Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s him or me. You have to decide,” Jason said.

Him or me. Him or me.

The words echoed through his head.

“Please don’t…” Bruce started to say.

“I’ll count to ‘three,’” Jason interrupted him.

Not enough time.

“Put the gun down,” Bruce said. Knowing Jason will ignore it. Unable to think of anything better to do, anything smarter to say.

There must have been some other way. Something he’d missed. He wouldn’t let the Joker’s death be on Jason’s conscience. Couldn’t let Jason do this, couldn’t let him walk away thinking his version of justice won.

“One.”

Not possible to get the Joker out from in front of the gun fast enough, not while Jason held him up.

“Don’t,” Bruce commanded. Jason ignored him.

Jason’s finger was on the trigger. If he threw the batarang at the hand holding the gun, the gun would be pushed inward- still pointing at the Joker or, worse, even Jason.

“Two.”

The angle was wrong. He needed to come at the gun from the other side. Batarang might get stuck in the wall, but should rebound off the pipe. The angle was tricky- if it flew off of the pipe too straight, it’d fly over Jason’s wrist harmlessly. If it rebounded at too much of an angle, it would hit Jason’s neck.

“No!” Bruce yelled desperately, begging Jason to stop.

He had to get the angle perfect. It was the only way to save both of them, the Joker’s life and Jason’s conscience.

“Thr–” Jason started as the batarang flew towards the pipe and rebounded.

Jason made a horrible, strangled noise as the batarang sliced through the junction of his shoulder and neck.

Bruce had failed, in the worst way possible.

Jason fell to the ground, hand to his neck. There was so much blood. He was so still.

The batarang was back in Bruce’s hand now, covered in blood.

The Joker was saying something, cheering at Jason’s limp body.

Like Bruce had told Jason earlier, there was no coming back from some things. This was one of them.

Might as well add another.

He threw the batarang at the Joker. It sunk into his wrist, slicing through veins and muscle and lodging itself in the bone. The Joker had been reaching for Jason’s dropped gun, but now his body stilled, except for the terrible laughter coming out of his throat.

Batman didn’t kill, but he wasn’t Batman any more. Couldn’t be Batman ever again.

He was just a father, carrying out his dead son’s last wish.

He shot the Joker once through the eye. A quick death, better than he deserved. But Bruce didn’t want to leave any room for the Joker to survive. There would be no reviving him from this.

There were still five bullets in the gun. Plenty for Jason’s other murderer.

The rest of the kids would be fine without him.

Before Bruce could raise the gun again, though, a noise came from Jason’s body.

Bruce had been wrong. Jason wasn’t dead yet.

Bruce dropped the gun, putting on the safety before doing so out of pure muscle memory. He ran over to Jason, pressed a hand against Jason’s neck to desperately try to stop the bleeding. His pulse was weak, but not gone yet.

“Clark!” Bruce yelled. “Clark, please.”

Nothing.

Bruce removed a needle and sutures from his belt. His hands were steady only due to years of practice controlling his muscles. He got to work, stitching his son’s throat up.

As Bruce was putting in the last stitches, Clark finally arrived.

“I can’t- oh my god, that’s Jason.” Clark said. “Hospital in Gotham or outside of it?”

“Outside. He’s too recognizable.”

“Metropolis General is overrun right now. I’m going to take him to Midvale General.”

Bruce nodded.

“I need to get back to Metropolis after, things are bad there. Can you and Alfred get to the hospital on your own?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Clark carefully picked up Jason and flew off.

Chapter Text

Later, Bruce wouldn’t remember much about how he and Alfred had gotten to the hospital. All he remembered was that it took too long.

He did remember telling Alfred what he’d done before they started driving, and the look on Alfred’s face of deep grief, quickly pushed down in favor of a sort of resigned determination.

They proved they were “Peter”’s relatives quickly enough, using the fake ids Bruce had made long ago. And then they settled in to wait.

Bruce tried to occupy his mind with practicalities. The Joker would be found eventually. Bruce had removed the batarang embedded in his wrist and bleached the areas where Jason had bled. He hadn’t had time to do much else, prioritizing getting to the hospital over making m sure the conflict couldn’t be traced to Batman or the Red Hood. It couldn’t be traced to Bruce Wayne or Jason Todd, and that was going to have to be good enough.

Bruce called Dick again. He’d tried earlier, but Dick hadn’t answered. Busy with his own life. It was tempting to save Dick from this uncertainty, to wait until they knew if Jason would survive before calling Dick. But Dick had been so upset when he returned from being off-world to learn that Jason had died and the funeral had already happened. He’d wanted to be there.

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said cheerily after picking up.

“I’m at Midvale General,” Bruce said.

“What? Who-”

“Peter has a severe neck injury.”

“Fuck. I’m on my way. What’s the prognosis?”

“They aren’t sure yet. We don’t know much.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Drive safe,” Bruce said.

Bruce went back to staring at the floor, waiting.

Barbara called him, not long after he’d hung up with Dick. He should have called her, he thought with some regret. She’d been close with Jason before, closer than Dick had been.

“You didn’t do a good job of covering your tracks,” she said, not bothering with pleasantries.

“I didn’t,” Bruce said. “I had other priorities.”

“I watched your bodycam footage.”

“Hn,” Bruce hummed, waiting for Barbara to continue.

“I’ll take care of things in Gotham. Not for your sake. For Gotham’s.”

“Don’t hide more than you have to.” Batman killing the Joker shouldn’t be covered up. Batman was done, and the people of Gotham deserved to know the reason why.

“I’ll use my own judgment on that, since yours is impaired right now.”

“Hn.”

“I’m watching his chart, by the way. He’s still in surgery, so not much beyond intake notes.”

“Let me know when there’s an update.”

“Will do.”

With that, Bruce ended the call.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait for news of Jason’s condition.

Bruce was good at waiting. Years of long stakeouts had honed that skill, until he was able to stay in one place for hours, waiting for a hint of movement or a voice on the wind.

Bruce wasn’t good at waiting now. He couldn’t get into that meditative headspace he usually found so easily on stakeouts. His mind was still racing with regrets and half-formed apology speeches and fear. The fear was the worst part. Bruce had worked hard, to train himself out of feeling fear, but this was different. This was Jason.

Bruce glanced over at Alfred. He looked old, aged prematurely by grief. He’d looked older than his years ever since Jason had died. His face was usually kept firmly in a neutral expression, but now Bruce could see the sadness in his eyes.

Alfred noticed Bruce looking and patted his hand. Bruce fought the urge to flinch away. He didn’t deserve comfort. He was the reason they were here in the first place; he was the one who had hurt Jason.

Alfred noticed Bruce stiffening up under the attempt at comfort and closed his eyes for a moment, looking tired and so impossibly old.

They went back to sitting in silence together, unmoving in the waiting room chairs.

Chapter Text

Bruce and Alfred were still in the waiting room when Bruce’s Justice League communicator began going off. He ignored it.

It kept going off, long enough that it was clear this was an emergency alert and not a normal message.

Bruce stepped out the waiting room doors after exchanging a glance with Alfred.

“There’s a situation.” Clark said when Bruce answered the call. “Another version of me is here, as well as a Superboy and a Lex Luthor. They’re not friendly.”

“I can’t come,” Bruce said. “I need to be here when Jason wakes up.”

“We need you here,” Clark said, sounding faintly surprised that Bruce had objected. “They’ve already destroyed the watchtower.”

“The rest of my team will help. But I can’t come.”

“I understand that you don’t want to leave Jason, but the scale of the threat is big enough that we really need all hands on deck,” Clark said, as though Bruce somehow didn’t understand the situation.

Bruce did. He knew that people would die because he was sitting out. He knew that he was leaving his team short a member at the worst time. And yet, “I can’t do this. I can’t be Batman right now. Maybe not ever again”

Clark was silent for a long moment before he said, “I can see I’m not going to change your mind. We’ll discuss this later.”

Bruce turned off the comm and returned to the waiting room. His comm kept going off, and he kept ignoring it. This was more important. He’d prioritized Batman for too long. For once, he wasn’t going to be off saving the world from another crisis while one of his children needed him.

He wasn’t going to let Jason die alone, not again. He was going to be here when the doctor came and told them the results of the surgery. And, if Jason survived, Bruce was going to apologize to him as soon as he was allowed to. This might be his only chance to apologize and beg for forgiveness before Jason left for good, knowing that his own father had almost killed him.

After a while, Dick called Bruce on his normal phone line. Bruce answered, figuring he owned Dick an explanation.

“It’s all hands on deck out here,” Dick said. “Superman said you’re not coming, and nobody else has heard from you.”

“I can’t come. I have to put Jason first,” Bruce said, having stepped out to where he couldn’t be overheard.

“I never thought I’d hear you say you were putting your personal life before The Work. I’d be glad, normally, but now’s really not the time,” Dick said.

“I can’t let Jason down,” Bruce said.

“Even if you’re letting the rest of the world down in the process?”

“It’s my fault he’s here in the first place,” Bruce admitted.

“I know your guilt complex is a mile high, but-”

Bruce cut Dick off before he could finish his sentence.

“No. It was my batarang that cut him, that might kill him. I was trying to disarm him, and I missed.”

“You missed?” Dick asked, incredulous.

“I’m off my game. I can’t be trusted in the field right now. Maybe ever.”

“Okay,” Dick said, trying to be calm. “Okay. That’s- that’s what’s happening now. Okay. I’m on my way to respond to Superboy’s distress call. I’m going to go do that.”

“Be careful,” Bruce said.

“Always am,” Dick said, sounding distracted already.

Bruce went back into the waiting room. He didn’t expect any other calls from the rest of the Bats. Tim was with the Teen Titans, probably already in the middle of whatever conflict Superboy was in. Cass was halfway across the world, searching for her mother. Barbara’s surveillance meant she knew the situation already.

Bruce sat down, and resumed his vigil.

Chapter Text

Jason woke up in a hospital. They’d given him some kind of drugs, he could tell, probably through the iv in his arm. He hated being drugged.

There was a nurse in his room, updating his chart. The room itself was unfamiliar- definitely not a Gotham hospital, but probably an American one.

“What happened to me?”

“Oh, you’re awake! You don’t remember? You have a really nasty cut in your neck. You were lucky Superman found you in time.”

“Superman?” Jason asked. His neck didn’t really hurt, but that must have been the drugs.

“Yes, Superman saved you. There must be something bad going on in Metropolis, that’s the only time he brings patients out here instead. I haven’t had a chance to look at the news yet, though.”

Jason hadn’t been in Metropolis. He was pretty sure of that. He’d been planning– he’d captured the Joker, he remembered and then–

Jason’s eyes were probably glowing green. If he’d been less groggy, he would have left the hospital then and there.

That hypocritical rat bastard piece of shit had chosen to almost kill him rather than kill the Joker. God, he would have deserved it if Jason had died– he’d have been a murderer anyways, and then where would all his excuses about not being able to turn back from one murder be?

He must have been the one to call Superman, to clean up after the mess he’d made of Jason.

The nurse was still in the room, looking at Jason with worry in her eyes. He schooled his expression into something friendlier and said, “I can’t believe I almost died.”

It was a poor excuse for the rage he knew he must have been showing a moment ago, but the nurse accepted it, saying “I know, that must have been really frightening.”

Jason kept himself calm while she took his vitals. His blood pressure was on the high side, but the nurse chalked that up to the stress of almost dying.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” she told Jason. “Press the button if you need anything.”

Jason was left alone with his thoughts. He looked at the hospital bracelet around his wrist. He was apparently “Peter Thomas”, an old alias that Bruce had set up. At least he didn’t have to think of a cover on the fly, but this meant that the Bats were probably keeping track of him. They’d know when he left the hospital, and what condition he was in. It was hardly a kindness, whoever had identified him for the hospital.

Jason tried to close his eyes and get back to sleep. There was nothing to do but rage at the way Batman had treated him.

Jason didn’t get to sleep for long before someone came to his door. He put on a friendly expression, ready to be a model patient so they would take him off the drugs faster.

That expression dropped the second he saw who was coming in the door.

“Get out,” Jason said.

Bruce– because this was Bruce, right now, not Batman– winced as though Jason’s words had hurt him.

“I’ll leave in a couple minutes,” Bruce said. “I just–”

Jason cut him off, “Came to moralize at me? To tell me to stay out of your city?”

“No. Not that. I’m sorry, Jay. I really am. I know it doesn’t count for a lot-”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. You had a choice, a choice that should have been easy for any father to make, and you blew it. You chose my murderer over me.”

“I chose Batman over you,” Bruce said, pedantic as ever. Jason had the urge to wipe that fake sadness off of his face.

“And I shouldn’t have,” Bruce continued.

Jason stared at Bruce, wondering where this was going.

“I haven’t been a good father or a good Batman lately. I was trying to be both, trying to protect you from your choices like a father but using Batman’s tools to do so.”

“I don’t need to be ‘protected from my choices,’” Jason cut in. “I’m not some little kid. This isn’t some teenage rebellion.”

Bruce continued talking. “And I failed as both. When I thought you were dead- it was like I was back seeing the warehouse explode, knowing I was too late. I barely survived that once, I wasn’t going to do it again.” He took a breath. “I did it. I killed the Joker, and I’m hanging up the cowl for good. I can’t be Batman and be a murderer– but I couldn’t be your father and not kill the Joker, and that’s more important to me.”

Jason stared at him. He had no idea how to respond. It was all he’d wanted- for Bruce to show he cared about Jason by killing the Joker, by making sure that what happened to Jason would never happen again- and yet, in his own Bruce way, Bruce had even screwed that up.

“I never asked you to stop being Batman.” Jason said, keeping his voice remarkably steady.

“I know. Even if I hadn’t killed the Joker, though, I wouldn’t be able to be Batman. I never should have thrown that Batarang. I can’t trust my own judgment any more.”

“Gee, overdramatic much?” Jason asked. He had to break the tension somehow, to get that miserable look off of Bruce’s face.

“I understand if you never want to see me again. I hurt you, badly. But I’d love to continue being in your life in whatever capacity you’ll allow me, if you’re willing.”

“This is too much to deal with right now,” Jason said.

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I understand.”

“Thanks for killing the Joker, I guess. Even if you did it too late, at least you did it. That’s not nothing.” Jason said. He could see the faintest hope in Bruce’s eyes, and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to crush it or let it grow.

“I’ll let you rest,” Bruce said, edging towards the door. Maybe he didn’t want to crowd Jason, or maybe he couldn’t deal with all of the emotions he was feeling.

“Sure,” Jason said. “Bruce-”

Bruce turned in the doorway, gazing at him.

“You could come back later. If you wanted to,” Jason said.

“I will,” Bruce said, the hope still shining in his eyes.

As Bruce left, Alfred came in from the hallway.

“My boy,” Alfred said, tearing up. He looked much older than he had when Jason had last seen him. Jason wondered if that was just time or if it was his fault, his death that had done it.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, not sure what to say. He hadn’t anticipated a touching reunion with Alfred, not after everything he’d done as the Red Hood.

“You’re not mad at me?” Jason couldn’t help but ask.

“How could I be? You’re alive. That’s all that matters,” Alfred said. “I wish you hadn’t hurt Master Tim, but I know you were hurting.”

Jason couldn’t help but tense up at the mention of his replacement.

Alfred noticed. He said, “I’m sorry for mentioning him. I know it’s a sore subject.”

“Something like that,” Jason agreed sarcastically. “It’s kind of a big betrayal, being replaced with a new model immediately after my death.”

“I’m not going to debate this with you, not now. But you should know that we could never replace you. Your death left a hole in our family that nothing could ever fill,” Alfred said.

Jason didn’t really believe him, but he wanted to.

“I’ve missed you so much, my boy,” Alfred said. This time, it was hard to ignore the sincerity in Alfred’s voice.

“I’ve missed you too, Alfie,” Jason said. His voice definitely wasn’t shaking when he said it.

Chapter Text

As Bruce was waiting for Alfred to be done visiting with Jason, his phone went off again. He checked it. Tim was calling. He stepped outside, yet again, to answer it.

“Hello,” Bruce said.

“Where were you?” Tim demanded, voice rough. He’d been crying, maybe.

“Jason’s been injured. Badly. We weren’t sure he was going to make it. I couldn’t- I couldn’t leave him to die alone. He’s going to make it, though.”

“It’s over. Kon’s dead,” Tim said, voice shaky. “He died in Cassie’s arms.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Bruce said, genuinely bereaved. “Conner was a good kid. I know how close you two were.”

“Dick’s badly injured,” Tim continued. “Superman has kryptonite poisoning. They’ll both be out of commission for a while. There were other casualties, too. I don’t have the full list. Most of the Flashes are gone, into the Speed Force. Bart’s alive, but he’s an adult now.”

“Keep me updated,” Bruce commanded.

There was a moment of silence over the phone, as Tim seemingly searched for something to say and didn’t find it. Tim hung up on Bruce without saying anything else.

Only after the call did Bruce realize he’d forgotten to ask if Tim was okay.