The rain fell in torrents, a relentless downpour that seemed to mirror the sorrow hanging heavy in the air. Each drop spttered against the earth, the rhythmic sound a stant panion to the quiet procession making its way toward the small graveyard behind Wayne Manor. The somber processied through the rain-soaked grass, each step weighed down by the gravity of their grief. The storm seemed to seep into their very bones, an unspoken reminder of the pain that hung over them all.

  Dressed in bck, the Bat family stood united yet isoted in their shared loss. Their faces were obscured by a mixture of rain and uears, their expressions unreadable beh the wet fabric of their umbrels. The umbrels offered little prote against the downpour; their fragile cs barely held against the storm’s fury. Still, they raised them high, as if attempting to shield themselves from the weight of the world pressing in around them.

  At the front of the procession, Bruce Wayne walked with his usual anding presehough now it was as though an invisible weight had settled onto his broad shoulders. His figure, always so imposing, noeared hunched uhe burden of grief. His face, usually masked in stoic determination, was softened with an unspoken sorrow, the anguish in his eyes betraying the calm exterior he fought to maintain.

  To his right stood Alfred Pennyworth, the ever-faithful butler, whose face icture of quiet grief. His eyes, though calm, were shadowed by the pain of years spent alongside Bruce, witnessing the tragic losses that had marked his life. Alfred’s unshakable posure did little to mask the heaviness in his gaze.

  Behind them, Dick Grayson walked with his head bowed, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. Ohe bright and fident Robin, he now carried the burden of memories—some joyous, some filled with the bitterness ret.

  As Nightwing, he stood not only as a brother but as a man haunted by the loss of his sibling in arms. Beside him, Barbara Gordon moved forward with quiet determination, her wheelchair seeming to glide across the wet earth as if nothing could stop her. Her strength, her resilieood as a quiet testament to the unwavering love she had for those around her, despite the unbearable ache of their shared grief.

  The grave was ready, the coffin standing solemnly beh the darkened sky, draped in bck. Red roses had been pced around it by those who had e before, their vibrant color a stark trast to the rain-soaked se. The water pounded against the polished wood, creating a mournful rhythm that resonated in the silehat had fallehe mourners. The only sounds were the rain, the wind, and the faint rustle of fabric as each person gathered around the gravesite, waiting for Bruce to speak.

  He stepped forward, his movements deliberate and measured, though every step seemed to cost him more tha. The athered behind him, their faces solemn, their gazes fixed on the coffin. Bruce paused before it, his jaw tightening as his eyes lingered on the polished wood. His thoughts seemed distant, his voice thick with emotion as he finally spoke.

  “Jason Todd,” he began, his voice steady, though den with an undercurrent of pain. “Was more than just a partner. He was a fighter. Brave. Stubborn. Fierce.” His voice cracked slightly as he tinued, “He believed in the mission, in making Gotham a better pce. Even when we disagreed... he opped trying to do what he thought was right.”

  The rain tio pour down, but it did nothing to mask the tremor in Bruce’s voice. He cleared his throat and pressed on, the words ing slower now, quieter. “He made mistakes, like we all do. But he was still... my son. And I failed him.”

  Dick stepped forward then, pg a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, grounding him in the moment. His voice was soft, but firm. “You didn’t fail him, Bruce. Jasohe risks. He wouldn’t have wanted you to bme yourself for this.”

  Bruce didn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on the coffin as if he could will it to e back. The weight of his silence was unbearable, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

  After a long, still moment, he stepped back, making room for the others to say their goodbyes.

  Dielt first, his movements slow, measured. His haed briefly on the coffin, and then he spoke, his voice tight with emotion. “You were a pain in the ass, Jason. But you were my brother, and I loved you. I’ll never fet that.” His voice cracked as he pced a red rose atop the coffiood and took a step back, his eyes glistening with uears.

  Barbara followed, her hands steady as she gripped the rose. She leaned forward and spoke quietly, though her voice carried an unmistakable weight of affe a. “You were reckless, but you had so much heart. Too much, maybe. I just wish you could’ve seen how mueant to all of us.” She pced the rose gently on the coffin and took a step back, her head lowered in reverence.

  Alfred’s turn came . He approached with the calm dignity that had defined him for decades, his movements deliberate, each step filled with quiet resolve. His hand trembled slightly as he pced his rose on the coffin, and his voice, barely audible above the rain, whispered the words that carried decades of care, loss, and fatherly affe. “Master Jason,” he murmured, “you were far from perfect. But you were ours. Rest well, young man.”

  With the final rose pced, the coffin began its slow dest into the earth. The sound of the meism whirring as it lowered, bined with the steady beat of the rain, created an eerie dirge, a mournful soundtrack to their collective sorrow.

  Bruce stood motionless, his face set in an expression of quiet torment, watg as Jason was slowly swallowed by the earth. The rain soaked through his coat, the cold seeping into his skin, but he remained frozen. A part of him wao reach out, to pull Jason back, to undo the irreversible, but he khat it was impossible. Jason was gone.

  As the grave was filled, a simple headstone ced, bearing Jason’s he dates of his birth ah, and the words: Beloved Son. Fierce Protector. Taken Too Soon.

  The family lingered for a moment, each lost ihoughts, their grief too heavy to speak of. Finally, it was Alfred who spoke, his voice ge firm. “Master Bruce, it’s time to go. The rain will do us no favors if we linger much longer.”

  Bruce didn’t move immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the headstone, his thoughts swirling with memories of Jason—the boy who had challenged him, frustrated him, and, above all, made him proud.

  After what felt like ay, Bruce turned away, the weight of his sorrow too much to bear. The family began their slow walk back to Wayne Manor, the rain tinuing to fall, relentless as ever, as though m alongside them.

  Ihe manor, the silence was deafening. The rooms, once alive with the sounds of ughter and bickering, now felt hollow, as if Jason’s absence had left an irreparable void. Bruce retreated to the Batcave, seeking so the work that had long been his only refuge. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not escape the memory of Jason’s lifeless body, the image that haunted him even in his most isoted moments.

  The ave him space, uanding that grief was a battle Bruce had to fight on his own. But they, too, carried the weight of Jason’s loss, ea their own way, eaable to escape the shared sorrow that lingered in the house like an unshakable shadow.

  That night, as the rain finally ceased and the clouds parted to reveal a pale moon, Bruce stood alone icave, staring at the Robin suit encased in gss. His hand reached out to rest against the cold, transparent surface. The silenveloped him, broken only by the faint sound of his voice, barely a whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Jason. I should’ve been there. I should’ve saved you.”

  The suit remaiill, its silent presence a stark reminder of what had been lost.

  ****

  [Meanwhile]

  Jason Todd drifted in the void, a dark, empty expanse where there was no light, no sound, no sense of time or pce. The absence of everything was suffog, an oppressive silehat pressed in from all sides. He had no sense of how long he had been there, but his thoughts were sharp—razor-sharp—and they cut through the nothingness with a crity that felt almost wrong.

  “Where the hell am I?” he muttered, his voice breaking the stillness, but even as it echoed into the void, it felt too quiet. He paused, staring into the vast bess, and then the realization smmed into him like a freight train. “ht. I died.”

  The memories hit him all at once—raw, vivid, and unfiving. The Joker’s maniacal ughter, the siing crack of the crainst his skull, the blinding explosion that followed. The pain, the panic, the final, fleeting moments of life. It all repyed in brutal detail, each image searing into his mind like a brand, a reminder of everything he had lost.

  “Is this it?” Jason’s voice cracked, the question esg him before he could stop it. “Is this where people end up when they die? Some pitch-bowhere?” He tried to move, to lift his hands, to do anything, but his body refused to cooperate. It was as though he aralyzed, trapped in this empty space with only his thoughts for pany. Helpless. Frozen. A prisoner in his own mind.

  Then, suddenly, a voice broke through the silence—deep, mog, reverberating inside his skull rather than his ears. It was a voice that seemed both familiar and alien, like a shadow of something he couldn’t quite pce.

  “You finally ended up dead. Killed by a fug , no less. How poetic.”

  Jason’s heart—or whatever remained of it in this strange pce—skipped a beat. The voice felt like a jolt of electricity, a surge of shod fusion. “Who the hell’s there?” he demanded, his voice sharp and filled with a sudden unease. He strairying to pinpoint the source of the voice, but it was everywhere and nowhere all at once, an om echo that seemed to invade every er of his mind.

  “You ’t guess?” The voice taunted, a smug, almost gleeful tone dripping with a familiarity that made Jason’s stomach twist. “e on, partner. You should know this one.”

  Jason frowned, fusion beginning to repce his initial anger. He had nothing but time here in this void, so he might as well try to figure out what was going on. “Why do you sound like me?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but still sharp with suspi.

  The voice chuckled darkly. “That’s because I am you. Or at least, I’m the part of you that’s actually got some sense left. You know, the voi your head that’s been trying to keep you alive all these years. The ohat’s been screaming for you to ditch Bruce, to stop pretending you needed him. But you didn’t listen, did you? You just kept crawling back, like some desperate mutt, begging for scraps of affe.”

  Jason’s jaw tightened, his frustration starting to boil over. “Oh, great. I’m stu some twisted version of hell, and my tormentor is... me?”

  The voice scoffed, as though Jason had missed the poiirely. “Hell? Nah, this isn’t hell. Though, it might as well be, sidering how royally you screwed up. Let’s face it, kid: You spent your whole life chasing Bruce’s approval. And what did it get you? Dead. Beaten to death by a damn . And where was dear old Batman when you needed him? Nowhere. He wasn’t there to save you. And guess what? He doesn’t even have the guts to admit he failed you.”

  Jason gritted his teeth, anger and frustration surging through him. “Alright, enough of the pity party,” he snapped. “What is this pce, then? If it’s not hell, then what the hell is it?”

  “Questions, questions,” the voice mocked, its tone annoyingly calm, like a parent hum a child. “Don’t worry, we’ve got all the time in the world to get to the answers. But first, let’s py a little game. How about a roll down memory ne? Let’s revisit the events that led to your oh-sic demise. Maybe seeing it all id out will help you uand just how badly Bruce screwed up your life—physically aally.”

  Jason scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. A rey greatest hits sounds like exactly what I need. Not like I have anythier to dht?”

  The void seemed to pulse in respohe oppressive darkness shifting as if aowledging his words. Then, a faint light flickered in the dista first, it was so small it seemed insignifit—just a pinprick htness in the endless bess. But as moments passed, it began to grow, its light pulsing steadily, drawing Jason’s attention like a moth to a fme.

  ..........

  Want more chapters? Kindly visit my p@t to read ahead pàtre?n.c?m/Da_suprememaverick