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Dick stared at the image, sickness twisting in his gut. If he made it through this ceremony without puking or screaming, he'd be doing good. Crying was acceptable, would be reasonable and logical under the circumstances. The team had suffered a loss. The team had suffered its first loss.
And, dully, sickly, constantly, all Dick could think was that it should have been him.
He was Robin. That was his name. His costume. He was the one that had been by Batman's side, he was the one that had earned all of Joker's anger, who had been the first “boy blunder.”
He was the one who had encouraged Bruce to take Jason on as the second Robin.
He was the one who'd left before Jason was trained.
He was the one who should be dead.
“Are you sure you don't want it back?” Jason asked, sounding nervous. “Really sure?”
“The costume? Relax, Little Wing. It wouldn't fit me anymore,” Dick said, forcing yet another smile. All of them were forced these days. He didn't remember when the last real time he'd smiled when it wasn't fake. Same with the last time he'd slept without a nightmare or closed his eyes without seeing something horrible.
“You know what I meant,” Jason said. “Are you really sure you don't want to be Robin anymore?”
“When the little punk looks so cute in the uniform?”
Jason reached out to hit him, and Dick dodged only to hit the wall with his back and flare up the worst of his still healing wounds. That was a mistake. A big one. “Stop it, Dick. This isn't funny. It's not a joke, damn it. It's...”
“Robin is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Jason started to say something else, probably something that would have made Alfred sigh and Bruce frown, the kind of words that would make sailors blush, but he bit it down to one word.“Yes.”
Dick let out a breath. He put a hand on Jason's shoulder. “Like I already said, relax.”
“Relax? How am I supposed to relax? You're back now. You're going to be Robin again.”
“I can't be Robin anymore. I—” I should never have gone undercover “—I outgrew it, you know? Can't be the Boy Wonder forever.”
“You're not even eighteen yet.” Jason snorted. “You don't expect me to believe that, do you?”
“Like you want to wear that costume for the rest of your life.”
Jason frowned, looking down at the red, black, and yellow. “You might be right. This time. Only this once, though.”
Dick laughed, and this time it was genuine. “Come on, Jaybird. Let's get out of these suits and go have some of Alfred's cookies.”
“Rob—I mean, Nightwing,” Wally said, shifting anxiously behind him. “You... okay?”
Dick let out a noise that was somewhere between laughter and a sob. “Okay, Wally? How is any of this okay? That was supposed to be me out there.”
“Uh, okay, so how do you figure that?”
“Did you or did you not just almost call me Robin?”
“Point,” Wally said, letting out a sigh. He put a hand on Dick's arm, but Dick jerked away from him. He didn't want to be touched right now. “You going to leave the grotto any time tonight?”
“No.”
“This isn't your fault. You are not the one that set that bomb. You are not the one that used that crow bar. You did not kill him. The Joker did.”
Dick knew that, but he couldn't accept it. “Did you train him?”
“Well, I trained with him on the team but—that's not what you meant.” Wally shook his head. “No, I didn't train him. I'm not Batman. I'm not... you. Come on. You can't blame yourself for that. You worked that kid hard after you got back, and he was a good fighter even before you came back. He earned his place on the team.”
“Did you put him in that suit?”
“No, Batman did and—Oh, Dick. Damn it. You didn't. You—”
“I did. I pushed Batman to take Jason in because I knew I was going on that mission. I wanted to know things here would be okay while I was gone. That Batman wouldn't be alone. That...” Dick lowered his head. “I gave him the suit.”
Wally nodded. “I... There anything I can—”
“I think I just want to be alone right now.”
“I don't think that's such a good—-”
“Wally, please.”
The speedster held up his hands. “Fine, fine. I'm going. Just... let me know if you need anything.”
Dick nodded, but he knew he wouldn't ask. He knew he wouldn't move. It would be a long time before he would feel anything close to asterous again, if he ever did.