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“HA HA HA HA!”
Maniacal, maddening laughter cut though the night, from where the joker stood atop the church spire.
“You have a choice, Bats! He-he-heh! Follow me, catch me, and I promise I’ll be good!” he swung back and forth, his arm looped around the cross, waving with his cane.
His smile stretched further, distorting the planes of his face, showing his yellowed teeth and bloody gums “but your ~little birrr-d~ doesn’t have that long- I know he needs to breathe! And there can’t be much air in that coffin!”
“Where!?” Batman snarled, loudly smacking the ground.
“HA-HA-HA-HA-HAH!” the Joker spun around the cross, laughing like he was having the time of his life. He dangled from it, hanging over the edge- one slip and he would land with a meaty crack against the pavement below.
“Where else but with those who made us, Bats?!” the Joker laughed madly, falling over backward onto the roof at the way Batman’s eyes went wide.
Batman made a rattling noise, deep in his chest, looking between the Joker, and in the direction of the graveyard where his parents were buried. He made a choice. A wailing cry tore from his throat and he ran toward the graveyard.
On the rooftop the Joker rolled with laughter- this was his best joke yet! He hoped the little bird didn’t actually die though- his games would be less fun with fewer players!
A shadow fell over him, and he looked up into glowing eyes.
The scream tore the night air, frighting the crows that roosted in the bell tower at night.
The body hit the ground of the churchyard with a wet thud. It faded into dust, leaving the empty purple and green suit like a stain on the cobbles of the churchyard.
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“Mph…”
Jason struggled to wake from dreams of dark water and smoke in his lungs.
The first thing he felt was a wave of pain, his entire body clamoring for attention at once. He breathed through it, riding the wave like Bruce had taught him. The pain didn’t ease, but once he had braced himself against it, he could think.
He struggled to open his eyes, and once he did, he wasn’t sure he had.
It was pitch black- not the black of the manor at night, where even in his hidey-holes there was a bit of light. No- this was a true pitch-blackness; he couldn’t see anything.
He reached for his face, and his whole body throbbed with another wave of pain. His hand clumsy hit his face, and he felt around. He was wearing his costume, but his mask was compromised. The night vision system was broken, and the back-up lights were down.
He fumbled for his belt, thanking his lucky stars for Dad’s paranoia, and that he had drilled the position of everything in his belt into him till he could find it blindfolded in his sleep. He found the emergency light and it turned on with a crackle.
The dim light illuminated a skull, inches from his face. It still had pieces of dried flesh clinging to the bone. The eyes were gone, rotted away. A millipede was nesting in one of the eye sockets.
“Agh!”
Jason scrambled back in fear, and his back hit something that cracked and shifted. He looked over his shoulder, only to come face to face with another Skelton. The skull rolled, like it was looking at him.
“ahh!”
He scrambled backward, gasping for breath, heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
The adrenaline overpowered the pain, he curled into a ball, trying desperately to not touch the corpses.
He knew where he was now.
He was in a coffin.
“Huh-huh-huh…” Jason frantically tried to get his breathing under control. “B-Bruce… Clar… elp…hhh-…” his throat was closing up, choking off his words.
He tried again, but he couldn’t get a single sound past his lips. His head thunked against the bottom of the coffin. The musty stale air was filled with sicklying sweet smell of decay.
Jason tired to think like Bruce or Diana would.
He couldn’t talk, so he couldn’t call for Uncle Clark. The device in his suit that made it so that bad people couldn’t hear his heartbeat, meant that Uncle Clark couldn’t find him that way. Usually, their masks were how they could turn that on and off, but his mask was broken. Jason knew how to deactivate it without the mask, but that required he get his shirt off.
Jason tried to reach for the zipper on his back, but his elbow hit one of the bodies, the jostling somehow making the smell worse. Jason gagged and threw up bile.
He grabbed the zipper and yanked, only for the zipper pull to snap and come off in his hand.
“Hhheh-hhheeeh-hhhh…” Jason couldn’t stop the raspy, hysterical giggle from bubbling up. He was going to die here, all because of a broken zipper!
He couldn’t cut the suit off; the material was too durable for that.
“I have two choices.” he thought “I can wait, and hope to The Lady that someone finds me before I run out of air.” He swallowed, but it did nothing for the dryness of his throat. “or I can try and get myself out.”
He reached for his belt, finding the pocket that held his brass knuckles. Bruce didn’t approve of them, but Jason knew that Alfred did- how else would they find their way back into the pocket every time Bruce took them out?
Jason took out the brass knuckles, they fit perfectly, just like they always did.
Jason rolled onto his back and took a deep breath.
Thump! His first blow shook the wood, still strong despite the years underground.
Thump!
CRACK!
The wood splintered on the third blow, and earth started to spill into the coffin.
Jason frantically dug upward, all training forgotten, only a terrified child left, trying to dig himself out of someone else’s grave.
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Bruce sprinted through the darkened graveyard, the heavy rain almost deafening him.
Shapes of tombstones flashed by, names and plot numbers obscured by the darkness. He didn’t need them- he knew the way to the grave by heart.
Unbidden, his mind drifted back to the when he was little and had run away- from events, from school, from “friends” houses to come here, sit at his parents’ grave and cry. Alfred had found him, every time.
Bruce skidded to a stop at his parents’ grave.
The dirt was loose.
He knelt, and started to dig, throwing handfuls of dirt behind him as fast as he could.
“Jay? Jay! Jason!”
He dug like a man possessed, as tears welled up in his eyes, and the crying system activated, black tar running down his face, his arms. The earth stuck to the tears.
As he dug desperately, he hit a hand.
It was bloodied, broken, nails missing, but Bruce would know that hand anywhere.
He grabbed Jason’s hand- and it squeezed back.
Bruce dug more carefully, mindful of his claws.
A second hand met his, he grabbed on and pulled.
Jason came free in a massive shower of wet earth, gasping and crying.
Bruce pulled Jason to his chest, hugging him so tight it hurt.
“You… came?” Jason asked, cracked mask letting his real tears fall.
“Always.” Bruce choked out, “Always.”
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Selina stared through the glass into the recovery room.
Jason looked so small, tucked into the hospital bed.
Her sensitive ears made the sounds of the hospital seem ear-splitting.
The drip-drip-drip of the iv- the wheeze of the ventilator stopping his lung from collapsing again- the beep of the heartbeat monitor-the buzzing of the lights- the woosh of the air purification system- the sounds of people in other rooms.
Bruce walked up beside her, making sure not approach her from behind.
He was carrying a tray of hot drinks, which he held up as a peace offering.
“Bruce… you know I’m supposed to avoid coffee right now.” Selina sighed, smiling.
Bruce carefully balanced the tray on one hand, so he could free his other to sign.
“I brought coffee for me, hot chocolate for you.”
“Thanks, Mouse.” She took the hot chocolate, sipping it carefully. Bruce had remembered the way she liked it- a medium hot chocolate, with raspberry flavouring, yes to whipped cream and a splash of cold milk to cool it down a little.
Bruce put his arm around her shoulders, staring through the glass at Jason.
Selina took a deep breath, let it out slowly. She didn’t know if Bruce would be able to tell her heart was racing.
“I-I’m starting have second thoughts.” Her hand drifted down to her middle.
“Hn?” Bruce looked down at her, brow furrowed. On most people, that look would mean angry, but on Bruce it meant concern. She sighed, leaning into him, as he ran a hand soothingly down her arm.
“I mean… I knew our lives were dangerous…-” she trailed off, putting her hand to the glass “- but this puts it into perspective.”
Bruce double-tapped her shoulder; his way of asking her to look at him so he could sign, or she could hear his whispers better. Bruce opened his mouth to talk, but all that came out was a small huff of air.
He shook his head violently, frustrated, and tried again.
“W-whatever you decide, you know I will support you.” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper, painful and forced.
She leaned into him and took another sip of her hot chocolate. “I know… I just have to make my decision soon.”