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Jason and Bruce had been working a case for the last few weeks. It had all gone wrong in less than five minutes.
Jason had gone to go see Garzonas, scare him. After all, he wouldn’t actually be forced to pay for his crimes, he was just going to be deported.
Instead, he watched as Felipe Garzonas slipped and fell off the roof. Before Jason even had a chance to process what had happened Bruce showed up in all his Batman glory, looking like a storm.
Jason knew what it looked like. He knew what had happened. He hoped Bruce had trusted him enough to believe him, rather than what it seemed like.
He didn’t.
“Bruce please, I promise I didn’t kill him.” Jason pleaded as Bruce ignored him when they got back to the bat cave. It seems like forever that Bruce had shouted at him on that roof.
“Get out!” Bruce screamed turning to Jason angrily.
“Out of the cave?” Jason asks meekly as Bruce stares him down with fury in his eyes.
“Out of the cave, out of my life!” Bruce screamed with venom.
Jason watched as Bruce went up to the manner and tore into his room. He watched as all the things he had called his, Bruce tore apart. He tossed Jason’s copy of Pride and Prejudice that was one of Jason’s only belongings from before, into the fire burning in the fireplace in his room.
He watched as it burned. He watched as Bruce continued to destroy all traces of him ever being there.
He watched Bruce turn to him, his face devoid of any emotion except fury, and notice he that he hadn’t left, “Why are you still here?”
Jason turned and left. He ran out of the manor. He ran to the place he had first called home, hidden in the heart of Crime Alley.
He had went there for comfort, instead he found answers that he didn’t even know he was looking for. Catherine hadn’t been his mother. Bruce would never be his father.
He left for Ethiopia that night.
He would never leave Ethiopia.
____
Bruce had never felt so made at something before, at someone, at him.
He had tossed his son out on the streets, destroyed his stuff in front of him, emotionally ripped his heart into pieces.
He had been suffering from the influence of an alien encounter the League had had the other week. He had had a delayed reaction in the form of amplified rage. It was only yesterday that the rest of the League had noticed something was wrong with them and found a solution.
Now he was left in a sea of regret.
He had looked for his son, his precious baby boy.
He always said Robin was magic, Bruce stripped that magic from him in less than an hour.
When he finally got to Ethiopia, it had been too late. He stood atop the smoldering remains of a warehouse.
He had hoped he wouldn’t be to late to stop the Joker and whatever he was planning, that he wouldn’t be too late when his son needed him. He was always too late.
He dug through the rubble of the warehouse for days before he finally found his son. He cradled him in his arms wishing he could’ve provided him comfort, but now it was too late to matter.
His son had died thinking he hated him.
A part of him died with him.
He left Ethiopia, he didn’t get to leave with his son.
He grieved like he was reaching for his own grave, maybe he was.
He combed through the whole manor looking for that stupid book that his son had loved, that he had spent every waking minute pouring over. He had wanted to give his son some comfort in his grave, maybe he needed that comfort too.
He had forgotten he had burned it.
In fact, he couldn’t find anything left of his son, it was like all traces of him had been erased.
It hurt more knowing that he had been the one to erase him, that he had done so all too willingly at the time.