THE DREAMING [ONESHOTS]

THE SOUND OF ROBIN WINGS [DC]

Title : The Sound of Robin Wings

Fandom(s) : DC

Pairings(s) : N/A

Summary : Jason Todd died. So he met her then. And then he was reborn. He met her then, too.

Warnings / Contents : Major Character Death, Literal Embodiment of Death, Death in General, Language, I'm Not Joking About The Death, poor Jason Todd

Notes : I'm gonna do a ton of these just you watch. Like my obsession with Death is going to be inflicted on every character that has died

The title is a play on the first issue we meet Gaiman's Death, "The Sound of Her Wings", because robins and Robin and birds and wings right

There is possibly going to be an illustration done with this at some point, because Death is just so drawable but eh.

hope ya all find this peachy keen.

~ ~ ~

It was funny, dying.

It hurt when his mother betrayed him, it hurt when the crowbar hit his body—over and over and over again—cutting him and bruising him, and it hurt in the explosion—for a second, for barely a moment, but mercy, that fire, that heat, that burning agony of scorching skin and bone, that impact of rocks and shrapnel and bricks that lead to the breaking of bones—each crack echoing in his ears, but then there was nothing, absolutely nothing. There was emptiness and oblivion and release, and he knew he had died, but he couldn't believe it, and he wondered if he was really dead. 

Because it didn't feel like it. 

When Jason woke up after the explosion, he didn't hurt. There was no pain now. He felt normal, 100% normal. He was still breathing, or at least, it felt like he was. He could feel the heat of his own body, could feel his heart beating. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the grey, monochrome sky

He was just there, lying in a clearing amongst the rubble, completely unscathed. Not rip or drop of blood on his clothes.

He sat up slowly, wincing under the bright light of the sun.

"Hello, Jason," a voice said next to him. He looked over to see a girl sitting cross legged beside him. She was very pale, with black hair, and a black umbrella, and black clothes—torn jeans on top of fishnets, black shirt, leather jacket with a smiley face button, and black makeup—Egyptian-like with a little swirl under her eye, and a sweet smile, and a silver ankh.

"Who-" he said, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Who are you?"

"I think you know," she said. "You are a detective after all." He did. He felt it in, in his chest and heart and veins and bones. 

This was Death. 

He was dead.

"Oh," he said, bringing his knees to his chest. Tears pricked behind his eyes. "He didn't... He didn't get there in time, did he?" 

Great job, Jason. You really messed up, didn't you?

"Hey, hey," she said, sitting down next to him. "Don't cry. It's not that bad. I promise. Look, you still get to eat ice cream when you're dead. Nothing can be that bad when you get to eat ice cream, right?"