Injustice of Living
Prologue

Prologue: A Funeral

It was a really cliché funeral, if you ask me.

Typical stormy Gotham weather, a silent rain, no sun, a slight chill reminded me that winter was near.

His grave was turning to mud before my eyes.

There weren't many people here, but that didn't surprise me. Jace only knew so many people, and only the most important of which decided to show.

Bruce Wayne was there, obviously. He was quite handsome, I bothered to note, more handsome than I'd seen him in pictures or on T.V. I suppose he'd probably be more attractive if he wasn't wearing that stone cold expression of self-loathing and regret.

There was only one other girl there. She was quite pretty, with bright red hair and green eyes like mine. She sat in a wheelchair, which was being pushed by who I assumed was her father (they had the same eyes and jaw line, from what I could see). The girl and her father looked solemn and sad, but not very mournful. I was trying to guess who the two were; seeing if Jason had ever spoke of them around me, but my memory came up blank.

Lastly, the only other besides me was a much older man. He stood with perfect posture in a perfectly pressed suit. The man was balding, but still had a mustache. My guess was that this was Alfred, the caretaker of Wayne Manor. Jason had always spoke of this man with a fond sarcasm, so I assumed he must have meant a lot to him. Alfred himself showed the most emotion out of the bunch (Bruce was too stoic, while the wheelchair girl and her father just didn't seem sad enough). Tears filled his eyes, but never spilled, and his mustache would twitch as he sniffled. My own lips pursed and quivered when I saw the old man's expression.

To distract myself, I glanced around the cemetery. As the Priest read the word of the Bible, I read the names on headstones.

'Jones... McGovern... Tompson...'

I imagined I looked uneasy. I couldn't stop moving my feet, letting the squishy, wet grass squeak beneath my shoes. My hands never left the pockets of my jacket. I've never been to a nice funeral like this before, so I didn't really know what to wear. Eventually, after a whole hour of searching through my closet, I settled to thinking I should wear what Jason wanted me to wear. But, lingerie was probably not that appropriate. So instead, I wore what made me comfortable, a simple white tee shirt, black jacket with a hood, and my nicest pair of jeans. Of course this was all topped off with my signature pair of red sneakers. Jason always commented on them whenever I wore them.

Glancing around at the others, I noticed that I was still terribly under-dressed...

"...Lift us from anxiety and guilt..." The Priest's words were just background noise to the overwhelming sadness in the air.

I tried to look on the bright side of things. The bright side of a funeral. Jace had always told me, mostly out of bitterness, that no one would show up to his funeral. That no one would be sad or would have cared. But, here I was with four other people, mourning over his casket. He was being buried next to his mother, ironically enough. Most of our conversations had consisted of us complaining about how much we hated our mothers.

But, he was lucky enough to discover that the woman who had "cared" for him in his early years, was not actually related to him.


"Maddy! Maddy, wake up!," he was shaking my shoulders.

My eyes flew open from being suddenly pulled from my comfortable sleep. It was late, and he had burst through my bedroom window. At first, I was frantically confused, wondering what could be so important that Jason had woken me up in the middle of the night. Not to mention, also quite startled.

I sat up, and almost immediately, he collapsed seated next to me on the bed, blurting out incomprehensible words through held back tears. "My mom wasn't my mom."

Thinking back now, I realized how bravely he took the news. If it had been me, I can't say how I would've reacted. But, then again, Jason's relationship with the woman who raised him was a lot better than mine, even though it was still far from perfect.

"Wasn't your mom...?" I mumbled into my hand as I rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes. "Catherine? What-? Wait, then who is...?"

He slumped, resting his arms across his legs, chin touching his chest. Finally awake enough to sort of comprehend the situation, I stroked the back of his head in a comforting manner, brushing the black hair that fell into his face.

"Some woman named Sheila..."

"How did you find out…?" I wrapped my arms around his shoulders lazily. I used his shoulder as a pillow, closing my eyes, but leaving my ears attentive.

"I checked the state records… Ran a DNA test out of the Cave."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"...Are you gonna go and find her?" the answer scared me a bit.

He finally looked up to me. Even in the perpetual darkness, I could still see how red his eyes were. But, he didn't cry.

"Of course!"

There was a new-found determination in his voice... A type of optimism that I was not used to associating with him. Normally, he was the cool, sarcastic, suave rebel-boy. Not the emotionally-drained, tear-suppressing, little kid beside me.

Even though I knew I should have been prying more, been more concerned, being more supportive and stuff, I was dead tired.

"How?" I asked through a yawn. A spike of disappointment settled in my stomach.

He leaned back, finally regaining his composure. "I'll track her down. Leave Gotham and go look for her. As soon as possible," his eyes shone brightly through the darkness.

I glanced over at the clock. It read 3:48 AM. I groaned.

It's too damn early to deal with this shit. Too early for Jason to leave.

"Can you at least wait until morning...?" I muttered grumpily, flopping back onto my pillows, pulling my blankets up to my chin. I wanted him to stay with me.

I heard him laugh quietly. He was laughing at me. It was his typical Jason chuckle, low and husky with a sort of superior tone. Had I been more awake, I might have laughed with him, or at least made a face. Still, I blame my ease of the situation on my exhaustion.

"Okay..." he whispered, not leaving his seat. He decided to do quite the opposite, and removed his shoes, lying down beside me on the narrow mattress, jeans and jacket still on.

I cracked open one eye to look at his face one more time. It wasn't the first time we've shared a bed, so I allowed it this night. He smiled back to me, leaning forward only a few inches to kiss my forehead in a sweet, very un-Jason like manner.

"Thanks, Maddy," I heard him whisper as I faded off into a deep sleep.


That was the last time I saw Jason in person... during that meager exchange of words. He left a note in the morning, then I got a phone call about a week later, saying he was in Ethiopia- of all places!- and had found his mother. The reception wasn't very good, so our conversation only lasted a few minutes. Luckily, I was smart enough to tell him that I missed him, that I was happy for him, and that I was waiting for him to come home.

I never regretted that phone call. Perhaps that was why I was so relaxed right now...

"...And set the glory of your love before us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," we all echoed, disenchanted and somber.

One by one, the spectators dispersed. The Priest was the first to go, leaving quickly through the gates. A good few minutes passed before the man and his daughter left. The man went ahead, while the girl in the wheelchair slugged behind him, head faced downwards.

I stayed, wanting to get in my last words with Jason.

The old man, Alfred, left next. Before exiting, he put a gentle squeeze to Bruce's shoulder, whispering something to him that I couldn't hear. As he walked away, he stopped in front of me, who had been standing like an outsider, on the edge of the whole thing. Alfred gave me a kind, warm smile, dipping his head politely. I couldn't return the warmness of his smile, and could only manage a grimace as I nodded back. That seemed to be enough and he walked past me at a slow pace.

By the looks of it, Bruce had no intention of leaving anytime soon. I couldn't tell what was going through his mind exactly, but the pain in his eyes told me enough.

With only a slight reluctance, I stalked away from the graves, now choosing to take a stroll around the cemetery and give Bruce some time alone.

As I walked, I continued my little game of reading tombstones.

'Samantha Regalson: Loving Mother and Wife.'

Jason's mom, Sheila, was being buried today, too. Next to her son... It's sort of sad, though. No one had shown up for her, we were all here for Jace. Did she even know about Jace? How did she react when he found her? ...And how did they end up dying together?

I had learned of Jason's death from the papers. He and his mom got a pathetic little footnote in the corners of the Obituaries. "Gotham boy and mother die in terrorist bombing," it had read. There was a bit of information about Jason, but not enough to gain public interest.

There's a black blur in my memory of my reaction to the news. I remember thinking that it wasn't real. It must have been Jason playing one of his sick jokes again...

My memories only become clear two days later, when I received an invitation to his funeral from Bruce Wayne. It hadn't been a joke...

It sort of hit me then... My best friend was dead. And he wasn't gonna come back...

Tears began to numbly pour from my eyes, thick and heavy. I closed my eyes tightly, grabbing the bridge of my nose. In a weak attempt to stop the tears, I threw my head back and started blinking furiously. In my efforts, my hood fell from my head, letting my short, chestnut hair spring free to fall about my face.

I brought my head back up, now that the liquid had stopped pouring. Honestly, the whole situation was a bit laughable.

'Jason would totally rail on me for crying...' I thought with a bitter laugh. He was never one for sympathy, was he?

'...Smith...Johnson... Virmir...'

I continued to read the names as my feet numbly drug me through the cemetery. I could have been hours, it could have been minutes, but I soon enough found myself back at Jason's grave.

Bruce was still there. His back was turned to Jason's casket. I was close enough to catch his final words, "...Could have protected you..."

Something in his voice unsettled me. "Mr. Wayne?" I called, walking meekly towards the man. One of my hands had grabbed the opposite elbow (a nervous habit of mine), and held my arm closely to my side, as if preventing it from striking out.

Bruce turned to me, his face stony as ever. "Ah, Miss. Sanders."

"Call me Maddy..." I couldn't look him in the eye.

"I have something for you," his voice reminded me of stepping on gravel.

His large hand appeared in my vision, holding what looked to be a scrap of black cloth or a ribbon. Gingerly, I took the scrap from him, surprised to find that it held a stiffness to it. I laid it across my palms, seeing that it formed the shape of two diamonds. It was ripped and torn, but I could still tell what it was.

"Jason, he... he told me you knew." There was no shock nor an accusatory tone to his voice. He was speaking in a very blasé way.

Finally, I gathered enough courage to look Bruce in the eyes. "I'm sorry..."

I don't know exactly what I was apologizing for... Whether it was because I knew Jason and Bruce's secret, or whether it was just the fact that Batman had lost his Robin. Maybe it could have been something completely different.

"It's fine. He trusted you... And so will I."

The tears were back, full force.

Bruce's eyes slowly coated with sympathy. He took my hands in his, and closed my fingers around the mask in my palms.

"Just take care of it... Maddy."

I nodded to the man in front of me, feeling nothing but respect and empathy for him.

My body shook with sobs. I found it physically difficult to speak when I said, "T-thank y-ou."

I heard him brush past me. His footsteps faded, and so did my sobbing. Though still tearful, I was composed enough to take those few steps forward to Jason's coffin.

I shoved the mask in my jacket pocket, and dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged. The rain had stopped, but the grass was still soaking, and I could feel the cold water seeping into my jeans, undoubtedly drenching them. I really couldn't even care less at this point.

"Well..." I sniffled, eyes to the ground, "I'm here, Jace."

My mind reeled. What was I supposed to say? What had I left unsaid?

Honestly... there wasn't much. Both Jason and I lived in a way that wouldn't allow us to have regrets. We always said what we wanted to, and promised never to hold anything back.

"I love you, Jace," I finally spat out. I've may have told him that a hundred times, but it was something that could never be said enough. "I really do... I'm gonna miss you, you know." My green eyed stare lifted. I focused on the array of flowers on top of the coffin. "I don't have anyone else now... Just like the old days, I'm alone again... No one is ever gonna replace you, though. You know that, Jason." With the heel of my palm, I viciously wiped away my tears. "It's gonna be tough... But at least you're better off. I'll make it work, you know..."

I paused, allowing my silence to hang in the air for a minute or two.

I needed to take a deep breath before continuing, "I'm gonna miss hanging out with you... You'd always come over at night, after you were done fighting crime or whatever... I never got much sleep. I was always late for work the days you came over... That's why the manager fired me. But, you know," I chuckled at this part, "When it came down to it, I'd rather be broke and homeless and hanging out with you than have a boring job."

Looking down again, I pulled my knees to my chest, and buried my face in my arms, "I'm gonna miss you, Jace."


This chapter is an updated/edited version of the original. Thanks for reading!