Work Text:
Jason was dead. Those words were a truth Bruce had never wanted to know in his life. And here he was, learning his son was dead, for the second time.
He saw the Commissioner’s mouth move, yet he did not hear. No words after that first awful truth seemed to penetrate his brain.
Why was Jim here, Bruce thought, stupidly, this was no job for a man of his position. To tell family that- that his boy-
“I need you to repeat that, please,” he said, voice distant and hollow. The pitying look on Commissioner Gordon’s face only made his gut twist tighter.
“Some workers spotted the body down in Morrison Harbor. Called some of my boys in. He…” The Commissioner faltered, rolling his shoulders. “He’s marked as a Doe, for now, since Jason Todd is still legally dead.”
Still, Bruce thought. Already would be more fitting a term, now.
The wind blew against his cheek, cold and unforgiving, as they stood alone on the roof of the GCPD Headquarters.
“It looks like a suicide, Bruce.”
There was static, loud and buzzing in his ears. Something was wrong here. Something was terribly wrong, but he did not know how to fix it.
Suicide. One word, and Bruce’s entire world was brought to tilt, threatening to fall.
He didn’t allow himself to even entertain the idea. Not yet. Someone, some enemy of his, or Jason’s, must have staged his death (his death). Set the scene to appear-
“His radial artery was cut, the wound fit the profile. We don’t know for sure yet, since we haven’t done the autopsy, and the weapon has yet to be identified, but it looks legitimate.”
“You don’t know anything yet,” Bruce interjected. All these years of training, and yet he was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.
“There were witness reports, Bruce,” came the soft reply. Bruce felt as though the Commissioner were dropping boulders on him with each sentence. Aiming to crush him so he might never recover.
“Witness reports?” He didn’t want to hear any of this. For once, he wanted nothing more than to remain blissfully ignorant. To hide behind his mother’s skirt and pretend none of the evil he knew, existed in this world.
-Air, too hot all around him, smoke acrid and sharp in his lungs. Gloved fingers tracing cooling skin, no pulse. He’s lost him.-
The Commissioner raked a hand through his hair, readjusted his glasses. “There were sightings of a man matching Jason’s description on a bridge down by Chinatown. Found a bottle of cheap liquor. There were fingerprints, and we got DNA from residual saliva at the bottom.”
“It’s his?” Bruce asked, redundantly.
The Commissioner gave a nod. “Confirmed it myself.”
Bruce allowed himself three seconds, to feel his heart break in two.
“I need to see the body,” he choked out, the Commissioner’s tired eyes like a vice around his throat.
-Hands, too steady, stripping a bright green boot from a too-small foot, twisted at an unnatural angle. Careful not to hurt, what could be hurt no more. Pulling a sock onto its place, then a pretty brown shoe. The boy lays still as a doll. A single, salty tear falls, hissing as it hits a metal beam below, still hot from the explosion.-
“And then,” he added, the Commissioner already turning to leave, “I need to make some calls.”
Dick arrived at the coroner’s in a daze. The office where Bruce had told them to meet was easy to find, yet he still almost got lost. He’d needed to ask an employee for help, who’s kind voice and look of understanding had made his stomach roil. It wasn’t real yet. It wasn’t real until he saw Jason’s body with his own two eyes.
“…found his body. All signs point to suicide.”
He heard Bruce’s voice play on repeat in his mind, that same low, impassive rumble as it always was. Dick hadn’t quite understood, then, either.
Now, he stumbled into the office, Bruce and Tim already there, quiet and motionless as they listened to the medical examiner’s report. She was a tall, blonde woman, with sharp eyes and a down-tilted mouth, that gave her a look of chronic displeasure.
All three of them turned, as they heard him enter. Dick realised, abruptly, that he was still in his civilian clothes, ill fitting, as both Bruce and Tim were in full Batman and Robin gear. He hadn’t made the connection, in his haze of punched out denial, that Jason would not have been identified. That there would be no reason for Richard Grayson-Wayne to ask to see the body of a random unidentified stranger. He took a step back, apology sticking to his tongue, unable to leave his dry, half open mouth.
It was Tim who broke the silence, dismissing the examiner with a quiet “Thank you, Dr. Sherman, we’ll take it from here.”
The woman, Dr. Sherman, gave Dick one last suspicious look, then turned to walk out through a door on the other end of the office.
“You’re playing this off as a case?” Dick asked, having regained control over his voice.
Bruce shifted, turning to face him properly, face stoic beneath that black cowl. “Easiest way to gather more information without arousing suspicion,” he said, terse and unmoved.
“It’s- that’s not really Jason, is it?” Dick asked, trying to escape from the heavy clouds fogging up all around him.
A pursing of already thin lips, betraying that stoic façade. Dick felt his heart drop down to his feet with a wet splash. The fog only grew thicker.
“No, no, that’s not- that makes no sense, B, that can’t be right, you’re wrong, you’re wrong.” His breath came in sharp huffs, his fists curling at his sides. Everything was muffled around him, blurry and soft, he couldn’t focus properly on anything besides the sharp, stinging pain where his heart used to sit.
“Hey,” came Tim’s voice, too calm, and Dick wanted to shake him, be angry with him, but all there was, was deep, hollow despair, growing, expanding until his entire body felt numb.
“Seriously, Tim, I think you’re overthinking this.”
A sudden, violent sob, raked through his body. The world shook before him.
“But this is Jason. And he’s fine. We literally saw him today. There’s nothing wrong with cleaning shop and getting rid of some junk.”
“Hey,” came that same voice again, both closer and somehow farther away. “Hey, look at me, Dick. We’ll get through this. Just take a deep breath for me, okay?”
But Dick couldn’t, not when he could still see Jason’s face, back in that warehouse, blank, empty of all emotion, unresponsive, refusing to dodge. Could still see that empty apartment filled with boxes. Labelled boxes full of his stuff, because Jason hadn’t planned on ever coming back.
There was a hand on his shoulder, and Dick crumpled into the waiting chest of his remaining brother.
“I need to see him,” he choked wetly.
“Yeah,” Tim agreed, sliding his arms around him. “We’ll go see him now.”
They saw the body. Jason was still and silent on the sterile table. He hadn’t been in the water long enough for any major disfiguration, but still the sight of him brough Dick closer to being sick than he’d gotten in years. He was unnaturally pale, his jaw slack and awful.
The cut on his wrist was clean, free of any blood. Even from where he stood, he could see it was deep. Would have had to be. Jason had been determined. He’d gotten what he wanted. At this, Jason had succeeded.
He didn’t stay long, though Bruce did. Staring at Jason’s body with a gloved hand hovering over him, as though wanting to touch, but afraid to disturb him.
Jason would never wake again. No one was lucky enough to raise from the dead twice. No matter how much Dick wished for it.
It was him who ended up organising Jason’s funeral. It was only fair, he thought, considering he’d missed the first one. Dick would do right by him this time.
Bruce was no help, spending day and night organising files on the big screens in the cave, barely eating, barely sleeping. Dick didn’t have it in him to fight him on it. Not yet anyway. He was sure they would lash out at each other soon enough, hurt and get hurt and ultimately part to lick their wounds. But he had a duty to fulfil first.
The report had been clear. The evidence irrefutable, though Bruce seemed to refuse to accept it. Jason had killed himself. Deliberately. Efficiently. It would have been planned over weeks.
Dick almost laughed, when he realised, he could trace back Jason’s shift in behaviour to almost an exact date. The date when he’d have set his plan into motion. And Dick had thought he was getting better. That he was reintegrating into the family. His own blind naïveté disgusted him. He’d seen the signs and dismissed them. Seen only what he’d wanted to see.
Tim didn’t seem to fare much better, though it had been him to point out the strange behaviour, and Dick who’d shot him down. Again. He wondered why anyone still trusted his judgement on anything.
Two days before the funeral, Tim broke down. He cried into Dick’s shoulder, repeating over and over: “I knew it was strange, I knew it, and I didn’t do anything. I didn’t ask, I didn’t visit, nothing. Textbook signs and I didn’t see it.”
Dick only closed his eyes, murmuring a quiet “I know” into Tim’s hair every now and then. Because he did know. And nothing had ever hurt worse.
When the day of the funeral came, Dick went through the long-practised motions of getting up, showered, clothed and starting the day. He knew how to function when he felt as though nothing would ever be alright again. Was good at it, even.
It was a quiet, hidden affair, as Jason Todd-Wayne, who had been dead for years, had no reason for a second funeral.
The casket was closed, as they had no claim over the body. They would have to retrieve it in secret, later.
Roy was there, with Lian in tow. And to Dick’s surprise, Mia was there, too. Though hers were the only dry eyes between the three of them. Kory had taken to standing by his side, in silent support. He was grateful, or he would be, once he could feel anything past all his grief and guilt.
The only other Titan’s in attendance were Donna and Wally, more here for Dick than Jason, probably. It felt shitty, but still he was glad.
Diana was there, speaking to a woman who’d introduced herself as Artemis.
Damian stuck close to Alfred’s side. Both of them quietly observing. Dick thought he might have seen Alfred bring a tissue to his cheek at one point. He decided he would not mention it.
Steph and Cass were holding hands, steadfast and true in the face of loss. Duke stood with them, chatting with friends who’d joined him.
It was strange, Dick thought. Everyone here was likely closer to another attendant than they’d ever been to Jason. None of them had ever truly known him. They had simply watched him fade away.
Dick held a short speech. He felt dirty, as he did.
“He will be missed,” he said, as he thought “he should have been cherished.” “He was loved,” he said, as he thought “but he did not know it.”
“I was never the brother to Jason that I should have been,” he said, finally. “Life dealt him the hardest hand of us all, and still he continued to persevere. Where most would have given up ten times over, Jason pushed through. When most would have condemned him, he did what he believed to be right, always.”
He took a deep breath, swallowed back the lump in his throat.
“I’m sorry, Jason. We failed you. Wherever you are, I hope you get to rest. You will never be forgotten.”
There were no great displays of emotion. No outbursts of wailing tears in the crowd.
With the speech over, they went to have lunch. Dick saw Bruce, alone, before the empty casket. He turned away and joined the others to eat.
He found himself sitting next to Roy. They were quiet, at first. Then Lian, tired of sitting still, asked Mia to play with her, and they left the table. It was then that Roy spoke up.
“I knew, you know?” he said. His voice was rough, raspy. Dick thought he must have cried for hours, for him to sound that way.
“Knew what?” he asked, eyes on his meagre plate.
“He would get these moods, sometimes,” Roy elaborated, voice quiet and flat. “He’d be less careful, take more risks. Wouldn’t sleep. Spend a lot of time taking care of his weapons, just… looking at them, too.” He gave a dry chuckle.
“I knew exactly what he was thinking. You know I’ve been there. Never thought he’d actually go through with it, though. Way to prove me wrong.”
Dick stood up, shaking hands slamming down on the table, making the dishes clatter noisily. He ignored the looks, turning away with a choked “Excuse me.”
No one followed.
He made his way into the manor, to the grandfather clock and down into the cave. He could breathe easier here, away from the crowd.
His eyes fell onto the computer, and after a brief hesitation, he moved toward it.
It was easy to find the files Bruce had been working on.
What he found, was a collection of mission reports, some with pictures or video footage. All pertaining to Jason, all seemingly picked at random. It didn’t take him long to figure out the connection.
The report dating back the furthest, detailed an event Dick hadn’t even known Bruce to be aware of. It was the night Dick had first met Jason. They’d both been watching a coke lab, though Robin had decided to bust in prematurely, alone and both outmanned and outgunned. Nightwing had saved him then, though he’d been tempted to watch the new Robin humiliate himself. There was a note at the bottom, recently added.
Reckless, careless with own safety. Arrogance or..?
Two were from only a short time before Jason had first died. One, rather similar to the first, Robin entering a warehouse full of armed criminals before Batman had given the go ahead, unconcerned with the danger. Theres an older note, stating said incident was cause for Bruce to decide on benching Jason for the foreseeable future. Dick knew how that had worked out.
The second one was more disturbing. Jason had tracked down a woman called Sharmin Rosen, suspecting that she might be his birth mother. When she’d been held at gunpoint, he’d leapt into the open, drawing the attacker’s attention, and aim to himself. According to Bruce’s report, the distance had been short enough for a shot to be unlikely to miss, and likely to be fatal. Jason, trained as he was, would have known that. And so did Bruce.
Another note at the bottom.
Willingly, knowingly put himself in mortal peril. No hesitation or regret. A sign..?
Jason had been fifteen. A few days later, he would be dead.
The report from April 27th was there, too. Dick didn’t open it.
They weren’t all from Jason’s Robin days, either.
Dick very clearly remembered the times when their family had split, some siding with Bruce, others with Selina, on how to best deal with crime in Gotham. Particularly, he remembered the fury he’d felt, when he’d found out what Bruce had done to Jason.
Triggering a fear response whenever his adrenaline spiked. He still couldn’t believe Bruce had all but crippled his son and still considered himself to be in the right.
The report detailed Bruce and Selina finding Jason in a burning building, holding a little girl. Legs trapped beneath a wooden beam.
Jason would have been terrified. Barely able to function. And yet he’d leapt into that building to save a child. If Bruce and Selina hadn’t found him, he would have died.
Willingly walking into a dangerous situation, even knowing he would be unlikely to make it out. Easily disregards fear. However, in order to save and protect innocents. Not necessarily sign of suicidal ideation.
It was a similar story for the next report, where he’d flown a jet into a meteor, breaking it into small pieces. He’d made it out, but barely.
The documents seemed endless, always more reports of missions in which Jason put his own life at great risk, often expecting a lethal outcome.
On their own, these incidents could be dismissed. As a whole, however...? It painted a very different picture. It seemed they’d all been quite blind.
Just like the first time, it was too late to fix all their many mistakes. Jason was dead.
The Waynes would move on. They would mourn, yes. Likely be changed forever. But they would go on with their lives. Cruelly. Unfairly.
The public would never known Jason Todd had ever made it past fifteen. The people of Gotham would not grieve his loss.
The fall of the Red Hood, whose territory had slowly been divided to other vigilantes, who’s funds had slowly been redirected to what Dick didn’t doubt to be good causes, would cause no great ripples in the underworld.
When Dick walked back outside into the garden, watching the guests disperse, leaving one after the other, he thought, really, no one had ever truly done right by Jason. And now, no one ever would.
Damian walked up beside him, quiet as ever. Together they stood, gentle breeze ruffling their matching black hair. It was too nice a day for a funeral.
“Todd was a good man, in his way,” Damian said after a while. The words were stilted, and awkward from his prim little mouth.
“He was,” Dick agreed. “It’s too bad that never seems to matter much in this City.”
Damian didn’t answer, but after another moment, he slid his hand into Dick’s.
Together, they watched the garden empty of people, nothing but the empty casket left behind. Bruce, nowhere to be seen.
Dick squeezed Damians hand in his.
“Let’s go inside, hm?”
He glanced down and caught Damian’s nod. His eyes were dry. They went inside.