Chapter Text
While Jason slept, Bruce called Alfred back in to help him patch and clean up the damage that had been done. They took great care to ensure there was no unnecessary jostling and that Jason was not at risk of any further harm. Wounds were disinfected, some requiring stitches, and Bruce made sure to wipe away all the dried blood and grime from his son’s skin. There was nothing he was going to shy away from. Every bruise and gash and broken bone that had been logged and stabilized, Bruce did not turn away. Even if the thought of what had possibly caused any of this made his stomach turn. The fact that this was his son.
Removing the suit was the hardest part. It had been stained with the same blood and grime, torn in places that revealed more wounds and bruising. Bruce and Alfred worked silently. There was nothing for them to say that would make this any easier. Jason had two fractured ribs on his left side, skin hot and angry under assessing hands, tender and blue-black. He had not fallen. Bruce knew this was done with force along the lines of something heavy, swung at the area with great strength. Maybe a baseball bat, or tire-iron, maybe even a crowbar. From the rope burn on the raw skin of Jason’s wrists, it wasn’t all that difficult to imagine what might’ve happened. Sprained ankle, bruising around his throat – Bruce was going to do something drastic – and below his clavicle and on his legs, a gash on his right outer thigh, minor cuts and scrapes pretty much anywhere Bruce laid eyes on. A pinprick mark on Jason’s inner forearm suggested he had been injected with something. Drugged, likely, probably to keep him docile and still. Perhaps an I.V. had been administered and Jason had finally found the conscious strength to rip it out.
Jason was getting boney, and he was pale enough that Bruce imagined he must have been somewhere either underground or without any windows for a very long time. He certainly had to have been deficient in a number of critical vitamins, and severely dehydrated, likely only fed just enough to keep him from dying but not enough to keep any strength to fight. Whoever this was wanted him weakened and vulnerable. A punching bag for who-knows-what. To send a message that said… Bruce couldn’t tell. But he was going to find out soon enough.
For now, he took care of his son. Treated his injuries, cleaned him, and redressed him in comfortable clothes Alfred had retrieved that wouldn’t aggravate anything. He and Alfred agreed, somewhat apprehensively, that a new I.V. was necessary to restabilize him. So they went about it as carefully and thoughtfully as they could, hoping and praying that Jason either wouldn’t realize or would understand that he was safe by the time he found out about it. He needed fluids. This was the most sensible, safe, and effective way to get them to him. But still, a father will worry.
From the window on the east-facing side of the room, the sun was beginning to rise. A grand display of golden light attempting to shine into the bedroom through the blackout curtains, coming from the Gotham city skyline. It must have been around seven o’clock in the morning by now. But they were finished, and were gathering up their supplies. Jason hadn’t moved much, but he was still breathing, and Alfred and Bruce were able to position him at least somewhat comfortably so he could continue to rest without interfering with his I.V. or his broken ribs. It had been a long process. But it was done now. They could only let Jason’s body try its best to heal now with whatever help they could provide. Everyone was exhausted. It had been a long night indeed.
Alfred was the first to speak once everything was back in order, watching Bruce fret over Jason’s sleeping form and tuck him in again. “Is there anything else I can fetch for you? Would you like for me to bring a coffee up?”
Bruce looked over at him, and politely shook his head. “No, I think we’ll be okay. Thank you, Alfred. I think I’m going to make some phone calls for now.”
“Of course. Let me know if anything changes. I’ll go send word to Dr. Thompkins and finish tidying up.”
“I will. Promise. Thank you.”
Alfred leaves again, door closing quietly, and Bruce sighs. He dares a lean down to Jason, and places a kiss on his temple below the butterfly bandages, hoping for restful sleep. Then he steps away to the far side of the room to pull out his phone. He couldn’t tell who he should call first.
The phone rings three times before it gets answered. “Hey, Dad.” Dick’s voice sounds like he’s just woken up, a little groggy but otherwise unharmed. “What’s up?”
“Sorry, did I wake you?” Bruce speaks at a low volume, being mindful of his noise.
“Eh, my alarm is about to go off in like five minutes anyways, it’s cool.” Then, somewhat concerned. “Are you okay? Why are you being quiet?”
“I’m okay. Everyone is safe.” He pauses his pacing to look at Jason and frowns a little. Starts up again. “How soon can you get here from Blüdhaven?”
Motion begins on the other line, a worried noise coming from Dick’s end. He seems to be much more awake now. “If I’m being an upstanding citizen on the road? Thirty-five minutes. If you’re asking? Twenty. Already getting dressed. What’s going on, I thought you said you were okay.”
“I’m okay. Everyone is okay. I don’t know how much I should say on the phone. You’re the first to know. I have to call Tim and Clark after this.”
“Not feeling very knowledgeable, Dad. You’re gonna have to elaborate.” There’s some shuffling, and Dick seems to position his cellphone to hold between his shoulder and ear. “Why are you calling Clark and Tim?”
“Dick, I–” How does he say this without scaring him? “He’s home. He came home.”
There’s a second of silence. It drags on just long enough for Bruce to almost speak again, then Dick lets out a breath as if the air had been forced out of him. “Oh my god,” he says, voice just barely beginning to shake. “He– What? Dad? He’s home?” Keys jingle, a door opens and shuts heavily. “Dad.”
“He’s home, Dick.”
“When?”
“Just a few hours ago. I was out, Alfred said he came to the door on his own.”
“On– on his own? So that means he’s– Is he–?”
“He’s gonna be okay. I promise. He’s sleeping in my room. Just…” Bruce’s brows drew together, thinking of how to put things delicately. Dick was already going to be reckless on his way here. “It’s ugly, Dick. It’s been a long time, and I don’t know anything yet.”
“We’ll take care of him.” Of course. Dick says it like it’s the easiest answer in the world. It’s instinctive, his big brother instincts overriding anything else that might suggest he should slow down. Bruce can hear him bounding down the stairs of his apartment building.
“We will. He’s cleaned up, we’ve treated what we can. But I think you should still take a second before seeing him. I mean it.”
“I don’t– Nothing is gonna scare me off. I’m gonna be there in twenty minutes, and I’m seeing him. He’s my brother. That’s my whole job above everything else. Be a big brother. To all three of them.”
“I know, Dick. I know, I believe you. But you have to look out for yourself too.” On the other end of the line, Dick huffed, trying not to frustrate himself.
“We’ll take care of him. I’ll be there soon. Are you calling Clark and Tim right now?”
“Yeah. After this. See if Tim picks up this early, then call Clark.”
“Okay. Do that, and I’ll be there soon. Twenty minutes max. You can tell Alfred I’ll let myself in when I get to the manor.”
“Alright. I’ll see you soon. Don’t do anything too reckless.”
“I’ll be good. See you.”
Tim, unsurprisingly, did not answer. He had been hanging out with Selina this weekend, and Bruce was certain he was not abiding by any kind of sleep schedule. So he texted him a quick “Call me when you’re up” and sent Selina a “Make sure Tim looks at his phone when he wakes up” respectively. Selina immediately sent a thumbs up. Bruce took it as a good sign. Then came Clark. The kindest person in the entire universe, who always answers before the second ring is through when Bruce calls him. Even if he’s sleeping.
“Bruce. Hey.” Oh, Bruce definitely woke him. He should’ve known, since today was the start of his long weekend off from the Daily Planet. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping? Sun’s barely up.”
Clark Kent. Bright as the sun, soft, kind, warm. The Man of Tomorrow as Superman. Truth and justice. Not complaining in the slightest that Bruce is bothering him on his day off at half past seven in the morning. Bruce was grateful for him. Always ready, always understanding, always wanting to help. Clark has been scouring the planet for Jason since the moment Bruce told him, and simultaneously doing his best to support him and the boys in between. Bruce would have fallen off the deep end months ago without the group of them.
“Clark.” Bruce’s tone must have done enough. Clark sobered up from his sleepy state instantly. He could certainly tell that something heavy was weighing on him.
“Bruce, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I don’t know.” Which was an objectively insane thing to admit, being who they both were. Bruce was always alright. He was always okay. No one ever saw him lose his cool. They never saw him bend or splinter under pressure. He was always stable. But for some reason, when it came to Clark, the wall fell. The barricade always came down. It made them a good team. It made them work as partners on and off the field.
“What happened? Are you safe? I can be there in–”
“It’s Jason. He’s home. I needed to call you.”
“Jason. Jason is home? He’s home? When? How did this happen, where did you find him?” Clark had his Superman voice on now, immediately getting down to details and specificities. It was no surprise to hear.
“He’s home. Alfred called me. He told me that he showed up alone while I was out. He’s, um… Somebody hurt him, Clark. It’s bad.”
“Hey, I believe you.” The Superman voice faltered, just for a moment, Clark’s sincerity overshadowing it in his attempt to comfort before it came back. “How do you know someone hurt him? Is he talking?”
“Not really. There was a moment, but… He’s been asleep most of the time. I just– I know what coming home with your tail between your legs looks like, and this is not that. At all. Someone hurt my son. Repeatedly. For a long time. I know. I’m looking at him right now. It took Alfred and I almost three hours to treat him and clean him up, and it’s bad. Dick is on his way, Tim’s asleep at Selina’s, so now I’m calling you.”
A second of silence passed while Clark processed the information. “Okay,” he said. No Superman present. “What do you need from me? How do I help you?”
“I need you to come over.”
It was true. It was the easiest answer. Bruce didn’t even think before he said it, but the admission felt right. He did need Clark to be here. Another adult, someone stable, someone to talk to before Dick arrived. Bruce couldn’t put this emotion down in front of his kids, it wouldn’t be right, and he was going to need someone to help him stay level when Dick showed up. It was going to be explosive, and Bruce knew that for a fact. As much as Clark loved Bruce and his children fiercely, he could breathe better than them in certain crises. This was absolutely one of those times. Bruce couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed about admitting needing him here.
“I’ll leave right now. Two minutes to fly.”
“Dick will be here in fifteen.”
“Gives us thirteen to prepare. Do you need me to stay on the line?”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll tell Alfred you’re on the way. You can come up to my room. Jason’s in here, I’m staying with him.”
“Okay. Two minutes.”
“Two minutes. See you soon.”
Two minutes to wait can feel like forever in situations like this. As dire as this. Bruce didn’t know what to do, how to be patient, how to stop pacing like a caged animal. Jason was here. Alive. Alfred was calling Dr. Thompkins, Dick was driving to the manor, Clark was going to fly here in 120 seconds. Superman was fast, but Bruce’s spiraling was often faster. Two minutes, then there would be another adult to lean on. Level-headed, solution-oriented, who loved Bruce’s children as if they were his own and would do anything in his power under any sun to help them.
Bruce looked over at the sleeping form of his son and reminded himself to breathe. Jason was alive. Jason was home. They were taking care of him. Between Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and Clark, Jason was in good hands. Then Leslie would be here, and Tim would call back and come home, and soon after they would bring Damian home from the Kents’ place. It all required time and patience. Hurry up and wait. While Bruce was known to be a historically patient man, it wore thin as wet tissue paper when it came to the safety and well-being of his loved ones. Thinner, if it were in regards to his children. Waiting now felt like bone-grinding agony. But this feeling, Bruce thought to himself, was nothing at all compared to what his child has gone through. He had no room to complain when the miracle he had begged for set Jason at the manor’s front door, alive and breathing.