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Memories that should have stayed hidden

Summary:

After Jason insults the most recent garishly clothed villain-of-the-week, he believes he got out completely unscathed. What he didn't know was that his darkest memories were now being projected around Wayne Manor.

After six months of the Wayne family trying to become whole again, will this destroy any chance at reconciliation?

Notes:

Hmm, this plot bunny crashed into my head the other day, after I've been out of the fandom for about a year. If any of the characters feel OOC that's largely because of that and because I've only ever consumed fanfiction for this fandom so I don't know much cannon stuff.

Hope you enjoy this... whatever it is :)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tim had been the one to see it first. He had an assignment due the next day, and he was pulling an all-nighter. That meant he needed another coffee refill and he’d had to wait until everyone else, especially Alfred, had gone to bed, he did not need another intervention about his caffeine addiction. Besides, it wasn’t an addiction, that would be like saying Batman was Bruce’s addiction… okay so maybe it was an addiction, but it was fine. He was fine. No matter what the others said. So, he quietly made his way downstairs. It so happened that to get to the kitchen he had to pass the sitting room. He had just reached the partially open door when he heard quiet noises coming from the room.

But everyone’s upstairs’ he thought. He’d mentally ticked off each of the others when he heard their footsteps coming up the stairs. He’d got all six of them, including Dick and Steph who were staying over for the moment. ‘Someone must have left the TV on,’ he mused, pushing the door open fully. He might as well turn it off since he was there. Tim stepped fully into the room, putting his empty coffee mug on the bookshelf next to the door. Without flicking the light on, he squinted trying to find the remote. Whatever was on Tv, was currently almost completely dark, not giving enough light to illuminate the room. There was no dialogue, just labored breathing that was starting to freak Tim out a bit.

He stumbled over to the couches and began running his hands across the surfaces, trying his hardest to find the remote as quickly as possible. Just as his hand closed around the remote, the sound changed. An inhale suggested that whatever character was in the movie had woken up. They then began banging against something. Tim cautiously stepped closer to the TV unable to make anything out. Then they spoke, and it sent a chill down his spine.

“B?! Dad- I- where are you? I don’t-“ the character broke off sobbing. Banging harder against a surface. Tim swallowed, a coincidence that’s all, he hadn’t been sleeping he was imagining things…right? Tim stared closer and just about could see some kind of wooden surface and maybe a hand pushing against it. “Bruce! Please… where am I?” the character cried. Tim had had enough and shut the Tv off, and the limited amount of light it had provided disappeared, leaving him in complete darkness. He stared wide eyes at the blank screen, breathing heavily. He could barely make out what it had been, but something told him the character was in a coffin. He wasn’t even sure if it had been a character.

He shook his head, stumbling back to the door, completely forgetting to grab his coffee mug.

“Bruce is a common name after all,” muttered Tim to himself as he finally got to the kitchen. This time he flicked the light on. He’ll have to check what had been playing tomorrow, just so he could put his mind to ease. Obviously, he’d been stressed lately, and his mind had just jumped to a completely random and horrific conclusion.

Tim nodded, that had to be it. He grabbed a new mug from the cupboard and poured his next cup. He’d finish this essay and he would get some sleep. He definitely needed it. As he made his way back upstairs, he unconsciously gave the living room a wide berth. Yet, as he sat up in his room, staring blankly at the half-written page before him, his cursor blinking mockingly, he couldn’t get that pleading voice out of his head.

It sounded like Jason.

 


 

Alfred got up at six o’clock sharp as he was wont to do every morning, except for his days off when he slept in until eight. Being one of the only full-time functioning members of the household, it was up to Alfred to make sure the house did indeed stay standing and all the occupants didn’t stave when they forgot to eat. However, being a surrogate father/grandfather to all eight members of the household, even those who didn’t currently live there, he was perfectly happy to do so, and while he wasn’t happy about their hobbies, he was just glad that he was there in case anything happened.

As it was too early to make breakfast just yet, Alfred went around the downstairs area clearing up things from the night before. The children, excluding Master Timothy who had stayed in his room, had had a film night and Alfred knew they got incredibly messy. He potted around the living room picking up blankets and setting the remote back on the coffee table from where it had seemingly been thrown onto one of the sofas. He even found an old coffee mug which he took with him to the kitchen. He glanced around the kitchen and tutted to himself. Letting the children have free range around the kitchen was always a mistake.

He grabbed the cleaning supplies and set the dishwasher on. Alfred then turned to the radio that sat on the counter. He fiddled with the dials a bit before it settled on his usual station. He turned back to start his work, absently listening to the radio as an advert jingle ended. The first sound of the radio show was simply laboured breathing. It didn’t strike Alfred as too weird as he was used to the strange openings that radio dramas had.

Wow, that looked like it really hurt,” came a familiar voice that cause Alfred to spin around and stare at the radio. It was followed by a thwacking sound, like metal striking flesh. “whoa now, hang on, that looked like it hurt a lot more,” Alfred walked determinedly over to the device and switched it off, it crackled for a moment before the now disjointed voice continued, “so let’s try to clear this up, okay pumpkin, what hurts more, A-“ another sound of someone being hit by a heavy object followed, “Or B,” it happened again, this time followed by a grunt of pain.

Alfred stared in horror at the unassuming radio. He tried to comprehend why on earth the voice of the Joker was coming out of his turned-off radio. Why was it playing a recording – he assumed - of someone being beaten?

Forehand? Or backhand?” more pained groans followed the questions. Alfred picked up the radio and turned it over. It had a simple removable back; no screwdriver was needed. He pulled off the backing and pushed out the batteries.

The Joker laughed maniacally. A barely audible muttering was just about picked up by the radio. “A little louder, lambchop,” whispered the Joker, assumedly to his victim. Alfred placed the now batteryless radio back onto the counter. “I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.” The sound of someone spitting was the response.

Now that was rude,” the Joker replied to the spitting, sounding offended, “The first boy blunder had some manners,” Alfred felt his heart drop as the realisation of what he was hearing crashed upon him.

I suppose,” continued the Joker, “ I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps,” he paused, “Nah, I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.” With one last whack, the radio crackled out and went silent. Alfred fell back into one of the kitchen chairs.

It was likely he had just heard the recording of his second grandson getting beaten to death. Alfred thought about getting Master Bruce at once. He quickly dismissed that idea; it wouldn’t end well. If this kept occurring then he would mention it, but before then he will keep it quiet, knowing it would cause nothing but hurt. Alfred grabbed the radio and shoved it in a nearby drawer with more force than was necessary. He turned back to his cleaning equipment and set about cleaning every centimetre of the kitchen, letting it calm him.

Yet, all he could think about as the sun steadily began to rise, warming the dewy lawn of Wayne Manor, was the horrific last moments of his Grandson.

 


 

At a quarter to seven, it was far too early for Dick to wake up on a non-workday. He chalked it up to it being only the second day of his holiday and he was still wired to his schedule. knowing he was far too awake to be comfortable in bed any longer. Dick pushed off his covers and pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt., fully embracing holiday mode. He quietly made his way downstairs, knowing that most in the household were light sleepers and not wanting to wake anyone.

He made his way t the kitchen to get some cereal.

“Morning Alfred,” he said, when he entered the kitchen, surprised when Alfred jumped. Strange, the man was usually unflappable. “Everything okay?” Alfred turned away from the sink he was scrubbing,

“Of course Master Dick, you simply gave me a fright,” Dick sent a bemused look to the older man. Alfred didn’t get frightened; It was a simple fact. “Is there something I can do for you,”

Dick shook his head, “It’s okay, I was just going to get some food then had to the Den,” well, it was the sitting room really, but Dick had insisted on calling it the Den since he first moved in because it ‘sounded cooler.’ Dick had even heard Bruce call it that occasionally so that must mean it was a good name.

Alfred nodded, “If there is anything you need…” Dick sent Alfred a grin as he grabbed a box of Frosty Flakes and a spoon.

“I’ll let you know,” replied Dick, giving Alfred another smile as he shoved raw cereal into his face. At least that’s what Tim called it.

“It’s a sin, Dick! You can’t eat cereal without milk!”

“I must agree with Drake. That is obscene.”

“Come on guys, it’s not that bad,”

“Dick, you’re eating raw cereal, it’s weird!”

It was one of Dicks fondest memories, the only time he’d heard Damian and Tim agree over something. He continued on his way to the Den, occasionally shoving more cereal in his face. It had been a while since he had been able to enjoy a lazy early morning. He wondered if any of the old cartoons he used to watch were still running. He was pretty sure Bruce still had cable since Tim had been the one to pester him into getting a couple of streaming services.

He hummed quietly to himself in thought, as he pushed himself into the Den. It had clearly been tidied considering the mess they’d left it the night before and Dick put down a mental note to either thank Alfred or apologise to him. Maybe both.

Dick threw himself down onto one of the couches and picked up the TV remote, switching it on. The image on the TV seemed to be an overhead view of a graveyard.

Dick tried to change the channel, but it didn’t budge. He frowned at the remote and took out the batteries before slipping them back in again. The basic turn it off, turn it back on-again technique. Nothing.

He looked up just as the scene changed. The camera zoomed in and lingered on a single grave before diving into the soil below it. Dick stared at the TV. He felt like his breath had been knocked out of him. He automatically pressed the rewind button, distantly surprised that it worked. He paused on the gravestone.

“Alfred!” Dick called, barely able to keep the hysteria out of his voice, he heard Alfred’s brisk footsteps coming down the hall.

“Whatever’s the matter, Master Dick?”

“We don’t have a link to the Graveyard CCTV, do we?”

“No, I don’t believe we do,” Dick simply stared at the screen. He was very familiar with his brother’s grave, as he had visited it many times after his death. Considering the brand-new condition the grave was in, Dick would guess that this recording was six years old.

From the intake of breath behind him, Dick knew Alfred had read the screen.  Dick hesitantly pressed play.

Together they watched the next minute of the recording. Dick felt tears building in his eyes and he felt his heart break,

“Oh, Jay…” he whispered, feeling devastated. He turned the TV off as it began to loop. “What the Fuck,” he muttered as he fell back against the Couch. He had no idea, none of them did, that Jason had been awake in his coffin. And while he wished this was fake, he knew it wasn’t. Deep down he knew that was Jason, his baby brother crying for Bruce after he woke up alone in his own coffin.

Dick pressed his hands into his eyes. Jason’s desperate cries echoed in his mind.

“I believe you should wake up the others,” said Alfred quietly. Dick sniffed and pushed himself up. Dick looked over at Alfred who looked as destroyed as him.

“We’ll sort this out,” murmured Dick, trying to reassure Alfred, or himself, he wasn’t sure. Alfred only nodded and Dick felt like he couldn’t say anything else, and he left the room, forcing himself to walk slowly. He had to get Bruce, after that, he would let himself cry properly.