A/N: I watched I Can Only Imagine before writing this. All you need to know if you've seen the movie. If you haven't? Watch it. 100/10, do recommend.

Relationships: Nope! Are you counting family relationships, like mom and dad? Yes? Uh. Good for you?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, and a surprise, because everyone hates those! :D

Warnings: None! I mean… Unless you don't enjoy heartbreak…

Words: 9,601

There is a recommended song to go with this fic. Mumford & Sons "Broken Crown". Put it on loop, and enjoy the read! 3

It's actually a regular day when it happens.

When Jason's world is flipped upside-down.

He's alone, enjoying the perks of being the legally dead son of a billionaire playboy that only legally dead sons of billionaire playboys can, and walking down the cracked and dirty sidewalks of Crime Alley. He's actually just passed his old house–the flashing red and blue lights, mom yelling at the cops, the smell of beer, the officer telling Willis his rights, Willis denying anything and everything–when he sees him. Better yet, when he sees it.

And he freezes, hands in his pocket curled into fists, blissfully content mood kicked to the curb, jaw locked, and breath coming sharp–coming quick.

Then it–a bottle crashing over his head, fists hitting him on the face, screaming at mom, cursing the day he was born–looks over. Sees him, standing there, in front of the old, run-down, abandoned house. And it smiles. The glad expression is tentative–unsure–but that doesn't matter.

Something dark curls in Jason's gut–makes him want to hurl. Wait, no. Makes him want to beat that smile off its face.

Don't come over here, don't come over here, don't come over here.

The chant is a mantra in Jason's skull as he tries to get his body to listen and get the fuck away from him, but, of course, neither of the two things Jason's trying for happen. It walks over, and his body won't fucking work.

When it get's close enough, it speaks. Again, it is tentative–weary–but Jason, again, doesn't care. The words it speaks are lost on him as he remembers what it used to yell. "Tried to sell you to Falcone. Maybe then you would have been worth something! All you do is bitch and moan, you little ingrate!" Followed up with a smile.

Jason's gut twists violently.

(The actual words are something along the lines of: "Jason? I thought you were dead!")

Harshly, Jason grabs it by the arm and drags it around to the back of the house. His jaw is locked and every singe muscle tensed as he roughly releases it when they've reached the desired location. Spitting the words like venom, Jason hisses, "Why are you alive?"

The other man–monster, screaming–yelling–at mom, hitting her and he can't take it anymore so he runs out and yells at the monster to get it to leave mom alone–snorts. "I could ask you the same thing, Jason."

Jason reacts violently, grabbing it by the front of the Nirvana t-shirt it wears and shaking the man. "What do you want, Willis?"

Willis raises a brow. "When did you grow a pair?"

"When I had to try and take care of us," Jason growls back. "I'll ask this one more time: what do you want?"

Removing himself from Jason's grip, Willis frowns down at his shirt before looking back up–up. Since when does he need to tilt his head back to look his boy in the eye?–to his kid. "To talk. Jason, when I came out of that hellhole the papers said you were dead, and…" he sighs. "I realized there's so much I needed to tell you that I wouldn't get to. So much I wanted to tell Catherine that I didn't get to." His blue eyes search Jason's green ones. "But God gave me another chance with you."

Right when Willis said 'God' Jason snorted and crossed his arms. "Right. 'Cause Willis Todd is a religious man."

"Well you're still talking to me aren't you?"

Not without remembering every vile thing you did to me and imagining it happen to you. "Guess I am."

Willis nods. "How about lunch?"

"Fuck no."

Apparently, Willis hadn't been expecting that answer. Both eyebrows shoot up and his eyes widen a fraction. "Excuse me?"

Leaning down to get in Willis' face, Jason repeats slower, "Fuck. No." Straightening, he continues. "What, you think that just because you said all that bullshit about needing to spill your heart out for me to take and forgive, I was going to do it?" Jason laughs. "Oh, man, it must be true. Old people are crazy." Sorry Al. Not you–never you. You're the most sane of us all.

Frowning, Willis folds his arms in mimicry of Jason's stance. "I'm trying to apologize, Jason."

"For you? No amount of ass-kissing will ever get me to forgive you," Jason sneers. Shoving Willis, Jason leaves him with a few choice parting words. "I never want to see or hear from you again. Don't harass my new family, and if you do, you're a dead man. I swear on Catherine's–on mom's–grave, if you even try to find me again, I'll kill you.

"And there will be no guilt–no remorse. I'd be putting down a rabid dog."

Then he's walking away, lifting the hoodie of his jacket over his head.

Now he's just walking aimlessly, not paying attention to where he's going. His head just keeps re-playing everything that happened a few minutes earlier over and over in his head.

Jason'd meant what he'd said. If Willis so much as breathes his name and he finds out about it, a bullet is finding it's way into Willis' heart.

When he snaps out of it, Jason's looking at the door to his apartment. Huh, don't even remember climbing the stairs.

Once inside, he takes off his jacket and boots, putting the boots by the door and tossing his jacket on the couch as he passes it on his way to the kitchen/dining room.

Stupid fucking Willis, ruining my one moment of content. Always has to fucking do that, the asshole. Goddamn Bruce is so much better. Need to talk to him–get this off my chest.

Jason freezes in his task of pouring a glass of water, hardly noticing when it starts spilling over the glass and wets his hand, at the last few thoughts.

Did he–does he–no.

But… Maybe…

Should he?

"There's…" Oh so he's talking to himself out loud now? "…not much to lose…" Well, guess so.

And there is so much to lose. But… Jason doesn't care about that right now… does he?

No, he decides as he turns the water off, dries his hand, and picks up the phone. No, he decides as he dials the number for the Manor. No, he decides as he realizes he wants to talk to Bruce–his dad, for all he'd outwardly (and sometimes inwardly) deny it. After all, he'd threatened Willis against going after the Bats by calling them his new family, right? That has to mean something, right?

But what if it doesn't…

"This is the Wayne estate, Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I be of aid?" Too late to turn back now, he supposes.

Clearing his throat and wiping his free palm on his jeans, Jason greets Alfred. "Hey Al. Is, uh. Is Bruce there?"

There's a pleased hum on the other end. "Master Jason. It is lovely to hear your voice again. Yes, Master Bruce is in. Shall I fetch him for you, sir?"

Jason huffs in amusement. Alfred makes it sound like he's going to get a puppy. "Yeah. It… It's nice to hear your voice too, Al."

"I would hope so. One moment."

One moment ends up feeling like an eternity. Maybe it's the nerves. Why is Jason nervous? It's just Bruce.

Bruce, who you haven't had a normal conversation with in fucking years, Jason's mind reminds him. Thanks, conscience.

"Jason."

"Bruce."

There's a few beats of silence, then, "…how are you?"

The question catches Jason off guard and he fumbles for words. "Uh–I–fine." He clears his throat before adding, "Actually, I just… Wanted to hear your voice again."

As soon as he says it, Jason knows it's the truth. He'd called to hear Bruce's voice again. Not Batman–Bruce. The voice that used to chase away Jason's nightmares and fears. The voice that would whisper reassurances in Jason's ear and promise never to leave him. The voice that would congratulate him and praise him. The voice that brought safety and comfort.

And it still does, loathe as Jason would normally be to admit it. Any anxiety he had after the confrontation with Willis is gone, now, chased away by… his dad.

Bruce hums. "Any reason why?"

An alarm buzzing in his ear.

And Jason opens his eyes.

To realize it was a dream.

Nothing but a stupid trick his mind pulled on him.

Curling up, Jason shouts and yells the injustice of it into his pillow.

He'd been happy. He'd been comforted. He'd been talking to Bruce, and they hadn't been arguing…

So of-fucking-course it ends up being a dream.

Not even a dream. A nightmare. Because I had to wake up and end it