AAAHHH i love your hcs/ideas so much, fear gassed jason never telling Bruce what he sees kills me in a good way. would you talk about their relationship? Honestly ur writing makes me weep I just love it so much
oh gosh, oh gosh every time i have to write them i lose a part of my soul....here u go anon i did my best!
Most times Jason can’t tell who he hates more: Bruce, or himself. He hates seeing Bruce because it makes him raise the question of ‘who’s right and who’s wrong?’ and going down that train of thought is...painful, to say the least.
Sometimes, Jason wished he didn’t know the truth. Sometimes he wished that he was naïve, or ignorant, or even stupid. He wanted to feel anything besides the all-knowing iciness of knowing the truth; the truth being Bruce looks at him and sees a ghost.
Bruce doesn’t make it obvious, at the very least. It’s packed into the small gestures; the passing glances, the longer stares, the clenched jaws. It’s in the calloused fingers brushing hair out of Jason’s eyes, and the quiet words the man wills himself to speak. Like a fool, Jason falls for it, of course.
One time, Jason stops by the manor to help Alfred out with something, and decides to head into the cave and take the back exit. He heads down, and notices Bruce is in the cave already.
Standing in front of the glass case holding Jason’s old uniform.
Jason, the real Jason, stops, his heartbeat stuttering. From his place on the stairs, he watches the old man lift a shaking hand into the air and press it against the sparkling glass, head bowing forward to press up against the casing.
Gestures much too tender for a dead memory. The husk of a man reborn, a lost son returned home, a loved one. The realization hits him like a freight train, nearly sends him sprawling onto the rocky floor in its weight. Bruce looks at him, looks at his murky green eyes and his tired smiles, and sees nothing. No, not nothing…a young boy. He sees his Robin from a past life, dressed in bright colours and donning a winning smile and speaking with warmth. He doesn’t see the scars, the effort Jason’s making, the strength he possesses. He doesn’t hear the sharp wit, the booming laughter, the drawled out words. He doesn’t feel the love, the trust, or the protectiveness.
Bruce looks at him and sees a grave.
Jason leaves, and time passes; he stays out of their way and they know well enough to stay out of his. He lets them keep their godforsaken glass case and their dusty memories
The next time they meet face to face is the night Jason goes after the mayor, intent on giving him the antidote he procured. He spits words about ‘trust’ at his father figure, all the while ignoring the real problem that kept them worlds apart: that glass case.
Time and exposure help heal the wounds they don’t speak about. Bruce may see him as a ghost, but his brothers do not: he teases Damian, shoots snarky quips at Dick, and offers sarcastic advice to Duke.
Him and Bruce...Jason understands the strength of an alliance between them. He tentatively reintroduces himself into their fold, joining patrol and accepting responsibilities. He and Bruce are on better terms, and everything is at ease.
But Jason can never forget that glass case, and Bruce can never take it down.
