Hello everyone! Alrighty, so this is set in the Detective Comics post #940. You know what that means. If you don't, SPOILERS AHEAD (and not just the purple kind lol)

Anyway, I was reading the Detective Comics when I wrote this and it really bugged me that no one knew Tim was alive nor did anyone look for him. So this fic was born. This story is from Jason's POV because this is a one-shot book about him after all. 🤷‍♀️

...

Jason inhaled slowly and closed his eyes, the concrete cool against his palm. The air was sharp and cold and smelled faintly of rain. It was a gloomy day, much like every other day in Gotham, but Jason couldn't help but feel like this one was just a little bit grayer.

In all honesty, he didn't know why he was there. Well, that was a lie, he knew exactly why. He was there because Tim Drake was dead, he was there because his brother was dead. But that wasn't really the question, was it? The question was; why was he on the roof of The Belfry rather than at his brother's funeral?

Denial.

Anger.

Bargaining.

Depression.

Acceptance.

The five stages of grief, Jason was well aware and well acquainted with them. He was pretty sure he had gone through all of them in the past few weeks, yet somehow he had found himself squarely back at denial.

But maybe it wasn't denial, because Jason had a sinking feeling in his stomach. One that settled right next to an insane amount of grief and a little spark of anger. The grief was for his brother, the anger was at Bruce for getting another Robin killed in the line in duty. (One that had always been far too willing to die.)

And the sinking feeling was because Jason just wasn't sure he'd actually find anything. A part of him wanted to, but another part knew it was a stretch. However, in the end, even if it was, he owed Tim that much.

So maybe it wasn't about denial, it was about respect. It was about honoring Tim in his own way, one dead Robin to another. Which was why Jason found himself there, looking for evidence that Tim might still be alive. Somehow.

Again, he knew it was a far fetched, but he also knew death wasn't always permanent. He was a walking example. Jason had been buried for months before he somehow came back, they didn't even have Tim's body or any remains for that matter.

Logically, he knew Bruce had no way of knowing Jason had come back to life. But still, he couldn't help but think that maybe if someone had taken the time to run all the leads until the end, follow all the treads, maybe things could have been different. Jason was going to be that person for Tim, he was going to follow any threads that presented themselves. He hadn't been there to save him, to help him when he needed it most, but he could at least do this. He owed him that much. They all did.

Jason exhaled, rising from his crouched position. He then began to canvas the area, taking in every detail.

He had read the file and heard the last com transmissions so Jason had a pretty good idea of how everything went down. He hated how it began to play through his head, even though he knew it needed to. He needed a clear mental picture.

'Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them how much they meant to me. Dick, Jason, Damian, Alfred...All of them.'

Jason briefly closed his eyes, fighting back the mist that began to fog his vision.

'Thank you for everything, Bruce...Robin out.'

He also hated how much Tim's death reminded him of his own. Tim died, beaten to a pulp and alone with Batman nowhere in sight. He died a fiery death, sacrificing himself for the sake of others. For a moment, Jason wished he could go back in time and shake some sense into the kid. Wished he could scream at Bruce for not seeing the type of person he had tempered him into.

The thing about Tim was, he wasn't reckless or careless as some might say. Those words would imply a lack of thought, a lack of planning. But Jason knew Tim.

When confronted with a problem, most of the time he had already run at least 3 scenarios through his head before anyone could blink. So in the end, he wasn't reckless, he was selfless. Selfless to a fault. Tim had always been far too willing to sacrifice himself. So yes, Jason wanted to scream at Bruce for allowing him to become that. For not knowing him well enough to expect something like this.

Instead, Jason took another breath, absently cracking his knuckles with his thumb. He forced himself to focus, to paint a complete picture of that night. To run through all the scenarios and pull at all the threads.

Naturally, Jason knew Bruce (and undoubtedly all the others) had already surveyed the area and collected all the evidence. But sometimes it was about perspective. Bruce was looking for a body, Jason was looking for the absence of one.

The vigilante stood there for several minutes more, having an internal battle with himself. Trying to make sure it wasn't his own denial or grief clouding his judgment.

In the end, he wasn't left with any concrete evidence, but rather a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something about it just didn't sit well with him. It wasn't just one thing, it was a thousand little things. It was the total lack of remains or the way the scorch pattern wasn't quite right. It was the strange interference over the coms just before the line went dead.

Jason gave the roof one last glance before deciding he had seen enough.
He pulled out his grappling gun and fired, the hook finding it target in mere seconds. An instant later he was airborne, the wind whipping past his face.

He was going to follow every thread, regardless of where they might lead him. He owed him that much.