my lifetime,
his training.

TAKE TWO: ON JASON TODD & BIRTHDAYS.

ᅠᅠᅠ
Dick Grayson is twenty one-something years old when he learns of the death of Jason Todd. It’s almost a running theme now, when it comes to things concerning Jason, not finding out from the horse's mouth. Two months out to space, the news is revealed by one Danny Chase, who gloats and drops the revelation like it’s the daily weather.Jason Todd: Deceased.( No one ever told him that grief feels so close to guilt. )What a terribly familiar feeling.

The first time Nightwing actually meets Jason Todd, it's in the role of Robin. His clothes, his colors, his legacy. Congratulations, chimes a bell: you've been replaced.Here is the thing: Batman needs Robin, but Batman has never needed Dick Grayson.Bruce loves him, and he knows it in the way the replacement ( Jason, his name is Jason ) later confides in him. He knows that Bruce loves him in the way Jason’s dark hair and light eyes shine, in the way that he watches Bruce drag in another kid into his crusade and compare them to him when Dick himself wasn't enough.( He cups his hands around his mouth and asks God If you wanted to protect me, then why take another boy? What is he, some kind of martyr? And the lord turns around, all-piercing white gaze focused on him and replies as long as it wasn't you. )But it's not Jason's fault, is it? Dick's the older one, the one who ran away, the ward who didn't get adopted. He pulled, pulled, pulled on his leash until he was let go of. ( Or the leash simply broke. He'll never really know. )So no, it's not Jason's fault.See Doctor Parker? He's learning. She may call it shifting around of blame, but he'll stick to calling it rationalizing.“ I had a dream again. ”Pacing around the sanitized office, a little too perfect, designed for maximum comfort in the most optimized percentage of the population. White walls, non-offensive paintings that added muted color, a deceivingly kind-looking detective. She's watching him, and he knows it.“ The one with the gargoyle .ᐣ ”Like clockwork, thrown around your own memories and mind —— not quite here, not quite not there. It's punishment, the gargoyle explains.Roll call: Richard John Grayson, Dika Goral, Dicle. Robin, Nightwing and everything in between. Failure to the Titans, Failure to Batman, to Jason, as human or hero.So what is it this time?Amusement Mile: 16th August.One of the rare-few times he actually interacted with Jason, the only birthday he ever spent with the kid.He admired you, the Gargoyle points out, as Dick watches himself, younger —— sharper, stare at the sky as two not-quite brothers sit next to each other. Melting ice-cream that came out of a measly paycheck drips on the ground as a nineteen-year old Dick Grayson counts down the minutes until they can be done with this act.A boy who had wanted a brother, a barely-grown adult who had wanted his father: what a pair they made.And then he's in his own body for once, a fun little break of traditions. Dick glances up at the Gargoyle in all it's wretched stony glory and then glances back at —— Oh god. Jason.There's no melting ice-cream and there's no Amusement Mile. This is not a memory, it's a presentiment.An outsider, this was never meant to be seen by you, Grayson, Dick watches as Jason is laid out on a table in the Batcave.Once upon a time in a life once lived, there was a strong-man named Caesar who used to carve for him wooden animals. Mon petite aile, Caesar used to smile as he handed him a bird —— a dragonfly —— an elephant —— you name it. Lifeless oak eyes that stared up at you despite however sweet Caesar attempted to make the animals. Dragonfly eyes, the ones that stared up at you when the life left a person’s eyes, his daj’s final twitchy moments spent staring up at him.Dick Grayson stares into the lifeless eyes of Jason Todd splayed out on the medical table, skin flayed and pinned. Bruce, who can't seem to let go of Jason’s bloodied hand.The mortician’s sheet slips and Dick can't help but think of a meal, neatly laid out for a feast. He thinks of Mary Grayson and her lifeless dragonfly eyes. Death, death and so much death.He vomits over his feet, bile rising and burning.“ Get him OUT .ᐟ ” He hears Bruce roar through the ringing in his ear, as his spine and stomach clench, acid sharply making its way up once more.And isn't that funny? Kick out the living to make room for the dead. This is a moment for family and you lost your spot the moment you decided to walk out.But this isn't mourning anymore, it's perversion. Should have, Could have, would have been. Dick's had his fair share of fear toxin before, sure, but this? This is worse —— it's a sinking lung-burning feeling of wrong. Mulo, Mary had called it when they'd lost an old member of the circus, Haly’s sweet old aunt that had travelled with them. Don't play with the dead, Dicle, you never know when they may come back.“ Put him in the ground, Bruce, ” Dick gasps wetly, intestines twisting. “ Just get him off the fucking table and bury him already! ”To die was not to cease, where Dick came from. To die is to become something of worship, to become something new, and yet to linger, to haunt not as a ghost, but as another stage of existence.Jason Todd needs to go into the ground of Wayne Manor. He should be placed under a nice fucking tree in a nice fucking corner of the garden where he can feed the grass and the dirt and the birds and the plants and the earth. Where he can continue to have purpose, to make something of himself beyond Bruce Wayne’s thankless crusade.Bruce makes a whimper, like a wounded sound. “ Get him out, ” he hisses —— whispers, even. The cave has never been so loud. “ Get him out of my sight. ”

Jason Todd is fifteen years old on a mortuary’s table, ribs caved in, jaw dislocated, barely recognisable. Dick thinks of—— the birds he used to rescue as the world around them melts once more, sanguine red gurgling. Little birds, with broken wings and beaks, that he would take care of in their final moments before laying them to rest. Oh how he wished that was actually true this time.( Mon petite aile —— my little wing. )A wry smile, a half-white lie. “ Kind of. I have a tendency for self-blame, Doctor, and I know it. It always comes back to the gargoyle. But I've been doing better. ”

Scratch. Rewind.

“ You’re usually better than this, mi amour, ” Catalina comments, trailing polished fingernails down your chest. Where are you? What day is it? Stupor, you're stuck. Good luck getting out, Grayson: you're stuck in the bird-trap again, you've bitten off more than you can chew. You're better than this—— better than 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 .ᐣ What's this .ᐣ“ I had a brother once, ” he hoarsely responds through the haze of January—December—May. A brother, was he .ᐣ Try again, says the version of Jason that looms over him, unspooling intestines, pulling out viscera from the cavity in his chest. 𝘔𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦, Caesar had said. 𝘔𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦, chants not-Jason as he turns his head to Catalina.Play your part. You're Dick Grayson: boyfriend—romantically involved to Catalina Flores. You're on the run. Stop. She loves you. Stop. You're in love with her. You killed a man. STOP.

Scratch. Rewind.

She loves you. Let's start and end it there, yes .ᐣShe hums an apology and Dick swallows something heavy that rests against his chest.“ It's fine. ” Not-Jason stares from the corner of the room. This is me now, brother, says not-Jason, too big, too rough, too bloody. Mulo.He sits up as he turns to her, watches Not-Jason from the corner of his eye grin and wave, motion something as if he's asking a question.“ He asked me once, y'know .ᐣ ”Catalina lets out an inquisitive noise. She always enjoyed him actually talking for once. It's been a rare occurrence recently, he can't quite remember why.“ Why I didn't come home that often. Asked me while digging through my room, clutching my old toys. ”Clear as day, fourteen year old Jason Todd clutching one of Caesar's remaining two birds from his set of wooden three. Dick had eyed it clinically, one deep breath —— two, and had rolled his eyes and asked Jason to keep it if he wanted to.“ I lied, of course. ” Not-Jason finally stills in the corner. “ Told him I was busy. He finally gave up on calling after that. ”Catalina rolls over on to her stomach, sits up on her elbow, perfectly manicured nails tapping out tunes against his arm. Quietly, comforting, “ All relationships can be mended, Querido. ”“ It's not important. ” Dick replies. “ I barely knew him, like I was supposed to. ”