The explosion ripped through the warehouse like the world ending. A roar of fire, shattering glass, collapsing steel — and then silence, so heavy it crushed the air from Bruce’s lungs. He ran through the flames, the heat blistering his skin through the suit, smoke choking every breath, but he didn’t stop. Not until he saw the broken form on the ground.

Jason.

His cape tore as he fell to his knees beside him. The boy’s body was limp, pale beneath the soot, a smear of blood at his temple. Bruce gathered him in shaking arms, the faint scent of gunpowder and smoke clinging to him. The world narrowed — no sirens, no wind, no heartbeat but his own. He pressed his forehead against Jason’s, whispering apologies that came too late.

Days later, the sky over Gotham was gray — fitting, Bruce thought. The rain had stopped just before the funeral, leaving the air thick and heavy with silence. Jason lay in the casket, peaceful in a way he never was alive — dressed in a black suit, hands folded over his stomach, the faintest trace of boyish stubbornness still resting in his features.

Dick stood beside Bruce, face drawn, eyes red from the tears he refused to shed in public. “He deserved better,” he muttered, voice trembling. Bruce couldn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the coffin as it lowered into the ground — the weight of failure pressing on him harder than the earth itself ever could.

When the ceremony ended, the two stood alone long after everyone else had gone. Bruce reached out, fingertips brushing the gravestone. JASON TODD — BELOVED SON AND BROTHER.

He turned away only when night fell.

–––

Five years later, Gotham breathed the same poison air. The skyline hadn’t changed, but Bruce had. Lines deeper, eyes colder, the years carved into him like punishment.

The warehouse stood again — a different one, same story. The gunfire had stopped, the smoke cleared. And standing in the center of the wreckage, helmet in hand, was him.

Red Hood.

The crimson mask hit the ground with a hollow clang. Bruce’s breath caught as the man before him lifted his gaze — sharp, furious, alive.