So I had made this a separate story but I thought it would just be easier to add it on to this one since they are the same story anyways. Please enjoy and review!

- Three months after Jason's death -

Out in the cold Gotham air, a young man stands on a rooftop draped in crimson and black. The wind teases the boy's thick leather jacket, the shoulders far too wide to fit his nimble frame. He drapes his hand on top of the gargoyle's head, the stone speaking painful memories. The sun will be up in a few hours, his patrol is coming to an end. Under the blood red helmet he swears he can hear laughter, the kind of laughter you hear after you've been lovingly teased. The boy hears it all the time.

With the swiftness of a strong wave he leaps off the rooftop to the shouting below, landing silently amidst the human trash that litters the alley. Slowly the boy stands up straight and takes the handguns from their holsters. "Who the fuck are you? The Red Hood's dead kid, move on!" The other animals laugh, but the boy doesn't dare let them get away with a comment like that. Move on? How could he? He lifts the guns to the pig's knee, letting the metal do the talking for him, blasting a hole the size of an apple in the meaty leg. He tried to hit the kneecap dead on, but his aim isn't nearly as good as the real Red Hood; so when the real fight begins, he drops the heavy weapons and pulls out his blade.

A butcher would have been cleaner, there is blood and disembodied limbs scattered across the pavement. Tears stung under the crimson helmet, anger and guilt, and sorrow, taking turns kicking him in the gut with steel plated boots. It hurt to think about it. When the boy returns home his father was waiting, a dark tower of regret and disappointment that the boy now assumed came with the helmet. This has been happening for the past few months, ever since he took the hood alias for a test drive.

"What were you thinking? You put three men in the ICU and killed the other two! This is not what we stand for!" The man paces, a hand grasping the back of his neck in distress. The boy doesn't answer, he won't, he can't, not with the emotions clouding his brain. He tries to walk away, but a strong hand grabs his shoulder stopping him. "What has gotten into you? This has to stop! I'm taking you out of the field, you've given me no choice, son." Small words tumble out of the boy's lips, they are quiet, angry and unable to be understood. "Like you can stop me." "What did you just say?" boiling anger in both men. The boy repeats his words, still too quiet. "Take off the goddamn helmet Damian!" He tries to reach over, to take the mask off the child, but the boy fights back.

He rips his shoulder out of the man's grasp and steps back, screaming. "I CAN'T STOP! I CAN'T! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, I DON'T THINK YOU'RE CAPABLE!" he dodges the next grab and continues shouting at the man. "YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! ALL YOU DO IS GET EVERYONE AROUND YOU KILLED!" The room is suddenly silent. The seconds ooze past, molasses dripping from the boy, crumbles to his knees, head in his hands, body at the will of his mind, crying. The man stands frozen a few feet away, feeling as if his heart is trapped in a vise, getting tighter with every second, with every breath. He approaches the boy, crouching next to him, pulling the helmet off his head.

For a second he holds the red metal in his grasp, letting the past twist the blade of guilt that he and the boy now share. He sets it down gently before speaking."You're right Damian. People around me get hurt. And it's true that I hurt him a lot when he was alive, but I didn't kill Jason, and neither did you." This is the first time Jason's name has been spoken for months. It just hurt too much to talk about it. The man wipes the salty trails away from the boy's face, lifting his chin so that their eyes meet. "I know you know this deep down, somewhere in your head, but Jason's death was not your fault." But what the man has forgotten is that knowing, and believing are two very different pieces of the puzzle.

The boy returns to his room without eating, he closes the door silently and locks it behind him; not like there is anyone left to intrude. He's the only one left. Tim's with the titans. Dick and Barbara are in Bludhaven. Steph and Cass are out in the world on their own. And Damian… Damian is here, trapped in the guilt of the past. He shuffles over to his desk in socked feet and sits. Pulls out yet another piece of parchment and a pen and begins to write.

Todd,

I disappointed Father again tonight. I just wanted to try and be the "Red Hood" but I just get so angry and carried away. I think I'm now starting to understand what you meant about feeling like you could never make Father proud, and I'm sorry for disregarding how that feels. I know that if you were here you would just tell me to improve and move on, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I think you were right when you said that we could try our relationship again even though you're gone. I'm trying to be better. I'm going to be better. I will. I promise.

Father says your death is not my fault, and I know that logically that is true. It was not my fault you became terminally ill. For some reason part of me refuses to think logically. I feel guilt. I hate that I feel guilt. It would be nice to talk to you again Jason, there isn't anyone left at the manor to speak with beside Pennyworth, and he's busy most of the time. I'm beginning to feel the effects of loneliness. I know I promised you that I would do something extraordinary with my life, but what is extraordinary?

All that aside, I'm grateful Jason, for whatever that's worth.

-Damian Wayne

P.S - You were right, the nightmares do get easier.

He folds the small fragment of vulnerability and tucks it into an envelope. He licks the letter closed, never to be opened again, and sets it in the box under his bed with all of the rest. As he climbs into bed he tells himself that things will be better soon, that he will make sure of it, and he lets his eyes slide shut. Safe in the knowledge that he is not alone, nor will he ever be. Just before slipping away he whispers into the darkness: "Talk to you tomorrow." And with that he falls into a deep sleep, full of adventures that will never be had.

Just because this story is complete doesn't mean it should stop you from leaving a review! I love hearing from you guys.

Till next time, MS