Chapter Text
1 Week
They made him a grave even though they had nothing to bury, other than a handful of ashes that Dick had managed to cling to.
It was a simple grave. A carved headstone Dick had carved himself that sat at the edge of the meadow, surrounded by a ring of trees.
Jason Todd-Wayne
Beloved brother and son
Bruce spent the better part of the week tending to the grave with Alfred.
The man hardly spoke to his other sons–– a quiet morning that left him detached in a way Dick had never seen before, like one ghost mourning another.
He didn’t let Tim or Damian out of his sight for the better part of the next week, keeping a close eye on Tim who was still swinging between catatonia and burying himself in research. Damian hadn’t said a word to anyone since that night in the den, and although Dick worried about the youngest, he knew they all needed time... He just wasn’t sure how much.
2 Weeks
Bruce hadn’t meant to start a fight. It was such a stupid argument–– an unfortunate mix of grief colliding with a need to keep his eldest out of harm's way. All because he’d seen the red strand of thread braided into Dick’s hair–– a piece of an old scarf that sat preserved in a vacant room upstairs.
It was their first fight. There was a lot of yelling involved. Bruce wasn’t proud of himself, but he knew there was nothing he could do to keep Dick from going out on his own–– but he wanted so desperately to.
Dick stormed out of the cave, and the tomb upstairs stayed untouched.
A red strand of thread in Dick’s hair, another around Tim’s wrist, another tied securely around Damian’s ankle.
One red thread that felt like a noose around Bruce’s neck.
3 Weeks
Dick left to bring the news to Babs and the Titans, leaving Tim and Dami alone in the manor with Bruce and Alfred.
There had been a fight in the cave, Tim overheard it but he couldn’t quite make out what was said. Just that Dick had stormed out, grabbed his gear, and left before Tim had the chance to beg him to stay. Bruce said nothing as he left the cave. He was barely able to look any of them in the eye these days. It left Tim feeling numb, and he let the blanket of apathy weigh him down like a suit of armor.
Alfred found him in the library, staring at a worn copy of a book filled with annotations in a familiar scribbled script, written by hands that would never touch the book again.
The old mage brought him to the kitchen where warm tea and lunch were waiting. Damian sat at the table across from him–– the youngest still hadn’t spoken since the day they found out. Since Dick left, Tim often found Damian sneaking into his room when Tim was pretending to sleep. He didn’t comment on the small vines that wrapped around his pinky finger when Dami finally fell asleep curled up next to him.
1 Month
There was a new shrine in the cave.
Dick stared at it in wide-eyed horror when he returned from his time with the Titans. A glass case that held tattered red green and yellow armor with a plaque that read “Jason Todd, a Good Soldier.”
It made Dick want to puke.
3 Months
Another fight and Dick was gone again. Damian still wasn’t speaking, and Alfred had thrown himself into his work.
Tim hadn’t felt so alone since before the orphanage. He spent a lot of time at Jason’s grave. He wasn’t sure when he’d started bringing books with him–– Tim had already exhausted every demonology book available to him in the manor, but he hadn’t touched any of the books Jason had been heckling him to read before…
So Tim read. He read to the grave and the empty earth below it, hoping someone would listen.
6 Months
Dick was gone again. Damian was still silent.
Bruce had started coming back from missions wounded or covered in cuts and bruises and with a dark look in his eye that made Tim shudder. His hunts became long and violent excursions that sent rumors of a raging bat monster rolling through the countryside.
Something was very very wrong. There was no one holding the Dark Knight back as he tore through the monsters that dared set foot before him, but Tim saw something else in that dark look–– something he had felt just before Dick had pulled him off the stone floor of the cave, surrounded by hastily drawn runes in a futile attempt to see his brother again–– or join him.
Then Tim did something stupid.
He opened the glass case in the cave, slipped on the armor, and made his way to Titans Tower.
7 Months
Dick had been seething when Tim showed up at the tower as Robin. Tim asked him to come home, Bruce was killing himself–– Dick refused–– they fought. Tim yelled at him–– reminding him of a promise— a memory.
Tim giggled, “What do I win?”
Jason glanced at Dick, Dick nodded, and Jason smiled up at Tim, “You get to be Robin, baby bird.”
Dick caved.
8 Months
Dick trained Tim, usually behind Bruce’s back or at the tower, but it couldn’t last forever.
Bruce was furious when he found out–– there was another fight–– except this time Tim got to say his piece. Someone needed to smack some sense into their father before he ended up in over his head–– or worse.
So Tim volunteered–– er, more like threatened, to be Robin.
It took a lot of arguing, and even more convincing and badgering, but Bruce reluctantly agreed to the threat of Tim going out on his own with or without Bruce's training. He'd rather his son be trained properly, but even then...
Bruce agreed to train Tim, with heavy restrictions, and he was never allowed to patrol alone.
It was a compromise Tim could work with for the time being.
9 Months
Bruce broke the news to Zatanna. After everything, she at least deserved to know.
He kept it from the rest of the Guild, the only mention of Jason's death in the official Guild records, buried in the Watchtower's library.
11 Months
It happened when Dick brings Damian a plate of dinner while the youngest is reading in the library. Dick placed the warm plate down on the side table, ruffling Damian’s hair as he left––
He almost missed it––
The quiet “thank you” that slipped from the small boy’s lips–– Dick froze, turned, and practically tackled Damian into a hug.
It was the first time the youngest had said a word in almost a year.
1 Year
The house felt cold despite the summer heat.
Damian could practically cut the tension that hung in the air as they approached the anniversary of Jason’s death.
Dick was more flighty than usual. Timothy was once again buried in his books. Bruce had resigned himself to his study for the better part of the week. And Alfred had busied himself around the house and cave and grounds to an extent Damian didn’t see unless they were preparing for winter.
Damian didn’t like it. He was sure Jason would agree with him that this was not the proper way to mourn his passing.
Damian held the bone-handled knife close to his chest. He missed his brother. He was sure all of them did.
Damian spent a lot of time at his brother’s grave. It was comforting in a way he could not describe other than that the handful of ashes buried under the earth seemed to be listening to him. Comforting him. Not with words. Damian had struggled with words for a long time. Jason had been the one to teach him to read and write, to read him stories when he was scared or sad. After Jason’s death–– words had felt like something sacred and it became too heavy to use them.
He would use them now, in his brother’s honor.
2 Years
Tim sat at the grave. They all did, especially around this time of year.
He was reading–– some of the newer books Bruce had collected over the past few years–– books Jason had never gotten to read.
He tells Jason everything that’s been going on. How his training was going, his plan to run the gauntlet in the next year, how Dick was leading the Titans, and that Damian had also begun his training.
He tugged at the faded red string around his wrist before cracking open the next chapter of the book he’d been reading.
It wasn’t easier, he still missed him, he still cried, it still hurt, and they all still mourned, but the weight didn’t make him as sick as it used to.
3 Years
The family was bigger now.
The house was noisier than it had been in years.
Bruce was grateful for the noise.
Some days, Bruce could hardly believe how much had changed in the past three years.
He still saw Jason sometimes. A ghost in the library. Echoing laughter in the cave. He knew it wasn't real.
Jason’s death had changed everything–– it had taken a part of them that Bruce was sure they would never get back.
But they were healing.
It still hurt.
Everyday.
Some days worse than others.
The pain wasn’t any less, but it was different.
It hurt, but they had peace.