a/n: this is way longer than i thought and so ooc lmaooo -- idk bruce can somehow shrink ppl and they can't digest bc dense molecules or somethin, pretend it makes sense bc i didn't really think it thru lol.
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Bruce walked in, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up --classic trying-to-pretend-he’s-normal Bruce-- but Jason’s sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in his posture. A slight tightness in the way he carried himself, his usually flat stomach curving outward ever so slightly beneath his shirt.
Jason blinked, fork pausing mid-air. His mind connected the dots in a blaze of growing dread.
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Jason muttered, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. "You’ve got to be kidding me." He jabbed his fork toward Bruce’s middle. “Tell me you’re not doing that thing again.”
Bruce, with all the casual gravitas of a man discussing a board meeting, replied, “It’s efficient.”
“Efficient, my ass!” Jason’s chair scraped back as he stood, waving his hands. “We’re not some--some army of joeys for you to carry around like a freaking marsupial!”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t this resistant before.”
Jason scoffed, pacing away. “Oh, you mean when I was thirteen and didn’t know better? Sure, B, back when I still thought it was cool that Batman could turn into a one-man escape pod.” His voice dropped into a mocking lilt. “‘Oh wow, Bruce, your stomach’s so warm and soft, thanks for saving me from those assassins!’” He spun to face Bruce again. “Yeah, pass.”
Bruce was silent, watching Jason with that infuriating patience of his. It only made Jason’s skin crawl more, his unease growing as he remembered the last time he’d been in there. A bad night after a bad mission. Nightmares. His mother. Bruce offering a solution -- an unorthodox one, but it had worked.
And Jason had hated that it worked.
“Not happening, Bruce,” Jason said firmly, shaking off the memory. “I’m too old for this crap. And, frankly, it’s weird. Just use the Batplane to transport people like a normal person.”
Bruce sighed, stepping closer, his shadow swallowing Jason’s smaller frame. “Jason,” he said, voice low and steady, “I know you don’t like it. But it’s safer. You’ve been reckless lately. If something goes wrong--”
“I’m not a kid anymore, Bruce!” Jason snapped.
Bruce’s gaze softened, just slightly, in that way that always threw Jason off. “I’m not saying you’re a kid. But you’re still family.”
Jason flinched. Damn Bruce and his emotional sucker punches. He looked away, jaw tightening. “Family, huh? You sure about that? ‘Cause last I checked, family doesn’t shove each other into their guts.”
“Dick accepted it,” Bruce said evenly.
Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course, he accepted it -- he probably volunteered. Probably climbed in with a big, dumb smile like, ‘Gee, Bruce, this is so innovative!’”
“He said it was comfortable,” Bruce deadpanned.
Jason gawked. “He said what? Oh, that’s it. I’m out. Dinner was great --props to Alfie-- but I’m done. Bye.” He turned to leave, boots thudding against the hardwood.
But Bruce was faster.
Jason barely had time to curse before the flash zapped him, and the world tilted. One moment, he was storming toward the door. The next, he was tiny. Like couple inches-tall tiny.
And, to his horror, Bruce was already reaching for him.
“Oh, hell no! Bruce, don’t you--”
****************************
“Hey, Jaybird!” Dick grinned, throwing up a hand like they’d just bumped into each other on a street corner instead of, you know, inside Bruce’s stomach.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jason jabbed a finger toward him.
“Oh, you know, just the usual family bonding stuff.” Dick shrugged, his grin widening. “Came for the ambiance, stayed for the company.”
“Don’t you dare laugh this off--"
“I’m not laughing!” Dick said, holding his hands up defensively, though his tone was anything but serious. “Okay, maybe a little.”
Jason let out a growl of frustration, kicking the water at his feet, though it only ended up splashing onto his own legs. “You are such a--”
“Jason?”
That voice was smaller, softer, and Jason turned to see Tim standing a little further away, looking tiny as hell next to Dick. His arms were crossed tightly, his whole posture screaming discomfort.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Jason threw his arms out. “You’re here, too? What, did Bruce swallow all of you before dinner?”
“Not all of us,” came a sharp, clipped voice from somewhere behind Tim.
Jason peered around him and spotted Damian, perched on a high ridge, looking irritated beyond belief.
Jason blinked, then barked out a laugh. “Oh, great. The whole circus. Wonderful.” He threw a hand toward Dick. “Let me guess, this was your idea.”
Dick didn’t deny it, which only made Jason more annoyed. Instead, he clapped his hands, the sound oddly muted by their surroundings. “Look, before you freak out--”
“I’m already freaking out!”
“--this is a trust-building exercise!”
Jason stared at him. So did Tim. Damian muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “idiot” under his breath.
“A what?” Jason said, voice dangerously low.
“A trust-building exercise,” Dick repeated brightly. “Think about it--Bruce clearly trusts us with his life, or he wouldn’t let us in here.”
“He didn’t let us in here. He ate us,” Jason shot back, jabbing a thumb toward the fleshy ceiling.
“Semantics,” Dick said with a grin.
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him.”
“Look, it’s not just about trust,” Dick went on, ignoring Jason’s rising blood pressure. “It’s about contingencies. Think about it -- what if we get separated in the field? What if something like this happens for real? Wouldn’t you rather have this experience under your belt?”
