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An alarm rang out on Bruce’s nightstand and he threw out his hand to turn it off. He grumbled and he pawed around for the phone in the dark. He cursed himself for apparently accidentally set the wrong alarm. Although knowing Gotham, the pitch black outside his window could have been caused by rain.
When his hand hit the phone and the ringing didn’t stop, he was instantly more awake. That didn't actually sound like his alarm now that he was more awake.
Desperately hoping that he was remembering wrong, he picked up his phone and saw an alert in large letters: DISTURBANCE AT GOTHAM CEMETERY PLOT #525.
Jason.
Bruce was out of bed, slipping on pants and sprinting towards the Batcave. He didn’t bother getting dressed in the Batsuit, instead choosing to slip it on during the drive over.
The Batmobile was on autopilot and his cowl was being pulled over his head by the time he could actually consider what was happening. Someone was robbing his son’s grave. And he was not going to be too late this time.
Whatever horrible thing was happening, he would make sure Jason was protected. He’d make sure his son could rest peacefully.
Rain fell onto the windshield in sheets, making it impossible for Bruce to tell what was happening in the Graveyard as he pulled up. Even when he’d gotten out of the car, he could barely see 10 feet in front of him.
He knew the layout like the back of his hand. He'd been here in rain and shine, in the night and in the shining sun. On so many grief-stricken days as a child, when he’d been recently orphaned and came to his parents grave to talk. Then everyday for months after Jason’s death, with a grief that was so much deeper, so unspeakable that he often couldn’t even see through the haze guiding him to Jason’s grave. Parents are not meant to outlive their children , he’d wanted to scream. Instead, he’d sit quietly and beg for some mercy to cut his suffering short and let him see his son again.
The mud made running through the plots a bit harder, but he pushed through, allowing mud to cover his shins. There was no sign of anyone, but it was possible the rain was washing away the sounds of whoever was there. He should be at Jason’s plot soon.
His feet pounded against dirt and he reached the familiar set of graves. There was no one around. Jason's gravestone was slightly askew and the grass was broken up and flooded by rain.
Too late. I was too late. Again.
Bruce fell to his knees over Jason’s grave. It didn’t seem to be fully dug up, so there was a good chance his body was still there. But the knowledge that someone had been here and had disturbed the grave was enough to bring him to tears. He pulled back the cowl, not caring if there was someone to see and let tears flow.
“I’m sorry, Jason,” He whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
He took a breath, preparing to go look for security camera footage and guard logs. He would at least bring someone to justice. Bruce felt more than saw the ground shift a few feet in front of him.
He leaned forward. It was like some force from below was pushing up. Something was down there. Maybe he wasn’t too late to stop whoever this was.
Bruce’s muddy hand came to pull his cowl down and he started to rip away chunks of grass and roots. He dug like a madman, scooping away dirt. He was covered in mud at this point, but the desperation was pushing him forward.
Below, the force pushing up was moving faster.
Soon, Bruce dug his hand down to scoop away the dirt only to hit something. The movement stilled for just a moment before his hand was being grabbed. He looked down and saw a dirt covered hand clasping his own.
Panic was rising in him. He was confused, and scared, and so so angry. Bruce’s other hand continued to shovel dirt away.
Another hand shot out and grabbed Bruce’s forearm. It was covered in mud, but Bruce saw pale skin below. And a mud-soaked black jacked covering what little of the wrist he could see.
He began to pull at the hand. Horrified at the thoughts going through his head. He tried not to get his hopes up and prepared himself for a fight.
Instead, he yanked with all his might and a small head broke past the dirt and mud. The boy was gasping for breath and clawing at Bruce’s arm.
Bruce was utterly still.
“Jason,” he breathed out.
Jason looked at him finally and opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a rough cough. He was wearing the same suit he was buried it, the one Bruce's grief-filled mind was loath to dress him in because he could only think about how much Jason hated wearing suits. Jason's head was covered in dirt and grime, but Bruce would recognize him anywhere.
“Oh God, Jason, my boy,” Bruce panted as he reached under Jason’s armpits and lifted him out of the dirt. He pulled him towards his body and held him tight, his fingers quickly landing on his pulse points, “Is this some trick? Or a dream?”
He didn’t care even if it was, he had his son back in his arms and he would keep him there as long as he was allowed. If it was a dream, he hoped to never wake up.
“S’like a nightmare,” Jason’s voice was hoarse and his words slurred. He was shivering in Bruce’s arms.
Bruce pulled back the cowl and buried his face in Jason’s hair. Cold rain was pouring down around them and Jason’s skin was ice cold. He pulled the cape from around his back to wrap it around Jason, who immediately burrowed into the warmth.
Bruce lifted one hand and began to wipe the dirt from Jason’s cheek. He was murmuring his name over and over again, completely unbelieving.
Suddenly, Jason coughed and it racked his whole body. He winced at the movement and Bruce took in his dishevelled state. He was still covered in bruises and his ribs shifted unnaturally when he breathed. I can’t fail him again.
Bruce kept Jason in his arms and picked up the boy, careful not to jostle him. He carried him back to the Batmobile, never taking his eyes off the top of his hair. He was terrified if he’d look away the boy would disappear from his arms.
He slipped back into the driver’s seat and kept Jason propped up on his lap. Within seconds, he was on his way back to the cave. The silence inside the car let him hear his son’s breathing, which comforted him a slight bit as he sped down the deserted roads.
Somewhere along the way, tears were pouring from his eyes. It might have happened when they were still outside but the rain had obscured it.
As they pulled in closer to the Batcave, Bruce was struck by the worry that he was compromised. He was a practical man and he knew people didn’t come back from the dead. But then again, maybe they did. This wasn’t the craziest thing he’d seen. He was friends with an alien and an Amazonian Princess. He wasn’t a religious man but maybe, just maybe, this was some gift from above.
He moved through the tunnels with practiced familiarity until they finally opened up to reach the main part of the cave. He parked to the side closest to the medical area and opened the door carefully.
“Jason, we’re in the cave. I’m going to give you a check-up now.”
He shifted out of the car slowly, making sure to keep Jason close. Every once in a while, he heard a small grunt or a hum from the boy and would stop and readjust. Finally, he was out of the car and moving towards the medical tables, where he laid him down with all the gentleness in the world.
Bruce began to cut the suit off of Jason so he could reach his ribs. He hesitated for a moment when he saw the Y-shaped scar on his chest but pushed forward. He didn’t have time to think about the past, he needed to make sure his son was alright.
He scanned his chest, looking for broken ribs and found five. The same five that he had read about in the autopsy 6 months earlier, his brain reminded. He wrapped his chest in bandages and moved on to the head injuries. Bruce moved his fingers through the wet hair and searched for any cuts on his scalp. There was a bump above his right ear and when Bruce removed his hands there was a bit of blood on his finger, though not enough to warrant worry. He pressed a clean cloth on the wound and stared down at his son who was unconscious.
After a few moments, Bruce began to tend to his more recent wounds, namely those on his hands.
He used a bowl of warm water and a cloth to clean each of Jason’s hands, his fingers resting on the boy's pulse as he worked to tether himself to reality. He cleaned out the cuts on the tips of his fingers and tried to ignore the realization that they had been caused by him breaking out of his coffin. He splinted a few of the fingers that were swelled.
He was moving onto the other hand when he heard something shatter behind him. When he looked back, Alfred was standing at the top of the stairs, shards of a glass pitcher by his feet.
“Master Bruce, have you gone mad?” Alfred's voice was stern but Bruce could hear the intense anger in his tone. He was suddenly very aware of what it looked like he was doing.
“He's- He's alive,” Bruce grunted, “He dug himself out.”
He turned back to tend to Jason further and heard quick footsteps approaching behind him. Alfred’s own hands reached down to fell Jason’s pulse and Bruce heard a gasp. He tried to focus intently on the work he was doing to avoid getting distracted.
“Dear lord,” Alfred mumbled, “Shall I call Dr. Thompkins?”
“Yes. Call Dick too,” Bruce winced at the fact that his eldest son had just occurred to him, that he had been so focused on Jason he hadn’t even considered telling the others.
Alfred reached down and placed a hand on Jason’s forehead before scurrying off. Bruce took the opportunity to wipe down Jason’s face with a warm cloth to clean all the dirt from him. He also wheeled over an IV station to make sure Jason had fluids and covered him with a blanket.
His eyes were sunken but his cheeks had a slight pink from the cold. His wet hair was pushed out of his face and it made him look so young. For a moment, Bruce could imagine one of those nights when he had been sick with a fever, laid up in bed while Bruce checked on him through the night to make sure he wasn’t sneaking out to patrol. Soon, he would have to run a blood test and all other types of tests that likely involved calling some metas, but for now, he sat with his son.
Laying like this, he looked too lifeless, so Bruce reached out for Jason’s hand and gripped it. Jason grunted and began to breathe steadier. Somewhere in the distance, Bruce could hear two footsteps coming down the stairs, but all he could feel was the slight squeeze of Jason’s fingers around his.