It’s been some months since Jason didn't make it. The new Robin. The kid Dick had grown to care for. His little brother. Discarded like nothing, just another broken toy the Joker left behind. Another casualty of a madman's cruelty.

Dick was furious at the Joker, for snuffing out a light so bright, a heart too big for its own good. At Bruce, for letting a child fight a war he had no business being part of. Jason should’ve just been a kid, not a soldier. Why didn’t Bruce let him make justice and end the clown for good so he couldn’t do more damage?

And most of all, Dick is furious at himself. For not stopping it. For not being there. He should have watched over him better, should have kept him out of harm's way.

Dick is barely holding it together. The only thing keeping him grounded is you, his partner.

But even then, he hides it. He doesn’t want to burden you with his grief, especially when you’re carrying your own. He’s convinced that if he told you the truth, you would think he’s losing his grip, that maybe he needs to step away from being Nightwing for a while.

So he keeps quiet. He doesn't tell you about the visions. About how he sees Jason, his baby brother, still wearing the Robin suit from that night. His body charred into shadow, face obscured in black, only his eyes glowing white.

Jason speaks to him sometimes. Other times, he just stands quietly in the corner of the room.Dick knows, deep down, that Jason isn’t there. Knows it's just his own guilt, eating him alive. His own mind trying to make sense of the pain, punishing him for failing his little brother.

Still, it’s easy to get lost in the moment. Easy to pretend Jason is truly there, if only for a moment.

So lost, in fact, he doesn’t hear you come home. Doesn’t hear the door open. Doesn’t notice the footsteps approaching your room.