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As Bruce crashed into the glass, his first thought was, Ow. That had been one of his driving thoughts going on…what was it? Days? Weeks? If he thought about it, could he remember a time he wasn’t hurting?
His second thought was realizing what the glass had been protecting. “Jason…Robin…” he whispered. The soft fabric of Jason’s cape fluttered with the piercing shards of glass at his back. Bane was good. Bane was too good. Bruce had nothing left. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to stop the hurting and the pain and the trying. Maybe he could see Jason again. They weren’t meant to be apart, were they? Even now, at the end, the glass couldn’t keep them apart. Death wouldn’t either.
But no, that wasn’t what Jason would say. He thought of the dozen times he had wanted to give up, of the times he was tired and hurting and lost. “Don’t give up, Batman!” the ghost of Jason that lived in that mask and cape seemed to say. “Get up!”
There was never nothing left. As long as Bruce was there to hurt, he was there to fight.
He had to try.
One last stand.