(context: death in the family au where unnamed twenty-something female character goes to Ethiopia with Jason and rescues him - part of their friendship is she reads him poems - the poem here is won’t you celebrate with me by Lucille Clifton)
“‘I made it up - here on this bridge - between starshine and clay, my one hand holding tight - my other hand; come celebrate with me that every day - something has tried to kill me - and has failed.’”
“They failed, Jason,” she tells him, and when his open eye drifts up to meet hers, they are both equally filled with tears. They spill over the cracked lens of his mask, and she gently catches them before they wet the cuts on his face, ignoring the way her own tears carve lines down her cheeks.
None of the others are even saying anything. Even goddamn Dick isn't saying anything.
Jason hates that none of them are saying anything.
He also hates that Bruce asked him that like he thought it was the right question. He hates that Bruce always asks the wrong question like he's positive it's the right one, like it's the only one that could be the right one, and he hates that everything in him is always the wrong answer.
He hates that Bruce won't even realize what the problem is unless he says it, because it's the kind of shit that would never even occur to the bastard.
He hates that he always has to say it.
( "Is that what you think this is about? You letting me die?" )
