[week 27, day7] [accidental video]
[Dick blinks awake and stretches, frowning at the unmistakable smell of grass, the soft, damp feel of it beneath his cheek, the warmth of sunlight filtering through treebranches and dappling his body. He sits up abruptly, looking down at his body, still dressed in the lightly armored suit, and he reaches up. The cowl is still in place. That is a ( Read more... )
[He's dead right? He's dead, but maybe, maybe he can come back to this place, it can't be unheard of, and maybe now he can understand and maybe now Jason can show him, tell him...]
[It wasn't a mistake. I was never a mistake.]
[...But there's something isn't right. The cowled figure is too short, too slight, and then-]
[It's like a red-hot punch to the chest when the figure pushes back his cowl. Dick Grayson. Fucking Dick fucking Grayson. Well, they had fought for it, hadn't they? But Grayson hadn't had the stomach for it, not even the tame, watered down version that Bruce had done. He had clung to Nightwing, even while Jason was doing what had needed to be done ( ... )
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Jay? Where are you? Don't know why I'm asking *you* though, when I don't know where *I* am, either...
[He sighs, knowing he is rambling.]
It's not like you haven't seen me in the suit, before. You didn't make comments like that last time, when Damian and I helped you out...
[He stares down at the device.]
What the hell *is* this thing, and where did it come from?
[It doesn't take Bruce's brilliant detective skills to see Jason is upset, so he keeps things light, trying to walk his way through the minefield that talking with his 'brother' can be.]
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You've never helped me. And the last time I saw the brat I put a bullet in his chest.
[He crosses his arms and ignores Dick's question, staring down at the little device in his lap.]
So. I'm guessing that time marches on without me. Have you found the stomach to fill the big man's shoes yet, wearing a dead man's skin.
[Granted, Jason had done that himself, for a short time, but really, every day Jason spent was in a dead man's skin. Or, well, a dead boy's.]
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Did you hit your head when you hit the water? It's been almost two years since you shot Damian. Maybe you wore your other helmet too long in the sun and it baked your brain...
[Jason wasn't making any sense. He'd seen him just a month or two ago, and it had been a lot more like old times for a little while, finally...]
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[Jason's silent before finally hoarsely whispering.]
Two..years? How could it have been two years? I've been in the place for only a few months...
[His face hardens, turns harsh.]
You're lying. [Even though Dick had no reason no. It...he just had to be.]
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Of course it's been two years. All the frenzy of the Batman Incorporated stuff and your time in Blackgate... it's been about that, now, I think. It's been a year now since Bruce showed back up, so it must be.
[He is watching the play of expression over Jason's face, sickly fascinated and more than a bit worried.]
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[He had gotten used to it, over time, with repeated exposure and necessity. But this...this felt like that first time, that first night out, teetering on the edge, that screaming shift in everything as he feel, rushing down, the freezing wind tearing at his cheeks.]
...He's alive? [Jason's voice is barely audible, tiny and lost, all bravado just stripped away.]
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You don't remember any of it, do you? What is this place?
[A tiny bit of his own doubt and worry seeps in, but he squashes it down, focusing on Jason instead.]
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[And he has to know. Because memories, memories are everything. What is he without them? A ghost, nothing real. ]
[I'm not real.]
[His hand jumps down, stroking down at his wrist, frantic, nails digging into the scar tissue, into the layers and layers of hurt, of pleasure, of memories, of him, right there.]
[Or not. Because there were memories that Jason didn't know about, didn't have, and how was that possible? ]
[You're not real. You're a fake, a little clone with false memories stuffed inside you, and that's why he hates you, because he knows he knows he knows...]
[His fingers dig in tighter and tighter, more blood seeps out and it hurts, and that's supposed to help but it doesn't, not this time.]
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Jay?
[And maybe there is something about this place, something that can make them forget or never know things, something that is different about wherever here is, because how could Jason have forgotten about Bruce?]
Are you okay, Jason? Do you need... anything?
[He is not even sure what he is offering or asking, but no matter what has happened between them, somewhere down deep, Jason is still his younger brother, and he can't bear to hear him sounding so lost.]
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I'm not real, am I, Dick?
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[Dick's voice is a quiet rasp, and he clutches the device tightly in his hand. That lost tone is a kick in the gut, and he has to fix it, has to...]
Jay... Littlewing, of course you're real. As real as anything else here, as real as me...
[Whatever that might mean. For all Dick knows, this is some messed up dream, and he'll wake any moment, now.]
Where are you?
[Not that knowing will matter, really, as Dick doesn't know where he is...]
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["If you get into any trouble when you get home tell the old man to call me."]
[But that was a lie, wasn't it? That boy was gone, dead and gone, and there was only him now, and-]
No. [He's breathing hard, eyes wild like a skittish horse about to bolt.] Don't come. [The feed abruptly cuts off, the screen going black.]
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[Dick looks down at the screen, but Jason is no longer there. He looks around, thinking feverishly, trying to come up with something, to think of some way to find Jason, but he just doesn't have enough info to go on. He shakes his head. Play time is over. Maybe he can't find his way back to Bruce, yet, but Jason was there, so he'll find him and help.]
[He uses the cape as a towel and dresses again, pulling the cowl up at the end and making sure the little comm unit is fastened securely at his belt. According to the sensors in the suit, there is no one within half a mile. Without access to Oracle, he can't check further, and he studies the terrain, finally deciding on a likely direction. North.]
I'm coming Jay... I'll find you, somehow.
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