Fic: "And the Days Go Fleeting Past" (Bruce/Jason, PG)
Title: And the Days Go Fleeting Past
Author: labuenaventura
Fandom: DC Universe (Comics)
Pairing: Bruce/Jason
Rating: PG (for violence)
Claim: Batman and Robin(s)
Challenge: For the dcu_freeforall challenge: Duty
Table: http://labuenaventura.livejournal.com/19408.html
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sometimes you let people go, and sometimes you set them free.
“Bruce,” says Jason. His voice is hoarse. “Tell me a story, Bruce.”
Batman’s cowl is ripped, covering the bridge of his nose and across his left eye. The rest of it is in tatters, red seeping through the cloth. It’s not quite water-proof.
“…Jason?”
The boy removes his helmet, the red glinting in the gloom. “Present,” he says.
He moves forward and drops into a crouch in front of Batman, carefully assessing the battered form.
Bruce’s right arm is broken; it needs to be reset. There is a multitude of cuts and bruises on his torso and arms, but the only life-threatening wound seemed to be the particularly nasty gash (bite?) in his thigh.
“I’ll have to tourniquet this,” grunts Jason. “Or you’re going to bleed out.” He uses his knife to cut a strip from the cape (there’s no way he’s cutting up his own gear for this), and winds it around the gash and pulls it taut.
Bruce groans, deep in the back of his throat, and Jason tells himself not to enjoy the sound. “This should hold you for a while,” he says. “At least until we get the chance to talk.”
There’s no answer; Jason checks Bruce’s pupils and finds them dilated. “Wake up,” he snarls, the old, familiar heat welling up. “Talk to me, damn you!”
He pulls a syringe out of his belt and pulls the cap off with his teeth. Adrenaline, pure shot, and Bruce’d be damned before letting his Robins pack drugs, but Jason wasn’t one anymore. That was the whole fucking point, wasn’t it?
He jams the needle into Bruce’s arm and watches as his head snaps up and his eyes focus.
“Good,” Jason says. “Welcome back, Bruce.”
“…Croc…?” The word is hissed through gritted teeth.
Jason shakes his head, incredulous. “All this and the first thing you ask after is the killer Croc?” He tosses the empty syringe over his shoulder. “You know, this is probably the reason why you and I never worked out.”
“What did you do… to him?”
“Incapacitated,” Jason retorts. “After he tore into you like that, you should be glad I didn’t…”
He stops. “Don’t worry, Bruce,” he says. “I’m not going to let you die. You sent your distress call right before he put your head through that wall. Your little Robin should be here soon.”
He moves closer like he can’t help himself, kneeling down by Bruce’s side. “Normal response time, Timmy should be here in what, three minutes?”
“…twelve.”
Jason raises a brow. “Discipline’s been slacking since I was around,” he says. “Boy wonder not reliable enough? Or no, wait… let me guess. You’ve given him his own part of town to patrol.”
He smirks. “Well, well, what do you know? Looks like Batman’s finally started trusting his underlings.”
“Still, that gives us plenty of time to talk… dad.”
Bruce says nothing. How he manages to remain impassive with the extent of his injuries is beyond Jason, but Bruce has always been a hard man. Cold.
Jason smiles. His teeth are very white in the dim light. “It’s all right,” he says. “I can talk enough for the both of us.”
“What do you want, Jason?” Bruce asks. He’s tired of Jason’s games almost as much as the rest of his family.
“Just the truth.” Jason stands abruptly. “I’ve always just wanted the truth.”
Bruce shakes his head. “I’ve always told you the truth.”
“No, not *your* truth, Bruce,” Jason says, smiling. It is devoid of any affection. “I want to know the real truth. No bullshit.”
He turns to the window, palms flat against the broken pane. He doesn’t cut himself, of course; Robins were bred to be careful.
“I’ve always wondered, Bruce. If you really gave a shit about me that much… why didn’t you let me?” Jason’s voice is low, almost conversational.
“I don’t know what you’re-“
But Jason cuts him off. “You know damned well what I’m talking about,” he says. He’s still not looking at Bruce. “That night, before I ran away to find my mother. I went to your room, tried to… to *be* with you.”
He turns to Bruce and punches the wall above his head, plaster showering to his cowl and onto the floor. “You told me to leave, pushed me away.” There is bile in Jason’s mouth now, but he forces himself to keep talking. “I knew I wasn’t coming back. Why didn’t you just… /let/ me? Just once?”
Jason clenches a fist, watches the fine white powder flutter to the ground. “Did you really hate me that much?”
He looks at Bruce with eyes older than any nineteen year old ever has the right to have.
“Jason…” For the first time in his life, Jason watches his mentor grope for words. “You were /sixteen/.”
“No,” Jason says. “Don’t give me that! I was old enough, damn it. You /knew/ that. Knew what I’d seen as Robin. Knew what I’d been through.
‘You thought I was good enough to put through hell on the streets, but not old enough to /love/?”
And there it is.
Bruce reels back as if he’d been slapped. “Jason, no…” And he reaches for him for the first time since this whole nightmare began, but Jason skitters back.
“Don’t pity me, god damn it,” he says. His eyes are wet. “Don’t you fucking pity me.”
But Bruce persists, pushing back against the broken wall with his good arm, limping forward until he’s /right/ there. So close that Jason can smell the blood dripping from the tourniquet.
“Jason,” he says again. Words have never been his forte-- not Bruce Wayne’s, not Batman’s. But he puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder and prays that it’s enough.
It is.
Jason is taller now, compact and muscular, and yet he feels the same way he did all those years ago. A grotesque parody of the Joker’s most devastating gift, except now Jason isn’t limp in his arms, isn’t lolling back like a lifeless doll.
He’s warm, and he’s clawing at Bruce’s tattered cape like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Jason.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. He hasn’t said the words in so long; he’s almost forgotten how. “I didn’t… say no because I didn’t want to.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Jason asks. His words are hoarse against Bruce’s chest. “Why don’t you /see/ me?”
There is no hesitation in the hand that comes up to tangle in his hair. The reply takes a little longer.
“Jason.” Bruce’s voice is low. He runs a tongue over cracked lips, tries again. “I didn’t say no because I didn’t want you. I said no because you were… /are/… everything I want.”
He curls his hand hard against Jason’s collar. “You are the /only/ thing I see.”
It’s all the invitation that he’ll ever need, and stubble scrapes across Jason’s cheek; Bruce’s mouth tastes like blood. For a long moment there is only silence, punctuated by rubble shifting underfoot, then Jason pulls away. Wipes his mouth with back of his hand.
He’s breathing hard; the sound is harsh in his ears.
Bruce just looks at him. His eyes are completely unreadable. The he says: “Go.”
Three minutes before Robin arrives. Five minutes before the police come. Jason looks at Bruce and swallows hard; nods.
He doesn’t touch Bruce when he moves past him, taking out his grapple and shooting a line to the next building. He knows better than to question Batman once he’s made a decision.
If there is one Truth in Batman’s life, it is that the Mission waits for no man.
But tonight, just for tonight, it waits for Jason.
And that’s good enough for him.
FIN
Author: labuenaventura
Fandom: DC Universe (Comics)
Pairing: Bruce/Jason
Rating: PG (for violence)
Claim: Batman and Robin(s)
Challenge: For the dcu_freeforall challenge: Duty
Table: http://labuenaventura.livejournal.com/19408.html
Warnings: None.
Summary: Sometimes you let people go, and sometimes you set them free.
“Bruce,” says Jason. His voice is hoarse. “Tell me a story, Bruce.”
Batman’s cowl is ripped, covering the bridge of his nose and across his left eye. The rest of it is in tatters, red seeping through the cloth. It’s not quite water-proof.
“…Jason?”
The boy removes his helmet, the red glinting in the gloom. “Present,” he says.
He moves forward and drops into a crouch in front of Batman, carefully assessing the battered form.
Bruce’s right arm is broken; it needs to be reset. There is a multitude of cuts and bruises on his torso and arms, but the only life-threatening wound seemed to be the particularly nasty gash (bite?) in his thigh.
“I’ll have to tourniquet this,” grunts Jason. “Or you’re going to bleed out.” He uses his knife to cut a strip from the cape (there’s no way he’s cutting up his own gear for this), and winds it around the gash and pulls it taut.
Bruce groans, deep in the back of his throat, and Jason tells himself not to enjoy the sound. “This should hold you for a while,” he says. “At least until we get the chance to talk.”
There’s no answer; Jason checks Bruce’s pupils and finds them dilated. “Wake up,” he snarls, the old, familiar heat welling up. “Talk to me, damn you!”
He pulls a syringe out of his belt and pulls the cap off with his teeth. Adrenaline, pure shot, and Bruce’d be damned before letting his Robins pack drugs, but Jason wasn’t one anymore. That was the whole fucking point, wasn’t it?
He jams the needle into Bruce’s arm and watches as his head snaps up and his eyes focus.
“Good,” Jason says. “Welcome back, Bruce.”
“…Croc…?” The word is hissed through gritted teeth.
Jason shakes his head, incredulous. “All this and the first thing you ask after is the killer Croc?” He tosses the empty syringe over his shoulder. “You know, this is probably the reason why you and I never worked out.”
“What did you do… to him?”
“Incapacitated,” Jason retorts. “After he tore into you like that, you should be glad I didn’t…”
He stops. “Don’t worry, Bruce,” he says. “I’m not going to let you die. You sent your distress call right before he put your head through that wall. Your little Robin should be here soon.”
He moves closer like he can’t help himself, kneeling down by Bruce’s side. “Normal response time, Timmy should be here in what, three minutes?”
“…twelve.”
Jason raises a brow. “Discipline’s been slacking since I was around,” he says. “Boy wonder not reliable enough? Or no, wait… let me guess. You’ve given him his own part of town to patrol.”
He smirks. “Well, well, what do you know? Looks like Batman’s finally started trusting his underlings.”
“Still, that gives us plenty of time to talk… dad.”
Bruce says nothing. How he manages to remain impassive with the extent of his injuries is beyond Jason, but Bruce has always been a hard man. Cold.
Jason smiles. His teeth are very white in the dim light. “It’s all right,” he says. “I can talk enough for the both of us.”
“What do you want, Jason?” Bruce asks. He’s tired of Jason’s games almost as much as the rest of his family.
“Just the truth.” Jason stands abruptly. “I’ve always just wanted the truth.”
Bruce shakes his head. “I’ve always told you the truth.”
“No, not *your* truth, Bruce,” Jason says, smiling. It is devoid of any affection. “I want to know the real truth. No bullshit.”
He turns to the window, palms flat against the broken pane. He doesn’t cut himself, of course; Robins were bred to be careful.
“I’ve always wondered, Bruce. If you really gave a shit about me that much… why didn’t you let me?” Jason’s voice is low, almost conversational.
“I don’t know what you’re-“
But Jason cuts him off. “You know damned well what I’m talking about,” he says. He’s still not looking at Bruce. “That night, before I ran away to find my mother. I went to your room, tried to… to *be* with you.”
He turns to Bruce and punches the wall above his head, plaster showering to his cowl and onto the floor. “You told me to leave, pushed me away.” There is bile in Jason’s mouth now, but he forces himself to keep talking. “I knew I wasn’t coming back. Why didn’t you just… /let/ me? Just once?”
Jason clenches a fist, watches the fine white powder flutter to the ground. “Did you really hate me that much?”
He looks at Bruce with eyes older than any nineteen year old ever has the right to have.
“Jason…” For the first time in his life, Jason watches his mentor grope for words. “You were /sixteen/.”
“No,” Jason says. “Don’t give me that! I was old enough, damn it. You /knew/ that. Knew what I’d seen as Robin. Knew what I’d been through.
‘You thought I was good enough to put through hell on the streets, but not old enough to /love/?”
And there it is.
Bruce reels back as if he’d been slapped. “Jason, no…” And he reaches for him for the first time since this whole nightmare began, but Jason skitters back.
“Don’t pity me, god damn it,” he says. His eyes are wet. “Don’t you fucking pity me.”
But Bruce persists, pushing back against the broken wall with his good arm, limping forward until he’s /right/ there. So close that Jason can smell the blood dripping from the tourniquet.
“Jason,” he says again. Words have never been his forte-- not Bruce Wayne’s, not Batman’s. But he puts his hand on Jason’s shoulder and prays that it’s enough.
It is.
Jason is taller now, compact and muscular, and yet he feels the same way he did all those years ago. A grotesque parody of the Joker’s most devastating gift, except now Jason isn’t limp in his arms, isn’t lolling back like a lifeless doll.
He’s warm, and he’s clawing at Bruce’s tattered cape like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Jason.
“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. He hasn’t said the words in so long; he’s almost forgotten how. “I didn’t… say no because I didn’t want to.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Jason asks. His words are hoarse against Bruce’s chest. “Why don’t you /see/ me?”
There is no hesitation in the hand that comes up to tangle in his hair. The reply takes a little longer.
“Jason.” Bruce’s voice is low. He runs a tongue over cracked lips, tries again. “I didn’t say no because I didn’t want you. I said no because you were… /are/… everything I want.”
He curls his hand hard against Jason’s collar. “You are the /only/ thing I see.”
It’s all the invitation that he’ll ever need, and stubble scrapes across Jason’s cheek; Bruce’s mouth tastes like blood. For a long moment there is only silence, punctuated by rubble shifting underfoot, then Jason pulls away. Wipes his mouth with back of his hand.
He’s breathing hard; the sound is harsh in his ears.
Bruce just looks at him. His eyes are completely unreadable. The he says: “Go.”
Three minutes before Robin arrives. Five minutes before the police come. Jason looks at Bruce and swallows hard; nods.
He doesn’t touch Bruce when he moves past him, taking out his grapple and shooting a line to the next building. He knows better than to question Batman once he’s made a decision.
If there is one Truth in Batman’s life, it is that the Mission waits for no man.
But tonight, just for tonight, it waits for Jason.
And that’s good enough for him.
FIN