Four days. Ninety-six hours. It's been four whole days since I last saw Jason. Four days since I heard his voice. Four days since he gave me that smirk of his. Four days since I touched him. Four days since he died.
The first day, I saw the message obviously left by the Joker for me, for Batman. He said he would see me at forty-second and first. I flew home, bringing back Jason's body as well as his mother's. I had their funeral. Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, his daughter Barbara and myself, we were the only attendees aside from the minister Alfred asked to come. Then I left for New York, for forty-second and first. I saw Superman. I argued with Superman, but I wasn't really paying attention. I was trying to figure out what was going on, why he was there. I hit him. I knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that it wouldn't actually hurt Clark, but I wasn't consciously thinking it. I don't know that I would have cared at that moment. Then I saw the Joker and I almost lost it right then and there. I wanted to tackle him, beat his head against the pavement, crack his skull in, punch out his teeth, claw out his eyes—I wanted to kill him. If Superman hadn't been there, I probably would have.
The second day, I attended the United Nations session. I listened to the Joker make his mediocre speech. I fantasized all the different ways that I could kill him. I didn't care that it was revenge I was thinking of, not justice. To me, at that time, there was no distinction. The two were one and he would deserve everything that he got. He unloaded his gas on the crowd. Superman handled that easily, and left him to me. I was grateful for that, and entirely ready to pound his face in. He set off a bomb. I focused on him instead of the people caught in the blast. I let security handle that, going after the Joker myself. He got away, either dead—probably not—or on his way to Mexico or Europe.
I spent the third day searching for his body. I left at dawn and came home at dusk. I went straight to bed after that, brushing off Alfred's attempts to feed me.
Today is the fourth day. I'm still in bed. I'm rather hungry, and still tired. I wonder why. It's probably not physical, I realize, and growl lowly. This is worse than my parents' deaths. This is actually my fault. I left him alone when I should have sent him away. Even though I thought he would have refused to leave his mother, I should have tried. But I didn't. I should have stayed with him, making sure that he would be alright, that he would stay where he was. Why didn't he listen to me?!
I feel tears spring to my eyes and a blink them away. I don't have time to spend crying, no matter how I feel. I have a job to do. But first...
I reach over and pick up the phone on the nightstand. I punch in the number I've never dialed before yet I know by heart. It rings for a while before a young man answers it.
"Hello?" he says. I wonder what I should say. Should I say hello, or jump straight into it? Should I say that I'm Bruce or Batman? Should I ask for Dick or for Robin? "Hello? Anybody there?"
"This is Batman. Is Robin there?" I ask. There is a pause.
"You just missed him, he left to get lunch about five minutes ago. I can have him call you—" I cut him off.
"No," I tell him. That came out harsher than I had intended. I try again. "No, thank you. I'll try again later." I hang up, not waiting for him to answer. I know that I won't call later. I know that he won't call me even if his friend does tell him that I called. He doesn't want to talk to me. He doesn't want to see me. He told me so, before he left. He wants me to stay out of his life.
I bury my face in my hands and rest my elbows on my knees. I've lost two sons, two friends, two Robins. I drove the first away with my cold, overbearing nature and lost the other because of my overconfidence and stupidity. Why did I even bother trying to get in touch with Dick? He specifically said that he doesn't want to talk to me. Ever. He's grown up enough to decide these things. I should respect his wishes.
There is a sharp rap on my door, characteristic of Alfred. His voice floats through the thick wood. "Master Bruce, it's nearly noon. I thought I should wake you."
"I'm up, Alfred. Thank you," I say, my position muffling my voice.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
I don't know, Alfred. I think.
"I'm just fine," I call, looking up so that my voice sounds normal. "I'll be out for an early dinner."
There is a pause, then he says, sounding hesitant, "Very good, sir. You don't want any lunch? You didn't eat last night." He's worried, I can tell.
"No," I say. "I'm just... I'll be out later."
"Don't sleep the day away, Master Bruce," he says, though we both know that I'm not going to be sleeping. He leaves.
I spend the next few hours deep in self-deprecating thought. How stupid I was, I should have been better, this is all my fault, I'm such a fool.
Around four the phone rings. I ignore it. A few minutes later Alfred is knocking on my door.
"Telephone, sir," he says. I groan.
"Tell them I'll call them back," I answer wearily. I'm not in a chatting mood right now. In fact, if it's business, I would probably bite their head off. If it's a reporter, well... let's not even go there right now.
"It's Master Dick," he says. Now there's a surprise. I pick up the phone.
"I've got it, Alfred, thank you," I tell him. He hangs up and I take a deep breath before saying anything.
"Hello?" My voice sounds relatively normal. Good.
"Bruce." Dick's voice is familiar, yet different. It's deeper now than it was the last time we spoke—argued, I think, but force the thought away—and I can only imagine how he looks now. I haven't been keeping up with the Titans in the news. I make a note to look into it. "I heard you called."
"Yes," I say. If I know him at all, I think he'll ask why next.
"Why?" It's good to know some things haven't changed. "What?" Damn, I was speaking out loud.
"Nothing," I say quickly. Too quickly, in fact, but he lets it go. I appreciate it. "I just... wanted to talk to you." There are so many things that I want to say to him. I miss you. I need you, son, come home to me. By the way, how are you? Jason is dead. It's my fault. You should come for Christmas, bring your friends, the rest of your team. I'd like to meet them. The Joker killed him. He's dead, Dick, he's dead. I've heard about them, but I've never met them.
"Talk to me about what?" he asks, sounding puzzled and slightly suspicious. He probably thinks I would only call him to tell him something important. Well, that's only half-true.
"Jason died."
I don't know what I planned to say, but that certainly wasn't it.
Dick is silent for a long time, almost three minutes, before he says, "How? What happened?" He sounds sad. I remember that he met Jason once, through Superman.
"The Joker," I say. "There was a bomb. I had to be somewhere else. I told him to wait. He didn't." Again, there is silence. I wonder what he's thinking.
"I'm sorry," he says, and I know he means it. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand to keep the tears at bay. Don't cry. Can't cry. Won't cry... "He was a nice kid." I grin suddenly at that. Dick calling Jason a kid... They were only a few years apart in age, and Jason was older than Dick had been when I took him on as Robin. Much older.
"Yes, he was," I agree. Damn it. My voice came out choked. I think I'm going to cry. Damn it.
"How... are you okay?" he asks quietly. I can tell he tried to keep his voice neutral, but I can hear the concern. I feel a little better.
"I'll be fine," I tell him, both answering and avoiding the question. He doesn't push it.
"Do you... should I..." He struggles to form a sentence. I know what he's trying to say, but I don't interrupt. I remember that he doesn't like it when I interrupt him, even when he's fighting to get his thoughts out. "I could take some time off."
I shake my head, then remember that he can't see me. I feel stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. "No. You have a team to lead. I'll be fine."
"If you need me..."
"I'll call," I promise him. We both know I won't, but for now, it's enough. I hear a siren in the background.
"I have to go. Big robbery," he says. "I'll call you." We both know he won't, but it makes us both feel better.
"Alright," I answer. "Go play hero." He chuckles and hangs up. I listen to the dial tone for a minute before hanging up.
That was less awkward than I thought it would be. Maybe he's gotten over our fight. If he's gotten over it, why hasn't he come home yet? Another thought strikes me, almost literally. It's painful to think, but... Maybe this isn't home to him anymore.
The dam bursts, and I lay back against the pillows, press my hands to my face and cry silently.
Images flash one after another through my mind. Dick, crying over his parents. Jason, stealing my tires. Dick, landing his first punch on me during a sparring practice. Jason, sitting on the couch laughing over one of his TV shows while I sit near him and pretend that I'm not watching him. Dick, fighting with me. Jason, dead in my arms.
They come one by one, faster and faster until they blend together and I can barely tell who is who anymore. I surrender to it.
When I stop, I don't know how long it's been. It's starting to get dark. I'm not hungry any more. Alfred comes in, completely forgetting to knock. It's urgent, then.
"The signal," he says simply, and I nod. I'm needed. Batman is needed. I get up and hurry down the cave. I dress quickly, and swallow past the lump in my throat that appears when I see Jason's extra uniforms. I don't have time to grieve.
I get into the Batmobile and silently hope that it's the Joker. Though I know revenge is wrong and often impedes justice, I think he deserves it.
I speed away from the manor, trying hard not to think about the last time I did this, when I was with Robin.
Robin is gone, but the world can't know. Robin is gone. Dead.
I make a promise to myself: from this day forward, I will not subject anyone else to the dangers of this business. Batman will work alone.
Author's Note: Hope you liked it. My first Batman thing. : D I made a slight change, where Batman hasn't met the Titans. I did that because I want to. Artistic license, man! xP Just doing a little experimenting with Bruce's character. Kinda wanted to put a grieving-father spin on it.