Bruce should have expected something like this.

Jason had been restored to life for a number of years now, and he had no idea why he hadn't considered that something like this might happen. There was only so long that a dead man could wonder around, before someone realised that they were supposed to be dead.

Jason's time had run out, and now Bruce was suffering the consequences (and why wasn't he surprised?).

He didn't know the details — Tim had been rather skittish, and Damian and Jason hadn't been any help at all — but apparently Jason had showed up at Damian's school, which had consequently resulted in a number of people realising that he was very much alive (including that annoying Ms. Benson — Bruce still cringed when he thought about her shrill voice). Apparently a mother had been present, and had run out of the office shrieking that, "her baby was being treated unjustly, and who CARED if some strange Jason Todd fellow had returned from the dead?!"

The story had spread, and he'd woken that morning to the sound of frantic, excited shrieks. He'd opened the front door, and had immediately been ambushed by the familiar flashing of cameras.

Dammit, and he hadn't even had time to hold a press conference.

So now he, along with his sons (oh, of all mornings to have all of them at the manor. Bruce had been rather pleased last night — it had been a rather tough few nights of patrol, and Jason had remained at the manor on Alfred's stern request — but now he cursed his luck), stood in front of those damn media vultures, while Bruce struggled to come up with an acceptable cover story. Bruce was just glad that only Dick, Tim and Jason were here; Damian had yet to come downstairs, and for that he was glad. Having three of his sons out here was bad enough; all four would just be the cherry on top of an already terrible morning.

This was ridiculously hard. He was Batman — things like this were supposed to come naturally to him, but…god, being Batman didn't prepare him for explaining why his supposedly dead son was currently standing next to him.

"Truth is, I was never dead," Jason told them, and Bruce winced. Who had told Jason he could speak to the reporters? It was best if he gave them a short response — maybe a quick 'no comment' would be best, and then he could come up with a suitable excuse later on.

"I only faked my death," Jason continued. "And now I'm back, so I don't need to pretend to be dead anymore. So — there's your story."

"Uh, no, that's not the whole story," Dick interjected, and Bruce decided that he really needed to intervene before they ruined everything. "You see — "

"I faked my own death, Dickhead — what more is there to say?" Jason snorted.

The reporters were listening with rapt attention, and jotting down every word. Bruce was sure that they wouldn't miss a thing, and he felt a spark of despair. A 'no comment' would have been so easy. Or even a reminder that this was private property, and he could have them arrested. But no; Jason had to go and open his mouth, and then Dick had to go and do the same thing, and — oh, who was he kidding, Tim would probably be joining in soon enough.

He needed to stop this before it went too far (well, further than it already had).

"Okay, that'll be all for now," he said loudly. "My family and I — "

"Why did you pretend to be dead, Jason?" a female reporter called out.

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Jason beat him to it.

"I had a dream," he said. "One that Bruce could never accept. I didn't want to leave, but, well, you've got to do what's best for you, right?"

The reporters listened intently, their eyes gleaming at the prospect of a new story.

"You see — there was one thing I wanted most in this world."

Bruce held his breath. Oh god, this was Jason, and who knew what ridiculous thing was about to come out of his mouth…

"And that was to be a folk singer."

Bruce blinked.

"Wait, what?" Dick blurted out.

"But I knew if I stuck around, Bruce would never approve of the path I had taken." Jason shot Bruce an accusing stare, while Bruce continued to stare at him incredulously. "So I thought — "fuck it; I'm just going to leave."

"You never gave me the chance," Bruce snapped, forcing himself to set aside his confusion and disbelief. If this was the game Jason wanted to play, then fine — he would play along. "You jumped to your own conclusions."

"Please," Jason snorted. "You made yourself abundantly clear about your views on…folk music."

Bruce clenched his fists. "It's not my fault I don't agree — I mean, enjoy folk music," he snapped.

Jason glared at him. "Oh, how the fuck would you know anything about it?" he spat. "Maybe if you actually gave it a try, you'd realise that it's people like me who make this fucked up world just a little bit better."

"He really likes folk music," Tim told the reporters (who were starting to look more than a little confused).

"I'm helping purge the filth in this world!"

"…A lot." Tim shifted uncomfortably. "He likes it a lot."

"It's just wrong Jason!" Bruce snapped.

"Bruce!" a reporter yelled. "Why are you so against folk music?!"

"Oh you know," Dick said, his voice shaking slightly, "he's just never been a fan. He's more of a pop person, really — you know, you just hear him bursting into song at the most random moments —"

"Dick," Bruce warned.

"So if Jason faked his death, why was there a body?"

Bruce winced. Was it too late to simply turn around and go inside? And dammit, couldn't these vultures give him some time to think?

"Wax replica," Tim said abruptly. "Bruce, uh, didn't want an empty coffin so — we used a wax replica."

"It's that a bit…much?" a female reporter asked, frowning.

Dick's eyes narrowed. "You're really going to question the actions of a grieving father?"

Bruce took a step backwards, and motioned at his sons. Perhaps if they all went inside now, they could avoid anymore —

"Jason! Jason, why did you go to such lengths?! Surely simply leaving home would have sufficed."

"Have you ever had a dream?" Jason demanded, taking a step forward. "Something you wanted more than anything? Why — I didn't even have a choice!" He let out a short, barking laugh. "It was like being hit by a crowbar over and over — it wouldn't stop until I just had to leave!"

"…May I quote you on that?"

"So I thought, fuck it," Jason continued, smirking widely (oh, he would find some way to make him pay, he thought sourly). "Goodbye Bruce, folk music here I come. And then I left, and the annoying crowbar bashing stopped."

"Oh god…" Tim whispered incredulously, while Dick winced.

"But then — "

"Jason, I think that's enough," Bruce hissed.

"Bruce, let him speak!" a male reporter cried out. "You've kept him quiet long enough! It's alright son — we understand your vision, and we support it!"

Jason smirked. "Yeah well — after a while I just had to come back, and show my beloved family just how far I'd come. Of course there were a few extra members but — you know how it is. You die, you get replaced, the world moves on."

Bruce bit back a groan. He needed some coffee. And his bed. And someone to hit him repeatedly over the head for deciding that being a father would be a good idea.

"So yeah, that's uh, our official statement," Dick said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Um…could you leave now?"

…

AN:

Was originally going to leave this story as a oneshot, but then I had this idea, so I decided to add an extra part :) Damian wasn't in this, just because I couldn't find a way to fit him in (something I am quite sad about, because Damian is probably one of my absolute favourite characters, and I love writing about him).

Hope you enjoyed!