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“How could you be so reckless?!” Batman shouts and fury burns through Jason’s core because Bruce always does this. Always. Anytime Jason takes a calculated risk, regardless of how it turns out, Bruce always frames it as Jason being reckless and irresponsible. Thoughtless Jason. Dangerous Jason. “There could have been casualties! There are injuries!”
“Yeah? And what the hell would you have done, old man? Tell me, in your infinite wisdom, what choice would you have made?!” Jason shouts, voice hoarse from frustration. Crane had almost succeeded in getting his fear toxin into the water supply. He only hadn’t because Jason had blown the facility. Was it the cleanest solution? Of course not, but it was literally the only solution available. If he hadn’t done it, thousands of people would be bludgeoning each other death in a fear induced rage right this fucking minute. Some injuries and a little bit of property damage seem a small price to pay in light of what could have been.
“Any other choice! You’re cavalier with people’s lives because you—”
“Are you seriously making this about the killing thing?!” Jason snarls taking a furious step towards Bruce. “That’s what you’re doing right now? I’ve killed people so therefore I’m more careless than the rest of you?! Bullshit, Bruce!” he snarls furiously. “Time was running out! The water supply would have been compromised if I hadn’t done what I did, and no one even fucking died! If it were anyone other than me, you wouldn’t even be throwing this fucking tantrum! It’s only because it was me that you’re losing your shit!”
“You. Are. Reckless!” Bruce snarls again. “I can’t count on you to not put people in harm’s way. You’re benched.”
Jason can’t believe the audacity, the self-righteous asshole. He’s almost shaking from the righteous fury raging within him. “You can’t bench me; I don’t fucking work for you!”
“Then you don’t work with me. Or any of the others. You’re out.”
“Fuck you, Bruce,” Jason snarls furiously and turns on his heel to march towards his bike. “Fuck you.”
None of the others say anything and that burns even more than Bruce’s unjustified fury. Jason knows deep in his bones that he made the right call. And he knows the others know it too. But no matter how unreasonable Bruce is being with him, no one ever sticks up for him. No one ever openly takes his side. They do it for each other, but they never go out on a limb with Bruce for him. Without another word, Jason gets on his bike and roars out of the Batcave. He fumes about it all the way back to Gotham.
“Hood,” Nightwing’s voice sounds through his comm as Jason’s approaching his safehouse.
“What do you want, coward?” Jason snaps back angrily.
Nightwing heaves a sigh. “Look, B only overreacts like that because he worries.”
Jason could power a rocket ship with the amount of disdain he feels from that comment alone. “Go on, sell me another.”
“I mean it, Jason. The controlling shit is because he worries. He can’t keep you safe the way he can with the younger kids, so he lashes out.”
“Even if that were true, that’s not an excuse for being an asshole. I shouldn’t have to put up with Bruce’s lack of emotional regulation skills,” he snaps angrily. “And I’m not even buying your bullshit anyway. You know that if any of the rest of you had done the exact same thing, it wouldn’t have even been an issue. He only lost his shit because it was me.”
On the other side of the line, Dick sighs. “Come on, Jay. You don’t exactly make it easy.”
“Fuck you, Dick,” Jason snarls, caught off guard by the actual hurt that blooms in his chest at Dick’s words. How dare he make this Jason’s fault. Jason, who had gotten the job done the only way he reasonably could, who had avoided all casualties despite not agreeing with the morals of sparing henchmen of supervillains trying to create a massacre. Only to be immediately attacked by Bruce the second he’d entered the cave.
Dick sighs again like it’s Jason being difficult. Like if Jason could just put up and shut up, then they could all be one big happy family. Like he’s the one fucking it up for the rest of them. “Jay, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“The fuck you didn’t,” Jason says bitterly. “You know what? This time B’s actually right. I’m done working with any of you. Stay the fuck away from me and don’t fucking contact me.” With that, he ends the call and disconnects himself from the Bats’ comm lines.
*****
It takes a few hours for Jason to calm down, but eventually he does. He doesn’t know why he’s still surprised when things go poorly for him with the others. It’s happened enough times that he really should just expect it at this point. And he certainly shouldn’t let their shitty behavior get to him the way it does. It just gets so frustrating, always being framed as the irrational one. The unreasonable one, when he’s not doing anything unreasonable at all. He really can’t take the hypocrisy.
But…
A break from collaborating with the bats does present a unique opportunity. One that Jason intends to take advantage of. Because, well, there’s something that’s been percolating in Jason’s mind for weeks. Something he’s been completely unable to move past. Something he hasn’t been able to confirm or test because he’s just been too busy. But now… now that the opportunity has presented itself to him, he can’t stop thinking about it.
Jason hasn’t said a word about it to a single soul. Not the bats, not Roy or the other Outlaws, not Talia. But… he might be immortal. You see, aside from the first time he died with the Joker, Jason can name six other incidents where he should have died. Six instances where he lost consciousness, but somehow, despite the lack of medical intervention, woke up a couple of days later, somewhat healed and still breathing. A couple of times, he should have bled out. Another time, he should have drowned. And, well, it’s happened too many times now for Jason to ignore it. At this point, he’s beyond suspicious. He also really, for reasons he can’t explain, needs to know for certain.
Whatever anyone might say about it later, it’s not a rash decision when Jason chooses to put his immortality to the test. He’s spent weeks thinking about it, actually. Weeks where he can’t quite put it out of his mind. He’s even been wearing a heart monitor on patrol for a while now, just in case he has a potential death on the job. But after a month with no close calls, he’s starting to get impatient. And now he has the perfect opportunity to put it to the test himself. Because for the first time in far too long, he’s going to be Bat free for a bit. After that blowout in the Cave with Bruce, no one is going to question not hearing from him for a while, and all he really needs in a few days.
He sits on the idea for twenty-four hours just to be sure it’s something he really wants to risk, but after twenty-four hours he feels just as compelled as before. So he decides to go for it. After all, there’s no one to stop him.
At first, he considers an overdose because, as far as deaths go, it seems easy and relatively painless if done right. But then he thinks about Catherine and he just can’t go through with it. Next, he considers a gunshot to the head, but decides that it’s just too much damage and cleanup. Poison is too similar to an overdose, and so many of them are actually quite brutal deaths so it too is discarded. Therefore, at the end of the day after a lot of deliberation, Jason decides to slit his wrists.
The mess will be an issue, and he wants to make the clean up as easy as possible. He considers doing it in the bathtub at first, but if he’s out for hours or even a day or so, that’s going to be so incredibly uncomfortable when he wakes up. Instead, he covers his bed with a plastic tarp so that the blood will be easier to clean up afterwards. He ensures his operations will run just fine without him for the next few days, and then he makes himself comfy against a pile of pillows and takes one of his sharpest knives to his wrist.
He hasn’t yet reached the veins when there’s an alarmed shout from the doorway of his bedroom.
Jason jumps and drops the knife in his surprise, looking up in horror to see Batman standing there in full regalia. It’s the worst possible thing that could have happened, and it’s so completely unexpected that Jason just sits, frozen in horror.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he eventually manages to say, because he knows that it looks bad. So bad. He can tell by the man’s expression that Bruce thinks he just caught Jason in a suicide attempt. Which, he did to be fair, but not a real one. Not in the way Bruce thinks. “This really isn’t what it looks like,” he swears again earnestly.
His words spur Bruce to action though, and with a few angry steps, he’s looming over Jason. The knife is snatched and tossed away before Jason can even react, and then Bruce is pulling out medical supplies from his belt and getting to work. Jason tries to pull his arm away, but Bruce holds fast and aggressively starts cleaning the wound.
“Bruce. Bruce, calm down,” Jason urges, a little frantic. “It’s fine!”
And it is. Mostly. It’s deep, but he didn’t get far enough to do any real damage, though it is bleeding steadily. It will definitely need stitches, but his veins are intact so he’s not currently in any danger.
“Don’t,” Bruce barks furiously and Jason’s mouth snaps closed. He sits there feeling vaguely like a chastised child as Bruce pulls out supplies to stich up his wrist, including an injection. Jason frowns at it in confusion.
“I don’t need an anesthetic for stitches, Bruce. I’m not a child.”
“It’s not an anesthetic,” Bruce growls and he doesn’t even give Jason a moment to process his words before he’s stabbing the needle into the side of Jason’s neck.
“Wait, what?! Bruce!”
But the drug is already working and Jason slumps back against the pillows, unable to hold himself upright. He blinks up at the intense and furious face of Batman looming over him and has a brief realization of just how much he’s fucked up.
“Oh shit.”
It’s his last thought before he sinks into darkness.
*****
Jason can’t remember falling asleep, but he knows what it feels like to wake up from being drugged. He stays still and keeps his breath steady because he’s not an amateur. He knows the drill; don’t give yourself away and try to gather as much intel as you possibly can before they know you’re awake. Only, he doesn’t usually wake up on something soft and comfortable, and he can smell the familiar mineral rich, damp of the Batcave. He racks his brain trying to remember what landed him in the medbay this time. He’s confused because he vaguely remembers fighting with the Bats, so by all accounts he should be in one of his own safe houses instead of the cave.
It’s the dull ache of his wrist that eventually triggers the memory for him. He’d been at home, finally about to test his immortality. He’d had a blade to his wrist when Bruce arrived. He remembers the intensity of Bruce’s face, the fear, the anger. He remembers Bruce drugging him.
Dread fills him and he opens his eyes only to come face to face with the horrifying realization that he is in a cell.
“Aw fuck,” he says with feeling, dragging himself into a sitting position, head reeling from the after effects of the sedative. He’s on a thick, heavy cushion made of a durable fabric. He has a few pillows and blankets, but other than that there’s nothing else in the cell. He’s dressed in soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. The most horrifying thing though, is that he’s in the cell that has a small bathroom attached to it. Meaning Bruce doesn’t plan on letting him out anytime soon.
“Fuck!” he drops back down on the mattress and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Jason,” Bruce’s voice sounds in the cell. Jason doesn’t remove his hands from his face to see if Bruce is standing on the other side of the glass or if he’s just speaking into a microphone. Frankly at this point it doesn’t fucking matter.
“Bruce. Bruce, what the fuck?”
“You’re officially on suicide watch. You will be monitored twenty-four seven. If you do anything that even appears like you’re trying to harm yourself, a sedation gas will be deployed in the cell. If you remove the bandages or stitches on your wrist, the same will happen.”
“Bruce,” Jason laments, still into his hands as he lies on his back on the mattress. “Bruce, I’m not suicidal.”
Bruce ignores him. “There’s a bottle of water by your bed. Drink it. You need fluids.”
“I’m not suicidal, Bruce,” he tries again.
“Alfred will be by in an hour to bring you breakfast.”
“Bruce, please just listen to what I’m saying,” he damn near begs.
“Cassandra and Stephanie are covering patrol for Crime Alley. Get some rest.”
“Wait, Bruce! Bruce!” he calls, but there’s nothing but silence. He gives a loud shout of frustration as the reality of his situation really, truly sets in. He’s on a bat enforced psychiatric hold. And he’s somehow going to have to convince Bruce that he’s not suicidal when the man walked in on him cutting his own wrist on a plastic tarp covered bed. He lets his arms finally drop down onto the mattress and blinks up desolately at the rock above him. “This is, without a doubt, the stupidest situation I’ve ever gotten myself into. I’m going to hear about this one for the rest of eternity.”
It’s a very grim future that is waiting for him.
*****
The first couple of hours he absolutely sulks. Partly because he’s still a big groggy from the drugs, and partly because there’s nothing else for him to do. He racks his brain on how to get out of this situation, but the problem lies in deciding what’s worse; letting them believe he’s suicidal or telling them the truth—that he was testing his immortality without any guarantee that he’s actually immortal. They’re going to be furious. But currently, they’re keeping him locked in what is basically a padded cell with a knockout switch. So that’s not great. But he also doesn’t want to be yelled at. And he is going to be yelled at, but he can’t just let them believe he’s suicidal indefinitely. But they’re also not going to believe he’s not. Not unless he does something drastic. Like let Wonder Woman use the lasso of truth on him. And that sounds absolutely horrible, but it’s the only way Bruce will believe him.
But does he even want Bruce to believe him? There’s something he’s barely admitted to himself and certainly has no intention of admitting to Bruce, but the reason why he’s so stuck on his potential deaths, the reason he needs to confirm the fact that he’s functionally immortal, is because one of Jason’s potential deaths had involved Batman. He’s barely let himself think it, but he needs to know if his own father killed him. And Bruce never needs to know that this is something Jason has even considered. No one ever needs to know. No one other than Jason, at least.
It’s just… it would be some weird full circle shit for Jason, for his birth mother to hand him over to the Joker to be killed and for his adopted father to let him die in order to keep the Joker alive. He’s barely let himself think it, but even so, it’s been contaminating the deepest darkest corners of Jason’s mind for weeks. He has to know. But Bruce can’t. And that presents a very real problem, because how on earth is he going to convince them that he’s not suicidal without revealing the truth?
There’s no winning here. There’s no scenario where Jason comes out of this unscathed. His brutalized soul is going to be dragged out and bared for every Bat to see and he absolutely hates it. Just the thought is enough for him to contemplate actual suicide.
Because, well, that would clean things up nicely, actually. Jason could kill himself, then the bats would understand when he wakes back up a day or so later without Jason having to explain shit. But Bruce’s done his job too well. In this cell, there’s no way for Jason to kill himself short of slamming his head into a wall and he’d barely be able to give himself a concussion before someone deployed the sedation gas. Which would leave Jason very much alive but with a massive headache. Not exactly a desirable outcome.
There really is no way out of here. Jason really is screwed.
He has no idea how long he’s been lying there contemplating his fate before Dick eventually approaches the cell. He looks like he’s been through the ringer, face pale, eyes a little red, shoulders braced for a hit that’s not coming. Jason groans internally as he realizes that Dick is blaming himself, is blaming the fight they’d had for Jason’s actions.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters to himself, hauling himself up into a sitting position. He looks up at Dick, unwilling to stand for whatever the other man wants to say.
“Hey, Jay,” Dick says, smile brittle and voice fragile. He holds up a book and Jason’s chest twinges a little as he realizes it’s Pride and Prejudice. “I brought you something. Figured you might be bored.”
“I am bored,” he agrees immediately. “But I’m not suicidal.”
Dick’s expression cracks a little more. “Jay.”
“I’m not, Dick. I swear I’m not,” he says as earnestly as he possibly can.
“Jason, I saw the cowl footage. I literally saw you on your bed that you prepped with plastic with a knife to your wrist.”
“I know,” Jason nods solemnly, because yeah, he gets it. He knows how bad it looks. “But I’m not suicidal.”
Dick apparently decides he doesn’t have anything to say to that since he so very clearly doesn’t believe Jason. Instead, he gathers himself up and says, “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like I saw you as the problem when it comes to you and Bruce.”
“Oh my god,” Jason groans flopping back down on the mattress and gripping his hair in exasperation. “I can’t believe you think I tried to kill myself because of a fight with Bruce! That’s fucking insulting. Not to mention embarrassing.”
“You’re right; it’s not fair that I put the expectation on you to be reasonable and not on Bruce.”
Jason stands up roughly and stalks towards the bulletproof glass wall. “Dick. I did not try to kill myself because of an argument with Bruce or an argument with you. I was pissed at you. Hell, I’m still pretty pissed at you. It’s not fair that just because Bruce is more difficult, you put the pressure on me to compromise. But I did not try to kill myself because of you or because of Bruce.”
Dick doesn’t quite look like he believes him, but he musters a small smile. “Okay, Jason.”
“Ugh,” Jason grumbles, disgusted that he’s even in this position. “So how long is this gonna go on, anyway? A standard psychiatric hold is seventy-two hours. Is Bruce going to transfer me to Arkham or something? Because I promise that won’t go well for anyone. Although at this point, the Joker will be more in danger of dying than I will,” Jason muses, head tilting in consideration. It would certainly be making the best out of a bad situation.
“Of course Bruce isn’t putting you in Arkham!” Dick exclaims, looking shocked that Jason would even think that.
Jason rolls his eyes. “Probably because he doesn’t trust that Arkham could hold me. Can’t hold anyone else, after all. And let’s face it, I’m much smarter than the rogues anyway. I’d be out in a matter of hours.” He thinks about it for another moment and realizes how easily he’d be able to break out just by following through with his suicide attempt. They’d move him out of a cell, and he would wake up a day or so later in a morgue somewhere. “Already know how I’d do it, actually. Hell, I might be able to take out the clown while I’m there.”
Dick grimaces. “You’re definitely not going to Arkham so none of that is happening.”
“So he’s just going to keep me here forever?”
“Obviously not forever. Just for a little while. And then he’s going to want you to stay at the Manor for a while after that.”
“I’m not suicidal, Dick.”
Dick just gives the same small, brittle smile. “Okay, Little Wing.”
Jason groans in frustration. “Just give me the book. And also, I’m hungry.”
“I’ll tell Alfred,” Dick promises, passing the book through the open slot of the cell.
Jason takes it and watches Dick go, feeling grumpy. “Don’t suppose I could have my cellphone, huh?” he asks the empty cell, knowing someone is listening. If he’s going to be stuck lying around and doing nothing, it might be nice to at least talk to Roy a bit.
“No,” Bruce’s voice sounds through a speaker somewhere.
Jason rolls his eyes. “One of the drawbacks of being legally dead is that there’s nothing stopping you from violating my civil rights through nonconsensual false imprisonment. You could at least give me some entertainment. Letting me talk to Roy isn’t going to change anything here.”
“Is that part of it? You being legally dead? Not having an identity? I thought it’s what you wanted, but I can see now how it has contributed to your isolation.”
“Oh my God. I’m not suicidal, Bruce!” Jason exclaims in exasperation. This is all embarrassing enough without the others trying to guess reasons why Jason decided to kill himself.
“I have multiple options in place for reviving the identity of Jason Todd. We can discuss them later.”
For a brief moment, Jason considers hurling the book at the wall in rage. But it’s Pride and Prejudice, and even if it wasn’t, Jason doesn’t damage books. So instead he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before marching back to the mattress that he’s pretty sure is actually a futon cushion and sits down. Grumbling to himself, he opens the book and starts to read.
*****
Sometime later Alfred brings him a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. It’s served on a paper plate, something Jason knows Alfred has only allowed because of his “suicidal” state, and the only utensil he’s been given is a silicone spoon. Again, Jason sighs, but Alfred sits on the other side of the glass and eats breakfast and drinks tea with him. They don’t discuss anything serious and don’t acknowledge Jason’s current predicament at all. Instead, they discuss the most recent books they’ve read.
The rest of the day follows the same pattern. Jason lies around and reads, Barbara comes by to eat lunch with him, and then Dick reappears to eat dinner with him. Cass, Tim, Steph, Duke, and Damian don’t make an appearance. Bruce technically doesn’t either, only speaks to him through the speakers in the cell, but he does so frequently enough that Jason’s absolutely certain he hasn’t taken one single break from monitoring him.
Jason gets restless early on and does as much of a workout as he is able to without any equipment, but it’s nowhere near the caliber of his normal workout routine so it doesn’t do much for the restlessness. Which means that when it’s time to sleep, Jason lies on the futon feeling wide awake and rather annoyed about it.
“Can I at least get a gym pass or something?” he asks, knowing Bruce is listening.
“No, but you can have melatonin.”
His dreams get absolutely unsettling with melatonin and he’d rather not sleep at all. “Ugh, and have the Joker appear as my ceiling demon? Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Chamomile tea?” Bruce offers, uncharacteristically hesitant.
Jason sighs, “Yeah, alright.”
Bruce brings him the cup (paper) himself and it’s the first time Jason’s laid eyes on him since the man caught him in the act in his safe house. Jason wonders briefly at the lack of fury at the sight of him. Usually, it only takes seeing the older man for anger, bitterness, and resentment to surge up in him and lash out, but now with Bruce standing on the other side of the cell that he put Jason in, Jason just feels empty. And maybe it’s because of how rough Bruce looks. He’s barefoot in sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt, and both look rather lived in. He’s pale and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he’s aged a few years in the last couple of days. The difference between him now and a few days ago when they were screaming at each other a few yards away is so stark that Jason would almost believe this Bruce is from a different dimension altogether.
“You look like shit,” Jason says, accepting his cup of tea. It’s warm in his hand and he can tell by the amount of steam that it’s too hot to safely sip yet. “Have you slept?”
Bruce grunts but doesn’t truly answer.
Jason tries to summon anger or even irritation or frustration, but he can’t. He’s just… tired. Tired of the fact that their relationship is so rocky that they’ve somehow gotten to this point. That Bruce would put him in a cell because he can’t trust Jason not to hurt himself. Bruce walked in on his son slitting his own wrist not too long ago. Regardless of whether or not Jason is truly suicidal, he knows that’s a traumatizing thing to witness, and in this moment, he is capable of a little bit of empathy for the man.
“Are you going to sleep?” he asks. Bruce says nothing.
Jason takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. I know you’re not going to believe anything I say, not right now at least. So me promising not to try anything tonight won’t mean anything to you. I can understand and respect that. So I’m willing to give you a freebie. Tonight and tonight only I will take a sedative so you can rest assured that I will be sleeping and not getting up to anything dangerous so you can actually get some fucking sleep. And then maybe after that when you have your head screwed on straight, we can make some progress here.”
For a long moment, Bruce doesn’t say anything. He just stays locked in on Jason, evaluating. Finally, he says, “There’s a sedative in the tea.”
Jason rolls his eyes immediately. “Of fucking course. Can’t just have a conversation, no, gotta drug the tea. Weren’t even going to tell me, asshole.” Still, he takes a sip of it. And then he keeps taking sips of it until the paper cup is empty. He can already feel the drowsiness coming on as he hands the paper cup back over to Bruce, so he heads back over to his futon and lies down. “Go away now,” he says grumpily, rolling so that his back is facing Bruce. He’s asleep before he can even check that Bruce leaves.
*****
If there’s a positive to be found at all in this mess, it’s that Jason’s the most rested he’s been in years. Just a couple of nights of ten plus hours of sleep and a couple of days of lying around without crime fighting has Jason feeling settled and energized in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. The downside is that he is trapped in a cell in the Batcave and his whole family thinks he’s suicidal.
He’s still at a loss on what to do about that. He really doesn’t know what else to do other than call Wonder Woman and explain the whole thing while holding the lasso of truth. He really doesn’t want to do that though, so he’s racking his brain for any other option. Hoping something will just occur to him that will fix everything without him having to reveal his hand.
But then halfway through day two of his false imprisonment, Bruce arrives with a clipboard and a pen.
“What is this?” Jason asks suspiciously.
“Safety planning.”
“Oh my God,” Jason breathes, horrified.
“We need to develop a protocol for the next time you’re feeling like taking your life.”
“I’m not suicidal, Bruce.”
“We’ll start with gathering some general data.”
“I’m telling you; I’m not suicidal.”
“In the past two weeks, how often have you had thoughts about not wanting to be here or of taking your life?”
“I’m not suicidal!”
“Jason, we’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t communicate with me. Obviously, I’m not going to keep you in a cell forever. I just need to be sure you’re safe while we figure out a plan for how to deal with this issue moving forward. I need you to work with me on this,” Bruce says, firm but earnest.
“And I need you to actually listen to me, Bruce. I am not suicidal. The only thoughts of not wanting to be here I’m having are because I’m stuck in a prison cell with you trying to talk to me about my feelings! They’re not thoughts of wanting to die, they’re thoughts of wanting to be on the opposite side of the planet from you!”
Bruce nods. “It’s good that you’re not experiencing suicidal thoughts right now. Let’s talk about the thoughts you were having two nights ago.”
“Oh my God.”
“In the past two weeks, how many times have you had thoughts of wanting to die?” Bruce tries again.
“None,” Jason says honestly. He’d had thoughts of wanting to know for sure whether or not he’s immortal, not thoughts of wanting to be dead. “I’m not suicidal.”
Bruce looks frustrated and he sighs as he stands up. “Okay, if you’re not ready to talk about this right now, we can try again later. Would you like another book?”
Jason rakes his hands down his face. He’s going to have to do it. He’s going to have to get Bruce to call Wonder Woman. This is awful. “Bruce, please listen to me. I really am not suicidal. I promise I’m not.”
“Jason,” he sighs tiredly.
But before he can say anything more, Tim’s voice sounds through the speakers. “So I’ve noticed something. You’ve said about a million times now that you’re not suicidal. But you haven’t once said you weren’t trying to kill yourself.”
Jason stiffens a little and Bruce’s gaze sharpens in a very Batman like way.
“That is… accurate,” Jason finally admits.
“So you’re not suicidal but you were trying to kill yourself?”
“Technically.”
“Explain that, please.”
Jason slumps in defeat. “Okay… okay, I guess there’s really not another choice at this point. But before we do this, call Wonder Woman,” Jason tells Bruce firmly. “There’s no way you guys are going to believe me without some sort of certainty and the lasso of truth is probably our best bet on that one.”
“You want me to call Wonder Woman?” Bruce repeats, disbelieving.
“Unless you can think of another way to be completely certain that what I’m telling you is the truth, yes. I’d rather not have to argue my case without having any way of proving it. That won’t go well for any of us.”
Bruce considers that for a moment and then gives a brisk nod before turning and walking away. “I’ll call Wonder Woman.”
“I’m still stuck on this,” Tim’s voice sounds in the space once more. “You were trying to kill yourself, but you didn’t want to die?”
“Two things can be true at once, Timothy.”
“This is going to be a shitshow, isn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“Great.”
*****
Wonder Woman can’t come immediately.
“Two days,” Bruce says stoically.
Jason stares, unimpressed. “And you’re not going to let me out in the meantime,” he guesses.
“No.”
“I’m not suicidal, but two more days in this cell and I will be, Bruce.” At Bruce’s glare, Jason smirks a little at his joke, “Too soon?”
“Would you like another book?”
“Yeah, the Brothers Karamazov.”
“Patricide?”
“What can I say? I’m feeling inspired.”
“I’ll bring it down.”
*****
The next two days feel like they drag on and on. Jason can’t remember ever being this bored. He misses the outdoors, he misses being able to do a full work out, he misses swinging through Gotham. His mood deteriorates fairly rapidly despite having a steady stream of both books and visitors. Damian, Duke, Steph, and Cass still don’t appear. Tim technically doesn’t either, just pops in occasionally over speaker. Alfred and Barbara are good visitors. Bruce and Dick, Jason could do without. He’s sick of not being believed. He’s even sicker of being treated like he’s fragile.
Finally, finally, after the four longest days of Jason’s life, Wonder Woman arrives and Jason’s let out of the cell.
“Thank you for coming,” he tells her honestly as they get settled at the conference table with a tray of tea. “I think Bruce would have kept me in there forever otherwise.”
“Not forever,” Bruce frowns at him.
“Well, I’m glad I can be of assistance,” Diana says kindly.
It’s him, Jason, Diana, and Dick at the table. Tim had wanted to join but been denied by Bruce. Jason has no doubt that he’s got a bug planted somewhere, and will be listening in on the entire conversation. Which means that Damian, Cass, Steph, and Duke will also be listening in as well. Alfred too, probably. God forbid there be anything remotely resembling privacy in this shitty family.
“Let’s get started,” Diana says, focusing on Jason. “I’m going to loosely wrap the lasso around your wrist. So long as you’re touching it, you will be compelled to speak the truth. You will be completely unable to lie. If you try to resist the power of the lasso, it will be painful so if there’s a question you don’t want to answer, pull your wrist out of the lasso instead of resisting. I don’t want you to be hurt. Now I recognize that this is a matter between you and your father, so I’ll stay silent unless spoken to directly.”
“Got it,” Jason says, offering her the wrist that doesn’t have the stitches.
Once the lasso is in place, Dick says, “We should ask a control question. Who is your favorite brother?” He’s putting on a good front, but he’s still looking pale and a bit fragile around the eyes, like he still believes his younger brother tried to commit suicide and he’s partly at fault. Jason feels a bit bad for him, honestly, even if he is still being a little shit.
“Dick,” Bruce sighs tiredly.
“Changes depending on who’s irritating me the least at the time,” Jason answers honestly.
Dick smiles, still fragile, but pushes, “Who’s your favorite brother right now?”
Jason sighs but doesn’t try to lie. “You.” Dick’s eyes light up for the first time since this whole mess began. “Don’t let it go to your head, Wing. I’m sure you’ll piss me off again sooner rather than later.”
He feels a little bad when the statement apparently reminds Dick of their argument the other night, because he seems to fade again.
“For fuck’s sake,” Jason mutters.
“Jason,” Bruce says, taking over. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”
Jason grimaces. “I was testing a theory.”
“Testing?” Bruce repeats, disbelieving. “What theory?”
Jason’s expression twists even more, and he braces himself. This is going to be so, so bad. “I’m pretty sure I’m immortal.”
For a long moment there’s silence, the distant drip of cave damp and the occasional bat the only sounds in the place. Finally, Bruce speaks. “You think you’re immortal?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not sure?”
“I’m like ninety-five percent sure.”
“So you decided to test it?”
“Yes.”
“By killing yourself?”
“Yes.”
Dick’s hands abruptly slam down on the table as he jumps to his feet. “I could wring your fucking, neck, Jason!” he snarls. “You aren’t sure?! You tried to kill yourself! What would have happened if you were wrong?!”
“So you can see why I didn’t really want to tell you,” Jason says. “If I could have figured out how to get out of that cell without us having this conversation, trust me I would have.”
“You could have died! And stayed dead!”
“If it helps, I’m almost positive I wouldn’t have stayed dead.”
“Almost isn’t good enough and no that doesn’t help!”
“Did you want to stay dead?” Bruce cuts in, gaze sharp and expression completely stony. Jason has no idea what he’s thinking. Bruce is locked completely down.
“Honestly? I didn’t even think about it,” Jason answers. “I was so sure about this that I didn’t really truly consider staying dead as a possibility, so I didn’t think through whether it was a possibility I was okay with.”
“I can’t believe you!” Dick snarls, still furious.
“Tell me why you think you’re immortal,” Bruce cuts back in since it’s clear that Dick is so livid that he can’t have an actual conversation at the moment.
“I think I’ve died another six times since the original death via the Joker.”
That stops Dick’s fury short. “What?”
Jason grimaces because he doesn’t want to talk about all six of the potential deaths. But when does Jason ever get what he wants? Never. The answer is never.
“Yeah. I didn’t notice at first, but they started to get more obvious. And then I started wearing a heart monitor to see if I could confirm it that way, but I went weeks without any sort of incident. Then I realized I could go months or even years without something happening, and I wanted to know for sure. And since I was so sure, I decided to test it out myself.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if you would have stayed dead?” Dick demands again.
Jason shrugs. “Then I would have stayed dead.”
Dick drops back down into his chair, looking pale and shaky. “And you’re not suicidal?”
“I don’t actively want to die and stay dead,” Jason offers. “I don’t even particularly want to die even if I do wake back up. I just want to know for sure. But I’m also at peace with the concept of death. Just something about life that we have to accept. All of us will die and stay dead eventually. Except maybe me, but the full ramifications of what that might mean is not something I’m ready to think about or process so no existential discussions today please.”
“Lay out your evidence,” Bruce demands. “Six potential deaths, what is the first one?”
Jason makes a face. “Do I really have to go through them all?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, fine. Two happened while I was doing Talia’s whole train around the world plan.”
“Talia’s what?” Dick demands, stiffening again.
“After she shoved me in the Lazarus Pit, she started ferrying me around the world to train with different criminal masters of various fields. Bomb making, snipers, poisoners, torturers, etc. I was still pretty unstable from the Pit and a lot of them were really horrible people—like traffickers and pedophiles horrible—so I started killing them,” Jason says, ignoring the look of horror on Dick’s face and the slightly gray tinge to Bruce’s. “I was with one of the sniper trainers in the desert and turns out he’d heard through the grapevine that I had killed the last three trainers I’d been with, so he decided to strike first. Drugged my water, then caught me off guard and strangled me before I could react. I remember losing consciousness. I woke back up buried under some sand. Luckily it was pretty shallow so not too hard to dig my way out of, but when I hauled myself up out of the ground, it was nighttime. Had to hike my way out of the desert and track the fucker down. He looked completely shocked when I shot him. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Thought he just didn’t realize he hadn’t finished the job, but somewhere in that whole thing I lost two whole days. Thought I’d just gotten confused. It didn’t occur to me that I might have actually been dead until way later.”
His next potential death was thanks to the poisoner. Similar situation where he’d gotten the jump on Jason. At the time, Jason had thought there’d been enough lingering effects of the Lazarus Pit to combat the poison. But again, he’d lost a whole day and a half while he was unconscious. Again, it wasn’t until much later that he considered he might have actually been dead.
The third potential death was with Batman and the Joker. The batarang to the neck. Jason had been bleeding pretty heavily when the bomb went off. He’d managed to stumble his way out of the building and get back to a safe house. But he’d passed out soon after that and hadn’t woken up for two whole days. Jason has no intention of sharing that one though, so he moves on to the fourth death.
That one involved getting separated from the Outlaws while in space and getting shot by an alien blaster. Jason woke up in a ditch sometime later and by the time he got back to Arsenal and Starfire, he realized he’d lost three days between being shot by an alien and waking up in that ditch.
“That’s about when I started putting two and two together that something wasn’t quite right,” Jason tells them. “I found out when I reunited with Arsenal and Starfire that that blaster should have been instant death for humans. The earlier deaths I had brushed off as Lazarus Pit side effects. But by that point it’d been months since I’d felt any influence from the Lazarus Pit so I checked in with Talia and she said it should have been completely out of my system. So that was the first incident that didn’t have any easy explanation.”
The next had been another bleeding out incident. There’d been a mass event that had required all hands on deck. Jason had taken a significant laceration to the side. Normally he would have stopped and taken care of it, but he’d been caught up rescuing civilians. By the time things were finally winding down, Jason was barely conscious. He couldn’t even make it back to his safe house. He’d managed to stumble his way into an abandoned building and barely managed to hide himself before he passed out.
He’d woken up two days later.
“Oh my God,” Dick breathes in horror. “We couldn’t find you after that. Your tracker had gone offline and you weren’t at any of your safe houses. I yelled at you when you finally turned up! I chewed you out and stormed off and you just let me!”
“What was I going to say?” Jason huffs in irritation. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I was dead there for a while? You wouldn’t have believed me. I barely believed it myself at that point.”
“You could have said you were hurt! That you couldn’t contact us because you were unresponsive!”
Jason frowns and considers how much he wants to say. He has the unique experience of being able to say anything and Bruce and Dick will know for sure it’s the truth. Well, the truth according to Jason, at least. So he could use the opportunity to advocate for himself in a space where they might actually listen for once. But that also sounds awful. And there’s always the possibility that knowing Jason believes what he’s saying won’t really mean anything. It’s possible that Jason advocates for himself and nothing changes. It’s possible that they continue to think the worst of him.
“What is it? What do you want to say?” Dick asks him, reading him easily.
Jason’s frown twists a little more. “I don’t know that I want to say it,” he answers honestly.
“Say it anyway.”
Jason takes a deep breath and fists the lasso in his hand, focusing his attention on it instead of on Dick’s face. “I didn’t really see a point in trying, I guess. You all have a tendency to assume the worst whenever it comes to me. You assumed that the reason I hadn’t made contact was because I didn’t care if you guys had been worried or not. I didn’t think I would be able to convince you differently so why try? I was tired, I was still healing, you weren’t going to hear me out anyway, so why not just let you believe what you were going to believe?”
Jason hears Dick suck in a sharp breath, and he keeps his eyes down on the table and the Lasso of Truth that he’s fidgeting with.
“How often do you feel that way?” Dick asks quietly.
Jason shrugs, “A lot.” Then he scowls because it’s not what he meant to say.
“Fuck,” Dick says and Jason glances up in time to see him sit back in his chair and run his hands over his face. “The timing of this experiment of yours… it was because of the fight with Bruce, wasn’t it?”
Jason shifts uncomfortably, feels the lasso begins to burn as he considers not answering. He gives in. “Yeah. Figured I wouldn’t be missed for a few days. All the others make themselves scarce after Bruce and I have a blowout. And you had already done your customary attempt to make Bruce’s bad behavior my fault. Usually, you don’t reach out for a few days after that, so I figured I had some breathing room.”
Dick sucks in another breath and keeps his head in his hands. “Okay. So Bruce and I did have something to do with you trying to kill yourself.”
“What? No—well, I mean, technically? But not in a ‘oh no, I’m sad, I’m going to kill myself’ way, but in a ‘I’m finally going to have some peace and won’t be disturbed for a few days’ kind of way. Only it didn’t work out that way because Batman walked in and now I’ve got this whole nightmare to deal with.”
Dick doesn’t lift his head from his hands and Jason stares at him, feeling uncomfortable by the obvious emotional turmoil of his older brother. He turns to Bruce, hoping for a little guidance only the man looks even grayer than before. He turns to Diana for help but she just gives him a sad smile and reaches out to squeeze his arm gently in support. Jason doesn’t know what to say so he says nothing.
“Tell us about the next one,” Bruce eventually says, voice ragged.
Jason does, only because the silence is awkward as hell and he’s ready for it to end. “It was that trafficking case I was working three months ago.” He’d ended up alone on the traffickers’ boat in the middle of the Sprang River. It had been a trap, and the boat had been rigged to blow. There were hostages though. Jason had managed to get them onto a lifeboat and on their way to shore, but he’d stayed below deck to defuse the bomb. But then the traffickers had shot a fucking torpedo at the boat. He’d taken damage and had been unable to reach the surface of the water. He’d blacked out as the ship was sinking. He woke up washed up on the shore miles south of Gotham two days later.
“That’s when it really truly sank in,” Jason admits. “I woke up on the riverbank vomiting water, still fucking drenched, and forty hours had passed since I’d been on that boat. Every other instance I could explain away. Maybe it was the Lazarus Pit. Maybe I had just passed out but I was still alive and came to a longer than usual time later. This instance I was in the hull of the boat when it was struck by a torpedo. I lost consciousness by drowning. I didn’t wash ashore quickly. I was in the water for almost two days before I washed ashore and woke up. There was no way I lived. I had to have died and then woke back up. Nothing else makes sense. I haven’t stopped thinking about it for three months.”
“You really believe you’ve died and come back to life all these times?” Dick asks.
“Yeah,” Jason says honestly. “I don’t know why. I still have no idea why I came back to life the first time around. I woke up in my coffin and had to break and dig my way out. I wasn’t completely healed though. I still had brain damage, broken bones. I was catatonic and wandering around Gotham for months before Talia found me, and in a hospital for weeks before that. Best Talia figures, it was around six months before I woke up in my coffin. And the other deaths have only been two to three days, which doesn’t make sense. But like the first time, none of my wounds are fully healed when I wake back up. It’s like they heal just enough for them to be survivable.”
“But why the hell would your first move be to test it by killing yourself?” Dick demands. “I get why you think you’re immortal, but killing yourself is way too risky of an approach! Why not try literally anything else?!”
“I told you that I wore a heart monitor for a while. I’m sure Bruce found on me when he drugged and kidnapped me.”
“We have magic contacts! Constantine, Zatanna! People we can consult!”
“You have magic contacts. And to contact them on my behalf, you’d have to take me seriously,” Jason points out, stopping Dick in his tracks. “Without this whole nightmare, without the lasso of truth, would you have believed me? Even now you might not think I’ve died more than once. You might just think that I believe it. Also, there’s the fact that I’m not actually all that comfortable with you guys in my business. Telling you what’s going on was definitely not my preference. It was just better than letting you guys believe I’m actually suicidal.”
“You only told us of five potential deaths,” Bruce says, yanking both his and Dick’s attention to him.
Jason’s hands fist tightly around the lasso. He’d been hoping neither of them noticed. He scowls. “Five’s all you’re getting.”
Bruce holds his gaze, but Jason doesn’t back down.
“Where do we go from here?” Dick asks, distracting them both. “You’re not truly wanting to die, but you don’t believe you stay dead and you want confirmation. Are you going to try again to test it yourself once you’re out of here?”
Jason hesitates because he doesn’t know. He hasn’t considered it because he’s been wrapped up with the immediate problem, but he can’t necessarily rule it out. He wants to know. He needs to know.
“Absolutely not,” Bruce growls. “We’ll consult with Zatanna and Constantine, see if they’re able to confirm it. You will not put your life on the line to test it.”
Jason considers arguing, but figures there’s no point. No way is Bruce letting him out of the Manor until they’ve found a way to confirm it without Jason dying first. It’s not worth fighting him over it. “Fine.”
“It’s clear based on everything we’ve learned today that you have not been following injury protocol since you’ve been operating in Gotham,” Bruce says stiffly. “That changes or the Red Hood is done in Gotham. This is not negotiable.”
Jason stiffens. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Bruce jerks forward and snags part of the lasso, gripping it tightly in his hand as he locks eyes with Jason. “No,” he says angrily. “You will follow our injury protocol from here on out or I will make my sole focus keeping you out of the field. Everything you do, every patrol you make, every task you take on as the Red Hood or any other alias, I will dedicate all of my time and energy to working against you so that you are able to do nothing. You start following injury protocol or you will not operate in Gotham. Are we clear?”
Jason feels his face contort into a snarl and he very briefly considers decking Bruce. But then Dick speaks, “Please, Jay. It’s the same for all of us, including Bruce. We all have to follow the injury protocol. It’s not about controlling you, it’s about keeping you safe.”
He doesn’t like it, but he knows that Dick has a point. The injury protocol exists for a reason and the reason is safety. And well, Bruce isn’t wrong. He hasn’t once followed it since his return to Gotham and look what’s happened. He’s died what… three times since he’s been in the city operating as the Red Hood?
“Fine,” he spits furiously. “I’ll follow the fucking injury protocol.”
“Recite it,” Bruce commands.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“He knows it,” Dick steps in. “And he will follow it. He’s holding the lasso, Bruce.”
Bruce holds Jason’s glare for a little while longer before his shoulders eventually relax and he releases the lasso and sits back in his chair. “You will not make another attempt to test your immortality yourself. You’ll wait to consult with Zatanna and Constantine and if we’re unable to get an answer from them, you will wait and collaborate with us on other avenues that don’t involve putting your life at risk. If you will agree to these terms, I won’t try to keep you in the cell.”
“Fine,” Jason growls in annoyance. “I agree to your terms.”
“The other death. It was the night with the Joker, wasn’t it? When you asked me to choose.”
Jason yanks his hands away from the lasso and sits back in his chair, putting physical distance between himself and the magical object. That is all the confirmation Bruce needs though. He shoves up from the table so abruptly that his chair topples over, and before Jason can string a thought together, Bruce is gone. Jason stares after him for a moment, blinking at the whiplash of it all. Beside him, Diana gathers up the lasso of truth and then places another hand on Jason’s arm.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to help you have this conversation,” she says genuinely. She then kisses his cheek before standing. “I’m going to go talk to Bruce before he does something drastic.”
“Thank you,” Dick tells her, tired but sincere,
“Yeah, thank you, Aunt Diana. This would have been a lot harder without you,” Jason agrees. She ruffles his hair affectionately then heads off deeper into the cave to find wherever Bruce disappeared to.
“Forget what Bruce said, I’m going to give you two options, Little Wing. Either you come up to the Manor, and you eat and sleep here tonight, or I go with you to your safe house and we both spend the night there. Either way, you’re not getting rid of me today.”
Jason feels like he went five rounds with Killer Croc. He wants to eat a hot meal on a real plate with actual utensils, he wants a shower, and he wants to sleep in a real bed without cameras watching his every move. He should want to do all of those things far away from the Manor and the rest of the bats, but the reality of the situation is he’s so drained that closer is better. “I’m tired. Let’s just go upstairs.”
“You got it. Let’s go get you some food.”
The others must have known to give Jason some space, because he doesn’t spot a single one of them. As soon as he’s up in the Manor, Alfred ferries him out to the patio where dinner is already set for three. Jason sits with Alfred and Dick and let’s himself breathe in the fresh air and relax a little. It’s a relief to be outdoors after so long spent underground.
“I’m so glad to hear you’ll be following the injury protocol from here on out, Master Jason,” Alfred says warmly, confirming the fact that the entire family had been listening in. “I’ll prepare you some updated med kits for your safe houses, and I’ll look forward to being able to personally ensure all of your injuries are taken care of from here on out.”
Jason sighs but doesn’t argue with the older man. He’s already agreed to it, and he knows Alfred shows his love by physically taking care of people and that he has struggled with Jason keeping his distance.
Other than that, there’s no talk of the incident that caused all of this. There’s no talk of work at all, actually. Just Alfred sharing about his garden and recipes he’s been trying. Jason talks about books he’s reading and some of his neighbors in Crime Alley. Dick talks about his gymnastics students, and it’s nice to just exist with them without feeling like he’s in trouble or being judged.
After dinner, Alfred walks him up to the family wing and Jason’s new room. Apparently, the older man had realized from the start that Jason wouldn’t want to stay in his childhood bedroom, so he’d had another one ready and waiting for years. It has bookshelves filled with Jason’s favorite books, a wardrobe full of clothes that fit him, and has clearly been cleaned and aired out regularly. It feels nice to realize that Jason’s been thought of even when he hasn’t been actively engaging with the family until recently.
Showering in the ensuite is infinitely better than showering in the cave. Since he’s not concerned about privacy, he takes his time and lets the hot water relax muscles that were stiff from sleeping on a futon. The bed is a thousand times more comfortable than the futon as well, and Jason falls asleep within two minutes of sinking into the mattress. It’s a bit surprising when no thoughts of Bruce and his third death keep him awake.
*****
He’s not sure what wakes him up, but something drags him out of a deep sleep. He can tell it’s still the middle of the night without even opening his eyes. He knows he should still be sleeping, but he wouldn’t have woken up without good reason. Something’s not quite right.
When he does open his eyes, he spots that something immediately; Bruce sitting in an armchair with Diana’s lasso glowing dimly in his hands.
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he mutters tiredly into his pillow. Why wouldn’t Bruce be sitting in the dark watching him sleep with a magic artifact in his hands? It’s such a completely sane thing for someone to do, after all.
“That night with the Joker, my hand slipped,” Bruce says, voice sounding rough and gravelly. The words send a shot of adrenaline straight down Jason’s spine and slowly he levers himself up into a sitting position to better face the man. “I was aiming for the gun,” Bruce continues. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about that moment since it happened, but it’s been many times. I did everything wrong that night and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“You don’t miss,” Jason frowns, not necessarily arguing, because Bruce is holding the lasso so he must believe what he’s saying, but that doesn’t change the fact that Bruce doesn’t miss.
“I have missed a handful of times as Batman. None as catastrophically as that night though. I was emotionally compromised and I knew it before I threw the batarang. I should have never thrown it in that state.”
“So why did you?” Jason asks, voice smaller than he’d like.
Bruce’s response is quiet, “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t kill the Joker for you. I can’t kill the Joker for you. I honestly wish I could, Jason. I wish I had been able to kill him from the start. I wish he was dead right now. After you died, he was in a helicopter crash. I could have saved him and I chose not to, fully believing he would die, fully wanting him to die. The first time he resurfaced after that, when I realized he wasn’t dead, I was furious and heartbroken all over again, because why did that monster get to come back while you were still dead? I thought about it then… killing him myself. But I couldn’t. The truth is, Jason, you’ve always been a better man than me, even if you do kill. You’re still better than I am. Your sense of justice is so strong that you can take a life and not lose yourself in it. The line you’ve drawn has never faltered. Granted, I still don’t agree with it and I wish you wouldn’t, but I don’t worry that one day you’ll go too far and lose that line. There are so many reasons why I don’t think any of us should be killing. There are so many reasons why I don’t want that on your shoulders and I wish you wouldn’t. But if any of us are going to kill, I trust you with it the most.”
“Bullshit,” Jason snaps immediately. Because it just has to be bullshit. No way they’ve been screaming and yelling at each other for years over Jason killing if Bruce trusts him with it the most. No way.
“Magical truth compelling lasso,” Bruce says, holding it up briefly to illustrate his point.
“There’s no way! What about Dick?”
“Dick has a temper.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “And I don’t? Am I supposed to pretend I haven’t listened to a million lectures about being how I’m such a reckless hothead?”
“When you lose your temper, you’re reckless with your own life,” Bruce contradicts. “As far as I know though, even when you were under the influence of the Lazarus Pit during your first return to Gotham, you never killed anyone because you lost your temper. Every person you killed, you weighed and measured and then you decided they needed to die. Not one kill was thoughtless or in the heat of the moment. I think if Dick started killing, that could potentially be an issue for him. Dick’s also emotional. It’s not a bad thing, but sometimes his emotions cloud his sense of justice. Your emotions fuel your sense of justice. There’s a difference.”
“And Tim? Damian?”
“Tim’s practicality is one of his strengths. It can also be a weakness when taken too far. It could be too easy for killing to turn into something where the ends justify the means. Damian, like you, has a very strong since of justice. He would draw a line, but there would be no exceptions. No room for nuance. And I honestly don’t think he’d be as merciful as you are in where he would draw his line. And Cassie… it would hurt her too much for her to kill ever again, I would never want that for her. Duke’s sense of justice is strong. I think he could draw a line and stick with it like you do, but he's still young and that's too much to have on his shoulders. I don’t want that for him, just like I don’t want that for you or for any of the others.”
“And you?” Jason asks, curious of how Bruce sees himself.
“I told you, your sense of justice is much clearer than mine. If I started killing, I wouldn’t know how or where to stop,” Bruce says seriously. “If I killed the Joker, I think I would then kill the Scarecrow. And then maybe their henchmen. I don’t know where and if I would stop.
Jason thinks of his journey through the multiverse with Kyle and Donna after the Batman/Joker debacle, when he’d still been trying to figure out what was next after all his plans went to hell. He thinks about the universe where Bruce killed the Joker and then never stopped killing. How deeply depressing and unsettling that world had been. He nods in agreement.
“Yeah, I’ve been to one of those universes, actually. It wasn’t pretty.”
Bruce looks startled, “What? When?”
“After our showdown in Gotham, before I came back the next time. Did some involuntary multiversal travel. Saw a lot of different universes.”
For a moment Bruce looks lost, and then he just looks sad. “There’s so much about your life that I don’t know. I’d like to change that.”
Jason shifts, uncomfortable, then gets them back on track. “Okay, so the batarang to the throat was an accident. You didn’t mean to cut my throat in order to save the Joker. Why the hell did you haul him out of the rubble and not me?”
“I told you; everything I did that night was a mistake. I handled everything terribly. My only thought was getting the Joker away from you, and I needed to be sure he was secure so he couldn’t get away and then come back and find you. Once I had him secured, I came back for you, but you were already gone. I saw the blood and was terrified, but I couldn’t find the trail. I searched for you for hours but couldn’t find you. I didn’t sleep for the next three days after that,” Bruce admits.
Jason takes in the words and evaluates them with a perspective that he hadn’t had when he was a teenager hopped up on Lazarus Pit madness, desperate to have his dad prove that he was loved, cared for, and missed. Of course, it was never going to go the way Jason wanted it to, and it was so easy to see that now. But back then, he hadn’t been able to see anything clearly. And there’d been Talia’s influence as well as the issue of Sheila’s betrayal muddying the waters further.
“Sheila sold me out to the Joker. That’s what happened when I died. She handed me over to him.”
Bruce’s expression rapidly pales. “And then you thought I purposefully cut your throat to save the Joker’s life.”
Jason gives a small, self-deprecating shrug. “Willis abused me, Catherine chose drugs over me, Sheila handed me over to a monster to die, and you forgot about me. Replaced me within months of me being in the ground. I was desperate for you to prove I had at least one parent that I mattered to.” “And then I blew it in the worst possible way,” Bruce realizes, voice thick. He closes his eyes and takes slow, deep breaths, very clearly trying to get his emotions back under control. “I’m sorry, Jason. I’m so sorry.”
Jason looks down, gives another shrug. “I didn’t exactly make it easy for you.”
“You’re the child in this relationship. It’s not your job to make it easy.”
“God, where’d you get that, a parenting book?” Jason scoffs, eyes a little damp
“Yes.”
Jason can’t help but huff out a laugh.
“Diana is lending me her lasso until morning. What else do you want to ask me?” Bruce offers after a few moments of silence.
Jason thinks it through. He’s already feeling antsy with how emotional the conversation has been so far. Part of him wants to end it and kick Bruce out. But then again, when else is he going to have the opportunity to ask Bruce whatever questions he wants to and know Bruce’s answers are the truth? So as uncomfortable as this has been, there are things Jason really wants to know.
“Why did you replace me after I died?”
“I didn’t.”
Jason glares, unamused. “You very obviously did.”
“Tim isn’t your replacement, and he wasn’t your replacement then either. After you died, I didn’t want another Robin or another son. I didn’t want Tim. I tried to drive him off more than once. They all decided without me—Tim, Dick, Barbara, and Alfred. They decided I was too unstable to operate without Robin, and Tim would not let himself be driven off. Eventually I grew to care about and appreciate Tim, but even then, I had no intention of adopting him. It was a long time before I came to see Tim as a son. Too long, honestly. But even when I did, he was never your replacement. You couldn’t ever be replaced.”
Jason’s not quite sure what to do with that. He doesn’t want to believe it. His brain is telling him that Bruce is lying, but he’s holding Diana’s lasso so it must be true. All of the sudden, Jason feels the need to test that it isn’t a trick, that it’s really the Lasso of Truth that Bruce is holding. He holds out his hand and Bruce reads him easily, tossing him one end of the lasso. Jason wraps it idly around his fingers, feels the magic humming.
It’s real, which means everything Bruce has said tonight is true. Wild. Jason feels a strange urge to meet that honesty with some of his own. “Sometimes I wish I could have come home immediately. I don’t know how that would have worked. I was catatonic before the Pit and I was dangerously angry after it, but I wonder what it might have changed if I’d been able to come home immediately.”
“I will never forgive Talia for keeping you from me. And I will never forgive myself for not realizing you were out there and needed help,” Bruce growls darkly and Jason’s a little surprised by the strength of it.
“You didn’t know, Bruce. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“Talia was able to find you, which means I should have found you. Maybe I could have if I hadn’t been so unstable after your death.”
Jason doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything at all. Bruce seems to recognize that he needs a few moments to think, and he waits patiently for Jason to get his thoughts together. Eventually, what he lands on is, “I don’t really know where to go from here. I want to believe that things can be okay, that we can work together, have a relationship, but we’ve been failing at that for over a year now. I meant what I said earlier about you all assuming the worst of me. That fight a few days, ago… I know you wouldn’t have acted like that if it had been any of the others to make that decision. It’s because it was me that you freaked out like that. I’m tired of being attacked for no good reason.”
“You’re right that I handle it poorly,” Bruce allows after a moment of thought. “I want to start by saying that I’m not trying to excuse my behavior, but I do want to explain it. I worry about you more than any of the others. I worry about you constantly, actually. It’s not because you’re any less competent, but I’m not wrong either when I said you have a tendency to be reckless with your own life. Don’t even try to argue with me on that one, we went through multiple potential deaths earlier tonight,” he says with a dark look. Jason closes his mouth and concedes that Bruce might have a point. “When I freak out it’s because I’m caught up in the fear of what could have happened to you. It’s not as bad with the others because we’re more integrated. There’s a lot more communication throughout the process, either with me or with Barbara. By the time they do something like what you did, I know it’s coming, and I know it’s the right choice. I never know with you until after and I get stuck on what could have happened. It’s a control issue on my part, and I see that. You’re right that I shouldn’t take it out on you. I shouldn’t lose my temper before I even talk to you about it. I’ll work on it. Knowing that you’ll be following the injury protocol from here on out will help. It’ll be easier if you keep me more informed though.”
Jason frowns. “I think you should just not be an ass regardless of what I do or don’t do.”
Bruce stiffens for a moment before conceding. “Okay, I see your point. I’ll work harder. I’m still going to ask not to be shut out when we’re working together. And I’m still going to ask you to be more careful with your own life.”
“Even if it turns out that I am immortal?”
“Even then. Even if it’s confirmed, there should be no more deaths except for old age.”
Jason rolls his eyes, but it’s mostly for show. Internally, he’s shrinking at the ramifications of his possible immortality. Right now, he’s still aging, but what if that stops? What if everyone he knows eventually dies and he continues to wake right back up. That’s a fate way worse than dying at fifteen years old, and Jason’s in no condition to acknowledge that.
“I’m scared I might really be immortal,” he confesses quietly. “Scared at what that could mean.”
“I know,” Bruce answers. “But we’ll figure it out. You don’t have to deal with any of this stuff alone, Jason. You never did.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jason nods, accepting that there’s no way of kicking Bruce out of the situation at this point anyway, so he might as well accept his help. “Zatanna or Constantine first?”
“Zatanna. On the vain hope that we can avoid Constantine altogether.”
Jason snorts. “Yeah, I doubt we’ll get that lucky. Luck’s not really my thing, after all. Don’t know if you noticed that or not.”
Bruce’s head tilts in consideration. “I wouldn’t say that. Everything you’ve been through and you’re still here, still fighting. Seems pretty lucky to me. And if you’re not actually immortal? You really just might be the luckiest person on earth.”
Jason snorts in amusement. “Yeah, fair enough.” Then he bites his lip, eyes the other end of the lasso still twisted through Bruce’s fingers and hands. “Say it again for me? That it was an accident?”
Bruce’s expression goes solemn. “Hitting you with the batarang was an accident. If I could go back and do it differently, I would, over and over again. I’m so sorry I hurt you and it kills me that you’ve gone all this time without knowing that. I’m so glad you’re alive and well, and if you are immortal, I am so incredibly thankful that something keeps bringing you back to me. I don’t deserve any more chances with you, but I am deeply grateful for them all the same. You’re my son and I love you. I will always love you, and I’m going to do a better job of proving that to you from now on.”
Jason takes a steadying breath and lets the words wash over him. Let’s them start healing the cracks in his soul. “Okay,” he breathes out, feeling steadier for the first time in weeks.
Across from him, Bruce takes his own breath and nods. “Okay.”