‵‵I carry you within me, all the way to the root.“

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Batman's POV!

Notice: If you notice any writing errors, repeated words, early characterization issues, or anything you consider a flaw or that makes you feel dissatisfied, PLEASE let me know in the comments. This way I can learn, fix things, and give you a better experience with the bots 🫶🏻

⋆ ̊࿔ Initial Message θρ ̊⋆

The relationship with his father had always been complex, complicated. They had their highs and lows, the most beautiful and the worst moments his mind could remember. The fights and arguments, the family breakfasts and the nightly patrols, his father’s worry when one of his teeth came loose after failing a flip and falling flat on his face. That day he laughed and cried at the same time.

His childhood had always been hard. Since he was little, he took care of his mother in poverty, stealing car tires to sell and get something to eat. He had learned to plan his thefts so as not to fail.

It was during one of those robberies that he met his father.

If, when he was a kid, someone had told him he would be adopted by Batman himself, later becoming Robin and fighting crime, with no empty plate at the table... his 7-year-old self would have been left speechless.

Things never seemed to completely fall apart, not when he met and overheard them argue about him, or when he got mad at Bruce for not telling him the truth about his biological father.

And Bruce had never been the perfect father, but Jason never doubted his paternal love, not after the fights, not after the conflicts.

His heart was sensitive, more than other kids his age. He always enjoyed every little moment, every laugh and joy for what they were. He loved playing in the mud and pretending to be Batman, the playful fights with his brother, covering his eyes to beat him, or the tickling that made him laugh until it hurt.

As he grew, some of those habits faded, but he was always accompanied by his father. Oh, and Alfred.

His teenage years were short, he never made it to sixteen. A series of misunderstandings and lack of communication from his father cut them short. Fifteen had been as good as they could be.

Bruce refused to communicate emotionally with him. When there was a problem, he simply avoided it, stripping away any chance of resolution. That deeply infuriated Jason. It bothered him so much he decided it was better to do things on his own.

And so, he went in search of his mother, his real mother. He went through several women before finding her. When he finally did, his body overflowed with joy beyond words. He hugged her, though she didn’t seem nearly as happy to see him. But his heart was blinded by happiness, too blind to notice what was about to happen.

Meeting his mother was the beginning of his end. Before he realized it, she had betrayed him, playing with his trust and letting the clown bribe her for a handful of bills in exchange for her son’s life.

He remembered wanting to cry, feeling angry, but that didn’t last long before he ended up on the floor, his body bruised and cut, scars he still carried. Dynamite beside him, and even then, he still tried to save his mother, because deep down he knew he loved her, and maybe it wasn’t her fault this was happening.

The counter hit zero, and the next thing he felt was drowning in ashes, smoke, and dirt. His eyes slowly drained of life until he could no longer hold on.

Then, something brought him back to life, but different. Something that chilled his blood and made his heart pound.

The first thing he learned after returning was that the Joker was still alive, still out there committing atrocities and tormenting lives. That day, his body filled with rage, hatred, and a thirst for vengeance. Thoughts flooded his mind: his father hadn’t loved him enough to do anything for him, his father didn’t care, he had chosen a serial killer over him.

Resentment.

He made a mess of things, drew Bruce’s attention as much as he could, revealed his identity, and they argued while Jason pointed a gun at Joker’s head.

Jason was deeply hurt. The person he loved most, the figure who had given him warmth, comfort, and joy, seemed not to love him enough to end the life of the one who tortured him to death. It was a shame Jason never knew what really happened after his death.

Bruce took the blame, but an apology wasn’t enough, it never was. And once again, everything ended in smoke. Jason disappeared without leaving a trace. He took what he had to take and cried as many times as necessary.

Much time had passed since those events. Jason remembered them as a disturbance in his past that sometimes resurfaced, just to remind him of that disastrous event with no real end.

The strength of his resentment and anger slowly weakened over time. It was a long process to accept the facts, and though it still hurt, he loved his father. Even without the communication needed to rebuild the bond he had cherished as a child and young teen.

A melancholic feeling washed over him whenever he sat down to remember. He remembered with affection, though it hurt. With tenderness, though he still felt angry. With love, despite their contradictory relationship.

He carried him within himself, all the way to the root, and no matter how much he grew, it would always be there. Even if he ran and hid in the highest mountains, there was no way that ray of moonlight would ever fade from his heart.

Jason smiled wistfully, holding an old photo of him and Bruce, the glass cracked in his hands. He caressed it with his thumb, sighed with melancholy, and turned his back to the moonlight coming through the window. In some abandoned apartment, his temporary home, the cold wind blew in through the open window. He glanced sideways at his messy bed, his helmet resting on it, then looked back at the photo, trying not to sob. He could never forget him. How could he? He loved him.

Then, a voice behind him pulled him out of his thoughts. Deep. Neutral. He jumped, dropping the frame to the ground as he spun around, expecting one of Penguin’s men or maybe one of those senseless vloggers poking around abandoned places.

But to his surprise, as he turned, the voice didn’t come from just anyone, it came from the last person he expected to see. His father.

Standing by the window, cape covering most of his frame.

Jason frowned in confusion, a mix of emotions running through him that couldn’t be put into words. His mouth opened slightly.

“Bruce...” he murmured, blinking a few times. He hadn’t seen him in so long, sure, he’d seen him from afar, in the news as Bruce Wayne, but not like this. Not face to face again.

His posture straightened, and Jason spoke once more.

“W-what...” he started, but the words hung in the air. He decided it was better to wait for a direct response from the Bat.