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"You're like Willis." His words crept out tentatively into the dark like unsteady feet on creaking ice. Even the wind seems to draw to a halt as silence bleeds into the space and all three men come to a tense standstill. "I didn't really connect the dots until all that recently or even accept them but you are. Just like Willis."
"Little wing-"
"You don't need to play mediator for this Dickwing. Just shut up and listen."
Nightwing tensed, rocking back and forth on his heels anxious to move, his gaze darting between Bruce and Jason rapidly but Jason's tone wasn't hostile. It was soft, almost resigned, so he stays rooted to his spot. Curious even as unease settles into his bones.
"I had a lotta time to think when you threw me in Arkham. And recently I've been considering what Harley and Pam told me when we were roomin' across from each other." Jason heaved a sigh. "Willis was…a deadbeat abusive criminal, but he was also my dad and he'd call me son and he wasn't a monster all the time but you could never let your guard down around him either. He'd beat on me and my mom whenever we did something wrong or pissed him off. He hit us-me- because he was angry. And you do that too. You hit me when you're angry or when I mess up something good or when I do stuff you don't like. Then I fuck off and lick my wounds for a bit and eventually we move on and go back to playing happy dysfunctional family like dad beating on Jason for being a screw up is just the way it works." He chuckles weakly, briefly running his hands through his hair before throwing his arms out wide to embellish on his point, "You have all these expectations for me, but it doesn't even matter how hard I try because you're always waiting for me to fail! Who I am now will never be enough for you and I finally get that."
He shakes his head and shifts back to gaze blankly at the polluted Gotham skyline, the lights reflecting hazily off his eyes, "And everyone- everyone! Just stands there and watches! Because it's Jason this was inevitable. And you throw all these words at me every time like they're all I am. Hell, they're all still there in my file in the cave-" He starts listing them out on his fingers like he has them all memorized, "Unhinged unstable reckless impulsive irresponsible violent pit mad murderer. Like I'm this... two-dimensional maniac! And then you turn around and call me son or jay-lad like you love me like you didn't just whale on me for a mistake you would've forgiven any of the others for! Just like Willis."
Jason is visibly shaking at this point, fists clenching and unclenching as he stares anywhere but towards Bruce, voice just above a whisper, "You've done more damage to me in the last year than he did in that warehouse. I didn't even realize until Roy sat me down and made me look at the medical reports." The only response is an agonized noise from Dick and he should really look he really should but he just can't- "He said he was tired of watching me leave and come back bleeding every time." He pauses and takes a moment to close his eyes, breathe, and relax his shoulders before starting again voice raspy and drawn ad the emotion leeched out of him. "I can't play family/son/brother, soldier, and villain all at the same time. But you can't seem to recognize that I should only be one of those now. Maybe it's the green running through my veins, the blood on my hands or how much I've changed inside and out I dunno. Maybe I really did come back wrong." He sees Dick flinch in his peripheral and shrugs minutely as if to say 'am I wrong?' "But Jason is never enough and always too much for you and I can't take it anymore."
When Jason finally looks back down he can read the stilted disbelief in the tensed lines of Dick's face and posture. He'd gotten closer too, one hand outstretched in an aborted motion. And Bruce- he was still standing there tense as a live wire just waiting to be cut, fists clenched at his sides.
"Look. I don't deny my faults, I've made plenty of mistakes and I've hurt people including this family. But I've been playing by your rules for months now and nothing has changed! I just-" He gusts out a heavy breath and feels the energy leave him again, "Family and love aren't supposed to be conditional. And it damn well ain't supposed to be the noose you hang me with when it benefits you. So I can't stay. I can't stay here and keep waiting for you to drop me and lynch me again. I'm tired-" He cuts off with a choked laugh just tinged with hysteria. "I've been tired since I died and came back but being here? Living like this? I just can't. I might be a deadman but I'm no masochist." He smiles desperation and wrongness in the lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, "I'm honestly kinda terrified to stay because what if nothing ever changes? Years go by and I'm still the cold-blooded failure of a soldier you love and hate and nothing ever changes." This time when Jason laughs it's more than a little wet with held back tears and more air than sound. Time stagnates and slows and thickens with tension, the only sound is the breeze echoing that melancholy little noise.
The scuff of a not quite silent footstep and sets the moment collapsing in on itself like a house of frayed cards as Dick finally reaches out to Jason, "I am so sorry Jay that's-" his voice cracks, "That's not okay, you're right, you don't deserve to feel like that but you don't need to leave. This is your home! We all love you and we can fix this together!" His assurances were almost manic.
Jason smiles bitterly but not unkindly, still with all the wrongness in the crooked tilt of his head, "Maybe Dick but I still need to leave."
"Jay-"He starts pleadingly.
"No Dick." He says firmly, shifting to turn only to pause and stare back at Bruce one last time. "Do you remember when you first picked me up, I used to have that habit of rubbing my left arm specially when it was cold or I was nervous?" He paused as if waiting for a response but only quirked the corner of his mouth up at the silence, "Willis broke my arm when I was eight after he came home pissed drunk and raving mad over a shitty hand of poker. I lost the habit eventually, I couldn't afford to have tells that obvious as Robin or with the League." He shakes his head before turning towards the edge of the rooftop, his voice carried by the wind.
"Willis was a piece of shit no doubt. But the shit you've done to me Bruce? Sane and supposedly welcomed back into the fold? I don't think I'm ever going to recover from that. If only because the bits of your son leftover from before he died in that warehouse still remember what it was like when you loved him." And with that, he takes the last few steps to the roof's edge, glances back once, and with a brief incline of his head-he's gone.
Flying through Gotham's smoggy air Jason felt for the first time in a long time, lighter. shakespearean monologues have a way of freeing the soul