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As his nails tore through wood and dirt, Jason pinched his eyes shut and held his breath. The fact alone he had breath to hold was remarkable and likely the only thing fuelling the frenzied escape from his own coffin. By the time worms and mud broke away and he finally felt air hit his face, he gasped for breath and heaved himself over to roll onto the grass. Cradling his hands, marred and ruined, against his chest, he curled up on his side and shuddered with each inhale. His eyes stayed shut, screwed up tight as he struggled through waves of dizziness.
He laid amongst the headstones for a while, shaking as tears broke clean paths down his dirt-covered face. Jason attempted to shout, scream, but the words died in his throat and came out as groans of pain or stringed together sounds- utter nonsense. It was useless, there was no one around to hear him anyway, and that left him with one last choice; crawl.
At first he tried his hands- purely out of instinct- and let out a ragged cry at the pain. He didn’t have time to waste, however, and instead made use of his wrists. He reached out as far as he could and dragged himself forward, each movement and jostle of bones leaving him in absolute agony. Even upon the padded floor of the coffin, he had been screaming out from his broken bones. How morbid that his hands merely matched the rest of his fucked-up body.
Not one to be deterred so easily, he reached again. And again, and again, and again. His hands bumped into cold marble, taller grass, wilted remains of flowers, and eventually hard stone beneath him. Uneven and leading in a long stretch ahead of him. A pathway.
Continuing to crawl, he nudged his face against his sleeve and built up the courage to open his eyes. It was night and nearing morning. A heavy mist had settled down upon the graveyard and the lights of Gotham far ahead were blurred in the haze. His gaze wandered to the pathway, the next slab ahead, and then down to bloody skin-
He shut his eyes.
After a while, he found a use for the pain. Not only was it keeping him moving, but it was far stronger than any pinch and constantly reminded Jason that he was alive. Barely, screaming and just about hanging on, but alive nonetheless.
When he paused in his journey, panting and forehead pressed against the ground beneath, he did not hear the distant whistle. Nor the mumbled curses, harried footsteps, and with his eyes shut so firmly the light of a torch also went unnoticed.
He slumped to the ground at a stranger’s feet as trembling fingers dialled 911.
-
In terms of comfort, had his entire body not been crushed, Jason would have taken the plush lining on his coffin over the scratchy sheets of a hospital bed. He would have said so to one of the nurses hovering by him, it’d probably make them laugh, but at most it’d drag out as a pathetic moan and at best it’d up the dosage of whatever drugs they had him on. Maybe the latter wouldn’t be so bad, the feeling in his legs was beginning to fight back.
The nurse on shift that night, keeping the watch over John Doe while the police did their work, was chatty. From the second he entered the room and started checking Jason over, he had talked non-stop about himself, or the floors gossip (the old lady down the hall was a riot apparently), whatever he could to fill the dead air.
Jason wasn’t entirely awake for it, slipping in and out. With so much of his body either bandaged, splinted, or mottled with bruises, perhaps that was a blessing. Besides, the guy just reminded him of Dick, which made him think of Alfred, and that could only lead to-
“Hm? Did-did you say something there, little guy?” The nurse crouched slightly by the upper half of the bad, so sure he’d heard the patient speak. Poor kid, he must have been dreaming, hopefully something peaceful “Don’t get shy on me now, I’ve been told I’m a pretty good listen-”
“Bruce.”
-
When the phone rang out in Wayne Manor, the officer on the other end knew it’d be a long shot. At two in the morning, any sane person would be fast asleep.
Click.
“Hello? Bruce Wayne speaking.”
Sat at the bat-computer, fresh coffee steaming in his mug, Bruce paused the CCTV footage up on the big screen and swiped his thumb across his phone screen to pick up the call.
“Oh, uh, Mr Wayne. Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would- never mind. My name is Officer Riley, I do apologise for calling you so late and all, but there was… well. There has seemed to be an incident concerning the- uh- grave of your son, Jason Todd.”
He stayed perfectly still, as frozen in time as the video he’d been scouring for clues, and took a deep breath “Excuse me, my sons grave? Has it been damaged?” Not by accident, the police would hardly be called in for something so simple, and while a graffitied child’s headstone was horrific it would have been left for the mornings concern.
“That’s a um, a good question, sir. The groundskeeper found someone, a kid- well, frankly beat to all hell if you’ll pardon my language, in the cemetery, and in our investigation, we found he originated from… uh. Something broke out of the grave, sir, and the hospital has just confirmed the ID of Jason Todd from our John Doe.”
-
Not bothering to find anything more than his wallet and keys, Bruce all-but tore the front door off its hinges as he made straight for the closest car in the drive. He white-knuckled the steering wheel, teetering on the edge of the speed-limit, and barked out for the cars system to dial Dicks phone number. He did not for one second tear his eyes away from the road- barely lit by the dimmed street lights- as it rung.
After two more tries, someone answered.
“Bruce? Come on, it’s like-”
“Gotham General Hospital, second floor, room twelve. Get there. Now.”
Dick didn’t argue, he knew that tone all too well and it was never brought out for anything less than an emergency “I’m grabbing my coat now, is it Tim?”
“No, I’ll tell you when you get there.”
“B, you can’t just leave me with-”
He cut him off, the hospital visible and only moments away “I will not risk you getting into an accident, Dick, just get here and I will debrief you when you do.”
Tearing into the car park, he burst from the car and locked it behind him with the key fob, if not purely out of habit. Showing his ID to the police officers waiting at the front desk, he was guided into the elevator, down hallways and eventually they came to a stop outside a unassuming door, just like any other in the wing yet somehow a hundred times more taunting.
“His bloodwork came back, we got the boys to rush it through, and we’re pretty certain it’s him but anything you can give us would help.” The woman to his left spoke softly and pushed the door open.
Shrouded in tubes and bandages was a boy, dark haired and on the short side for his age- he always had been. Should his eyes have been open, Bruce had not a single doubt in his mind they would have been blue.
A gentle hand on his shoulder jolted Bruce back into the present, hesitantly taking a step across the threshold “Behind his left ear, Jason had a small mole.” He weakly gestured to his own ear, a shaky finger pointing to the area he was describing.
The doctor lightly tilted the kids head to the side, not too much in fear of jostling any of his injuries, and bent down to peer at the patch of skin. He reached for a wipe, the packet sat upon the table next to him, and dabbed away the left-over dirt clinging on. His eyes widened and he looked up at the officers, nodding.
“It’s there.”
-
Dick found Bruce sat, head in his hands, on a plastic chair in a hallway on the second floor. He looked like shit, to put it likely, with eye bags so heavy it was a wonder he hadn’t dropped to the ground from the weight. At the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing down the corridor, he looked up and stood.
Before Dick had the chance to even ask what was going on, he was dragged into a tight hug. His hands awkwardly lifted to pat Bruce on the back “What’s going on, Bruce?”
The man pulled away, though still kept Dick close, and sighed with a shaky smile “It’s Jason. He’s alive.”
“What?” Dick whispered, eyes wide in confusion “Dad, no. Jason died.”
“I-” Bruce huffed out an exhausted chuckle under his breath, bordering on hysterical, and tugged Dick towards a door “I know, but he’s back.”
Walking in first, Dick was close to stumbling back into the hall at the sight of a hauntingly familiar face covered with an oxygen mask. They were alarmingly pale, mostly swaddled in bandages and casts, but there was no mistaking it. It was Jason and nothing short of a miracle at that.
“I don’t- I don’t understand.”
Bruce pulled him closer to his side, squeezing an arm around his shoulders “I got a call, the keeper at the cemetery found someone collapsed on the ground. The police followed the trail and it went back to a grave with the earth pushed up.”
“Is he… like Grundy?”
“No, chum.” He shook his head “They’ve checked him over here, apart from the injuries and lack of oxygen, he’s doing alright. It’s a matter of waiting for him to wake up.”
On unsteady legs, Dick approached the bed. Down on the blanket was a small hand, bandaged with dirt under the nails. He crouched down, holding that hand in both of his, tremors shaking the both of them, so scared of hurting his little brother. His fingers brushed further down the wrist and felt a slow but steady pulse.
-
By the time Tim dragged himself out of bed and made it downstairs, the phone had already rung once and been answered by Alfred. The young robin did not find the butler making breakfast as he would any other morning, in fact the kitchen was empty with kettle untouched. With a piece of bread (untoasted) in his mouth, Tim investigated the house to find himself mostly alone.
He was wandering about, peeking through doors, when Alfred found him. The butler had shockingly just exited Jason's old room, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and was wiping at his reddened eyes.
“Oh, Master Timothy, I do apologise it seems I forgot to prepare you a proper breakfast.” Alfred fondly ruffled the kid’s hair.
“What’s happening Alfie? Where’s Bruce?”
Wiping the crumbs from Tim's sweater, Alfred kneeled down to face him properly “Master Bruce had a call last night, to the hospital. Both him and Master Dick are there now.”
Tim looked from the shut door over the man’s shoulder to the zipped up bag “This has something to do with Jason.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, you’re quite the detective,” Alfred weakly smiled “They found a body that has been identified as young Master Jason.”
His jaw dropped “But… Are they certain?”
“Very, Master Bruce sent further evidence from the boy to the cave for testing. Heavens knows how, but it seems we have been given a miracle, my boy.”