Chapter Text
Dick doesn’t know how long he stayed in the Batcave. In theory, it should almost be time to start getting ready, but he can’t bring himself from standing and walking towards the elevator. The glass reflects his image back at him, for once he looks as bad as he feels. He runs a hand through his hair, tugging harshly, but his hand falls limp. Echoes of taunts seem to emanate from somewhere behind him and there are shadows that seem to form a person but the merge into their true form when he spins to look at him.
Sleep has been impossible for him. The exhaustion seeps into his bones. Moving seems impossible so he keeps staring at the glass case in front of him. It’s Jason’s Robin uniform, well one of his extras. Alfred must have placed the new one on the mannequin without thinking. No one else has been down here since then. It’s the perfect place for Dick to hide out. He thinks they should move it somewhere else, its too strange now to see it next to his Nightwing costume. Not as strange as it had been seeing Jason in it for the first time.
Dick sags further into the chair. He wishes he had reacted differently. Jason earned that costume, he did it proudly and died wearing it. It’s one more thing this city took from him, Jason was like Bruce in the way that he loved Gotham that laying down his life for it didn’t seem like too high of a price. Maybe it would hurt less if that’s what happened, an act of sacrifice and not at the end of a vendetta. Bruce has done nothing about the Clown Prince creating havoc in the lower east end. There have been no fatalities, but many reports of citizens hearing about how Joker killed Robin.
He clenches his fist. There’s nothing he would like more than to snap the clown’s neck, but Bruce’s lectures keep him in place. They were never enough for Jason, enough to keep him from killing but never enough to convince him everyone gets a chance.
“How many chances are you going to give that madman?”
“We do not kill.”
“He almost killed me! Are you saying you care more about your stupid rule than my life?”
“No, that’s not-”
“If he held a gun to my head, and told you to choose, kill him or watch me die what would you do?”
“…”
Dick shakes his head, that was a conversation he never meant to here. He doesn’t like that Jason would make Bruce have to choose between his morals (which is part of the reason he’s such a good person) and his son (now that Dick’s older, he can see how much each and every one of them mean to Bruce). It’s worse that Bruce didn’t try to dodge the question, which meant he didn’t know the answer. Personally, Dick would prefer it if none of his family had to kill, but if there was a good enough reason he would never hate them for it (he would never hate them period), but even he knew what choice he would make.
Bruce not knowing this was a little terrifying.
He glances back at the case. It’s been years since he’s been Robin, but he remembers the feeling of wearing the costume. When he wore it is was to help prevent kids from becoming orphans like he and Bruce. Jason wore it as proof that he can be better than where he came from. It’s also proof that Gotham is a black hole, Dick knows that it was only a matter of time before one of them didn’t make it home. This was a long time coming, he just wishes it never came.
Right now, he wishes Jason had never worn the suit. Dick stands and slams his hand onto the glass. The cases are made from stronger glass than usual, but it’s not unbreakable. He hates that it mirrors his own costume almost perfectly. Jason may have worn the costume without his permission the first time, but Dick told him it was fine, he passed the mantle over.
He should have gone with Jason that night. Batman would have been alone, but he fought crime alone a long time before he wore the R for the first time. If he had gone with him then Jay might have been still alive, and Tim would have never put on the costume. That costume is a curse disguised as a blessing. It takes from you everything and in the end, it leaves you pain, Dick knows the feeling of being Robin seems to be worth the trade but now he wonders if it is.
He’ll never be able to have a normal life, not that performing the circus was exactly normal by societies standards, he’ll always have the instinct to be the one that gets hurt instead of a civilian because he’s been trained to take the pain. Jason won’t get to grow up and make his own choice about being a vigilante. Tim, well, Dick sighs, Tim is going to give up everything to make up for failing Jason when it mattered most and saving Bruce from himself. Damian will eventually want the mantle because he’ll think it’ll make him more worthy of Bruce’s love because he still doesn’t understand it’s freely given.
God, he should have never passed the mantle over to Jason. Best to let the curse start and end with him. His fist slowly uncurls, and he presses his palm to the glass. The mask seems to taunt him, asking why he wasn’t there when Jason fell. It’s easy for him to picture, too easy, it’s his parents but his mother’s face slowly morphs into Jason’s and by the time she hits the ground it’s Robin covered in his own blood.
He should probably as Leslie for something to help him sleep. The image has haunted him ever since Tim fully explained what happened. The shot. The fall. The death. It’s the exact damn thing.
“Master Richard, it’s nearly time.”
Dick drops the hand and curls his fingers into his palm, “sure. I’ll make myself presentable for the press.”
“This is not for the press,” Alfred reminds him gently.
Dick punches the glass, this time it does shatter, “It is! Everything in Bruce Wayne’s life is for the press. We can’t be too distraught, or they’ll spin rumors, but we can’t be too unaffected because then they’ll make theories.”
Alfred rushes to his side and picks up the now bleeding arm. Dick can barely feel the sting with the anger that courses through him.
“You know what they’re saying about Jason?” Dick growls, “they’re saying he’s some street rat, that he spat in the face of Bruce Wayne’s generosity.”
“We know the truth,” Alfred pulls a roll of bandages out as if he expected this. He probably did.
“That’s supposed to make it better? This is just like when Bruce adopted him, the press all thought he was going to be a trouble kid and that he’s going to be a rebel. They didn’t even care to look into his past and see that his mom died of an overdose…”
Alfred treats his wound carefully, “I’ll clean this better after you shower. You must remember Master Richard when you signed up for this you knew it would be thankless.”
“I didn’t know how much it would take,” Dick whispers.
“We rarely know the price until we get the bill.”