Happy Wednesday!
Okay, I know I should be working on the Into the Madhouse update, which I am (not that it's any of YOUR concern ;) ) but I had a blehhh day and was listening to this song and decided I would write a song-fic about it! :D
Okay, so the song is Anthem of the Angels by Breaking Benjamin (but I also listened to Shattered by Trading Yesterday), and the fic is about Bruce's reaction to Jason's death, I guess? I don't know, I am just in no mood to do my biology. :/
So bold italics are the song lyrics, whereas normal italics are someone's thoughts.
ENJOY!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the lyrics or characters, just a small ficlet from my random imagination.
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White walls surround us, no light will touch your face again.
Jason's vision blurred, the purple and green clad man before him becoming nothing more than a sadistic blob. He saw the crowbar lifting above his green hair, before it came crashing down to his face once more. He felt blood spill from his chapped lips, before more quickly filled his mouth again and slowly dripped down his chin.
The evil laugh that had been permanently burned into his ear drums was fuzzy now, fading away. He faintly heard the door close, and he could feel his heart skip a beat, hope running through his veins. Is it finally over?
He cracked open an eyelid, his sweet baby blues peering out into the now lonely warehouse. The dim lighting did nothing to ease his headache, still too bright for his tired eyes. The walls were white parchment, stained with his own blood.
His own judgment of time was most likely impaired, assuming it had been days since his capture. He didn't have an inside clock, and Joker had taken any and all pieces of technology Jason may have been carrying with him.
I'm still alive. Jason thought, attempting to get his handcuffed arms in front of him. He shakily stood, ignoring the painful numbness that was overcoming his body. He had to try to get out, he had to try to save himself.
I might take Bruce up on that implanted tracking device, he thought. His breath hitched, and he could barely feel his body lurching forward until his face collided with the cold, blood smeared cement.
He looked up, the door was so close. I will definitely take Bruce up on that implanted tracking device. He realized he would be able to get to the door on his feet, as he was surprised he was still conscious.
Cold light above us,
Hope fills the heart and fades away.
Sending his arms forward, ignoring the pain in his shoulders and rib cage, he began to slowly drag himself across the floor, towards his portal to freedom. Hours seemed to go by, painful hours that he was in no condition to endure.
But, nonetheless, he made it to the rusty, old door that kept him from the outside, kept him from freedom, kept him from Bruce. He let hope momentarily fill his heart, as he steadily reached towards the door handle. He'd been so sure he'd die, so sure Joker would finish him off rather than leave-
Son of a bitch, Jason thought, his shaky grip pulling the door handle once more, just to be sure. Sure enough, it was locked… from the outside. I'm still trapped.
He leaned his back against the door, the cooling sensation numbing his aching muscles for a few precious moments.
The second Boy Wonder was unsure how much longer he would last without medical attention, his head already fading in and out of the blackness that was unconsciousness. He closed his eyes, praying Bruce would be there soon to take him home and give him the drugs he would undoubtedly have to beg for.
But, again, Jason saw his luck beginning to take another turn for the worst. His pained ears were strained with the task of listening, to pick up any indication that someone was in fact still in the building with him. But instead, they detected a faint beeping, one that he should've noticed sooner.
His eyes opened immediately, shock filling his dilated pupils. Jerking his head towards the noise, Jason saw a time bomb… with eight seconds left.
Panic momentarily cluttered his mind, bringing a small tear to his eye. He blinked it away, however, before it could fall. He relaxed his muscles, realizing all the humiliation and irony of this situation. He'd allowed hope to coax him into a dream world where everything would be okay, as it had been for his predecessor, simply because he was Robin, and Batman never let anyone hurt his Robin.
But reality hit hard, and Jason had known that. He felt ashamed for letting his recent good luck streak get to his head. Stupid, he thought. You're so stupid.
And it was in that moment, that brief millisecond before the building blew to hell and Jason's bruised and broken body was engulfed in an angry flame that Jason Todd knew his life was over.
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The motorcycle shuddered beneath his legs, barely able to withstand the speed and terrain he'd pushed it to. But Batman only revved the engine, urging it onward to save the sixteen year old he hoped was still alive.
Skin white as winter,
As the sky returns to grey.
He could barely see it, a glimpse of the lone warehouse resting on a snowy hill. Dark skies illuminated the background, emphasizing Batman's urgency in this situation.
The two wheeled vehicle leaped to the top of the hill before sputtering to its death as it fell from beneath Batman's form, the man sprinting towards the building that held Robin.
He reached a gloved hand forward, his heart rate sky rocketing past normal, even for him. Just as his Kevlar lined fingertips brushed the chilled metal of the door handle, heat engulfed him and a pulse of overpowering energy threw his body back like a ragdoll. His grunt of pain was lost in the ear shattering boom that prevailed the explosion, as was his cry of the lost boy's name.
The world was spinning around him, the sound of blood rushing in his ears almost being overpowered by his heart madly thumping through his probable broken ribs. He sat up, the scents of ash, smoke, and gun powder filling his nostrils with their putrid odors.
The black of his uniform was littered with ash, his movements causing it to fall off in small clouds of dusty grey. He coughed it out of his lungs, before rushing towards the remains of the building.
Days go on forever, but I have not left your side.
We can chase the dark together, if you go then so will I.
Bruce plowed through the debris, shoving large slabs of demolished concrete out of his way in search for the young boy in a brightly colored costume. It disgusted him how much blood splatters he'd found, scattered across almost every slab of concrete he'd shoved away. The sickly thoughts of whether or not the blood had splattered before or after the explosion were pushed to the back of his mind, his focus needed on the task at hand.
He saw a small scrap of bloody green fabric, barely attached to a muscular, blood-smeared leg. Bruce felt his heart sink with the weight of the pain he felt as he sprinted towards the small sliver of color in the grey world that had followed the explosion.
Adrenaline gave him more power than he'd thought possible as he lifted the slab of concrete as easy as if it were a piece of paper. The sight at the Batman's feet struck horror and pain into his heart, a knife jabbing through his emotions as though they were butter.
He knelt down, and picked up the bloody body of Jason Todd, not caring that the boy's blood drenched his own uniform, not caring that Jason's mask had fallen off somewhere in the explosion. He hugged the youngest member of the Bat-family close to his chest, as though trying to squeeze life back into his limp body.
There is nothing left of you,
I can see it in your eyes.
The soft blue eyes that were nearly as bright as Dick's stared up at the darkened sky, falling pieces of ash getting caught in his long eye lashes. They were so empty, so void of life. Bruce almost expected the teenager to come back to life, a snappy comeback on his tongue.
Bruce was speechless, the only obvious trait that he even knew what was going on was the deep, pained frown engraved into his masked expression. His voice box seemed to malfunction, only sending out one word.
"Jason…" he muttered to himself, resting the small of the lifeless boy's back on his knee and reaching up to close his empty eyes. He couldn't bear to see the sadness that would be forever etched into Jason's expression, the last feelings he would know was that bone crushing feeling that you're about to die.
I keep holding onto you,
But I can't bring you back to life.
He looked down, closing his own eyes. He could feel the warm liquid oozing through the tight fibers on his suit, his adopted son's blood. It coated his chest, where he held the body so tightly, so firmly.
He instinctively tightened his arms around him, clenching the boy in his own well built muscles. The detective could feel where bones were broken underneath the skin, adjusting his grip so as not to irritate the injuries any further.
What's the point? He's dead. Bruce's inner thoughts frightened him. Was he really so heartless that his own son's death didn't affect him the way a normal father would? Had he become that detached? Was he truly a monster now?
He shook his head, realizing now was not the time to analyze his own life. He stood, looking once more at the body that used to be his partner, and turned towards the motorcycle he had long since forgotten.
Laying Jason's body down between the bike and himself, still wrapping a protective arm around his abdomen, he pressed a hand to his comm. unit. The static at first indicated he'd reached a dead signal, but soon the elderly voice he'd come to love answered his call.
"Yes, Master Bruce?" Alfred said, obviously tired. His voice cracked on the other end of the line, his worried tone making Bruce sick to his stomach.
"Send the Bat-wing." Bruce ordered, glancing down at the lifeless boy trapped in his embrace. "Now."
He could hear Alfred shuffling from the other end of the comm., pressing various buttons on his computer, sending the Bat-wing to his rescue. The old man didn't respond for a long moment, the only noise being his heavy breath which hitched every few seconds.
"On its way, sir." Alfred said, but paused as though he'd stopped in the midst of his sentence, as though there was something more he wanted to ask. And Bruce knew exactly what it was. "Have you found Master Jason?" Alfred's voice shook now, out of fear or worry or something else, probably a mix of every emotion known to man.
"Yes, Alfred." Bruce sighed. "I found him."
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Sing the Anthem of the Angels,
And say your last good bye.
It wasn't raining on the day of Jason's funeral, although everyone slightly wished it was. The casket remained closed, covered in flowers. The crowd was small, and the breeze gently flowed through the small group of people.
In front of the group was a seventeen year old Dick Grayson, an angered look plastered on his face. It didn't suit him well, being angry that is. His brow furrowed and his eyes stared off into the distance, not really listening to any of the sobs that surrounded him.
The funeral had ended two hours ago, and even the small crowd of people that had been there to start with was starting to clear out. Only three remained.
Dick stood before the grave, his hands buried deep in his pockets and his azure gaze staring far off before him. The breeze tousled his hair into his eyes, but he barely noticed the obstruction of his view of the land that was Wayne Manor. He wasn't really looking anyway.
Behind him, stood Barbara Gordon, a few tears running down her cheeks carrying the small dab of mascara she'd applied that morning with them. She had one hand rested on Dick's shoulder, not realizing she was talking to a brick wall. He gave her a gruff nod, not even a glance, and she realized she should just go. She placed a small, warm kiss on his cheek before striding off.
The third man, many yards back, was Bruce Wayne. He watched the scene unfold with the first two Bat-children, watched Barbara kiss Dick and walk away weakly, as though her legs were numb just from carrying her weight. But what he saw the most was Dick's pain radiating off of him.
Dick never ignored Barbara. Ever. It just wasn't like him.
Bruce sighed, striding forward, away from his perch where he could see all the graves lined up perfectly, where his parents were buried, and now his ward. He knew Dick didn't expect him to be there, he didn't expect comfort from Bruce.
The elder of the men rested his hand on Dick's shoulder, the latter of whom jumped in shock. He turned his gaze, looking at Bruce with wide eyes. Wide, baby blue eyes that resembled Jason's so much it hurt.
Neither said anything, but stood, looking at the grave that held the fallen hero within, their hearts heavy and their frowns deep. They drew comfort in the heavy, but much needed silence, each glancing in the other's direction every few minutes, just to make sure the other was okay.
And it would be, everything would be okay. They would all find a way to soldier on.
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SOOO?! Yeah, I really don't know. I just got into one of those moods where all I wanted to do was be depressing. Mix that with a recent Jason Todd fangirling and TONS of feels from sad Tumblr pics (I swear, that site makes me want to cry sometimes) and this is born. REVIEW!
~Charlie~