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Leaning forward in his seat, Jason stares at the man across from him. They’re sitting in the only two chairs of Safehouse 4, separated by a small plastic table. There’s not much else in the tiny studio apartment, just a bed, two cases of weapons, and a beat-up microwave sharing its nightstand space with a sad stack of three novels. Jason spends time here only once every few months, and it shows. Safehouse 4 is neat but not clean, the perfectly aligned furniture unable to offset the cobwebs beginning to form in the corners and dust everywhere, not to mention the bloodstains that Jason had never quite managed to get out of the floorboards.
The man he’s currently staring at doesn’t look ill at ease. Jason wonders if he’s been here before—if he even has the same exact safehouse, back where he came from. Jason doubts it. He looks almost the exact same as Jason—the face that’s shaped a bit too much like Willis’s, the teal eyes tinged greener than before by the Lazarus Pit, the same scar on his neck.
But Jason can only see the other man’s scar because he shucked his jacket off the second they arrived at Jason’s apartment, like he has nothing to fear, like he doesn’t need that thick material shielding him. The way he leans back, looking completely at ease, is equally foreign. But of course, there’s also the smell. The other Jason—Jay, he’d said when introducing himself—smells like smoke. The Pit had kicked that habit for Jason. Either Jay’s Pit worked differently, or he’d started again, later.
“You can ask your questions,” Jay says easily.
That’s good. Jason has a lot of questions. For example, how did Jay get to this dimension? Why is he here? Why doesn’t he seem frustrated or worried or, well, even mildly inconvenienced? How are their dimensions different?
“You started smoking again?” Jason asks instead.
“Yeah,” Jay says. “It kept me sane, when I was dealing with shit back in my dimension. I guess you don’t. You might wanna start, though, after I’m gone.”
Jason’s body tenses at that. Surely, Jay can’t be admitting that he’s hostile, right? He would have attacked earlier, rather than letting Jason lead him back to a safehouse to have a polite conversation.
“Relax. I’m here to help. It’s what I do.”
Here to help. Well, if Jay came here on purpose, that would explain why he doesn’t seem stressed at all. But Jason hasn’t heard of any multiverse-ending threats. Bruce is keeping him on a need-to-know basis, even after Jason literally died again for his cause, but Jason is pretty sure he’d be judged as needing to know. “Why exactly are you here?” Jason asks. “What does help mean?”
“I go dimension hopping,” Jay says. “Wherever I end up, I find out what’s going on, and fix things. Tell people whatever they need to know, kill whoever needs to be killed…that sort of thing. There’re a lot of people who want to hurt our family. Some dimensions, there’s not much I can do to help. They’ve got it figured out, or there’s just nothing good left at all. But yours…yours is one of the closest to my own that I’ve seen. Something tells me we’ve got a divergence point, and it’s not that old.”
The way Jay describes it, he sounds like an action hero. Awesome, and too good to be true. “So, what? I’m supposed to just sit back while you go on a murder spree wearing my face?”
Jay scoffs. “A murder spree? I put down monsters. You used to do that too.”
Yeah, he did. And then…and then, it became impossible to keep doing that, with Bruce breathing down his neck, and he’d folded, then folded again, then again and again and again— “I stopped.”
“Not because you were done,” Jay says.
“Yeah. Because of Batman. So, if you go around killing with my face and my costume…”
“Scared?” Jay asks.
Jason looks down at his hands. They’re steady right now, but sometimes they begin to shake from the remnants of Bruce’s fear toxin still in his system. Joker venom can only do so much. He’d been afraid, then. So horribly, overwhelmingly afraid. He’s afraid now, but it’s a background fear. Not enough to really stop him. No, Jason looked at the situation and made the only rational decision. Achieve some good as a half-useful no-kill vigilante, because that’s better than being reduced to a useless wreck. Or worse, Jason thinks, eyes catching on Jay’s too-visible scar. “No,” Jason says, a bit too late.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jay says.
“I’m gonna worry,” Jason says. “It’s my face, in my dimension. It’s my life you’d screw up. I mean, how the hell would I explain this to Bruce?”
Jay shrugs. “Well, you don’t have to.” He leans forward. “I killed my Bruce.”
Jason’s out of his seat in less than a second, gun pointed directly at Jay’s face. Jay freezes. Jason clicks the safety off. “Who are you? Put your hands up and answer me now!”
Jay laughs, but holds his hands up in surrender. “Jesus. I forgot what we were like, before.” Jay shrugs. “You go through three dimensions in a row where you’re a savior and you start to get used to it.”
“Who are you?” Jason asks.
“Jason Peter Todd,” Jay replies. “Our favorite m&ms are the blue ones, even though it’s off-brand and we should like red. We first read Pride and Prejudice in third grade during a snow day, out loud to take Mom’s mind off things. We liked snow days, because Mom couldn’t go out to get drugs when things were that bad. Should I go on?”
Jay’s right. Everything he just said is right. And that’s wrong. “We would never kill Bruce.” Even fresh from the Pit and dead-set on revenge, Jason hadn’t been able to pull the trigger on the bomb he placed beneath the Batmobile.
“What, never encountered an evil dimension?”
They exist. Jason knows they exist. Places where Bruce isn’t just fucked up, but an actual monster. Someone Jason would kill, if he got the chance.
For a moment, he lets the gun dip down. But—
“Nice try,” Jason says. “You said that this dimension was one of the most similar to yours. You said you think there was a divergence point. A recent divergence point.”
“Look, I can explain,” Jay says. “But it would be nice if you stopped pointing that gun at me.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Jason tells him, but he does click on the safety.
“Okay, fair.” Jay frowns, resting his hands in his lap. He pauses for a bit, thinking.
“Out with it,” Jason prods.
“Bruce hurt us,” Jay says seriously.
Jason waits for the rest of the sentence, the rest of the explanation, but there’s nothing. “…and?” he asks, after a while. Bruce hurt Jason. Yeah, that checks out. What doesn’t check out is Jay turning around and murdering him.
“I don’t mean ‘us’ as in you and me,” Jay says. “I did some digging, when I got to your dimension. I know about a lot of things. Something gave you chemically-heightened fear responses, and based on the very public fight all the Bats had afterwards, I’m guessing that was Bruce. I know about the Penguin—that was televised, you know. And of course, I’ll bet you have a scar on your neck, just like mine. You know what Bruce is like.”
Jason could try to argue, try to lie. Say Bruce had nothing to do with the fear trigger implanted in his brain, or that he wasn’t actually that injured after the fight over him shooting Penguin. But that’s not the point. “That’s not an explanation,” Jason says. “I’ve never even considered killing Bruce since long before any of that happened.” And if he was going to kill Bruce, it wouldn’t be over that. He hugged Bruce after Penguin. He told Dick to give Bruce another chance after the Gotham War. Yeah, Jason knows what Bruce is like, and he’s still here, in Gotham, talking to Bruce. “Besides, that’s me. What about ‘us’?”
“I’m setting things up,” Jay says. “Just making sure we’re on the same page. In your universe, Dick went off to Spyral. International evil spy ring. Right?” Jason grimaces. That had been a sucky year. First Damian died, then Dick, and then it turned out Dick hadn’t died, he’d just abandoned them.
Jason had mostly gotten over it. Dick never would’ve left Damian, but Damian was dead. Jason wasn’t worth it? Fine, yeah, he never really was. It had been bizarre that Dick had let Tim mourn him—the good brother, the non-murderous one, the one that looked at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars—but Jason didn’t spend too long being offended on Tim’s behalf when the kid could handle that himself. So, yeah, Jason had punched Dick in a moment of anger, but then he’d moved on. It’s surprising, really, that it still stings to hear Jay bring it up. “Yeah. He did.”
“I’m guessing you don’t know why.”
Jason’s aim wavers. “I know why. The mission was important, he said. Spyral was smart. They would monitor us. If we weren’t, I don’t know, sad enough, it could compromise Dick.” It was a stupid argument. Dick could have trusted his family instead of acting like Bruce. But no, he’d had to be sure Spyral wouldn’t figure things out.
“Yeah, that’s not it. I needed to run some blood samples in the Batcave. I almost didn’t go. Everyone was mad at Bruce. But this case was important. Alfred said the elevator was broken when I got there, so I took another entrance. And I found Dick alive. Dick was alive, and Bruce was just…beating on him. He was…” Jay looks down, face twisting in distress. “Dick was bleeding everywhere. Glass…glass from our memorial. It was stuck in his back. I saw Bruce throw him across the Batcave and his head just cracked against some metal. That could have killed him. He could have died three times over in that fight I saw, and then he would’ve been dead for real. And Dick kept pleading for Bruce to stop and listen, but Bruce wouldn’t stop. So I stopped him. And then I thought about it. How he almost killed me, how he almost killed Dick, how he hurt all of us. He was a monster, but everyone thought he was a hero. I could tell the Justice League, tell Alfred, tell anyone, and they’d do nothing. But I had a gun. I could do something.” Jay keeps looking down, tears glistening in his eyes. “So I killed him.”
Jason listens in growing horror. “That’s not right,” he says. “That can’t be right.” His hands are shaking furiously, and that’s not safe, not when he’s holding the gun. He collapses back into his chair, resting his elbows on the table to stabilize his arms, at least. “Maybe it was like that in your universe, but it can’t—not here. It can’t have been like that here.” There are bad universes out there. Universes where, as Jay said, he would be viewed as a savior for killing Batman. Maybe Jay comes from one of those.
“But I am right,” Jay says, finally looking up. And it’s like looking at himself through a distorted mirror. The same teal eyes, showing the same grief that Jason has felt every time he trusted someone—Bruce, Sheila, Dick—and was betrayed. “Aren’t I?”
Alfred had mentioned Bruce tearing apart the Batcave in a fit of grief. That awful memorial in the cave had looked different, the next time Jason came around. And it had never made any sense that Dick would just choose to leave them all—especially after Damian’s death.
Jay is right. Jason does know what Bruce is like. But that’s Bruce with him. The fuck up, the murderer. Not Dick.
It was never supposed to be like this.
But still—
Jason is angry. So angry. Bruce hurt his brother, and he should suffer for it. But that rage is overwhelmed by the grief. He can see it in Jay’s eyes as the other man sits in front of him, and Jason is sure Jay can see it in his own.
Bruce was supposed to be better. Bruce was supposed to be good. Jason didn’t deserve what happened to him, but it was understandable, it made sense. If Bruce really did do this to Dick, though, then he isn’t what Jason thought he was.
And yet, he’s still Bruce. He’s still Jason’s father. He’s still the man that Jason has forgiven so many times over.
If Jason stormed up to Pennyworth Manor right now, he’d punch Bruce straight in the face. Throw him into his memorial, so that he can feel what Dick felt. Hit him until he stopped trying to get up. Jason can feel the urge rising within him, the need to make Bruce pay, to hurt him back, to make things right—or at least as right as he could make them, knowing that the damage was already done and that the likelihood of the Justice League truly turning on Bruce is horribly low.
Jason can almost see it in his mind, his fists bloody as he stands over an unconscious Bruce who’d long since stopped pleading with him to see reason. And then he’d go and tell Leslie, tell Selina, tell Tim, tell Damian, tell everyone just what their beloved Bruce was. He’d burn everything to the ground, because that’s what Jason does.
But what he can’t imagine is then taking out his gun and killing Bruce. Because even fresh out of the Pit, 10% fear and 90% rage, Jason hadn’t pulled that trigger.
“You’re lying,” Jason says, his voice shaking as he speaks.
The gun is lying on the table, now, still closer to Jason but no longer in his hands. When did that happen?
“I wish,” Jay says ruefully.
“You’re lying,” Jason repeats.
“It happened here too. You know it did. It’s not the only thing Bruce has done, you know. Turns out it wasn’t just that one time, with Dick. And I found CCTV footage that Bane’s puppet government kept of Bruce just outright punching Tim. I found—” Jason feels like his chest has been ripped open, like Jay has pried apart his ribcage and then sat there, calmly observing what was inside. The tears in Jay’s eyes are drying, now, as his voice regains that awful certainty that he’s had since the moment Jason met him in an Old Gotham alleyway. Meanwhile, Jason’s off-balance, desperately trying to claw back control.
“Not about that,” Jason interrupts, before Jay can say more, reveal more of what Bruce has done. Because if Jay keeps speaking, Jason will go to Pennyworth Manor, and he will do something he regrets. Not kill Bruce, but with Jay out and about, Jason may not have to actually do the killing for Bruce to end up dead. “You, what, saw that Bruce was hitting Dick and then just…killed him? Just like that? No regrets? No nothing?”
“No regrets,” Jay echoes. “He deserved it.”
“He’s Bruce,” Jason argues.
“He hurt us,” Jay says, for the second time that night. “He hurt our family.”
“He is our family.”
“Not anymore.”
Jason squints at his counterpart. His shoulders shift like he’s fidgeting under the table. Uncomfortable. Jason knows that he would not, could not, kill Bruce. And Jay must know that Jason knows. “An accident,” Jason says. “It was an accident. You saw what was happening, and then you shot him. Did he fall, like Dick did? Is that what happened?” Jason leans back, acting far more comfortable than he feels. If he can throw Jay off guard, then he regains control of this conversation. After that, Jason doesn’t know what he’ll do. Go fight with Bruce, probably. But right now, he needs Jay to stop telling him things…and needs to make sure that Jay won’t go running off to murder his father.
Jay is silent for a moment. And then— “I don’t regret it.”
“You can’t,” Jason says. “That’s what you mean. You can’t let yourself regret it, because—”
A sharp pain, like the sting of a wasp, stabs him in his left shin. Jason freezes as a strange feeling of dizziness comes over him.
Jay sits across the table, looking smug. “I fixed things,” Jay says. “I’ll fix things here too. He won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore. You, Dick, Tim, any of the others. And you’ll take care of the rest. Joker will never get his hands on anyone else, once you’re able to kill him without Bruce stopping you. It’ll be better this way.”
Jason reaches weakly for his gun, but Jay swipes it easily. “What did you do to me?” Jason asks, words slurring. He tries to stand but finds himself stumbling and then slumping against the table. His arms are barely able to keep him upright, and their strength is fading fast. The room spins.
“Knockout drug,” Jay says. “Should wear off in a few hours. I calibrated it for the Pit’s effects.”
Jason’s arms give way and he collapses to the ground, barely managing to keep his head from bouncing off of the floor. “Don’t do this,” Jason begs.
“You’ll thank me later,” Jay tells him, standing up. In one of his hands, he has a small, device that looks almost like a pushpen, a new red dart loaded in. “And hey, thanks for the tip off about the cigarette smell. I’ll shower before I go take out the trash. Wrong order, I know, but hey, needs must.”
Dark spots dance around Jason’s vision. “Please,” he says. He doesn’t know why he’s pleading. If it was anyone else who hurt Dick, he’d be suiting up to go put a bullet in his brain. If it was any other father who beat his son, Jason would have done the same. But this is Bruce. This is his father. Jason died for him, even after everything, just like he’d tried to shield Shiela from the bomb’s blast with his body. Jason has never been able to truly want him dead. “I don’t want this.”
“See, that’s the thing,” Jay says. “I didn’t kill my Bruce for me. Bruce is our father, and that blinds you.” He crouches down, face only a few feet from Jason’s own. The look in his eyes is shockingly kind. “I know you don’t want him dead, Jason. But I was never doing this for us.”
Jason falls, and the darkness rises up to meet him.
Jason wakes up lying on the bloodstained floorboards of Safehouse 4 with a pounding headache. It takes him a few seconds to remember what happened, but then he’s surging up off the ground, pulling himself to his feet with the help of his chair. Immediately, nausea churns in his stomach, but Jason manages to quell it with a few deep breaths as he takes stock of his situation.
Bruce won’t be expecting Jason to turn on him, not after Jason volunteering to die to activate Failsafe’s programming. If Jason does nothing, Jay will catch him completely by surprise. It’s been a little over an hour since Jason was drugged by his murderous alternate. Jason thinks Jay had said that the drug would last longer, but who knows what the interactions are with the lingering joker venom and fear toxin in his system. He’s lucky he didn’t pass out for a whole day, or worse.
As it is, Jason may have just enough time to save his father.
That gives him pause as soon as he thinks it. Should he really call Bruce his father, after everything he’s done? Should he really try to save Bruce from his consequences? Maybe not, Jason thinks. He could just sit here and wait, wait for his alternate to fix everything, to make it better. Anyone else who could hurt Jason, he could fight. He’s not weak like he was when he was Robin. It’s only Bruce who can tear him apart with nothing but words, who can drag him back time and time again, who can raise a hand against him that he doesn’t dare to bat away. If Bruce is gone, he’ll finally be safe.
Jason can’t kill Bruce. He learned that in an alleyway, with his finger over the trigger. But could he let him die?
Jason takes his burner phone from his jacket and dials Bruce’s number. He stands there, leaning heavily on the table. Once again, he holds Bruce’s life in his hands, but this time instead of a trigger, his finger is lingering hovering over the call button.
And then he presses call. Because Jason has already chosen this, standing behind Bruce as his father examined a vial of Lazarus fluid and making an offer. He died to keep this bastard alive, and he’s not going to let Jay ruin that.
The phone rings three terrifying times before Bruce picks up. “Who is this?”
“It’s Jason. Listen, I’m at Safehouse 4, not the Manor. Don’t let me—”
Silence. Jason cuts himself off and stares at the Call Disconnected message. Damn it!
Seconds later, Jason flies out the door, shaking off the last remnants of his dizziness. He races down four flights of stairs and out onto the street, where he’s parked his motorcycle. Jason jumps on the bike and drives. He’s bursting through the door of Pennyworth Manor in minutes.
Bruce was planning to stay in tonight to work on some forensics in the makeshift Batcave below Pennyworth Manor. Jason goes straight there, tearing down the hidden staircase to find his alternate standing over a cowl-less and bleeding Batman.
“—talk about this,” Bruce is saying. He’s lying on the ground, not even raising his arms, and making no move to fight.
“I know what you did. And there’s nothing you can say, Bruce, that’s gonna change what I do next,” Jay says, his voice filled with venom. Jason recognizes that tone. He uses it all the time on patrol.
And that’s just it. Jay’s voice is venomous and certain and calm. Nothing like how Jason sounds, has ever sounded, when he talked to Bruce. Because to Jay, this isn’t his father. He killed his father long ago, back in his own dimension. To Jay, this is just another abuser.
Jason shoots his alternate in the arm. Bruce’s eyes flicker over to Jason, and then Bruce is moving, sweeping Jay’s leg and pulling him to the ground. Jay tries to shoot one of the sleep darts at Bruce, but it’s deflected by his gauntlet. Bruce punches Jay in the face, snapping his head to the side. Jason can feel the blow from where he’s standing, just like he’s felt it before. “Who are you?” Bruce asks, shaking him, and it’s everything Jason can do not to cringe away. It feels like he’s watching his own life from outside his body. “Why are you wearing Jason’s face?”
Jay laughs, and tries to struggle out of Bruce’s grip, to little avail. Wordlessly, Jason walks over, crouches down, and sprays a canister of knockout gas in his face. Jay collapses in Bruce’s grip, head lolling against the stone floor.
Jason grabs Jay’s dart shooter. Bruce asks Jason for an identification code. Jason answers. Bruce carries Jay over to a holding cell. Jason watches. And then, as Jason watches the door unseal, he thinks, This must be his worst nightmare. Jay’s, that is. Imprisoned by Bruce in the Batcave. Jason knows it’s one of his own.
“Get your hands off of him,” Jason says, with an intensity that surprises even himself.
Bruce stares at him, taken aback. “What?”
Jason walks forward. “Put him down.” Bruce does, crossing his arms. Maybe he can sense the danger in Jason’s voice, because he doesn’t speak, just waits to see what Jason will do next.
Jason knows he can’t let Jay loose, not right now, not with how focused he is on killing Bruce. But if Bruce gets his hands on him, how does Jason know that he won’t implant the fear trigger in Jay too? Bruce had apologized, sure. Jason had even believed him. But that was before Jason knew just how bad things were.
Reluctantly, Jason locks his alternate into the holding cell.
Bruce takes that as an invitation to speak. “Jason, what’s going—”
“Shut up and call Dick,” Jason says, anger thrumming in his voice. The rest of it, he keeps locked in his chest, letting it burn right where Jay lit it inside his ribcage. He can’t talk to Bruce right now, not without unleashing the Red Hood, and he’s not going to get Tim or Damian involved in this until he knows it’s safe. Dick can handle this. He’s always been able to handle Bruce.
But that’s wrong, isn’t it? Unless handling means getting beaten half to death.
“Dick is busy in Blüdhaven,” Bruce argues. “Unless this is—”
Jason’s still holding a gun. Slowly, carefully, he points it at Bruce. “Call him,” Jason says, because Dick’s going to end up involved anyway. But Jason can’t leave Dick alone to handle this, and he isn’t convinced that Dick wouldn’t just try to make this all go away. “And Diana,” he adds. If any of the Justice League would help, would care, it would surely be Wonder Woman. And if Jason’s really on his own, better to learn that sooner rather than later.
Bruce’s gaze flickers between Jason’s eyes and the muzzle of the gun. “Are you compromised?” he asks. He’s bleeding from his nose. It’s not enough. Jason wants to tear his face off, so he can’t smile, can’t get that concerned look, can’t ever pretend like things are normal and okay again—
“No,” Jason says. “You are.” That’s all the explanation Bruce will get. And actually, Jason realizes as Bruce moves toward the Batcomputer, Bruce can’t really be trusted not to claim to his allies that Jason is compromised. So Jason takes the dart shooter, presses the button on one end, shoots Bruce with one of the darts, and then immediately panics at the idea that Jay could’ve switched the sleeping drug out for poison.
Two hours, a rushed toxin test (it was just the sleeping drug after all), and a universal antidote later, Jason, Dick, and Diana face Bruce. The man stands in one of the Batcave holding cells with the door open so that Diana can use her lasso.
“What is this about, Jason?” Dick asks. “If this is another of your plots—”
“It’s not,” Jason says. He can’t look at Dick. He refuses to look at Bruce. He just stares down at the floor, watching the way the light from Diana’s lasso scatters off the stone. “Wonder Woman, we need to use the lasso.”
Diana frowns. “These circumstances are—”
“Please,” Jason says, a little bit of desperation creeping into his voice. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe the Justice League will arrest him instead, or prevent him from stopping Bruce.
Bruce holds out one of his arms to accept the lasso. “Jason, what is this about?”
Jason doesn’t respond.
“Tell me, young warrior, what I ought to be asking,” Diana instructs Jason, wrapping the lasso around Bruce’s arm.
Jason opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He looks up and sees Bruce, staring at him with only confusion in his eyes. And then Bruce’s gaze meets his and something passes over his face, something almost like guilt.
He doesn’t get to feel guilty. Not when he doesn’t even know what he’s being interrogated about.
“Jason?” Dick asks. “Come on, this is getting weird.”
How does Jason even ask a question about this? What would he even ask? The truth must come out, but he already knows the truth. How could he form everything that he has learned today and everything that has happened in the past few years into a single question?
“Ask him if he’s ever hit Dick.” Jason’s head whips around to see Jay sitting in his holding cell. He’s leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, trying to look relaxed. But Jason can see how twitchy he is.
Immediately, Dick is on edge, shifting from one foot to another. Bruce, meanwhile, is horribly still, his brow furrowed in concentration. Preparing to evade the lasso, probably. But Diana is experienced in asking questions.
“Have you ever hit Richard Grayson?” Diana asks, her grip on the Lasso of Truth tightening.
“In sparring, yes,” Bruce answers, without a pause.
Jay laughs. “You’ve lost, old man. Give it up. Aunt Di, ask him what injuries Dick had after they fought when he sent Dick off to Spyral.”
Diana asks, specifying the injuries that were caused by any altercation between the two. There’s a long pause. Bruce’s jaw clenches as he strains against the lasso. And then it all comes spilling out.
Spyral. Penguin. The fear trigger. Bane’s takeover. The Batarang. Incident after incident, things Jason had known and things he hadn’t. Bruce gives up, letting the answers pour out of him without a fight. Diana’s expression grows more and more grim. They get to an incident during Dick’s time as Robin and Jason pictures Bruce punching a tiny little Dick Grayson. Suddenly, he’s lunging forward, tearing Bruce out of the lasso’s grasp with one fist raised.
And then Jason’s fists are driving themselves into Bruce’s flesh, and the fire in his chest has spread everywhere, to his eyes, to his brain, to his bloodying knuckles as he strikes Bruce again and again. “I’ll kill you!” he’s saying. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” From his holding cell, Jay laughs. “I’ll—”
Dick’s arms wrap around Jason, dragging him back. “Stop! Stop it, Jason!” Diana has Bruce pinned against the wall, holding him by the black fabric of the bat symbol on his chest. Her lips are moving, but Jason can’t hear a word she’s saying. “You can’t kill him,” Dick says. “Just stop and calm down, you can’t—”
“I won’t,” Jason can hear himself saying. A sob breaks free of his chest. “I won’t kill him, I can’t, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Diana and Dick leave to take Bruce away somewhere. Jason doesn’t quite register where, and he knows that later he’ll regret not listening better, but he can’t seem to process much at the moment. Except—
“We’ll deal with the other Jason when we get back,” Diana had said.
So, Jason walks over to Jay’s holding cell and stands in front of the sealed door.
“The Justice League,” Jay observes. “Really?”
“Diana will take care of it,” Jason says.
“She won’t,” Jay replies.
Jason rests a hand on the clear glass-like material of the holding cell door. “You called her Aunt Di. You trust her.”
“It was mocking,” Jay says. “Look, they’ll make some noise about how horrifying it is, how they’ve failed, how they’re going to save you. And then they’ll let him go, and everything will be right back where it started. Only this time, no one will let you near him to save the day, and I won’t be around to help.”
“But you don’t know that,” Jason says.
“I’ve seen it,” Jay replies. “I’ve seen the Justice League fail. There was a universe where Dick reported Bruce to the League—can you believe that? Didn’t work out too well for him. Another where we went running to them for help and got arrested. Another where Tim’s little team brought up their concerns. There was a whole investigation, but then Darkseid attacked and, well, needs must.”
“But those are alternate dimensions. Not this one. You said your universe and mine seem to be pretty close, closer than anything you’ve seen before. And in your universe, you never got the chance to try the Justice League. This world could be different from the others you’ve seen.”
Jay snorts. “Didn’t peg you for an optimist.”
Jason’s always been a bit of an optimist, though, as much as he tries to hide it. He was Robin for a reason. “Well, I didn’t peg myself for a pessimist,” he says. Jason taps on the holding cell’s controls and turns off one very specific counter-measure—dimension travel. Or maybe he turns on a recording of duck audio. The controls are a bit different from how he remembers. But given the lack of quacks, Jason thinks he managed it. “You should leave, Jay.” Using his nickname for someone else feels weird, to say the least, but it’s not nearly as weird as looking into his own eyes and seeing pity there.
“You’ll see, Jason. It’s not going to work out.” But there’s something new in Jay’s eyes. Like he’s finally starting to see.
“It will,” Jason says. “And if it doesn’t, then I’ll figure it out. It’s my dimension. This is my family. You can’t take that from me. And wherever you go next, you can’t take that from them either.”
“Go next?” Jay chuckles. “Only place I’m going next is wherever your Justice League’s base is. They’re gonna lock me up and throw away the key. Can’t have a Jason Todd around who’s willing to fight back.”
“No,” Jason says. “They’re not.” This is a terrible idea. Jay could go over to the next universe and kill their Bruce and ruin everything that Jason has managed to save here. But he also won’t leave his counterpart to get locked away. And there are plenty of alternate universes out there where Jay could do so much good. “I’ve turned off the dimension oscillation dampers. I’m guessing you’ve got your tech on hand—it didn’t seem like you had a home base, really.”
Cautiously, Jay raises one of his arms and pulls up his sleeve. There’s a black band on his arm, and when Jay taps it, it comes to life like an ultra-thin screen. “Trusting Bruce is dangerous,” Jay says. He gestures towards his neck, then Jason’s. “It’ll get you killed. Permanently. In some universes, it already did.”
“I don’t trust him,” Jason says. He isn’t really sure who Bruce is, anymore. How could he possibly trust him? “I don’t think I ever will. But I can’t let him die.”
“They’ll want you to forget,” Jay says. “They’ll want you to forgive. The other superheroes need him. Dick will always forgive him for anything. So it has to be us. If you want to save your family, it has to be you.”
“I know,” Jason replies. And he does. He’s pretty sure that the second Dick returns he’ll be thrown into the middle of a screaming match. But when he gets kicked out of the cave, it’ll be okay. Because Bruce will be held somewhere else, somewhere he can’t get to them, somewhere he can’t hurt them. And Jason’s all about permanent solutions, but he’ll make this imprisonment stick.
“Good luck, then,” Jay says. “You’ll need it.” And with that, he disappears in a flash of blue light.
Jason sits down on the cold, stone floor, pulls his knees up to his chest, and waits for Diana and Dick to return.