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Bruce fails to focus on the words on the page. He knows what the book is about; he has read it multiple times before. In fact, he purposely chose this one because that way he’d be able to answer if Jason asks—a family fighting over an inheritance—even when Bruce’s not actually reading the book. It’s always hard for Bruce to concentrate whenever the two of them would read together in the Manor’s library, because all he wants to do is to stare at his son, at the miracle that is him, breathing the same air as Bruce again.
It's even harder to concentrate this evening. For some reason, Jason had waited for Bruce to sit down on the couch. And then, instead of sitting next to Bruce like he usually would, he lay down with his head on Bruce’s lap and started reading right then and there. The last time Jason had done this, his son was fifteen and chattering about his math homework. Predictably this has made Bruce short-circuit, has made him pause.
He can’t think of any special occasions that may be coming up to warrant this behaviour. However, they did have a fairly successful bowling outing recently, so it could be that the good feelings from the trip still linger.
Or maybe something terrible is about to happen.
When he was thirteen, Jason broke a vase, an antique that had belonged to one of Bruce’s great aunts. Bruce never cared much about the decorations adorning the Manor, and after raising the menace that had been ten-year-old Dick Grayson, Bruce no longer blinked at shattered heirloom pieces. Of course, Jason didn’t know this. He spent an entire day trying to soften the blow of his confession by planning an elaborate dinner for Bruce. Jason’s recent issues have been more complicated than the demise of a vase, but his son tends to gravitate towards old habits now and then, whether or not he realizes it.
Once his brain latches on this train of thought, Bruce can’t really let go of it. He keeps unraveling the thread, coming up with one scenario after another until he realizes Jason is no longer reading. He is studying Bruce with an even look on his face, the book lowered on his chest.
Bruce puts his own book on the small table next to the couch. Before he can second guess himself, he raises one hand and tangles his fingers in Jason’s hair, trying to smooth the unruly locks like he had a thousand times before—in the mornings before school, somewhere between the front door and the car. “You need a haircut,” he says quietly. He swipes Jason’s white bangs away from his forehead.
He feels a bit of triumph when Jason doesn’t move away. “Shut up,” Jason says, closing his eyes. “We’re having a moment.”
“Are we?” Bruce tries to joke.
“Don’t be a jerk,” Jason admonishes. “It’s a Sunday. We just had great sushi and we’re now reading books at home. We also haven’t fought in weeks. Let’s enjoy this.”
Home. Jason doesn’t live in the Manor, not anymore. Bruce doesn’t think that he would ever move back in, and that’s fine. His son drops by at the Manor to hang out a couple of times a week. Sometimes he crashes in a guest room after a long mission or during weekends. They’ve gone over this in therapy and they both understand that this is a part of meeting each other halfway. It still doesn’t change how it endlessly makes him pleased whenever Jason would casually refer to the Manor as home, how it’s always a pleasant surprise that he still considers it as such. Bruce continues untangling Jason’s curls with practiced ease. “You’re right.”
Maybe he’s overthinking and Jason just feels like spending some time with him. It’s no longer such a strange concept these days, and while it has taken them a long journey to get here, it only makes it all the more precious.
“There is something that I’d like to discuss with you though,” Jason says.
There it is.
“Oh?” Bruce responds. He stills his hand but doesn’t withdraw it.
“I know you’ve been driving yourself crazy with it, so I’ll let you know ahead of time that it’s nothing bad. At least I don’t think it is.”
Jason’s been keeping his eyes closed this entire time, Bruce realizes, because he’s nervous. Of what Bruce might think. Of how Bruce would react. “I’m listening, Jay,” he says. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
“This is fucking stupid,” Jason mutters under his breath, frowning. He drapes an arm over his eyes. “Okay. Here it goes. I’m thinking of taking a couple of college classes.”
As a kid, Jason always loved school and thrived in an environment where discussions were possible. His attendance record from before he lived with Bruce had been spotty, and he refused to waste the opportunity to learn because of it. Jason used to collect college flyers and plaster them in a scrapbook, insisting that he was doing research for his future. And while his son did earn a GED last year, Jason had never mentioned anything about wanting to take up any further schooling, not after his return to life.
“Say something,” Jason says. He’s still hiding.
Bruce gently lifts Jason’s arm to uncover his face. He waits until Jason peers at him, blue pupils meeting green. “I’m proud of you,” he says finally, because he is. Because he feels as if he might burst with the feeling. “I genuinely am.”
“Shut the hell up.” There’s a trace of relief in Jason’s voice.
“I suppose I am slightly confused as to why you thought I wouldn’t approve, but I think it’s a good move if that’s what you want to do.”
His son sits up, and plants his feet on the floor. “I’m not entirely sure if that’s what I want to do, that’s the thing. Now that I have my GED—I don’t know. I might take a certificate, or a diploma—start from something small. Or maybe it’s not for me and I won’t end up finishing any class after all.”
“That’s fine,” Bruce replies. “You can try out one class and see if it’s indeed for you.”
“Okay,” Jason agrees. “Okay.”
Bruce stands up to grab his phone, which should be hidden somewhere under the stacks of paper on the desk by the window. The night wind blows outside, causing branches from a nearby tree to tap against the glass occasionally. “I can make some calls to connect you with some people. You can chat and see what you like. I know a professor in English literature at Yale, and—”
“I already signed up for a couple of college tours.”
“That’s good—great even. You’ve made a head start.” He rummages through a pile of envelopes and golf magazines he won’t read. He should have listened to Alfred and dedicated an entire day to sort through his mails. He swears his phone should be somewhere—
“And I’m going with Hal.”
Bruce is not proud of it. He whirls around to stare at Jason and do a double take. “What?”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “I’ve asked Hal to go with me. Are you going to be weird about it?”
“Why would I be weird about it?” Bruce says, because he’s an adult and a parent. He crosses his arms and just barely restrains himself from scowling. “Is it because there’s no one else available? I can move around my schedule if you’d like.”
For some reason, his son’s tendency to hang out with Hal Jordan is not one of the things Jason’s grown out of. It started out from one of Jason’s more creative ideas to annoy Bruce, way back in his early middle school days, but it has developed into—and it does annoy Bruce to admit this—a mutual friendship between the two of them.
“Unbelievable.” Jason’s face splits into a grin, one that usually means trouble. “You’re already weird about it.”
“I thought you’ve been hanging out with Kyle more. Or Jess and Simon, aren’t you getting along with them?” He’s not being unreasonable about it. He’s not.
Jason snickers. “Stop trying to substitute one lantern with another.” He stands up and stretches, grabbing his jacket from the coat hanger on his way to the door. He wears it and slips the paperback book he was reading into the inside pocket. “I need to go; it’s getting late and I plan on getting groceries first.”
Bruce wants to ask him to stay. Instead, he says, “Are you sure you don’t want anyone else to go with you? What about Clark? He’ll enjoy being a nerd for a day.”
“See you,” Jason laughs, but he doesn’t acknowledge it with a response. He waves and goes out of the door, leaving Bruce in a deserted library with the echo of his son’s laughter.
-
He tries not to think about it.
He mostly succeeds, except for the times he doesn’t.
He checks in on Dick, who just moved into a new apartment, and sends interesting news articles about the new Zelda game to Tim. Cassandra’s been into Yoga, so he exercises for an hour with her every day before he grabs a bite at a local diner with Stephanie if she’s free. In the evenings, he drops Damian off at his art workshops and tries to go hunting for poetry books with Duke. He makes sure to text Jay about small things—nonsensical things like quotes from movies, or pictures of Alfred’s cooking.
He goes on patrols, attends board meetings, and makes public appearances at charity events. The rest of the time he spends trying to come up with a viable training plan for the Justice League, or moving numbers on spreadsheets to work on various departmental budgets.
He tries his best to distract himself, until the dreaded day comes, a couple of weeks later, and he finds himself awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Jason will be having his first college tour today—Metropolis University.
Feelings cloud over him, different than the ones that are heavy enough to sink him down, but substantial all the same. He deals with his feelings in healthier ways now—ways that do not involve running himself ragged until he can barely think. He takes a moment to breathe until the emotions are less suffocating, until the haze clears and it’s just him in his bedroom, on a sunny Tuesday morning with the sound of the gardener’s lawnmower outside and the promise of a hearty breakfast downstairs.
Then he remembers a certain piece of mail in the library, in between all his other unopened ones, and he jumps off the bed with a renewed purpose. He hurries to the library and tries to find the mail from Metropolitan U. Okay, he thinks, once he’s found it. He rips the envelope to find that it is indeed, an invitation for him to visit and learn about the university’s new STEAM programs. It’s an attempt for the university to scout for donors, but right now, it’s something important to him. It’s a reason.
The university is the one who has invited him. It’s not like he’d be there without a valid purpose. He’s been meaning to explore new educational programs to invest in anyway. He’d just happen to be on the premises on the same day as Jason—perhaps observing from afar. No one will have to know. He messages his secretary to arrange the day’s visit and picks out his clothes to get ready.
In the dining room, Tim is hunched over his phone and he looks up when Bruce enters, already dressed in a shirt and tie. Bruce joins him at the table. “Morning,” Tim mumbles around a stifled yawn. “Did you see the latest report I sent to—” Tim breaks off and narrows his eyes, suddenly alert and sitting up. “What are you up to?”
Bruce, who is slathering his toast with jam, says, “I’m not up to anything.”
“You’re up to something dumb. I can sense it all over you.”
“That’s disturbing. Please don’t use your powers for nefarious purposes.”
“Ha-ha. No, but. Seriously. What are you planning to do? You get this look on you when you’re about to do something you’re not supposed to. Don’t tell me this is a dating thing—please tell me this is not a dating thing.”
“It’s not a dating thing, and I’m not going to do anything—as you say, dumb. I just have a work trip today.”
Stephanie and Duke enter the room, Alfred trailing behind them with a tray full of muffin. Cass is away today, Bruce remembers, for a trip with Barbara and Dinah. She must have left early this morning. She’s been particularly eager at the promise of a picnic. Damian’s been staying at Dick—something he occasionally does when the mood strikes him—so Dick will be the one dropping him off at school. Bruce will need to check if Damian’s planning to stay longer, or if Alfred will need to pick him up today.
Alfred places the muffin tray on the table and Duke pulls out a chair. Duke has his headphones around his neck—it blasts a song that Bruce doesn’t recognize. Bruce makes a note to ask him about it later.
“Morning,” Stephanie greets them as she snatches an apple from the fruit bowl. She spent the night at the Manor because she had a late patrol, and Alfred had insisted. Bruce nudges the jar of blueberry jam her way because it’s her favorite, and he earns himself a smile.
“Guys,” Tim exclaims, gesturing in exasperation. “Look at Bruce and confirm it for me—he’s going to do something stupid.”
They all look at him.
Bruce stares blandly back at them.
“Yep,” Duke says, squinting.
“Oh yeah,” Stephanie adds. “Definitely.”
“I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with Master Jason’s agenda today,” Alfred says, in a tone that makes it quite clear that he’s being sarcastic.
Maybe it makes him a bit of a hypocrite, but Bruce would like his family members to be not so meddlesome.
“Bruce.” Tim groans. He throws up his hands in frustration. “Boundaries.”
Bruce shouldn’t need to defend himself. “I just happen to also have a meeting at Metropolis U, which I only have recently become aware of.”
“Really? On the exact same day, at the exact same time?” Duke asks, his brows furrowed. “I hate to break it to you Bruce, but that doesn’t sound good.”
Stephanie shakes her head. Her ponytail swishes in the air. Sometimes he thinks she exaggerates her movements on purpose, when she has her hair up. “And the meeting will entail, what, touring together with potential students?”
“If you must know,” Bruce frowns, “the dean is interested in seeking support for their STEAM programs. I have no idea what she’ll want to discuss during the meeting.”
“Surely, Master Bruce, from your vast experience in donating to educational institutions, you’re well aware that they would want to show you the campus experience,” Alfred says.
“Each institution is different,” Bruce replies. He takes another bite of the toast, leaving the crust, and wipes his fingers on a napkin. He should depart now if he wants to avoid the rush-hour traffic to Metropolis. He pushes his chair back, grabs his car keys, and starts walking to the door. “Well, I’m off.”
“Oh my god, he’s lost his mind,” Tim says under his breath.
Bruce ignores him.
“It’s about time,” Stephanie says.
Bruce ignores her too.
“Shouldn’t we stop him?” Duke asks.
It’s Alfred’s voice that makes him halt his steps. “Wait a minute, Master Bruce.” The butler pours orange juice from the jug and into Duke’s empty cup. He scoops an omelette and places it on Stephanie’s plate. He looks up and studies Bruce.
“Yes, Alfred?” Bruce says, instead of the snappish What he has on the tip of his tongue, because that would only earn him a raised eyebrow. But Alfred just studies him a little longer—and perhaps with a little too much understanding that Bruce would like.
“Wait until the kids finish their breakfast,” Alfred tells him, to Bruce’s surprise. Alfred sits down and adds food on his own plate, an omelette and a couple of bacon strips. “I’m sure tagging along with you would be an educational experience for them.”
Bruce opens his mouth to protest—
And shuts it again.
He’s familiar with that tone, has heard it too often in his adolescence. It would almost always end with him getting assigned additional chores, from scrubbing the kitchen floor to doing the laundry, or being grounded at the Manor.
Alfred sips a steaming cup of tea.
“I guess my schedule’s empty,” Stephanie shrugs.
Sometimes strategic surrenders are necessary.
-
Metropolitan University is drenched in sunlight. The blades of grass are a shade too green and the people are a touch too happy. The white pillars at the entrance, where students gather on the steps to chat and enjoy the late spring weather, are adorned with flags with the university’s logo on them. Much like the rest of Metropolis, the university feels too bright, too sunny, and too artificial.
Then he remembers that Clark went here, and makes a mental note to not say his observations out loud.
“How would you explain the constant increased tuition for international students?” Tim asks the Dean. There in his sneakers and wrinkled t-shirt, he’s been asking Mrs. Lewis questions after questions about the university while Bruce hangs back and takes in the campus scenery. “The university has increased it every year without offering additional assistance to the students.” Tim smiles, as if he hasn’t been the second acting CEO of the enterprise for a while. “I read about this on Twitter, of course.”
Mrs. Lewis, who besides from the initial bafflement has been a picture of professionalism, clears her throat. It’s obvious that she had expected Bruce to visit on his own, but she welcomed the three young people trailing after him all the same. Her blazer is pristine and her heels make her taller than all of them, even Bruce. “Excellent question,” she says. She launches into an explanation about how they’re struggling to find support for their international student funds, and that it is their priority to immediately fix it.
The group started the tour in her office, slowly making their way across the campus. They’ve checked out the gym, the social sciences building, the library, and they’re currently crossing the campus’ main yard. Tim and Stephanie have been doing most of the talking. Youth, Bruce said to Mrs. Lewis, giving her one of his what-can-you-do smiles, the one that always exasperates his board members. They know better than me.
Duke’s checking his phone. Bruce slows down to walk next to him, letting Mrs. Lewis, Tim, and Stephanie gain some distance ahead of the two of them.
“Everything fine?” He asks quietly.
Duke considers the question before answering. “Yeah. Yes, it’s okay. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Okay,” Bruce says. He places a hand on Duke’s shoulder. “Are you going to visit your parents this week?”
“On Sunday, maybe. Do you want to tag along?”
“I would love to,” Bruce says, and Duke sends him a brilliant smile. He’d have to cancel an appointment or two, but it’s a rare enough invitation from Duke to visit his parents at the long-term care facility, so Bruce tries his best to always says yes.
“Cool,” Duke says. Bruce squeezes his shoulder and Duke’s smile grows even wider. His kids’ smiles are hard-earned. Dick’s first smile for him was at the circus, several minutes before his parents’ accident. The second one was exactly two months and twelve days of his stay at the Manor.
They catch up with the rest of the group and stop in front of a building with red bricks and floor to ceiling glass windows. “The old science wing. We used to hold lectures here, and now this is where our brightest professors do their research,” Mrs. Lewis explains. She glances at her gold watch. “We’ve arranged for you to meet Professor Bishop—he’s doing, ah. Interesting research on energy manifestation. We’re running a little early, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
Mrs. Lewis leads them pass the double doors. The halls are narrow, lit by white neon lights that are almost a little too bright. They climb up the stairs to a hallway that is just as narrow, and they walk until the end of the hall, where they stop at a yellow door right by the emergency exit. She knocks and opens the door without waiting for a response.
The lab inside is a mess. All the tables in it are covered with stacks of paper, and a range of beakers, flasks, and test tubes with various colorful liquids in them. Round windows are the source of light from the back of the room, but they’re half covered by tall shelves. A short, balding man with a lab coat and khaki pants scribbles on the black board, caught up in his own thoughts.
“Professor Bishop?” Mrs. Lewis greets.
No response.
Mrs. Lewis clears her throat.
Professor Bishop startles. “Mrs. Lewis! You’re early.”
Mrs. Lewis shows the first hint of impatience, the smile on her lips stretched a bit too thin. “Yes, I hope that it’s alright. We have Mr. Wayne and his kids here with us.”
Symbols and measurements fill the black board in scratchy handwriting. Professor Bishop spins the board around in a hurry, hiding it from their view, before clapping his hands to clean them from chalk dust. “I—ah. Yes. I wish you had given me a little warning. I was just doing some sensitive work. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”
Bruce steps forward and extends his hand out. From the corner of his eyes, he can tell that it surprises Stephanie, whose posture turns alert. A minuscule thing—the straightening of her spine, but it’s obvious to him. “I appreciate that you’re seeing us, Professor. I wouldn’t want to take up all your time. Mrs. Lewis told us that you’re doing interesting research about energy. I don’t understand much of science myself, I’m afraid.” Bruce flashes him a self-deprecating grin. “That’s why I have teams of people for that.”
Professor Bishop relaxes a fraction and shakes Bruce’s hand. “We’re all good at different things.”
“You are wise, Professor,” Bruce says. He gestures at Stephanie and says, “Stephanie here constantly teaches me the latest and greatest cultural trends. She hears a lot of ground-breaking ideas. What was it—Steph, the last thing you told me to invest in?”
“Underwater underwear,” Stephanie says with a straight face.
“Like… swimsuits?” Mrs. Lewis chimes in, her forehead scrunched in confusion.
“Many people mistake these as such, but these are undergarments that you can wear when you’re underwater.” Bruce nods solemnly. “In any case, the Wayne Industries is always looking for brilliant scientists such as yourself—would you care to let us know more about your research?”
“I don’t…” Professor Bishop trains his gaze on Mrs. Lewis. “I thought I was just supposed to speak on the science facilities on campus, Mrs. Lewis? You didn’t mention anything about discussing my research.” He turns back to Bruce. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne. I’m not sure Mr. Luthor would like me to speak about it. You see, he requested my research to be exclusive to LexCorp.”
“That’s alright, Professor. You were going to let us know more about the campus?” They chatted for several minutes, with Bruce making a small joke or two, until Professor Bishop excuses himself to go to his next lecture. They head back to the main entrance of the building.
“Frank used to be a pleasant man, but ever since he started his latest research, he’s been… shall we say, paranoid,” Mrs. Lewis apologizes. “LexCorp is recruiting him—so rest assured that he won’t remain on our staff much longer.”
“I suppose this is the end of our tour,” Bruce says. He assures her that he wasn’t offended by Professor Bishop’s rudeness, and that someone from his office will get in touch with the university. They part ways—Mrs. Lewis to her office, while Bruce and the others walk to the direction of the main yard.
Tim hurries beside him. “Bruce? Hey, Bruce.”
His mind churns. “We need access to Professor Bishop’s lab. First—we’re getting some tools from the car.”
Duke grabs his arm and pulls him into a stop. “Okay, that’s all good. We might want to go the other direction, though.”
“What?” Bruce asks. “The car is closer this way.”
“We’re trying to save your relationship with your son, you dumbass,” Stephanie tells him. “If we can stop you from moping for three months, that’d be a bonus too.”
Bruce pays a closer attention, for the first time, to the approaching group in the distance. It’s another group doing a campus tour. And among them, listening to the student who’s guiding them, Jason wears a baseball cap and a black t-shirt, while Jordan stands there in his patented leather jacket.
Certainty suddenly fills Bruce—certainty about how much this is irrevocably, a very terrible idea. What is he doing here? Jason will be upset, and they have made so much progress lately. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Except, it’s too late. A familiar loud voice yells from the distance, without the slightest regards to other people in the vicinity—“What the fuck?”
Everything and everyone pause. Heads turn to look at them.
“Well,” Tim observes. It’s the same dry tone that Alfred remarked Tim had picked up from Bruce. He wishes his kids pick up his better habits instead. “At least we tried.”
Jason strides across the yard with Jordan following behind. It crosses Bruce’s mind that his son has grown up tall, if he can quickly cross such a distance. Jason used to make up for his short legs with small hops. Bruce brushes away the thought before he gets too sentimental about it, because Jason’s right there, glaring at him.
“Why the fuck are you here?” Jason demands. He notices Tim, Stephanie, and Duke, and he glares at them too. “All of you.”
Bruce opens his mouth to explain. Jason lifts a hand, open palm in Bruce’s direction. “You know what. I don’t want to know.”
Then Jason stalks away, muttering curse words under his breath.
Bruce exhales slowly. When Jason gets into one of his—admittedly justified, in this case—moods, it’s always better to let him cool down. Bruce is the last person he’d want to hear from right now, but that doesn’t mean he should be alone with his feelings. “Can you—”
Duke pats his back. “On it.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it too much,” Stephanie says. “You were just temporarily insane, that’s all.”
“Jason, wait,” Tim calls, and the three young people chase after him.
This leaves Bruce with the headache shaped as a smirking Hal Jordan. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to pretend that the other man is not there, just for a few seconds.
Hal whistles, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. As always, he effortlessly makes himself impossible to be ignored. It’s a trait that Bruce finds extremely exhausting during Justice League meetings. “Not sure what crossed your mind there, but you have to admit that it wasn’t in your best judgment.”
“I’m aware,” Bruce replies. “You don’t have to rub it in my face. Do you have your ring with you?”
“Do I have my—what kind of question is that?”
“Follow me.”
He makes his way back to the direction of the old science wing. Hal matches his pace, but not without his protests. “Have you noticed that you do this—annoying thing, where you say follow me, and then for some reason you just expect people to follow you?”
“Yes. You’ve pointed it out more than once. I’m sure I have it tallied up in a notebook somewhere.”
“Good, asshole. I’m just making sure.”
When they get closer to the building, Bruce takes out the small EMP in his wallet and turns it on. That’d buy them some time with the security cameras and the lights in the building disabled. Usually, it’s cleaner if he can ask Oracle to hack into the security feed, but he doesn’t want to bother her trip over a small recon job. He easily picks the lock of Professor Bishop’s lab while Hal keeps a look out, and the two of them creep into the darkened room.
“Why are we breaking into a musty lab?” Hal asks. He inspects a test tube with red liquid. “That’s not blood, is it?”
“No. Different viscosity.”
“It’s disturbing that you can gauge it by sight.”
“And you can’t?”
Hal goes silent. He makes it easy for people to forget that he’s been on the field almost as long as Bruce—has seen probably more bloodshed. People underestimate Hal Jordan, until they don’t. Until they remember what a Lantern ring could do in the right hands.
Bruce doesn’t forget.
“Aliens don’t all bleed the same way,” Hal chooses to say, which is at least an honest answer. “Listen—hey, you’re in a shitty mood right now, and you already hate me, so I figure—might as well say this now. You need to give Jason some space. Allow him to do some things without you, and I’m not… talking about vigilante shit. I mean real life stuff, the ones he’s missed out on. He cares a lot about your approval, and certain things don’t need that extra baggage. Trust me just this once.”
It's hard to explain what being a parent does to him. How it tears his heart into different pieces that are running around in the world, outside of his own body, where his whole heart should be. How he tries his best, but it’s not always enough.
“I don’t hate you,” Bruce says at last, because he’ll be damned if he responds to the rest of the statement, no matter how the words nestle under his ribs. What he means to say is—If I don’t trust you, I wouldn’t trust you with him.
Hal sighs. “Yeah, I know. I was being hyperbolic.”
“It’s too strong of a word for a constant irritant.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Hal says, but he’s grinning.
Bruce rotates the black board again, revealing the scribbled equations there. “We’re here because of this.”
“What? Quantum physics?”
“No, these.” Bruce points to the last three lines near the bottom. “These are in Kryptonese.”
“Shit.”
“Can the ring translate it?”
Hal makes a fist and points his ring at the text. The ring glows green. “Most of it is also formulaic in nature. Hang on, there are a couple of words—manifesting energy from a Kryptonian… that doesn’t sound good.”
“Lex Luthor is up to something.”
“Hate that guy. Shouldn’t we warn Superman, or something?”
“He’s not on Earth. We’ll have to figure this out without him.” Bruce takes a picture of the board and sends it off to Barbara with a quick message. Do you have time to look into this for me? He rummages through the stacks of paper near the board and takes pictures of them too.
Hal seems thoughtful.
“What?” Bruce asks, as he returns the papers to their original position and makes them look undisturbed.
“No, no. I’m just thinking. So… you’re saying that your only friend is away, and that’s why you decided to pull off—” He gestures. “Whatever today is? Bats, you really need to make more friends. The Justice League group chat is right.”
Bruce scowls. “The Justice League what?”
“You’re kidding, right? I emailed you the invite twice. Clark and Diana are in it. Everyone’s in it, basically, except for you.”
The truth is, Jordan enjoys sending him various YouTube videos of bats too much. Bruce may or may not have his emails marked directly as spam. He wisely doesn’t say this out loud. He’s never acknowledged the emails, because acknowledging means admitting that they bug him, and Hal will just send more of them. “If you occasionally send out anything of substance, I would bother to read your emails more.”
Hal rolls his eyes. “Jackass, I mean—”
And that’s when they hear the sound of the explosion from somewhere within the building. The room vibrates with the force of it, the windows crack.
They look at each other.
Bruce grabs his communicator.
“Damn it,” Hal curses. He lifts the hand with the ring. “In brightest day, in blackest night—"
There’s a blinding green light and Green Lantern stands in his place. Hal uses his ring to scan the area, mouth pressed into thin lines of concentration.
“Tim,” Bruce says, as soon as the call connects. “Status.”
“We’re all—uh. Okay. We’re in the cafeteria. Holy shit, was that from the science building?”
“Bring me the emergency suitcase in the car. I’ll meet you halfway.” Once Tim confirms his assent, the call disconnects again and Bruce turns to Hal. “Anything?”
“There’s a guy with a weird device and he’s pointing it at the sun.” He pauses with a frown. “The molecular readings are off the chart.”
“I need to grab my suit. Do you have this handled?”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? Of course.”
“Assess first, engage afterwards.”
“Well,” Hal says, and he grins recklessly. One of these days, that grin will give Bruce ulcers. “I guess you better hurry.”
Then he blasts a hole through the wall and flies outside, with absolutely no consideration regarding the destruction of public properties. Bruce glowers and goes to retrieve the Batsuit. He will be sure to include this in the League reporting later.
-
When the dust settles, they lie down on the scorched grass yard, smelling like sewer water and covered in black goo.
“Fuck this,” Hal says, groaning. He’s limiting the movement of his left leg. He probably needs to get that checked out.
“Hm,” Bruce agrees. His hands are resting on his stomach. He thinks he might have cracked a rib or two. He tries not to think about the other parts of his body that are hurting—he doesn’t look forward to the mandatory bed rest that Alfred will assign him.
It turned out that Professor Bishop had just heard from LexCorp. Luthor apparently decided to pull his funding and Bishop didn’t react well to the news. The Professor became adamant that he was going to prove himself and took an initiative in testing out the machine he was building. There was no Kryptonians in the vicinity, so Bishop decided to test out the machine by aiming it at what he considered to be another massive source of power: the sun.
Needless to say, it wasn’t the best-thought-out idea.
They ended up having to contain a malfunctioning machine which was blasting energy surges, while Professor Bishop cowered and cried. Batgirl, Red Robin, Signal, and Red Hood secured the perimeters and evacuated everyone from the area. It took them an hour to deactivate the machine—including a moment that he’s sure the two of them are not proud of, when they had been slammed by a surge, through the gravel ground and directly into the sewer water underneath. Professor Bishop was temporarily apprehended by the campus security, under the angry watch of Mrs. Lewis.
Familiar, heavy footsteps approach and a shadow towers over them both. “Say cheese,” Red Hood tells them, holding up a phone. It’s broad daylight, but Jason takes the picture using the flash, just because he can.
“Stop it,” Hal says. He pushes himself to sit up, creates a construct of a crutch, and uses that to support himself as he stands. He looks at Jason, then at Bruce, and shrugs. “I’m getting out of here—Metropolis is not for me.”
“Lantern,” Bruce says again, still lying there. “Martian Manhunter should be on duty in the med bay.”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll drop by. Stop being so bossy, will you?”
He fist-bumps Jason with his free hand, and they exchange quiet words that Bruce can’t hear, before he leaves in a flurry of too flashy green light. Jason just stands there for a second—and it’s as if they’re waiting for one another to make the first move.
Except, Bruce can’t do much right now.
He may be more hurt than he’s willing to admit.
Jason takes Hal’s place on the ground with his legs stretched out. He’s not wearing his helmet, just a domino mask. “So,” Jason says. Bruce can’t quite read his tone, and Jason’s angled his face so that Bruce can’t see much of it without craning his neck. “How bad are you banged up, really?”
“Not too bad.”
“That awful, huh?”
Bruce grunts. “Yes.”
“I’m pissed at you, you realize that?”
“Yes.”
“I even considered going on another road-trip to Coast City to teach you a lesson.”
“If that makes you happy,” Bruce says. He finds himself meaning it.
Jason sighs. “Then you say shit like that—about how I should do things that make me happy, and I realize I owe you the chance to explain. Talk. You have one chance.”
The problem with Bruce isn’t that he doesn’t have the words. It’s quite the opposite—he’s so full of them. There used to be days when articulating them was easier, when saying the desires of his heart out loud was nothing out of the ordinary. Somehow this went away along with a kid with big heart, toothy smile, blue eyes, and a love of reading, and Bruce got left with a locked door inside him. Behind that locked door, words keep piling up, higher and higher. Sometimes the door cracks open, sometimes the door opens widely at the right time, but it remains more difficult than it used to be.
And yet… by some miracle, the same kid is here, waiting for Bruce to find himself.
So, he tries.
“You used to talk about going to college a lot, before.” He sounds hoarse but he continues talking. He trains his eyes on Jason’s shoulder. “I’m not deluding myself. I know that things change, and it’s not something that you have to do if it’s no longer something that you’re interested in. But I… I used to think that we would—that if you do go, I would get to take you on your college tours. I don’t know...
“If it’s any consolation, I wasn’t going to suddenly drop by during your tour. I just wanted to—see you from a distance. Before you say anything, I eventually realized that it was a bad idea, and I was going to leave when you saw us. I’m… sorry. I should have given you some space.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this?” Jason asks. He sounds—incredulous, choked up about it. Bruce closes his eyes.
“I suppose I thought that—if you wanted me to go with you, you would have asked.”
“And this is better, how?”
“It’s not. It was a bad idea.”
“Yeah,” Jason sighs, resigned. Bruce is not prepared for the warmth in Jason’s voice. It does funny things to his heart—he will never take it for granted. “You have a lot of those. Come on, old man. We should probably go. The others can wrap-up here.”
Bruce grits his teeth and lets Jason help him stand, Jason’s arm around Bruce’s waist, and his own arm around Jason’s shoulder. His entire body aches. Jason waits until Bruce gets his bearings, until Bruce signals that he’s ready, and together they make their slow way—leaving the rubbles and destruction behind them. Bruce idly wonders how much money the university will need to rebuild everything.
“Careful,” Jason warns with a murmur, catching him when Bruce almost stumbles.
And this—Bruce savors this too. Something that they nearly never got to have, both because of cruel hands and his own foolish mistakes. He takes a deep breath. Jason’s grip tightens around him.
When they near the Batmobile—one of the kids must have called it by autopilot—Jason says, “I didn’t ask you to go with me because… I didn’t think that you would want to. It’s not something that I’m fully sure of doing either, and I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“I would have wanted to go with you,” Bruce says to his son. “I always want to spend time with you.”
“Okay,” Jason says. “Okay, Dad.”
Jason helps him into the passenger side of the car, before going around and getting into the driver’s seat himself. Bruce tears off his cowl, leans into the soft cushion, and lets some tension escape his back. Jason reaches for the radio and turns it on. Music fills the car, a channel with electronic dance music that hurts his ears. Bruce doesn’t even mind it. He knows Jason only plays it because it annoys him.
His son drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Hey, B.”
“Hm?”
“I have another tour in a couple of weeks. Think you’ll get better by then?”
“Yes,” Bruce says, determined. “I’ll make it.”
But he shifts his left hip wrong and he winces.
“You’re so ancient.” Jason laughs, because it's exactly the sort of thing that amuses him. He starts the car and it thrums beneath them. “Maybe we’ll let Alfred be the judge of that.”
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End.
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