Chapter Text
The first thing Jason noticed when he woke up was the distinct smell of formaldehyde, it burned his nose and made his breath all wheezy and painful. He tried to open his eyes only to feel something sharp tugging at the inside of his eyelids. He let out a sharp cry of pain and his hands scrabbled for his mouth when they hit the smooth velvet above him. He froze in his tracks, momentarily forgetting about the agony of his eyes… of his entire body really, bones aching and body pulsating with dull pain. His broken fingers rub against the smooth texture, he remembered the pure confusion and fear that overtook his mind.
He remembered trying to open his mouth, to scream for Bruce, for Alfred… even Dick when he felt it. It felt as though his gums were being ripped out of his mouth and immediately the warm flow of copper and more formaldehyde could be tasted as it slipped down his throat, making him choke and sputter, which only made the pain in his gums worse. He clamped his jaw shut to try and relieve the pain as he forced himself to choke down the horrifying mix of blood and chemical.
“Stay calm and assess your surroundings,”
That’s what Bruce always told him, so that’s what Jason did.
Jason brought his hands up to his eyes and began to dig, shimmying his fingers beneath the hard plastic of whatever the hell was digging into his eyelid. It hurt… a lot. Tears began to well, mixed with something else that burned and made him want to stop but he didn’t.
Finally, Jason managed to fish out the first piece of plastic beneath his eye lid and hesitantly looked around, his other eye still squinted shut.
That’s when true fear struck him.
It was just as dark as when his eyes had been closed, and this had led him to two conclusions. 1). He’d gone blind or 2) he was somewhere with no light.
He decided to bet his money on the second one, too scared to even consider the first option. It took less time to fish out the second piece of plastic and the relief was immediate. He rubbed at his eyes furiously to try and get rid of the dryness and discomfort the plastic had left behind.
Jason wanted to roll over and die but he had to get back to Bruce. He would be wondering where Jason was, he was probably worried sick.
That’s when the memories come rushing back. Garzonas. Ethiopia. Sheila… Joker.
“I’m not your father, Jason. I don’t need a teenage rebellion.”
“I’m not your father, Jason.”
New tears well up in Jason’s eyes, the air is growing stuffy and it’s becoming hard for Jason to breathe but he can’t find it in himself to care. Jason remembered then, the fights, the words they had screamed at each other. The look on Bruce’s face when he had accused Jason of pushing Garzonas. Bruce hadn’t believed him.
“Not your father.”
All that Jason could hear was his sharp, hitched breathing and his fingers weakly scrabbling at the velvet above him.
Jason had to get out. Had to prove to Bruce that he was worthy of being his son. Had to make Bruce want to be his father.
Jason pulled off his belt, he was wearing a tight, itchy suit he noted.
He didn’t know how long it took him to dig to the surface, but the moment his hand managed to claw through the dirt, he would have sobbed in relief if not for the dirt suffocating his nose and whatever the fuck was keeping his mouth shut.
He finally broke the surface and that’s when the real agony started. Some sort of liquid began to leak from every orifice, his mouth, his eyes, his nose, his ears. It had burned and Jason had curled up against his headstone as sobs wracked his body.
He couldn’t breathe. Each intake of breath caused him to choke and sputter on formaldehyde and blood. He threw up at some point, and if that wasn’t a treat, he didn’t know what was. He had to use his tongue to try and push the vomit and formaldehyde through the string keeping his jaw firmly shut.
Finally, when the formaldehyde finally stopped gushing out, he began to crawl. He was too dizzy, and he was in too much pain to even consider walking, so this was the best he was going to get. His suit was ruined, blood, formaldehyde and mud having been caked onto the front.
“Bruce…” He sobbed as he made it to the exit of the cemetery. The sound was warbled and unintelligible, but it was the only thing he could think. He needed to get back to the manor, he wanted Bruce’s hug that enveloped him in warmth and hid him from the world. He wanted to help Alfred cook in the kitchen, making cookies and hot chocolate.
He wanted to go home.
He would apologize to Bruce and be a model child. He would never talk back; he would never ask for anything again. He just wanted to go home so badly.
He could see the manor; he could see the lights turned on in the foyer. He wondered if Bruce was out patrolling. Wondered if Alfred was baking something right now.
His crawling became more enthusiastic, his broken and bloody fingers clawing at the concrete to try and get him home faster. Tears were pouring down his face, cutting through the blood and grime on his face. He was almost home. Bruce would fix everything if he just got home.
“Bruce…” He sobbed again as he saw the front door open and Bruce’s broad, muscular form appear in the doorway.
That’s when the car hit him.