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Watching ‘The Batman’TM cling drunkenly on the arm of a rich socialite one minute and soaking himself while guzzling champagne from a fountain the next was certainly an odd thing to see. Of course, he wasn’t exactly ‘The Batman’ at that moment. He was Bruce Wayne. Brucie Wayne. Jason didn’t like it. He tried to hide the frown creasing his brow, tried to look away, tried to find interest in watching the complicated dancing or the strange looking food. But then he’d hear the laughing and his attention was brought right back to Bruce. And the laugh was another thing. Loud, boisterous and fake. Bruce Wayne didn’t laugh like that, not his da- not Batman. Jason had heard Bruce’s real laugh, had even been the cause of it a couple of times. He liked Bruce’s real laugh, it made him feel warm. Brucie Wayne’s laugh sent ice down his spine.
He’d been told that Brucie Wayne was necessary. That it kept Batman hidden in the shadows where he belonged. But behind the fake smiles and fake laughs and fake everything, Jason could see that Bruce didn’t enjoy it. He called it necessary but, was it really? It certainly made Jason uncomfortable. To see his new father figure throw himself at people, to flirt with them and let them touch him and laugh at their stupid jokes all while internally cringing at their wondering hands and “innocent comments”. Seeing Bruce like that didn’t seem to make Dick uncomfortable, but he was out there doing almost the exact same thing. Jason couldn’t help but wonder if Dick would be doing it if not for Bruce. Bruce who called it “necessary”, like it was okay to be treated like a piece of meat and like a brainless floozy. Did Dick think it was okay? He’d seen Bruce act this way since he was nine, did he think it was normal?
It made him angry, it made him want to tear eyes out and cut off fingers, but if he told Bruce he knew he’d just be accused of being violent and he didn’t need to hear that again. And yet the anger remained, even postmortem.
***
“Almost ready, little wing?”
He looked over to see Dick standing in the doorway of his room. His childhood room. The room that had been suspended in time for 5 years. The room he had reclaimed when he moved back into the manner. His high school essays finally swept into the bin beside his desk and the books on the shelf replaced by his new favourites. It was growth. He was no longer letting it be his crypt; he was no longer letting the members of his family treat it as a memorial for the dead boy who wasn’t dead anymore.
“I'm not so little anymore,” he told his brother. It came out softer than he had intended. Usually, he’d make a jab at Dick’s height or flex an arm in a mocking pose, but that moment felt different, clearer, more truthful.
He knew it wouldn’t last long.
“No, but you’ll always be my little wing.” Dick walked over to him wearing the real Dick Grayson smile. None of the Richie Wayne posturing he was guaranteed to witness tonight. “You used to be so little,” he teased, “the baby of the family.”
“Yes,” Jason responded dryly, “and now you’ve got plenty of babies younger than me to call little,” he told his brother.
“Maybe, but you’re all babies to me.” Dick wrapped an arm around him and pinched his cheek fondly.
“Now you’re just begging me to call you old,” he teased lightly, jabbing him gently in the ribs and swatting his hand away.
“Ha! Now come on, we can’t be late! Got to set a good example to all the babies, it's your job now too! And Alfred will have our heads if we’re all as late as last time,” he smiled, dragging Jason from the room.
Setting a good example. Right.
***
Watching Brucie and Richie work the room again made Jason feel twelve years old again. But he wasn’t. He was nineteen. So was Cass. And Tim and Steff were sixteen. And Damian was only eleven.
And Jason’s frown was back to creasing his brow as he watched his father from behind. Watched as the woman he was talking to placed a hand on his shoulder and then let it slip down and down and down until it rested on his arse and he saw the tendons flex. All the while Brucie Wayne smiled and laughed and basically encouraged the woman to keep assaulting him. Because that was what it was: assault. No matter how innocent or inconsequential it may seem. And Brucie was letting it happen. Was letting himself be assaulted while his children watched him pretend it was fine, that it was normal. And for what? An added layer of security? An extra paper-thin film to keep his nighttime activities a secret?
Jason couldn’t take it. His feet moved forward before his brain had even decided what to do. He couldn’t sever any fingers tonight, but he could certainly stop this.
Jason Wayne didn’t smile when he made eye contact with the woman. “Get your hand off of my father,” he growled lowly, each word enunciated with piercing clarity.
“Oh my!” she exclaimed, seemingly scandalised by Jason’s words despite what she had just being doing.
“Jason!” his father scolded. Brucie’s eyes widened dramatically; Bruce’s eyes hardened infinitesimally. “Oh, I am sorry Harriet, could we finish this conversation another time? I think Jason darling is a little stressed, he’s only been back in the public eye for so long you see. You wouldn’t mind if I cut our time short, would you?”
“Really Brucie, you should teach your children better manners, I suppose this one’s case is a little different but still. Yes, well, another time then.” Harriet murmured, turning her nose up and shooting Jason a glare as she walked away.
“I look forward to it,” Brucie said cheerfully, winking at the woman shamelessly.
Bruce kept the smile on his face as he turned to Jason and led them a little further towards the walls of the room.
Despite the smile his voice was stern when he said, “Jason. You can’t be so rude to our guests.” Rude? Rude! That’s all he had to say?
“She was groping you!” Jason exclaimed, trying his best to keep his voice low enough so as not to be overheard despite wanting to scream it at the top of his lungs.
Bruce, as always, seemed to ignore what he’d said.
“Jason, you know that there is a certain way we must act as a family in order to maintain our appearances,” Bruce told him, his eyes sweeping across the room. Likely making sure that they hadn’t garnered any unwanted attention.
“So that means it's okay to let her grope you?” Jason questioned again, disbelief clear in his voice.
Bruce sighs, “Brucie Wayne-”
“Is still Bruce Wayne. Is still a father and a role model to his children, the youngest of which is still eleven years old! And no matter how mature Damian may seem he’s still impressionable! He still sees you and Dick as examples of what is right. Would you really be okay for someone to touch Damian that way? To assault him in his own home?”
“Of course not, Jason,” and yet his voice was still mostly calm and collected, only teetering slightly into anger and frustration. Jason wanted more.
“And what about Tim?” he continued, fighting for any change in the man’s demeanour.
“Of course not, Jason.” His father said again, voice still far too calm.
“Or Cass? Should they just let it happen for the sake of appearances?” he asked, internally screaming at the older man.
“Jason.” He tried again.
“Or me? Should I just let them touch me, Dad? Is that okay? Is that what you want?”
“No!” Jason didn’t know whether Bruce had just reached his limit with Jason’s pestering, whether it was because he’d called him dad or whether it was some other reason that only made sense in the head of Bruce Wayne, but Jason had finally gotten him to raise his voice, to get the mask to fall if only for just a moment. “I would never let them touch you, Jason, or your siblings. Surely you know that?”
“I don’t know if I do, to be honest.” Jason frowned, looking at Bruce from under his furrowed brows. “You let it happen to Dick after all.”
Bruce sighed, “That’s different. Dick is an adult, he can make his own decisions.”
Jason had to reign himself in from starting an entirely different argument about Bruce not also considering him an adult.
“We have an image to keep and that’s important in order to hide our secrets. The entire family does. And you are now a public part of the family again meaning you too have a responsibility to keep up appearances.”
“So what, I should let myself get groped?”
“Of course not!” And he seems so genuinely scandalised by the idea that all Jason wants to do is scream “hypocrite!” But he doesn’t. “I would never allow that to happen to you.”
“Then why is it okay for you to be?” The question comes out almost like a beg. He desperately wants Bruce to see that it's wrong, that he’s wrong.
“Listen Jaylad, this conversation is not something I see being resolved tonight in the middle of this ballroom. Can we discuss it at another time?” He almost felt like the woman for a second, being dismissed from his father’s presence.
He wants to keep arguing, wants to convince Bruce that he’s wrong, wants to scream the words until they finally penetrate his father’s thick skull. But he can’t. He’s got to keep up appearances after all.
He relaxes his face before letting a wide smile split his lips, pushing back the tears that had embarrassingly been brought to the surface, and decides to slip into a disguise of his own. “Yeah, sure dad, another time.” He can see the smallest flicks of relief and suspicion dance in Bruce’s eyes before he turns away from his father and beelines towards Dick.
Dick is talking to group of people by the bar when Jason reaches him, there’s a tall blond women clinging to his arm, but she gets dislodged when Jason wraps an arm around Dick’s back and leans his head on his shoulder. “Dickie!” he cheers, tilting his head up ‘drunkenly’ to greet his brother. “You’ve got to introduce me to your friends!”
Dick seems taken aback and actually rather concerned by his display but hides it well, eagerly introducing Jason to the group of socialites, albeit with a tight hand on his arm, squeezing in question.
Jason gestures to the server to make him a drink to keep up his drunken façade and thanks them profusely when he’s given one. It would take him over a dozen of the things to actually get him tipsy, the joys of the Lazarus pit’s healing abilities, but it’ll serve him well tonight. Technically (or not so technically) he’s not legally allowed to drink, but he’s also Bruce Wayne’s son and so the rules tend to be easily bent for him. He does his best impression of Brucie and Richie, and it's actually rather flawless after all the years of watching them do it. He laughs obnoxiously and flirts back when a girl and a guy both poke at his muscles. People come and go from their group and eventually Jason moves on too, leaving Dick in order to carry out the next stages of his plan.
It's almost half an hour later when he spots an older man, he’s tall and decently muscular with a greying beard and a well-done hair transplant and is objectively quite attractive. If you’re into older men that is, which Jason is not, but no one needs to know that for tonight, right? The man’s alone but his eyes haven’t left Jason’s throat since he shed his evening jacket and ‘accidently’ loosened his tie fifteen minutes ago. When their eyes meet Jason notes the predatory look in his eyes as they roam his form.
Perfect.
He downs his drink in one, all the while steadily looking into the man’s eyes. They're greyish blue, almost like a storm cloud. Jason tells him as much as he lazily puts a hand on the other man’s arm.
The older man chuckles. “Thank you, pet. Theodore Bryce,” he introduces himself, “and you are?”
“It's Jason Wayne,” He tells him, smirking impishly. “But Jace Wayne if you're feeling playful. And Jacie Wayne if you're feeling bold.”
“Wayne, huh? Well, Jacie” the man let his name flow off his tongue slowly. “I do like to be bold.”
Jason smiled, biting his lip only slightly, “wonderful.”
Theodore asks him if he would like another drink and, judging by the way Jason’s already pretending to be unsteady on his feet, a sign of being more than a little intoxicated, he knows that Theodore is exactly the type of man Jason assumed him to be.
Jason orders another cocktail at the bar and Theodore orders a large glass of red wine. They sit on the barstools where the bar wraps around, giving Jason a perfect view of the ballroom. He sees Tim first, taking to a group of businessmen. When Jason catches his eyes the younger boy shoots him a confused glance. Jason can’t even pretend to send one back, knowing that he is the last person in the family that they’d ever bet on being seen in the situation he’s currently in. Although maybe those betting pools should be changed as he’s also the person most likely to want to prove a point.
“Theo, I can call you Theo, right?” He asks leaning into the man’s space, going for a 2 to 8, word slurring to flirt ratio.
“You can call me anything you want, Jacie darling,” he says placing a hand on Jason’s thigh and squeezing lightly. It made him uncomfortable, but he doubted anyone but his family would be able to tell. Jason catches sight of Dick in the crowd, but he’s not looking at Jason, or well, he is, but not at Jason’s eyes. Dick is looking at the hand on Jason’s thigh that seems to be creeping ever so slowly upwards. There’s confusion on his face the same as Tim but not altogether that much of it. No, the main emotion on Dick’s face is anger. It's there in the tightness of his eyes and slight flaring of his nostrils.
Jason looks back to Theo and smiles. “Well in that case I'll definitely call you Dory!” he tells him excitedly.
“Dory?” the man chuckles, looking at him indulgently.
“Yup,” he tells him popping the ‘p’. “You know Dory, I haven’t been to one of these things properly in ages! They were so boring when I was kid, too. Everyone was so boring,” he says pouting slightly. “Although…” he says letting the smile fade back into place, “this doesn’t seem to be as boring as I remember.”
“No?” Theodore asks, smirking.
“No, not at all. You're making it really fun! You’re fun.” And it is fun. Fun to see the look on Bruce’s face that is. He finally makes eye contact with his father from across the room, Dick is by his side, obviously having gone to find the older man. And oh god, if Bruce had been born superman and not batman then Theodore would undeniably have had two holes burned straight through him.
“I'm so glad you think so,” Theodore purrs slowly, “but, you know, if you wanted, I could show you a way we could be having much more fun.”
“Yeah?” Jason asks innocently, trying his hardest not to let the revulsion show on his face.
“Yeah.” And then Theodore proceeds to ‘accidently’ spill his wine onto Jason’s shirt. It's almost half the glass, painting long streaks that mar the light blue shirt, and Jason gasps lightly. From across the room, two pairs of eyes narrow in unison. “Oh no!” Theodore says, not sounding all that repentant. “I'm so sorry Jacie darling, is there a bathroom around here somewhere? I’d be more than happy to help you wash it out.”
“Oh, would you?” Jason asks sweetly, getting up from his chair and letting Theodore pull him along by a hand on his wrist. He sees Bruce and Dick in the background heading towards them, and they no longer carry even a hint of Brucie and Richie Wayne with them.
Jason loses sight of them as he goes through the side doors of the ballroom and barely makes it a few steps before Theodore is pressing him against the hallway wall. And wow he does not waste time, does he?
Their lips are barely touching when the doors open again, and Theodore is being dragged away from him.
“Dory!” he whines, despite the fact that he honestly thinks he rather kiss a troll than Theodore Bryce.
This time it's Theodore being pressed against the wall as Bruce pins him.
“How dare you touch my son!” Bruce shouts in his face, and Jason has to peer around Dick’s back to see them as his brother has stationed himself between Jason and Theodore. “If I ever see you go anywhere near him again, I will not hesitate to ruin your life in every way imaginable. Do you understand me?”
Theodore, trying and failing to look like he’s not about to shit his pants, mutters a “yes” in the silent corridor.
“Do you really? Because I can and I will. I could make your businesses crumble, make your investments void, make you lose everything.” Bruce’s tone is ice cold, he really means it, and something in Jason warms at his father protecting him. “It's basically an open secret that I fund the entire justice league, that I know Batman. It would take me one call and all the bones in your body would be broken within the hour. One favour and no one would ever be able to find you again. Now, tell me, do you understand me?”
“Yes!” Theodore shrieks and the poor man looks close to tears.
“Leave.” Bruce says finally and Theodore all but runs down the corridor.
“Bye Dory!” Jason hollers back cheerfully.
The others (meaning the rest of his siblings plus Alfred), who all left the ballroom shortly after their father, all watch the man go, some with slack jaws, all with wide eyes.
The silence in the corridor is broken by Alfred. “Are you quite done, Master Jason?” Alfred asks him, disapproving but also with a hint of understanding. Jason could only nod. “I do believe it's time we all retire to the family wing, don’t you, Master Bruce? Yes, I quite thought so. Shall we convene in the den for a brief word before bed? Very good, I’ll bring up some tea.”
Jason, seeing Bruce turn to him with his mouth open in what was sure to be an admonishment of his behaviour, was the first to start walking towards the stairs.
“Jason- ” Bruce started.
“See you in the den!” he cheered jogging up the stairs
***
Jason sprawled himself over the couch, smirk still in place, one leg draped up onto the arm rest as he chatted excitedly to Tim who had chosen the armchair next to him and now looked like he really didn’t know what do to with himself.
“Jason.” Bruce said simply, every eye in the room turning to him.
“Yeah Dad?” he asked innocently.
“We need to talk about your behaviour.” Oh boy, this was gonna be good.
“My behaviour?”
“Yes.” Bruce responded stiffly. “Your behaviour. You engaged in inappropriate behaviour with a man more than three times your age and encouraged its continuance before proceeding to leave the event with said man.”
“I was just keeping up appearances, dad. You know, doing my duty.” He saluted mockingly.
“Theodore Bryce is sixty years old-” Bruce tried to continue.
“Wait, so it's the age thing that’s got you riled? Not the fact that he groped me? Not the fact that I let it happen even though it made me uncomfortable? But no, that’s alright, isn’t it Bruce? It's alright for people to touch us where they shouldn’t, with bad intentions and filth on their mind. It's alright if we’re uncomfortable because it's all for the greater good, right?”
“They have no right to touch you that way!”
“But they have the right to touch you? To touch Dick? What about the rest of your kids? Do they have the right to touch them?” He throws a hand out to indicate his siblings. He feels a little bad for having to include them in this argument but it's as important for them to hear it as it is for Bruce.
“Of course not! I will never allow anyone to touch my children nonconsensually.” Bruce tells him.
“But it's fine if they do it you?” he asks incredulously.
“I have to maintain a certain appearance while in the public eye-”
“No! No, you don’t. Don’t you understand that? You don’t need to anything Bruce! Maybe it's a good cover and all but it's not the only one available to you! You don’t need to act completely airheadedly, you don’t need to let them assault you, you don’t need to do any of it. I've watched you since I was twelve Bruce, I see how uncomfortable you are, they way your shoulders tense that tiny fraction more when you feel their hands in places they shouldn’t be. And they all see it too!” He screamed, gesturing to his siblings. “Is that the example you want to set? ‘Yeah kids, get groped! Ignore the discomfort in your stomach, it's all for the greater good!’ Is that what you’re saying? And that’s even ignoring the uncomfortable feeling I get just having to watch you do it. Knowing that you don’t truly want to but have deluded yourself into believing that it's the only way to keep a fucking secret. It makes me angry. So goddamn fucking angry that I want to break all the bones in their hands for even considering touching you with them. Tell me Bruce, and don’t lie because I could see it on your idiot faces, did it make you angry? To see the way I let him touch me? To see his hand creeping up my fucking thigh? To see him pour wine on my shirt as an excuse to get me away and do worse?”
“Jason-“
“No! No, I've changed my mind. I don’t want an answer yet. Let's just stop for two seconds. Two seconds. No one, no one say anything. Let's just think. Go on, think Bruce. I want whatever you have to say next to actually fucking mean something for a change.”
The silence felt sudden, he didn’t know how long he’d been shouting for but the absence of his own voice left a void in the room. Bruce’s eyes had fallen to the floor but Jason couldn’t tear his eyes away from his father. He wanted this to be the moment, the moment that Bruce finally listened to anything but his own voice. He doubted it would be, Bruce was far too stubborn. Just as stubborn as Jason himself.
“Jason-” he tried to start again but stopped when he looked up to see his face.
Please, Bruce. Please let this mean something.
“Perhaps it's time I reconsider my public persona.”
And- had he… agreed? Had Bruce Wayne changed his mind? Was he actually listening to Jason?
“You… think so?” Jason asked hesitantly.
“I wasn’t aware of the impact it was having on you.” Bruce told him.
“You know it's about you as well, right? You don’t have to feel that way just to hide your secret identity.” He tried to emphasize.
“Yes well… yes, then.” He said with a nod, turning to address the rest of the room “I think it's time we all went to bed.”
It wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot. But it was Bruce Wayne and it was something.
Jason caught him in a hug, wrapping his arms around Bruce, “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”
There was a moment, and it was just the two of them, coexisting together without argument or anger. And then Dick all but tackled Jason from behind.
“I’ll tone it down too, Little wing! But for the record, I do enjoy the flirting,” Dick tells him, and Jason can feel the grin being pressed into his shoulder, “when it doesn’t go a little far that is.”
Going to bed feels a bit strange after that, the way big moments tend to. Like a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying finally being lifted from his shoulders. It wouldn’t be the end of their arguments, wouldn’t even be the end of this one, he knew his father well enough to know that. But it was a start and sometimes, a start is enough. Because it promises a future, promises trying. And trying is the bare minimum. And trying is enough.