Chapter Text
Bruce stares after Jason as he leaves, the door falling closed behind him. The crowd presses closer, phone cameras zoom in on his face and a few people try to ask for autographs, but Bruce registers none of it. He desperately wants to follow Jay out, but he's frozen in place, his mind stuck on the bandage on Jason's neck.
Bruce thought the sign language was part of Jay's new persona, but now he's suddenly not so sure anymore. Jason never really cared about his identity, about the secrecy, not like Bruce does. Maybe that changed because of Clark, but…
Bruce thinks back to that night, to the Batarang he threw in a desperate attempt to stop Red Hood as quickly as possible, to keep him from ripping open any more of Bruce's old wounds and so that he could go and search for Dick. (Bruce still remembers the explosion, the way Blüdhaven was swallowed whole by a giant, sickly green mushroom cloud. And at the time he was so certain Dick was in the middle of it.) It's not an excuse, but that, combined with the fact that he wasn't convinced he actually was facing Jason, is the reason his aim was slightly off and the throw a little too strong. Maybe he actually did do lasting damage… The thought makes him sick to his stomach.
“What the fuck, man?” asks someone, and when Bruce turns he finds himself face to face with Jason's friend. Bruce had barely paid any attention to the boy when he came in, too absorbed by the sight of his son. Now he's pushing into Bruce's space, looking furious. “What the hell did you do to him? I've never seen Jamie this upset.”
Irritated that this child thinks he has a right to defend Jason, and against Bruce of all people, Bruce curls his lip. “Mind your own damn business, boy.”
With that, he finally follows Jason out of the café, pushing his way carelessly through the people that have gathered to watch the spectacle. But of course the kid follows him. “Hey! You can't just run off! What the hell did you do?!”
Ignoring him, Bruce stops again, trying to figure out where Jason might have disappeared to. The sidewalk is bustling with life and there's no sign of him. It's unlikely that Jay has gone home. He has to know that Bruce knows where he lives.
“I'm talking to you, asshole! What the fuck did you do to Jamie?” Grinding his molars into dust, Bruce does his best to keep himself from knocking the kid out cold. Instead, he turns around slowly and fixes him with one of the coldest stares he can muster.
“You've known him for a month ,” he hisses. “So shut your mouth and don't interfere with things you don't understand.”
“Is that an official statement, Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce's heart lurches in his chest. Clark . Of course, Clark would realize what's going on. He admitted to Bruce once that he regularly listens in on the people he loves, just to make sure they're alright. It was inevitable that he'd show up.
“Mr Kent,” says Bruce, and he can't even make himself smile his typical vapid Brucie smile. “It's always a pleasure to see you.” Clark's brows draw together as he studies Bruce, whose forced calm is pathetically obvious. And the flimsy facade crumbles completely when this stupid kid butts in again, bounding up to Clark like a bloody dog.
“Clark, man, we've got to find Jamie. I don't know what happened, but he and Brucie over here,” at this he sends Bruce a scathing look, “got into it, and he looked…” The kid falters, and shakes his head. “He looked torn up, man. I think… I think he shouldn't be alone right now. We have to find him.”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” snarls Bruce, completely against his will. It's like his self-control has abandoned him along with Jason. (Because once again Bruce wasn't able to articulate himself and make him stay.) And now this little shit here thinks he can drive even more of a wedge between them. “ Jason is not yours to protect.”
A strange look crosses Clark's face as he glances from Bruce to Michael and back again. Then his expression hardens. “But he is yours, Mr. Wayne? Is that what you're saying?”
“Clark…,” starts the kid again, but Clark silences him with a raise of his hand.
“I'll take care of this, Michael. Go home.”
Michael is reluctant, but after a moment he nods. “Fine, okay, I'll go. But let me know when you've found him, yeah?” He sends one last murderous look Bruce's way and then he returns to the café, probably to gather his things. Bruce couldn't give less of a fuck. His focus is on Clark, who looks about ready to level the entire block with his heat vision.
“Care to tell me why the fuck you're harassing my boyfriend, Bruce? Why you think you have any right to come here, talking to Jamie with your heart racing –”
“It's Jason,” interrupts Bruce, and Clark looks at him like he's lost his mind.
“I swear to God, Bruce– What the hell are you talking about?” he asks, but he already sounds a little less angry, and a little more worried. He's always been too forgiving, Bruce thinks, always too willing to hear him out.
Bruce swallows thickly. All the dangerous and stupid and hurtful things Bruce has done in his unending grief and Clark has only ever shown him sympathy. Bruce almost wishes Clark wouldn't this time, that he'd finally punish Bruce the way he deserves.
“Jamie Peters, your boyfriend, is actually Jason Peter Todd. My son,” answers Bruce, as calmly as he's able to, but his heart is once again hammering against his ribs like it's trying to break free.
Clarks pitying look intensifies. “Bruce… You know that's not possible. Jason is–”
“He's not dead,” snaps Bruce, and crosses his arms in an attempt to keep this blasted organ in his chest from lurching out of him. “He's the Red Hood. Or he was, until he moved here.”
Clark shakes his head. “Are you even listening to yourself, B? Replay what you just said, and think about it. Jason died . You buried him yourself, I was there . I'm not sure what has brought this on, but we can figure this out. Let's just head to the Watchtower. We'll run some tests–”
“I'm not insane, Clark. I have no idea how it's possible, but believe me, I've run all the tests. Several times, in fact, and they all say the same thing: Jason has come back from the dead.”
Clark stabs his fingers through his curls, looking pained. “But that's… No. No, you have to be wrong. Even if Jason is back, he can't be Jamie.”
Clark's reaction twists Bruce's stomach, because it drives home the fact that this isn't just a relationship of convenience for him. Clark genuinely likes Jason, maybe even loves him, and the thought is so unbearably painful that Bruce almost wants to take it all back, his need to find Jason warring with his desire to see Clark happy.
“Is it really so impossible? After everything we've seen?” he asks quietly, and Clark's shoulders slump.
“But how?” He sounds almost pleading now, and the self-loathing Bruce feels intensifies. “How can Jamie be Jason? How can he be Red Hood? He… Red Hood killed people, Bruce. He's a criminal and a crime lord. How can that be the boy who wakes up from nightmares every other night crying and shaking? How can Red Hood be the boy who loves poetry and gets shy when he's complimented? Who's so passionate about his studies that he'll talk for hours about his classes without ever growing tired?”
Bruce's heart wrenches in another attempt to rip itself from his chest and throw itself at Clark's feet. “I…,” starts Bruce, but there's a lump in his throat he can't push past and tears burning his eyes.
“It's my fault,” he finally rasps, rubbing at his eyes and desperately trying to regain his composure. “I don't know everything that happened to him but I do know that.”
Clark makes a low sound and pulls Bruce into his arms. He holds him tight, cards his fingers through his hair, and Bruce… Bruce doesn't deserve this, dammit. He pushes against Clark's chest, but Clark is immovable.
“Here's what we're going to do,” he says after a moment. “We're going back to my apartment, I'll make us a cup of tea and you'll tell me everything from start to finish. You'll leave nothing out and then I'll decide how mad I am at you. Because I am mad at you, Bruce. So fucking mad. You should've told me the moment you found out who Jamie really is, and you definitely shouldn't have cornered him like this.”
“I'm sorry,” is Bruce's only answer, and then, because he's a masochist and an awful, terrible person, “What about Jason? What will you do?”
Clark pulls back with a sigh, and Bruce – horrible friend and father that he is – misses his warmth immediately. “I have no idea. Talk to him, probably. He lied to me, B, and I need to know why. I… I know it sounds stupid and corny and you'll probably hate me because this is your son , but I love him. It's only been a month and clearly I don't know him as well as I thought, but. The feelings are there.”
The words are like knives, twisting into Bruce's gut and carving him open with devastating efficiency, especially because they're not meant to be cutting. This is Clark confiding in his friend. This is Clark confessing to a truth he thinks Bruce deserves to hear.
“I know,” whispers Bruce, and barely recognizes his own voice. “That's why I didn't tell you. But I just couldn't stand to stay away any longer. It was… I just had to talk to him and apologize. I had to try.”
“I know,” echoes Clark, and he sounds as miserable as Bruce feels. “Come on, let's get that tea, and then you can tell me exactly what happened.”
Clark feels like he's floating somewhere outside of his own body, watching himself and Bruce head up the stairs to his apartment. He knows Jamie– Jason isn't home, but he still can't help and pause briefly in front of his door, listening. It's an effort to tear himself away, one he only succeeds in because he needs answers. Answers he simultaneously dreads. It still feels so utterly impossible for Jamie and Jason to be the same person. And yet, Bruce wouldn't lie, now about this.
Clark still remembers the second Robin. They didn't interact that much, but they did meet. They went out for ice cream after a team-up and Clark even remembers helping the kid with his homework once. It's… His mind rebels at the idea that this is the same kid he's so desperately in love with now. The kid he's been jacking off to every day for a month. It feels wrong. Add to that the fact that he also has feelings for said kid's father and has been imagining the three of them in bed together, well. That can't be good for his mental health.
Clark tries to push all that down as he unlocks his door, and lets them in. While he heads straight for the kitchen, hands shaking slightly as he plugs in his electric kettle, Bruce flops down onto the couch, head buried in his hands. And Clark is still furious with him, he is , but that doesn't stop his chest from aching in sympathy. He can only imagine how much Bruce must've struggled with this. After Jason died…
Again, Clark shuts the memories away, and focuses on preparing two mugs of strong, steaming black tea instead. He's already confused and emotional enough as it is. He doesn't need to dwell on the grief and the pain. Especially, because not so long ago he vowed to make the people responsible for Jamie's suffering pay. If Jamie truly is Jason, then it's entirely possible Clark might have to count himself among that number…
With a shudder, Clark shuts that down, too, and practically flees back into the living room, where he stiffly sits down next to Bruce and wordlessly hands him his tea.
“I'm not sure where to start,” admits Bruce after a moment, cradling the mug, and Rao, but Clark is torn. He wants to pull B into his lap and reassure him that everything will be okay. He wants to slap him and go find Jason. Miraculously, he refrains on both counts, setting his jaw. He needs answers. So he steels himself against his feelings for Bruce, good and bad, and demands, “Tell me about Red Hood. Tell me why you think Jamie is Jason. And how that's possible.”
And surprisingly, Bruce does.
He talks more than Clark has probably ever heard him talk before. He starts with the shell companies Red Hood built to buy up stock from Wayne Enterprises, a distraction designed to keep Bruce busy. He talks about the fact that Red Hood seemed to know everything about both Bruce Wayne and Batman, how he wasn't afraid to use that knowledge to strike where it hurt, and how it drove Bruce insane. He tells Clark about Jason's war on Gotham's drug trade, how he ruthlessly and efficiently killed his way through the ranks of the different crime families and took over more and more of Gotham's underworld while evading Bruce like it was easy. The strict rules Jason enforced for his men, the severed heads.
Clark's stomach twists itself into knots. He's not sure how much more he can take. Everything Bruce tells him sounds horrible. And then… and then it gets worse.
Bruce's voice goes rough when he haltingly talks about Jason kidnapping the Joker, the brutal confrontation on a rooftop where Jason tried to get Bruce to kill the clown.
Or Jason himself.
It makes Clark sick. To think all those injuries Jason had when he came here were inflicted by Bruce… it has a toxic mix of anger and pity roiling in Clark's gut that he doesn't know what to do with. He clings to the fact that Jason has apparently had a change of heart since he moved here, that he hasn't killed anyone, because it hurts, to hear about all things his boy has done in Gotham.
“It's not that I don't want to kill Joker,” confesses Bruce now, voice raw as he wrings his hands. He'd deposited his empty mug on the coffee table about half an hour ago, as had Clark. “You know that better than anyone. But I can't. If Batman kills… if I kill… I had to stop him, Clark. I had to. I never wanted to hurt Jason.”
Clark doesn't say anything as Bruce stares at him, imploring. He can't respond. He's a mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He heard that things with Red Hood were bad, but this is worse than he imagined. And he still has trouble even reconciling the fact that the brutal Red Hood is supposed to be his sweet and gentle Jamie. He can't wrap his head around it.
Finally he asks, as calmly as he's able to, “So you sliced his neck and left him in the rubble of an exploded building because you didn't want to hurt him?”
Bruce flinches. “It was the same night Chemo dropped on Blüdhaven. I thought Dick was caught in the explosion, and… I just wanted it to stop.”
Clark grinds his teeth. “Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you ask for help when things got bad with Red Hood? I know we were all busy fighting the Society, but we would have helped. We would have found a way. And if you found Jason here, then you knew that he and I are involved. You knew that I– Why didn't you talk to me?”
“I thought I was going insane,” confesses Bruce, and very carefully does not look at Clark. He keeps his eyes trained on his hands instead. A few strands of hair fall into his face, and Clark hates himself a little bit for still wanting to brush them back tenderly. “Until that day Jason tried to force my hand with Joker, I wasn't convinced he was even real. I have hallucinated Jason's return before. Besides, fighting the Society had to take priority for the Justice League.”
Bruce's jaw tenses for a moment, his fingers flexing, and then he says in a quiet voice, “As for not telling you right away… You were happy together. After that night, Jay disappeared. I've been searching for him ever since. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally found him. I thought about confronting him immediately, but then I saw… He was finally being himself, Clark. The way I remembered him. College was always his dream, he didn't go out as the Red Hood even once, and I thought…”
Bruce swallows audibly, and twists his fingers together in a way that has to be painful. Clark doesn't reach out to stop him. “I thought if I stayed away he might finally be able to live a normal life, but I couldn't. I had to talk to him. God, but I miss him so much, Clark. I need him.”
As if that explains anything, thinks Clark bitterly. He wants to strangle Bruce and kiss him simultaneously. Because maybe it does explain things. Maybe Bruce just wanted his friend and his son to be happy, and maybe he thought he himself would have gotten in the way of that. Maybe he tried to respect Jason's obvious need for space, and couldn't because he's a lonely child at heart.
And yet...
“I still deserved to know the truth,” says Clark sharply, “As your friend and colleague, and as someone who loves Jason, I deserved to know.” And then something else occurs to Clark, something that makes his stomach churn worse than ever. “Jason knew who I am the entire time, didn't he?”
“It's very likely.” Bruce shifts in his seat. He hasn't been able to meet Clark's gaze since this conversation started. “But… He was himself with you. And it would've been smarter for him to stay away. The risk of you recognizing him was too great. I don't think he was trying to hurt or deceive you. He genuinely cares for you as far as I can tell. If that helps.”
It doesn't. Or maybe it does. Clark can't really tell anymore, he's too confused. One thing, however, becomes more and more clear to him: he needs to talk to Jason. He needs to hear his side of the story.
“I'm still angry at you,” says Clark, because it needs to be said. “If you could have heard Jason all these nights since he moved here… The nightmares he has? Rao, you have no idea how much I want to hurt you right now, B. I won't, because I understand why this was so difficult for you–”
“No,” growls Bruce, and jumps to his feet. He begins to pace, agitated, like a caged tiger. “You can't seriously forgive me, Clark. Haven't you been listening? I have failed Jason again and again! I let him die, I somehow missed his resurrection, I couldn't avenge him, and I practically forced him to become the Red Hood! I am the reason he killed all these people! I am the reason he can't speak! And worst of all–” Bruce cuts himself off abruptly, and vehemently shakes his head.
A strange cold washes over Clark. He stands up slowly, cutting off Bruce's pacing. “What do you mean ‘worst of all’? What have you done?”
Bruce's entire body tenses, coils, like that of a snake. Their eyes meet for an endless moment and before Clark can guess his intent, Bruce lunges and–
And kisses him.
Clark's brain instantly shuts off at the feeling of those soft lips moving against his own, the taste of B's lips, his scent… Involuntarily, Clark moans. This is everything he's wanted for a very long time, and his blood instantly lights on fire, urging him to pull Bruce closer, to deepen the kiss, lick into his mouth and mark B as his . It's pure heaven. But it's also that same urge that makes Clark wrench himself away, shame flooding him as he stares at Bruce with wide eyes.
Bruce's mouth twists. “I love you,” he rasps, and the words hit Clark like a series of suckerpunches. “I have for years, and you deserve to be happy. You both do. Just remember that. Please.”
Before Clark can recover from the emotional whiplash, Bruce is already turning to leave. Fuck , thinks Clark, touching trembling fingers to his lips. What the fuck does this mean? How is he supposed to face Jason now? And of course Bruce isn't going to help him figure anything out, he's already half out the door– Clark frowns. No. No, Bruce isn't going to get away that easily. Using a burst of speed, Clark rushes forward and cuts off Bruce's escape by slamming his front door shut again.
Bruce actually flinches but doesn't say anything, and he doesn't turn to meet Clark's eyes either. It only serves to make Clark angrier. “What the fuck was that, Bruce?”
Setting his jaw, Bruce remains silent, and the last thread of Clark's patience snaps. He whirls Bruce around, slams him up against the door, and gets right up in his face. “Talk. Now.”
At first it seems like Bruce will refuse again, but then he closes his eyes and lets his head thunk back against the door, exposing his throat. “Just let it go, Clark. It was a moment of weakness.”
“A moment of– You kissed me, B! You told me you love me! Knowing full well that I'm in a relationship with your son .”
Silence, only interrupted by the rapid beating of Bruce's heart. Clark growls again. “Bruce–”
“It was plural,” answers Bruce, finally opening his eyes and there is actual dread in them. It takes Clark a moment to parse the meaning of those words, because what the hell kind of answer is that? Then he thinks, of course Bruce loves his son. Why would he confess it like it was shameful? And why would he say it in the same breath as his confession to Clark? Right after he kissed him… And then it hits Clark all at once, and he takes a stumbling step back.
Shock makes his limbs feel numb, and he has trouble forming coherent sentences. “You mean… both of us. You want to kiss…”
“Yes,” confirms Bruce, and while his voice is calm, his body is a mess of fear. Heart rate elevated, sweat beading on his skin, pupils dilated, a slight tremor in his hands…
“Explain,” demands Clark, and his voice shakes, but not because he's horrified – which he knows he should be, fuck – no, his voice shakes because his first thought was an image of Bruce kissing Jason. And Clark liked it. A lot.
“He's your son,” adds Clark, more to remind himself, and dispel the horny – wrong, so wrong – images, but in any case it bears repeating.
Bruce hasn't moved an inch. He's still leaned against the door, trembling, with his throat bared to Clark. “Nothing ever happened between us. Jason is my son,” he eventually says, voice rough and barely above a whisper. “But he's special, he always has been. He was so mature, and understood me like no one else did, not even Alfred. He's confident, smart, and skilled, but he's also so insecure. He needs love, yearns for it more desperately than anyone I know, but he would never ask for it. And he's beautiful, Clark, so beautiful.”
Bruce swallows audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I know that's not what you want to hear. You want me to explain how I could ever develop feelings for someone who was in my care as a teenager, who is, for all intents and purposes, my son, but… Jason is the answer.”
The worst part, Clark thinks despairingly, is that he understands completely. He knows exactly what Bruce is talking about. The need to give Jason all the love he deserves, to protect and shelter him. To absolutely ruin him with affection. He feels it himself. And to know that he and Bruce share that…? It throws Clark's moral compass off its axis just a bit more, just enough for him to dive forward and press his lips against Bruce's in another searing kiss.
For a moment Bruce remains frozen, but then he lets out a pitiful whine and surges against Clark, kisses him back with a desperate fervor that goes right to Clark's cock.
Clark presses closer, pins Bruce against the door with his body. “This isn't forgiveness,” he says roughly. “There were a million things you could've done, before you threw that batarang at him. A million things you should've done afterwards instead of leaving him in the rubble.”
“Clark,” moans Bruce, arching into every touch like he's starved for it, which only serves to make the arousal – and anger – in Clark's stomach burn hotter. He thrusts his hips against Bruce's, their growing erections pressing together for the briefest moment, making them both shudder, and then he leans back, frames Bruce's face with his hands.
“I love you, B,” he says, staring into those beautiful blue eyes that are so strangely similar to Jason's green ones. “But as long as Jason doesn't forgive you, that doesn't matter.”
“Fuck,” groans Bruce, straining against Clark's grip to try and get closer. It's a beautiful sight. But… Clark pulls back as the seriousness of their situation sinks in once again. He sighs.
“You have to know, Bruce, Jason is my top priority here. I… if he doesn't forgive you, if he's not okay with this, which he might very well not be, then this can never happen again. I'm committed to him, and I won't fail him.” like you did, remains unspoken. Clark knows Bruce hears it loud and clear anyway.
Bruce exhales slowly. “I know. I wouldn't have expected anything else.”
Clark nods. “I am sorry, Bruce. For everything that happened to him and you.”
Bruce lifts a hand and lets his fingers softly trail down Clark's cheek. “I've had my chance, boy scout. Even if Jason still had feelings for me, I've hurt him too much. It’ll have to be enough to know that the two of you are happy together.”
“Wait,” says Clark, worldview shifting yet again. “He felt the same?”
“When he was too young to know better and too young for me to act on it, yes. Not anymore.” Bruce sounds so sure about that, but for some reason Clark can't quite bring himself to believe it. Jason yearns for love, and he's got a big heart. If Bruce can convince him that he cares, Jason will come around, of that Clark is reasonably sure. But he doesn't bring that up, not now.
“I need to go and find him,” he says instead, hating himself a little bit as Bruce's expression shutters, but, “He was so upset, B. I don't want him to do anything he'll regret later and–”
“Clark,” interrupts Bruce. “You don't have to explain. Jason comes first.”
With that they disentangle themselves from one another, and while Bruce drives back to Gotham, Clark changes into his suit and flies out into the Metropolis’ evening. He still struggles to wrap his mind around everything he's learned today, everything he himself has said and done. He knows he should be more bothered by Bruce's confessions, by the fact that they share a love for his son , but none of that is as important right now as making sure Jason is okay.