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Sometimes, when his nightmares were filled with acid green and howling laughter and a Robin’s dying magic and the phantom sensation of dirt in his throat, Jason couldn’t bring himself to pick up Pride and Prejudice.
Once he’d been off the streets and had constant access to books, Jason had formed the habit of sneaking down to the library and reading whenever he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes it was because of nightmares, sometimes because of a rough patrol, sometimes it was because he’d fallen victim to the promise of “one more chapter” before bed. Sometimes Bruce would join him after emerging from the Cave, sitting with his arm around Jason’s shoulders and an Agatha Christie book in hand.
Sometimes those memories scraped him so raw that even his favorite book couldn’t soothe his ragged psyche.
Nowadays, with the Pit-rage so much a part of him that he sometimes couldn’t tell the two apart, Jason preferred raining terror down on Gotham’s criminal underbelly. That coping mechanism only worked so long as he was allowed out of the Manor, however. A few broken ribs courtesy of a Venom-enhanced thug had caused Alfred to declare him benched for a week at least, and Jason wasn’t stupid or angry enough to risk Alfred’s wrath by sneaking out. Bruce he would gladly antagonize just to see how far he could go (because sometimes the green whispered that his father’s love wouldn’t last, and he wanted to prove it wrong), but Alfred’s wrath came with a side of no dessert. Some things just weren’t worth it.
So instead Jason would pick something else, something his ravenous fifteen-year-old self hadn’t already devoured, and read that. Tonight it was a book of Slavic folktales with plate illustrations sprinkled throughout the book. He read it slowly, carefully, willing the words to seep into every corner of his mind and replace the cloying remnants of his dreams with visions of a different world.
But tonight it wasn’t working. The green clawed its way back from the edges of Jason’s mind, whispering regret and rage in his ears despite the book in his hands. Jason dropped the book to his lap and dug his palms into his eyes with a groan. Maybe he should just strap on his guns and hunt down some crooks (and didn’t the green just undulate in pleasure at the thought of bones crunching under his fists and blood coating his hands and screams singing into the air and—
“Um, are you okay?”
Jason shot upright, gasping for breath and grasping his knees as if they were the only thing that could keep him from slipping back into the Pit. He blinked the green out of his vision enough to see B’s newest charity project standing in the doorway, curly hair tousled and a blanket in hand.
“What are you doing here, kid?” he said hoarsely. One by one he forced his fingers to uncurl. It was harder than it should’ve been. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She gathered the blanket closer to her chest as she whispered the words.
“So you decided to run around in your pajamas instead?”
The girl shoved her face further into the blanket, hiding her face from Jason. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair before scooting over on the couch. “Okay then,” he patted the cushion next to him. “Get yourself over here, kid.”
She looked up warily, glancing from the seat to his face. “Why?”
“Because I’m gonna read you a bedtime story,” Jason said as he picked his book up from where it had fallen onto the floor. “At least one of us should get some sleep tonight.”
The girl’s face brightened. Within a breath she was crawling onto the couch and wriggling under Jason’s arm, plastering herself to his side. Jason bit back a gasp at the sudden warmth; the green seemed to recoil a bit, and he leaned back into the girl.
“Are you Jason?” she asked, blue eyes bright.
“Yeah.”
“I thought so,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Bruce said you had the best stories.”
Jason hid his blush by opening the book, trying to find the right page. “Okay kiddo, I’m gonna read you one story, and then you’re gonna go back to bed, capiche?”
She hugged the blanket to her chest again. “Do I have to?”
“Well, yeah, kid. You can’t stay up all night.”
“But you’re awake!” she pulled back to glare at him sullenly. “It’s not fair!”
“I’m a grownup so I can stay up if I want to,” Jason said, rapping her lightly on the head. “Once you’re six feet tall you can stay up late too.”
Jason expected her to argue more; if Bruce’s children, adopted or biological, had anything in common it was their stubbornness. But the kid didn’t. Instead of a clenched jaw he saw a wobbling lip and shiny eyes. Jason closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked in as soft a tone as he could manage. The girl—Bruce had called her Helena?—sniffed as she nodded. Jason slowly pulled her back to his side. “That’s okay,” he continued, clearing his throat. “I had one too. Sometimes it’s scary to go back asleep after a bad dream.”
“I don’t wanna dream about Daddy dying again.”
Jason’s arm tightened reflexively. “Then you can stay up with me all night, princess.”
And with that, Jason had a shaking, sobbing child crawling into his lap. Words were hard sometimes—you didn’t know if what you said would hurt or heal—but Jason could wrap his arms around Helena and hide her from the world. That was as easy as breathing. Her hair was soft as it slipped through his fingers, and he found himself humming an old Romani tune that Dick had taught him before Jason truly knew what nightmares could be. Helena’s sobs reached a crescendo and then softened, eventually fading into sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Jason kept stroking her hair.
“Feel better, princess?” he whispered. She nodded, but didn’t move out of his lap. “Yeah, sometimes you just need a good cry after a nightmare.”
“Did you—“ she sniffed, “did you have a nightmare too?”
“Yeah, kiddo.”
“I’m sorry,” the whisper barely reached his ears. “Did you need to cry too?”
Jason swallowed painfully before forcing himself to hum a small laugh. “Nah, princess, I’m good.”
“Okay.” But two thin arms wound their way around him, and Jason found himself closing his eyes as they began to burn.
“Tell you what, kid,” he said, clearing his throat. “Whenever you have a nightmare, you come find me, and then you can cry all you want. Sound good?”
“Mm hm,” the black head bounced up and down against his chest. “And I won’t tell anyone if you cry, Jason. Promise.”
Jason chuckled and leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. He’d wait until Helena fell asleep and then take her to her room so she could be more comfortable. But not now. Maybe in a few minutes.
“Jason?” Helena piped up again.
“Yeah?”
“I was right.”
“About what?”
“You are really cool.”
Jason smiled. “Thanks, kid.”
🦇 🦇 🦇
The grandfather clock clicked back into place behind Bruce. He’d meant to go to bed hours ago (he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept for a full night, not when he was frantically crashing through dimensions, fighting with all his wit and skill to protect the girl that he was thinking of less as his ward and more as simply his), but everything needed to be in place for Bruce Wayne’s return to the Gotham spotlight. His children had reacted admirably to his supposed death; they were too familiar with the process after so many past resurrections (but Bruce would take a resurrection over his child’s grave any day). Tim, ever the detective, had noticed something odd about his demise from the start and released a statement informing the public of Brucie Wayne’s impromptu sabbatical in remote Europe. He’d have to thank Tim for that. It was much easier to return from a trip than from the dead.
Bruce paused at the hallway’s intersection to rub his eyes. Alfred would probably want him to grab something to eat; Bruce had been so focused on greeting his children and ensuring Helena ate that he never had the chance to eat something himself. No, food could wait—sleep was too enticing.
Bruce turned towards the route to his bedroom when something glimmered in his peripheral vision. One of the double-doors leading to the library wasn’t quite closed, and a blush of light peeked through the crack. He nudged the door open with his knuckles and peered inside. Jason sat on his favorite couch, legs stretched in front of him, head leaning against the back. Bruce could only see a tangle of long black hair from where Helena was cradled in the boy’s lap. She was mostly hidden by Jason’s arms and a blanket that looked ready to fall at the slightest movement. A smile slowly spread across Bruce’s face, and he pulled his phone out to take a picture. He winced as the shutter sound clicked; he always forgot to turn that off. Jason’s eyes opened sleepily.
“Just me, Jaylad,” Bruce said, padding over to the two. Jason grunted quietly and pulled Helena closer. She didn’t stir. “Couldn’t sleep again?”
Jason closed his eyes and didn’t reply; he didn’t need to, not with the tension that slowly began seeping back into his face at the question. Bruce ran his fingers through Jason’s hair, then kissed him on the head. “Mind if I stay, then?”
Not waiting for an answer, Bruce grabbed the blanket and gently rearranged it around both of his children. Then he carefully lowered himself next to Jason and pulled him into his side, Helena balanced between the two of them. Jason let his head fall onto Bruce’s shoulder. Within the span of three breaths, Bruce could feel his son slip back into sleep. He gently grazed his hand over Helena’s hair, then closed his eyes, knowing that he would sleep peacefully with his children safe at his side.