robin's wings are clipped

He’s standing in front of you in that stupid costume with that stupid bat on his chest, and your pistol is pointed at the clown’s temple. You’re not afraid to pull that trigger, but he should be the one who should deal the finishing blow.

You’ve already suffered enough; how hard is it for him to avenge you?

He adopted you. Took you in, gave you clothes, a bed to sleep in, and fed you. You were his son. So why can’t he kill his child’s killer? It doesn’t make sense... A father should never have to bury his son, and if he does, it is then his duty to kill the person who put his son in a coffin.

The sweat beads down your forehead, and your emotions are surging through your system like a storm. All you want is for this stupid scene to end. You’re not done playing your part, but it’s about time this show finishes its climax.

“If you don’t shoot this piece of filth, I will!”

You know deep in your gut that he won’t do anything to the clown, but you can try to push him over the edge. You know that he’s mortified about all of the blood on your hands. What happened to his Robin?

There is no Robin anymore. Robin died in the explosion with Sheila Haywood. Robin was beaten with a crowbar, and Robin was too innocent to realize he wouldn’t be walking out of that warehouse. He’d be exiting, sure, but he would be held in a mourning father’s arms.

There is Red Hood. Red Hood is now threatening to shoot a man Robin’s father can’t. Unless the father is willing to do it himself, finally get that revenge you’ve wanted for so long...

You then decide to make your ‘checkmate’ move. The one that backs him into a corner, insuring you’ll finally get your way.

“It’s him or me. Shoot him, or shoot me.”

He wakes up with a pounding headache, clutching his forehead and wondering how in the hell he could conjure up such a twisted nightmare. He’s held a gun before, sure, but Jason has never felt this... angry after a dream. He can’t remember if he saw any faces in the dream. He just feels resentment towards something he can hardly describe...

He wonders if it was the sorrowful drinking that caused his dreams to be so messed up. His hangover’s not going to let up anytime soon, and from the looks of it, he’s on his own, because Dick Grayson took his leave after putting Jason on the couch.

He clutches his head and winces. Dick Grayson would almost be a sight for sore eyes in the state Jason’s in right now. But then again he also owns a complete motormouth...

Shit... ugh, I almost want to go back into that dream. Anything to get this out of my system...