Work Text:
Jason heard the warehouse door open with a sinister squeak between the beeps of the bomb timer but the pain in his face, his arms, his chest...pain almost everywhere prevented him from opening his eyes.
And in any case, it could only be the Joker, who else could be stupid enough to come all the way there?
Who else could have known they were there?
Curled up on the ground a few steps away from Sheila's - his mother's - corpse, he clenched his teeth and fists as even the tears couldn't get out.
If the Joker was going to take him out, let him hurry up and do it.
He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing him complain.
He was fucking Robin.
And he had enough self-love, enough self-respect, not to leave that last satisfaction to that son of a bitch.
Had he had the strength he would have spit in his face and used his last breath to curse and insult him.
The annoying, brazen beeping of the bomb, almost mocking, bothered him, but he prayed that at least the bitch would explode and take the Joker with them.
That would have been the ultimate tease.
They'd end up in hell and she'd fuck with him forever, so much for that reality shit.
The only thing he was sorry about....
The only thing he was sorry about was not being able to tell Bruce that he was right, and that was what hurt him the most of all.
Even more than the injuries, even more than the fractures and the internal bleeding.
The idea of not being able to tell the only father worthy of the name he'd ever had that he was right and that he loved him hurt.
At least Joker wouldn't be a problem anymore if the bastard was really back there.
"Come on, explode now," he whispered, "Take him away with us."
At least it wouldn't happen to others, there wouldn't be any more dead Robins.
Because Robin would go on living with other faces, he was an immature kid but that was a certainty.
Batman needed Robin and his legacy would live on forever.
But when he felt a pair of arms - so familiar that he would have cried there on the spot if he had the chance - wrap around him and lift him up, he thought that maybe he wouldn't die.
Or at least, that even if he did die, at least he could tell him that he loved him and thanked him for giving him a home, a family.
For loving him when no one else would have bet a penny on him.
He felt himself leaning his head against the Kevlar-covered shoulder and held back a moan of pain; then the warm wind on his face as they ran, the feeling of a body bending over his to protect him and his hands on his ears.
Then the explosion and the shockwave that only partially reached him.
He would have screamed, Jason, but he didn't even have the energy to stay lucid and conscious, to even keep his eyes open; therefore, he just sobbed while the pain was stronger than ever.
His hands, from his ears, slid down to his cheeks, caressing them with a gentleness that even Catherine had never had with him.
With that love that Jason had always thought would be denied him in his own life.
And that he now regretted having to leave behind.
"I won't let you die."
That voice, which usually struck fear into anyone who heard it, in the shadows of Gotham's mean streets, at that moment held only a pain as sharp as a blade and a stubborn hope.
"I won't let you die." repeated that voice.
His father's voice.
With his last breath, weak as the wind on a slow day, Jason parted his lips and let fly the words that burned on the tip of his tongue, the corrosive acid he wanted to get rid of before he let go of the embrace of death that would free him from everything.
Maybe he could have met Dick's parents?
Maybe they'd keep him company?
"I love you, Dad."
And saying it lifted all the burdens on his heart.
He could DIE without remorse.
He would die in Bruce's arms, not die alone, and it didn't suck so much.
- §§
He wasn't dead.
Otherwise the afterlife looked like a hospital room, complete with IV, oxygen mask, various bandages, and that sound....
Maybe it was his hallucination, after all the beep of the bomb's timer was not so different from that of the heart monitor, maybe he was still in the warehouse and his mind was trying to trick him with reassuring images to make him leave with less suffering.To give him the impression that he was safe and not make him fight anymore.
Not that he had the energy to do so.
Jason tried to inhale but a searing pain in his ribs cut off his breath mid-throat; okay, maybe it wasn't an illusion at all.
But how had he gotten there?
And... was he alone?
He almost didn't dare hope otherwise.
It would have been too good; such a miracle could hardly happen to him.
His heart began to beat wildly in his ears, the monitor somewhere near him emitted its furious sound in chorus, and from his dry lips came a wail, low, almost impossible to hear.
A call.
A plea.
Like a chick that has fallen from the nest, crying to be heard in the night in the pouring rain.
And that plea had not gone unheard.
Because a hand, large and warm, rested on his cheek and he, albeit with difficulty, managed to focus on Bruce's face that looked at him halfway between frightened and hopeful.
"Jason...are you awake?" the dark circles under his father's eyes and his exhausted expression couldn't have been a dream.
With effort, he nodded and tried to speak, to say anything, but...
"Shh, don't strain yourself. You've got a tube down your throat, Little Wing."
Agreed.
Maybe the dream idea wasn't so far-fetched.
Because there was no way Dick was there, barely the first Robin could stand him, barely they could spend time together....
But when he couldn't hold back yet another pained moan as soon as he turned his head, he saw him with his hands covering his mouth - pale and with dark circles under his eyes practically identical to Bruce's - looking at him with tears in his eyes.
She was crying...for him?
"You gave us quite a scare, Little Wing," Dick said between sobs, "They didn't know if you were going to come out of your coma or not."
Coma?
So he really was alive.
He hadn't dreamed of Bruce coming into the warehouse and taking him away.
He had survived.
In spite of everything, he had survived.
He tried to laugh but the tube in his throat prevented him from doing so, turning his laughter into something out of a Z-rated horror movie with questionable special effects; Bruce's hand caressed his cheek and that simple gesture calmed him.
"Clark got us back here just in time, Jason... I..."
Dick reached out and brushed his fingertips over his father's wrist.
Jason could see the exhausted face but the determined, hopeful expression.
"Now is not the time," he pointed out, "We have a lot to talk about, and that's why I came back. The Titans will be able to manage without me, I have something much more important to do."
Bruce looked at him - in his eyes Jason read the same hope - and gave him a tired smile.
"Hal Jordan gave me a ride back to Earth in a hurry, Little Wing. I don't know if B introduced you to him, he's a Green Lantern. When Superman told him I needed to get back as soon as possible, he picked me up on the other side of the universe and dropped me off on the roof of the hospital. The nurses had a stroke when they saw me come down from there."
"Luckily Leslie got you here before security arrived."
"The fact that I was wrapped in gauzes like a mummy didn't work in my favor."
Lying on the bed, hearing them talk as quietly as they had rarely done in recent times, Jason felt the corners of his mouth barely lift in a pale imitation of a smile: funny, it had taken him two steps from death to get those two fools to talk civilly and promise to clear the air.
Maybe Robin was really magic.
Exhausted, but more lucid than ever, Jason closed his eyes and let the voices of his father and older brother lull him to sleep, their talk fading into the background like a lullaby.
In his sleep, he felt someone pull the sheet up to his neck and then caress his forehead in a slow, steady circular motion.
"Welcome home, son."
Those four words filled his heart with joy and relief.
He may have lost Sheila without ever getting to know her but he hadn't lost the most important thing.
He hadn't lost his family.