Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bruce is mad at him. 

It's not Jason's fault, not really. You need to wait for my orders. Don't jump in without thinking. This kind of behavior is unacceptable. As if Jason doesn't know what he's doing. See bad guy, punch bad guy: It's simple. It's not Jason's fault this particular bad guy was hiding a gun. How was he supposed to know that? Batman swooped down in time to block the shot anyways, so it shouldn't matter. No one got hurt (except for said bad guy, to whom Batman made it well known that he did not appreciate him pulling a gun on his sidekick), they caught the villains, and made it home from patrol safe, sound, and successful. 

Yet for some reason Jason is now benched. For two weeks. 

Now that is what Jason calls unacceptable. He's already so far behind where Dick was at his age. How the hell is he ever supposed to catch up without getting practical experience? 

So Bruce is mad at Jason - for no reason. Thankfully Jason’s had a lot of experience with unreasonable father figures. He knows exactly how to rectify the situation. 

He learned the technique at the library of all places. It was his favorite escape from the stuffy apartment he shared with his mom and Willis, particularly on the days when Willis was in one of his moods . Apparently it was also the favored place for the unhappily-married women of Park Row to hide out at. At first it annoyed Jason, their so-called “book club” in which books were rarely the topic of discussion. Their shrill voices reverberated through the shelves into Jason's favorite hidden reading nook, and pulled him out of the fantasy worlds on his pages. 

That is until he realized their incessant chatter occasionally contained some useful advice. 

“It doesn't matter how pissed he is, it calms him down every time.” 

The women laugh uproariously. 

“Does that really work?” One of the younger women asks timidly. Another chorus of giggles rings out. 

“Oh honey. You have a lot to learn about men.” 

“Yes, but something like- like that? With Jared? There's no way he-” 

“Trust me, Angie. It works on every man. No questions about it. And not just to calm ‘em down. Next time you're wanting some new jewelry or to splurge his hard earned money on that red raspberry lipstick you're so fond of? You do that first to butter him up and no way he's gonna say no.” 

Their shrill screeches dropped to hushed tones and Jason crawled closer to the shelf separating them to hear the exact specifics of this so-called secret technique. 

Jason still didn't fully get it, but he knew it was something men were supposed to like. He thought it seemed weird and kind of gross, but then again he thought kissing seemed weird and kind of gross too, and plenty of people liked that. His mom told him that he'd see the appeal of kissing girls once he got older. 

While he may not get it, he still understood the women's explanation well enough. With Willis's temper, it wasn't long until he had a chance to put it into practice. 

Catherine was passed out on the couch. It was one of those days, the ones Jason hated, where something is in her system that makes her dead to the world. Willis has had something too - alcohol from the smell of his breath - and he isn't pleased to come home and find no dinner waiting for him. He shakes Catherine's limp body and screams into her face. Jason knows from experience that nothing will wake her at this point. 

She won't feel the slap until she wakes up with the bruise. 

Jason's too small to overpower Willis, and he can't stand seeing his mom hurt. He drops to his knees and reaches for Willis's belt. 

“What are you doing?”

“Trying something.” 

Jason gazes up, eyes wide, and licks his lower lip. Just like the women said. The corner of Willis's mouth curves up, the flash of his teeth in his cruel grin burning itself forever into Jason's mind. 

“By all means, try away.” 

Catherine wakes up with only the one bruise. 

Jason doesn't sleep that night. 

He wonders if older people really enjoy this. Then again, maybe it's something only women should do. Shame and humiliation burn in his gut, and he prays no one ever finds out. He's seen what happens to men in Park Row who act too feminine. 

Still, it became a useful tool. Jason could calm Willis's bad moods, and once he got more daring he even used it to ask for things, as the book club women had suggested. A new notebook for school that Catherine didn't have the cash to pay for. Bumming a cigarette. It was easy with his new technique. Sure it wasn't pleasant. The floor felt hard on his knees. Having Willis fill his mouth was uncomfortable, it always tasted foul, and Jason couldn't seal his lips properly so there was always spit dribbling down his chin by the end. On occasions when Willis got too excited he would become rough, and it was difficult to suck in air between his thrusts. 

But Jason got what he wanted. 

And Willis would stop being mad. 

Now Jason needs Bruce to stop being mad. 

He knows what he needs to do. 

Since moving into the manor, Jason hasn't needed to use his special technique. He hadn't wanted to even in situations where it could have potentially been useful to get Bruce on his side. A heavy rock sits in his stomach as he stands outside the thick oak doors to Bruce's office. 

Two weeks, he reminds himself. Two weeks with no patrol. Ten minutes on his knees could change that. 

He knocks on the door. The sound reverberates down the empty hall like some kind of damning announcement. Bruce doesn't answer, but Jason pushes the heavy door open and slips into the study anyways. Bruce is sitting at his desk, head down over a stack of documents he's contemplating with his eyebrows knit tightly together. 

He's wearing a white button-up, crisply pressed smooth of any wrinkles. The sleeves are rolled up to Bruce's elbows as if to look casual, but the crease of the folds betray the deliberate intention with which they were set into place. Jason remembers Willis in wrinkled t-shirts and a worn jacket that smelled like cigarettes.

He shuffles into the room, and the oak door clicks shut behind him. Bruce glances up at the sound of his footsteps. 

“Jason.” 

He greets him with a soft smile as if he's glad to see him there. Like last night’s conversation never happened. 

Jason twists his foot, making patterns in the plush carpet. The swirls are pretty. 

“What's up?” Bruce presses when the silence lingers too long. Jason looks up, and meets Bruce's concerned gaze. 

“My suspension-” 

“Jason,” the corners of Bruce's mouth turn down, faked pleasantness fading away. “We talked about this. You can go back on patrol after we've reviewed your training-” 

“Two weeks is too long-” 

“I've already made the decision, Jason.” 

“Well maybe,” Jason sucks in his bottom lip, takes a deep inhale through his nose. “Maybe I can change your mind.” 

He forces his legs to move before he can think more about it, rounding the desk so he's standing directly in front of Bruce. Bruce pivots in his desk chair towards him. His knees are parted just slightly. There's not quite enough space for Jason to fit, but he can fix that. He closes the distance, placing a hand on each of Bruce's knees to force them apart as he slides down between them. 

“Jason, what are you-” 

Pressure wells behind his eyes, radiating out and making his face feel warm. He slides his hands up Bruce's thighs, annoyed at the way they are trembling when he reaches for his belt. Jason’s only managed to tug it from the first loop when strong hands wrap around his wrists. 

“Jason!” 

Jason yanks against the hold and Bruce lets go immediately. He curls his hands up to his chest as if that can protect him. That pressure in his eyes reaches a mounting crescendo; he takes a deep breath to try and will it away, but all it results in is him letting out an embarrassing hiccup when the tears finally make their escape from the corners of his eyes. 

“I have to go back on patrol,” he chokes out, eyes fixed on Bruce's knee. This can't be for nothing. 

“Jaylad…” Bruce's voice is quiet and full of disappointment. “Come here.” 

For one second Jason thinks Bruce means to take him up on the offer, but then he's sinking to the floor and pulling Jason into his arms. They wrap tightly around him and Jason buries his face into Bruce's shoulder, soiling the fresh fabric. 

“I have to patrol,” he repeats as Bruce rubs his back. 

“Let's move off the floor,” Bruce suggests, always the master of avoiding an answer he doesn't want to give. 

Jason allows himself to be pulled up off the ground and shuffled over to the plush leather couch Jason usually drapes himself over when Bruce is spending too much time in the office. He rubs his eyes, as if Bruce hasn't already noticed that he's crying like a little baby. Jason has no idea where the tears are coming from - he never cried when he did this with Willis, not even when his jaw ached or Willis’s fingers pulled too roughly on his hair or he couldn't breath or - Jason sucks in a long shuddery breath and finds himself seated on the sofa, Bruce settling in beside him. Jason perches on the edge, unwilling to get too comfortable, unsure what's going to happen now. 

He thought he knew how to get what he wants - now he's unsure of anything. He should have known Bruce wouldn't succumb to such lowbrow tricks. He isn't Willis. If Bruce wants that , he has plenty of beautiful women willing to throw themselves at him. Once again Jason jumped in without thinking things through. 

Maybe Bruce is right about him. 

“Jason. Look at me.” 

It's said gently, but it's still a command. Jason's spirit rebels against it for a moment before giving in and turning his head to face Bruce. His body remains firmly pointed towards the door. 

Bruce watches him for a moment, as if expecting he might say something. Jason stays silent. 

“I'm not upset with you Jason. But I need to know, where did that come from?” 

“I can't be off patrol for two weeks-” 

“No, not that. That we will discuss again later. I need to know what made you decide to enact that… method of persuasion.” 

What made you get down on your knees like a little whore? 

Jason swallows against the tightness in his throat. 

“Men like that kind of stuff. It's obvious.” 

Bruce doesn't respond, eyes boring into Jason, studying him as if he's some unhinged clue left by the Riddler. Jason's fingers tighten on his knees, struggling not to squirm under the piercing gaze. 

“It's not a big deal. You don't like it, I get it. Can I go now?” 

He doesn't think he can stand one more second under Bruce's piercing eyes. The longer he stares the more exposed Jason feels, as if somehow Bruce can dig through his mind and witness all the memories - all the times that Jason had debased himself. 

“Not yet. Can you tell me where you learned that?” 

Jason shrugs and doesn't respond. 

“Have you ever… have you done that with someone before?”

The carpet becomes really interesting. Jason makes a circle pattern in it with his big toe, then shrugs again. A strangled noise escapes from Bruce's throat and Jason's head snaps up. 

His eyes look watery, something Jason has only seen the time Ivy synthesized a pepper-spray pollen. Maybe the air in the room is dry. 

“When-” Bruce stops and takes a deep breath. A hand wraps around Jason's and squeezes it tightly. “Was it since you've been here?” 

“No,” Jason responds immediately. Somehow it feels important that Bruce knows he's not responsible for Jason's fuck ups. “Before.”

Bruce doesn't seem relieved however. His face pinches and he whispers. “You were barely twelve when I adopted you.” 

Jason isn't sure what to say; he was aware of his own age already. 

“Who was it?” Bruce asks, a bit of the Batman gruff returning to his voice. Jason has a feeling if he gives a name, that person will be receiving a nighttime visit. 

“Doesn't matter,” he dismisses it. He longs to run up to his room and hide under the cover with a book and forget this ever happened. 

“It matters,” Bruce tells him, squeezing Jason's hand again. “No one should do something like that to a child, Jason. I'm so sorry that happened to you.” 

“It's fine. I was the one who offered it. It was my fault-” 

His voice cracks embarrassingly on the last sentence, and he squeezes his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that are suddenly threatening him again. 

“No, you did nothing wrong, Jason.” 

Jason wipes his face with the back of his hand, making it wet and sticky with snot. 

“I do. I mess up everything.” 

“No Jason, you-” 

“You won't even let me on patrol.” 

“Jason, this conversation isn't about patrol.” 

“I don't-” Jason sniffs, “want to. Talk about that stuff. I just want to go back on patrol with you. It's not fair.” 

The grip on Jason's hand loosens, then finally drops away. 

“I want to show you something.” 

Bruce's fingers make their way up the buttons of his crisp white shirt. In his chest, Jason's lungs forget how to function, his mind reeling and wondering if everything Bruce said was just to lull him into a false sense of security. Then Bruce undoes the top button, letting the shirt fall away to reveal a bandaged chest. Sickly purple mottling peeks out from the edges of the gauze. Jason can't pull his eyes away. 

“This is why I can't take you on patrol. Bruising… two fractured ribs… I'm not at my best right now. That means if something happened to you, I might not be able to protect you in time. I can't risk that. So I need you off patrol until I heal. Do you understand?”

“But, how did this happen?” Jason asks dumbfounded, still staring. “Batman is bulletproof-” 

“Bulletproof vest doesn't mean invincible, Jason. The Batsuit saved my life, but that force still has to go somewhere.”

Jason swallows. “You got injured because of me… why didn't you tell me?” 

Bruce hesitates a moment before replying. 

“I was trying to spare your feelings.” 

“This happened because of me and you were just going to hide it-” 

“Everyone makes mistakes, Jason. Especially teenagers. I wasn't going to hold it against you-” 

“How am I supposed to learn if I don't even know what I did wrong?” 

“I did tell you we need to have more training-” 

“That's not the same, B.” 

Bruce pauses, staring at Jason's face as if there's some kind of answer there. 

“You're right,” he finally admits. A rare concession. “I'll be more honest with you from now on.” 

“Good-”

“But you need to be honest with me too. I know you've been through a lot before I took you in. I don't want you to hide it. If I don't know what you're going through, then I'm not able to understand you, and I'm not able to help you.” 

Jason stares up into his eyes. He remembers looking up at Willis, and the way his eyes always stared back cruelly. What's reflected back in Bruce's eyes isn't kindness - it's something even deeper than that. Something Jason's only experienced when his mother was looking at him. 

“You can guess who,” Jason tells him. He can't bring himself to say the name but he knows Bruce is smart enough to put it together. “It was the only way to stop him when he was on a rampage. I didn't want to do that again, but you were mad at me, I didn't know what else to do.” 

“I'm sorry I made you feel you would need to resort to something like that. That should never be an option, do you understand that, Jason? Never. That should only happen between two adults who both want it. Next time, if you're worried, let's talk, okay?” 

Jason nods. 

“Okay.” It comes out quiet, the conversation has drained him of all his energy. 

“Can I hug you?” Bruce asks hesitantly. Jason nods again. 

The remainder of his energy seems to fall away as he collapses into Bruce's chest and his father wraps his arms around him. He seems uncaring of his broken ribs as he pulls Jason in tight, murmuring affirmations into his hair. Warmth radiates from his chest, and Jason feels he could happily stay in that embrace forever. 

Jason may still be on the bench for the next two weeks, but somehow his mission feels successful.