вᴏʏ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀ.

flyingxce | v: comic

By the time it was 11, Bruce was worried.  He did realize that a boy, especially one of his age, slept a lot more than he did.  But 12 hours was ridiculous.

He made his way up to the second floor himself, calling out Jason’s name.  If there was a response, he didn’t hear it.  

              The boy wouldn’t have left in the middle of the night, would he?

A careful knock signaled his arrival.  ”Jason?  Are you awake?”

He'd been fine when he got home from school. Hell -- - he was GREAT getting in from patrol. It'd only been an hour after he hung up the suit last night that he started feeling under the weather. He'd rubbed his eyes && bid goodnight to Bruce and Alfred, shuffling away.

But the second his head hit the pillow, vision blurred and his head swam and his stomach lurched and he was out.

           Teal eyes peered blearily through the crease of closed lids            only twelve whole hours later, but Jason couldn't as much            as lift his head at the call of his name. Was he even sure he heard it?

let's get a few things straight

jason was not a violent kid unless provoked and had a damn good reason to act that way (ie. when someone close to him was threatened or harmed)

need I remind you that two face killed his father and instead of acting on violence when faced with him, jason walked away

his aggressive tendencies toward the end of his run as robin were considered uncharacteristic by bruce

and then bruce admitted that it was probably his fault because he didn't help jason to cope with the death of his parents before putting him into vigilantism

jason's "arrogance and violence got him killed" is the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard. jason's mother is what got him killed.

and even after she betrayed him, he threw himself in front of her in attempt to save her life

and they literally met like half an hour ago

if you take any author's word regarding jason being a 'bad robin' or a brat or some ungrateful, rotten, angry kid, stay away from me at all times

this is the kid that went to a bar with bruce and ordered milk

he got fucking straight A's and read first edition copies of period drama novels

his faith in others was so high that he trusted on impulse nearly all the time

"I uh—Red Robin," Tim answered awkwardly, still trying to get his emotions under control. "Right, okay. A lap of downtown—d’you want to lead, or…?" What a strange twist of events. Studying some of the buildings along the way might help him determine whether he’d been catapulted back in time or something… Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this disorientation was similar to what Bruce must’ve felt. Keep it together, Tim. Focus.

Jason outright scoffs. 'N alright -- - maybe that was a li'l mean.                                                           But seriously?

          he starts at the harsh tone.           he can’t help it.

          ” …no, ‘m not. i’m not some dad———.                       but damnit, kid, i’m just trying t’ keep you safe! “

❝ I'm SAFE. geez -- -    s' a bruised rib, not a  d e a t h  sentence. ❞

           ”Am I?”

Brushing the tattered scarf over her shoulder, she tapped her sharped finger at her own chest. The Bat symbol, outlined by only a gold shape, clear on her costume.

           ”There is a Robin in—Gotham. But he…doesn’t look like you.” 

Teal eyes narrowed in confusion -- - that was definitely a great big BAT on her suit. But why? Isn't there some kinda                     patent pending on that thing? 

          ” i don’t care who you bullshit, jay.             you can lie t’ bruce, t’ dick——                                       —you don’t lie to me. “

He wasn't always like this.

Hell, he used to be far from it. But when you grow up in Gotham -- - when you live under a roof with Mr. Dark and Brooding, things change. 

Dick would know. It's what he said to Bruce when he'd had enough. Verbatim. Things change.

The difference was that Jason wouldn't give up the suit. He didn't want to. He wanted to be Robin, like, forever. He just wasn't acting like the Robin he used to be.

Dick gets it, he does. Vigilantism changes you. For Jason, the change was sharper. He used to put on those pixie boots with pride, with this big, bright smile. He used to run up to Bruce's side, pulling his gloves on, and wink at him with that look in his eye. The one that said let's boogy, like no thirteen year old kid should ever say. His choice tactic for taking out bad guys were marbles.

But he started getting rougher when he fought. When he saw things he didn't understand. When the threats were bigger, the night was darker, and he was scared.

Green shorts became a red bodysuit. Marbles became switchblades.

Jason was snarkier. He was edgier. He was reckless. And maybe he was a little god damn tired of not being good enough.

            "I don't understand what's gotten into you.              I'm not your father, Jason. I don't need teenage rebellion."

Bruce had snapped it at him on the way home from a stakeout, where Jason had taken another 'unnecessary risk.' He just glared into the windshield, eyes fixated on anywhere but Bruce. "Whatever."

And tonight, Jason really hadn't redeemed himself for all the crap he'd been pulling. Dick was sure to ever so kindly remind him. 

"You can't keep pulling stunts like that, little wing. You're gonna get hurt," Dick grunted, rolling his shoulder to make certain it hadn't popped out of place after they'd rounded up tonight's trouble.

"No, I'm not. I know what I'm doing." Jason bit back the urge to throw in a slight about Dick being a has-been.

"Sure didn't look like it tonight. You know, you didn't have to try and take that guy on your own. I was open."

Jason's jaw tightened, teal eyes narrowing. He carefully pretended his ribcage didn't hurt like hell. "I said I know what I'm doing. I don't need your help. I don't need Bruce to think I need your help."

"So this is about Bruce?"

The boy wonder snarled, cracking his knuckles and reaching for his grapple. At least, until Dick's hand came down on his wrist. The older boy -- man -- whatever the hell a Nightwing is -- gave his baby brother a cold stare. 

"Stop," Jason snapped, though neither of them moved. "I just don't need him thinking I can't do it, okay? Leave me alone."

Dick sighed, removing his grip on Jason's wrist when he knew the other wouldn't try to flee. "It's okay to need help sometimes, Jason."

"You don't get it, do you? I have to be better than you were."

And that -- - that definitely hadn't been what Dick was expecting. He stood up straight, brows narrowed. "What are you talking about? Jay, you're fine. You're a good Robin."

Groaning in impatience, Jason stalked past Dick, mouth contorted in annoyance; a facade to cover any feeling that wasn't becoming on him.

"Good's not enough for him."