I hope you don’t mind, this was so cool I had to fic it
The rain beats like a drum against the rooftops, gusts sending it sideways past umbrellas and eaves. It’s the kind of night that Dick would like to experience from inside his unit, wrapped up in blankets with music loud enough to drown out the incessant tapping. He hates the rain these days, it brings back memories laying on cold concrete, water dripping down his face. He never would have come out to Gotham tonight if Jason hadn’t—
Well. It’s not actually Jason leading him silently through the streets, Dick knows that. Jason is dead. Betrayed and tortured and blown up in a warehouse on the other side of the world while Dick was too far away to help him. While Dick didn’t even know he needed it.
So it’s not Jason in the bright yellow cape, not his little brother darting up fire escapes and flitting across the rooftops and leading him on this wild goose chase. If Dick told anyone about the spectre they’d tell him he was crazy. Maybe he is, because how could he ever admit that it’s comforting to hear his brothers voice even from a hallucination? How could he ever feel them that it’s worth the bitter muttering and sharp accusations just to have the memory of his brother with him?
He doesn’t know why he decided to follow it tonight instead of turning away. He doesn’t know why it suddenly went silent and slipped away, or why he followed, but as he follows it through the gates of Gotham Cemetery.
It leads him to Jason’s grave. He’s not surprised, had guessed where the chase would end from the moment he realised what part of town they were in.
The hallucination perches silently upon the angel's back, kicking its feet playfully as if waiting for him. Dick stands beyond the grave and closes his eyes, hiding from the world for just a moment before opening them again. He reaches a hand out with a sigh, watching the rain patter off his palm.
A muffled crack reaches his ears and Dick tenses, gaze flicking around the graveyard for any sign of a disturbance. He’s almost written it off as a coincidence when movement catches his eye, something more than just the splash of rain. The soil before the angel shifts, sinking, almost as if— almost as if someone’s—
It can’t be. It can’t. This is madness. Jason has been dead for months, there’s no way it can be him, but Dick can’t help but pray.
Please, he begs, fingers clawing at the soil, reaching down for whatever is trying to free itself from the sodden turf. Please, please, please.
A hand grasps his, mangled fingers wrapping around his wrist, and Dick wrenches upward. They struggle together, fighting gravity and the sodden ground inch by inch. As the boy slips free of the dirt Dicks shifts his grip, wrapping his arms around him in an embrace.
The ground squelches in protest, shifting and falling inward to fill the hole his brother carved to free himself.
The figure in his arms is far too cold, breath heaving as he shudders in Dicks arms. Dirt coats the once pristine suit, blood streaking down his arms from torn fingernails and wooden splinters. Their tears mingle with the rain.
Don’t let this be my imagination, Dick pleads to the heavens, clutching his brother to his chest. Please let this be real.
It’s only once he staggers out the gates of the graveyard that Dick realises the yellow-caped figure is gone.
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