Bruce visited the cemetery as little as possible, but somehow, that was still much too often.
He tried not to think about why he was there this time. He tried to focus on the sky, dark gray, as Gotham skies always were. He tried to focus on the biting wind. Pain. That was easier. He tried not to focus on the small grey headstone looming in the distance, getting closer with every step.
The existence of that small grey headstone was his greatest failure, and one of his greatest torments. A boy laid underneath that headstone because Bruce wasn't fast enough, he didn't help enough, wasn't there enough. A boy who struggled all his life, just to die alone.
Bruce took a steadying breath and walked the last few hundred feet to face the boy who died.
Just a few feet short, he stopped. This isn't right, he thought.
Jason's grave had most definitely been disturbed. Bruce swallowed his rage to assess the damage. There wasn't much damage. Just a small area, maybe four or five square feet of dirt that had been exposed sometime in the past few months. The center of the disturbance was caved in, with small mounds of dirt on either side. It had obviously been run over by whatever mowed the lawn, but not more than once. It had gotten cold. Grass wasn't growing this time of year. So, this happened sometime in October, Bruce guessed. Two months of his adopted son's death being disturbed. And he didn't even notice.
Bruce's fists, wrapped in expensive leather gloves, clenched. His thoughts scrambled.
How dare they… My son…
And so Bruce did the only thing one can do when in need of answers.
He called his family.
Alfred, as always, picked up a few moments after the first ring.
His stately tone was a calming relief to Bruce and his anger. "How may I help you, Master Bruce?"
"Someone has disturbed Jason's grave. Call Barbara."
Alfred blinked in response, his only sign of shock, and replied "I am sure that no one has gotten to him. None of the alarms have been triggered. Don't worry yourself too much, we'll have this all sorted out soon enough."
Bruce sighed. He closed his eyes, regaining his composure.
"Thanks, Alfred."
"Always, sir."
The phone clicked as he replaced it on the stand.
Alfred was somewhat accustomed to the life of his makeshift family. They fought, they got injured, but death was rare. The death of the boy who always tried to push the line, but was somehow always afraid of being alone, held a soft spot in his heart. He thought of the empty bedroom upstairs, sitting untouched for over two years. He still dusted, sometimes, simply because no one else would go in there, if not for him.
Yes, maybe his memories had been clouded by the boy's death, but Alfred still remembered how he yelled and screamed and tried to find justice in his own way, although it may have been a bit too violent and a bit too impulsive.
All of that didn't change the fact that the future of that boy had been ripped away.
Alfred straightened his lapel and went to call another victim of this life, of the Joker. Oracle.
Tim was normally much to logical to talk to dead people, but on one day he made an exception. Two years since his Robin died. Tim had been thirteen when he read the short article titled "Bruce Wayne's Ward Killed in Ethiopia". He had been thirteen when he became Robin, and had lived almost two years in the over-protective shadow of the bat.
That protectiveness was there for a reason. Jason's barely identifiable Robin costume still sat in a corner of the cave, well lighted, but far enough away from anything important that no one really had to look at it if they didn't want to. That was a bit how Jason's memory was treated. Like something sacred that no one touched or poked at too much. No one but Tim.
"So, because of you, I had to stay home while Bruce put the Joker back in Arkham."
Only silence responded.
"He's always afraid something is going to happen to me. You know, I'm the only a litte older than you were when you died. Lately he's been even more protective than ever. Same thing happened last year around your death day, but this year it's worse. I haven't gone out in a week. I mean, there is a ton of stuff to do here, especially with those kidnappings, but I know I'd be more useful out there.
"But one thing I've learned from you is to do what Bruce says. So thanks for that. Also, thanks for teaching me that kick you always use in your training videos. That one took out Ivy a few weeks ago."
Before Tim could finish his yearly monologue, Alfred came down the stairs.
"Master Timothy, we have some work to do."