Chapter Text
Somewhere, a young man punches through reality and changes its course forever. For most people, the changes are immediate. But for others, it takes years before they’re brought back.
Jason sucked in air and a sharp pain immediately filled his lungs. He let out a long agonizing cry, like a newborn, and opened his eyes. He couldn’t see anything. Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the bomb. The bomb had gone off. And then he’d been trapped under the rumble, and he couldn’t breathe, and he was starting to lose consciousness… He could breathe a little better now, but he still felt the air hitting something, near his face. It smelled strange, like wood and a rotting corpse
“Bruce?” he called. “Mo– Sheila?” he added, more hesitantly.
No one answered him. He couldn’t hear anything. Jason started to hit on the strangely soft ceiling over him.
“Bruce!” he yelled. “Bruce! Batman! Bruce!”
His breathing became more frantic as minutes passed. He felt his clothes. He wasn’t wearing his utility belt. Why? What the heck had happened? Why wasn’t he in a hospital bed right now?
“Come on, there must be something,” he muttered. And there was. A normal belt. That was all.
He was… He must be trapped under something again. For some reason his utility belt had been replaced by a normal one. Perhaps the pain was just making him delirious. Bruce hadn’t found him yet, but that didn’t mean he could wait for him to arrive.
“Calm down,” the teenager said to himself. It was somewhat comforting to hear something in the absolute silence that filled this place.
Ignoring the panic crushing his heart, he tore the buckle from the belt and started digging. He’d be damned if he let a pathetic clown be the cause of his death. Dick would never let him leave this down. Bruce would bench him for years. Oh. Right. He was already fired. He didn’t need to think about it now. All that mattered was his survival.
With each passing minute, the air became rarer and rarer. Quickly, too quickly, black dots started appearing in his vision. He had a growing headache, and it was becoming too hard to dig with the belt buckle. He passed out without a sound, without even realizing it.
When Jason woke up for the second time, pain still filled his lungs as he took a breath. It was like he was being reborn over and over again. He was not suffocating anymore, but he was still trapped.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled.
He tried to continue digging but the buckle was broken, not usable anymore. He wanted to cry.
“Bruce!” he shouted, banging on the wood once more. Nobody answered. He really, really wanted someone to save him. He didn’t want to die.
No, he had to free himself as much as he could. If he was buried under everything, of course Bruce would have a hard time finding him. Jason didn’t have a metallic belt buckle anymore, but he had nails. And luckily, he was trapped under wood, not stone.
Jason breached his mahogany prison after waking up a fifth time. It wasn’t enough. This time, dirt fell on his chest. He was so tired he felt like giving up.
Fuck me, he thought. Fuck this. Fuck this life.
That’s when it hit him. He wasn’t trapped under the remains of a warehouse in Ethiopia. No, he was six feet under in a teenager-sized coffin, in Gotham if he had to guess the place. Joker had managed to kill him. And Sheila too probably. In reality, he’d known ever since he first woke up. It was just easier to tell himself he had survived, and that Bruce was waiting for him at the surface. With a bit of luck, they’d just put him in the dirt. Jason was unlucky by nature so he doubted it would be the case.
For now, he needed to dig more. Now he was certain that no one was going to save him. He hoped that once he’d be out, Joker would be in a grave too. He deserved it. Because if it was Bruce that’d been blown up by a homicidal maniac… Bruce had said Jason wasn’t his son. He couldn’t count on him or anyone else in this damn family.
Jason’s right hand was the first to breach the dirt and reach the surface. He could feel the rain, and the cold autumn air. Once he could push himself with the ground, it was easy enough to pull his whole body out of the dirt. He had passed out a few more times, but it didn’t matter to him. He was out and breathing and alive. The moon was bright enough for him to see his surroundings. He was in a cemetery, that was certain. There was a tall angel statue looking down on him, with his name carved at the base. Strangely, it reminded him of his first encounter with Bruce, when he stole his tires. Back then, Bruce was tall enough to intimidate him. And yet, a simple street kid had managed to hit him in the stomach with a tire iron.
Jason chased these fond memories from his mind, and tried to ignore the angel and the adjacent tombstone named Sheila Haywood to check himself for injuries. He… was strangely fine. His muscles were sore and he had a headache, but there was no trace of the internal damage Joker had done to him. His nails had – already? – stopped bleeding and grew back. And he couldn’t see anyone, so there wasn’t some necromancer or warlock to answer his questions. Well, he rather not be indebted to some nefarious individual anyway. Whoever or whatever had resurrected him would have to stay a mystery for now. For a moment, the teenager sat in front of the hole he’d dug out. It wasn’t a dream. More like a nightmare. Phantom pain was plaguing the corpse that was his body.But maybe… maybe he had only been dead for a couple of weeks, months at best. He had to find Bruce. No matter their past quarrel, Bruce would still help him. And if he didn’t, Jason would seek out Dick. if Dick wasn’t here, then… Then he’d be on his own again. It was fine, he could handle himself. And there was no reason for this thought to hurt this much. He knew they didn’t really care. That Bruce had gotten rid of his replacement Robin the first chance he got.
Yeah, screw this plan. He didn’t need Bruce, or Dick, or even Alfred or Barbara. He’d always been fine on his own, and he never needed anyone. First, he needed to get out of there, find new clothes and some newspapers so that he could figure out the current situation. This place was creeping him out. He didn’t like being in front of his own grave.
Jason got up, and tried a few steps towards Sheila. His legs seemed to work fine, like the rest of his body. However, he wasn’t sure he could try some Robin-worthy stunts just yet. He stared at the plain tombstone of his ‘mother’ for a few minutes. What should he think about her? He understood why she betrayed him, though it still pained him. Honestly, he would have preferred to be buried next to Sheila, or even Willis. Classic Bruce, never asking for anyone’s opinion. A chuckle escaped his lips at this thought. He was dead, of course his opinion didn’t matter at the time.
Jason walked towards an unknown direction. He didn’t care where he was or where he was going. Gotham must be somewhere close anyway. He repeated his list in his head.
Clothes, newspaper, clothes, newspaper, clothes, newspaper, clothes, newspaper, clothesnewspaperclothesnewspaperclothesnewspapers…
The words mixed themselves in his mind. He was aware that he wasn’t thinking straight, but that didn’t stop him. He continued walking. His determination wasn’t about to falter. It hadn’t when Robin was taken away from him, it hadn’t when Joker fractured more than 30 of his bones. A little resurrection and grave-breakout could not stop him.
He walked twenty kilometers, following some highway from which he could see the city’s lights – a sign he was in the good direction, at least – before he finally came upon other people. The car’s lights blinded him before he could see it. It stopped next to him. Jason tensed, almost waiting for an attack. A man in his thirties opened the window.
“You alright there, boy?” he asked. Jason could see a woman in the passenger’s seat. “Why are you walking at this hour?”
Jason frowned. They mustn't be from Gotham or else they would have never stopped for a stranger. He could have been a rogue for all they knew. Heck, they too could be criminals in disguise. He would have ignored the man’s questions, but he was tired and cold. Stranger danger wasn’t a problem for him right now.
“I’m trying to go to my dad’s house,” he said, adopting the Bristol accent he’d perfected over the years.
“Are you going to downtown Gotham too? We can give you a ride. You’ll get sick in this rain.”
Jason gave him a friendly and appreciative smile. “That’d be great, actually.”
He entered the car, only feeling slightly bad for the mud on his clothes and the water wetting the seat.
“Where does your dad live?” the man asked.
“Just drop me in the Upper East Side and I’ll find my way from there. Thank you so much.”
“No problem. I’m Derek by the way, and this is my girlfriend, Paloma.”
Jason forced a smile on his face again. “My name’s Peter.”
Paloma was still eyeing him suspiciously. He couldn’t blame her. He’d read enough about Ted Bundy and unsolved murder cases to be wary of hitchhikers too. Jason put his head against the glass and looked at the road. He dreaded falling asleep as much as he needed it. But he couldn’t right now, not when he was in a car with two strangers.
“So, not to pry or anything but why were you out at this hour?” Derek asked. His question didn’t feel intrusive, but Jason stayed vigilant. His brain may be foggy, he still had his old reflexes.
“My stepdad kicked me out,” he explained. “He was drunk, and said he didn’t want a cuckoo in his house anymore, just because my mom’s pregnant.
Paloma frowned. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Jason lied, because he could not possibly tell her the truth. “I was already planning on moving in with my dad anyway. I just didn’t have time to take my stuff with me.”
She nodded thoughtfully but didn’t ask another question.
The rest of the ride went smoothly. They barely talked. It turned out Derek and Paloma were coming back from a wedding and were as exhausted as Jason. The only sounds were the roar of the engine and the rain on the windows. Jason was grateful for something that wasn’t pure silence, six feet underground. Someone turned on the radio at some point though, and the chatter gave him more relief than he could imagine. Another proof he was alive and that everything was real.
“And finally, it’s been a week since Joker’s escape, and the GCPD has just now reported its arrest by Batman and Robin. More news to come. It was William Pope and you’re listening to the 2 to 6 program. We’ll be back after a short ad break…”
“Well that’s a relief,” Derek said to himself.
Jason wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t need to find newspapers now. He didn’t even care about the date. There was a new Robin. And Joker was still alive, and had escaped again. How many times had he escaped already? How many more people would suffer because Bruce hadn’t… hadn’t… Jason hadn’t been avenged. He’d died, had been buried, and then what? Joker had continued on his murderous rampage, as if Jason didn’t die. As if he didn’t matter. Why did Joker get to live like before when he had shattered his life? Jason wasn’t surprised Bruce had replaced him. He did it to Dick despite his supposed perfection, and adopted Jason simply because he missed his perfect Robin, the first child soldier he’d indoctrinated to fight his useless crusade. Now, Jason was aching to go to Wayne Manor and punch a Bat in the face. It wasn’t fair. They deserved to suffer too. Did Bruce even take the time to mourn him? Or did he find another kid to put in his still bloody suit as soon as his cooling body disappeared into the ground?
Bruce’s methods and rules obviously didn’t work. Some people deserved to die. And well, Jason hadn’t dug himself out of his coffin to be told to “keep his anger at bay” and “forgive but not forget”. He wouldn’t do either. There was no forgiveness possible. Bruce ‘Justice, not vengeance’ Wayne could go to hell. The outline of a plan had started forming in his head, one that he was going to need help for.
“...id… Peter?”
Jason raised his head, a little bit startled by the voice.
“We’ve arrived at the Upper East Side,” Derek announced.
Oh. Right. He was still in the car.
“Once again, thank you so much,” he said with another forced smile.
“No problem.”
“Take care,” Paloma added as he closed the door.
Jason ran to the closest awning and watched as they drove away. He was so tired he could barely stand on his legs. He thought he roughly knew where he was in the Upper East Side. Unless it had been destroyed, he remembered there was a bus stop a few hundred meters away. Jason forced himself to leave the protection of the awning and started walking again.
It seemed luck had finally turned on his side, as the bus stop also had a bench, a roof, and a schedule. No one was in the streets, luckily, or else they’d probably take him for a zombie. He was kind of one, but he wasn’t hungry for brains… right? No, he wasn’t, he’d rather have a burger right now. Or some roast and anything cooked by Alfred, really. Oh shit. He shouldn’t be nostalgic. This time was over, he wasn’t a Bat or a Wayne anymore. Actually, he doubted he ever was one in their eyes.
“Still not the time for that,” Jason whispered to himself. “Focus on the schedule.”
He hadn’t taken a lot of buses in his life so he couldn’t tell if anything had changed. What was the use of public transport, when his whole world used to be Crime Alley? And even after, Bruce owned a car. Multiple cars. He only ever remembered taking a bus to go see the circus with Willis. And what a night it had been, one he and Dick would always keep in mind… That was mean. But whatever, Dick wasn’t here, and Jason shouldn’t care about his feelings.
“Right, schedule,” he repeated. The first bus of the line was scheduled for eight in the morning.
Despite never taking public transports, Bruce had him memorize where each line ended up, just in case. Everything was ‘just in case’ with him. And this line ended up near Wayne Manor. If Jason wanted his plan to succeed, he would need gear. And clothes, which he could find plenty of there. He didn’t believe that Bruce had kept his stuff, but with a little chance, the new Robin would be his size. Besides, he was itching to know what had changed. A morning heist was risky, but not impossible. People never expected to be robbed in the morning. And Jason needed to prove to himself death hadn’t stolen his skills. After all, he’d been the peak of stealth dressed as a traffic light.
Jason was about to sit and wait God knows how many hours for the bus when a few lines under the schedule caught his eye.
From September 29 20XX to October 25 20XX, the stops Monolith Square and Terredown Hall will be under renovation. For more information, check out our site transportnewsgotham.com
They were somewhere between September and October 20XX. Meaning he’d been dead for four years. Jason defeatedly slumped on the bench. So much time had passed. He was supposed to be nineteen years old. Four years of his life had been stolen from him. He should be in college right now. He didn’t want to think about it. There were so many things he didn’t want to think about. He was not going to cry. He was not going to break. Not before he broke all of Joker’s bones.
Jason put his knees against his chest and buried his face there. He was cold, hungry and exhausted. His whole body was sore, not as if he’d broken out of a grave and walked twenty kilometers but as if he was growing. He would have to worry about that later. Despite his discomfort and his fear to never wake up again, Jason drifted into a dreamless sleep.