metalogs | ( open ) and what's the worst you take

Entry tags:

( open ) and what's the worst you take

Who: Bruce Wayne/Batman

batsymbol
What: July Catch-all, Bruce assimilating to things, Batman being Batman
When: Throughout July, some August things too
Where: Primarily Central City, will mention otherwise
Content Warnings: TBD but let's just say Bruce being Bruce and Batman being Batman.

BRUCE or BATMAN

open to both [brackets] and prose, i'll follow your lead if you have a preference. if you want something else with bruce or bats, shoot me a PM or PP at

telekinetics to discuss. otherwise things we've planned/discussed can be dropped in here as well. starters in comments.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( the suit [usually] does its job in keeping him safe anyways, so. no. not much need at the moment. maybe it'd be different if he had dick with him as his partner. but he doesn't. not back in his gotham.

he watches out of the corner of his eye as jason gathers a piece of gauze for him and he stares in silence for a moment before he takes it from him between gloved fingers. a slight tilt of the neck, an internal wince he tries not to show, he presses the gauze down flat against the wound, knowing it'll be dyed red soon enough.

with that said and done, he revs the engine again — lets fingers grip the steering wheel tight, and hits the gas with a heavy boot as he peels them out of there. away from it all. but not without bruce looking up to the rearview mirror and watching as the corpses of his "parents" become smaller and smaller the further away they drive.

just another trauma to add to the ones he's already carrying.

they speed along the streets, bruce not making much effort in maneuvering around beasts and monsters that they in his way. he hits them — lets the batmobile plow them down with slight jostling around for them as they do. he's made sure the batmobile can take and give a lot. he needs it to protect him while intimidating those it comes into contact with, just like his suit.

at some point, it starts to get dark around them — just them. as if a dark cloud has dropped over them. that's when the darkness around them starts to move in a way — where within it, it has an almost sheen to it and with the way bruce keeps himself looking ahead, it's obvious then that this is his doing. that he's moving them through the shadows. )

( running away from the battlefield is a shit move. he knows that even while the batmobile speeds away. jason's got a good few hours left in him, more if he can fit a nap in there somewhere. eventually the injuries will catch up to him and he'll need a break--bruce's battle wasn't the only one he was fighting, even if it was the one that fucked them all up the worst. the speed at which the gauze gets soaked through is concerning, but bruce is still driving and isn't falling over at the wheel, so jason takes it as a good enough sign he'll likely make it and doesn't protest.

just sucks in a breath even as it makes him wince with how it moves his body, and lets it out slow. tips his head back as the lenses on his domino mask glow a soft red as he turns on it's hud and starts--checking through trackers. checking to see where everyone's at, if everyone's still moving, what corners of excelsior are covered, who might need a hand after he gets bruce to chill out a little. he still needs to reconvene with dick later, knows he's fine because jason bugged his suit to hell and back, he's got eyes on him at all times even when dick isn't close enough to grab onto. still doesn't like that he's currently out of sight.

but that's not shit he's getting into with bruce, either. jason stays quiet for a bit, lets the silence sit between them as they drive through shadows--until it feels a little too quiet and he's opening his mouth, )

They threw my mom at me. And Artemis.

( the darkness around them shines as much as darkness can. jason speaks, and bruce looks over slowly. i don't know who artemis is very clearly written on his face before he's looking back ahead of him. into the darkness that surrounds them.

a darkness that suddenly breaks in front of them and they hit the ground hard as if having come off a ramp — bumpy landing to say the least.

where they are is dark, the engine purring around them being the only sort of sound that can be heard before it's cut off and bruce, struggling some, pops open the door of the batmobile, getting himself out with a breath that bleeds into a groan before he's shutting the door behind him.

lights flicker on then — sensors, likely, and it reveals an underground train station that's slowly but surely being remodeled into a sort of batcave; what bruce has clearly been doing in his spare time and why bruce wayne or brucie doesn't come out often.

the cowl comes off, dropped to a table, as he goes.

two bullet trains sit there around them, the engines popped with repairs clearly being done to them. tables with a couple computer screens on them, bruce's own laptop running whatever code it is — downloading or decrypting something it looks like. a bike, scattered equipment, other tables with so much stuff on them. he's been setting this up on his own looks like. having to start all over again. one screen in particular seems to be a security system with cameras linked to it. but it's over to the freestanding cabinet that he goes, pulling the doors open where a stash of medical supplies line the shelves. bruce going through them and taking what he needs. not for him. but for jason. )

( of course he doesn't. he doesn't know about jason's parents, either. doesn't know about the father he'd learned how to steal from, who ended up in jail early in his life. doesn't know about the mother he found dead in a shitty bathtub of a shitty rundown apartment. doesn't know about the mother who died with him in a warehouse explosion after selling him off to the joker. bruce is new. he could tell bruce about artemis, but what's the point? the likelihood of her showing up here is next to nothing. artemis won't mean anything to him, even if a couple years ago, she meant everything to jason.

it's all irrelevant, so he keeps his mouth shut. jason usually knows how to fill the empty space between them, how to keep his mouth running to keep them both busy. but right now, he--just lets the quiet continue.

grunts when they land and it jostles him, again. but he's fine, and he's letting the hud dim down once more after bruce opens the driver's door. jason follows after, standing up with another hiss. it hurts more now that he's not out there, not readying for another fight. the adrenaline rush is gone, and it fucking sucks. he follows bruce over to the medical supplies after noting the location of bruce's new cave in his mapping system. figures it might come in handy at some point, especially given it's in excelsior where jason doesn't have much else. and from the looks of it--bruce has some cool toys laying around.

shit he'll dig into later when bruce isn't down here. snooping is more fun when the owner of the things he's snooping on isn't around.

the look he throws bruce is more--annoyed than anything else. because he sees exactly what bruce is doing. )

I told you I'm fine, didn't I? Don't even think this shit needs stitches-- ( the claw marks on his cheek, which he's compressing the glove bit of his gear back up into the sleeve so he can reach up with bare fingers and run them over it. it's more long than deep, though it's still bleeding, soaking into the collar of his gear. )

Might need a rabies shot. Think it might've spit on me. You think void monsters could have rabies?

( with his cowl off, it's just bruce there, black greasepaint smeared across his eyes. looking back over his shoulder to jason, there's a softness— no. there's a heaviness there in his eyes that's to be expected from everything that had happened out there. yet despite how heavy his eyes seem to be, his words, when he speaks, are soft. )

Sit down.

( with his eyes, he gestures to the stool that's there by one of the tables with papers and bruce's journal. NOTES & OBSERVATIONS (GOTHAM PROJECT) Year 2 October the one from his gotham.

looking back to the cabinet, he grabs a syringe — grabs a bottle after looking through some of them. )

I have it if you want it.

( rabies vaccination, he means. )

Where'd you ge--you know what? I don't want to know how you upped your stash so quick. Keep your secrets.

( though he's fairly certain void monsters don't have rabies. so-- )

I'm fine. Got one--( how long ago was it? before new amsterdam, so. ) two years ago? 've got another year left.

( because keeping up on that shit is important when one spends a good chunk of their time getting chased by assholes who may or may not have rabies infested dogs running rampant. and there's the rats in the sewers. and manbat. and countless other possibilities he doesn't even want to think about, so.

instead, jason just sits himself down with a roll of his eyes. doesn't take off the domino mask, because he's using it to keep an eye on everyone still out there fighting. the neural implant can follow some, but it's not set up for the people here either. he'll make a note to see if tony can hack the literal chip in his head. because that's safe. )

They're scratches. They're fine. Seriously. I've taken worse from Damian waking up grumpy.

( putting the bottle down as well as the syringe, he instead opts for an astringent and some gauze, bringing it over to set down on the table as well as tension bandages that are dropped down there. taking a moment, he removes his gauntlets, hands wrapped tight in white bandages beneath them.

he doesn't look to jason — doesn't try to fight him with taking the domino mask off. instead, he busies himself with uncapping the astringent — with carefully wetting the gauze with it. hair falls in front of his face as he does, hiding blue eyes behind them. blue eyes that slowly fall shut where he sees the twisted faces of his mother and father. of martha and thomas wayne.

slowly, eyes open, though he keeps looking to the gauze he holds, watching it grow wet. )

I'm sorry. For before.

( words soft and that almost tremble, he takes a second to swallow — to collect himself before he looks up and, when he does, his eyes are a little wet there, bruce just focusing his gaze on the slashes to jason's cheek. )

( he's not expecting bruce to let up any because once he's decided on something, he doesn't let go of it. jason gets it, because jason pulls the same shit. he wouldn't say it's something he picked up from bruce. he would say it's likely it's something bruce saw in him, when he'd first found jason. gross.

bitching and complaining is useless, and as much as jason would love to bitch and complain for forever just to out-stubborn bruce, the quickest resolution here is just to let him do what he feels he needs to do, stitch up the cut on his neck, and take off. call dick probably to help bruce figure out his shit, because jason can't. jason hasn't figured out his own shit or even how to fake it effectively.

and gets pulled out of his thoughts by an i'm sorry jason hadn't ever expected to hear. it pulls at something in his chest, something he can't name right now because it's just going to fuck them all up worse and they don't have space for that. he turns to look at bruce as he moves in closer with his gauze to--clean jason's barely there flesh wound that he could just shove some superglue on, call it good, and clean it off when he gets time to shower later. like a proper gotham vigilante.

not only was there an i'm sorry but there's tears too, threatening to escape and that's too much. bruce doesn't let himself be caught when he's emotionally vulnerable. especially doesn't do it when jason's around. and yet here he is, and jason's--huffing out a sigh before he's reaching up for bruce.

pulls shit he's only ever pulled with his siblings, and--reaches over to softly hold onto bruce's forearm. jason's not one for physical affection, not often, not with a lot of people, but he's offering it here. )

Hey. ( soft, and a little wary. this is new territory, paranoia settles at the back of his head that whispers bruce is fucking with him on purpose for reasons jason can't think of but he manages to ignore it. this time. ) We've all got shit that fucks us over, yeah? It's normal. That's why we have each other's backs--this isn't the kind of shit you can do alone. I knew what I was jumping into, I knew I could handle it, and you don't need to apologize for having feelings.

( bruce not only guards himself physically with the suit he wears, he guards himself emotionally with the people around him. sometimes he thinks he disconnects himself from whatever he feels. other times, it feels more like he replaces it all with anger instead.

but seeing his parents again — seeing them like that and seeing his father be shot again like he was... that shouldn't have been anything he had to witness again. not like that. not when it still hurts him so much. when he still feels guilt for being unable to bring them justice.

he lost in those thoughts when jason reaches up to touch his forearm and he snaps himself from them, looking to jason as he speaks.

he's right. he doesn't need to apologize for having feelings. but for what happened to jason? for his freezing up when he should know better and being unable to turn that fear into anger... that's his fault. that could have cost them a lot more.

he stares to jason for a little longer — doesn't let the heartache there in his eyes fall to his cheeks. instead, a slow lick of his lips, he gives a faint not before he presses the wet gauze to jason's cheek, cleaning up the wound his father gave to him. )

You did what you had to.

( his voice is soft — a little trembling before he clears his throat and just lets himself focus on cleaning up that wound. hopefully it doesn't sting too much.

letting his gaze drop back to jason's face, he pauses in what he does. )

You shouldn't have had to though.

( he should have been able to handle it, but. he couldn't.

setting the gauze down, he reaches for the tension bandages, placing them in jason's hand, keeping his own there with jason's for a moment. )

Thank you.

( because he doesn't think he could have been able to. not yet. )

( it stings but it's a pain jason's familiar with. he doesn't flinch until the gauze hits a particularly painful patch of skin, and is otherwise--fairly unbothered. doesn't let his expression waver, because bruce is opening up to him and jason knows damn well how hard that is. he's saying i'm sorry and thank you and he doesn't know how to take any of those. jason drops eyes down to the tension bandages for a moment, before he's looking back up into bruce's own.

there's empathy there, but there's also the stubborn determination that he also shares with bruce. jason isn't batman, he never will be. but he's got something batman doesn't have. )

I do what you can't. ( his voice is even-toned; not soft, not harsh, just--clear. ) An' I always will. There's lines you can't cross, but mine aren't drawn the same.

( bruce couldn't kill his parents, because they were his parents. jason would have had the same hesitation, and his parents were--significantly less parental than bruce's. but even if it hadn't been void monsters, jason would have done the same thing. if it had been zombiefied thomas and martha wayne, he would have eviscerated them. sometimes the darkest path is the right one to take. jason knows that. )

( there's exceptions to things — shades of gray that can become murky if ones not careful. monsters taking on the form of dead parents and making them be dead in every way possible... seems like a gray area. yet bruce still couldn't bring himself to do it, even when that very monster wearing his mother's face was thrashing atop him, trying to kill him. he couldn't. if jason hadn't been there... he'd probably be dead.

it's funny. he's not afraid to die and yet... he'd felt fear in that moment. but for different reasons. guilt. failure. heartache. loss. they all hurt so much more than the thought of dying. of him dying.

fingers slip away from the tension bandages placed there in jason's hand, arm dropping to his side. it's hard for him — hard for both of them for him to be this... vulnerable, but. here he is. being just that. if even for the moment.

there's a sort of understanding there in his eyes — in the way he lifts his gaze up to meet jason's and he takes a moment to swallow again, licks over his lips, then looks back down to the tension bandages he'd given him. )

Still. I can't afford to freeze like that. ( having thought he'd mastered all of his fear, but. he knows there's one or two things that still destroy him from the inside. make him feel like he's ten years old again. ) Might want to wrap your arm with that. Just in case.

( there's a lot he could follow that up with. he could tell bruce that he's still new, that being batman is a lot. he could tell him that no one would expect their dead parents to approach them as zombies trying to rip their skin off. or tell bruce that, even when he's older, there are still things that fuck him up. could accentuate that they're a team because they all have weaknesses and strengths, and they work better together than apart. but jason also--he isn't part of that team anymore, is he? bruce kicked him out. tim said it's fine, bruce's forever is never forever, and jason knows that from experience but it was never as bad as the last time, and--it's complicated.

jason doesn't know what to say. he's not dick grayson, he can't give encouraging speeches or pick people up once they've fallen. jason leaves. he leaves because it's always his fault, and he always makes shit worse when he tries, so leaving is the only reasonable response. so he says nothing instead. puts the wrap up on the closest counter as he gets himself up to his feet. )

At worst it's a hairline fracture. ( his arm raises, and while it causes jason to grimace he doesn't reach a point where he can't move it. he curls in fingers, extends them out. ) Bandaging it is just gonna point it out as a weakness to take advantage of. I'm fine.

( but he does gesture towards his neck, while he moves to sift through the rest of bruce's shit. )

Sit down. I'm not gonna listen to Grayson bitch 'bout how I let you get an infection 'cause you're being stupid.

( dick probably wouldn't bitch. but he's as good of an excuse as any. )

I meant underneath.

( under the suit he has on, like how bruce himself wears bandages around his hands beneath the gauntlets. kids.

this is a sort of deja-vu all over again for him. jason insisting on patching him up lest dick get on his case about leaving him in such a state. it's strange— maybe he'd find some sort of dark humor in it if he weren't still so shook up from having monstrous versions of his parents trying to kill him. sleeping tonight is going to be... difficult. he might have to force himself to with something.

regardless, he takes a seat on the stool there — slow in doing so and grimaces a bit as he cranes his neck. it's nothing serious. nothing that needs him to be hospitalized or the like, but. it's angry and it's oozing and it hurts. typical of him to just rely on his own natural adrenaline and focusing on jason instead to try and ignore his own pain.

eyes falling shut for a moment as he sits there, he slowly opens them up again, watching jason from where he sits, the heel of a boot resting against the silver edge of the stool. )

Who's Artemis?

( no. he didn't forget. he never does. )

( his gear's not nearly as--loose or thick as jason's usual shit. it makes moving easier, but it also makes hiding shit under it harder. he supposes, under the suit and under the jacket would probably be enough to hide it. unless he loses the jacket, which, given the amount of times he's been stripped of his toys before, he won't discount the possibility.

but it's irrelevant, because jason's not going to bother with it right now. first aid on non-urgent wounds can wait until later when the mess is over. jason's arm'll be fine in the meantime. bruce sits, and jason takes out a bottle of painkillers. counts out a few and tosses them into his mouth to swallow them down dry. may as well, while he's taking a breather.

since they're not in the batmobile with bruce's very few supplies, he goes for proper supplies for stitching someone up: a needle driver, sterilized needle and thread, a cup which he fills with water to rinse out the wound first. bandages are for scrubs, but he grabs some surgical tape.

it'll stick better and bruce is less likely to tear it off when it starts irritating him. )

Artemis of Bana-Mighdall, she's an Amazon. ( it's part of an answer. and it's all bruce is getting for the moment. jason grabs onto another stool and pulls it up close to bruce's side so he can sit down on it and--lean forward into bruce's space. puts fingers against bruce's chin to get him to tip his head up so jason can get a better look at the wound. ) Strong as hell, doesn't take anyone's shit. Didn't take mine, ever. We worked together.

( he lets jason do whatever he needs to do right now — sits there and waits. he's probably going to head back out— he should do that, soon as he can shake off everything from before — get stitched up a bit. a shot of adrenaline to the leg wouldn't have helped much. it's exactly what it's called: adrenaline. it doesn't magically heal him. just makes him numb to it until it all wears off.

it's the sound of the stool tapping down beside him that has bruce pull out of his drifting thoughts — has him look over to jason before his chin's being tipped up. even so, those blue eyes within the smeared greasepaint look over to him. )

Just worked with?

( just like he's just working with selina. right. )

( he gets the implication there. jason could lie, but lying to a family of liars is stupid as shit, he knows better.

so instead he takes the cup of water and slowly tips it over the wound to flush it out. there are less messy ways of doing this, bruce didn't make a mess, but jason doesn't give a shit. bruce can live with it. jason talks while he opens the rest and threads the needle. )

She kissed me. Right before jumping into a black hole. I would've gone with her, but some asshole in a cowl insisted on bashing my skull in, so.

( needle ready, jason puts the end of it between lips so he can reach forward and pinch the wound closed with a hand. raises the other to take the needle back, and starts sewing bruce up. )

Could've been worse. I doubt a black hole's enough to take her out.

( there might be a slight wince at that — a soft hiss through teeth when jason gets going, but. he does his best to suck it up. he's had worse... physically, at least. emotionally? this might top a number of things, to say the least.

as always, he falls quiet. a man of few words. it's... easy with jason though? the way in which he seems to know how to navigate that silence — what all the little looks, hums, and grunts mean. alfred's also relatively good with that. having jason be able to communicate with him in his own way is... familiar. so at least there's that here. )

You really hate him, don't you?

( his bruce, he means. )

No.

( the answer is quick, firm, and jason lets it sit between them while he ties off a stitch and starts on the next one. he could have used butterfly bandages on this, but given it's bruce--better to be safe than sorry.

his feelings for bruce are significantly more complex than butterfly bandages or stitches. there is no safe answer, because having feelings at all is an exploitable weakness. he could say he doesn't like bruce but it isn't hate. he could say he loves bruce, but it's complicated. it's always complicated. it always hurts. his jaw clenches tight, but jason's hands keep steady. )

I grew up in Crime Alley. My dad died in prison--he was a thug, did a lot of stupid shit. My mom was an addict, I found her body in the bathroom before I'd hit double digits. Bruce was the best thing that'd ever happened to me. I'd be dead or worse if he hadn't taken me in. Still dead, I mean. Wouldn't be half the man I am today without him.

An' despite all the bullshit, I never hated him. Not even for a moment. Might've thought I did at one point or another.

Edited 2023-08-01 01:42 (UTC)

( he's not sure what he expected to hear.

he knows he's not the easiest person to get along with — to talk to if it isn't about whatever he's focused on or obsessed with currently. it takes him over — consumes him to the point where he doesn't know how to be bruce wayne and he knows it upsets alfred, but he can't stop. even here. he looks for things to busy himself with. looks for people to go after, take down, punch into the ground until they're not moving and just barely breathing. being anything other than that... he doesn't know if he can do it, despite how dark and lonely a path it is he's heading down by doing it. by being vengeance.

initially, he thought he could just shrug this off — shrug them all off and keep to himself. but they'd found him — searched him out and, despite his not being whatever bruce any of them know, they keep coming around. keep reaching out. lending a hand. inviting him to birthday parties. even stitching him up. they could all stay away from him. it'd be easier. but it takes a sort of courage to not. he's been thinking about that lately. on his own.

he's not afraid of dying. but letting himself even begin to get close to them... that terrifies him. to have more people he could lose. to not know if he has it in him to be what they might need or want. but like with gotham, maybe he just needs to try. )

I can't promise I won't upset you. ( at some point. bruce just has a knack for that with everyone, especially close to him, which isn't many. ) But I don't want it to be like that. With any of you.

( dick, jason, tim... damian. )

( it's more than jason is expecting.

he expects the grunts and hums bruce usually gives as answers to shit that's directed at him. has learned to translate those, to pick apart the ones that mean he's mulling it over, the ones that say he heard it, but he's not going to acknowledge it further, the ones that mean yes, he agrees. or the way he clicks his tongue just like damian does when he's especially irritated. jason knows bruce wayne's cues, or at least his bruce's. he spent his early teen years getting them down, knowing how to play off of bruce, off of batman. he spent his later teen years finding all the ways he could pull them apart. he's had serious conversations with bruce, he's had ones that felt more like bruce was talking at him despite him verbally saying nothing at all. he's talked at bruce, going on and on while bruce looked at him, stone-faced and unresponsive to anything jason threw at him.

i can't promise i won't upset you isn't the low hum he was anticipating, nor is the i don't want it to be like that with any of you even close to anything he was expecting. this isn't the closed off bruce who fucked off and turned away the moment jason started getting in his face, this is--someone who's trying.

jason isn't sure how to feel about it. he raises the hand with the least amount of blood up to rub at his eyes, only to remember there's a fucking mask there and instead just. squeezes his eyes shut under it, like that'll help with the almost-tears that threaten to fall. he's not taking it off, especially when he's this close to losing it.

the last stitch gets tied off, and jason grabs onto the tape to tape straight over them. no bandages, only tape. bruce can have fun yanking that off over still-healing skin if he decides to say fuck it and disregard his injuries. )

I think your no killing rule is stupid. ( pointing out all the reasons for bruce to be upset with him feels like the right way to handle this. piss him off, so it doesn't cut any deeper. ) That sometimes the people we fight are just garbage, monsters, that need to be taken out. They're not gonna stop killing an' hurting people unless they're put in the ground. I get why you do it. ( he's seen what happens, when batman resorts to murder. it never ends, and maybe it's more--peaceful like that, quieter, but it's not right. ) But I'm not gonna follow your rules. I do things my way.

( another wince, the surgery seems to go well enough and, as he already knows, jason's not too bad at stitching someone up. again, probably comes in handy both for himself and being around him... around batman.

gently, fingers brush over the tape, feeling jasons' handiwork beneath the smooth surface. it's nothing permanent and he's liable to rip them if he really gets into it, but. it'll do for now and that's really all he needs.

he's heard this before, of course. just from the other jason who had thought to slug him in the park when bruce didn't agree with his methods. he'd let him. slug him, that is. feeling that he clearly needed to get it out of his system on someone who looks like and reminds him of someone else he knows. someone else who disagrees with his methods. but he still doesn't. agree with him or jason here and it shows in the way he looks to him through the smeared black greasepaint there across his eyes.

but there's no lecture — no sigh of disappointment or quiet slipping away with a back turned to him as he busies himself with whatever close by. instead, he simply sits there on the stool and lets himself stare to jason for a little longer. )

I don't expect you to. ( follow his rules, do things his way. ) But I won't give up on you.

( that there's another way. always another way. )

( never before has jason been more grateful that the domino mask whites out his eyes. see? lenses are useful for plenty of shit. because bruce is right there, barely a breath's distance away given jason was working on his neck, and he--well, he can see the way jason's lips press tight together, how his brow wrinkles, but he can't see the hurt in his eyes. he can't see the way those tears that jason had been working to keep back start gathering in the corners of his eyes.

i won't give up on you versus the i was a fool for ever believing in you he'd last heard from his own bruce. jason's always been. . emotional. he feels strongly, he reacts strongly, he's loud. but this is one of the times when he wishes he was--less. less reactive, because he can't stop the way his lower lip begins to tremble. less loud, because the shuddered exhale he gives is a little too obvious.

the way he leans forward to press his forehead against bruce's shoulder isn't exactly stealthy, either. nor is the way his shoulders slump, or how he waits until after bruce can't see his face to reach up and pull the mask off, so he can wipe at his eyes. and while being more quiet may have been handy, the silence jason leaves between them is a little too telling. because there are several snarky little comments he could throw straight back at bruce, but he can't bring himself to voice any. not when he's--trying to hold himself back from crying. )

( everything about this should make him tense up — should make him stare like a deer in headlights almost and yet... he doesn't. there's something about this — about what they've both been through today and the previous time and the previous before that that has bruce sitting there. quiet. feeling some sort of way that makes him wonder if this is how it all starts. if this is how he starts to want to be there for them, starting with a young and newly orphaned dick at some point.

this connection so strongly felt through so much pain that he can almost feel it himself. even if different — even if not entirely the same, it's familiar to him and he hates that there are those around him who feel this, too.

it's then that a thought touches him. i do what you can't, jason had said to him and sure. he's right. so maybe for him it's more... i'll do what he — the other him — can't. or at least... try. no matter how tired it makes him, no matter how much he might wonder if it even matters. just like with gotham, he needs to try.

letting jason lean against him like he is — taking the moment to just try and keep it together in ways bruce has felt and done himself when it's just been himself alone, he lifts the hand up closest to jason, and gently presses it to the crown of his head, fingers softly carding their way through dark strands of hair as he does. unspoken, the sentiment is still there regardless; i've got you. )

( he feels bruce shift, and his immediate response is to tense up. waiting for the fight, for the hit, for something. it's--instinct, one he's managed to curb with some, but not bruce. because chances are high shit will turn into a fight with bruce, and maybe this is where it does.

it doesn't. fingers brush through his hair and it's the kind of soft touch jason only ever expects from--dick, when he's feeling affectionate. kyle is usually where it comes from, and it's still something jason's getting used to. he communicates with his fists, through fighting, through banter he's been using since he was just a kid with an attitude. this is new, slightly uncomfortable,

but it's still enough to cause the dam to break, for the tears to actually start falling. he'd been out there fighting for a while, taking down people's nightmares, getting civilians out of the way--taking down thomas and martha wayne, which is shit jason wasn't expecting to do today. he hurts, he's exhausted, he's got a kid running around out there that he let loose and who the fuck knows what dick is getting into, he's full of chaos and energy.

jason's here, leaning onto bruce, his fingers in jason's hair that's just barely long enough it's starting to curl again, and jason's pulling in a breath through his mouth before his shoulders start shaking. he doesn't reach for bruce, keeps his hands down on his thighs. doesn't say jack shit as tears fall and land on bruce's gear. doesn't say anything through the quiet gasping breaths, just breathes through it to try and keep himself from falling apart even more. )

( he know what it feels like to keep it all in — to ignore it to the point of never really acknowledging it because it just hurts too much to and who the hell would ever willingly want to put themselves through such emotional torment? physical altercations? that seems to be more the way to deal with it — deal with the misplaced anger that's actually fear or pain. the last time he'd really been like this — where he'd really broken down as jason seems to be, is when he was still young, after his parents death, and had no one but alfred there to console him in whatever way he could.

[you needed a father, but all you had was me...]

he doesn't know what jason needs — doesn't know the words to say to make any of this better. so he just sits there with him, fingers slow and gentle in the way they rub his head in some quiet attempt to try and console him. fighting someone to make it better somehow seems so much more easier than this... but that's also why he needs to do this. because it's hard and difficult and teeters too close towards letting himself care.

but he does care. he's always cared. even when it seems like he doesn't. even when he's been callous with telling alfred how he's not his father. now he might lose him and he'd have to live with that guilt, too.

there's the faintest sound of discomfort there on his lips as he shifts some on the stool — as he shifts to face jason better and lets that hand there on the crown of jason's head drop down to rest at the nape of his neck instead. making it easier for jason to lean into him. to be held with the one hand there at the nape of his neck. no pushing away, no leaving him there to deal with what he's feeling on his own. eyes falling shut, he sits there with him, the sound of his laptop running the program it's working on filling the silence that hangs between them. )

( open ) and what's the worst you take

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cw: drug use

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