Title: JayLad

Words: 12694

Rating: T

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, and Alfred PennyWorth

Summary: Jason gets sick, goes out and fights -I know, D U M B- but he runs into the bats. Jason is pretty young in this story and he is still recovering from the after effects of all that happened with him and the pit. And, I may have thrown canon right out of the window from a plane down into the recessing pool of ocean... What I'm saying is that Jason gets a hug from his FREAKING Dad. Okay. Imagine that. Happy Ending.


Chapter 4: "And One Man in his Time Plays many Parts"

Summary:

Go bug someone else's life. Just let mine go.


... ... ...

In the deep sludge that his mind was swimming in, copious thoughts enthralled him.

There were so many questions such as: Where was he? Why was he here? How did he get here? And...

Where was his helmet?

You know, the most important questions that a person asks while in a state of utter disarray and potential delight at the prospect of their termination.

Ya know the typical.

He didn't remember dyi-
Oh, wait yeah he did didn't he?

"Jason, wak-"

Dying had seemed rather peaceful this time.

To be honest it had all been rather fuzzy.

That's fun.

"-he's not bre-"

Drowning. Now that's the real funny bit. If he could laugh, he would. The last time he died, he died by fire. Now he was dead but again. However this time, it was by the inhalation of water that he had come to meet his demise. It comes full circle doesn't it? However, it all ends the same ya know, the lack of oxygen.

This is what it must feel like when everyone dies.

"-breath you idio-"

Too much about his previous death was left unremembered. Now, he would never remember it. Maybe that was for the best nonetheless though.

However, that #$% mob boss better not have taken his helmet. He will come back as a ghost and personally haunt the corn dogs out of him for the rest of his life if he took his helmet as an everloving trophy.

"-igh feve-"

It was dark with muddled splashes of light. Bubbles still seemed to be exiting out of his mouth as he was swept away in a tide of bright blue. This was the most relaxing that it had been in a while. It was like he was drifting away on a cloud in a sea of nothingness. With waves crashing over him, he could hear faint yelling in the distance. Nevertheless, with the waves of sea foam washing over his face he could see a mirage of a beach.

Peace. It laid ahead.

It was a longing for him to feel the warm sand coating his body comforting him like a blanket. To only have sand wedge up between his toes and dirtying his hair would have been a relief. Lastly as a desperation, it was a peace to leave the crashing twists that life had been throwing his way.

Was this what death was like? Was death like a hallucination of a desert; calling out to you as your life sources were running dry.

Almost time then for, eternal rest.

It was a surprisingly welcomed thought.

"-his stom-"

It was now truer said then ever that "Life was but a shadow, a poor player..." Life had indeed made him to be a poor player that had strutted and fretted his time upon the stage of his existence. He was not to be heard no more. A life full of choices that had been made -many made by him and many out of his own hand-, had led his life full of sound and fury. It was true, his life story was told by him, the idiot. In the end it had all signified nothing.

Even when life had spitted him out of its mouth re-birthing him to a new chance at life, it had been squandered. Wasted.

Would death even accept him at this point?

Swimming in a float like trance, he fought his way to shore.

An effort to try was something he would do.

"Oh #$%. Stay with us Jaybi-"

Would anyone remember the things that he had tried to do? The good things. Or would all the bad that he had done be his only remembrance in the eyes of Bruce, Goldie-locks, the replacement and squirt? It was hoped that the good things that he had tried to do wouldn't be lost in his death.

It couldn't be said that he didn't try, right?

It would be so like Bruce to set another glass memorial for him depicting his Red Hood costume. It was a offending memory that ought to be drowned with him.

Forget ghosting the Boss man, he would sure as Hades itself haunt Bruce for that alone. Also, No Damian you can not have his gun set. And no rooting through his stuff like a treasure trove, Tim and Dick. Goodness were those two like #$% twelve?

...

They- he, he was going to miss them actually.

Would anyone even find his body? Surely everyone was too focused on what they were doing to be noticing the scene that was unfolding. It wasn't like he actually mattered. Well, maybe he mattered to Alfred. Everyone seemed to matter to Alfred though.

"Sorry Alfred," He muttered catching his breath as he broke the surface of the ocean water.

If there was one everlasting regret, it was the fact he couldn't say goodbye to Alfie... He was a good grandfather. Also, another regret. He didn't write a will. The helmet was a goner for sure by someones sticky fingers.

It seems to be that he is drowning.

Whoop. Big deal.

He had been drowning long before this point and nobody had noticed. So why should anyone care right now? Especially himself.

"-chest compressio-"

Please, let this be over soon.

Swimming to shore, he kept fighting a tide that was pulling him away from his goal. It was like the waves were beckoning for him to stay. They were calling him by name. They were holding him back.

However, he was the man rejecting the life preserver. Why should he take it when there were so many other more needing people that deserved it.

In a twist, death could even be bitter towards your dying.

Why...

Why was life being cruel?

Life should be giving up on him, not giving him yet again another chance. Especially when he didn't flippin' want it.

Go bug someone else's life. Just let mine go.

Arching forward it was like a tide pool was swarming around him sweeping him into the recesses of its darkness.

Still fighting it, he was only dragged down further.

"No," he cried to the torrential flow of water, "Don't take me back... I'm- I'm done..." He whispered to himself as everything was turning to nothing.

The body that encased his mind was done. So done.

This life was flipping to the flip tiring.

All the few too little wins, all of the abundant too many losses...

Frolicking upon the stage for long enough, there were no more parts for him to play. The role for an orphan, a dead Robin, and undead Robin, a monster, a messed up human being, the Hood, they had already been fulfilled.

The Curtain had to close, and it was time for the player to take its final bow...

Being ready, it evidently seemed that life was not.