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Jason stared down at the freshly dug hole, the ultimatum he’d thrown at Bruce still echoing in his mind.
Choose. Me or him.
And of course, Bruce had chosen the clown.
He shouldn’t be surprised, but a small part of him — somewhere deep, deep down — wished Bruce would’ve chosen Jason. For once, he wished someone would choose him.
And so here he was. Back at his grave. The clown alive, running rampant somewhere in this city, and Jason is still unavenged. Unloved. Alone.
He fixed his gaze on the gravestone. Here lies Jason Todd.
According to that memorial in the cave, he had been a good soldier. Good soldiers followed orders, didn’t they?
Jason jumped down into the grave. His boots sank into the loose soil, jarring his knees on impact, but he didn’t care. He lay back, staring up at the sky, the rich, damp scent of earth surrounding him
The night sky was beautiful tonight. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.
Of course it would be tonight that Gotham’s skies cleared.
“What a wonderful night to die,” he murmured, voice cracking with a laugh. “Yeah. What a fucking amazing night to die.”
His clothes were sticky against his ribs; the wound he’d been pressing at for blocks had soaked down his neck and through the leather and his shirt. A deep crimson spreading, seeping into the soil beneath him.
He closed his eyes. Bruce didn’t need him anymore. He’d broken the golden rule. He’d become the thing Bruce couldn’t look at without seeing a failure. And Bruce had the replac—er, that great new shiny Robin now. It was no wonder he’d chosen the Joker over him.
His hand twitched against the dirt, fingers curling around cold earth— It was grounding, to be back at the place he tried so very hard to escape the first time.
The crunch of leaves didn’t startle him. At first, he thought it was Bruce. How ironic would that be? A dry, humorless smirk crossed his face.
“Jason?” A tentative voice. Softer than Bruce. Younger. Tim.
Jason groaned. “Go away.”
There was hesitation, then the sound of feet sliding down. Tim dropped into the grave beside him, knees sinking into dirt. His hands were already tugging at Jason’s jacket. “God—Jason, you’re bleeding out. You’re gonna—”
Jason turned his head, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth. “Came here to die. Don’t ruin it, Replacement. This place is sacred, don’t you know?”
Tim froze, swallowing, but his hands pressed against his throat, trying to slow the freshly opened wound. “Don’t call me that. Not right now.” His voice wavered, but his grip was steady. “You’re not dying here. Not like this. Not again.”
Jason coughed, metal flooding his tongue. “Why do you even care?”
“Because you’re my brother. Whether you want me to be or not. Because, Bruce won’t survive if you die. We all wont be able to take it. Bruce wouldn’t be able to take it”
Jason wanted to laugh, but his body shuddered instead. His vision blurred. The stars overhead smeared into nothing.
“News...flash, he’s the one who gave me this death sentence.” Jason's voice trailed off.
The last thing he registered was Tim’s voice, trembling and pleading, before the darkness swept over him, quiet and merciful.
—𓆩𓆪—
For a moment, he thought he was still underground, back in his casket. Then he heard a hushed voice, mingling with the low hum of the Cave’s machines. His throat ached, bandages pressed tight across his chest, IV lines tugging gently at his arm.
“…if I hadn’t found him—” Tim’s voice— He stood near the monitors, arms crossed like he was holding himself together. “He went back to his own grave. He would’ve died there.” Ah. Likely updating his report, or talking to Barbara.
Jason groaned, his throat gravelly. “Still might.”
Tim spun toward him, eyes wide. “You’re awake—”
Jason coughed, forcing out words past the burn. “Told you… should’ve left me there, Replacement.”
Tim’s jaw clenched at the nickname. “Too bad. I wasn’t going to.”
Jason’s eyes closed briefly, the weight of every misstep pressing down. Joker. Bruce. His stupid plan. Titans Tower. The Pit. The madness that had twisted him into someone unrecognizable. The anger. The silence settled heavy between them
“What? No lecture? Thought you’d be halfway through a PowerPoint by now.”
Tim huffed out a breath, somewhere between exasperated and relieved. He shifted his weight, uncertain, his boots scuffing softly against the Cave floor. He opened his mouth once, closed it, then finally eased a little closer to the bed.
“You’re still Robin, Jason. You can always have that title back. I’m not… supposed to have it permanently. I forced myself into the role because Batman needs Robin. He… had it rough when you died. He still does, in a way. But that’s not for me to take from you. It was yours first, and you always will be my Robin”
Jason’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he could manage at the moment “Always… huh?” he rasped, voice cracking.
“Always,” Tim echoed. “No matter what. You’re my Robin, Jason. And you always will be.”
Jason let the words settle. For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to just be—to not fight, to not plan, to not hate, to not be so fucking angry all the time.
He opened one eye and let a crooked grin slip through. “By the way… Tim, one of these days you’re going to have to explain how many pictures you’ve taken of us.”
Tim’s mouth twitched, half-annoyed, half-amused. “I was documenting heroics, naturally.”
Jason let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Right. Heroics. Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”
“Would you prefer ‘autograph collection material’?”
Jason snorted “Creepy fits better.”
Tim rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to argue further, settling into the chair beside him more comfortably.
Jason breathed in slowly, letting Tim’s presence and steady words wash over him. This night had started far from what he expected—he hadn’t thought he’d make it through—yet… he was still here.
Still breathing.
And for now, that was fucking enough.