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In another world, Jason Todd, in his desperate attempts to break through his not-so-final resting place, strikes the middle hinge of his casket. This hinge contains a small sensor meant to prevent body snatching. It is not designed with escape in mind, but it has been jostled enough to be set off nonetheless. It activates two things: an alarm in the Bat-Cave which will call Wayne Manor proper if unattended and a microphone.
Jason Todd is unaware of this as he screams and claws and strikes and cuts at the fabric and wood around him.
"BATMAAAN!!??"
In the Bat-Cave, the microphone relays its data to the computer and runs voice recognition software on the panicked voice. “Match detected,” the green text declares on screen. Following its protocol, it relays the microphone’s audio to the bat radio.
Elsewhere, there is a dark shadow that could easily be mistaken for a gargoyle or nothing at all in the black night. The stars and moon are blocked by clouds. A storm is gathering overhead, nearly ready to burst. A click of static comes from the shadow’s belt. He turns it on.
"Calm down... Calm down. Not enough air. Calm." The staticky voice is anything but calm
That voice.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”
It can’t be.
“Something… Gotta have something…”
It can.
“Gotta…” A suck of breath into painful lungs. “Gotta dig…” Tear. Rip. “Dig. Dig your way out.”
The Batman is in motion, faster than thought. He races across rooftops as the first drops of rain begin to fall. He lands in the Batmobile, and its engines rumble in time with the thunder. Because it doesn’t matter that it is impossible. It does not matter if it is a trick or a trap. He has to go to him.
Doesn’t he owe him that much?
The radio crackles with movement. The sound of ripping fabric, of splintering wood. Of heavy, pained breathing with the wet edge of held-back tears.
The time between roof and car and grave is negligible. Those who think the Batman is some kind of demon or magician would feel vindicated looking at him now as he runs to the statue of an angel. Her wings are outstretched to welcome him. Her hands are clasped to pray he’s on time. The grave is undisturbed. When he installed the sensors, he expected grave robbing. When he heard the radio, he was not sure what to expect.
The grave is undisturbed. The voice must be coming from inside, if it is really from Jason at all. (Unlikely. He knows it is unlikely. But something in his gut is telling him it’s true. It’s Jason. It can’t be, but it is.)
The microphones in the casket sensors are not two-way. Given time and some way to access it, he could turn one into a speaker, but, for now, he can only strain his ears against the increasing downpour for any sign of life. He cannot hear anything.
It’s probably a trick. Any number of people could have gotten their hands on a recording of Jason and manipulated it to any message they wanted.
The rain is pounding now.
If it is a trick, Bruce does. Not. Care. Not in this moment. Not if there is a chance it is not a trick. Not if he can be on time.
He kneels down and digs.
On any other night, in any other place, in any other world, nothing happens. Just a heartbroken man, the dirt, the rain, and a casket with a body.
This is not any other night.
They meet in the middle.
Jason’s arms are reaching and clawing before his face is visible, and Bruce hauls him out with all his might out into the hole he’s made. He coughs and splutters, but, underneath the dirt, it is him. He’s beaten and bruised, and as soon as he realizes that there is nothing for his hands to claw through, he latches onto Bruce like there is nothing else real or solid in the world. Maybe there isn’t. The dead come back to life. The rain pools around them, filling the hole, the grave. Its muddy water is far from purifying, but maybe it revives just the same.
Bruce wants to hold the boy so tightly he would be crushed into his own being, but, instead, he gently takes his weight and pulls him from the grave. Jason’s arms are tight around him, but his breathing relaxes, the adrenaline washing away in the safety of Bruce’s presence. How he could find that level of comfort from the man who failed him, Bruce cannot imagine.
The rain continues to fall, and it washes the dirt from Jason’s face. It’s him. It is impossible. It is incomprehensible. It is true.
“It’s alright, Jay,” Bruce tells him softly, projecting a calm he cannot feel, “You’ll be alright. Rest now.”
Jason Todd was not meant to die. But nor too was he meant to live. Perhaps, in one world, this matters less than that he is alive. Perhaps in one world, there are second chances where everyone is on time.
As Bruce carries Jason through the storm, he finds that he has no choice but to believe in miracles, just this once.
If the angel were not stone, she would smile.