[Originally written and published: February 2020. Cross-posted to FF dot net from AO3: October 2022]
A/N: Some supernatural Bruce & Jason angst I wrote back at the start of the pandemic when I was Batman-obsessed. Or more specifically, Jason Todd obsessed.
They said those born in Gotham were born too close to Hell. It was an old wife's tale, dating back to the time when the city was merely a desolate village. The story went that Gotham was built right above Hell, and that the proximity to Satan himself was to blame for the town's misfortune, that Satan would manifest himself in some of those born within her borders.
Most in the modern-day dismissed the idea as nothing more than an urban legend, a story to tell kids to scare them away from walking the streets at night. But some knew better. Some knew that if you closed your eyes and listened closely, you could hear voices catching on the wind, howling in pain. The voices of those that suffered in life, of those that couldn't find peace after death.
Those born in Gotham were born too close to Hell, and some of them never really left, doomed to wander her streets for eternity, unable to find peace and pass on to the next life.
Of course, Jason Todd didn't die within Gotham, but he died at her hands.
One might even say he never really left.
Bruce was convinced he was going slightly mad the first time he saw him. Exhaustion from too many nights in a row on patrol, coupled with the foggy haze of grief that clouded his mind must've caused a temporary lapse in his sanity. That was the only possible explanation
He'd be staring at the Batcomputer, trying and failing to pay attention to an important-but-dry document Barbara had sent him, when he heard it.
At first it was only a soft whisper, barely even there.
Bruce...
He continued reading, idly clicking buttons. The voice grew louder, more demanding.
Bruce...
He felt bile creeping in his throat. He knew that voice, that thick lower-Gotham lilt.
It was just a dream, a nightmare, a minor delusion. He just needed some sleep.
Bruce...
Then, a yell, forceful and impatient and ricocheting off the walls of the Batcave.
"Bruce!"
He turned in his chair without even thinking, freezing at what he saw. There, sitting atop the memorial case, one leg crossed over the other as they both dangled down, clad in the very same outfit encased within the glass, was the ghostly, translucent form of Jason Todd.
He took him -no not him, it- in, eyes widening with fear.
You've officially gone insane Bruce. Maybe Clark was right about you needing therapy... Locked up in Arkham, that's what's next for you.
Or maybe it's just the lack of sleep… How long has it been since you slept?
It certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd seen Jason in his nightmares. Every time he slept he saw Jason's mangled, bloody corpse, heard his pained screams, his agonized voice, begging, pleading, "Why didn't you save me, Bruce? Why were you too late? Why did you let me die?" No matter how hard he tried, he could never get the haunting image of Ethiopia out of his mind.
What difference did it make if he was awake for his night terror this time?
He blinked a few times, praying that the hallucination would disappear. When it didn't he turned around once more, staring vacantly at the black-and-green glow of the computer screen, desperately hoping to get Jason's smiling face out of his mind
But he didn't stop.
"Hey, B! I know ya' can see me!"
He opened a new command line and began typing a response to Oracle, desperately trying to focus on something, anything other than that damned voice.
"C'mon, boss-"
He flinched, feeling the faintest brush of a touch on his shoulder. He looked up to see the hallucination floating above him, cheshire cat grin, all teeth.
It was the smile Jason would give in the heat of battle, to show Bruce he wasn't afraid.
"Think ya' can ignore me?"
Bruce huffed, and continued typing.
"I thought ya'd be happier to see me!" it pouted.
"You're not real." Bruce finally answered in his flattest tone.
"Wha'?"
"You're... a hallucination, a dream, you're not really there." Frustration began to creep into his voice, "I'm just seeing things."
"Ooh, has the Big Bad Batman finally snapped?"
Bruce had heard Jason's mocking tone a hundred times. But this time it seemed much less playful and good-natured, and much more venomous and cruel.
"I'm just over-worked," he answered, more to himself than to the hallucination. He sighed and stood up, realising he couldn't get any more work done in this state, desperately trying to maintain his composure.
You're just sleep-deprived Bruce, just ignore it, it'll go away, don't think about him, you know what happens when you think about him.
He was almost sure could feel a pair of eyes trained on him as he walked away, sending a shiver down his spine.
"Ya' really think I'm not real?"
He didn't respond. Answering one's own delusion did no one any good.
"Ack, you wound me, B!"
The delusion appeared in front of him again, performing an over-the-top gesture of hurt. If it was really Jason, Bruce might have laughed.
But Jason was dead.
This was just a cruel trick of the mind.
He made his way out of the Batcave, ignoring the voice calling out behind him.
"B! Hey B! Don' ignore me! Dad!"
He froze for a moment, hand beginning to shake, before hastily typing in the combination to exit the Batcave.
The Batcave stood solemn, but not empty, a single ghostly figure wrapping his arms around himself, pensively.
"I guess I spooked 'em."
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