Jason died while wearing Dick’s Robin.
Let him repeat that: Jason, Dick’s baby brother whom he’d just started crafting a true brother relationship with, had died while wearing the costume Dick had created as an homage to his late parents. Dick had worn that costume confidently, well aware that he had the skills to wear it and come out of gunfights with barely a scratch, certain that the acrobatic uniform of Robin and Batman’s guardianship was enough to protect him.
Jason had died because of Dick’s hubris.
Dick looked at his Discowing uniform. He’d been so proud to debut it, despite Bruce’s protests and Jason’s mocking. But, like Robin, the costume had been designed around Dick’s confidence. But… and the thought sent shivers down his spine, but what if someone with different strengths and weaknesses succeeded him and wore the uniform?
There was no protection to the chest, the neck, the ribs. The only armor Dick wore at night was spandex and a dream. That wasn’t enough.
If Robin wouldn’t protect Jason, then Discowing couldn’t hope to try.
And Dick understood. His little brother was dead. There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it - Jason was dead. He died because Dick had created that costume and didn’t bother to realize the lack of protection it provided. Fixing Nightwing to be well-protected would not resurrect the dead from their grave, regardless of how Dick hadn’t seen Jason be lowered or buried.
But he imagined Jason, who’d died wearing Robin, wearing Nightwing and his blood ran cold.
Absolutely not. His mantle had been taken without his input before; it very well could be again. And Dick refused to put another child in a grave.
So he began planning. Then he designed it. And over the years, something new would occur to him and he’d scrap the current Nightwing for a newer, improved uniform.
There was some kind of irony, of looking up to the roof and seeing Jason wearing the newest Nightwing. But…
At the very least, Nightwing wouldn’t disappoint Dick like Robin had, when it came to his baby brother.
