Chapter Text
Jason sat on the edge of the tub, drawing long deep lines of red from his wrist to his elbow with a razor blade. It would hurt if it weren’t for the copious amount of painkillers he’d taken making his head foggy.
He couldn’t help but wonder, what went wrong?
He used to be such a good kid. He’d get home from school and do his homework, maybe help Alfred with whatever needed doing, then patrol as Robin with Batman.
But all those memories stopped being happy a long time ago. One way or another, they’d turned sour. So did he.
He falls into the tub, groaning and resting his head against the cold tile of the wall.
Why wasn’t he good enough for Dick to want to be his brother back then? He seemed to get along just fine right away with Tim.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he can’t be angry with Tim. After all, they’d both taken the Robin title from someone else. Both had it taken from them too.
He laughs a little, his head feels funny. His arms have slowly been pumping out blood for a while now, soaking the white porcelain with dark crimson.
He blinks and he has to force his eyes back open. He’s pretty sure he left the bathroom light off. It’s on now. Or maybe it’s not because there’s a giant dark figure in front of him.
He shuts his eyes. The lights are acting weird and he’s tired. He hears a muffled shout. It must be his neighbors again.
He finally lets it take over, and now he’s gone.
—-
Damian was angry with father. This isn’t something new. What is new is him sneaking out of the manor and going to Jason’s. Why not substitute the old bat with another father figure for now? Jason helped raise him in the league and he understands his frustrations with father.
He knocks on the apartment door and waits.
He knocks on the apartment door again and waits.
He slams his fist against the stupid door and waits.
He gives up and picks the lock.
The entire apartment is dark, there’s food left out on the counter, laundry half folded by a basket on the couch. He’ll just wait for him to get home.
Damian hears a thunk in the bathroom. Not a shampoo bottle falling kind of thunk. He walks over and knocks on the door. “I know you’re in there, it’s rude to leave guests waiting”
A soft laugh hits his ears, partially muffled by the door. Joker toxin maybe? No, there’d be more laughter. “What’s going on, Todd?” He says scrunching his nose in annoyance.
There’s no response. “You’re starting to scare me, stop”
“Jason I’m coming in” he says with a little too much panic. Maybe a hidden injury from patrol. That wouldn’t be good.
The door squeaks open and he reels back from the smell of blood, the stench thick in the air. He pads in, looks around the dark room and turns on the light.
His stomach lurches and he runs the short distance over to the tub. Grabbing a towel from the shelf and pressing it over his brother’s blood soaked arms.
He watches the same brother’s eyes close. “No! Hey don’t do that, open your eyes don’t go to sleep!” He shouts, keeping one hand pressing on the wound and reaching for his phone.
Call 911, get to a hospital where they’d see Jason is legally dead. Or, call father for the batcave medical station. He’s not even sure father would pick up right now.
The phone dials and he sets it on speaker to use both hands to put pressure on the wounds.
“Hello? Master Damian, I see you’re absent from the manor and-”
No time “Batmobile to Todd’s apartment, he- he has cuts and- and he” why can’t he breathe? He’s seen worse. Hell, he’s done worse.
“Oh dear, Master Dick is on his way, I’ll get the medical bay set up for your arrival”
—-
Dick was having a rough day. He and Wally got into it at home and he’s spending the night at the manor. It’s scary. Wally doesn’t want him around. Honestly, he doesn’t want to be around Wally right now either. They just need air away from each other to calm down, that’s what Alfred said.
They were sitting at the dining table, nursing a small cup of tea each talking about his fight with Wally when Alfred gets a phone call. “Take it, no biggie” he brushes off.
He’s never overheard a phone call so sickening. He’s already running down to the cave before he realizes he’s moved an inch. Jason got hurt on patrol and hid it, and now it’s bad.
He doesn’t put on his suit, just hops in slapping a mask on. The peanut gallery in front of the computer give him a strange look. Bruce looks taken aback “Chum, you’re not going for a joy ride in civilian clothes.”
He just pokes his head out and shouts as he pulls out “help Alfred set up the med bay!”
And drives off, hoping that’ll be enough clues to get them off his back,
He isn’t prepared to walk into the bathroom. Those aren’t patrol wounds. Damian is curled up on his dead baby brother.
“He-” he chokes out.
“21:37”
“What?”
“Time of death”
Dick picks up Damian and helps him off Jason. Then puts an arm under Jason’s shoulders and one under his knees. They carry him to the car. They drive him home.
He pulls into the Batcave and gets out of the car, helping Damian out as well. The kid doesn’t need it, but right now he’s a fourteen year old covered in blood. He’s being helped out of the damn car.
—-
Tim was tapping his foot on the floor quietly as they waited for Dick to return. Damian wasn’t here, something about the med bay, nothing else. Logically, his conclusion is Damian snuck out, got hurt, and now is facing the consequences of his actions.
The brat never leaves him alone okay? Constant torment! He’s just a teeny bit not sorry.
He watches Dick climb out of the Batmobile slowly, then help Damian out. That’s a lot of blood, wow. Maybe he does feel a bit bad. Damian does look pretty shaken up.
Scratch that. Damian runs over and mashes his face against Bruce, crying.
He turns back to Dick and… he’s carrying a dead Robin. His Robin. The one that saved him. The one that died and got brutally resurrected, only to absolutely hate Tim.
Oh god. Someone was going to have to tell Roy.
Tim looks at the rest of the menagerie to see their equally sorrowful and shocked faces. Cass and Duke. Duke was still so new.
—-
Bruce hugged Damian as hard as he could, but he has to go see Jason. Alfred takes Damian, and Bruce looks down at the corpse laying on the medical table. It’s suicide, to anyone with eyes.
He faintly notices a blur in his peripheral stop by Dick, one with orange hair comforting his oldest son.
Oh yeah. “Wally. Call Roy” he says, not even trying to hide the strain in his voice. He’s pretty sure no one else would make it through that phone call.
Bruce runs a hand through the slightly damp hair on his baby’s head. He can almost pretend Jason is fourteen again and laying with his head in Bruce’s lap. But that’s not true. And hasn’t been true in too long.
—-
Roy wasn’t expecting this ever. He knew Jason had issues, so did everyone in their field. But he should’ve known, should’ve been able to help. He’s thankful he was already in Gotham. And now he’s staring at his dead boyfriend.
He walks over when Bruce backs away for a moment. He lets tears fall onto his own shirt Jason was wearing, then lets himself fall to his knees.
—-
Jason had one hell of a headache. He always did when he played this game. Everything gets too loud, too much, too serious, too sad, then he offs himself. He always wakes up, so what’s the harm?
He stopped hanging himself, sometimes he’d wake up and die again and that was scary. He’d only be dead for an hour before he woke up.
He didn’t shoot himself anymore, the spray of blood was hard to get off the ceiling. Though he did stay dead a bit longer, two hours.
His favorite was downing a ton of pills then slitting his wrists. It was fun to be high before dying. And it lasted three hours.
He sat up, stretching his arms above his head. They were a bit tingly, but healed. Still covered in dried blood though.
“What the fuck”
Jason turned his head toward the voice and froze. He had nine pairs of eyes on him. “I can explain” he croaked out, coughing at the end. Roy gave him a water bottle which he drank a sip from. “Thank you”
Roy nodded, eyes still wide “then explain”