Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Bat Family or their stories.

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields."

In Flanders Fields, John McCrae

April 27

Jason ignored the knocking at the door, eyes blearily staring at his reflection on the screen of his TV. The floor was littered with his blood-soaked uniform, torn and ripped from his earlier fight. His body ached, his mind was a blur, and he couldn't find it in himself to care about his injuries.

He just...didn't care.

"Jason!"

He stayed silent, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against the top of his couch. He sat in the dark, the moonlight shining through his open windows the only source of light in his safehouse. All he could think about the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him tonight, his body aching in ways he refused to remember why.

Today was April 27th.

He knew it had been a piss-poor idea to actually go out on patrol tonight, but he had thought it would have been better than staying at home, where anything and everything reminded him of the day he died. Maybe burn through some of that anger by punching Gotham's worst in the face – shooting some in the kneecaps.

Jason should've known that he was wrong and that life liked to fuck him over.

The way he started off patrol was enough of a warning to how tonight was going to go down; with him, a little more trigger happy than usual, being set off by the smallest of things.

"Are you sure he's here? Maybe he's at one of his other safehouses?" The voice was muffled by the door but he could hear enough to recognize the voice.

It was Dick. The last thing he needed was the bats hounding him right now, and in particular, him. His brother meant well, Jason knew this, but that didn't mean he wanted to be at the opposite end of Dick's mother-henning. On a normal day, he could handle it, but not today. He was barely functioning as it was.

At least it Dick wasn't here as Nightwing because if he had been, the guy would've just climbed in through his window. Then Jason would have been fucked.

"I'm going to go check his other ones too, just in case. Give me the addresses."

Dick's voice faded away and when Jason could hear no more, a breath of relief escaped his chest– oh, bad idea, bad idea. The pain from his chest forced him to remember that some idiot had come at him with a crowbar today, decided it was a great idea to play xylophone on his ribs, bruising them up enough to where Jason swore the guy cracked a few.

God was just spiting him today, wasn't he? Out of all the weapons the fucker could've had, he chose a goddamn crowbar. There's nothing like the main weapon of your torturer that sets a guy off.

Jason continued to hold his ribs, staring blankly at his ceiling for a while, trying not to think about anything. Unsurprisingly, he fell asleep.

When he came to, hours later, he heard a deep sigh in front of him. Forcing his eyes to open, he somehow knew already who it was.

"...B," Jason greeted with a grimace, shifting in his position. "What the hell do you want?"

And in his typical manner, Batman frowned and was silently brooding over, well, probably the state of his entire being.

He stood corrected – the last person he wanted to deal with in the entire fucking multiverse was not Dick. Not by a long shot.

It was Bruce.

He and Bruce were getting along nowadays, barely – which essentially meant they weren't in a shouting match every time they saw each other, and you know what? It was progress that sometimes, Jason wasn't too sure he was keen on making but was making nonetheless.

"As you can see, I've got things to do so if you'd kindly fuck off." He stood up, his body protesting this movement greatly, but he powered through the pain to the best of his ability and tried pushing past the older man, only to get stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"You're hurt."

"No shit, the greatest detective in the world finally figured that out?"

Panic and dread began to fill Jason's body the longer Batman stood, not allowing him to move, and his body was antsy with the instinct within that screamed at him to run. He just wanted to be alone, to get blackout drunk with the cheapest bottle of vodka he kept hidden in the corner of his cabinet for this exact day. Patrol didn't work out, so Plan B.

Plan B always worked without fail, even if he did wake up with a killer headache the next morning. But that was the point, wasn't it?

So when Bruce pulled down his own cowl, staring at him with eyes that he refused to look at, Jason began to feel lightheaded at how everything was not going according to plan.

"What are–"

"Jason, stop."

"Excuse me?" he sneered. "You're the one bothering me, old man. I just want to be left alone."

The longer they stared at each other, the anger burning within him slowly died down until all he felt was frustration and just…a nearly overwhelming amount of sadness. Something within Jason didn't want to fight with his estranged father figure tonight because he was...tired.

He was just so fucking tired.

Something must have shown in his eyes because Bruce's typically hard face softened into something he only reserved for the other bats – never him. The last time Jason could remember being on the receiving end of that look, it was when he was younger–

No. He refused to think about before, when life was good and he was happy because that boy was dead.

Dead.

But his mind could help but latch onto this look, starved from its years of imprisonment inside the chaos that was Jason's mind. And hope was a fickle thing that managed to escape, poisoning his mind and chipping away at the wall that he constructed to protect himself from emotional pain, so when Bruce gently pushed him back onto the couch, Jason let him. When Bruce lifted up his shirt to look at the ribs he was nursing, Jason let him. And when Bruce began patching up his injured body, Jason...Jason let him.

He couldn't find it in himself to care, not right now.

The last he saw Bruce a few days ago, it had been a particularly nasty fight. They were shouting at each other and Jason had stormed off, saying some words that he knew would hurt the man. His emotions that entire week had been all over the place and the tension between the duo was so thick that anyone could have cut through it with a batarang, had they tried.

And the stupid thing was that Jason couldn't even remember what caused the fight. All he knew was that the end result had been him shooting that fucked up memorial that Bruce refused to take down with a feeling of satisfaction before jumping on his motorcycle and leaving.

Like he said, a bad fight.

After a few minutes passed and Jason was watching Bruce wrap his chest, he couldn't help but ask, "Why are you really here, B?"

Bruce pursed his lips before answering, still kneeling in front of him as his hands continued working on his ribs.. "You...you said some things the other day that forced me to realize some things."

At this, Jason couldn't help but scoff, now turning his head towards the open window to the right of him. "Sure I did." He didn't believe him; how could he, when he still criticized every single choice he made while on missions together? How could he, when he still kept the uniform of a dead kid hanging in his goddamn cave?

It was an awkward silence between them after this, both unsure of what to say in response to Jason's disbelief, but when Bruce suddenly stood up and sat beside him on his threadbare couch, Jason felt even more out of place, eyes widening as he shot the older man an incredulous look.

"I'm serious, Jay."

"Don't call me that."

What the hell was happening right now?

"Jay–"

"No, Bruce, I don't know what you're playing at right now but–" Jason's voice broke but he powered through, ignoring the burning in his eyes and chest. "I can't do this today. If you want to fight or argue, we can do that tomorrow but whatever the hell you're doing right now, you need to stop and leave."

The man mulled over his words but instead of saying anything, Bruce lifted a hand towards him. Jason flinched away. A mirage of emotions flickered on the older man's face before it settled on something resembling resignation.

"You're here, alive, and that's all that matters."

Jason's eyes flew between the still outstretched arm and Bruce in disbelief. "W-What?"

"You told me that I was mourning a boy who died years ago, that I refused to see the man before me." Bruce suddenly clasped his hand on the back of Jason's neck, forcing the younger man to meet his eyes. "You were right."

Jason gulped, the lump in his throat refusing to go away. "What the– Did someone gas you tonight? Are you okay–"

"Jaylad, I was...wrong. I was so wrong."

That goddamn nickname. It stopped Jason in his tracks, mouth dry as hell, his green eyes widening even more from the bizarre nature surrounding, well, everything.

"I've made so many mistakes with you and I...I'm sorry." Bruce gave him a sad smile. "I'll continue to make mistakes but I want you to know that you're not alone."

What the fuck.

"What the fuck."

"You are not alone. Especially not today."

Bruce was so sure of this. Sure, Jason saw the slight hesitation in the man's eyes, but he could easily guess it was from the anticipation of backlash at the words he said. Because that was what always happened, it was their thing – Bruce would say something and Jason would react in the explosive way he always did.

But he never would have thought that what he had said in their fight would have resonated within the guy enough to where he'd be doing this; apologizing, trying to be better.

Jason clenched his eyes shut. "I…"

This was it.

Jason was standing on the precipice of change, and it was up to him; if he chose to disregard the invitation to forgiveness, nothing would get better. They'd argue and fight with one another, never truly getting work done because of the constant worry that whatever they say could set each other off. Yet, if he allowed himself to hope, to trust the apology that Bruce gave him, that would change...everything. He knew that Alfred would welcome him back at the Manor in a heartbeat, the rest of the bats not worrying about having to pick aside.

One by one, he felt the tears fall, the fear he felt all those years ago threatening to drown him as he made a decision. The pain of torture, of betrayal, all he kept to himself, he finally allowed the older man to see. "...I was so scared."

Bruce's voice broke. "I know."

Jason let Bruce wrap his arms around him – and he was fourteen again, safe and whole in his father's arms, sitting in the library as they read together. Tears streamed down Jason's cheeks but he couldn't care less; he let himself grieve over his lost childhood, and over the knowledge that the lost boy he once was had found his way home.

A/N: I got an ask over on Tumblr (my URL is jasonntodd) about if I could write something between Bruce and Jason, fluff or angst, and so, of course, I chose angst. This is the first time I've written something for the batfam but I hope you guys enjoyed it.