The smack of crowbar on flesh is a sound that Jason will never be able to get out of his head. It's a unique sound, and it comes with a memory of pain and hatred. Even when it's not him, that sound touches the deep, abiding core of anger in his heart.

Right now, it's not him. It's an eighteen-year-old Dick Grayson, and Jason feels a sick kind of pleasure watching as the Joker beats Robin with a crowbar. There's something viscerally cathartic about watching Dick in the same situation he was, although every thud makes him wince and he feels as though he might puke at any second.

Good thing he's intangible.

See, interdimensional genie can show him anything, but she can't transport him to that world. So he's stuck here like some kind of freaky ghost that no one can see and who can walk through walls.

Right now he's abusing the privilege to watch a sick, twisted, horrible monster beat an eighteen-year-old boy half to death.

It's a good thing his stomach is empty, or he might be heaving intangible vomit.

But… he has to watch. Has to. Because this is important to him. It's important, somehow, to watch Dick feel his pain, to experience his agony, and ultimately, to die his death.

It won't make the real Dick any better, and it won't take away Jason's pain, and it won't change anything. But it's important. In this universe, anyway, Dick knows the pain, the agony, and the dying. There's finally someone who knows it like he knows it.

The beating finally stops, and Jason watches Dick's body twitching and bleeding on the ground. The Joker laughs and wipes something from his face. He leers over Dick's body, and Jason turns away. He can't watch anymore. No one should be that helpless. Not even Dick.

Jason doesn't listen to the sounds behind him, doesn't turn back until the Joker leaves. Then he turns, and watches as Dick tries to reach the bomb in time.

And, as Jason knew, as Jason experienced, he doesn't.

Jason feels the blast as a rush of hot air on his face. The explosion washes around him, and he stands unscathed. He watches as if through a curtain as Dick's body goes flying into the air, and he turns to follow it.

The explosion subsides, leaving blackened rubble strewn across the ground. Jason stands for a second over Dick's body, then drops into a crouch over it.

Dick is convulsing violently – one hand flies through Jason's legs as though it isn't there. He's dribbling blood and coughing, his face twisted in a howl of pain. It's like watching something from a horror movie, all the gore, except it's real and that makes it worse. Jason feels his stomach heave and he gags, but nothing comes out. He misbalances, hand over his mouth and falls backward on his ass.

As the convulsions end, Jason reaches forward, presses a tentative hand to Dick's forehead. He can't feel anything, and for a second his fingers brush through Dick's face. Jason doesn't have any physical sensations, but it's strange.

He feels horrible, and as he watches, he wants to offer a dying, agonized Dick as much comfort as he can.

He remembers how lonely it was.