Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's a glorious night the moment Red Hood gets the news that the Bats were finally, finally snooping around the new player in Crime Alley.  Jason spent months leaving poisoned hints around, carefully tempting them into his hailstorm of bullets, and now they're here, and he's got them right in his sights.  

He hadn't quite imagined they would dare to leave the big bad Bat himself behind, and rather insulted at their laxness besides, but they do say every insult is a blessing in disguise.

All the easier for Red Hood to take his chance to destroy the safety of the newest Robin and prove to Batman exactly why he shouldn't have put a new model into the neon tights and pixie boots after his son — no, not his son, his former soldier — was brutally murdered in them.  Apparently, Batman thought blood-splattered panties were a fashionable look on teenagers.  

Glorious vengeance fuels Jason as he leaps from rooftop to rooftop.  He's gaining on his prey, inch by inch.  They didn't expect him to have a grapple at all, let alone use it like a Bat, and it shows in the way Robin keeps trying to take sharp turns that only slow him and Nightwing down.  And the way neither of them quite knows where they're going, since Bats so rarely venture into Crime Alley.  

Pathetic.  

Jason takes a close turn, rolling onto the nearest roof.  It's the highest on the block, and it gives him a perfect sightline down on Nightwing and Robin's swinging forms.  It takes a second for him to align his sights on their forms.

It's not the first shot Jason fired at Robin and Nightwing tonight.  They'd barely escaped earlier, and Red Hood still intends to rain down justice on his Replacement and the Replacer.  He's got them on the ropes now, having literally cornered them into this perfect line.

Jason lowers the scope of his gun and shoots.  One shot, two, three.  Jason is trained by the best, and he's intimately familiar with the wind conditions.  The Bats have no chance.  

Except— except Nightwing turns the moment he hears the gunshots, clearly intending to enter a zigzag pattern, and Jason's bullet to his thigh strikes true, preventing the acrobat from escaping across the roof he's about to land on, but his second bullet, aimed for Robin's grapple line, slices through Nightwing's instead.

Jason freezes.  He could fire off the shots to finish both of them right now and yet— Nightwing's blue hovers in midair. Finger stripes scrabble for a backup grapple that simply isn't there, and then Dick is falling, falling, falling.

Jason's grapple is in his hand, gun back in its hostler.  He swings.  Nightwing falls.  

Nightwing falls, and Jason catches him, the blood red gloves of Red Hood's ensemble stark against the black of a Bat's suit.  Nightwing is tucked like a goddamn princess in Hood's arms.  Jason grunts under the weight of Nightwing as they slam hard into the nearest rooftop and the enormous stupidity of the decision he'd just made.  

And why the fuck had he swooped in? Would it not have been a perfect moment, to force Batsy to avenge the death of one of his sons by murdering the other?  Oh, it would have been wonderful — Dick Grayson, the traitor and liar, dead, and Bruce Wayne forced into choosing between his sons, yet again.  

Why, Red Hood could have even taken a pot shot at Robin in the meantime (still could) and how he sang in joy at the chaos that would cause.

But Nightwing is alive in his arms, and Robin is nowhere to be seen.  Maybe one of those bullets did hit.

Nightwing is alive and awake in his arms, and a bullet wound isn't going to keep him down. Nightwing slams his fist into Hood's stomach.  Jason automatically gasped for air, dropping Nightwing.  The vigilante rolls away, already in a defensive position, and Jason has to salvage this.  Now.

Red Hood's guns are out.  He takes another close range shot at Nightwing, nailing him in the other knee.  See how the Big Bird likes being grounded.  Nightwing, to his credit, takes it in stride.  He closes the distance as his fists fly at Red Hood, forcing him to abandon the gun to block.

Jason swings in a quick one-two.  He's got new moves, and the League kick takes Nightwing by surprise, forcing him to roll away.

Nightwing unsheathes his escrima sticks, already swinging for Hood's neck and torso.  Jason steps out of their path easily.  That's pathetic, is Nightwing losing his touch?  It would only be fitting. 

 He locks an arm against Nightwing's escrima stick, easily aiming a roundhouse towards the sluggishly bleeding wound in Nightwing's thigh.

Nightwing takes quick moves to protect his obvious vulnerability, swinging an escrima stick to block Jason's leg, which, really?  It's a clear opening for Hood to send a flurry of blows for Ngihtwing's face and hands, aiming to knock the escrima sticks clean away—

Pain races through his leg, tingling, rushing from nerve to nerve, and oh, shit, he'd forgotten about the goddamn electricity.  

Hood stumbles, and Nightwing presses forward, another burst of electrical haze into Jason's leg.  It's too much and Jason simply can't hold himself up anymore, and then Nightwing is on top of him, escrima locked around his neck.

Hood freezes.

Robin swings into view, and Hood is now well and truly trapped, with Nightwing on top of him and Robin less than thirty seconds away.  The electricity is still causing him issues, too, so Hood needs to avoid having to fight two two skilled (well, questionable in the useless Robin's case) opponents.  

At least Nightwing doesn't immediately taze him down into oblivion, though it is no less unfortunate to have his weapons at Jason's neck and his body forcing him into the jagged concrete of the roof.  

"Why?" Nightwing rasps, his blood leaking irritatingly onto Hood's leather jacket.  "Why did you save me?"

Jason has no answer.  And more importantly, he has no time.  If Robin reaches the rooftop and he's still pinned, he might as well kiss goodbye to all of his plans.  Not like he already hasn't, given that  now all Nightwing is going to think of is the notorious crime lord Red Hood saving a fucking Bat, and that's if they don't yank Jason's helmet off and laugh before shoving him right in Arkham with the rest of the lunatics.  

But he has to escape, and he can't even wiggle under Nightwing given the way he's still pinned.  So Jason answers Nightwing's question in the only way he can.  He moves his hands slowly, carefully, letting Nightwing watch them.

"I'm going to take off my helmet," Red Hood says, furious at himself for this being the only solution he can figure out and almost keenly desperate to see what Nightwing's reaction to the brother he's tried to forget about will be.  How will he feel, knowing that the boy who's memory he'd trampled over is alive and trying to kill him?

Nightwing lets him raise his hands to his head and click the right pattern of buttons to avoid the helmet blowing up.  Jason'll have to change that later, since he has no doubt that Nightwing managed to memorize it despite Hood's attempts to shield the pattern from view.  

Red Hood eases the helmet off slowly, carefully, and offers Ngithwing and Robin a maniacal grin. He's wearing a domino, but the sudden paling of both their faces means they still recognize him clear as night. "Miss me?" 

Robin reels backwards, nearly toppling off the roof as he takes in the boy he replaced, and Jason so enjoys the fear that must be gripping his heart as he faces his crimes.  Jason is a ghost made of flesh, after all, and he won't stop tearing the world apart until he can hold his revenge in his hands.

More importantly to Hood's plans if not his vengeance, Nightwing freezes stiff, and his escrima loosen around Hood's neck.  Even beneath the domino, shock and anger flash across Nightwing's face as he attempts to reason with his dead little brother's image.  

Rookie.  

Hood lunges upwards, knocking Nightwing's escrima askew as he grabs the gun Nightwing had forced him to drop earlier, raising it and shooting as fast as he can.  It hits Nightwing in the shoulder, and he reels back, stumbling to his feet as blood begins leaking from a third place on his body.  One more shot, and Jason will have created a square.  

Hood takes a shot at Robin instead.  Jason's not quite sure if he hits, but it doesn't matter because Nightwing takes a wobbly step towards him.  Jason shoves his helmet back on.  Nightwing clearly intends to swing at Jason's face, but he takes a set forward and the shot knee gives beneath him, and then he's falling and Red Hood steps forward just in time to grab him and prevent him from falling.

Blood is pouring from Nightwing's thigh, still, and Jason realizes that his bullet must have hit the femoral artery.  Neither the shoulder or knee hits seem to be as critical, but are still bleeding sluggishly.  The man in his arms is literally dying, and all Hood would have to do is leave him here.  

Nightwing struggles, shoving a hand at Hood's chest in an attempt to get Jason to let him go.  Hood yanks his hand, pinning it to Nightwing's chest as he sweeps the man off his feet.  Nightwing fights his grip with none of the original Robin's usual strength, and Jason releases his hand long enough to salute his Replacement, exchange his gun for a grapple, and jump.  

Nightwing blindly tries to punch at his face, even though he has no weight and his arms tremble like limp noodles.  "Hood?  What the hell— What do you want with me?"

Jason's frankly not sure, but kidnapping the original Robin seems as good a way as any to get his revenge on Batman.  He can torment his Replacer, laugh at the growing horror on Nightwing's face as he tears the man to shreds for failing him.  It's not the revenge he had hoped to get, but it will most certainly do.

Hood smiles.  It's a cold smile, sharp enough that the points of his teeth poke out in the way every Gothamite's do.  "Why, let's see.  I crawled my way out of my own grave and I found a happy little family that I'd left behind.  So I want what anyone wronged wants — revenge."

Nightwing's face pales, and he flails in Jason's arms. "You— I— Let me go, Hood.  We can talk.  I— I didn't—" Nightwing's words tumble over themselves a little bit.  They're starting to slur already, and Jason glances at the skyline.  Only another minute to his apartment.

Hood smirks under the helmet.  "Oh you want me to let you go, do you?"

"Yes," Nightwing growls in his deep, scary voice that has absolutely no effect on Hood.  He makes another attempt to strike at Hood's grapple arm.

Hood scoffs. He drops his friendly, mocking tone for something colder and angrier. "Do you want to die? I drop you right now, you die by falling. If I'm kind enough to leave you on a rooftop, you die via blood loss."

Nightwing pauses in Hood's arms.  His strikes haven't carried weight for a bit, but he finally, finally goes limp.

Hood smirks. "There's no fighting me, Nightwing."

Nightwing gasps in Hood's arms.  His face keeps losing color, and Jason curses, pausing on a rooftop a few away from his apartment.  "Jason," he mumbles, head tilting back against Hood's arm.  "You— Don't wanna fight—"

Jason ignores him, cutting the trackers out of Nightwing's uniform with easy efficiency.  They haven't moved locations since Jason was Robin, what a safety risk.  Nightwing goes silent as they take to the skies again, and Jason's not hurrying at all as he guides them to his apartment.

"You have no right to say anything," Jason hisses.  If he had a free hand, he'd gag Nightwing right now just because he can.  Get the original Boy Wonder to finally fucking shut up.

"Jay," Nightwing whispers, but doesn't say anything else.

Jason crawls through the window of one of the safehouses he's sure the Bats don't know about — the one he put extra effort into, actually cleaned the damn thing and made sure the kitchen worked.  He hadn't quite gotten around to decorating yet, so piles of his books overflowed from multiple tables.  It'll be a damn shame to burn.

Hood brushes a bunch of rather useless notes on Batman's updated patrol routes from his couch to dump Nightwing on it.  He's back with about three minutes to spare on Nightwing's injuries.  Jason doesn't hesitate to yank his medkit out from under the couch, pulling off his helmet with one hand.  Nightwing will probably need an IV, but first priority is to stitch the wound, and Jason needs better vision than the helmet will afford him for that.  

"Hood," Nightwing slurs.  It takes several long seconds for him to raise his head from the couch, and Jason doesn't bother checking his coordination or reflexes.  He already knows how much blood Nightwing's lost.

"Shut. Up." Jason hisses.  He doesn't have enough time to attempt to get the Nightwing suit off, so peels it away from the thigh injury instead, slicing through the thinner parts of the suit where he can.  

Jason doesn't bother with anesthesia, both because he doesn't have the time and because he wants Nightwing to suffer.  He's not going to let the man bleed out, sure, but it doesn't have to be kind.

Jason sticks the tweezers in and yanks out the bullet.  Nightwing shouts, but he doesn't move, not as Jason quickly cleans the wound and stitches up his thigh. He makes small grunts of pain that eventually fade to silence.  Just as Jason thinks he's passed out, his head tilts to the side.  "Hood," he murmurs again.  "Alive, you're love, I—" Nightwing's clearly progressed to being unable to form coherent sentences.  He clearly has no idea what he's saying.  "My—"

Jason moves to his knee wound, poking at it.  It appears the bullet didn't shatter his kneecap, shame.  (If it had, Dick would never be able to fly in the same way again.  Jason's older brother, grounded—) It could yet cause scar damage though.  Jason yanks that bullet out too, and is none too kind as he stitches it up.

"Jay," Nightwing whines.  His hand lifts off the couch, moving shakily a few inches towards Jason before.  "Jay, it hurts."

Jason's hands shake, just a little bit.  "You're gonna be fine," he scoffs.  It's not quite as cruel as he intends it to be.  

"It hurts," Dick whispers.  He's shaking now.  "Please, I—" He screams as Jason pulls a stitch a little too tight.  

"Baby," Jason sighs, even though he was literally minutes away from Dick dying and— Jason ties off the knee wound.  One left. Nightwing's going to live; he's being dramatic as per usual.

"I—" In a move that shouldn't be fucking possible, Nightwing attempts to sit up, and Hood shoves a hand into his chest to keep him down on the couch. 

"Don't move," Jason snaps.

"Jay," Nightwing's voice quivers, and as Jason shuffles around him to get to the shoulder wound, he looks like he's fucking crying.  "You're here." He relaxes back into the couch.  Whatever fight he'd mustered to sit up is gone.  "Everything's going to be okay."    Nightwing smiles softly, eyes tracking Jason's face with ease.

Jason begins cleaning and stitching up the shoulder wound. He digs out a third bullet (one short of a square, and if it had been a square Nightwing probably would have bled out before Jason could get him to a safehouse.)

"Are you going to bring me to heaven?" Nightwing asks.  Jason curses as he nearly stabs the wrong part of Nightwing's shoulder.  "I missed you, Little Wing."

Jason scowls at the ground.  "You're woozy and talking nonsense, Nightwing." Dick doesn't respond, and Jason glances over to see that he has actually passed out this time, eyes closed and hair pillowed around his face.  

It's the same Golden Boy Jason remembers from his childhood, beautifully perfect.  For a moment, he's in the Cave, hovering over Nightwing after he'd gotten injured protecting Jason on patrol.  They'd argued about it for weeks — Jason had been furious that Nightwing had interfered in his case after having literally stormed out on Jason the last time they'd met.  

The blood covering Jason's hands breaks the illusion.  And the parlor of Dick's skin, nothing like the healthy tan it should be.  He looks older too, new wrinkles around his mouth, a new scar dancing over his cheek.

Jason finishes stitching up the wound. Wraps all of Dick's injuries. Strips the Nightwing suit off Dick, replacing it and the bloody underlayer with a spare pair of Jason's sweatpants and a shirt.  They're too big on Dick.  Drags an IV out of his closet turned medical shed and attaches a spare bag of O neg.  He hadn't bothered to stock other types of blood besides his own and O neg. 

Jason spends another few minutes just staring at Dick's face.  He— he doesn't know what to do now.  The kidnapping had been spur of the moment, and Jason— Jason is furious at Batman, at Nightwing and Robin.  Batman replaced him, and Nightwing took the perfect new kid under his wing in a way he'd never done with Jason.  Apparently perfect brotherly relationships weren't built on your older brother getting into a screaming match with your dad every weekend, let alone screaming matches about how you're his replacement.

Jason just didn't expect his vengeance to feel so cold, that's all.  

But it's still vengeance.  Dick Grayson doesn't look like he expected lying vulnerable under Jason.  The sing of pleasure competes with some sort of cold-nausea.  It's just built-in reactions to seeing someone he used to look up to get injured.  Jason'll get over it. 

Jason does enjoy binding Nightwing's hands behind him with rope, careful to bind his arms to his chest and tie the knots far out of his reach.  Then he cuffs Nightwing's ankles with zip ties.  He leaves the man on his couch, since the couch is already ruined and Dick's still injured.  It's not like he's going anywhere.   

It's only then that Jason finds himself faced with a choice.  It would be far, far too easy for Jason to gag Nightwing.  He can't pretend he doesn't see a thrill in it, being able to explain to Nightwing exactly all the ways he'd fucked up while he's unable to respond.  

And yet, there's — 'I missed you, Little Wing,' he'd said, and sure, Jason could buy that.  Dick had paid some lip service to attempting to bond with him by the end, although that clearly hadn't cared all that much, seeing as he hadn't bothered to attend Jason's funeral.

There's Dick begging Jason to stop the pain as Jason had stitched up several bullet wounds without anesthesia.  There's 'Alive, you're love' — just a word salad from the blood loss.  Jason was pretty sure Dick had already thought he was dying by that point.  

And that all had to be lies.  Because Dick hadn't ever liked Jason, not now and certainly not as Robin.  Because Dick hadn't shown up to Jason's funeral, hadn't answered his calls, had left the Joker alive and cared for Tim in a way he never cared for Jason.

Was it true to call Tim Jason's replacement, when Jason had been nothing but a replacement for Dick, using Dick's costume and name and colors?  If anything, wasn't Tim just the righteous heir, the one the original costume's wearer had chosen?

No, fucking damnit.  Jason deserves those colors.  He'd spent three years in them, busting his ass off to prove to Bruce he could be a good son, a good Robin, to prove to Dick that he'd be a good brother, just for none of it to matter anyways.  For Bruce to fire him and Dick to ghost him.  Jason had put everything into Robin, and it had only given him death.  

Jason shoves the gag into Dick's mouth with perhaps a touch more violence than the motion requires, and settles down on the couch to await the Golden Boy's awakening.

What the hell is he supposed to do about all of this?

Jason's plans since returning to Gotham had been relatively simple for their grand scale.

One — take control of Crime Alley, protect the innocents.  Two — remind Batman exactly why sticking an child in the Robin tights was a bad idea, no matter how much of an upgrade he may consider a Bristol brat over an Alley rat.  Three — use a gang war with Black Mask to tip his hand into freeing the Joker.  Four — force Batman to prove whether he'd ever cared in the slightest about his former second son by making him choosing between Jason and the Joker.  To see whether Batman had ever cared, whether he could summon a shred of compassion and actually avenge Jason's death.

And all of that had been fucking spoiled by goddamn Dick Grayson and his electrified escrima sticks. 

Jason has a Bat in his favorite safehouse and a Robin who knows his face.  He's sure he can draw plenty of amusement from having Nightwing tied up under his whims, and he can probably torture Batman with that information too.  It's not Robin, but it still serves Jason's purpose to remind the Bat of how he can't protect his own.  And Jason can still run the last two points.  All he's doing is replacing Robin with Nightwing.  This will totally be fine.  

Chapter Text

Dick doesn't move for a while after he wakes up.  It's a strategy the Bat had taught all of them, and Jason's training in the League of Assassins taught him how to notice the subtle breathing patterns that indicate when Nightwing wakes up.  Jason lets him stew and subtly test his bonds.  There's a volume of the Count of Monte Cristo cracked open on his lap and when Nightwing finally decides to reveal that he's awake.

It's a comical performance, really, stretching in his bonds and letting out a slow groan as he opens his eyes.  Jason stares at him flatly, thoroughly unimpressed.  

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Nightwing," Jason says, just a touch of mocking sweetness to his words.

Dick startles at the sound of his voice, jerking against his bonds as his eyes flew completely open, focusing directly on Jason.  He makes some sort of noise, and Jason allows himself a satisfied smile.  Look at how helpless Dick is now, deprived of his greatest weapon — his words.

Jason lifts up his phone. "Say cheese for daddy!"

Dick does not.  Jason takes the photo anyway, although he doesn't send it.  He's gotta edit out the background first, and, besides, he wants to make Batman panic a little bit more before he reveals that Nightwing is, in fact, alive.  After all, the last Robin had seen Dick, he'd been bleeding out and in the hands of a villain.

Jason tucks his phone away with a satisfied hum, and goes to make himself food, now that he doesn't have to babysit Dick and make sure his heart won't stop.  He'll probably make Dick food too, but that would require both taking out the gag and hand-feeding Dick, so— eventually.  It's bound to be humiliating, at least.

Thirty minutes later, Jason has a wonderful bowl of mac'n'cheese and is curled up on the other couch.  Honestly, Jason's expecting more from Dick than just staring at him wide-eyed.  The man isn't even panicking.

"What," Jason asks when he can't take it any longer.  "Did you miss my pretty face that much?"

Dick makes a strangled noise.

Jason snorts.  "I know you didn't."

Dick makes another strangled noise.  

Jason takes another bite of his delicious food.  "I mean, like, I know you never really cared for me, but you didn't have to make it that blatant.  C'mon 'Wing, I know you can act better than that.  It was a dead giveaway that you didn't attend my funeral." Jason pauses, and grins. "Dead, heh."

The words are worth it to see Dick flinch, but they sting in a way Jason hadn't quite expected.  It's one thing to think them, and another to say them to Dick's face and stumble headfirst into the realization that no one in this family ever truly cared for him.

He doesn't quite manage to keep his next set of words from sounding so unaffected.  "I mean, it'd be nice if someone had, like, actually done something about my murderer, but apparently only killers get a free pass from Batman around here.  Not his child soldiers." 

Dick's still staring at Jason.  He hadn't been aware the Golden Boy's eyes could get so wide, and Dick's pain only makes Jason angrier.  How dare the perfect son feel upset at Jason's words!  Is it a struggle for him to face the truth?

Jason clenches his hands.  He doesn't want to get so worked up over this, but Batman makes him furious.  Jason fucking deserves to be angry, goddamnit.  "Oh, don't look so pitiful," Jason sneers.  "You never wanted me!  I bet you were glad when I died, weren't you?  The street rat had returned to where he belonged, and finally stopped stealing your colors.  Then again, apparently all you really wanted was a better model, seeing as you and Tim are as close as two peas in a pod."  Jason laughs bitterly.  He pushes his bowl of mac'n'cheese away.  "Fucking not even cold in my grave when the Replacement shows up.  Y'all were really just waiting for me to die, huh?"

Jason can't look at Dick.  He can't.  He doesn't know what he's going to see — is it going to be cold mockery from Dick?  That he can't believe Jason ever thought he cared?  Some sort of fake affront, like he's too good to have anger issues?

But Jason has to, because the whole point of this was to make Dick hurt.  He'd gotten his physical revenge with the bullets, now he just wanted to pay back the emotional pain in full.  Though he isn't sure why Dick would even care.  

Dick is — Dick is crying. Freely.  Tears roll down his cheeks in thick, angry groups, but he's still staring at Jason, blinking through the tears.

Jason is— is this all an act?  Or does Dick think he's blameless somehow, and he's hurt by the thought that Jason might dislike him? Jason is furious.  He has to be.  How dare Dick try to manipulate him with fucking tears?  The man couldn't even be bothered to answer his calls before Jason died.  

It has to be an act.  It has to be.  

Even if Dick doesn't look quite as pretty in tears as Jason had imagined.

Jason scoffs, pushing off the couch and to his feet. He's furious, he's shaking, and yet it feels hollower.  Dick's tears took the wind out of his anger, pretending or not.  "Nevermind, I'm going to—" Jason kicks the coffee table, glaring at the papers on Batman's patrols scattered all over the floor.  He should've left Nightwing on that rooftop, damn it.  (Dick would've died.) 

Jason refuses to give into his temptation to look at Dick and heads for the door.  He needs to clear his head.  Maybe head to bed and leave Nightwing to suffer on the couch.  God knows it's like five am in the morning and Jason could use some rest.  He'll make a lap around the block and go to bed.  Ugh, does he have to change the wrappings on Dick's injuries?

Dick makes another noise.  He sounds a little bit like he's whining.  Desperate to be released maybe?  Jason rolls his eyes.

Thump.

Jason rolls his eyes harder and turns around.  God, what is the Golden Boy doing now?  He places his hands on his hips, trying to imitate Alfred's disappointed glower.

And stares.

Because Dick fucking Grayson has managed to topple sideways off the couch.  He's crying harder, and Jason knows he had to have landed on at least one of his injuries, but the man fucking squirms again, reorienting himself.  His hands are tied, his ankles are tied, he has three bullet wounds.  What the hell is he doing?

"Don't make me restitch your wounds," Jason says flatly.  "If you stop whatever you're trying to do, I might even help you back onto the couch."

Dick does not stop.  He's wiggling left and right, and that's gotta hurt.   Jason's almost tempted to stop him just so he won't reinjure himself.  Dick's face comes into view after a few wiggles, and— Jason's not quite sure how to describe the desperation written clearly across his face.

Dick inches himself one foot forward, two, and— oh.  He's— he's trying to get to Jason.

Jason reluctantly moves close enough to tower over Dick's prone form.  The man hadn't made much progress except for giving Jason a headache.  "What do you want?"

Dick wiggles again, flipping on his back.  Jason's rather bemused but lets him.  If Dick's trying to pick a fight here, he's not going to win.  

Dick's hand closes around Jason's ankle, and he chokes on another sob, his whole body slumping.  For several seconds, he just cries, and Jason's still confused, thank you.  His fingers begin tapping Jason's ankle several seconds later, and then Jason understands what Dick's angle is.  Morse code, obviously.

Please.  Jay.

"Please what?" Jason sneers, frowning down at Dick.  He should've known this was all some sort of escape plan.

Talk.

Jason stares.  Does the Golden Boy think he's going to be able to use his silver tongue to get out of this one? Wax poetic about how much he pretended to love Robin II or something?  Jason's so, so tempted to ignore him, but— it's the desperation, written all over his face.  The fact that Jason knows that position's gotta be killing all his injuries, and he hasn't cried out once.  

Please.

Jason scoffs. "Ah, fine, I hafta feed you anyways."

Dick's gag is soaked through from his tears.  Jason doesn't quite want to consider how much he would've needed to cry to get it this wet.  He removes it as clinically as he can, untying it and easing Dick's mouth open to slide out the actual gag.  There's a spot of blood on the inside.  Dick must've bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain.

"Well?" Jason asks, pulling himself up and dropping the gag on the coffee table next to his empty bowl.  

"Jay," Dick whispers, and then his face crumples.  "Jay, you're alive, you're alive." He sobs again, tears back in full force.  "Jay, Jay."  

Jason stares at him.  He doesn't know what to feel, how to react to Dick Grayson sobbing into his carpet.  "I thought we'd established that already?"

Dick sniffles.  "No, I— I thought I might have been hallucinating.  I thought— you're alive , Jay.  You're actually alive."

Jason doesn't know what to do with that.  Why would Dick assume he's a hallucination, of all things? Dick had literally fought him last night, and, besides, who else would have patched up his injuries?

"Alright," Jason sighs, fed up.  "Back up onto the couch for you.  Clearly the blood loss is still messing with you."

Dick trembles in Jason's arms as Jason grabs his waist.  There's no coordinated way to do this, but Jason's strong enough to haul Dick onto the couch like a sack of potatoes.  He tries to ignore the way Dick chooses to not to say anything and presses as much of his body as possible into Jason's.

"Jason," Dick whispers, huddled under the blanket Jason had draped over him earlier.  He looks small and fragile, for Nightwing.  There's something shattered lurking in his eyes.  "Jason, I love you.  I always have.  I—"

"Save it," Jason scoffs.  He can't believe— for a second he'd actually thought—  Jason knows a lie when he hears one.  Something about 'I always have' and Dick telling Jason pretty point-blank that he had stolen Dick's place contradicted each other.  

Jason turns away, this time headed for the kitchen door—he'd left enough mac'n'cheese for a few meals for both of them, given Jason was not in the mood to be cooking right now.  

"Jason," Dick's voice is frantic now, but Jason doesn't bother to look back this time.  "Jason, wait, please, don't leave, Jason—"

Jason slams the door behind him, but the pettiness doesn't make him feel any better, nor does the motions of reheating food for Dick.  What was supposed to be Jason's victory lap has turned into a churning feeling in his gut, but Jason focuses on pushing it aside.  He can make Dick food, then bed.  Maybe he'll go out patrolling tomorrow night to taunt Batman, and then leave Dick somewhere in his path like a gift.  Yeah, Jason still has those patrol routes.  

Jason's feeling better as he pushes back open the door to the living room. 

Dick is hyperventilating.  His breath comes out in harsh breaths; his body shaking with each inhale and exhale.  His eyes are glassy as they snap to Jason's, and the despair in his gaze is replaced by a frantic hope.

"Jason?'

Jason crosses the room in an instant, depositing the bowl on the table and kneeling next to the couch.  "Hey, Dickie, you alright?"

"You left," Dick chokes out, face pale.  His breath is still coming far too fast. "You left, you—"

Jason hadn't anticipated this at all.  Has no idea what to do about Dick having a panic attack over him leaving for five minutes, about the way Dick looks at him like Jason's his whole world.  He takes a steadying breath.  "Hey, it's alright, I'm right here, yeah?" Jason carefully places a hand on Dick's shoulder, relieved when Dick leans into it instead of away.  "I'm not going anywhere.  You can feel my hand, can't you?"

Dick shakes his head.  "You left," he repeats desperately.

Jason takes another breath, falling back on Bruce's training.  "Yeah, and I came back.  I always come back, that's my specialty, y'know?  Damn cockroach and all that.  I swear, there were so many times during my tenure as Robin where Bruce thought something would hurt me and it didn't—"  Jason hasn't thought about any of those memories in ages, but his rambles bring back memories of the kindness with which Bruce had treated him, the crinkle in the old man's wrinkles whenever he was trying to bite down on a laugh because Batman couldn't laugh.  

Dick takes another shuddering breath, but it's slower, and Jason talks as Dick calms down.  Jason finds both of his hands pressed up against Dick's chest at some point, one over the man's heart and another on his non-injured shoulder.  Dick is warm against Jason's hands, and Jason aches for contact in a way he hadn't realized.  

Dick's breathing slows, and Jason can feel as his focus returns, his gaze roaming sharply over Jason's face.  "That's it, Dick," Jason encourages.  "Slow breaths."

Dick takes another breath, and tilts his head back, closing his eyes.  "Don't leave, Jay, please.  Even if you hate me, just— just stay for a little bit."

Jason doesn't know what else to do but agree. "Okay," he says, still using Robin's gentle voice.  "I'll stay as long as you need, alright?"

Dick nods, head still tilted back.

"Is it alright if I get you some food?" Jason asks.  

Dick nods again, but Jason can hear his breath hitch as Jason lifts his hands off his chest and grabs the mac'n'cheese off the table.  Jason's not stupid enough to untie Dick's hands, injuries or no injuries, so he resigns himself to spoon feeding him instead.

Jason had thought whenever they finally got around to this it would be the perfect tool to humiliate Nightwing with, but Dick allows Jason to feed him without protesting, and Jason can't quite find it in himself to torment the man with it when Dick's so clearly using it to center himself.  (Or even think about the unhesitating trust in the man's eyes.) His breaths grow steadier with every bite, and Jason's more than a little relieved to see color return to Dick's skin.  

Jason, on the other hand, is trying very hard not to freak out.  He hasn't prepared for this at all, and he has no idea what to do.  Dick had had a panic attack over him leaving the room.  His first words hadn't been accusatory or upset that Jason had shot him, but near-babbling about how Jason was alive .  He'd spent the whole time staring at Jason because he hadn't been sure Jason was actually alive until he'd touched him.  

He hadn't accounted for this in any of his plans.  The new Robin certainly wouldn't have cared at all and Bruce probably already knows, and certainly will know by the time Jason confronts him.  Jason doesn't have a plan for Dick Grayson willingly being spoon fed.  He meant for a physical fight to even the playground with his Replacement, not— not this.  

They're about halfway through the bowl when Jason reaches for the next spoonful and Dick shakes his head.  "I'm— I'm full," he says quietly.  Jason doesn't push it and reaches for the water instead.  They do that.  Jason's careful not to let it spill onto Dick.  

Then Jason puts the water down, and they just stare at each other.  Jason has no idea what to do.  He gets the vague feeling this is where they're supposed to talk, but Jason's never liked talking about his emotions and he's only ever seen Dick do it when yelling at Bruce.  

So he stays kneeling by the couch Dick's very injured body is perched on.  Ignores the way Dick shifts so that his body weight lays on Jason's hands.  

"You shot me," Dick says.  There's a little bit of bite to his voice, but it's not angry.  More hurt, than anything, as if Dick's upset that Jason , specifically, hurt him.

Jason fights to keep his voice steady.  Of course Dick's upset.  That's why Jason did it, because Dick deserved it for replacing him.  "Yeah," Jason says.  It sounds more strangled than he'd intended.

Dick opens his mouth, closes it.  He has no idea what to say, and Jason finds comfort in the fact that both of them are lost.  "Jason," he begins, "I don't hate you."

Jason stares at him. He can believe that.  Dick hasn't done anything to make Jason think he hates him with a burning passion.  Dislikes him, definitely.  Wishes he was gone, yeah.  Hate? That's much stronger work.  Jason honestly figured Dick hadn't ever put that much thought into him.  "Sure," he says.  "And?"

Dick twitches under him.  "I missed you," he says.  There's a hesitance to his words, as if he's still sorting between possible responses.

Jason raises an eyebrow of disbelief.  He should've known they'd be back to this.  Is Dick still trying to convince him he cares?  Really? "No you didn't," Jason says simply, with the confidence of knowing Dick hadn't even bothered to go to his funeral.

"Don't—" Dick snaps, something harsh in his tone he visibly reels in, continuing with a softer tone.  "Don't tell me how I feel.  I mourned you, Jason.  You— you died, and I was in space, and I couldn't—  I wasn't there when you needed me the most, Jason, and I'm sorry."

Jason reels.  Dick was in space? He hadn't— that explains the missed calls then.  Dick hadn't been ignoring him.  Not that anybody had bothered to tell Jason that Dick was away, but Jason was more than happy to blame that one on Bruce.  Dick was in space, and he'd actually apologized for something.

Jason's supposed to be angry.  Dick abandoned him, just because he regrets one thing doesn't mean everything is magically forgiven— "Just because you're sorry about one thing doesn't mean you missed me.  Not attending someone’s funeral and then finding themselves a new model gives me a pretty good idea of how you felt.”

Dick flinches.  Jason can feel the way his body shudders over his hands.  That shattered thing is back in his eyes, some sort of hopeless desperation as he looks at Jason. “Oh — Jason, no, that’s not — I wanted to be there.  I wanted to be at your funeral, Jason, I promise.”

Jason scoffs audibly.  More empty promises.  “Yeah, right, and what good is a promise, exactly?” Bruce had promised him he'd always be part of the family and then Bruce had benched him and summarily kicked him out by stripping Robin away.  

Dick flinches again, gasping like he's clawing for air.  Jason freezes, worried that his words have somehow kicked Dick into another panic attack, but the man wheezes for a few seconds and settles down.  “ I wasn’t there because I didn’t find out you were dead until I got back from space and read your obituary notice in the newspaper.”  

There's a few tears dripping down Dick's face, and Jason doesn't know what to do.  He's spent the past year imaging how apathetic you have to be towards someone to not even bother to attend their funeral, how much Dick must have disliked him, and Dick couldn't go because Bruce couldn't be fucking assed to tell him.  “Batman couldn’t be bothered to tell you?” Jason asks, anger layered in his words.

Dick snorts bitterly.  “No.  He.couldn’t take the chance my grief would get in the way of the Mission, or something like that.”

"Yeah, that sounds like B." Jason says.  Maybe he never should've expected Batman to compromise the Mission and kill for him, when he can't even bother to inform his eldest son about Jason's death.

Dick giggles madly.  "You know how he is."

Jason lets out his own snort.  He withdraws one of his hands from under Dick's body to pick at a loose thread on the couch as Dick sobers, gaze resting on Jason again.

"Jay, I care for you.  I know I was a terrible older brother to you at first, and I shouldn't have let my issues with B get in the way of being your brother.  I failed you Jason, and I'm sorry, but— but you have to know I care, right?" Dick's voice breaks.  "Right?"

Jason looks away.  Talia and Bruce both trained him to be objective, to ignore his emotions and let logic put the puzzle pieces together, and logic paints a very clear picture here.  Hell, Dickie had literally panicked when Jason tried to leave his sight because he was so afraid he might lose his younger brother again.  But it still hurts, it still aches, because Dick might care but Jason still woke up to a world where a younger and better model ran around in the Robin suit and his murderer still wrecked mayhem.  

"Okay," he whispers, "But it still hurts, Dickie.  You abandoned me, you replaced me."

Another tear drips from Dick's eye, but the edges of his mouth quirk into an unexpected grin.  "You hurt me too," he protests, and Jason doesn't have to glance away from Dickie's face to see him shift and brush a bandaged wound against Jason's hand.  

Jason wants to protest, but that's pretty much exactly why he'd been shooting at Robin and Nightwing.  He'd wanted revenge, and wanted to pay the pain he felt back to the Replacer and Replacement.  He'd wanted to prove himself the better Robin and to demonstrate to Bruce exactly why he shouldn't have put another child in a bloodstained costume.  He'd done all of that.

"Fair," he acknowledges with a reluctant huff, and Dick laughs lightly.  

"And Jay, about Tim—"

"I don't want to talk about the Replacement," Jason snaps, suddenly angry.  Here Dick is, doing a stellar job at convincing Jason to maybe not hate him for what he'd done, and then he has to go and bring Robin into it?  He doesn't think Dick would have gone to all that effort for so little. (He wants to believe Dick, wants to hope.)

"Okay," Dick says soothingly, and Jason watches the visible decision to drop the battle for later flash across his face.  "As long as you don't try to hurt him again."

Jason curls his shoulders in, suddenly defensive.  He'd been in the right!  He deserved justice.  "I—"

"You put three bullet wounds in me," Dick protests, and Jason can't ignore the edge of hurt to his words, not anymore.  "C'mon Jason, can't we be even?  Please?"

Jason doesn't want to be even.  Jason wants to be angry.  He is angry, furious even, at the fact that he'd been unceremoniously kicked out of Robin for a younger and better role, and everyone just seemed to treat that as something normal he shouldn't even be mad about.  But everytime Jason blinks, he remembers how pale and quiet Nightwing had been while Jason had stitched up him.  The fear that Jason wouldn't be able to get him to his safehouse in time, wouldn't be able to save his older brother.  "Fine," Jason huffs.  "No more unsolicited fights.  I still reserve the right to be mad about it though."

Dick grins, and Jason can see the relief etched into every line of his body.  "Fair enough," he agrees. "I can't say I wasn't either, and I'm definitely still mad about the bullet wounds."

Jason winces at slight point in Dick's words, at the reminder that Jason was the original replacement, and here he was, practically trembling at the thought Dick might not be mad at him, might care for him despite their rocky origins.  He's still rather furious that Dick cares so much for his Replacement and took him in in a way he'd never taken Jason in.  

But Dick cares for him.  Actually cares for him.  Wants to try to be brothers.  

Jason sighs. 

Dick must read something in his face, because he widens his eyes, pulling out a pout and aiming it directly at Jason.  "Little Wing, can I get a hug?"

Jason stares at him.  "You want me to—?"

Dick nods, shoulders slumping.  "It's okay if you don't.  I just—"

Jason leans forward to hug him a little shakily.  He doesn't want to hear the end of Dick's sentence.  Dick's warm, and solid, and Jason's careful to avoid his shoulder wound, but the hug feels good.  Really good.  He can feel Dick shudder under him, burying his face in Jason's shoulder.  Jason wants to cry.  Dick loves him, Dick wants affection from him (even after Jason had almost killed him).

Jason shifts his hands to run one through Dick's hair, and he swears he can feel the man purr under him.  

"Jay," Dick whispers, his tears soaking into Jason's shirt.  "I'm so glad you're alive."

Jason tries to ignore his own watery eyes.  He'd missed Dick's hugs.  "Yeah, me too."

Dick whines.  Jason smirks, and reluctantly withdraws his arms from Dick. He can see the man's pain at the loss of contact as Jason sits back on his heels.

"I need to go to bed," Jason informs Dick.  "Yell if you need anything."

Dick freezes, eyes wide and darting between Jason and the door. "... You're leaving the room?" he asks, and Jason can hear the same under current of panic.

"Really?" Jason protests, as if it doesn't warm him.  "I literally just hugged you, you know I'm not leaving?"

Dick sinks back into the couch.  Jason doesn't like the look of resigned acceptance on his face.  "Is your bed big enough for two?" He says it like a hopeful joke, but it's not.  Dick's terrified of losing him.

Jason sighs. "Fine."

Dick honest to god beams. "Really???"

Jason feels this vague thing called regret, but it's buried pretty deeply under the way Dick's weight presses into his arms as he lifts his older brother princess style and feels Dick absolutely melt into his grip.  He almost wishes he hadn't bound Dick's hands, if only because he knows how tightly Dick could hold him if he tried.  

Jason deposits Dick gently onto his king bed, careful to grab a pillow to prop Dick's many injuries and tuck the man in.  After staring for a few seconds, Jason also regrets all his life choices and retires Dick's hands so that they're in front of him, not behind him.  It looks both significantly more comfortable and better for Dick's shoulder wound. He swears Dick lets out small happy sounds the entire time Jason's tending to him.  Of course Dick likes being treated like a goddamned princess.

Jason flicks off the lights and crawls into the other half of the bed.  He sets an alarm for two pm, if only because he has a meeting with his goons that he actually has to attend.  It's still more sleep than he usually gets and probably much more than Dick usually gets, but Jason finds himself not in a hurry to get up tomorrow morning.

Dick whines as Jason closes his eyes.

"What?" Jason asks irritably.

"You're so far away, Jay.  Come closer and cuddle me."

Jason flips around to hiss at him.  "You're injured, Dickie."

"But, but, but cuddles."

Jason caves like a wet paper bag.  He wants cuddles too, now that he has someone who actually wants to hold him.

Chapter Text

Dick wishes he'd slept better than he had, but between the pain of the bullet wounds and bindings — he'd made Jay get up and get him a painkiller, but it hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped — and the worries hammering around in his skull, he'd dozed in and out all night.  Jay's bed is very soft, and Dick knows he's going to have his hands full convincing Jason not to ditch the safehouse.  To even stay, past the impromptu kidnapping.

Jason gets up at some point, and Dick whines as he feels the bed shift and Jason's body heat depart.  

A hand brushes through his hair.  "I'm gonna get up and get us food," Jason murmurs.  "Just call when you want me to move you to the living room."

"Now?" Dick asks hopefully.

Jason huffs out a little laugh, and Dick's heart jackrabbits in his chest.  He'd never thought he'd ever get to see Jason alive again, let alone smiling and laughing.  Every second is a goddamned miracle, and Dick's determined to treasure it forever.  "Okay," he agrees.  "I'll change your wraps too.  Do you need another painkiller?"

Dick shakes his head, blinking the light away so he can concentrate better on his alive baby brother's face.  Dick's in quite a bit of pain, especially given his stiffness from the bindings, but painkillers would make him sleepy and Dick doesn't want to sleep when he can use this time to prove to his baby brother exactly how much he loves him.

Jay hums, stepping closer to Dick's nest of blankets and pillows and carefully scooping him up.  Jason's so much bigger now, at least as tall as Bruce, and Dick's seventeen year-old brother is larger than him and picking him up with ease.  Wait, hold on.

"You're seventeen," Dick says suspiciously, squinting up at Jason.  "The Red Hood is a teenager?"

Jason bursts into laughter.  "Of all the revelations, and that's the one you're surprised about?"

Dick pouts in his arms, sticking his face into his little brother's shirt.  "Our profile had you in the thirties," he mutters.  "I think you're lucky B hasn't found out yet, otherwise he might have re-adopted you before the Hood even came off."

Jason stiffens, and Dick realizes belatedly that perhaps he shouldn't poke at the sleeping dragon before he has to.  He knows he needs to talk to Jason about Tim, and that alone might get Jason to kick him out, but he wants to revel in Jason's hugs while he has them.  "Right, like that would be such a bad thing," Jason mutters.

"That's— I didn't mean it like that," Dick protests immediately, even as he tucks that wording close to his heart.  Jason doesn't think it's a bad thing that Bruce would still want to adopt him.  There's hope.  "I figured moreso that'd be bad for your plans."

Jaosn doesn't respond, and Dick glances up to see the hard set of his jaw and anger warring in his eyes.  

"Jay," Dick whines, using the newly given power of his hands being bound in front of him to try and grip Jason with it.  It doesn't go super well, given the bullet wound, but the attempt softens Jason's anger.  

Jason sets Dick back down on the couch, gently, reaching for the blanket that had been tucked over Dick yesterday and pulling it back.  Dick lets him, encouraging his touches with soft whines and trying his best to tangle his hands in Jason's shirt.

Jason huffs at him.  "I've given you the power of touch, haven't I?"

Dick grins unabashedly.  "Yup.  Be held in the patented Grayson octopus hug."

Jason sighs, and moves to detangle Dick's hands from his shirt. "I'm going to get us food!" he protests, then adding, softer, the new scar through his cheek wrinkling in concern.  "As long as you're going to be okay if I leave the room?"

Dick flushes.  He's not embarrassed, per say, of the panic attack he'd had last night, especially since freaking out over your newly revived younger brother leaving your sight is perfectly valid, but his reaction had perhaps been a little intense.  Though, it had gotten Jay to talk to him, so he really didn't regret it.  "I'll be fine," he promises.

Jason blinks at him for several seconds before turning around and disappearing through the kitchen door.  It's the same door he'd left through last night, and Dick feels a spike of panic before he shoves it back down.  He knows Jason's not leaving permanently.  Unlike last night, Dick's not terrified he's going to walk out that door and never return, and his little brother is going to hate him for the rest of their lives. 

Dick's lying.  He's still terrified.  

The truce he's reached with Jason is both precarious and temporary.  He doesn't know what Jason's future plans are, and while he'd made Jason promise not to hurt Tim last night that doesn't mean Jason still doesn't want some sort of revenge.  Dick is going to suggest bullying Tim into bed though, considering how careful Jay's been about taking care of him.  Tim would hate it.  

Dick's careful to keep his breathing under control for the fifteen minutes Jason's gone.  It's aided by the fact that he can hear the occasional noise from the kitchen.  Jason's still in there.  He has to be.  Dick doesn't know what he'd do if he lost his baby brother again.  

"I'm back!" Jason announces cheerfully, carrying two bowls and spoons.  Their empty pairs are still on the coffee table from last night, but apparently this safehouse actually has cutlery.  Dick's certainly usually don't.  

It's another point in Dick's mind that this is probably Jason's permanent base of operations that he'd burned to make sure Dick didn't bleed out, and another reason Dick's not as upset as he probably should be that Jason had put a bullet or three through him.  As long as it doesn't happen again.

"Food?" Dick asks hopefully.  He's much hungrier than he was last night, which is a good sign.

Jason offers a bowl to him, and Dick can actually take it this time, cradled carefully between his bound hands.  Dick peers in.  "More mac'n'cheese?"

Jason shrugs.  "I made a lot last night.  Figured I wouldn't want to be cooking much over the next few days."

Dick peers up at him.  "Do you have hot sauce?" he asks hopefully.  Jason laughs, and pulls the bottle out of the pocket of his sweatpants.  

"You've always had a thing about spice."

Dick pouts.  "Americans are so bad about using a lot of it.  Their food is so bland."  He reaches for the spoon, and pauses as the muscles in his shoulder twinge.  "Jay?" he asks hopefully, if hesitantly.  Dick doesn't really care about the restraints if they're getting him his brother, if that's what Jason needs to feel safe, but— "I can't eat with my hands tied."

Jason stiffens, looking over him carefully.  There's calculation on his face, but it's not an outright dismissal and he doesn't seem angry, so Dick decides to go for it, deepening his pout and fluttering his eyelashes comically.  "Please pretty please?  I pinky promise on my many bullet wounds I won't try to escape."

For a second, Jason stiffens, and then he snorts and relaxes.  Something fond settles over his face.  "Fine, Dickie."

Dick beams.

He definitely doesn't use his new freedom to run his hands all up and down Jason's chest in a miniature hug as Jason unties his hands.  Noooo, not at all.

They eat in relative silence.  Questions desperately bubble in Dick's throat, but he refuses to break the moment and ask them.  Silence has seemed to be the best way to go with Jason so far.  

"I have a meeting at three," Jason says abruptly, dropping his bowl on the counter.  "I'm going to be gone for two-ish hours, give or take."

Dick takes a deep breath.  In.  Out.  Jason will flee faster if Dick digs in and tries to control his every move.  At some point, Jason's going to have to leave for a while no matter what.  "Okay," he says neutrally.  "What time is it now?"

Jason lets out a small breath.  Dick doesn't like it, but that was definitely the right move.  "Two, give or take.  I can change your bandages and help you stretch a little bit."

Dick winces.  That's going to hurt.  "Alright," he sighs.  "Better to get that one over with."

Jason nods, and retrieves the med-kit from under his coffee table.  He must have left it there last night after treating Dick with it.  "Still no painkiller?"

Dick nods.

Jason's administrations are significantly more careful than Dick's vague memories of Jason stitching up the wounds.  That's probably a good sign for their relationship.   He tries not to think about how close he must have come to death last night, and how long he'll be off the streets until he heals.  

"Did you really have to shoot me?" Dick complains.

Jason blinks at him. "Sorry," he mutters tightly, turning away.  

He means that, Dick realizes after several seconds.  Sure, he said it very begrudgingly and defensively, but Jason genuinely regrets it.  Dick gets the feeling he should probably be more mad about this, but he's happy to count it as water under the bridge if it makes things between him and Jason equal.  Brothers are more important.

"It's alright," Dick chirps, using his newly freed hand to run his fingers through his Little Wing's hair. "You said you still love me.  No take backsies."

Jason rolls his eyes, but his eyes are fond.  Dick's strategy? plan? attempts to bond with his brother are working.  Little sibling annoyance is a go.  "Think your priorities are a little off," he comments.

Dick raises an eyebrow.  "I'm sorry, did you not know that already? "

 "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Jason ties off the last bandage.  "There we go.  All wrapped up."

"Thanks."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, and Dick takes advantage of their closeness to wrap an arm around Jason and pull him close.  The positioning isn't great, but Dick refuses to let such a petty thing get in the way of cuddling his Little Wing.  "I love you," Dick whispers.  He's pretty sure repetition is a good way to get people to believe you.

Jason huffs, squirming in Dick's very weak grip.  He does not, noticeably, just throw Dick's arm off.  "Getoff me, Dickwad."

"No," Dick says pleasantly, and then jabs his hand towards Jason's vulnerable side.

He only gets to tickle Jason for a few seconds because Jay just simply steps away from him and Dick can't follow, but it's totally worth the laughter and the absolutely betrayed expression on Jason's face.

Jason huffs, crossing his arms and scowling at Dick.  "You fucking prick."

Dick smiles sweetly.  "I loooove you."

Jason huffs at him, but he's definitely blushing.  "I'm gonna change."

Dick can totally deal with that.  "Little Wing, are you abandoning me?"

"Yes," Jason says flatly.  He's smiling.  "You ambushed and tortured me."

Dick leans back into the couch, making sure to wince as his injuries pull.  "I thought you'd like it if I hugged you."

Jason sighs heavily. "Why did I want an older brother again?" he mutters.

Dick doesn't drop his sad face.  "You want me?"

Jason flushed again, turning away to stomp off to his room.  "You aren't the worst thing ever," he grumbles, making sure to slam the door extra hard behind him.  Dick beams.  That's practically a love declaration from anyone in this family.  

It's only after Jason comes out in the Red Hood armor that Dick realizes his meeting is a crime thing.  Right.  Of course.  Dick can deal with that later.  After they talk about Tim and he makes sure Jason knows he hasn't been replaced.  

"Do you need to leave soon?" Dick whines. He's aware it's already pretty late in the afternoon, but Dick's a vigilante; late is relative.  

Jason nods. "I'll come back with takeout?" he offers.  It's almost a worthy trade, but nothing would ever substitute for his brother's company.  

"Fine," Dick huffs.  "Naps for me, I guess.  You don't even have a TV."

Jason pats his hair.  "You're injured and this is a safehouse."

Dick is rather tired, but that would be conceding the point.  "Well, you should at least bring something interesting back with you."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Are you implying I'm not interesting?  Or dinner?"

Dick pouts back into the couch.  "Well sue me if I want to do something with you!"

"I have books."

"I can't read books with you."

"You could, silently."

Dick stares at him.  

Jason sighs.  "What, do you want a bonding activity?" Ha, Dick won.

Dick beams.  "Cards?" He asks hopefully.  Jason had loved chess games with Bruce in the evenings, if Dick remembered correctly, but Dick couldn't sit through a full game, as interesting as he found it.  Cards are better.

"Fine."

Dick is doing great at this whole brother thing.

Jason stomps back into the apartment with a huff, dropping a bag on the coffee table.  Dick definitely does not startle awake from a doze.  No, siree.

"How'd your meeting go?"

Jason shrugs.  "You fishing for information, birdie?" Not amazing, then.

Dick raises an eyebrow.  "I'm like that parent bothering their child about what happened during their day."

Jason scoffs.  "I sure as hell don't recall enjoying giving Bruce answers there."

Dick cracks a grin.  "I told him about what I wanted to.  He still wishes he knew what went on with the Titans though."

That gets Jason to laugh, and Dick can see his shoulders drop a little bit, slowly relaxing.  "Well in that case," Jason drawls, "I got us a bunch of things from the Thai place down the street because I couldn't remember what you liked, besides spicy things."

Dick shrugs. "I eat anything spicy.  'Sides, if you got us too much, we can always mix it in with the mac'n'cheese tomorrow."

Jason gapes at him.  "You'd mix Thai with mac'n? What blasphemy is this?"

Dick pouts.  It's definitely about par for the way he'd put things together in Blüdhaven.  Dick can cook, just not much more than the basics and even then, he's never got the time.  "Functioning?" he offers.

Jason gives him a look.  "That's not functioning, Dickhead.  The hell are you eating over in Blüd?"

"Better stuff than mac'n'cheese," Dick shoots back, even though rice with the occasional curry does not count.  

Jason scoffs. "Clearly not," he hisses.  "Is Alfred not supplementing your diet?"

"I'm twenty two," Dick argues.  "I don't need him to babysit me anymore! I'm a functioning adult!"

"Maybe I should then," Jason responds, dropping plastic cutlery and a number of takeout boxes on the counter.  "I have Pad Thai, Pad See Ew, fried rice, and spring rolls.  Want me to serve you a little of each?"

Dick nods. "You'd come to visit me in Blüdhaven?" He means it to tease, but his words come out soft and hopeful.

Jason pauses, and scoops a bunch of noodles onto Dick's plate in lieu of a response.  "Sure, if you ever get out of here," he responds.  It's also meant to be teasing, but Jason says it flatly.

"Am I—" Dick pauses, turning his words carefully over in his mouth.  They've very much danced around the almost murder/kidnapping thing so far, and Dick hasn't really minded since it means he can hold Jason, but Dick has things to do.  Like work, and he has no idea how he's going to explain bullet wounds to them.  And Bruce.  Batman has no idea where Dick is, and if he's even alive or not.  Dick can't do that to him, not after Jay's death. "Is that one of those things I can ask about?" he says instead, cowardly ducking back into their teasing overlay.

Jay sighs, passing Dick the plate and leaning back on the floor.  He'd swept up the papers sometime that morning, which was a shame because Dick wanted to know why they looked like Batman's patrol plans. "I can't hold you here forever," he admits, and Dick feels equally relieved and guilty.  "And that wouldn't be fair to you, either.  You got your own life and city, Goldie.  Just—" Jason breaks off. "Can I have another night, at least?"

Dick's chest hurts.  "I'm not going anywhere," he points out, but Jason's mouth twitches into a small frown rather than a smile, so Dick continues hastily.  "And you can certainly have tonight, and as many nights as you want if you'll come visit your lonely older brother in Blüdhaven."

That gets Jason to smile a little bit.  "I'd like that," he says quietly, and looks away, so Dick figures that's all the emotional vulnerability he's going to get out of Jason tonight.  Not that Dick minds.  They very much still have things to talk about, like how he's going to return Dick, and Tim, and the crime thing, but those are later problems when Dick's younger brother is alive and in front of him.

"So," Dick asks, awkwardly maneuvering his fork to his mouth and then slurping just to be obnoxious.  "Did you bring me back cards?"

"Unfortunately," Jason grumbles.  "I don't have a cribbage board though."

Dick grins.  "Did Bruce bully you into liking cribbage?  I was always more of a Rummy fan, myself."

Jason snorts.  "You just like it because it's named after an alcohol."

Dick flushes.  "I do not!" he protests.  Rummy is just more fun, and Jason will have to deal with liking the inferior game.  

Jason slurps his noodles.  "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Goldie."

Dick wins in the end, because they play Rummy, and then they try Go Fish but Jason throws the cards in Dick's face and that's the end of that.  Jason cleans the dishes afterwards, and then he positions himself as the pillow under Dick's legs and they cuddle on the couch.  

"We need to talk tomorrow, Jay," Dick says gently, already beginning to doze off.  They still need to rewrap his wounds and Dick wants another painkiller to go with it, but the couch is comfy and Jason is warm.

"I know," Jason responds.  There's an edge of something defensive to his voice.  Dick retaliates by burying his feet more firmly into Jason's side.

"I should kidnap you back," Dick mutters.  He's not joking; he wants to see how Jason reacts to the idea.  "You can be my live-in chef."

Jason looks touched, and the comment seems to have done its job of reassuring Jason that Dick isn't going to leave, even if they argue.  Also, Dick might have a chance.  "You're mumbling nonsense," Jason says instead, which sounds like a resounding 'please kidnap me' to Dick.  "Let's get you to bed."

"Okay," Dick says contentedly.  Bed just means he gets to cuddle closer into his Little Wing.  "I love you."

Dick's admittedly pretty dozed off, so when no response comes he thought he'd missed Jason getting out from under his legs and leaving the room.

"I love you too," Jason murmurs softly.

Jason hadn't intended to keep Dick another night.  His plan had been simple— drop Dick off on some roof and move straight to provoking Black Mask into releasing the Joker.  

But Dick had been looking up at him with the most innocent expression he could muster, and Jason's will had crumbled like Humpty Dumpty.  One more night.  He'll get to cherish Dick for one more night and pretend that he has a family who loves him, and then what?

Jason can't imagine Dick is very happy about the crime lord thing.  Or the getting Bruce to muder the Joker thing, even though the clown should have been dead a long time ago.  And Dick had already made his stance on the Replacement pretty clear.

Dick loves him in this bubble, but Jason's apartment isn't the real world and that's going to snap.  Even if Dick insists Jason's always welcome in Blüdhaven.  

Jason's up before Dick the next morning, no doubt due to the painkillers and his body needing rest, so he makes them both more mac'n'cheese.  It finishes off the last of it, which Jason is admittedly a little grateful for.  It's only midday, so Jason spends his free time brushing up on the stuff he'd missed in the last two days.  

Dickie's not going to be happy when Jason disappears again that afternoon to deal with a bunch of shit, but Jason has a criminal empire to run and Dick needs sleep anyway.  And painkillers.  He hadn't missed Dickie refusing the help to avoid the drowsiness.

"Jay?" Dick calls from the bedroom an hour later, and Jason dutifully retrieves him, depositing him back on the couch and rechanging his bandages.  

"More mac'n'?" Jason offers, and Dick makes such a disgruntled face that Jason can't help but laugh.  It's weird to be so free with his emotions, given that the League of Assassins had seen happiness as a weakness, but it's nice.  It's not going to last, but it's really nice.

"Is that at least the last of it?" Dick groans.  Jason's not sure he has a right to be complaining given that Jason made the food, but Jason had shot and kidnapped him. It's Jason's fault, not his.  (And Jason ignores the curl in his stomach, the way Dickie's wounds make him feel vaguely sick every time he looks at them.)  Jason had had a right to be angry, still has a right to be angry and hurt.  Dick hadn't even denied that Tim was his replacement.

"Yup," Jason responds, keeping his inner monologue as far away from Dick as he can get it. "An' I've got more meetings today, so I can bring us home something else for dinner."

"You do?"  Dick's disappointed voice makes Jason feel squirming guilt, but Jason needs some space.  Even if this might be the last time he gets Dick's hugs.  

"Yes," Jason confirms.  Dick makes another face at him, but Jason can't figure out whether he's irritated or happy.  "Do you want chili dogs for dinner?"

Dick grins.  "I was surprised you didn't bring them back last night."

Jason shrugs.  He hadn't been near his favorite stand and he'd wanted to get back to Dick as fast as possible.  The look of panic on Dick's face after Jason had disappeared for five minutes still haunts his nightmares.  "Well, you're getting them tonight."

Dick smiles at him.  It's a very weak smile.  Jason doesn't know what's wrong— probably that Jason's literally kidnapped Dick and he doesn't want to be here. "Okay, Little Wing."

It's the same goddamn nickname again, and Jason melts a little more each time Dick calls him that.  Just like he had when he'd been doing his best to reach out to Jason when he was still Robin.  

Jason disappears to go change before he can beg Dick to stay.

His men aren't exactly happy with Jason practically disappearing for two days, especially given how the Bat has been ripping through some of their warehouses.  Jason's glad to see the rumors are more so that Red Hood finally crossed a large enough line to put him on the Bats' radar and not that he'd kidnapped Nightwing. 

Even if he's more than furious that Batman's targeting all his stuff.  Sure, he'd kidnapped Nightwing, but Batman had to know he is Jason now, and he also had to know that Nightwing isn't in any of the warehouses he'd targeted.  He isn't going after Dick, he's going after Hood in a way he'd never even bothered to attack the Joker.  

Jason drops a bag of chili dogs on the coffee table, grateful he'd cleaned up a little bit that morning.  He'd brought a bag specifically to carry them, since his favorite vendor didn't give them.  "How was your nap, Goldie?"

"I never want to sleep again," Dick murmurs.  He cracks his eyes open to glare at Jason.  "Stop leaving."

Jason trembles, just a little bit.  "I'm here for the night?" he offers.  "But if we play more cards, I want to play Gin."

Dick huffs at him, extending his good arm to make grabby hands at the food.  "Gin is boring."

Jason stares at him, digging into the bag to pass a hot dog to Dick.  "Is everything boring to you?"

"Yes," Dick says, sticking his nose into the air. "I was born for the skies."  He accepts the proffered hot dog without question, and bites into it.

Jason takes his own and sinks down to the floor.  "Yeah, yeah, circus brat."

"Meanie."

Jason is beginning to have plenty of practice at ignoring Dick Grayson, and they've been here less than forty eight hours.  Had he been this annoying the first time?

"How was your meeting?" Dick asks.

"Really? Prying for information again?" Jason challenges.  Even after Dick had rebuked that yesterday, he's still unsure what the man's actual motivations are.  Dick has to know these are his crime meetings, and they haven't even addressed that yet.

Dick shoves his hot dog into his mouth.  He chews irritatedly before answering.  "Can I not just ask how my baby brother's day went?"

Jason feels the words like yet another bullet wound.  He wants to believe Dick, he does, and the hurt in Dick's voice is undoubtedly real.  He just knows that this bubble is going to burst, and any information he gives Dick now will only come back to haunt him later.  "They were fine.  I need to patrol again soon."

As predicted, Dick stiffens.  "Right," he says, coughing.  "Uh, tonight?"

Jason sinks a little lower into the couch.  He'd wanted to leave this conversation to the last minute possible, and spend as much time as possible with Dickie.  Maybe if he plays his cards right they won't end up arguing? "Probably," he says softly.  "I have to drop you off tonight, don't I?"

Dick's shoulders drop.  "Yeah. I don't want to leave, but—"

Jason doesn't want to hear the end of the sentence, because then they'd talk about Batman, and Jason can already imagine how that's going to end. "Gin," he says firmly.  "That's a later problem."

Dick nods. "Well, excuse you, Rummy.  And it's not a problem, because you're going to come visit me in Blüdhaven once I'm healed."

Jason wants to.  He really wants to.  But their bubble is just that, a bubble.  "Uh huh," Jason says.  He deposits the wrapper of his second hot dog into the bin and grabs the cards instead.  "Feels like a you problem, because I'm dealing."

"Jay!" Dick throws his wrapper at Jason.  He dodges easily, and deals them ten cards.

Dick scowls into his cards. "You're a brat."

Jason chooses to take this as a compliment.  He's trying to annoy Dick, after all. "Thank you," he grins.  "I do try."

Dick throws his cards at him.  Jason makes him play Gin anyways, not the least because it's easier for Dick with one hand.  

Jason keeps a careful eye on the clock as one game ticks into two into five.  Jason's winning, which is perhaps more due to the amount he's played instead of their skill.  Dick points this out relentlessly.  Jason refuses to believe it; he's just clearly the superior card player.

"I won," he says smugly as Dick's points pass 100.  Shame on him, Jason's lagging significantly at 62.  

Dick sticks out his tongue.  "That's okay, you'll get your comeuppance whenever you play Tim.  He keeps beating me in Monopoly."

"Why the hell would I want to play games with the Replacement?" Jason asks before he can think about it.  He immediately tries to swallow down the words, but it's not much of a use.  He can see the playful happiness on Dick's face die down into something more serious.  

"Because he's your brother," Dick says firmly.  He wiggles on the couch to face Jason, and, fine, he guesses they're doing this now.

Jason stares at him.  "No, he's not." he counters, struggling to keep anger from his voice.  "Tim's my replacement, and nothing more.  I've got no obligation to care about whatever stupid stray Batman got rid of me for."

Dick's voicer quivers from calm to angry.  "I didn't either, but I happen to like you anyways!"

Jason recoils.  Fuck him, he'd thought they were over that.  Hadn't that literally been part of the whole under the water deal?  "Clearly not that much, if the Replacement is more special to you than I am."

Dick frowns.  Like everyone in this family, he's got a temper, and Jason can see it lurking in his eyes.  "I didn't say that!  I just don't like one of my younger brothers hurting the other, that's all."

Jason scoffs.  "And what about the ways Replacements hurt me?  He fucking stole my place!"

"No!" Dick says firmly.  "Tim's not your replacement, just like you weren't mine."

Jason can't help but feel anger rise in him.   Why the hell is Dick still defending the Replacement?   "I certainly seem to remember you telling me I should go back to wherever I'd crawled out of?"

"Oh, so I'm the villain for not immediately liking you, but it's totally okay for you to hate Tim?"  

"Yeah, well you didn't die in the damn colors only for B to literally find a newer and shiner model!"

Dick flinches.  "You, Jay, what the hell?  Tim's not a newer model or whatever, Jesus christ. This isn't a competition.  That's not how love works."

Jason crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.  "Uh huh, and did B even wait until my body cooled until he got a new kid?"

"Yes?" Dick waves his free arm in the air.  "Look, Jay, I can't blame you for being upset, but you weren't there—"

"I died!! I wasn't there because I was dead , and apparently all that meant to you and Batman was that it was orphan picking season!"

"Don't say that!  That's not what happened, I mourned your death—"

"This isn't about you!"  Jason hadn't quite realized he was standing until he screams the words at Dick. 

"Yeah, 'cause it's about you!" Dick's screaming now too.  "Your feelings, your jealousy.  You can't see past your own hurt to even consider the damn situation!"

"Oh, yeah?" Jason takes a step closer.  "Which part am I misreading?  That none of you have ever fucking cared about me—"

"I care about you!" Dick roared.

"Not like you care about Tim!  I get it, okay, Dickie?  I'm second to a kid two years my junior.  Y'all wanted a kid who was richer, smarter, less angry.  Just stop fucking lying to me about it!"

"I'm noy lying to you!  I love you both equally—"

"You've never loved me!" Jason's gasping for air, staring at Dick's shocked and furious face.  Once the damn breaks, the rest of it tumbles out, furious and raging.  "Sure, you regretted my death.  But you never cared about me!  You care about the little twelve year old you failed!  None of you have ever cared about me."  

"Yes, I have!  We all have, Jay.  Bruce and I both care.  Even Tim cares, he—"

"Really? Because they have a funny way of showing it.  I just loved coming back to life only to see newspapers about how wonderful and amazing the new Robin was."

"Jay," Dick crosses his good arm across his chest, glaring at him.  "I'm sorry, that must've hurt, but—"

Jason's too furious now to even bother believing Dick's platitudes are true.  He's so goddamn tired of everyone refusing to acknowledge that there never should've been another Robin.  "It must've hurt?  Fuck off, dick .  Batman might've had the self-control to wait six months or so, but don't pretend to me that Tim isn't just the newer and shinier model.  You don't think I noticed how he went from a street rat to Gotham elite, huh?"

Dick stares at him with wide eyes."What the hell? B's not the type— Tim literally stalked us for years and then went out unapproved in the suit.  Y'know, like the rest of us?"

Jason rolls his eyes.  Hard. "Oh yeah, so that makes it better that Batman literally put a younger kid in a bloodstained costume? I died in that thing, and he couldn't even be bothered to honor my fucking death!"

"So you're what, trying to kill him?  Do you want to do to him what was done to you?"

Jason reels back. He's — Did Dick just—"You—"

"Jason, wait, I didn't—"

"Fuck you!" Jason spits, moving to his feet and storming straight for the bedroom. "Don't compare me to the fucking Joker!"

"Jay, wait, I'm sorry.  That's not my point and you know it.  I'm not blaming you for being mad at Bruce, but you shouldn't take it out on Tim—"

Jason slams the door behind him.  He doesn't want to hear it.  He doesn't.  Of course Dick would take Tim's side.  The Replacer and the Replacement.  Just 'cause Dick's willing to play house now doesn't make up for their two years of rocky relationship.  Of course Dick prefers Tim to Jason.  Of course Jason's just the second fiddle.

Hood's helmet is still on the dresser when Jason had left it when he'd come back, and Jason grabs it without a second thought.  He'd left his guns well out of Goldie's sight too, and it's second nature to buckle those on.

Surprisingly, Goldie doesn't try to call him from the living room, not that Jason would have stayed.  How could Dick even think it was okay to— Jason's hands shake as he swings out the window.  The angry haze that had permeated his time in Gotham buzzes through his mind, and Jason lets it.  He's so furious he can't even verbalize the feeling; it's more of an omnipresent haze where he needs to punch something.  Now. 

Chapter Text

The already darkened sky indicates plenty of available hostiles, and Jason's men were very much insisting that Red Hood needs to put in an appearance to stave off Batman's incessant attacks.  That's certainly a figure Jason would love to beat into the ground right now.  

Jason stops two muggings, an attempted assault, and swings briefly by the working girls before a shadow begins to stalk his movements, like Batman has ever been successful at surprising one of his Robins a day in his life.

Showtime.

Jason had been oh so careful to keep his patrol to the very edges of Crime Alley, and just like the rest of his child soldiers, Batman had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker.  

"Red Hood."

Jason certainly hadn't been scared of Batman's pathetic little growl in years, but now? Jason cackles, the sound wheezing through his mask.  Once he starts, he can't quite stop, spinning around to face Batman slowly.  "Batman," he mocks, deeping his voice just for the effect.

"Where is Nightwing?" Batman growls.  It's very helpful, seeing as it sharpens Jason's anger into a thin knife with an easy target.  Asking about Nightwing.  Not how Jason's alive.  Not why.  Just where his precious first son is.

"Oh, I don't know," Jason hisses.  "I suppose Nightwing's in the same place I've been for the last two years."

Batman practically growls, taking a step closer.  Jason refuses to back down. If Bruce wants a fight, he can have one.  "You killed him?"

Jason fumes.  Hadn't Hood literally sent him a picture of his little alive birdie?  "Well, I was going to say in limbo between life and death, but that works too."  

Jason's dodging before he even recognizes that Batman had just thrown a batarang at his shoulder.  He rolls away from the knife and leaps at Batman, fists out.  The Gotham air hisses around him, cheering him on.  It's at about this point that Jason realizes he'd implied he killed Dick, but Batman fucking deserves that anyway.  What better way to force Bruce to actually care about his death by pretending one of his real sons is dead?

"Aren't you going to ask how I'm alive?" he mocks, ducking under Batman's swift punches.  None of his blows are pulled, and it only fuels the rage in Jason's punches.  Batman clearly doesn't care about hurting him or not.  

"Why did you kill my son?" Batman snarls.  

Batman doesn't— Batman doesn't even care that Jason's alive.  He's never fucking cared.  "I don't know, old man," Jason yells.  "Have you considered that maybe I want to hurt you for every way you've hurt me?"

Batman just ducks under his punch.  Jason's anger has led him to be a little reckless in picking this fight, but he doesn't happen to really care, not when he's finally, finally getting to hurt the person who deserves it.  "Maybe crawling out of my grave only to discover that you'd put another kid in the panties and let my murderer run free made me a little angry."

Batman doesn't even justify that with a response, not that Jason had expected him to.  Why would Bruce ever bother expressing his emotions when he could just throw punches at the problem?  It's not like his anger's making him sloppy… oh, wait, it is, and Jason ducks under the rather stupid set of punches Batman throws his way.  He's lunging a little too desperately, and it's leaving his side open.

Jason smiles, dancing around Bruce's kick with a cackle.  Something cold settles in him. "You let my murderer walk away free.  Will you let your first son's too?"

And when Bruce just outright lunges for him, Jason's ready.  His knife slides cleanly into the little chink in Batman's armor. The answer to that question is yes, because Bruce has never cared about Jason.  He'd choose Dick over him, Tim over him; hell, even his fucking Rogues over someone he'd once claimed to be his own son.

There'd never been any point to Jason's plans to get Bruce to try to kill the clown, because he'd set it up as a choice between the Joker's life and his son.  But that wouldn't have been a choice, because Bruce didn't care about Jason, and he'd been telegraphing it in every choice he'd made since he'd benched Jason.  It was time he took the fucking hint.

Bruce stumbles back, hand clutched over the knife, and Jason just turns around.  He's done here.  Why would he bother tangling with someone who never cared for him?  Bruce would hurt him from revenge, but not the goddamn Joker.

"Oh, by the way," Jason tosses over his shoulder, flat and cold and fucking tired, "Dick's alive."

Jason swings for the rooftops, and leaves Batman behind.  

He swings once, twice, and thrice, and the anger drops into something trembling.  Because Bruce hasn't cared for him and won't care for him, and Jason doesn't know what to do with that.  Doesn't know what to do with himself.  All of Jason's plans for coming back to Gotham had been to force Bruce to prove his love.  

But the honest truth of the matter is that there's no love to prove, and Jason just has to accept that.  Wasn't that what he'd said to Dick?  I get it , just stop lying to me .  And he'd gotten what he wanted.  

Why would they love him?  He was too violent for them, too opinionated.  There'd been hundreds of words thrown at him — nobodies on the street, the gossip rags latching onto Bruce's newest fuckup orphan, Dick, Bruce, his own damn mother, Ra's al Ghul, Talia — and those words never felt truer than in this moment, because no one loved him but himself, and he wasn't even sure if that was true.

Jason knows he's right, that he has a right to be angry about his own death, that the Bat's precious non-violent methods fail to actually provide safety for victims or prevent more violence.  And it's worth the hatred.

It has to be.

Even if that anger drove him to shoot his older brother.  Even if he could have murdered Dick and he wouldn't have even regretted it.  Dick's right to hate him.

Jason shoves himself under the chimney.  He thinks it's his own roof, but he's not quite sure how he got there.  He's alone, just like he was always doomed to be.  Dick's got to hate him now, after what they'd both said, Bruce hates him, Jason had never had a chance with the Replacement.  

God, everyone hates him.  Bruce and Dick had the courage to say so to Jason's face, but he can only imagine Tim's contempt towards his failure of a predecessor and the Titans' distaste for Dick's replacement.  

Jason managed thirty six hours of peace with Dick before the reality of their fractured relationship shoved itself into both of their faces.   Dick fucking thought Jason is just like the Joker.  And Bruce never cared to begin with.  

Fuck, what the hell is he supposed to do now?  It's not like there's any point to the Black Mask plans… but maybe there's a point to staying Red Hood.  Jason's not what Batman wants, but he's got control of the Alley.  If he leaves now, all he'll do is leave a power vacuum that will cause a bloody mess.  He can keep control of the Alley, do his best to clean it up, and stay out of the Bats' way.  

It's not like they'd ever approve of killing anyway, no matter how necessary it may be, and Jason's not sure he ever had a chance with them anyway.  He's certainly not willing to give up justice for a chance that probably didn't exist.

Okay, okay, Jason can do this.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, surprised to find his hands wet with his own tears.  The brick wall behind him digs into his back painfully, and Jason stares out over his own rooftop.  First step— drop Dick Grayson back off with his family.  Batman's not going to stop pursuing him until his son is safe, and, besides, he doubts Dick wants to be in Jason's apartment a single moment longer.

Chapter Text

Jason slides through his window into his own bedroom and feels like a trespasser.  He doesn't want to face Dick Grayson.  He doesn't want to have another argument.  He can't deal with that, not now.  But the sooner he gets Nightwing back to Batman, the better.

The door to the living room is ajar.  Jason swears he closed it, but he was also blind with rage so it's possible he slammed it so hard it opened itself.  He doesn't bother to deposit his weapons or helmet on the dresser, not when his goal is to make a fast turnaround.  It's not like he needs to worry about scaring Dick off, anymore.

There's a small shape by the foot of Jason's door.  He barely notices it in the dim light, because nothing should be there. His H.U.D. outlines it, xo Jason peers closer,and— and—

It's Dick. He's curled up on the floor, hands tucked around his knees.  Jason tugs the helmet off and kneels down.  There's tear tracks down Dick's face into damp spots in the top of Jason's sweatshirt and a small blood stain in the knee of his sweatpants. The zip ties Jason had forgotten about are messed up around Dick's ankles.  

"Dick?" Jason asks.  He can feel the beating of his heart in his throat; he doesn't even want to think about how Dick crawled with three bullet wounds from the couch to Jason's bedroom or the slow crawl of panic.  

"Jason?" Dick's eyes flutter open as his body lurches forward a little.  He likely hadn't been truly asleep, but Jason startled him nonetheless.  "You— you came back?"

Shit. Jason had left in such a hurry, he'd forgotten how Dick had reacted the last time Jason had left the room in a fit of anger, and he can see that same desperate fear overlayed again.  Jason messed up; he'd broken his one promise to Dick.

"Yeah," Jason can't imagine Dick would want anything to do with him, not now, not after he'd messed up for the upteenth time, but Dick's his responsibility right now.  He scoops his arms under Dick's form, and Dick shudders. "I'm going to take a look at those stitches you tore, alright?"

"You left!" Dick hisses, digging his fingers into Jason's armor and pulling the upper half of his body as close as possible to Jason.  "You promised me you wouldn't leave, you—" Dick's breath hitches, and he trembles as Jason tries to set him down on the bed, adamantly refusing to let go. "I'm sorry, Jay, please don't leave again."

Jason fucking deserves all of this.  He knew Dick didn't like it when he left, and what had he done? Stormed out the goddamn window.  No wonder Dick and Bruce hate him.  "Hey, Dickie," he says gently, struggling to keep his voice from trembling.  "I need to go get the medkit."

Dick blinks down at himself. "Can you keep the door open?"

Yeah, yeah, Jason can do that. "Of course," he says gently.  "And if you call for me I'll come back."

Dick stares at him disbelievingly.  Jason swallows and flees for the living room.  The medkit is where he last used it to change Dick's bandages that morning, so he grabs it and a spare domino and mask for Dick.  

He doesn't feel nearly courageous enough to re-enter the bedroom, but he can see Dickie's eyes giving him no choice.  Jason flicks the lights on as he moves, and settles next to Dick on the bed.  Dick doesn't move as Jason carefully slides his sweatpants down to the knee wound and starts cleaning the area.

"I brought you a domino," Jason says when he can't take the silence any longer, halfway through re-stitching the wound.  The irony of Jason having been the one to create it and Dick tearing his stitches because Jason had run off isn't lost on him. 

Dick accepts it, turning it around in his good hand.  "Why?"  Fuck, does he think Jason is going to renege on his promise to return Dick too?  Is he afraid of Jason leaving because he thinks he'll never get to go home? God, this whole time, did he really want to try again with Jason or was he just that terrified?  

"I promised I'd get you back to your family," Jason says shakily. He doesn't know how else to convey that he means to keep his word, that Jason's not going to hurt him anymore, but he doesn't think words will mean anything when he's literally stitching up a bullet wound he gave Dick.

The masks flutter out of Dick's hands and onto the bedspread.  "You're bringing me to Batman."

Jason shrugs.  "I'll call Oracle, I don't really want to see B right now."  Ever.

"Why?" Dick asks, and he sounds broken.  Jason thought he couldn't crack any further, but here he is, trembling like a leaf in the wind.  Dick couldn't even fathom why Jason would be kind to him.

"I promised," Jason says thickly.  There's words in his chest, but they feel stuck.  Even if you hate me.  I love you.  I'm sorry.  Please stay.  Hopeless, meaningless things, because Dick thinks Jason's just like the Joker, and Jason deserves it.  

Dick freezes, and something flashes over his features.  "Jay," he says, voice carefully controlled, "Are you giving me back because you think I want to leave?"

"Yes," Jason says.  The words sound slightly funny, as if Jason's throat has decided it doesn't know how to produce sound anymore.  

Dick just stares at him for several long seconds, and Jason ducks his head, returning the bandages to his medkit and closing it.  That's it, Jason realizes.  His last moment with Dick is going to be this.  Dick needs it verbally confirmed before he believes Jason is acting in kindness.

Jason takes a deep breath.   "You won't have to be here that much longer," he promises, even though it means nothing coming from him.  He reaches for the mask on the bed, and holds it up gently to Dick's face. 

Dick slaps him.  It's so sudden that Jason reels for a second.  He deserves it.  He doesn't falter in pressing the seal of the domino to Dick's face.  "Jason," Dick snaps, furious enough that Jason pauses to look at him.  "I'm mad at you for leaving me! The solution to that is not for you to make me leave!"

Oh.

Jason doesn't— Does Dick not hate him? "You— you want to stay?" he asks.  He thinks it's hope that fuels the question, but maybe it's just shock.

"Yes," Dick says firmly, crumbling into the bed. "Or, well, if you want me to."

"I do," Jason says, and he has no idea whether this conviction is coming from.   Why would Dick want to stay? What does this mean?  

"Okay," Dick says quietly.  He's looking at Jason with such hope in his eyes and Jason has no idea what that means.  "Jay, I— I'm sorry for implying you're like the Joker.  That's not true, and—"

Oh.

That… makes some sense.  He and Dick had been really angry.  It's only been a few hours, and Jason can't even remember most of what they'd said because he'd been so busy screaming at Dick that he hadn't been listening to the other man's points at all.  It hurts that Dick had even had the thought, and Jason's still furious he said it, but— 

"I'm sorry," Jason says instead of 'you don't hate me?' "I'm sorry for leaving and I'm sorry for kidnapping you and I'm sorry for shooting at both you and Tim." Jason may not particularly care for the current Robin, but all his anger does is hurt Dick and clearly that's not worth it.

Hope shows in Dick's eyes, and he wiggles so that he's pressed into Jason.  "It's all alright, I got my little brother back," he says giddily, and pauses.  "Well, the latter two are.  You can make up for leaving by cuddling me all night and then giving me your phone number so we can stay in contact."

"Okay," Jason agrees without hesitation.  Dick could have asked so much more and Jason would have given it in a heartbeat.  "You don't want me to return you tonight?  I thought we talked about—"

"My little brother is more important," Dick scoffs.  

Dick still wants him, but— but Bruce doesn't, and Jason's sure Dick has some dream of them all playing family. That's never going to work.  Batman's going to keep hunting Red Hood down night by night, and Jason refuses to let Dick put himself in the crossfire.  Again.

"I saw Batman on patrol tonight." Jason admits. He wraps his arms around Dick and pulls him closer so that he doesn't have to look at his older brother.  "He hates me, so I might've implied to him that I'd killed you."

Dick giggles.  Jason whips his head around to stare at Dick.  He's grinning, head tucked slightly into Jason's armor.  "Okay, that's kinda priceless actually." Dick's face is red as he struggles to contain himself. "Does he know I'm alive now?"

Jason lets a small smile slip onto his face.  Maybe this isn't as bad as he'd thought.  He'd been assuming Goldie and B's relationship had gotten better given how much Dick was in Gotham.  But then again, Dick had visited Gotham every few weekends just to see Jason right before his death.  "Yeah," Jason says.  "I only told him after I'd stabbed him though." Hastily, he adds, "It's not too serious."

Dick just grins.  "Atta boy! B probably deserved it.  Did he do his whole 'I am emotionless' shtick and try to arrest you?"

Jason snickers.  "That's a good way to put it, yeah."

Dick rolls his eyes.  "Let me translate then: he does care about you, Jay, he just doesn't know how to show healthy emotions.  After he's confirmed I'm alive I'll yell at him, okay?"

Jason smiles.  It hides the pain.  "Thanks, Dickie, but I really think B doesn't care about me."

Dick shifts in his lap a little bit.  "Is this about Tim?" he asks hesitantly.

Jason forces himself to not get mad at the mention of Tim.  That's what had gotten him in trouble last time, and, besides, Dick has every right to choose his own little siblings.  It hurts, but he does.  "It's Tim, and it's the fact he refused to believe me and fire me from Robin, and it's that the Joker's still alive, and it's some of the things he said tonight."

Dick frowned.  "He fired you from Robin? When— Nevermind.  You'd say B doesn't hate me, right?"

Jason snorts.  "Of course? He's practically ballistic about losing you."

Dick startles. "Riiiiight, well, he fired me from Robin, didn't he? And you heard plenty of the shit we said to each other. He still tolerates me though, even though words don't come easily to Bruce."

Jason grins at the insult, but he simply can't— "Don't make excuses for B," Jason says heavily.  "I don't— I didn't wanna forgive him before and I don't want to forgive him after tonight."

Dick studies his face.  "Okay," he says gently.  "I'm kinda out of excuses anyway." Jason lets out a startled laugh.  "But you know that I love you, right?  And I love Tim too."

"I—" It's not the first time Dick had said that set of words, and Jason hadn't quite believed him last time but had desperately wanted to hope.  This time? After everything— Jason had literally offered to let him leave, and Dick had slapped him.  "I'm working on believing it," Jason says truthfully, because yes is a lie and no would crush Dick's heart.

"Okay," Dick says softly, pouting and curling into Jason's stomach more in retaliation.  "I guess I'll just have to pester you until you believe it."

Jason tries to let himself hope.  Dick keeps mentioning a future for the two of them— Jason visiting him in Blüdhaven and Dick yelling at Bruce for him.  It has to be true if Dick says it enough, right?  "Fine," he huffs, and pretends he isn't pleased.  Jason shifts, moving to cradle Dick's head.  "And I know you love and care for Tim. I can't control your feelings, Dick.  I know you chose Tim."

Dick sighs, and places a hand on the bed to sit up and prop his head against Jason's chest.  "I did choose Tim," Dick agrees, and Jason pretends that doesn't crush him.  "But I didn't choose him over you, Jason.  I realize Bruce has been a frankly terrible model for this, but my love isn't like, split, between the two of you.  I love both of you differently because you're different people.  For instance, Tim likes to dissect traps so sometimes I trap my apartment door for him and he likes that.  You would kill me if I tried that."

Jason aches, but he tries very hard to listen to what Dick's saying.  Dick is telling him point blank that he didn't choose Tim over Jason.  Jason wants to believe that.  He thinks he might understand the concept even.  "Why were you so much nicer to Tim, then?" Jason asks quietly.  "He fuckin' replaced me, and you and Bruce both just accepted him into the family"

Dick takes a deep breath.  "I was nicer to Tim because of you, Jason.  Problems of how Tim became Robin aside, what kind of big brother would I be if I didn't learn from my mistakes?  I know I failed you, and once I realized that I was hoping I would have years to make it up to you.  I refused to fail Tim too and let my grief and anger at Bruce ruin my relationship with him."

Jason stares at the wall.  He— hadn't thought about it that way before.  Because Dick had been trying before Jason died, and it makes logical sense that whatever hangups Dick has about Bruce unceremoniously handing off the Robin title would have already been shelved.  Not to mention Dickie inferring that he thought he'd been treating Jason's legacy right by not abandoning Tim, which— which touches Jason a little bit, if not for the fact that he can't get past the fact that Tim replaced him.  "He shouldn't have been Robin, though," Jason sayas.  "I get what you're saying, but Tim replaced my dead body .  There never should've been another Robin."

Dick sighs.  "No," he agrees, and Jason does a double take, resisting the urge to pinch himself.  "I agree.  Bruce never should've let someone else take the costume after you died in it."

"So why didn't you stop him?" Jason's not quite yelling, and he takes several slow breaths to lower his voice. Arguing about this did not work.  

Dick smiles wryly.  "When have I ever been able to stop either of you?"  

Touché. 

"And even though I don't agree with how Tim became Robin, he is a great Robin and I'm glad he took up the mantle.  You'd be proud of everything he's done, Jay."

"Yeah, cause he's so much better than me," Jason responds on reflex, and then forces himself to take a deep breath.  That's not what Dick had just said.  Dick had said Jason would be proud of him.

"He's done different things," Dick responds, a little irritated.  "I'm not comparing the two of you, Jay, and I don't know why you're so hung up about it.  You're both different people and you brought different things to the Robin mantle."

Like what? His anger?  The murder he hadn't done?  Jason forces himself to clamp down on those thoughts.  At this point, he understands well enough that Dickie'll just have something to say back to them and Jason doesn't want to hear it. Doesn't want to deal with it.  But, fine, he gets the point Dick's trying to make.  Jason was dead, so there's nothing for Tim to compare himself to.  

Well, in Dick's eyes, anyway.  Jason's pretty sure Bruce's still happy about his supposed upgrade.  But if Bruce doesn't care about Jason, maybe Jason shouldn't care about what he thinks?  (Who's he kidding? It fucking aches.  Bruce thinks Jason's a murderer, except that doesn't even change anything because he thought that about fifteen year old Jason too.)

Dick stays silent as Jason just stares into the distance. "Fine," he says finally, and Dick breaks out into a grin.  "I still don't like it, and Batman sure as hell doesn't agree with you, but I get it, Dickie.  You love me."

Dick nods into Jason's armor.  "Yes," he agrees.  "Now say it back."

Jason groans.  "I don't hate you," he says flatly.  "Now get off me so I can change.  I'm tired."

"Not until you say it back!!!!"

"You sound like a teenager with his first crush."

"Say it! Say it! Say it!"

"Get off me, you Dickwad.  I love you.  Let go."

Dick lets go with a satisfied smile, and scoots his way to his side of the bed while Jason unceremoniously strips.  

"I'm going to take a shower.  That fine, Dickface?"

"Yeah," Dick snarks back.  "That way you won't keep me up all night smelling like a skunk instead of just looking like one."

Jason slams the bathroom door.

Chapter Text

"Psst, Jay, psst." 

Jason groans and rolls over, sticking his head farther into the pillow.  

"Jaaaason, it's time to get up, I need help."

Jason rolls over and stares flatly at a very satisfied looking Dick.  "What?" he hisses.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Can you not get there yourself?"

Dick just stares at him.  "I have three bullet wounds?"

"You haven't let that stop you before."

Dick sighs.  "And my feet are bound so I haven't tried walking yet, so, no, I don't think I can make it to the bathroom.  Help me, this is your fault anyways."

"Fine," Jason hisses, blinking irritatedly at the light shining through his blinds.  

He carries Dick princess style before dropping him on the toilet and booking it.  Because Jason is learning how to be an annoying younger brother, he changes into day clothes and puts away the armor he'd discarded last night.  Then he lays on the bed and strongly considers going back to sleep.  

"Jay?" Dick calls.

Jason ignores him.  The bed is comfy.  Dick can wait another five minutes.

"Jason?"

"I'm sleeping!" Jason calls back, because he's an asshole, not mean, and there's the faintest trace of panic to Dick's voice.

Dick's sigh is audible even through the closed door.  "Can you bring me back to bed, Jay?"

Jason dozes.  He doesn't intend to leave Dick too long, but payback is payback.  

"Jason!"

He does go rescue Dick.  Eventually.  And carries him back to bed princess style.  

"Okay, hold on a sec," Jason says, and digs around the med kit at the foot of the bed.

"Are you changing my bandages already?" Dick teases.  "I thought you wanted to go back to sleep."

Jason rolls his eyes.  "Well someone cruelly awoke me this morning, so I might as well get things done.  I shudder to think of the damage Batman did to my beloved criminal empire."

Dick snorts.  "Well Batman does damage to most things, so…"

Jason grins, and drags the bandages out to avoid making eye-contact with Dick.  Again.  

"You're going to ignore the criminal empire bit?" Perhaps it's cruel of Jason to force Dick to deal with all of that when Dick's trying to get along with him, but if Jason's new brotherly relationship is going to crumble, he'd rather find out now.

"For now," Dick agrees.  "I want to talk about it, but it sounds like a later problem, and it doesn't change how I feel about you.  We've maxed out my yearly tolerance for difficult conversations."

Jason giggled, because he's still refusing to meet Dick's eyes.  "Okay," he agrees.  Dick said it wouldn't change their relationship.  Dick doesn't believe him, because it sure as hell caused Batman to fire him, but— Dick still hasn't yelled at him for the bullet wounds, or for Tim, or for leaving him, or for irritating Batman.  Sure, he'd made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate Tim hate, but he hadn't abandoned Jason over it.

"Are you done yet?" Dick whines, even though Jason still has Dick's knee wound to go.  "I want to go back to sleep too."

Jason snorts, and doesn't speed up at all.  "You're going to have to start PT today," he informs Dick cheerfully.  "I can help you through some basics, and then we can subject you to Batman's torture while he makes you go through fifteen health exams."

Dick whines and does not stop squirming.  "But sleep first! And then I can do a few flips or something."

"No flips," Jason reminds Dick, even though he's well aware it's a lost cause.

Dick grumbles.  

Jason finishes the bandages, returning them to the kit, but he keeps ahold of the scissors and quickly cuts the zip ties around Dick's feet.  Those things should have come off ages ago, honestly, and Jason's disappointed he hadn't gotten rid of them a while ago.

"Thanks," Dick says softly, propping himself up on an arm to watch Jason with a fond smile.

Jason rolls his eyes, and can't quite keep the bitterness out of his voice.  "Don't thank me for righting my mistakes."

"Thanks!" Dick chirps obnoxiously.  

Jason takes a deep breath, hands tightening around the medical kit as he packs it up.  "Seriously, Dickie.  I messed up."

Dick rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I noticed.  You put three bullet wounds back in me.  I'm still mad about it and I will be consistently complaining.  Come back to bed."

It's not just the bullet wounds.  It's that Dick had been bleeding out on a roof and Jason had debated leaving him there.  It's that Jason had shot through Dick's line and if Jason's deep-seated instincts hadn't kicked in, he would have killed Nightwing.  Period.  

"I almost killed you," Jason says softly, still staring at the wall.

A pause.  "You did,"  Dick acknowledges.  "Multiple times, and if you'd hurt Tim you wouldn't have tried to save him."  Jason doesn't deny it.  "Why'd you save me?"

Jason huffs out a laugh. "I have no idea."

"Could it possibly be because you loved me, even then?" Dick's trying to be teasing.

Jason sighs, still refusing to turn around and look at Dick.  He doesn't even have something to pretend with anymore.  "I've always loved you."  Jason had looked up to the older, cooler Robin.  He wanted to be just like Dick.  That had never really gone away, even through his death and resurrection.

Dick hums. "And that's why you're not going to hurt me again.  Come back to bed."

Jason does, crawling under the comforters and doing his best to bury his face into Dick.  "I'm not gonna hurt Tim either.  Well, nothing more than a spar."  He's still mad at Tim, after all, he just— perhaps the bullets were the best way to go.  They can sort out their problems like child soldiers — with fists.

"Sleep," Dick hisses.

Jason makes them lunch, later, leaning against the stove and babysitting a pot of curry while Dick stretches on the floor.  

"More cards later?" Dick asks, a sheen of sweat on his face.  "I deserve a reward before you subject me to Bruce."

"Sure," Jason drawls, because he's definitely not against grasping every possible reason for Dick to stay longer.  "I'll even go out and get us a cribbage board—"

The doorbell rings.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Dick asks as Jason freezes.

"No," Jason says, turning the heat down on his pot so it won't boil over and stepping around Dick.  "Be right back."

"Yell if you need me," Dick snarks.  

"Yeah, yeah," Jason grabs a gun from under the kitchen counter.  Dick gapes at him.  Jason closes the kitchen door behind him; he doesn't know who this is and he doesn't want them to be able to find Dick.  

Jason peers through the eyehole in the door— it's faster than pulling up the security tapes.  There's a shorter boy outside, shaking black hair away from his face and standing with his hands tucked behind his back.  It's definitely Tim Drake, and there's literally no fucking weapons on his body.

Jason throws the door open.  "The fuck are you doing here?"

Tim looks up at him, face tucked into a blank mask.  He doesn't twitch.  "Hood," he acknowledges with a tilt of his head.  "I want to trade myself for Nightwing."

"What the fuck?"

Tim blinks at him. "You were targeting me in that fight, not Nightwing, therefore it stands to reason that you want me.  So I want to trade myself for him."

Jason officially has no brain cells anymore.  He wants to go crawl into a hole and never have to deal with any of this ever again.  "You want to… trade yourself to a known murderer who hates you?" Jason says slowly.  What the hell?

"Yes," Tim says simply, like that's any explanation.

…. Jesus christ, what the hell, Batman?  What's up with his sidekicks literally tuning into self-sacrificing balls of mental health problems?  Jason can't kick Tim's ass if Tim's going to be fucking insane and just hand himself to Jason!  This isn't fair!  

His replacement is fucking insane though, and he clearly needs Dick's hugs.  And food, because despite Alfred he's somehow skinnier than a rail.  Jason doesn't like this kid, and somehow he's still triggering Robin's "kid in need of help" instinct.  Ugh.

"Have you had lunch?" Jason asks flatly.  He can't deal with this.  Food is always the answer, and clearly his Replacement needs a lecture about appropriate responses to crime lords.

"What?" Tim asks, and his eyes get this funny calculating look like he's trying to figure out how to convince Jason to accept his proposal.  Jason marks more points in the 'Bruce clearly fucked up this kid too' column. "I was up all night tracking down your apartment, so, no, not really."

Jason rubs his head.  "Kid, when was the last time you ate?"

Tim shrugs.  "Lunch yesterday?"

That's it.  One of his brothers literally brushes off a trio of bullet wounds and proceeds to cling to Jason's legs and refuse to leave and the other has come to him willingly with no self-preservation skills and having not eaten in twenty-hours.  "Okay," Jason sighs.  Bruce is clearly an incompetent adult; Jason should have known better than to blame Tim when Bruce is right there.  Clearly it was Bruce's fault Tim had been squeezed into the panties.  

He grabs Tim's wrist and tugs him into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them.

Tim looks very smug.  "Can I see Dick?"

Jason doesn't bother that with a response.  This is clearly not his problem.  It is a good thing he made enough food for three. Jason shoves open the door to the kitchen and pulls the child through after him.  

"Dick?"

"Tim?"

Dick and Tim both look confused and a little worried.  Despite being rather sweaty and on the floor, Dick looks as fine as he could be while injured, and Tim also isn't visibly injured.  

"Your child is trying to trade himself for you and also hasn't eaten or slept in twenty hours," Jason informs Dick flatly, letting go of Time to go check his curry.  Almost done.  

"Tim!" Dick uses his good hand to sit up, frowning.  "Why would you do that?"

Tim just stares at him, and then at Jason, and then at the kitchen, like his mind is rebooting.  Jason can't exactly blame Tim for expecting to find Dick in some sort of torture dungeon, but it's yet another thing that reminds Jason just how much he's fucked up this whole situation.  

"I —" Tim glances at Jason again, and he looks away from the two of them, grabbing a third bowl out from under the counter.  "You look alright, Dick, I—"

"Oh, baby bird," Jason hears people moving and assumes Dick has captured another sacrifice for his hugs.  "I promise I'm fine.  Jason and I have mostly worked our problems out."

"You're— you're really okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay.  Jason isn't going to hurt either of us again. Right, Jay?"  Damn, Jason had forgotten that Dick could sound mean when he wanted to.  

"Yeah," Jason says, turning the stove off and turning around to look at his guests.  "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm kinda mad but I'm not going to take things out physically on anyone but Batman."  There are plenty of other ways Jason can show his displeasure to the kid, after all.  Ones that don't encourage the self-sacrificial tendencies Batman had drilled into his Robins.

Tim's face switches between confused, hopeful, and embarrassed, and one of his hands rubs at the back of his neck.  "Oh," he says quietly.

Jason raises an eyebrow, and serves Tim the largest portion of curry.  That child clearly needs to be fed.  "I mean, I get the feeling some people might want to talk to you about your decision to try to trade yourself to a hostile, but a little bit of bubble wrap never hurt anyone."

A new plan grows in Jason's mind as he takes in the brief look of terror that crosses Tim's face.  He doesn't like Tim being Robin because another child never should be put in danger like that.  Jason was fired and murdered, and instead of Bruce dealing with that like a warning shot, he finds himself a cocky, better kid and summarily breaks him too.  Any child who's willing to trade himself to a murderer is not alright, and it's yet another way Bruce has failed.  

Therefore, Jason can absolutely go for an overbearing brother and it'll work.  He'll fix Bruce's damn mistakes and make sure there's no more dead Robins and irritate the hell out of Tim and get his revenge by making sure his successor doesn't die to his clearly fucked-up lack of self preservation.  He won't have to be around Tim much, and when he is around Tim Dick'll be happy and Tim'll be furious.  Win on all counts.

Dick nods from the floor. "Sorry Timmy, but we're gonna have to talk about this one.  Your life would never be worth mine.  Jason was after you; what would make you think it was a good idea to hand yourself over?"

Tim shuffles in the middle of Jason's kitchen, pouting mutinously.  "You're injured, Dick! I figured there was a ticking time clock on our ability to get you to safety, and, besides, I can take it."

Jason pinches his nose with a sigh.  "Kid, with all due respect, trading yourself over just would have put Bruce down a person and also put a clock on you, too.  Besides, have you ever considered that I just could have kidnapped you without agreeing to your terms?"

Tim opens his mouth and closes it.  Jason steps around the counter and shoves two bowls into his hands.  "I had a plan," he hisses.  

Jason raises an eyebrow.  "Go sit in the living room.  I'll bring Dick."

"Oookay?" Tim looks like he hasn't gotten with the program yet, which is clearly his problem, because Jason is going to bully this scrawny child back into proper health and protect him from whatever shitty mentality Bruce has installed in him.  Jason's going to make Tim wish he'd never become Robin.  Preferably, even, get the kid to stop after he realizes how bad it is for him.  

He doesn't necessarily want to be around Tim, doesn't even like Tim, but clearly the kid needs a reality check of the sort that's a required bedtime and curfew, and if that irritates him Jason's more than happy to provide.  

Jason leaves his bowl on the kitchen counter and leans down next to Dick.  "Up you go."

Dick pouts but allows Jason to pick him up, never losing a chance to sling his arms around Jason and make the carry into a hug.  

They move into the living room, Tim trailing behind slowly with wide eyes, and Jason repositions Dick upright on the couch and points to the spot next to him.  "Sit," he tells Tim.

Jason goes to get his own bowl of curry, lingering in the doorway for the briefest of moments as Tim leans towards Dick on the couch.  Their whispered conversation is too quiet for Jason to catch, but he can guess as to its contents anyway, giving them a few moments of privacy before plunking down on the other couch. 

"So," Jason says, taking a bite of his own food and relaxing on the couch.  "It seems your ride has shown up, Dickie.  Congratulations.  You're not getting dumped on a rooftop after all."

Dick pouts as he takes a bite of his own food. "You're getting rid of me?"

Tim swivels to face him.  His blank face shutters over quickly, and Jason finds himself hard pressed to copy the same.  He'd honestly expected Dick to be excited to head back with Tim. 

"Well, Timmy has so kindly volunteered to bring you back, and I don't even want to know how many trackers he's ruined the sanctity of my apartment with."

Tim has the decency to look a little sheepish even as shock flashes across his features.  "You're sending me back?" The little twerp has the audacity to sound surprised.  What, was he going to torture the kid by forcing him to stay here overnight and— well, besides self-care, Jason doesn't actually know what might irritate the baby.  

Jason rolls his eyes, reaching for the easier reason.  "No offence, but I do not want to deal with Batman right now.  He can play happy family with the two of you or something."

"You could come back too, Jay," Dick offers, leaning forward on the sofa.  "It would be a family with—"

"No," Jason says flatly.  

Dick pouts.  His puppy eyes have only gotten more effective, so Jason closes his eyes rather than be faced with Dick's weapons.  

"But you'll visit me in Blüdhaven?" Dick asks hopefully, and Jason opens his eyes, looking very deliberately away from Dick.

"You've already made me promise that," Jason sighs.  "And I'll even keep this safehouse so there's somewhere in Gotham you can come find me.  Happy?"

Dick's definitely smiling.  Jason… had figured Dick wouldn't care about any of that once Tim showed up, but despite the physical contact with Tim he's still very much paying attention to Jason and bothering him. 

Tim glances between the two of them and deliberately takes a bite of his curry.  "So much for wanting to hurt us the way we'd hurt you, huh?"

That little shit.  Is Dick sure Jason can't injure him just a teeny tiny bit?  "I still want to hurt Batman," Jason huffs.  "He'll get what's coming to him."

Tim looks about as concerned as Dick at that statement, which is to say, mildly amused.  'Course, that's only after seeing Dick's lack of reaction, but again Jason wonders what Bruce has done to make both of his other kids mildly amused at Jason's hatred.

"Sure," Tim drawls, and then puts his half-empty bowl down on the coffee table.  "We should leave soon, since you don't want Batman to show up."

Jason figures Tim probably timed his trackers to alert Batman once he'd gotten Dick to safety.  Sounds like a Robin move, only wanting Batman to show up as according to your plan.  "Only after you eat your whole bowl," Jason threatens immediately, vividly remembering that Tim hadn't had food since yesterday. 

"I'm full," Tim snaps.

Jason points his spoon at him.  "Eat."

Dick hums angelically, picking up Tim's abandoned spoon.  "Open up!" He waves it through the air to Tim's mouth, who glares, snatching the spoon from Dick and snapping at it.  

Tim glares at them as he eats every bite, and Jason's never been prouder of the amount of pain he's able to cause to one human being.  This is much more satisfying than physically injuring Tim because Tim can't even complain.  

"Happy?" Tim hisses, shoving the bowl away from him.  There's a few clumpy bits at the bottom, but it's mostly empty, so Jaosn lets it slide.

"I'm so proud of you for eating a full meal for the first time today," Jason coos, deliberately sweet.  He sees angry comprehension finally dawn on Tim's face, but Dick just looks proud.  "Now, did you take your bike or a car?"

"A car," Tim responds immediately.  

Jason pauses.  Wait, he can cause pain here too. "Aren't you like, fifteen? Don't you not have your driver's license?"

Tim hisses.  "You didn't have your driver's license when you died either."

No stabbing.  No stabbing.  No—

"Tim," Dick sighs, flinching.  

"Well," Jason smiles sweetly, "I must have gained the ability to drive in my grave.  Seems like all yours is going to do is send you there early."

"Jason," Dick sighs.

Tim glares.  "Oracle pilots the car remotely anyways.  I was going to have her bring Dick back."

Decent plan, and prevents the adults from interfering.  Also gives Oracle Jason's location, so he can't deny Tim's plotting here, as much as it would have failed once Jason found the first tracker and changed locations.  

"Great! Seems you can actually use your learner's permit, then!"

Tim glowers, but he lets Jason carry Dick down to the car anyways.  The trip down the stairs is silent and awkward as hell, only punctured by Dick's quiet hisses as his wounds are jostled.  The car Tim leads them too is a sleek Audi (rich kid), but Jason can tell it's had a number of reinforcements added to it.  

Tim moves to the driver's seat as Jason gently buckles Dick into the passenger seat.  Dick runs a hand down the side of his face, pulling him in for a hug.  Jason hates the way Tim snickers but he's learned better than to try to stop Dick's touch-mongering tendencies.  

"I'm going to text you tonight, and you'd better respond," Dick threatens.

"Alright," Jason sighs, placid.  He gets the feeling he's supposed to be unwinding from Dick and trying to shoo them away, but he enjoys the touch just a little bit.  Another few seconds won't hurt.  "Let me know how yelling at B goes."

Dick pulls back to give him a sharp grin, all teeth.  Yep, Jason's officially confused on how people think Dick's sweet.  Jason's still not convinced this wasn't a whole manipulation scheme to get Jason to come home.  Dick doesn't play with people's emotions like that, though. "I'll give him hell," he promises, and Jason forces himself to dodge out of Dick's arm and pull back.  

"See ya later," Jason coos, waving at both of them.  "Don't run any red lights, Timbo."

"Fuck you!"

"Bye, Jason." Dick's eyes are wide again, damnit, and as Tim pulls out of the garage Jason stands on the curb, letting Dick watch him until they pull out of sight. 

Chapter Text

"You're— you're really okay, Dick?" Tim waits until they're in a different section of Gotham to ask, hands clenched on the steering wheel.  

Dick shuffles in the car seat, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt as much.  He's going to give Jason so much shit for this later.  After Jason won't take any ribbing from Dick as a sign he secretly hates him.  "Yeah, Tim," Dick promises.  "Only the three bullet wounds you saw.  And Jay stitched them up, so no infections."

Tim makes a noncommittal hum.  His hands haven't loosened from the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry you were worried," Dick says.  He'd only managed to give Tim a half-hug earlier, constrained to the floor as he was, and that simply would not stand the moment they got out of this car.   "It wasn't— I managed to talk things out with Jay, but it was still touchy."  

"Is it actually him?" Tim asks.  He yanks the steering wheel sharply to the left.

Dick blinks.  "Well, I didn't do a DNA test, but memories wise? Yeah."  It's telling enough about their lives that Dick has to add that extra bit.  

"Hmmm."

Dick glances over at him.  "Are you okay?  I didn't think you gotten hit, but—"

 "Yeah.  I'm okay."

Dick lets out a breath.  He's pretty sure Jason would've said something if he'd actually hit Tim, if only initially to gloat, but having the confirmation is still nice.  "How are you doing with this whole thing?"

Tim shrugs.  "Fine.  I dunno.  I almost thought he'd killed you and then—" Tim takes a breath.  "He sent Batman a photo of you.  Tied up on the couch.  So we knew you were alive, but nothing else.    I thought— I'm glad you're okay, really."

Dick offers him a small smile.  "I promise, Baby Bird.  Everything's going to be okay."

Tim takes a shuddering breath, and then another. "Yeah.  Jason's just furious, not murdery anymore." 

Dick snorts.  "Bruce kinda deserves this one, though."

"Bruce deserved to believe you were being tortured?"

Dick's honestly surprised Bruce cares that he got himself kidnapped.  Then again, Dick is, somehow, still loosely considered a Bat and Bruce has always been paranoidly protective over people he considers his own.  Goodness knows their blowup fight over the singular bullet wound from the Joker shows that.  "He deserves Jason's anger."

Tim startles.  "Jason's angry that I got to be Robin."

Fuck.  Dick hadn't thought about how this would affect Tim; he'd been so excited he'd managed to reach through Jason's anger and he'd gotten his younger brother back.  "He is," Dick admits.  "and that's not okay.  He's not mad at you, specifically, he's furious at Bruce's choices and taking it out on you, but that doesn't make it any better. "

Tim scoffs.  Dick gets the distinct feeling he's said something wrong, but he's not sure what.  "It was my choice to become Robin.  I literally forced B into it, and I don't regret it.  If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

Oh. Oh, Timmy— "But you never should've had to make that choice," Dick hesitates on his words, because he remembers how it felt for adults to tell him that Batman never should've let him be Robin even though Dick doesn't regret it in the slightest.  "Bruce never should've gotten erratic enough that you needed to step in, and it was never your responsibility— or mine, for that matter— to stop him from hurting himself.  He's the adult.  You did an amazing job of it, baby bird, but you never should've seen the need to take the Robin name." Dick takes a slow breath.  Tim's sure of himself and his role as Robin, but he needs the same reassurances as Jason.  "I'm glad you became Robin, and I told that to Jason, but I don't like how it came to be."

Tim's hands tremble on the wheel, and Dick reaches over to whack the self-driving button on the car.  Just in case.  "That's— I'm not—"

"I'm so glad you came into my life, Tim," Dick says gently.  "I just wish it had been under better circumstances."

Tim takes a broken breath, and then he breaks into sobs.  "I— Bruce— he—" Tim takes a breath.  "I put on Jason's costume, and I thought I was going to die in it.  Because you got shot, and Jason died, and then Steph died, and—" Tim hiccups.  "I love being Robin.  It's mine.  Jason can't take it away from me.  I'm good at it.  But—"

Dick reaches out with his good hand to rub at Tim's shoulder.  In truth, he has no idea what to do, and Tim would probably rather be having this realization alone right now, but Dick's experience says that everyone in this family is touch-deprived and physical contact always helps matters.

"I thought I was going to die today, and it would be okay, because I'd have saved you the same way I saved Bruce."

That's…. oh god, this is Dick's worst case scenario.  He was supposed to be the one who could protect his brothers at the cost of his own life, and somehow he'd almost lost both of his younger brothers and his not-yet-sister (he'd never gotten the chance to interact with Steph before everything blew up, not really, and he regrets it now more than ever.)

"Tim," Dick says, and his throat closes up, because he wants to drag both of his little brothers into a room and never let them go and face the world's horrors, but one of his little brothers hates the other and he can't do that to Tim.  "I promise you, I would always rather you take care of yourself before you help me.  Your life will never be worth mine.  Never.    I was grateful that he caught me instead of you, because I would rather spare my baby brother pain any day of the week. Your life is always more important, baby bird, please." 

Dick knows his words don't solve the problem.  Tim won't believe them; he won't even understand them, and that's the worst part.  Dick's going to have his work cut out for him.  

Tim shakes his head. "But you're the first Robin," he says immediately.  "And everyone looks up to you and you're needed."

"So are you," Dick interjects before Tim internalizes this further.  "I need you."

Tim's quiet for a little bit, and then he shrugs. "Jason doesn't.  Jason wants me dead."

Oh, god, how had Dick fucked things up this badly? "Your safety comes before my relationship with Jason," Dick says.  It hurts.  It fucking hurts.  But if it isn't safe for Tim for Dick to have a relationship with Jason, then Dick won't.  Because Tim's safety is his responsibility. "The first thing I made Jason do was promise me he wouldn't ever hurt you again,  and I promise I will never force you into a situation with him where you're uncomfortable."

"You can't do that!" Tim swipes tears off his face, turning sharply to look at Dick.  "Jason's back.  You can't break things off with him for me.  Don't do that!"

How does Dick even handle this??? "I won't," Dick sighs.  "Because I don't think he's going to hurt you." He pauses, and tries to nudge Tim instead.  "He seems to agree with me that you need to eat more." Rather, Dick thinks, Jason recognized before Dick did what it meant for Tim to show up alone to the apartment of someone who wanted to kill him, and rapidly transferred all anger over to Bruce.

God, Dick's going to have words for Bruce later.  

Tim scoffs at the windshield, flicking his tears away.  "Jason can be irritated with me all he wants.  I don't care.  As long as he doesn't hurt you."

Riiiight.  One thing at a time.  "Okay," Dick says. What else can he do?  How does he explain to Tim that his emotions matter too?  Jason had promised not to hurt Tim, and his anger seemed to be channeled into motherly-henning.  How does Dick fix this? How does he make both his brothers happy and safe? "And as long as you're not hurt." 

"Yeah," Tim says, waving a hand. "Whatever." He blinks at the roads.  "We're almost back to the Cave."  

They are.  Dick can't tell if that's a blessing or going to be more problems.  "Alright." He ruffles Tim's hair, making sure to keep some contact.  "I'm going to be laid up in bed for at least a few days.  You should keep me company.  We can finish watching that season of Star Trek."

Tim huffs. "It's Star Wars."

Dick knows this, but Tim's fun to tease.  "Yeah, yeah.  B's gonna imprison me in the cave for a little bit so you should come rescue me as soon as possible."  The way out of their feelings— levity.  Dick needs to make Tim feel wanted, and he can't do that while they're both crying.  

Tim rolls his eyes.  "Good luck with that.  I'm not the one who's going to be off patrol."

Ouch.  "You could be grounded too," Dick argues.  "For that stunt.  Maybe B will try to wrap both of us in bubble wrap." Unlikely, seeing as he's never cared for Dick as a son, only as a useful ally.  Hell, they aren't even partners anymore, because Bruce had deemed him not worthy.  

"He can fucking try."

Dick laughs.  Tim should be grounded, but he needs to feel like Dick's with him in community, not punishing him for it.  "I don't think he's got a great track record," Dick grins.  "But that's why you should come rescue me."

"Hmmm.  Maybe.  We'll see."

Little brothers are evil.  And terribly precious.  

Their car pulls into the Cave.  Dick thinks technically Tim's not allowed to do that, because civilian vehicles— which the Audi is, no matter how tricked out it is— have to go into the Manor's garage to make sure it doesn't just disappear.  Then again, none of the Robins have ever had respect for Bruce's rules, and Alfred would insist Dick visit the medbay, and it's not like he can walk there himself.

Tim slides out, and Dick opens his door even though he can't really walk anywhere.  

"Tim?" Dick can't see Bruce, but his voice is hovering half-way between Bruce and Batman, which means he apparently also hadn't slept last night.  "You can't bring the civilian car into the Batcave."

Tim rolls his eyes, moving around to the passenger side and leaning to pick up Dick.  "Yeah, well Dick can't walk so I figured it was better to park in the Batcave."

Something clatters, and as Tim steps away from the Audi and closes the door, Dick finally can see Bruce.  He looks wrecked.  There's deep circles under his eyes, and he's still wearing the Batsuit even though it's mid-afternoon, which means he's been here since last night.  Bruce's cheeks are pale and sunken, and he practically sways as his gaze falls on Dick.  "Nightwing?" Batman growls, followed a second later with Bruce's "Dick?"

Dick's movement is up to Tim's whims at the moment, and they appear to be headed directly for the medbay, so Dick waves a hand at Bruce. "Hey," he says.  He's not quite sure what else to do, because Dick has a whole checklist of things he needs to yell at Bruce about again— Jason being fired from Robin, Jason and Bruce's fight last night, and whatever the hell he'd done to Tim.  But Bruce looks really bad, and Dick had just been missing for a few days.

Bruce just stares.  If Dick weren't so used to B's lack of emotional expression, it might be a little creepy.  As it is, Dick just waves his hand a little bit more.  "Earth to B? You okay?"

B finally blinks, nearly stumbling forward as he rushes to Tim and Dick.  "Dick.  Did Red Hood let you go?  What did he do to you?" He reaches forward, wrapping his arms around Dick and tugging him out of Tim's arms.

Tim rolls his eyes.  

Bruce cradles Dick's body, and Dick feels obliged to grumble.  Three bullet wounds is bad, but they were all clean, so not that bad.  More-so irritating.  "I'm fine, B," Dick mutters.  "Jason and I worked some things out."

"He shot you," Bruce says flatly.  

"He did," Dick acknowledges.  "And they hurt like a bitch.  But he saved my life, and we talked about it."

"Did he let you go?"

Dick rolls his eyes.  Of course Bruce jumps straight to information gathering.  No 'I'm glad you're back, Dick.'  "Yes," Dick says, and then decides to throw Tim under the bus.  "He even let Tim go after Robin tried to trade himself for me."

Bruce swings his head around to Tim as he pushes open the door to the medbay. "Robin.  Report."  Wow, that's way worse than what Dick thought.  Not even asking if Tim's okay?  No wonder Tim feels like no one in the family needs him.

"I determined the most likely location of Hood's holding point for Nightwing.  I then contrived a plan to get a tracker onto Red Hood and rescue Ngihtwing.  While a frontal assault was likely impractical, Hood indicated that I was the target of his anger so I attempted to trade myself for Nightwing so that we could treat his injuries.  Hood instead invited me for lunch and then sent both of us back.  His words indicated that even before my appearance he'd intended to return Nightwing to us and he already had medical treatment."

"Nightwing?" Bruce growls.  Dick fumes.  Bruce settles him down onto a cot and reaches for Dick's sweatshirt.  Dick bats his hand away.  No acknowledgement of Tim's report??? No, Tim, that's dangerous???

"I'm fine,"Dick snaps. "I have three bullet wounds, one to the left shoulder, one to the left thigh, and one to my right knee.  All are clean and have been treated. Jason treated me well and we— we ended up talking.   A lot. I've convinced him not to harm Tim or I but he's still mad at you." So am I, Dick thinks.

 "What did you discuss?" Bruce rumbles.

Fucking gods.  Dick is going to scream.  What the hell, Bruce!!!! "I apologized for not being at his funeral and explained that I didn't attend because no one told me, not because I didn't care about him.  But, really, our problems are between us.  Are you not going to, like, tell me you're glad I'm okay?"

"Hnnnn," Bruce says.  It's supposed to be comforting.  "I am glad to see you were not additionally harmed."

Can Dick bang his head into a wall?  Bruce's hand sneaks back towards Dikc's injuries, and Dick smacks it away.  "You can see them when Alfred sees them and helps me walk again," Dick says sternly.  "I'm fine.  Are you not going to ask Tim if he's also fine."

"Robin's report indicated no injuries," Bruce turns to Tim.  "Are you uninjured?"

"Yes," Tim glares at Dick, like Dick's the one causing problems.  "My plan worked fine."

"Hnnn." Finally, Bruce has clued into the disturbing nature of Tim's report.  There's no universe where Tim's life is worth Dick's!  "Your plan was reckless and impractical, and you're lucky Dick was able to calm down Red Hood.  You're grounded."

Tim freezes.  "What?" He protests. "That's not fair! You can't ground me.  I got Dick back, didn't I?"

Bruce glowers.  "You could have died," he says.

"And that matters now why?" Tim backs towards the door.  "Yeah, yeah, Batman.  I'll see you tonight for patrol."

"Timothy Drake!" Batman thunders.  

Tim flips B the bird over his shoulder as he walks out.  Tim heads directly for the stairs; Dick's not quite sure what he's going to spend the rest of the day doing but it's sure to give Bruce more grey hairs.  

Dick waits patiently while Batman stares at Tim's retreating form until Tim's well out of healing distance.  "B, what the fuck?" Dick yells.  "That's not okay! You can't just ground him like that!"

"And why not?" Bruce responds.  "His plan was reckless and stupid! By all rights he should be dead right now!"

"I know!" Dick says.  "But that's not the problem.  The problem is that he decided you, I, and Jason would all agree that his life is worth less than mine, even though losing him would make it significantly harder to mount any sort of rescue mission.  He knows his plan is dangerous! All you told him by grounding him was that you don't care for his successes."

"That's not what grounding him is.  I need to make sure he won't pull any reckless stunts like that and put all of us in danger—"

"Yeah but does he know any of that? He doesn't understand why that stunt was reckless, Bruce.  You can't ground him and then not use your fucking words." Dick takes several breaths and tries to drop the volume of his voice.  He'd learned the hard way with the Titans and Jason that shouting never got you anywhere in an argument, but it's just so easy to scream at Batman when it's obvious he doesn't understand a word.  

"I used my words," Bruce snaps back.  Dick feels a little bad, because he knows he and Alfred have said that ad nauseum, but Bruce needs to understand.

"No, you didn't," Dick says tiredly.  "I know you're concerned for his life, because I want to ground him too.  But you didn't tell him that.  You didn't approach him as a concerned mentor, you approached him as his boss."

Bruce pauses, and Dick watches him take his own breaths.  They'd both agreed to do that, back when Dick had been patching up their relationship for Tim's sake.  When they started arguing, Bruce needed to take a step back and listen to what Dick's saying, and Dick would do the same.  No more blowout fights.  "I don't understand," he admits.  "I am both."

Dick rubs at his forehead.  Why is it his job to beat sense into Bruce?  "You didn't act like you cared about him," Dick says.  "I know when you say 'that was reckless' what you mean is that you worry we could have gotten hurt and you'd like us to discuss it with you so we'll be safe.  But Tim doesn't know that, and I only sorta get it because I feel the same way when Tim does stuff, the difference is I tell him that .  The Mission can't replace your communication with us, Batman."

Bruce frowns.  "I am not expressing my emotions enough?"

"Yes!" Dick nearly yells.  "And you did the same thing with Jason."

"I— what?"

"You asked him about me.  Now how he was alive, that you were happy to see that your dead son was alive, and you managed to convince him during whatever fight you two had that you hate him and you've always hated him."

"But you were missing and injured," Bruce protests.  "Had he said he was willing to return you and stop murdering people, I would have welcomed him."

"Did you tell him that though?" Dick asks pointedly.  Bruce doesn't respond, so Dick follows up.  "Did you even ask him if he was willing to return me, or did you just demand to know where I was, like you just demanded answers of me when I got back to the Cave instead of asking how I was."

Silence.  Bruce has got his thinking face on, but Dick is so goddamn tired of doing the heavy lifting for Bruce.  He can't play Bruce like a marionette until the man figures out how to be a good parent to Jason and Tim.  Well, he can, but Dick refuses to.  He's already spent over a decade cleaning up Bruce's messes.  

"Look, I get that you've always had problems with this, Bruce, but it can't go on.  You do another thing like today, and you'll drive Tim away the same way you drove Jason away.  Worse, Tim will pull a stunt worse than today's because he believes you don't care enough about him and then Tim will die." 

Dick slumps at the end of the rant.  He's pretty sure he's said some of this to Bruce before, but this appears to be the first time Bruce's actually listening.  Maybe the consequences of losing one of his sons actually matter to him.

Batman just looks at him, and then B's head drops and he sighs.  "How do I fix this?" he asks quietly, and Dick wants to bang his head against a wall.

"I can't help you with that," Dick says, and Bruce looks at him with such fear.  "I'm not your maid, Bruce, I can't and won't keep cleaning up every one of your problems.  It's not my responsibility; it's not Tim's for the matter anyways, but you let him do it when you require a fourteen year-old's presence to save you from your grief.  If you can't figure this out on your own, go talk to an actual adult.  A therapist, or," Dick hums. "Clark!  He's actually your friend.  Get him to walk you through this."

"Hnnn." Bruce reaches forward to pat Dick's hand.  "I see.  I will talk to Clark." Bruce clearly doesn't see yet, but Dick has faith in Clark, and by extension Diana.  The two of them will help Bruce figure out the correct words to use.

"Good," Dick sighs.  "I'll write up a brief report of my time at Jason's and have Alfred look at my injuries." And then go find Tim and comfort him, and then finally get some more rest.  If Dick's lucky, he'll only have to stay here the rest of the week until he heals enough to head back to Blüdhaven.

"Good." Bruce seems pleased, so Dick assumes now that he's assured himself Nightwing's okay and Jason's not an enemy, he'll actually get some rest and hopefully talk to Clark.  Instead, he shifts.  "I am—" he pauses.  "I am glad you're back in the Manor?" 

It's phrased like a question, but Dick just stares at him.  He's actually glad? Not just happy that one of his Birds is uninjured, but glad? Bruce has always been possessive of his partners, but— glad?  happy?

"Okay?" Dick says.  His response comes several seconds too late, and he's not quite sure he believes Bruce.  Frankly, Dick's surprised Bruce cares that much about his disappearance.  He'd thought Bruce would care far more about his actual son reappearing.  Dick had handled his own problems on the Titans and in Blüdhaven for years.

Bruce pales. "You know that, right?"

Dick just stares at him.

"Right?"

Dick shakes his head.  He doesn't know what else to do.  Bruce would probably see through a lie of this magnitude, especially when Dick had been so blindsided by it.  

Bruce slumps.  "I see.  I do.  I will talk to Clark, as you suggested."

Dick just watches him walk away, and then slumps back into the cot.  That hadn't ended as badly as Dick had feared; actually, Bruce had seemed to listen to him, so way better, but Dick doesn't quite know what to do with himself.  

Is this how Jason felt when Dick had tried to insist that he loved Jay?  I am glad .

"Master Dick.  I have been informed that you have injuries I need to look at."

Dick cracks open his eyes.  "Hey, Alfie.  It's good to be back."

"It is good to see you safe and that Master Jason may yet return to us someday." Alfred frowns down at Dick.  "Now, let me see your wounds."

Dick groans.

Chapter Text

Tim finds himself knee-deep in nuclear chemistry papers.  By the clock on his nightstand, a few hours have passed since his rescue attempt, and he's jotted down four different formula suggestions for the new anti-toxin he's trying to make.  Best Tim can tell, Scarecrow's fear toxins primarily bind to a few different receptors in the brain.  Multiple of those receptors have the same protein pocket, and Tim's research on fear toxin says it has a specific beta chain that binds to that pocket. Thus, if Tim designs the anti-toxin to target that protein chain, he might be able to create a general antidote.

Maybe.

With a lot of luck and testing.

It's such a shame scientists still have such little knowledge on how various chemicals bind with receptors in the human body.  Tim's not really one for the scientific method— he much prefers to fuck around and find out— but maybe he should take a dip into biochemistry and see if he can find the answers he needs for this anti-toxin.

Bruce probably knows something about how to design experiments; Tim can go ask him—

Right.  Tim's grounded.  The chemistry was supposed to make it hurt less, not more, goddamn it!  Not that being grounded has stopped Tim from working before, but it sure as hell means he doesn't want to talk to Bruce again.  Who grounded him.  For being reckless and stupid.  As if Tim's plan hadn't succeeded. 

As if Tim's plan had been anything different from his normal tasks as Robin.  Bruce is an unfair hypocrite, nothing more. How many times had Bruce put his life on the line to see a plot through?  (How many times has Tim?)

Hadn't Tim joined this whole life by putting his life on the line for Bruce?  He'd followed a dead kid into the colors.  Twice.  Why is that a problem now? This has always been his responsibility, regardless of whatever Dick said. Tim is a damn awesome vigilante and he's pulled this family together piece by piece, goddamnit.  

And Jason won't ruin that for him.  Tim can take a few snide comments or whatever Jason thinks to keep this family together.  No matter whether his dead Robin had come back to life just to haunt him or not.  Tim would deal with this.  He could bargain with Jason and soothe Dick and clean up whatever mess Bruce is about to create.

"That's not your responsibility, Tim," Dick said.  Bullshit.

Someone knocks on his door.  Tim hides all the chemistry papers under a perpetually open tab of Civilization 6 just in case it's Bruce or Alfred.  "Come in!"

"Hey, Tim." Dick pokes his head in.  He still looks fine, although he's stuck in the motorized wheelchair developed specifically for lower body injuries.  It looks just like Dick only had a normal nightly injury.  Definitely not like he'd just spent three days in the care of someone who had shot him thrice and kidnapped him.  

"Dick," Tim says with a huff. "You escaped the cave."

Dick grins.  It's a little forced, like most of his smiles usually are. Except, y'know, when he'd been sitting around the couch with an arm around Tim and smiling at Jason.  Or that time they'd gone train surfing together. "I scared B off." 

That's definitely code for they'd had a blowout argument.  No wonder Dick's not happy.  

"So if you're ungrounded, does that mean I am too?" Tim asks hopefully.  It's sort of a Robin tradition at this point in time to out-stubborn Bruce.  Actually, not even Robin.  Tim remembered that time Cass painted her face with grey paint and went out anyway.  

Dick sighs. "No, Tim," he says slowly.  Each word is measured before he says it, and dread curdles in Tim's gut.

"Don't tell me you agree," Tim spits.  That would make Dick a fucking hypocrite.  He's the one planning to invite Jason to his apartment in Blüd!  

"I do," Dick says.  He sits on the end of Tim's bed even though Tim hadn't given him permission, but he's making an effort to hold his body open and truthfully.  Tim can be kind enough to let him explain.  Probably. "But not for the same reasons as Bruce.  I'm worried because of how little you seem to value your own life."

Oh, was this following up on how Dick seemed to think Tim's life was more important than his?  

"I'm fine," Tim says immediately.  He waves his hand around, and plays an actual turn of his Civ 6 game just to appear unbothered.  Besides, it means he doesn't have to look at Dick's stupidly earnest face.  "I had this whole plan with trackers and altering Oracle and everything."

Dick takes a breath in, and a breath out.  Tim would bet it follows one of those meditative breathing patterns that Bruce had insisted they learn.  "As far as you knew Jason was going to injure or kill you on sight, baby bird."

"He didn't though. My plan worked." Tim jabs another few buttons on his game.  Sometimes, he can shut his brain off by playing strategy games, but it's not working while Dick's hovering over his shoulder and he can't even remember what kind of victory he'd been going for.

"I know, Tim," Dick continues gently. "But you didn't do anything to mitigate those factors.  It's not the fact that you're throwing yourself into danger that bothers me.  It's the fact that you didn't design your plan to protect yourself too."

No, that's not— Tim doesn't need protecting.  The plan wasn't about Tim.  The plan was about making sure Dick was out of harm.  "I was fine.  I can take a little pain."

Dick takes another set of slow breaths.  "Timmy, you should've had to.  I know Bruce and I are terrible role models, but the first rule of being a vigilante is to take care of yourself, but you can't save other people if you haven't saved yourself first."

Tim had saved himself; he's still here, isn't he? (He's still here because he'd designed countless plans to make sure he got out of danger too.  Not because he'd willingly handed himself over to every enemy they met.) 

"You're a hypocrite," Tim deflects rather than dwell on the funny mess of feelings that he doesn't care for.  "Jason literally shot you and you still decided to forgive him."

Dick winces.  "It would be unfair of me to tell you there's extenuating circumstances," he says.  "But I haven't forgiven him, at any rate.  I'm going to bully him into being an actual brother to both of us and those are his consequences for shooting me.  He wanted to be mad at the whole family and I'm not allowing him to."

That doesn't really sound like a punishment to Tim.  If Dick actually cared about Tim enough to bully him into family bonding…. holy shit, doesn't Dick do that all the time? He'd brought him and Cass out for ice cream last week— abort thought abort thought.  

Also, Jason had been really annoying about bothering Tim to eat food as his form of anger, and that was definitely supposed to be a caring thing, so maybe Jason's just weird like that. (Jason's Robin had always been so excited on the nights Nightwing was in town, though.) "Oooookay," Tim drawls.  "Is this magnificent plan of yours why you have Jason's address?"

"I have his number too!" Dick grins.  "Actually, now that you've reminded me, I have some memes to send Jay." Actually, Tim understands Dick's plan perfectly.  His memes are so fucking bad and cringe, and he spams Tim's phone with them all the damn time.  Dick whips his phone out of his pocket, and frowns.  "Oh, wait."

"You forgot it?" Tim asks.  That very much sounds like a detail Dick would've overlooked in his excitement, and it also means someone's going to need to go track down Red Hood to get said number.  And that definitely can't be Bruce, so with Cass currently in Hong Kong, Tim might as well be the best choice. And, of course, if he used that time to actually talk with Jason without Dick forcing the both of them to be civil no one had to know that. (And, if Dick were to be believed, Jason couldn't even hurt him because Dick had sent him there so Dick would know.)

"Yeah," Dick whines. "I didn't have my phone on my suit, so I just forgot, and it's going to be at least another day or two before I heal up enough to go back to Blüd, and another few weeks before I can go out as Nightwing to actually track him down…"

"I could," Tim offers as innocently as he can manage.  "It feels only fair after he offered me lunch."

Dick does a double-take.  Clearly Tim's tone wasn't innocent enough, because the playful pout falls completely from his lips.  "Tim," Dick says.  His voice wobbles a little bit, like it'd be wrecked if Dick isn't a good enough actor to hide it.  "I'm not going to ask to go meet with the person who's been trying to hurt you.  Ever."

Oh, right.  That. Even if Tim's not quite sure that Dick would really cut Jason off if he hurt Tim again   "Well I offered," Tim points out.  "And, besides, Jason said himself he wasn't going to try to hurt me.  Might even do us some good to get to meet in a more friendly setting."

Dick squints at him. "Baby bird." Dick pauses, mouthing a few words before he decides on what he wants to say.  "I don't want this to be another scenario where you think helping me is more important than your wellbeing.  I don't want to send you to Jason if he's going to be cruel to you, either."

Ughhhhh. "It's really not," Tim grumbles.  In fact, he'd welcome it if Jason was actually mean, because it would give Tim a chance to get a feel for how Jason feels, and respond accordingly.  If he got lucky, maybe he'd even be able to taunt and yell at Jason a bit for trying to hurt both him and Dick. "I don't mind," Tim says.  What's a realistic reason for him to go that won't worry Dick— "Besides," he adds with a smile, "If I'm helping you, Bruce's stupid grounding doesn't apply."

Dick's face clears.  "Ah, well, in that case, I'm always happy to aid a fellow dissenter."

Tim giggles.  This feels like much safer ground.  "Bruce can't even do anything about it," he says smugly.  "Truly, a fitting punishment."

Dick laughs, and leans in for a hug.  Tim lets him, and even tolerates it when Dick refuses to let go.  (He doesn't lean in, no siree.) "In terms of fitting punishments, I see you're playing a—" Dick squints at Tim's computer screen, "Video game, but how do you feel about Mario Kart instead?  I simply insist on whooping your ass again."

Tim sticks his tongue out.  "Yeah yeah, I seem to remember our last race on Rainbow Road going very differently." Dick had no time to practice, you see, and Tim also had no time, but his Titans are very insistent he take breaks and they make decent opponents. "Are you sure, old man? Your arm's in a sling.  I'd hate to leave you with wounded pride, too."

"I'm not old!" Dick yelps.  He ignores everything else Tim said in favor of finally releasing him (nooooo) and waving his good arm around in the air.  "I'm 23! My prefrontal cortex isn't even completely developed yet."

"Your loss," Tim sasses back.  "Old man.  Bet you can't beat me to the game room."

"I'm in a wheelchair!" 

Tim ignores him.  That's Dick's punishment for scaring the hell out of Tim while he was kidnapped.  And for agreeing with the grounding.  Tim's sure the motorized wheelchair can make its way to the game room eventually.  

And if Dick's smile is a little more real the whole time, Tim says nothing.  He doesn't even protest when Dick forces him to eat a full meal for dinner or to go to bed that night.  Dick insists on Tim cuddling him, and who's Tim to deny his older brother some comfort?

"Okay, okay," Clark settles onto a hay bale, blinking at Bruce.  "Repeat what you need help with?"

Bruce glances between Clark and Diana.  He's too trained to have such an obvious tell as fiddling with his hands, but Bruce really wishes Clark had decided to keep this conversation on the Watchtower where Bruce had other things to look at during the conversation.  "Dick says I'm using the wrong words to talk to them and I need to do better."

Clark rubs a hand across his forehead, and Bruce gets a sudden, sinking feeling that Clark agrees with that statement. "Do you have an example?"

Bruce hnnnns.  "Dick said I should have told Tim I was worried for him instead of calling his mission reckless and stupid."

Clark and Diana pale in tandem, and they share some sort of exhausted look.  The pit in Bruce's stomach turns into dread.  Even his friends had noticed this problem.  How long had he been messing up for?

"Why don't we back up?" Clark says.  "What's been happening in Gotham and what type of mission did Tim take?"

"Well… Jason tried to kill both Dick and Tim and ended up kidnapping Dick after shooting him—" Bruce isn't quite sure how much context his friends need or why, but all information is probably helpful.  

"Jason is alive?" Diana demands.  "The second Robin?"

Oh.  Right.  "Yeah, but we only found that out…."

Chapter Text

To Tim's horror, not even Dick's mission had convinced Alfred to let Tim take the Robin suit. (Batman was nowhere to be found.  His fight with Dick must have been really bad to make him hide for a little bit.) Instead, Tim has to resort to his black thermals and a face mask.  After several seconds of debate, Tim even brings his camera with him— if he's going to bother dressing up in his usual information gathering fit, then he might as well actually gather some information while he's out. 

Tim's been sneaking out in dark clothing longer than he's been in the Robin suit, so it isn't even a problem, really.  Why Bruce thought something as measly as a grounding would stop him, Tim has no living clue.  

Tim tries the same apartment he'd found Dick in, but it's already abandoned.  Some of Jason's stuff is still there, but none of the important bits.  No plans, gear, or money.  Tim's kinda surprised Jason hadn't burned the thing completely, but then again Dick probably wanted to know where one of Jason's safehouses is and nothing is worth Dick's wrath.

Batman had a map of several of Red Hood's warehouses, and he'd hit a number of them in some sort of ill-fated attempt to find Nightwing and bring down the Red Hood's criminal empire at the same time.  The warehouses are the easy bit to find; the hard part is Jason's safehouses.  However, if Tim timed this right (which he has), Red Hood usually begins patrol around 7:30pm and moves primarily through Crime Alley. 

Tim lands on the roof of a building, and immediately clocks a scream several blocks to his left, right in the heart of Hood's territory.  He doesn't want to draw undue attention, so Tim retracts his grapple and resigns himself to crawling around on the rooftops like some normal sod.  

Thankfully, Crime Alley roofs are dark and shadowy, and Tim finds himself peering over an attempted drug deal.  Attempted, of course, because the Red Hood has a gun to the dealer's head, and his buyer, a street kid, tucked deeper into the alley out of sight.  

The dealer's not immediately dead, which is totally out of Hood's M.O..  If Tim is in his suit, he'd intervene, but a random kid in black thermals can't be seen fighting the Red Hood, so Tim resigns himself to information gathering. This is why he brought his camera.

"—selling to kids.  Am I clear?" Red Hood says firmly.

The dealer gulps, nodding up and down.  Something dark glimmers in his eyes, but it's hidden well under layers of fear. "Yes, Mr. Red Hood, sir.  No selling to kids."

Hood keeps his gun cocked, prowling around the man in a half-circle to stand between him and the kid.  "This is your first strike, so I'll be generous," he promises. "Try again, and you won't like the consequences.  Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The dealer cowers until Hood scoffs and waves his hand at the mouth of the alley, at which point he absolutely flees.  Tim blinks, but he's more impressed than surprised.  Apparently Hood, unlike most mob bosses, has enough of a handle on his temper to run an effective empire instead of shooting every person who displeases him. (Also, no drugs to kids is a rule Tim agrees with.  What's going on here?)

"Hey, kid," Hood crouches down.  The modulator on his helmet clicks off as his entire posture switches from threatening to something gentler.  It almost looks like the Robin posture that they'd each learned for talking to victims.  "You alright, buddy?"

"Yeah," the kid whispers quietly.  The eyes he peers at the Red Hood with are wary, but not as afraid as Tim had expected them to be.

"Alright.  You buyin' that for yourself or someone else?" Hood's voice is steady, even without the modulation.

The kid narrows his eyes, shifting farther into the alley. "Someone else."

Hood huffs. "I ain't gonna get that person in trouble, kid, I just wanna help.  Make sure you don't get in trouble an' whoever it is gets care." Tim blinks back his surprise.  That's a thought-out approach to actually helping the kid, rather than just stopping the crime.  The Bats had some of their own measures (usually funded by the Wayne charity foundations) for rehabilitation and jobs for desperate crooks, but this is a step further.

There's the smallest of shifts in the kid's frame.  "M' dad. Says it's the only way the pain stops." The kid peers at Hood. "He'll actually help me, if he's not in pain."

Hood hums, kneeling in front of the kid.  "Thanks for tellin' me.  Why don't we talk to your dad? I can help him find a better way to manage the pain."

The kid squints. "You a doctor?"

"I know one. Wanna bring me to your dad, or would you rather I give you the number of one of my men who can help your dad?"

The kid's form continues to relax.  Whatever set-up Hood's got here, he's doing it in a way where there's goodwill in the alley.  The kids like him enough to give him literally any information.  Then again, Jason had always had that trust, hadn't he?  The City had welcomed and trusted Jason's Robin in a way they'd never quite cared for Tim's.  "The number," the kid says.

So mostly trust, but not total.  It's up to the kid to reach out now, on their own terms.  Then again, Hood's been around a few months by their estimation, so it's impressive people talk to him at all.

"Alright," Hood digs around in his pockets and pulls out a business card and a few bills.  "Do you know about the shelter down on 5th?"

"The one for Alley kids?"

"Yeah," Hood confirms.  "It's open to you too, even though your parents are still around.  If y' need help."

The kid stares at him for several long seconds and snatches the card and cash.  "Thanks, Hood." He edges towards the open end of the Ally, and Hood rises to his feet, stepping aside.

"It's my job," Hood says softly, and waits for the kid to leave the Alley on his own terms.  

Tim shifts a little bit atop the rooftop.  His and Nightwing's previous surveillance on Hood had only caught the crime side of his empire— the drugs, guns, and war against Black Mask.  Tim only now realizes they'd never once heard of any trafficking.  And whatever Hood's doing to help the Alley, the residents would keep to themselves.  

It makes Red Hood, the crime lord, very reminiscent of Jason Todd, Robin.  Jason's anger at Batman clicks into place just a little bit more.  He'd taunted Bruce about not murdering the Joker, because that's how Jason believes Gotham should be cleaned up.  

"I know you're there." Hood's voice doesn't quite startle Tim, but he'd been caught up in his musings long enough for Hood to re-enable the vocal modulation.  Hood's staring right up at Tim's perch. 

Tim flips down.  There's no point in hiding his presence when the whole point of this little adventure is to have some sort of face to face confrontation with Jason. "Hood."

Red Hood digs his gun back out of his holster, tapping it idly against his thigh.  As far as threats go, it doesn't actually scare Tim that badly.  Tim thinks it's more irritation than anything else.  "R—" He narrows his eyes.  "That fit's terrible at hiding your identity.  The hell am I supposed to call you?"

Tim doesn't flinch.  It's impressive.  He'd expected Hood to call him Replacement or something similar.  Pretender, maybe.  Not show enough care to protect his identity. He's not sure if the R meant Replacement or Robin, but it doesn't matter since Jason had clearly deemed both too risky.  For a kid he hates.  "Alvin."  Unfortunate for Tim to waste that alias on this, but needs must.

"Alvin.  Whatever.  Why are you here?" Hood's voice is still flat, and Tim has literally nothing to go off of.  Is Jason still attempting to be civil because of whatever deal he struck with Dick?  It's certainly more effort than Tim had expected, but then again, maybe Jason's worried Tim would tattle to Dick or something.

"Robbie wants your phone number." Thanks to Hood's lovely comment, Tim's not dumb enough to call him Dick or Nightwing, so he uses the Malone alias instead.  Not his best choice, but Hood will definitely know who he's talking about without Tim having to expound.

"He doesn't have it already?" Hood's surprised enough it shows through the modulation.

"He forgot to get it from you, apparently." Tim forces himself to keep a flat face.  This is still, somehow, a civil conversation.  What is wrong with the world?

Hood snorts.  "Sounds like Robbie." He reaches for his pockets, pulling out a pen and several of the business cards. "So he sent you then?" There's an emphasis in Hood's tone that almost gets swallowed up by the modulation.  Some sort of double emphasis on both 'sent' and 'you'.  

"Yeah," Tim says.  He can perfectly well assume why Hood might have a hangup about Tim showing up.  Doesn't want the Replacement near him? Sucks to be Hood, Tim's fought for his place as a Bat and he's not leaving.  "Seeing as I was the only one who could come and get it."

Hood drops the pen.  He curses, leaning down to pick it up before he just stares at Tim.  "Robbie sent you here?  Into the jaws of the shark?"

… Hold on a second here.  Is Hood irritated because Dick sent Tim into potential danger?  Him fucking too? The man who had been shooting at Robin's form less than a week ago is now concerned because Dick had sent Tim on an errands run for him?

"I volunteered," Tim says tightly.  

"You… volunteered," Hood says.  "To come talk to someone who tried to kill you?"

Jesus fucking christ.  Can Tim ever catch a break?  First Bruce with the grounding, and then Dick, and now Jason too? Jason, who hates him?

"Well, you promised Rob you wouldn't hurt me," Tim says, like the reasonable person he is.  

"Yeah, but—" Hood's sigh is audible through his helmet. "Have you eaten today, kid? Did you sleep last night?"

"What?" Tim cannot deal with this right now. What the fuck. Is Jason really going to switch up from trying to murder him to babying him? Is Tim hallucinating this whole desire? Did Jason kill him and now he's in hell? "That wasn't acting to make Robbie happy?" He narrows his eyes. "Wait—"

Oh no. Oh no no no no no. Jason cannot have determined the best way to nonlethally annoy him is to act overly protective. No. Absolutely not. He cannot—

"Why would I do that?" Hood drawls. "I don't know why it makes you irritated to take care of yourself, but as far as I can see I can catch two birds with one net."

Catch two birds with one net, notably not kill two birds with one stone.  Is that going to be the thing that makes Tim actually believe that Jason no longer wants him dead, dead, just gone from the Robin suit and out of their lives?  "Who's the other bird? Robbie?"

Hood snorts.  "He'd be the third.  No, I'm not letting B kill another Robin."

Tim glances around at the alley they're in.  It's still empty, but even their judicial use of nicknames isn't going to cover for how long they've been talking or Hood name dropping Robin.  Hood follows his glance and pulls out his grapple.

"What the hell do you mean?" Tim spits.  He climbs up the wall of the nearest building after Jason.  "B's not trying to kill me! You were."

Hood doesn't respond until they're both safely on the roof, leaning against the old smokestack chimney.  His head hangs down.  "Yeah, I know, kid.  I shouldn't have let my anger hurt you or Robbie.  But that doesn't excuse B for continually putting young kids into the fire and encouraging their destructive tendencies."

"He doesn't do that," Tim responds. He forces himself to keep his voice level.  Yelling is bad for conversations.   "I don't know what Robbie told you, but I chose to be Robin.  I literally blackmailed B into it.  Since you seem to apparently think B didn't care about you, he was literally falling into a grief spiral and was putting people into the hospital.  It was either that I became Robin or B failed to come home one night."

"He— what? He required a child's help to pull himself together?" Hood pushes off the chimney to pace across the roof.  "Look, that's not my point.  I know B isn't actively trying to kill you.  But he's asking you to throw yourself into incredibly dangerous situations and encouraging your lack of self-care. That's not okay."

Tim cannot believe his ears.  Had Jason just listened to anything he'd said?  First Dick insisting he wasn't taking enough care of himself, and now Jason?? "I literally chose this," Tim spits. "B is a good mentor." Who'd just grounded Tim for literally no good reason.

Hood pauses.  He turns his helmet to look directly at Tim, and even without seeing his face Tim feels intensely judged. "You— you willingly took the mantle of a dead kid?" Hood's tone sounds angry, but Tim holds his ground.  

"I had to," he repeats, and glares at Hood. "And I'm not giving it up.  I deserve to be Robin."

Hood growls at him.  Finally, they've reached a point of honesty.  No more forced pleasantries.  Tim's eyes narrow as Hood's hand twitches back towards his gun.  It pauses on the holster, and Hood's anger collapses. "You're doing it again," he says.  It's barely audible to Tim's ears.

"Telling the truth?" Tim scoffs.

"No." Hood takes a slow breath. "Kid, you came to trade yourself to Dick expecting me to kill you, and now you're baiting me into fighting you.  Plan or not, there's some form of suicidal ideation in there. That's not okay, baby bird."

Suicidal ideation.

Suicide.

"No, no," Tim stutters. "No, that's not. It's not—" Tim took the Robin suit knowing that his predecessor had died. Tim took the Robin suit after his best friend died in it. Tim is a very good fighter, but he's not special. Tim deserves to be Robin, but all it takes is one lucky bullet.

I'm worried because of how little you seem to value your own life.

Hood steps forward and pulls his helmet off. Without it, Tim's just looking at the clearly concerned lines etched into Jason Todd's face.  He tucks it under his arm,  putting a hand on Tim's shoulder.  Tim just stares at it mutely.  

"Here," Hood's voice is gentler.  He tucks the notecard into one of Tim's pockets.  "I believe you, but you're worth more than that, T— uh, Alvin.  You're worth more than the Mission.  It shouldn't be on your shoulders to fix B or whatever happened, no matter how good you may be at it."

"N-No," Tim stutters, but it's half-hearted.  Hadn't Dick said that exact thing to him?  That whether he should have been Robin had no impact on how good of a Robin he was, but it never should have been his problem to solve? That he never should've been forced to put himself into the place of someone who died?

He'd gotten everything eight year-old him had ever wanted.  It had been his dream to be Robin, and he really doesn't mind a little bit of pain.  He loves helping people and stopping alien invasions and being an unholy terror to people who deserve it.  

"I—" Jason just waits for Tim to put together words, and Tim struggles to breathe. "I—"  He's not.  He doesn't want to be dead.  It's just— it's  just that Dick's worth any sacrifice, and Tim was the only one who could save Batman and— "I don't want to die," and, quieter.  "I didn't want to fight you.  Tonight.  I just wanted to know the truth."

"The truth about?" Hood's voice is still softer, and Tim doesn't know what to do with this.  What to do with any of this.

"How much you hate me."

Hood goes quiet.  Tim's surprised that Jason's taking Tim's question seriously, but Jason's been surprising Tim all night.  "I don't hate you," Hood says.  "I hate that B allowed you to become Robin after I died in the suit.  I hate that B treats you like a better version of me.  I hate that B missed all the ways you're hurting and that you feel like you need to sacrifice yourself to help all of us.  I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that, and I'm sorry that I tried to hurt you.  I hate the circumstances.  I don't hate you."

Tim.  Tim can't deal with this right now.  He can't.  He can't deal with Hood apologizing and Hood caring about him and an actual genuine apology and— "You tried to kill me," Tim says.  He rips himself away from Jason.  "You don't get to apologize like that!  You don't.  You shot Dick and I don't get why he's chosen to forgive you when all you've done is hurt us! You—" 

Hood stiffens, and Tim backs up another step. Tim's shaking, and he can't deal with this.  

And so, a black shadow appears out of nowhere and slams into Red Hood, and Cass and Jason go tumbling across the rooftop.

Chapter Text

Cass doesn't hesitate in throwing herself at the Red Hood. Tim's posture reads angry-scared-hurt, so something must be wrong. Sure, Hood hadn't seemed offensive, but he'd hurt her family and that's more than enough for Cass. 

Hood dodges better than she'd wanted, but he clearly hadn't been expecting the fight and Cass takes advantage of that.  She tackles him to the ground, swinging a fist directly into his armored chest.  Red Hood's stupid helmet tumbles out of his hands, so Cass can break his nose as soon as she wants.  He should've been wearing it if he wanted it to actually protect him.  

She will make him pay for hurting Nightwing and Robin.

"Batgirl, wait!" Robin's voice sounds from somewhere behind her.  It's not egging Cass on, so she ignores it.  Later problem.  Revenge first.

But Red Hood doesn't struggle under her.  His hands fly up to protect his face, but it's a weak movement.  Cass easily brushes them aside and breaks his nose.  A spray of blood gushes out and coats her hands.  Good.  But he doesn't try and stop her next strike, which should give him a black eye.  Or the one after it, for the other eye.

He lies there and just takes her punishment, like he agrees that he deserves it.  His body language says guilt.  Cass snarls, and diverts to his shoulder.  Maybe breaking an arm bone will make him actually hurt.

"Stop!" Robin says forcefully.  His hands touch her shoulders, tugging lightly on them. 

 Cass pauses, two hands wrenching Red Hood's shoulder into a position that must hurt.  If Robin doesn't want her breaking bones, maybe she can dislocate it.  

"We weren't fighting," Robin tells her.  His body says he's not lying, but there's an undercurrent of anger-fear-hurt that Cass doesn't like.  Her Tim is sad, and Red Hood's probably the one causing that problem.  Cass doesn't know why Dick let him come out here when Tim clearly needs cuddles and to sleep, but Dick's injured and Tim gets things in his head so she'll give him a pass.  For now.

"You're hurt," she tells him, and turns back to the culprit.

"Batgirl, no," Robin says again, and he tugs on her shoulder.  "It's not— Hood apologized.  He's not— he's not going to hurt me any more. He promised." Robin's voice quavers, but Cass can see hope in his body and she pauses.  For whatever reason, Robin wants this relationship with Hood.

Cass finally lets Red Hood go.  She retreats next to Robin, and gives her best glare.  Fine, if Tim's had a change of mind, that's fine.  Gotham's a large city and Cass is sure she can find Red Hood doing something that requires her to do a little bit of damage while taking him in.  

"He murders people," she snaps.  "And he shot you."

That brings out the first flicker of anger she's seen in Red Hood all night long. He finally shoves to his feet, but he doesn't make any moves to come closer to them.  His posture is purposefully non-aggressive, but he glares at her.  "Oh, don't throw a fit over a little murder," he spits.  The words are muffled as he raises a hand to his nose to stop the bleeding.  "That's Batman's code and it's not working."

"Murderer," Cass hisses.  How dare he?  There's no greater loss than death.  She still remembers the look on that man's face when she'd snapped his neck.  The pain, both his and his family's.  The way his limbs had stilled as his life drained out of him.  The pain, the anger, the fear, all of it had just cut.   To willingly create such devastation—

"Woah, okay, I see the Bat's got you good," Red Hood snarks.  He pulls something from his pocket to blot his nose. There's an interesting undercurrent to his posture— is that jealousy?  Why the hell is he jealous of her? "Just another one of his perfect little soldiers."

Tim startles.  His posture is a little bit defensive, but that's overshadowed by the realization that sweeps through him, so Cass lets it go and scowls at Hood and quirks a finger at him.  "You sure you want to fight about it?" 

Hood does, but he takes a deep breath through his mouth instead.  "Not now," he says firmly.  "I meant what I said to Robin.  I don't want to hurt any of you anymore.  Robin came to me.  I'm not looking for a fight."

Tim dips his head minutely, and Cass wishes she had a knife to sharpen menacingly.  He's not looking for a fight now , after nearly torturing her oldest brother?  Why had Tim decided that's okay?  Why isn't Tim furious about this? What's Cass missing?

"Batgirl, c'mon," Tim sounds tired.  That's bad.  That's really bad.  Cass is going to come back to break some of Red Hood's bones.  But Tim's tired, and getting Tim hugs is more important thanthen whatever Red Hood says.  "I got what Robbie wanted.  Let's just go."

Red Hood holds up his hands placatingly, stepping back to allow them to leave unthreatened.  His body language says the truth.  Cass does not trust him not to change his mind and shoot anyway, but Tim does.  

Tim steps towards the edge of the roof.  He doesn't have a mask on, so Cass can probably carry him and pretend she's rescuing him.  He pauses as Cass steps up next to him, and turns towards Red Hood.  

Hood hums.  "I mean what I said, kid.  I'm sorry I took my anger out on you and Robbie."

Tim takes a slow breath.  "I don't forgive you," he says, like that was even on the table.  "But I— accept, I guess.  Robbie seems to be serious about getting along with you so we can work something out."

"Okay," Hood says. He's an interesting mix of regret and confusion— it's not quite confusion.  Hood doesn't know what he thinks about that statement.  (Regret and guilt.) "And, baby bird, I was serious about the other thing too.  Your life's worth more than the Mission."

The hurt is back in Tim's posture, but Cass finds Hood's words ringing through her own ears.  Your life's worth more than the Mission.   In what world is Cass not worth exchanging every possible drop to save as many people as she can? To prevent that stillness and the way people just die as their bodies lose all expression?  (If she dies, she won't have to deal with the guilt anymore.)

But that includes Tim.  Tim shouldn't die for the mission.  Tim's smart and determined.  He deserves to be happy and to live.  His life is worth more than saving people.  Stephanie's life was worth more than saving people.  

Cass thinks she and Tim look very alike at that moment.  Shock.  Fear.  And then Cass picks Tim up in her arms and flees. 

Tim yelps, but he doesn't struggle in her arms as they swing away, and no one underneath them looks twice at Batgirl bringing a civilian to safety.  They swing back to the Batcave in silence, but Cass is fine with that.  Both of them are exercising their inherited brooding, and Cass doesn't need Tim's words to see that he just wants to think.  

The Cave is silent when they get back to it; Cass thinks Batman is out again tonight.  Perhaps after she makes sure Tim gets the cuddles he needs she will go join him (and actually get to punch Red Hood. That would be very nice.)

Cass does not put Tim down and instead heads for the elevators.  "What— hey, Batgirl, I'm fine! Put me down."

"No," Cass responds.  She moves directly to the Manor entrance.

"Wait," Tim wiggles in her arms, so Cass shuts that down fast and pats his head.  "I'm really fine, Cass.  No injuries.  Let me go."

Cass marches him upstairs.

"Seriously, let me go—" 

Cass pats him on the head again.  Tim finally uses his brain cells and stops struggling.  She decides to take pity on him and drags him to the living room instead of Dick's room.  She wants her answers, and then she can turn him over to the cuddle monster.  

Tim pouts as she dumps him on the couch and sits on his legs.

"What?" Tim crosses his arms across his chest and attempts to glare at her.  Cass pinches his cheeks.  Tim's cute when he's pouty.

"What happened?" Cass asks.  "Red Hood hurt both of you.  Now he wants to be friends?"

Tim's mouth thins into a line. "Yeah.  Apparently Dickie got him to have a change of heart."

Tim's clearly going through something complicated, so Cass patiently waits for him to sort it out and get back to her.  She has all the time.  He's the one who wants to be doing other things.

"It's not that I'm mad about him changing his mind," Tim says, "and he says he hasn't ever hated me and he was just taking his problems with Batman out on the wrong person.  And I sort of believe that; both he and Dick explained it to me and—" Tim's breath chokes.  "I shouldn't have been Robin."

"No," Cass responds before she can even think.  Who put those thoughts into his head.  "You're a great—"

"That's not why." Tim's shoulders slump into the couch. He opens his mouth, and pauses.  He always chews on his lip while he's looking for the right words to say.  "I made myself into a weapon, and Bruce let me.  I— I thought I would die in the costume, and I haven't, and I've made it my own and made a life for myself and things are okay now, but—" He takes a slow breath.  

Cass thinks she gets it.  She chose this life because she wanted to help people, and so did Tim.  But Cass was raised aswith a weapon.  She didn't have a choice in that, and it was up to her how she used it.  Tim did.  Tim had something to lose by becoming a weapon, and Bruce let him.  

"It was your choice to make," she says quietly.  "You want this."

"I do," Tim repeats slowly, and then, louder.  "I do.  I made the right choice. But Jason's mad I had to make that choice at all."

Hold on.  Jason?  They're friendly enough with Hood to know his name? Wait, not important, brain bad.

Hood's mad because the adults couldn't protect the world, so Tim had to stand up and protect it instead.  It's hypocritical of him to hold Batman to such impossible standards when Hood's one of the things wrong with the world.  Batman cannot protect the entire world; he can only try.

"You made the right choice," Cass reiterates.  "And you've saved the world."

"I have," Tim says softly, and then shakes his head.  "That's not the problem though.  The problem is that I want Hood to be friendly, I want him to come home, I want him to like me, but—"

Cass tilts her head.  "Come home? Why would Hood—"

Tim stares at her.  She's missing something, goddamn it.  "Cass," he says, and Cass's muscles all twitch in anticipation.  She's not going to like this.  She knows she's not going to like this.  "The Red Hood is Jason Todd."

Oh.

The dead Robin. That contextualizes his anger at Batman, Cass supposes.  The dead Robin would have a right to be angry at the person who threw another child into the role he died in, no matter how inevitable that was.  No matter that Batman cannot be everywhere, and saving the world is the hardest choice a person can make.

But he's also the second son.  The perfect soldier, and he's become a murderer.  He's brutalized his way into control over the worst parts of Gotham.  He shot his older brother three times and almost killed Tim.  Cass pities his death, but she can't find it in herself to sympathize with him.

"I should have dislocated his shoulder," is what Cass says.  Tim's always looked up to his predecessor.  In many ways, Tim became Robin to honor Dick and Jason's legacy, and Jason dares throw that back in his face?  

"No!" Tim says.  Cass looks at him.  Right, he looks up to Jason.  He wants Jason to like him. And Jason apologized.  Told Tim his life was worth more than the Mission, because Jason's mad Tim ever became Robin. "Look, Cass, it's okay.  I'm not happy but he's not trying to kill us and we have peace.  And Dick wants to be friends, and Dick's the one who got hurt, and Bruce is glad Jason's alive."

Cass narrows her eyes at him, and shoves a finger into his chest.  "He hurt you too," she says.  "How do you feel about this?"

He shifts on the couch, and Cass can see the hope in his eyes.  Tim's hurt, but hopeful.  He wants to be able to move on from this.  

"Fine," Cass grumbles.  "I expect him to grovel appropriately."  She may still dislocate his shoulder.  But that is her own revenge to extract because he is a murderer, and not on Tim or Dick's behalf.  Apparently.  They are both stupid, and she will have to protect them.  

Even if Hood's body language was guilty.  

Tim groans.  "I don't know what he's trying to do! One second he's making me eat and ratting me out to Dick for not sleeping and clearly trying to rile me up and the next second he's telling me that it's not okay I tried to bargain my life for Dick's or something.  He's clearly such a hypocrite."

Hold on.  What.  

"You what?" Cass says.  She is not as good at lying with her voice as she is lying with her body, but she forces herself to not sound furious.  Her question has to be casual, otherwise Tim will get defensive.

Tim waves his hand in the air.  "Okay, so after Hood kidnapped Dick he and Bruce fought on a rooftop where Hood told Batman he was dead and then said otherwise.  To be fair to Hood, Bruce was doing the stonewall thing again." Tim mimics a flat face, and Cass giggles a little bit.  She knows the one, where Batman tries to make decisions for other people.  His body language usually says concern-worried, but she had not been happy with him when he tried to take Batgirl from her.  

"So," Tim says, "We knew Dick was alive, but Hood was acting violent and unpredictable and Dick had been shot, so there was a time limit and I found the location of one of Hood's apartments.  If I got Batman involved he was going to go on a grief bender and not listen to anything I say and make everything worse, so I had to figure something out.  I stole a bunch of Oracles trackers and one of the cars and drove there myself, and offered to trade myself to Hood for Nightwing.  I figured he'd accept because it was me he was after and then the trackers on me would give Batman enough time to hunt me down without going off the rails."

Cass is going to strangle something.  She's not sure what, but she needs to punch someone and feel the crack of their bones.  She needs to.  She needs to pace around Tim while he's smothered in a pile of blankets too tall for him to ever get out again.  

"At first I thought Hood accepted my deal." Tim continues like nothing's wrong, "But apparently he and Dick had already made up, and Dick had forced him to agree that he wouldn't hurt me, so he just let us both go." Tim huffs. "After forcing me to eat a whole bowl of curry.  He's so aggravating."

Cass is going to murder many people.  Definitely Hood.  Maybe Batman too, if he really couldn't keep it together well enough to get Nightwing back.  She should have gotten back here faster.  She's never been more grateful that Nightwing's smiles can win over their enemies.  Sure, she doesn't like that they let killers go free because they're busy mooning over Nightwing, but at least it saves their lives.

If Hood wasn't Jason and Dick wasn't Dick, Tim would be dead.  And Cass would have been halfway across the word.  This is unacceptable.  This is more than unacceptable.  

Your life's worth more than the Mission , Jason had said, and Cass wonders whether he'd let Tim go because Dick had asked or because Jason had died for the Mission and refused to see someone else sacrifice themself.  Maybe Jason is okay; he feeds Tim, after all.  Besides the murder.  

"Tim," Cass says.  Her voice cracks a little bit, but she ignores it.  Irritating vocal tells.  "Your life is important."

Tim's body stills; the energy drains right out of him.  "It was my only choice," he protests.  "I had to save Dick."

Cass swats him.  "You save yourself," she says.  "Or ask.  I would have done it." She would sacrifice herself in a heartbeat.  Her life isn't worth any of theirs, not when she is a weapon and they can live.  Not with the blood on her hands.

"No," Tim responds immediately.  "The point of this is that no one else got hurt." Only Tim.   How had she missed this?  

Cass jabs a finger into his chest again.  "No," she says.  "You don't get to decide that.  Your safety is worth it. No dying."

Cass expects Tim to argue, but his face crumples instead, and he sags in further.  "I don't want to die," he whispers.  "It was the worst outcome.  I took steps to prevent it.  I like my life.  But it was the only choice to save Dick."

This is why Jason's mad Batman let Tim become Robin.  Because for some unfathomable reason, Tim thinks dying is an okay possibility.  Tim thinks his life isn't worth it, and this has been a pattern since Tim chose to become a weapon.  Cass is going to find whoever let him believe this and absolutely eviscerate them.

"It's never an acceptable choice," Cass says.  "You should have called me.  I would have helped." Cass should've been here.  Cass should've taken that role, and fought Red Hood so Tim doesn't have to, should've taken those bullets so Dick didn't have to.  

Tim stares at her. "But it's not acceptable to me that you'd get hurt."

Cass doesn't get it.  She is born for this, bred for it.  The entire point of her life is that she is a weapon that can be used to help people (or harm them, but Cass directs her own weapon now).  "But—" It's not okay when it's Tim.  Only when it's her. She shakes her head slowly.  "Ask for help."

Tim sinks deeper into the couch.  She wasn't sure that was possible.  "Okay," he says, voice impossibly tiny.  "Can I get up now?  I want to give Dick Jason's number and then go do some research.  I got close to isolating a target in fear toxin earlier."

He's still hurting.  Cass hadn't managed to help.  Cass failed again.  She hops off his legs and extends a hand to help him get up.  "I am glad Jason seems to want you and Dick," she says.  She is glad.  Somewhere, he too decided Tim and Dick's lives were worth more than the Mission.  He cares about Tim's safety.  She saw it in his guilt.  She will have to talk to him, and see how onboard he is with her plan to protect Tim.  "But I am watching him."

Tim giggles, and the hurt dips back down below the surface.  Tiredness bubbles back up.  Right.  She must make sure he sleeps; the anti-toxin research can happen tomorrow.  "Thanks," he says.  "And thanks for coming to find me tonight."

Cass nudges his shoulder.  "I will always be here for you," she promises.  "Now give Dick the number.  And then you will go to bed."

"What, no!"

Yes.  Tim will sleep and then Cass will make sure Dick is on her plan to protect Tim.  If Dick and Jason get along, then Jason is no longer a threat.  She can deal with him being a murderer later.  Whenever she confronts him.  First, Cass needs to talk to Bruce.  Preferably in a spar.

Chapter Text

Nightass: <3 <3 <3 my little brother <3 

Nightass: tim told me you guys got along okay?

Jason experiences sudden regret.  He'd been sorta enjoying how clingy Dick had been, even though he'd known that he'd grow to hate it eventually, but he'd forgotten how annoying Dick's mere presence is.  Who even uses emoticons, let alone four of them?  What's next, is Dick going to text him all emojis at 5am in the morning?

RedJay: Yeah, we talked a little bit and I handed over the number

RedJay : Batgirl showed up too

RedJay: I'm starting to think B has a problem

RedJay: How does he keep finding child soldiers

Talking is a nice way to describe the discussion Jason had with Tim, and he's still not sure how he feels about it.  On one hand, there's Tim's increasingly concerning mental health and the fact that Jason is rapidly gaining respect for Tim's sheer brazenness.  On the other, Tim is an infuriating little demon and Batman's still a piece of shit.

Nightass: what do you mean you're starting to think

Nightass: ive known since he literally stole you off the streets

Nightass: at least with me he had the excuse of removing me from juvie

RedJay: …What the fuck do you mean you were in juvie?

Nightass: gothams racist

RedJay: Oh, fair.  G-CPS can go rot in hell

Nightass: so true.  except ellie  

Nightass: but the only reason she can help is because she works for the wayne orphanage so b pays her salary

Jason makes a mental note to add ‘completely overturning Gotham CPS’ to his list of long-term goals.  He's already started trying to employ the street kids in short, easy jobs in order to give them money, and he's acquired a few warehouses with the intention of setting them up as safehouses, but he needs the kids to trust him first.  He's almost there.

RedJay: Noted.

RedJay: Why are you bothering me?

Nightass: awww man punctuation :(

Nightass: what if i just want to talk to my little brother

RedJay: Well, excuse you, at least I'm not a heathen and I know how to use punctuation

RedJay: No

RedJay: And if you call me that again I'll 

Jason's finger freezes on 'pull my gun out.'  He'd be more than fine making a threat of violence playfully, but he'd just shot Dick.  He'd just shot Dick; he can't make that joke because it's not a joke.  Just a few days ago, he'd been totally down and willing to hurt both of the important members of his family.  He'd genuinely thought the best way to show Batman that dead children aren't expendable was to give him another nearly-dead child.  

Nightass: youll what

Nightass: shoot me

Nightass: try again you dork you already did that

RedJay: I'll replace all of your spices with salt

There, a nonlethal insult that will still suitably terrifying Dick.  That man loves his spice almost as much as his cereal.  Jason had seen him combine them once and decided Dick was hopeless in the kitchen. (At least Dick's willing to joke though.  He's clearly trying to make Jason feel better about it.  It's somewhat working.  Maybe.)

Nightass: but that means youll have to visit me in blud

Nightass: i already miss you

Nightass: just think we could steal one of bruces giant beds in the manor and cuddle

RedJay: No

Nightass: :( :( dont make me cry jay

RedJay: Cry Gotham a clean river

RedJay: Aren't there two other people in the Manor for you to cuddle with?

Nightass: tims trying to go on a destructive bender and create a new antidote to cranes fear toxin

Nightass: and casss in the gym

Nightass: whenever she gets tired shell make tim sleep so theyre both fine

Nightass: but im all alone in bed this is your fault come save me

RedJay: Well I haven't blocked you yet so consider that your saviour

RedJay: And I've actually got a territory to patrol so no

Nightass: but i miss you :(((

Jason swallows.  He doesn't see why Dick would miss him.  Tim had certainly made his feelings on the matter very clear, and Jason doesn't blame him.  For that matter, Jason's not quite sure when he'd decided he'd like Tim to forgive him, but that's apparently a thing now.

It doesn't really matter, because the number one objective is still Tim's safety, and he's going to hate that.  Jason can't bubble wrap the kid, but he's currently thinking there will be mandatory "kidnappings" anytime the kid hasn't eaten or slept.  He thinks he might even be able to get Batgirl on board, if she can get over the whole murder thing.

RedJay: I'm sure you can cope

Dicktopus: but but

RedJay: Night

Dictopus: i thought you were still on patrol

Dictopus: dont leave me how dare you

Jason turns his phone off and stands.  The Gotham smog is thick around him, and Jason breathes it in, enjoying the burn of chemicals down his esophagus. The city lights have already dotted out under him, and it's probably about the time Jason should turn in.

He'd had plenty of rage to let out after encountering Tim and Batgirl— what's her name?

RedJay: Oh btw what's Batgirl's name

Nightass: cassandra

RedJay: Thanks

Dick says something else, but it's probably not Jason's problem.  It's galling enough to have to ask him for information, but Jason could find it out himself; he's just lazy.  If he's going to try and be nice to the Bats he might as well reap the benefits.  

Jason's phone chimes another three times.  He almost ignores it out of instinct, but something pokes the back of his mind.  It's guilt.  God-fucking-damn it. Jason opens Dick's notifications, and is immediately assaulted with three memes, two GIFs of seagulls, and a YouTube video.  He turns his phone all the way off.

Yeah, no.  Jason's headed to bed.  Far too much has happened for him to sleep tonight, so it’s a mug of tea and his newest book instead.  Jason's got two whole years of books to catch up on and he hadn't even made his way through the classics when he'd died, let alone the Arabic texts Talia had introduced him to.  

"So," James begins, "Batman's backed off our warehouses.  The supply loss is troublesome, but not dealbreaking.  We can probably make up the profit by either poaching Mask's stock or getting a second shipment.  I don't know what you did to deal with him, boss, but it's working."

James 'Little John' holds Red Hood's eyes, which is why he's currently Jason's favorite goon.  It's also why he's Head of Logistics, though that's not official yet.  Marcus 'Muck', Emilia 'Marian', and Bill 'William Scarlett' all wait for his response from various points around their meeting table.  Jason loves his goons already, but they're still constantly worried that bad news will make him lose his temper.

Jason hums to show he's heard.  He doesn't feel like explaining that he dealt with Batman by handing back his golden child alive.  As far as he's concerned, there's no need for him to reveal anything about his relationship with the Bat, let alone his stint as Robin.  "Good." Jason nods, since he's noticed that his goons tend to respond better to physical signs of approval.  "Did he compromise any of our supply routes, or just the stock itself?"

"Just the stock itself," James confirms. Jason breathes a sigh of relief.  He'd love to fight Batman again, not the least because Tim has added another dozen items Jason wants to go to arms over, but there's not the same cathartic release in baiting Batman now that it seems so obvious he'd barely cared for Jason the whole time.  

"In that case, Mask's got a shipment coming in tomorrow night that we can probably try to grab," Jason decides.  "We need to weaken his hold on the Bowery to solidify our control, so we should try to hit it en route to his storage there."

"You sure, boss?" Emilia frowns at him, and Jason automatically feels his back straighten a little bit.  She'd watched over him while he'd been on the streets and taught him the numbers he'd used to fence his stolen tires.  He cannot disappoint her, now that she's decided to trust him to change the Alley.  "Mask's likely to retaliate."

"Mask's already angry," Jason responds.  Cutting off his lieutenant's heads in conjunction with stealing a decent chunk of his territory had certainly made an impression.  Sure, Jason doesn't see a need for his whole showdown with the Joker now that he's abandoned Batman for good, but irritating a man almost as vile can never hurt.  "At this point, I don't think we can tip his hand more than we already have."

"One of Lily's girls heard something," Emilia says.  "Nothing major, but Mask wants to make it hurt." Yeah, Jason could have expected that, although it's nice to have his suspicions confirmed and to see that the working girls are willing to help him out a bit.  The Alley's growing to trust him.  Slowly.  

"If they hear anything more concrete, let me know," Jason says.  "But unless there's anything actionable I'd rather focus on the Alley.  How's progress on the shelters coming?"

"Your first one's almost up," Marcus says.  Jason's third lieutenant leans over the table, rifling through sheets of paper.  "As you requested, it's got non-perishables as well as antidotes to the recent fear and Joker toxin strains.  Should be done within the week."

"How's the reaction been?" Jason asks.  He can do all he wants to help, but after all the previous failures, the Alley's going to be slow to trust.  He'd done his best to come when the kids call and stay away from them otherwise, and that seems to be helping, but it's not enough.  It's never enough.

He wants to get them food and shelter and none of them trust him enough yet.  Even if he's had the warehouse bought for months and Kit had allowed him to direct them there the other day, and he'd outfitted the whole thing himself.  

"Hesitant," Marcus says.  "Emilia and I have offered our thoughts, but you know how the Alley is."

Jason does.  "Alright.  Glad to hear it's not negative.  Have you managed to get in contact with—"

Tonight's patrol is quiet.  Jason's grateful for it, of course, even if he keeps glancing to his left and hoping a little bit of blue will shine out of the darkness.  It's ridiculous because Jason doesn't want any of the Bats in his territory mucking things up, good intentions or not, and, more than that, Dick's injured.  (By Jason's own hand, in Jason's own territory, no less.)

He's glad he hasn't at least seen Tim's red and yellow, though. That child should be sleeping or doing homework or whatever it is children these days do, not risking his life night after night for a man who can't be bothered to care about any of them.   

A little notification pops up in the corner of Jason's helmet, and he spends just enough time to check that it's not Dick Grayson calling before he answers.

"Hey, boss?"

 Jason fishes out his phone just to frown down at the caller's name. As far as he remembers, he's got no major operations scheduled for tonight, so what happened this time? Why is Muck calling him? "Yeah?"

"We heard something more concrete on Mask."  Muck's voice is even, but a stone sinks straight through Jason's stomach.  "He broke out the Joker."

Fuck.

"When?" Jason's voice is barely even.  This isn't his plan.  This isn't his plan, at all.  He'd had this whole spreadsheet for how he'd been keeping track of Mask's plants in Arkham, and regardless he'd had that whole setup with a bomb and the warehouse that he hadn't even started— not that that mattered, because Jason just wants the clown dead.  But his previous plans had meant Jason would know where the Joker was from the moment he left Arkham to the point where he ended up dead.

"Three hours ago, sir."

And Jason has no fucking clue where he is.

Hell, he could be in Crime Alley now, just waiting in Jason's apartment with that crowbar and his cheshire red grin and that acidic green that drips and drips and Jason's—

Breathing.  In.  Out.  The air's smoggy.  Jason's alive.  Jason crawled out of his grave with bare hands; he can handle his murderer.  He just doesn't have a plan and doesn't know where the Joker is and—

He still has that list of all the Joker's properties that he'd spent weeks putting together and using the League's resources for.  And he knows that while the Joker's likely interested enough in whoever took up his mantle to pursue Jason.

"Muck," Jason says.  His voice isn't steady anymore, but it doesn't matter.  Either the clown or Jason is going to be dead by the end of tonight, and Jason ain't willing to survive a trip to his grave a second time.  "Get as many children and civilians as you can to the shelter, even if it's not finished yet.  Try to get a headcount and let me know if anyone's missing."

"Yes, boss." A pause, but the line doesn't click.  "Are you—"

If Jason wasn't smart, he'd almost read that as concern in his lieutenant's voice, but he knows it's not for him.  Muck doesn't want to have to find new employment after tying himself so strongly to an up-and-comer, especially with how many enemies the Red Hood has made.

"I'm going to kill the Joker." Jason's voice is a little steadier.  "He's done enough damage and killed enough people.  Batman should've put him in the grave ages ago, but apparently not even the death of the— second Robin was enough to prompt that."

There's several seconds of silence on the other end of the line, and Jason starts moving.  Between his notes on Mask's location and the Joker's assets, he should be able to narrow down the location to just a few places.  And Jason's still got that C4.

"It's about time," Muck finally responds, and Jason breathes out an accidental sigh at his lieutenant's approval.  He refuses to dance to anyone else's tune, not after Batman had left him in the dust, but still— at least someone wants him to kill the Joker. "You need any back-up?"

Jason considers briefly, but he doesn't want to put his men at risk here— not with both the Joker and the Bat as major players.  Besides, he's got a few things to say and he doesn't want to drop any more hints than necessary.  "No," Jason says.  "Give me updates as they come."

"Yes, boss."

Jason hangs up and climbs through the window of his safehouse.  He should really get security on that, since it seems like the Bats are going to be hunting him down a lot more, but it's not like Jason plans to stay here longer than a week or so.  

Computer— lists.  There's an algorithm on the Batcomputer for this, but Jason doesn't have that luxury, so he does it by hand instead.  He tracks down camera footage of Mask's men in Arkham, and— there.  That's the Joker.  He gets in a car to leave the facility, and cameras track it to somewhere in the Diamond District.  Jason loses sight.  

He switches to cameras near Joker's properties, and he finds the van again.  There's other cars around it, likely the Joker's henchmen, which is— not great.  Jason doesn't know what they've been up to, and doesn't have time to track them. 

He grabs a few extra guns and tucks his rocket launcher on his back before he skids out the door.  All weaponry is appropriate— because the Joker's out there and he's had prep-time and—

Jason takes his motorcycle.  It's faster, and he can ditch it far enough away that the Joker won't immediately notice him.  The streets of Crime Alley are surprisingly empty, and Jason lets out a small breath.  Hopefully he'd actually done something and he'd been able to get his people to safety.

Jason's phone rings again.  It's Dick this time, and Jason hesitates on picking up.  If Dick's calling to warn him or whatever, Jason's got no plans of playing nice.  He will spill blood tonight, and he doesn't care what the Bats think.  Even— even if Jason would like to pretend it's not going to ruin his relationship with Dick for a little bit longer.

Dick calls again, and Jason picks up.  Fine.  If Dick's got more information, Jason might be able to use that, and it's not like Dick can stop him anyway.  Cassandra or Bruce probably can, but Jason should have more than enough of a headstart.  If it took his men that long to figure out that the Joker's gone, then it'll take the police even longer.

"What?" Jason's not sure how short to make his tone.  If the Bats don't know, he should probably keep it that way until the Joker's dead.  

"Have you seen Tim?" Dick's voice isn't panicked, per say, but there's an undercurrent of worry to it that almost tosses Jason over the edge. 

"And if I have?" Jason manages to keep his voice flat, but there's a tingly feeling all over him that says two coincidences in one night is never good.

"Well, he missed his check-in, so if you're trying to shove him in a closet somewhere, I'd appreciate knowing."  Dick's voice is all kinds of funny now, and Jason decides to cut him some slack.  He hadn't immediately accused Jason of doing something, and that— well, that's a big show of trust for only a few days.

"I wasn't aware he was on patrol tonight," is what Jason settles with.  "When'd he go missing?"  There's plenty of reasons a teenager would want to disappear from surveillance for a little bit, but Jason can only think of a few reasons Robin wouldn't check in.  And one of them starts with a J and ends with an R and a grave.

"About two hours ago," Dick responds.  "Can you let me know if he pops by?"

Fuck.  Jason's already speeding, but he revs the engine a little faster.  "The Joker escaped." Jason says instead of yes.  He can't hide that from Dick.  Not when there's another Robin's life on the line.  Jason thinks he can find the Joker, but that doesn't mean he'll find Tim, and—

Jason could be too late, just like Batman was, and he doesn't want to think about that.  He can't.  Tim's life will always be the first priority.  Any Robin's life would be.  Jason can't let a repeat happen.  He can't .

All those years ago, he'd wanted Batman to show up as a knight in shining armor, and he hadn't, and Jason doesn't blame him for that, but he'll sure as hell blame himself if his own fucking plan puts another Robin six feet under.  He can't—

"The Joker what ?!" Something clatters on Dick's end of the line.  "Jason, you can't—"

Jason doesn't need to hear what he's going to say.  "I'm going to kill him," Jason says simply.  That's it for his relationship with the Bats.  "And I'll call you if I find Tim."

"Jason, wait—"

Jason hangs up, and begs his motorbike to go faster.  Dick's icon rings in the corner of his vision.  Once.  Twice.  Thrice.  Jason ignores it.  He's not going to hear the lecture.  He's going to kill his murderer and get his younger brother home safely.  End of story.

The first warehouse Jason checks is empty, but there's several vehicles pulled up around the second one, so he ditches his motorbike.  There's men patrolling around the edge— those are Mask's, not the Joker's, but it leaves Jason with several minutes of watching before he figures out how to dodge the outer perimeter.

There's a fire escape against the back wall of the warehouse, and Jason decides to risk it in classic Bat fashion.  It's rickety, but it only creaks once, and Jason rolls onto the roof.  He didn't have time to find any of the floor plans, so Jason's stuck hoping that this is one of those warehouses with an open floor.  

There's a vent on the roof, and Jason peels it off inch by inch.  He's got two of the screws undone when he hears a distinctly young scream, and something jumps in Jason's chest.  That's— that's definitely Tim.  Oh god, that's Tim.  

Jason abandons the vent for the upper row of windows.  There's no one on the roof, so he thinks it's worth trying to cut through one of the windows instead of just smashing in.  God, Jason hopes it's worth it, but he thinks his stealth will save Tim's life.  If it weren't for that, he'd be happy to go in blind.

As with everything in Gotham, the windows are cheap, and Jason's glass cutter slices right through, even with Jason using his grapple to hang off the roof.  He waits until there's another burst of screaming from inside to knock the glass inwards.  It doesn't shatter, thank fucking god, and Jason briefly considers hauling it with him to throw at the Joker.  Several thousand glass wounds would certainly be the kind of payback that bitch deserves.

But Tim.  Tim's screaming, and there's guards along the upper edges of the catwalk.  Jason takes out the first two closest to him before he's noticed, and he's only got thirty seconds, so he peers over the edge of the catwalk and— there.

Jason's gun is in his hand and he fires before the action is conscious.  He'd had a secondary plan; things to yell, a cutting speech about how the Joker's greatest nightmare had come back to haunt him, but— but none of that matters, not really.

The Joker goes down, and Jason gets shots into the two men standing next to Robin before he's forced to dodge.  For a Bat, this would be a deadly fight; they'd have to both incapacitate the opponents on the catwalk and prevent damage to Robin below.

But Jason's not trying to fight non-lethally.  He tries to spare henchmen, usually, and he'd spared the outer perimeter.  But when it's his baby bird's life on the line, Jason doesn't take chances.  Not when he knows whoever's down on the floor there is handpicked to be sadistic enough to murder Robin for fun.  

He takes down the guards up top with only a few broken bones or so.  They're still alive, luckily for them, and he didn't even break anything particularly miserable.  But the men below are dead, and it's not hard for Jason to take one shot, and then another, and then—

He leaps onto the floor below to catch the stragglers attempting to find cover, and then steps over a bloodstained body towards the only important thing in the room.

"Hood?" Tim's voice is wheezy.  The Joker had chained him to a table and ripped open parts of his suit in thin, surgical lines.  There's a smashed glass injector next to his arm, with some sort of vile green liquid dripping off the table.  It's a totally different scene from Jason's own jaunt in the warehouse, and yet—

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The Robin uniform that remains is covered in smears of blood.  There's already bruises covering Tim's face and throat.  A crowbar lies on the ground next to— There's a body.  Green hair, bloodstained purple suit.  A crooked smile that's taunting even in death.  

And a shot right through the head.

Jason's murderer is dead, and Jason can't breathe.

"Hood!"

Jason's hands are shaking.  He forces himself to look at Robin.  He's alive.  Tim's still alive.  Jason got here in time.

"Hey, baby bird.  Let's get you home, yeah?" Jason's voice has been shaking all night, if Jason's being honest.  He can't look at the Joker, but he swipes his pockets until he finds the keys to the manacles clamping Tim to the table.  

"Hood, you—" Robin's white lens flick between him and the Joker.  "You came.  You killed him.  You—"

Jason deliberately blocks Robin's view of one particular body, but there's a number of others scattered around the floor.  "Yeah.  He's dead." Jason clicks off the feet manacles first, just so he can give himself a second to breathe.  Robin's injured, sure, but that's never stopped any of them, and Jason had just broken their biggest rule.

"The Joker said you'd come," Tim's eyes are glossy.  "He'd— he said he wanted to invite his admirer here." His— his— his— "He could show you how to properly catch a Robin."

Jason takes three tries to unlock the manacle on Tim's left hand, and another two on Tim's right.  "No, I'm not—" Jason picks Tim up, and he doesn't protest.  The bile in Jason's throat rises higher.  "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I'm here to rescue you."

"My Robin," Tim's voice is thready.  Jason might actually vomit.  

"Right, let's just—" They step past multiple bodies to get to the door, but Jason can't find it in himself to care.  They'd all been complicit in torturing a teenager. "It's okay, Robin.  Everything's okay."

Tim's breath hitches, and he rests his head on Jason's armor.  "He's dead.  The Joker's dead."

"He is."  

Sneaking past the outer guard is easier this time, mostly because half of them had clearly heard shots and ran in the opposite direction.  Or something.  Jason doesn't really care why they're missing.  His bike's only a few blocks away, and Tim's ramblings are coherent but still worrying.

"I just—" Tim hiccups.  "Robin's mine, Hood.  I don't care that I'm in danger.  It's my choice.  I want to help people.  I want to help people like you do."

That's— a whole can of worms.  Jason can't deal with that right now.  He can't.  He doesn't help people.  He murders people.  The Joker's dead.  Dick can't walk yet.  He saved Tim.  There's an explosive in Jason's pocket and he'll come back to blow up the whole warehouse.

It's okay.  It's going to be okay.  Tim's safe, and—

Batman and Batgirl are standing in front of his motorbike.