Chapter Text
Bruce is in a bad mood.
It doesn't take a genius to tell. He went down to the cave hours ago, mutely refusing Jason's offer to join him with a stiff shake of his head. He probably hadn't even heard Jason. It's not like Jason can help matters much anyway. It's a school day. But the entire house is tense, like its holding his breath in. The newspaper from this morning has the same news they received last night: ASYLUM SECURITY UPROAR. MANIAC ESCAPES AGAIN.
There's a good chance Bruce hasn't slept all night, but Jason knows he's going to hit the streets again anyway. Bruce doesn't ever stay down. It's just not his thing. Especially not at a time like this.
"You think I should stay?" Jason asks Alfred half-heartedly, even as he shrugs his backpack on. He wants to be helpful, he does, but sometimes Bruce just—shuts down. Goes so deep into his own mind that he can't be followed. It's only happened a few times before, but Jason isn't sure what to say to get him to snap out of it, and Alfred's placating dismissal doesn't exactly help.
(It's times like these that Jason really considers pulling out that calling card Dick gave him and just dialing the number. Because surely, if anyone knows how to do the job right, it's the guy who had it before, right?)
But somehow, he just can't bring himself to do it. To admit defeat.
"Not on a school day, Master Jason," Alfred cuts in from behind Jason, following him to the door. "Besides, I imagine Master Bruce will want some time to himself. There's hardly anything you and I can do about it, and I suppose it will remain that way until he catches the madman and puts him behind bars again."
"Sure," Jason replies. "Same as he always does, right?"
"Indeed."
They exchange smiles—faint ones.
Jason heads off to school and goes through the motions—history, chemistry, English, lunch. There's a weird atmosphere in the air, like everyone's on edge or something. Or maybe Jason's just projecting. The halls are the same as they always are, but for some reason, he can't shake the feeling that conversations have gotten hushy. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the school nurse, the usual dimples around her mouth replaced by a tightness that makes Jason anxious. She's talking to Miss Brown, but as far as Jason can tell, Miss Brown isn't smiling either.
By the time the rest of the afternoon comes around, Jason is wholly convinced that he's just being paranoid. His remaining few classes pass as they always do, with idle chatter about the break coming up. A few of the sophomores mention summer school plans for next year, and Jason's ears perk up. He's been thinking about talking to Bruce about it, but he he's not sure if Bruce would be amenable. Summers and winters are the only undivided time they get for intensive Robin training, after all. It's been the same every year, but Jason had kind of been hoping things would be different this time around. Now, with the Joker thing, it's possible he's going to have to postpone the conversation entirely.
Stepping out of the building amidst the rush of students, Jason spots Bruce's car. It's at the spot where Alfred always parks it, but even as he's making a beeline for it, he can tell that something is off. Alfred looks pale through the glass, gaunt. With no shortage of concern, Jason yanks the car door open and gets into the back.
"Hey," he breathes. "What's wrong?"
Alfred delicately dots his own forehead with a napkin. "Ah, Master Jason. Welcome back." His voice is as gentle and restrained as it always is, but his wrinkled brow gives him away as he turns over his shoulder. "Forgive me if I'm not the most receptive. I've just received some terrible news."
Jason's heartbeat kicks up. "What?" He leans forward in his seat. "What happened? Is it Bruce?"
For a second, his chest pounds so hard he thinks he might have a heart attack. It wouldn't happen. Not like this. Not without Jason.
Alfred shakes his head. "It's—it's Miss Barbara."
Some of the tension in Jason's shoulders subside, but he holds himself still.
"Barbara?" he repeats dumbly.
"Master Bruce just called. He says the Joker shot Miss Barbara in her home and abducted the commissioner. I'm afraid there are no current updates of his whereabouts. Master Bruce was understandably succinct."
Jason swallows. "And Barb?"
Alfred looks back at him with a deep, deep sorrow and a thin sheen of tears in his eyes.
"There's a good chance the young miss may never walk again."
-
Jason begs—then insists—that he should be out there, that he should be helping, but Alfred doesn't budge. Bruce's orders.
"Aren't you worried?" Jason demands, hot on Alfred's heels across the cave floors.
(A, keep Robin home, the computer message reads on the big screen behind them. This is between me and him).
It's the finality of tone that worries Jason more than anything. The fear that Bruce is really going to do it this time, and Jason won't be there to stop him.
"You didn't see him when Joker got Catwoman, Alfred," Jason says, when Alfred stays silent. "He snapped. I had to pull him back."
Alfred's expression turns stern. "Master Bruce has had several encounters with the madman before, and he has emerged victorious each time. I have every faith in him to do what's right—as should you, as his protege." His expression gentles. "You and I both know the Batman is made of sterner stuff than that."
Jason bites his lip and restrains himself from commenting further. In a way, he can almost understand it. Alfred has only ever seen the ends of a fight—of Batman returning home in a calm triumph, or a quiet state of reflection. Jason isn't stupid. He knows Alfred is closer to Bruce than he is, that he's been with Bruce longer than even Dick has.
But Alfred isn't out there with Batman every day, fighting with him, reading his body, his face, his thoughts. Alfred hasn't seen the cliff they're standing at the edge of, not from up close. If Bruce falls off, that's on Jason. That's the deal. Batman and Robin. They're in this together.
It's a vow Jason takes seriously.
"I'm going to go check the police scanner again," he decides.
Alfred inclines his head and lets him leave. "Please do."
Hours pass like that, with no significant updates coming through other than vague snippets. At fifteen, Jason is still too small to properly fit into Bruce's chair, but it's snug and familiar in a way that grounds him. Around them, the cave is silent, except for the quiet chirp of bats, the running water, and occasional beeps from the computer. Time slows down here in the cave. Agonizingly so, when Bruce isn't here. Jason keeps refreshing different trackers, but there's no sign of Batman, Gordon or the Joker. The GCPD's keeping a pretty tight lid on things. Jason's anxiety keeps him awake and alert, but his mind runs wild with all kinds of possibilities and configurations of where they are and what they might be doing to each other this time.
And then the bats scatter.
Jason bolts out of his daze, watching them flutter their wings in anticipation. Sure enough, the walls of the cave begin trembling a few moments later, signalling the arrival of the Batmobile.
Jason quickly dismounts and skips a few steps down, just in time for the tunnels to glow with headlights. The Batmobile soars through with a thunderous zoom and then silently smooths its way into the parking dock.
"Batman," Jason calls, running up to the door as Bruce gets down. He's not hurt. Not badly, at least, but Jason's heart is still in his throat. He's not sure what to ask.
After some deliberation, he settles on: "Is it over?"
Batman's haggard expression softens at the sight of Jason. He nods at Alfred, who comes up behind them. "Yes, Jay." Then, "The Joker's been delivered to the authorities."
Jason feels his entire body sag with relief, a deep breath escaping him.
"And the commissioner?" Alfred asks.
Batman pulls his cowl off. "He's fine. It's going to take a lot more to defeat a man like Jim."
"What about Babs?" Jason crosses his arms.
Bruce sighs and wipes a hand across his face, defeated. Jason realizes that his eyes are red around the rims.
"I visited her in the hospital," he explains quietly. "She was—she'll live, but she's sustained a severe gunshot to the spine."
Jason frowns. Reads between the lines to hear what Bruce won't say. "It's not looking great, huh?"
"No," Bruce agrees, not meeting his eyes. There's regret there, a grief so heavy Jason can almost feel it emanating off of him. For a second, Jason has to wonder how he does it. Retired or not, Bruce had always liked Babs. And there were few men Batman trusted so deeply as he did Jim Gordon. For the blow to come this close to home, and for Bruce to just take that and come out on top anyway.
Jason doesn't know whether to fear that or respect it.
-
It's quiet over Christmas break. Over the days, Jason gets a chance to read Babs' case report on the computer, and he wants to destroy something.
Destroy someone. Destroy the sick piece of shit who did this to her. There are all kinds of clinical details in the report about her spinal column and the exact damage she sustained, alongside a list of specialists with intimidating qualifications and therapists from different corners of the world. But what truly turns Jason's stomach over is the police report on the next page, the revolting, twisted details of what the Joker did to Gordon after he got Babs. After a point, the words start to blur, but it doesn't matter, really. Jason's seen enough.
The atmosphere in the manor is understandably bleak because of it. Jason asks to visit Babs, but Bruce tells him she needs her space, so Jason just gives him a hand-written card and asks him to pass it along. He knows Batman's been going to see her every now and then, and it bums him out that Babs doesn't want to see him, but there's really not much he can do about any of it, so a card is the next best thing.
"You can go see her when she gets better," Bruce promises him, and Jason wonders when that'll be, because Babs is paralyzed waist-down now, and that's a pretty far fucking cry from better for the time being.
He nods anyway.
Much of the winter break passes by in that same, dull spell. Neither Bruce nor Jason feel up to celebrating Christmas, so Alfred puts up a moderately-sized tree and they call it a day. Batman and Robin go out that night, though, as they do every night throughout Christmas week. On Boxing Day, they stop a mugging right outside Robinson Park. A few days before New Year's Eve, they stop an attempted assault. No matter how many lights you put up in and around Gotham, there's some kind of darkness that just keeps brewing within it.
Jason doesn't remember it being like this when he was a kid. There were Christmases before—the Christmases of back then—when he and Willis and Catherine would watch the ball drop in New York City on the TV, and Willis would promise to take them there someday, half-asleep. The year before Jason came to the manor, he and Catherine had gone to Diamond District to see the displays, hand-in-hand and wind-blown grins splitting their cheeks. Jason's had some warm Christmases since then, but there was something about that night that had been magical, wondrous. It didn't matter that they got frostbite after, or that they came home empty-handed. It was Christmas. That used to mean something, even in a city like Gotham. Especially in a city like Gotham.
Before their last patrol of the year, Bruce wanders into his room—just to hang out, just to linger. He sits by the edge of Jason's bed, eyes soft and wistful without needing any sort of explanation. Christmas is a rough time for guys like them, and even if Jason hasn't fully been an orphan these last few years, Bruce gets it. He doesn't have to say anything at all. Jason's just glad he's here.
But—and maybe it's because it's the holidays—Bruce breaks the silence after a while to say, "You worked hard this year, Jay."
It's a statement, not a compliment, but from a guy like Bruce, those two things are sometimes the same.
Jason flushes. "Yeah, well."
Bruce shakes his head. "I know Batman and Robin had some ups and downs."
"More downs than ups," Jason mutters bitterly, thinking of Babs, who's spending the holiday in a hospital room somewhere instead of at home.
Bruce's face turns somber, and Jason instantly regrets saying anything at all.
"But—" he begins, trying to make up for it. "We've still got another year to look forward to, right? Another year of kicking ass and doing our thing."
Bruce smiles. "I suppose."
Jason lets out a breath of relief. He knows he's supposed to be the happy camper around here, but sometimes the weight of it all presses down on his chest more heavily than he'd like to admit. He's been doing a good job at keeping it from Bruce, though, which is just as well. Being Robin is the most demanding, exhilarating, intimidating thing he's ever done, but hey—he'll be coming up on three years soon, and that's not a bad streak for a kid from Crime Alley. Losing that because he can't keep his head on straight is unthinkable.
"What New Year's resolutions have you got then?" Jason asks with a renewed fervor, feeling some of that energy return to the room when Bruce arches a brow. "I've got one for you."
"You do?" Bruce murmurs blandly, bracing himself.
Jason grins. "Get out of the house more. At day time," he adds, cutting in before Bruce can object with the obvious argument. "Seriously, you're pale. You keep at it like this, you're gonna have to get more botox than you already do."
"I haven't started botox yet," Bruce points out, and it delights Jason that he actually looks a little offended. "I hope your resolution is to watch your mouth."
Jason tries not to laugh. "You're a mean guy, Bruce."
"Mm." Bruce taps his knee and stands up. "Stay in tonight, if you want."
It's the same offer he's made every New Year's Eve, but Jason never takes him up on it. Even if he's been sleeping better on school nights off-late. Nights after patrol these days have just been leaving him high strung, anxious, and he's not sure when it's going to get better or what this feeling even is—this dread that creeps in after the adrenaline dies down. This feeling that nothing ever changes, no matter how hard they've been working, or how long.
There's a good solution for it for now, though, and Jason's perfectly okay with putting it to use.
"You kidding?" He slides out of bed and follows Bruce out to the hallway. "I've been waiting to meet the first person I punch this year all day."
-
By the middle of January, things start to settle down again. Or at least, school starts back up and Jason doesn't have time to think. Between classes and patrol, his schedule is pretty structured, and for the most part, so is Bruce's. It almost feels like natural order.
So when Bruce says he has A Thing and he won't be back until much later, Jason grows anxious.
"Don't give me that look," Bruce mutters, buttoning up his shirt in front of the mirror. "It's a business dinner, and not one I particularly want to attend either."
"So don't go," Jason argues. He's not even sure why he wants Bruce around; most week-nights, Bruce goes on patrol without him, and Jason spends all his weekdays at school just fine. But today's a Saturday, which means both of them are supposed to be home. They don't even do anything together all that much, but being in the house with Bruce drives him less crazy than being in the house without him.
Bruce just sighs. "Jason."
Jason knows that tone, and he doesn't like it, so he simply huffs. He'd already refused Bruce's offer to join him, but he's annoyed Bruce is going anyway.
"This is an event I can't miss," Bruce reminds him. "Morton Babcock is hosting, and—"
"The Wayne Foundation could benefit from doing business with him," Jason repeats dully. "I know."
Bruce glances at his watch. "If you want to come with me, we still have time. But you'll have to make it quick. I'm running late as it is." He snatches up the pair of cuff links he'd laid out on the bed and begins latching them on.
Jason looks up at him, wrinkling his nose at the whiff of cologne. "I don't."
"Okay." Bruce lets out a breath like he's ready, then nods at Jason. "I'll be back for patrol."
"Bye."
Bruce pats his head absently and leaves.
After a while, Jason gets up from Bruce's bed and sidles up to the bedroom window, watching until Bruce's car pulls into view from under him. Twin headlights shine out into the estate grounds, snaking and slithering slowly until they're out of sight and beyond the darkness. Jason sighs. The next couple of hours expand beyond him, an endless stretch of time to kill. He could read a book, but there are only so many books you can read before that starts to feel a little boring too.
The first year Jason was here, he explored a lot. There were so many rooms in Wayne Manor, so many vases and artifacts he'd never seen before, that he'd started to take strolls. This was after the first six months, of course. Those first six months, everything felt so new, he hardly had the time to actually breathe and take it all in. Between studying for school and studying to be Robin, the cave had been the first part of the manor he'd actually become intimately acquainted with—so much so that it felt more like home than the manor above it. It was the only place Bruce was more himself anyway. They'd been awkward back then, back in the beginning. They hadn't known how to be anything but Batman and Robin. Wayne Manor hadn't felt like home. Not in the way the cave had.
If Jason is being honest, a part of him still feels that way. There are only so many corners you can turn before you have to acknowledge the inevitable faces of Thomas and Martha Wayne in the manor. They're everywhere—in oil paintings, in photographs, in various trinkets and priceless items bought in their name. In Gotham, you could venture out sometimes and see traces of the dead Waynes in the city. Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. The Martha Wayne charity foundation building on East End, tucked between other buildings and histories. Here, they're everywhere. The first night—the very first night, when Bruce took his mask off for the first time in front of Jason and told him about his vow—all Jason could think about was that he'd played hopscotch on the street where Bruce's parents died. It colored him with guilt, even though he had no real reason to be guilty. Somehow, the manor feels just like that too. Like dancing on the graves of people he never really knew.
After an uneventful dinner, Jason just heads back down to the cave and lounges in Bruce's chair with a dog-eared copy of Goosebumps he borrowed from the library. Eventually, enough time passes that even Alfred comes down, having finished cleaning up upstairs. Batman and Robin are never usually around for that, having already long gone into the night. Jason glances at his watch.
"He's late." He looks up at Alfred, surprised.
Alfred makes a soft sound in agreement as he wipes down Batgirl's case. "Indeed. Either the meeting has gone well, or some part of this city is on fire again."
Jason swivels in his chair and does a few quick searches through their regular channels. He grins. "Starting to look like the former."
"I do have my doubts about that," Alfred drawls under his breath in that disapproving way of his, walking away into a different part of the cave. Jason laughs.
By the time Bruce returns, it's well past midnight. Half-asleep, Jason glares at him as he comes rushing down the stairs, but there's a suspicious glow to him that gives Jason pause. He squints.
"Where the hell were you?"
Bruce taps him on the back of his head in passing. "Language."
Jason watches his back, curious, even as Bruce begins assembling various parts of his suit for patrol. "Hello?" A thought strikes. "Were you flirting with someone? Is that why you're late?"
Bruce comes back to him, half-suited up and disapproving, but not that disapproving. Jason's been scolded a lot more over a lot less, which, wow. Bruce must really be in a good mood, then.
"It's not like that," Bruce tells him. "Why aren't you suited up?"
Jason jumps out of his chair. "You weren't here," he complains, rushing to his case to pull things on.
"I'm sorry," Bruce says genuinely. "I was...occupied."
Jason immediately turns over his shoulder and grins. "So you were flirting!"
Bruce grimaces. "No. I was having a conversation." He wanders over to pull on his cowl. "With Morton's daughter, Kate. I actually met her on patrol a few nights ago."
Jason pauses, mid-dressing. "Bruce, that's creepy!"
"Not like that," Bruce says again. "She's a social worker. She had a lot of things to say that I thought were worth listening to. We lost track of time. Now hurry up."
Jason runs up to Bruce and jabs him, nearly suited up now. "Maybe next time, call ahead. Almost died of boredom back here."
"Put your domino on, then," Bruce calls, brushing past Jason to get to the Batmobile. "Let's get to work."
-
Bruce won't talk to him any more about the Babcock lady, but it's obvious her presence lifts his mood a little. He keeps calling it not-dates, but they've been spending time together, Jason can tell. It's the first time he's seen Bruce like this after what happened to Barbara, but it doesn't last very long.
Kate Babcock dies.
Jason doesn't actually find out about it until weeks later. Bruce just comes home one night, his face white with rage, fingers crumpling whatever papers he can find, eyes listless and cold. Angry. Jason doesn't see much of him for the rest of that week. Even Alfred struggles to get much out of him other than grunts and grumbles, and then Jason reads about it in the papers.
With ten women dead already—Kate being one of them—the papers are calling it the worst serial butchering Gotham's seen in a while. And for a city like Gotham, that's saying something.
That night, when Bruce makes it down to the cave, Jason meets him there, arms crossed and grim.
"I want to help with this one," he says, ready with an argument, in case Bruce thinks he's sitting this one out.
Bruce simply acknowledges him with a grunt, moving past him to boot up the computer.
"What do we know about this guy?" Jason asks, eyes flicking through the case report Bruce opens up. All sorts of words flash back at him. Violent words. Contusions, tears. The kinds of injuries a vic gets when the perp knows he's much stronger—and enjoying it. The pictures look downright vile too. Butchered, barely human. Like pigs in a slaughterhouse.
No wonder Bruce is pissed.
"Non-secretor," Bruce gruffs. "Not much in the way of evidence, but we know he has a van. We know that's how he's been getting around."
"And the victims?"
Bruce's mouth flattens into a thin line. "All women."
Jason's blood goes cold. "How many has he got so far?"
"Ten," Bruce says. "If his pattern holds up, it'll be his eleventh soon."
Jason swallows and stares up at the screen. A picture of a lash-curled eye with a deep purple bruise looks back at him. Bruce minimizes the tab and opens up a new one for blood work on Victor Giambattista, a dirty cop who could lead them to the actual killer. GCPD's probably running their own tests, but Jason doubts they'd follow up on anything that'd incriminate one of their own.
When the computer comes up with a match, Batman decides to head out without him, their weekday rule still in place, no matter how much Jason pouts about it. It's not like he can sleep, knowing there's a killer out there in the city, on the prowl. Knowing more people are about to disappear, the kind of people no one really gives a shit about, not enough to notice they're missing anyway. But Batman doesn't budge.
When Jason closes his eyes that night, he thinks back to the women he'd see through the window in his old neighborhood, their mascara running down their cheeks as they leaned against the alley wall, cigarettes clutched between their fingers. There was no telling where they had come from, or where they'd go. Nameless, faceless, leaving very little to remember them by. Go to sleep in Crime Alley; come next morning, the same people you saw the night before were gone. Come next week, there'd be different families in their tenements, different women walking the beats they once did. The best case scenario was that they'd simply moved elsewhere, like Jason had. The worst case scenario could be anything, from feds, to serial killers, to just...to just nothing. No answers. No closure. Countless blood sacrifices that Gotham took while the rest of the city kept running.
Sometimes Jason is relieved he made it out. Sometimes it keeps him up at night for a long time.
-
The court rules in Karl Branneck's favor, and Jason is so furious he could tear something apart. A rapist, off on a technicality.
"I can't believe them," he spits. "I can't believe they'd let a low-life scumbag like him get away with it!"
"Calm down, Robin," Batman says, not taking his eyes off of Branneck, even as the man smugly smiles up at them and walks away from the courthouse steps and towards the city. "Nobody is letting Karl Branneck get away with anything."
"Ten women," Jason reminds him. "We had ten women and the murder weapon, and the judge rules in that sick S-O-B's favor. What do you think he's going to do now? I'll tell you what - he's going to take the first train out of Gotham and go hurt women elsewhere."
Batman gives him a look, and Jason immediately feels the hot-cold flash of anger and shame within him, but he can't stop himself from clenching a fist. It's sick. It's sick.
"Robin," Batman says slowly. "You need to calm down. You're getting ahead of yourself, getting emotional." Jason scowls at him. He hates that word, hates how small it makes him feel, especially coming from Batman, but Batman simply shakes his head. "Go take a walk. Work off the steam. We'll re-assess the situation when you get back."
Jason huffs, turning over his heel and jumping off the roof, grapple gun in hand. Its hook snags against another rooftop, pulling his weight afloat as he sails to another building, and then another. Skyscrapers pull in and out of view, but Jason swings through them unseeingly, heart unsteady. He's only just coming up past the narrow street that heads into Park Row when his eyes zoom into focus on an altercation happening down below.
"—suppose to be over on Eighth Avenue, working," the man is saying, his gloved fist curled around a woman's wrist. "You goofing off on me, woman?"
Jason's eyes narrow.
"No, Charlie, I didn't feel so good," she says, her thick Jersey accent softening something in Jason's chest despite himself. It's decidedly local, young.
Charlie leers at her, disbelieving. "What's wrong, doll? Feel hurt? Upset stomach, maybe?" He swings a harsh hand across her face, sending her flying back onto the pavement.
Jason leaps off his perch in an instant, his footfall silent as he lands by a lamppost. The pimp is too caught up to notice. One of his gloved hands sneaks into his coat to withdraw a knife.
"Got half a mind to cut you up, you lazy cunt," Charlie threatens, looming over her.
"You're right about the first half of that statement," Jason calls out. "But you ain't cutting no one, tough guy."
Charlie turns over his shoulder, startled. Jason takes a moment to stare at his weathered, beaten face as it settles into a sneer.
"You got a problem, half-pint?"
Jason smiles sharply. "Yeah, you're my problem, tough guy."
"Then let me fix it for you." Charlie swings, knife hand curving through the air to slice at Jason. Jason deftly ducks, yanking Charlie by the arm and kicking his back towards the street lamp. It's almost too easy. Too many drinking nights at the cards table. Too many pork chop dinners. Too easy. Too complacent.
"You've got no moves, Charlie!" Jason taunts, bashing Charlie's head against the wall and holding him there. "You're all mouth."
Charlie grunts and writhes. Jason smashes his head down with a fist, then follows him to the ground and hits him square across the face. "Can't seem to handle anyone but women, can you?" he roars, stepping over the pimp, heart racing with adrenaline, with power. "How do you like being on the receiving end, for a change? How's it feel to—"
He's suddenly yanked off his feet, stomach dropping at the swoop of motion.
When did he get here? Jason thinks, writhing, but Batman's hold on him is tight.
"I think he's had enough, Robin," he says, his voice firm as steel. "What were you trying to do, kill him?"
Jason snatches his arm back. "Would it've been that big of a loss if I had?!"
Batman says nothing. A cool calm settles over Jason, the last of his steam evaporating at the release. He doesn't bother looking back at Charlie as he walks away, leaving Batman behind him, feeling satisfied. Feeling right. Feeling, for once, like he was in the right place at the right time, doing what he's been trained to do. Feeling, for once, like they're winning this war.
He turns over his shoulder. "We still planning on busting that counterfeiting ring tonight, or what?"
Batman continues to maintain his silence, staring off into the distance. Jason glares at him expectantly.
"Yes," he mutters. "Might as well."
Later that night, long after they've cuffed nineteen mobsters and shut down their operation by the harbor, Batman gets a call from Commissioner Gordon through the Batmobile's communicator, sudden and loud over the quiet harbor waters.
"Batman." His voice crackles. "You really need to come down here and take a look at this."
Jason exchanges a startled look with Batman from where he's kneeling on the floor and cuffing a henchman. Another body? Or another case?
"Batman? Do you read me?"
Batman steps over the various bodies and punches a button over the car's speakers. "We read you, commissioner. We're on our way." He turns to Jason. "Let's go."
Jason nods, standing up and tip-toeing his way over the same path Batman took and heading to his side of the vehicle. On the way back, Batman drives like a maniac, zipping through shortcuts and detours in silence. Jason wonders what he's thinking about. Gotham blurs through their windows, a mishmash of red lights and white lights, the random police siren going off as they pass through various neighborhoods.
Who's he kidding? Of course he knows what Batman is thinking. They're both thinking the same thing: Branneck. He's struck again. Batman's fingers are curled so tight around the steering wheel, Jason bets they'd be white if the gloves were off.
I told you so, he wants to say. Tries to convey it through his glare, but Batman is hardly looking at him.
It's an insufferable silence. It's an intolerable silence. Sometimes Jason feels like Bruce shoulders it all a little too well—the deaths of all the people he couldn't save—like he's some kind of martyr. Like he's holding all the grief in the world on those two shoulders while the people who died have to stay dead because Batman and Robin couldn't get to them in time. Jason doesn't want to have to see anyone else get hurt. He doesn't want to get used to it like Batman has. Doesn't know how.
By the time they pull up to the crime scene, there are already plenty of cop cars herded around the area. Massive stretches of yellow tape cordon the scene off from the public, a line of grim-faced cops watching them as they pull up. Jason's stomach sinks.
"Bruce," he says.
"Code-names, Robin," Batman says, then switches off the ignition and heads out the door, a reaper in black amidst the boys in blue.
Jason sighs and gets down to follow him.
The entire path up to the crime scene feels both too long and not long enough. Time slows in the steps it takes to walk up to the pool of blood, to face the woman they've failed. The cops are talking, but Jason can't hear any of what they're saying. His ears are ringing. His legs are leaden and heavy. Something gnaws at his gut, a childish fear that holds him back from having to see the body on the stretcher. The face. Suddenly, he's all of 11 years old, and Mommy's in the bedroom, limp and pale. Mrs Walker down the hall's called the cops, but they haven't come yet. She's cussing them out, but Jason doesn't hear her. Mommy's dead.
A cop pulls the blanket away from the corpse, and Jason gasps. His surroundings sharpen with clarity, a renewed rush of breath filling his lungs, even as his fingers tremble.
It's Branneck.
"Patrolman came upon the body," Gordon tells Batman. "Guess he recognized Branneck and called it in. Didn't take long to locate the killer." He casts his gaze meaningfully to a point over his shoulder. Jason follows, and his eyes settle on a young woman in her 20s, sitting on the hood of a police car. There's a lot of blood and noise, but she seems calm, in another realm entirely. When she looks up at Batman and Robin, her eyes are defiant.
"Judy Koslosky," Gordon explains. "Sister of Linda Koslosky, the second vic."
Batman's frown deepens, watching Judy as she pushes herself off the car and walks up to them. A few cops startle out of their conversations and raise their guns towards her. Jason moves into a defensive position, but she pauses. Pulls out a knife from her pocket and hands it to Batman.
Batman stares at her. She stares right back. Jason's known Judy Kolosky for all of two seconds, but one thing about her instantly becomes clear to him: she regrets nothing.
-
"Then she said, 'It might not have been legal, but it was right," Batman tells him later that night, when they're on the GCPD rooftop by themselves. Judy is gone, having been escorted a long time ago by the police to a holding facility for charges of manslaughter.
"I'll buy that," Jason replies. He's not joking.
Batman turns to him, deeply troubled. "That's just it, Robin. Judy was wrong. People can't set themselves above the law. That leads to anarchy. Even though you and I skirt the edges of it, we still operate within the legal system. That's the way it has to be. Even though more than a small part of me wishes it could be otherwise."
Jason inclines his head, silent. A lot about this night has quietened him, turned him inwards. He's not sure what to think and why. Batman is convinced of Judy's guilt, of her foolishness in stepping over their sacred line.
Jason wonders if a part of him is guilty. After all, it wasn't him who brought justice to Kate's death. It wasn't him who got Branneck. And for all his soapboxing about doing the right thing, Batman hates to lose.
When Jason goes to bed that night, he has a hard time falling asleep, eyes getting familiar with the patterns of his ceiling again. Tomorrow's a school day, a new day in Gotham, with new things to deal with or worry about. Yet, amidst it all, there's a voice in the back of his head. A picture of Judy Kolosky and her sharp blue eyes in a room full of cops, her chin held up high and unapologetic despite the cost of it all.
I didn't kill a man, her voice rings in his ear, again and again and again. I put down a mad dog.