So... The base of this particular piece appeared in my mind a few months back, yet I have just rediscovered it in my book of plot bunnies and potential one-shots. I realize that the characters may be a bit OOC, but I hope they aren't too bad. Enough rambling, and on with the show:
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, nor will I ever. Just another writer building i the sandbox of DC Comics.
Warnings: Contains character death, language and general violence
Jason perched on a rooftop, his legs dangling over the edge. The smoke from his cigarette forming wisps, coiling as they ascended. His hand rested on the hard metal of his helmet laying beside him. From his perch, he could hear the sounds of traffic, the sound of cars flowing together to make something resembling the rushing water of a river.
He wondered idly what it would be like to live in a rural area, where nights are peaceful, lulling those around to sleep with the gentle sounds of nature. He never did go camping with Bruce, the billionaire preferring to stay soundly in his own domain. Sure, he had been on various missions in the forest, but it wasn't the same. He could never simply forget his mission and fully enjoy the peace.
But Jason's live never had much peace to begin with, so he didn't know what he was missing. The city lights shone brightly, and he could almost imagine them to be stars in the sky. He enjoyed his little fantasy world, away from the harsh and cold of Gotham. There was no pain, only the sound of rushing water and the stars to keep company.
This faux peace was sharply disturbed as three gunshots rang out in quick succession. Jason tossed his cigarette over the side of the building, dearly hoping there wasn't anything extremely flammable below. He slid his helmet over his head and shot his grapple line out, heading towards the sound of the noise.
He saw four thugs, all heavily armed and ready to fight. He acted. More gunshots disturbed the silence, one of the thugs falling to the concrete, a bullet in his head. The next two soon followed, collapsing in rapid forming pools of their own blood. The last one had some sense, and ran like hell away from the trigger-happy anti-hero.
Looking to his left, the sight before him started to crack his composure. Red Robin lay curled in a fetal position, his black hair matted with blood.
"Shit," Jason swore, taking off his helmet and etting it fall to the ground. "Red Robin."
This got a pained groan in reply, and his head lifted slightly. "R-Red," he said quietly.
"C'mon, Babybird, don't go dying. Nobody needs that right now," Jason said rather quickly, kneeling beside him. He rolled the younger body over a bit, assessing his injuries. There was so much blood... He spotted the three bullet wounds, two in his stomach and one to his chest. Jason let out a quiet stream on curses, carefully peeling the mask off. Tim's eyes were clenched shut, tears rolling down the sides of his face. When he opened them, they fixated on Jason.
"S-sorry," He hissed through the pain. Jason shook his head.
"Don't be. You'll be alright, just wait. Bruce will be here soon, he'll save you," He wasn't quite sure who he was trying to convince, Tim, or himself. Either way, Tim shook his head a fraction of an inch, giving a weak smile.
"Thank you," he said before coughing violently, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. Jason slipped one arm under his shoulders, propping the wounded vigilante up beside him, Tim's head resting on the shoulder of his leather jacket, his eyes closing.
Jason was unsure of what to do with the dying brother beside him, of how to put him at peace. Instead he unwillingly recalled one of his earlier memories.
A younger Jason, about four or five was playing outside his house in the nearby alley, throwing rocks at a pyramid of old beer bottles, like the carnival game. Jason had never been to a carnival, but had heard all about it from one of his friends.
With a satisfying shatter of glass, the stone hit the center bottle dead-on. Jason gave a triumphant shout of success, grinning. He walked over to them, but tripped on his untied shoelace, right into the pile of broken glass. He gave a short yelp as the glass tore open his skin, a tear escaping.
"Jason?" He looked up to see his mother standing behind him, having came out after the bottles smashed. "Let's see those cuts of yours," she prompted, picking him up and carrying him inside. After setting him down on the couch, she inspected his wounds. She retrieved some bandages and alcohol from the bathroom and instructed him to hold out his arm where the injury was. Obliging, he watched her pick up the bottle of alcohol and shut his eyes, as he knew that it stung.
"There," she said after placing a band-aid on his arm. "All better."
Jason continued to cry silently after, feeling the persistent sting of the wounds. His mother took him in her arms, holding him tight. "Shh," she said, comforting him. "Hush little baby, don't say a word,"
That had been before she started to constantly take drugs. A happier time in his life. Holding the very person he had tried to kill on many occasions, he instead began to hum the tune of the lullaby his mother used to sing when he was young. He had long since forgotten the words, but the simple melody seemed to calm Tim as he slowly slipped away. By the time he had finished, the body was cold and limp in his arms. Yet he refused to let it fall back to the ground, soiled with blood.
He sensed someone behind him and turned to see the looming shadow of Batman.
"You're too late," Jason said, his voice strangely dry. "You're too late for him. Just like you were me."
Batman bowed his head, remaining silent. Jason did not feel the usual anger boil when seeing him. Instead he felt only grief. He picked Tim's body up, placing him in Batman's arms.
"Goodbye,"