn't handle these types of conversations well, but with both of them beaten down, it seemed like they were able to get the words out much easier. "I didn't want another Robin, after what happened."
"Tim said you lost your mind for a while there," Jason said, watching him. "That's why he convinced you to take him on."
He couldn't help but notice that they were talking like they were simply getting back in touch with one another. Jason was surprised that they weren't at each other's throats, that neither of them had said anything to rile the other. Maybe more had changed in both of them than he'd thought. He dropped his head, looking at his hands. "That kid has done a lot for you. Probably more than I ever did."
Bruce looked back to him. "I needed you just as much. You were my partner, Jason. You were family. You still are."
Something twisted in Jason's chest, and he swallowed. Jason didn't think hearing it would affect him, but he'd been wrong. The words sunk into every open wound, trying to heal where he was broken. He'd been starved to hear those words, to hear them from Bruce and not someone else. For so long, the belief that he meant nothing trapped him in bitterness. The proof of otherwise hurt him as much as they brought him relief. "I know you weren't trying to replace me. I get it. I wish I would have accepted that a lot sooner."
"We've had our challenges," Bruce said. He reached a hand out and placed it on Jason's shoulder. "There are mistakes that we've both made. But I never regretted taking you in, not once."
Jason felt the lump form in his throat. He couldn't pinpoint a single emotion, whether it was relief, sorrow, or acceptance. All of them broke open inside of him, cracking through every belief he'd ever had about never mattering, about being replaceable. They had never been true, not to Bruce, not to his tomb-like room, not to the history of Robin. He raised his head, forced himself to look at Bruce. "I'm sorry. For all of it."
"We both have to let go of the past. We have to let go of all the blame we've ever put on ourselves and on each other," Bruce said, meeting his eyes. "What happens in the future, we'll handle when the time comes. But we can move on from here."
All Jason could bring himself to do was nod. Yes, that was what he wanted. No more pain, no more anger and vengeance—he wanted to let it all go. He was tired of holding the grudge, of keeping up his enraged defenses. They were gone now, swept away by the tide that had washed over all of them. Bruce pulled Jason to him, and Jason clung tightly to his mentor, taking a deep breath.
And Bruce, who Jason had only ever seen weak a few times in his life, clung just as tightly back. "Welcome home, Jason."
Tim was admittedly nervous as he followed Bruce down to his office. He'd managed to fall asleep for a few hours in his room, his tiredness catching up to him. Admittedly, he'd gotten used to his safehouse with Jason and his space there, and so it took him a little while to readjust to his space in the manor. Finally knowing that Jason was up and alright helped him to relax, and he drifted off to sleep. He woke from the nap feeling a little better, more refreshed than anything. Truthfully, he needed much more sleep than that, but Tim never operated on much to begin with. He debated on whether or not he should try again, and then dismissed the idea and pulled himself out of bed.
It was the middle of the day, and it wasn't like he had a long list of things to do. His life had all but stalled for the moment, which wasn't something that Tim knew how to handle. He'd already given himself tasks to keep busy, and soon it would have to be more in depth work if he wanted to keep his sanity. For now, he could start with checking in on Jason. He headed down the hall, wondering just how the conversation had went, and if it was still going. Since no yelling had roused him from his sleep, Tim had hope that it was going well, whatever "well" meant. Instead, as he made his way towards the room, he ran into Bruce as the man ascended the staircase. Tim stopped, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you were with Jason."
"He's resting," Bruce said. "I was actually looking for you."
"Oh," Tim answered. Bruce gestured for him to follow, and Tim trailed after him down the staircase and into the office. Compared to the cave, Tim wasn't in this space nearly as often, but it carried a different feel. The cave had an open atmosphere, a place where anyone connected to their family could be. They shared that space, thrived in it. The office, however, belonged solely to Bruce. Whenever Tim stepped in, he knew he was stepping in territory belonging only to his mentor.
Tim took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk as Bruce sat down behind it. He wasn't sure why they'd come here or what Bruce could show him. They did their operations in the cave, never in the manor. Was he about to receive some kind of lecture? Was he about to be faced with his punishment for what he'd done?
Bruce folded his hands on the desk, "There is something I've been meaning to ask you."
"What is it?" Tim gripped the arm rests of the chair, his heart picking up its pace. He wished that Bruce would just outright say it, as every passing second leaned towards agonizing.
"I don't want you to feel pressured into it," Bruce said, his voice calm. But there was something off about it, as if it were false confidence. "I've had the paperwork drawn up for a long time now, but I didn't want to be insensitive."
Bruce reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file, placing it on the desk. "It still might be too soon or not the right time. I don't know that they'll ever be a perfect time to ask. So I wanted to ask you now rather than wait any longer."
He slid the file forwards, and Tim raised a curious eyebrow. It took him another moment to realize that Bruce wasn't as calm as he'd first expected, he was nervous. That only piqued his interest more, and Tim looked down at the file and opened it. His eyes scanned over the papers in front of him, and then his eyes widened as he looked up at Bruce. "Adoption papers?"
"In my mind I already consider you my son," Bruce answered. "But this would make it official. If you don't want to, I understand. I know that you already had a father."
"Yeah, I did," Tim answered, "but I'm lucky enough to have another."
He saw the light in Bruce's eyes flicker, and Tim slowly smiled. There was no need for him to say yes. Tim picked up a pen from off the desk and looked down at the documents. Bruce had already signed off on it. He'd been waiting on Tim this whole time. Tim appreciated Bruce waiting, he really did. But it told him something that he had lost faith in before: that he had a place whether he was Robin or not. Tim clicked the pen and set it to the paper, the black ink appearing in delicate loops as he signed his name on the line.
Bruce smiled, a slight upturn of his mouth that Tim rarely saw. Tim smiled back and looked down at the line. Bruce Wayne's son. Tim Drake Wayne.
In a way, it was more of an honor than being Robin.