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Dick sighed. He shock his head as he looked at the selection of traditional acceptable dark and black suits. The occasion he was considering his dress options for was a memorial Gala for his little brother, for Jason who had died far too young. A Gala in his remembrance and it was going to be a dour affair. Black and dark grey wherever his eyes would look, peoples spirits subdued, faces a myriad of serious, sympathetic and bored. Jason would have hated it. He took to color and life with a passion and vengeance only someone who loved life in all its bright and dark facets could. Sighing again he lost himself in his memories.
He had only learned about the death of his little brother, after he had called. His brother had left a voice massage, voice chocked from tears and trembling in despair. Dick had been in space and hadn’t been able to receive the call, but he had called back as soon as he got the massage. Only to be answered by Alfred and getting the news that his brother was dead and already buried in Gotham’s soil. Of course he immediately thought about how he could have prevented if, if he had only been there. If he hadn’t been too late. If only he hadn’t been in space.
His grief and guilt had taken over and shortly after he started to hallucinate his little brother. First how he must have looked as he died, crying out in pain, calling for Bruce, for Dick, for anybody to save him, different every time, but then it started to stick. The blood, the broken bones, the open wounds dripping red before it vanished, never leaving stains on the floor, stayed at the same place, not changing between appearances.
The words changed too, changed from raging accusations of not being there, of not caring enough, of being glad that Jason had died –and that had hurt, hurt badly enough he had a panic attack right there, in front of the reporter asking how he felt about Jason’s death– to quiet shy questions about his day. Of questions about what he was doing, reading, working on. Then it changed after Dick answered, too tired from sleepless, nightmare-ridden nights of too many crimes fought and too few lives bettered, to think rationally of interacting with a hallucination.
Now the hallucination was fully staying, clinging to him and prodding him to take better care of himself. Jason demanded that Dick cleaned his apartment, that Dick cooked healthy meals and ate them, that he ate regularly and tried to sleep a reasonable amount of time, that he paused and took breaks and rested. He actually made Dick chase him through Bludhaven’s night sky, over roofs and through the air a Robin’s haunting cackle echoing around him, prompting him to laugh and crack before breaking down crying because he wouldn’t have it with his brother again. No, his brother was dead, but this hallucination was so much like the real one, it hurt more and it made the grief deeper, but also bearable. To remember his brother how he had been, how he had shone with life, with hope, with childlike innocents and curiosity, with mischief and a fire forged by survival and care.
„Dickie, why such a sour expression?“, Jason asked. Dick blinked and looked at his brother, considering the pros and cons of confiding with the hallucination of a dead boy. He squinted as he noticed the wounds he never looked at too deeply now that he was reassured again and again weren’t his fault. He hadn’t noticed that they were closing, healing, changing again. The boy before him also wasn’t in his suit anymore. Sure the colors were the same, but it was definitely a shirt and green shorts, with a yellow blanket wrapped around for comfort he was wearing. The most startling was the missing domino mask, blue eyes shining clearly he hadn’t noticed before. Actually the changes had come over time, know that he thought back.
„This is going to be a memorial gala, for you“, Dick replied.
„And? It should be fun, right?“, Jason replied. The older chuckled, shaking his head. „You would think so, but this is a Gala for Bruce to mourn you.“
„B needs to get his act together. Grieving is fine, but he shouldn’t let that consume him. I don’t want that“, the hallucination whispered. „I would rather they remember me as I was, not the way they think I should be remembered. I never wanted to be remembered in such a depressing and boring way.“
„You wouldn’t“, Dick replied and tilted his head. „You would want them to be shaken up and shown how stuck up they are. You would want the chaos of a scandal. You would want to see what you could get away with.“
„Me? Na, I would want to sit in the library and read. But that isn’t an option, so I take the interesting chaos as a compromise. It is better than the boring depression.“
„Well, You can’t make a scandal...“, Dick hummed in thought. „You’re just my hallucination... I can honor your memory, though. I can keep the memory of you alive.“
„That is a terrible idea“, Jason laughed. „Bruce and Alfred will be so mad if you cause a scandal.“
„Na, I’ll just be a drunken mess because the death of my brother made me loose a few of my marbles. It’s not even too far from the truth!“
„The things you do.“
Dick felt all the eyes on him as he stepped to Bruce’s side. He had carefully kept his back turned away from anyone during the remembrance speech, had stood close enough to his father to give support without inviting an arm to his back. His jacket was closed high, hiding anything hidden underneath it. He loved his black suit with the dark grey pinstripes, the pattern alone daring in the sea of monotony before him. He coughed his brothers mischief gleaming eyes where he was hovering over Timothy Drake, the new Robin that had come and demanded that Bruce took in a new kid, that he would accept help. The boy had been so confused when he was taken under Bruce’s wing and just expected to stay there. Very amusing all in all.
Finally the speeches ended. The necessary, serious part, the part Jason had always respected, had cared about, because it was important, was done. It was time to socialise and any scandal happening now wasn’t a total nightmare to deal with. Any scandal happening now, even with inappropriate choices of clothing, that didn’t ruin the image the speeches and the pictures, that were taken then, projected, would not effect the speeches. High society was weird like that. And Dick only had the Galas to worry about interacting with all those people and problems. Fading into the background he waited until the attention wasn’t on him anymore before he opened his jacket, stretching out his muscles and finally breathing freely. The jacket was not designed or intended to be closed fully.
„The people will hate it“, Jason said, levitating a lazy circle around him. „But you look good. Maybe too good. People could forget you‘re a dick.“
„Take that back!“, Dick gasped in mock outrage, turning into the light breeze of his brother’s arm. It was higher and bigger than he thought it should be. „Are you growing?“
„Gee, that happenes to people!“, Jason snapped back, rolling his eyes. „Now go and be your disgusting charming self. I’m bored!“
„I’m not your entertainment!“, Dick grumbled, but did what his brother said anyway. He was lucky nobody, not even Bruce or his little stalker, had noticed him interacting with his hallucination. That would be a nightmare to explain. Stretching again, to feel the satisfying pop of his back, he listened to the soft jingling of the thick ornamental chain connecting the fabric stopping over his shoulder blades to the fabric at the small of his back, draping along his spine. Fine silvery chains flowed in pairs of three from under his neck to the side of his arms, spreading like the barest hint of wings over the space. It was showtime!
They were looking through the blackmail folder Tim had deemed unworthy and given up. Dick had stumbled over the picture of the outfit he wore on the first memorial gala for Jason the Wayne family had given. He remembered how his decision to remember Jason how he had been, a mischievous and happy troublemaker, had cost him his autonomy in choosing his gala outfits from then on. Bruce and Steph were discussing it, the blond troublemaker defending his choice and defending that his tits may had needed to breath. A soft chuckle behind him let him look up to his little brother. He beamed at Jason, at the brother he had thought lost forever, who had come back to life and after working through some shit, came back home.
„I remember that. I was so jealous of you. You rocked that outfit“, Jason hummed, taking the picture. „You still have it?“
„Uhm, yes...“, Dick replied, before the words processed. „Wait, how were you there? I thought you had been dead back then?“
„I wasn’t“, Jason explained. He ignored how the family looked at him in expectation and shock. Jason never spoke about the time between his death and his return to Gotham. „I had already climbed out of my grave. But my soul wasn’t attached to my body? Not like it should be, I think? I needed to heal or some shit, before I could go back to my body. And I did. It was easier with you. You remembered me as I was. The nature of the pit tore me back into my body before I was really ready and you know what happened then. Took a long while to remember what happened while my soul wandered.“
„You stayed away from your body?“, Tim asked. Well, he screeched in his shock and incredulity. Dick wouldn’t tell him that though.
„My ear“, Jason complained, rubbing the ear that had been screeched into. Dick knew that feeling and budded his head back into the arms resting behind him. „I knew where my body was, I knew it was as safe as it could get. I would have known if anything happened and I think I didn’t want to be there while my body learned to be a deadly weapon. I checked regularly or when I noticed it’s distress.“
„You remember your time dead?“, Steph asked, before waving her arms widely. „Wait, nope, I don’t want to know anything about it. Forget I asked!“
„I wouldn’t be able to tell you anyway. Not even let a telepath see it through my memories. The afterlife is not for those who haven’t died to know about. But yes, I do remember. I took some skills I learned with me.“
„Like what?“, Damian scoffed.
„You remember the emergency op you needed?“, Jason replied. „I wouldn’t have known what is wrong and how to do it if I hadn’t learned. You think I learned it in the League while catatonic? They only thought me things that could be learned by muscle memory.“
„I see“, the youngest hummed and accepted it.
„Wait, I saw you too! Why were you attacking me after?“, Tim cried out.
„As I said, I didn’t remember it. All the progress in healing was twisted and warped by the nature of my body and mind reuniting. And I was pointed towards you all, instead of getting the therapy I would have needed.“
„Oh, that makes sense“, Tim mumbled after Jason’s answer. Dick shock his head fondly, only to look at Bruce and raise his eyebrow in a challenge.
„You know Jason was the reason behind half the answers I gave when I was asked?“
„I didn’t make you say: ‚My tits are suffocating. I should let them breath, don’t you think?‘ to uncle Clark!“, the second oldest protested.
„No, but you mumbled about it before. How I looked like I would let my tits breath, just like Nightwing.“
„Your discowing suit was dumb as hell!“, Jason shouted out. Dick gasped and turned around, pictures forgotten as he lunged at his brother with a battlecry. The fell to the flor, ignoring the alarmed cries of their family as they wrestled and attacked each. They bit, pulled their hair and started to tickle each other until they desolved into bright laughter.
„I missed this“, Jason confessed.
„I missed you“, Dick replied, eyes softening with all the love and grief he felt. But he also felt the happiness, the joy, the bright life and laughter of his brother living and roughhousing with him. They both gasped as two smaller bodies collided on them, starting their own torture of tickling them. Bright helpless laughter echoed around them, protests and chiding of their sisters not stopping any of this, while a tired, fond snort echoed around them. Dick wouldn’t change it for anything else.