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Some mornings come too early; some come too late. Bruce isn't sure which one it is when he opens his eyes. The clock reads just after five, the manor is quiet in that particular way that only exists before sunrise.
For a moment, he lays there, listening.
It's a habit he'll never break. The instinct to catalog every sound, every shift in the air, every presence within the walls of his home. There's the faint hum of electricity, the quiet settling of old wood and pipes, and the distant, almost inaudible movements that meant Alfred is already awake somewhere below.
And then
Something else.
Bruce is out of bed before the thought fully forms, bare feet against the cold floor, movements silent, controlled as he opens the door.
Jason is there, sitting on the floor outside Bruce's room, back pressed to the wall, knees drawn up loosely to his chest. Seeing as his son was practically starved during his time on the streets, Bruce did his best to give the boy the proper protein and nutrition's for a child of his age. Yet no matter how much Jason consumed, it's clear that his growth had been stunted. Making him look less like the twelve year old he was, and more that of an eight year old.
But in this position, Jason looked far younger than even that. With his knees drawn in, his boy looked not like the sharp-edged kid who quipped at the bad guys while moving around as Robin, or pouted whenever he got a bad grade on a test.
Just a child
His child.
Jason looked up when the door opened. There's no startled response, no flinch, just quiet awareness, like he's been waiting for this.
"Morning." Bruce said, his voice soft and casual like always.
Jason nods, "Morning." Voice barely louder than a whisper.
Bruce studies him.
The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders are slightly hunched over. "How long have you been here?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.
Jason shrugged, not answering verbally.
Bruce leaned against the doorframe. "Couldn't sleep?"
Jason shakes his head.
Bruce waits.
He doesn't rush it, doesn't press. He's learned that Jason doesn't respond well to being cornered, especially when something is already bothering him.
Jason's gaze shifted towards the floor. "I didn't want to…" He trails off after a moment.
Bruce doesn't ask what that meant.
Instead, he steps back and opens the door wider.
"Come in."
Jason moves immediately
Zero hesitation.
And that, more than anything, tells Bruce how much he needed that invitation. Jason doesn't go far once he's inside, he lingers near the edge of the room, like he's not entirely sure where he's allowed to be. Bruce simply crosses the dresser, beginning the quiet routine of getting ready for the day.
To his surprise, Jason follows.
Every time Bruce shifts positions, Jason adjusts. He leans against the wall when Bruce stands at the mirror, moves to the foot of the bed when Bruce crosses the room.
There's a pattern to it.
Bruce watches it without looking like he's watching, "Jason."
Jason lifts his head, staring at him.
"Something wrong?" He inquires, clearly convinced there was something he wasn't being told.
Jason hesitates, opens his mouth, then closes it. "Nothing…"
Bruce doesn't challenge it, doesn't say he knows that's not true. Instead, he crosses the room, and stops just in front of his son and reaches out, his hand settling on Jason's shoulder.
Jason freezes.
And for a split second, he wonders if he made a mistake, wonders if he misread the situation. Or is he pushed too far.
But then Jason leans in.
Bruce feels it, the way the tension in Jason's body shifts under his hand. The way his shoulders drop a fraction. Then he slides his hand up, his fingers brushing lightly through his child's curls.
His chest tightens suddenly, and Bruce smiles at the boy, fondly, "Breakfast?"
Jason nodded.
When they arrive downstairs, Alfred is already in the kitchen. "Good morning, Master Bruce, Master Jason."
Jason gave the man a small smile, "Morning."
Bruce takes a seat in his usual spot, and when Jason takes the seat beside him, he doesn't comment, just lets it happen.
Breakfast is quiet.
Jason barely eats, just pushes his food around his plate with his fork, gaze fixated somewhere near the table. Then at one point his knee bumps up against Bruce's, he feels Jason freeze instantly, like he made a mistake, but Bruce doesn't pull away, the tension in Jason fades slightly.
Alfred passes by Jason, patting his shoulder, gently. "Eat something, Master Jason."
Jason doesn't respond verbally, he goes still.
Bruce reaches out his hand and settles it on the back of Jason's neck, immediately, the boy leans into it. "School today." He said casually.
Jason's shoulders stiffen. "…Yeah."
For the next couple minutes, there was silence, Bruce could feel the growing unease in Jason the longer it lasted. Bruce turns slightly towards his son, studies him. How quiet Jason's been all morning, the close proximity, the way his boy hasn't let more than a few inches separate them. He remembers how clingy he used to be with his parents during certain days before their passing, where nothing was wrong with him physically, but where the world just became too much, too big, too overstimulating.
It was obvious Jason was experiencing something similar, but didn't want to verbally say it, perhaps fear of getting rejected.
"You can stay home." He said softly, "If you want."
Jason looks up, surprise and hope flickered across his face. "Really?"
Bruce smiled, carding his fingers through those dark curls. "Call it a personal day."
Jason lets out an exhale that's filled with relief.
The rest of the morning unfolds slowly as Jason continues to stay as close to him as possible. He follows Bruce into his study, settling down on in a chair near the window, that lasted for a few minutes before Jason scooted the chair closer, where he was now sitting next to him. Bruce continues to type away at his computer, and pretends not to notice when Jason's fingers brush against the back of his sleeve.
Letting the boy stay in the position as he worked.
By midday, Bruce has closed his laptop, and moved towards the library, his son following close behind him like a second shadow.
He sits down near the fireplace and, without a word, extends his arm in invitation. Jason moves quickly, practically running to his side as Bruce guides him, arm settling around his shoulder and pulling him in to his side.
Jason nuzzle his face against Bruce's side, while one hand gripped his shirt. The tension melting away, like this is exactly the place where he wanted to be.
Eventually, he shifts.
Climbs slightly higher, pressing closer. Like he's trying to find the exact position that feels the safest.
Bruce pulls him closer, "Comfortable?"
Jason nodded against him, his breathing evens out slowly.
Neither of them speak.
They don’t need to.
Because everything Jason hasn’t said—
Every reason he doesn’t want to be alone today, every question sitting just beneath the surface.
Bruce understands it anyway.
Morning comes in quietly, the way it always does in the manor lately. Not gently, not peacefully. Just… quietly. Bruce wakes the same way he always has, too early, too aware, sleep never quite settling into him the way it likely should. His eyes open to dim lights, his body already halfway between rest and motion before his mind fully catches up.
He doesn't move right away.
He listens.
Like always.
That instinct has never left him, and it never will.
The manor breathes around him, old wood settling, distant pipes, the low hum of electricity threading through the hidden system. Familiar sounds, predicable, and safe as much as anything ever is.
Something else
Footsteps.
Soft
Measured.
They don't belong to an intruder. They don't belong to someone hiding. They belong to someone who doesn't quite know what to do with themselves. Bruce is out of bed before the thought finishes forming. Bare feet hit the floor without a sound and by the time he reaches the door, the footsteps have stopped.
Bruce opens it
Jason is standing there, leaning against the wall across the hall, arms loosely crossed, head tipped back like he's been staring at the ceiling for a while without really seeing it. He doesn't look surprised when the door opens, he doesn't move either, he just shifts his gaze.
Nineteen.
Jason looks every bit of it most days, taller than Bruce remembers, broader, solid in a way that speaks of years spent surviving, fighting, and enduring. There's weight to him now, a presence that fills the space, a hardness that wasn't there before.
Yet right now he looks… off.
Not weak by any means, but quieter. "Hey." Jason said, his voice rough from sleep or lack of it.
For a moment, Bruce studies him, "Morning."
Silence settles between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… waiting.
Then Jason shifts his weight, just slightly.
And Bruce recognizes it instantly.
Because he's seen this before.
A smaller version of this boy, of his boy, years ago, lingering just outside a doorway. Hovering at the edge of his room, never asking directly, never stepping forward unless invited.
Orbiting.
The memory makes him smile, then he forces his expression back to a neutral one. "Couldn't sleep?"
Jason exhales through his nose. "Something like that."
No elaboration.
Bruce nods and steps back, opening the door wider, "Come in."
Jason moves, though it's slightly hesitant.
Then steps forward.
And stays near the doorway as Bruce turns away and begins his routine; dresser, mirror, the quiet methodical rhythm of getting ready for the day.
Jason follows.
Not right beside him.
But close.
Close enough that Bruce can feel him there without looking.
Jason doesn't speak the entire time, and Bruce lets the silence stretch for as long as his son wanted. He doesn't rush him, doesn't press.
But eventually.
"Jason." He said, voice calm and casual. "What is it?"
Jason opens his mouth, closes it then exhales. "I don't know.."
Bruce nods once.
Because he knows.
Knows what's wrong. Bruce blinks and suddenly Jason is a little boy again, needing affection, needing to be near Bruce at any cost. Needing to be close and cared for. But unable to verbally ask, due to perhaps rejection.
Bruce crosses the room, and settles his hand on Jason's shoulder.
And just like last time, Jason freezes.
For a split second, there's tension there. A flicker of uncertainty. The instinct to brace, to pull away, then gently, he leans into it.
Bruce feels it, just like back then. The shift in weight, the way Jason's shoulders drop just a fraction beneath his hand. He slides his hand from Jason's shoulder and threaded his fingers through those tangled curls. Jason closes his eyes, exhaling out through his mouth, his head dipping forward, leaning heavily into his touch.
For a moment, neither of them pull away, Jason simply basking in the silence and the pressure against his head.
Eventually, Bruce lets his hand fall to his side, and tried not to notice Jason's sad expression when he does. "Breakfast?" He said, with a smile.
Jason nods and follows him closely.
The kitchen is quiet when they enter. Alfred is already there, moving through the space with practice ease, setting plates, and pouring coffee. He glances up upon seeing them, studies them for a moment, then he smiles at them politely, "Good morning to you, sirs."
Jason moves toward the table, hesitates for half a second before taking the seat beside Bruce, the one that was usually reserved for Damian.
Bruce doesn't comment.
Jason doesn't eat much, pushing his food around the plate with his fork, something he used to as a child when something was unsure of something. Despite that, that uncertainty doesn't stop him from angling himself towards Bruce, their knees brush, Jason stiffens but Bruce doesn't pull away.
Bruce reaches out again, as casually as he could, and presses his hand against Jason's neck. It takes less then a second before his son is leaning into it, shoulders relaxing almost instantaneously as his breath catches. He lets his thumb move lightly, a small, grounding motion across Jason's neck.
The kitchen door opens.
"—Okay, Tim…" Dick said as he walks in before stopping mid sentence.
Tim follows, distracted until he looks up from his phone. "Huh."
Damian steps in last, eyes sharp, immediately taking in the scene, notices that Jason is in his chair and narrows his eyes.
They all stood there, frozen.
Because Bruce still has his hand on Jason's neck, and Jason is still leaning into it. Not hiding it, not pulling away, Jason's shoulders stiffen up, Bruce feels it, yet his hand doesn't move, it stays exactly where its at.
Dick's expression shifts first.
Softens.
He smiles.
"Morning." He said, like nothing about this is strange.
Tim recovers next, sliding into a chair. "Morning."
Damian says nothing, he looks at Jason for a second longer before taking a seat next to Dick, though his expression appeared to convey he wasn't all to happy about where his big brother was sitting.
The moment settles.
Jason exhales a breath as breakfast continues.
Afterwards, the manor spreads out again, everyone moving in different directions.
Except for Jason, instead of going off to his room, or the study to read, he instead follows Bruce, staying within reach. As they walked, Bruce felt a tentative hand brush against his sleeve. He stops and turns toward Jason, catching his fingers around the boy's wrist and pulls him in, Jason goes in instantly, leaning into Bruce, arms coming up and squeezing.
Bruce holds him close.
Because he remembers what it felt like to lose this.
To lose the closeness of his son's presence, to have an empty space where Jason should have been. They were okay now, but before, before they hadn't been. He remembers the nights, the days where they had fought, had yelled and screamed at each other, their ideologies clashing, their trauma and pain coming out in waves, for so long he lost his son due to his own stupidity.
He doesn't ever want to feel that way again.
Bruce tightens his hold as he thinks this, he presses a kiss to Jason's temple and runs a hand through his hair.
Jason exhales again, the tension draining out of him.
They stay like that.
And the afternoon moves slowly, in quiet pieces.
And Jason doesn't stray.
He stays as close as he can to Bruce.
There's always contact.
A shoulder brushing Bruce's arm, fingers catching on his sleeve.
Each one is small
Unspoken.
Bruce answers every single one.
A hand on Jason's shoulder.
A steady touch at his back
Fingers brushing through his hair.
Jason accepts each of them, becoming more and more open as the day goes one.
By evening, he's not hiding it at all.
He leans against Bruce in the cave, head tipping briefly towards his shoulder while Bruce worked at the bat computer, and Bruce merely shifts to make it easier for him.
When they return late from patrol, the cave is quiet again, and Jason removes his helmet and sets it down. Yet he doesn't leave, he lingers instead. He shifts his weight, looks away then back again. "…You busy?" He asked, voice quiet.
Bruce doesn't hesitate. "No."
Jason nods.
Then crosses the distance between them and leans into to Bruce, wrapping his arms around him, his grip tight. Bruce holds him gently, lovingly as Jason pressed his face against his shoulder, breathing uneven at first before settling. His hand comes up, resting against the back of his boy's neck, his thumb running along the scarred skin.
He missed his son.
God, did he miss him.
"Stay tonight?" He murmurs into his hair.
"Yeah." Jason nods his head.
"Tomorrow?" He asked hopefully.
"Okay…"
Neither of them move.
Because this was something they both needed, and neither of them were ready to let it go.
Not ever again.