I'll be good

Robin

In the early hours of a Sunday morning, Damian took it upon himself to explore the manor some more, having not slept peacefully the night before.

It wasn't long before he found himself in the Batcave, the place where he had first arrived when Bruce took him in. He didn't mean to intrude, but he figured if he already knew the family secret, it would be okay, and Alfred had given him the run of the manor.

He wasn't in the cave long before he came across several glass cases, all displaying different costumes inside. Some were mostly dark colors, such as black or gray, but the ones colored vibrant green and yellow caught his eye. He quickly realized that most of the costumes seemed to be those colors, all displaying the letter 'R' on their breast.

He observed them as he moved past, taking in every detail of every costume. They were the same but different all at once. He stopped at the last one, the one furthest from the rest. The vibrant colors were no longer there, instead, they were replaced with ash and blood. The cape was torn into shreds, and the scarlet red tunic was forever stained with crimson. Damian figured every suit that had been stored away had a story behind it, and this one was the most tragic.

"Can't sleep?"

Damian wasn't startled at the newcomer making their presence known, but he was surprised that somebody else was awake, after all, the sun had yet to rise.

He turned to see Jason leaning against one of the doors that led to another part of the cave. He was now dressed in his civilian clothes, but Damian noticed that he kept his gun strapped close to his hip. His white-streaked hair was messily styled, as though he hadn't bothered with it, and he was drinking something out of a water bottle that clearly wasn't water.

"Where did you come from?" asked Damian, genuinely curious. Damian's hearing was exceptional thanks to years of training with the League of Shadows, he would have been able to hear Jason's footsteps or breathing before he even thought of speaking. But, Damian didn't hear anything.

"It's my house too 'ya know, twerp." Jason half-joked, but managed to keep his face serious as he approached Damian.

Damian scowled at the name but said nothing to the older boy who approached him.

"Ah! The old Robin suits. Has the old man gotcha' studying already?"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Jason placed his hand on the glass case in front of him where Stephanie's old suit hung, tracing the 'R' with his finger, wishing more than anything that he could touch it again. That he could put on the suit once more, that it would be his. But it wasn't, and never will be again.

He looked to his left, starting from the beginning, he named every owner of each suit, telling Damian stories about them. There was Dick, and Steph, and Barbara, and Tim, and...

"Whose is this one?" Damian asked suddenly, standing in front of the glass case that held the wrecked suit within. Jason's face darkened and he looked away, refusing to relive the memories that that suit held. Why Bruce kept it, he would never understand. A stray tear suddenly slipped out of Jason's eye, and slowly slid down his cheek onto his lips. But the salt was not what he could taste. He could taste the blood and bile that ran up his throat and poured out of his mouth as he was mercilessly beaten to death.

"Are you okay?"

Damian's small voice held slight concern, and it somehow brought Jason back from his relapse. He turned back to face him, his composure regained. "Fine," Jason smiled as genuine as he could, "I'm just fine."

"Then, whose is it?"

Jason looked at the case once more, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, it was his reassurance that this was real, and it wasn't some dream-filled coma. He approached the case, keeping his gaze situated on the missing 'R' that had been ripped off by the Joker before his death. He pressed his palm against it, inhaling sharply when his finger-tips made contact with the glass.