A/N: I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter up. Life has been absolutely insane lately and this chapter was too important not to get right (writing it took a massive amount of time and effort). It's the emotional climax of the story and the whole reason Scars was written. Ever since I watched Under the Red Hood and wrote Volatile, I've wanted Jason to make things right with his old mentor. This chapter is the culmination of that.
And thank you to every single person who has commented so far. It utterly makes my day that you take the time to say a few words and I am so very grateful. Just one chapter left after this. :)
oOo
Jason stood in the driveway of Wayne Manor and stared up at the snow-covered mansion. It was late – a little after eleven – and for the first time since he had decided to stay in this world, he hesitated to enter, unsure of the welcome he would get. After his argument with Bruce, Jason hadn't intended to come back here tonight, but his troubled thoughts had given him little choice in the matter.
It hadn't taken long to fill Commissioner Gordon in on what had happened at the crackerjack factory. Omitting the conversation about Dick being Robin, Jason had told Gordon that the third kidnapper had ran for the roof in a bid to escape, and that Dick had somehow followed them up there. The officer hadn't looked completely happy with Jason's explanation that he had let the kidnapper fall in order to save Dick, but reluctantly admitted that if he had been in Red Hood's shoes, he would have done the same thing
But his words did little to abate the growing unease that Jason was feeling. Reflecting on the events at the crackerjack factory and rattled after his fight with Bruce, Jason didn't like where his thoughts were heading.
Even though he hadn't intentionally let the kidnapper fall from the roof, Jason had been ready to kill the man in order to protect Dick. But that wasn't what bothered him, – which in itself troubled Jason – what bothered him was how easy it had been to revert back to the mindset that killing was the only solution.
After Joker had kidnapped and tortured Robin, the guilt of not getting there in time and Dick's near death had very nearly sent Jason off the deep end. Somewhere in amongst all the guilt, fear and murderous rage, Jason had realized that killing the Joker would mean absolutely nothing to him if Dick died. It had been a life-altering epiphany, and Jason had finally started to understand what his mentor had been trying to teach him; that killing would achieve very little in the long run, other than to destroy Jason himself.
So why now, after all these months, had he been so quick to jump back into the role of killer? He'd been ready to annihilate Dick's kidnapper to protect the boy, and felt absolutely no qualms about doing so. Yet, it wasn't guilt at that instinct that bothered him, what bothered Jason was that he felt absolutely no guilt at all.
And he didn't like it. He didn't like this side to himself. It troubled him to realise that those dark, murderous instincts were still lurking beneath the veneer of humanity. Jason didn't want to be a killer anymore; he wanted to be the man that Dick believed him to be.
Dick was the only person in both worlds who had ever looked up to Jason, the only person who ever saw only the good in Jason. Not knowing the awful truth of Jason's past made it easy for Dick to believe in him, which in turn made it easier for Jason to not kill people. It helped that he wasn't constantly at war with himself and those around him. No longer dogged by rabid anger or consumed with revenge, Jason was content, happy even. However, after the events of tonight, he was wondering if maybe he shouldn't be troubled by that as well; should he feel so at peace when his past was filled with so much bloodshed?
Jason had been plagued by such thoughts upon returning to his apartment after talking with the Commissioner. Bone tired, yet unable to sleep, he had come to the conclusion that the ghosts currently haunting him needed to be put to rest if he was to ever become the man he aspired to be. Which was why he was now currently standing outside Wayne Manor in the snow; he had decided to start by apologising to Bruce. The man hadn't been entirely wrong when he had questioned Jason's actions at the crackerjack factory, and Jason hadn't been entirely right when he had reacted so defensively. This Bruce wasn't his Bruce, and had done nothing to deserve that antagonism; an antagonism that had been simmering under the surface for weeks and bursting out at sporadic intervals.
Jason suspected it was because he had never got the chance to make things right with his old mentor, and he was using this Bruce as a substitute whipping boy for his pent-up feelings.
"Master Jason, are you debating coming in or considering becoming an ice-statue?" Alfred's voice broke into his musings.
Jason looked at the front door to see the English man framed within it, light spilling out from behind him. "Am I even welcome?" he asked, then scowled at the question. He was behaving like a bratty child. Jason really didn't like what these feelings could turn him into.
Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Master Jason, you know full well that you are always welcome in this house."
"Sorry, Alfred." Jason came up the front steps towards the butler. "Is Bruce here or has he already gone out?"
"Master Bruce is in the library having coffee before he embarks on his nightly jaunt. When I informed him that you were out here, he asked if you would join him. I took the liberty of brewing another pot of coffee…unless you really are intent on this ice-statue business?"
Jason smiled. "Coffee would be great, Alfred, thank you."
"I shall bring it in directly, Sir."
"Wait!" Jason stopped him as he made to return to the kitchen. "Where's Dick?"
"Master Dick is upstairs sleeping." The butler's mouth thinned into a disapproving line. "I'm afraid the lad is rather exhausted after his ordeal."
"But he is going to be alright?" Jason asked anxiously. "The drugs aren't going to have any long term effects?"
"Doctor Thompkins foresees no future complications."
Relief coursed through Jason. "Good." He paused. "Guess I'd better go in and see Bruce, huh?"
"I would advise it, Sir. Master Bruce seems very keen to speak with you."
Yeah, I'll bet. "Okay, thanks, Alfred."
As the butler retreated to the kitchen, Jason strode down the hall towards the library, his heart thumping just that little bit faster. He was bad at apologizing, and even worse when he knew he was wrong. He hoped he wouldn't make a complete hash of this.
Entering the living room, he found Bruce standing in front of the fire, staring into it. The man didn't move and for a moment, Jason hesitated.
He almost jumped when Bruce's deep voice addressed him suddenly. "How's your shoulder?"
"What? Oh. It's fine, no biggie." Jason waved a hand, stopping when he realized Bruce couldn't see him. "Bruce, I–"
"Jason, I owe you an apology," Bruce interrupted, turning around. "Dick told me what he remembers from the roof. I was wrong to accuse you of letting that man fall on purpose and I'm sorry. I was just concerned that some of your old instincts may have gotten the better of you, and worried about what that might do to you."
"Nice of you to say so, Bruce, but you're not the one who should be saying sorry. I am."
Bruce raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"You were right– not about me letting the guy fall on purpose!" he added as Bruce frowned. "But…I did want to kill him. No, forget that. I meant to kill him, Bruce."
The older man's brows knotted. "Jason, sit down. I think we need to talk." Sitting into the armchair beside the fire, Bruce gestured for Jason to take the chair opposite.
Jason did so, feeling slightly confused. Bruce wasn't reacting with the anger he had expected. In fact, he was acting as though he had been expecting this conversation. He frowned. "Did you know I would come back here tonight?"
"I suspected you might. That's why I remained here until now, instead of going on patrol."
Figures. Jason sighed and rolled his eyes, wondering if Bruce Wayne in any reality could be surprised. "Why would you even suspect that?"
"Because something has been bothering you for a while now," Bruce told him. "And tonight it seemed that whatever it is was ready to come out. I tried to push you into opening up at Leslie's, but I may have gone the wrong way about it–"
"No kidding!" Jason interjected.
"–and put you on the defensive," Bruce continued. "I also realized you weren't going to talk about it while Dick was there."
"I don't want him to know about my past, Bruce."
"And he doesn't have to know. But, Jason–"
Bruce was interrupted by Alfred appearing with a tray bearing a cup and a silver coffee pot. After pouring a steaming cup for Jason, who accepted it gratefully, the elderly man turned to Bruce. "Do you require anything else, Sir?"
"No, thank you, Alfred," Bruce answered with a tired smile. "Is Dick sleeping okay?"
"The young sir is, as the expression goes, dead to the world. I will check on him again when I go up to turn the room next door for Master Jason."
Bruce nodded while Jason started to protest. "You don't need to do that, Alfred, I won't be staying."
The butler smiled at him in a knowing manner. "Very good, Sir. But there is no harm in being prepared should you change your mind. Master Bruce, I will be in the kitchen if you require anything else."
Alfred left the room and Jason immediately turned to Bruce. "I'm not staying!"
"No one is forcing you to," said Bruce patiently.
"Oh." Jason crossed his arms, annoyed at his own churlish behaviour.
Bruce leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "Jason, its reactions like that which tell me something is bothering you. That defensiveness is reminiscent of when you first arrived in this world…Does this have anything to do with your mentor?"
Jason curbed the instinct to roll his eyes. Seriously, how does he do that? Sighing, he nodded.
"I thought as much." Bruce frowned. "Jason, I'm not trying to replace the man who raised you, nor am I trying to be a father figure. You and I both know that we are too equal for me to be a parental figure to you. But I think that maybe, in a way, you resent me for that."
Jason shook his head. "I don't resent you, Bruce. I never wanted you to be a replacement for my own Bruce."
It occurred to Jason that no matter how much he had hated and resented his own mentor in the past, he had still never wanted anyone to take his place. There may be an infinite number of Bruce Waynes in the universe, but only one would ever be a father to him.
Bruce gave a small smile. "I'm glad to hear that. Sometimes, you react so strongly when I try to help you that I wonder if maybe it angers you to be reminded of the man who raised you."
Jason shrugged. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time; I just don't like people fussing over me."
"You need to get over that. Being part of a family involves looking out for one another, and while I may not be your mentor or guardian, I do consider you very much part of this family."
Jason stared at Bruce. He'd forgotten what it felt like to be part of a family.
Bruce put the tips of his fingers together and peered at Jason over the top of them. "So if I'm not the problem and your recent actions are connected to the Bruce from your reality, then I'm guessing the time has come for you to make things right with your mentor."
Jason sighed. He should have known that Bruce would work this out; the man was eerie when it came to reading people. "You know it's really creepy when you do that?"
Bruce just smiled.
Jason ran a hand though his hair. "Bruce, I started killing as a reaction to my own death and the fact that it was…I don't know, unavenged, but deep down, I always knew that the really dangerous criminals, the psychotics like Joker, would never completely fear Batman because they all knew he wouldn't kill them."
"The fear that Batman inspires doesn't come from the possibility of death," Bruce told him.
"I know that now. It's the fact that the goddamn Bat just won't quit!" Jason gave him a broken smile that faded quickly. "But it wasn't just about what I thought was the only way to clean up Gotham; it was also the best way to hurt Bruce like he'd hurt me, by doing the one thing he wouldn't."
"Kill," said Bruce quietly.
Jason nodded. "Bruce, I'm never going to let go of that instinct to kill until I forgive him for not killing Joker. I mean, I know why he didn't, and after what Joker did to Dick, I understand that it would have meant nothing to him, but I still can't just forgive him. The only way I can move past this is to hash things out…without it being a fight to the death!"
"What can I do to help?" Bruce asked.
Jason leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped and elbows resting on his knees. "You told me once that you could help me with travelling between my world and this one…that if I were to go back there, I could still return here. Did you mean that?"
"Yes." Bruce reached into his jacked pocket and pulled out two small, black cylindrical objects. "I had planned on giving these to you at Christmas, but I think now is the right time."
"Uh…thanks." Jason took the proffered objects and stared at them. "What are they?"
"A means to travel between this world and your own."
Jason's mouth fell open. "Seriously?!"
Bruce nodded. "I've been working on them ever since you asked me about travelling between the two worlds."
Jason shook his head. He shouldn't even have been surprised. "How do they work?"
"They operate as a conduit between our worlds when connected to a power source. I designed them to be portable, but that means it limits how long or how large the portal can be."
"Why are there two?" Jason asked, examining them. "Does one open into my world and the other open back here?"
"No. They both operate on a return system."
"So why two? You afraid I'll break one or something?"
"Only one is for you. The other is for your mentor."
Jason's head shot up and he stared at the older man. Bruce smiled. "I thought it might be a good idea to give him a way to contact you should he ever need it."
Jason didn't know what to say. Not only had Bruce just handed him the means to go back and make things right with his old mentor, he had handed him the one thing that would prove to his Bruce that Jason wanted to mend the rift: a line of communication.
After several minutes of dumbstruck silence, the only words he was able to vocalize were "Thank you."
They didn't come close to conveying the gratitude he felt.
Bruce smiled. "Anytime."
oOo
"Bruce, are you sure this will work?" Jason asked, dusting snowflakes from his hair.
"Positive," the older man answered calmly. "I tested them myself."
"When did you test them?"
"Last week. Jason, I wouldn't give them to you if I weren't certain they worked," Bruce replied patiently.
Jason let out a deep breath. He stared at the cylindrical object in his hand. It was Christmas Eve and they were standing in the grounds of Wayne Manor beside one of Bruce's portable generators, getting ready to send Jason back to his world.
Once Bruce had presented him with the means to travel back to his Gotham, Jason had seen no reason to prolong the inevitable. Christmas Eve had seemed like the best option because, aside from knowing exactly where to find Bruce, – thanks to Alfred's insistence that Christmas Eve was a time for family, not Batman – Dick would be home for the holidays. And if anyone could make Bruce hear him out, it was Dick.
Crazy as it seemed, Jason was also hoping that some Christmas sentimentality would help thaw his mentor's icy demeanour. Although he couldn't help but wonder if any of that would be enough to prevent Bruce from sending him to prison for the killings he had committed months before.
"Hope he doesn't go all Batman on my ass and turn me over to the cops," Jason muttered.
Bruce frowned. "Is that likely?"
"No idea. But if I don't come back, I give you full permission to come after me," Jason joked.
"That's not funny!" Bruce retorted sharply.
"Right. Sorry. Do you know what you're going to tell Dick yet?"
"I'll work something out."
Jason and Bruce had both agreed not to tell Dick about Jason's plans. In the aftermath of his kidnapping, Dick had been in a very strange mood, but refused to talk about it. Not wishing to unsettle him further, they had enlisted Alfred to keep Dick distracted while they opened a portal on the grounds.
As far as Jason knew, Dick was currently in the kitchen helping Alfred make gingerbread cookies for tonight – and which Jason planned to be back for. He had promised Dick he would have Christmas Eve dinner with them, and he intended to keep that promise.
He looked down at the object in his hand once more. No turning back now. Glancing back at Bruce whose expression was grim, Jason tried to smile. "Guess I'll see you later."
The grim expression didn't change as Bruce placed one hand momentarily on his good shoulder before standing back. "Good luck."
With a last glance at Bruce, Jason took a deep breath and plugged the small black object into the portable generator and felt a frisson of electricity travel up his arm. Light exploded around him and Jason felt himself start to disintegrate.
The pins and needles sensation he got whenever he took a zeta tube rippled up his arms and down his legs as he materialized on the other side of the portal, still clutching the small black cylindrical object. The generator had been left behind.
Jason couldn't help but scowl once he became aware that it was raining in this Gotham. "Typical," he huffed and readjusted the packages under his arm. It being Christmas Eve, he had come bearing gifts. He just hoped that Bruce wouldn't consider them a bomb threat and destroy them before anyone got the chance to actually open them.
Jason's heart started to race as he approached the front door, and he swallowed. Hard. He had no idea what sort of reaction he would get. Would Bruce yell? Get physical? Or just throw him out? Hell, would Alfred even let him through the door?
Raising a trembling hand, Jason pressed the doorbell and listened to it chime throughout the house. He fought the urge to turn and run. He wasn't a child anymore, he could do this.
The sound of a bolt being drawn back echoed from the other side and Jason readied himself as the door started to creak open. Taking a deep breath, he arranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression, but there were so many emotions thundering through him that he wasn't entirely sure whether he managed to achieve it or not.
Slowly, the Alfred Pennyworth who had helped to raise him came into view, starting visibly when he saw who was on the front steps.
"Hi, Alfred," said Jason quietly. "Merry Christmas."
The man stared at him as though unable to believe his eyes, and Jason shuffled awkwardly. It was quite an achievement to render Alfred speechless. "I'm not here to cause trouble, Alfred, I promise," he told him, holding up his free hand in a pacifying gesture. "Is Bruce here?"
He watched the butler rearrange his face into a more composed expression, before standing aside to let him in. "Master Bruce is in his study."
"Thanks, Alfred," said Jason, stepping into the hall. His heart felt like a jackhammer. He hadn't set foot inside this house in almost six years.
"Hey, Alfie," said a cheerful voice from the left. "Who was at the…"
Jason turned his head to see a very stunned looking Dick Grayson standing in the living room doorway, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Jason.
Jason found it slightly disconcerting to face an adult Dick Grayson after spending the past few months with his thirteen-year-old counterpart – although he couldn't help but smirk once he realized he was still taller, even though Dick was older.
"Hi, Dick," he greeted him casually, trying to play it cool.
Mouth still open and eyes wide, Dick slowly came forwards. "Jason?" he whispered.
Jason inclined his head. "In the flesh."
"You're alive…you're actually alive!" Dick shook his head, mouth opening and closing, not quite so quick to shake off his shock as Alfred. Dick was the only member of the Bat family who had never quite mastered the art of hiding his feelings.
Jason suspected that Dick Grayson in any reality would always wear his heart on his sleeve.
"We thought you were dead." Dick blinked. "How…you're alive?"
Jason grimaced. "I think we've established that I'm alive. Didn't Bruce tell you what happened?"
"He told me you were Red Hood. But, Jason, you disappeared…after that explosion with Joker…and we thought…you were…"
"Dead again?"
Dick nodded.
Jason sighed. "It's a long story."
Dick stared at him. "Jason, what are you doing here? From what Bruce said–" he broke off abruptly.
"From what Bruce said, you thought I'd gone dark side?" Jason supplied.
Dick hesitated, then nodded slowly. The shock was draining from his face, but confusion was still etched in every corner.
"He wasn't wrong," Jason admitted.
"Jason," said a familiar, deep voice suddenly, sending shivers down his back. Slowly, he turned to face his old mentor.
Bruce stood at the foot of the stairs, looking grimmer and more serious than Jason had ever seen him. His expression was tight as he stared at Jason.
"Hello, Bruce," said Jason quietly, trying to ignore the pain that flared as old wounds were ripped open.
Bruce didn't move. "What are you doing here?"
Jason could see him studying him, evaluating the packages under his arm and the distance he stood from Dick and Alfred. Bruce was assuming he had come to harm them in some way. Jason couldn't swallow the bitterness that rose up and nearly choked him. "They're just gifts, Bruce! Christ, you really think I would hurt Dick or Alfred?"
"You tried to kill me a few months ago," Bruce reminded him.
Jason had no response to that.
"What are you doing here?" Bruce demanded again.
"I'm here to talk."
Bruce crossed his arms. "Talk?"
Jason gritted his teeth in frustration. Jesus, the man was obtuse! Maybe he should have come waving a white flag. "Yes, Bruce, talk! You know, that thing people do when they're trying to make amends?!"
Bruce still didn't move and Jason scowled. He'd forgotten how much of a statue this man could be. A hand touched his arm and he turned to find Dick beside him.
"Are you really just here to talk?" Dick asked, looking searchingly at Jason's face.
Jason nodded.
Dick turned to his mentor. "Bruce, give him a chance."
Bruce frowned, but inwardly Jason felt a rush of warmth. Trust Dick to automatically believe the best in him. Jason would never understand how he had managed to maintain that easy ability to trust after being raised by the most suspicious man on the planet.
Bruce's jaw tightened as he stared at Dick. "Fine," he ground out eventually. "Let's go to the living room."
"I shall bring in some coffee, Sir," Alfred informed him. His eyes went to Jason and his expression softened somewhat. "It is good to see you, Master Jason."
"Thanks, Alfred," Jason whispered, looking at his feet. It was easier than meeting Alfred's eyes.
While the butler returned to the kitchen, Jason entered the living room with Dick and Bruce. His heart was pounding and he stood awkwardly just inside the door, not sure whether he should sit down or wait to be invited.
Bruce wasn't helping. The man strode over to the furthest chair and sat into it, saying nothing while he watched Jason closely.
Dammit, Bruce! Jason thought. The man obviously had no intention of making this easy on him.
Once again, it was Dick who came to his rescue. "Why don't you sit down?" he asked Jason, carefully taking the packages from him. "And since Bruce seems to have forgotten his manners and Alfred isn't here to remind him, thanks for the gifts."
Bruce shot Dick a sour look as he placed the presents under the tree, while Jason sat into the chair closest to the door. It was also the chair furthest from Bruce. Looking supremely unconcerned at his mentor's glowers, Dick sat into the chair nearest to Jason and gave him an encouraging smile.
Jason could only grimace nervously in response, before turning his attention to Bruce. The man's elbows were resting on the arms of the chair, his hands clasped in front of his mouth and a blank expression on his face.
Jason took a deep breath. "Bruce, we need to talk about what happened." Inwardly, he cringed. Could that have sounded any cheesier?
"I thought you already said everything you needed to say," Bruce responded coldly.
"Jesus, Bruce! Don't be such a fucking child!" Jason snapped, before he could stop himself. "At least I'm trying here."
Bruce didn't respond.
"Jason, why don't you start by telling us why you're here?" Dick suggested gently, shooting Bruce an exasperated look. "Where have you been for the last few months?"
To their surprise, it was Bruce who answered. "He's been in another world."
"Come again?" said Dick, while Jason stared at him in shock.
"He's been in another world," Bruce repeated. "One similar to ours."
"How in the hell did you know that?" Jason demanded, frustrated. Why was Bruce always ten steps ahead of him? Although he wasn't surprised that Bruce hadn't told Dick, not with the way Bruce liked to hoard his secrets.
Bruce scowled. "Joker has been shouting about it ever since Superman returned him to Arkham…a Superman not from this reality."
Jason clenched a fist. He should have known that freak clown wouldn't stay quiet. "What's he been saying?"
"That he'd been to another world with you and that you were working with the Batman in that reality," Bruce paused and fixed him with a grim look, "and that he'd killed another Robin."
"HE DIDN'T KILL HIM!" Jason shouted violently, jumping to his feet. That sonovabitch clown! "You tell that fucking freak that Robin is still alive! He didn't kill him!"
Bruce raised an eyebrow while Dick looked startled.
"Sorry," Jason muttered, sitting back down again. "It's just…we did get there on time, but it was close. Too close." He shuddered at the memory.
"He almost killed another Robin?" Dick asked, frowning.
Jason nodded. "Your counterpoint actually."
That got a reaction from Bruce. His eyes narrowed at Jason. "Dick is still Robin in that reality?"
"Dick is only thirteen in that reality," Jason answered shortly.
Bruce's expression darkened further. "Thirteen?"
"Yeah, but that still didn't stop Joker from torturing him and damn near killing him!" Jason spat. He could feel the rage from that awful night crawling beneath his skin and shook himself. The whole point of coming back here was to purge that murderous instinct, not give into it.
Just then, Alfred entered with a tray bearing a pot of coffee, three cups and a plate of his chocolate chip cookies.
Jason's mouth watered and his heart pitched at the familiar smell. He hadn't had one of those cookies since he was seventeen, and his hands shook a little as he took the coffee and cookies from Alfred. He had a feeling the tremble did not go unnoticed by Alfred and took a bite of the cookie in an attempt to hide his nerves. They tasted even better than he remembered.
"How did you even end up in another world?" asked Dick, looking like he was having trouble processing this. "And why didn't you come back when Joker did?"
"Because I wanted to stay," Jason answered softly.
"Stay?" Dick looked stunned. "Why?"
"Because I have a life there," Jason answered, looking away from Dick's slightly hurt expression. "And there was nothing to come back to here."
"And whose fault is that?" Bruce demanded.
"Bruce!" Dick reproved him quickly, while Alfred raised a disapproving eyebrow from where he stood behind Dick's chair.
The man frowned at them both. "Don't Bruce me, Dick. Lest you've both forgotten, Jason killed several people, and tried to kill me."
"And I'm not here to deny that or make excuses for it," Jason interjected angrily. "I'm here to make amends!" Christ, couldn't the man at least hear him out?!
Bruce crossed his arms, his expression unmoved. "Why now? You came back here after five years believing that I had failed you by not killing Joker; that I didn't care. All you wanted was revenge. You weren't willing to listen to reason. And now, only a few months later, you're ready to talk?" He fixed Jason with a narrowed stare. "What's changed? What makes this different?"
Jason didn't break eye contact. "Because I understand now, Bruce. I get it. I know what you must have felt after Joker murdered me, and what that must have done to you."
Bruce looked momentarily taken aback, then frowned. "Are you talking about what Joker did to Robin in this other world?"
Jason nodded. "We knew…we knew Joker had him! But we couldn't find him, and all the time we were looking, knowing…what Joker was doing," he swallowed. "And then when we found him, what Joker had done…" Jason shook his head as the God-awful image of a bloodied little Robin invaded his memory. "Jesus, Bruce, how did you stand it? I thought I'd go insane!"
Bruce didn't answer, merely pursed his lips. But in that tight, minute action Jason saw the pain – and knew at once that his death had hurt the older man deeply.
Once Jason had discovered that Batman returned Joker to Arkham after murdering him, any semblance of reason or sanity had disappeared. In his anguish, he believed that Bruce had only thought of him as an expendable soldier and that his death meant nothing to him. But the guilt and pain that had burned through Jason in the aftermath of Dick's brutal encounter with Joker, had forced him to see things from his mentor's perspective, had helped him to understand how much it hurt to witness someone that you cared about suffer. He knew now that all of Bruce's talk about missions and soldiers and war were just a means of denial, a way to pretend that his heart didn't hurt, didn't bleed, at the loss.
Jason leaned forward in his chair, barely seeing Alfred and Dick. "Bruce, I understand why you didn't do it – why you didn't kill Joker. I always thought it was because my death didn't matter, but now I know it was because his death wouldn't matter. It wouldn't bring me back or take away the pain. It would only make you more like…"
"Him!" Bruce spat, and now the naked pain on his face was plain for all to see.
Jason nodded again. "Bruce, I'm sorry," he whispered.
Bruce's expression was tight. "That still doesn't change the fact that you killed people."
"You think I don't know that?!" Jason snapped, his own heart hurting and bleeding out into his chest. "I'm trying to make things right, not change them!"
"What about Joker?"
The sudden question threw Jason and he stared at Bruce. "What?"
"Joker. Do you still plan on killing him?"
Jason was frustrated. "I just told you that I want to make things right – how does killing him achieve that?!"
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "So you haven't come back here to kill him?"
Jason exhaled viciously. "Are you even fucking listening to me, Bruce?! I didn't come back here for him! I came back for you!"
"What about the other people that you've killed?"
"What about them?!" Jason demanded, jumping to his feet and clenching his fists. "I can't change it! I can't go back and undo it! I'm trying to move on, become a better man – and yet you still sit there fucking judging me!" His heart was pounding wildly and his hands were trembling violently. "You know what? Screw you, Bruce!"
Heartsick, he whirled and made for the door. But before he could leave the room – and Jason wasn't even sure how he did it – Bruce was in front of him.
"Jason, stop."
Jason was breathing hard, his fists still clenched. "What? Something else you want to throw at me?"
"I'm sorry."
Jason froze. The silence in the room was so thick they could have heard a pin drop.
Bruce's jaw was clenched, his eyes tight. "I'm not trying to throw this back in your face, Jason. I'm trying to understand."
"Understand what?" demanded Jason furiously. "I'm trying to fix things! What's there to understand?!"
"Why now?" Bruce asked quietly. "The Joker came back here three months ago. Why are you only coming back now?"
"Because I nearly killed someone two days ago!" Jason looked away, furious at Bruce for forcing him to admit that.
"And what does that have to do with me?"
Jason's head snapped back. "It has everything to do with you, Bruce! How am I supposed to shake this rage when I can't even forgive you?"
"I thought you said you understood?"
"I do!" Jason wanted to rip his hair out because he didn't understand this himself. He understood Bruce's motives, so why the hell couldn't he forgive them?
Bruce took a step closer, bringing him into Jason's personal space, and Jason had to resist the urge to take a step back.
"Is it because there's still a part of you that thinks I didn't care?" Bruce asked carefully.
"I know you cared," said Jason bitterly. "You just didn't care enough."
"I cared enough to almost put you in the Lazarus Pit."
Jason was stunned. "What?"
Bruce was looking at him with a terrible sadness in his eyes. "After your death, even knowing what I know about the pit, I considered putting you in...bringing you back."
It felt like a sledgehammer had smashed into his chest. Jason couldn't breathe. Bruce hated and distrusted Ra's Lazarus Pits, believing them to be dangerous and suspecting them of having consequences beyond anything they had yet discovered. Yet he had contemplated resurrecting Jason within one. Jason knew that only the very deepest of madness could have allowed him to consider such an action, the madness of grief.
His eyes were wide as he stared at Bruce. Had he really cared that much?
"I always cared," said Bruce, and his voice was hoarse, "I thought you knew that. Even now, I thought you knew that."
Jason swallowed, unable to speak, his eyes still locked on Bruce. His heart felt like it might burst from a terrible mixture of grief and happiness. Bruce still cared. After everything he had done, Bruce still cared. Only the love of a father would allow for that.
Bruce took another step closer. "Jason, I'm sorry…for everything."
In that instant, Jason forgave him. Bruce hadn't been the perfect parent, but he had tried to do his best the only way he knew how. He was still trying, even now.
"I forgive you," Jason whispered.
In less than a second, Bruce had closed the last step between them and was enveloping Jason in a tight hug.
Jason returned the embrace just as fiercely. It was the first time in his life that he and Bruce had been so vulnerable with one another. It just wasn't in either of their natures to be demonstrative or emotionally open; the only member of the Batfamily that honour went to was Dick. But as all the years of anger and hurt and disappointment were forgiven, when words couldn't express what this moment meant to either of them, it was the only gesture that really seemed fitting.
And as Jason held onto the father he thought he had lost, the broken child inside him finally began to heal.
He knew he wouldn't overcome his rage overnight, that would still take time, nor would his relationship with his mentor become suddenly perfect – there was too much water under the bridge for that to happen. But now, at last, they were on the right path.
The old wounds that had been reopened scabbed over and began to heal, and Jason had a feeling that this time, there would be no scars.