Bubblepop32

Part 4

There was just silence. No screams, no whimpers, nothing. The dim light from the corridor filtered through the tiny crack.

He took in another breath and pushed every other thought out of his head. He opened the door fully in one smooth motion and stepped in. He kept his eyes trained forward, towards the room as he nudged the door closed behind him. There was a click, then a small clack and then, it was just dark. The curtains were pulled apart but it didn’t help to make the room any lighter since the moon was on the other side.

He automatically felt around for the light switch but decided against flicking it at the last moment. He didn’t need to startle the kid, nor did he want to see him either. He’s seen the large family portrait of Bruce and his parents enough times to know. It only took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark room.

True to what Alfred said, any vases, racks or anything that can be thrown was removed from the room. The room looked oddly bare but it made a shadow that was huddled against the wall appear very distinct in the hazily lit room.

The figure had white bed sheets wrapped around him and parts of the sheet was still half on the bed. Jason stood at the door for a long time with his feet anchored to the spot.

Jason could deal with Bruce’s stubborn and overbearingly protective attitude, the Bruce that won’t even try and understand him and the Bruce that stalks his every move. He can yell at him, curse at him and growl at him and then maybe through it all reach some sort of a truce.

However, this shivering child that’s sitting with his knees drawn up and his head buried in his arms isn’t the man who gave and took everything from him at the same time. He couldn’t yell at this child nor scream frustrations at. Every mannerism he constructed in order to deal with Bruce collapsed and he was left with nothing to use.

There was a rustle as the sheets were pulled tighter around the child. “…Dick?” The voice was small, gritty and nothing more than a whisper. Jason’s breath hitched. It was Bruce’s voice but tuned higher, softer and unguarded. Jason didn’t know how to describe it. There was a child-like roughness to his voice that Damian never had. “…Is…that you?” These words came out trembled and breathy, and Jason was really starting to wonder if this was Bruce at all.

Jason walked slowly towards the sound source with light footsteps. Well, at least the screams he heard over the phone wasn’t going on anymore and this Bruce already seems calm enough. The kid unfurled slightly as he feebly tried to make his voice louder.

Zatanna wants Jason to loosen child Bruce’s grip on his memories. He has never been trained in this field but he considers himself a master of carrying impromptu missions.

He does his homework most of the time and formulates a concise and detailed plan followed by a dozen of back up plans. He familiarises himself with exits and gathers his weapons. For example, he smoothly manoeuvred himself out of an invitation from the lovely granny next door when she invited him over for apple pie last week. Don’t get him wrong though – he caught wind of a human trafficking hand over of teens between the ages of 14 – 18 from an external organisation to a syndicate within Gotham, and there was a meeting between the two parties at the docks.

But this, this is different.

As Jason neared, he could make out the child’s raven-black hair that covered most of his face and the bandages that were coming loose from his hands. Dick must’ve tried to come in many times but to be forced out by disorientated screams since this kid automatically thought that it Dick was the one who came in.

“…’m sorry. I didn't recognise you and I must’ve hurt you.” The words were muffled by the sheet that was wrapped tightly around him. There was a tiny hint of something else in that voice, something like regret and guilt.

Jason was completely unnerved by the fact that this kid’s voice was so similar yet just so different. Zatanna didn’t even need to tell him to imagine that this wasn’t the Bruce for him to separate Bruce from the small figure. His brain was already doing it for him.

“…I didn't mean to hurt you.” There was a small sniffle. “I…don’t want us to fight.”

Jason came to a swift realisation that he was referring to the bad blood that ran between him and Dick when Jason donned Robin’s costume. Now the kid just sounded melancholic – something a kid shouldn't sound when they’re only ten.

The child finally, finally raised his head to look at Jason’s feet, which stopped two meters away.

Jason watched as the child’s eyes made its way up…all the way until the pair of big shimmery eyes locked with ones that were contaminated with Lazarus green. Wide eyes stared back at Jason and Jason stared back. The facial features softer, plumper and more youthful. Everything was soft, lacking the deep set of wrinkles that older Bruce had gained from consistent frowning.

The child, who Jason still refuses to believe is Bruce, sharply inhaled and unsteadily backed away in a mess of limbs, bloody bandages and tangled sheets. The sheets caught the base of a tall floor lamp and pulled it off balance which tugged the entire lamp sidewards as the small kid struggled even more.

Amongst it all, the kid haphazardly banged his elbow heavily on the bureau and let out a cry of pain. This effectively stopped Bruce from moving, which was not a good thing as the lamp swayed past the point of no return right beside him. It swayed with great momentum, then paused, then started falling.

Jason didn’t even stop to think about what he was going to do. “Hey! Watch out!” Jason yelped in surprise as he dove towards him.

The lamp crashed into Jason and the room was suddenly filled by a wild cacophony of metallic clangs and heavy, dull thuds.

“Ow- Fuck-” he curses and hisses. Jason tossed the rest of what the floor lamp was aside. That fucking lamps that fell on him hurt. “Why the hell is the lamp so heavy?!” Jason says through grit teeth.

He got his answer when he caught a glimpse of escrima sticks, dozens of batarangs, three knives and a couple other gadgets that had tumbled onto the, which apparently all fell from the floor lamp. Jason didn’t even know what he should question anymore. Why in a lamp, why in a room that’s barely used and just why?

Child Bruce let out a scared whimper and started writhing even more when he heard the loud clashes, not knowing that Jason just saved him from getting squashed. Hell, child Bruce doesn’t know who the person he just embarrassingly referred to as Dick is.

Child Bruce had realised that something was completely off the instant he saw that pair of deep-set, off-coloured eyes. Normally no-one would be able to distinguish eye colours in the dark but Bruce knew they were green because they glow. There’s a subtle haze of colour that lingered in the man’s eyes that made them stand out in the dark and then, he knew that this was not Dick or anyone else he knew for the matter of fact.

The loud crashes of metal fills his head with shrill echoes. They were like screams – horrific and sharp and painful. It was dark and he couldn’t see anything, making everything he sees and hears go static like a dead TV station.

“Who are you?! G-go away!” Child Bruce kicks and struggles but finds himself cornered. His breathing rises erratically and his heartbeat skyrockets. “N-no!”

“Fucking hell-” Jason got a knee to his chest, which happened to have a fresh bruise. It didn’t hurt but this kid really is trying to give him new ones. “I’m not going to hurt you, so please stop struggling!” He growls.

Through the darkness, the low plea that came from Jason sounded intimidating to Bruce. Child Bruce was already scared and this made it even more so. He can’t feel his limbs, his head is on the verge of splitting apart and there was a stranger in the same room with him. All he could hear is his heart thumping and his rugged breathing. “Go away!” he screams, on the verge of tears.

His ears were ringing and he wants all this to be just over, then just go home –

(I have Mother and Father--)

No no no no they aren’t- they’re not here anymore- they’re gone. His memories tells him so. But he saw them! Mother had just read him stories and Father had tucked him into bed-

(Alfred is waiting for him at home with a warm cup of tea, and then he’ll be able to give the new books to--)

A spike of pain twisted itself into the side of his head.

Jason.

He left him alone. He shouldn’t have left.

Jason, his boy, his son.

Child Bruce could feel heat radiating onto his face as he watched the world burn in front of him. Fire flickered far into the sky as burning rubble groaned and cried as they pushed against each other. It must be hell. Cradled in his arms was a figure that laid limp. He called his name but he remained still and silent. He called again, then again and again and again.

Jason.

The bruised and mangled body remained still in his arms.

No no no no no no NO!

Child Bruce’s arms and legs gradually came to a stop, however, he started whimpering, ragged and raw. Jason felt as if someone grabbed his heart and twisted it. The kid sounds like an injured pup, and Jason feels that he was the one who caused it.

‘Shit, this isn’t supposed to go like this.’ Jason hopes that the floor lamp caused enough noise to attract attention because a person who knows what they are doing would be extremely helpful right now.

He could just wait it out or run out to grab someone who would be more capable to help the kid more than he would be, but leaving this child alone is a spell for disaster.

“Hey…Hey, kiddo. It’s alright. It’s ok.” Jason says, moving himself away from the child. He shuffled back and remained crouched on one knee with a hand open and his palm facing upwards. It’s a gesture to show that he means no harm and that he’s not holding onto anything that will either. “It would be great if we could talk. Let you know who I am.”

Jason had no idea what he was saying but if it was anything that will get child Bruce out of his whimpering ball and do some ‘calming down,’ he’ll be able to get well out of this place before the sun rises.

Guess Jason must have done something worse because child Bruce’s whimpering only grew louder and more desperate.

The last thing Jason needs is Bruce to have a panic attack. He had always dealt with this kind of shit by himself, but when someone else comes into the equation, he doesn’t know how to do anything. Dick is the guy who deals with Bruce’s meltdowns most of the time and surprise surprise, he isn’t Dick Grayson.

Amidst the ragged whimpers and breaths, a strangled gasp comes out Child Bruce, “Jason!”

Jason pulls back, shocked. “Bruce?” He whispers. He couldn't stop a bubble of hope to swell inside of him.

Child Bruce looks at him with wide eyes and Jason feels a painful squeeze in his chest when he sees that the kid hadn’t called his name because he recognised him. He could tell by the way how the kid’s eyes didn’t linger on him.

“Jason- n-no-” Child Bruce cries. His whole body was shaking like leaves being thrashed around in a storm. “N-No!” He grips at his hands and pushes himself against the wall, shoving the bureau back as well.

A sudden waft of rust and copper filled the air and Jason caught on to it immediately. Taking a dunk in the Lazarus pit sharpened his senses and he still hasn’t decided if it was a good thing or not.

Jason stood up, took three large strides to the light switch and flips it.

A huge mess of weapons lay scattered all over the floor and curled right against the wall with the mess scattered around him is a child. The boy’s dark ebony hair was tousled in a mess and the cuffs of the white shirt he’s wearing is tainted in a vibrant colour of red.

The bandages that had once wrapped neatly around the boy’s hands, by Alfred, now came undone and hung loosely like red and white tapes. Except there was more red than white. Jason swore under his breath.

‘Don’t tell me the weapons that tumbled out nicked the kid somewhere.’

Child Bruce seemed to take no notice of the blood that was oozing out from his hand.

A scream tore from child Bruce’s mouth. The screams Jason heard through the phone really cannot even begin to summarise the pure embodiment of pain, loss and desperation that came with it. Jason’s heart clenched and his voice dies in his throat.

Jason grabs the bed sheets that were tugged from the bed wraps child Bruce in them. He was hesitant at first, slowly approaching the child when his first burst of screaming ended in hurt sounds.

Child Bruce, however, is so out of it that he’s unconsciously seeking for anyone that would keep him safe and pull him out of his sea of raging memories.  

Jason gathered child Bruce in his arms, fully prepared for flailing arms and legs. The kid struggled at first, gurgles of whimpers and tired screams rang out and Jason found himself bringing the kid to his chest with the kid tucked under his chin.

Jason doesn’t gently rock the kid, pat the kid or whisper sweet reassurances in the kid’s ear. But he holds on to the trembling child with a fierce steadiness. He ignores the growing ache in his right arm and shoulder.

He goes over to some drawers and tugs on them. Five drawers open later, he comes face to face with a comprehensive tray of bandages, tweezers, rubbing alcohol, antiseptics and then an array of more things. He takes a tray out and set’s it on the bed.

Now, the difficult part. He was going to plop the kid down on the bed beside the tray, but the kid’s making the saddest sounds when Jason pried him away from his chest.

“Kiddo, if you don’t mind…” Jason says as he looks down and his words catches when he sees heavy tears rolling down the kid’s unblemished cheeks. His eyes are pressed shut and his hands gripped tightly around the bed sheet. So tightly that blood from his hands was seeping into them. “…Alright. Fine.” Jason sighs exasperatedly.

Child Bruce isn’t going to budge from his spot in Jason’s arms because Jason has an inkling, that if he does, he’ll resort to screaming to express his anguish for ‘Jason.’ Not him, but the one who already died long ago in Ethiopia. Currently, he’s placated by Jason’s presence and Jason wants to keep it that way until someone who he can dump this kid on comes in.

But he can’t just go fixing child Bruce’s hands standing up. He doesn’t have three hands, unlike Alfred, who can literally look after an entire family of injured birds and bats at the same time.

So instead, he plonks himself on the bed with child Bruce, wrapped in a slightly bloody cacoon of bed sheets, resting on his lap. In most cases, having anyone on his lap would make him feel something akin to disgust (but that disgust arose from fear and confusion). Holding this child, who also happened to be Bruce, made him beyond bewildered. He doesn’t like the feeling at all.

“Hey kid, do me a favour by stop strangling your sheets with your grip.” Jason makes sure to be softer this time. It sounded weird to his own ears. Jason eases child Bruce’s hand with his free hand. The kid relaxes a little when Jason’s warm fingers brush his. “…There we go.”

Jason nudges child Bruce into a better position so that he could use his other hand as well to untangle the soiled bandages. Muscle memory guides his movements as he wipes away blood and grabs for fresh dressings.

Jason tries not to linger long on the bloody red crescents that marred the kid’s palm. The broken skin around them was starting to inflame. He powers on, applying antiseptic cream in a quick dabbing motion.

Child Bruce flinches the tiniest bit and Jason worked faster. He had to do this before the kid goes through another screaming fit. “You’re doing really well,” Jason says. There was no reply but at least the kid hadn’t started whining. Before he had set foot into this room, he had never heard Bruce make a sound akin to sad whines or noises.

But after all this, when he gets some sleep, those sounds will be plaguing his dreams.

Jason tucks the hand that he wrapped up back into the kid’s bed sheet cacoon and fishes for the other one. Child Bruce had pressed his face up against Jason’s shoulder and seemed to have finally stopped whimpering. His breathing, however, is still uneven and shaky. Jason could feel each breath he’s taking and each teardrop through his shirt.

This hand also had similar red crescent moon shaped cuts on his palm.

Soon enough, there was a tray of bloody bandages and a pair of freshly dressed hands. Jason’s arm that took the brunt of the falling floor lamp started aching a bit more. The shoulder that child Bruce had rested against was positively wet.

Jason heaves a sigh as he lets silence wash over. His shoulders slump downwards and he takes a moment to stare at the ceiling. Child Bruce was cradled in his arms, still swaddled in bloody bed sheets.

Child Bruce shuffled in his sheets.

“Kid, you alright?” Jason grunted to the small bundle encapsulated by his arms.

“Y-yes,” child Bruce answers. It sounded weak and breathy. Worn out.

“If you say so.” Jason thinks it’s time to get the boy off his lap, and then maybe into the bed. He gets up with a groan and walks to the front of the bed and lowers the kid near his pillow. “Alfred’s going to think I murdered you after seeing the bloody bed sheet.” Jason remarks to himself.

This time, child Bruce takes a proper look at the person’s face at the mention of the butler. The person’s face had deep-set eyes that are adorned with thick lashes and contoured by sharp eyebrows. Lips that were slightly downturned when resting. A nose that appears to have been broken on multiple occasions, but still healed nicely. The man’s wavy black hair brings out the lock of greyish-white that was above his eyes.

“Do I…should I know you?” Child Bruce asks tentatively. The man who pulled him out from the deep, dangerous sea of weird memories hesitates for a small moment.

Something at the bottom of his mind whispers at child Bruce soundlessly. A name. A hazy memory. The closer he wanted to reach out and grasp that name, the more it hurt. He knows he was just thinking about it, but his mind must have purposefully locked whatever it was back up.

The things that happened between him still being on the floor to him suddenly in this stranger’s lap seemed to blur too. Child Bruce has a feeling he doesn’t want to know why.

“Uh, no. Nope.” Jason says in a sudden spurt of panic. Wow from screaming back to actually speaking already? “Pass me that bloody bed sheet, will you? You wouldn’t want to sleep in that.”

Child Bruce fumbled to unwrap himself all whilst keeping his eyes trained on Jason’s face, then at how he reaches to grab blankets from the cupboard.

Jason tosses the blankets onto the bed but ended up tucking child Bruce in when child Bruce had trouble tugging the blanket with his hands. Jason grabs the soiled bed sheets, tray of used bandages and heads towards the door.

“Are you leaving?” Child Bruce whispers from under his blankets. He felt completely drained but fear buzzed viciously inside him. Dick must hate him and Alfred must be busy cleaning up the mess he’s made. They’re probably all somewhere else, and he shouldn’t be complaining. But he is terrified of being left alone with his mind.

“Yeah. You can sleep easy now.” Jason says. This kid probably wanted him out and away as quickly as possible. Jason stands in front of the door when child Bruce quickly speaks again.

“Can…can you stay?”

Jason turns around and unintentionally sends a confused glare. “You told me to ‘go away,’ kiddo, and I’m doing what you asked for.”

Child Bruce sinks deeper into his bed. “I said that? I-I don’t remember.” He furrowed his brows in frustration, trying to recall what had happened.

“No it’s fine, you don’t need to. Actually, it’s better if you forget about the whole thing.” Jason sighs and shakes his head. “Aren’t you scared of me?” Jason felt himself grinning bitterly.

“You’re not scary. You fixed my hands and you hugged me n’ that means you’re not a bad person.” Child Bruce reasons and Jason is reminded that this is a ten-year-old that he’s dealing with. “Good people aren’t scary.” Child Bruce mumbles. “I guess.”

Jason bites back on a laugh. Good fucking lord this kid was amusing. Who was the one who had a panic attack just a couple minutes ago? “What makes you think I’m a good person?”

Child Bruce splutters something and tries gesturing with his arms weakly but gives up and colour dusts his pale cheeks.

Jason chucks the bloody stuff on the floor and walks back to the bed, sitting at the foot of it. Jason feels unnerved by how child Bruce is still staring at him. “What.” Jason snaps. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

“You’ll leave once I close my eyes.” Child Bruce answers. “And…and I don’t want to be alone.”

“Well, what do you want me to do. Tell you a bed-time story?” Jason says sardonically, to which child Bruce gives a tiny, shy nod to. “Seriously?” And child Bruce nods again, eyes still trained on Jason. Jason composes himself before he starts growling sharp remarks. “Fine.”

Jason ends up going with a grimmer version of Red Riding Hood, adding touches of his own imagination as he recites it from memory. Child Bruce didn’t dare complain about the differing story structure, not wanting him to leave.

Soon enough, child Bruce really does end up falling asleep, even though the lights were on. Jason pauses a while to see if child Bruce rouses from him stopping.

After no protests, he stands and silently turns off the lights. Taking one last glance at the kid that is now resting silently on the bed, he picks up the bed sheet, all the bandages and leaves.

--

Notes: 

The reason I referred to small Bruce as just ‘kid’ or ‘child’ when Jason just met him was to show how Jason didn’t really see him as ‘Bruce,’ but as just any other I kid. This is also sorta why Jason would step out of his comfort zone to do some stuff for him he wouldn’t usually do (like willing to put Bruce on his lap, tell a story etc).

I continuously referred to Bruce as ‘child Bruce’ for the same reason. Jason just doesn’t see this kid as the Bruce he knows.

Jason only slipped out Bruce’s name when child Bruce said his name because that was when his mind linked ‘child Bruce’ with ‘Bruce’ more clearly than any other time.

Jason ended up being led by an entourage of people – namely Alfred, Dick and Zatanna towards the place where de-aged-potentially-alternate-universe Bruce was kept. With each heavy step he took towards wherever they were going, the more and more he grew unsettled.

Alfred came to a graceful halt as they somewhat neared their destination, which soon turned out to be only Jason’s destination since no one else was going to go with him beyond where Alfred stopped.

“The temporary room where Master Bruce is staying is just the third door down on the right.” Alfred seemed to be directing the words mostly towards Jason. In a more hushed tone, Alfred continued. “Master Jason, it would be a good idea if you go without an entire horde following you.”

Alfred knew Jason was already uncomfortable setting foot here, much less be so close Bruce. Having more people to deal with other than trying to handle Jason himself whilst being in the presence of the bat was a horrifying thought by itself. This was also for the betterment of Bruce, despite Alfred knowing that Jason didn’t want to find himself starting to have to actually care about him.

Hearts and bonds shattered at such a young age would leave such a nasty scar that, perhaps, may never heal even with time.

“Yeah Ok.” Jason fixed his eyes on the door that was three doors to the right through the dimmed hallway. “Alright.” Jason was only just starting to freak out because this is Bruce he’s going to be meeting. Hell, it might not even be the Bruce he knows. What should he say? Would he even need to say anything at all? Wait, so why was he going to see Bruce?

Right, he was going to calm Bruce down. If this was another situation, for example, if Jason was interfering with some weapons trade and started shooting everyone, he’ll be able to calm and angry Bruce down by saying, ‘No, I didn't fucking kill anyone and yes, they’re alive,’ though whoever was left was usually on the verge of dying and sometimes in need of amputations. He would laugh at the idea of trying to calm the cold, stoic bat. It would all be some sick joke since practically everyone else out there that Bruce knew would be more eligible for the job than he would be.

But this, this was apparently different so whatever eligibility hierarchy there was before is now completely overthrown and Jason’s brain hasn’t caught up yet.

Alfred turned to look at Dick with a similar weariness behind his movements. “I think it is time that Master Tim takes his break. He has barricaded himself inside the cave and has taken nothing but coffee. It will do him good if you accompany him for a while.”

The butler quickly heads off to make something for Tim. Jason wonders how Alfred is able to feed so many people who are unable to cook without so much as making a mess of something. Jason had also assumed that Alfred would keep an eye on the situation but realised that Alfred must trust him, enough so that he was allowed to use his fine china and enter a room with a fragile ten-year-old Bruce inside. And the amount of trust that Alfred has given to him made his heart unexpectedly ache.

Then, there was Dick. They never got the chance or time to become better brothers. So the use of an old pet name Dick had for him caught him off guard.

“Jaybird?” Dick held Jason’s gaze for a moment as he thought of what to say. Jason found it both amusing and odd that the most sociably-sound, able-to-strike-up-conversations person out of all the batkids is holding back on his words.

“What?” Jason grunted.

“Thanks…Thanks for doing this.” Dick said.

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes. It really was out of character for Dick to thank him like this. “Don’t thank me yet. I might just make things worse than they already are.”

“No, you won’t.” Dick flashed Jason a smile. “It’ll be fine.”

“My ears sure won’t if he screams like that,” Jason utters, feeling coolly detached from the situation at hand.

“We can always get you fitted with hearing aids if it gets to that point.” Dick reaches out and tenderly brushes a few loose strands of white from Jason’s eyes and Jason tries his best to suppress himself from moving away from the sudden contact. Maybe it was a force of habit with the other two.

“Alright, I’ll ring you up if I ever need one of those.” Like hell he would. There’s still traces of the Lazarus within him and his ears can handle more than just a little screaming.

Dick leaves, his strides long and graceful as he heads towards the Cave. That just leaves him and Zatanna. Jason takes in a deep breath, hoping that it will steal him for what he has to face. He exhales and continues walking-

“Before you go, I think I should tell you something.” Zatanna pulls Jason aside by the wrist into a corridor by the side that leads to a bathroom. “I haven’t been completely open with the real reason we need you to meet with Bruce. Yes, he’s calling for you, but the reason behind it…it would’ve distressed Dick a little if I told you about it in front of him.”

“I thought you two talked it through already.” Jason furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and searched Zatanna’s eyes. “You said that you’ll be able to do your magic if I calm him down. I don’t see anything else to it.”

“Yeah, but do you know why I’ll be able to do that once he’s calm?” Zatanna’s gaze was piercing, daring him to interrupt her. “He’s hanging onto those memories of you. Voluntarily, if you will. He’s even managed to keep a firm hold on them when I tried to lock them up. From the looks of it, they are his freshest memories. They’re the most recent memories younger Bruce has from our Bruce, and they’re also the ones that are affecting younger Bruce the most.”

“Both you and Dick have said that he remembers me dead. Is it serious that it’s just one memory of me that’s stopping you.” Jason says. Zatanna still hasn’t let go of Jason’s wrist and he was starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

“Well, Mr Todd, you do leave quite the impression on people.”

“Yeah, but apparently I don’t leave the nicest ones.” Jason quickly murmured back.

“Uh huh but he ended up taking you in after all,” Zatanna replied. “You’re not as bad as you think you are.”

“I am, Zatanna, I never became the person he thought that I would be.” Jason bit back a laugh. “He should have just left me in that alleyway. Now all he does is gripe at all the things I do for Gotham whilst he sits back and deals with the things Gotham doesn’t need. He tails me wherever I go like he’s trying to chase down the ‘me’ he thought he knew. And now, what, this kid Bruce is hung up about it all over again because he just won’t fucking let go of it!”

Zatanna didn’t flinch nor move from her spot. She knows that Jason is just as hurt about as everyone else in the family is but his perception of those feelings he has are clouded by suffocating plumes of twisted resentment that is associated with Bruce.

“Even if those memories are painful to him, even if they are making him suffer, he’s not letting go of them because they’re important to him. You’re important to him, Jason.” She could practically feel the cold disbelief that radiated off from Jason. “I was surprised that I could lock away memories regarding this world’s Bruce’s parents…because he’s moved on. He has his own family and city to protect now, something that he didn’t have before. You’re part of the family he wants to protect to desperately.”

Jason doesn’t need to know all this. He didn’t need to know that all this wasn’t just Bruce being a stubborn brat and refusing to calm down – but were essentially specific memories, the memories of Jason’s death that was stopping Zatanna reciting her spell and him getting more sleep.

“I stopped being his ‘family’ ages ago! He made the very clear when he gave me this.” He spits out, downright feeling bitter all over again as he used his free hand to pull down his collar, revealing a thin white line that ran horizontally along the side of his neck. The slice of a Batarang. “He’s chosen that fucker over me more than just a few times.”

“Jason, those memories were the only things he had of you before everything went spiralling down. And they’re the only thing he has of you now as well.” Zatanna’s squeezed the grip he had on Jason’s wrist, “But, what Joker did to you…Bruce…he, he was distraught, broken and different afterwards. He couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t let himself because you mattered to him.”

He stops and stares at her, trying to decipher the meaning behind what she’s said about Bruce. Sure yeah, Bruce has changed, but it doesn’t change that fact that he looks perpetually brooding even without the cowl on. To Jason, it seemed like the change in Bruce was trifling. Same old stoic Bruce with his same old moral code.

Zatanna gave an exasperated sigh. “If you open yourself to your family a bit more you would be able to realise things you don’t now. You have to realise that they are your family and have never stopped being your family.”

Jason tries to fight the urge to stare at her red lips as they spoke passionately, or at her dark hair that flows as she shook her head. The teenage Jason within struggles a losing fight as he easily tosses away the urges. He’s over all the silly ways how he would blush a little, or linger a little longer when she comes and visits the manor sometimes. Flowers bloom and wither, and now he feels nothing more than acquaintanceship for the magician. It was oddly a calm feeling. Jason’s steady gaze doesn’t leave Zatanna’s sparkling light blue eyes for even a moment.

“I’m not in the position to ask but, please, pretend that the kid you’ll be seeing is not the Bruce you know, but someone who desperately needs you and your help,” Zatanna said, knowing that Jason does understand but simply hates showing that he cares. This aspect of his proves that he was raised by Bruce more so than not.

The desperate desire to protect those who can’t, especially children, is a shared trait between the two.

Zatanna’s hand slid away from her grip on Jason’s wrist and turned back towards the main hallway. Jason didn't give a definite yes or no, but Zatanna didn’t need to know it since she knew Jason’s answer from the beginning. In fact, when a head-strong person like Jason chooses voluntarily stay when he had a choice to back out, they will see it out until the end.

The two came to a stop at where they were supposed to arrive minutes ago but had a slight detour. Jason faced the closed wooden door. Undefined shadows caused by the dim lighting etched across the door, giving it texture and form, further reconsolidating the fact in Jason’s head that this is real. Not a dream, not a nightmare, not a hallucination.

Zatanna hovered a couple metres behind, understanding that this was something that Jason needed to do by himself.

“With deduction skills like yours,” Jason slightly turned his head, but he wasn’t fully facing Zatanna either, “why don’t you step up and take his mantle as Batman for a while?”

An amused chuckle rolled out from Zatanna’s lips. “We established ages ago that his life as Batman wouldn’t be able to match up with mine…and we left it at that.” If Jason could see Zatanna’s face right now, he would see an amount of sentimentality he wouldn’t usually associate with the lively and energetic magician.

Jason realised that ‘we’ was Bruce and her, and suddenly realised that maybe that they had something more between them, once upon a time.

“Yeah, it wouldn’t suit you.” The smile that graced Jason didn’t last long. He placed his hand on the metal handle, hesitated, took a breath in, then out, then pushed.

--

This chapter, was hard to write. I was writing it in disjointed sections and I’m not confident with my ability to write conversations between two people so I kept on editing it. This chapter is to shed more light on what’s going on (because I tend to just write without realising that other people don’t know what the heck is going on) and to further develop the plot.

I’ve sort of like the idea of Jason having had a thing for Zatanna, but moves on. I wanted it to symbolise that Jason has changed, that he wasn’t the person he was before, but not someone entirely different either, like a bildungsroman in a way.

~~~

Jason rolled up at the looming front gates of the manor, feeling somewhat chilled after taking blasts of high winds as he sped through Gotham’s bare streets. Even with his thick gloves and high-grade clothes that are designed to keep the wind out, mother nature always has ways to intervene. The gates opened, opening their long metal arms to welcome him in.

He rode his bike up to the front door, where he hopped off and had a moment to think about what he was getting himself into. Do I really need to do this? He considers the events that could happen after Bruce returns to normal. He’ll probably banish Jason from ever setting foot in Gotham ever again, probably for seeing him in such a vulnerable state. He'll probably still hate him, even more so since Jason would be the reminder of both his failure and his recent embarrassment.

Ha. Why was he even here when everyone could’ve waited for Zatanna to do her magic and everything would be back to normal again. Zatanna could probably solve everything with her backward spells and her sheer black pantyhose and the black top hat.

So when the large, heavy grand doors opened to reveal Zatanna and Dick on the other side, he did a double take, which gave Dick the chance to speak first.

“I’ve heard that Prince Charmings always arrive fashionably late to parties… and well, I’m glad you’re here.” Dick flashes a small, tired smile that didn’t really stretch as far as his usual signature smiles.

“If this is a party, then this is the lamest one I’ve been at through my entire lives.” Jason fires back mirthlessly. He watches with spiteful satisfaction as Dick’s eyes widened the slightest bit as he processed what Jason said.

Jason’s eyes slid from Dick’s blue eyes to the ugly scab that was forming on his chin. Maybe it hurts for him to smile with the cut. He’s trying really hard to believe that it’s the cut rather than anything else.

Dick noticed the subtle change in eye contact but doesn’t choose to say anything more. He doesn’t want to scare Jason off before Bruce has a chance of letting Zatanna work her magic.

Jason lifts an eyebrow at Dick, clearly wanting answers. The quick glance Jason shot at Zatanna behind him proved to him that Jason was hoping for the same thing he was when he called her in.

“Zatanna’s magic isn’t working.” Dick supplies.

Jason’s entire frame heaved heavily for a moment as he took in a slow breath and exhaled deeply.

“Well…shit.” Jason murmurs. He was hoping that all this was fixed and he that wouldn’t need to hear such agonising screams ever again. He was hoping for a lot of things but none of them was coming true. I should better start hoping that this is dragged out for the longest time possible so that doesn’t come true either.

“I’ll explain the rest inside.” Dick steps to the side, allowing Jason a clear passageway into the house, but he doesn’t miss the reluctance in Jason’s stride as they made their way to the kitchen.

So far so good. Even better than what Dick thought it would turn out. He had imagined that he would have to go knocking on every one of Jason’s safehouses in Gotham, then try and drag him to the mansion.

Jason noticed something was odd the instant he stepped in, though soon realised that it was because Alfred wasn’t the one who opened the door to let him in. Even now, Alfred who was most definitely most attentive to offering ‘guests’ tea was not here to do so either. (Jason knows he’s not a regular, not anymore.)

Dick, now somewhat upholding Alfred’s spot as the butler, asked, “Do you want tea?”

“I want tea, but not yours. Alf’s going to murder you in your sleep if you touch his fine chinas.” Jason stepped between Dick and the glass display case, retrieving three cups with foreign gentleness.

“Damn, you just got rejected.” Zatanna mused as she moved to watch Jason handle tea leaves with care. But Dick seemed almost happy that Jason started brewing tea. Alfred seemed to have taught Jason a whole lot more things than either Dick or Bruce knew about because his muffins were second to the ones Alfred made. But that was all back then.

Soon enough, they were all gathered around the counter each with a cup of tea in hand. Silence enveloped as Jason took a sip, his gaze somewhat distant as he did. Dick took advantage of this moment to gather his thoughts, and how he was going to present everything to Jason.

He knows he has to ease the facts in as gently as possible. A shocked Jason can soon become a frustrated Jason, who will soon turn into an angry Jason. But Jason beat him to it.

“So, tell me that Bruce isn’t de-aged into some fucking ten year old and that phone call I got wasn’t real.” Jason eyed Dick, daring him to say ‘yes all this was just to prank your gullible ass.’

Dick sighed, blowing steam away from his tea. “Bruce is ten. He still is, and still will be unless we figure something out.”

“And, Jason, if what I think about this little situation with Bruce is correct, then you will play a huge role. Just to let you know, it’s not my magic that isn’t working,” at this, she sends Dick a look. “Bruce himself is the one who’s unconsciously refusing to let me to temporarily lock away his memories. Most of the memories anyway. I’ve sealed away what I can.”

“Wait, so you haven’t tried changing him back yet?” Jason growled, somewhat annoyed.

“I was getting to that. You see, space-time continuum must have been broken for Bruce to be ten years younger. In fact, I don’t think this is as simple as ‘de-aging.’ I’ve tapped into his energy signature and it’s slightly different from Bruce’s usual one.” Zatanna says, now clearly shedding new light onto the case since Dick’s face became even more contorted into confusion.

Jason gathered that this was the first time Dick was hearing this too. “You’re saying that time travel is involved in this shit and this Bruce is really him from long ago.”

“Yes, but the thing is, energy signatures remain the same no matter what age,” Zatanna adds as she tucks a dark lock of hair behind her ear. Dick’s face went a little paler and his dark eye bags seemed to have become even bigger. “Some exchange must’ve happened between this universe and another universe. Messing around the space-time continuum is a messy thing, and I’m guessing the memory mix-up is a result of it being ripped.”

Jason concentrated on the aroma of freshly brewed tea rather than on the shock that was about to be hitting him right about…now.

“That sounds like a…rather complicated deduction.” Was what managed to come out of Dick before he laced his fingers and pressed them to his lips.

“And that’s why I haven’t tried re-aging Bruce. The only thing I can do for him at the moment would be to lock away some of his memories, otherwise, he would practically break,” Zatanna concluded. “Whenever I tried to speak with him, he began screaming. He was screaming your name, Jason.”

Jason looked back at the reflection of him that rippled in the tea. “Still doesn’t explain why I’m here.” He murmured.

This time, Dick was the one who answered. “You’re the one who’ll be able to calm him down. I’ve tried, Zatanna’s tried, even Alfred’s tried.” He eyed Jason with his fervent blue eyes hooded behind his long, dark eyelashes. Jason’s eyes never left his tea. “But he keeps calling for you.”

A loud, pensive silence overtook them. The magician added something more in a smaller voice. “…I believe that there is a high possibility that this little Bruce, still has his parents back in his world.” That would be like rubbing salt into a bleeding wound, no doubt making all the memories that flooded into Bruce mind that much harsher and crueller.

That was another shock to Jason because if Bruce never lost his parents, Batman would never have come to be…and Jason would never have to be who he is. He might’ve been able to go to Uni, get a degree and not needing to cringe every time he sees a crowbar or bury bullets into heads.

He imagines standing in front of a mirror, seeing himself but standing straight, his shoulders light without burden. He imagines staring into calm blue eyes, like the ones he once had, and black hair brushing at just the tips of his lashes. No white. However, the image was nothing more than a mirage; a soft haze that would linger at the very back of his mind but never leave or step into the light.

If there was ever an even bigger shock, Jason felt betrayed by his own emotions. He fucking feel peeved about how he wasn’t angry about the fact that he was called here for reasons that are only based on theories or for Bruce.

Alfred’s paced footsteps arrived at the boundary between the kitchen and the hallway. “Master Jason, it is wonderful to see you here. I am glad to see that the chinaware has remained, for the moment, intact.”

Maybe the one thing he would miss if Bruce never became Batman would be Alfred. So something in his heart twinged when Jason saw Alfred standing by the doorway with the most forlornly expressed face Jason has ever seen him show. Jason feels the ache in his chest worsen as Alfred walks closer, allowing Jason to really pick up the subtle changes in the way his body glided across the open space. Alfred’s frame was slightly bent over, his back not as straight and his nose held just a little bit lower. As long as ‘Batman’ exists, Alfred’s ongoing exposure to all the suffering and the shit that goes on will never cease. Jason feels the anger inside of him being boiling once more – but he felt immediately because Jason was one extra thing Alfred had to deal with.

Jason loves the guy and he hates the things he’s done to the butler, taking years off his life for worrying over him when he didn’t need to. He’s done nothing to deserve his care.

“How’s Bruce?” Dick lifts his head and asks. The weariness they both shared seemed to have established a mutual sense of understanding. Dick knows that Alfred has personally stepped up to take the responsibility of taking care of Bruce – like he always has. Alfred understands that Dick feels useless about not being able to do anything, but he also understands that Dick understands that he’s doing what he can as best as he can.

“He has worn himself out to the point of exhaustion. I must say that it is for the best right now. I’ve removed all things that a young boy like him can break and throw. It was quite the feat to stop him from breaking multiple bones in his body.” Alfred’s expression melted into collected despondence. No one knows how he can pull off such conflicting emotions with calm professionalism. But then, people learn from experiences and this wasn’t the first time Alfred has seen something like this.

Dick could only imagine what Alfred had to struggle with when Dick rushed into the bat cave carrying a glassy-eyed Bruce who was swimming in the swaddles of his Batman costume. Dick thought that it was just shock and a terrible concussion.

He first called Damian down to the cave. Damian had a grey hoodie on with tight black jeans, with his growing fringe bobby-pinned back. That kid has been too busy acing school to get a haircut, much to Alfred’s constant reminders. Damian sarcastically commented on how delinquent-like DIck looked with the newly healing cut to the chin.

Dick briefed him over what had happened (though, leaving out how everything about how reckless he got). A villain wannabe, real name Jeremy Fritzleburg, or less commonly known as “the InventorDoc,” (Damian snorted at the name), de-aged Bruce (to which Damian snorted at again before an ear-shattering scream rang from somewhere within the cave – that was when they both knew something was wrong).

Dick told Damian to go check on Bruce whilst he called Tim and told him to come in as soon as he can. He wanted to get the broken pieces of whatever the InventorDoc invented to be analysed and hopefully understood so that they’ll be able to do something.

After more than ten minutes of pacing around, biting his thumb, he thought that calling in Zatanna would be a good option. His thoughts were confirmed when Damian came running back to him, eyes wide and undoubtedly shaken, but refused to admit what had shaken him so bad. He immediately dialled the famed magician, telling her the important point to convey the severity of the situation.

On the way to Bruce, Damian lagged slightly behind Dick.

“What’s wrong Dami?” Dick had asked but didn’t get a reply. It was only until Dick was nearing the place that Damian grabbed Dick’s arm.

“He doesn’t remember me.” Damian had whispered.

Dick paused abruptly, heart suddenly shuddering in his chest. “Go back up and wait for Timmy and Zatanna, yeah? I’ll…I’ll talk to him.”

Damian held on for a bit longer before letting go. He glanced up at Dick, “Father is barely able to talk in his state,” and then swiftly left.

Dick continued walking and swallowed thickly as he drew ever nearer. Soon, he was face to face with a small, fragile-looking Bruce writhing on the ground with blood trailing from his bloody hand and smearing onto the floor for he had dug his nails into his palms. Bruce’s skin was sheen with cold sweat. His small body trembled as he took in shallow, rattling breaths, but found that he lacked the ability to stand back up.

Dick rushed to help as Alfred must have disappeared to brew hot chocolate. Alfred would never leave Bruce alone like this, nor would Damian. Memories must’ve had rushed in sometime between Damian leaving and Dick arriving. Except Dick didn’t know that memories were what was putting Bruce through such an ordeal.

When Dick’s hand touched Bruce’s small shoulder blades, the child flinched and fell sidewards. Dick saw a face that resembled Bruces’s, but rounder, softer, younger but contorted by distress and fear. Bruce’s blue eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. Dick thought that it may actually be a new kind of toxin that could take the form of a ray. He doesn't know what he’s thinking anymore! Bruce was in a bad shape, and Damian was right. There was no way Dick could get through to the Bruce that was shaking in front of him. There was absolutely no flicker of recognition in Bruce’s eyes. To him, Dick was a stranger.

Dick had drawn his hand back, feeling unexpectedly hurt by Bruce’s reaction. He couldn’t really help that, despite telling him that it was unjustified to feel hurt when he shouldn’t be.

“Master Dick?” Alfred had called as he appeared with bandages.

At that, Bruce’s eyes intently bore into Dick’s face, cataloguing every detail, every bump and wrinkle. His wide eyes paused at the cut on his chin before shakily meeting Dick’s gaze.

“Dick?” The voice was small, shaken and weak, like a candle flame diminishing by the second. But a small flame of recognition was there.

“Y-Yeah that’s me, B.” Dick reached out to touch Bruce, but he still recoiled from his hand. Recognising Dick must’ve triggered something else in Bruce, because he clutched tightly at his own head and curled in on himself, letting out a pained groan.

Dick was torn between putting his hands on Bruce’s small back and not touching him at all, but chose to close it into a fist instead. “Tim will be here soon, ok? Hang in there.”

After several strenuous breaths of air, Bruce replied with something that froze Dick to the spot.

“W…who’s Tim? W-where’s…” Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed, creating crinkles in his youthful skin as he began recalling the one name that he wanted to say. “…Where’s Jason?”

“He’s not here.” Dick rushed back with a reply. Maybe Bruce just didn’t see Damian’s face properly. Dick thought that Bruce must have temporary amnesia due to the sudden changes done to his body. “But Tim, he’s your son. Lives on coffee, and Damian, he’s your current robin-”

Bruce seemed especially insistent about Jason, rather than about Tim or about Damian. “…not here?” This time his voice was slightly clearer but still as disjointed.

Cogs were turning in 10-year-old Bruce’s head as the memories started gushing in, turning so fast that they were burning. Pieces upon pieces of his memory rained down and he was drowning.

“Where’s Jason?!” Bruce was pleading now, eyes blown wide once again. He tried pushing himself up to search the cave with his sporadic gaze that was glowing with a feverish need to know where Jason was. Bruce’s breathing became hard and fast, which was quickly going to spiral into hyperventilation.

“Master Dick, it is not an apt time for you to be here.” Alfred shooed Dick gently out of the way so that he could as quickly and softly unfurl Bruce’s hand to bandage. “Master Bruce, you must control your breathing.”

Dick stumbled to stand up and back away. This…This wasn’t right. Something’s off. At that moment, the fear of not knowing what was affecting Bruce overtook him. He had to fix this. Otherwise, Bruce would never be the same and he wasn’t prepared for that.

Dick squeezed the mug of warm tea in his hands. Right now isn’t the time to think back. They need to think forward; think of ways to fix all this and make sure Bruce is going to be ok.

Jason placed down his empty cup of tea. It was still warm to the touch.

“Where is he right now?” Jason murmured dourly. Dick looked at Jason with a newfound sense of hope, despite how little it was.

--

I was going to end this a bit earlier, but I had to get Dick’s flashback in before I ended it. 

I have a headcanon (something where one as an individual, you think/want to be canon) that Jason’s eyes used to be blue, but turned aquary-green after he got tossed into the pit (despite the fact that he’s shown to have aquary eyes before he died - I sorta like the ‘change’ he undergoes pre to post-resurrection).

Maybe I’ll post the next part sometime :) been hella stressed cos of tests and due dates for my major work ,><,

Take care, fellow readers~

~~~

Jason tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a position comfortable enough to drag him off to sleep. After three more minutes of practically doing aerobics in bed, he decides that this was not going to get him anywhere and that he shouldn’t be wasting time trying to get some shut-eye but more rather do something more productive.

Like what? Go fucking apologise to Bruce to make Boy Wonder happy? Fat chance. It’s three am in the morning and even though Bruce will probably still be awake, he wasn’t going to just voluntarily visit the manor.

Jason pressed a palm to his forehead and groaned in annoyance. Everything was going so well. He hadn’t killed in a month (and he actually tried, really hard), he hadn’t thrown something across the room the instant Bruce entered, and he even managed to stay for a family dinner.

He’s even admitted to himself, secretly, whilst he was beat ass drunk, that maybe, deep down, he wanted to go back to the family. And he hated the thought and the emotional baggage that came with it.

He’s trying to ‘forgive and forget’ but it's not easy when the Replacement is there, when he’s the exact reminder of what he had been through and all the shit that had gone down between him and Bruce. Dick’s told him that it isn’t ‘fair’ that he blames Drake, for practically everything. Oh if only Dick knew that all this wasn’t ‘fair’ from the beginning. If only he knew the bitterness that stabbed him when he saw Bruce smiling with the Replacement, putting all the hopes and expectations that was once put onto him being placed on someone else.

Now that Bruce has robins to keep him sane, what had Jason become to him? Right, Jason was a walking talking nightmare that reminds Bruce of his failure, his mistakes.

And then just the night before, Batman and Red Hood had gone on a patrol, together along with Nightwing. They busted a drug and arms trade between two gangs. It was all going smoothly until Jason discovers five children shackled to a steel bar behind the main room in which the dealing took place.

They were quivering in fear and delirious from hunger and thirst, but what really made Jason snap was the fact that gang members that managed to dodge Batman and Nightwing barged into the room to kill them off since the deal was off and keeping them alive would be a fucking waste of effort.

Five bullets instantly buried themselves into the first man that came in, one in each kneecap as well as shoulder, with the final one burying itself in the man’s stomach. One for each of the kids that they left to die without them even needing to kill them. The second man that rushed in got a fist to the cheek and a knee to the nose, then a series of punches to his face. All Jason remembers was one huge blur with a cacophony of screams in the background, but he doesn’t know if it’s the gang member’s, the children’s, his, Dick’s or Bruce’s. Maybe it was all of them.

The next thing he does remember is Batman dragging him forcefully away from an unresponsive body. Oh, but Jason did not go quietly. He struggled against the arms that restrained him. He wanted to get his fists back into the man’s mangled face, to get his fists into all the gang members’ faces.

There was shouting, alright. Nasty comments were hit from Jason to Bruce like a match of tennis, and Dick ended up with a deep cut to his jaw whilst trying to get the two apart.

Jason doubts that he’ll be able to set foot back in the manor soon after what transpired that night. Jason doesn't even know why Dick still insists that he and Bruce make up, even when it’s clear that Jason had crossed a line when he gave Dick the deep gash to the jaw. So when Bruce had growled at Jason to leave, he did. Something dark and bitter overcame him as he walked out of the room, and the bubbling wreckage of hatred within him grew.

Taking a dunk in the pit had done its numbers on Jason, and anger was the emotion he chose to use to deal with the bitterness within him.

Jason pulled the blanket off of him and sat up on his bed. The sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness and landed on his small fringe of white hair. It glowed softly in the dark as the light bounced off. The white hair is a scar left on him after healing from death. A souvenir from his trip from beyond and back.

So when his phone started ringing at three am in the morning, he and his heart literally jumped.

“Fucking hell!” Jason grabbed his phone with haste as his loud ass ringtone was not helping his heart slow down from the initial shock. His first thought was to press the big, enticing red button, but the fact that it was Dick who was calling made him hesitate. “There better be a good reason for this,” Jason grumbled as he pressed the green instead.

“What do want-”

“Jason? That you?” Yep, it was definitely Dick. “You actually picked up, oh my god I was hoping you that you were and you really did.” His voice sounded far from sleepy, rather he sounded like he has been awake for two days straight. It was a little rough and a little slurred together but it was also probably due to how fast he was speaking.

“If you were seeing if I would pick up then I’m hanging the hell up.” Jason expected something of a smart remark from Dick, like ‘aren’t you going to ask how my cut is because I’m looking pretty sharp right now,’ or some weird shit like that if Dick’s sleep deprived because he says some weird things when he’s loopy from not sleeping.

“No! Jay! Please just, just hear me out before you leave. It’s…It’s urgent.” The last words came across the phone as being slightly breathless. There was bated silence as Dick waited for Jason’s reply.

“Fine. Shoot.” Jason answered, and he heard Dick sigh with relief.

“It’s just, after what happened the night before, B’s been on edge ever since. He barricaded himself inside his office, and well, I thought he was going to be in there for a while, but he actually came out of it earlier tonight.” Dick explains.

“And you want me to come over and talk with the fucking brick wall?” Jason growled. Answering the phone really was a bad idea. “He doesn’t listen and I’m tired of being the only one who’s doing all the trying!”

“That’s not what I was talking about Jay. It’s…it’s not that.” There it is again, the same breathless whisper of a voice that is most definitely hiding something.

“Then what? I’m hanging up.” Jason pulled the phone away from his ear when there was suddenly a muffled, high pitched scream from the other side. Jason immediately pressed the phone back to his ear.

It was a scream of agony, of loss, a scream Jason himself is so akin to. It’s as if something had been torn away from someone, and they were yelling their lungs out and their throats raw. There was this desperation within the ear-piercing wail, as if seeking for someone to help.

And it was a scream of a kid too.

After that, he couldn’t hear much more. Either Dick dropped his phone onto something face down or he pocketed it because all he could hear was the very muffled a soft and pleading voice, which is most definitely Dick’s. But the screaming didn’t die down though. Instead, now, the kid was screaming something, a word, a couple words which Jason couldn’t discern either.

There was a moment when it was just the rustle of fabric before Dick started talking again, but now with less vigour and rawer, unpolished emotion.

“Jason? Jay?” Dick called, anxious for a reply.

“What in the world was that?” Jason’s tone was serious. He was suddenly unsure why Dick was calling him out of everyone else he could’ve called in order to deal with a screaming kid. If it wasn’t about trying to get him to speak to Bruce, then he really can’t think of anything else.

Something in Dick, at that moment, must have broken because the next words that came out of him were so simple and plain and simply lethargic. But it shook Jason to the core.

“That…” Dick whispers, almost inaudibly, “that was Bruce.”

Jason didn't know what to think.

“Something went wrong during tonight’s patrol and he was hit by something.” Dick supplied, but Jason still didn’t understand.

Jason stared at the small sliver of the moon that was visible behind his curtains. He felt as if he was spacing out.

“When he came out of that office, he looked like an empty person, Jay. Neither Alf nor I knew why he came out then, or what was going on in his head, but I’m pretty sure Alf had a better than I did. I suggested that I take over the patrols tonight and that he should rest, but of course, he didn’t listen.” Dick paused, and Jason still did not know what to say. “…You still there?”

Jason swallowed and found it extremely hard. “Yeah.” He answers but it sounded smaller than what he wanted it to be.

“And the ways he did things tonight, it was as if…as if you were, well, gone, all over again. He didn't think before he jumped, he didn't even consider different courses of action to safely capture the rogue villain-wannabe. He got hit by a huge pulsating flash of something and-and he’s been de-aged to being a child around the age of ten.”

Jason found this experience very odd. Nothing that he’s heard from Dick so far has properly sunk in and processed.

“But something’s wrong. B’s memories don’t match his age. He remembers things that he wouldn’t have known if he was ten…like about him being Batman. The guy responsible doesn’t even know what he did and the machine he made shattered when he fired the thing.” Dick sounded like he was on the verge of screaming too, but at the villain-wannabe who put Dick through whatever predicament he had gone through before he called Jason.

Everything was slowly starting to make sense to Jason now and he has sort of an idea about why Dick was calling him and not Cass who would love to see a de-aged Bruce. And he’s not really sure he likes the reason. Old Bruce or young Bruce, he just didn’t want to be near that man.

“…You’re being oddly quiet, you know.” Dick murmurs through the line.

“Duh, Dickhead I’m trying to listen. Go on.” It didn’t come out as snappy as he wanted it to be. In fact, it was pale in comparison to what usually came out of him.

“His ten-year-old self isn’t ready for all the shit he’s been through all the way until now…It’s shredding him apart, and I can’t do anything about it! Just imagine a small plastic bucket and trying to pour in a large hot tub of melting tar into it. Whatever is holding the melted tar was made for it, much like how the B now is able to deal with his emotions by shoving them under the rug, but, pouring the tar into the plastic bucket would overflow and break it.” Dick drew in a shaky breath.

Trust Dick to put his words into an analogy. Jason doesn’t know if it helped or not, but the imagery of burning and melting plastic wasn’t something he would associate with B. “Bruce…he’s only something like ten years old, but he remembers me and Alf, but nothing at all about Tim and Damian.”

Jason realised that his heart rate was picking up again.

“You’re the only one who can help him, Jay. He remembers you.”

“But so what? He’ll remember me as the kid who gave him all the trouble he never asked for. What do I have to do with all this? You’re clearly B’s No 1 golden child. If you can’t do anything for him then there’s no chance I’ll be able to do anything better.” Hopefully, Dick couldn’t tell that Jason was slightly panicking, because he’s starting to. “If you remember, I make things worse, not better.”

“Jay, this is different! B needs you. It’s because he precisely remembers you that you’re the one that can calm him down.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, his head’s too stuck up his ass to say that he needs me!” Jason’s voice rumbled as he spat that sentence out. What’s so different this time?

If B remembers him and Dick but not Replacement and Demon spawn, then, oh shit. If Dick’s analogy rings true…

“What exactly does he remember?” Jason commanded Dick to tell him. All along, he’s been avoiding that one topic throughout his explanation.

There was a moment of hesitation. Jason could see Dick struggling with himself, whether or not he wanted to say it or not.

“When you were Robin. He remembers you dying.”

Dick must’ve said the last word too loudly because the instant he said it the screaming began all over again. This time Jason heard loud and clear what kid Bruce was screaming.

It was his name, twisted in blood and anguish. It sent goosebumps down his neck. Jason realised that he didn’t have a choice in whether he was going to the manor or not. Especially when his name was being called and called over and over again in such excruciation and desperation.

I’ll probs post the next part sometime ;)