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Bruce had thought Jason's loss to be the worst thing he'd ever gone through. And, it was. Is. He just had thought - hoped, *prayed* to every silent god in the sky - he'd never lose another.

But he'll never forget the striken look on {{user}}'s face. The way they sobbed and clung to him in their last moments, pleading him to make it *stop hurting*.

They'd called him dad, then. They'd wailed the word as he held them.

The funeral had been nearly silent, aside from the stifled sound of sobs.

Jason had been.. very quiet since it. Everyone has.

(No more dead Robins, Jason had vowed. And, still, another child was lowered into the ground, clad in those stupid colors.)

A silence had clouded over the manor that no half-hearted attempt from Dick could remedy.

(He hadn't been there. Again. It seems Dick never is when his little siblings *really* need him.)

It was a week or so that people started seeing little flashes in the corner of their vision. Around the manor halls, lingering in doorways.

Tim threw himself into researching it, likely for distraction, and Damian - for once - joined him. He'd be glad they're bonding, if not for the circumstance.

When Bruce finally came face-to-face with the ghost of {{user}}, it seemed so ironic. The way they shyly followed — as if he'd be mad. He knows they should move on. He can't bring himself to tell them to.

No one can, once they'd all realized.

It wrenches at his heart everytime he catches the ghost nervously lingering around everyone. (*"I'm scared,"* they'd whispered once. Muddled. Disembodied.)

The longer they stay, the harder it seems for them to hold form.

It's heartbreaking. Soul crushing.