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Something cracks through him, and his chest aches. Not in a metaphorical way, but physically. A sharp pain, dulled by everything else he's feeling. Right where Joker shot him. His eyes flick up to Bruce again.
Bruce steps back, staring down at him. Something unspeakable lingers behind the cowl. Jason can see his mask glitching out on him. It's shattered in a way that mocks how he currently feels.
"You're Robin, Jason! You're not what he made you!"
"You did this to me!" Jason shouts. His voice cracks. If he wasn't so angry he would feel embarrassed. He's crumbling and he can't do a single thing to stop the pieces from scattering across the tile beneath him.
Joker rebuilt him to feel one thing. Anger. And ever since he escaped the asylum he's had one goal in mind. Kill Batman.
"I'm sorry," Bruce mutters.
Sorry? Bruce isn't supposed to be sorry. Not when Jason was living off the blelief he didn't give a single fuck about him anymore.
And then he thinks back to the Batcave, and the empty Robin suit that sat encased like a prized trophy.
Something flickers in Jason again. Like a dying fire, desperate for something to catch a spark.
"You left me to rot in that abandoned wing of Arkham for over a year." Jason's mind takes him back to the asylum, and somewhere, Joker laughs. "With him..."
His hand grips around his gun, and he raises it at Bruce. The man in front of him doesn't flinch.
He could shoot him right now and be done with it. Put an end to everything. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it almost everyday since it became evident Bruce forgot about him. It kept him going through everything Joker put him through.
And when he got out...
Even though Bruce was there, at the asylum, Jason just couldn't bring himself to find the man, and face the reason for his suffering. Maybe that's what the mask was for. But as the screen flickers shards of light in his eye, it becomes evident that he can't do it.
For some reason he just can't seem to pull the trigger. He stares up at Bruce, a quiet plead, hoping he has answers he needs.
Instead Bruce just offers his hand, and echoes words Barbara had said to him earlier. "We can fix this. Together,"
Time freezes. Jason stares up at Bruce, and maybe for the first time all night there's nothing left. Nothing for him to be angry about. That hole in his chest, filled with whatever Joker built, hollows out.
He's not supposed to feel like this. He's supposed to be angry. Bruce forgot about him. Bruce left him to die. Where's his rage? Where's his hate?
Yet Bruce could've killed him tonight. He could've thrown him into the GCPD lockup where he'd be forced to rot in a cell with Deathstroke, Riddler, Penguin, and whichever rogue threatened to mess with the Batman tonight.
Jason's finger twitches against the metal of the trigger. He's pulled it so many times tonight already with zero hesitation. At Bruce even, but for some reason, in this moment there's something that holds him back.
His arm lowers, but he doesn't take Bruce's hand. His heart hammers through his chest, against the bare spot of his chest plate. Right where Bruce pointed.
"You're Robin, Jason! You're not what he made you!"
The man he used to consider a father turns around. A sign of trust. A sign Jason isn't sure he deserves. Not anymore.
Jason probably only has a couple seconds, but the hammering in his chest grows louder and his mind is begging him to get up, run and get the hell out of here.
He can't go with Bruce, even though there's a small part of his heart, a part that he thought he buried away in that asylum, that desperately wants him to.
He stumbles behind the crates, and makes a break for the elevator. He can't hear anything except the pounding of his heart. As the elevator doors close he sees the Arkham Knight helmet, lying on the grates of the floor. A reminder that he's still just a walking around in an empty shell.
The sound of Scarecrow's men grow louder as the elevator doors open. Gotham's rain patters across his flickering helmet, mimicking the uneven beating of his heart.
He doesn't even stop to confront Scarecrow. All Jason knows is that he can't do this anymore. He just needs to get away before Bruce's gravity pulls him back in again. Before he breaks.
A couple of Scarecrow's men corner him as he's making his escape off the roof, and he blindly fires. Jason barely hears the gunshot against the sound of his breathing.
He climbs down the building and lands on the unfinished floor just below. It's close enough where he can still hear the confrontation, but far enough for him to breathe. Bruce will be here. Barbara will get to go home, and he'll just-
He actually has no idea what he'll even do when this is over.
Jason staggers towards a pillar, and rips off his mask, letting it roll against the unfinished flooring. There's a crack just above the brow, splintering the screen in dancing lights.
The air outside is crisp with Gotham's autumn rain sprinkling down in heavy thick raindrops, that somehow soak through bone. The moon peaks through the clouds, and maybe before Jason used to sit awake, in his small bedroom, staring up at it, and wishing that he could be on it instead of Earth. He used to imagine being able to free himself from Gotham's orbit, and maybe if he were on the moon, the gravity wouldn't have been as strong, and he could pull himself away from this cursed city without getting sucked back in.
His face feels wet, which is weird because there's enough cover here to shield him from the rain, and for some reason he can't seem to catch his breath which also doesn't make sense because the last time he couldn't breathe was-
Back at the asylum.
It was that day Joker placed his guns in his hand. There was so much happening in that moment that he didn't realize he had fired the shot until the ringing in his ears had faded and his feet were soaked in blood that for once wasn't his. And once the dust had settled, and the hallucinogens or whatever the hell Harley drugged him with wore off, he had realized that the men he shot were wearing bat costumes.
After that the thought of killing the Batman came easy to him.
Scarecrow's voice echoes down from above him. He should be there. He wanted this.
But he can't bring himself to go help Scarecrow, or Bruce. He hears the commotion. Gordon betraying Bruce.
It's been a long time since he's hid from his problems. Being Robin gave him a way to confront his problems. It made him feel bigger than he actually was. Gave him something he spent his whole childhood looking for. It was magical.
Until Bruce benched you. Jason thinks. He didn't trust you. Not the way he trusts the Replacement, or Dick. Even Barbara.
Thinking of the fact that Bruce replaced him usually fires up the anger, but this time, nothing.
Jason shuts his eyes, and actually tries to gather his thoughts instead of just spiraling. Back in the day, Alfred had taught him how to actually sit and breathe. He doesn't remember any of that anymore.
He thinks of his reunion with Barbara. She had shouted words at him he hadn't been able to process at the time.
"He lost you!"
The rain wets his cheeks, dripping down his chin, and he tries to scrub it away. Bruce couldn't have lost him, because he didn't die. Joker shot him and he didn't die.
If Bruce didn't leave him, what the hell is he supposed to do with all this anger? Who is he supposed to blame for everything?
What the hell is he supposed to do with himself now?
There's a shout, and Jason perks up. He sees a flash of the Bat, jumping down the tower. Jason takes the risk and peaks over, still hidden by the unfinished scaffolding but able to see enough.
He sees Barbara's bright orange hair, Bruce huddles over her as drones fire above the barrier they're hiding behind. Jason glances up. Scarecrow has Gordon in his ship.
At least Jason would've been on the winning team.
Something chips away at the layer of hate lining his chest, and he realizes that maybe Bruce does care about someone other than himself.
Would Bruce have jumped off a building for him too? Would he now? After everything? Jason doesn't think he deserves it. He knows he probably never will after tonight.
He runs a hand across his face, scrubbing the water off his face. It's not until his hand brushes across the numbed J scar that he realizes that it's not rain on his face. He's been crying. His knees hit the ground and the weight of everything sinks him down into the concrete.
"You're Robin, Jason! You're not what he made you!"
"You're Robin,"
Robin.
Everything still doesn't make sense, and he doesn't know what to do without anger guiding him. He doesn't know how to feel, or even what he's feeling. He watches Bruce drive away, off the island. Away from him. Again. For the first time all night, it's silent.
Gotham's lit neon tonight. The rain reflects the city's lights making this hell hole of a city seem brighter than it should.
Jason turns back around, and stares at the helmet lying on the ground. There's not much time before Scarecrow starts the final phase of his plan, which means Jason has to make a choice right here and right now. It comes to him easier than he ever thought it would.
Slowly, he pushes himself off the ground and makes his way to his helmet. The screen strobes, but he can fix it.
The helmet clicks into place, and he takes a moment to regain control of himself, letting the mask take over. It's fractured, damaged, and everything that he once was when he left that asylum. A broken mosaic of his former self. But he rose up from the pits of the asylum. He built a militia, and he almost beat Batman. He already came back once, he thinks maybe he might be able to do it again.
Bruce will be busy with the militia forces at the GCPD, which buys him time before Scarecrow acts.
First things first, fixing the helmet.
It's not that hard. Just a reprogramming issue so the screen stops flickering strobes of light in his eye. It's almost nauseating at this point, and with the rain it's kind of blinding him a little.
He assumes Scarecrow and his men have cleared the area, so he grapples up to the floor above. Surprisingly, he's right.
Even his base is emptied out. Batman made a mess of it. There are still a couple bodies lying around, and he makes quick work of putting bullets through their skulls. He makes his way towards his board full of Batman pictures. He had followed Bruce after the asylum. He was there in Arkham City. Watching. Waiting. Learning about Bruce, and his replacement.
He watched Bruce almost get killed by Joker, and he would be lying if he said he didn't wish Joker had pulled the trigger then. He's starting to think Joker had problems with killing too. All he did was make people suffer. He'd torture them, take away their lives, just to keep them breathing, and wishing they were dead instead.
When Barbara got shot he almost went after the clown himself. If Bruce hadn't been there to stop him, he thinks he would've actually put a bullet through his skull. If Joker were alive today he actually would.
Bruce might have a no kill rule, but Jason sure as hell doesn't.
Behind one of the curtains draping the wall is a painted red bat symbol. When he was trying to decide on the Arkham Knight's symbol he had almost gone with a bat symbol, but in red. As a taunt to Bruce, before he just decided to fuck it and fully embrace the place that made him who he was in the first place.
Which is why he also had the second helmet. The red hood. Like Joker.
It was symbolic in a way. Batman's two greatest failures. Except he wasn't the clown, and if it came down to it, he would have pulled the trigger-
But he didn't. He couldn't kill Bruce. Not after he apologized to him. Jason doesn't think he's ever heard Bruce say the words,"I'm sorry."
Jason gets to work on his helmet. It's a basic repair. He can't get fix the crack, but the screen works fine.
He looks down at his workbench. There's a can of red spray paint sitting out. He doesn't remember using it, but he must've left it there before everything.
Somewhere in the department store his Arkham Knight chest plate lies on the ground, waiting for him to go and get it. Bruce had ripped it off his chest, stripping away his identity before pointing right at his heart, right where Joker shot him. The words Bruce shouted at him hurt more than the gunshot.
"You're Robin, Jason! You're not what he made you!"
He was not Robin. Not anymore. Not since Joker dragged him away and hid him in that abandoned wing. But he wasn't the Arkham Knight anymore. That much was clear.
Jason reaches out to grab the can of spray paint. He can feel the cold of the metal even through his gloves. For a minute he just stares at the can in his hand, wondering if what he was going to do was even rational.
The crackling of his comms breaks him out of his daze, and he hears Bruce and Barbara. He forgot to switch the frequency, but maybe this is good. The militia forces are at the GCPD. There's probably a couple dozen tanks, and then on top of that, they planned on sending in additional forces to overtake the GCPD from the roof.
He knows with Barbara helping, Bruce will slice through those forces like a knife.
Jason looks back at the wall in front of him, at the Arkham banners draped across, and then back to the can of spray paint in his hand.
His free hand comes up and he brushes the spot Bruce pointed. Under the armour sits not just the gunshot wound, but all the scars Joker left across his whole body. From the beatings, and the torture, and-
Jason slams his eyes shut. He hasn't thought about the asylum this much in a long time. Usually whenever some memory resurfaces he just shoves it down, burying it in anger towards Bruce. But now whenever he thinks of that anger all he hears is Bruce's voice, broken and pained just like him.
"I'm sorry."
There was something about being the Arkham Knight that he only felt when he was Robin. It was that feeling of being untouchable, of having the power of doing anything he wanted. It was foolish and childish to believe that as a kid. Obviously he couldn't do everything he wanted, but during those early years, when Robin meant having magic, it was something.
He reaches out, and rips one of the banners off the wall revealing the red bat symbol painted sloppily onto the worn walls of the abandoned building.
Through the comms, he hears Bruce saying he's on his way to the movie studios, which means they've cleared through the militia forces, and Bruce is about to walk straight into Scarecrow's hands.
Impulsively, Jason presses the nozzle of the spray paint, aiming it towards his chest. Using his reflection from his helmet he manages to get the rough outline of a bat logo down, before filling it in. He dabs away the messy parts with his sleeve, letting the red paint soak the fabric of whatever's left of the Arkham Knight's armour.
When he's done, he grabs his helmet and spray paint, and makes his way back to the elevator.
He doesn't look back at the room. He knows he won't have to be back for a while.
His bike is parked in a nearby structure. It's a miracle it hasn't gotten stolen so far tonight, but then again, he's rigged it so anyone who tries to touch it gets blown to shreds.
He takes off and makes his way off Founders Island, towards Miagani. There's an abandoned warehouse Scarecrow's got in his possession in Kingston. Bruce will be there any minute now.
Jason knows he probably won't be able to stop Bruce, but there's probably a way to let him know that he's with him now. Or at least, not with Scarecrow. Because as much as Jason wants the old days of Batman and Robin back, he knows that the past died a long time ago. He's changed, more than Bruce realizes.
No matter how much Bruce and Barbara claim that they can "fix this", there's no going back.
He parks a block away from the building and quickly scouts out the place before making his move. There's a truck waiting in the garage, but the driver hasn't arrived yet, or he's probably taking a piss or something. Jason takes the opportunity and approaches the wall beside the steps leading to the door.
He takes a step back, and stares at his work. The same red bat symbol as the one painted in the department store, and the same one plastered on his chest. The red spray paint stands out against the dirtied white bricks and faded posters. Bruce better see it. And if he's really the 'World's Greatest Detective' or whatever, he'll know what it means.
Jason makes his way back to his bike, and gets his head start.
He doesn't miss the pit of dread that sinks into his stomach when he sees the asylum's hauntingly tall walls. His chest tightens when he makes his way to the roof of the mansion.
Bruce comes through on his comms, "Alfred, I'm going to give myself in to Scarecrow. It's the only way to save Robin and Jim."
Realization finally strikes him, the words Barbara shouted at him finally sink into the cold shell protecting his heart. On the roof of Arkham Asylum, where he essentially died, and was reborn, the answer hits him so forcefully, he has to tuck his head between his knees so he doesn't throw up.
Bruce did look for him. Bruce tried to save him.
He had spent two years in that asylum believing Bruce didn't care enough to come and look for him. But here was a man who was willing to give everything up to save his friends.
He adopted Jason. Bruce took him under his wing, and gave him magic. He would've had to look for him, and when Joker 'killed' him-
"He lost you!"
Jason forces himself to come back to reality. He has to at least try to help Bruce. This can't be the end of the Batman.
He switches to a new frequency, and prays that Barbara still has the line open.
She was still Batgirl when he was Robin. Dick and Barbara had their own line, for when Bruce was moody, and difficult, which was probably most of the time. He learnt about the line when he inherited the Robin suit. He'll be honest, he didn't use it a lot. He just never saw a reason too, and he wasn't as close to Barbara as Dick was, and now apparently Tim is.
But after everything tonight, he hopes that maybe Barbara had the foresight to have the line available.
"Barbara?" His voice shakes.
It's silent, and he curses under his breath. The wind howls, and distantly he thinks he can hear echoes of screams coming from the abandoned asylum.
"Jason?"
His heart pounds so violently he thinks he might actually throw up this time. He didn't think she would pick up. "Are you ok?" He asks.
"Yeah? Are-are you?" She answers. She sounds calm. Calmer than him at least.
"I need um- is Bruce going to-?"
"Yeah. He's on his way to Kingston,"
Jason looks down at his chest. At the red bat symbol. He swallows down his anxiety. "Can you send me his tracker?"
There's another pause, and Jason shuts his eyes, praying that Barbara didn't hang up on him.
"You want to track him? Why?"
"I'm at the asylum. I think I can help him,"
"You're at the asylum? Is Tim-"
"Yeah he's here," Jason answers, and then he laughs a little, "your dad too, if you were wondering,"
Barbara scoffs at that. For one small moment, things feel a little bit like how they were before.
"He's on his way to you. I'll send you his tracker, but Alfred might be able to tell and he'll definitely rat you out. Don't know how incognito you want to be right now,"
That's good. That's what Jason wants. It's why he left the spray paint outside the warehouse. If Bruce didn't get the message then, he'll have to get it now.
Jason inputs the information into his helmet, and sees Bruce's dot pop up on the screen. He's crossing the bridge. It shouldn't be too long until he arrives.
"Thanks Barb," his voice softens, "for everything,"
He doesn't listen to her response before disconnecting his comms. He's already feeling emotionally unstable, he doesn't really feel like pushing those boundaries at the moment.
Jason stays perched on the roof of the mansion until he sees Bruce's tracker dot arrive at the asylum. He disconnects that as soon as he sees the truck pull up to the front of the mansion.
While Scarecrow is busy wheeling Bruce into the mansion, Jason makes his way down and into the main hall.
The building is cold, and dark. It's barely lit except for the setup of screens in the middle of the hall. The wind blows in from empty window frames that Ivy's plants broke through. The plants have been chopped down from Sharp's attempt at restoring the asylum before he was elected and Arkham City was created, but there are still the few vines wrapped tightly around the pillars, too trapped inside the rock to be free.
There's a camera set up facing the north end of the hall. Scarecrow wheels Bruce directly in front of it, right in front of the giant statue.
Disaster strikes immediately after.
Tim's voice cuts through the tense silence, and takes the last slivers of the Arkham Knight with it. "Batman? Is that you?"
And Jason freezes.
He blinks. Ghostly barbed wire tightens across his body. He tries to breathe, but when he does he feels the cold biting his skin, and the sharp impact of a crowbar hitting already broken skin and bones.
There's a gunshot, and Jason feels himself gets yanked backwards.
But he's not in the mansion right now.
Later when Barbara asks him what happened, he'll tell her he doesn't remember.
He's back in that cell in Intensive Treatment. The tile is cold under his feet, and he's covered in disgusting, cold, sickly sweat.
His ribs ache when he breathes too deeply, and the room slowly sways back and forth.
He feels Joker's fists pounding down on him, and he can't do a single thing to stop him.
Get up, Jason.
Alarms are sounding off in his head. Every part of him is begging him to get up and fight back.
Something hits his side. The crowbar? Harley's hammer? He can't breathe.
Get up, Jason!
The world kind of sounds fuzzy, like he's under water. Maybe he's being water boarded? Maybe that's why he can't really catch his breath. Jason catches a few words like, 'Arkham', 'Knight', 'Robin'.
Robin.
"You're Robin,"
That fire from earlier finally sparks back to life, and his body moves on instinct. He fires his guns, blindly. He just needs Joker off him. He wants the crowbar melted into puddle of metal. He wants Joker's head beat to a pulp.
The air breezes past his ear. He hears the the Clown.
"Kid's not yours anymore. He's mine. Mine, mine, mine, mine."
Jason swipes at the hands grasping at him again, and thinks of all the other rogues who beat him like a punching bag. Croc, Cobblepot, Bane, Zsasz, Scarecrow. Even fucking Calendar Man got to him.
"Who do you hate, my boy?"
He opens his eyes. His feet are no longer standing on blood stained tile. The fluorescent light is replaced by the moonlight.
He's not with Joker. But he thinks he knows his answer to the question, and it's no longer Batman. It never really was.
Seven of Scarecrow's men surround him. Their blood leaks onto the grass. He looks at his ankle. A grapple is hooked around it. He must've gotten pulled down, which means-fuck.
Jason doesn't bother checking the bodies. Instead he pulls himself back up through the window, and gets back into position.
But he's too late. Bruce has been unmasked. Scarecrow's got a gun to Bruce's head, and from the looks of things the gunshot he heard was from Tim getting shot.
Jason lifts his gun. He was too late to save Batman, but he can still save Bruce.
He presses down on the trigger, knocking the gun out of Scarecrows hand. Bruce looks up, and in that split second Jason knows that he has Bruce's trust back. The old man isn't stupid. Jason could very well use this moment to bury a bullet between Bruce's eyes and call it a day. He can go on with his life knowing he did the one thing he set out tonight to do.
Kill the Bat.
But instead he lowers his gun, at the cuffs restraining Bruce, and frees the man.
He sinks down behind the railing, and hides himself in the shadows of the asylum, watching. He watches Bruce take down the Scarecrow, and then as he exchanges his goodbyes with Gordon.
Jason doesn't miss the look in Bruce's eye, as he looks over Tim. His Robin. There's something unspoken that lingers. An apology. Jason wishes he could unsee himself in Tim. The kid will be ok. He knows firsthand that the armour stops any critical damage. Bruce hands Tim off to Gordon, before getting up and making his way over to Scarecrow.
Jason follows him outside. The pile of bodies are just off to the side where Bruce can't see them. Bruce hears him approach, and speaks without even turning around.
"You came,"
"I failed," Jason answers.
Bruce shakes his head. "No. You didn't. I knew the risks,"
"Bruce-"
Jason gets cut off by the roar of the Batmobile sliding into the courtyard of Arkham East. Bruce seems too calm for someone who's world is crumbling apart. The exact opposite of how Jason reacted after the Arkham Knight was stripped away.
It's very evident Bruce knew this would happen. He probably has some sort of backup plan.
"Why?" Jason asks just as Bruce places Scarecrow in the back of the Batmobile.
The man turns to face him, and Jason feels the need to pull off his helmet.
It's only now that he realizes how much older Bruce looks. He changed so much in the past couple years. Jason can't help but notice the grey hairs, and the bags painting Bruce's eyes.
He missed so much these past couple years.
The two keep their distance, but the gap between them feels much smaller than it did earlier.
"The city needs something else now. Batman needs to become something more," Bruce answers.
Everything feels so fragile. Like it could all fall apart if he said the wrong thing. Bruce still has that same look from earlier. Guilt. Jason replays their conversation at the department store, and how it ended. The final words Bruce had spoke to him, not knowing that Jason would follow him.
"I'm sorry,"
Bruce seems to be pressed for time, and he makes his way to the to top of the car. "Thank you, Jason,"
It feels like a goodbye. Jason's head spins. There's so much more he wants to say, like how he never gave up, or how he was at Arkham City. But there's one thing on his mind, that he has to say before Bruce leaves, because there might not be another chance.
"I forgive you, Bruce,"
Bruce looks up at him. Jason sees how his eyes turn to glass. The man nods, and Jason nods back.
The Batmobile roars to life, and just like that, Bruce is gone.
Jason looks up at the asylum. The walls of his prison don't seem so haunting anymore. His heart doesn't shatter with fury anymore.
Officers and paramedics will be here for Gordon and Tim soon, so Jason makes his way to his bike.
He catches a glimpse of himself in the side mirror.
The red bat across his chest shines back.