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Dick had returned from space two weeks ago and since then had found himself in a rage of sorrow. His apartment was a wreck of case files and junk food. He felt trapped in some rotting coffin, the only time he left had been on patrol. It became impossible to be Nightwing, though. He felt much more like the Robin he had once been, struck with grief, anger, vengeance. He needed out of Blüdhaven.
Gotham midnights were filled with noise. Once, Dick danced in it, flying from rooftop to rooftop. It was his stage, his life. It made everything more colorful and made his life worth living. Today it was haunting and overwhelming. Every car honk, every scream, it made Dick sink deeper into the spiral he’d found himself in.
Dick slammed against the edge of a rooftop causing his side to burst with aching pain. He barely held on and only barely managed to pull himself up. He rubbed his side, which would definitely bruise. Stupid. He groaned to himself and laid back onto the rooftop. A sky full of stars, the stars he had been in when his brother died. Beaten by some lunatic and blown to bits. Dick always knew the life of a vigilante would be cut short but Jason had hardly had a life, not even a fair amount in the fifteen years he’d lived.
God, he felt selfish. Dick remembered all the times he’d ignored the boy's texts or calls, the voicemails he’d left. The last voicemails he’d left. The grief was enough to make him force himself up and leave the rooftop, taking his bike down to fancy streets and gated neighborhoods.
Cicadas screeched an awful song as he wandered through the Wayne property’s graveyard. A mourning angel stood above the grave of Jason Todd. He’d been there once before, with Kori. She had held his back as he sobbed and laid in his hands into the dirt. She tried to soothe him but her words were weak and he knew it was only in hopes Dick would stop crying.
But he was alone now.
“Jason,” Dick’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, “I’m- I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I didn’t know, I would’ve been there.”
Jason’s silence felt bitter. Even at his angriest Jason never gave Dick the silent treatment. Dick knew he had messed up and Jason would never forgive him for this.
He imagined every time he ignored Jason, glared at him, did nothing but spat out venomous words.
“It was never to hurt you,” Dick promised, “It was never you. You’re my brother, Jay.”
Even now Jason didn’t believe him.
Dick kneeled down and watched as the shadows collected and swayed around Jason’s grave. The mourning angel seemed to weep when collections of bloodied red, green, and yellows formed and looked down upon Dick. It was a haunting shape, his bones set in ways no humans should’ve been. His Robin symbol was completely covered in blood to reveal itself as the curse Dick now knew it truly was.
What hurt more than seeing the ghost of Jason was the sadness on his face. A blue eye that peaked through the cracked domino mask flashed with sadness, betrayal. Dick wanted to reach out and hold the boy in his arms, cradle him in a way that every child deserved to be cradled. Not murdered, not murdered and tortured so brutally. No one deserved that.
“You’re my brother.”
Jason laughed. It was a sinister thing, one he’d never heard from the boy before. As he moved his blood rolled down his face and collected onto his chin before disappearing into a nothingness.
He had seen the files, how ripped apart the young boy looked, how he laid on that morgue table, unrecognizable. Jason was somewhere beneath all that gore and Dick knew the man who caused it, who took his life, his only life, away from him.
Dick sobbed and let his fingers dig into the dirt while the shadowy memory of Jason stood above him.
“You were never my brother.”
Dick cringed, his teeth clenching together until he could feel an oncoming headache.
“You never wanted me and now it’s too late. It’s your fault.”
“No, I-,” Dick’s voice was pleading.
Jason nodded, “I died in your colors, I died in your suit. You killed me. You told me you didn’t want me and when I needed you, you weren’t there. You let me die, just like your parents.”
Dick let tears roll down his face. He could feel bile rising up in his throat as every word Jason spoke hit him in his stomach, far harder than any punch or any bullet had. He felt like he was falling but he knew he would never reach the bottom, he would never get to lay beside his parents, never beside Jason. He would continue to live for a long time and he would watch everyone around him die, again and again. It was the curse to fall but never hit the ground.
“I know,” Dick told the figure, “It’s all my fault. It’s my fault you’re dead. I should’ve been there, Jason. I should’ve picked up the phone. I never should have yelled at you. I was a terrible brother. I’m so sorry, Jason. I just want you back. I want you back, please.”
Jason spat, “I’m never coming back. If I did I would never want to see you again. I hate you.”
Dick nodded, “I know.”
“I needed you,” Jason’s voice was pleading, a soft and childish whine in his tone, “I needed you and you left me.”
“I know.”
Behind him a light flickered and there was the crunching of leaves.
“Master Richard,” Alfred’s voice called, “Is that you?”
The old man held a lamp, illuminating the surrounding world with a golden, flickering light. His eyes were sunken in such a way Dick had never seen before in the man.
“Yeah, it’s me, Alf,” Dick mumbled. He stood and when he turned back Jason was gone, only his grave remaining.
“My dear boy, let's get you inside. I’ll have a kettle on the stove,” Alfred held Dick’s back.
The older man glanced back at Jason’s grave and sighed before guiding Dick into the house.