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cdelphiki · 2 years

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A Hero Lost

Bruce doesn’t remember making the decision.

He remembers speeding to the warehouse, watching it explode, seeing it turn to rubble.

He remembers the crunch of gravel under his feet—but not gravel. Steel and concrete and tiny pieces of wood.

He remembers feeling frantic at the sound of Sheila Haywood. The raspy words, spoken in a hush.

“He saved me,” she’d said.

“He’s a hero.”

Bruce doesn’t remember everything from that day, but he will always remember the weight in his arms. The still warm feel of Jason’s skin. The unnatural stillness of his chest.

Sometimes, Bruce wishes there was more he didn’t remember.

If anyone tried to talk him out of his decision, Bruce doesn’t remember that, either.

So there Bruce stood—Batman stood, a whole slew of press spread in front of him, the entire Justice League behind, standing on the steps of the Hall of Justice.

“On Tuesday,” Batman began. He paused, and re-centered himself before Bruce’s emotions could take over.

He’d yet to… talk about it. With anyone, really.

Except Alfred.

Alfred had been a steady rock in all this.

Like on Saturday, when Bruce spent the entire day going through Jason’s mask cam footage, trying to figure out what had happened.

Why had Jason gone inside. How had he been overpowered by the Joker and so badly injured.

When he realized— when he saw Shelia convince Jason everything was safe, and Joker was gone, only to turn around and hand Jason over to him.

And then.

When Jason—when he only had seconds of life yet and knew it. He still—

He still shielded Haywood with his body, and assured her everything was going to be okay.

Bruce broke his hand, slamming his fist into the cave’s rock wall.

And Alfred came over to him, and dutifully dragged him over to the medbay, where he quietly cleaned him up and wrapped his hand, even though Bruce couldn’t bring himself to lift his face out of his other hand.

But Alfred was not with him, at the moment.

Bruce had written out his speech. He had it scrawled out on the paper in front of him, sitting on the podium.

He didn’t need it, though. Because even if he didn’t remember agreeing to this, he did remember every word he wrote.

Batman took a deep breath, and looked straight ahead, well above the heads of the press in front of him.

“On Tuesday,” he repeated, “the world lost a hero.”

Bruce swallowed, and tried to ignore the hushed tension that settled over everyone in attendance. The eyes of the press, quickly scanning the ranks of the League, trying to find the missing member.

Only there was no missing member.

And even if Robin hadn’t been League, he might as well have been. He was one of them, regardless of his age.

“He went by Robin,” Batman continued, “and he was among the greatest. I had the honor of calling him my son for the past three years, and he was one of the best people I’ve ever known.”

The press all scribbled down notes, and several shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“He was fifteen years old, and already had accomplished more in his life than most do in 80 years. He was kind, compassionate, and had a heart of gold I envied,” he said, his voice thick. Jason had been the best. Far too good for this world.

“And on Tuesday,” Batman rasped, but he paused to let the roll of emotion settle back down. He couldn’t let himself think about anything until he finished his speech.

Jason deserved to have the world know about him.

He cleared his throat, and after a breath, he continued, “On Tuesday, he gave his life while protecting others. While protecting the one person who was directly responsible for him being there.”

That was information Bruce didn’t feel he could deliver impassionately.

Instead, he’d cleaned up his report on the incident, and had copies ready to be distributed to the press, once his speech was over.

Then, the press—the world—would know Jason’s character, and understand the tragedy that was that day.

“Robin,” Batman said, his voice amplified by speaker to all of the press, and all around the world, live on every news channel out there, “Jason was one of the best people I’ve ever met and the world is a darker place without him here.”

The sun hadn’t shown a single day since Tuesday, just as it wasn’t shining that day.

Jason was buried quietly on rainy Friday evening. No press, no fanfare. There were attendees to the service, of course. Alfred had spread the word to invite people. Had Bruce had his way, it would have just been them.

They all talked to Bruce, spoke empty words of condolences and praise for the kid Jason was. Bruce barely listened, and he didn’t talk back to any of them.

Instead, he spent the whole service staring at the casket. That was all he could do. Stare. At the far too small casket, closed up, so no one had to see how bad off Jason was.

His son. His little boy had been inside that box. And he was never coming out.

Bruce asked himself a million times why had he left such a small child alone.

Batman shifted in his stance, letting his cape swish behind him before he slowly reached up and undid the clasps on his cowl. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, staring out at the sky even as he could see the press all sit forward, no one daring to look away to even take notes.

With one last breath, Bruce pulled his cowl back and dropped it. The cool spring air hit his sweaty face and hair in an instant. He felt… clammy.

Hot and cold all at once, just like he’d felt when he’d found—

“Mr. Wayne,” one of the reporters said, her voice loud, but somehow still gentle. It was enough to make Bruce shake his head and refocus.

“The world lost a hero last week,” he said, with a strained voice, “Jason Todd will be sorely missed by all of us.”

Bruce turned around, blinking back his tears as he ascended the steps, completely ignoring all the questions being shouted by the press behind him.

Clark and Diana had been in the center of the League, standing directly behind him. Both stepped to the side, allowing Bruce to pass between them before they fell in line behind him, the entire Justice League following along inside the Hall of Justice.

The press continued its shouting, a cacophony of “Batman” and “Mr. Wayne” coming from behind him, before a new voice came on over the speakers. The voice of one of their PR people, telling the press about the packets they were about to be handed with information about “the death of one of our own.”

Whatever else she said, Bruce didn’t care.

He’d said his piece. Now, he was going home.

What home could possibly look like now… Bruce didn’t want to think about.

It most certainly could not be the Manor, that much they knew. He and Alfred had already packed up everything they needed for themselves and Ace, with the help of Clark and Barry. The security system was set to high, so no one would be able to break in and loot it, but as far as Bruce was concerned, he was never returning.

If not because the press knew he lived there, but because the halls were filled with Jason. Everywhere he looked, all he could see was his son, and Bruce—

“Would you like some company today, Bruce,” Clark asked, settling a hand down on his shoulder once they were inside. Bruce had been headed directly for the zeta, ready to simply leave.

The League dispersed, as soon as everyone was inside, but Bruce was keenly aware of their presence. Everyone hovering, just far enough away and mingled together enough to claim they weren’t, but Bruce knew.

“Not today,” Bruce rasped. For the first time all week, Bruce needed to be alone.

Alfred was at Titan’s Tower, waiting anxiously for Dick to return from space. He wasn’t due back for at least a month, last Bruce had heard, but Alfred had insisted.

And Bruce… he couldn’t go to Titans Tower, either. For the exact same reason he couldn’t go to the Manor.

So Bruce stepped forward, into the light of the zeta, and found himself looking at the empty cellar in the basement of his Montana lake house. The house he’d bought 15 years ago with cash, under the name Benjamin Payne.

The first thing he did was deactivate and unplug the zeta, so no one could follow him.

And the second thing he did was collapse down against the wall and finally let himself feel the pain he’d been burying all week.

- - -

Time was a cruel thing. It moved both excruciatingly slow, but way too fast at the same time.

Bruce spent most of his time inside, either in his bed sleeping, or in his chair in the living room, staring out the window at the trees outside.

Clark visited often. Most days, in the beginning. He brought food from Ma Kent a lot, and always made sure Ace had plenty of food to eat.

At first, he would try to make Bruce get up and do things, but after Bruce had thrown his glass of scotch at him, he’d quit trying. Instead, he talked constantly as he washed Bruce’s dishes and messed around in the fridge, doing whatever it was he did there.

All Bruce ever did was sit there, in his living room, a glass of scotch in hand.

But eventually… eventually Bruce ran out of scotch. And Clark refused to get him more.

Dick came once. Only once. Three weeks and two days… after.

He punched Bruce, as soon as Bruce got up and finally let him inside.

Bruce had deserved it.

“I cannot believe you,” Dick had snarled, “You just—you just gave up? Is this what Jason would have wanted?? What about the mission, Bruce.”

Bruce didn’t have the energy to respond.

- - -

Five weeks… into Bruce’s life at the lake house, it was Ace of all people that finally made him get up and do something.

Ace was perfectly capable of leaving the house as he pleased. And he did please, quite often. He reveled in the nature around them, and spent most his day chasing squirrels and splashing around in the lake.

But five weeks into their living in Montana, Ace found Bruce’s sneakers, and brought them to Bruce, sitting in his chair in the living room, as he picked at the plate of food he’d found in the fridge.

“Ace,” he said, pushing the dog away and knocking the shoes out of his mouth in the process.

Ace was not deterred, because he picked up Bruce’s shoes one at a time and dropped them into Bruce’s lap, then sat down and huffed.

“The door is unlocked,” Bruce said, turning his gaze down to Ace, “You can go outside yourself.”

Ace sat up taller, bouncing his front paws as he huffed again.

“Fine,” Bruce sighed. He sat his plate down on the side table, on top of the other two plates he’d not finished eating.

Thus far, Ace had been helping him with keeping food from sitting out too long.

With fumbling fingers, Bruce forced his sneakers on his unsocked feet and tied the laces the best he could.

His fingers felt stiff, just like the rest of his body when he stood up.

Ace scooted back, but sat back down, looking at Bruce.

“Well, show me what it is,” he said, motioning for the dog to go.

With a thump of his tail, Ace turned around and shot off for the back door and forced it open with his head, turning only to ensure Bruce was following.

The warm June air was no where near as warm as Bruce expected. Montana was much further north than he was used to living, so the air had a distinct chill to it. He stepped out to the edge of the deck and watched with a sigh as Ace hurried down the stairs and into the woods.

He barked, when Bruce didn’t follow, so Bruce sighed harder and slowly made his way down the steps.

They walked through the woods, over rocks and around large trees, for half a mile before Ace finally sprinted out of the woods into a large opening where there was a grassy and rocky beach along the lake.

Happily, Ace picked up an old, flat tennis ball off the ground and trounced over to Bruce to deposit it in his hand.

So Bruce took a deep breath and threw it.

Again and again Ace fetched the ball and brought it back, his tail wagging furiously the entire time.

And despite everything. After all the weeks of basically ignoring the dog, Ace didn’t seem any different. Didn’t seem mad at Bruce.

On the contrary. He was elated to be playing with Bruce again.

Because.

Because life continued to move forward.

Bruce wasn’t sure how he could continue on without Jason.

But instead of thinking about it, Bruce focused his attention on throwing the ball once more. Over and over, for as long as Ace wanted.

That was where Clark found him twenty minutes later, standing on the beach and tossing the ball for Ace into the tree line, making Ace have to hunt for it each time.

Clark landed slowly next to Bruce, letting himself basically float down until his feet touched the ground.

“You’re out and about,” he said after a moment, while both of them watched Ace sniff around a pile of leaves for the missing ball.

Bruce grunted. “Ace made me,” he added after a beat.

“Ace deserves extra treats for that,” Clark said, a smile evident in his voice. Bruce didn’t turn to look at it.

He wasn’t even sure what to say.

With a happy bark, Ace finally found the ball and eagerly bounced back to Bruce. This time, he gave the ball to Clark and stood back, ready for Clark to throw it.

Clark threw it far, causing Ace to shoot off as fast as he could to try and catch it.

Comfortable silence washed over them, while Bruce contemplated if there was anything he needed to say.

“Is there anything you need?” Clark asked, “I’m going to the store tomorrow.”

“I’m out of scotch,” he said easily.

But of course, Clark’s response was just as quick. “You don’t need scotch.”

“I disagree.”

With a half amused, half exasperated huff, Clark said, “If you want it, maybe you should go to the store yourself and get it.”

Bruce merely hummed.

With a roll of his eyes, Clark said, “You should probably shower first, though.”

Probably, Bruce thought mildly. His hygiene was definitely something he’d been neglecting, as of late. Without Alfred there to tell him off, like he used to always do.

Or Jason. With his exaggerated, “Gross did you sleep in a dumpster last night, B?”

Bruce took a deep breath, and completely ignored how it hitched, as he did.

“How’s Dick doing?” he asked Clark. He’d been meaning to ask for at least a week, but he’d never really found the words to do so.

Dick was furious with him, and he had every right to be. Alfred was with him, though. Helping him be Nightwing there in Bludhaven, so he wasn’t too worried.

Just.

He wanted to know.

“Better than you,” Clark replied bluntly, “He could really use his dad, though. He just lost his brother—don’t take his dad from him, too.”

Bruce swallowed, and somehow that was what broke the dam he’d felt trapped behind for weeks.

It was nothing dramatic, no loud wailing or collapsing in on himself, but Bruce felt the tears drip down his face, down his nose. Could taste the thin salty water on his lips.

When he lifted his sleeve to wipe them away, Clark placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Jason would want you to keep living, Bruce,” Clark said softly.

And Bruce couldn’t disagree. Clark was right.

There wasn’t much Bruce could do for Jason now, but perhaps he could manage that.

How he was going to do that, though… Bruce wasn’t sure.

The thought of living life without his son was—

It felt like a mountain too steep to climb.

All he could do was try, he supposed.

It took four more days, but Bruce did shower and go to town, per Clark’s suggestion.

He brought Ace with him, just because when he finally forced himself to the front door, Ace eagerly followed along and Bruce didn’t have the energy to tell him to stay.

The drive to town took half an hour. Five minutes into the drive, he punched the radio off with a huff, because all he could hear was Jason’s voice as he sung along to every single song that came on in the car.

Bruce had always been convinced Jason did it merely to annoy Bruce, since he most certainly did not know the words to every song. Or the tune, sometimes…

Shaking his head, Bruce refocused on driving.

He stopped at a little farmer’s market just on the outskirts of town, though. It reminded him of the local nurseries Alfred would drag him to as a child, where they could get homemade jams and pastries.

Ace hopped out of the car before Bruce could shut the door, so he sighed and grabbed the leash from the passenger seat, where he’d tossed it. He knew Ace wouldn’t stray from his side, but he figured he’d be less likely kicked out if Ace had a leash.

Once he had Ace hooked to it, he made his way into the large outdoor building.

They wandered for a few minutes, while Bruce looked over all the various produce available. He picked up a basket by the door, and placed a few potatoes in it. He could probably bake those, right?

How hard was it to bake potatoes?

It couldn’t be that difficult.

No one seemed to mind Ace, as he continued to wander. When he walked inside the actual building, the cashier’s face absolutely lit up when she saw him. “Oh what a beautiful dog,” she said.

Bruce merely nodded as he walked on.

Inside there was a lot. The homemade candy section drew him over immediately, but it was only while he was looking through, looking for the chocolate covered marshmallows Jason always loved did he realize why.

Scotch, he told himself. He’d come for scotch.

The local alcohol section was massive, filled with basically anything he could imagine.

He grabbed a bottle at random and placed it in his basket. Then considered if he really wanted to come back anytime soon, and grabbed three more.

Jason hates alcohol, he thought fleetingly, as he looked at the whisky he’d picked last.

Hated.

Bruce… Bruce had quit drinking entirely around Jason. He’d always hated how tense Jason got when he saw the adults in his life drinking. How he always seemed to keep one eye on them, if he didn’t outright leave the room to hide in his own.

Swallowing thickly, Bruce put all four bottles back, his stomach all twisted up into a thousand knots.

If Jason were there with him, he’d be wary just watching Bruce look at the alcohol. Even though he’d never given Jason reason to think he’d get violent toward him regardless of how much he’d consumed.

At least… Bruce hoped he never had…

Ace tugged at his leash, causing Bruce to look over at the dog. Mostly because Ace never pulled at his leash. Alfred had trained him well.

“What is it?” he asked, when Ace made a noise at him and tried to get Bruce to follow after him, over to a table with a ton of baked goods on it.

Closer inspection told Bruce they were ‘doggy’ baked goods.

“I suppose,” Bruce mumbled, as he picked up the largest packet of the cookie-looking things.

Clark had said Ace deserved extra treats.

On the way to check out, loathing himself over not getting what he’d even ventured out for, Bruce got distracted by the nursery plants, sitting just beyond the little store in a greenhouse.

There were tons and they were extremely green and healthy looking.

Jason would have loved this store. He loved Alfred’s garden from just about his first day in the Manor, and had always been glad to spend a day outside with Alfred, weeding and watering everything. Weeding had been a punishment for Dick, but Jason had volunteered every time Alfred said he was to spend the day doing it.

This year Jason was going to plant a garden of his own, right in the middle of Alfred’s. He’d planned it all out already, layout and all. He even had a few seeds germinating in the mud room, waiting for them to be big enough, and the weather to be warm enough, to transfer them outside.

Those plants… those plants were probably dead, now. Unless Alfred took them with him to Bludhaven.

Bruce swallowed and walked deeper into the greenhouse to look around. He really didn’t know a ton about plants, in all honesty. He knew what to look for if he ever got stranded. How to identify edible plants, how to identify deadly ones.

Gardening, on the other hand…

Alfred had always done that.

He grabbed a plant at random and looked down at the tag stuck into the dirt. Easy it said right on top. Bruce could handle something easy, right?

Maybe.

It wasn’t until Bruce was home, his small collection of potatoes, homemade dog biscuits, and his one little plant did he realize he had no clue what to do with a—he had to look at the tag to read what it even was—cucumber plant.

Jason had wanted to grow cucumbers, Bruce remembered with a pang. He’d wanted to grow the cucumbers, pickle them, and can them. Learning how to grow and store food for the future had been something Jason was extremely excited to learn.

Knowing it was born from his childhood going without made Bruce’s heart hurt even more.

And now…

Clenching his teeth, Bruce shook himself of everything and went to get his phone, where it’d been left plugged in for weeks in the living room. Bruce knew the only reason it was even plugged in was because Clark did that.

Clark… Clark had been doing a lot for him, as of late. And he didn’t even know what to say to him…

His phone’s lock screen was covered over in notifications. Hundreds of texts, emails, and missed calls were the least of his worries. He’d deal with them all…

Well. He wasn’t sure. Maybe never.

Bruce navigated to Alfred’s contact page and hit call for the first time since… since.

He had to take a deep breath when Alfred’s voice answered after only two rings. “Bruce,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” Bruce said. He swallowed, as he blanked for a brief second. But then he saw his plant sitting on the dining table behind the living room and said, “I bought a cucumber plant.”

“Did you now?” Alfred replied.

With a nod, Bruce sat down on the couch and said, “I don’t know how to plant it.”

“Hm,” Alfred said. Bruce could hear him sit down, settling into a chair just as Bruce had as he continued, “Well, I suppose the question is, where do you want to plant it? Inside or out?”

They talked for well over an hour as Alfred walked Bruce through creating a garden outside. In addition to the cucumber plant, Alfred suggested he get a whole list more of various vegetables, to make his efforts more worth it. He gave Bruce a long list of supplies he’d need, too, since obviously Bruce couldn’t just… plant something in the ground with his bare hands.

Clark probably could, he thought fleetingly. Clark was a farmer. Did he use tools like hoes and shovels?

Maybe he should ask Clark to get him all the supplies…

- - -

Instead, Clark went with him to the store.

- - -

Bruce spent the following weeks fussing over his plants. He’d set the garden up just beyond the steps from his back deck, and had three rows of various plants, all requiring slightly different things.

He had to get up in the morning to water the garden every day, to take advantage of the cooler morning hours. Alfred and Clark both told him watering at the peak of the afternoon just meant the water would evaporate off faster, and wouldn’t benefit the plants as much as watering in the morning and evening.

So he got up every single morning to check on everything.

- - -

Two weeks into the garden, he woke up to find a rabbit got into his lettuce. Fixing that took doing extensive research on how to keep small animals out.

A fence was the answer, so he spent a couple days building a nice one with no holes for small rabbits to slip under. Clark offered to help, but Bruce had shrugged him off.

It… it maybe felt good to be working, again. His muscles felt so weak without his normal training routine.

- - -

Ace started taking him for walks, too. Which Bruce idly thought was the opposite of how that relationship was meant to work.

But every day, after Bruce finished watering his plants, Ace insisted Bruce follow him out into the woods, leading him all over the property. He constantly looked back at Bruce, as if saying, ‘Are you coming? Do you see that squirrel? Look at this stick.’

“Good boy, Ace,” Bruce found himself saying, a lot.

- - -

Two months since that day, Bruce composed an email to Dick.

He didn’t acknowledge… anything. He wasn’t really sure what he could say to make anything better.

Dick was still mad about Bruce quitting, he knew. Still furious Bruce made the decision to go public without consulting him.

Bruce didn’t remember consulting himself in that decision, so he didn’t have much of a defense against that grievance.

So Bruce took some pictures of his garden and Ace, and sent them to Dick with a short note about how much Dick would enjoy the area. It was quiet, and the weather was usually agreeable.

Dick responded that evening with some pictures of his own, showing Bruce the garden Alfred had created on the roof of his building. There were dozens of planters, and an entire section dedicated to the plants Jason had started.

Bruce thought he might want to go see those plants, himself.

The email went on to update Bruce on all the changes in Dick’s life. Everything had changed for him, apparently. He’d been let go from the police department as a result of his once being Robin, but he was teaching gymnastics now to kids. The gym was excited to have the former Robin teaching at it. They’d had dozens of children sign up just to learn with him, leaving him with nearly 150 students presently.

What Dick didn’t include in his email was no one had connected him to Nightwing, somehow. He’d managed to convince the world he quit the hero business when he moved away for college.

So while Dick’s day life had changed drastically, at least he still had his anonymity at night. Bruce was glad he hadn’t ruined everything.

- - -

Two months and two weeks after Jason, Dick texted Bruce an article.

The Joker is Dead, its headline read.

Bruce’s hands shook as he tapped the link, then read with trepidation the entirety of the article.

On Friday, the Joker, a supervillain located in Gotham City, was lynched by a large mob at a park inside Gotham. The mob chanted, ‘Justice for Jason,’ as the Joker was hanged in front of hundreds of onlookers.

Jason Todd, also known as Robin, was murdered in April by the Joker. In the months since, the Joker’s location has been unknown, but he resurfaced Friday afternoon and was quickly overwhelmed by a large mob formed by Gotham Citizens. Dozens of videos online show the event in full. When questioned, Commissioner Gordon said, “The GCPD is conducting an investigation, though it is unclear who is responsible.” As of this writing, no charges had been filed.

Bruce stared at the words for several long minutes. ‘Justice for Jason,’ the crowd had chanted.

He never thought he’d see his city actually rise up and protect itself.

“He’s gone, Bruce,” Dick texted, “Gotham never has to deal with him again.”

- - -

The weeks continued to pass. Dick and Bruce kept exchanging texts and emails, and eventually Dick asked Bruce to plug his zeta back in, so he could visit.

‘I don't want the press to find you through my flying out to you all the time,’ he’d said.

‘Okay,’ was all Bruce had said in return, but he’d gone downstairs immediately and turned the zeta back on. He did, however, mess with the coding some to hide it from the zeta network. Only someone with the exact address of it could port to it.

He knew Dick had the address memorized.

And he did, because the following day Dick came over for lunch. His work schedule had him working evenings and weekends, and made it easy for him to sleep in every day. And have a leisurely lunch either with Alfred or Barbara over in Gotham.

Or now Bruce, since he promised to make their lunch date a weekly occurrence.

“I brought Chipotle,” was the first thing Dick said, once he materialized in the cellar-turned-zeta-room.

Bruce hesitated in the doorway, and looked between the bag of food in Dick’s hands and Dick himself, a little caught on what to say.

“I’ve never had Chipotle,” he finally managed.

“Figures,” Dick scoffed as he stepped out of the zeta and toward Bruce, “I’m going to introduce you to all the chains, do you hear me?”

As soon as he got near enough, Dick wrapped his free arm around Bruce, and Bruce’s arms returned the hug before he could even think about it.

“It’s good to see you,” Bruce mumbled, trying, and failing, to keep himself completely steady.

Dick either didn’t notice, or did and only kept holding on for Bruce’s sake. Either way, Bruce appreciated the chance to hold his son in his arms for a few moments as he focused on his breathing.

“Come on, lumberjack,” Dick said, patting Bruce on the back and finally breaking free, “your burrito is getting cold.”

Reluctantly, Bruce stepped aside, then led Dick up the stairs and to the little dinning area. “Lumberjack?” he questioned.

“The beard looks good on you,” Dick said, as he sat the bag of food down and started unpacking it, “But it plus the flannel just screams lumberjack. Did Clark get you that shirt?”

Bruce looked down at his shirt and shrugged. He actually had no clue where it’d come from, but he did like the sun protection it provided, when he was working outside.

As for the beard… he’d just simply neglected shaving for too long. He could probably use a trim, at that point. He’d never done that, though, and wasn’t too keen on visiting a barber over it.

Having small talk with strangers was just… not something he wanted to do.

“Behold,” Dick said, finally unwrapping a burrito and setting it down in front of Bruce, “Chipotle. Prepare for the amazing.”

“It just looks like a burrito,” Bruce said, but he took his seat, regardless.

If it made Dick happy, Bruce would eat whatever. He didn’t care if it was good or not.

- - -

Bruce’s garden did well. As the summer paraded on, he was able to pick a ton of tomatoes and cucumbers, and quite a few carrots and peppers as well.

Alfred started visiting him weekly, too, usually several days after Dick’s weekly visits, and spent the day with Bruce outside, weeding the garden and teaching him how to preserve his food.

On one of Clark’s still plentiful visits, he taught Bruce how to fish, so one afternoon Alfred taught Bruce how to clean and cook the fish he managed to catch.

Bruce… burned a lot of food.

A lot of food.

But he was getting better, he thought.

‘Jason would be proud,’ he thought, the first time he pan fried a fish without burning it.

- - -

And time continued to move.

Not being Batman was strange, even months after he’d stopped.

Bruce had lost a lot of muscle mass, but he’d started working out more to try and counteract it.

Ace loved jumping around and ‘helping’ him as he trained outside, on the deck.

The real workout was all the clearing Bruce was doing beside the house, so he could build a greenhouse. For that he had to lock Ace inside, just to be sure the rambunctious dog didn’t get in the way of his axe or chainsaw.

Felling trees by hand was quite the task, and it took weeks for him to get the area clear enough, but Bruce felt a touch of pride once he finally had it ready.

- - -

Every single day, Bruce thought about Jason.

It had been four months since Jason’s passing, and it was still hard most mornings, waking up and having his first thought be about who he wouldn’t be seeing that day.

As he went about his day, he constantly thought about what comment Jason would make about everything. Sometimes, sometimes it made him smile. Usually immediately followed by his vision blurring up.

He’d gotten better about continuing on.

But Jason’s birthday was particularly hard.

Alfred and Dick had spent the whole week in Montana with him, Dick’s work giving him the week off without question.

“My boss asked me if I wanted this week off,” Dick had told him, “before I could even ask.”

Even with both of them there, Bruce spent most the day on his little boat in the middle of the lake, trying his best to fish and not think.

For Jason’s birthday, Bruce was going to let Jason pick out any car he wanted, provided he passed his driver’s test.

But with all the practice on the Batmobile Jason had had, Bruce was positive failing it wasn’t even a possibility.

They probably would have been picking the car up, Bruce thought that afternoon. They would have been at whatever dealership Jason wanted, probably Ferrari, signing the papers and getting the keys.

Jason wouldn’t have stopped smiling all day. “My cheeks hurt,” he would have complained, ‘I can’t believe this is real.’

It was called secondary losses, the book he’d read said.

…one of the books.

Someone had brought him a whole stack on grief and loss and left them on his coffee table one day. Bruce suspected it was Clark, but it could have also been Alfred. Bruce honestly didn’t know, and he hadn’t bothered to find out.

He didn’t want to talk about it.

There would always be secondary losses, the book had said, as he saw the life Jason would have had, and had to realize on a daily basis it would never happen.

After he’d read that chapter, he’d barely been able to get out of bed that evening to water his plants.

- - -

But life continued to press on, and no matter what, plants still had to be watered, his texts had to be answered, and Ace still had to be walked, so Bruce pushed himself to try.

Jason was never one to give up, if his incredible life proved anything about him. He hadn’t given up even at the very end, so the least Bruce could do was keep moving.

And maybe he wasn’t Batman anymore, but that was okay, too. Gotham still had Batgirl and Batwoman, and Nightwing sometimes. And Gotham had the people of Gotham, who had been inspired by the spunky street-kid-turned-hero who had given his life protecting people who didn’t deserve it. Jason would be proud of his city, Bruce just knew it.

The Justice League called on Bruce sometimes, though. The first time it had happened, Bruce had nearly told Clark to leave him alone, but Clark had cut him off with a sharp, “Look, Bruce, we aren’t asking you to go out into the field, just attend the strategy meeting. We need your knowledge and expertise, no one can plan a mission like you.”

Bruce had seen what Clark was doing, stroking his ego like that, but he’d acquiesced anyway, and followed Clark up to the Watchtower where he attended a League meeting in civilian attire for the first time in his life.

He hadn’t allowed their PR to post a photo of it to their social media.

They had anyway, though only his back was visible in the photo.

- - -

Then one evening, six months and three weeks after Jason’s death, the absolutely unexpected happened.

The doorbell rang.

Bruce furrowed his brow and looked across the table at Dick and Alfred, where the three of them were playing a card game on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Clark never was polite enough to ring the bell, and no one else not already there ever visited him.

“I’ll come with you,” Dick said, as Bruce scooted his chair back and slowly got to his feet.

“Perhaps it’s just a lost tourist,” Alfred said, though he stayed firmly sitting in his seat, right where Bruce would prefer him, should the visitor be of the less-than-well-meaning variety.

At the front door, Bruce looked through the peep hole and couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing.

“Who is it?” Dick whispered, but Bruce couldn’t find the words.

Hastily, he undid the chain and deadbolt, then swung the door open.

And the boy on the other side startled, but stayed planted in his spot, looking at Bruce with wide eyes.

If Dick hadn’t been there, Bruce might have thought he was going crazy.

“Jason?” Dick asked, his voice a half whisper.

Bruce had seen Jason many, many times since his death. But it was always as if Jason hadn’t aged a single day.

Or… sometimes, as if Jason was twelve again. Small and scrawny and so full of mistrust as he accused Bruce of being the reason he died. ‘Had you just turned me over to social services, I would be alive today,’ he always taunted.

This Jason… was older. Bigger. He had to have grown seven inches since Bruce last saw him.

But… it couldn’t be Jason.

Jason was dead.

“Yeah,” not-Jason exhaled. He shifted from one foot to the other, clutching tightly to the beat up backpack slung over his shoulder. All the same anxiety and nerves Bruce had seen a hundred times before.

“How?” Dick asked, shouldering his way into the doorway, right next to Bruce.

“I don’t know,” the person replied, “I don’t remember much before waking up under a bright green water, and Talia yanking me up by my shirt and handing me this bag. I-I don’t know how I’m back. I just know that I am.”

“Talia?” Bruce whispered, stumbling forward a step. Talia al Ghul? The one with access to the Lazarus Pits?

The Lazarus Pit couldn’t bring people back from death. Only save them from it.

At a very steep cost.

Right??

“Yeah,” Jason exhaled, “I don’t know why I was there. I don’t—I don’t remember much. Just. Just being in the dark, and having to dig, and fight, and—“ he choked off, then took a steadying breath, “I saw what you said about me. To the world. About—“

His words cut off with a grunt, because Bruce stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jason tightly, squeezing just to make sure this was real.

This was real and Jason was there.

“Loosen up,” Jason said, but he wrapped his arms around Bruce in return, and didn’t seem to even care Bruce started sobbing into his hair.

Because everything about this person was right. The fleck of green in his right eye, the way he shifted from one foot to the other, even the feel of how he tensed, then immediately relaxed in Bruce’s hold.

He was seven inches taller, and six months older, but he was Jason, Bruce knew it in his core.

There was no other explanation.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Jason whispered, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Bruce pushed Jason back quickly, shaking his head aggressively.

How could Jason even think that? It wasn’t Jason that had hurt him. It was—it was Bruce. It was Bruce’s love for Jason that had hurt him.

And Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t regret that. He couldn’t.

He was so happy for the time he’d had with Jason, even if it’d been far too short.

“No,” he said thickly, “No Jason. I’m sorry for failing you.”

Jason’s face crumpled, and he wrapped his arms around Bruce’s chest again, burying his face into Bruce’s shoulder as he cried, “You didn’t.”

- - -

Six months, three weeks, and five days after that horrible April day, Jason came home, and Bruce would never take him for granted again.

#cross posted on ao3 #inspired by batman 125 #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #clark kent #dick grayson #Alfred Pennyworth #grief tw #death tw #jason get better as he always does #theres an epilogue summary on ao3 for those interested in that #c writes

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ayamari-no-goshi · 1 year

Text

Chasing Shadows (11)

AO3 -> first, last, next

Fandoms: Danny Phantom (DP) / DC universe

Summary: THIS IS A CROSSOVER. As Bruce Wayne begins to slowly recover from the loss of his son, two separate mysteries open up old wounds. Who is the unknown leaving clues hinting at a return to Gotham, and who is the phantom pretending to be his lost son? Is it just a coincidence they’re active in Gotham at the same time? Or are they connected?

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, and questionable mental health

Parings: none

Notes: originally uploaded to AO3. Cross-posted to tumblr

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve reviewed those flowers. If you haven’t found anything yet, I doubt you will.”

Bruce glanced up from his workstation to where Babs was looking at him from her current set up in the Cave. It still wasn’t to the same level as it was in the Clocktower, but it was still somehow more advanced than his. It was a testament to her skills.

The now mostly dried flowers and a still of the lotus design Jason used for his second clue were laid out in order in front of him. The newest additions were a calypso orchid, placed on Catherine Todd’s grave and a spring of wormwood placed on Shelia Haywood’s a few days prior. The orchid was an easy enough reference – it was named after the nymph Calypso who nursed Odysseus back to help after he washed up on her shore. She kept him there for seven years while the rest of the word believed the hero had died. It was an unsettling parallel to Jason’s time with Talia. Bruce suspected it was also chosen due to it being used to represent love for the deceased in funerary bouquets and rebirth in some cultures.

The wormwood was a more puzzling choice at first. In the language of flowers, it represented bitter sadness. There was some evidence it was used as an herbal remedy in the past which might be why it was chosen, but more recently, it was more associated with madness and murder. Was it Jason’s way of hinting at the Lazarus Pits again? Or was it his way of further suggesting his biological mother was directly involved in his death.

“It feels as if I’m missing something,” Bruce admitted as he picked up the orchid again. “Were these just ways for him to hint at his resurrection and return?”

“That’s a possibility,” Barbara admitted as she abandoned her equipment and wheeled over to him. “Jay always did have his own flair for the dramatic.”

“True.” Before his death, Jason talked about possibly joining his school’s theater club. He would have excelled in it. The happy memories of his son were quickly replaced by images of his broken body, a frequent occurrence. Whatever life Jason would have lived had been destroyed by the Joker.

That reminded him. He needed to check on the restoration of Jason’s mask footage. With the new information that came to light, he owed it to his son to see for himself what happened that day.

“I still haven’t been able to find any recent signs of him in Gotham,” Barbara continued, disregarding his sudden change in mood. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t tell her even if she questioned it, “but I think I might have found Danny. I’ll send the files to you to review, but it looks like Jason enrolled him in Gotham Heights under a false identity. His school file has his guardian listed as a ‘Jay Flannagan’.”

She sighed before continuing. “I miss the days when we weren’t trying to track someone with the same skills as us. There’s only a P.O. box associated with that name. Wherever Danny’s staying must be under a different identity. Or, it’s completely under the table. There are rumors some places in Crime Alley that will skip the necessary checks and paperwork if a person is willing to pay rent in cash.”

“Both are possible,” Bruce acknowledged. “If he was by himself, he’d probably chose the latter. However, he’s caring for Phantom, it seems more likely he’d choose the former.”

“I agree. I’ve been trying to hack into the nearby security feeds for Danny’s school, but he’s proving hard to catch. Jason taught him well. But I have noticed occasional glitches in certain feeds. Poorer cameras seem to have strange reactions to his powers, so it might be a sign he’s passing near them. I’ll let you know when I have more data, but we might have a larger problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“We got a warning from both Jason and Danny about the G.I.W., and it looks like they’re starting to pop up in Gotham. There have been a lot of sightings of government types in white suits around the remains of the Clocktower and where some of the better documented sights of Phantom occurred. Right now, it just appears they’re getting some type of reading and taking samples, but we’ll have to keep an eye on them. There are multiple reports that they’ll get civilians involved if they believe a ghost or other similar entity is nearby. They might push Danny into hiding.”

That was problematic. Right now, Phantom was their best chance at being able to find Jason and stop whatever he was planning. He had set up a meeting with Dick in a few days, but if this group was as dangerous as suggested, then there was a good chance they’d scare him off. Bruce couldn’t risk that happening. However, there was also a chance their presence would also force Jason back into the city earlier than he had planned as there was a high probability Phantom had the ability to contact him.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on them,” he agreed. “However, locating Phantom is the first priority.”

…

Tim didn’t want to be at the Manor at the moment. He couldn’t handle seeing Bruce’s grief reopened all over again, so he was dressed as Robin and pretending to be on patrol. Instead, he was sitting on one of the taller buildings of Gotham next to the gargoyle Jason loved to visit when he was still Robin.

Being who he was, Bruce made the decision to restore what he could of the audio and video of Jason’s death. He needed to verify for himself what his son went through even after getting the truth directly from his mouth. Since they couldn’t convince him not to watch it, he, Dick, Cass, Steph, and Babs all sat through it with him in an attempt to give him some sort of support.

He should have listened to Dick. He shouldn’t have watched. Saying it was horrible didn’t do it any justice.

“Jason, you need to disarm the bomb!”

“…I can’t…”

Those two phrases kept haunting him. Every time the words replayed in his mind, Tim was struck by the resignation in Jason’s voice. He knew. He knew he had no chance of escaping and accepted he would die. And the woman who led him to his death had the nerve to try to order him around instead of trying to help him. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Jason had tried so hard to be a good hero. And his last act was to attempt to shield the woman who betrayed him.

Jason, his hero, his Robin, had been killed because he trusted his mother. He trusted the woman he hoped would love him. It just wasn’t fair.

“I was told I’d find you out here.”

The voice startled him so badly that he nearly fell from his vantage point. Turning, he found Jason, in his Red Hood gear. The slight tilt to his head suggested he was curious as to what Tim was doing. For a brief moment, Tim thought there would be a repeat of what happened in the graveyard, but Jason’s posture wasn’t threatening. He must have known what he was thinking as he took a seat as he reached for his helmet. There was the hiss of some sort of mechanism unlocking before he pulled it off and shook his head. Tim briefly wondered how hot it was under it.

“Why do you wear a domino mask under it?” he questioned as he took a hesitant seat on the other side of the gargoyle. If Jason was willing to talk, he was okay with that.

“Habit.” Jason’s answer was short, but there was no obvious hint of anger. “And dramatic flair.” If that was the case, maybe that’s why he had the white streak. In the dark, it almost looked like it was glowing.

“Oh…” What else was he supposed to say to that? So, he changed the subject. “Not that I don’t enjoy you being here,” Tim wanted to make sure he didn’t accidentally anger Jason. They weren’t sure of the extent of the Pits effects on him and how much of his actions were his own. “But why were you looking for me?”

“I can tell you’re afraid of me. You don’t have to hide it.” When Tim didn’t elect to respond to that, Jason continued, “Dove sent me after you.”

“Dove? You mean Phantom?”

Jason ignored the question. “So, you know how he can see ghosts?”

“Yeah…? Oh!... So, he knows?” Tim hadn’t expected that. With everything else going on, there were times he almost forgot. Almost, but not quite.

Jack Drake hadn’t been the best dad, but he really tried to step up in the last year. While it didn’t do much to erase the childhood of loneliness brought on by all the trips he and his wife took, he still tried to change. It meant a lot to him, but he’d been killed, just like his mom and stepmom.

“Guess your dad directly came to him or something like that. He apparently had some choice words about me hurting you. Not that I’m surprised about that.” He shrugged before raising an eyebrow at him. “A fake uncle? Really? I get wanting space, but seriously, that’s taking it to a different level.”

Tim could feel himself flush. “I don’t want to be adopted by Bruce,” he admitted. “I was never supposed to be a permanent part of your family, just a placeholder until he didn’t need me anymore. Right now, he’s my guardian, and with my dad’s passing…”

“…I’d be a hypocrite if I told you to stay at the Manor,” Jason eventually told him. Each word sounded as if he was carefully choosing them. “But don’t force yourself into exile either. As annoying as Dick can be, he’d love to have to bunk with him for a while.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You won’t be. Hell, you might be able to help him remember to actually eat something decent for a change. But, if that’s not good enough, stay with that team of yours. Even if you don’t want to talk about it, they’ll still be there so you don’t self destruct.”

Tim flinched at those words. The phantom words of a soft “… I can’t...” filled his ears again, and unwanted tears dripped down his face.

“Ah shit.” He could feel Jason move closer. There was no feeling of animosity, but a questioning hesitance as he moved his hand as he he was considering reaching out for a comforting touch. Pulling it back, he muttered, “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

Shaking his head, Tim tried to ignore how Jason’s features were slightly blurred. It was probably just his tears, but he almost looked like he wasn’t entirely there. Somewhat unnerved, he reached out to see if the older teen was solid. When his hand touched his arm, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Jason had stiffened at his touch but let it happen without pulling away.

“It’s not… B restored what he could of the footage of what happened…. What happened to you.”

“And he let you watch that?” The outrage in his voice wasn’t what Tim expected.

“Most of the video is too distorted, so it’s mostly just audio.” When that didn’t lighten Jason’s mood, he tried a different tactic. “Dick tried to convince me and the others not to, but I felt like I had to be there… not just for B, but for you too. After the first attempt to restore it didn’t work, he couldn’t bring himself to try again. So, without knowing about… about the betrayal, he put together the most likely series of events. After that, you became a warning to other heroes of what could happen if they got too sure of themselves. It never sat right with me.” He sighed and hugged his knees. “To me, you were just as much as a hero as Nightwing and Batman. I felt like I owed you that.”

Jason didn’t say anything for a few moments. “You… don’t owe me anything. Months ago, I would have thought otherwise, but not now.”

A wary sort of hope surged through Tim. Jason didn’t completely hate him, which was good, but there was still some sort of barrier. “But you’re not happy I’m Robin.”

“No. It’s…” The older teen shifted as he ran his hands over his face. The weird haze over his features hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t noticed it during dinner the other day. Was it something that came and went? “It’s more I’m angry he let another child in those colors. There shouldn’t have been anymore Robins. There shouldn’t have been any more child soldiers. As much as he claims he cares, we’re never the priority in the field. He’ll always, always choose the mission over anything else.”

“What about you and Phantom?” He figured it was better to deflect instead of arguing.

Jason’s mood seemed to darken as a muscle moved in his jaw. “I don’t want him out there,” he hissed before his tone became more resigned. “Unfortunately, his anchor, what keeps him tethered to both life and undeath, is his drive to help others.”

“Oh!” That was a very revealing statement. His eyes widened slightly. “So that’s at least part of the reason he’s helping you plant your clues and keep tabs on us. It’s a safer alternative.”

“Got it in one.”

“Do… do you have something similar? Constantine told B you’re a Liminal too.”

Instead of immediately replying, Jason took out a cigarette. Surprisingly, he didn’t light it but still placed it to his lips. “Didn’t know there was a proper name for ‘fucked up zombie’.” He fell silent again before quietly stating, “I hope there isn’t.”

Tim pretended he didn’t hear it. Instead, he decided to focus on the older teen’s self-depreciating tone. Was it related to his coming back to life? Had he not wanted to? Phantom was worried he wasn’t planning on living through whatever he was planning which gave some credence to that idea. It… it was troubling.

Before Tim could finish sorting out his thoughts, Jason stood and stretched. “Make sure you let yourself grieve. Trying to push it in a box only works for so long before it affects everything else. Being around others helps.”

It almost sounded like he was speaking from experience. Tim couldn’t dwell on it more as he realized Jason was moving towards the ledge. “Wait, are you leaving?”

He could tell Jason rolled his eyes, even with the domino mask, as he tucked his helmet under his arm. “No, I’m going to stay and chat until sunrise. Of course I’m leaving. Have things to do, buildings to destroy, and I’m on a tight schedule.”

“But!” He couldn’t let him slip away again. “Everyone wants you to come home. You haven’t even seen Ba… I mean Oracle and Agent A yet. And… and we’re working on finding ways to reduce the turnover in Blackgate and Arkham that isn’t just focused on dealing with the breakouts. I mean, we’re doing that too, but…”

“When I come back from my trip, I’ll see what’s changed,” the old teen gave him a searching look that was replaced with a dangerous smirk. “Impress me enough, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll tone down what I’m planning.”

That… that wasn’t a confirmation that he’s stop killing or even come home, but it was something. For now, Tim would count it as a win.

“Before I leave,” Jason continued, “brooding isn’t a good look for you.”

“Excuse me? Isn’t this the place you used to go all the time?”

“Yeah, but I made it look cool.” It took a moment to realize that Jason was joking with him. It was almost a surreal feeling. “But secondly, keep those G.I.W. goons away from Dove while I’m away. They will kill him if they get their hands on him, and it won’t be painless. If, and only if, you have to move him for his safety, take him to the Tower for safety. I’m serious when I say I don’t want him anywhere near the Cave.”

Tim wasn’t going to admit he was a little jealous of how much Jason seemed to care for Danny. “But I’m surprised you’re willing to risk leaving him alone. Unless… that’s what you’re doing! You’re going after the G.I.W.!”

Jason’s response was nothing more than a predatory grin. That wasn’t good.

“I… we can help. Please! Phantom told us they can hurt you too!” He had to do something. If Danny was to be believed, the organization was a lot more dangerous than they originally believed. Bruce, Alfred, and Dick couldn’t lose him again. He had to stop him from going.

He gave an amused huff. “Worried about little ol’ me? Don’t be. I know what I’m doing.” Before Tim could even get another word in, he leapt off the roof.

When he didn’t hear the tell-tale sound of the grapple, he rushed over to make sure he was okay. But there was no sign of Jason, even with thermal vision. He had just vanished into the night. Great, now he had to be the one to explain his formerly dead son was about to go do something most would consider suicidal.

…

With how empty and broken Bruce currently felt after finally learning what happened to his son, he was surprised at how fear was currently clawing its way through his entire being. Tim’s report about how Jason was planning to go after a powerful government organization terrified him. Not only was there the concern over what exactly Jason might do during his crusade, he now had to worry what would happen if the G.I.W. somehow got their hands on his son. He lost Jason once, and he couldn’t lose him again.

The current trouble was determining where and how he would strike. There were a few G.I.W. bases scattered around the country. Logically, it would make the most sense for Jason to go after the main base, but depending on what he knew of their organization, he could choose to strike at a different location which held more importance. More information was needed, so he had recruited Babs to help him hack into their systems.

On the surface, it appeared to be an organization mostly designed to study ghosts and other similar entities, but he knew there was more to it. However, whenever Babs attempted to get information better protected, the G.I.W. databases went into lock down. It baffled everyone as there hadn’t been any evidence of such security when she started. To make matters worse, whatever security the G.I.W. had seemed to be able to locate the general geographic area where the attempted hack originated as more of their agents were detected on the streets of Gotham within a few hours.

It was a nightmare. Not only did it put Phantom at greater risk, but there was also a chance this would push Jason to act ahead of schedule and recklessly escalate. So far, he’d proved his actions were rather meticulously planned. It had only been when Phantom or Stephanie were in danger that he moved unexpectedly. And with how protective he was regarding the boy, there was no telling exactly what he would or wouldn’t do. Until he or any of the others could get in touch with Phantom or Jason, they would have to increase patrols in the city. He was also going to have to call in the big guns.

…

Dick sighed as he toured the G.I.W. compound closest to Gotham with Superman. The workers seemed nice enough, but it was clear from their tense stances and hesitant looks towards the field agents in the white suits that their impromptu visit wasn’t welcome. Without knowing exactly what Jason would do to expose the organization, especially with them increasing their presence in Gotham, Bruce decided to request members of the League make impromptu visits to the G.I.W. bases at approximately the same time under the guise of a potential threat. He hoped it would get them better access to the restricted information as well as deter a more violent response from Jason.

Currently, they were waiting in a meeting room for their guide to get permission to take them to some of the lower levels with completely not suspicious guards outside the door. Somehow, there wasn’t any piece of technology in the room that Dick could use to plant a bug to either listen in or attempt to hack into the system more securely without taking the time to hack the security camera.

Unlike him, Clark was bound by technology. “There’s lead in the floor. There isn’t as much in the walls on this floor, but it’s still enough to make it hard to clearly see anything,” he mouthed as they waited. That wasn’t a normal architectural design. Clearly someone didn’t want anyone with x-ray vision seeing the lower floors. “But something’s not right.”

“What do you hear?” Dick whispered as he turned away from the camera. While Dick could read lips, Clark couldn’t, but that didn’t mean much when the man had super-hearing.

“Screams. Laughter. Pleading. Fear. It’s strange. That fear is on an infra-sound frequency. Hmm?” Before Dick could ask what was wrong, Clark had suddenly turned and stared at a wall. After a moment, his concerned expression turned into one of bafflement. “Nightwing… your br…”

“You mean Red Hood?” Dick quickly interrupted, somewhat worried what that meant. Was Jason in the building?

“Yes, Red Hood… well, he just shushed me.”

“He’s here?” After a moment of processing what he was just told, he added, “Wait, what do you mean he just shushed you?”

Clark gestured vaguely towards the wall. “He’s currently in the outer wall. I’m… not sure if he’s checking for something or planting something. But he somehow noticed I saw him, and he just put a finger to his lips before moving. He’s currently heading south.”

“Great. O, I’m going to need whatever schematics you can get me,” Dick muttered into his comm before looking directly at the camera. “Look, we have a situation,” he shouted. “We need to get into one of the walls.” When there wasn’t an immediate answer, he looked over at Clark and smiled. “You heard me warn them.”

“I did.” It wasn’t too often Dick got to see the man of steel’s mischievous side on a mission, but he really must want to get further inside. “I’ll try to give you as much support as I can.”

“N, wait! Someone’s hacking the comm!” Babs alerted as static filled it.

“What? Do you know who it is?”

“No! It’s…”

“Don’t bother coming after me, Dickie-bird. You have a more important role to play.” His brother’s voice came over the comm.

“And just what would that be?” Clark demanded.

There was a sense of surprise on the other end. When Jason was still Robin, it was rare for anyone in the Justice League to have access to their private comm lines. “It’s been a while, Big Blue,” he eventually greeted. “I only need you to be a witness to what these monsters are doing.”

“What are you planning?” Panicked, he looked over at Clark. “Where is he?”

“I can’t see him anymore. It sounds like he’s moved to the lower levels. How’d he get there so quickly?”

Jason chuckled. “Picked up some new tricks. Supes, let me ask you a question. If you were aware of an organization that would want to dissect aliens to figure out what makes them tick, kill them, or even use them as mindless weapons, what would you do?”

“Everything I could to stop them, legally.”

“See, I’d like to do it that way, but if you forgot, I’m dead.” Jason’s words were playful. “I don’t have a way to stop them legally. Besides, according to them, I’m not even sentient.”

“Hood, what are you planning to do?” Dick demanded as he rushed out of the room, much to the dismay of the agents who were guarding the door. He could feel the sensation of Superman leaving at high speeds behind him.

“It’s already in motion.”

“HOOD!!!” The floor shook as multiple booms, the breaking of glass, groaning metal, and the whooshing of air overwhelmed him. The dusty smell of concrete filled the area. As he recovered his bearings, he immediately checked for signs of damage as both Babs and Clark asked if he was okay. “Yeah… just disoriented. No evidence of injuries on me or the guards who were trying to stop me. No immediate signs of structural damage where I am.”

“The entire south wall collapsed. It doesn’t appear any of the employees were near it.” Clark stated over the comm. “Maybe it was planned that way. You might want to put on your re-breather. There’s lead dust everywhere. …But I can still hear crying coming from underneath the building. I’m going to investigate.”

“Understood. I’m going to help with the evacuation.” Ignoring the guards, who were trying to keep him from going further into the area, Dick pressed forward after radioing for assistance and returned to the central office he’d been allowed to tour earlier. There was a huge hole in the south wall, just like Superman said, but it appeared most of collapsed down instead of either outward or inward. Jason knew what he was doing when he destroyed it as there wasn’t too much debris in the main part of the room.

As he assisted the people in the room, all of which appeared to have thankfully minor injuries, he got an update from Clark. The Man of Steel seemed unsettled as he requested his assistance on one of the lower floors. Since he couldn’t access it from the stairs, he moved to the now open wall and carefully made his way down. He stopped when he caught sight of Clark floating in place. Anger radiated off the man.

“Supes, what’s…?” Dick’s words died on his lips as he got a better view of the room. His stomach churned as he caught sight of what could only be described as the husks of once living people were strewn around the room. The acidic smell of something similar to ozone lingered along with the smell of dust and smoke. Old and new blood along with other unknown yet faintly glowing substances were splashed around the room. Faint whimpering could be heard from further in.

Whatever Jason and Danny had said about this place didn’t do the horror justice. Maybe they didn’t know the extent, or maybe they did. No matter what the truth was, Jason knew this needed to be exposed, and now that Dick had seen it for his own eyes, he was going to make sure it was shut down. Permanently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

I chose Flanagan as a fake last name for Jason for its meaning.

Flanagan - From Irish Ó Flannagáin meaning "descendant of Flannagán". Flannagán is a given name meaning "blood red"

Plant notes :)

Stop 11 Ogygia - the island of Calypso. Calypso was a nymph who was kept away from the world as a punishment. She helped nurse Odysseus back to health. Calypso orchids are rare orchids named as such because of how they're hidden until they bloom. Orchids have a super creepy creation myth in ancient Greece – the demigod Orchis attempted to attack a priestess during a Dionysian celebration… and was torn apart by wild beasts. And in ancient Rome, they were a symbol of rebirth. And in modern funerary bouquets, they represent ever lasting love for the deceased.

I also included wormwood to hint at the Lazarus Pit as it is what healed Jason. As a flower, it represents absence and bitter sorrow which matches how Odysseus felt during his seven years on Ogygia.

This plant was used for millennium as an herbal remedy. Some of you might know it’s a main ingredient in absinthe aka the Green Fairy, which if you’ve never had it, tastes like black licorice. The thujone, a chemical in the plant, needs to be removed to be sold in several countries. While not well studied, it’s believed thujone has toxic properties and has been known to cause seizures, kidney failure, vomiting, and other effects. There are concerns the chemical has psychoactive properties and can cause hallucinations – this is a bit unclear as the few studies around that aren’t great. But in 1905, there were murders that occurred, and the man who committed was said to have “absinthe madness,” as he had been drunk at the time (though absinthe was just one of several alcohols he consumed). This high-profile case helped push the belief the drink caused madness and resulted in it being banned.

I have a small bottle of it from Slovakia sitting in my kitchen. It actually has a sprig of wormwood in it.

#Chasing Shadows #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #fanfic #odyssey au #danny phantom crossover

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