Chapter Text
Sometimes, when Bruce was little, he thought the manor had the ability to adapt to a person's mood. When he felt too sad, everything around him—the hallways, the rooms—seemed to want to absorb the darkness from every corner so that his own personal hell could never leave him.
It's like that now. Everything feels silent, dark, oppressive. Bruce avoids Jason's room, but he can't ignore the weight of the memories. He walks the hallways the boy walked, goes to the kitchen and thinks about how he was there before, on a stool helping Alfred stir the batter. The library is no better; he walks among the shelves, his soul searching for another presence. He wonders, how did he leave such an easy mark? Especially when he finds, among the books, the old volume of *Pride and Prejudice* that Jason brought to the manor.
Did he forget it?
Was it intentional?
He's not the first street kid Bruce has encountered. He always sees them. Kids, dozens of kids. Sometimes he saw them with Dick, and after he left, most just turned into a painful reminder of his failures. At what point did one of them become a future? Bruce doesn't understand how the change happened.
Alfred, as always, is the one who tries to broach the subject. He talks about how the manor clearly feels quieter, about how Bruce could invite Dick for weekend lunch. But Bruce only answers with non-committal sounds as he stirs his coffee in the study, his gaze fixed on the computer, though not processing anything.
Clearly tired of the monologue, Alfred sighs loudly—that kind of sigh he used when Bruce was a teenager and did something stupid, or when he was twenty and refused to let Alfred help him. It was the kind of sigh that said to some higher being, "Please, give me patience." Bruce found himself replicating it many times when Dick did his own foolish things (the first time he realized he'd done it, he couldn't help but make a face of horror).
"Master Bruce, if you wanted the boy so much, why didn't you keep him?" Alfred asked in an irritated tone.
Okay, now, he should be the irritated one here, Bruce thought indignantly.
"Keep him? Don't talk nonsense, Alfred. The plan was to find him a family—"
"Well, he clearly felt like family here," Alfred interrupted, but Bruce continued.
"A better family," he punctuated, stirring his coffee. "You know how it worked with Dick," he murmured dejectedly, his shoulders slumped.
"Master Dick and Master Jason are different. All children are different, and you are different from when you took in Master Dick," Alfred said, irritated. Bruce felt that tangle of feelings press uncomfortably in his chest.
It's suffocating, oppressive, agonizing. He simply wants it to stop, so he tells Alfred that it doesn't matter anymore because Jason now has a family, emphasizing that it's a good family, one that will care for and understand him properly. Alfred looks at him with raised eyebrows for a few seconds as Bruce mutters, in a bad mood and resentful, that that was the plan. He drinks his coffee, closing the conversation.
A day passes. A horrible, terrible day. The night is a broken promise where Bruce finds himself staring at every child passing nearby, hiding with too much attention. He knows Jason isn't any of them, but hope is a dangerous thing that doesn't die, so his subconscious doesn't stop. It searches and searches for him until night turns to day and Bruce returns to the manor with the dawn light, collapsing into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. He revives four hours later, at midday, when his personal phone vibrates. It's Dick, who says that Alfred told him Bruce left Jason with a family.
"It was for the best. I'm sure he'll do great," Dick says, and something dark twists in Bruce's chest, making him clench his jaw.
It was that certainty, from that analytical mind, that told him Dick never really liked Jason and didn't take the time to bother getting to know the little boy because he was making Bruce happy. However, he doesn't have the heart to blame him for it, because deep down he loves Dick too much, even with those shadows he pretends don't exist in his soul, for he is a boy who yearns with his entire being to become light.
Even if that leads him to blame Bruce for his own darkness.
Instead, he answers with an empty "Yes," followed by silence on the other end of the line.
He doesn't have the mental strength to try to maintain this conversation. He tells Dick he just woke up from a patrol, that he'll call him later. The boy stammers an agreement, probably aware that something isn't right about all this.
Bruce stares at the ceiling, a mood that repeats all day until the afternoon, where he's sitting again in his study, looking at the worn copy of *Pride and Prejudice* in his hands, which feels like a treasure, trying to imagine how Jason must be now in his new home.
Is he giving Mrs. Millers trouble about the bed? Bruce doesn't think so; she's a therapist, she must know how to handle it properly.
Maybe he's playing in the garden with Mr. Millers? The mental image doesn't sit well with him, but he tries to reassure himself.
It's fine. He did what he had to do. He's not a good father.
He messed up too much with Dick.
"You're a good father," Jason said, freezing Bruce, the serving spoon in his hand.
He had to swallow the lump in his throat to be able to speak.
"I can be better," he murmured softly, avoiding the boy's gaze, repeating to himself that Jason hadn't had good adults in his life, that he was used to pain and disappointment, trying not to take it as a compliment.
It didn't work.
"Sure... but you try, right?" Jason asked, and Bruce couldn't help it. He looked at him and found a kind of empathy he had never encountered in his life.
Yes... Bruce tries. He has always tried. He will always keep trying, even when Dick hates him, even when Bruce hates himself. He will never give up.
Because that's what good parents do.
Taking his cell phone, he dials Marie's number automatically. He doesn't think about it, he just does it. He gives in to the desire with the only certainty that he will try once more. He'll see if Jason is okay, and if fate, for some reason Bruce will never understand, decides he must act, Bruce will do it.
He would go to the ends of the earth for Jason.
"Hello, Marie, how are you? Listen, I wanted to know how Jason was doing. It seems he left an important book for him here at the manor," he explained with that charming Bruce Wayne smile while listening attentively to the response on the other end of the line.
"Oh, Bruce, what a surprise. Listen... I... um... I'm so sorry to tell you this, you know how these things are and the kids from Gotham—" she began, nervous.
Bruce slowly sat up straighter.
"What are you talking about, Marie?" he said, his voice tense, the smile frozen on his face, though a hint of danger seeped into his tone, which seemed to make the woman more nervous.
Clearing her throat, Marie seemed to tell someone to give her a minute, returning to the conversation with Bruce.
"Bruce... Jason ran away from the Millers' house," she said, and all of Bruce's facade went down the drain.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, he's gone. They think he left during the night."
"They *think*? What night? Yesterday or today?" he asked quickly, standing up, walking through the study towards the exit. He heads through the halls to the living room and then the kitchen, where Alfred is cooking, while Marie tells him the Millers noticed yesterday morning, which leaves Bruce furious, asking why no one told him anything.
"With all due respect, Bruce, the people notified were the police and Social Services because he's a minor in the state's care. But you have no relation to him; it wouldn't make sense to inform you," she tells him, and her words feel like a direct blow to the chest.
Alfred, at this point, has stopped everything to look at him worriedly. He asks, mouthing the words, what's wrong. Bruce covers the phone's microphone and says Jason ran away a day ago and no one has a damn clue where he is.
And if cursing in front of Alfred isn't an indication that Bruce is going to burn the damn Millers and Marie to the ground, he doesn't know what is.
Thank heaven, Alfred seems to grasp his mood and looks just as worried as he is, announcing he'll prepare the car. Bruce doesn't need to ask what for; they're going to the Millers'.
Mrs. Millers is in her living room, calm—too calm for Bruce's peace of mind. He observes her from head to toe, in perfect condition, noting her shame and concern. It's not about Jason's absence; it's because Bruce is there.
"Mr. Wayne, we deeply regret what happened, but these things happen. It's quite common with children from Gotham. But we've already notified the police and social services," she begins to explain while Bruce remains silent.
She tells him how the police and services told her not to take it personally—something she's aware of—and that Jason probably returned to the streets. She also indicates that they asked her, in case he was found, if she wished to keep him, saying it would be Jason's decision, though she highly doubted the boy would want to return, considering he ran away at the first chance he got.
Bruce holds back his retort. He nods while affirming that he will then speak with Marie personally to follow up on the next interested parents, definitively ruling out her and her husband. Mrs. Millers seems to want to say something, but doesn't, nodding in agreement. She explains that Jason left his suitcase, which Marie has, though he took his backpack with food he took from their pantry.
Promising to reimburse her for the theft, Bruce receives a comment from Mrs. Millers that he shouldn't worry about it. She apologizes, explaining that she had to attend to some patients—a clear signal that Bruce should leave.
He didn't plan on staying longer anyway.
Driving back towards the manor, he sees the sun beginning to hide on the side. His ever-analytical mind begins to calculate the time. Jason has been out for almost a full day. Bruce knows he took food; he hopes he at least took the warmest clothes for the night, but Jason left his suitcase at the Millers', and he understands why. If you're running away, you have to travel light.
"I will contact Mr. Addams to handle the paperwork," Alfred informs him, and Bruce nods.
"Have him review the custody conditions," Bruce indicates.
He trusts his lawyer can handle this; honestly, he doesn't much care if the whole process is clean. If he has to pull some strings, he will.
Entering the Cave, he puts on the suit. He knows Bruce Wayne can't be in the alley looking for Jason; it would be dangerous and, above all, suspicious. He'll have to go as Batman, and then...
Bruce doesn't know.
Setting off, the Batmobile traverses Gotham at an astonishing speed. His first stop is the warehouse where Jason stayed before. He knows it's unlikely he's there; he's a smart kid. It's logical to deduce that if he runs away, Batman will probably look for him there, so he isn't surprised when he finds a teenager with two kids of different ages living there.
"I'm looking for this boy," he says, showing a small photograph of Jason.
The kids tell him to leave. They've always been a problem for Batman. His suit was made to intimidate criminals, not to deal with traumatized children. That role suited Robin better, but Batman no longer has a Robin and must manage to achieve his objectives.
He takes several bills from his belt. The boy's eyes double in size.
"He's in danger. I need to find him," he says in the friendliest tone he can muster without sounding suspicious from how desperate he is.
The boy looks at him carefully. He has that same wariness as Jason, the mark of suspicion against everyone. Then he takes the money and tells him that Jason came here, that he left him some cans of food, but that he left.
"How long ago?"
"Yesterday, during the night," he informs, and Bruce's expression falls.
It was too long ago.
The boy still watches him carefully, his eyes running over Batman from head to toe before suggesting he could try Wayne Street, near the theater and almost parallel to Crime Alley.
"There are lots of open warehouses there. Sometimes, if you're lucky, you find an empty one," he says. Bruce looks at him in response and nods with a "Thank you."
He heads to the area, surveilling the place from above the buildings, effectively watching several children, teenagers, and homeless people leaving the warehouses. Night falls heavily, and the fog rises. It's a problem; it blocks vision and forces him to use night-vision binoculars to check the surroundings.
He doesn't know what Jason is wearing. Jason knows this place better; Bruce is at a disadvantage. But he is patient; he can wait. So he watches all night, follows the kids, sees them steal. He doesn't disturb them; if he does, word will spread and Jason might find out he's nearby.
It's too risky.
So he turns a blind eye to the crimes until the city and its inhabitants become more daring, carefree, and then... he sees him.
Bruce doesn't really see his face, but he recognizes that coat. He personally took it from the hanger and had him try it on. So he lunges for him, grabbing the boy who gasps, but when he turns him around, he finds brown eyes.
"Ba-Batman! I-I didn't do it!" says the boy, and Bruce lets him go, though keeps him within reach.
"Where did you get that coat?" he asks, and luckily this boy is more easily frightened.
"A boy gave it to me! He-He traded it for my coat!" he explains.
Contrary to what one might think, a feeling of amusement and a hint of wonder rose in his chest. It was a smart move. Bruce gives him that.
"Where is he?" he asks, the boy giving an address two blocks away.
Bruce gives him a bill in response. The boy blinks, letting out a curse to thank him and running down the street until he's out of sight. Firing the grapple, he rises into the sky again, running across the rooftops until he stops on a cornice and begins the methodical wait again as the fog slowly claims everything.
Then a figure emerges through the fog. It's small, though its posture is firm, its head bowed hidden under a hood and hands in its pockets. It advances through the alley, looks around towards a dumpster, and Bruce drops down, observing how tension invades him.
Slowly, Jason turns towards him.
"Jason," Batman says, taking a step forward, but the boy takes a step back, hitting the dumpster as he tells him to stay away. "I won't hurt you."
"Right! As if I'd believe that! Did you come to kidnap me again? To take me to another rich guy?" he asks while Bruce denies it, telling him that Mr. Wayne was very worried.
The boy's expression falls, dancing between confusion, anger, and sadness.
"That's not true, it's a lie!" he says.
Bruce shakes his head.
"It's true. He was worried."
"So what? He abandoned me. Everyone abandons me, so guess what, now I decide, and I don't want to go with you," he spat, Bruce's heart tightening.
Turning, the boy moves away from his hand, walking furiously into the alley with the fog slowly covering him while that tangle of feelings again threatens to flood everything. But it's okay; Bruce is ready to feel them.
"It's not like that," he says, stopping Jason in his tracks.
The boy doesn't look at him, but he doesn't advance, and that must count for something.
"Sometimes... we let go of the people we care about because we're afraid we're not enough," he says, Jason slowly turning around.
"No one loves me."
"I love you," Bruce responds without hesitation, and Jason looks at him astonished, letting out a confused and worried "What?" But Bruce doesn't care how strange it must be for him that Batman, whom he's only seen once, says something like that, because he advances until he stops a step away, slowly lowering himself to the ground to get to his level, his blue eyes on him with rising alarm. "I love you, Jason, just as I also love Dick, just as I love Alfred... as my family," he says without the Batman voice, almost in a whisper, while the boy's expression becomes increasingly sure of a certainty.
"...Bruce?" Jason asks, and Bruce then removes his cowl, smiling slightly at the boy whose mouth is hanging open.
"Hello, Jaylad," he says.
Jason blinks, looking him up and down again. His eyebrows furrow a little, but then return to their normal expression, though he tilts his head while opening and closing his mouth.
"Are you Batman?"
"I'm Batman."
"Did you kidnap me?"
"I kidnapped you," Bruce tells him, amused, the boy seeming to be in an internal battle over whether to smile at him or get angry.
He chooses the second. Bruce feels it wouldn't be Jason if he didn't choose that.
"You... you left, you left me with the Millers. Why are you here? I don't want to go back to the Millers," he said nervously, completely on alert, taking a step back, hunching his shoulders, sinking into the old hoodie as Bruce inhales.
"You won't go back to the Millers, Jason," he affirms, and Jason opens his mouth, Bruce intuiting his next point. "But you won't stay here on the street. It's dangerous."
"I can take care of myself," Jason states gruffly.
Bruce smiles at him, affirming that he knows, but even so, he can't leave him here. Jason looks at him irritably, asking him why he doesn't leave him here if he left him with the Millers so easily. Bruce has to suppress a snort because nothing is really easy, but he doesn't need to say much. He just calls him, says a "Jaylad," and the boy falls silent, looking at him with suspicion and anxiety.
"Let's go home?" he asks, and Jason's eyes open wide.
"Home?" he asks in a low tone, though there's a small, childish, and vulnerable tone that closes Bruce's throat, so he nods. "With you?"
"And with Alfred," he says, and Jason echoes "and with Alfie," Bruce unable to help but smile slightly at him while the boy looks at the floor again for a few seconds and then back at him, nervous.
"Why?" he asks. "Why do you love me? I'm nobody. Not even Willis loved me," he said in an anguished tone.
Reaching out his arm, he placed his hand on Jason's shoulder, gently pulling the boy closer to him.
"Because you're Jason," said Bruce, and his voice was as soft as the fog surrounding them, but with a firmness the fog would never have. "You're the bravest boy I've ever met. You're smart, and stubborn, and you have a heart so big that despite everything they did to you, you still gave your backpack to that girl on the street."
Jason looked at him, his blue eyes huge and full of a skepticism that was breaking under the avalanche of words he had never heard before.
"You're the boy who learned to make the bed like Alfred in a day," Bruce continued, his hand gently squeezing Jason's shoulder. "The one who taught a bitter old man like me that sometimes you have to sleep on the floor to earn the right to sleep in a bed. You're the one who read Shakespeare and Jane Austen in an alley and understood Hamlet better than I did."
A tear escaped Jason's eye and traced a clean path down his dirty cheek. He shook his head hard, but another followed.
"Willis was wrong," Bruce declared, and this time his voice had the edge of Batman, the one that promised justice. "Everyone who made you believe you were worthless was wrong. I was wrong when I took you to that house. I swear to you, Jay, it was the biggest mistake of my life."
"And... and you won't do it again?" asked Jason, his voice broken by a sob he was trying to contain.
Bruce knelt fully, getting to his height, his hands now on both of the boy's shoulders, making sure Jason saw the truth in his eyes.
"Never," the word came out like a vow, an oath carved in steel. "Never again. I'm not going to leave you, Jason."
It was as if those words, finally spoken aloud, broke a dam. Jason's body shuddered, and a deep, painful sob escaped his chest, which he did not fight. He fell forward, and Bruce caught him, wrapping him in his arms, enveloping that small, thin figure with a strength that promised to protect him from all the evil in the world.
"I'm sorry," Jason sobbed against the Batman suit, his small hands clutching the armored shoulders like a lifeline. "I'm sorry, I always cause trouble."
"No, Jaylad," murmured Bruce, cradling him, rocking him gently in the darkness of the alley. His own vision blurred. "You don't have to apologize. You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm the one who's sorry. I failed you, but I swear it won't happen again." He spoke as the boy cried.
Picking him up in his arms, Bruce put the cowl back on. Jason pulled away a little to look at him. His tear-filled eyes, which he wiped, watched him attentively as Bruce moved through the streets towards where he left the Batmobile, feeling a hint of amusement remembering the beginning of it all.
"At least this time you didn't steal my tires," he joked. The boy snorted in his arms.
Muttering that they were good tires, Jason sat in the passenger seat, letting Bruce fasten his seatbelt before starting the car. They moved through the streets, Jason watching everything with such attention until he asked where he kept everything, figuring that's why Bruce always went to bed late.
"You'll see," Bruce promised, Jason smiling amusedly, falling asleep a while later in the seat, Bruce covering him with the blanket he kept in a compartment.
They arrived at the manor at dawn. Bruce drove the Batmobile into the cave and gently woke Jason, who blinked for a second before looking at the car, murmuring to himself that it wasn't a dream as Bruce got out, walking to the passenger door to take the boy out.
"It is good that the search yielded results," said Alfred, Jason looking at the butler animatedly.
"Alfie!" he exclaimed, Alfred nodding.
Lowering Jason to the ground, Bruce saw the boy run towards the butler, straight into a hug that almost knocked him over from the momentum, missing the surprised expression on the older man's face that soon turned into a slight smile. Patting him on the back, Alfred told Jason he was very glad he was back, as he sorely missed a kitchen assistant, Jason smiling at him and receiving a wink.
Bruce couldn't help but snort at that.
"I'm staying, Alfie. Bruce said I can stay here," he informed excitedly.
Alfred smiled.
"Well, that is excellent news, Master Jason. Then, allow me to welcome you, once more, to Wayne Manor," Alfred said, the boy letting him go to run back to Bruce, taking his hand.
The dawn bathed the Cave with a faint, ghostly light, but for the first time in as long as Bruce could remember, that light didn't feel cold. It felt like a new beginning.
Jason, his eyes still swollen from crying but with a spark of regained wonder, looked around at everything, from the Batmobile to the blinking screens. His small hand didn't let go of Bruce's.
"So... all of this is yours?" Jason asked, his voice a reverent whisper in the immensity of the Cave.
"It's ours," Bruce corrected softly. "Your home."
The word resonated in the air, laden with a meaning both felt to their bones. It was no longer the manor above their heads, a place of empty hallways and silent memories. Home was this: the secret space where his two lives, the man's and the myth's, could coexist, and where a boy who had been discarded by the world now had a place.
Alfred approached, and in his eyes Bruce could read a deep and quiet satisfaction. The butler extended a hand towards Jason.
"I believe the first order of business, Master Jason, is a hot bath and perhaps the largest breakfast we have ever prepared," he declared in his usual tone, but with an unmistakable gleam of affection.
Jason looked at Bruce, seeking permission, confirmation. Bruce nodded, a small but genuine smile appearing on his lips. "Go with Alfred. I'll be up in a moment." He indicated, the boy following the butler.
He watched as Jason walked away, this time taking Alfred's hand, listening to him ask if they could have waffles, a suggestion Alfred pretended to think about before saying they could break Dr. Thompkins's diet just for this very special occasion. Bruce closed his eyes, and instead of the oppressive silence of the last few days, he heard the echo of a child's laughter that would soon fill the hallways upstairs, the literary debates in the library, the smell of waffles in the kitchen. The ghost was gone. In its place, there was a future.
Bruce climbed the stairs to the manor, feeling the weight of the night in his bones, but with a lightness in his soul he hadn't known for years. As he crossed the doorway, the first ray of morning sun filtered through the vestibulum window, illuminating the dust dancing in the air. The manor no longer absorbed his darkness. It reflected it and transformed it into light.