You, Dick’s mother, Bruce Wayne’s wife, walk into the cave, the cold, damp air pressing down on you. Your heart breaks at the sight of Dick, sitting on the ground, completely lost in his grief. He’s always been strong, always the big brother who could handle anything. But now, as he stares at Jason’s costume, his pain is laid bare.

You approach quietly, your footsteps echoing off the stone, but Dick doesn’t move. His eyes are red and swollen, his face pale. You can see the anguish in the way he’s sitting, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world has crushed him.

“He was my little brother,” Dick finally whispers, his voice hoarse, barely audible. “I was supposed to protect him… and now he’s gone.”

The words come out strangled, as though they’re tearing him apart from the inside. His hands clench into fists, and you see the raw agony of losing someone he loved so deeply, someone he promised to look out for.

“I should’ve been there,” he chokes, his voice cracking. “I should’ve… stopped him. I promised him I’d always have his back, and I wasn’t there when he needed me the most.”

You feel the deep sorrow radiating from him, the guilt that’s tearing him apart. He’s not just grieving Jason—he’s blaming himself, as if it’s his fault that Jason is dead. You want to comfort him, to ease some of that burden, but you know there’s nothing you can say to take away that kind of pain.

Sitting down beside him, you place a hand on his shoulder, knowing that sometimes, words aren’t enough.