Curate, connect, and discover
He was- he was- ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt- dying. The moments were ticking down, blood dribbling down his face and from so many wounds his vision swam.
How long had he been there? Too long. B was- he was coming, right? He had to be. His dad was coming for him. But... what if he was too late? There was a bomb, and Jason HURT and he could barely move or think or- he was crying.
He face screwed up at his sobbed, and even that hurt the cuts on his face, the J on his cheek where that-that LUNATIC carved it into him. Salty tears stung at his cuts, and his ribs ached as his breath stuttered. He didn't know what to do.
He didn't know what to do.
He didn't want to die. He didn't want to.
But he was just laying on the ground, bleeding out as a bomb tick tick ticked down.
Maybe it was reflex. Maybe the thoughts of impending death brought it to the forefront. Catherine came back for him. He wanted to stay for his dad. He could do that, right?
Jason began to pray. 'Please, let me live. I don't want to die. I don't want to leave dad or Alfred, or even Dick. I'm not ready. Please, please, please help me.'
His breath stuttered and his chest ached as cracked and broken ribs pushed painfully inside him. "Please..." He whispered. And then the bomb stopped ticking, and Jason knew no more.
---------------------------------------
There was a cacauphonus Boom across the empty desert, and Bruce almost felt his heart stop in his chest. No no no, he couldn’t be too late. No no nononono- his thoughts only grew more frantic as he approached the smoldering pile of rubble that used to be a warehouse.
Please let Jason be out, please not my SON-
"Robin!" He shouted, voice cracking across the smoldering rubble as he dismounted his cycle and sprinted towards the still smoking rubble. "Robin!" He yelled again, voice breaking as he started sprinting along the edges, ears straining to hear something, anything-
There. At the back, barely outside of the smoldering wreckage was an unmoving pile of red, yellow, and green.
Bruce knew he didn't have the meta gene. He had checked multiple times. But in that moment it felt like he teleported to Jason's side as he fell to his knees next to his baby boy. He was covered in ash and blood, face pale around a red, carved J (don't think about it, don't let your blood boil, Jason needs a father not a murderer-) and eyes closed behind his torn mask. Fingers to pulse fingers to pulse, where wherewherewhere-
There. There. Right there was his son's heart beat. The wheezing rise and fall of his chest. Alive. Alive. His son was alive.
Batman did not cry. But Bruce did. He looked at his wounded, broken son and cried as he called the Batplane on his wrist computer. It was better not to move Jason, he reassured himself as he checked for spinal injury. And if it was because he felt like he would undoubtedly collapse again if he tried to stand up was just a plus.
"...dad?" Jay whispered, and Bruce started crying all over again.
"I'm here, I'm here Jaylad,"
"He came,"
"Who?"
"Death," Bruce's heart jolted. "Told 'em I couldn't go yet. He saved me. He came and he saved me...," Bruce heard the roar of incoming engines and hastened to make sure it was safe to move Jason. Jason had passed out again after his cryptic words, and Bruce was trying to ignore the feeling it left in his gut.
Jason had his beleifs, and Bruce had always supported him in them. Bruce himself was Jewish by his mother. He had heard of Jason's Death God and helped gather supplies for Jason's small altar that he prayed at.
Bruce didn't really believe in any God. But in a world of monsters, myths, and aliens...
"Thank you for saving my son," Bruce whispered into the air. Even if he was wrong, and speaking to no one and nothing, it didn't hurt to say it.
Bruce lifted Jason into his arms and approached the already lowered stairs to the Batplane.
Jason Todd is pagan. His religion is not anything related to any pre-existing cultures, but something that's based on a throw-away comment by Catherine Todd after one of her worst trips.
"He was so kind," she said in between mutterings, somewhat delirious and dangerously dehydrated. "Didn't push me to follow. Just took my hand and guided me back."
Jason Todd, who knew that her mom had almost died that time, always thought that the Death God had granted Catherine more time to be with him. That is until she took too much and not even a soft-hearted God could bring her back to life.
That faith remained after he dedicated prayers to his God; the world seemed to tilt just right when he remembered to speak to Him. It was almost like having a guardian angel.
Jason wasn't aware how right he was.