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It's just like any other night when it happens.
Patrol was uneventful—as much as it can be in Gotham—but Jason feels tired in a way he never does by the time they reach the Batcave. His eyelids are heavy, and his entire body feels weighed down by an invisible force. Not even the stream of ice-cold water from the shower he takes is enough to shake his fatigue.
Bruce notices, of course, and sends him off to bed with a gentle kiss on his temple, murmuring "goodnight, son" against his skin, informing Jason that he can write his report the next day as he pulls away.
The small action sets his cheeks aflame, heart thundering, and he says—or rather, shouts, "Goodnight, dad," as he rushes up the stairs out of the Batcave in a daze.
It's not that Bruce isn't free with his affection—or his words—but Jason has still yet to acclimate to his new normal. The paperwork declaring his adoption status has long been filed, but it's only months after the fact that he feels secure in his relationship with Bruce—with his dad.
Giddiness spreads through Jason, just enough to cut through his pervasive exhaustion. He floats around his room as he goes through his bedtime routine. He is on cloud nine, and nothing can bring him down.
Goodnight, son, Bruce had said to him quietly, and Jason had responded in kind.
His dad's words echo through his mind. It's not just acknowledgement as his son, but as a son at all that warms him from within. He knows Bruce isn't like that, has never been like that, but still, something inside him finally unwinds from its tight coil.
Jason smiles in the dark of his room, snug under the covers, and falls asleep.
He dreams of going to the theater with Bruce, watching a live performance of the movie musical they had just watched the week before. Only somehow, they both become the leads, traveling on a boat as they head further underground. It's reminiscent of the Batcave, and Jason finds it a little silly as his mind blends the two settings, especially when the Bruce of his dreams, wearing the suit from before but now with the cowl and cape, begins to sing. He has a nice voice, but his dad is not taking it seriously at all, smiling cheerfully despite the song's gravitas.
A strange, familiar sound rings in the back of his mind, but Jason ignores it, content to let this dream play out. He sings in tandem with Bruce, letting his dad lead him off the boat to the candlelit, chandeliered Batcave. The sound begins again, and this time Jason identifies it as a knock, Bruce's heavy-handed one rather than Alfred's light, succinct one.
Briefly, Jason wonders why he's knocking before dismissing the thought. It's probably just another aspect of this whimsical dream because he can also hear the clapping of an audience and the roaring engine of the Batmobile.
It's not until he feels a heavy weight drape itself against his back that Jason wakes up. He blinks and finds himself in darkness, and somehow he's ended up on his stomach. He struggles against the body on top of him as he becomes alert, screaming at them to get off, memories of being in this exact position hastening his panic.
"Shh, it's just me, Jaylad," Bruce whispers into the crook of his neck. His breath sends shivers down Jason's spine, but he still relaxes from his anxious state as he realizes that it is just Bruce. Maybe he had a nightmare and needed to see Jason, as Jason sometimes did. He ignored the quiet voice in the back of his mind saying that Jason always asked for permission before he did such a thing.
"You've been such a good boy, Jay. My good son," Dad mumbles, making Jason's stomach flutter at the sincerity of his tone. "I'm so glad I brought you home." Dad noses at his neck, tickling Jason, and he lets out a nervous laugh at the sensation.
Willis was never this affectionate, but then, Bruce isn't Willis.
"Me too, Dad."
He feels a smile grow on his dad's face.
"I like it when you call me that, Jay," Bruce admits. "Means you're mine."
The hand Jason hadn't realized was on his hip strokes the bare skin there, and he quivers at the unexpected touch. Something about it feels wrong, but Jason misses being this close to someone. He used to spend every night curled around or in his mother's arms to chase away the persistent chill. There's no excuse to be near Bruce like that, not in Wayne Manor, which is adjusted to Jason's exact preference, but here is Bruce wordlessly allowing Jason that same comfort.
"My baby," Bruce rumbles, and Jason swallows down a whimper as his dad pecks his cheek. He hasn't been anybody's baby in so long, and it seems he has missed it. He attempts to turn around to hug Bruce, but his dad still has him pinned.
In his effort to switch positions, Jason comes into contact with a bulge behind him and freezes. He doesn't want to think the worst of Bruce—not when Jason has given Bruce plenty of chances to prove himself as a bad man, but the older man's arousal, combined with his overly-affectionate attitude, spells trouble.
"You didn't… encounter anything strange while on patrol tonight, did you, B?"
"Hm, no," Bruce answers, grinding his hips into Jason's ass, and no amount of squirming gets Jason out of his hold.
"Dad, stop," Jason says firmly, not letting his hysteria come through. "Please. I don't want this."
"Shh, Jason. It's okay, baby. You can take it, can't you?"
"What did I call you that first night?" Jason asks suddenly, a revelation in the making if he's right.
"You big boob," Bruce answers correctly.
Jason can't believe it.
"No, no, no…"
It is Bruce.
He thought that Bruce was safe—that—that he was Bruce's son.
Dads don't do this to their sons; Jason knows that much, and yet—
His dad rolls his hips, and Jason feels something hot and damp through their respective undergarments.
Of all the one nights to forgo bottoms.
Bruce kisses the nape of his neck, and it is tender, his lips lingering before they travel to his ear to nibble on it. The hand on his hip dips into his panties, and that's when Jason really starts to panic.
Unfortunately for him, all the fight has left him, so he's near silent as Bruce's thick finger swipes his wet—and God if this entire experience wasn't already mortifying, Jason had gotten aroused due to Bruce's ministrations and hadn't even noticed—cunt.
"So soft," Bruce murmurs, and Jason feels as though he could vomit. Or dry-heave, rather. He had forgone dinner tonight and had drunk minimal water. He's regretting that now. Maybe vomit could have stalled Bruce long enough for Jason to seek haven. "Good boy," his dad praises, and Jason's cunt clenches around the digit that's just entered him, a quiet whimper leaving him at the stretch.
For all that he'd done on the streets, Jason had kept things to just mouths and hands. This was entirely new to him. Mostly. He's touched himself a few times, but never inside. It always felt like too much, and now he wishes he had if it meant it would have helped him take Bruce's finger in more easily.
"You're so tight, son," Bruce slurs as he inserts another finger, and Jason hisses through his teeth at the pain. "Saved yourself for me, didn't you?"
Jason shakes his head furiously, and Bruce coos, "Such a good boy—the best."
His stomach clenches at the praise. It's all he's ever wanted to hear, and yet not like this. Never like this.
It makes him sick; he wants to hear more.
What is wrong with me, Jason wonders. Wires must be crossed in a tangled mess in his brain if he's reacting like this.
He doesn't want this.
He doesn't.
And yet—
Jason closes his eyes, smashing his face further into the collection of feather-stuffed pillows Bruce had bought for him, and he cries. He wants his dad—not whoever this being is.
It can't be Bruce.
Bruce would never hurt him like this.
Somebody—or something—must be commandeering his body.
It's the only thing that makes sense.
But what if it is him?
Doubt creeps in like an unwanted draft of wind, and no amount of warmth can will it away.
He can feel Bruce hushing him and kissing his neck, but it feels far away, like it's not even his body that Bruce is accosting. Like it's not even Bruce—just some stranger.
Jason used to drift off before. He used to wake up with money in his pocket and a sore jaw with no memory of how it happened. He can do that again.
His plan works until Bruce pinches his clit.
It feels good; he wishes it didn't.
Jason yelps at the sensation, back arching, as the thing he had been ignoring and that had been growing fast inside him bursts. Bruce rubs circles into the bundle of nerves gently as Jason succumbs to the pleasure. He hadn't known orgasms could feel like that. He understands now why so many people—men—sought him out for it—sought anyone out for it. He wishes it hadn't been because of Bruce, and yet, better Bruce than a stranger.
His body slumps back down, and he doesn't register the way the fingers inside him slip out until the hand they belonged to circled his waist. More of Bruce is along his back, and something hot and blunt presses incessantly against his entrance.
The reality of what's about to happen hits him again as another wave of desperation hits him.
Jason screams for help, jerking and twisting and kicking as much as he can to deter Bruce, but nothing works.
"No one will hear you, Jaylad. Alfred is out of town visiting family, and Dick's never here. It's just you and me, baby," Bruce whispers in his ear, tightening his hold against his wrists.
One of Bruce's hands so easily eclipses both of them. He was a fool to think he could ever escape them. Sure, Jason can escape all sorts of restraints, but he has never learned how to escape Bruce's. He wonders if Bruce had done that on purpose, leaving him vulnerable to only himself.
Jason begins to beg.
"Dad, please don't do this. This isn't you. Let's go down to the Batcave and check for toxins," Jason urges, voice raspy, as though he'd been screaming for hours and not minutes.
"Oh, Jason, there's nothing wrong with me," Bruce confesses. "I have to do this. You understand, don't you, son?"
It's said so matter-of-factly that Jason loses all steam once more, his second wind stolen from him.
"Can you—can you be gentle?" Jason asks meekly.
"As if that was ever in doubt," Bruce replies softly, stroking the base of Jason's spine, "but it always hurts in the beginning. I'll make it good for you, though."
Jason trembles as his dad's cock finally presses inside him.
Bruce lets out a long, pleasured moan, sounding so much like the men who used to fuck Jason's mouth and yet completely different.
All the air exits his lungs as Bruce's tip pops in.
It hurts, no way around that, but it's not just his hymen breaking, but also his heart as the man he decided to trust violates him in a way he promised he never would.
A drawn-out whine leaves him as Bruce pushes further in, carving a new home for himself in Jason's body after he had found one in Jason's heart and soul.
"I know, Jason. I know it hurts," Bruce croons, "but it won't always. Just a little longer. You can take it, though. I know you can, Robin. Think of it as supplementary training."
Bruce lets go of his wrists, and Jason decides to make one last bid for freedom, but Bruce must have realized he would and grabs him by his hips and pulls him closer, bottoming out in a single, agonizing thrust.
Jason screeches at the same time Bruce moans. He's impossibly deep, so deep that Jason feels as though Bruce has speared through his guts up to his throat. His dad takes advantage of his shock and gathers his wrists behind his back and ties them together with what feels like the rope they use to tie up the criminals they apprehend each night. Something cracks further at that realization—that he's being treated like he's some common criminal—like he's not even Robin—like he's not even Bruce's son.
He cries in earnest now.
Bruce takes them as ones due to pain, which isn't entirely incorrect, and he strokes soothing patterns into his hips with his thumbs. The once innocent action only makes him cry harder.
No one is coming to save him; he can't even save himself.
"You're doing so well, Jason," Bruce says, and Jason can't stop from shuddering at the words he always craves from Bruce. His dad hums happily at the involuntary clench, one of his hands going between Jason's thighs and touching his sensitive clit. It feels good and grounds him enough to ignore the sharp sting of penetration even as Bruce rolls his hips every so often. "See how much better it is when you don't try to fight me, Jaylad?"
Don't call me that, Jason thinks, but can't say.
It feels like another betrayal, because only Bruce—only Dad calls him that.
It's not right.
Nothing about this is right, Bruce's actions, his words, Jason's own pleasure—
He's dreaming. He must be.
This is just a continuation of his earlier one, only more inappropriate, and not playful like it once was. He can't remember what happened next in the movie, so his subconscious must be filling in the blanks how it sees fit.
Had Christine been touched like this by her Angel of Music? Had the Phantom taken advantage of her once he got her alone? Had she asked for it? Had she liked it? Reluctantly? Enthusiastically? These are things Jason needs to know to get this dream to end—unless he can summon a Raoul, but he has no childhood friend to whisk him away to safety.
In his spiral, Bruce has picked up speed, no longer gently rocking into Jason, but thrusting into him, one hand on Jason's hip while the other finds purchase on the headboard above him. His grip is bruising, which is what brings him back to reality—back to this nightmare.
His dad's cock prods somewhere tender in Jason, building that intense sensation with each buck of his hips, like he's intimately familiar with getting Jason to whine and make his toes curl and body shake.
"There we go," Bruce murmurs, "it's feeling good now, isn't it?"
Of course, it is, Jason wants to answer.
Bruce has a well-established reputation, so to speak, and Jason knows it's not without reason. He just never thought he'd experience that firsthand. He never wanted to, not even when he thought Bruce was a pedophile. He wonders if this is the reason Dick never comes home anymore. He can't blame him if so. Suddenly, he feels a horrifying kinship with the older boy.
It doesn't feel good, not at all. It's a terrible stimulation, one that drags Jason down to Bruce's level.
Who the hell gets off during rape? Jason, apparently.
Yet is it even rape if he likes it?
Is it rape if this is the price it takes to go to college and stay as Robin?
Is it rape if it's not even real?
This is just a nightmare, after all.
In the morning, Jason will wake up, and all will be well.
For now, he just has to let the dream have its natural conclusion.
"You're taking me so well, Jason. I'm so proud of you, son," Bruce tells him, and he lets the compliments wash over him. "You're close, aren't you? You can cum now, baby. I want to feel it."
"B—Bruce," Jason mewls, and then Bruce suddenly stops, and he lets out a confused whine.
"That's not what you call me, Jaylad."
… Surely he can't mean… and why is Jason considering entertaining the notion?
He wants this to end, yet he also wants to feel good.
It's not wrong if he does this, not when it's in a dream. The only one who's going to know is himself.
"Dad, please," Jason gasps, relishing the rough snap of his dad's hips.
Though Jason lost the previous rising orgasm, Bruce is diligent enough in his fucking to bring back that familiar feeling, especially when the hand on the headboard moves to Jason's belly and pushes against the bulge that's there.
"Dad," Jason wails as he's sent tumbling over the edge, body trembling and cunt clenching rhythmically.
He feels Bruce's cock begin to pulse inside him, which means the dream will end soon. He cants his hips into his dad's, even as his pleasure quickly turns into overstimulation. He just wants this to be over with already.
Bruce fucks him with wild abandon, then, certain that Jason can take it now. It hurts, but not like the searing pain from earlier, so maybe he's right. He doesn't know how much longer it is before Bruce eventually stills as he lets out an attractive groan, and something warm floods Jason's insides.
His stomach twists in alarm before he remembers that this is just a dream, so there are no real-life consequences.
His dad is whispering sweet nothings, but it escapes Jason as he lets it all fade away.
Jason shuts his eyes, but the nightmare continues for hours still, at least until he slips into unconsciousness.