Being Robin, Jason learned a lot of things. He learned how to swing between rooftops with just a grapple and his nimble feet. He learned how to spot the difference between normal and poisoned liquids. He learned that when someone was confused when they were hurt it was always a bad sign.
Right now, Jason was confused. It wasn't the confused of someone trying to figure out a problem they couldn't solve. It wasn't the confused of being lost and trying to figure out where they were in the world. The confusion Jason was feeling right now wasn't even confusion at all. It was a loss. A loss of brain function.
He was in pain, he knew that. He'd felt every blow as they came to him. His bones shattering and limbs giving way the more that madman beat down on him. He'd felt the pain of his skin splitting. He'd even relearnt the reason why it was never the blows themselves that hurt the most. Yet, as he lay in the wreckage of a building crushing him he couldn't recall that feeling of pain, that sting he knew he'd been feeling moments ago. It was like everything had just switched off and Jason was left in a void.
Thought was there, he could think very well in fact. As he lay there he was making a list of things he needed to read for his History assignment he needed to finish. Yet, memory seemed to be evading him in parts. Like, why Jason knew that being confused when he was hurt was a bad thing. He knew it was important, that if he just remembered it he would unlock something crucial. Something that could keep him fighting to regain that feeling of hurt he knew was edging at the back of his mind.
Yet, Jason couldn't. His chest kept getting tighter and Jason just didn't have the strength to think anymore. So he didn't. He promised himself he would figure it out later and just, let go.
Then woke like he'd been doused in a bucket of water. "No!" he gasped, fighting for breath in his lungs. It came easily, flowing swiftly through his chest and leaving Jason sitting there stupidly as he got his bearings around him.
He was… in his room. Not the crappy hotel room he'd scarcely used. He was back home at the manor. His posters were all staring down at him, the bed underneath him as comfy as he remembered. He was home.
"Huh." He clambered off his mattress, his feet not making a noise as he trodded along the carpet to his bathroom.
Jason could have sworn he'd been in Ethiopia. But, if he was here, then, maybe he hadn't been. It wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamt up things he thought had happaned. He remembered once, when he was nine he'd dreamt up a whole day where he and his mom went to the movie theatre. Even now, he could recall the movie they saw and the popcorn they ate, everything seeming super real. Yet, he'd woken up, and there his mom had been lying on a mattress with a needle sticking out of her arm.
Bruce had told him, years later, that sometimes people had such good imaginations that if they wanted it that badly, their mind was able to conjure up whole scenarios that seemed real. Jason hadn't believed him until Bruce had brought up Scarecrow. When comparing the two, the realness of Scarecrow's nightmare realm and the sensations from Jason's dream, he could see that Bruce wasn't lying about the mind being a powerful thing.
It wasn't like it was too far fetched to think that he might have dreamed up that nightmare of Ethiopia. Him and Bruce hadn't exactly been seeing eye to eye recently. It had been a sore subject to start with that Jason wasn't biologically Bruce's. For some reason, that lack of blood between them just made it feel to Jason like he was disposable. He knew Bruce loved him. Hell, Jason loved Bruce. But sometimes- sometimes Jason would remember the hell he'd went through with his real mom and dad and how they still called him family. How his dad, even if he'd beaten Jason bloody the night before, if someone so much as looked at him wrong on the street he'd put them right. His mom too, how she sold him to those men, but only because there was no other way she could get money for them to eat that night. How Jason still loved her anyway because she was his mom.
With Bruce, it felt like they had an expirery date. Like, at any moment, Jason would say the wrong thing or put one foot out of place and be out on his ear again. He'd seen how Bruce was with Dick. How he threw Dick out after they fought. Yeah, Dick said it was mutual, that he wasn't intending on staying for a full weekend like he said the first day he showed up. But Jason always saw his duffel bag when he came around. How full it was, like, if Bruce just let him, Dick wouldn't even consider leaving for New York again.
So, no, it wasn't far fetched for Jason to dream up this secret mom. Or for it to all go wrong. Dreams were mean like that. Hell, for all Jason knew this really was just one of Scarecrow's toxins. It would certainly explain why he was still wearing his Robin suit when he grinned into the mirror.
If there was one thing Bruce didn't do when Jason was gassed up it was strip him. He'd learnt the first time around that Jason was not afraid to bite and bite hard. So waking up in the manor with cape and boots still on wasn't the strangest thing to happen to him.
What was the strangest thing to happen to him was when he tried to turn one of the taps on. He thought for a moment he simply missed the handle. Yet, when he tried again, then again, making extra sure that he was getting the angle right he found he couldn't grip it. He could feel it, the cold smooth texture, but when he tried to wrap his fingers around and twist, his hand just didn't.
He tried to turn the tap on for a full ten minutes before giving up. "It's just another hallucination," Jason told himself, retreating back to his room and onto the sheets. "Another few hours and we'll be waking up to Alfred's fruit platter." The one he was punishing Bruce with after he'd forgotten to go to Jason's parent teacher conference. If there was one thing Bruce hated for breakfast it was fruit. Jason had learnt through the years that Bruce only indulged in his sweet tooth when it was early morning, he said it was because he could work off the sugar throughout the day. Jason thought it was because it just too early for Bruce to remember what no meant.
Jason lay down, shutting his eyes and willing himself to sleep off the gas. There couldn't be much left in him. If he was actually seeing his bedroom then the gas was wearing off.
He tried to will himself to dream things like unicorns and rainbows, things as far removed from the dark recesses of his brain as they could get. He was there for hours, ending up just watching hand on his Wonder Woman clock tick away. Strangely, he didn't get tired. Usually, if he was lying with nothing to do he'd just drift off to sleep. It was one habit he still had from his childhood that had stuck with him. Yet Jason lay there, still awake and starting to get more worried.
Eventually, it was his fear of what was happening to him that had him getting back up. That, and he'd heard Alfred wandering around outside. Again, when he landed, his boots made no sound, Jason starting to worry about that as he stomped purposefully towards the door. He tried the handle here, willing himself to touch it, praying for it, and time and time again his hand just refused to grab hold of the metal.
It worked him into a panic. So much that Jason was attempting to bang on the door, screaming at the top of his lungs for Alfred. Only his screams made noise.
"Alfred!" He pitched, his voice not even speaking words now as he made as much noise as his throat could handle.
He was there for longer than he expected. Jason had good lungs, he knew that. Hell, he'd needed them dealing with his dad and Bruce. Yet, even Jason knew he had his limits on screaming and he had long ago passed them by the time he decided to shut his mouth.
"No," he begged, pawing at the wood again. "No!"
Something was starting to niggle at the back of his mind. The reason for why it was bad for someone to be confused when they were hurt.
"Alfred!" he screamed again, hoping against hope that the man just hadn't heard him.
Jason had learnt about wounds before Bruce found him. He knew that it happened, that people would get dazed. At the time he'd thought it was drugs or the head wound making them loopy.
"Alfred!"
Bruce was the one that taught him different. He'd made sure Jason knew all the warning signs. That confusion was often a sign of blood loss. Heavy blood loss. The kind that wasn't easily stopped. It was also a sign of the body shutting down. It slowly cut off different parts of the body, shock helping it along if the wound was that traumatic.
"Bruce. I'm here. I'm here! Let me out!"
There wasn't much someone could do if the body went into shock. Not without a whole host of medical equipment nearby. Had Sheila still been alive she probably would have been able to help out. But she wasn't. She was right next to the bomb, there was no way she could have made it out of the blast. Jason on the other hand, had been a good few feet away. Enough that the blast wouldn't have killed him. Scorched him beyond belief. But it wouldn't have been the explosion that would kill him. More, the building collapsing on top of him. Or, if that failed, then smoke inhilation was always an option. There was always shrapnel as well, not many people knowing that it could be just as lethal as a blast.
"No, please- please let me out." He slid down, his eyes blurring as tears escaped.
His dream hadn't been a dream. If it had, even if it had been a hallucination, he should have been able to hold things. He'd been in Ethiopia. He'd met that- that- and she-
"Bruce," Jason sobbed, hoping that he could hear, that he would come and get him. "Bruce please come get me."
He was stuck in his room for days. Literal days. Alfred, for some reason, decided that he didn't have to come into Jason's room, that it was clean enough or something since the door stayed closed and Jason stay trapped.
Jason hadn't taken his incarceration well. He'd screamed. He'd thrown tantrum after tantrum until he ended up crying, curled up in front of his door hoping someone would let him out. All the while he was in he wondered what the hell this all meant, why Jason was here instead of somewhere else. Was he not good enough for heaven? Was he really that broken that they didn't want him? He'd tried so hard to be good. This wasn't fair.
It was on day five that Jason figured out how to move around the manor. He was pacing the floors, sizing up his door with every sweep until he ended up in front of it. He figured, if he was dead, it wasn't like the wood could hurt him, so he'd took a running start and rammed. Then fell through the wood like there was nothing there.
Jason found himself having another tantrum as soon as he was on the other side. His happy laughter descending into sobs as he realised he could have been roaming this whole time if he hadn't been such a coward.
He was screaming profanities at the wood long enough for Alfred to come around on his rounds. It was like a switch had been flicked as soon as Jason saw that tailcoat. He straightened, wiping his mouth and eyes as the man passed. It didn't take long for Jason to follow.
Any company after the days alone was welcome at this point. He knew for a fact Alfred couldn't hear him. Quite frankly, even if Alfred could, Jason didn't want to chance it. He didn't want to be given this hope only for it to be taken away. So he kept his mouth shut and simply followed Alfred as he made his way to the gardens for his noon walk.
The flowers were beautiful. Jason remembered before he'd left he'd promised Alfred he'd help plant some new roses for Martha's garden when he came back. Looked like he wouldn't be doing that anymore.
It came to him in a rush after that. All the promises that Jason had made that he could no longer hold up to. The History assignment he had to hand in. His homework. The case he was going to work with Bruce about the kidnappings. Hell, he even had a date. Well, Jason couldn't feel too bad about that one. He hadn't even wanted to go out with her in the first place. She didn't want to go out with him either. It had just been a thing they had agreed on, Jason because he wanted to see if he could forget about- well- someone- for a while, and Laura because she'd needed someone to make the boy she really liked jealous. Jason wanted to tell her there were better ways to impress someone than going out with him, but since he was using her back he figured keeping his mouth shut was the wise solution.
Looked like both of them were getting off that situation lightly now. After all, if it had gone through, Jason was sure he would have ended up with a black eye at some point. Sometimes he hated the fact that Bruce insisted on him being a pansy at school. It wasn't like the other kids were buying it. Jason was raised in Park Row, everyone knew that those kids learned how to make a fist before their first word.
Alfred stopped at the greenhouses, Jason spying the flowers that were supposed to be his sectioned off carefully to the side. He wondered if Alfred knew yet. Whether he was just doing busy work until Bruce came back. It seemed like something Alfred would do. Yet, when Jason looked at his face he couldn't really tell. He knew that Alfred got upset, the fruit platter was proof of that. He knew that Alfred was capable of tantrums too. One memory Jason had was of Alfred storming into the batcave, sending Jason calmly off to bed before shouting bloody murder at Bruce for a good hour about something. It had made Jason more wary of the man, but also more fond. It was nice to know that there was something behind Alfred's exasperated visage.
The garden did a great deal to calm Jason down. The sun, the wind, even the grass he could somewhat feel under his bare arms, it was much better than his room. It was also nice to find out what Alfred did when Jason wasn't there. How he had little conversations with himself. Not the kind that would have Bruce worried about Alfred losing it, but just little bits of conversation with the plants like remarking how one of them had grown. It made Jason forget, for a while, that anything was wrong.
When Alfred finally called it a day and retreated inside to start on the top floors, Jason didn't know whether to follow him in or not. He didn't want to be boxed in again, and the sun really was nice, as scarce as it was seen around here. But Jason didn't want to be alone.
It took almost running to catch up to Alfred before the door shut Jason out.
All in all, Jason spent three days following Alfred around. Even when he went back to his rooms, the ones Jason wasn't technically allowed in, he followed Alfred in. Jason didn't want to be alone. He just couldn't right now.
The fourth day, Jason was watching Alfred make a cake, the chocolate one Jason loved to the point of hoarding. He didn't try and dip a finger, finding, after the first time that not only could Jason not touch, but he couldn't taste either. Being dead was as sucky as it advertised.
The icing was a nice Nightwing blue, Alfred making little birds along the sides. It was a toss up right now whether Alfred was making it for Jason or Dick. Maybe Bruce since Jason was sure Dick was still in outer space right now. Whoever it was, Jason hoped they enjoyed it since he definitely wouldn't.
Alfred had just finished half of the detail as the phone rang. Jason held back a grin at the expletives that fell quite frequently out of Alfred's mouth when he was alone. It seemed, when there wasn't Master Bruce to be a good role model for and Master Jason who they were trying to curb his own swearing, Alfred had quite the sailor mouth. Especially when his routine was thrown off.
Yet, when Alfred answered the phone, no hostility at all could be detected. A feat if there ever was one. "Master Bruce?"
"This is probably it," Jason huffed, surprised it had taken a week for Bruce to man up. Alfred was going to be furious when he found out. "You might want to put the icing bag down."
Alfred didn't, and when the annoyance melted to horror that icing bag was use to no one. "Please tell me you're joking. Master Bruce I swear you had better be joking."
It took the phone hanging up for the message to set in. "I'm sorry Alfred."
Jason had never seen Alfred cry. He never thought he would. It was like witnessing Bigfoot taking a shower, something so out of this world that it couldn't be real. The cake didn't last long, Alfred throwing all that chocolately goodness away. Jason would have been upset had a petty part of him thought good. If he didn't get to eat it then the others shouldn't either.
He skipped out around the time Alfred took a seat. Jason was used to big exclamations of emotion, of hands being raised or arms waving. Alfred's quiet seat, his shoulders shaking minutely, it wasn't anything Jason knew how to deal with.
So he went somewhere else instead. He stayed somewhere else over the next few days, exploring the manor and hoping Alfred would be back to his usual self when he did end up running into him again.
Jason learned a lot about the manor. He learned that there were indeed other secret passages he'd never found before. He also learned about Bruce's secret porn stash Jason knew he kept somewhere in the manor. Sure, it looked to be a good five years old, but porn was porn and Jason wished it hadn't taken death for him to find it. God, so many opportunities to tease Bruce were now gone.
A clattering summoned him from beneath Dick's bed. Jason thought for a moment it was merely Alfred back from his errands, Wednesday always the day he'd go out and organise the family shop so they wouldn't all starve, or worse, order in.
Yet, when the door shut again it wasn't the usual clattering of Alfred hefting bags to the kitchen. Instead there was silence, a weighted silence. One that pricked the back of Jason's neck. He was downstairs before he could think never so happy in his life when he saw Bruce lounging in the doorway. Alfred wasn't far away, setting two suitcases down, his hand lingering on the smaller one Jason had quickly packed before leaving.
"Was it fast?" Alfred asked.
Bruce made one of his grunts, his usual aura of not wanting to talk about it radiating loud and clear to everyone present.
Unlike the last times Bruce got into these moods Alfred didn't let this one go. "Just tell me," he begged. "If nothing else Master Bruce, just tell me if he was in pain."
There was silence again, long enough for Alfred to turn back to the cases, anger overtaking the sadness right now. He looked about ready to lay into Bruce, Jason ready to start running if that happened. Yet, "Probably," Bruce murmured. "He- I can only hope his body started numbing everything before the explosion. But-"
When Alfred turned again this time the anger was gone.
Bruce lingered when Alfred left, just hanging in the doorway staring at nothing. Jason stayed with him, right now, he didn't care that it was his fault Bruce was upset. All he did care about was that Bruce was here, right now, and Jason hadn't known until then just how much he'd needed that.
He stayed close to Bruce, his hand resting just out of reach, not wanting to spoil the illusion of his absence just yet. "Bruce?"
The man didn't react, he couldn't hear Jason after all. But he was there.
It was dark by the time Bruce actually moved. Even then he merely ended up in the kitchen, Alfred setting some half thought out sandwich in front of both of them. It was hard to sit there with them and not be heard. Usually, it was Jason filling the silence, cracking jokes or making Bruce annoyed. Just so he wasn't sat there like he was now, listening to nothing. Silence in the Todd household always meant someone was in trouble after all, and Jason still hadn't adjusted to the fact that it wasn't the same in the manor.
It was nearing the crusts when Alfred finally spoke. At first it was menial things like what needed doing around the manor. Then, while he was dusting his fingers from crumbs he moved on to other things. Things that had Bruce tensing where he sat, the picture of closed off.
"We must talk about this Bruce. I know it's hard, but the sooner we organise everything the sooner we won't have to think about it again."
"No," Bruce shook his head. "I can't. I can't say goodbye to him Alfred. He was fifteen." Fifteen, the magical number that had Bruce breaking down at the kitchen table.
Jason wrung his hands watching them. Alfred wasn't any help, he was too busy himself trying not to cry in front of Bruce. Jason wanted to do something. He wanted to tell Bruce he was alright, that he hadn't really left, but he couldn't. He couldn't even touch Bruce. It left Jason keening at the table, stifling his own screams that wanted to come out again, the ones that would leave him crying for hours and thinking about things he'd been trying really hard not to think about.
But Jason did have to think about them. As the next week passed and Bruce was barely in the manor, Alfred always with him as well, Jason was left alone, and alone, he couldn't stop himself from thinking about those things. Like why he was there.
It hurt more than he thought possible that he had been left behind. Even in death no one wanted him and it made him look back on everything he did and wonder why. Why was it him that was here and not someone else. What had he done that was so wrong that he couldn't be with his mom again. His real mom. The one that didn't tell him she loved him and try to kill him the next. Catherine wasn't the best woman on planet Earth, but, at least when Jason thought of her he knew she loved him, really loved him. That everything she did was so Jason wasn't left on the streets alone. Even if he had ended up there.
That spiral didn't end well no matter how Jason looked at it, and it always led him to the next point on his list. Why he was the only one here. Jason had listened to one or seven tours of the manor, and as far as he was aware at least ten people had died here in these walls. Jason hadn't even been at the manor when he died yet here he was, so where the hell was everyone else? There should have been ghosts of Waynes past teeming the halls. Yet, no matter how often Jason walked or looked he couldn't find or hear anyone but himself when he was left alone. It scared him. Made him wonder, again, what he'd done so wrong that he was the only one here.
He was looking again, day three of his search for other life. He looked high and low, calling out names he could remember of Bruce's family. He even went outside, hoping somewhere in the gardens he'd find a tea party waiting for him. Or, in the bunker, there would be a host of Wayne's doing their Wayne things.
He didn't.
Jason didn't find anyone. Worse, when he tried to venture off the Wayne estate he found himself stuck. It was like an invisible barrier keeping him captive to the Wayne line. Jason tested it, travelling the border until that sickening feeling overwhelmed him and had him fleeing back to the house.
It left him crying along the halls.
He couldn't get out. It was just like the warehouse, freedom just within his sights and Jason knowing he would never be able to reach it. He was stuck here. Alone. He was-
"Bruce." He was in Bruce's room, night having fallen at some point in his misery. It must have been late, or early, since Bruce was in bed, the covers hanging off his waist. Jason couldn't stop crying looking at him.
He wanted to, quite sick of the act if he was honest with himself. But, just the idea that he would never be able to talk to someone, really talk to someone again, had him bursting out into another round of hopeless tears.
At this point, he was sure he just needed to hear himself make noise, to know that he was capable of it. "Bruce," he said again, his hand reaching out, feeling the skin he remembered grappling against not so long ago. It was warm beneath his touch, Bruce either having a shower before he went to bed or being here a while since he usually ran cold.
Jason kept his hand on him, the warmth soothing as he climbed onto the sheets, shifting as best as he could to fit his legs in the gap Bruce's body made between blanket and bed. He barely noticed his legs tenting the fabric when he got in, too focused on keeping Bruce next to him.
"Please don't leave me," Jason begged, curling up and willing the hours away.
It was a long existence that next week. Bruce was even more grumpy than he had been before, his mood sending Alfred shouting after him at one point. Jason made sure he was out of the manor for those parts. Mostly because he had a new gift to explore.
While he hadn't noticed at the time, that wasn't to say that he never noticed his legs filling Bruce's sheet. Jason could touch things. He'd proven he could. But the how was alluding him.
He tried everything from staring really hard at something to just surprise attacking it to get himself to touch it. Most of these tries resulted in nothing but Jason throwing another tantrum, questioning whether he had just seen things that night with Bruce. Other times, happier times, something would move. Not much, minutely at the very most, but it was something. It was proof that Jason was still a part of this world somehow, and it was good enough for him to keep going.
"Master Bruce," pulled Jason out of his latest attempt to try and grab one of his favourite books. Moping was all well and good, practicing too, but sometimes Jason was just plain bored. Hence the book. The one Bruce was currently studying.
There was a slight cough from Alfred, Bruce eventually giving his grunt to show he was showing. It was typical primal behaviour from these two, especially when they were fighting. Had Jason still been able to be heard and therefore garner a laugh he'd be doing his best nature documentary voice over on them. Bruce used to love it, and it helped get him to stop fighting with Alfred when the man proved he was still capable of smiling.
"Master Bruce, the coroner phoned again this morning. He says we can not put it off any longer." There was silence, Jason seeing Bruce ready to lash out again. He backed out, not really wanting to listen to this topic of conversation anyway. He knew they were talking about him after all. Yet, he couldn't help getting the tail end of, "I know you wish to wait until Master Dick is back, but I fear Jason's… Jason may not appreciate being forced away from his rest."
Bruce's response, if there was one, was lost in the winding hallways of the manor.
Jason took solace in one of the secret rooms he'd found in his wanderings. Alive wanderings that was. Dick had been the one to clue him into the manor's secret rooms. He'd come home from a Titan's mission. It had been around the third or fourth time Jason had met him really, and things were, well, not good, they hadn't really been good until about a year ago. But Dick had been feeling particularly nice to him on that visit. Jason put it down to Kori mellowing Dick out before he came over. Whatever it was, when Dick found Jason looking for something to occupy himself with, he'd shown Jason the first secret passage Dick had found when he had been a kid.
It was a nice memory. One he knew that could never come to life again. Jason couldn't even call Dick a dick again. Not with him hearing it anyway.
He flicked a lamp, his spirits not even lifted when the shade rotated a few centimetres.
What did lift them was a part of Alfred's words that lingered in his brain. It took longer than he was proud of for him to really take notice of them, but when he did, all thoughts of living a lonely existence as Wayne Manor's poltergeist evaporated.
Alfred had said that Jason wouldn't want to be kept from his rest. That was it. That was the reason why he was here and not with the others. He wasn't in the ground yet. But when he was, well, God would have no choice but to take him.
He spent his days hanging around Alfred afte that. He needed to know what was going on, when he was going to be put into the ground. It took a lot of arguing with Bruce before Jason was listening to Alfred order flowers for next Thursday.
Thursday. Six days away.
Jason didn't know what to do with himself. He spent the first day of his countdown telling Bruce everything he'd ever wanted to. He knew Bruce couldn't hear, but it was cathartic to let everything out. Like, how much it annoyed Jason when Bruce did that thing with his tongue, the tutting noise, the one he did when he was comparing Jason to Dick without saying it out loud. Like, how Jason wished Bruce hadn't spent so much time on his work. How Jason hadn't asked for much, just maybe one night a week where the two of them didn't have to patrol. Don't get him wrong, Jason loved being Robin, it was the best thing in the world. But sometimes, when Jason had school the next day, Bruce didn't let him out, but just because Jason wasn't out didn't mean Bruce wasn't. He just wanted one night where he could drag out a board game and know Bruce wasn't going to ditch him for the cave.
He told Bruce how he thought it was completely annoying that he was allowed to fight bad guys on a nightly basis, that Jason had lived on the streets for half of his life, yet, when Jason wanted to go to the bad part of town because they did the best pizza he had to have a chaperone. If anything, Jason should have been chaperoning him, Bruce without his suit had no sense of street smarts to speak of. He didn't even know the difference between a homeless man and a druggie scamming people out of money.
He told Bruce that he thought that stupid thing he's got going on with Dick should be sorted out and soon. But mostly, well, mostly Jason told Bruce about how much he was going to miss him.
He did the same with Alfred the day after, and when he was done there, well, he had a lot to say to other people. The problem was, Jason didn't know how he could say it to them. He couldn't leave the manor grounds. He could only just pick things up. Even then it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.
But time was pressing against Jason, so, he spent all the time he had left focusing on picking the pen in his room up. He managed it, on the second to last day. At four thirty exactly Jason managed to find a way to keep the pen in his hand long enough to write on a notebook he dug out.
He wrote to Bruce first, stopping a few times when he lost control with his pen. Then Alfred, telling them just the things that he'd said the day before. Lastly, he wrote to Dick.
There was a lot he wanted to say to Dick. He wanted to call him an ass one last time, since Dick was. He also wanted to instill that Jason was still a better Robin than Dick had ever been. Mostly, he wanted to tell Dick that he wished things had been different. That Dick didn't hate him, and that Jason really had tried his best to live up to the example the older boy had set. He also said, and here Jason debated putting pen to paper, figuring he may as well since it wasn't like he was going to be around to examine the consequences after Thursday. So, he also noted down that Jason had, well, a bit of a crush on Dick. That he wished the guy had shown him an ounce of the kindness he knew Dick showed to his team.
It made him cringe at every word he wrote down about that, but it felt good all the same. Like a load had been lifted off him.
When he was done, Jason took the notes and hid them under everyone's pillows. He knew for a fact no one would see them until long after Jason was gone. Bruce didn't even hit his own pillow when he went to bed. Jason had found him sprawled sideways, sometimes upside down since Bruce didn't know what it was to go to bed without being completely exhausted. Alfred, well, maybe Alfred would find his. But Dick most definitely wouldn't get his until he came back.
Jason's last day on Earth he spent it outside, enjoying the sunlight that graced the gardens. It seemed a fitting end, something extraordinary like a clear sky appearing just as Jason was saying goodbye. He heard Bruce go out, Alfred too, the both of them arguing like mad this morning. Jason tuned it out, wanting to remember them as they had been when he'd been alive. Arguing still, but always making sure not to do it where Jason could hear.
He took a breath, watching the roses drift in a slow breeze and waited.
Then waited again.
Then some more.
It grew dark, Alfred coming home with Bruce slurring on his shoulder.
Jason still waited, knowing that sometimes the funeral didn't mean he was buried completely. They would finish in a day or so. So he stayed, watching the sky, and waited.
It was on the fourth day of waiting that Jason gave up. He jumped up from his spot, slamming the veranda doors open and stormed off to the kitchen.
"I'm still here," he snapped, Alfred and Bruce continued to eat their breakfasts. "Why am I still here? What did you do? What went wrong? Why am I still here!"
They wouldn't answer. They would never answer and he could never ask them.
He screamed, grabbing Bruce's plate and smashing it against the counter.
Food got everywhere, Alfred snapping at Bruce immediately for losing his head.
"I didn't," Bruce mumbled, staring at his hands like they had betrayed him.
"No! I did! I'm here! Why am I here?"
"Don't bother," Alfred hissed, batting Bruce's hands with a dish towel as the both of them set to picking up the pieces.
Jason harassed them all day. His anger spread from a broken plate to mirrors and clothes being torn under his hands. By nightfall, Bruce was barricaded in his study, the only reason Jason didn't destroy anything in here due to the fact Bruce was having a panic attack. With his anger subsiding, Jason could see why Bruce might be in this state. He was already worried about his psyche without all this unexplained happenings. With it, well, if Jason had been Bruce he would have been crying into his knees too.
"I'm sorry," Jason said, taking a seat next to Bruce's knees. He stayed there all night as Bruce fought to get himself back together.
It quickly became apparent that Jason wasn't leaving. Two weeks and Bruce taking a trip to the gravesite himself proved that it wasn't Jason's body being laid to rest that would help him move on. That meant that Jason's worst fear was being realised, he was trapped here forever, alone.
Panicking did no good he found out. Neither did boredom which, when he was actually paying attention, did still exist when he was a ghost. About a month after his funeral, Jason took to making it his mission to be the most well read ghost there was.
He started with his favourites, piling them up and hiding them out of Bruce's reach. His room was still a no go zone for stowing things away. Around a few days after the funeral Bruce had got the stomach to go into Jason's room. He'd been coming more and more often every day. One time he didn't move for forty eight hours. If things started finding their way there without Bruce moving them Jason didn't think Bruce would respond well. Either, he would spend another time with his head between his legs, or take it out on Alfred, something Jason definitely didn't want.
So Jason found a secret cove in the library to keep his books and his place in those books. With no sleep and no need to strain his eyes reading was easier than ever. Jason got through about three books within four days, and when the manor's doors opened with a bang, Jason's count had significantly increased from the measly number he'd held before he'd died.
"Where is he?"
Jason recognised that voice. Even if it was screeching Jason would always know Dick Grayson.
He didn't even think as he abandoned his books, running down the corridors until Dick, still clad in his horrific Nightwing gear came into view shouting at Alfred. Jason was starting to think this was the only way this family knew how to communicate.
"Master Dick."
"No Alfred. Don't even think about sticking up for him. That's- Jason was my- I had to hear from Kori!" He'd been crying. His domino wasn't doing a good job of keeping the tears behind the mask. As more fell, the fabric started slipping from Dick's eyes.
"We wanted to tell you. We thought about leaving you a message. But, leaving a message in a time like this…"
"You still should have told me," Dick hissed, leaving Alfred at the door as he went in search of Bruce.
Jason tagged along, admiring the dirt that clung to the Nightwing suit. Dick must have come straight from his mission. Jason wondered what it had been like. What the aliens had looked like. It was so unfair that Dick got to go to outer space while he was Robin but Jason hadn't.
Bruce was in Jason's room, where he'd been since early morning. He had the note Jason had forgotten to take from under his pillow in his hands. The day Bruce had found that had been a dark day. Really dark. Made all the worse when Alfred revealed he had one too. Jason had never seen the two of them so mad, both flinging accusations at each other until they retreated from exhaustion.
Bruce barely glanced up as Dick came in, he'd probably heard Dick like the rest of the manor when he banged his way inside. "You shouldn't have that on up here," Bruce muttered.
Dick hissed, his whole body tensing. He'd been a ticking bomb since the moment he'd come into the manor. If Bruce didn't play it right, Dick was going to be set off. "Is that all you have to say to me?" Dick asked, one last try for civility. Jason was surprised, if it had been him he would have been screeching Bruce into a fight by now.
"What else is there?"
Jason ducked out as Dick charged, knowing that both him and Bruce together were just toxic. "-MY BROTHER!" followed Jason as he went down to Alfred. He wrote a note out, leaving it conveniently where Alfred would read it, telling the man that his two alive charges were trying to trash Jason's room.
The war went on for hours. The shouting turned to actual fighting, the location changing when Alfred finally took note of where they were and threatened them out with his shotgun. It was a bad day to be at the manor. One that ended with Bruce and Dick stalking off to different parts of Gotham to punch their frustrations out.
Dick came back before Bruce, his suit gone when he came back up into the main part of the manor. He ended up in Jason's room, breaking down before he got beyond the threshold. The tears stopped long before Dick's sobbing. It was weird thinking this was all about him. He knew Dick cared, just not this much.
Maybe it was misplaced guilt. Jason wouldn't put it past Dick to start blaming himself for everything he could have done different. What he could have done to prevent Jason from leaving and getting himself blown up. Never mind that Dick was out of this atmosphere when all this drama started.
Dick picked himself up when his throat stopped making noise. He dragged himself the rest of the way to Jason's bed, burrowing down into the covers.
If this had been any other time, Jason would have bust a nut knowing Dick was in his bed. As it was, Jason just left Dick be and went back to his hidey hole in the library. It wasn't like he could talk to Dick anymore.
When morning came, Dick joined the family for breakfast. Jason sat in his usual seat, wishing again that he could have the pancakes that looked so nice on Dick's plate. Bruce was there, silent as usual, his paper in front of his face, hiding the bruises Dick had dealt. It wasn't as if Dick didn't look just as ugly, but Dick had a way of wearing his bruises proudly. Jason had been terrified the first time he'd seen the two in a state like this. He thought it was just like home, that Bruce had lied to him, that sooner or later Jason was going to end up on the tail end of one of these beatings. But, then Jason had seen them actually fight. Dick gave as good as he got. Maybe even more so. He was usually the one to instigate the fights, Bruce merely reacting until Dick pushed one button too many.
It was a different dynamic what Bruce and Dick had to Bruce and Jason. Bruce was most definitely Jason's dad, but to Dick, that label didn't apply. Dick was Bruce's equal. He had the authority to call Bruce on his crap and actually be heard.
"Where is he?" Dick asked as he mopped up the last of his syrup.
"In the Wayne lot. Next to his mother."
Dick left. He left the table, then he left the manor, not a word to anyone whether or not he would be coming back tonight.
Jason kind of hoped he didn't. After all the excitement of yesterday Jason needed a quiet day to relax.
He read through five short stories when the door went again and Dick ran past the library. He was back in Jason's room when he went looking. Jason debated leaving, but this was his room, so he hopped on up next to Dick. Surprisingly, Dick didn't just go to sleep like he did the night before. Instead, he reached through Jason, which was a weird experience, and felt around until he picked up a magazine he was sure no on in the manor had known about.
"Honestly Jay," Dick sighed, flipping through the porn magazine before putting it back. He felt back under again before coming up with more of Jason's hidden treasures.
Jason should have been pissed. As it was he was more embarrassed and shocked that Dick had known about his stash as his so called brother made an "A ha!" and came up with a book Dick definitely shouldn't have known about.
It was one of the magazines Dick had bought for him when he turned thirteen. It was scarcely used, Jason preferring to hide things in it. Dick seemed to know this as he flipped to the right page and a number of photo's dropped out.
Jason grabbed them before Dick could, moving them out of his grip, hoping the message would get across that Jason didn't want Dick looking at them. Dick didn't get it, grabbing them anyway and flipping through them like they were his own.
A few were of Bruce and Jason. Dick and Jason. But the rest were of his other family. His mom, his real mom, Catherine Todd that actually cared about him. They were stupid photo's of his life when it was okay. Of his mom and dad crowded around him, Jason standing proud in his diaper between them. There was one of his dad feeding him. His mom and dad on Christmas. It was happier times that Jason pretended didn't happen because they didn't. They all looked happy on the photo's but Jason was sure he could remember the fights that broke out not long afterwards. The only reason he had them in the first place was because they were the only photos he had of them. Anything else had been thrown in the trash with the rest of Jason's stuff when he left his apartment.
Dick looked at all of them ten times over before slipping all but one back into the magazine. It was the one of them. Dick had invited Jason to Titans tower for the weekend. Not long ago actually. It was a few months before he went into outer space. Dick had been trying the whole brother thing for real this time, taking Jason out sightseeing and even to a play. The photo was in intermission, Jason getting a picture of them. He took distinct satisfaction in this photo since Dick was asleep, snoring loud enough for people to complain to Jason and not waking even when the flash went off.
Dick brought that one back to his room, Jason getting only a few minutes of silence before Bruce was taking Dick's place. He inspected the place like a bloodhound, looking for things that might have been upset or disturbed while Dick was in. It took a while, and when Bruce calmed down he took up Dick's prior spot, only he stayed the night.
Jason stayed next to Bruce all night, wondering who else knew about his photo's.
The next morning, Dick was the one to come wake Bruce up. He looked like he'd been crying, Bruce eyeing him warily, only when Dick rushed him this time it was for a hug.
"I'm sorry," Dick said.
"Me too."
There was something hanging out the back of Dick's pocket, paper Jason was sure he'd hidden after he found out he wasn't going to be journeying to the beyond. He'd debated whether to destroy it or not, settling, for now, hiding it in the air duct of Dick's room.
Looked like Dick had found it. Jason wondered if he could snatch it out of Dick's pants without it being seen by either of them.
They pulled back, Dick wiping his eyes and grabbing the paper. "I found this in my room. I think he must have wrote it before he left." Dick let Bruce snatch it out of his hands, that same anger rearing its head before furrowing into a frown. "Do you think he knew he wasn't coming back?"
The paper crumpled under Bruce's fist, Dick reaching over to grab it before it was destroyed beyond recognition. "Where did you get it?"
"In my vent," Dick straightened out the edges. "I don't think he wanted me to find it. But, he should have thought about hiding it somewhere else if that was the case. This isn't he first time he's hidden something in my vent."
Oh, right. That time Alfred had told him to write his frustrations down in letters and give it to the person. It was a way to curb Jason's anger. It, kind of, worked. But when it came to Jason giving the letters to people he chickened out and hid or destroyed them.
"It's not from Jason," Bruce mumbled.
Dick frowned, looking down at the paper, "Er, I think it is B. It's his writing and everything."
Bruce shook his head. "Alfred changed my bed before I came home. There's no way Jason could have written these."
"These? Like more?"
"It was under my pillow. Under Alfred's pillow. It can't be from him. Who else knew about the vent?"
Dick spent the whole morning arguing with Bruce after that. He was adamant that Jason had to have wrote it, Bruce denying it again and again until he was accussing Dick of making this up just to spite him.
Alfred had to intervene again when they got physical.
Dick's stay lasted only two more days before he'd had enough and went back to New York. Jason was sad to see him go, especially because he sneaked into Jason's room before he left and stole the rest of Jason's photo's.
When Dick was gone, Jason went back to his hidey hole, avoiding life as much as possible. It wasn't like he could do anything with them after all.
Things were, well, productive. Jason made it through a whole shelf of the library before things got worse. Jason didn't think they could. There wasn't any way really since he was dead.
It happened on a Wednesday evening. One moment he was feeling okay, and the next, it felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. The feeling only lasted for a momen, and when they finished Jason wasn't sure if they had happened at all.
He waved it off.
Or he did. Later he would think of it as a prominition. That later being when the doorbell went and Tim Drake was introduced into his life.
"You little shit," Jason hissed, listening to Tim make his pitch to Bruce. "Did you not just say what happened to me? Is death not enough of a deterrent? Are you that whacked in the head that you're actually speaking these words right now?"
Of course, Tim couldn't hear him. He couldn't even sense him, so when Jason tried to tell the kid to never come back Tim did the opposite. Then he saved Bruce's freaking life. Then his- no, just no!
"You think you're so great, don't you Tim?" Jason sneered, pacing in front of the kid trying on a new and improved Robin costume. "You know you'll never be a real Robin. You aren't even wearing the uniform. Do you even know how to throw a punch, or are your hands only good for organising garden parties?"
Kind of unfair, but Bruce had just given the kid the job. Jason's job. The job that should have died with Jason. Make Tim something else. Or, hell, here's an idea, how about keep kids out of Gotham's nightlife.
"You know you're going to get hurt right?" Tim remained blank, fiddling with the belt he'd just been given. "You're going to get shot. You know what being shot feels like brat? You know what being stabbed is like? You know how much throwing a punch hurts? You know nothing. You're going to get killed faster than me."
Right now Jason didn't know if he was hoping or dreading for that to happen. Bruce needed to learn. He needed to learn that he couldn't just keep making kids Robin, even if they forced themselves into the job. He couldn't.
"You're going to die kid. And don't expect me to share this place with you when you do."
Tim, surprisingly, did not die on his first patrol out as an official Robin. Instead, he came home with a sour Batman and a grin on his small face.
"Dick," Jason muttered as Tim passed him to the showers.
Bruce took a seat at the computer, bracing himself there until Tim was out of sight. Only then did he slink down, his cowl covered head cowering behind his arms. "What am I doing?" Bruce hissed.
"Hell if I know," Jason answered.
Tim survived the next patrol. Then the one after that. A month in and the kid was still alive and kicking. Worse, he was visited by Dick. Jason, when he saw Dick's face on the other side of the manor door, had honestly never been happier to see the man. For one, Dick had gotten himself a haircut which was nice. Two, a new suit that had delicious thoughts running through Jason's head whenever he glanced at CCTV footage Bruce sometimes had running in the cave. Three because, well, Jason had always been happy to see Dick, and lastly four, because while Dick had liked Jason as a person, he had not liked Jason as a Robin. Which meant, little Timmy downstairs trying to learn his poisons from his sodas, was about to learn about what happened when someone took on the Robin mantle.
Only, when Dick got down to the cave, instead of Dick asking what the hell Tim was doing down there, Dick went over, clapped Tim on the shoulder and asked, "You doing okay kid?"
"Mr Grayson," Tim gushed, his poisons completely forgotten in favour of Dick. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you."
Which, no, just, no. No!
This couldn't be happening. Either Dick was being mind controlled, or something else was at large because this wasn't the Dick Grayson Jason knew. The Dick he knew would avoid any and all mention of Tim in favour of hissing Bruce out until they fought. He would spend all day hiding in the manor or the cave or anywhere Jason wasn't because he didn't know what to do or say when they talked to each other. He certainly never asked the kid if he wanted a few pointers and started sparring with him on the mats.
"No!" Jason was once again ignored, his screams for Dick to wake up falling on deaf ears.
He went upstairs, finding Alfred baking in the kitchen, Dick's favourite cookies laid out and ready for the oven. Dick had called ahead then. Bruce was with Alfred, the paper open in front of him, a late start since it was the weekend as he spooned cereal to his mouth.
"I believe Master Dick will be staying for a few days."
"Good," Bruce said. "It'll be nice for Tim to have someone to talk to."
Tim like he was a part of the family. Like Dick came every week to show Tim new moves. Like there wasn't something missing in their day to day lives.
"Indeed. The poor boy looks like he needs a friend. Perhaps we should bring up the idea of sending Master Tim to New York with Master Dick. I believe there are quite a few new recruits within similar age range that he will benefit from."
Bruce hummed in agreement. Like he hadn't pitched a fit when Jason so much as brought up the idea of going to see the Titans. "If he does, I can invite Clark over, have him check out the Drake situation. I'm not liking how often they're away from home."
Jason smashed Bruce's bowl. More, he tossed Alfred's cookies so the dough went everywhere. "What about me!"
The two adults looked in shock at the broken bowls before Bruce sprang into action, calling down to the cave for Dick to grab the scanners. Jason held out hope, maybe some part of him would be seen. Yet, when Bruce turned his narrow eyes to every way to look for the hidden there was, Jason didn't show up.
"I'm still here," Jason said. He latched onto Bruce's shirt, the fabric bunching but the man not seeming to notice, too wrapped up in his scanner. "I'm still here."
If Jason had been playing Casper before, he certainly wasn't anymore. Gone was the friendly ghost that just sat back and let people get on with their lives. The more Jason stood back and let them, the more he was forgotten, and Jason was damn well not going to be forgotten. Not when he was still around. Dick had been the last straw of a tolerance he didn't know he'd had until now
He started with the mirrors. Every time Bruce went for a shower, Jason would wait for the bathroom to steam up before writing messages for him. At first, they were angry, telling Bruce to fire the kid. That it was Jason's suit not TIm's. But as the weeks went on and more mirrors got smashed, Jason ended up writing agian and again, 'I'm stil here Bruce.' 'Don't forget about me dad please.'
Dick wasn't around enough to pester. He came every two weeks, and even then only for a few days before he was back in New York. Jason tried to mess with him while he was there. Pants him in the hallway, which was more for Jason's benefit than Dick's. Move his stuff around. Leave him notes that had him screaming at Bruce. But, like he'd said, Dick wasn't around enough to truly try and persuade on his side.
Tim got the brunt of Jason's anger. Often times Jason would empty out all of Tim's suit pockets before patrol, getting a great satisfaction from listening to Bruce drill again and again how he couldn't take Tim out on the field if he wasn't willing to put the effort in.
He sometimes desecrated Tim's suit too. Sometimes it was a sharpie, sometimes it was acid, but all of it had Alfred telling the kid to be more careful, and Jason getting to see that frustrated scowl paint its way across Tim's skin. When the kid stayed over on the nights he was too tired to go back home, Jason would play poltergeist. He'd take Tim's covers, shake the bed. One time, he ominously drew the curtains back until the kid was screaming, running for Bruce's room. While it wasn't the result Jason wanted, he did enjoy hearing Tim screech.
Some nights he would follow Tim to Bruce's room, mess with him a little more until the kid was shaking Bruce awake and telling him of the ghost in the manor. Bruce didn't want to hear it, the mirror already putting him on edge.
Most nights however, Jason would retreat to the kitchen where Alfred was. The man never seemed to sleep on nights Tim stayed over. He heard the screaming, was often in the hallway when Tim went running, and ended up in the kitchen when he'd finished investigating Tim's room.
Alfred was the only one Jason didn't mess with. He didn't want to. Alfred's nerves were already frail with having Bruce, a ghost on top of that would just be cruel.
It was Alfred that eventually had Jason letting up on Bruce.
One argument too many had another smashed mirror and Bruce ordering Alfred out.
"I'm sorry," Jason cried later, huddled up next to Bruce, "I just didn't want you to forget me. Please don't fire Alfred." He was the only one who still set out Jason's Wednesday cupcake.
Bruce seemed to listen, or at least realise how much Alfred meant to him since the man was allowed back into the manor the next morning.
Jason didn't write anymore messages. None to Bruce, and none to Dick when he was there. He would have stopped messing with Tim too, but, well, Jason needed some way to alleviate his boredom.
It didn't help that the kid started spending even more time over at the manor. So much that he investigated the library on one of his visiting days. Bruce was giving his same old tour, telling Tim about the different sections and the ancient collections all connected to this manor.
Tim listened to it all starry eyed, following Bruce like a lost puppy until Bruce told him to go have a look. Then, well, then Tim really did get into Jason's bad books. Not only did the kid manhandle the books like they were worthless, but he found Jason's little stash.
"Hey Bruce," Tim called, the man coming immediately. "What are those for? Are you doing some kind of project?"
"No," Bruce hummed. He edged closer, picking up a few of Jason's books before setting them down. "I'll have Alfred clear them away. Dick probably forgot to put them away last time he was here."
"Dick likes to read?" Tim asked, already turning to look at a different part of the library.
"Some genres," Bruce agreed.
Now, Jason could have excused Tim if this was a one time thing. However, thanks to his little tattle tale, Jason could no longer stack his books up. Tim seemed to find them every time he was over and either steal one, or put them all back. If he didn't do it, then Alfred would on his new rounds.
Jason didn't ask for much, and now the one thing he did ask for was being messed with. It was Tim's own fault what happened next.
Exactly one year after Jason died, Tim stayed over at the manor. He had the nerve to snuggle up with Dick and watch a movie, no one in that God forsaken manor even caring that he had died today.
Dick dropped off first, as he usually did. His stupid face hit the back of the sofa just as Tim started up another film. Jason waited until the snoring started, having gotten Dick's sleep down to an art form. He knew when Dick was deep enough he wouldn't wake without a serious jolt. He was like Bruce like that, the two of them light sleepers to a point then dead to the world until their bodies decided to wake up.
Tim didn't seem to mind, hesitantly leaning himself on Dick's sleep soft shoulder. It was sickening.
Jason paused the movie, watching with satisfaction as Tim pressed play as much as he liked and the film pausing every time it got so much as a second in. Jason kept it up for a good two minutes until the kid got frustrated enough to hop up and see what was wrong. The little tech wizard would see there was nothing wrong in a heartbeat. But Jason wasn't planning on messing with his electronics, he just needed the kid away from DIck.
Jason got to work as the kid turned his back, running behind the sofa to grab the suit he'd stowed and slide it in TIm's place. When the kid turned around, Jason wished he'd had a camera.
"D- Dick?" If TIm had been in his Robin suit Jason had no doubt he wouldn't have sounded as scared as he was now. "Dick!"
Jason let the kid call for Dick a while, long enough that he would gather some courage and step forward. When he did, Jason was ready, lifting his old Robin suit's top half until it looked like it was standing.
Tim nearly fell over himself as he scrambled back, a sob working its way out of his throat as Jason started moving the Robin suit out of the room. He laid it down a corridor away, running back to Dick's room and pushing the kid until he stumbled forwards to the door.
Tim looked around wildly, unprepared for the next shove that had him screaming as he curled up on the floor.
Bruce came in before Jason could go through with the rest of his plan. He scooped Tim up like a lost bird and shook Dick awake until he got some kind of answer as to why Tim was screaming like a banshee.
Jason smashed Tim's mirror in retaliation for getting Bruce involved, spending the whole next day sulking. He wasn't surprised when Bruce sent Tim off with Dick that afternoon. He was angry because that meant he couldn't even try for a round two, but he wasn't surprised.
What did surprise him was Tim coming home the next day, running the halls until he found Bruce, Jason blowing the pages of Bruce's book every now and then, and gasping, "Jason's alive."
"What?" Bruce demanded.
Jason scarecly believed it himself since, well he was pretty sure he was still dead. But TIm had been adamant that a guy dressed up in an old Robin costume had ambushed him in Titans tower. He had the bruises to prove it.
Jason put it all down to a hoax until that very night.
He was in his old bedroom, wishing that Tim was there so he could mess with the kid, when the latch to his window opened.
There, standing in the moonlight, was himself. He was sure of it, no amount of age could disprove it. He could feel it in his gut. There, in front of him, was himself.