They leave the red hood in the plaza when they carry Jason's body away.
It is a different kind of tragedy, that he will not see the way his family gathered around him at the end. It is a cruelty that he does not see the look on Dick Grayson's face when he gathers Jason's body in his arms and carries him to the Lazarus Pit.
That he does not see Rachel's grief and Gar's wild sorrow, that he does not see the way even Donna and Kory look devastated. Dawn is furious at him for dying for her. Furious at him for everything.
But still, she helps lower him into the Lazarus Pit.
#
And meanwhile, Jason Todd boards a train.
It's gray here, the faces of the passengers here somber, the ticket-masters sharp-eyed.
It only takes him fifteen minutes to jump off the edge of it.
Another hour, and a few dodged ghouls, and he runs smack into an old car and a familiar face.
"I should kick your ass, kid."
It's Hank Hall, and a tall man Jason doesn't recognize. They're both glaring down at him, and Jason sighs.
He deserves this. He does.
But he hadn't realized he would actually have to get his ass kicked by Hank Hall in the underworld. He hadn't really thought about hell much, truthfully. Thought most of his life was close enough to hell it wouldn't get that much worse when he died.
"Alright," Jason says, cocking his head and looking up at Hank. "Yea, alright."
And then Hank's hand falls on his shoulder. "But," he says. "This whole place is buzzing about what you did for Dawn."
Jason's head snaps up. "What?" he says.
"When someone dies for somebody," the other man says, his eyes gentling just a little. "Everyone is talking about it. On the train, in these woods. Everywhere. So Hank and I wanted to meet the boy who died for Dawn Granger."
"What a fucking surprise," Hank says. "So how'd it happen, dipshit? Did you do it on purpose?"
Jason can't look at him.
The sound of Hank—his last song, his last heartbeats, the explosion that sounded on endlessly—has been in his head for weeks.
"She deserved to live," he says finally.
Hank releases Jason's shoulder, and Jason nearly staggers to the ground. "Tell me, kid," he says. "Was it you?"
Was it you?
And Jason doesn't know.
Doesn't know what was him and what was the drug and what was scarecrow. Doesn't remember all of it, just bloody flashes and dark nights and that everything was cold cold cold.
"Enough of it was," Jason says. He meets Hank's eyes. "I'm—"
"If you say I'm sorry, I really will kick your ass," Hank cuts him off. "That's not enough. That won't ever be enough."
"Yea," Jason says. "Yea, I know." He runs a hand through his hair, trying to still the trembling in his hands. "So…"
He lets his voice trail off.
"Death gives you new perspective sometimes." Hank's voice is soft now. "There isn't anything you can do about the past. And I don't know if that was you, kid, if you gave in to hatred until it ate you up, or if it was fuckin Scarecrow or whatever the fuck, but we're here now. So you gotta decide what's next."
Jason clears his throat, and then shakes his head. "I don't know how to begin," he says finally, his voice hoarse. In life, he would have come in with a quip or a joke or something barbed. He would have found a way to insert an inappropriate joke.
But in death he is smaller, all the bright colors gray. And he is so, so guilty.
"I made a list," Hank says finally. "Of all those I hurt. Of those I didn't save. First was him—" he jerks a thumb at the other man. "That's my brother. Don."
"But what about you?" Jason asks. "How can I make amends with you?"
It feels like too much to even ask. To think that he ever could. To think he would get a second chance in death when Hank didn't get one in life.
Hank's hand is heavy on his shoulder. "There's a bridge," he says quietly. "And when you're done making amends on this side, you and I are going to go looking for it. And we're going to cross it together."
"Is this a 'resurrect me so you can kick my ass' situation?" Jason asks, because he doesn't know how to say thank you, because thank you is too small for something like this.
Hank's laugh is sharp. "Maybe, dipshit," he says. "Guess we'll have to see." He claps a hand on Jason's back.
"Come on," Don says. "We've got a hideout this way."
The afterlife is fucking weird. Weird and gray and the most hopeful Jason Todd has ever been in his life. Or not-life?
#
"How long do people usually stay in the Lazarus Pit?"
"Usually?" Kory stares at Gar in disbelief. "Gar, nothing about the Lazarus Pit is usual. We don't have—"
"Three hours," Donna says.
She is sitting on a rock near the edge of the pit, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. She does not look at any of them.
And then she stands, paces near the edge of the pit, near the waters that occasionally writhe and bubble. They all wait, because Donna has been the farthest past death, the longest gone, and she came back.
"Three hours, and the person who came back was…" She lets her voice trail off. "Was monstrous. Dick was in the pit for just over an hour. That's on the longer sider. If Jason comes back—"
"If." Gar's voice is high-pitched, so close to breaking.
Dick reaches for him instinctually, but the boy jerks away.
"Time works differently there," Donna says softly.
Rachel draws close to her, unafraid of the death in Donna's eyes. Rachel has seen much darker things, Dick supposes, even at sixteen.
"If he comes back to us," she says finally. "We don't know who he'll be."
#
Jason Todd is in the Lazarus Pit for three days.
But he is in the underworld for longer.
He makes his list. He finds them one by one, the souls he harmed and damaged. He does not make it right, not all of it, not wholly, because not even the afterlife has that kind of magic, but he does bring them peace.
And at the end of it, a bridge.
#
Eventually, the others go home. Donna after three hours, her face fierce and dark, and Dawn goes with her to keep her company.
Tim a few hours after, Connor and Krypto with him.
Kory tugs Rachel away hours after, says get some rest, little one.
But Gar stays, so Dick stays, too.
#
And this part is as painful as the rest: that Don hugs Hank fiercely and says you go home before he walks into an army of ghouls for them.
Jason will not want to talk about the battle for the rest of his life, and neither will Hank.
But in the end, they cross the bridge together, Hank and Jason.
And that's the part that matters most.
#
The Pit bubbles and writhes, and Gar rushes to the edge of it. Dick tries to pull him back, but Gar half-snarls at him, green tinging his face, so Dick just kneels beside him.
"Careful," he says softly, but Gar just leans forward eagerly.
And then a hand, palm open, reaches straight out of the water.
Gar grabs it so quickly, holds on for dear life, and then they are hauling Jason Todd from the Lazarus Pit, his dark curls matted to his face, his thin frame shivering.
"You're home," Gar is saying, over and over and over again. "You're home."
