Caucasus Mountains

August 28th, 2014

2:13 AM

Team Year Four

+M'gann! I need the med kit from the bio-ship.+ Nightwing sent into the psychic link. He'd already pulled out the first aid-kit from his utility belt and had his medical gel dispenser out. He paused briefly when he realized Miss M hadn't moved.

+M'gann, now!+ The urgency in his mental voice broke her out of the daze she'd entered upon seeing Jason's broken body. +I'm on it.+ She sent, flying up where the bio-ship hovered over the tree tops. It was so heavily forested that they couldn't bring it in any lower.

Jason watched her go as Nightwing began to treat the worst of his wounds. Even without looking, he knew there were quite a few. His whole body was in pain and covered in blood, with his left arm and leg bent out into unnatural angles from the hard landing he'd taken after his fall. Breathing wasn't going too well for him either. Each breath made his chest feel like it was filled with broken glass, and any air he inhaled was exhaled as a fine mist of blood.

Looking up, he could still see the remnant trail of exhaust from the missile he'd sabotaged in mid air. The rest of the Team was back at the silo, taking care of the rest of the Shadows there, preventing them from launching another nuclear missile. Dispersion of the Team meant that Jason was the one closest to the missile with the ability to disable it. Simple circumstance had dictated that Jason would die, not Nightwing.

Jason took in Nightwing's grim expression as he worked.

+That bad, huh?+ Jason's mental voice was calm and collected, in perfect contrast to the ruination of his body. Nightwing didn't reply, too busy trying to save his brother's life.

+Nightwing.+ Jason sent, to no response.

+Nightwing!+ He tried again.

+Dick!+ His older brother looked up from the wound he was treating in his gut. +We both know I'm done. All the medi-gel and bio-foam in the world won't save me now.+

Dick resumed his work, ignoring Jason's statement. +I have to try, Jason.+ He sent, determined.

Jason would have sighed in resignation, but he knew to try would be to expel a mouthful of blood all over Dick. He sent a sense of resignation through the psychic link instead as he tried to control his breathing. +I know.+

M'gann returned with the med kit, but despite Dick's best efforts, he was only prolonging the inevitable. At some point, the rest of the Team arrived. He heard Artemis' and Zatanna's gasps of shock. He felt the weariness from Aqualad, and the disbelief from KF. The link was still up, but no one said anything. They were all too shocked for words.

Dick ignored them all. He had to keep working. He had to save Jason.

+It feels like I'm drowning in spit.+ Jason mused idly. He wasn't. It was blood. Dick said nothing about it either way.

He worked in silence. Jason hadn't moved in minutes, but he was still alive, still connected to all of them.

Jason felt himself growing cold, and numb. Denied the ability to speak from his injuries, he reached out into the link again, weaker than he ever had before. +M'gann. Can you shut everyone else out of the link? I just want to talk to my brother, one last time.+

M'gann broke into tears as Connor held her in his arms, but she complied. One by one, she cut the link between all of them until it was just Dick and Jason left. Not even Miss M would hear their words; she facilitated the connection, but she wasn't privy to it.

+Dick+ He placed a trembling hand on his brother's hands, stopping his work. +Enough. You did your best, but it's over.+

Dick didn't respond through the link, and his face remained impassively resigned, but Jason could feel the anguish that wracked his brother.

Jason had never known his own parents, and he'd long ago learned and accepted from his life on the streets that anything could be taken from him at a moment's notice, so while he could appreciate the losses his adoptive brother and father had experienced, he'd never known before now how hard it was for them to deal with it. For the first time, he could feel how hard it was for them to deal with the pain of losing someone unjustly.

He knew there was nothing he could say to make Dick feel better, so he tried to show it instead. Through the link, he made his brother see everything he felt. His gratitude to Bruce, Dick and Alfred for taking him in and making him one of their family, those two short years ago. His absolute belief that he'd given his life for a good cause. And, mixed with it all, a silent plea for his brother to keep going, keep fighting.

Jason took Dick's hand with the only one of his that still worked and squeezed. His bloodstained teeth were grit tight from the effort of concentrating through the pain he was in, but his psychic voice remained clear. +I did my best, Dick. I always did my best. I hope it what enough.+

+It was more than enough. You did good, Jason. You did good. I'm proud of you.+ Dick sent, solemnly. There was no reply. +Jason?+

It was too much. The effort of their enhanced connection had drained Jason of the little strength he had left. Dick could feel Jason's mind slowly flickering out of existence, as tangible as a candle dying out in the wind.

+Jason?+ He sent again.

Jason closed his eyes behind his mask. And then he was gone. Despite the fact that they weren't linked, the other members of the Team gave a collective shudder; they felt something brush across their consciousness as it left them forever.

Dick squeezed his brother's lifeless hand. He was a boy again, kneeling over the broken bodies of his family.

+Jason?+

The Watchtower

December 1st, 2016

11:35 PM EST

"Happy Birthday." Tim said into his standard-issue bat phone. He stood alone in the Watchtower atrium, leaning comfortably against a tree. The phone's signal was bounced through an array of satellites before being beamed down to an identical device that Dick held in his hand.

"Thanks." Dick smiled. Technically speaking, Tim was a couple hours late because of the time difference, but he didn't mind. All in all, it was a strange feeling. He was now 20 years old, and officially no longer a teenager. He didn't think it would bother him as much as it did.

"How's your love life?" He asked.

"How's your love life?" Tim responded.

Dick laughed. "Touché." He kept silent, because he knew his little brother well enough to know that the answer to his question would be forthcoming.

"It's ok, I guess." Tim said a second later, unknowingly proving Dick right. "I have a problem though." The tone in which he said it made it clear to Dick that this was a personal problem, rather than a life or death one.

Dick's ears perked up. "Yes?"

"What should I do with Cassie?" Tim asked. "It'll be New Year's Eve soon. I don't know if she wants me to kiss her."

Dick couldn't help but give a soft chuckle. Tim must have heard him, because his voice came through the phone again a little more intently. "I'm serious Dick. I've never had a girlfriend before. I don't know what I should do, or how I should be doing it."

"I know, Tim. I'm sorry." Dick shrugged. "I'm not laughing at you. I just don't know if I'm the best person to ask about this."

"Why?" Tim asked curiously. "You've had girlfriends before."

Dick tilted his head in thought at his statement. "Well, that's true, but I've been dating girls for 6 years now, and I don't think I'm any closer to fully understanding them."

"And Bruce is a better person to ask about this sort of thing? Or Alfred?" Tim pressed.

"Fair point," Dick conceded. "But, you're still talking to the wrong person."

"What do you mean?" Tim's voice was insistent.

Dick paused. He was honestly surprised at how seriously Tim was taking their conversation. But he supposed he could understand; your first girlfriend always had a way of making you worry about the simplest of things. He had certainly had a rough time trying to figure out how to act with Zatanna.

The problem was trying to adequately put it into perspective for Tim. If Dick couldn't really explain it to himself, how was he supposed to do it for someone else? Dick thought about the ever growing list of ex-girlfriends that would probably be lining up to give him a birthday kiss right about now, if he were on the Watchtower.

He found himself wishing he was there to receive them.

"It's… complicated."

"No kidding." Tim replied. Dick could hear the exasperation in his voice. It wasn't directed at him; Tim was way too nice and loyal for that.

Tim's problem was when he couldn't figure something out, he always decided it was because he wasn't good enough, or smart enough. Dick knew all about that, having felt everything Tim was feeling himself. The difference was, Dick knew how to not let it affect his actions too acutely.

"I dunno Tim." Dick said, trying to empathize with his little brother. "There's no instructions, or user's manual for this kind of thing. Just go with what you think is right, and hope things will work out. That's pretty much all you can do."

Tim let out a frustrated breath. "It's like, everyone else took a class that I missed." He said, kicking the dirt in frustration. "I never learned what you're supposed to do after you figure out you like a girl."

"Lemme tell you a secret?" Dick said. "It's like that for everyone."

"Yeah?" Tim asked hopefully.

"Yeah." Dick nodded. If he could have given Tim a hug through the phone, he would have. "Don't worry; you pick it up as you go along. I can't say that you'll ever completely understand relationships, I know I don't, but you do learn things that make the whole process easier."

"Like what?"

Dick thought hard for something practical. Things like learning that, on average, it took a girl 30 minutes to pick out a pair of shoes, or that a girl always had room for dessert no matter how full she said she was crossed his mind, but then he thought of something that would help Tim specifically.

"Well, for starters," he said, knowing that his little brother was listening carefully to his every word. "I think that yes, Cassie would probably like to have a New Year's kiss with her boyfriend."

"Thanks." Tim said, sounding very sincere. The tension and stress hadn't disappeared from his voice, but it had diminished greatly. Dick smiled to himself.

"Where are you now anyway?" his little brother asked.

"Nanda Parbat. It's between Nepal and Tibet."

"Hmm." Tim pondered, searching his memory. The name sounded familiar to him. "Bruce studied martial arts there, didn't he?"

"Among other things." Dick said evasively. He had to stifle the urge to yawn; getting to Nanda Parbat had required hiking steep, unmarked paths at high altitudes for the better part of two weeks, and he was tired. "I'm gonna call it a night Tim. Early mornings are a way of life around here."

"Alright." Tim said. "Night."

"Night." Dick replied before cutting the connection and going to sleep.

He rose with the sun the next morning, joining the monks of Nanda Parbat for their morning meditations in the main hall. For these monks, their ultimate goal in life was attaining peace and enlightenment, whether it was through the calm detachment of meditation, or the razor sharp focus of martial arts. Bruce had taught him the art of meditation long ago, mostly for its practical applications.

Dick tried to hold on to the state of detachment that he knew existed, where he could be aware of his emotions without being burdened by them, but it was impossible. They washed over him in an uncontrollable torrent: longing, heartache, indecision, but above all, guilt.

Jason had been his brother, a true and committed son of Batman, and when he'd died Dick had sworn that he'd keep fighting, that he'd make his brother's sacrifice mean something by making sure that they won. He'd sacrificed many of the things he'd held dear in order to keep that promise, and even though it had taken him all this time to put his life together again, he knew that his commitment to Jason meant that he'd choose to sacrifice them again, if and when it was required.

But things had changed. He couldn't give his life without a second thought, the way he'd been willing to before, without invalidating the sacrifice Wally had made for him.

His best friend had died so that he could live, and that was something Dick could never throw away, never give up, even if he wanted to. He missed Wally, but the experiences of the last few months, and the anticipation of joining the Team and being with his friends again had made life worth living once again.

He was torn. It felt like owed both Jason's and Wally's memory everything, and he couldn't fulfill his obligation to one of them without betraying his obligation to the other. He'd thought that isolation that he'd felt before Wally's death had been the rock bottom for him, but he'd rapidly come to the conclusion that this was much worse.

At least, back then, he'd been able to live with himself, content with the knowledge that he was doing the right thing even if it was breaking him apart inside.

Now, there was no contentment to be found in the guilt that had consumed him over the last few weeks.

That was why he had come here, to Nanda Parbat, to what felt like the end of the Earth.

He found the situation ironic, in a way. He'd come to Nanda Parbat looking for answers, thinking that merely be reaching this near-mythical place, the path forward would be revealed to him. But then, he'd once thought the same about getting older, and despite the fact that he'd just celebrated his 20th birthday, Dick still felt no wiser than the nine year old that Bruce had taken in all those years ago.

Now more than ever, Dick needed to know how to move forward with his life, whichever way it took him. He needed to either detach himself completely from his emotions in order to function, or make his peace with them. That was what he'd told the monks, when he'd first arrived, and that was why they had let him stay.

So far, anyway. He'd arrived just under a week ago, but was told that Lama Norbu, abbott of Nanda Parbat, was in seclusion and would emerge in several days. It was the Lama who was supposed to advise him on whether or not he would find what he sought in Nanda Parbat, and so Dick was forced to wait. But he wouldn't be waiting for much longer: the monks had told him earlier that morning that Lama Norbu had emerged from his seclusion, and would meet with him in the afternoon.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, Lama Norbu." It was with a profound sense of relief that Dick placed his hands together and bowed in greeting to Lama Norbu at the start of his private audience. The Lama looked ancient, almost skeletal in his appearance, but his eyes still held plenty of vitality. And warmth.

"It's no trouble," Lama Norbu placed his hands together and returned the gesture, before motioning for Dick to take a seat. The Lama spoke in thickly accented but flowing English as he poured Dick a cup of butter tea. ""I apologize for my English. I don't often have a chance to practice it here." He smiled.

Dick smiled back, taking a minuscule sip of tea out of respect. He kept his face smiling, even though he wanted to grimace. Drinking a cup of butter tea was little different from drinking a cup of melted butter. "Not at all. Your English is much better than my Tibetan."

The wizened old man chuckled at that. "My brothers tell me that you've been waiting for some time."

"Yes." Dick had no idea how his unorthodox request would go, but now that he was here, he felt compelled to voice it. "I wish to undergo tögal."

Tögal was an obscure practice, no longer utilized by many buddhist sects because of its extreme nature. In tögal, the practitioner was kept in complete and total isolation for 49 days, the traditional period between death and rebirth in Buddhist belief. The purpose was to allow the participant to reflect upon the nature of his soul.

Bruce's written accounts from his pre-Batman years, journeying around the world to pick up crime-fighting skills and philosophies, had mentioned the practice in hushed tones of awe. The young man that Bruce had been at the time described how the monks of Nanda Parbat had combined mysticism and herbal medicines in order to take the practice to a new level, allowing a practitioner of their version of tögal to enter a death like state in order to receive glimpses and visions of his soul.

Lama Norbu frowned, the warmth behind his eyes slowly replaced with scrutiny. "May I ask why?"

Dick tried to put his situation into words. "My mentor came here, many years ago." He started simply. "His parents were taken from him, and he wandered for a long time, trying to find some meaning in their deaths. He found something in tögal, something that gave him purpose again."

"I've had a lot taken from me too, Lama Norbu. It's why he chose to take me in when I was a boy. He wanted to try and help me overcome it, and for a while it worked. But now… I'm lost."

"I see." Lama Norbu replied. He stood up, motioning for Dick to join him as he

walked. They left the Lama's private chambers and emerged onto a balcony, overlooking a central courtyard where some of the monks were running through their martial arts forms.

"I know the man speak of." The Lama said, watching his monks practice as he walked, with Dick following close behind. "He came to us, wishing to experience the cycle of rebirth. He told us that his rage for their loss had become unbearable."

"Yeah." Dick said ruefully. "That sounds like him."

Bruce had never described what he'd seen during his enforced isolation, but the tone of the journals he kept had changed noticeably after the time he'd spent in Nanda Parbat. They were more forceful in their resolve. More determined. Absolutely committed to his crusade against crime.

"Then you know he emerged from tögal a changed man. Darker. Poisoned. More driven by his anger than before." Lama Norbu stopped to lean on one of the beams supporting the ceiling over the balcony.

"Such a thing goes against our purpose here." He looked at Dick. "I do not wish to see more souls poisoned by their grief."

Dick nodded in understanding. "I don't want to be poisoned by it either. But I've been living with my anger and my grief for so long now that I don't know who I am without it. That's why I need to do this."

Lama Norbu looked contemplative. Dick was an expert at reading people, but right at that moment he couldn't tell what the old man was thinking. The thought of being turned away made him panic. "I understand why you're hesitant. My mentor…" He trailed off. He amended his statement. "My father. His past is what defines him, and he's held onto it for as long as I can remember. Even though his actions are driven by his anger, he's still one of the best men I know. Everything he does is to try and spare other people from the loss that he feels every day."

"His way of doing things isn't the best way, but I know it works. But I also don't want to become like him in order to do what he does. If there's even the slightest chance that undergoing tögal can help me figure out another way, I need to take it."

The old Lama turned to face him. "Yes. I can see that." He took a step forward. "This man," He said, tapping him on the chest. "And this one," he continued, tapping him in the middle of his forehead. "are locked in conflict. Unless you can achieve balance, you are fated to suffer, as your father did."

"I know."

Lama Norbu nodded, as if he expected no other outcome. "I will not deny you, but you must know that undergoing tögal is dangerous."

Dick knew. He'd read detailed studies on how profoundly sensory deprivation could affect a person. People who had spent as little as 48 hours in complete isolation had been known to experience hallucinations, paranoia, and degraded cognitive function. 49 days could leave him insane.

The other part of him didn't care. It already felt like his guilt was going to drive him insane. If he was going to go crazy, he'd rather do it his way.

"I know the risks." He replied simply.

Lama Norbu gave a contemplative hum. "I'm afraid that the ritual must be carried out as tradition demands. It will take a lot of time to prepare."

"Trust me, Master." "I'm not going anywhere."

—

The bio-ship floated gently through the air, making no noise, untroubled by turbulence as it made its way back towards Mount Justice. Somehow, Dick decided, that was worse. Things would be better if there were noises to distract him, movements to bother him, something to draw his attention other than his brother's cape shrouded body.

He sat in the cargo hold, back against the wall, not having moved after carrying Jason inside the ship. The others were up front. He should have joined them.

He didn't.

Dick felt diminished somehow. Hollow. It felt like a very real piece of him had died along with Jason. Idly, he wondered if that perception was merely a feeling, or a direct result of the psychic connection he and Jason had shared in his final moments.

Ultimately, he supposed it didn't matter.

His brother was dead.

Zatanna entered the cargo hold. He could feel her regarding him. He awaited her words.

None came. Instead, she sat down next to him, knees tucked underneath her, hands in her lap. The two of them remained there, not saying a word, though eventually she leaned her head against his shoulder. Dimly, despite not removing his gaze from Jason, he became aware that she was weeping.

He envied her in that moment. He couldn't cry. He'd forgotten how. The last time he had done it had been when he was nine. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer, gently leaning his head atop hers.

He hated himself for thinking it, but in the back of his mind, he hoped that she would shed enough tears for the both of them.