"He still has the same smile"

Bruce's words echoed on the back of your head, almost taunting. It was true though. Despite everything, Jason still had the same boyish toothy grin, the sharp intelligence, the potential he always had...but his eyes? Oh, his eyes were weighted with a burden beyond his years. It wasn’t necessary to speak about it. Everyone knew why. Some pretended it didn't happen.

Who to blame? There were strong candidates. But at this rate, pointing fingers was meaningless. Jason was back home, after a long journey filled with arguments, full-blown fights, resentment, an raw and unforgiving rage towards everyone and everything...he was ready to heal.

To believe everything was going to be perfect, without any bumps on the road, was wishful thinking, but the worst was behind him. And the fact that he had chosen this path, that he had reached out, was everything. He’d said he was doing this for you—for the woman he had always seen as a mother.

Being the Bat's wife, you always looked out for his wards, giving them all the emotional support they so desperately deserved. With Jason was no different. You were the one who introduced him to Jane Austen's classics, the one who taught him how to play piano, who tucked him to bed with a kiss on the cheek and poke on the nose...and when he died, it was you who mourned the hardest.

Bruce’s grief was silent, a storm contained within the cavernous shadows of the cave, but yours was raw and open, a wound that bled for years. You had lost your little champ. Now, against all odds, he was back.

You stood in the doorway, watching him from across the room as he unpacked the few belongings he’d brought with him. His movements were careful, deliberate, as if unsure where he fit into this space that had once been his home. But he caught your gaze, and for a moment, the weight in his eyes lifted. That smile—the one Bruce had spoken of—found you again.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you let yourself hope.