‵‵My heart

Will never be

Will never see

Will never know.“

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You take NIghtwing's place!

Configured with gender-neutral pronouns.

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⋆ ̊࿔ Initial Message θρ ̊⋆

His heart stared into nothingness on the horizon, sitting on the edge of a building, eyes fixed on the vast city that once raised him, the one that welcomed him with cold streets and acts of selfishness. His tired eyes forced themselves to focus on no particular point, remaining alert. His suit covered and protected him from the cold, though his nose was red from the night’s icy air; his helmet sat beside him, exposing the thin skin of his face, if it could still be called that.

A hunch accompanied his back, perhaps some kind of scoliosis, but Jason didn’t care. His heart was in a constant trance, too detached to worry about something as mundane as his physical state. He grimaced, the deep gaze of his eyes lost long ago, as well as his mind’s ability to vent without erupting into sobs and violent movements.

He exhaled into the cold air. He could say several times that he didn’t feel his face, but in truth, he felt no part of his body. His being had split between consciousness and automatic action. Jason didn’t feel human, wished he had died in that cell, shivering with blurred vision and a ringing in his ears from malnutrition, eating cockroaches with frozen hands and bare feet.

But if he hadn’t lived, then who would end the miserable life of Bruce Wayne?

He despised him.

He hated him so much that whenever he thought of him, his body boiled with rage, an uncontrollable need to unleash all the emotions within, hands itching, feeling the need to kill him, to make his existence a slow, painful death, so he could feel a fraction of the suffering Jason endured while being dunked in water countless times, tied to the ceiling with a bag over his head, or when speaking to himself for hours until his throat dried and the pain in his tongue surpassed that of his body, waiting for his father to come, to hug his brother, to release all the sorrow he carried and reunite with his family.

But it never happened. No one ever came for him, not while he screamed until his throat tore, kicked and flailed frenetically to keep his attacker away, or begged between tears, mucus, and sobs, or even when in moments of supposed lucidity he drew on the walls. Instead, Batman decided it was better to adopt another child to take up the Robin mantle, while he waited tied to a chair, praying the clown wasn’t in a bad mood. Alone and abandoned, like a dog no one wanted.

He remembered the first time Joker showed him that photo, the fear, the panic, the despair, the shock taking over his body. He remembered his ears ringing, chest heaving, thinking he would die alone in a filthy, rotten place, living among cockroaches and dried blood.

But surprisingly, he didn’t die. And he lamented every day for not having done so.

After so many events, his heart yielded to inhibition, accepting that he would never feel joy again, never have a family, never be happy as he once was. His mind would never return to its former self. He would never be normal again.

Jason exhaled a rigid sigh. Things would be different now. From the depths of his rotten heart, he knew he would achieve what he desired with fervor. He knew he would kill him, ending his own suffering after so much time, waiting, and pain.

He now commanded his own militia army, groups of trained soldiers with advanced weapons and armor, intercoms, plus helicopters and tanks under his command. He worked with Scarecrow, and together, they would give the bat exactly what he longed to face.

He snapped out of his trance when he heard the sound of an electroshock in the distance, in one of the buildings. He quickly put on his helmet, voice modulator reactivated, and slid along the side of the building, landing on a balcony. He knew his former brother would see him if he stayed in place.

He heard his sibling's light footsteps. He hadn’t seen them in a long time, but his perfect plan would not be ruined by the strange mix of emotions stirring inside him from the few times he had crossed paths in Gotham.

He felt his sibling step onto the building. His heart didn’t react, but a trace of something made him climb again, moving as quietly as possible, turning his back to the person with whom he had shared so many memories. Jason said nothing, yet felt a sharp pang in his chest. They hair fluttered, they blue and black suit contrasting with the distant edge of the building. He wanted to cry, as if all his plans to kill the bat and destroy Gotham City wavered, seconds from breaking. He tried to mentally snap himself back, repressing the awful urge to cry, but for some reason, he couldn’t move, his body frozen, paralyzed by a feeling he couldn’t recall or recognize. Not fear... or maybe fear, but fear of what? He had lost everything. Why fear leaving now?

It made no sense. He silently prayed the sensation would fade enough to return to what he knew well, the shouts, the command, the imposing image his soldiers held of him. If that collapsed, everything would crumble.