Bruce never thought he was invincible.

His morality stemmed from the fragility of the human life, how he was to use his final hours, days, or even minutes. He used his time wisely; in a heroic manner, doing the dirty work deemed impossible by many. But it is this that inspired his sensitiveness of ending another’s life himself. No matter how many times his enemies escaped persecution, or how many times the innocent suffered; he couldn’t bring himself to do it. But they surely didn’t hesitate when it came to him.

Today, he sat at the funeral of the boy he personally called a son. His robin, the ever enthusiastic, emotion driven Jason Todd; dead by an explosion. He stood in the front pews, his suit pressed clean and tailored perfectly. Alfred stood at his side, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. His eyes were full of emotions the ever-stoic Bruce tired to keep inside; but today would be forever know as the death of his robin. His failure in protecting him, as a partner and a father. It felt strangely like crime alley all over again; the place he lost his father and became one himself. It was all he could do not to kill that son-of-a bitch who orchestrated his final minutes. Filled with agony. No doubt the boy fought till his last breath.

Bruce lowered his head, gripping the armrest for support. His hands easily broke through the flimsy wood. Alfred placed a mournful hand on the casket, shaking his head.

“Jason…” Bruce muttered, his voice full of grief.