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"The city hung in my window, flat as a poster, glittering and blinking, but it might just as well not have been there at all, for all the good it did me."
-The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath.
Jason loves his new home. It's white, gold and brown. The windows seem endless and the garden is greener than Planet Earth. The curtains are thick and his duvet engulfs him completely. His bed is soft, and firm, and not concrete.
He loves his new home. It's what's most important to him. It's everything that matters.
Jason behaves; he follows orders, tidies up his room, and helps wash the dishes. He's so happy he could die. Sometimes he cries at night, whispering his thanks to God just like Ma used to do, years ago, before life took her away from him. On other days he's wary, carefully walking through the halls so he doesn't bother Bruce nor Alfred, quickly hiding food inside his closet just in case.
(Just in case they decide he's not worth it. Just in case they change their mind.)
He makes sure to share his happiness with Bruce and Alfred. Especially with Bruce, who seems like he needs a beaming light most of the time. His adoptive father chuckles at his jokes and lets him eat chocolate at "ungodly hours", even when Alfred finds out the day after and scolds them both.
Jason goes to school. He wakes up early and takes a shower. (A shower with hot water!). The kids are mean to him at first, but he manages to stand up for himself. A few are scared of him, others smile his way or nod at him and he shines at the attention.
He loves going to school, but sometimes homework gets too boring and he ends up reading book after book instead.
Bruce keeps buying him new clothes. Warm, cozy sweaters. Denim jeans. Cotton shirts.
Jason is loved. He feels loved.
Jason is Robin.
He is Robin, and Dick Grayson doesn't like that.
"I can't believe you did this!" Dick screams, stomping inside the Cave. "I can't believe you gave him my suit, my name!"
Jason doesn't take it personally. (Lie.)
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "Dick—"
"Were you even going to tell me?! Huh? Were you?!"
Jason tries to understand everything from Dick's point of view. He thinks he would be angry too if someone took his mantle and his home and his family out of the blue.
It isn't fair, though. It isn't fair that Dick makes him feel like a thief.
The harsh discussions between Dick and Bruce continue for months until the first one stops visiting. Alfred looks sad most of the time, and Jason tries to cheer him up, drinking tea with him and asking him if he wants to spar. Bruce is gloomy too. His adoptive father is like a cloudy day; cold, slow, and detached. But Jason tries with him too and wins a tiny smile or two.
They continue patrolling, making the streets safer, helping the ones in need… Jason basks in it. He loves being of help. He loves sharing his magic with his people. His kind of people.
His days aren't perfect. He isn't perfect. But he tries. Some days everything turns out to be unbearable and he's distrustful of even his shadow. Those days he lashes out even at Alfred.
His closet keeps guarding food for him. When he has a bad day he likes to hide inside it, between cans and cans of food. Between jars of honey and bars of bread. One day that Bruce is looking for him after a particularly bad fight they had, he finds him inside the closet. Jason feels embarrassed. Why would he have food in the fucking closet?
But Bruce doesn't laugh. He doesn't even look sad or angry. There's a look in his blue eyes, though, one that Jason has seen every time he talks about his parents or about growing up with Alfred, or when he drops him off at school. Jason doesn't know what it means.
He doesn't need to know. Bruce simply says, "Jaylad", in the softest tone there is, crouches beside him, and hugs him tightly, warmly.
Jason is loved.
He still needs to repeat those words inside his head. He is loved.
One thing he learned is that love can easily interact with fear and hate. Love can make you scared. Love can make you angry. There is no exception in love. He is too young to understand that now, but he will.
There's something missing, still.
Dick starts visiting again, and that's when Jason learns that he goes by Nightwing now. Jason thinks that's cool, and he wants to tell him how cool he thinks that is, but Dick is always brief in his visits.
Dick doesn't even look twice at him.
(There's something missing.)
As always, Bruce gets sad every time Dick appears. And it's irrational, maybe, it's irrational to feel this envy, to wonder: If I were him, would you care too? If I left too, would you feel lonely too?
Yet, his dad always tells him things like:
"Be yourself, Jay. Sometimes… It's the most heroic thing anyone can do."
He is loved.
(Bruce would care. He cares. But his heart… his mind… Jason can't help but wonder.)
The decadence of Gotham gets inside your bones when you reach a certain age. It takes home in your blood and in your brain, trying to make you doubt. Unlike his lack of comprehension in love, Jason knows that the system is the one that's to blame. Jason knows that it was just meant to be, to feel this way.
He feels betrayed, and angry, and fucking scared. Jason keeps wondering, why would life treat me this way? Why can't Gotham change? Why would people damage other people? And the answer, the answer always comes back the same. It's the system, always so preoccupied with its wealthiest beings. It's the terrifying criminals, the ones that steal kids and rape women, the ones that beat kids and women, the ones that dare to lift a finger at kids and women.
Men.
Men are a plague.
“What’s the solution, then?” He asks his dad, who silently stares at him, one cold afternoon. “What can we do to do better? What can we change to have a real impact?”
“We’re doing something, Jay,” Bruce replies softly, the flames of the fireplace reflecting on his face, “That is what truly matters.”
Jason's fifteen and he knows that the best way to deal with plagues is by getting rid of them.
But he doesn't kill. Jason took an oath. Justice can still be served. He isn't like them.
(He won't be like them.)
So what if he stops pulling his punches? What if he takes satisfaction in beating the shit out of men?
"You're out," Batman firmly tells him. "I won't let you patrol until you snap out of it, Robin."
A part of him is chanting "He cares! He cares! He cares!". Another one feels misunderstood.
He thinks, maybe if I were Dick you would let me be. Maybe if I were Dick you wouldn't bench me.
But he knows that's not true. Probably. Who knows. Dick didn't even take the time to talk with him, to tell him all about his Robin adventures. Jason is so angry he can barely see straight.
And then, just like it happens in his weird life, he finds out that Ma wasn't his actual Ma.
Jason is so happy. He hugs her tightly. His mother—
His biological mother is working for the Joker.
No.
Joker manipulated her.
(No. Stupid. You chose the wrong person to trust, she’d said.)
And Jason… He should've seen it coming, he thinks. He should've seen everything with realistic eyes. Nothing good ever gets to stay. Nothing good ever comes to him. The white, gold, and brown paint peel off. The garden dries. The curtains get dusty and the bed's springs come off.
Cotton shirts and warm hugs are all he can think about after crawling through the floor, blood oozing out of him, tears rolling down his cheeks. But Jason has to try, there's—
His mother is right there. Jason has to try.
Where's Bruce?
Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce. Bruce.
He cries, and screams, and tries but Bruce still isn't here… Where's his dad? Where's his dad?
He has to try!
His mother!
Jason unties her. A shaky exhale, still with a laboring breath and—
(His mother lit up a cigarette. The Joker was— and she lit up—)
The clock is ticking, 00:57, 00:43, 00:39, and his lungs feel as if they'd been tied up, and the blood… He would've loved to have a big brother, Jason thinks. He would've loved to have Dick's approval.
(He's going to die. He's going to d—)
Something was always missing. Whether it was his mother, whether it was Dick's love, whether it was his happiness…
Laughter is all Jason can hear but that can't be right because he's crying. He's gasping for air, and he can't believe his mother is safe, and he can't believe he's going to die, and he can’t believe Dick hates him, and—
Cotton shirts and warm hugs. He was loved.
(Will he miss me too? Will he sit and stare and think of me when I’m gone?)
Magic runs out of time too, Jason thinks.
(Lie. That can’t be. That’s a lie. Magic never runs out, Robin gave him magic, Robin—)
Something is wrong.
Jason is gasping for air. Jason is gasping—
Something is very wrong.
Whites and browns wrap him up. Whites and browns—