JADE (young justice/robin)

29. i don't want to be saved (year four)

before this chapter gets started, i just wanted to say thank you so much for 5k reads and getting the book pretty high in some of the nightwing/young justice tags. it means a lot to me. i love you all and i hope you're enjoying the story. - bevs.

Gotham
April 24, 07:00 EST
Team Year Four

Only three years later and they were holding a funeral for another child.

I know they were supposed to be the heroes, but sometimes... they disgusted me. Don't worry. I disgusted myself too. It might not seem like it, but I think the League and myself are quite similar. The way we both let our younger versions pay the price of their predecessors.

In the distance, through the downpour, I could see the crowd of bodies dressed in black. I was stood on a nearby hill that overlooked the manor's yard, wearing a familiar black dress that hung a lot more loosely than the first time I needed it.

Besides the single haunting conversation we shared and the one time he walked in on Dick and I having sex, I didn't really know Jason. I doubt either of us wanted to know one another. The least I could do, though, was provide my presence — even if it was from a distance.

More than that, when I first heard he died, my mind automatically went to Dick. I know him and I know his heart. He cares so much. So much that I was worried another heartbreak like this may push him over the edge. That he might become that "lowest form of himself," the same way Kaldur, Arrow, and I had.

He didn't have to speak to me. He didn't even have to see me or know that I was here. If anything, that might just make matters worse. But at the very least, for whatever was left of my sanity, I needed to make sure that he'd be able to keep going. That his heart would still be good.

So, I stood there and waited, letting the rain lash at the umbrella above my head.

The service went on, filled with what I assumed were meaningless speeches and words from people who didn't even really know Jason. At least, that's my experience with funerals. Then, the hard part arrived. When they put the casket in the ground and everything suddenly seems so final.

The bodies in black began to usher themselves into the house, disappearing until nobody was left in the yard. Except for the lone bystander who didn't move.

It was extremely against my better judgment, — if I even had any — but I made my way down from the hill, arriving in the yard.

I was still far, but I knew the profile too well. Dick was stood in the rain, just staring at the ground.

The familiar debate began to circulate through my mind. I could go and talk to him, which would probably result in him getting angry and telling me to leave. Or I could stay where I was and let someone else comfort him.

I knew which one was the better option, but my body didn't listen to my mind. I marched towards him, not a shred of hesitation visible. I planted my feet at his side, seeing him up close for the first time in almost a year. He'd grown up even more in such a short span of time. He stood taller, the features of his face had become more defined, but he looked tired, worn out. The visible toll of him becoming the team's leader. The toll of him staying good.

His hands were buried in his pockets, his stance hunched. The rain dripped through his hair, soaking his suit. Droplets kept racing down his face, dripping off the tip of his nose, but it didn't matter. He was too busy staring down at what I could now see was Jason's tombstone.

Jason Todd. 1999-2014.

Fourteen. Fourteen fucking years old. His entire life that he had ahead of him, gone, and for what? Justice? Justice isn't real, it's a hoax. I've learned that the hard way.