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sunlitlemonade · 3 months ago

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From The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

the kick drop n. the moment you wake up from an immersive dream and have to abruptly recalibrate to the real world—unquitting your job, falling right back out of love, reburying your lost loved ones. In American football, the drop kick is when a player drops the ball and kicks it as it bounces off the ground, used as a method of restarting play.

—

16th August. 8:45 pm.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Cass stands beside him, silent and patient.

“Happy birthday, kid,” he says and chokes on it, the unerasable love, the still-festering guilt. He closes his eyes for a second.

Haltingly, which is uncharacteristic, Cass speaks to fill the heavy air. “No one talks about him. All I know is… he was the second Robin. And that the Joker ki—”

He cuts her off, the words an unnecessary reminder. The wound is ever-present and dear and he pokes at it like he can’t bear for it to heal. On this day though, every year since his passing, he shoves his hand inside and parses his fingers out with blood and the remains of his mangled heart trailing behind.

“He would have been eighteen today. He loved cars and girls and getting into fights…. Neapolitan ice-cream and the colour green,” he pauses, gathering meagre strength. “And most of all he loved the thrill of being Robin.”

Robin gives me magic!

—

16th August. 9 pm.

Alfred sets dinner. Cass insists on helping. Alfred refuses. Cass doesn’t listen.

He sits and watches.

Finally they settle down and eat. He barely manages to stomach it.

This is a spiral he knows well, he has memorised every curve. He knows exactly how deep he has managed to reach.

He knows he can go far lower.

—

16th August. 9:25 pm.

The bedroom’s air is stale. He’s hardly spent much time here in the past week. He sees how quickly things grow old, how easily the air shrinks in a space closed-off and forgotten.

His feet take him to his [dead] son’s room. [Dead. He’s dead. He died three years ago. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s—]

He doesn’t open the door. He goes back to his room, shuts the door behind him.

—

He wakes up to a pleasantly sunny day. He stretches luxuriously and hears footsteps bound up the stairs. It’s Tim.

He pounds at the door and tells him to “Rise and shine!”. Before Bruce can answer, the door is thrown wide open and Ace bounds in, jumping on the bed like he owns it. First, he slobbers all over Bruce’s face with his tongue. Then, he sits back and looks at him expectantly.

Absent-mindedly scratching him behind his ears, he raises a brow at Tim, who’s leaning against the threshold. “Good morning. You’re supposed to be at school.”

“And you were supposed to drop me off before your meeting today.”

…. He did promise that, didn’t he? He sighs and shoots him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry—”

Tim waves it off with a flippant gesture. “Oh, it’s fine. We had a presentation today, I’m glad I could skip. I had nothing ready.”

“Tim.”

“What? I was busy, alright? Anyways, I’m grievously sick and Mrs. Wilkins feels bad for me so I have an extension.”

“Maybe you should use that time to complete your work instead of terrorising me.”

“I’m holding you accountable. You were the one supposed to be dropping me off!”

“Why didn’t you ask Jason?”

“He said he had to pick up Rena on his way to college and if he took a detour to drop me off he would be late.”

“That’s fair.”

“Want to know why I had to resort to even asking him? Take a wild guess.”

He sighs again. “Because I didn’t drop you off. I’m sorry, it was a really hectic day yesterday. We could get some donuts together later?”

“Hmm. Ace, come on, boy. Come here.”

“Where are you both going?”

“For a morning walk.”

“It’s eleven. It’s sunny.”

“A midday walk then,” Tim replies, undeterred. “Besides, some sunshine once in a while might do you good.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Tim’s face scrunches up with barely concealed offence. “Hey! We don’t get any sunlight here as it is and I have time to kill today—”

“Untrue. You have pending work—”

His volume picks up to support the thin veil of ignorance and procrastination. “SO! I will be walking Ace today. Right now. Your meeting is in twenty minutes.”

“Fuck.” He could dump it on Lucius. He hears Ace’s excited barks as Tim takes him down the stairs. He has already failed at being an adult today.

He fumbles into the meeting nearly an hour late and throws an airheaded smile to the room. It’s long, it’s boring, he signed up for it.

By the time he gets back home it’s late in the evening. Talia is back too after a day of browsing gowns to dazzle every guest at Dick’s upcoming wedding. She presses her smile against the corner of his mouth and Bruce chases after it like he doesn’t get to kiss her everyday.

“Found a dress?”

“I’m getting it custom-made.”

Of course she was. Thorny as her relationship with Dick was, Talia had taken to the preparations like a particularly invested fairy godmother pulling ideas, locations, caterers and gods knew what else from all around the world. So far, they had settled on New York (because Dick insisted), though they didn’t have the venue decided just yet, and a baker known for crafting beautiful cakes.

They still had months to go but Talia wasn’t one to budge. She thought Bruce and Tim needed something better to wear for the reception whereas wholeheartedly approved of whatever Jason had decided upon. He had told her it was favouritism. She had only smiled and said Jason had good taste.

He pulls her into a proper hug, sighing against her neck. Her nails scratch against his scalp slightly when her fingers sift through his hair. He presses her closer wanting to melt into one, they fit so perfectly. The rose brooch pin holding her dress together at her shoulder digs into his chest though and he pulls back. Sometimes being too close hurts.

She kisses him once more before calling out to Cass, who was walking past making a mock gagging gesture, and steering her towards the staircase.

Alfred passes by behind him and Bruce turns around to see him opening the doors for Jason. He spots the red convertible that's his son’s favourite parked near the fountain.

Windswept curls and flushed cheeks, bright eyes and an even brighter smile. Bruce’s heart squeezes with affection so dangerously hard that he risks his ribs folding in on themselves.

“Hey, old man.”

His smile is too large and loopy, he knows it. He can’t help it. “Jay.”

Hands shoved in his green jacket's pocket, Jason gets closer and his smile blooms into a grin to match Bruce’s own. “What’s got you smiling?”

“Nothing.”

A raised brow. He was so much like Bruce but only the best parts. Bruce couldn’t be more thankful.

“Seriously, it’s nothing,” Bruce insists to avoid being called a sap. “How was college today?”

He started only a month back and had been loving it so far. Bruce still asked whenever he could because he couldn’t help but fret.

Jason rolls his eyes but it’s half-hearted. “Good,” he says, then adds, “I went out with Rena after class.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Ah, well, we were only hanging out, got some ice-cream.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Dad.”

His heart skips a giddy beat. Dad.

“What? I’m happy for you.” It's a feeble act of innocence and Jason is obviously unimpressed by it.

“She’s just a friend.”

“Yet you mention her without me having to prompt you.”

And oh, the grumpy pout on his face at that. His spitfire of a son could be the sweetest.

“I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

A sardonic smile. “Sure. That’s helpful. Thanks.”

“Listen, I don’t know how I got here either.”

“Talia pitied you.”

Bruce ruffles his bedhead. “Brat.”

“You know it’s true.”

Bruce sighs. It seems like parents do a lot of sighing. “It is.”

“Now that this is settled,” Alfred cuts in, “could you both make your way to the living room of the West Wing’s first floor? Master Timothy says it is movie night. Food will be served there.”

Alfred hated having them eat anywhere that wasn’t the dining table. Tim must have practised puppy dog eyes.

They reach the room and Jason immediately pushes Tim off the couch. Draping his lanky frame over the cushions, he grins down at his brother. Tim scowls at him. Jason nonchalantly toes his shoes off and lets them drop over the armrest’s side. Tim opens his mouth, undoubtedly about to start a fight when Bruce cuts in.

“Tim.”

His son whips his face to him, an accusatory finger pointed at his older, unrepentant brother. Bruce smoothly makes his way to the couch, lifts Jason’s legs, plops down to slouch into the soft material and lets his legs fall over his lap.

Tim’s jaw drops open. “Did you see—”

“Some trusted sources have informed me that you haven’t completed your work yet.”

“I have! Almost. I just need to cite my sources and shit—”

“Language.”

“It’s almost done. Did you not just see what he did?”

“I did and I think you deserve it after last week’s prank.”

“.... In my defence, that was funny. To me,” comes the petulant reply.

“So was this. To me,” Bruce throws back, just as unapologetic.

Jason’s shit-eating grin only widens as Tim accepts defeat and curls up at Bruce’s feet, letting his head rest against his thigh distractedly. He immediately recoils and glares at Jason.

“You have smelly feet.”

Jason’s response is stretching his leg a bit further to bring his toes closer to Tim’s face. The younger boy gets up in annoyance and throws himself on the beanbag near the couch. “Keep…. those things away from me. Ugh.”

Talia arrives with Cass and Jason instantly retracts his legs from his lap and straightens up to make space for them. Talia sits beside him while Cass occupies the other beanbag.

This close, Bruce can see the way his eyes almost crinkle shut when he dimples at Talia. They talk in soft tones, discussing the colour of tablecloths and balloons and “oh, there has to be blue”.

The movie starts and they quieten. Chatter picks up again because “that’s absolute nonsense!” and “shut up, bro, it’s not that deep”. Jason says something crass in return and Talia lets out a startled, full-bellied laugh before she swats his head and tells him to behave.

He gets to have this.

Time gets blurry at the edges like a long-forgotten song. At some undetermined time the movie is paused so everyone can carry plates full of food to the room and drag Alfred to watch the movie with them. Some undetermined time later Cass falls asleep and Tim gets up to fetch one of the blankets thrown over a chair pushed into the corner. He doesn’t take his eyes off the movie for a second, it’s a talent. Bruce motions for him to bring another along with him, noticing Jason's half-lidded eyes.

Sure enough, his blinks get slower and slower. He snuggles into his side and even as he’s a little taller, if thinner, he makes it work somehow. Bruce rests an arm around him and watches his eyes droop shut. Summer has made his freckles reappear.

Talia smiles when she catches his eyes over their son’s head. She covers him in the blanket Tim had gotten for them and refocuses on the movie.

Jason’s warm breath ghosts over his clavicle, his curls brushing against his neck. He smells like the citrus shampoo Dick had recommended to them all. Bruce rubs his back soothingly, feeling his lips curve up with something bubbly in his chest.

The movie ends. Everyone on the screen is tearful but happy.

Tim is sleepy too and Talia gently rouses Cass to take them both to their bedrooms.

“Hey, Jay,” he whispers against his temple. “Hey, wake up.”

Jason doesn’t move.

“Jay? Wake up, buddy. Movie’s over.”

Jason doesn’t wake up.

There’s blood on his temple. Bruce pulls back.

He wasn’t mistaken. There is actually blood sliding down to the knob of his jaw.

He cups his face and shakes him.

“Jay? Jason! Jason?” another hard shake. “Jason, please.”

He stretches the soft skin under his eye to check his eyes, not knowing what to do. It’s not the perfect blue of a June sky. It’s glassy.

He stands up to pick him up and notices, for the first time, that it’s not a blanket. It’s a cape, it’s a shroud.

—

17th August. 4:17 am.

Bruce palms are clammy. He picks his head up from the messy desk. The computer screen has gone blank. His bed remains undisturbed.

There’s not even the ticking of a clock to keep him company, just the subtle white noise of the air conditioning unit. Heartbeat in his ears, breathe out of his lungs, he rises shakily.

In the bathroom, he picks up the citrusy shampoo and puts it in the dustbin. He smashes his fist against the shower’s glass cubicle and kneels down with a bloody hand.

[the entire thing is inspired by batman #790 (1937) also note that this is bruce's version of a perfect world, not mine. dick has commitment issues in my head & brutalia is best left at something melancholic & haunting. that's about it? happy birthday, jason! wish i had something about you but instead you ended up being a ghost for your dad here.... maybe i'll have something better cooked up next year? <3]

#jason todd #bruce wayne #talia al ghul #cassandra cain #brutalia #tim drake #dc #alfred pennyworth #real ones will know i posted this a while back ao3 & deleted it lol #polished it up for his bday tho! so... yeah. bon appetit ig

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