Archive of Our Own

Gotham was still the shithole it had always been. Perhaps even darker—sharper around the edges. The city was perpetually smoggy with a casted haze of green, evil lurking in every shadow. 

Of course, beauty was in the eye of the beholder and all that. Jason had returned to Gotham with a changed perspective. 

Robin wasn’t magic. 

Batman wasn’t the hero he claimed to be. 

Crime Alley was the hellhole of Gotham. Jason remembered what it was like growing up on these streets and nothing had changed for all those who were unfortunate enough to live there now. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. Not until he forced it with his own two hands. 

Jason didn’t take over Crime Alley for some petty revenge plot against Batman—no, it was far beyond that. He would run Park Row, build a new community in bullets and blood, or die trying. Red Hood invaded the territory easily and completely. In three months, he owned Park Row and the entirety of the district from the Bowery to the East End. 

Hood became the resident crime lord and his rules became law. It didn’t take long to get the message out: Red Hood didn’t tolerate selling to children—or, for that matter, one wrong look at a kid. Those who hadn’t understood the message the first time were dead. Hood didn’t give out second chances. And his way was working, the effects were almost immediate. Park Row was by no means an upstanding community, but the number of dead kids was at an all time low.

Did it matter how many dead criminals it took to get there?

Batman did not condone his methods, but they had come to something of a standstill. Batman couldn’t easily stop him; Jason knew too much and kept himself three steps ahead. He knew Batman’s contacts, his reconnaissance protocols, and Wayne technology. So, if Batman wanted him gone, he’d have to come physically stop him. Which he hadn’t. Jason made sure to never find himself in the same area. Not since their confrontation. 

Jason had given him the opportunity to prove himself. Show he could change. Show Jason he wasn’t irredeemably stuck in his flawed moral superiority. 

He was.

Over time, a certain unspoken understanding came to fruition between them. The Bats steered clear of Hood’s territory and he didn’t expand past the Bowery. It was better for them all that they stayed out of each other’s way. 

Things changed when Damian became Robin. Seems they’d missed each other more than Jason had cared to admit. Damian didn’t follow the unspoken rules, Robin came and went as he pleased. They were infrequent and mostly irrelevant visits: Damian seeking him out to sulk. They’d commiserate to some degree, Jason would make him some soup and the kid would be on his way. 

Unfortunately, allowing one exception cracked the door open for others. Soon Damian began bringing messages along with him from Dick. He never responded. Jason would even occasionally provide intel for Damian’s cases. Then, once, because he was ridiculously stupid, he extended some information to Tim on a case he and Damian were working together. 

Suddenly, when Bat business intersected with the Bowery, Red Robin and Robin would show up on his turf. A tedious relationship was struck where they agreed to notify Hood of their activities in exchange for limited privileges to investigate in his territory. Of course, letting the baby birds into the Bowery led to some situations involving the rest of the lot. He should have cut off the contact there. But it was incredibly hard to define strict boundaries when he refused to speak with most of the Bats themselves.

“Entering the Bowery from the South side, Hood.” 

Jason grumbled at the static from the comm. They didn’t even ask for permission anymore. He changed directions, abandoning the rest of his patrol route for now. It wasn’t hard to intercept Red Robin. He seemed to be waiting for him on a rooftop just inside the boundary of his territory. 

He touched down with a harsh thud, not trying to conceal himself. Jason wasn’t much in the mood for Bat shenanigans tonight. He opened the mask of his helmet with a hiss, fishing cigarettes out of his pocket. 

“Whaddya want, Red?” he huffed, flicking open his lighter. 

Red Robin didn’t answer. He was leaning over the side of the building, diligently watching the horizon behind them. 

Jason didn’t care much for being ignored. Then again, he was tired and in need of a smoke. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit up, muttering, “Don’t you think you Bats have gotten a bit too comfortable around here?”

They stood around in silence, Jason enjoying his cigarette, and Tim—well, whatever he was doing. Jason kept his comms open, it occurring to him that this could be some odd means of distraction. Or was something wrong with the little bird? Jason frowned at him, but that was when he finally caught sight of movement on the horizon: A fluid blur of black a few hundred yards away. 

Some things didn’t change. The streak of blue: Two flips, followed by a twist out before landing soft like a cat. How many times had Jason practiced the same move, desperate to measure up? But no one comes close to Nightwing. 

Tim stiffened, suddenly turning around. 

Jason raised his brow, but kept his focus on Dick. Nightwing was not allowed on his territory without an express invitation, a fact he had to make clear with regular warning shots. His hand drifted down to his gun holster. He wasn’t really in the mood, but if Dick got any closer he’d have to get in some target practice. 

“If he’s here for you, you better go meet him elsewhere, Red.”

“I have no business with him.”

He frowned. “Do ya got any business with me?”

Tim crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “You let Robin loiter.” 

It sounded nearly like a pout. 

Jason dropped his cigarette stub, giving it a quick stomp, to take a better look at him. Stepping closer, he cocked his head. What did this have to do with Damian? Or, no. He glanced back to the horizon, finding a familiar figure perched and waiting a good hundred feet back. This was about Dick, then. 

He clicked his tongue. “Using me to avoid someone?”

Tim pursed his lips, a decided non-answer. 

“Yeah, well, you can’t stay. I got shit to do.”

Frowning, Tim offered, “Don’t you usually have two of those?” He glanced down to the cigarette smashed into the ground. 

“Hm." Someone had been paying attention to his smoke breaks. "You got till I’m finished.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it that far. 

“Was there a meeting I was unaware of?” 

“Ugh, get lost, Robin,” Tim groaned, his head falling back. 

Damian shot a glare in his direction, making his way toward Jason. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, an indignant tone to his voice. “You called Red Robin, but not me?” 

Jason rolled his eyes. “I didn’t call anyone.”

“Did Nightwing send you?” Tim snapped.

Damian whipped around, the boys turning on each other. “So, what if he did? Since when does the Alley concern you and not me?”

“Not everything is about you!”

With a groan, Jason stomped out his second cigarette of the night. Grabbing both boys by the collar, he wrenched them apart before they could get their hands on each other. Unfortunately, it did not stop the bickering from devolving into yelling. 

Jason bashed their heads together. Kinda not that hard. 

Both boys yelped, scrambling back. 

“Knock it off. I’m not your mother.” He rolled his shoulders, looking at Damian. “We weren’t discussing anything you didn’t already know. The recon you wanna do for your Bane case, I was telling him where we’re meeting.”

Damian huffed, crossing his arms petulantly. 

“And tell your babysitter to fuck off.” Jason slung his thumb backward, jabbing it in Dick’s direction—where he still lingered, pacing. “He’s got 10 seconds before I start shooting.”

Damian signaled the all clear to Dick and conveyed Jason’s message. Jason let Damian update him on his last conversation with Talia and Alfred the cat’s vet appointment. Then he ushered them off into the night.

“Some of us actually have work to do. Don’t be late for Bane.”

… 

“Come on, come on, please!” he begged, drawing out his words. Jason tried not to bounce. He was pretty sure Dick was rolling his eyes. 

“Look, it’s a little advanced for you, okay?” He didn’t even bother to turn around. 

Jason sulked, crossing his arms. “You don’t know that. I’ve been practicing!”

He really had. Even Bruce said he was improving at an impressive rate. The praise had made his chest swell with pride and his cheeks heat in embarrassment.

Dick ignored him, his focus remaining staunchly on the alley below. “Aren’t you supposed to be patrolling?”

Now it was Jason’s turn to roll his eyes. “I already finished, I’m just on stand-by.”

“Well, can you stand-by somewhere else? I’m busy here.”

With a grumble, Jason clenched his fists in a poor attempt at keeping his hands from shaking. “You said you would teach me,” he tried again. 

“Yeah, sometime, not right now.”

He was being shooed off. Dismissed. Again. 

Jason’s lips were pressing together in an anger far too close to hurt. Dick was finally around semi-frequently, on somewhat good terms with Bruce, and yet he barely seemed to tolerate Jason. Every good interaction—Dick had laughed in the Batcave weeks ago, promising to teach Jason his signature flip—gave him bright, warm hope. Dick could be so friendly and charismatic when he wanted. But that naivete was quashed when those good moods never seemed to last. At least not when it concerned Jason.

He shot out his grapple line without another word. He knew when Dick was on the verge of snapping at him and tonight, he wasn’t sure he could handle that. 

… 

So, maybe the Bane operation didn’t go quite as smoothly as they hoped. Whatever. Jason had no authority on Bat plans. If they wanted to go in during one of the highest moments of the warehouse’s security, who was he to stop them? He told them it was fucking stupid. 

Either way, Jason was only around to monitor their activities in his territory. He wasn’t supposed to be back up. Nevertheless, when Robin sent out a distress signal, he found himself in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with him and dragging the two baby birds out. 

“Robin!” 

Nightwing had taken about two minutes to show up, wholly disregarding Hood’s fuck-off rule. Jason sat on the roof’s ledge, reloading his guns with the last of the magazines he had on hand. He told himself Dick wasn’t worth wasting the ammo on. Best case scenario he took the baby birds off Jason’s hands. 

Dick practically threw himself at Damian, his hands checking him over from head to toe. “Are you alright?” Not waiting for an answer, he was lifting each of Damian’s arms and circling around to his back. “What happened?”

Damian took the invasive check-up with little reaction. Dick didn’t give him any opportunity to respond, quickly shifting his focus to Tim, repeating the whole process again. He hardly seemed to notice Jason was there at all. 

Tim ignored the mother-henning altogether. He continued his debrief, telling Jason about what they were able to find before shit hit the fan. It wasn’t good news—seemed their night wasn’t quite over just yet. 

“Damn it. The strike’ll happen tonight.”

“Yes.”

They quickly shifted into discussing a new plan. Nightwing had finished his fussing, but he was still oddly quiet. He had taken up the Southernmost side of the building, pacing back and forth, only sending agitated glances their way. Jason ignored him. Whatever his deal was, it wasn’t Jason’s problem.

Tim sighed, “You could do us all a favor and get on with it already.”

Snapping back to the present, Jason frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“He won’t stop until you let him check you over.”

Damian nodded gravely, arms crossed. “Nightwing is inevitable in this regard, it’s better to simply surrender yourself to his compulsions.”

“He’ll just wait till you fall asleep if you don’t, and trust me you don’t want to wake up to find Nightwing patting you down in the middle of the night.”

Jason recoiled. “What the fuck are you on about? He’s not spazzing out for me.” 

Tim and Damian exchange a dubious look. He ignored that too. 

“Focus. We got shit to do.”

… 

“Oh, you’re in so much trouble,” Nightwing hissed, snagging him by the scruff of his uniform to drag him backward. “What were you thinking?”

Thinking? Jason didn’t need to think, not when he saw a pimp beating on a young woman. There was nothing to think about.

He’d finished with his patrol route and been on standby, only an hour or so left before Batman usually insisted he go home for the night. So, Jason went where he always did, to one of the taller buildings overlooking Park Row. 

Of course, he’d been sulking a bit. Nightwing’s dismissal always stung. 

That hadn’t stopped him from hearing a man’s yelling followed by bit off yelps and whimpers down the block. Jason’s body had moved—no thoughts required. He didn’t really remember what he'd said, but Jason knew he’d been yelling. He’d ripped the man off a young girl, giving him a taste of his own medicine. 

Unfortunately, the man wasn’t alone. Four men had jumped out of one of the cars parked on the street, calling out for their boss. Jason could handle five men, he could even handle their guns, but the scum weren’t only after him—they’d decided to shoot at the girl for good measure. Fighting with a civilian at his back, well, he had taken more hits than he was able to properly land. 

“You know you’re not supposed to be in Crime Alley by yourself!” Nightwing snapped, finishing restraining the men with zip ties. “I had to blow my operation to come and save your ass, Robin!” 

Jason felt a bit lightheaded, sticky blood hot on his face. He wiped it off with the back of his glove. Ignoring Nightwing, he stepped around the groaning men on the pavement.

“Are you alright?”

The young woman stared at him with wide eyes, taking his hand where she’d been slumped down against a wall. Standing slowly, she didn’t answer. 

“You aren’t hurt too bad, are ya?” Jason asked, looking her over. Her half-dressed state made it easy to write off anything worse than some deep bruising. “Should probably head home for the night, miss.” He dug around in his utility belt, offering out some cash. “Hopefully, this is enough for your time?”

Tilting her head at him, she only took the money when he pressed it to her hand. 

“I’m sorry, I probably messed with your work.” Jason rubbed at the back of his neck. “Can I walk you home, miss?”

“I–I don’t live far,” she said. Her brows were scrunched together as she looked at him. As if coming to a decision, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his hair, whispering, “Thank you, Robin.”

Jason couldn’t be sure if it was the interference she was thankful for or the money. Violent pimps were a dime a dozen, at most he’d saved her a beating tonight and at worst he’d guaranteed her a beating tomorrow. Hopefully, his allowance was enough for her to turn a profit. 

There was a thud of boots hitting the pavement behind him.

“Robin.”

He hated when Batman’s voice sounded like that. 

… 

So what if Jason doesn’t sleep? He was a busy guy. Running a crime empire wasn’t exactly a 9-5. It had nothing to do with Tim’s stupid warning. Or the fact that there was a black blur lingering on the horizon more often than not these days. 

Nightwing took any opportunity to inch in on his territory. He was constantly hovering over the baby birds since their Bane fuck up. 

Jason remembered the lectures after a mistake like that. 

Bruce was harsh, but that never stung quite as much as Dick’s blatant dismissal when he decided you weren’t cut out for the job. 

But where he expected the passive aggressive quips and bored body language, Dick looked tense and strung up. He gnawed on his fingernails, out of it and almost jumpy. After a few days, he was mostly back to his normal, annoyingly chipper, self. 

Apparently, the baby birds got off easy nowadays.

“And he said the manor wasn’t equipped to care for a cow, like I wouldn’t rectify that promptly!” Damian grumbled. 

Somehow, he had no trouble speaking while Nightwing circled him, eyes scanning over every inch of his body. Nothing had even happened, Damian had mostly just been talking. Robin had dropped in as he was dealing with a small-time gang, helping him take out the last few. There wasn’t a scratch on him. 

Not long after, Nightwing had blown in, demanding a full report. And still he lingered.

“You’re gonna milk her every morning?” Jason asked, still side-eyeing the pacing Nightwing.

“Of course! You think I’m incapable, Hood?”

He chuckled with a half shrug. “How many times did I have to feed your little pets because you slept in after training?”

“I was a child then!” Damian argued, his hands balling up into tiny fists at his sides.

“Aw, my little baby’s all grown up,” Jason teased, ruffling his hair.

Damian clawed at him and he immediately pulled back, Nightwing’s sharp eyes watching. It wasn’t hard to realize he was here to make sure Red Hood didn’t hurt Robin. 

… 

“It was reckless,” Bruce was lecturing, running one hand through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with him. “You were only supposed to be on stand-by tonight. You should’ve waited for backup.”

Dick was definitely rolling his eyes: The one that meant Jason couldn’t do anything right. 

“She might’ve not lasted that long!” Jason burst, throwing his hands up.

Bruce sighed: The one that meant he was considering benching him. Jason’s stomach dropped. 

“Isn’t that what heroes are for? Isn’t this what you trained me for?” he demanded.

Expression softening slightly, he lowered himself to meet Jason. “You can’t take on everything by yourself, even when you want to help.” He stood, newly resolute. “You’re not to go out on your own until further notice.” Bruce turned to Dick. “You’re to keep an eye on him during patrol.”

Dick, who had been noticeably silent, cried out in protest. “What! Why am I being punished?”

Jason’s shoulders tensed, his eyes falling to the floor. 

“He can’t keep up. And I’m not a babysitter, Bruce!”

“This conversation is over.” Bruce sat down, swiveling his chair around to the Batcomputer. 

Dick sputtered, whirling out of the room like a brewing storm.

Dick didn’t like putting on kid gloves and he never reeled himself back to meet Jason’s pace. He’d find any reason to ditch him on patrol and Jason would pretend it didn’t get to him, being left in the dust like that. Jason could keep up or cry about it. Then, the second he could, he would whisk off to Bludhaven without so much as a word. 

…

So, the Bane operation was officially a complete failure. Whatever Tim had been hoping to recover was under four stories of rubble. They were just lucky to not be under there with it. Jason was banged up and so fucking tired. He made a mental note to never let Tim and Damian on his turf again. 

This was a big enough fuck up, the whole family was here. But not even Batman had been able to salvage the mission.

The clean up from this was going to take weeks. Not to mention the casualties from anyone unlucky enough to be close by when the building came down. Put simply, Jason was pissed. And he wanted everyone out—now. 

Why Batman had instead taken this as an opportunity to talk, was unimaginable. Jason could count on one hand how many times they’d spoken since… Since Batman let the Joker live. 

His hand tiredly running over his temple, Batman sighed, “What were they thinking? Robin was only authorized to observe and report back.”

Jason wasn’t planning to wait around long enough to hear how this was his fault. It would get spun that way eventually. There was still half a rooftop between them, he wasn’t stupid enough to let him get any closer. He had to speak up for his voice to carry.

“How many times do I have to tell you Bats that you’re out of your depth? Leave the Bowery to me. I’m tired of you fucking us over.”

Batman didn’t say anything to that. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave either. He just stared at Jason like a statue, his mouth in one pursed line. There was clearly something he wanted to say. Probably another lecture. A couple team-ups didn’t mean he agreed with Jason’s methods. Running the odds in his head, the Bats were at a disadvantage, too many injured members to start a fight with him now. But with the way Batman was staring at him… maybe he was mulling it over. 

Behind him, Orphan loomed in his shadow. She stood stock still, staring at Jason. He had no doubt Orphan would cut him down with one signal from Batman. She looked like she wanted to. 

Batman’s attention finally moved somewhere over Jason’s shoulder and he asked, “Have you reported to Nightwing?”

The fuck? Why would he report to him? 

“You don’t trust me, so what, he’s my babysitter now?” He lifted his gun, giving it a little flick in the air. A reminder. “This is my part of town, I don’t report to your spies.”

Batman’s white lenses widened a fraction. “No, I–” He cleared his throat. “Just, he will need to see you before…”

“You know, before he loses his mind entirely with his borderline obsessive protective streak.” Spoiler walked past, arms raising in the air at Batman’s stern look. “Yeah, yeah, I’m surrendering myself to his fussing now.” 

Sending out a grappling line, she looked curiously at Jason. He couldn’t imagine what she must’ve heard about him. To his confusion, she mouthed, save yourself, before swinging off into the night.

“Well… yes. That.” He turned back to Jason. “Nightwing generally checks over everyone after a scare like tonight. That’s all.”

Jason was torn between laughing and screaming. Nightwing fussed over everyone after a scare? Hah. Maybe the new baby birds, but Dick had never bothered to check up on him before. How many years was he Robin? How many years had it taken for Dick to even talk to him? He certainly never fucking kissed his boo-boos. 

Jason took two staggering steps backward. Bruce had been the one who– He shook his head. Those memories did him no good now. He’d never see that warm smile again.

That life was behind him. Dead and gone.

“We’re done here.”

Batman’s mouth twisted, looking conflicted, but he didn’t argue. With a sweep of his arm, the Bats fell back, retreating to the Cave. 

…

Finishing the final stitch, Bruce wiped the residual blood off with a wet rag. He ruffled Jason’s hair as he sat through it without squirming. 

“There’s a good lad.”

Jason huffed, batting away his hand, but he couldn’t quite stifle his smile. 

Bruce had that warm expression on his face, fond and gentle. It made Jason’s chest bloom with unnamed emotions. Like he was home and safe and protected. It didn’t matter that Batman had scolded him, basically benched him, when the cowl came off, Bruce always cleaned him up. As much as he wanted to stay angry, keeping up his miffed demeanor was too hard.

Standing, Bruce rustled his hair even more roughly, making him laugh. 

“Alright, now hit the showers.” 

Grinning, Jason turned, only just noticing Dick leaning in the doorway watching. His lips were downturned sourly. Suddenly, Jason felt like he’d done something wrong. He covered the gash on his forearm with his hand. Dick probably thought he was childish, not patching up such a simple injury himself. He hadn’t needed Bruce’s help, not really. Dick would’ve done it himself. And he wouldn’t have squirmed or complained like Jason.

Dick left without a word.

… 

Jason was sitting at his kitchen table, devising his monthly hit list. It was going to be a big one. He pursed his lips, setting the photo in the kill pile, humming, then sliding it over to the safe pile. Really, he should just make a ‘heavily maim’ pile. 

Damian popped open the window with a batarang, sliding inside. As usual, they didn’t bother with platitudes. 

“You haven’t given yourself over to Grayson.”

He shrugged. “So what, they sent you to bring me in?”

Damian stood over his shoulder, watching him sort. “Seems I am the only one you’re unlikely to bludgeon.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Give him pictures of the Bats and he knew which pile he’d put them in at the moment. Crossing his arms, Damian stayed silent. Probably pouting. He’d already apologized, in his way, for the Bane incident and Jason had forgiven him, internally, but he was still dealing with the fallout.

“Grayson has become… close to my heart.”

Jason faltered, whipping around to face him. “What?”

Damian pointedly avoided his gaze, suddenly the floor was more interesting.

“As you might be,” he said.

Jason grumbled, “I might be close to your heart? And how many years did that take?” Barely glancing, he started dropping the photos one by one into the kill pile. “Just a few months, and Dick’s your favorite brother?”

The word sat in the air, between them, heavy with implication. A suggestion that Damian had other options—other brothers. Jason hated himself for speaking so carelessly. Hated himself for being so sensitive. Whatever was between them—Damian and him—it was unspoken. It always had been. The only relationships that mattered in the League was that of blood. Status. Damian said mother and grandfather like formalities. In their years together in Nanda Parbat: the training and missions, Talia’s lectures, silly arguments, hiding Damian’s latest animal rescue– They were bonded by the kind of trust and understanding that could only be built steadily over time. But only in the most vulnerable moments, did they ever acknowledge it.

Talia and Damian could not afford to express affections—for anyone. It was a weakness. A love that would curse the person bearing it. Ra’s al Ghul didn’t tolerate weaknesses. The mangy little kitten, probably a lynx cub, that Damian had brought home wrapped in his robes only lasted 2 weeks. Damian had demanded Jason take a vow of silence and look after the kitten when he couldn’t. But it didn’t matter, Ra’s found it soon enough. Damian was ordered to cut its throat with his own blade. 

Damian never called Jason his– anything. 

But Dick was ‘close to his heart.’

With a deep scowl on his face, Damian turned to him.

“You know where we stand with one another. After all our…” Damian paused, starting again: “We…” He shook his head. “I am only here to fulfill the duties of Robin. Not to acquire additional familial bonds. I have plenty.” His eyes flicked back to Jason with an imploring expression. 

He knew the one: Please, don’t make me say it. So Jason didn’t.

“I am here to call in a favor.”

Well, damn it all if Damian didn’t get exactly what he asked for. Jason rubbed his temples with a resigned sigh. 

“Of course, whatever you need, Dami.” 

As he usually did, Damian's eyes widened a bit, turning his head to hide the warming redness high on his cheekbones.

In Arabic ‘dami’ translated roughly to “my blood.” Something of an endearing petname in the language, calling someone an internal organ like ‘my heart’ or ‘my lungs’ was a way to convey that a person was as precious to you as your organs. Of course, it was also an English shortening of his name. Jason could pretend that was all it was. 

He thought it was amusing to see Damian’s embarrassed blush at the name. Jason ruffled Damian’s hair roughly, smiling when he huffed but didn’t pull away. Damian may not be able to show his affections, but that didn’t stop Jason. 

“Can’t let my little baby go without, can I?”

Damian clawed at him, landing a sharp kick to his shin. “I’m not a baby!”

He chuckled. Calling Damian a baby had been a teasing barb at one point. Jason couldn’t quite remember when it crossed into the territory of an endearment. Besides, there was safety in some plausible deniability. 

“I ask that you let Grayson check you over. To quell his anxieties.”

Well, color him jealous. Jason dropped another photo into the kill pile with a frown.

Damian raised a brow, pushing the photo over into the safe pile. “I assure you it is necessary.”

It really wasn't.

Meeting his eyes, Damian said, “I ask you as a favor to me.” He turned, his voice lowering. “As your baby brother?”

Oh, damn it. Jason dropped the rest of the photos, letting them scatter and the piles blend together. 

“Not fair,” he muttered, grabbing Damian by the wrist to yank him into a rough hug. 

…

In the kitchen, Alfred was drying dishes. Jason was staunchly ignoring his fond smile, sitting at the table with a resolute scowl.

“He hates me.”

“Master Richard does not hate you.”

Jason huffed.

“Brothers fight, Master Jason. It’s what they’re for.”

Brothers?

Jason’s eyes widened. Quickly, he turned away to mask whatever expression his face must be making right now. He felt his ears burning red. 

Were they brothers? Did Dick see them that way? 

Jason swallowed. The feeling of bright hope was ballooning in his chest, fueled by the thought of Dick calling him his brother one day. 

… 

It’d been a long night, or at least it felt like it. In reality, the night had been like any other: a simple patrol, a few bad guys, gathering some intel. Nothing crazy. But his body had been slowing, deteriorating under the weight of his mind. 

Swinging through the alley, Dick hit the fire escape more than he actually landed on it. He would scoff at his own carelessness, but at the moment he seriously just wanted to get inside his apartment and fall into his bed. Would he sleep in his suit tonight? It was looking likely. 

Stumbling down the fire escape, Dick threw open his window, pushing his weight until he was falling through. Slumping on the floor, back against the wall, Dick’s eyes were already shut. Blindly reaching behind him, he fumbled with closing the window. He really shouldn’t be so obvious, letting any passerby see where Nightwing clearly lived, but his energy for vigilante professionalism was at an all time low. 

“Someone’s losing their touch.”

Jolting, Dick slammed the back of his head against the wall. In the dark, there was a figure lounging on his couch. And that’s what he got for being so careless. Or… wait. He knew that modulated tone. Dick sprang to his feet. Rounding the couch, he instantly recognized the glint of the red helmet.

“Holy shit. Jason?” 

“This place is a disaster.” Jason tsked. “Seriously, how do you live in this mess?”

Dick grinned, a weak laugh leaving him. “Well, we can’t all–” He startled, his mind finally catching up to the situation at hand. “Wait, why are you– Are you hurt? What happened?” Dick jerked forward, a million worse case scenarios running through his brain.  

“I know you’re probably busy.”

While he was away—being stupid—Jason had been here bleeding out on his couch or worse. 

Jason held up a stern hand, freezing Dick in his tracks. 

“I’m fine,” he said. Jason kept the hand up until Dick took an amenable step back, then he crossed his arms, offering nothing else.

“I, uh– Do you need something?” Dick asked. “Are you alright?” he couldn’t help but add. 

Please let him be alright. 

Jason sighed, turning his head. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” He rolled his shoulders, slipping off his jacket. “You need to like pat me down, or what?”

Dick blinked. “What? What’re–”

With a click and a hiss, Jason’s helmet cracked open, easily sliding off with a practiced gesture. For the first time, he wasn’t wearing a domino mask underneath. 

Dick stalled, all his thoughts simultaneously vanishing. 

The pale skin of a Gotham native. Dark black hair. Thick set brows, with an arch at the tail, like bat wings. Narrowed, piercing eyes. A strong nose with a bump at the bridge. Sharp, square set jaw. Straight, thin lips. 

“You… you look just like Bruce,” he uttered. 

After he said it out loud, Dick couldn’t help but marvel at the truth of it. Jason looked nearly identical to a younger Bruce– Bruce when Dick had first met him. It was uncanny. With the exceptions of the tuft of white bangs in the front of his hair and the shocking jade green color of his eyes. 

Green? No, Jason’s eyes had been blue, hadn’t they?

Jason scowled—looking even more like their father—holding the helmet at his side. “Shut up,” he snapped. Crossing the room, he slid open the window. Jason held up a box of cigarettes. “You get until I’m done to inspect or whatever.”

He was big like Bruce, too. At least 6’2’’ — was he taller than Bruce? His shoulders were broad, built like a boxer. A brick fucking shithouse. For a moment Dick thought he wouldn’t even be able to fit through the window, but Jason slid through with the grace of… well, a trained assassin. Which he was. 

Dick scrambled after him. 

The landing of the fire escape was cramped, but the fresh air seemed to relax part of Jason’s stiffness. Dropping his cigarette box and lighter on the railing, he rolled up his shirt and pulled it up over his head, revealing numerous wounds in various stages of healing. Dick’s eyes were cataloging each and every one, leg bouncing trying to keep himself in place. 

Jason had yet to turn his back to him. It was clear he was not happy to be here at all. But, for some reason, he was. Dick needed to get a hold of himself and take advantage of what he was being offered!

Jason lit up, watching Dick sharply. “Well? I don’t have all night.”

“Can– can I touch?”

His expression hardened. “No.”

Looking would have to be enough. Drawn to it, his eyes fixation on the large ‘Y’ scar on Jason’s chest. It was clearly old and long since healed. He should be focusing on what lay under the haphazard bandaging, but… 

“That’s–” Dick swallowed. “It’s an autopsy scar?”

“Yep.” Jason tilted his head, clearly inspecting Dick as much as Dick was inspecting him. “Luckily, I was still dead during that part.” He took a drag of his cigarette. “Who did it?”

As much as he disapproved, Dick wasn’t stupid enough to voice any qualms he had with his little brother smoking his way to lung cancer. Yet. 

“What?”

“The autopsy.”

Dick shook his head. “Uh, I don’t know. I don’t think Bruce did it.”

“Hm.”

“How– Did the Larzar–”

“The Pit healed my injuries, knit me back together. Only the worst of them left scars. I won’t say more than that.”

With that, Dick rescanned Jason’s skin. “All your Robin scars are gone.”

He scoffed. “Everything from before is gone.”

Before his encounter with the Joker he meant. That didn’t sit right in Dick’s chest. Not to mention that meant all these scars were accumulated within the last 4 years. It was an alarming number. 

“What about your eyes?”

Jason cut him a side long glance, silent for a moment.

“The pit,” he answered.

“And your hair?”

Jason gave his bangs a light tug. “Yeah, pit I guess.”

The texture of the white hair was different from the rest, it no longer fell into the heart-shaped twin curls like they did before. Dick’s lips pursed. 

Lightly, he motioned for Jason to show him his arm. Dick pointed to the large scar on his bicep. “This?”

“League training.”

Quickly, Dick recognized the ones he should be avoiding. He wasn’t sure what he could handle hearing right now. Instead, he motioned to the inch square bandage over his shoulder. Jason wordlessly ripped it off.

Dick inspected the wound closely. “Bullet?”

“Yeah. Black Mask.”

“You get it out?”

“Obviously.”

“This one?” Dick pointed to a jagged scar further down. 

“Joker.” There was a long silence, Jason watching him intently. “Crowbar,” he added.

Dick swallowed, immediately moving on. Pointing to another, a clean slash across the left of his chest.

“League. Mission.”

He pointed to a collection of scars and small round marks down his abdomen. 

“Joker. Bomb.”

Dick stared at those ones for a long time. Most likely from pieces of shrapnel and collapsed rubble. Bruce had dug him out from the demolished building. his body broken and bleeding with wounds that couldn’t be healed from. 

“Can I see your back?”

Jason glowered. 

Of course not. Dick tried not to take it to heart—but failed.

His eyes caught on a deep scar, not yet white with age, across his throat.

“That one?”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, hesitant. “Batarang,” he said. “Batman.”

Dick blinked. “What? He– he threw it… at your neck? What– Why?”

“To save the Joker,” he said, lips twisting into a grimace.

Bruce had hurt Jason? His son? The same Jason who got anything he wanted out of Bruce with a single please? The same kid who had softened him, who made him laugh? He had never laid a finger on Jason. His son.

“How could he?” he uttered, the thought slipping past his lips. 

Instantly, Dick knew he should’ve held his tongue. 

Jason’s sharp eyes gleamed with fury.

“I thought you of all people would understand. You used to stand up to him.” He shook his head in disgust. “But now you’re back to being his fucking lapdog. Why? You can’t tell me he’s actually changed.”

“I– He– For Tim,” Dick stuttered. “I had to swallow my pride.”

Jason nodded, “Ah, for the Replacement. But not for me.”

“For you! So what happened to you would never happen again.”

Jason straightened, his voice cold. “Never happen again? Hah. You think Joker hasn’t killed any more children? What, Tim is the only one that matters?”

“No!”

“You’re just like him. A hypocrite.”

Jason was comparing him to Bruce? Dick lost all reason.

“And when you hurt Tim?? What does that make you!” he roared. “You pretend you care about children and yet you tried to fucking murder him!”

His rage echoed through the empty alley. 

Jason regarded him coolly. “There you are, ole brother of mine. Angry as ever.”

Dick growled, viciously shaking his head. His calm and level demeanor made Dick all the more furious. 

The words burst from him: “You pretend you have a code, but the only thing you care about is going against Bruce! How long are you going to keep up this ridiculous teenage rebellion? You’re a crime lord! A fucking murderer!”

“You think I'm proud of what I'm doing? That this is the person I wanted to become? Of course not!” Jason challenged. “The choices I make are bitter. Hard to swallow. But they're necessary. For the kids in Crime Alley, for the women. For the innocents. I do what needs done.”

He was feeding him a clearly practiced speech. 

“Who decides that?” Dick demanded. “You can’t be judge, jury, and executioner!”

“I can. Kids in Park Row are untouchable now. And if I have to kill every single deadbeat criminal with my own two hands to keep it that way, I will.”

“Who are you? My little brother would never–”

“Who’s little now?” Jason set his shoulders, lording his full height over Dick—looking so much like Bruce. “Don’t pretend you knew anything about me. You still don’t.”

“I’m trying to help you!” 

“You’re trying to soothe your own fucking conscious!” Jason leaned in too close. “Does what I’ve become make you feel guilty? Do you feel responsible? Good. You made a monster, at least look it in the fucking eyes.”

Dick couldn’t breathe, off-balance and his hands shaking in anger. He had forgotten what it was like to be this angry. How it felt to scream and yell. What happened when the rage deep in his stomach rose up and rushed out of him in biting words. 

He wasn’t supposed to be that person anymore.”

“We’re done here.” Jason’s helmet was back on and he was gone in the next moment.

…

Jason bound off with a burst of energy, his laugh echoing down the hall. Bruce watched him with a fond smile, capping the marker and tossing it onto the table.

Dick snagged a bag of chips from the kitchen counter, leaning back against it. With a frown, he inspected the marks on the wall. There were plenty labeled with his name and respective age, plus Bruce’s as a child. 

“Isn’t he kinda… small?”

“He’s young,” Bruce answered, his attention still diverted with a fond smile. “I didn’t get my growth spurt until I was 15.”

He leveled him with an unimpressed look, tapping the wall and pointing to his own marks. “He’s barely reached my height when I was 10.”

Bruce finally met his eyes, a grim expression replacing his smile. He looked at the different marks like he’d analyzed them a hundred times before. “Yes. It’s likely his growth was… stunted. There’s evidence of long-term malnutrition in his labs. He’s only recently started to develop.”

Dick raised a brow. “So, he’s just always gonna be tiny? I mean, seriously, he’s like 60 pounds soaking wet.”

With a single look, Bruce silenced him. Sounds of Jason returning drifted down the hall. 

“Okay, okay! Suit off, I’m ready!”

Bruce’s soft smile returned. Dick stuffed his mouth with chips, trying to shove down the clawing jealousy in his stomach. They’d only just made-up from their argument last night, meaning they’d just ignored each other all day in begrudging silence. 

“Alright, up against the wall, Jaylad.”

“And keep your heels on the ground,” Dick murmured.

Jason cut a glare his way, before his eyes widened. “Hey, those are mine!” he yelled, running over and swiping at the chips. 

Dick easily held them out of his reach, Jason barely came up to his chest. He was a stubborn kid though, trying to climb up his body and yelling that Dick always ate all his snacks. 

Bruce barked at them to break it up, shaking his head in resignation.

Holding Jason back by the head, Dick dumped the rest of the chips into his mouth—about half of them falling to the floor. 

Jason shrieked. “What is wrong with you?”

Smug, Dick smiled. “Oh, come on, Little Wing, I was hungry.” Dramatically, he flopped down, plastering himself over Jason’s back. “Sharing is caring.”

Jason struggled under his weight. 

“Get off!”

Hm, he glanced back at the marks on the wall. It looked like Dick would always be the bigger brother. That wasn’t so bad.

…

This must be what it was like to slowly lose your mind. Dick couldn’t sleep—Angry. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Bruce. His nerves were completely frayed. Every time his phone went off, every time his comm came to life, his heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t breathe. 

This would be the time. This would be the call. 

He wouldn’t get there on time. He would be too late.

How many times did he have to reassure himself everyone was fine? He’d been sticking to Tim and Damian like glue. There was hardly more than a scratch on either of them. He’d made sure of it. Still, his body was thrumming with nervous energy. 

It’d been a week since the Bane building had come crashing down—just like the explosion—nearly with his whole family inside—with Robin inside. It’d been four days since anyone had heard from Red Hood–Ro–Little Wing. 

Jason. 

Damian said as much. Apparently, even his messages were left unanswered. Straight to voicemail. Just like– 

“Hey, Dick, uh, I might be in some trouble…”

No, no, no. Dick let out a deep breath. The sleepless nights were getting to him. His anxieties which were usually kept ever so neat and quiet were unraveling, eating him from the inside out. After all these years, he thought he had a handle on his grief—on his guilt. But Red Hood–Robin–Jay–Jason, it’d all come rushing back with his return. 

There was a number of things Dick could never forgive himself for–

“I know you’re busy, but, uh, you said to call if I ever needed something.”

But this was his greatest regret. 

“Bruce is gonna be really mad. But I have to do this. I–I just… uh, just call me back, okay?”

Two missed phone calls. One voicemail. That was all that he had left of his little brother when he got back. He’d missed it all. He’d been too late. Dick had been chomping at the bit for his own team, his own missions. To get out of Gotham! He’d been so angry. So angry at Bruce. So bitter with Jason. 

Dick had come home to find it… empty. The Manor was quiet. Clean. 

No shoes kicked off in the hallway. No homework spread out on the table. No laughter. God, Jason was so good at making Bruce laugh. There was no more laughing. The books were all put neatly away in the library. Dick didn’t even know which one Jason had been reading last. Or ever. He was left with the realization that he didn’t know much of anything at all. And now he never would. 

“I know you’re busy.” He wasn’t really. “You said to call if I ever needed something.” He hadn’t expected him to ever call. “Bruce is gonna be really mad.” He was so jealous of Jason, of his bond with Bruce. “But I have to do this.” Why–why did he drive him away? He pushed him so far, right into the waiting hands of evil. 

Dick had seen the autopsy report. The recovered footage. Only once, but it’d been more than enough, clips of it played behind his eyelids at night. He hadn’t been there. Not when it really counted, in fact, not at all. But he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Not with Tim. Not with Damian. He was trying! 

It was so hard. And he was still so angry. But he was trying. 

Dick just needed to know– to make sure that– What if? 

“I have to do this.”

He just needed to check one more time. 

Stumbling down the hallway, it was the wee hours of the morning, everyone trying to get in a bit of sleep. First, he stopped by Damian’s room, silently—from endless practice—cracking open the door. He watched Damian’s slow breathing, the blanket over him gently rising and falling. Satisfied, he moved on to Tim’s room next. 

Gently, he turned the handle, pushing the door open without a sound. Tim’s knowing eyes greeted him from his computer desk.

Dick felt caught. 

He swallowed. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” Tim said impassively.

Dick turned away in annoyance. They hadn’t been talking much lately and when they did Tim always had that blank look on his face. Dick knew he was being avoided—if only he knew how to fix that. 

“You okay?” he tried.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

Fine. Like always. 

Dick nodded. “Okay. If you ever need anything…”

Tim watched him for a moment, then opened one of his drawers, holding out a piece of paper wordlessly. 

Immediately, Dick stepped forward. What was this? Did Tim need help on a case? Tim never asked him for help! The paper had an address scrawled on it.

“What’s this?”

“Hood’s headquarters.”

Dick’s eyes widened, his hand instinctively clutching the paper tighter. “H–how did y–”

“Took a couple months.” Tim shrugged. “He covers his tracks well.”

“Why are you giving me this?”

Tim brow raised pointedly. “So you can sleep.”

…

Dick saw the missed calls. He knew Jason had left him a voicemail. He’d get around to it, but he had only just returned to Earth. He wanted to get back to his apartment. Back to his bed. He’d deal with everything after he got some sleep. 

But talking to Jason meant talking to Bruce—or should he say yelling? 

A few days went by, handling Bludhaven business and the like. Passively, he planned to swing by the Manor. He needed to pick up a few things, drop off one of his suits for repairs. He knew he had missed one of Bruce’s calls. But it was Alfred’s message, imploring him to come home that got his attention. 

Walking into the Batcave—Bruce was hunkered down over his desk like he hadn’t left for days. It was a mess, evidence of some case all strewn about. Robin’s uniform was sitting on a table, pretty badly damaged. Clearly, Bruce was in a bad mood. The little punk had probably gotten himself into trouble again.

Dick whistled. “Jeez, this place just falls apart without me, doesn’t it?”

Bruce didn’t turn. Didn’t answer him. Didn’t seem to notice his presence at all. 

“Master Dick.” Alfred called to him softly, prompting him to sit. 

He frowned, looking around the Cave. Something was wrong. 

Alfred spoke slowly in a gentle, hushed tone. 

The information seemed to phase right through him, like it hadn’t actually been spoken aloud. He sprang to his feet, standing, but his whole body froze. His eyes flicked over to Bruce, who had still yet to say anything. Who wouldn’t even look at him, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. 

Dick didn’t remember being told, or what words were used. Instead, it was like everything simply clicked into place and he just knew. 

Jason was dead. 

No. No, he couldn’t–

Dick walked off in a daze. His body was suddenly made of fog, his limbs immaterial. It wasn’t until he’d locked himself in his room, back against the door, that he realized what he was doing. Dick’s shaky hands unlocked his phone, scrolling wildly to find what he was looking for. 

Hitting play, Jason’s voice—

“Hey, Dick, uh, I might be in some trouble…”

—he sounded so, so… alive. Real. How– how could he be…

How could Dick not know? He had been back on Earth for days. Jason had been– for weeks! He’d missed his calls. He hadn’t been here. He’d missed the funeral. All of it. Dick had returned home to find it warped in the dreamy way of a nightmare—something so horrifying it couldn’t be real.

Jason– Jason was real. 

And now he was not? Where did he go?

Dick couldn’t breathe. A deep pit inside of him seemed to swallow everything. Stealing the air from his lungs and leaving him cavernously empty. 

Not angry or sad. Just nothing. Hollowed out. 

Empty. 

What was happening?

“I have to do this.”

What did this mean? Jay– Jason was..?

“I–I just… uh, just call me back, okay?”

Oh. They would never talk again.

Oh. 

…

Fuck the Bats. See if Jason ever tried to fucking help them again. They came in, destroyed a building, pissed off Bane, and left Jason to clean up their mess. His gang was spread thin. He had a million fires to put out.

Jason could only protect the Bowery when he maintained complete control over the crime. Every time his control slipped, innocents paid the price. 

“Hood, sir. The Maronis are well connected and willing to offer double their original offer for access into your territory.”

Jason’s lip curled just listening to this slimy little fucker. He turned in his chair, speaking slowly, “If they want to sell their shit here again, they play by my rules. Just like everyone else.”

He fidgeted with his hands, a slick smile pulling over his face. “Come now, Hood. We wouldn’t want things to get nasty now, would we? You’ve already got Bane on your doorstep. Let’s make a deal.”

Cocking his head, Jason leaned into his hand. He’d shed his helmet, wearing his half-mask instead—it was better for company. “Is that a threat?”

His smile widened. “Just business.”

Jason stood. “Funny, that’s what I say when I cut off heads.”

The man swallowed, his smile fading and eyes flickering around between him and his men. 

Unsheathing a knife from his thigh holster, he flipped it absentmindedly in the air. “The question is, do I kill you now or send you home squealing to make sure my message gets across?”

“Hold on now.” The man took a half step back. “I don’t think you want to be on Maroni’s bad side.”

In two seconds, Jason was on top of him, dragging him nose-to-nose by his collar. “If he wants to make a single dime in the Bowery, he’ll swear by my rules. Till then, I’ll fill any Maroni I find on my territory with bullets,” he whispered. Dropping the man, Jason stepped back, throwing up his hands. “Lucky for you, we have company. Escort him to the border.”

Immediately, two men had him snagged by each arm, dragging him from the room.

Everyone really was fucking incompetent, weren’t they? Jason ran a tired hand through his hair, walking back to his chair. Really, how hard was it to keep people out of his office? Jason grumbled, putting his hands down on the desk just hard enough to get his lieutenants’ attention. 

“Everyone out.”

The men frowned, but did as he said, quickly gathering their things and taking their chance to go home for the night. It’d been a long couple days. 

Jason was ever vigilant, and increasingly paranoid. No one came in or left Crime Alley without him knowing about it. He had monitors set up all along the border, his men patrolling, street informants, etc. Of course this building was decked in covert security systems. Jason didn’t need to deter people from coming on in, he’d rigged every inch of the place to his advantage. 

Jason slung himself back into his chair, with a sigh. “Come to apprehend your favorite crime lord?”

Nightwing dropped down from the ceiling, landing–well, actually his landing was a bit off-kilter. That was interesting. 

Jason tilted his head to the side. “Golden boy, you’re breaking the rules. Didn’t you see my ‘no dickheads allowed’ sign on the door?”

“Where have you been?” Dick snapped, stalking closer. 

“Excuse me?”

“No one’s seen or heard from you in days.” He sounded angry. Chiding even.

Jason growled. “Since when do I report to the Bats?”

Dick was at his desk now, leaning over it. “Don’t play dumb with me! Get up.” Before he could think to draw a gun, Dick was yanking at his chair, twisting it around. “Where is it? Is it bad?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, dickhead?” Jason shoved him back. 

“I’m serious! Show me!”

He looked like a madman. His movements were more like bodily jolts, jerky and reflexive. Dick’s subpar performance was the only thing keeping him from drawing his knife. His voice was raw and cracked in the air, desperate and wild. Was he on something?

“Are you out of your mind?” Jason smacked his hand away. “Show you what?”

“The wound you’re hiding. Let me see it!”

Jason stepped back with a dark laugh, speaking slowly, “That’s what this is? Hah. No, you don’t get to pretend to care. Not with me. I know you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Dick blinked. “Ah, Little Wing, please–”

“That bullshit you pull for the baby birds, what a show! I mean, who would ever guess you were such a dirtbag older brother back in the day?”

He winced.

Jason's shoulder's relaxed, his tone lilting and casual. “So what? Were they just better than me? More precious to you? Or was I some cautionary tale on how you ought to care for your brothers?”

“No! No, of course not!” Dick shook his head, frantically. “You have no idea how much you mattered to me, I–”

“Did I matter? Or did my death matter?” he snapped.

Dick gaped. This wasn’t going right. He wasn’t explaining himself properly. “I–I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.

“Don’t touch me!” Jason smacked him away. It was the first time his voice lost its composure. In a single breath, the calculated monotone returned: “Whatever you want from me, I’m not interested. Maybe you’re the doting older brother now, but you were never that for me. You don’t get to do that now.”

“But I can!” Dick cried. “I can be that for you now, I can! I’m better now, I know how. I could– I could help. Please, I know it’s too late, but you’re still my little brother–”

“No. I’m not. I don’t think I ever was.” 

Dick’s shoulders shuddered with a hitched breath. He lurched forward, but instead of hitting solid ground his weight sank into the floor, the tile giving way. The tile dropped down and spiked steel snapped tight around his ankle. Dick cried out in shock.

Jason was at the door now, just barely looking over his shoulder.

“Don’t come back here. Next time, I’ll have you shot on sight.”

… 

“What was that? Are you insane!”

Tim flinched back. He’d never heard Nightwing scream like that. 

“You almost killed him!”

On the edge of the rooftop, Batman overlooked the city with his back to Nightwing. He showed no reaction to the outburst. 

“I’m not your fucking babysitter, B! Get your shit together!”

Tim hadn’t been out for a couple weeks, Batman and Robin had been away. He’d heard talk of their return a few days ago and excitedly planned to hideout with his camera to catch a glimpse of the Boy Wonder. Tonight was the first time he’d managed to find the vigilantes—though he’d yet to see Robin. 

“Are you listening to me?” Nightwing stomped across the roof, shoving at Batman’s shoulder, forcing him to turn. 

The pair stared at one other. Nightwing said something too quiet for Tim to catch from his hiding spot, then there was a much lower rumble:

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? Don’t give me that bullshit,” Nightwing seethed. “It matters! You can’t act like this!” 

“What am I supposed to do?” Batman roared. 

If Tim had flinched at Nightwing, Batman’s yell made him shiver, hunkering further down behind the brick wall. He covered his mouth with his hands, frozen to the spot.

“Hold it together! You can’t just take out your anger on the city!” Nightwing jabbed his finger against Batman’s chest. “You’re being careless. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

There was a long silence, only the sound of the Gotham wind blowing through Batman’s dark cape. 

Nightwing scowled, taking a half-step back. “Where he is– It’s not where you’re going. After what you’ve done, you won’t ever see him again.”

Batman’s head lowered to the ground. “I know.”

After that, Tim tried even harder, scouring the city for the red, yellow, and green. The faerie laugh. A wide toothy grin. He refused to believe it. Tim was out all hours of the night for weeks. And so was Batman. A wild, hungrier version of the hero he knew. 

Tim never saw Robin again.

…

“Hood! Red Hood!”

Jason dug his heels in on his landing, coming to an abrupt stop. He leaned over the edge of the building curiously to find a scrawny pre-teen waving him down. Did he know this kid? Jason didn’t recognize him. Jumping down, he hit the ground hard and, despite calling out to him confidently, the boy scrambled back with wide eyes. 

“You’re the Red Hood,” he said breathlessly.

Jason quickly opened up the front panel of his helmut, hoping the slightly more personable domino mask would help him relax.

“Everything okay, kid?” 

“Yeah! Uh– I just…” He looked over his shoulder. “I saw somethin’.”

Well, that could mean anything. The kid looked antsy. 

“What’d ya see?” he asked, leaning down to his level. 

The kid beckoned him closer, whispering softly in his ear. 

Jason clicked his tongue. “Is that right?” He straightened with a sigh, pulling out a crisp bill from his cargo pants. “I should take care of that, then. Good intel means good pay,” he said, holding it out. 

The boy beamed, snatching the money like Jason might change his mind. His eyes widened into saucers. “That’s a hundred– Holy shit!”

“You’ve got good eyes. Thanks for the tip, kid.”

“Thanks, Mister Hood!”

Grappling back onto the rooftop, Jason put some distance between him and the kid. It seemed he had some company. Finding a nice dark alley, Jason pulled out his box of cigarettes, tapping on the outside impatiently. 

“I saw a bird in the Bowery! The red one.”

The shadows behind him shifted. 

“I’m not your fucking Nightwing-repellant,” Jason muttered, holding a cigarette between his lips as he snapped open a lighter. “Don’t you have anywhere better to hide?”

Tim pursed his lips into a tight line, but didn’t respond, keeping himself silently tucked in the dark alleyway. Recently, he’d been turning up more and more, just to lurk around while Jason took his smoke break. The evil genius had broken the schedule of his nicotine cravings down to a science. Fucking creep. At least he didn’t chide him for smoking like Damian.

Or Dick, once upon a time. 

Whatever the reason Tim was avoiding Dick, he was sure there must be an easier way to go about it. What sane person chooses to hang out with their attempted murderer to avoid their big brother? Just more proof that Tim Drake was absolutely not fucking sane.

Jason took a long drag, cursing himself for opening this can of worms. “So, what’d he do?”

There was a long silence and Jason easily accepted the fact that the kid didn’t want to talk about it, partially relieved even. Of course, shit talking Dick had a certain appeal to it.

“He made a tough call. Batman wasn’t there and someone had to. So, I understand why he did it.” Tim crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “And it’s in the past now.”

Jason cocked his head, considering. “Did’ya pull out the waterworks? He never could hold up against tears.”

“He already apologized. So, it’s fine.”

Jason humphed a half laugh. “Yeah, clearly. Well, whatever it was, Replacement, remind me to do it twice so I can finally smoke a fucking cigarette in peace.”

Tim grumbled under his breath, shifting further into the alley. “It’s not like you weren’t a replacement, too. Besides, I’m not even Robin anymore.”

A replacement. He thought Jason could have ever been Dick’s replacement?

Jason stomped out his cigarette—Tim immediately straightened, watching him carefully. He was impressed the kid had the gall to say shit like that to him in the first place, but that didn’t mean he would just let it slide. 

He pushed into the alleyway to face him, his broad body blocking the only light shining in from the street. 

“You think when I say replacement, I’m talking about Robin?” he asked levelly. 

It was a rhetorical question. 

“When I call you a replacement, Replacement, I’m talking about my life.” Jason leaned in closer to make sure he could hear every fucking word. “My house, my school, my family—my life. You’re living my life. Everything I had, everything I wanted, you got instead.”

He turned. “So, you better fucking enjoy it.”

Again, there was silence. Jason lit another cigarette.

“I– He took Robin from me. Replaced me without even asking.” Tim’s voice was soft and tentative in the air. “I couldn’t be Robin anymore, so I… I tried to forge something for myself.” He laughed. “But, look! I just took another one of your old mantles.”

Jason’s brief stint as Red Robin was hardly memorable, he’d certainly never thought Tim’s use of the name had anything to do with him. Abandoning a suit was a bit different than dying in it—Tim could have this one for all he cared.

“I thought that Red Robin had already been stained in blood– That it wouldn’t be so impossible to live up to.” He shook his head. “But I’m still failing, I–I can’t do it. I can’t separate myself from Batman, from his code. 

“I’m not you.”

This cigarette really wasn’t gonna cut it, Jason was gonna need another one for sure. He shouldn’t have been so testy and thrown down his first. What was this? Why was Tim spilling his guts to him right now?

“I’m no replacement.” His voice was weak now, a little wobbly. “I was such a cheap downgrade, Nightwing fired me.”

Jason hummed, mulling over the new information. He gave a half shrug. “Nightwing’s an asshole.”

“I know it’s stupid and hypocritical, but after Nightwing replaced me, I just can’t look at him the same. Feels like he was just waiting to get rid of me. He says Damian is his Robin.” He says the name quietly, but with venom. 

Jason chuckled with a nod, easily dropping the codenames. “Dick was always Batman’s Robin.”

The silence was newly comfortable between them and Jason finished his cigarette leaned up against the wall next to Tim. 

“Thought you were gonna yell,” he said casually. “Dick would’ve yelled.”

Violence wasn’t always loud, Jason preferred it not to be, but Dick’s temper, that anger, always had been. Once he snapped, fury flooded out of him and swept up anyone in the crosshairs. Rage like that had to be hidden under layers and layers of kindness and smiles and silly quips—but not even all that could contain it forever. A ticking bomb just waiting to go off.

Tim gave a little tilt of his head. “Still scary though.”

Flicking away the ash, he watched the last orange embers die before they could hit the ground. 

Jason had always been a man of action rather than words. Any kindness he once had—the wide grins and determination to help—it had only gotten him killed. Jason had learned his lesson. No more explosions for him. His anger was steady and certain as a blade. Steel forged in fire. 

“I’ve got a reputation to uphold.” Jason glanced over at the younger boy, living his life, in his old suit, crying that his family had replaced him. “Don’t think this makes us cool now,” he gruffed.

Tim—that punk—smiled. “Right, of course. Enemies for life.”

With a snarl, Jason shoved him off the wall. “Get lost!”

Tim easily slipped away, sending out a grapple line. For a moment, he hovered above the alleyway, looking back at Jason. 

“You were my Robin,” he whispered. 

… 

Dick had thought long and hard, a single sentence playing on loop in his mind: “Batman needs a Robin.” 

Tim had begged him. But he couldn’t go back, no, never again. If he thought his relationship with Bruce before had been strained, he didn’t know what to call it now. The guilt. The hatred. The blame. He couldn’t see his face without– “Bruce is gonna be really mad.”

He should’ve known Tim would put on the suit. 

“Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs a Robin.” 

At first, the thought of it—seeing another boy in those colors—made Dick nauseous. Vehement jealousy and betrayal had given way to self-hatred and guilt. A plethora of screaming matches had proven he couldn’t stop this. But he refused to watch it happen. He wouldn’t. But then–

“I have to do this.”

Isn’t that what he’d done to Jason? Turned his back because it was too hard for him to swallow. It was then that he decided. 

If Batman needed a Robin, then Robin needed Nightwing. 

Dick couldn’t fail again. 

… 

Jason, in his current career, knew how to enjoy a good fight—in the moment at least. The after affects, however, could be a bit of a drag. 

The Maronis had paid some rogues to kill him—or at least scare him enough to bring him back to the table to reconsider their deal. In the end, the fight left him with a nasty gash across his back.

Jason couldn’t reach it well and while he knew one of his men would stitch him up if he asked, he didn’t trust anyone that much. So, he’d done his best—and… it was definitely infected now. Not that it mattered. Hiding an injury was second nature to him. Business went on as usual. 

Unfortunately, Damian knew his tells and tonight he was hot on his heels, following Jason back to his safehouse. There was no getting out of this one.

“You’re more hurt than you let on.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile. “Nothing for you to worry about, Dami. I heal fast, remember?”

Damian scowled—his cheeks reddening. “You’re supposed to be honest with me.”

“Ah, it really wasn’t bad then. It’s just… gotten a bit worse. I wouldn’t lie.”

Damian pursed his lips. “Hm. Show me.”

Jason groaned, shrugging off his armor. Damian would surely lecture him—he could sound uncannily like Talia when he wanted to, but it would be nice to get someone else’s eyes on it. Maybe Damian would even neaten up the half-hazard stitches a bit.

There was a heavy thumping on the roof. Jason was on his feet immediately. Nightwing threw himself through the window not even 10 seconds later.

“Robin!” Nightwing was at his side in an instant. “Are you alright? Where is it?”

“Ah, yes.” Damian didn’t look surprised, offering out his hand. “See? I was scraped.”

Dick gave a quizzical frown, but still said, “Oh, no. How awful. Let me clean it up for you, alright?” When his gaze finally lifted, it immediately landed on Jason—or more specifically, Jason’s bloody back.

Damian shot a menacing smile in Jason’s direction. “No need. I’ll bandage it back at the cave.” He moved for the window. “It’s nearly my curfew anyway.”

This was the demon brat’s twisted version of revenge.

“Damian.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Todd,” he said, slipping out the window and disappearing into the night. 

Dick’s eyes hadn’t left him once. Jason expected him to chase after the little Robin, but he stood still, as though Damian’s words hadn’t reached him at all. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” It sounded more like a pout, but Jason had nothing else to say.

“Little Wing–”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You’re hurt.” 

He took a step forward and Jason immediately stepped back. Dick stopped, holding up his hands. 

“Let– Can I take a look?” he asked, gently. 

Jason felt like a cornered animal, eyes darting for the exits. He’d taken off his helmet and upper armor. He’d already disassembled two of his guns for cleaning—still in pieces on the counter. Jason was scattered and vulnerable. Dick was in his safehouse. 

“It looks pretty bad, Jay.”

He shook his head violently. “Leave,” he demanded—knowing Dick wouldn’t.

“It needs to be cleaned.”

“I can do it! I don’t need your fucking help!”

“But I need to help you!” Dick insisted. “Don’t you get it?”

Jason scowled. “So what, I’m supposed to believe you suddenly care?”

“I do!”

Righteous anger washed away Jason’s nerves, steeling him. Fighting was easy.

“How entitled can you be? Not everyone needs your fucking charity.”

“Too bad, you got it!” Dick snapped. “Even if I have to hold you down, I’m redressing that wound, Little Wing!”

Jason froze. Everything felt frustratingly confusing. He was a bit dizzy and it wasn’t evident if it was from the bewilderment or the infection. Probably the infection.

“Why?”

“It’s what I should’ve done the first time around. And I’m lucky enough to get a second chance.”

“You’re just guilty? Trying to right your wrongs?”

“I’m not so blind anymore.” He spoke quickly—frantically—like he wouldn’t get another chance. “I’m sorry, Little Wing. I was so stupid then. I was the worst older brother ever.”

Jason couldn’t argue with that.

“I just want to make it up to you just a little bit—As much as I can.”

“You can’t.”

“...I know.”

“I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t follow Batman’s code.”

Dick frowned, but said, “Okay.”

They stood in silence, staring at one another. Jason hated that it felt like they’d come to a reluctant compromise. He should fight harder, make him leave or make a run for it. But there was still that small, traitorous part of him that was desperate for his brother’s attention. 

Now that he finally had it… Jason wanted to know what it felt like. Just once.

He turned his head, stubbornly looking away, muttering, “So, get your ass over here and fucking do something already.”

Dick’s expression opened with something like shock. He stuttered before jolting forward. 

“First aid kit’s on the table,” he said as he sat down on the kitchen stool. 

“Yeah, okay, got it!” 

His hands were clumsy with the kit, but determined. Thankfully, Dick slowed his movement as he stepped around behind Jason. It took a few moments to force himself to ignore the hair raising on the back of his neck and relax. 

“Oh, jeez. I’m gonna need to take out these stitches and clean it.”

Jason hummed his assent, his jaw feeling cemented shut as he did his best to combat the intense animalistic instinct to bolt. 

“Did you..? Surely, you didn’t try and stitch this up yourself,” Dick muttered. 

He had no defense for himself. The wound was across the upper-middle of his back and the angle had made it nearly impossible for his own hand to reach. The couple stitches he managed in the bathroom mirror were painful and sloppy. Luckily, he couldn’t see them clearly. 

Dick sighed, starting to cut his stitches. “Well, that was incredibly stupid.”

Refusing to feel ashamed, Jason only grunted. 

“You are gonna need some seriously strong antibiotics.”

He wouldn’t. With time, the remnants of the Pit in his blood burned away anything and everything. The effects were getting slower over the years, but still relatively reliable so he didn’t bother with unnecessary medicine. 

“Alright, brace yourself,” he warned, pouring alcohol over the wound. 

Jason didn’t let himself react, keeping his breathing steady and his shoulders relaxed. He’d long since resolved himself to physical pain, but the fiery burn was enough to make him a bit dizzy. 

“Okay, I… I’m going to touch you now.” 

There was a long pause before the cool feeling of fingertips brushed over his skin—it sent a shiver down his spine. Unable to stop himself, Jason craned his head back to look over his shoulder. Dick gave him a moment to object before settling his hand there more firmly. 

“I need to clean it some more before I put in the new stitches,” he said, raising an alcohol wipe. 

Gently, Dick swiped along the edges of the gash. He was exposed and vulnerable in a way he’d forgotten the feeling of—to willingly be at the mercy of someone else. It made his skin tingly and fingers jittery. Nothing his body was readily anticipating—a stab, the stick of a needle, a restraining hold around the neck, the press of a chloroform rag over his face—was coming, leaving him in a state of suspense. 

Jason couldn’t prepare for what he didn’t know. 

It didn’t feel like when… he had patched him up before. Jason didn’t want to think about that, but the difference was all too obvious. He wasn’t so small and young anymore. Dick’s presence wasn’t home, it wasn’t safety. Yet, there was something settling about the situation, like smoothing over raised hairs. It made his skin feel tingly. 

“You alright, Little Wing?”

“After you’re done… What happens, then?”

Dick hummed in thought. “Well, we’ll need to bandage it up good and get you some antibiotics. Then, it’ll need to be redressed at least once a day. Honestly, you probably shouldn’t be putting any armor over the top of–”

“No,” Jason interjected. “I mean tonight, once you're finished playing nurse.”

“Oh, uh, well, nothing has to happen, Jay. I can just leave, if that’s what you want. You know, uh, no strings attached. Just wanted to help.”

“You’ll go?”

Dick cocked his head. “Is that what you want?”

To be honest, Jason had no idea what he wanted right now. This wasn’t part of any of his plans. Dick hadn’t been accounted for in his revenge, not directly. He was supposed to ignore him. He wasn’t supposed to care what Dick did. Jason had known from the start that they weren’t brothers. Dick had no obligation to him for his actions. 

Unlike Batman, Dick had been honest. He hadn’t pretended to love him. 

“It’ll be pretty hard to redress on your own, though. Maybe… Would it be okay if I came back?”

The offer seemed to lighten something heavy weighing on Jason’s chest, even if just a little. Unfortunately, it was vastly overshadowed by their looming history—Dick had all too often offered assurances, but when had he ever made good on them? 

Why was something as simple as a soft touch making him waver now?

“You said to call if I ever needed something,” Jason whispered, a stern reminder to himself. 

Dick didn’t answer those calls. 

There was a sudden clatter, the first aid kit and its contents spilling onto the floor. Turning around at the noise, Dick’s eyes were wide, staring at him—his domino mask shedded. His hands were still open, frozen where they’d held the kit in the air. 

Jason had never seen such clear terror on his face. 

“I– I– That was the last thing you ever said to me,” he stuttered, his eyes squeezing shut. “You said you were in trouble and– and– told me to call you back–” Dick took a deep, lurching breath. “But I didn’t. Not in time.”

There was a deep vindication purring in Jason’s gut. He remembered. Good. Not that it was punishment enough. Not that anything would ever be punishment enough for what was done to him. 

When Dick’s eyes opened, they were clear and intense. Determination taking hold of his expression. 

“Little Wing, give me the chance to answer this time?”

He was asking for the power to disappoint Jason again—to destroy him again. How many times had he encouraged Jason’s hope only to quash it time and time again? How many opportunities were there for Dick to choose something else over him? 

“Do you honestly think you deserve that?” 

His sharp words cut across the divide between them, widening the gap. Jason knew it wouldn’t take much to upend such a fragile truce. He’d crush it in his hands here rather than have it blow up in his face later. 

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What about what you deserve?”

He viciously shook his head. “I’m not a naive kid drunk on hero worship anymore. I’m not begging for scraps of your attention!”

Once upon a time, Jason might have fallen for that, desperate to believe Dick cared about him. That someone cared about him. 

“I promise–”

“You can’t promise shit.”

Dick took a tentative step back, giving Jason space to breathe, before he tried again—his voice softer this time: pleading, “You don’t have to believe me, but please, I need to be here. I have to come when you’re hurt. Don’t ask me to stay away—I don’t think I could manage it. Just let me redress it tomorrow.”

This was some inverted mockery of their relationship: Dick begging for Jason’s time. Pushing his help onto Jason. Wanting to stick around for Jason. 

Who was the dismissive one now? Something inside Jason scratched and clawed with the need to deny him, to show Dick what it felt like to be ignored and abandoned. But it wouldn’t be the same, not even close—Jason wasn’t one of the only two people in the world he trusted. 

Dick wouldn’t be murdered and forgotten.

“Come tomorrow, don’t come, it doesn’t matter. I won’t forgive you for what you’ve done.”

“Okay.” Dick nodded. “But I will come.”

And Jason—stupidly—hoped he would. Apparently he hadn’t learned his lesson after all. Or maybe he was a glutton for punishment. 

“I will come,” he repeated.

The words a second time ruined him. Jason’s expression crumpled, weak the moment it wasn’t supported by anger. His chest felt tight, like there was a force squeezing his heart. 

“Little Wing,” Dick uttered, gently moving forward. He lifted his arms slowly to project his intentions.

Jason couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

It was a slow process, Dick’s careful eyes watching intently, but eventually his brother’s arms were wrapped around him, gently pulling him into his chest. It was new and unfamiliar, but tender and warm. Jason didn’t have the strength one way or another to pull away or hug him back. Instead, he just closed his eyes and felt Dick’s subtle breathing. 

“I’ll come for you, I will,” Dick whispered into his hair.

Jason let them pretend.