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No. It could not be happening, not again, not this time. Not this time again.
Not when he was the last. Not when he just came back. There could not be another grave opening, another coffin, with another boy. There could not be another child buried on the Wayne Grounds. There could not be another death in the family, when he, Jason, Red Hood just come back. It was not fair; it was not right.
The soil was real. The gold plate on the gravestone was as real. The flesh of the child was real. Everything was real. The dead body was not made out of plastic, not made out of glue, not made out of knives. The body would sink into the Earth. The flesh would bubble up before eroding away. There would be a real skeleton under the soil. A real skeleton of boy.
If Jason had anything to do with it, he would make sure that the boy was never a Robin. Jason would have shielded the boy the second he came into the home, into the family. He would have taken the boy under his arm when Bruce went missing. Taking care of him and Tim because obviously Dick had too much, became Batman too fast, too soon. Jason would have given his world for his little brother if he had known he would spend so much little time with Damian.
Damian was young. He was foolish, annoying, aggressive. He failed to notice his own weakness. He always picked fights with the others to prove he was better than them. He placed a crowbar, the crowbar on Jason’s bed for him to see; but he was still family. He was the tiniest of them all, and Jason failed him.
The rain hit his back as Jason curled over the grave. He was wearing his usual outfit; jeans, black shirt, brown jacket, but his hood was off to the side. Jason does not cry. He failed to cry over his mother's death, over his beating. He did not cry when he realized that Batman was too much, as he watched the numbers sink lower and lower. He did not cry when he crawled out of his grave.
His grave was supposed to be the last Robin grave.
Now, he cried at his little brother's grave. He did not come to the funeral. he did not watch as the coffin was lowered. He was not there to witness all the pretty poems and the flowers. The 'best of wishes'. He did not want to be there.
The last grave he saw was his own.
"I'm sorry…"
Jason rose up. His knees dirtied, and his hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were closed, and his fists clenched. His little brother was dead. His little brother was buried six-foot-deep in a suit and with a rose.
Jason picked up his helmet, with determination he put on his hood and stomped off. Sending one last glance to the grave sight of Damian Wayne.
His brother was dead, and it was high time to build another grave. Not even The Batman would stop him this time.
An eye for an eye, a grave for a grave.