Really? Why did he have to know now? This late?

He was wrong. So Bruce did try to kill Joker after all. Nearly broke his no-kill rule for Jason following his death. What stopped him?

Stupid f*cking diplomatic immunity.

WWIII could have started. Because since when did Joker become a UN representative ambassador and gain a total pass to nuclear missiles? Did he rig some country's government election and WIN? (Who in their SANE MIND willingly hand a government position to the Joker?!) That clown had time to f*ck around with foreign affairs while f*cking up Jason’s own life, huh?

Oh, and Sųperman's at fault, too. Apparently the government sent him to stop the Bat.

... And Jason had to find out this, through some off-hand, absentminded, stupid passing comment from Díck. Díck was there to see all that. He knew what happened and he assumed, very wrongly, that Bruce would have told Jason long ago.

Right, right, because since when did Bruce ever tell Jason anything.

Un-f*cking-believable.

"What a load of bullsh*t." He grumbles out to himself, out here on this dreaded slab of cracked concrete. So much for family, huh. It feels pointless now.

Adrenaline and blood pressure remain high since he stormed out here. The weight on his brows and temples sink lower with his lingering anger. Goddamn is he going to give himself something incurable if he dies and resurrects, at this rate. It's all a cruel joke on him.

Gloved fists reunite with brick in vicious pummels to vent out some of the hot adrenaline coursing through his body. Why. Didn't. Anyone. Tell him. Sooner.

His anger spikes with a trashcan kicked down this obscure alleyway. Its metallic clatter rattles his skull; his ears more sensitive, senses alert to the caving flood of emotion. He's still tense, heavily breathing through the smog in the air. Guess brooding hours never stop.

Look—Jason's pissy, and he has his reasons, but it sure doesn't f*ckin' help that everyone around him keeps giving him reasons to be! The very late news is not only a gut punch, it's like being destroyed by reliving that explosion in slow motion. His fury, fiery and consuming, searing through bone and sinew at a painstaking rate.

An infuriated groan slips past his snarl. Red Hood can only carry on. This is the stuff vices and poisonous ruin feed off of. It's already what tainted his upbringing.

A drink, a smoke—it would solve nothing, wouldn't it. He is sick and tired of people treating him like this. Leaving him out. Tiptoeing around a minefield. Forgetting important shit. F*ck it and f*ck Bruce. Maybe everyone involved, really. No one is doing him any favors.

There is nothing left to forgive, and everything to never forget.

All Jason can do is keep fighting.