Jason barks out a sharp sound, resigned disbelief dragging down the edges of what reveals itself to be laughter. His left hand is free and moving before he knows it, fingers curling over the scar only half-hidden by his t-shirt.

"What do you care how I live?" he asks, and it's an honest question, but Jason's eyes are narrowing, focus rethreading itself through his consciousness at the way Bruce holds himself, the dampness in his voice that doesn't belong.

"You fought someone to get down here," Jason realizes, washing cold all over. Someone who could hurt him, Batman, and Bucky's that good but if they fought then where is he? "Who?"