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Jason woke up to chatter. Happy and joyful chatter. Voices filling the Wayne manor and pouring into its every corner. He blinked his eyes, his vision still dizzy due to a sleep-clouded mind. A buzzing mind. It is loud in there. He closes his eyes again. The happy chatter slips away. A nagging voice whispers to him.
”Jesus fucking christ,” Jason mutters. He’s barely woken up for the day and he’s already being taunted by himself. Is he good enough? What’re they talking about? His family, why haven’t they included him in their happy batty chatter?
”Because you weren’t awake yet,” he explains to himself. Or, rather, explains to the voice in his head. She nags at him. It sounds like a woman. Has she always been there, or did she show up sometime when he was brutally murdered, buried, risen from below and brought back to life again? That, he does not know. In his mind, she’s always been there. Perhaps that is because she’s part of his mind. Part of him.
Jason is loud. Her voice cannot be heard over the deafening blams of gunshots. Her eyes cannot be seen through the smoke. He dreads her. She knows that.
But that is not what’s wrong with Jason nowadays. That voice inside his head is just part of his usual imperfections. Today something else is bothering him. That something has bothered him for about the past three weeks. A month. Or something like that. Frankly, he doesn’t know and honestly, he pretends he doesn’t even care. Because that’s his thing. Uncaring. Unbothered. Yeah, right, whatever.
With a yawn, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. Off with the blanket, the duvet and another blanket. It is April. Jason is cold. It’s the hottest April in years but he is still cold. The ground, about six feet below, is also cold. That’s why Jason sleeps with two blankets and a duvet. Like a cocoon. Cocoons aren’t dying, they are proof of life, just like Jason himself. Or is he proof of death? No, he’s alive. At least he’s proof of life returning from death. He snorts with that thought. Jason will always be something, because not many people will have that experience. He’s not sure that’s of any comfort, like, at all.
Anyway, the bed coverings have been thrown off and a pair of checkered flannel pajama pants have been thrown on. He’s shivering. The cool air in his room is hitting his skin like a thousand arrows. Arrows. Is that because the archer is in the manor? He always is. Well, at least he’s visiting a lot. At this point it would be easier to just move in.
Or out. Because that’s what Dick’s doing. Again. But this time it’s different. This time he’s moving out of the manor but he’s not moving to Blüdhaven, nor the Titans Tower. He’s not moving to his own apartment. He’s not moving all the way across the globe. He’s moving into a luxurious penthouse. A rooftop apartment. But most importantly, he’s moving into the penthouse with Roy. His boyfriend. His partner. Dick and Roy. They had bought the apartment together. Split in half. Sharing everything equally, like they always do.
A hoodie. He hates wearing hoodies but right now it’s the most comfortable option. A t-shirt would be too revealing and chilly. Where did he put his slippers? He kicked them off before going to bed, that much he remembers. But where? A quick check under the bed confirms his suspicions. There they are. He slides them on, searches through his brown leather jacket for a lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He makes a mental check of stopping by the corner shop later to buy more. Maybe one of his brothers would like to tag along. Maybe not. Probably not.
Dick’s room is on the same side of the hall, two doors down from Jason’s own room. Tim’s room is between them. He is greeted by that loud chatter again. He tucks the cigarette behind his right ear and shoves his hands into the large pocket of his hoodie. The lighter stays in his left hand. Will they notice him? If he just stands there? Leaning against the door frame? Like a shadow. A sleepy, messy haired, shadow.
The answer is yes, they will. Damian spots him first. ”Well, look who’s risen from the dead,” Damian greets him.
”Good morning to you as well, demon brat,” Jason shoots back. Damian look as unpleased as always.
”The time can hardly be considered morning, for it is almost eleven AM,” Damian corrects him.
Whatever. Jason considers the time after waking up morning, no matter what the time is or what part of the day it is. Is it noon? Great! It’s a good morning. Waking up right before dinner? Yeah, maybe not a good morning but a morning nonetheless. Being thrown awake by your own body in the middle of the night, sweat dripping into your eyes and mixing together with salty tears, while haunting images of crowbars and punch-friendly clown faces play on repeat without an off-button? Not a good morning at all. A disgustingly bad morning. But he’ll still consider it a morning because he’s not going back to sleep anyway. Not for at least two days.
He can’t ignore Damian for Damian has already removed himself from their conversation. After getting the opportunity to make Jason feel stupid, he probably doesn’t consider Jason worthy of any more of his attention. Not important enough. Oh well. Jason doesn’t care. Damian’s just a kid, anyway. Jason’s gonna remind him of that later. It’ll drive Damian mad. It’s gonna be fun.
”Jason!” Dick beams at him. Like, actually blinds Jason’s tired eyes with his sunny sunshine smile. ”Good you’re finally awake. We’re going through and packing up the last of my stuff today and I have sorted out some things I think you’d like. A have a box for you to check out. If you don’t want it, feel free to throw it away. Here you go,” Dick tells him and shoves a dark blue box into Jason’s chest. He barely had enough time to fish his hands out of the pocket. He takes the box.
”Thanks,” Jason mutters. Dick’s still beaming. He could light up the whole planet with that smile. Jason has never seen him this happy before. He wonders if any of them have. Maybe Tim. Probably not Damian. Tim and Dick have always been the closest out of them all, although they’ve had their ups and downs as well.
Yeah, Jason’s probably never seen any of them at their happiest moments. Him showing up again, after dying, did not exactly bring happiness and calmness to Gotham City. Were they disappointed that he hadn’t remained dead? He’s stopped asking all those questions a long time ago. The answers are unimportant, anyway. Truth is, the answers might drive him crazy and it’s best to not be crazy. Crazier. Whatever. It’s fine. He’s fine.
The box. He looks at it. He grips it tightly. Will this be his memories of having Dick as a brother? Jason’s older brother. Big brother. Ray of sunshine. The Robin Jason could never compare to. Live up to. He wonders what the others got from Dick. Damian and Tim. What did their boxes contain? Did they even get a box? Why is that so important? He hates it. It shouldn’t be important. He hates that it’s important.
He places the box on his unmade bed. It’s not a big box. It has a lid. The box is his for it has his name written on it in bold, black letters. Dick’s handwriting. He touches it carefully, not wanting to smudge it. It doesn’t smudge. He breathes out.
Tim is standing by Jason’s door. His arms are crossed. He’s tired, but that’s not unusual. Jason gives him a look that makes Tim squirm. Just a little bit. It’s enough to satisfy Jason. He asks Tim what he wants.
”Nothing,” Tim answers. Yeah, right.
”Then why are you standing by my door? That’s creepy,” Jason points out. It earns him a sigh and a roll of Tim’s eyes. Why is that little shit annoyed? Jason is the one who should be annoyed, which he is starting to become for each passing second.
Tim takes a step towards Jason and closes the door behind him. That’s just weird. Tim can tell what Jason’s thinking by just looking at him. His little brother is good at that. Little brother. Replacemant. Another Robin Jason couldn’t compete with. Damn you, Drake. He hopes Tim catches that thought, as well.
”Jay,” Tim says. His voice is calm. He has uncrossed his arms. His hands are shoved into the pocket of his own hoodie. It’s black, not like Jason’s light gray hoodie.
”What?” Jason snaps back. He didn’t mean to. ”Sorry,” he quickly follows up with. Tim doesn’t seem to be startled. He’s used to it, Jason figures.
”Dick’s been asking for you all morning. We’re finishing up his packing right now. Why did you not want to help?” Tim asks him.
Jason looks at him. Tim’s eyes are tired, but not sleepy. Did anyone check in on Tim today? Or yesterday? When did Jason last check up on Tim? Usually that’s Dick’s job. To be correct, it’s actually Bruce’s responsibility, but he’s not so good at that. Parenting, to be more specific. Maybe he tries. Jason has quite some remarks on Bruce’s parenting style. Jason dying plays a huge part in it. Bruce knows this.
”Who says I didn’t wanna help?” Jason asks Tim right back. Answer the question with a question of your own to draw unwanted attention from yourself. Tim knows what Jason’s trying to do.
”We figured you did not want to. You haven’t helped him with the move since he broke the news, like, a month ago. What’s up with that?” Tim mentally nudges him. Jason hates answering questions. He doesn’t like getting the answer wrong. Honestly, Tim’s questioning could go south any moment now. They are both aware of this.
”Did he want my help? He should’ve asked then,” Jason points out with a shrug. It earns him another sigh from Tim.
”You’ve been avoiding him,” Tim then explains, like Jason doesn’t know this already. ”Why? Because of Roy?”
Roy. That’s so stupid of Tim to even consider. Why would Jason care about Roy? He did, when he first found out about Roy and Dick. But what was, like, half a year ago now. Time has passed since then. Roy is old news. Jason couldn’t care less. That’s a lie. A complete and bullshitting lie. Jason believes his own lies. It’s more peaceful that way.
”What about Roy?” Jason crosses his arms. He makes sure his facial expression is displeased, like Damian’s.
”Well,” Tim starts off, then he stops. Like he’s lost for words or feel like he has to choose very, very carefully.
The younger boy looks away. His eyes dart around the room. They land on a polaroid picture above Jason’s desk. Tim’s bottom lip is nudged between his teeth. He’s thinking. The polaroid picture is of Dick, Roy and Jason when they were younger. Before Jason died. Tim looks back and catches Jason’s eyes.
”Are you jealous?” Tim asks him. What a stupid fucking question. Jason does not tell him that.
”What? Jealous of who?” Jason furrows his brows together. Drake must’ve lost his damn mind. Jason tells him that.
”I don’t know!” Tim raises his voice. Not much, but enough to show his own growing distress. They are both uncomfortable. How wonderful.
Jason drags his hands over his face and accidentally knocks the cigarette behind his ear to the floor. He watches it fall. Dick never liked him smoking. Roy bought him his very first cigarettes. Does Dick know this? Yeah, probably. Dick and Roy tell each other everything .
Tim looks at the cigarette on the floor. He shifts his weight to his other foot. His black hair fall into his eyes. He blows it away. Jason does not have black hair. He’s the only one of them who doesn’t. His hair is dark brown with a white streak. The mark of death, if you ask him.
”You’re mad at Dick, it shows. But why you’re angry is completely beyond my knowledge,” Tim says at last. ”Do you even know why?”
No. Jason doesn’t understand. When Dick announced that he would be moving out of the manor and into his very own apartment together with Roy, everyone had congratulated him with happy smiles and loving embraces. Roy had been there, of course. He always is. It’s like they’re the same person. Glued together. Unable to exist without the other.
That night Jason had gone to sleep with a heavy and uneasy feeling in his chest. It weighed him down. He became angry with himself for not being happy for Dick. He should be happy. He should be really fucking happy for his brother. The only person who’s ever told Jason that he loves him. But Jason did not feel happy when Dick told them about the penthouse and he certainly does not feel happy now, moments before Dick will leave him behind.
He’s getting abandoned. Again. At least it feels like it. Tim must’ve noticed Jason’s sudden realization because his eyes have softened and he’s moved closer to Jason. As long as Tim stays quiet, Jason will let him into his own space. Tim knows this so he doesn’t utter a word.
”You have pity in your eyes,” Jason mutters. ”It sickens me.”
”Sorry,” Tim mumbles. They both know he’s not actually sorry, but he says it anyway so Jason will feel in control of the situation. It works every time.
”You might have a point. About me, being jealous,” Jason confirms. Tim just nods.
”Of Dick?” Tim asks him. He catches the younger man glancing at the polaroid photo behind him again.
”In some way, I guess, yeah,” he answers.
”Because you like Roy?” Tim looks at him again.
The confusion must be written all over Jason’s face because Tim raises an eyebrow at him like Jason’s the crazy one in the room and not Tim.
”Are you crazy?” Jason fires at him. He’s not mean. Or mad. The surprise sneaks into his voice. He doesn’t even try holding it back.
”Would that really be such a crazy thought, Jay?” Tim says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It’s not. It’s not even true.
”Yeah, obviously!”
”Why?”
”Did you get a PhD in asking questions or what? Because you sure as hell act like it,” Jason snaps. This time he does not apologize. Tim doesn’t expect him to.
The black haired man sighs. He takes a seat on Jason’s bed, next to the dark blue box. Jason watches him. The cigarette is still laying on the floor, forgotten by now. At least for the moment.
The chatter behind Jason’s door has calmed down a bit. He can no longer hear Damian’s snarky remarks or Dick’s hearty laughter. He wonders briefly if they’re already done packing. The thought makes a funny feeling bubble in his belly. He doesn’t like it. What a funny, little feeling. It makes him uneasy. Unsteady. Angry. He looks at Tim. Cyan blue orbs are staring right back at him. Jason wishes he could quietly disappear.
—
”Does he hate me? It doesn’t make any sense, right? But why would it make sense, I mean, it’s Jason. I feel like he hates me,” Dick is rambling.
Roy watches him move around the almost empty room. It echoes in there. Dick’s words are jumping from one wall to another. His voice follows him around the room. At this point it doesn’t matter what Roy says, Dick won’t listen anyway. He needs space, Roy figures. Not actual space, but space to let his thoughts form into words and then be spoken out loud. It’s Dick’s way of trying to understand. Make it make sense. He’s always done that when a situation is uneasy or weird. When he doesn’t understand. He rambles. It’s what works best for him. Roy gets it.
”Dick-” Roy starts. He gets cut off.
”No, Roy, I really do think he hates me. It wouldn’t be weird, not really, right? I’m surprised it’s taken him this long. Jason doesn’t like anyone,” Dick’s voice is stained with grief. It’s like if he says it enough times it will make it true. That he is hated by Jason. Why would he want it to be true?
Because it makes more sense than whatever else might be the issue with Jason. If he really does hate Dick, then it would make the situation understandable. Dick could grieve instead of spending the rest of his life worrying what he’d done wrong. The worry would consume him. It makes Roy’s heart heavy.
”No, Dick, listen-” Roy tries again. What, did he really believe it would work? Dick does not listen, not when he’s rambling.
”Do you have a better explanation, Roy?” Dick then fires at him. He’s stopped pacing around the room.
”No. I don’t. But Jason hating you out of the blue is not even a good explanation for his recent behaviour. It’s not even an explanation, like, at all!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice. Why can’t Dick just listen?
They look at each other. The air feels unbreathable. Heavy. Clouded. Like their minds. Dick’s eyes are glossy. Roy closes the distance between them to embrace Dick in his arms. The other man lets him.
”I don’t get it, Roy. Why does he push me away?” Dick whispers into Roy’s t-shirt. He can feel the fabric getting damp. Dick sniffles. Roy embraces him tighter.
”I don’t know, babe. I wish I could give you an answer, but I can’t. I’m really sorry,” Roy mutters into Dick’s jet black hair. It’s soft against his lips. It feels just like when they were younger. Not much has changed since then. At least not between the two of them. He’s grateful for that.
Roy can’t really imagine what it’s like, being the oldest of so many brothers. Not even biological brothers, but brothers nonetheless. When Dick first arrived at the manor, he was all alone. Way too alone, to be honest. It was cold and empty. No laughter or screaming bouncing between the walls. No pranks or movie nights. No fighting for the best spot on the couch. No one to talk to. To exist with. It was lonely.
Dick’s told Roy all about that. He tries to imagine what it feels like, going from a lonely little kid to sharing a space with other lonely little kids. Growing up. Growing away. Having to say goodbye to it all, over and over again. Having a large family when he grew up alone with his parents at the circus. No siblings. Just mom and dad. Then nothing, everything and nothing again.
”Just talk to him. It’s the only possibility if you want answers. The least you could do is try,” Roy tells Dick after a while. Dick sighs against his chest, hot air tickling his skin through the t-shirt.
”I don’t think that’s gonna work. Jason’s no talker, not when it comes to stuff like this,” Dick mumbles into his shirt.
Roy steps away from Dick. He tilts Dick’s chin with his fingers. They lock eyes. Roy knows that Jason doesn’t talk about stuff. Like, actual stuff. The younger man is rarely quiet, but he talks about nonsense. It’s almost as if being quiet is painful, for Jason. If he stops talking, what happens then? Roy gets it. It’s uncomfortable having to spend time with your own thoughts, especially if they’re haunting you.
”Maybe he doesn’t wanna talk about it because no one’s asked him about it. Just try, babe, and if it fails then I’ll be right here when you need me,” Roy encourages his boyfriend. His beloved. His heart and soul.
Dick nods. He’s hesitant and it shows. But getting Dick to actually consider speaking to Jason is a huge step, for the two brothers. Dick’s right about Jason. He’s no talker. But neither is Dick. Roy can’t remember how many times he’s had to drag the issue out of Dick’s mind. Sometimes it takes Dick months to open up. Over the years, he’s gotten way better. It makes Roy proud. Growing up with the bat does not contribute to any emotional awareness or communication skills. The Wayne brothers are all the same.
”So… should I just walk over there and ask to speak with him?” Dick asks Roy. He’s nervous, Roy can tell.
Roy gives him a reassuring smile. It’s small but enough to raise Dick’s self esteem. ”Yeah, you could do that,” he tells Dick. He earns a nod in response.
—
Cyan blue orbs. Tim’s tired eyes. Jason looks right at them. They do not change, not even if Jason glares.
Pity. Disgusting, nasty ass pity. Like Jason’s not had enough of pitiful eyes staring at him, following him everywhere. Why does everyone feel the need to be sorry for him? They should feel sorry for themselves when he’s done with them. Done with this world. Or whatever’s left of it.
”Don’t look at me like that,” Jason hisses through clenched teeth.
”Like what?” Tim asks him. The younger man crooks an eyebrow at Jay.
”Like you feel sorry for me. Do not feel sorry for me.”
”Who says I feel sorry for you?”
”Your eyes.”
”Oh,” Tim sighs. ”I don’t. There is nothing to feel sorry about, Jay.”
Jay. Jaybird. Jason. JayJay. Dick started calling him Jay when Jason was just a kid. It’s so much softer than Jason. Jason is a murderer. A killer. A dead man. But Jay, on the other hand, he’s… so different. He likes being Jay. It’s so much better than being Jason. Than being dead.
His thoughts are being interrupted by a soft knock on Jason’s door. The two men quickly turn their heads towards it. The door carefully creaks open to reveal their older brother. It’s Dick. He looks miserable.
”Oh-” Dick interrupts himself when he sees Tim sitting on Jason’s unmade bed. ”Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb.”
”No, no, it’s fine,” Tim reassures Dick. He gives him a soft smile, as if to say ”you’re welcomed here” even though it’s not even Tim’s room.
Dick enters quietly. The door shuts behind him with a click . The silence that follows is deafening. Jason feels sick. He hates it.
”I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Dick then says.
Jason snorts. He crosses his arms. ”Would you stop being such a people pleaser for once, Grayson? There wasn’t even anything to interrupt to begin with.” He turns his stare towards Tim. Tim knows it’s his cue to leave, but he makes no effort to get up from the bed. It annoys Jason.
Dick’s face changes. He looks like a kicked puppy. Is Jason that cruel? He wouldn’t dare hurt a puppy. He would never lay a finger on an animal. Only humans. Incredibly stupid and vicious Jason. He hates himself. Jay would never make Dick look like a hurt puppy.
”Roy said I should try and talk to you, but I feel like you’d rather not talk at all, so…” Dick trails off. He glances around the room, eyes catching the same polaroid Tim’s eyes caught just moments before.
”Oh my God. Fuck God. Whatever. What’s up with everybody coming into this room babbling about Roy,” Jason snaps at both of his brothers. It earns him an irritating look from Tim.
Dick looks confused. Tim does not.
”Why do you get so angry, Jay? I’m sorry, really, I am,” Dick says quietly. He looks so small, to Jason. He aches. They can all see it. He’s hurting. It makes Jason angrier.
He’ll never be Jay. It’s just not him. He wishes he were Jay, though. It would be so much nicer. He would be so very, much nicer. It would be nicer for Jason, his brothers, Gotham City and probably the rest of the damn world. It can’t get much worse than being Jason. Anyone, anything , would be better. It’s stupid. It makes his blood boil.
”Why do you even care?” He snaps at Dick. His voice is strained yet steady. God, christ, fuck and hell, would they all just stop giving a shit? Just shut the fuck up? Leave him alone?
Leave me the fuck alone . Yeah. No. That’s her voice again. She tells him to think it. To say it. He shakes his head. No. He does not want to be left alone. Never again. He hates it. At this point, there is not much that Jason does not hate. Being not-alone is not on his hate-list. Not anymore. He can’t stand being alone. It’s already enough to feel so sickenly lonely.
”Jay, I love y-”
”You left me.”
And the room falls quiet again. Finally. He can’t stand it here. In a swift move he pushes past Dick, throws the door open and disappears into the hallway. Tim and Dick stare after him. He does not look back to catch their eyes. Stupid fucking cyan eyes. Stupid fucking teal eyes. Stupid fucking motherfuckers with sad and pitiful eyes. God. Make it stop.
—
When Jason returns to the manor Dick no longer lives there. It’s been four days. Four miserable days. He crashed at his own penthouse. It’s not as luxurious and expensive as Dick and Roy’s new penthouse, but enough for Jason to survive. Tim has his own place as well. Damian probably does too. They all need space away from the manor sometimes, although the penthouses mostly only function as hideouts or a place to sleep at after patrol. Since moving back to Wayne manor about a year ago, he’s never been to the penthouse. Until now.
Alfred greets him at the door, as always. He’ll never get used to being called Master Jason. When he reaches the door to his room, it all comes washing over him. The air is heavy with his own failures. Dick never failed Jason. He made Jason better. He made Jay. The realization stabs his heart like a dagger. Shit. Maybe Dick made Jason better, but Jason certainly did not do the same for Dick.
The door creaks when he puts his boot against it to push it open. For once, he’s not kicking doors. Slamming doors. Breaking doors. The room is chilly. It makes him shiver. Four days suddenly feel like four years and four seconds at the same time. Weird. Time’s so confusing. And consuming.
There’s the box. Right where he had left it. The lid is slightly ajar, like someone’s lifted it off then not putting it back just the way it was. On the floor there’s no cigarette. He finds it on his desk. Did they really take the time to pick it up from the floor? Such a small amount of time, but yet, was it worth it? Fixing the messes he’s leaving behind? Maybe that’s all they’ll ever do. Cleaning up his messes. His shit. Him.
He drops his bag to the floor. He’s brought back some stuff from the penthouse. Some old t-shirts. Some books. Some photos. All memories. His boot clad feet move him across the room, towards the bed. His black leather jacket creaks with his movements. He had left the brown one at the manor. Biker gloved hands are gripping the box. He hesitates. No. He needs to focus. First he needs a smoke. Again. Even though he just had one. Then, he needs to take a seat. He dreads opening the box. It makes his heart break a little. He doesn’t want a broken heart. Jay deserves a whole heart. Jason, however, does not.
He lights the cigarette he intended to smoke four days ago. The window is open. April is blowing the dead leaves around the ground. Autumn had left them all behind. That’s just the way it is. It sounds ridiculous. Jason’s just a leaf. Left behind. No goal to aim for. Just aimlessly drifting around. Stupid fucking brain comparing him to a leaf . Maybe he’s mad, after all. The thought makes him snort. Mad , yes. Just how mad is the question waiting to be answered.
It’s cold. April blows the cool air into his room. He blows the hot smoke out of his nose. They make an exchange. When he’s done, he puts the cig out against the window sill and drops it to the ground. It falls and lands together with the rest of them. He wonders when anyone’s gonna notice the little cigarette cemetery below his window. When they do, they’re probably not gonna mention it. Just quietly clean it up. Like they always do with Jason’s messes.
The box stares at him. Not actually staring, but it feels like it. First a leaf then a box. Maybe he needs to call the shrink again, double the dose on the antipsychotics. Nah. Probably doesn’t need to, really. She’s gonna be there anyway, in his mind.
With a shuddering breath he grabs the box and takes a seat on the floor, back against the bed. The lid is heavy. Painfully heavy. It takes a lot of willpower to remove it. It probably weighs the same as those leaves drifting around, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it. He puts the lid aside. His eyes land on an envelope at the top of the box’s contents.
The envelope is feather light in his hands. He’s removed the gloves before grabbing the box this time. He unfolds the paper and finds a letter. That’s not weird. Finding a letter inside an envelope. Yet it definitely feels weird. Why would Dick leave a letter for him in the box? Does he even want to know?
He swallows hard. Breathes in. Then out. Then in and out three more times while shutting his eyes hard. Counting to three. Then five. Ten. Twenty. Twenty three. Okay. Alright. Now he’s ready. Can’t be more ready than this, at least. Maybe he’ll never be ready to read a letter like this. Maybe it doesn’t even matter. He reads it.
Jay,
You make me hurt. I understand that it’s not what you want, but yet you do.
I’m sorry for being the source of your pain. I tried to be so much more than that. For you.
For the first time since your return to the manor, I can’t reach you. I can’t figure out what’s wrong. Neither can Tim. Damian claims he can, but simply doesn’t want to. We all know that’s not true. If I can’t figure you out after trying so hard to, then Damian most definitely can’t even try. He doesn’t know you like I do. Your pain. At least some of it. There are some things that I’ll never understand, but at the same time there are things that I understand better than anyone when it comes to you.
When you came to the family as a boy, you became my first family since losing my parents. Sure, Bruce adopted me, but you became my brother. My little brother. My heart ached for you. I could understand your pain right away. I didn’t come from the streets like you did, but my childhood was at the circus. At school I felt like an outcast just as much as you did. That never changed. I still feel like an outcast sometimes.
I could never understand your death. What it must feel like. Then returning only to become abandoned again. If your death took its toll on Bruce, it’s still far from the damage your resurrection did to him. Don’t misunderstand me now, but having to lose you and dealing with all that sorrow and grief then you showing up again, angrier than ever, was a lot to deal with. Yet I know it is nothing compared to what you had to deal with by dying. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I wish everyday that your life had never ended. We all took the blame. Bruce failed you. So did I.
I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel abandoned. I never meant any harm. I’ve always wanted to be the big brother you so desperately deserve, but I know that I didn’t succeed a lot of the time. I’m sorry for leaving you all alone at the manor. I hated being alone there as well. I’m sorry for leaving you, however I’ve done it or if I’ve done it intentionally or not. You were the key to me having a family again. You are my first brother. You made me better. So much better.
I love you, Jaybird. I hope you’ll come around, eventually.
When Jason’s done reading the words are blurry. Salty tears travel down his cheeks. His vision is mixing the words together into a mess. He folds the letter and puts it back into its envelope. He’ll come around, eventually. Yeah. He wants to. Maybe a whole lot sooner than Dick would guess, or maybe even hope for.
—
Dick and Roy’s apartment is not far from the manor. Jason’s in a hurry so he still rides his motorbike there. The wind parts when he drives right through it. It’s a short ride, only about ten minutes later he’s arrived at his destination.
He parks the motorbike on the street by the building. He has to tilt his head to look at the top of it. Twenty five stories tall. Not a lot, but still enough for him to get dizzy just standing in front of it. Ha shakes his head after removing the helmet. His eyes hurt. They feel dry when he blinks them. New tears are threatening to show up at any moment. He sniffles. His nose feels stuffy. How charming.
Dick and Roy live in the apartment at the very top. Of course they do. It’s a penthouse, after all. None of them can stand living below other people. He gets it. The elevator dings then its doors slide open. He steps inside. It’s empty. Thank fucking God. The ride takes a little while. Elevators are not known for being fast. It makes him impatient. Not a good trait.
Another ding indicates that it’s time for him to get off, and so he does. There is only one door in the tiny hallway. Behind that door is everything he could hope for. His family. His brother. He knocks at it.
Roy opens the door. Jason is not surprised. They greet each other with a ”hey” and a ”hello”. Roy steps aside to let Jason inside.
”Dick’s not home yet, Jay. You could wait for him though, he’s probably not away for much longer,” Roy informs him. Jason nods. Jay. There it is again. Dick’s name for him. He takes a seat on the couch, kicking up his boot clad feet on the coffee table. He knows Roy doesn’t mind.
Roy takes a seat on the other end of the couch. Jason can feel him watching him. They used to be so close. Why does Jason have to ruin everything for everyone?
”You kept the shirt,” Roy says. His voice is softer this time. A hint of surprise tints it.
”Yeah,” Jason confirms. He grabs the hem of the shirt and stretches it out to get a better look at it. It’s a Sex Pistols t-shirt. Johnny Rotten snarls at him. Jason smiles, it’s barely there but it’s a smile nonetheless.
Roy had given him the shirt many years ago. When they were way younger. When Jason had been a reckless teenager and Roy had been hooked on heroin. Yeah. They’re doing a lot better nowadays. Sure, they weren’t exactly friends , not like Dick and Roy had always been, but they had a quiet agreement. They understood each other. Roy had bought cigarettes for him when Jason still wasn’t allowed to. Roy had given him music to listen to. Angry music. It fed Jason in a way he had never felt before. It made him hungrier. The angry punk music understood him, like Roy did. They had that in common. It was a comfort, looking back at it. Jason’s glad he had had Roy back then.
Suddenly the front door opens and Dick’s voice can be heard throughout the apartment.
”Babe? Roy, I’ve been thinking, do you think I should reach out to him? Try and text him? I’m really starting to think he genuinely hates m-” Dick abruptly stops talking when he spots Jason on their couch.
Jason catches Roy smiling at Dick when the red head moves to stand up again. He walks towards Dick, stops for a moment to lean in and kiss his forehead, mumbling something Jason can’t quite catch, before he disappears into the kitchen, just within hearing range but still out of sight.
Jason raises his hand, just slightly. He gives Dick a small wave before letting his hand drop. Dick’s just standing there. It makes Jason uneasy. He clears his throat.
”So… I read your letter,” and that’s all it takes before Dick’s flying across the room and drags Jason into a tight embrace. Jason hugs him back. This time he doesn’t hesitate.
They sit like that for a while. Hot tears prickle at Jason’s eyes again. Really, did he actually believe that pushing Dick away would make it easier? Make him feel less abandoned? Looking back at it, it only made it worse. So much worse. Stupid Jason. Jay would never do that.
But that’s the thing, Jay would do that. Could do it. And he did it. Jay is different from Jason, in many ways, but Jason is as much Jay as Jay is Jason. Really. Huh. He can be both, at the same time. Just like Dick is Nightwing, Dickiebird, Babe (according to Roy), Richard and Grayson all at once. Jason has always distanced himself from himself. He’s always preferred Jay, because then he could put all his failures and mistakes on Jason. Not take the blame. The easy way out. After all, dick had addressed the letter to Jay. He is Jay. Jay, Jason, whatever. It’s okay. It’s the way it’s supposed to be. And, really, Jay had broken Dick’s heart. Jay’s not immune to hurt and failure. He gets it now. He really does.
”I’m… sorry,” Jason mumbles into Dick’s shoulder.
”Yeah, I figured,” Dick tells him. ”Or you wouldn’t be here.”
Jason hums. It’s true. He would never had come around if he didn’t feel sorry and wanted to make things right.
”Did you know that Tim thought I was mad at you because he thinks that I’ve got feelings for Roy?” Jason asks Dick. Roy drops something in the kitchen that makes a loud clattering sound. It makes Dick snicker. Jason as well.
”No way, really?” Dick grins at Jason after pulling away from their hug. They still haven’t let go completely.
”Yeah, I’m serious!” Jason says through a growing grin. ”He thought that, like, for real.”
”That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Dick then laughs. Roy shouts a ”hey!” from the kitchen. Like Tim’s theory isn’t that stupid. It is, though. They both know Roy’s just messing around. It’s comfortable.
When the laughter dies down, Dick’s features turn a bit more serious. Jason knows what’s coming.
”What was the reason, though? Why did you pull away?” Dick asks him. His voice is less confident now. He’s still hurting.
”I- I don’t actually know. It felt safer that way. Like, if I pushed you away, you couldn’t leave me behind. Again,” Jason answers. His voice is quiet. He looks away. Stupid tears wanting to escape from his eyes all the time. It makes his eyes burn. It stings. It’s what being sad is all about.
”Jaybird,” Dick sighs. He reaches up and ruffles a hand through Jason’s already messy hair. His smile is small and not quite the way it should be, but it’s better than him being so visibly hurt.
”You moving away felt like you were leaving me behind, like so many times before. This time mattered the most. This time I knew how important you are to me. How much I need a big brother instead of just being one,” Jason explains further. It’s like he finally understands it himself now. ”I can’t be the brother you’ve been for all of us. I don’t wanna be left behind.”
”But you’re not left behind. Not this time,” Dick tells him softly. The smile has changed. It’s so sincere. Jason wonders how Dick can be so nice after Jason’s hurtful actions. It takes courage, he guesses, to still have such a kind heart after experiencing so much cruelty. It takes strength. Dick’s the strongest person Jason knows. He genuinely admires him.
Yeah, maybe Jason’s not so lonely after all. He’s not being left behind, for the first time in his life. His whole life. His second chance at life. Maybe this is the beginning of his heart turning kind, as well. He hopes so. He’ll make sure of it. He’ll come around.