@all-blades
It was Jason. He's alive. I don't know how. Alfred's voice had been ringing in his ears for hours. He couldn't remember right now how the conversation had gone after that moment. Because as soon as he heard those words, a tidal wave of emotion had swelled up above him. So high it blocked out all the light, left Bruce completely in darkness. Holding his breath.
And then it crashed down around him.
Grief first -- he remembered holding Jason in his arms, limp, cold. The terrible weight of death like gravity pulled harder on the lifeless. Sometimes he still felt that weight in his arms, even now. But then joy, unbridled, wild, like a fire tearing through him, scorching, too fast, too much, too intense. Jason, alive. Alive again, with that attitude that couldn't be contained and a smile that would melt a room when he was really happy. How could Bruce not feel joy, remembering that? Remembering him as he was? But then crept in suspicion. Fear. Anger. Was this really Jason? How could he be alive? Oh, there had been plenty of cheated graves in Gotham, even bonafide resurrections -- but had anything good ever come of those? What if something else had taken Jason's place? What if... What if he was changed?
It was that last question that finally made him don the cowl and slip out into the city. He could've gone to where Alfred had said they ran into each other. But no. No, Bruce followed his gut and found himself at the belfry. Approaching a particular gargoyle. He stood there, silently, staring up at the figure while the tidal wave crashed over him all over again. Everything, all at once. "So. It really is you," he said finally, standing very still in the shadows of the belfry.
