Work Text:
“I don’t forgive you, you know.”
Dick’s whole body tensed, adrenaline shooting through him as he woke to full alertness in the span of a second. In the background, he logged that he was still in his old bedroom, spending the night at the manor before going back to New York to figure out who he was gonna be now that he wasn’t Robin. The window was dark, but it had the edge of dawn’s coming approach, so Batman and … Robin were back from patrol and most likely already in bed. He sat up sharply.
At the foot of his bed there was a silhouetted figure. It took him just a second to place it as Jason. He was carrying something long and thick. A club? No, a baseball bat.
“Jase?” Dick asked. “What’s up?”
The light was so low that Jason’s face remained completely shadowed save for two sharp pinpricks that were the catchlights in his eyes. “You, finally,” he said. “D’ya have any idea how long I’ve been standing here waiting for you to wake up? I know I’m Robin and all, but I still thought you’d hear me come in.”
“Guess I was really out. What did you need?”
“I need my parents back, but I guess you don’t care about that.”
The blood in Dick’s veins turned to ice. “Jase—”
“I bet you thought you made up for it, giving me Robin. Wash the slate clean, give him a new name and a new life and a new home, and he’ll forget. He’ll forgive. Am I on the right track, Mr. Grayson?”
Flashes of Trina and Joe’s bodies filled Dick’s mind. Eaten alive. Torn apart. His fault.
Jason took a step forward. “He’ll never forgive you, though, you understand that, right? The score’s never gonna be settled.”
Quick as thought, Jason was on him, pressing down across his neck with the baseball bat, pressing all his weight down into the motion. When he found out Dick had gotten his parents killed, he had collapsed against Dick, hugging his arms around his neck, not holding up his own weight at all. This felt like that. Except, this time, Dick couldn’t breathe. He struggled against the pressure on his windpipe as he felt tears drip from Jason’s face onto his.
“They’re dead, dead because of you, Dick. My mom, you have no idea, she worshiped you. She loved the Flying Graysons so much we actually had your poster up in our trailer. She trusted you, and she helped you, and you got her killed.” Jason pushed down on the bat. “You killed her! You killed both of them! You think I want to be Robin? You think I want your name? You murderer. I wish there had never been a Robin in the first place. But at least now somebody who actually deserves it will wear that name. That.” He pushed down harder. “Could. Never. Be. You.”
Dick had stopped struggling while Jason was talking. If he could talk, what would he say? He would apologize again and again and again, and it would never make it right. His vision was whiting out.
“I wish I’d never met you!”
One final push, and there was a sickening crack! And everything went dark.
Dick’s whole body tensed, adrenaline shooting through him as he woke to full alertness in the span of a second. In the background, he logged that he was still in his old bedroom, spending the night at the manor before going back to New York to figure out who he was gonna be now that he wasn’t Robin. The window was dark, but it had the edge of dawn’s coming approach, so Batman and … Robin were back from patrol and most likely already in bed. He sat up sharply.
Sweat was pouring down his skin, and he looked around wildly. No Jason. No baseball bat.
The blankets were tangled around his legs, and he kicked them off, rolling out of bed with an ungraceful thump. He stumbled to his feet and slammed on the light. Nothing. Nobody was in his room.
He stumbled out into and down the hallway to Jason’s room. He opened the door silently and stared in. Jason was asleep, a breathing lump on the bed, letting out the kind of soft almost snores of an old cat. There was a baseball bat poking out of his closet, unused.
A poster on the wall showed the Flying Todds, the trio of smiling faces so very much like the Graysons’ own. Trina and Joe stared down at him with their horrible weight. Dead. Dead because of him. Jason’s picture stared down too, doomed to walk the same path as Dick. Doomed. Doomed because of him.
Jason’s breath caught in bed, and he sat up, startled. He rubbed at his eyes. “Dick? What are you doing in my room? Is everyone ok?”
No, your parents are dead, and I killed them, Dick thought. “Yeah, everything’s fine, Jase. I just thought I heard something. It was nothing though. Go back to sleep.”
Jason studied him for a second before nodding sleepily. “Ok.” So trusting. “You get some sleep too. Deal?”
“I’ll get on that, Robin,” Dick said, making his voice steady. “Sweet dreams.”
He stiffly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. He slumped against it. Sweet dreams. Yeah. As if there would ever be sweet dreams in this household. They were all too similar for that.
He dragged himself to his old room and stared, crosseyed, at the Robin costume hanging in the closet and the Flying Graysons poster on the wall.
Sweet dreams. Right.