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“Jason,”
He called.
“Yes?”
He answered.
Tim flinched as another folder was thrown to the ground.
“Bruce,”
He tried, his small frame curled in on itself as he stepped forward, reluctant but moving all the same. Batman did not turn. His suit still on, cowl meters afar, creased and dirty. Tim in the robin suit, mask firm in place, hair ruffled after a night on the job. He stepped closer once more, his hand reaching slowly for the man clad in black.
“ Bruce ”
Once more. He stared helplessly at the figure hunched over the batcomputer, moving in tandem with shallow breaths, the sound echoing in the empty cave. Finally the body turned, facing the child before him. His face laden with grief, anger, changed, softened .
“Jason, shouldn’t you be upstairs already?”
Bruce’s voice was gentle, kind . It made a cruel jealousy twist in Tim’s stomach. He opened his mouth, ready to correct him, but in looking further upon the man- upon the shell of a father, trying to fill a void with just about anything he could- Tim couldn’t.
“Yeah… sorry B, I was just checking on you.”
His voice held a strength it usually never did, impersonating a boy no longer there. How could he tell the truth? His heart burned, a chain of lies and deceit coiling around the organ, tightening its hold with each second he pretended to be something he was not, every second he held the place not meant for him.
How could he tell the truth to a man broken? To a man grieving a loss that will never heal, a wound that will forever bleed? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t . He took upon the mantle for a reason , and if pretending he was the second boy wonder accomplished that- he’d do it. He’d complete his mission. He’d make Bruce better, Batman better. A Batman with a Jason was kinder, merciful, dare he say- loving ?
Bruce’s features softened, a small smile on his face as he ruffled Tim’s Jason’s hair.
“Head upstairs, bud, it’s late and you have school tomorrow.”
It was Saturday, but he didn’t bother correcting him.
“You first, old man.”
He made sure to add an accent, a tone he would never usually have. He smiled, forced, but it wasn’t like Bruce would be able to tell, he never could.
“Fine, fine, I’ll clean this up and be right over, Chum.”
Bruce chuckled at the end, patting Jason’s shoulder and holding his hands up by his head. A grin still laid upon his face as he snatched the fallen papers off the floor, compiling them and setting them on the counter. His back was fuller, straight. The wears and tears of the night life, of the grief , no longer held his frame. Instead stood the protector he admired, the protector he did all this to protect- to bring back . This was fine.
It always had been, always will be.
“Jason,”
Bruce called.
“Yes?”
Tim answered.
“You good?”
Jason replied, confusion in his tone, the oh so familiar accent and annotations that Tim had perfected so long ago filling the air. Tim paused, blinking before mumbling an apology.
“Sorry, guess I’m tired.”
Is all he said, leaving just as a voice called out for him- him .
“Tim-”
He was gone.
“I told you not to go out today, you were benched !”
Batman yelled, desperation in his tone. Tim stood, bo staff in one hand, a fist in the other. They were arguing, but it was pointless . Batman needed Tim, just like he always had. Batman needed a Robin. Batman was in trouble, and he’d be damned if he sat and stayed put when the other was in trouble, what kind of Robin would he be then? Huh? How could he sit by and watch as his mentor, a man he had admired for years, threw themselves into the deep end?
“Was I supposed to just watch you get your ass kicked, Bruce?!”
He argued back, angry, frustrated. His chest moved in and out, ragged as his breaths. Tim swung his staff, cutting the air and stepping forward. The mask upon his face felt stiff, wrong . Batman did not flinch, pointing at Robin.
“Yes! I told you to stay put , don’t you get it? You’re important!”
His voice was broken, worry lacing every single intonation, worry that was not reserved for Tim.
“ I’m not .”
He said as if it were a fact, as if set in stone. His voice no longer shaking, no longer wavering, low in volume and harsh in tone. Tim irrevocably believed that fact, ran off of it, lived off of it. This was how he moved. This was true, as true as the sky being blue, as true as the ocean being deep, as true as the gravestone that read ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’. Some things were set in stone, Jason’s death, and also Jason’s replacement.
“You are, why won’t you just let me protect you, Jason?”
Ah, there it was, Tim thought bitterly. That’s what this was about. How could he imagine any different?
His mouth closed shut, biting at the inside of his cheek as he stared ahead at Bruce. A broken man replacing his son with Tim. Tim . He couldn’t find it in himself to argue this time, his figure slouching, receding as exhaustion took its hold. His anger was fleeting, but the horrid feeling remained, curling in his stomach and pinching at his inner walls.
Bruce was a wreck. His voice scratched and crippled, anguish in every word, pain in every syllable. He was re-experiencing the loss, re-experiencing the fear, and Tim seemed to be the object of his direction, the destination of his coping mechanisms. Tim be damned.
“I- I can’t lose you too .”
He already had. He was having a moment, an episode, if Tim Jason was cruel about it.
“You haven’t. I’m right here, B”
He always seemed to cave . He always seemed to give in, become a lost memory, a shell with realistic paint. When he was like this, mask donned, hair raggedy and improper, a shadow cast over his pale skin to appear darker- he was perfect , he was loved . This was his tragedy. Not the Joker, not a bomb, not a betraying mother and a late father, this was his, as much as something could belong to a poser in an empty space, covering a filled grave. He would hold his thoughts and feelings so close to his chest it blended with his skin, painted it the color to match the Robin before him.
The true Jason may have died, but he was the only robin truly living .