Chapter Text
Two Months Ago, Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina
“Well..that was fun”.
Nothing greets the white skinned, green haired man but silence, though there was another person within the abandoned warehouse that he’d used for his impromptu torture chamber. A young man, wearing red and green, a cape sprawled out over the concrete floor as he laid there. His breath was coming out raggedly, his chest rising and falling as he took each tortured gasp.
The man shrugs and turns back to the snow covered hills that lay just outside of the building. It was so calm, so peaceful. One might almost be able to forget about the horrid ethnic cleansing and war that was going on at that very moment. The reminders could be found a little further off in the distance, where smoke rose into the sky, reminders of that day's shelling.
“Maybe a little more fun for me, I don’t know, you’re just being awfully quiet…” the criminal psychopath known as the Joker says, faux disappointedly. His smile never disappeared for long though, and it was soon back on his lips as he turned his gaze back to the wounded youth. A few feet to his right, discarded upon the floor, was a bloody crowbar.
“Tell me, which one hurts more? Backhand?”
THWACK!
“AHHH!”
“Or forehand?”
THWACK!
“Unnnfff….unnnn”.
“Awww come on now...don’t be afraid to tell dear old Uncle Joker the truth” the man smirked, stopping what he was doing to kick the younger man in the chest and roll him over onto his back. Robin was panting in pain, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. “My forehand? It’s a little weak isn’t it?”
Jason just continued to breath heavily, trying to collect himself and focus on anything other than the horrible pain. “Urrg...urggg….”.
Joker smiles and moves down to his knees, placing his hand next to his ear as if to emphasize his action of trying to hear the young man’s words. “Urggg urrggg..” he mocks before smirking. “You’re gonna have to speak up lambchop. I’m afraid you have a collapsed lung”.
He did.
His medical training, courtesy of Alfred, was enough to tell him that. But despite his pain, he sensed an opportunity. He quickly sits up, quickly enough in fact, to slam his forehead into the Joker’s teeth, sending the Clown Prince of Crime stumbling backwards, a few of his teeth loosened and blood pouring out over his lips from where he’d bitten through them.
“Ohhh you little…” he growls to himself before laughing. “You little spitfire you. I guess the old man instilled some of that never be beaten attitude in you huh?” he asks, pulling out a neckerchief to wipe away the blood.
Jason just falls back to the floor, in horrid pain. But even through that, he smiles, knowing that at the very least he’d gotten a hit back in. Joker was now appraising him, a serious look upon his face. “Still, rather rude...I suppose I’m going to have to teach you some manners so that you can better follow in his footsteps”. Joker walks forward and slams his heel down upon the sidekick’s chest.
If his hands weren’t bound behind his back he knew that he would’ve reached up to grasp the man’s ankle and try and push him off, but as it stood, he’d have to deal with the pain. Joker’s contemplative gaze mocked him, but eventually it disappeared entirely.
“Nah” he says, disregarding the notions of holding an impromptu seminar on manners. “I’m just gonna keep hitting you with this crowbar”.
The hold tightens in tune with an increase of laughter, that same horrid laughter that was the last thing heard by so many of the man’s victims. Jason felt ashamed of his fear, but he closed his eyes all the same, not wanting to see what was going to happen. Not seeing it didn’t save him from not feeling it though, and the crowbar came down upon his already battered body, again and again.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”
TWHACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
He could still feel his body, one giant open wound it felt like. One sore, one bruise. It all melded together into one pain that he could see going on for the rest of his life if he didn’t know from experience that he would heal. ‘Never...been hurt...like this’ he reminds himself, hating that he had to look at things realistically, even now.
“Anywho, well..Uncle Joker has to get going” he says, pulling on his gloves and then pointing a finger into the dark, at the wounded Robin. “Finish your homework, eat your vegetables and only one hour of TV before bed”. He pulls his fur lined hood up over his head, bracing against the cold that was slowly seeping in. “And ohh...make sure to tell the big man…”.
His lips tense into a cruel, wide smile, the one that half of the world knew from sight alone. He was happy...truly happy. He could only ever feel that way when he’d found a way to really stab the knife into the bat and twist it, and this one? Ohh this was going to be a doozy.
“Tell him I said hello” he finishes, laughing to himself as he turns and begins to walk out of the warehouse, his hand clenching the door and pulling it shut, closing it behind him and leaving the interior in relative darkness. The only light that did come through came from a low hanging lamp from above, positioned right atop the prone figure.
He doesn’t stir for a moment, but when he does, he seems to act with remarkable clarity.
He wiggles his body and then moves his bound hands under his tucked up feet, allowing them to at least be at his front instead of behind his back. This allowed him a greater degree of movement. Slowly, Jason tries to get to his feet, and he gets pretty close, his feet resting against the concrete floor.
But then, a sharp pain from his kneecap, where Joker had slammed the crowbar into his patella, possibly shattering it, though he thought that it wasn’t likely, sends him back to the ground. For a few moments, his eyes were filled with red flashing lights, his mind trying to make sense of the pain.
“Okay...not...gonna work”.
He knows that he couldn’t walk, but the door, the exit...it wasn’t far. Only about fifteen or twenty feet away. Regardless, he’d have to crawl it. He reaches forward, pain firing up and down every part of his body as the floor scrapes up against them. “Ahhh...ahhh…..”. He was on the verge of tears, but that was one thing the street tough turned vigilante sidekick would always refuse to do. He’d never cry.
Never again.
“Training is only a portion of it Jason” Bruce says, reaching out to touch the young man’s shoulder after a particularly embarrassing training session after he’d first started. He was knocked to the ground every time, but after each time he got right back up, apparently prompting this pep talk from Bruce.
“The will? The will is everything. Do you have it?” he asks seriously, already knowing the answer to his question. “Do you have the will?”
Before he knew it, he was at the door, still down of course, but at the door. It would take a lot more effort, an almost herculean amount, to reach the handle. But Jason...he had the will. Slowly he braces against the door and begins to climb his way up until his hand brushes against the handle. He feels triumph surge through him at this, knowing in his heart that when he opened it, he’d be free.
But as he pulls downward, his hopes are dashed.
The handle moves, but the door doesn’t open. It was locked most likely, or Joker had jammed something into the opposite end as to prevent it from opening. ‘I guess I’ll...just have to wait for Batman’ he thinks, assuring himself that his mentor would indeed get there in time. That he’d save him, just like he’d done for so many people so many other times before.
He lets go of the door handle and turns, grunting in pain as he presses his back against the wall to the side of the door, trying to catch his breath. A certain sound interrupts him though, a beeping...like an alarm or a…
A countdown.
He slows his breathing and turns his head directly to the side where the noise seemed to be emanating out from. On the opposite wall, pushed up against and stacked atop one another, were wooden cases. He recognized the Croation writing on the sides, and he knew instantly what it was. The wires were a dead giveaway, and the fact of the matter was that whatever was in the boxes en masse was represented by a white square sitting atop one of them, into which all the wires led.
It was C4 plastique, an explosive that in the amount present would definitely leave very little of him left, hell, very little of the warehouse left at all when it was all said and done. The timer wasn’t giving him much reason for hope either. Thirty seconds.
What could someone do with their life in thirty seconds?
Jason’s heart sunk, and for some reason he just knew that he was going to die. Batman wasn’t going to come and save him. There wouldn’t be a miraculous moment where he somehow swept in and saved the day. He was okay with that. He didn’t blame Bruce.
If anyone could see that the Batman was just a human being it was the ones who were closest to him.
He just relaxes, feeling a certain kind of freedom and calmness in the face of his impending death. There was nothing he could do. Panic wasn’t going to help, and he wasn’t going to overcome his injuries quickly enough to somehow find a way out. He wasn’t Bruce, and at this moment, he was lacking the will.
“Will is everything”.
He closes his eyes and looks down, letting the numbers dwindle down.
28...27….26...25…
Outside, A Hundred Feet Away
The batcycle roared through the war torn streets of Sarajevo, not stopping for potholes or any of the random detritus of war that littered these once bustling and happy avenues. Occasional pot shots rang out around his vehicle, snipers having been positioned to try and kill anyone that dared show their face, even if they were the Batman or some other assorted hero.
So far, all of them had missed, crashing harmlessly into the street and then ricocheting out elsewhere.
He didn’t have time to go after them. Not when his eyes were focused upon the hill atop which a derelict warehouse stood. Intel was key here. He knew the Joker was in Sarajevo, taking advantage of the situation to get his hands on some aftermarket weapons, no doubt for some nefarious scheme back in Gotham.
Robin...Jason, had gone after him, alone and against his orders, and now he knew that he was paying for it. The Gotham based vigilante grits his teeth, not able to bring himself to anger with the young man. If he’d been in his position, he’d do the same thing.
Batman leaned the bat cycle to the side, avoiding another rifle round as he veers off down a side street. There was only about a hundred feet between him and Jason, the boy undoubtedly being subjected to some awful treatment that the Joker had in mind for him.
‘Maybe even…’.
“No” he says to himself, a word that would only have been heard by him anyways as the roar of the bike’s engines drowned out everything else. He wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. Not now.
He did know that he had to get to the warehouse soon though, and he had a clear shot to it. All he’d need to do was engage the nitro boosters, use the hood of a destroyed car to jump over the barbed wire barricade, and then the path would be open to the warehouse. He knew that the snow might be concealing a minefield, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that. All his mind and body did was work in tandem to engage the boosters and then rev the engine.
Blue flames shoot out of the spoilers at the rear end of the bike, and the already immensely fast vehicle rockets forward even faster. The large wheels easily overcame the flattened steel, and at the speed Bruce was going the bike was launched into the air with ease. It didn’t take a lot to get over the barbed wire, but the batcycle gave everything and more. He managed to land about fifteen feet into the field, cutting the distance between him and the warehouse by at least a third.
As the bike begins to steadily climb the hill, he tries to look about, see if the Joker had any other tricks planned for the eventuality of just such a rescue. He couldn’t tell. He was going too fast and was thus not allowed the normal time it took him to survey the situation. Caution was already thrown to the wind, and as Bruce crests the hill, he leaps from the bike, allowing it to crash into a snowbank to the right while he lands upon his feet and rushes towards the door.
This he did see, a piece of wood wedged in to prevent the door from opening, and with an alarming strength born out of fear, he reaches out and rips it from the handle. The act essentially broke the lock mechanism, which hadn’t been engaged anyways, but was now useless. The door swings open, and the Caped Crusader rushes in, surveying the room and half expecting to see Joker with a pistol to his protege’s head.
But the warehouse was empty, save for the bloody crowbar laying upon the floor in the middle of the room besides the multiple streaks of blood that littered the floor.
“Bruce…”.
He hears the weak voice come from his immediate side, and he turns to see Jason, leaning with his back against the wall. The young man reaches out his green gloved hand to the vigilante. “We need…”.
Bruce didn’t need a sitrep at all. His eyes already saw the pile of explosives and the countdown that was leading to their detonation. He didn’t think anymore. He simply acted. He grabs Jason and hoists him up, not able to care for the fact of how such an action might further injure the boy. All he saw was those ominous red letters broadcasting impending doom.
4….3….
He wraps himself around Robin, shielding his body with his back while rushing forward out of the building. It was hard to move, carrying the weight of the younger man with him, but he had no choice. “Hang on!” Bruce shouts, the dynamic duo now having got at least four or five feet away from the entrance of the building.
2...1…
The C4 goes off, and in an instant the building is reduced to nothing but shards of steel, concrete chunks and wood splinters that all fly through the air with the devastating power of shrapnel. Bruce and Jason could feel the heat, especially as the flames rocket out towards them. Robin didn’t have a clear view of what happened next.
All he could feel was weightlessness, his body being thrown through the air like it weighed nothing. Everything was bright again, the all encompassing black of Batman’s cape and armor no longer preventing him from seeing the bright hues of orange and red before those give way to pure white.
The heat is replaced by cold as Jason slides through the snow, leaving a bloody imprint due to his wounds. For some reason, the snow served as some form of motivation, forcing his body to pump even more adrenaline out than had already been coursing through his veins.
He places his palms down in the snow and begins to push himself up, moaning and groaning with every movement. Something was wrong, and he knew it. It just...didn’t feel like all the other times they’d cheated death, and though his heart was filled with joy that he’d been wrong, that Bruce had been in time to save him, he also felt a distinct sense of dread.
The effects of the explosion had quickly diminished, and while a fireball was still raging behind him in the remains of the warehouse, the flames had backed off from his area due to the cold. Debris, some of it on fire, was everywhere, and his eyes scanned over the area, searching for Bruce.
“Batman!” he shouts, remembering to use their code names in the field on the off chance that someone would be able to hear. He doesn’t receive any answer though, save for the crackling of wood in the flames.
“Urggg…”.
Not too far from him was what looked like sheet metal from the building, and it was moving, as if someone was under it. It didn’t take Jason long to figure out what that meant. “Batman!”. He stumbles, falling to his knees once more as he’d forgotten just how bad his wounds actually were. He swears to himself as he kneels in the snow, dragging his wounded body forward in much the same way as he had while trying to escape the warehouse.
It took him less time to reach Bruce though, and as his hands grip the edges of the twisted steel, he’s surprised that he manages to find the strength to pull it off. “Bruce..” he calls out, forgetting in his fear. “Bruce are you…”.
He goes slack jawed at what he sees below him.
Batman was still alive, though it was clear that he wouldn’t remain so for long. Half of his cowl had been sheared off, and his right eye was nothing more than an open wound. The rest of his body hadn’t fared much better, and a long sharp piece of steel protrudes through his chest, blood pouring out everywhere to stain the snow around them.
“Ohh God Bruce..” he says, refusing to face reality as he reaches down and puts pressure on the wound, not knowing, or refusing to acknowledge that it wouldn’t do any good. “Jason…” he whispers out weakly, reaching for the young man whom he’d taken in as his own son.
“Hang on Bruce...I’ll..I’ll get...I’ll get Alfred and he’ll send...dammit! The comms! The comms on the batcycle!” he says, seeing the wrecked vehicle off to the side. “I’ll get the Justice League and…”.
Bruce silences his worried mutterings by grasping his wrist, drawing his attention back to him. He looked surprisingly calm, serene even. Gone was the harsh contours of his face, caused by having a near permanent scowl. He even smiled.
“Don’t...forget...what this symbol...means…”.
He brought a shaky hand up, pointing to the tattered armor at his chest. Nothing but wounds were present, from which blood flowed freely. But through it all, the dark outline of the bat symbol remained. “They...need you Jason...be...strong...son…”.
He looks up at the sky and swallows, his final breath passing from between his lips as his head sinks back down to the ground and then slowly turns. Jason was shocked...beyond shocked. He didn’t know if there was a word in the dictionary that could describe how he felt at this moment. It was as if the entire world had ended.
“No...no, no, no, no no”.
He just kept repeating that word to himself, refusing to acknowledge that it could have possibly been true. He wasn’t dead. He was Batman! There was no way that he was dead. “Bruce...Bruce! Wake up! Bruce...dammit...Bruce…”.
He was crying now, forgetting his vow to never do that again, and it would strike him later that his crying at this moment was almost exactly like the last time he’d cried. His body was struck by spasms as he sobbed, having lost the closest thing he’d ever had to an actual father. Slowly, the pain and horror overwhelm him, and he lays his head down upon the man’s chest.
He thinks back to the first time he’d met Bruce, all those years ago.
The tire was finally free from the batmobile, and the dark haired youth couldn’t have been happier. Even as he fell back, the heavy rubber wheel in his hands, well, arms really as he had to wrap his entire frame around it to hold it, he couldn’t contain his joy.
“Hell yeah”.
“You shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you”.
The voice was low and ominous and he could only gulp in fear as he knew exactly who it would be. He turned his head, and standing there, a few feet in front of the notorious batmobile, was Batman himself. He looked even taller than what they showed on TV which made quite a frightening impression upon the young boy.
He drops the tire to the ground, as well as the lug wrench which clatters to the ground. He was dirty, and partly emaciated, not having eaten in a few days. He just looked on in fear, not able to do anything except stare at the man who owned the black vehicle.
Batman was taking stock of him as well, looking him up and down and apparently coming to some sort of conclusion in his own mind. “Are you hungry?”
Something about the way he’d asked that question made Jason believe that he meant it, that if he told him the truth, that yes he was hungry, starving, and that if he hadn’t been so hungry he never would’ve thought to steal the batmobile’s tires, Batman would somehow get him something to eat.
He nods his head, that answer being sufficient for the vigilante who just smiles.
And now, after all these years...he was gone. And Jason was alone.
Again.
Planet Krypton, Many Years Ago, House of Zor-El
“Why is she under anesthesia?” Alura asks her husband, frantically moving alongside the man to help him push along the gurney upon which their daughter was laying. Her husband doesn’t answer her, which only increases her worry.
“Zo…”.
“She fought back” he says fiercely, moving them down the walkway that leads from their home to the lab in which he did all his work. All around them, Argo City was being destroyed. The once great Tower of Science, which dominated the skyline, was in the process of collapsing in on itself, millions of tons falling to the very ground below it, crushing other buildings in its path.
Behind it sat a red sky, no doubt due to the reflection of lava flows that were bursting from inside of Krypton’s core. The entire planet was dying.
Alura understood her husband’s words, mostly due to the fact that she understood her daughter. Undoubtedly she’d been told that she was being sent off of the planet, and Alura had no doubt that Zor-El had lied to her and told her that they would follow behind. Their daughter, being a smart young woman, didn’t believe him, and refused to go unless her parents were with her.
She could see it playing out as if she was there.
Zor-El would be a loving father, and pull his daughter in for a hug where he would then inject the needle into her skin, rendering her unconscious before he would load her onto the gurney of which he’d prepared for just this eventuality. She found it funny. For all the things that they could prepare for, that they could see coming, they hadn’t been able to foresee their planet dying around them. Not on their own at least.
One man had. Jor-El, Zor-El’s cousin, and he’d been roundly mocked by the elites of Krypton.
If Alura was a petty woman she’d have to ask herself if they were laughing now, but as it stood they had reached the entrance of Zor-El’s laboratory and didn’t have time to take a victory lap in the ruins of their planet. “We have to ready the ship. My readings indicate that Jor-El has already launched little Kal”.
He presses his hand to the biometric scanner that allowed any of the House of El entrance, and the door hisses open in response. “Come on!” His urging wasn’t needed, but it was a reflection of the panic that was going on inside the man as he and his wife desperately tried to save their daughter.
“Did you manage to link the two rockets like I asked?”
Alura nods her head. “Yes. Two days ago”.
“Good” he says, pushing the gurney to the center of the room, right in front of the rocket where automated arms were already at work unsealing the hatch. Without much effort, they lean down and hook onto the sides of the gurney, securing the beautiful blonde by wrapping a series of belts about her. With her firmly tied to the gurney, it is lifted into the air and then placed within the confines of the rocket.
She was still under the effects of the powerful sedative, and her eyes were closed.
Alura wanted to cry at how peaceful her daughter looked in comparison to the horror that had enveloped their world. “She’s so beautiful” Alura says, beginning to sob as she realizes that this is the last time she would ever see her daughter, and she tries to commit every bit of her face to memory.
“Alura…”.
Zor-El had moved up behind her, and he placed his hands about her shoulders, desperately trying to soothe his wife. He felt the same thing, and as he looked upon his daughter’s sleeping form, he couldn’t help but be comforted by the hope she and young Kal now represented. “We have to hurry. We don’t have much time”.
This prompting was enough to push the woman back into action, and she rushes to the side consoles while her husband moves to the other. Their fingers worked furiously, downloading the last bit of information they had onto the hard drives of the ship, while also ensuring that the coordinates and other random input were correct.
“Ready?”
“Yes” she tearfully calls out, the two not even needing to coordinate to bring their fists down upon the launch buttons that needed to be pressed simultaneously. This sets off the rocket’s countdown sequence. Tubes disconnect, and the thrusters slowly heat up in preparation for lift off as the roof opens up to allow the rocket to go through.
Zor-El and his wife walk across the distance between them, and join hands as they watch the glass freeze up, preserving their daughter in deep sleep for her undoubtedly long journey. “Will...will…”.
“She will be the greatest hope of another planet Alura” he says, knowing that of all the things he’d said in his life, he believed most deeply in that. “She will fill the hearts of many with hope and she will lead them to the greatest heights they’ve ever known”.
The rocket begins to lift off, and Alura couldn’t find it in herself to speak any longer. “I...I wish...I wish we’d had more…”. She doesn’t finish, burying her face in her husband’s chest, something he allows her to do before tightly clinging to her, his arm going about her shoulders. “We always wish for more time...but we were blessed by what we had”.
The roar of the rocket’s exhaust generates wind that blows through their hair, and the intensity of the heat was so much that Zor-El looks away, burying his face in his wife’s hair. The rocket ascends, slowly at first, as if struggling to get into the air, and for a moment he’s worried that something would go wrong.
Then the secondary thrusters kick on, and the rocket shoots itself rapidly up into the sky, leaving only a trail of white smoke behind it. Zor-El knew he hadn’t made a mistake. If there was one thing he knew in this whole dying world, it was rocket design, and with the rocket that would take his own daughter to safety?
He hadn’t made a mistake.
“She’s…”.
“Safe”.
He holds his wife tight and kisses her forehead, smiling at just how lucky he had been throughout his life. He knew that this wasn’t the end, not for House El. Not for his daughter, and that was more than enough for him. The ground beneath him quakes, almost sending both of them to the floor, though they fortunately are able to remain upright.
Alura squeezes him harder, shaking as she knew that this was the end.
Jor-El’s predictions had been based upon the seismic activity beneath the surface of Krypton. He’d posited that they would grow more frequent and in greater intensity as the planet’s core destabilized more and more. Judging by how this was a very strong, very constant drumbeat of quakes, they knew...it was over.
Krypton was about to die.
A massive fissure cracked through the planet at that point, splitting Argo City almost directly in half. From out of that crack, heat rushed up with such speed and intensity that all life on the planet was destroyed in an instant, cooked alive. As the heat reached them, neither dropped their hold upon the other.
After all, they had lived together for so long that it only made sense to die together.
With the planet split, there was nowhere for all that accumulated energy to go but outwards, and outwards it went. The planet exploded in vibrant hues of blue, green and red, an inferno upon a grand scale as the ancient people were wiped out in an instant. Rocks and chunks of the planet the size of moons were cast out into space, where two rockets were making their way outwards.
One, the smaller one which contained a small baby, continued on its intended course. It was being trailed by a larger rocket, the one carrying his older cousin, the one meant to guide him and teach him off the planet where he’d come from and the people who’d loved him.
A large rock passed right by at that moment, and slammed into the tail fin of the larger craft to the rear, denting it in such a way as to alter the rocket's trajectory. Instead of heading out, straight into the black maw of space through which their final destination could not be found, the rocket tilted downwards, aided by the force of the rock and then forcibly urged on by the damaged fin.
Navigation was still working though, and the rocket fought to course correct.
Buzzing and calculations done by computers so much more advanced than we could ever fathom, tried to come up with a solution to the problem. The answer was...not optimal. The rocket could still reach its intended destination with ease, though, due to the damage sustained to the body, it would have to do so along an altered course.
It would take a few more years for the rocket to reach its destination, Earth, a relative backwater of a planet that was lacking in technology, but was reasonably advanced. Jor-El had chosen it due to the relative need for someone to guide it, to lead the people, humans they called themselves, away from their backwards ways.
Two Kyrptonians would have to do.
But now, those two saviours were on divergent paths, moving further and further away from one another as the rockets moved through the hurdles of space. Still, things were going relatively according to plan, and the beautiful young woman, and the baby, both in cryogenic sleep, were none the wiser of their impending destiny.
Earth.
It would be their new home.
The Batcave, Wayne Manor, Four Months After the Death of Batman
“This is Jimmy Olsen reporting from Metropolis today” comes the relatively sad voice of the red haired reporter as Jason watches him on the screen of the bat computer. “Live to cover the funeral procession of Superman”.
Jason remembered that day.
Well, he also remembered the day he’d heard about Superman’s death. He had been laying in bed, recovering from the awful wounds that still needed to heal when Alfred had come into his room and sat himself down in a chair to explain.
As usual, the unflappable butler kept a stiff upper lip in the face of tragedy. There were very few in their community, perhaps zero, that didn’t have affection for the Man of Steel. He remembered the footage. Doomsday, some sort of Kyrptonian monster. Something to do with Lex Luthor. It always did when it came to Superman.
He’d given his life to save the world and finally put an end to the beast, but it had cost him his life in the process. That loss...it was just another one to pile on top of everything else. Superman had always been kind to him. The “troubled” Robin, the one who always fought back against Bruce and believed that they should be tougher on the criminals they fought.
The Kansas native always had a kind word for him. Even talked Bruce into letting him join the Titans.
“It’ll be good for him Bruce” he’d said, trying to make his friend see reason. “Besides, Nightwing would watch out for him too wouldn’t he? No matter what problems you two have, he’s still his big brother”.
He then ruffled Jason’s hair as he stood there, listening in on the men’s conversation.
He yielded.
He always did when it came to Clark, well, at least a good chunk of the time. That wasn’t his last memory of Superman either. His last memory? That occurred a few weeks before his death, when Jason had finally been well enough to take visitors.
He’d come and he’d sat with him, just talked even when Jason could only bring himself to listen. He told him stories of when he and Bruce had fought this or that villain, or gotten out of this or that crisis. It had made him feel better.
Superman had a habit of inspiring hope.
“And now he’s gone too…” Jason says, looking down and shaking his head. He’d been at that funeral too. On crutches and with bandages all over, but he’d been there. The media hadn’t even thought to ask why the ward of deceased billionaire Bruce Wayne, and sole beneficiary after the rather tragic falling out between him and Dick, was there. So many had come to mourn their hero that it didn’t matter.
The others recognized him though, and they either stayed close or averted their eyes. Barry, Hal, Ollie, Dinah, J’onn, Diana...all of them had come to him to give their condolences, even at the funeral of yet another close friend. He just politely nodded and thanked them, but he could never bring himself to look them in the eyes.
It was his fault he was dead.
Bruce’s funeral had been much smaller in comparison. A private ceremony with Dick, Barbara, Alfred, Lucius and him outside Wayne Manor, watching as they interred his body next to his parents. Jason still wasn’t sure how Alfred had gotten the body back, though he knew that Bruce wasn’t the only one who knew how to game the system, so he never asked questions.
His eyes travel back to the screen, watching what he’d seen over and over again, first with his own eyes and then through instant replays. “Ahh, down here again Master Jason”.
Alfred was descending the stairs, a tray in his hands with a bowl of creamy potato soup on it, Jason’s favorite and one of the few things he’d been relying on when it came to food. “It’s not good to dwell on such things sir”.
He wanted to cringe at that, Alfred calling him what he used to call Bruce from time to time, but...he supposed that it made the Englishman feel better. So he let him. It made him feel like things hadn’t changed too much. “Thank you Alfred”.
“You’re welcome. Now, I must intrude and say that you have a visitor”.
He turns in the chair, wondering who it could possibly be when he hears the tell tale signs of a portal opening. It was a noise and feeling that he’d experienced many times before, and part of him was happy to feel something that was familiar, while another part of him definitely didn’t want to see her at this point.
A purple portal, in the shape of a Raven opens up in the middle of the cave, and out steps a young woman wearing a hood and leotard. His eyes were always drawn to her legs, even at this point in time where their physical and romantic relationship had ended.
“Raven”.
She steps forward, standing next to the butler who looked down disapprovingly at her, apparently having wanted to follow the standard protocol that he had set up to allow Leaguers and other assorted heroes that knew him to visit.
“I’m sorry” she says dryly, sensing the butler’s displeasure. “The dog doesn’t like me”.
Jason turns to his soup and blows on it, picking up the spoon to bring some from the bowl to his lips. “He doesn’t like many people” he intones, trying to replicate but never quite succeeding in doing so, her apathetic tone. “Well...I suppose that is...understandable” Alfred sniffs, a sadness hanging about his eyes that he tried to hide as best as he could.
Raven nods her head, but says nothing more, continuing to look on at Robin. It was clear that this was something of a more...private nature, and Alfred wasn’t slow on picking up the cues. “Ahh, well then. I shall leave you to it”.
He is about to leave when he stops and turns, placing a hand upon Jason’s shoulders. He wanted to try and comfort the young man, keep his spirits up, but there were just some things that could never be fixed, some wounds that could only be healed from the inside. Alfred knew that as well as anyone, so he lets his grip drop and finally turns, making his way back up the stairs.
Raven waits an appropriate time to begin to speak.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine” he says curtly, in no mood for a social call. “Why are you here Raven?”
She senses the anger falling off of the man, her emphatic abilities never quite being “turned off”. She doesn’t blame him though, and her years of meditation and training with the monks of Azarath serve her well in keeping her calm. “I still care about you Jason”.
She knew why their relationship failed, and she knew that she bore the brunt of responsibility. Her emotional aloofness would always serve as a stumbling block to relationships with certain men, especially ones as passionate as Jason Todd, who wore his emotions upon his sleeve. She didn’t know why they’d started dating when he’d joined the team right alongside her. She just knew that….one day they fell in together.
He was a cocky, smart mouthed kid who seemed to relish in taunting the older members of the team, the founders. Donna Troy and Nightwing, Dick Grayson, always came down hard on him, though in a loving way, while Princess Koriand'r’ of Tamaran, also known as Starfire, seemed to enjoy his antics, especially when he could back it up on the battlefield.
He’d made fast friends with fellow Titans trainees Beast Boy, Cyborg and surprisingly Raven.
She’d never had friends before those three, and even now she had kept the picture taken in celebration of them becoming full fledged Titans. In it, his arm was around her shoulder, while Beast Boy made rabbit ears behind her head and Cyborg just smirked off to the side.
They made a good team, and good lovers as well, but not the best when it came to other aspects of their relationship. She’d broken it off with him a week prior to Batman’s death, and even now she carried guilt within her at the thought of somehow having contributed to his state of mind at the time.
‘You’re here to tell him you still care, even if we’re not together anymore’ she reminds herself, hating that she’d gone off on a mental tangent. “I know,” he says, sighing. “I still care about you too Rae...I...I just...I’m sorry”.
“Don’t be” she says, able to understand exactly what was going on within him. She resists the urge to reach out to him, to touch him like she used too. But just barely. “Beast Boy and Cyborg miss their...what was it? That stupid game you three played?”
“Mega Monkeys 8” he says with a slight smirk.
“Ahh...yes” she says, taking up a seat to the right of him. “They apparently miss losing. They say it's too easy to beat each other and they want a real challenge back”. Jason smirks at that but doesn’t say anything else. “And Kori is just naturally worried. She wants to fly all the way here and sing you all three hundred and eighty seven stanzas of her Tamaranian friendship song”.
“The horror” Jason whispers as a joke, which in turn forces the grey skinned woman to smirk slightly. “Donna wants to put you through a new training regiment. She seems to think it’s the best way to cheer you up and Nightwing…”.
She stops suddenly at that, which catches Jason’s attention. “Nightwing what?” he asks, his eyes hardened as he thinks over the first Robin, and his former leader in the Titans. Well, he supposed he was still technically his leader currently. He was only on temporary leave from the Titans, pending a decision on if he would return to active duty or not.
“He’s...well...he’s been very busy…”.
She hated covering for the man. She truly did, as Jason always saw right through it. “I get it. It isn’t against me it’s against Bruce” he says angrily, knowing that the former Robin’s grudge against their adoptive father hadn’t ended with the man’s death. “He wants to avoid all this. Put it all in Bruce’s grave and forget about it. Forget that he was ever weak and vulnerable and needed someone else to show him, to pick him up out of the gutter”.
Raven remains silent, letting the man rant, apparently needing to get it out.
“Whatever. I get it. He wants to go on being Nightwing, forget about all this? That’s fine. He can even put me in that pine box with Bruce too”.
“Jason, Dick would never..”.
“I wouldn’t blame him if he did. After all, I deserve it..”.
Her eyes widen at that, shock registering on her face. “Jason!” she chastises, losing some of her stereotypical cool at such a statement. The man turns to stare her down, the fire in his eyes letting her know that he fully believed in what he was saying. “Why would you even say that?” She doesn’t stop herself from touching him this time as she leans out with her hand and places it on his cheek, trying to calm the inner turmoil of his spirit.
It worked, and she feels a certain calmness radiate over him though his pain was deeply evident. “Because it’s my fault he’s dead Rae…” he says, a tear slithering down his cheek. “I...I didn’t listen. I thought I could take the Joker myself and I couldn’t...and he died because of it. Because of..”.
“Jason no” she says, fighting to reign in her own emotions at seeing someone she deeply loved, despite her inability to truly show it, in such pain. She leans out and hugs him, allowing the man to latch onto her as well while wetness settles in her neck. “It’s not your fault Jason. It’s the Joker’s” she says, trying to soothe him. “Bruce saved you because you were his son. He wouldn’t have done anything else”.
She backs up, grasping his face in her hands to look him deeply in the eyes, purple meeting blue. “It wasn’t your fault”.
He looked broken, and she despised that look. The demon within her desperately wished to find the clown, who was still at large, and rip him apart herself. But that wouldn’t bring the Batman back, nor would it honor his memory. “It wasn’t your fault”.
She repeated it to him like a mantra, hoping that like her own words she used to focus, it would center him and make him believe it. She knew that it was unlikely, but it had been worth a try regardless. She now felt awkward, holding the man’s face in her hands as she did. She felt that familiar pull, the one that told her to kiss him, and she was only just able to resist it in part thanks to the ringing of her t-phone.
She backs away and draws it out of her cloak, opening it while also pulling her hood back over her face to hide her blush. “Ohh…”.
“Trouble?” Jason asks, turning back to his soup though his sadness lingered.
“Yes” she says, standing up once more. “Plasmus is causing trouble in Jump again. I’m needed back there. I’m sor..”. He raises his hand and smiles, though it was a sad little smile. “I’m the last person you need to explain yourself to Rae. Go out there and kick some ass”. He was trying to remain positive, knowing that if she thought he was okay, even if he was anything but, that she would go out there without worry.
But he knew that she would be able to tell, she always did, and he also knew that she’d be able to do her job perfectly well without distractions. She was professional to a tee. Probably why they didn’t work. Too distant, too cold most of the time.
She nods one final time to him and summons a portal, getting ready to exit through it. “Jason...if you need us..don’t be afraid to call” she says. “You still have friends. All of us care for you, and we miss you. We hope to have you back with us soon”.
With those final words she disappears into the portal, leaving him alone in the stygian depths once more. He just chows into his soup, wolfing it down due to his hunger. Apparently, the sound of an empty bowl needing to be taken away and washed was still enough to summon Alfred, who appears in the cave almost as if he had the same powers as Raven.
“I assume that dinner was satisfactory Master Jason?”
“Thank you Alfred”.
“Would you like more?”
“No thank you Alfred”.
Silence returns to the cave, like a creeping shadow that just can’t be pushed away. There was much that needed to be said, and no way to broach it, at least none that could do so without pain. Alfred looks around, his eyes taking on a certain glassy appearance. “I miss him”.
Jason turns to look up at the butler, knowing that he was going to say what was always on his mind now. “I somehow knew…” he says, stopping to collect himself, to swallow and keep his mind focused on what he wanted to say. “I somehow knew this is how it would end. Though, I must thank you for something Master Jason..”.
“Alf..you don’t...I…”.
“You see…” the butler continues on, interrupting Jason as he knew that he needed to get this out. “I was so afraid that he’d die in an alley like his parents, two excellent people rivalled only in character by their son”.
“Unlike them though, I believed that he would die alone. Felled, not in some grand scheme of the Riddler’s or Poison Ivy, but by a random thug who would have luck on his side that night. I was afraid that he’d bleed out, alone upon cobblestone ground. That he’d cry out to me to be saved like I had numerous times before, reverting to that same little boy in the alley due to his fear”.
Alfred stops to wipe a tear away, letting loose a stuttered breath. He then smiles and nods, the tears moving down his cheeks freely, even with having just wiped one away. He grasps Jason’s shoulder and grips him firmly. “I am happy to say...he didn’t die alone”.
Jason closes his eyes, tears leaking right through them without ceasing. “He died saving someone that he cared very deeply for. Even despite his issues with Master Dick, he loved both of you as if you were his sons. There is nothing in the world he wouldn’t have done for you. And you proved, Master Jason, standing by him, even in death, that you would do the same for him”.
“Alfred...I..”.
“I’ll hear none of that nonsense you fed Miss Raven” he says curtly, cutting the man off at the pass. “Bruce was a man who lived by his own code. His own way. His death was of his own terms, even if he didn’t specifically choose the time and circumstances. I have made peace with the knowledge that...that this...crusade...it was always going to end this way for him”.
He gets a far away look in his eyes as he peers out over all of the trophies that Bruce had taken and put up on display during his years as Batman. “You had a life...well lived sir. Despite my reservations. May you find peace, and finally rest with your parents”.
His words were spoken to the young man he’d raised up, and that was who they were meant for in their entirety. “Now then...I shall take your bowl” he says, reaching out to grasp it between his fingers. “And fetch you some more”.
Jason smiles and shakes his head. “Alfred I’m fine…”.
“Poppycock. You haven’t eaten all day” he explains. “Have another serving. It won’t kill you”. He stops to look up at the screen, upon which footage of Superman’s funeral was still playing. “Ahh...another grave loss. One from which I would be sure we’d never recover if it weren’t for one key fact”.
“Which is?” Jason asks, desperate for any hope at that moment.
“Look to the others, Master Jason” he says, beginning to move up the stairs. “There is always someone to pick up where they left off”. He was sure that the butler meant the other heroes, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Fire and Ice, even Booster Gold who were all in view at that moment, the camera having panned out over all the heroes who’d assembled.
He couldn’t help but think there was another meaning there though, and he slowly turned the chair to stare at the display case in which the batsuit was. It had been repaired completely and was as good as new, waiting, as if Bruce was going to saunter in her for another night patrol at some point.
His eyes were fixed on it, as well as the thought that Alfred had left in his mind.
‘Pick up where they left off’.
The comms go off once more, flashing across the screen of the batcomputer, which prompts Jason into action. Only those with access to the Bat Family knew about this channel, so he wasn’t worried about exposing his secret identity when he answered the call. He recognizes the woman instantly. “Barbara?”
“Hello Jason..how…”.
“I’ve kinda had enough people asking me that today Barb” he says simply. The woman nods and smiles, glad that he could at least still be open with her. The former Batgirl, now turned tech guru who operated under the name Oracle, was instantly at work, pulling something up. “You’re in the cave right?” she asks.
“Duh”.
“Good, because I need your help,” she explains. “Me? Why not Dinah? Or Huntress?”
“They’re busy downtown,” she explains with a sigh. “Apparently, someone tried to break into the new STAR labs facilities to steal Superman’s rocket ship”.
“Who?” he asks, shocked that anyone would even think of trying such a thing. When the facilities in Metropolis had been destroyed during Superman and Doomsday’s fight, all the material had been relocated to Gotham, including the rocket ship and a few other items of his that had been donated by an unknown source for study.
“Condiment King”.
“Ohh god really?” Jason says, leaning back in the chair and shaking his head. “That loser?”
“Yeah well, he didn’t get far. Canary and Huntress took him down...easily” she smirks. “But the issue is they’ve gotta help clean things up. Apparently mustard is everywhere”. Jason laughs, thinking of the perfect woman to call for that problem. “Maybe put in a call to Starfi…”.
He realizes too late what he was about to say, and Barb’s face falls at the mention of her ex’s fiancee. “Barb..shit I’m…”.
She stops him and shrugs. “Hey no, it’s fine. No biggie”. She wasn’t going to freak out on him over that, especially not with all that he was going through at that moment. She herself wanted to cry most days at the idea of losing Bruce. “Alright. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got a meteor,” she explains. “Pretty big one. My calculations? It’ll touch down in Gotham Bay in about fifteen minutes”.
“Alright...well, shouldn’t your dad be the one making sure nobody is around?”
“Already on it” she says, truly being on top of her game. “But the thing is...it’s green and glowing,” she explains. That was enough to make it all clear to the Boy Wonder who didn’t exactly fit the first part of his descriptor anymore. “Ahh”.
“We really don’t need that falling into the wrong hands”.
“I see”.
“Think you can handle it?”
He knew what she was doing. Trying to get him back out there. Barbara was one of the few to really understand how it felt to lose your freedom, to lose such a huge part of yourself, and she especially knew how it felt to lose it to someone like the Joker. She couldn’t get back out there, seize back who she was, but Jason? Jason still could and she could see it in his eyes that he wanted to, or was at least thinking about it.
He turns back to the display cases, apparently mulling it over in his mind. He kept reflecting back on what Bruce had told him that day. His final words echoing in his ears.
“They need you Jason”.
“Be strong son”.
“Don't forget what this symbol means”.
He rises, looking on at the batsuit and thinking of what he should do. His eyes linger over it, remembering exactly what that symbol meant. A protector. A dark guardian. Justice. He wasn’t ready. Not for that, but as his eyes moved over to the right where his own costume was positioned, he could see that it still fit him.
“I’ll be there in twenty Barb”.
“Good”.