Dick Grayson was the first son of Bruce Wayne.
But Jason Todd, the second, was the first to die.
Jason watched as Bruce lifted his broken and bloodied body, roaring. It wasn't anger. It was the primal sound of a father who had lost his son. Bruce's knuckles were white with the effort of holding onto the bright, brash, bluntly honest boy.
He lunged for him. Bruce was hurt. Bruce was in pain. His ethereal fingers reached and strained to re-enter his body. Robin couldn't die. He wasn't supposed to, dammit!
Bruce, I'm here! Just look! Just fucking look! Jason lamented as he paced around the man. Touching and grasping him but never truly making contact.
The vigilante took an unsteady step forward, his broad shoulders shivering. Jason kept pace along with him, years of training and practice keeping up with the elder's stride ingrained in him.
They walked for hours.
Even Jason began to feel tired.
"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Bruce had once snapped at Alfred upon finding a sleeping pill in his drink, not fully dissolved.
But Jason didn't want to rest.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home. To jump back in his body, wake up and reassure the dark knight. To have Alfie gently chiding his rash behavior while tending to his wounds. But Bruce kept walking, and Jason grew slower. Eventually he loses Bruce and slips into darkness.
He woke up in a grey fog. There was a large hand holding his wrist and a smaller one carding through his raven hair.
"Wake up, dear. You're safe," A soft voice murmured.
He peeked through his lashes. Bruce's smart grey eyes, lashed with streaks of blue were staring down at him expectantly. But Bruce's face, not quite the man himself, soon loomed in his line of vision.
"Hi, son."
"Who are you?" Jason croaked. They looked so much like Bruce. But they couldn't possibly be them.
"I'm Thomas Wayne. This is my wife, Martha." He smiled.
Jason launched himself up, swaying as he put some distance between the supposed Waynes. "…What the fuck?" He hissed.
"I do hope you didn't pick that up from Bruce." Martha spoke, then sighed as Jason stayed quiet. "You've been through quite a lot and I don't blame you for being frightened. Do you need a moment to collect your-"
"Proof." Jason grunted, eyes narrowed dangerously.
Thomas chuckled, moving closer to Martha. "Just like Bruce." He hummed, unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt. He pulled the fabric to the side as Martha pulled the hem of her turtleneck up. Their skin was pink, vibrant, alive. But the wound on Thomas' left breast was gaping. His heart beat solidly, safely ensconced in his ribcage, save for the bullet wound. Martha's lower abdomen bore the same wound. Martha pulled down her shirt as Thomas began buttoning back up. The Waynes fixed their bright, intelligent gazes on the boy.
"I'm really dead, then?"
"I'm afraid so," said Thomas.
"Is Bruce…?"
"Dead? Thank heavens, no. But he's lost in his grief. Not even Dick knows how to handle him," Marth looked disturbed.
"Dick – Dick came back home?" Jason couldn't believe it. Dick, while at first, had been hostile to Jason taking up the Robin mantle, he had gone out of his way to make sure Jason was okay. That Bruce wasn't too…. Batman, with him.
"Barbara, too. I told you those Gordons were a good family, Thomas." Martha smiled as he grunted.
"That's where Bruce got it," Jason burst out, a faint smile on his face. "He grunts all the time."
"He did when he was boy, too." Thomas laughed, reaching a hand out to his grandson. "We were worried that he had a speech problem."
Jason laughed, stepping closer to the Waynes. "Well, at least he's not alone. Me, too, I guess." He mumbled as Martha pulled him into a fierce hug. She kissed the top of his head as Thomas' arms encircled the two of them.
Just as Martha was about to speak, an eerie moan rolled through the fog, making the Waynes clutch Jason tighter. He looked up, seeing a flash of fear appear in her eyes.
"What's goin-"
"We have to move. We'll talk when we find a safe place." Thomas stopped him. He let go of the embrace. Martha gripped his hand, holding his steady as Thomas placed his hand in between Jason's shoulder blades.
They began their trek through the fog, walking through the grey. Prone figures lay all around them. The figures were whimpering and grasping as if looking for water in a desert. He couldn't see much more than that, but apparently the Waynes could. They would abruptly turn left, walk that way for a while, then turn right, and back and forth so many times Jason wondered if they would wander until another bat or Robin might join them. But thankfully, as Jason's feet began aching, they stopped. He flopped to the ground, staring at his bare feet murderously.
"Where are we?" He asked as he rubbed the arches of his feet. All his scars were gone, he realized as he looked at his calf.
"You're in the inbetween, purgatory. The place between Elysium and Hades, Heaven and hell. You're here because your story isn't over, Jason Todd." Thomas hummed as he dropped to the ground beside the boy. Jason raised an eyebrow, just as confused as before.
"So, purgatory. Basically. Yikes. I'd thought at least I'd get to see the pearly gates. I figured some of my stuff as Robin made up for the street rat life," He paused, afraid the Waynes would judge him for that. But their sad expressions didn't change. Thomas placed his hand on the boy's forearm. "Why are you guys here?"
"We're here because we're stubborn. We waited too long. We wanted to make sure Bruce was okay without us." Martha joined them, stretching her legs out in front of her as she sat.
"Didn't you want to go to heaven?"
Martha smiled sadly. "Bruce was our heaven. We're waiting for him."
"That's awful sad."
"It is, at times. But Bruce, he was our pride and joy. You've met him. He's not the same boy we left, but as you know all the money in the world doesn't mean a thing if you don't have a family to share it with." Martha fixed her eyes as Jason groaned.
"Money does mean the world," he murmured, staring at his legs. "It could'a solved a lot of my problems. A lot of my mom and dad's problems. It didn't stop me from dying."
The Waynes were quiet at that.
"No, you're right. But family isn't always the one you were born into." Thomas spoke up. "We were lucky enough to be there for the start of Bruce's life. But Alfred holds the honor of having raised him. By all rights, Alfred is Bruce's father. Of course, Alfie will deny it till he's blue in the face, but he is. Bruce became Dick's father the moment he let him. He became your father the moment you let him. You and Dick, you're more than we could have ever hoped for. Bruce needs people in his life who challenge him, who make him realize how childish he is at times. You do that, Jason. That is what children do."
"He seemed mad at me most of the time."
"Bruce has temperament issues," Martha conceded. "I think it was all that training that made it worse. But we've spent some time in the manor, especially when you first showed up. He doted on you. He knew your past and wanted to be your future. Not once did you ever truly fail him. Not even in death."
Jason frowned at that. He scooted around to face the Wayne's, his expression pinched. The ultimate failure was death. There was no coming back from that. He had died as Robin, therefore, Robin had died. Robin just couldn't appear in Gotham, especially not if the Joker had killed him. The clown was probably yakking it up in Arkham right now, bragging about killing the Boy Wonder. Hell, Jason could feel Bruce's disapproving scowl as he thought about it.
"Rest, Jason. You're tired. We'll watch you, then when you wake we'll consider seeing if we can arrange a visit home for you." Thomas spoke as he rose to his feet. Martha patted her lap, and Jason laid down, placing his head against her thighs. "You need sleep. Doctor's orders." Thomas winked as Martha let out a tiny sigh.
Jason smiled at their banter, falling asleep once more.
When he came to, he was on the manor grounds. Jason had never been more relieved to wake up from a bad dream in his life before. Thomas and Martha's mausoleum rose above him, seeming to blot out the sun. He placed his hand on the stone building.
"Thank you," Jason whispered right before Bruce walked through him. "What the- Bruce! Come on man. Does personal space mean nothing to you?" He barked, but Bruce simply pressed the key into the lock and stalked inside. Jason felt his brow furrowing in a good imitation of the suddenly manner-less man and followed him in.
"We buried Jason five months ago. I know. I let you two down. I promised myself I wouldn't let another person of our family die… but I failed. I failed you. I failed Jason. I can't imagine a way that my life ends without me in the costume. Jason… he was the opposite of Dick. I think that was my problem? You know? Believing that I could somehow teach Jay to be Dick. I should have recognized him for the potential he had. He was brash, sure."
Jason walked around Bruce. He looked bad. Dark circles surrounded his steel blue eyes. His shoulders were hunched like he was still carrying Jason's body. There was a blossom of bruises visible, reaching up from the collar of his shirt. Slowly, Jason reached a hand out and watched with horror as it passed through his mentor.
"Brash, but god almighty, was that boy smart. He noticed things that Dick would have never noticed. That I never noticed. I just wanted him to be happy. That's why I went with him to Africa. If he could have a chance at finding his family again, who was I to deny him that? His father… his father was shit. Fucking asshole. Did I tell you he used to beat him? He did. I wanted to show Jason the love that you and Alfred showed me. But I failed him," Bruce sighed, pressing his head against his father's resting place. "I won't take another Robin. I won't put that mantle onto another innocent soul. I'll go back to working solo. It'll be better that way. There's still Dick. I know I can count on him. He won't… He won't leave me…" Bruce trailed off, his eyes drifting to his mother.
Two other forms appeared on Bruce's left and right, their faces sad. Martha ran her fingers through her son's hair while Thomas watched Jason. The boy finally noticed the unbroken string of pearls adorning Martha's neck. She wore a dress, but he couldn't be sure of the color. Everything that wasn't living in this mausoleum was ethereally blue, shimmering. Thomas was equally dressed to the nines in a smart suit, with a pocket square peeking out from his breast pocket. The two figures moved from their son to their grandson, leading him out of the tomb.
"He'll be there for a while. Come, Jason," Martha whispered, leading the way through the entrance. Bruce's voice spoke up again, but Jason couldn't hear him. They drifted through the cemetery, chatting idly about the Waynes long since dead that currently resided there. As they turned back towards the mausoleum, Bruce finally stepped out. He walked a few yards to a new stone Jason didn't recognize.
"Jason," Bruce whispered, a few tears dropping onto the freshly laid grass. "I miss you, son."
"I miss you too, Bruce. I never said this enough but – thank you. Thank you for saving me from my dad. From the street. For giving me a chance even after I tried stealing your tires," Jason laughed sadly. "You gave me a purpose."
"Do you feel that?" Thomas spoke from beside him.
"Feel what?"
"Sometimes, you can talk to the living, albeit in odd ways. It only happens when you're near your body. It's spiritual mumbo-jumbo. Go, stand closer to your grave. Sometimes you can control the wind, or bugs. We're still not sure how it works but we know it works when you're close to yourself."
Jason shuffled closer, then closed his eyes. This was his grave, his grace. He reached down, pushing the layers of dirt and grass away. It's a beautiful wood coffin, and he pushes through it. Slowly, Jason opened his eyes.
There was no connection.
"What?" He whispered, touching his face. It looked like him. But somehow it wasn't. Jason pulled down the collar of the suit he was in and yelped. The mole that had been on his collarbone as long as he could remember was gone. His scars were gone. Everything was gone. Jason shot to the surface, shivering violently.
"That isn't me."