I wrote this as kind of a sequel to 'Just Drawing' but you don't have to read it to get this one. Every time it says 'Dear Jason', he's restarting the letter.
Dear Jason,
I'm sorry.
Where did I go wrong?
Dear Jason,
I have an overwhelming sense of regret. Over what exactly, I'm not so sure. I thought what I was doing was right; I thought this was the thing to do. But why did it end up this way? I should have realized right off the bat that I couldn't handle you the same way I handled Dick. You two are so different, and yet, eerily similar.
He had a sort of charm out on the field. Granted, you did too, but his was a sort of plucky, spunky, cute ball of endless energy that irritated the criminals to further insanity. He sort of reminded me of a rabbit.
You just scared them.
It's a good thing of course, but scaring was my job. Yours was to be a distraction without getting hit, and well-
Dear Jason,
I'm sorry. Sorry that I didn't give clear instructions. I'm sorry that you were too dense-
Dear Jason,
When I first saw you, pure trepidation ran across your face. I saw regret flood in your eyes and I'm sure you thought I was going to kill you. But I saw better in you that night, I saw promise.
I took you in, trained you. This was my second try at training a sidekick, so it was smoother then it was with Dick.
You were always determined. I could tell you wanted to make me proud. You wanted to prove yourself to me.
Honestly, I wish you hadn't tried so hard.
Dear Jason,
I hate surprises. I hate them almost as much as I hate death. You know what really surprised me? Yeah, you know. It took me for a loop. I cried, honestly I did. There were days that I hid in the cave so no one would find me. I sounded like a spook with all the moaning I was making. As much as people probably don't think so, I have a heart. You leaving the way you did broke my heart. It will heal in time. I guess. But it still hasn't healed from my parents.
Honestly, I don't think I have enough heart left. I'm too used to everyone going away. I hate it, for sure. But what I really hate is when someone's choice is taken away from them.
Especially by some lunatic with a crowbar. He's at Arkham now. In a full body cast, just so you know. I can't do it. I know you want me to, it was your last wish, and I could see it in your eyes. But I can't. You would, if the roles had been switched. But I have reason to believe that you could make it out. I couldn't. I'd kill and kill and kill until I was the only criminal left. I'm sorry Jason; I can't carry out your wish. I'm not like you.
Dear Jason,
I love you and I want you to know-
Dear Jason,
It's weird around here without you. Sure, Dick's keeping me company and Alfred won't leave me alone, but it's not the same. Dick's a fricken Boy Scout and Alfred's a stick in the mud. I miss your attitude. It was always refreshing to slap you silly when you mouthed off. Sure, I still slap Dick, but I feel kind of bad about it. He's like a flower you know.
Dick keeps saying that you're in heaven. He says that you're with our parents and you're happy because they're spoiling you. Alfred then corrects him and says that you're in time out right outside the gate because of all the crap you put us through. But I know the truth.
You never believed in God. Dick had his parent's love and guidance to teach him. Alfred's just another kind soul. Why would you?
The bastard son of a drug addict and a criminal. Abandoned and neglected. The scum of the streets. Forced to crime with nowhere else to go. You had a record as long as my arm. Still...
We met. We did some good together, and for each other. That couldn't have all been just coincidence, right?
Honestly though, every time I imagine you in a white robe with a halo and wings, sitting on a cloud, playing the harp I just lose it. You'd spray paint your wings. You'd be playing an electric guitar instead of the harp. Then again, it would be a wonder how you got in...what with the cursing, anger, and violent tendencies. Oh and let's not forget the blinding hate-
Hey Jay!
How's it goin-
Dear Jason,
Remember those days where we would get out the punching bags and wail on them for hours? We'd punch and kick and scream until our knuckles bled and our throats dried out.
You loved those days. You vented so hard, you kept going and going. Almost as long as I would go. You were so full of energy, but focused. You knew what you had to do. You were ready to fight to the death.
Too bad I wasn't ready to let you go.
Dear Jason,
Dick is a Rabbit, but you are a caterpillar. Let me explain. You're rough, like a larva. You are growing, like a grub. You are full of potential, like a pupa. You would have been great, like a butterfly, but-
Dear Jason,
I'm in a dangerous business, but 'death by crowbar' is not on my list of ways to get out of here.
Dear Jason,
I'm sorry.
This whole thing was my fault. I dragged you into this cesspool of anger and revenge. I forced you into this life of false judgment and self acclaimed justice. I trained you, molded you. You were my friend, my soldier, my son.
My fault.
If only I had been there. If only I hadn't been too late. If only if I had been thinking. These statements roll around in my head like a storm. Powerful words, 'if only'. Laced with regret and fear. Listen to me, regret and fear? This is coming from me! Me of all people! I'm an idea, an icon, a hero! People look to me in times of trouble and despair. Who do I have to look to now?
Death doesn't care about egos, names, or reputations. Death doesn't care about the lives you've saved or the good you done! Hell, it doesn't care about your family, your value. Nothing. It only stings, and burns...and takes away. Once again, it's my fault. I am the one at blame. Jason, you did nothing wrong! You tried to do your best, and try as you may you couldn't have known what was coming! If only I was thinking. If only I had realized. It was my fault. I'm the one who-
Dear Jason,
I'm sorry.
Where did I go wrong?
P.S. Dick and Alfred say hi.