Chapter Text
Jason died and it was my fault… A kid died… Because of me
I saw the warning signs right from the start, and I still pushed forward. Jason had already disobeyed me before; he’d already shown that his rage could get the better of him sometimes, and I… I just ignored it. I thought I could handle it. I thought I could help him. I pushed him away when he needed someone to understand him the most, and then I acted surprised when he made an impulsive choice.
I should’ve seen it coming
I SHOULD have stopped him sooner
The sentence replayed in his head like a broken record, over and over, slowly wearing him down
The cave was dead silent, barely lit by the main computer screens and a few dim lights over the workbench. The clock had to be striking around three in the morning, though Bruce had stopped paying attention to the time days ago… maybe weeks
Open files lay right in front of him: photographs, names, weapon trafficking routes, gang movements. Work. The kind of stuff that usually kept him focused. But it had been a long time since Bruce Wayne was actually reading any of it. His eyes scanned the words without processing them while his mind kept drifting back to the exact same place. To that warehouse. To that call. To Jason’s rage-filled voice trying to prove he could do it on his own.
And then… nothing
"Master Bruce, I beg of you, please stop punishing yourself and allow yourself to sleep"
Bruce barely looked up. Alfred was still there. He was always there. He was probably the only reason Bruce was still functioning at this point. Because if it were up to him, he would've collapsed months ago. He’d stopped eating properly, slept barely an hour or two every few days, and had spent weeks ignoring injuries he would have treated immediately at any other time.
But that didn't matter. None of it mattered compared to what happened to Jason
"I’m fine, Alfred… I just need to finish this"
The lie came out automatically. Alfred knew it. Bruce did too. Because he wasn't working. He wasn't even thinking straight. He was just trying to keep his mind busy long enough to avoid hearing the screams again, to avoid imagining how Jason must have felt in those final moments.
Alone. Abandoned. Convinced that Bruce wasn't coming for him.
His chest ached. And he hated it. He hated feeling this way because a part of him—the worst part—kept whispering that he deserved to feel it. That any pain was nothing compared to what Jason suffered. Bruce didn't have the right to rest. He didn't have the right to forget. Someone died. A kid died, and it was entirely his fault.
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"Alfred is worried"
Bruce recognized the voice before even looking up. Dick
For a second, something resembling shame crossed his face, because Dick had managed to do something Bruce never could: grow up without completely turning into this
Into someone broken
Dick was still able to smile genuinely, to trust people, to live a life outside the mask, even after everything he’d been through. How could someone raised by him turn out to be a better man than he was?
And Jason… Jason would have found his way eventually too. He would have left Gotham one day. He would have matured. Maybe they would’ve kept arguing constantly, maybe he would’ve left the Robin mantle sooner or later, but he would have grown up. He could have had a life. Bruce took that chance away from him.
"I’m fine" he muttered, though his voice came out sounding more exhausted than he intended
Dick watched him for a few seconds before letting out a heavy sigh and stepping closer. He placed a hand gently on his shoulder, almost as if he was afraid Bruce might break if he used too much force.
"Bruce… it’s already been six months. Stop punishing yourself. There was no way you could’ve known that"
The slam against the desk echoed through the entire cave. The screens rattled. Dick flinched back purely on reflex
"That’s the problem!" Bruce’s voice came out cracked and furious all at once "I should have known! I should have stopped him sooner!" His breathing turned heavy "I saw how he was getting worse. I saw his anger, I saw how impulsive he was becoming, and I still kept sending him out there because I wanted to believe I could save him just like…"
Just like Dick. But Jason was never Dick, and Bruce knew that right from the start
Jason was bottled-up rage, fear masked as arrogance—a kid who learned way too early that the world could tear everything away from you if you dropped your guard. He needed help, he needed stability, he needed someone who understood him. He didn't need a war
"You can’t control everything, Bruce. This was out of your hands"
"No!" Bruce stood up abruptly from his chair "He was my responsibility!" His voice echoed through the cave before slowly dying down
"He was my responsibility…"
And that was the worst part. Because Bruce remembered the argument before Jason left perfectly. He remembered the anger in the kid’s eyes. He remembered pushing him away "for his own good" He had thought that benching him temporarily would keep him from making a mistake. Instead, he left him completely alone. Again… Just like every other adult in Jason’s life
Bruce leaned both hands on the desk, trying to steady his breathing. Dick hadn't agreed with bringing in another Robin... especially someone like Jason. He didn't want Bruce dragging another kid into his personal war, and maybe he was right
"I thought I could handle it… I thought I could help him"
But in the end, Jason ended up dead just like his parents. And Bruce had failed again. The thought made his stomach turn, because underneath all the guilt, there was an even more horrible thought—one he would never admit out loud: Maybe Jason would've had a better chance of surviving if he’d never met him.
The cave fell silent. Dick stared at Bruce, not really knowing what to say. Because he had never seen Bruce like this. Not really. It wasn't anger. It wasn't just sadness—it was pure guilt. A guilt so deep it seemed to have eaten away at everything else… and Dick didn't know how to deal with it
Because he felt guilty too. He’d been so frustrated with Bruce, so tired of fighting with him constantly, that he ended up putting as much distance between them as possible. He took refuge with the Titans, in missions, in another city—anywhere that wasn't Gotham. And as a result, he didn't really spend time with Jason either. Not like he should have, not like he probably could have.
But Jason was just another kid caught in Bruce’s web, and Dick could never bring himself to hate him for that. How could he? The kid was just trying to survive a life that was already broken long before he ever put on the suit
Dick did try. He tried talking to him a few times, giving him advice, explaining what Bruce was like, how to deal with him, how to survive all of it without letting Gotham eat you alive. But Bruce always showed up sooner or later, and Dick was still way too angry with him. So they always ended up arguing. They always argued. About training. About rules. About Jason. About whether it was too soon for another Robin. About whether Jason was ready. About whether Bruce was actually helping him or just trying to fill a void he never fully understood… and while Dick kept pulling further away from Gotham… Jason was left alone with Bruce.
The thought made his stomach churn, because looking back now, it was way too easy to connect every single mistake
He was still mad at Bruce. Way more than before. But Dick was mature enough to understand that blaming him now wouldn't do any good. Bruce was already doing a better job of punishing himself than anyone else ever could. He didn't need lectures. He needed to stop… and that was exactly the problem. Bruce didn't know how to stop.
Dick had seen it before, though never to this extent. Bruce was taking out all that guilt, all that frustration and hatred on Gotham’s criminals
Six months
Six months of seeing the reports get worse every week. Broken jaws. Pulverized ribs. Criminals terrified even by Batman's standards. Bruce was making mistakes. Stupid mistakes. He was showing up bruised and bloodied way too often. He was ignoring injuries. He was throwing himself alone into situations he used to handle with a clear head.
It was like he was secretly hoping he wouldn't make it out of one of them. And that was what scared Dick the most, because Bruce wasn't trying to heal. He was slowly destroying himself along with the city.
But Dick wasn't going to be Robin again. He wasn't going to stay in Gotham just to hold Bruce together while he fell to pieces. He wasn't going to become the kid who had to hold him back with all his might to keep the pain from swallowing him whole. That was never supposed to be a kid’s job. Not Dick’s. Not Jason’s. Not any of theirs
Dick’s hand slowly fell from his shoulder
"Get some rest, Bruce…"
That was all he said. Because there was no point in trying to comfort him anymore, and there was no point in blaming him either. Bruce wasn't listening to anyone. Not Alfred. Not Dick. Not even himself
Selina wasn't even around anymore. They had broken up a while ago, and now she avoided Bruce like the plague. And honestly… Dick understood her to some extent. Bruce turned pain into an obsession… He always did, but this time was different. This time it looked like he was letting it consume him completely, and maybe Selina just didn't want to stick around to see how that ended
Dick did. Because he had seen him approach the edge too many times. He saw it right now in the way Bruce avoided looking up. In how he kept his fists clenched even while sitting completely still. In the deep dark circles under his partially pulled-back cowl. In the fact that the computer screen had been displaying the exact same report for over an hour.
Bruce wasn't even reading. He was just sitting there, punishing himself. Breathing in guilt
The cave felt colder since Jason’s death. Emptier. And the worst part was that the uniform was still there. The red and green suit locked inside the glass case, pristine, motionless. Like a corpse. Bruce never said a word about taking it down, and nobody dared to suggest it. Because they all knew the truth: Bruce needed to see it. He needed to be constantly reminded. Like a wound he refused to let heal because he felt that doing so would be betraying Jason.
Dick glanced toward the uniform for just a second before looking back at Bruce. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt afraid. Not of Batman. But of what would be left of Bruce Wayne if he kept this up much longer
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He was making mistakes. He knew it. Dick had told him, Alfred had told him, and even Hal Jordan had brought it up during a League mission. He had tried to sound casual, almost joking, but Bruce recognized the worry behind the words
'Batman seems distracted'
Distracted. If only it were just that
But he couldn't let them know the whole truth. He couldn't let the world find out that Robin was dead, because Bruce Wayne could mourn his adopted son Jason Todd—he could look devastated in front of the cameras and let the newspapers talk about the tragic accident that happened during a trip abroad. That was acceptable. That was human
Batman didn't have that luxury
Batman couldn't show weakness. He couldn't let criminals like the Joker, Two-Face, or any of Gotham’s monsters realize that hurting Robin worked. That they could bring Batman down if they struck the people around him. Because then Dick would be in danger, Barbara would be too, Alfred… everyone
So he kept working. He patrolled more hours than his body could take, slept barely a couple of hours every few days, and took out all the built-up guilt and frustration on Gotham’s criminals. And that brought him exactly to this moment
The rain was pouring hard while he chased a truck stolen by Harvey Dent’s men. They had looted chemical waste from a factory at the docks and were now tearing through the city at full speed trying to escape
His first mistake came fast. He lost the bike
The driver made a sharp, sudden turn, and Bruce had to leap onto the truck's roof before getting crushed against the bridge railing. He caught a glimpse of the Batcycle hitting the metal edge before plunging straight into the dark water below. He barely paid attention to it. He kept moving along the roof as the vehicle swerved violently down the avenue
The maneuvers were too reckless, so he fired his grapple gun and anchored himself to the roof to keep from getting thrown off. He had to stop them before someone got hurt. The thought crossed his mind with a bitter irony he chose to ignore
He clenched his fist and punched straight through the windshield. The glass shattered around his armored arm before he ripped out the rest of the frame and threw it onto the asphalt. A gunshot grazed his abdomen almost immediately after. The passenger was shooting up through the roof from inside the cab.
Bruce barely reacted to the pain
The man rolled down the window trying to get a better angle, and Batman seized the moment. He grabbed him by the arm and violently yanked him out of the truck. The guy went rolling for several meters down the wet pavement until he lay motionless. He wasn't dead
Bruce kept pushing forward. He climbed into the cab through the same broken window, and the second he made contact with the interior, the driver pulled another gun and fired. The bullet slammed directly into his cowl
The blast exploded inside his head. A sharp ringing filled his ears as he wrenched the gun away from the man, bending his wrist way too hard in the process. He heard something snap. The driver screamed and lost control of the wheel
Then Bruce heard another scream. A different one
He looked ahead and saw a pedestrian crossing. An old man was standing right in the middle of the street, and the truck was heading straight for him
Everything happened way too fast. He couldn't steer properly while still wrestling with the driver, and the vehicle was already completely out of control. There wasn't enough time to think, so he did the only thing he could come up with. He fired his grapple at a nearby building and hitched the cable to the dashboard.
The yank was brutal. The truck braked violently as it spun on its side, starting to flip. But it was still skidding right toward the old man. Bruce didn't know what to do. There was no time
And then he saw him
A kid came running off the sidewalk in the pouring rain. He moved without a second thought, shoving the old man out of the way just a second before the truck finished flipping over
Bruce felt an immediate, desperate wave of relief. He made it. Nobody died
The crash was brutal. The remaining windows shattered inward, and the driver slammed against the dashboard, knocked unconscious. Batman was pinned for a few seconds between twisted metal and broken glass before slowly pulling himself up. He was fine. Relatively fine. His side ached, his head was ringing, and he probably had another broken rib, but he was fine. He crawled out of the vehicle through the destroyed windshield and landed heavily on the wet pavement.
He thought he had handled the situation. Sure, there were mistakes. Some impulsive moves. Rushed decisions, but everything was fine
Then he heard the screams
"Someone call an ambulance!"
"Oh my God…!"
"Don't touch him!"
Bruce automatically turned toward the sound. Several people were gathering further up the street, and something in the tone of their voices made his chest tighten instantly
Then he heard the crying. A painful, desperate sound. Followed by small, muffled whimpers
Bruce looked back at the overturned truck and saw the rear doors burst open. Part of the chemical waste had spilled during the crash and was now spreading across the street, mixing with the rain. The trail led straight to the group of people.
His stomach sank. No. Not again
The tightness in his chest returned instantly, cold and suffocating. The exact same feeling he’d had months ago when he realized he had arrived too late for Jason. He started walking toward the crowd slowly, almost hesitating. Like a part of him already knew what he was going to find but refused to accept it.
The crowd parted the moment they recognized him. And Bruce saw it
It was the kid. The same one who had saved the old man
He was on the ground, writhing in pain while desperately clawing at his face. Several people were trying to hold him back, attempting to stop him from touching his face. Some of the chemicals had hit him directly
Bruce stood frozen. It took him several seconds to actually process what he was seeing.
The accident
The waste
The truck
His mistakes
It was his fault. Again
And the worst part was that the kid had been hurt trying to save someone else. Exactly like Robin would have done
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Alfred had spent his life worrying about his boy ever since the night he lost his parents
Because yes, Master Bruce Wayne was his responsibility, but it had stopped feeling like a job description many years ago. Alfred watched him grow up consumed by grief, by obsession, and by an unhealthy need to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He walked beside him through every stage of that exhausting path, watching the wounded child slowly turn into someone incapable of letting himself rest.
That was exactly why young Richard Grayson had brought so much joy to his heart when he first arrived at the manor
Of course, he worried the first time Bruce showed up with an orphaned boy under his arm, talking about training him to fight criminals. Alfred had been horrified—sincerely horrified. But even he had to admit over time the tremendously positive effect Richard had on Bruce
Master Bruce was calmer. Even… happier
Wayne Manor actually felt alive again in a way Alfred hadn't noticed in years. There was laughter, trivial arguments, footsteps running through the halls, movies blasting too loud in the middle of the night, and a teenager insisting on dragging Bruce into activities he would normally reject. Richard filled empty spaces Alfred didn't even know how to name. And that brought immense comfort to his old heart.
Of course, like everything in life, Richard grew up. He hit his teenage years and started questioning things, forming his own identity away from Batman. It was natural. Alfred never saw it as a tragedy, just an inevitable milestone. Unfortunately, nobody had ever taught Master Bruce how to be a father. Bruce learned languages, sciences, combat, strategy, and hundreds of skills… but nobody taught him how to deal with a teenage son who needed his own space without interpreting it as abandonment. Alfred knew this firsthand.
So when Richard finally left the manor to build his own independence, Alfred didn't worry too much. He was just a young man looking to find out who he was outside the nest, and that was exactly what he tried to explain to Bruce time and time again
Because of all that, he wasn't particularly worried when Bruce showed up some time later with Jason. He had his reservations about training another child to fight criminals, of course he did, but Alfred understood that Bruce rarely changed his mind once he made a choice like that. And honestly… Jason needed help
Young Jason Todd was a completely different kind of energy. More chaotic. Louder. More rebellious. Where Richard had been light and optimism, Jason was fire. A constant storm of sarcasm, pride, and intense emotions he barely knew how to handle
And yet… the manor filled with life once again
Once more, there was laughter in the kitchen, absurd arguments, hurried footsteps on the stairs, and sassy comments echoing through the hallways. Jason had an extraordinary talent for turning any serious moment into an absolute disaster, and even though Bruce pretended to be annoyed, Alfred could catch the small, tired smiles that occasionally slipped through.
Then the pattern repeated itself. Jason grew up. He entered his teens
But unlike Richard, Jason didn't start pulling away from Bruce to find his identity. Quite the opposite. He began seeking his attention even more desperately. And Bruce… Bruce made the mistake of not understanding him. His son was not innocent of the unfair comparisons to Richard. Alfred knew it. Jason knew it too. There were too many bottled-up feelings inside that boy, and slowly, they began to explode.
Jason wanted approval. He wanted to feel like he was enough. He wanted to hear things from Bruce that Bruce could never bring himself to say properly
Alfred tried talking to him many times, tried to calm him down, advise him, make him see that Bruce did care about him, even if he had a terrible way of showing it. But Jason didn't need to hear that from Alfred. He needed to hear it from Bruce
And Master Bruce still didn't know how to handle such a complex stage. He made mistakes. Some small, some terrible, but nobody could have predicted the catastrophic consequences that would follow
Alfred was heartbroken. Truly devastated. Jason had been a wonderful young man. Problematic, impulsive, and defiant, yes, but also incredibly smart, protective, and far more sensitive than he pretended to be. His death left an unbearable void inside the manor, but Alfred didn't have the luxury of breaking down. Because his boy was already doing it.
Bruce fell into a spiral Alfred recognized immediately. He barely slept, ignored severe injuries, patrolled until exhaustion, and seemed unable to exist outside of Batman
So Alfred had to stand firm. He had to make sure to bring him food every two hours and then personally verify that he was actually eating it. He had to check injuries Bruce tried to hide like a stubborn teenager. He had to practically threaten him to get him out of the cave for a few hours and force him to sleep, even if just for a bit. And above all, he had to make sure Bruce Wayne didn't end up collapsing right along with Batman.
It was exhausting. Alfred himself was drained, both physically and emotionally, but someone had to keep things running
That was why the fear he felt that night was so terrifying. Bruce arrived at the cave looking pale. Not the typical silent exhaustion Alfred had grown used to over those months, but something different. He looked… shaken. Deeply shaken
Then he told him what happened on patrol: The accident. The truck. The injured boy
And Alfred knew right away what was running through Bruce’s mind. Another guilt. Another tragedy to carry
He personally looked into the boy’s life the first chance he got. He checked medical records, family situation, financial needs, and made sure Wayne Enterprises covered absolutely every single expense related to the accident without raising any unnecessary suspicion. He also closely monitored the young man’s medical updates.
On one hand, Alfred understood it was a good thing Bruce was no longer drowning exclusively in the guilt over Jason. The problem was that he wasn't overcoming that guilt. He was just replacing it with a new one. And that wasn't healthy, because Bruce didn't know how to live without punishing himself for something. If it wasn't Jason’s death, it would be the boy’s accident. If it wasn't that, it would be Gotham. He always needed to carry something on his shoulders until he slowly destroyed himself under the weight. And Alfred was starting to wonder how much longer he could hold him up before he finally collapsed for good.
He didn't like thinking that way. He really didn't. But that boy’s accident had been a harsh reality check for Bruce
Alfred noticed it almost immediately after that night. Master Bruce was still neglecting his own physical well-being, still ignoring wounds and sleeping far less than necessary, but he was no longer patrolling until his body simply stopped responding. He was no longer stumbling back into the cave after thirty straight hours of acting as Batman.
And that spoke volumes
Because Bruce never stopped for his own sake. He only stopped when someone else got hurt… It was a bitter realization. When Bruce neglected himself, he was the only one suffering the consequences. But when he went out patrolling exhausted, distracted, and emotionally unstable… civilians paid for his mistakes.
And Bruce had finally understood that
Alfred still remembered the arguments between Bruce and Jason vividly. The constant lectures about acting impulsively, about not thinking of long-term consequences or the civilians caught in the middle of the chaos.
'A mistake in this line of work can destroy lives' Bruce used to repeat that to him constantly
And now… Now he had made exactly that kind of mistake. Alfred thought it was a terribly cruel way for Bruce to wake up and stop acting so self-destructively. He hated that it took something like this for him to react. And above all… he sincerely hoped that boy wouldn't face too severe consequences.
Oh, how cruel the world could be
The Batcave was unusually quiet that night. Alfred stood behind Bruce, watching him in silence as he sat before the main computer. A massive file was open in front of him. Detailed. Way too detailed. Bruce had investigated absolutely everything about the kid: Matthew Murdock. Eleven years old. He lived alone with his father in The Narrows. His mother surrendered all her parental rights shortly after his birth, and Mr. Murdock scraped by however he could between odd jobs, underground fights, and an environment dangerously tied to illegal gambling. A kid growing up in one of the worst possible places in Gotham.
Alfred looked over the preliminary psychological profile, the neighborhood police reports, the medical notes, and the hospital records accumulated over the last few weeks. Bruce had probably read them all more times than he’d care to admit
And then there were the final medical reports. Alfred felt his chest sink all over again just remembering them
The boy’s face didn't suffer severe damage. There wouldn't be major burns or permanent scars, but the chemicals had gone straight into his eyes
The child was left blind
Permanently
The word still looked hideous, even written in black ink on a clinical document
Permanently
Bruce hadn't moved in nearly twenty minutes. He just stared blankly at the file as if expecting to find a different line every time he re-read it. As if, at any moment, the words would magically change
But they didn't. Matthew Murdock would still be blind tomorrow
And the day after that
And for the rest of his life
Alfred had no idea what must be going through his son's mind right now, because he knew Bruce all too well. He knew exactly what kind of connection his mind would be making
Jason died trying to help someone. Matthew went blind trying to save a man. Both were kids. Both ended up destroyed in incidents tied to Batman. And Bruce… Bruce had never known how to handle guilt in a healthy way.
His fingers remained motionless on the desk while the screen partially illuminated his exhausted face. Alfred could clearly see the deep dark circles under his eyes and the constant tension in his jaw. He looked hollow, but Alfred knew he wasn't. Bruce was thinking too much. Probably replaying every single second of the accident over and over again. Analyzing decisions. Searching for the exact moment where everything went wrong. Torturing himself with hypothetical scenarios where Matthew walked away completely fine.
If he had reacted sooner
If he had rested more
If he had lost the truck earlier
If he hadn't gone alone
If Jason were still alive
Alfred let out a silent sigh. The problem with Bruce had always been himself: he could never accept that some tragedies just happened. He needed to find someone to blame even when the world was simply being cruel. And most of the time, he ended up blaming himself
"Master Bruce…"
Bruce didn't answer. He didn't even look away from the file
Alfred stepped forward slowly until he was standing right beside him. His gaze drifted back down to the photograph of the hospitalized boy. Matthew Murdock looked way too small in that bed. Way too young
And for the first time in a very long time, Alfred felt genuine fear. Because Bruce had barely survived Jason’s death emotionally
And he didn't know what would happen if he tried to carry this weight too, along with whatever else the future held