A/N: The ages are based on the comics, adjusting for reboots and general agelessness of comic book characters. Tim is 13, Jason is 15, and Dick is 19. Jason became Robin when he was 13, just after Bruce fired Dick and he ran away at 17.
Prologue: Rebirthing
I lie here paralytic
Inside this soul
Screaming for you 'til my throat is numb
I wannabreak outI need a way out
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way
The worst is the waiting
In this womb I'm suffocating
-Rebirthing by Skillet
Tim has been here every night since Jason was buried. The perfectly manicured grass is cold. It will probably be covered in frost by morning. Kneeling at the graveside with a hand on the granite gravestone, Tim shivers and it has nothing to do with the chill night breeze. It's been one month.
One month since Jason died
He has seen Bruce here twice, but it was day then. Tim wonders if Batman is afraid to come here when it's dark. But that's stupid. Batman isn't afraid of anything. But still… Bruce should be here. There should be flowers. The old ones are gone. It's not fair. But he can't risk Bruce knowing he was here, so he doesn't have any flowers to lay on the grave, either. Nothing to show that the second Robin is remembered.
That he is loved. It's not fair.
Tim stills, listening hard. He could swear he heard a faint cry for help in the distance. A... a scream. But Wayne Manor's grounds are deserted. Besides he can't help whoever it is. Tim knows he's a genius. He has taken a bunch of tests that prove it. But he's only thirteen. Only Robin was here. Or Batman. If only Batmanwas here. He hears a scream again, louder this time, but it's muffled. Almost like… A cold terror shoots down his spine as he realizes the screams aren't being carried by the wind but is instead is coming from underneath him. He bends down and put his ear to the ground, almost certain he's imagining things.
"Bruce!"
He almost runs. Almost. It would be the smart thing to do, but it's not what Robin would do. And Tim is always tried to do what Robin would do. So he starts digging, his fingers sinking into the soft earth and pulling it out in clumps.
"Help! Bruce!"
There is knocking, scraping, coming from below him and Tim realizes Jason is really down there, alive. Alive! And... trying to get out. Like a zombie. Oh god, he's going to suffocate! He tears at the earth but it's not fast enough. The fingernail on his middle finger rips off and he cries out in pain. He sits up looking around, hands still moving earth as fast as they can, and he spots the caretaker's shed not too far off. Shovel!
It takes longer than he thought to get to the shed, smash lock with a brick, grab a shovel, and get back. His heart is racing as he starts in on the grave again. His arms are burning and he's panting for breath but he knows Jason needs air more than he does. He has to keep going! Ten minutes later he has cleared a circle over two feet wide and four feet deep. He knows it is not nearly big enough for a coffin but he doesn't have the strength to make it any larger. The screams stopped Two minutes ago. He has to keep digging.
He has to.
Five minutes more and the shovel hits something the makes a dull thump. A surge of hope shoots into him. He redoubles his efforts, digging, clearing the soil, his arms and shoulders on fire, even as his feet sink with the dirt moving beneath him. A sudden tug of gravity, and Tim falls with the earth as the grave seems to open up beneath him, a pair of hands suddenly there, issuing forth from the ground, caked in dirt. Tim struggles to get his footing on the loose earth, to not step on the collapsed coffin beneath him, and he grasps the hands, pulling.
"I've got you!" he yells, "Just hold on, I've got you."
It takes longer than he expected to remove the pieces of splintered coffin wood out of the way. The more pieces he removes the more the soil attempts to fill the hole back in again taking both of them with it. He can see Jason's face now, dark hair and pale skin, features obscured in the semi-darkness and covered in dirt.
"Bruce," he whimpers.
"He's not here," Tim says, helping Jason up, pulling him through the small hole he has made.
When they're both out of the grave Tim slumps down next to Jason on the grass, both of them gasping in the cool air. He can't take his eyes off the other boy. Jason's burial tuxedo is ripped and filthy, his face streaked with dirt. He looks... Completely fine. Like he did before he died. Before the Joker got to him.
Taking one of Jason's hands in his gently, he murmurs, "It's okay, everything is going to be just fine."
"Bruce..."
"Don't worry, I'll call him," Tim nods, his heart in his throat. Oh, that's gonna be a fun conversation.
Standing, he pulls Jason to his feet and slowly they make their way across the grounds. Tim sighs in relief when they reach the lit driveway near the house. Jason has been disturbingly silent the entire way. And that's when he sees the older boy's hands. The skin is cut open, his fingers swollen, broken nails torn and bloody. Jason had to claw his way out of his own coffin. Tim doesn't know he would have the strength to do that, if it had been him. They walk up the front steps; Jason lifts his head up, seeming more aware now that he was in more familiar surroundings. Tim takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. It seems like an eternity before the doors opened by an elderly butler.
"Hi Alfred," Jason mutters, smiling at the man. Alfred's face goes white.
"M-Master Jason?"
"Yes," Tim jumps in "I just helped dig him out."
He holds up his dirty hands as proof. The Butler looks as if he's going to say something but then he shakes his head and taking both boys by the shoulder, leads him into the kitchen.