IV.
Somehow he survived that hour, Wally his saving grace as always. Somehow he survived that night with Clark telling him Kryptonian bedtime stories until he fell asleep, Nightwing and Flamebird keeping his dreams from strangling him. Somehow he survived the next few days with Wally keeping twenty-four hour watch like he was a time bomb. And when Alfred called, hopelessly dancing around the fact that Bruce wasn't going to work it out with him - too stubborn or too scared or too mean - he revealed his identity to the team and they all held him while he cried, now positive this break was permanent.
Clark brought over some more of Dick's things the next day. It seemed like the whole damn league had heard about the Dynamic Duo's family drama. Martian Manhunter began assigning the team's missions, giving a pitying face to Nightwing when he did. Oliver and Dinah helped him get settled in an apartment, albeit after berating him for choosing the most dangerous city on the east coast (he had to, Bruce hated Bludhaven). Barry, Clark, and Alfred were apparently giving Batman hell in every way possible, short of violence. All three of them, along with Artemis and Wally, came to his high school graduation and cheered almost loud enough to drown out the silence of Bruce's absence.
They all took care of him, and he appreciated it. He did. They just weren't the ones he wanted to take care of him. Still, he made it out the other end, fifteen pounds lighter and a little more scarred, with a new suit and a new name and trust issues. He didn't see Batman for months.
And then the news said Bruce Wayne had a new kid, just in time for summer. Jason Todd was about fourteen years old, dark hair, light eyes, rumored to have grown up on the streets. Dick broke his knuckles punching the wall. He'd never hated someone he'd never met before then. And it wasn't even until six weeks later that he saw footage of Batman and his new toy soldier, dressed up in Dick's costume with Dick's name and Dick's birdarangs and Dick's father- notanymore.
He spied on them once, and liked to think Bruce didn't know, but he probably did. It didn't matter; Dick was watching Jason. His hatred only lasted about ten minutes. Jason was just a kid, a sad, lost kid like he had been (still was), and it was Bruce putting him on this fucked-up path, Bruce who gave away Dick's identity like a hand-me-down, Bruce who kicked him to the curb and replaced him. Jason didn't deserve his bitterness. In fact, he deserved his help, help from someone who understood what it was like to deal with the Bat. So Dick met him on a rooftop one night, Jason's first solo patrol, and nearly spooked the kid off the edge before sitting down with his palms spread empty.
"Nightwing," Jason said that night, little confidence but a lot of strength shining through his slightly accented voice. Gotham. Low Gotham. Bruce had trained Dick out of his European hodge-podge accent, and Jason seemed well on his way to an unidentifiable voice, too.
"Daddy told you about your big brother, then?"
He still harbored more rancor than he knew what to do with, still took it out on Jason for longer than he cares to admit.
"From his perspective. Not sure how much that's worth." Dick's always going to remember that response. That's when he knew Jason would never be the perfect Robin, not for Bruce, anyway. He questioned the Bat, and not in a contingency plan way, in a you're not always right way. It was also when Dick decided he liked the kid, as angry and hurt as he was about him. "You didn't let him give me this suit, did you?"
Dick shook his head.
"Thought so. 'M sorry. I won't give it back, though."
"It's yours." The words rolled off his tongue before he could rethink them. They felt right. But he couldn't quite call him Robin, even though he reminded him so much of Robin, so much of himself...a little Nightwing. "Little wing."
"Little wing," Dick whispers desperately to himself from where he's curled on the ground.
He had the little brother he always wanted as a child. He had someone to teach, to train, to understand, to hug on rare occasions.
"I'm so sorry." He's clutching the only picture he has of them together, rocking ever so slightly, and he doesn't know what he's sorry for. He's sorry for everything. Sorry he didn't somehow do better. Sorry he didn't slap some sense into Jay that very first night, tell him to put down the mask and abandon this godawful life right from the start, this life that takes and takes and takes and never stops.
Finally he looks to the headstone before him.
Jason Peter Todd.
He traces his finger over the letters, over the hyphen that marks just fifteen years, and cries. Again, his world is closing in on him. Someone else has slipped through his fingers. He can only liken the feeling to drowning on a beach, the stretches of time between each crashing wave getting shorter and shorter as his lungs fill and burn. He thought he was ready for this, after years of living in the masked community, knowing that any of his family and friends could die in a heartbeat. He thought he was ready to face death again, but he's not and- is anyone ever? He's lost so much - when he counts emotional losses, he's lost everything - and it still hurts so much.
"Jason," he murmurs, for the sixth time. "Jason. I'm sorry. I miss you. Why'd you do this, why'd you leave…" He plays what Bruce told him back in his head for the eleventh time. He knew, right from when he saw the caller ID. Bruce hadn't called him in a year. They'd only ever shared brief words, always about cases or legal documents Dick needed or Jason. He knew something awful happened, but he still wasn't ready. And he definitely wasn't ready to hear the story. "You should have come to me if you were upset. You shouldn't have gone alone. I was here. I was always here, you could've...stayed."
His fingers tighten on the photograph and he drops it in fear of ripping it. It's low-quality, taken on his phone camera in his apartment one of the times Jason stayed the night, and Dick has his arms wrapped tightly around him, eyes closed and a grin on his face. One of Jason's hands is shoving Dick's face away from him, but the other is gripping his wrist, keeping his arms in place. Dick remembers that night, remembers that Wally visited and took the picture, right after they all played video games together and Dick hadn't felt so happy in years. He sat in the middle of his older brother and his younger brother on the two-cushion couch, squished between their bodies and comforted by their pulses like a baby animal.
The memories flood in after that, mostly in short flashes. They're sparring on the edge of the Bludhaven boardwalk, and then they're up in the rafters of Mount Justice making fun of Bruce, they're getting ice cream, Dick is picking Jason up from school on his motorcycle and the girls - and boys - are fawning while Jason blushes. Jason is ecstatic on the phone because B officially adopted me, we're legally brothers now, 'wing! and Dick doesn't have the heart to tell him they're not.
"You know I thought of you that way anyway, right?"
The tombstone doesn't answer. Dick whimpers. "I didn't tell you I loved you. I wanted to. I was scared. But...you're my brother, Jay, I love you. I love you so much, little wing."
Picture in hand, he kisses the top of the stone, then slowly, shaking, stands up. He used to come here all the time, when it was his backyard. It feels strange now, and especially strange since his parents are here, within the iron gates of the Wayne family cemetery, on Bruce's property, when he's not even welcome anymore.
Although, the security system let him in. Someone allowed him to grieve without a fight. He's grateful for that.
On his way out, he stops before the wide tomb on his right, kneeling.
"I'm sorry I let you down again. I'm so sorry. I-I love you. You would have loved him. I'm sorry." He kisses each side of his parents' stone, then stands to leave. "I just don't know how many more times I can handle this."
A/N: thank you for reading/favoriting/following/reviewing this dumb whumpfest.