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Summary
And so, Jason could’ve died again, crimson blood unapologetically splattering on the bricks of that alley, a last cry struggling to leave his throat…calling for Bruce? Dick? His Mom that so selfishly left him to die too? No, he would’ve embraced Death like a long lost friend. When he first met her, wretched and resentful, he is certain now that he would feel at peace with her. Because Jason had refused to die back then, holding on to the last shred of hope that filled his gushing veins, begging for help when his brain couldn’t even form a coherent thought — skull cracked and limbs broken.
Now, Jason doesn't care enough anymore to call for help.
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Or: Jason takes a long walk, reflects on himself, gets a call then dies again. From his own hand this time.