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Jason had grown apart from him, an embodiment of fury, bitter and far.
The days dragged on as cruel as the dark hours of Blüdhaven ’s rain-laden nights, for Jason had ceased his phantom visits, had withdrew the monthly instances when he would announce himself uninvited, when he would tread mud upon Dick’s carpets with an assured smirk, a stolen flower between his teeth.
It had been several torturous months since Dick had been robbed of Jason’s presence, of his calloused touch and roughened visage, wherein softness would only brighten when hidden in the dark secrecy of Dick’s bed.
And he would leave by morning in silence, to continue his rampage of vengeance and murder and hate. However, the naked heat of him would linger in between Dick’s bedsheets, mixed with the thick fragrance of flowers; therein Dick would burrow himself after difficult nights, and suspend in the quietness of his duties as Nightwing until the very first day of the coming month.
But there were no more months.
The pink siris Jason had smuggled all the way from the treasured premises of a Chinese tycoon withered and died. But its parasite remained.
The sickness descended without warning, a shadow gliding between the dankness of winter.
When an orchid bloomed from his mouth, Barbara thought he’d learned a new circus trick. Wally thought of the fairytale Diamonds and Toads.
Then came the essence of artemisia, the golden petals falling from his lips like flakes of gold. Bruce had him quarantined to his old bedroom at the Wayne Mansion.
He grew weak. Cassandra became showered in callas when she rushed to catch his ailing body.
Amaryllis erupted in violent pinks as Tim nailed down the condition.
The Flower Sickness. An epidemic that had been sweeping across Asia. The infected would continuously throw up flowers in full bloom, their bodies a source of nourishment. Without a cure, they’d eventually die in a casket of their own making, a funeral progression of flowers. All those who had come into contact with the flowers would become infected as well.
Trillium opened in perfect trinity as his friends and family were warned.
The only cure was a kiss from the one the infected pines for, the one he loves.
He waited, lucent and silvern and dying under the embrace of black dahlias.
Jason, come home.