Chapter Text
You were caught in the crossfire
Of childhood and stardom
“Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Pts. 1-5)”
— Pink Floyd
Prologue
Several years ago…
He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was being crushed to death, which wasn’t far off the mark, really. The warehouse had collapsed as a result of the explosion, leaving Jason buried beneath its remains. Can’t breathe. His shallow inhales only filled his lungs with smoke, and he felt like knives were raking against the inside of his throat and chest. He couldn’t feel anything, he realised. At least he was allowed this one saving grace. The Joker had beaten him near to death, and the pain had been unbearable. But that hadn’t been the worst thing. The worst thing was being completely helpless and defenseless against it. He couldn’t react, couldn’t fight back. Everything Bruce had taught him, every skill he had taken years to master and hone to perfection for a situation just like this one? Useless. He had failed.
Sheila…she had been there. She had watched as the Joker beat him. He’d gone too far. Following her trail, investigating the crimes and criminals she seemed to be tangled up with? He’d let himself be led into a trap. She had betrayed him. His ‘mother’. No. As far as he knew, his only mother had been Catherine. And she was dead too.
Can’t breathe. Where was Bruce? He thought he would have at least made it to the warehouse in time to help him. The Joker’s cackle echoed through his head. He scrunched his eyes shut tight, willing his mind to quiet, for once. He couldn’t breathe. Where was Bruce? Can’t breathe. He wanted Bruce. He wanted to go back home and see Dick. He’d promised to teach him a fighting maneuver Jason had seen him perform the other day. He was dying. Is this what dying felt like? He couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to wake up and realise that this was all a nightmare. Can’t breathe. Bruce would come for him. He always did. He just had to survive long enough. Where was Bruce? He didn’t want to die without seeing Bruce one last time. Was he really dying? He didn’t understand. This was never supposed to happen.
He was Robin, Batman’s sidekick. He kicked ass and avenged civilians. And sure, he got hurt sometimes, but that was part of the job. Dying? He’d never even thought of that. He supposed he’d always thought Bruce would never let something like that happen to him. Where was he? He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see anything. He was fading in and out of consciousness. Oh God. He was dying. He was dying, and he never even got to say goodbye to his family. Is this what he would be subjected to? He had a home. He didn’t want to die. He couldn’t. He and Alfred's book club had a meeting tomorrow, he couldn’t help but think. He would never attend it. Can’t breathe.
~
“Batman!” he yelled frantically. “Batman, where are you? B!” His voice echoed throughout the cave, alongside the drips of water coming from above. They had succeeded, the mission was completed, and justice had been served. And yet, there was no time for celebration, because he couldn’t find Bruce. The fight that went down had left him in a bad way, and they had been separated. He could feel his panic taking hold of him, making him desperate.
Where was Bruce? Why wasn’t he answering? What if something had happened to him? No. He couldn’t think like that. He needed to focus and find Bruce so that he could get him help. If something had happened…if Bruce had died? He shook off the thought immediately, refusing to believe that such a thing had occurred. He couldn’t help but think about the worst possible scenario. That was the way his brain was wired. He knew with certainty that if he didn’t have Bruce, he would simply pack up and leave. He had lived on the streets once before, and he could do it again. He wouldn’t do this without the old man. He couldn’t, and he refused to. Where was he? Why wasn’t he—
A cough. “I’m here, kid,” a gruff voice came from behind. Bruce! He felt an instant relief flood his body, his mind freeing itself from his worries. Jason decided instantly that Bruce would never die. He was simply immortal, and Jason refused to think about any other possible outcomes.
“Bruce!” He couldn’t help the name drop. It didn’t matter that there might still be ears listening — he was too relieved to care. He rushed over to his side, helping him off the ground. “Bruce, are you—”
“Never doubted you, Robin,” Bruce smiled down at him. Jason’s chest swelled with pride. He had believed in him. In that moment, Jason felt more like Robin than he ever had. As he felt a grin spread across his face uncontrollably, he knew that from then on, he would do whatever it took to never let Bruce down.
~
Memories were unearthing, allowing Jason some small semblance of peace. They tugged at the edges of his consciousness — his safest, happiest, dearest memories. Jason felt the fight leave his body. He only wanted the pain to stop, and as he slipped in and out of consciousness, he felt some sort of relief, knowing that it would all be over soon.
~
“Jaybird,” Dick singsonged, shaking him awake. “You gotta get up, kid. It’s our turn for patrol.”
“No,” he groaned, covering himself with the blanket. “Don’t do this to me, Dickie.” The blanket was ripped off him, leaving him to the mercy of the cold. And to his brother.
“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”
Jason sat up and squinted at him accusatorially.
“Yeah? And how many times have I told you not to call me Jaybird?”
Gray rolled his eyes. “I’m your older brother. Doesn’t count.” He reached over and flicked Jason on the forehead, making Jason jerk back, glaring at him.
“Don’t be a dick, Dickie,” he snarked, rubbing his nose. The childish and petty side of him always managed to make an appearance whenever he was around Gray — an unfortunate side effect of having siblings, Jason thinks. Bruce and Alfred remained forever entertained by their antics. They also remained without a single moment of peace — but that wasn’t the point.
“Real mature, Jaybird,” Gray responded, looking helplessly amused. Jason huffed, too tired to argue. He flopped back down onto the bed, declaring mercy.
“I’ll be up in ten.”
“Atta boy. I’ll meet you on the roof.” Dick ruffled his hair before leaving, and Jason lazily swatted his hand away. In reality, he was glad to have Gray’s company. Although he would never admit it out loud, lest he be subjected to ruthless teasing, spending time with Gray actually made the patrols bearable. Even enjoyable, he could grudgingly admit. Really, his brother made everything more enjoyable.
~
His eyes fluttered shut. Jason still couldn’t breathe. Was anybody even coming for him? The weight of the rubble he was suffocating beneath felt like the weight of the world. When was it going to end? He just wanted it to end.
~
“‘And the hangman plays the mandolin',” his mother sang softly, carding her fingers through his hair. “‘Before he goes to sleep.’” He closed his eyes, letting her voice lull him to sleep.
“Now, Bowie is ever wrong, Jace?” she said, a smile in her voice. It was forced, though. It always was. She gently pressed a frozen pea bag onto his face, and he hissed at the pain. The right side of his face was throbbing and littered with bruises — courtesy of his dearest father.
“Never,” he mumbled, trying to take his mind off the pain.
“That’s my boy. Be a dear and remind me what the next line is?”
He huffed out a laugh, pressing his face into her hands, feeling warm, warm, warm. “‘And the last thing on his mind…’”
“‘Is the Wild Eyed Boy imprisoned…’,” she hummed.
~
His mother. Would he finally get to see his mother again? He ached for her immensely in that moment. But then, a familiar voice reaches his ears.
“Jason? Where are you? Son!” came Bruce’s muffled, frantic voice.
And something in Jason relaxed. He’d come for him. He always did. A strange calmness seemed to overtake his mind. Bruce always had a way of doing that to him. He’s glad, he thought. Glad that he got the chance to stay alive long enough to hear his father’s voice one last time. He felt the dark creeping in, and this time, instead of fighting it, he let it take over. The last thought he had was of his father. Bruce. Always Bruce.
Always his father.