So uh. My tags on this post have been in my brain all day & there's no better time to write than when I should be doing homework so ta-da - I present the beginning of the time loop.
Bruce had known it was hopeless when he saw smoke. By the time he was close enough to see the flames, the only thought in his mind was a desperate plea that somehow, Jason hadn't been in range of the disaster.
He picked his way through the smoldering remains of the building, shielding his face with his cape to avoid the smoke. A weak groan caught his attention, and Bruce snapped around to look for the source. His eyes landed on a pale, outstretched hand and ash-smudged blonde hair.
"Sheila," Bruce said, making his way over to her as fast as he could, stumbling through the rubble. "Doctor Haywood, what happened? Where's Jason?"
"Joker," she rasped, her voice quiet and weak, far from the bold doctor he had met that morning. "He set... set a bomb... Jason..." Her voice faded for a moment, and Bruce tensed until she managed to add, "...good kid, tried... tried to save me..."
"Hold on," he told her as her hand went limp in his. "You'll be okay." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he had to find Jason. He needed to summon help, but there were only so many options in such a remote area of desert. He had to find Jason.
The wind started to pick up, blowing away some of the smoke and causing something yellow to flash at the edge of Bruce's vision.
Oh, Jason, no... Bruce thought, turning toward the bright fabric. There was no mistaking the red and green now exposed by the flapping remnants of the cape, the coal-dark curls and ash-smudged limbs...
Most of the damage was on Jason's back; the analytical detective in Bruce could tell from that and what Sheila had said that Jason had probably tried to use his cape to protect them both. The father in him could only see blood and char and the tattered remains of a bright costume.
"Jason," he murmured, the name falling from his mouth before he could think better of it. "Jason, Jason, Jay, please. Robin. Robin, wake up." He carefully rolled Jason over, delicate movements to avoid hurting him further. As if Jason could feel anything. Bruce didn't need to look for a pulse to know he wouldn't find one, but he couldn't stop himself from holding two fingers to Jason's neck as he cradled his son's broken body. "Jason, come on, you can't... I can't..."
There was no response. The July sun bore down unforgivingly on them as Bruce sat hunched over his son, trying to come to terms with a world that no longer held Jason Todd.
That's not right, a voice said in his mind. It wasn't his, nor was it physically audible, but Bruce still sat up and looked around for a source. It's not supposed to happen like that. Fix it.
Bruce barely had time to wonder who or what the voice belonged to before he was sitting up in a dark hotel room, the sunrise barely creeping over the horizon through thin curtains. It was familiar, all too familiar, and against his better judgement, Bruce looked to his right.
Jason was asleep in the other bed, his breathing deep and even. Somehow, Jason was asleep and breathing and there, unharmed as far as Bruce could see. Despite the lingering phantom weight he could still feel in his arms and the scent of smoke he would have sworn was still clinging to him, his son was alive.
Try again, the mystery voice said. Get it right this time.
