A long wait, I know! I hope this helps make up for it. One more chapter after this, sort of as a bit of closure. Not sure if I'll do a sequel of sorts to this story, but we'll see. For now, on to the chapter!
A year ago—hell, a month ago—Jason would have paid good money to see the expression crossing Bruce's face. The horror, sadness, anger, and who the hell knew what that bat glare business was. Regardless of its name, it joined its emotional brethren painting a picture over Bruce's normally stoic exterior.
"I had no idea," he finally managed.
Jason wanted to argue. Of course the fucking Batman should have known his "son" (or whatever the hell he was to him) had ripped himself out of his own grave, wandered mindlessly for twenty miles, and finally got picked up by some trucker with a heart and taken to a hospital where everyone and their mom should have known who the fuck Bruce Wayne's former foster child was.
Except, it wasn't entirely true. Now, looking back on it, how could Bruce have known? The cemetery was a less visited place for the emotionally-stunted man than the Narrows. And it wasn't exactly like Jason looked so remarkably different from other black-haired, blue-eyed boys. After all, villains tended to think he, Dick, Tim, and Damian were all the same damn person—though, the changing voices and heights should have been a giveaway. Still, why did Jason think some hospital staff would find him so distinctive from the thousands of others that ventured through those doors? More to the point, why would they even entertain the thought that Bruce Wayne's dead son would return from the grave three years after he was buried? Admittedly, now, it was a lot for even himself to take in.
"It's not your fault," he sighed. "Even you can't be prepared for everything."
"When it comes to the four of you, I should be."
"Right, because not immediately sensing one of us has risen from the dead three years after the fact falls under serious child abuse. Bruce, you are many things, but neglectful isn't one of them. You're the only person I know who can somehow be smothering and cooly distant at the same time."
Bruce sent him a glare, though at least that self-pitying look had been wiped from his face. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"Dick's the hugging one," Jason replied.
Dick rolled his eyes, though any response he had was cut off as the scene changed again. Yellow, blinking lights replaced the bright white of the operating room, and a low murmur filled the room around them. The warm scents of popcorn and animals mixed together with the dust now settling under their feet. Jason had an inkling as to where they were, and his suspicions were confirmed by the mixture of fondness and uneasiness tracing Dick's features.
"Haley's?" he asked.
"Haley's," Dick nodded.
Sure enough, the younger version of Dick wandered into sight, barely hindered under the weight of a burlap sack of peanuts settled on his shoulder.
"Hey there, girl," he said.
Across from him, an elephant trumpets, the sound sending Jason off balance. "Christ!" he exclaimed, wide-eyed.
"Don't tell me you're scared of a phantom elephant," Dick smirked.
Jason sent him a glare that rivaled Bruce's. "I'm not scared. And it's not like it's a fucking puppy, Dick."
"Jason," Bruce started disapprovingly, "don't use Dick's name as a curse. Dick, don't make fun of Jason being scared of the elephant."
"I fucking hate you both," Jason growled.
Dick grinned, puffing up until a click sounded in the memory. The distinct sound of a camera shutter clicked again, the younger Dick now pulled from his moment with his giant friend. "Who the—"
"It really is you…" a boy's voice broke through, eliciting a confused trumpet from the elephant nearby. The boy soon stepped into the light, dropping the camera that was fastened around his neck. "You're Dick Grayson. The Dick Grayson."
"Uh… that would be me," the young man said, arching an eyebrow toward the intruder. "Do I know you?"
"Oh, no. I mean, not really. My name's Tim, Tim Drake. We met once a long time ago, but you probably don't remember and I was really little. I mean, like toddler-aged. I think I was two. I kind of remember it, I think. You were one of the Flying Graysons. I was here the night that… Well, anyway, you probably don't remember."
The boy shifted his weight and blushed, eyes turned down to his shoes. Even years after the incident, Dick couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity and amusement toward the poor fanboy.
"So, the Replacement's always been a weird little stalker, huh?" Jason mumbled.
Bruce and Dick sent him a look, though he smirked in triumph when neither man said a word against him. No sense in denying the truth, he thought.
The memory continued, undeterred by the interruption. In spite of—or, perhaps, because of—Tim's awkwardness, Dick couldn't help but smile and pat the boy on the shoulder. "So, you saw us perform? Are you going to see tonight's show? I'm not sure where your tickets have you sitting, but I'd be happy to give you a bit of an upgrade. Might even be able to swing a backstage pass. You haven't really been to the circus until you see the aftermath of Sven the Sword Swallower's heartburn."
Tim lit up, embarrassment all but forgotten. He opened his mouth, prepared to fawn once more, until a thought it him. Suddenly, his eyebrows knitted, mouth curving downward.
"Hey, don't worry. I promise there are less disturbing things backstage, too."
Tim shook his head, glancing around to ensure they were alone. "It's not that," he managed, voice lowered. "I'm not here to see the show tonight. I'm actually here about your other job."
"My other job?"
Tim inched closer, checking once more for potential listeners. "Your other job. As Nightwing."
The shock that crossed Dick's face might have been comical if the whole situation weren't so tense. The normally light-hearted young man stared in disbelief before his eyes darkened. "What are you talking about?"
"Nightwing. You know? Former Boy Wonder, current grown hero, Teen Titan, and former ward of Bruce Wayne? He needs you. Bruce—Batman—he needs you. He needs Robin."
Now it was Dick's turn to scan the area for potential listeners. "I don't know what you're playing at, kid."
"I'm not playing at anything. You know just as much as I do that he's gotten dangerous. More to himself than anything else, but either way he's going to get someone hurt. Himself, I'm betting. Ever since Jason—"
"What do you know about Jason?!"
Tim silenced for a moment, shocked at the sharpness of Dick's tone, but shook it off and continued on more determined than before. "I know Jason Todd became Robin after you stopped. After Bruce adopted him, six months later there was a new Robin. He fought different than you did. You flipped a lot more, and did that quadruple somersault my parents said you were famous for. Jason flipped around some, but mostly he was just tough. A scrapper. You can tell he was a street kid by the way he fought. Still, even being tougher, he kept Batman lighter. In check. With him gone, Batman is losing it. Bruce is losing it. Dick, he needs a Robin. You need to go back."
Putting up the ruse was pointless. Dick could see that now, and all three heroes witnessing it knew that there was a time to play dumb and a time to handle what was in front of you. This was that time. Not that he could completely hide the array of emotions that came with Tim's proposal. Wait, that was what he was proposing right?
"You want me to be Robin again?"
Tim nodded, eyes wide with relief and a not-so-well-hidden sense of urgency. "He needs you. He's on the edge and if someone doesn't pull him back, if you don't pull him back, he's going to go overboard. He's going to get himself killed or kill someone else. Break his own rules. Break the rule."
The air grew silent, and even now Dick would be lying if he said a small part of him didn't agree with what Tim was saying, didn't think he should return to his old persona for the sake of Bruce's sanity. Then again…
"No," Dick said, shaking his head. "He's not going to listen to me, and he sure as hell isn't going to take Robin on again. Robin's dead."
As if taking its cue from the morbid statement, the scene around them grew dark and damp. The faint smell of smoke and what Jason identified as a sort of alleyway funk assaulted their noses. Dick and Bruce curled their lips, and even Jason winced a bit in spite of his long line of experience with the smell.
A myriad of images and sounds assaulted them: Tim dressed in Jason's Robin outfit as Batman took on Two-Face, Nightwing and Batman's surprise at the unwelcome intruder and the boy's insistence on his helping, and the near explosive rage that encompassed Bruce when he realized what was happening.
"You need a Robin!" Tim yelled through the shouts around him. "You're getting close to the edge. I know losing Jason was hard; he was a hero and what happened isn't what's supposed to happen to heroes. Not like that, and not at his age. I get it. But if you keep going the way you're going, you're going to join him, and I think that's the last thing he would want."
The vein that tended to pop in Batman's forehead was almost visible through the thick cowl, and the elder Jason was surprised that the man didn't have a stroke or outright strangle the kid in front of him.
He had to hand it to the Replacement—the boy had balls. Or a death wish. Probably both.
After a stretch of tense silence, Batman exchanged a glance with Nightwing, his expression betraying just how much he still relied on the younger hero in spite of their fighting since Jason's death. His features relaxed beneath Batman's cold exterior, and his eyes seemed to search for an opinion from the boy he had come to care for rather than the vigilante he had helped turn him into.
Nightwing shrugged, and that seemed to be enough for Batman. When he turned his attention back to Tim, his rage had all but left, though the cold distance was still there.
"If you do this, you follow my orders to the letter. And no more field work until you've been trained. I'm not risking it until I know you could get out there and not—"
Not get killed. The words hung in the air, and Tim winced a bit as if Batman had screamed them rather than swallowing them down. Recovering, he nodded. "How long?"
"A year. At least. We'll take it from there. The second I think you may be in over your head, you're done. Got it?"
"Got it."
Darkness overtook them again, and Jason sat there in a numb haze. Sure, he knew Tim had taken his costume and assumed the role of Robin without really being asked. Seeing it, though… had it really happened like that? Had both Dick and Bruce turned him down? Had the Replacement soldiered on regardless, more out of a concern for Bruce's well-being than a desire to fulfill his own hero-worshipping aspirations.
Had he really thought all that about Jason?
The resurrected vigilante shook his head, ridding himself of his doubts. Tim was smart. Logical. If he could say anything about the younger hero, it was that. He saw an opening for a role he wanted and knew what to say to get it. Okay, maybe there was more to it than that, but not much more. Jason knew better than to think anyone really worried that Batman would ever die, to think anyone really believed Jason had ever been worth living in the shadow of.
The air of the cave rushed back over them. Before the sight of it even came into full view, all three of them could recognize the sensations of home. This time, Bruce winced at the pain in his head, though by this point Jason wondered if it was easing up or if they were just used to the shocking migraines by now.
Soon, Alfred came into view. Stoic and rigid as always, he went about the trophies polishing each one to perfection. Not an inch of dust was shown mercy, and Jason couldn't help but smile at the familiar feeling of watching his pseudo-grandfather at work.
Not far from him, Tim sat at the cave's computer, looking damn near ready to bash his head in over a case. He spun in the chair that dwarfed him, creating a rhythm every bored Robin was well rehearsed in during those long detective hours.
Like a rehearsal in a play, Tim and Alfred seemed to take their cues at just the right moment. Tim sighed and glanced up, catching the Butler as he approached Jason's case. His shrine. For just an instant, that stoic facade wavered, and Alfred placed his weathered hand over the glass, closing his eyes.
Tim's eyebrows furrowed, worry creeping into his features. Before he could call out, Alfred straightened and cleaned the glass, ridding it of the fingerprints he had left behind. "Your friends will be arriving soon, Master Timothy," he said, sensing the boy's eyes on him.
"Oh, right. Yeah, they're supposed to help me with this case."
"Is that code for distract you from the case, young sir?"
"You know us too well," Tim chuckled.
Alfred managed a small smile, though a sadness still lingered in his eyes. "Indeed. I'll prepare some refreshments."
"Thanks, Alfred," he said, watching him until the man ascended the stairs and disappeared entirely. Listening out for another few seconds and realizing he was alone—so he thought, anyway—Tim stared at Jason's case and sighed.
"You would have gotten this by now. Any help?" he asked.
He couldn't say he was surprised when silence greeted him. Again. Just like every time before. Still, just a bit of him was disappointed when no one talked back.
"Come on, you'd totally have found something. Maybe not the most legal of ways, but you would have found it. I could use a bit… not-so-upstanding techniques to help me through this one. Of course, Bruce would blow a gasket if I hacked into government systems again, but I bet you'd do it."
Though the only sounds that greeted him were the distant rush of water and the screeching of bats, the living Jason smirked at his successor's statements. Not only because of how right he was—and he was right—but because of the fondness in his tone. Like he was speaking to his troublesome big brother rather than a dead screw-up.
"Okay, maybe you would have just kicked down a door. Still can't get that one totally down, though. I sprained my ankle last time I tried. Oh, and that layout move with the double kick at the end? You don't want to know how messed up I got after trying that one. Still, if I can do anything, I can hack. That's something, right? Think I should do it? Solve the case and maybe the big, bad bat won't kill me too much?"
Just as Tim reached for the computer's controls, the zeta tube nearby sounded and the boy leaned back against the chair. "Guess that answers that."
As the teen rose from the oversized chair to greet Superboy and Impulse, Jason turned to face Bruce with an incredulous look. "You were watching him?"
"I didn't want to interrupt a private moment," he said.
"He was talking to a case."
"He was talking to his hero," Bruce shot back.
Dick sensed his younger brother preparing a smart ass remark and opted to add, "He did that a lot."
"Sounds like he needed to get his head checked. Clearly he comes from the Bruce Wayne School of Brooding At Inanimate Objects."
Bruce sent him a sharp look, surely preparing to snap in defense of himself or Tim, when Jason saw the little speedster he assumed to be Impulse approaching his case. Though he had just insulted the mere idea of having a shrine to his failure in the cave, there was something uncomfortable about having a stranger so near it. Odd that he didn't feel such a strangeness with Tim's talking. He shrugged it off, figuring it was simply because he had gotten used to the Replacement. Besides, there was no telling what damage a speedster could do in that cave.
Even the Bruce in the memory shifted, ready to jump into action as the boy examined the Robin suit. "What's wrong with it?" Impulse asked. "This one smell bad or something?"
Both Bruce's flushed red, but it was Tim whose eyes bulged and posture stiffened. "Get away from there!" he practically screamed. In a nanosecond, Impulse was back by Tim's side, his face pale.
"Never pegged the Replacement for a temper," Jason said once the shock wore off.
Dick smirked beside him. "He comes from the Robin School of Only I Can Mess With My Brothers."
Jason made a face at the statement, though even he knew it was more for show than anything. Hearing Tim's idolizing statements, seeing his protectiveness over just Jason's shell… what was that if not brotherly? A twinge of guilt surged through him at the memories of everything he had done to Tim since his resurrection.
Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, and for once he didn't feel the urge to brush it away. "He's okay now," he said, as if reading his mind. "No lasting damage."
"He should hate me. After all this? You all should. Why don't you?"
His voice shook as he turned to stare at the both of them, his turquoise eyes searching for some answer he could comprehend. "Why don't you?" he asked again through a clenched jaw.
"Same reason you keep coming back to help no matter what stupid excuses you have," Dick replied. As he spoke, the cave morphed into another slideshow of fuzzy images. Barbara crying at Jason's funeral, Alfred cleaning Jason's old room, Dick and Damian preparing to save Jason from whatever idiotic idea he had gotten in his head this time. "That thing none of us actually say. We mean it, though. That's why."
Jason shook his head, looking away from the images and from his father and brother so nearby. It was all too much to take in. Far too much. He needed a dark corner and a lot of liquor, not Dick telling him something he just couldn't stomach.
Well, the dark corner he got, though the liquor was replaced with another mind-splitting headache. So much for them being used to it. All three of them yelled out, their throats ripping at the pressure. Then, a cold numbness overtook them, and they collapsed in a heap on the concrete floor. Jason had one brief moment of realizing it was the same floor they had left from before he lost consciousness entirely.
He didn't get a chance to hear the weasely laughter high in the rafters. Didn't get to see the wormy psychic turn to his boss.
"We have them. We know who they are! All of them! We could take dow—"
The psychic blinked, realizing for just an instant that something was wrong. He had seen it happen, he thought. At least, he believed he saw something thin and shining move toward him. Was almost positive he had felt a pinch to his neck.
So, this is what a guillotine must have felt like. That was his last thought as his head fully severed from his neck, falling to the floor beside him. His boss's foot tapped it away before sheathing her sword.
"I told you," she said, looking down at the three heroes on the floor beneath. "That wasn't the purpose."
Thanks for reading! All your reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciate!
-Defective