The Wayne family cemetery was quiet, blanketed in snow, the flakes falling softly from the gray winter sky. Jason's grave stood among the others, a stark reminder of the loss that lingered over the family. The cold gnawed at the air, biting and unforgiving, but that didn't seem to bother the figure standing near the gravestone, their head bowed. Jason's partner.

Dick stopped beside them, shoving his gloved hands into his jacket pockets. He didn't speak for a long moment, letting the silence stretch out between them. His eyes fixed ahead on the gravestone.

The weight of guilt settled in his chest like it always did when he thought of Jason. He hadn't been around enough. He was off with the Titans, busy being Nightwing, while Jason was thrust into the role of Robin. He'd never had the chance to know his younger brother beyond the surface tension—a lot of it born from Bruce's constant comparisons. He knew Jason had resented him for it. Maybe Dick resented himself a little, too.

After a long silence, he broke it with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "You'd think with all the tech Bruce has, he could've figured out a way to make this place warmer. I swear, it's like standing in a freezer."

A weak attempt at humor, but he needed to fill the silence with something, anything, to lighten the heaviness in the air.

Another pause. His smile faded, replaced by a more somber expression. "Losing someone you love," he said quietly, his voice dipping, "it never really goes away. That ache. I… I was just a kid when it happened to me, and I thought I'd eventually get used to it. But you don't. You just… learn to live around it."

For a moment, his gaze shifted to them. The way the snow clung to their hair and shoulders, the faint redness on their cheeks from the cold, the curve of their lips. He shook the thought away—not the time, Grayson.

The wind picked up slightly, and he exhaled. "I wasn't around enough for him," Dick admitted softly, his voice tinged with regret. "I should've been. Maybe things would've been different."