Erithacus rubecula he can bring both death and rebirth, a red star with spring as his favorite
I wish I could turn back into a bird.
I know, how crazy of a deadman to speak such nonsense, but believe me. I remember the sky, the bluest of the blue when it wanted to be. The air was cold around my feathers, the rain a harsh blanket that I overthrew. I remember the call of another, the shrill call from a hen on the ground, moments before she was killed by a fox in a red disguise.
When you're a bird like me, who knows nothing of imprisonment, who has only lived in freedom and liberty, it is the most devastating thing to be trapped in a cage, that is endless enough to never let you go.
Death wasn't kind. He took me with a blooming anger, a red that surrounded him like the green of his deadly toxin. I breathed in the air of death, and he beat me with his cruel smile. I wonder if death could fly, would he jump after the other bird to get to him. I wonder, if I had simply flown away, was there ever going to be peace? Could I have lived with the freedom I was surrounded with, now that I only know it as a memory?
Was death more important to the other bird, than the Robin that he left to wilt. Was my orange not pretty enough? Was the blood red better the than fierce red I gave you?
I'm sorry, I'm rambling. It's just, I don't understand how he could've done that to me. He saved me when I first learned to fly. He taught me how to fly! I was willing to fly beyond clouds and sea, but instead he let me fall like a weight that's too heavy to carry. I was good in everything I did, even tried to fly beyond my own limit, but I was never enough. Never did he congratulate me with a warm tone.
But how could I expect something so bright from a bird who was born in the grim city of Gotham. He plays rendezvous with Death, eats corn from the dead crops, and lurks enough to send a signal. A Black Crow and a Red Robin, the perfect team. Why hadn't he done, what I had begged him to do?
Why was the crow the bringer of death? Why did he bring Death to me?
Was it because I picked flesh from the valley of the rib cage from a deadman? Was it from the break of rules that he enforced onto me? Was it the cowardness he felt, as I flew faster and better than him?
I could've been better than the Black Crow, than Death himself, but one took me and both left me to rot. I'm a rotten bird, a rotten Robin in red armor, but what's done is done, I'm now dead, trapped within a cage of emptiness. I can hear my thoughts echo, the tremble in my voice from a violent excitement.
I may be dead, but revenge can stretch beyond Death and his little Black Crow.
red HOOD (robin) / jason TODD
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batMAN (black crow) / bruce WAYNE
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punISHER / alina CLEMENTE
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🕷. Hiya !! This is my first ever story/fanfic that I posted so whatever mistakes you see, please do point them out because even if google docs points them out, I still sometimes miss them. Also, please do share criticisms with me if you have one(?), I'm always up to improve!
🕷. I do not own Jason Todd/Red Hood or any of the other dc characters that will follow this story. I only own my own characters and the plot I have created.
🕷. This story contains gore, violence, a very mean Jason Todd(only in the beginning though), misogyny, Gotham shenanigans, the Joker and his madness, mental illnesses, PTSD, Jason Suffering because of the Joker, panick attacks, Bruce not being able to express his feelings healthily, Richard Grayson's shenanigans, the menace that Tim is, and just the topic of death in general.
