Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The plan had been airtight. 

After months of surveillance, studying their false shipment plans, listening to planted rumors and suspicions among the destitute population looking for a quick buck, the need to act was finally upon them.

Black Mask was going down.

“Well, Timbo, looks like you were right on the money.”

“When am I not?”

“Just make sure you don’t let this go to your head.”

“When do I ever?”

Nightwing snickered down at the streets as he listened to his younger brother and teammate remain ‘humble’ about his legwork in discovering the whereabouts of the next clandestine shipment of stolen goods and weaponry. Because of Red Robin’s diligence, they finally felt confident enough they could take down the newest illegal endeavor of Roman Sionis.

However, speaking of ‘legwork’, the only one left out of tonight’s ‘boy’s club’ mission was Tim: a misjudged jump from a three-story building left the younger hero with a broken leg, unable to don his cape and mask for quite some time. And with Spoiler and Batgirl being guided through their own side secret mission through Oracle in her Clocktower base, tonight’s ‘boy’s club’ was just that.

Nightwing crouched low and stared down at the stretch of the docks down below, watching as the delivery truck backed into one of the loading spaces. The orange glow of the light posts gave little definition of the goon’s faces, but when one did not glow in the same manner as the others’ natural skin tone, they knew they had their man.

“Wait for my signal,” Batman spoke into their ears. He and Robin had chosen to take another vantage point on the opposite side of the delivery area, a small speck on another roof. 

Nightwing tapped his ear to allow his comm a continuous hands-free approach, “Hang on, he’s still not here.”

[“Where is he?”]

“He needn’t waste his time,” Robin spat over the comm at Tim’s question, “We have this fully under control.”

“He’ll be here,” Nightwing urged them calmly to wait, “He said he would be, and he–”

“Did the party start without me? I was hoping to crash it.”

Standing up from his spot, the black and blue hero turned and smirked at their fourth active member of the Bat Family that just dropped in: the bold Bat symbol plastered on his chest, his leather and denim ensemble enhanced his muscular build, and the beaming helmet reflected even in the dim light on the rooftop. The tall man was brandishing two silver pistols in his hands, twirling them around his finger like a toy.

“Fashionably late, as always,” the original Boy Wonder sassed back, crossing his arms. He spoke into his comm as the man in front of him tapped his helmet to link into the team’s communication system, “Hood’s here.”

“This is not fashionably late, this is irresponsibly tardy.”

“Oh, cool your jets, Junior,” Jason snickered at the youngest’s comment over his radio, coming closer to his older brother’s viewpoint, “I’m here, okay?”

“Next time you plan on taking forever, let us know so we don’t expect you.”

“I’ll remember to RSVP.”

“Do you have your approved rounds?”

Hood scoffed and tutted at Batman’s concern for his ammo and his interruption, holstering his pistols at his hip, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“No fatalities.”

“No promises.”

“Hood…”

“Bats…”

“Can we just get on with this?” Tim’s annoyed and irritated voice-over crackled through their devices, “I can see on the surveillance cameras that everyone is getting into position inside. That ship is due any minute, so we need to make this as clean as possible.”

“Once we secure the men down below, we’ll hijack the ship and take hold of anyone on board,” Robin readied his favorite katana, unsheathing it from its hilt.

“Take it easy,” Batman warned them, using his binoculars to get a better look at the growing activity below, “Remain in the shadows until absolutely necessary.”

“And take away my natural spotlight?” Nightwing preened, cracking his knuckles, “Come on, man.”

“I concur,” Red Hood nodded along, razzing along, “Best to make a spectacle of the thing. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying! Dude, we could get some sparklers!”

“Roman candles are my favorite.”

“Really? I thought it was pipe bombs.”

“........”

“Okay, yeah, maybe not. My bad.”

Robin snorted and rolled his eyes at the back and forth, “Whoever thought it was a good idea to put those two idiots on the same team is also an idiot.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you want to go solo,” Batman growled at his son next to him, implying that he was the one to make that decision, prompting a swift TT and silence from the fifth Robin… The quiet reprimand over the radio was golden, bringing a smirk up both of the eldest’s cheeks.

“Alright, time to move in,” Tim directed them all from his home Batcave base. He typed at a few keys and led the charge, “Nightwing and Red Hood, you’re closest to the water, so try to head anyone off from any of those boats that are moored out there. Batman and Robin, you’re opposite by the road, so if anyone tries to make a quick get away ju–”

“We can handle it, Drake.”

“Just double checking.”

“Everyone ready? Let’s go.” The Dark Knight was over it all, standing from his position and gliding down the few stories on his sturdy kevlar cape. Following in turn, each hero leapt into action.

Within moments, what began as a slow stalking and casing out the action immediately erupted into chaos when the first criminal realized they weren’t alone…

“Gentlemen,” Nightwing teasingly called out into the night as he sauntered into the room, twirling his escrima sticks like batons, “let’s try to keep this civil.”

“Speak for yourself,” Red Hood retorted with a quick sucker punch to the nearest criminal, “I plan on leaving this place a mess.”

The four men took to it, securing anyone in their range, flipping and twisting around to anyone that wasn’t, and making sure none of the suspects made it out. 

“Black Mask is on the move! Batman, you’re closer.”

“I'm trying to! Can anyone get to him, he's getting away.”

"I can do it, Father, I'm after him!"

"Robin, be careful!"

“Nightwing, the ship just crossed the bay perimeter.”

“Roger that, Timbo. All nearby boats have been disabled. No one’s getting out of here in anything but a police cruiser.”

Tim Drake was doing a bang up job navigating the mess, ensuring that each vigilante was kept in the know if anything happened to change the plans. 

Red Hood grunted as he flipped over one of the men who had charged towards him, effectively shooting out his knee caps. Falling with a burst of agony, the man was neutralized. Hood stood up and twirled his gun, staring around the room at the chaos that had been dwindling.

“Anyone see BM?”

"Negative, he's disappeared," Robin spat at his bad luck, whipping his katana around angrily, "I have failed."

“I lost sight of him, too, D, it's not just you,” Nightwing winced as he took a punch to his gut, only to turn it around with a kick flip twist to the criminal’s face. He stood and smirked over towards the red hero’s direction, “And nice nickname, by the way. I think I’ll steal it for next time.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Batman growled as he flung two men against the wall, sending them into unconscious oblivion, “We need to find him before he makes a getaway.”

Just then, Jason lifted his head from the handcuff job on the bleeding man he had taken out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw four men bolt towards a nearby corridor. They were trying to escape towards the bayfront, most likely on the ship that had since stopped dead in the water some distance away… the ship they assumed had been warned of the danger occurring on the docks.

“Ah, shit, we have runners,” Red Hood sprinted after them, his boots pounding on the ground, “I got ‘em.”

“Be careful,” Batman warned immediately, standing up to glance in the direction of where Red Hood was, unable to actually see him on the opposite side of the warehouse.

“I’ve got it,” Todd puffed, vaulting over a railing and taking off after the escapees. He flipped and twisted, running down one hallway that led into another room full of cargo and equipment, “They’re just giving me a good cardio workout, that’s all.”

Nightwing, who had been somewhat nearby Hood’s location, finished tying up his last two criminals with a rope. Once they were suspended from the ceiling like fishing bait, he stood back and admired his work. Taking a look around the area, he realized he had no one left to apprehend, which allowed him the opportunity to offer his assistance.

“I’m all wrapped up here, Hood,” the black and blue hero said, “I’m on my way to back you up.” 

“Don’t need it,” Jason replied as he pursued the four men deeper into the building towards the outside wall, “I got it handled.”

Nightwing smiled faintly as he took off in the direction of the other man, “Too bad. I’m coming anyway.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything back, silently and deeply appreciating the assistance from his older 'brother'.

Eventually, his chase led him to a back patio of some sorts. A large area for unloading and loading on larger ships led to several protruding docks that extended out into the darkness of the waters. Red Hood slowly walked around and scanned the area and kept on his toes, praying he would find any runners soon: he needed a good workout. As he approached a dimly lit area about twenty feet from the door he exited, he saw one man coming from the shadows up ahead. And another… and another…

Eight men surrounded him. 

Armored and packing.

“Well, I think you’re looking at some pretty pathetic odds, fellas,” Jason remarked confidently as he brandished his own weapons in one slick motion, “And I ain't talking about my odds.”

That’s when it happened.

What Jason didn't recognize at first was that one of the men did not have a gun. Instead, the man’s weapon scraped against the pavement, creating a loud metallic cringe-worthy ache in his soul. The screech from the large, long iron rod twisted something deep in his memories, and the curve of the one end split like a snake’s tongue forced out every other sense that grounded him to reality.

Time stood still as Jason Todd stared slack-jawed at the crowbar coming towards him.

Somewhere in the depths of his periphery echoed a forced laughter that gave him nightmares even to this day.

His vision blurred.

His world tilted.

His reality shifted.

No… It can't be... NO!

The man lunged.

GET AWAY!

Without thinking, without any regard for anyone’s safety, Red Hood leapt into action. The cracking shots from his pistols ricocheted around the area in fuzzy bursts of color, the hero holding them having no idea if they were indeed hitting their targets or not. The space between his ears felt like foggy mush as his eyes only recognized each vibrating villain in front of him as the same purple-coated, green-haired, devil-spawn in shaking spades. 

He was ruthless.

STAY AWAY!

Relentless.

I HATE YOU!

Unforgiving.

LEAVE ME ALONE!

And completely out of control. 

Eventually, each man went down… alive or not was none of Jason’s concern or consideration. Even if he did care, he wasn’t in any mental state to make that determination. Standing over top of eight Schrodinger's Jokers that buzzed in and out of focus as if they weren't even there, Jason’s lungs heaved in and out like each breath was his last. His heart ravaged his rib cage like a freight train, barreling through time and space with no purpose or sign of slowing down. Tunnel vision swirled honed a hyper alertness that filled his brain with sludge, a true ironic presence. Fingers trembled and shook at his sides, gripping his weapons in a death grip. His ears rang and reverberated through his skull, his brain ignoring any and all attempts to communicate with him from anyone nearby. 

Especially the demanding voices that went unacknowledged in his ears.

Everything felt wrong. Everything felt off. Earlier, anxiety heightened his traumatic past and brought him back to a deadlier time that was considered the worst in his life; now the anxiety heightened his senses and smacked them in his face Each sound was amplified, each smell pungently attacked his nostrils, every follicle stood at attention as his skin crawled with fear.

A noise came from behind him.

Was it a voice?

Stay away.

Footsteps?

Stay away!

A presence? 

STAY AWAY!!

The voice…

Without warning, practically hyperventilating through his panic attack, Jason spun on pure reflex and pulled the trigger.

The sound was different this time. The feeling had changed. The echo of the bullet didn’t fulfill his desire to rid himself of his past memories, but rather it shattered his reality back into focus. The dull thud of the projectile hitting flesh felt unknown this time. There was no satisfaction, no gratification, no indulgence. 

It felt wrong.

It felt wrong because it was wrong.

What?

Just three seconds after the bullet left the chamber and slammed into the body ‘sneaking up’ on him, Jason Todd realized his grievous and disastrous error. The white eye slits immediately grew in size on the black domino mask, matching the gaping shocked look on the man's stunned face and the growing red stain blossoming on his black and blue costume.

The bullet didn’t take out a villain… or a criminal… or just some random henchman.

Oh my God.... SHIT NO!

Chapter Text

For half a heartbeat, Jason couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Standing in front of him was his older brother-figure, in his typical black and blue, but as the blur of the crowbar-inducing panic attack subdued, another one flared up when he began to realize what happened:

He shot Nightwing.

About ten feet away, just near the door, Dick blinked away the stunned feeling of what had happened, lifting his hand to press against his side just below his rib cage. His breathing stuttered in a short gasp, he coughed once, and his face twisted as the pain finally caught up to him.

“Ugh… Nnngh… Mmmnn…”

Nightwing’s knees buckled.

Red Hood jumped into action.

“Ooooh, no no no NO NO!!” 

Jason’s screams grew in intensity as he ripped his helmet off, flung it carelessly, and sprinted to the injured man. Within several large steps, he reached Nightwing just as the older man began to crumble and fall, catching him just as his strength gave out before he could completely collapse. Their combined weight made them stumble and fall to their knees, Jason holding up Dick’s form in his arms.

Nightwing gasped and gulped as more pain shot up his side, his eyes widening further as he was manhandled to stay upright. As he struggled with the sensation of the hole in his gut, Red Hood was choking on what he just did.

“Ooo-ohh God, oh God, oh God.”

Red Hood swallowed the lump in his throat and felt his tunnel vision swarm again, his fingers shaking so badly as he held onto the injured man. Blood had already begun to soak through and pool out of the hero, trailing down his side and his leg. Jason was practically hyperventilating again, fear filling his eyes as he stared at the stunned and pained expression on Dick’s face, the tightness in his cheeks and forehead and mouth providing no comfort.

Still, Jason tried to help. He pressed his shaking hands instinctively, desperately, down onto the wound, trying to stem the blood flow. When it didn’t work, he swore under his breath and took Nightwing’s arms, placing them on his own shoulders.

“Just, h-hold on, okay? Hold on tight, you got it? Keep holdin' on, man.”

Heaving and wheezing and trying to grapple with the pain, Nightwing’s mouth gaped like a fish and his brow pinched more, his eyes cinching closed before reopening wide. Still, he held on. His bloody hands gripped at Red Hood’s jacket for dear life, holding on as he continued to sag.

While he clutched the leather, Jason’s clumsy hands tried to retrieve his first aid materials from his belt, haphazardly opening up some gauze packs to use against the wounds… begging for forgiveness.

“I’m… I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t… I just d-didn’t… Oh God, I didn't see you, I just… I… I-I didn’t mean to…”

Nightwing’s body jolted as his younger brother pressed the gauze harder. His voice croaked and cried out a hoarse ragged ache that tore right through Red Hood’s heart. Jason choked on a sob and gathered more gauze to pack the wound.

“J-J-J-Ja-ay… J-J-J-aaa-nnnggh…” Grayson’s breath shuddered as he tried to form words, his face twisting with pain as his breath kept getting caught in his throat. When a jolt of agony shot through his side, he clenched his teeth and hissed, his fists white-knuckling in Jason’s jacket.

Hearing his name like that, strained and agonized and breaking, practically sent Jason back over the edge. His anxiety reared back up, his heart racing in his chest as it nearly exploded with grief. Still, he shook his head and pleaded with the injured man.

“Hey, don’t talk, okay? For once, just keep your mouth shut,” Jason blurted in an attempt to alleviate the tension, a small humorless huff breathing through. Still, it wasn’t enough to calm anyone down, let alone him. So, he nodded to himself to try to reassure himself he was doing the right thing as he pressed harder on the wound with his trembling hands, “Just… Just don’t talk, okay? Just breathe. No talking, just breathing.”

Dick trembled violently, his teeth chattering as a cold clammy sweat broke in. Shaking, he nodded and pursed his lips to keep himself from making noises. Breathing through his nose, Nightwing closed his eyes and focused on removing the pain as best he could using Bruce’s old meditation tricks… But it didn’t work. He moaned and dropped his head lower, his eyes closing tight.

“This isn’t real life,” Jason squeaked to himself, “This isn’t real life… This isn’t happening.” 

His mantra wasn’t helping… especially when he swiftly realized that there was a good reason the gauze wasn’t working. When he pulled his supporting hand away from the back of Nightwing’s torso, he saw a slick coating of deep red all over it. When he studied his bloody hand, it hit him:

“Shit, shit, shit,” Jason murmured to himself, “It went through… Shit, it went through… Ahh, fuck me!” He took another shaky breath and reached for more gauze in his belt, hoping he had enough, “Alright, just... O-okay, just hang on, 'kay? Hang on, man, I got ya… I got ya… Just please, please stay with me. Y-you’re gonna be okay, Dick, you’re gonna be okay.”

Was he? Is he?

SHUT UP! Yes he will, shut up!

This is your fault…

SHUT UP!

While the internal argument in his manic mind raged on, he didn’t have enough situational awareness or brain power to recognize that other voices were attempting to speak with him, as well. Jason’s focus was solely on Dick and the gunshot wound that he only now had begun to hear the other sounds in his ear.

“Hood, come in,” Batman’s booming baritone rumbled in his ear piece, “Answer us, where are you? We have most of Black Mask’s men secured but he got away. What is your location?”

“Come on, Todd, what are you doing?”

Batman and Robin were trying to get a hold of him.

For how long? He had no idea… 

Tim’s voice followed, clipped but uneasy and authoritative. “Red Hood, did you secure the runners you were after? You were chasing four of them, did you get them? Please answer us!”

After another beat of silence, his hands still full with Nightwing’s bloody gut– oh yeah, forget Schrodinger, those guys are totally dead–, Red Hood heard another concern that sent another pang of guilt stabbing his heart:

“Nightwing, are you there? Did you meet up with Hood?”

That did it.

The words finally penetrated the fog. They were calling for him and Dick. For Dick. They didn’t know. They didn’t know! They didn’t hear the gunshot that cracked in the void of the night. They didn’t see the shocked look on his face as everything caught up to him and he realized he had a hole in his stomach. They couldn’t see him bleeding on the floor, shaking with white hot pain that numbed the outside world. 

They didn’t see his face when he realized Jason pulled the trigger.

Todd’s heart slammed harder.

What have I done?!

Even though his hands trembled violently from his anxiety, Red Hood reached up and tapped his ear to activate his comm again that had gone silent. The lump in his throat refused to be removed, but he gathered his wits, blinked away his tears, and croaked a response.

“W-we… We have an emergency. S-something… Something happened.”

The channel went dead quiet.

“What is it?” Batman demanded instantly. “What’s happening?”

Tim cut in, concern creeping into his voice. “Is there a problem? Did the men get away?”

Jason stared at the blood pooling under Dick’s hip and down his legs– and all over his hands… in fact, he stared at the blood that was everywhere–

God it’s everywhere…

– and at the way Dick’s hands trembled, at the faint tremor running through his own arms.

You have to tell them.

Just say it.

SAY IT AND GET HELP!

“Hood,” Batman barked harder when he got a no-response in turn, “What. Happened?”

“Is it the men you were chasing? Did they get away? If they did, it’s okay, we’ll catch them again soon. We have enough of them for now.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut for just a second and gathered his wits, struggling to find the right words to do the moment justice. When he opened them, he felt the tears run freely… But when he stared at the paling face of the kneeling man in front of him, shivering, shaking, blanking out, still in shock, Todd steadied his vocal chords and just uttered three words that tore through him and made everything real.

“Dick’s been shot.”

The reaction was immediate and explosive.

“What?! What do you mean he’s been shot? What happened?!”

“How?! What happened? What went wrong?”

“Is he okay?! Are you with him now?!”

What happened?

What went wrong?!

I HAPPENED!

I’M WHAT’S WRONG!!

The rapid-fire questioning raced through his mind, reinforcing his own damning blame.

“Where are you?” Batman cut back in, frantically edging his tone dangerously as he tried to find out more about his injured son, “Red Hood, where are you?!”

Red Hood shifted, carefully sliding an arm around Dick’s back and pulling him closer. The haphazardly finished wrap-job would have to suffice for the moment, barely doing its job in maintaining the flood of life-fluid seeping from the bandages, already turning the white to red. He crouched, lifting Nightwing’s one arm up and over his own shoulders.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Todd replied hoarsely in an attempt to quell their worry despite his own explosion of dread that pulsed through his veins, “I’m getting him out now.”

YOU LIE! He's not going to be okay!

SHUT UP! He will be!

He pushed up to his feet. When he did, the momentary stability the older man possessed jarred loose; an unnatural screech of pain erupted from his lungs. Jason winced as he listened to Nightwing seethe and wheeze through clenched teeth as the pain rattled his insides.

“I know, I know, I know,” Red Hood tried to calm him down– and failing–, easily taking most of his weight as they stood to somewhat full height. The sound of Dick’s agony tore through him again. As the smaller injured man’s legs threatened to give out, cold sweat streaming down his face, Jason swore and felt another wave of panic, “Fuck… Fuck, fuck… I-I’m sorry. J-just h-hang on, okay? Just hang on. We’re going home.”

“Jason! How bad is it!?”

He didn’t answer Tim. He couldn’t. He just focused on keeping Dick upright, one step at a time, doing his best to keep the man’s growing dead weight dragging heavily against him.

Don’t say dead! Don’t say dead!! 

Each and every movement made Nightwing wince, his breath sawing rapidly in and out, his teeth chattering from pain and shock.

“Alright, we’re going,” Jason gulped down his nerves, trying to reassure both Dick and himself, “W-we’re walking… Keep holding on, okay? No talking, just walking and breathing.”

Grayson nodded weakly, his listless eyes fluttering, his jaw clenched so hard Jason could see the muscles jumping. 

“Jason, bring him to the Batmobile, immediately! We’re on our way and will meet you there!”

Hood nodded to Batman’s harsh direction, though nobody could see it, and staggered toward to do just that. Carefully, step by step, inch by inch, with the painful urge to move faster, Jason carried Dick sluggishly down the back pier area, under the glowing orange lights, past more boxes and equipment, and eventually made it over to the side alley that concealed itself from the dock’s main area. Nightwing’s one foot dragged terribly; he was unable to put any weight on it as the pain radiated through his body from his one side. It only took a minute to get away completely, but to Jason it felt like a terrifying lifetime of uncertainty.

Within seconds, he heard shouting.

Looking up as his bloody hands did their damdest to keep control of the flopping limbs and slouching body that threatened to slip away, Red Hood saw Batman and Robin sprinting to them. The Batmobile was off to the side, but when the newest reincarnation of the Dynamic Duo spotted their teammates, they changed their course. Upon closer inspection, the anti-hero turned vigilante saw the extreme fear on their faces the moment their own eyes laid on the injured man they cared for so much.

And the blood.

God, how much blood can one human have?!

SHUT UP AND KEEP WALKING!

Batman reached them in seconds, swearing out in shock, his strong hands already steadying his boy’s collapsing body, “Dick? Dick, I’m here.” He swiftly lifted the black and blue and red’s other blood-covered arm over his broad shoulder and took some of the weight off the savior of the moment, “I got you. Take it easy, you’re going to be okay.”

SaVioR!? I’M the reason he’s IN this mess!!

As the weight distributed evenly between Batman and Red Hood, the rescue picked up, their paces intensifying and speeding to their vehicle as Robin trailed behind; he was unable to actually do anything about the situation. The only sounds were the wheezing of the downed man, the thudding of their boots on the ground, and the drumming in their own ears.

“Almost there… We’re almost there.”

If Jason didn’t know any better, he figured Bruce was saying that to convince himself things were improving.

“B-B-B… B-Br–”

“I’m here,” Batman said instantly, reassuring the faint slurring of his son who was slipping more and more. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“No talking, okay, Dickie? I already told you,” Red Hood tried to lighten the mood as the load drew heavier. He huffed and picked up his pace, “Just breathe, dude.”

The outward confidence belied his internal raging guilty mania.

This isn’t real life… This isn’t real life…

The moment Jason felt Dick go completely limp, his legs failing to keep him upright anymore, he relinquished his effort reluctantly as Batman took complete control; the caped man reached down and scooped Dick’s legs up and pulled his body near. Ignoring the broken whimper of pain that hissed out of the first sidekick, once Nightwing was tucked into his father-figure’s arms and no longer restrained from the struggle to walk, the Dark Knight bolted. Under his breath, he whispered and murmured reassurances as his boy’s eyes fluttered, consciousness threatening to succumb to the darkness.

Jason followed a few steps behind, numb and hollow, barely aware of his body moving or anyone speaking around him. A fuzziness filled his ears, as if cotton were shoved in his drums. Colors swirled in and out of his tunnel vision, spiraling around as his mind looped images of the moment things went awry and disaster set in. The never-ending tingling feeling seeped through his limbs and his trunk with every drip of blood that fell on the cement.

This isn’t real life.

No no no no.

This can’t be happening.

THIS IS YOUR FAULT!

This isn’t real.

“Robin, recline the backseat.”

Damian did just that. In one swift motion, the boy opened the door and made the seats as flat and as comfortable as he could. Like handling glass, Batman laid down and helped secure his boy in the seat, careful not to make his discomfort any worse. It was appropriate to treat him like glass: Dick Grayson was irreplaceable and fragile.

He loves him so much.

Red Hood watched stoically, still frozen beside himself as the events of the night manifested in horrible waking nightmarish visions. The moment he saw the crowbar… the numbness as he tore through the criminals… the absentminded behavior as he spun and pulled the trigger… the shocked gaping expression on the man’s face as reality hit… the terrifying sensation of Dick’s hot blood seeping through his fingers… 

He barely paid attention to Damian insisting he ride in the back with Grayson, or to Bruce instructing him in the gruffest voice to keep pressure on the wounds, or even to the subconscious involuntary groans of pain from Dick.

This is all my fault.

Red Hood also barely reacted at the curt instruction to trail behind the Batmobile. He gave a blank shallow nod nonetheless, his eyes unfocused and blurring as if he couldn’t see straight what was in front of him. Robot-like he began to run over towards his bike that was over a block away,--

If I was on time, I could have parked closer...

I'm such a selfish inconsiderate asshole!

--listening to the ringing chaos in his ear as Batman and Robin gave cave-bound Drake a play by play of the injured man’s condition while his own guilty conscience ate at him.

You did this.

“Tim, have Alfred prepare the transfusion equipment.”

This is your fault.

“Grayson, do NOT fall asleep! You need to stay awake, I order you!”

You’re a disgrace.

“More pressure, Damian.”

Don’t crash, don’t crash, don’t crash.

“Alfred’s prepping everything and we’ll have it all up and running by the time you guys get here. Please tell me, is he okay? How bad is it?”

Stupid Fucking Joker, it’s HIS fault!

“We’re almost home, chum, we’re almost home. Stay awake, you hear me? Keep looking at Damian.”

No… Joker didn’t do this… I DID!

"Richard, you idiot, look at me!"

I'M the idiot, Hellion, not him!

As images crashed through, twisting his vision ahead of him, Jason had to swerve and fishtail a total count of eight times in order to prevent a crash. At least, he counted eight. It could have been more. He wasn’t locked in on anything other than blaming himself.

Please be okay… Please be okay… Please be okay…

He didn’t even realize he was praying.

Please forgive me.

Chapter Text

Tim Drake didn’t even bother waiting for the Batmobile to stop moving before hobbling over. Cursing his medical boot, though ignoring his crutches, his heart raced as he begged for the people inside to finally exit.

When the hydraulics of the roof opened, and Batman stood up and turned around towards the back seat, Drake screeched through the cave.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell happened?!”

Alfred Pennyworth, back in the medical bay, was already ready and prepped. His sleeves were rolled up and his instruments were staged and organized, laid out with intent to heal. But despite his prim and proper outward appearance, the gut-wrenching feeling that he had to operate on one of his charges tore through him.

Meanwhile, Batman didn’t even bother to answer Tim. Instead, he bent over and positioned himself to lift his boy as gently as he possibly could. Damian, whose mask had been removed mid-ride, blinked up to his father (this time, he couldn’t help the tears flooding his eyes).

“He’s not breathing well, Father.”

Bruce nodded and took his eldest into his arms, the injured man’s domino mask also removed en route, cradling him preciously as he stood back upright and slowly exited the vehicle. With his cargo secured in his arms, despite the frighteningly limp limbs and bobbing head that fell backwards, Bruce took off again past Tim and over to Alfred.

Dick panted and wheezed shallowly, irregularly, as he flopped helplessly in the strong embrace, sweat soaking his hair, and his eyelids fluttering as he fought to stay conscious with nothing left in him to give.

“I’ve got you, chum,” Bruce murmured down to him as his own breathing strained, “You’re going to be okay.”

“Everything is ready to go, sir,” Alfred informed him in the most steadfast and professional manner that did little to cover the shaking in his vocal chords, waving and directing Bruce to the table, “Set him down on his side. We need to remove his uniform to access his wounds. You do that while I ready the anesthesia.”

Batman laid his boy down on the medical table with agonizing care with help from his butler and personal surgeon. As he was positioned on his side, Dick groaned weakly as another bout of pain shot through him.

“Easy, kiddo,” Wayne soothed him as he began removing parts of his costume to prepare for the inevitable surgery and stitching, “I know it hurts, but you’re safe now. Just stay with me.”

“You are in good hands, Master Dick,” Pennyworth rounded his voice as he prepared the needles, “All you need to do is relax.”

Grayson’s eyes fluttered again, unseeing, his head sideways on the small pillow that supported his neck… He was half gone, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. He barely felt the fingers fly over him as his uniform was cut and peeled away to reveal his pale clammy skin.

Even Damian joined in assisting his father in taking off his oldest brother’s boots to make him more comfortable. For as tough and as stoic as he was, the youngest was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in check; he didn’t even bother to wipe away the tear that fell down his cheek as he stared at his sluggishly delirious role model.

Bruce pulled off his cowl and gloves next as Alfred fitted an oxygen mask over his patient, flinging them to the side without a second thought. Accepting and releasing the longest shaky breath, he sat down in the nearest chair, pulled it in closer, leaned in, and wrapped his hand around his son’s placid palm. Thumbing over the cold knuckles, he raised his other hand and absentmindedly brushed the hair out of the younger man’s face, speaking in what he hoped were soothing tones and not trembling fear.

“Dick? Hey, hey, look at me. Can you look at me?”

Slowly, sluggishly, the young man’s lids lifted. Unfocused, listless, and glassy blues drifted in and out of awareness, but somehow found a point he could fix on: Bruce. His father-figure attempted a watery smile and nodded in approval, making soothing movements over his hand while Alfred next to him fixed his other hand with the IV line (an act the young hero didn’t even react to).

“There you go… That’s my boy. Just keep breathing. You're going to be alright.”

As Dick slowly and inevitably drifted out of consciousness, numb to everything except whatever dreams or nightmares were forming in his anesthesia-induced stupor, and while Damian looked on just as nervous as he’d ever been despite his gruff and dark exterior, Tim reminded himself of the other figure in the room who had yet to come forward. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the taller man just as un-moving, just as non-reactionary, just as dead to the world as perhaps the patient laying on the bed. It was an odd sight, for sure, something that disturbed Tim to his core.

“Jason? How did this happen?”

Drake’s soft voice fluttered over but did little to jog the now noticeably trembling man from his trance. Frowning at the lack of interaction, Tim looked back over to Damian and Bruce who had by now also remembered there was someone else in the room.

Someone who knew things.

However, Wayne didn’t care how stone-like and disassociated his second oldest appeared. He needed answers.

“Jason? How did this happen to Dick? Report, now.”

No response.

Damian frowned at the, in his eyes, impudent behavior from Red Hood. When Father asked a question, you answered, that was it. Now, what kind of answer and how respectful it came across depended on the situation, of course, but you responded all the same. However, just as he opened his mouth to back up the demand, Tim put a hand on his shoulders to prevent him from speaking. 

“Jason…” 

Drake spoke carefully, taking in the tight jaw, the tense muscles, the transfixed stare, and the sunken eyes. It was as if he were approaching a scared puppy or a startled snake, unable to determine if the next movement would elicit a negative or dangerous reaction. But there was something about Jason’s gaunt gaze and terrified stance that made his skin crawl with ominous uncertainty.

“Who shot Dick?”

The air around them sparked.

Jason’s head snapped up, bright green frightened eyes locking onto Tim’s in pure shock. Something in that question had shaken something loose. Something momentous. Something traumatic. Tim saw it, Damian saw it, and Bruce saw it.

Bruce’s posture changed instantly.

“Jason?” The billionaire spoke coolly, spun halfway around in the chair, commanding and authoritative, his voice thick, low, and disquieting, “Who shot Dick?”

Todd was still holding steady with Tim’s alarmed awareness, his eyes shaking and wavering just as much as his body.

He knows.

He gets it.

Then slowly, his gaze rotated to face the man who took him in, the man who adopted him, the man whose eyes bored right through him. Bruce’s demand wasn’t what filled him with dread; it was how it was phrased. Both he and Drake had asked who… who… shot Dick. 

They know.

Even if they don’t know, they do.

Jason’s throat bobbed as it swelled and closed up, the words lost in his throat. His mouth worked, opening and shutting as he struggled… But eventually, in the quietest voice with the loudest intention, he croaked out just three words.

“It was me.”

Each person had a different reaction.

Tim Drake gasped under his breath as his eyes lit up, the unbelievable admission stabbing him in his chest. He searched, prayed for another response, internally begged for some other reason… but got nothing.

Damian Wayne’s eyes hardened as he tried to make sense of everything. A dangerous glimmer shone in his bright greens as a challenging growl rumbled up his throat.

Alfred Pennyworth’s attention to his patient froze mid-swipe of an antiseptic swab, his wise and tired eyes sorrowed with pain as he looked up to the second boy who graced these walls. To the boy who said being Robin felt like magic. To the boy once so full of life.

But Bruce… Bruce Wayne rose to his full height. Slowly. Deliberately. Menacingly. He didn’t want to believe the words, couldn’t believe the reality, but couldn’t help but react either way.

“What… do you mean.. it was you?”

Jason began to pant heavily, hyperventilating as he blinked away the stinging. He flustered with his words, with any explanation, but all he could eek out was a meager excuse.

“Look I... I-I didn't know it was him. I thought it was--" 

“You Imbecile!" the youngest of the group snapped, his anger springing loose the worst insult he could throw. 

His father backed him up, also slicing out an accusatory and damning dagger, "How dare you?!"

Todd tried to gather his wits. He knew they would be furious, he figured as much. There was a reason he didn’t tell them the second it happened. But he had at least hoped to have some semblance of due process, some attempt to reason out what had happened. Surely they knew he didn’t do this on purpose.

Surely…

Did they?

"I-I-I didn't know it was him! I thought it was one of Black Mask's men and--" 

"How careless can you be?!” Wayne recoiled and sprung again, his harsh Bat Glare reserved for dangerous criminals zeroed in on the second Robin. He stepped away from Dick’s body and gave Jason his full, undeterred, and harrowing attention, “How could you not know it was Dick!? How could you make this mistake?!"

Clenching his bloody fists and rising them to meet his eyes, doing nothing but stare at them shaking and trembling, the anti-hero did his best to defend himself. They had to know what happened… They had to know the truth. It was them! It was the men! It was that… that…

That stupid fucking crowbar!

"I-I-I was having a... I mean I-I was... Dick just showed up and--" 

“He was on his way to you, he told you this! We all knew! He didn't just show up!"

"I know but--" 

"And you promised you would never use live rounds! You know our rules, Jason!” Wayne spat back accusatory, judgmentally, “You were told to use rubber bullets only! You agreed to this!" 

Tears flooded Todd’s eyes at this point. Red hot shame filled him to the brim of exhaustion, but he wasn’t thinking straight enough to be able to form words to do his actions justice. Or at least explain why things went down the way they did. His face pinched with guilt and his voice ached every time he thought of talking.

"I didn't mean f-for--" 

"Look at him! Dick is severely injured because of you!! He could have died!!"

"I didn't realize it was him, he–”

“He could have died!!”

“He just snuck up on me!" 

That little statement alone baffled Bruce. He huffed and soured, his lips curling distastefully as he found that observation the most absurd thing. Coming closer his gloomy presence towered over all. 

“Snuck up on you? Snuck up on you?! How could he sneak up on you!? You're trained for this!" 

Damian finally got in his small bit, his daggered voice damning and challenging Todd’s excuse, "He told you he was coming your way, how did you ignore that?”

The prosecuted man wrangled his breathing, straining to gain some semblance of control. Jason knew they didn’t know what had happened to him, but he knew he had to explain it. He had to tell them about the crowbar. He stuttered and attempted to do just that.

“One of the…. One of guys had something and--"

"Get out of my sight!" 

Time stood still.

The resident bats were the only noises in the cave. They had begun squeaking and chirping when the arguments began but they had since got silent as they had grown accustomed to the loud sounds. Now, though, everyone was still. No one moved. No one dared to move.

Jason gaped at his father-figure, the man he trusted more than anyone. The man who took him in. The man who trained him to be magic.

Tim, beside himself, stared back and forth between the two men. He noticed as Jason gaped, shocked, stunned, aching… and he watched as Bruce’s nostrils flared, daring to be challenged or undermined. Slowly, Drake dropped his head and blankly stared at the invisible spot before him, a million thoughts racing through his mind. When he looked over to Damian, he saw the young boy simply cross his arms and shut down, literally and figuratively turning his back on the man who came back to life.

This is Hell, thought Tim.

But Wayne did not give up easily. He narrowed his eyes, squared his shoulders, and doubled down.

"I said... Get. Out. I don't want to look at you anymore.”

Without another word, he rotated back, sat down, and resumed his attention to Dick as if nothing happened.

That was it.

The word was spoken.

Jason Todd heaved and panted, failing at keeping his pain inside. For a heartbeat longer, he stared at Bruce, stung and stabbed.

Then his face hardened.

His grief and rage twisted together, swarming through his soul like angry bees that had had their hive shaken way too many times. Fists clenched at his sides, the bloodied gloves stretching and squeaking with tension, his teeth grinding in turn. Jason glowered, snarled, and curled his lips nastily towards the two Waynes that had just given him Hell unnecessarily, who didn’t even bother to hear his side of the story, who didn’t have enough consideration to hear WHY things went down the way they did. So instead of giving them any more of his breath, anymore of it time, any more of his consideration, he saved it… sparing one final point.

"You know what, Bruce? FUCK YOU!!" 

Without waiting or hesitating for anyone’s retort, Jason spun on his heels and stormed away. Picking up speed he raced to his motorcycle, mounted without a second thought, and squealed his tires in the opposite direction through the cave entrance to the outside world.

Within seconds, Jason was gone.

The thick tense air left behind blanketed over the occupants of the cave with a tremendous amount of stress and anxiety. Tim, the only one who did not fling a nasty outburst towards the red hero (aside from docile Alfred and unconscious Dick), was straining to make sense of the dramatic reveal. He glanced back and forth in awe between the two Waynes, studying their body language and posture as riddled with anger and spite and pain.

In spite of everything that just happened, in spite of how it all just went down, Tim knew one thing for sure:

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Chapter Text

"I said… Get. Out. I don't want to look at you anymore.”

Get out.

OUT!

Bruce’s horribly insensitive and uncaring words were too powerful to be drowned out by the rumble of his motorcycle. 

“You Imbecile!”

Even Damian had taken his jabs. His sharp biting accusatory spittle at the older man echoed his father’s distrusting way of–

Distrust.

They don’t trust me.

Jason Todd roared through the streets of Gotham. Once he left the BatCave, he had no intention of going anywhere other than not where he had been. In fact, as he tore through the streets, he hadn’t any sense of direction or any clue where he was or what was happening around him. The only thing he registered was his own terrorizing and damning thoughts that plagued his insides.

This is my fault.

I did this.

Every judgmental glare, each shocked and stunned expression, and heaven forbid every word unspoken stabbed at him in a way only hurtful words or silence could.

Dammit, Tim didn’t even say anything.

Why didn’t Tim say anything?

His heart slammed into each chest with each rev of the engine. Jason paid no mind to his surroundings, even ignoring the honks and horns that whizzed around him in and out of vicinity like a whirling spin cycle of hornets. Left. Right. HONK! Left. BEEP! Straight. BERRRRM!

Red lights, be damned.

Stop signs? Pssh.

You have eighteen wheels? Not impressed.

The world didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense.

GODDAMN CROWBAR!

FUCKING JOKER!

No…

Not the Joker.

ME.

Colors around him swirled and morphed together like a kaleidoscope of anxious agony, muffled and foggy and distorted without the fun. Each heartbeat pounded in his skull and echoed as another pang of guilt.

Dick was coming to help.

I shot him.

“He could have died!!”

He almost did.

Despite being lost in his never-ending sense of numbing panic and tingling anxiety, Jason Todd was unfortunately still privy to the realm of the physical law.

“SHIT!”

Swerving left to avoid the crushing weight of the semi coming his way that would no doubt kill him-

Been there, done that…

– Jason’s motorcycle squealed and wobbled and screeched as he maneuvered it to safety. As the angry horn of the Mack faded behind him, the manic man found himself down a strange yet familiar alley, as if he had been there before but a lifetime ago.

It wasn’t surprising: Jason Todd was raised on the streets of Gotham. He knew the roads. He knew the alleys. He was born in the trenches.

Which made it easy for him to drop his bike and ignore it without a concerning thought.

For a brief moment, Jason Todd simply stood there. Staring blankly. At first, his hands tremmored. Next, his breathing hitched. His heart pounded and slammed like a jackhammer in his chest. A whispering of every past word thrown in his face meant to tear him down roared back in full force, beating him down and filling his soul with a feeling of failure.

I’m a failure.

Then… it hit him. All at once. 

The dam burst.

Jason’s hands went to his head as he sank to his knees, his irregular panting intensified as he struggled to maintain his grip on reality. He rocked slightly, a deep and gasping hyperventilating panic overtook him. His fingers and knuckles pressed at his temples as he tried– and failed– to ground himself. But the sights and sounds of tonight’s events refused to leave him alone. The only company he had was his own thoughts… A terribly discouraging company.

Dick’s face as the pain set.

“Get it together, asshole, get it together!”

Damian’s snarling nastiness.

“Come on, fucking idiot, come on!”

Tim’s silence.

“No, no, no, no, no…”

Bruce’s horrifying accusations and assumptions.

“Please… Please stop…”

Alfred’s stunned indifference masked with concern.

“Why? Why?!”

Tears pricked at his eyes as he sorely wanted to scream, to hit something, to do anything that didn’t make him feel so small, so helpless, so hollow.

You’re an idiot!

You’re a failure!

You said he snuck up on you? SNUCK UP ON YOU!? What a pathetic excuse!

It wasn’t an excuse, but was the reason. Dick snuck up on him because he had no idea which way was up and which way was down, which was left or right. Dick snuck up on him because the man with the crowbar jarred a traumatic memory from his past and sent him spiraling.

YOU SON OF A BITCH, YOU FAILED!

Before he knew it, Todd began to rage around him. He might not have been aware of his actions, but every alley cat and bum and hobo took off the second the garbage cans started flying. Every bang, every slam, every kick, every punch Jason unleashed on unsuspecting trashcans and boxes and fire escapes ricocheted off the brick walls. He needed to feel something other than the numb panic rooting in his chest. He needed to feel something that made him feel like he wasn’t a failure.

You ARE a failure!

Dick is dying because of YOU!!

Somehow, amid the rushing of anxious waves that roared through his ears, a strange sound of something unknown coming up behind him came through clear as day. Swiftly, Jason’s head twisted behind him, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he honed in on the wary homeless man who stared at him with awe and amazement and worry. An animalistic growl erupted from his throat as his death glares burned into the man, and an unfamiliar bellow roared out as he dared be disturbed. 

“Get the hell away from me!!”

The man flinched at the outburst that rocketed through the alley, spun, and hightailed it out of there with a fire under his butt. Jason didn’t pay him anymore mind: he fell back to his knees and curled in on himself, his hands clutching back at his temples again as his anxiety clawed every inch of his mind, body, and soul. He felt like he was being swallowed whole and exploding at the seams simultaneously, both an implosion and explosion all at once.

This time, he couldn’t stop the choking sobs that bubbled and hacked at his lungs.

I did this.

The crowbar tapping in Joker’s hands.

You’re pathetic!

The slow motion recoil of the gun he registered too late.

You’re reckless!

The panic of Dick’s face.

You’re careless!

Dick staggering forward.

You idiot!

The shock of his family as he admitted fault.

Family?

FAMILY!?

You’re the weak link, not family!

When it couldn’t take it anymore, the violent scream that shot from his lungs could be heard from outer space.

Yet it counterbalanced the thick suffocating and stressful silence that filled the BatCave… a silence only broken by the sounds of metallic instruments and a punching bag being torn to shreds.

Bruce Wayne sat at the bedside like an emotionally starved statue ready to explode with one wrong splat from a pigeon. One large hand enclosed Dick’s, his thumb brushing slow, repetitive arcs over cold knuckles while the other traced gentle courses unconsciously across his sweaty forehead and through his messy midnight mop. He tried to ground himself in the simple and fragile proof that his son, despite his critical state of being, was still with him. 

Alfred, his hands as steady as ever, continued placing the final sutures along Dick’s side. Glancing between the two men who had changed his life, the two men that started this entire caped crime fighting brigade all those years ago, he felt something old and sorrowful tighten his expression. When he spoke, his voice was even, practiced, and calm yet filled with sympathy.

“I should be finished shortly with the final round of sutures. Once I bandage the wounds, Master Dick will need rest.”

Bruce’s jaw line worked as his tight throat bobbed. He nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Bowing his head slightly, his lids closed over his blues and he remained vigilant by his son’s side.

How could he do this?

Smoldering fury gained traction as Wayne ran through the night. He felt rage at Jason for what had happened and terror for Dick who lay in front of him unconscious and injured. While he didn’t see it happen, he ran through various scenarios in his mind that replayed the incident, moving on to the next clip that fed his paranoia. This could have been prevented… This had to have been prevented.

What went wrong?

Bruce remained in that self-tormenting ritual of visualization for a bit longer, only half listening as his butler informed him he had finished. Fresh bandages dressed the wounds, vitals were checked one last time, and finally the stoic caped crusader was left along with his boy. He didn’t move… he didn’t look away. He just stayed anchored to the bedside.

Damian, in the meantime, retreated to the training area, channeling his anger into brutal, punishing repetitions. Despite his pent up frenzied temper unleashing on the punching bags, slicing through wooden stakes, or even an odd attempt at medication, the tension still hung thick in the air.

How dare he do this to Grayson? How could he!?

He had looked up to Dick for quite some time. Although they began on a rocky surface, built of uncertainty and spite for the other’s status and worthiness (especially for Damian’s obsession with being the ‘blood son’), their relationship had blossomed into something greater than they ever thought possible. As Batman and Robin they were the great Dynamic Duo. But now, as Nightwing and Robin, they truly became the brothers they were meant to be.

If Richard dies, I will slice his throat.

The fourth member of the cave hadn’t been moping… he hadn’t been secluded… he hadn’t been damaging equipment.

Rummaging through his thoughts, trying to think through things logically, the third Robin took to something he could control. He ran through the stages of the night, he thought back to when Jason and then Nightwing had gone radio silent, trying to place the timing of the incidents. Jason had stopped answering his communications first. Then Nightwing stopped just shortly after. How much time had lapsed between? What had happened in that slot of reality of Jason and Dick both ignoring their calls from Batman, Robin, and himself?

I have to figure this out.

With a renewed sense of motivation, slowly and carefully Tim Drake pushed himself to his feet. He reached for the crutches Bruce had insisted he use (his legs were growing more sore the more he used them…) and made his way across the Cave, each step deliberate and quiet. He didn’t announce his departure. He didn’t want to draw attention. But as his mind raced as he slid into the high back BatComputer chair with intent to discover logic.

Jason looked terrified… No, he looked traumatized…

Something happened.

What happened?

Tim combed through every bit of warehouse security footage he could find with methodical desperation, his fingers flying across the keys, his green eyes burning as the minutes stretched into another hour... and two hours. He reran timestamps. Adjusted angles. Enhanced feeds. They had been recorded all night, and Tim had been guiding them all along , so surely there had to be something he could go on.

Nothing.

No footage of what had happened. No answers.

Tim deduced two possibilities: either there was no camera in the location of Jason and Dick, or something had happened to the camera to make it inoperable.

Dammit…

With a soft, defeated curse word of frustration, Tim leaned back in the chair, head tipping sideways until it rested heavily in his palm. Exhaustion pressed down on him and agitation knotted in his chest.

Something about tonight was wrong. Very wrong.

However, amidst the quiet hush of the cave’s thick tension, something in his periphery caught Drake’s attention. As his eyes drifted over to the side, he saw the red blinking notification light that there was something needing his action.

A message.

He reached over, pressed the button, and saw a message pop up on the screen.

It was from Barbara Gordon.

[All finished here. S and C are back in the Tower. How did everything go?]

Tim’s stomach sank. With all the craziness and flurry of everything in the past few hours, he had completely forgotten that she’d been coordinating with Stephanie Brown and Cassandra Cain on an unrelated mission of their own. Spoiler and Batgirl were tracking down a lead on a newer criminal that had taken to making Gotham her own, hoping and praying that she wouldn’t get herself tangled in anyone already existing in the mob life. Now seeing as how they were finished, Oracle was inquiring about their updates.

An exhausted hand scrubbed across his face, trailing around and through his hair as he debated what he would even say. He knew he had to tell her, it would be rude and inappropriate and sorely reprehensible if he kept her in the dark. Sure, he could tell her the what, but did she need to know the how? Did she need to know who? He couldn't even tell her the why, because even he didn't know the answer to that, but maybe he could hide some things. Maybe he could fudge the details Maybe he could leave out certain parts. Maybe he could–

You idiot, this is Babs. She needs to know what happened to Dick.

Besides, she’ll figure it out one way or another. We don't call her Oracle for nothing.

After a long debatable moment, he sat up straighter, inhaled and exhaled shakily to prepare himself mentally and physically, and typed the bare, simplistic, and gut-retching truth.

[Jason shot Dick]

Chapter Text

The simple inquiry regarding the status updates on the Black Mask mission turned into a terrifying jaw-dropping response that was nowhere near comforting. 

‘Jason shot Dick’

That was it. 

With that, Barbara didn’t waste any time by texting back endlessly or even calling; instead, she immediately responded with an ‘OMW ASAP’ to let the boy know she was on her way. So now, a half hour later, as Barbara, Stephanie, and Cass stormed into the cave, the ladies were hell-bent on finally getting some answers.

The red-headed woman rolled over to the computer console and saw the broken-legged Red Robin sitting there, his body posture slumped and forsaken and defeated. With a tone that left no room for argument, she went right into it.

“Tim? Is he okay? Where is he?”

Drake slowly faced the three women, having seen them on Wayne Manor cameras and heard them coming through thus was therefore not surprised at their arrival. His face was long and tight and exhausted, but more frustrated than anything else. He exhaled harshly and gestured behind him and into the distance. 

Turning in that direction, in another part of the cave that took a few paces to get to, Barbara, Stephanie, and Cass saw the scene in the medical bay. They saw the bed. They saw Dick still on his side, prone and unconscious, covered in a blanket. They saw the medical equipment and blinking lights surrounding him. They saw Alfred nearby busying himself with who knew what trying to keep his mind occupied. They saw Bruce seated beside him, still holding one hand and caressing the dark mop with the other.

They saw the blood.

“Oh my God,” Babs couldn’t help but ache at the sight of how much blood was covering the area… the floor… Bruce’s legs… Bruce’s torso… Bruce’s arms.

So much.

Wheeling as quickly as she could, she bypassed Tim and bee-lined it towards the two men. However, Stephanie and Cass remained behind. The blonde whirled on the man nearest to them and blurted out a burst of flabbered confusion.

“What the hell, Tim? You tell us Jason shot Dick, but gave nothing else? What exactly happened out there?!”

Rather than answer her, Drake hung his head and closed his eyes. It had been a long night, that was for sure, and his ex-girlfriend screaming at him to explain didn’t help matters. Stephanie had a strong way of being the bluntest person in the room… but right now they didn’t need blunt. 

Over at the medical area, Barbara wheeled closer to the Dark Knight. She took in his haggard and tired appearance, his gaunt and worried jaw that bounced in line with the pulsing tension in his body. The dried merlot-tinted crust covered most of his body, letting her know he had most likely carried Dick in his arms. She saw his large hand encompassing the smaller man’s in his, rubbing gentle circles of the knuckles. His other hand thumbed sweetly over the pale forehead. 

One wrong move and the man could break.

“Bruce?”

Her soft whisper made him tense. Yes, he had heard her and the others arrive– he’s Batman–, but when he finally caught her eyes she saw the immense amount of pain threatening to blow up. There was so much torment and worry and fear and anger in those blues. So much confusion, so much hurt, and so much uncertainty.

It was awful.

His bones cracked when he stood up, slowly rising to a slumped height, making Gordon question how long he had sat in the chair not moving. She watched as he maintained his downcast gaze on her, noticed the subtle nod, and the slow movement as he relinquished his grip on his boy’s hand. Even the small, tight, and forced baritone whisper filled her with sympathy.

“Stay with him… I need to change.”

And with that, Bruce trudged awkwardly away, his footsteps heavy and his spine curved as the weight of the family fell on his shoulders. A few moments later he disappeared into the cave’s locker room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that landed heavy.

Barbara released a sad sigh and turned back to Dick. Wheeling closer, she reached out her hand and replaced Bruce’s with her own, continuing his soothing connection. She even tried to feign a smile for the man laying down.

“Dick? Hey… It’s me. It’s Babs. Just letting you know I’m here.”

No response.

“Well?!”

Stephanie had refused to give up. Hands on her hips, she raised an expectant eyebrow towards the brown-haired Drake, eager and antsy to have her questions answered.

Tim stood back up, reached for his crutches, and tilted his head for the Batgirls to follow. Trailing after his hobble, Cass and Stephanie kept up as he finally spoke up.

“We… We don’t really know the details of what happened, to be honest.”

“Except we do.”

Amidst the solemnity and anxiety-filled tension that encompassed the adults and elder teenagers, Damian Wayne had taken to joining the group. Walking over as his father had left, the youngest of the group strutted into the medical area just as Tim, Stephanie, and Cass joined the other two by the bed. He tutted and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he neared the bed.

“Richard was shot because Todd can’t be trusted.”

"That isn't fair to put that on him."

“TT. Life isn’t fair, Drake. You have something to dispute that?”

"I only dispute the fact that there's a certain Bird in this cave that had his own time period of distrust... And look at you now."

"Irrelevant. I did not shoot Grayson."

"No, but you tried to kill him multiple times before."

"Irrelevant."

"SO relevant!"

“This is... about trust?” Cass finally interrupted as the two Robins most likely wouldn't have ceased flinging insults. She glanced nervously, expectant, between the two of them, “This was… on purpose?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Drake urged her to believe that, his one hand patting the air to calm down the tension, “I mean, look, it’s… it’s not that simple.”

“You’re not making any sense, man,” Stephanie snarled, her patience running thin, “Do you know what happened or not?”

“Here’s what we do know, okay?” Drake exhaled to gather his wits and subdue his bubbling irritation with the interrogation, “When they got back here something was off about Jason. Something weird. Something wrong.”

“Yeah, no crap something was wrong!” Brown spat, throwing her hands towards the prone man on the bed, “Jason shot Dick!”

“For once, I agree with Brown,” Damian thumbed her way, “That is all we need to know. You were not there, Drake. You did not see him."

"And neither did you! No one did! That's my point!"

"We find the... point. Find the reason."

"Yes, Cass. We need to find the reason."

"The reason doesn't mean jack-shit if Dick dies!"

"Dick isn't going to die!"

As they argued about the missing man and his acts, Barbara began to tear up. Her hand squeezed Dick’s tighter as her other covered her trembling lips. A tear leaked through her now closed eyes. She didn’t even catch the elderly butler's sad sympathetic consideration.

“There's something more to it, guys, I know there is,” Red Robin pleaded with them, “Jason didn't seem like himself when he got back in the cave. And before you all state the obvious again, I mean it. He seemed off, like he was upset about it. He wasn't angry or furious, he looked scared and nervous." 

Stephanie snarked again, "Again, TO state the obvious, no shit he was scared and nervous: HE SHOT DICK!" 

"No one that shoots someone on purpose acts that way!"

"I can put on a pretty convincing sob story if prompted, I assure you. Perhaps--"

"Will you both just shut up for one damn second!?" 

Tim’s outburst did just that. Everyone zipped their lips and stopped speaking. Barbara didn't turn around, but her ears perked up as she heard the young man exhale like he was reasoning with small children.

“Look, bottom line, I think something happened to Jason on the mission. He implied as much." 

Damian frowned, confused, "What are you talking about Drake? I was there and he didn't imply anything."

Tim furrowed his brow and shook his head, "Maybe not explicitly, but think about it; Jason said he didn't know it was Dick that came up behind him. He thought it was someone else coming. Like one of Black Mask’s men he was possibly chasing. My point is, he didn't know.” He tutted and reasoned, “Jason is intelligent, we all know this. He's always beyond aware of whatever situation he's in. So… What happened to him to make him not recognize Dick, of all people? What happened to him that made him lose focus and lose track of reality?" 

No one spoke. 

It was as if they hadn’t considered the scenario in which there was an outside force that resulted in Todd not being able to function at full capacity, rendering him unable to make good choices based on reality… thus doing what he did. And it wasn’t as if they didn’t like Jason; that was far from it. But they quickly realized that as Tim broke it down into its simplest forms they may have been too hasty in judgment. 

Barbara wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, turning her watery blues up to Tim, "We need to find Jason,” then narrowed her eyes slightly as she gave the locker room a nod, “And we need to talk to Bruce.”

Tim followed her gaze, thought about it, and grew weary, "We'll talk to Bruce when he gets out… Best to leave him alone right now." 

Steph rolled her eyes but only mumbled as her gut’s flame flickered, "Now I know you're full of it."

Tim chose to ignore her, putting on his ‘business face’, "Steph, Cass, go find Jason." However, when Damian stood up and made a move to join on the mission, the older boy stopped him, "Damian, you need to stay here with Dick." 

He received a growl from the younger Wayne in return.

"You are not my father, Drake. I am going to hunt down that monster."

"He is not a monster, Damian.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Steph snapped back ironically, “All he wanted for the longest time was you dead."

Tim was having just about enough of this. His temper was flaring but he was doing everything he could to keep level among the hotheads, "Yeah I know, but things changed. Something happened to him tonight. We need to know what happened. Like I said, Jason wouldn't just shoot Dick and then act as panicked and scared as he was.”

Barbara blinked up at that, frowning when he described it that way, "Scared? You think he was scared?” 

Tim nodded, "Yeah, he looked freaked out. Like I said, he seemed like he was snapped out of reality." 

Damian tutted and rolled his eyes, glowering darkly as if he thought the whole argument was absurd, "Of course he wasn't in reality, HE SHOT DICK!" 

"Yes, I KNOW that but I need EVERYONE to get their heads out of their asses NOW and LISTEN TO ME!!”

Timothy had enough.

The cave rang with his words as they echoed off the stone walls. No one spoke. All eyes were on the fuming man and the vein bulging against his temple. Slowly, the raging teen inhaled deeply, kept it for a few seconds, and released it slowly…

"You all don't get it don't you? Everything was fine, yes... until it wasn't. And we need to know what made it not be fine. Regardless of his past, Jason would NOT do this on purpose! I believe that with my whole heart. Now… Steph, Cass, go find Jason. Damian, stay here with Dick and Barbara. I'll talk to Bruce whenever he gets back out here. We need to figure out what happened and the ONLY way we can do that is to work together rather than SCREAM at each other!" 

No one could take their eyes off him. It wasn’t out of character for Tim to crash out, that was for sure, but the way he was going about it and how positive he was of his disposition made everyone clam up and actually pay attention to his logical reasoning rather than their own rash emotions. They were all hurting at what had happened, but Tim was right. They needed to know… and that started with finding Jason.

Damian, however, wasn’t too pleased with his command. He huffed and spun on his heels to return to the training area he had occupied for the last several hours, no doubt ready to work out his frustrations on the last remaining wooden stakes with his katana. Steph and Cass shared a look before disappearing to the mean streets of Gotham in search of their resident Hood. Even Alfred hadn’t dared to step into the conversation. He continued busying himself with checking Dick’s vitals, wiping the table, fidgeting with the IVs, reorganizing materials, anything to stay occupied rather than worry.

And Barbara… Barbara just stared at Tim.

But slowly, Tim’s authority-high fell. His hardened glare softened and deflated, as did his shoulders. The exasperated teen hung his head, remained stoic in his stance for a few moments, and then crutched over to collapse into a nearby wheeling chair close enough to have a word or two with the red-head if he needed to.

Babs had seen a lot of drama in the Bat Family over the years. Way too much drama to count. But this? This was something different. This was something new. And for the Bat Family, that was saying something.

What happened? What went wrong?

Chapter Text

Moments after the cave had returned to its deafening silence only punctuated with the mechanical chirping of the vitals machine, Barbara, Tim, and Alfred were the only ones remaining by Dick’s side… at least only for a moment. The butler had chosen to take his leave, diligently informing the two heroes he would prepare some sustenance to get them through the early morning hours.

Barbara turned back to Tim as Pennyworth retreated upstairs to the Manor. He sat near the foot of the bed in one of the rolling chairs, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, head bowed. His eyes were transfixed on the floor: if he stared long enough, answers could appear in the cracks of the stone.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“You handled that really well.”

Tim let out a short, humorless huff without moving his gaze. He felt the woman’s kind green eyes on him but kept his own down. 

“Yeah. Right.”

“I mean it,” she encouraged softly. “They’re confused. Frustrated. Angry. And I get it, I really do. We’re all angry and frustrated and confused… But Tim, you’re the only one actually thinking this through. You’re the only one going about this the logical way.”

The brown haired teen finally lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were rimmed red, exhaustion etched into his face far deeper than his age should allow… but he saw her kind and sincere smile.

“Jason has worked too hard to get where he is to let it all go like this. It was rough in the beginning, yes, with him coming back and being jaded the way he was. Rough, though, would be an understatement, I get that. But… Things have improved for the better between all of us. Despite the unknowns of tonight, for the record, I don’t believe for a second he’d do this on purpose.”

Tim relaxed when he felt her confidence and belief.

“I know,” he nodded quietly. “He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t hurt Dick. Not deliberately.” The stressful lump in his throat bobbed. “I know everyone is thinking emotionally about this, and… and I was, too, for a while… but they’re not being rational. They’re forgetting that Jason actually cares about us. He cares about Dick. He just… doesn’t show it the same way.”

Barbara smirked and tilted her head towards the locker room, “Sounds like someone else we know.”

Drake grinned knowingly at her comparison, nodding along. Then his gaze drifted toward Dick’s pale complexion and the oxygen mask fogging in beat with his lungs. It had been a long night, that was for sure. By now, if he looked at the clock, he would recognize it had been over three hours, nearly three and a half, since the incident happened. Very long night indeed…

“Tim, did you check the security cameras? You can hack into the warehouse’s system and see if we can find some evidence of what went down. Maybe the surveillance will give us answers to explain why Jason said Dick just snuck up on him.”

Tim grimaced and grumbled, “I already did that. Like… a million times. There’s nothing there.”

“Then do it a million and one times,” Barbara urged gently. “Maybe there’s something we missed.”

Tim hesitated, then slouched and sighed, nodding. It wouldn’t hurt to go back over it again, unless there was nothing to find and then it would hurt even worse knowing there was nothing. He also heard how much the 'we' sounded like 'you', pushing past his own self-inflicted failures.

“Yeah… Okay.”

He pushed himself up and crutched his way over to the console about thirty feet away, settling down to focus once more as screens flickered to life. As he did that, Barbara returned her attention to the man lying on the bed… Squeezing his hand tighter, she held on to the hope that everything was going to be okay.

She was lost in her own world for at least another half an hour before she heard a noise indicating she wasn’t alone anymore.

Finally exiting the locker room, Bruce stepped closer to her in his civilian outfit… He was free from the costume and the blood and the physical reminders, but the weight on his shoulders was still unmistakable. It was also obvious, as Barbara watched him approach Dick’s bedside, that the hero had taken longer in the showers than necessary to quell his nerves.

Or… maybe not long enough.

“Alfred says he’s doing just fine,” she informed him as he stood by the foot of his boy’s bed, “He went up to make us some food.”

Bruce nodded, exhaling a breath that sounded like it hurt to release. He was a powder keg of emotions ready to blow… either that or a slowly deflating party balloon that refused to reinflate no matter how much effort had been expended. He looked twenty years older from the stress of the night...

“Steph and Cass are out looking for Jason,” Barbara added, “But we’re worried he doesn’t want to be found.”

The man’s heart rate sped back up as he closed his eyes and envisioned the whole night and its events. He shook his head and his hardening gaze opened back up to stare at his boy’s wounds, “He needs to answer for what he did.”

“Yes… and no.”

She was met with a quick sharp eye on her, his emotions obviously wrestling violently beneath the surface. He didn’t need to voice his ‘excuse me?’, but she heard it loud and clear all the same as his blues pierced into her.

“Bruce,” Babs began, slowly and deliberately, turning her chair to face the erect and quivering man full of mixed emotions, “Tim is right. No one is thinking logically right now. Including you.” She took a breath and steeled her eyes as professionally as she could, “What happened? When it all went down, when things went weird, what was Jason doing?”

Bruce’s face tilted down and away, his jaw tightening and tensing. He shut his eyes as if forcing the words out required more strength than he had left. Reopening them, he looked off into the cave as he dictated the night.

“We were working in teams. Jason went to follow Sionis’ runners.”

“And?”

“Dick offered to assist. Jason said he had it under control, but Dick went anyway.” His voice cracked just slightly. “Jason went radio silent first for about five minutes… then Dick did for another five. Damian and I were attempting to reach them but received no responses from either of them. When he finally started answering again, Jason told us Dick was shot. We didn’t know it was because of him until we got back here.” He then turned to Barbara, eyes glistening with the internal moral struggle between his heart and his head. “I want to believe Jason didn’t do this on purpose. You know that.”

Barbara’s expression hardened… not unkindly, but resolute and slightly argumentative. 

“Do I? Because it sounds like you, Damian, and Steph were ready to decide his guilt without any evidence to the contrary. Since when does Batman jump to conclusions?”

Wayne bristled as if slapped, “I’m not jumping to conclusions.”

“But you are,” she pointed out calmly as she crossed her arms, challenging his code of ethics, “Look, Tim is right and I stand by that because I agree with him. None of you are thinking logically or clearly about this. Cass believes Jason is innocent, too, and so do I. You know Jason cares about Dick, probably more than he cares about anyone here. They’ve always had a fine relationship, even after Jason was resurrected and came back. Rocky, yes, but not deadly. And now you think all of a sudden, out of the blue, after all these years, Jason would go and just shoot Dick, pretend to act scared and nervous, and come up with some kind of story that he just didn’t know it was him? I don’t buy that for one second and I’m ashamed you do.”

No response.

She wasn’t expecting one, to be honest… or maybe she was. Hoping, at least. Still, she watched as the muscles in his chiseled jaw worked and relaxed, a feeling of shame and embarrassment replacing his high-strung anxiety and confusion. When Babs knew she hit a nerve, she relaxed slightly, too.

… until a low, deep, and aching moan from the third party next to them joined in.

Barbara gasped and spun around to the bed, “Dick?”

Bruce was already moving, coming over to the other side of the seated woman nearer to his head. His one hand gripped the edge of the bed as he peered into his boy’s face.

“Dick,” Barbara whispered again, squeezing his hand with both of hers. “Hey, are you waking up? It’s Barbara, I’m here. Bruce is here, too, okay? We’re both here.”

Another moan rumbled the bed… and then a sharp, sucked-in wince.

Bruce’s voice was soft, careful as he reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes as he had done a million times before. 

“Easy, chum, take it easy. You were hurt pretty badly… But you’re safe now, it’s okay.”

Slowly, painfully, Dick’s eyes cracked open. They were bloodshot, unfocused, and glassy, but on their way to becoming alert. It was like a breath of fresh air for the two standing over him. Bruce pursed his lips and worked through the lump in his throat at the sight of his boy’s blues. Barbara smiled through tears, brushing her fingers along his cheek, careful around the oxygen mask.

“H-hey you… Welcome back.”

Dick blinked at her, dazed and confused and seriously sluggish. He found her face, found her smile, and the tension in his face subdued. Then his orbs trailed up and over to Bruce who had knelt down closer to his eye level. It was clear he was still very much zoned out, still disoriented, but upon locking on to their faces he tried to move his mouth to communicate.

“J-J-J… J-J-Jaaa…”

“It’s okay, Dick,” Barbara murmured, wiping away a tear that fell at the aching sound of his broken voice. “You’re okay.”

“Cr-cr-cr… Cr-cr-ow…”

Bruce’s brow furrowed and pinched, trying to make sense of the croaking and crackling words. “Cr… Crow? Dick, what…”

Dick struggled to breathe normally, the effort to speak up for himself becoming a tremendous burden. His lungs heaved and his throat hitched, his words muffled and mumbled… But he was able to finally get out what he wanted to say. 

“Crow… B… B-Bar… C-C-Brr… Jay… P-p-pa-pan… panic… atta-attack…”

The world stopped.

The air around them staled.

Bruce went pale and his jaw fell to his stomach. Barbara swore under her breath as her stunned eyes turned over to the older man who looked like he had just realized he had made a terrible mistake. 

“Hey… guys?”

Both of them spun around to see Tim standing behind them. Grief etched tightly across his face, the weight of the moment heavy on his heart and his shoulders. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“I… I found the footage,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “There was a hidden camera that I missed. It wasn’t part of the main system… probably put in there after the fact. Anyway, I hacked deeper into the hard drive and found it…” The lump he tried to rid from his throat was like a golf ball, even preventing him from speaking without breaking, “I know what happened during the radio silence.”

Bruce stood up to his full height and his heart raced, half already knowing what to expect. 

“What happened?”

A dramatic pause…

“One of the guys Jason went after? He had a crowbar.”

A pin drop echoed in the cave.

“He… He just lost it,” Tim described the scene, his emotions starting to get the best of him as the weight of the moment burst through. “One second he was fine, then the crowbar showed up, and then he wasn’t… Jason went berserk on the men. Totally lost it. Total dissociation. Then Dick showed up behind him from off camera. That’s when Jason turned… That’s when he fired. The timestamps all match for the radio silence. It’s all there…” He wiped away a tear, “Jason really didn’t know it was Dick. He couldn’t have… It was an accident.”

Barbara turned back and leaned closer to Dick’s face, tears falling freely now as the heavy reality of the moment sickened them all.

“Dick? Did Jason have a panic attack? Is that what happened tonight? A panic attack from a crowbar?”

Grayson blinked slowly, his breath rattling in his chest. He gulped heavily and coughed, then frowned, seriously worried.

“H-he… H-h-he mmm’okay?”

Their hearts shattered.

Dick wasn’t casting blame. He wasn’t demanding answers. He wasn’t even requesting an apology. He was doing the most Dick Grayson-thing anyone had ever expected from him: thinking of others first before himself.

He was asking if Jason was okay.

Bruce bowed his head. Shame ripped through his heart and gutted him. Embarrassment, humiliation, and frustration showered over him. He was Batman, for God’s sake. There was no excuse for his actions, or anyo– NO. No, he wouldn’t even bring anyone else into this mess. It was his call. His attitude. His words. Not Damian’s, not Stephanie’s, not anyone else’s… The blame he placed on them for thinking that way was because of how HE reacted. They followed his lead. And he led by example. He led by demonstration. He led by setting the tone.

And what he demonstrated and displayed was pure despicable inconsideration and a disgusting blindness to the truth without giving Jason the chance to explain himself.

I did jump to conclusions.

“What have I done?”

He didn’t even register he had said the words out loud until he looked up and saw Barbara’s mix of sympathy and judgment pass through him.

Moments later, however, Dick involuntarily slipped back to healing sleep without getting a response to his inquiry.

“I knew it,” Tim’s voice cracked behind him, threatening to blow up, “I knew something was wrong… Now we all know."

After a considerable pause to process the last few hours and his poor mishandling, Bruce stood back up, gave his boy a final look, and hardened his features.

“I’ll be back.”

Barbara and Tim watched as Bruce stomped over to the elevators a distance away. When the doors closed behind him, sending him upstairs to the Manor, they shared a weary and sorrowful look between them… a look filled with pain, uncertainty, confusion, and hope.

“I just hope this ends well…”

“Me too.”

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne hadn’t paid attention to the time as he drove through the dingy darkened streets of Gotham. If he did, he’d realize he had been driving for two hours.

Tim had contacted Batgirl and Spoiler a couple minutes after Bruce left the cave. He had informed them that he had joined the search… but not as Batman.

As Bruce.

With each passing moment and still no sign of the distraught and shunned man, the billionaire thought back to all the words spoken between them… and the words unspoken. He had treated Jason unfairly, that had gone without saying. However, what Bruce had a difficult time acknowledging until the light shined on the facts of what had happened was that he was wrong in every possible way.

He was wrong.

Bruce scrubbed a rough hand across his jaw as his eyes peered down the alleys adjacent to the road, up to the fire escapes, and through the shop windows as if somehow the anti-hero would have used them as sanctuary. But as the time approached four o'clock in the morning, nothing was open yet and Jason hadn’t exactly lived a crime-filled life as of recently.

I messed up… royally…

At long last, with one final scour of the Crime Alley vicinity, Bruce spotted something familiar that had toppled over:

Jason’s motorcycle.

Pulling over to the side and shutting down his vehicle, Bruce stepped out and studied the motorcycle, incognito and disguised to avoid people identifying the wealthy man. It hadn’t wrecked, which was a good sign, but it was discarded haphazardly like it wasn’t the primary concern of the young man. That alone made Bruce deduce what kind of mental status Jason was in.

Walking slowly, Wayne entered the alley and scanned the area, hoping to find a glimpse of the owner of the bike. He didn’t want to draw wild attention to himself, but he didn’t want to jump up on the man to cause him more stress than he was carrying.

Finally, he spotted him.

Seated near a brick wall by a dumpster, the man remained stoic and frozen on the old stone ground. Still and guarded, his back was turned, but Bruce could see the tension in his outfit hadn’t released from his time away… it got worse. His knees were drawn up to his chin and his arms rested around his legs, curled in on himself. Jason looked desolate, lost, hollow, and incredibly lonely.

“Jason?”

He called out softly to the young man, praying he wouldn’t rattle him, but Jason flinched ever so slightly Bruce thought he imagined things. Yes, he heard him, that was positive, but how would he react? Wayne exhaled slowly and stepped closer, speaking as gently as he could.

“Jason, I’m–”

Todd stood up, a scoff of indifference rose up, and he started walking. Away. Away from Bruce. Away from the anxiety. Away from the excuses. His heavy boots stomped on the ground, giving no more mind to the billionaire behind him.

Bruce felt it in his heart how badly he hurt Jason. But he wasn’t going to lose him this easily. He cleared his throat and begged for the young man to hear him out, giving the one piece of information he knew could ground him.

“We didn’t know about the crowbar.”

That did it.

Jason stopped walking. He froze, stiff like a statue. Slowly, his fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t make any other move to communicate either way. The only indication he heard the admission was that he simply stopped moving. So, Bruce took that as a sign he was ready to listen.

Or, at least he thought.

“Jason, listen…” Bruce approached him, coming closer like someone cautiously stalking a scared animal, “We didn’t know about the crowbar. We didn’t know that happened to you.” He reached up and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Jason, I’m very–”

CRACK!

Before Bruce knew what had happened he was flat on his behind, slamming hard onto the cold ground with an ‘oof’. He looked up, rubbed his cheek, and saw a fuming and furious Red Hood glaring down at him, sans helmet he had discarded back at the warehouse hours ago.

Fuming and furious were understatements, however: Jason wasn’t just furious, he was hurt. Pained. Mistreated. Wronged.

“You didn’t know? Didn’t know?! I don’t give a damn that you didn’t know, Bruce! What I do give a damn about is the fact that you didn’t even bother to ask!! You didn't even bother to listen to me!!” he spat back, “You didn’t even care enough to bother with the truth! You just assumed the worst, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

It was true.

Bruce did assume the worst.

Blindly, unprovoked, irrational, and unfairly emotional.

“You know something, man?” Jason sneered down at him from his nose, “When I was Robin, I thought, hey, here I am, some stupid punk kid from the streets of Crime Alley,” he paced around the darkened space, ignoring that the man he had downed was beginning to stand, “now suddenly this super awesome sidekick to the World’s Greatest Detective, the big bat Batman… the Dark Knight… a frickin’ God! I looked up to you… I idolized you! I worshipped you! Hell, not even that, I wanted to be you!” He scoffed and shook his head to himself, “And then it all went to shit, didn’t it?”

“Jason, I didn’t–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!”

Bruce did.

“You let me die, Bruce! You fuckin’ let me die!!” Jason shouted at him, spittle dripping from his jaw, “You left me alone, and I DIED!”

Bruce didn’t argue… He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get a word in otherwise. He simply stared at the man, hoping he’d come to another conclusion, praying he’d find another reason, than to think it was his fault he had met his demise that day in the warehouse.

Sadly, he did.

“That’s what I thought, at least,” Jason hitched, his fists clenched at his sides as he stared into the soul of the man who took him in and gave him magic, “But it wasn’t you… You didn’t let me die… I let myself die.”

Jason, no…

“After I was resurrected and came back, I told myself it was all because of you… I told myself you didn’t care about me… I convinced myself that you didn’t kill Joker to retaliate because I wasn’t special enough for that to happen. And man did it piss me off... But it wasn’t that,” the black-haired young man’s glassy eyes bore into the cement as his past came back to haunt him, “It was my own stupid fault I died… My own fault… I’m the reason I died. I’m the one that took off on my own… I’m the one that chased down Joker… I’m the one that thought I was all high and mighty and arrogant enough that I could take that sadistic prick down myself… but I was wrong.”

Bruce could feel the verbal knife twisting in his gut and could hear the pained agony in Jason’s words, knowing that the man actually felt this way. This was his truth…

“And now,” Jason scowled back at him, “And now after all these years… After the second chance I was given to make things right again, you have the balls to even entertain the idea that I’d try to kill Dick on purpose… You have the goddamn nerve to even picture the possibility that I’d take him out… After everything we’d been through, after everything that has happened between all of us, you didn’t even hesitate to think that could be a possibility!!”

It was true… Bruce admitted as much. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, averting his shamed gaze from the fiery outburst.

“You assholes just assumed the worst, didn’t you?! You didn’t even bother to figure it out!!”

Jason kicked over a nearby can and continued his tirade, his blood pressure spiking as his breathing increased, the anxiety ramping back up with each word he spouted and every feeling he got off his chest.

“You just went with the tried and true, right? The whole ‘ooohh, Jason’s fully capable of doing it because of his shitty past and now the Pit messed him up and how he wanted to hurt us all and Red Hood and anti-hero and blah blah blah’. You didn’t even bother to check to see what had actually happened tonight, instead just jumping to fucked up conclusions that made you all feel better about yourself, didn’t you?! You don’t even need to answer that cuz that’s exactly what you did! And you know why you did that? Because it’s easy to not trust me! It’s easy to just fall back into that old comfortable belief system that Red Hood is off the rails and out to get us all… You know I’m right, Bruce, you know I’m right!!”

Again, Bruce didn’t speak… He remained steadfast and steady, his eyes shut and unflinching despite his insides doing somersaults that could make the most hardened vigilante throw up.

“HE’S MY BROTHER, DAMMIT!!”

Jason heaved and panted, hyperventilating as he ran shaky hands through his hair, pulling at them to feel something. His breathing hitched as his eyes watered.

“Dick’s my fuckin’ brother! You think I would just do that to him!? On purpose?!” Todd rolled his eyes and gave a short humorless laugh as his hands flopped to his sides, “And if you didn’t think I did it on purpose, then you just flat out thought I was careless and reckless enough to let it happen… and I don’t know which is worse: thinking I did it deliberately or that I’m that much of a pathetic loser to prevent it from happening, like I’m some goddamn rookie who didn’t give a two shits to pay attention to what was going on… So what is it, huh? Am I a homicidal maniac or a pathetic piss-ant idiot?”

Bruce wanted to answer, he wanted to argue, to counter all of that, to say it wasn't true… He just couldn’t... Words failed him. A few moments passed by, moments of silence and consideration, swollen with things unsaid. 

“Do you have any idea how it feels to have everything bad be blamed on you?”

At the deadpan change in tone, the older man’s eyes rose to meet the face of the distraught boy in front of him. He was only in his early twenties but he had lived a lifetime– two lifetimes– of heartache and suffering and insecurity and chaos. Jason had been through more than most people… and that wasn’t even scratching the surface.

Jason looked torn apart… His eyes drifted and blanked, his posture slouched yet high-strung and tense, like a bowstring ready to be plucked one final time before snapping. Red chapped lips quivered as he stared at the spot at Bruce’s feet, drying even more with each erratic breath.

“I… I tried to–” a soft pained hiccup erupted, “I didn’t… He was…” He gaped and floundered as his eyes watered, “Dick was just there, and… a-and… I didn't realize until it was... God there was just so much blood and... a-and...”

Before he knew it, he was enveloped in a massive bear embrace, pulled closer to the muscular chest and swallowed whole.

It was all Jason needed to explode.

Bruce held the young man as the floodgates opened up, holding him tight as Jason failed miserably to keep his sobs in check and macho. At first, Todd tightened and tensed as if he was refusing comfort… but he gave in easily when the warmth of the arms around him gave him security to just let go. And soon, Jason’s trembling arms came up and clutched at the back of the jacket, his face buried into the strong neck… 

The physical sting of being punched in the face was like being slapped with a feather compared to the aching hole in Bruce’s heart. He closed his eyes and held his boy, his second Robin, rubbing small circles on his back when he felt he wasn’t going to get hell for it. 

And Jason just let loose… His guttural muffled groans rumbled into the taller figure, his whole body shaking and quivering with emotional tremors that belied his hardened exterior of being the resident tough guy. Deep down, Jason Todd was a sweetheart… Deep down he just needed to be loved. Deep down he truly was magic.

Time had passed, but neither man paid any mind.

Slowly, Bruce opened his eyes and felt the young man that had rivaled his own height calm down so slightly, his aching cries mellowing to soft hiccups and sniffles. Tilting his blues over to the head that had reached his ears – so unlike the smaller teen he had taken in many years ago–, he cleared his throat to try to make amends.

“I’m sorry, Jason.”

There was no reaction at first…

“I’m so… so very sorry… You didn’t deserve any of that. Of this. You were right… and we were wrong.”

This time, Jason did lift his head. He stepped back and faced the man who had become his father… the man who gave him the suit… the man who gave him magic… and saw his sorrowful and truly apologetic expression. Bruce rarely said he was sorry, very rarely admitted he was wrong. Even if he was wrong, he was somehow right which justified any and all actions, one way or another. Time time, Jason noted, there was none of that. There was no slight twist of reality to make him correct in some fashion. There was no undertone of ‘welllll maybe I was right in this wa–’ No. None of that.

“We jumped to conclusi–”

Bruce stopped. He tightened his lips and shook his head, changing direction. Changing his tone. Changing the meaning and delivery. His voice hardened… decisive.

“No… I jumped to conclusions. I acted that way and the others followed suit. I am to blame fully for how things went down.”

He inhaled and exhaled, squaring up with his boy’s expectant gaze.

“I was…”

Jason waited, his reddened eyes searching out the other’s tight face and tensed jaw. Bruce closed his eyes only minutely, but when he opened them, his own blues were glassy and red.

“I was scared.”

Bruce never admitted he was scared. Never… Maybe back when they were Robins, he allowed them to know he was scared sometimes to let them know he was human, but he never really flat out said it.

“I was scared that Dick might…” the billionaire struggled with his words, Jason saw this plain as day. But the father-figure cleared his throat and nodded, blinking away the tears, “I was scared I would lose him. And with the uncertainty surrounding what happened, and… and then you said you were the one that shot him, I… Jason I’m so sorry I treated you that way. You didn’t deserve what I said to you and you didn’t deserve to be kicked out. I had no right to do that to you. And I take full responsibility for Damian and Stephanie for thinking that way. I do know deep down that you would never try to hurt Dick on purpose, but… but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t thinking at all. But that’s no excuse…”

Todd just stared at the man’s broken down apology and heard his words. At first, he wasn’t sure if he could trust the words, debating back and forth if this was just a showy display to get things back on track or if it was an honest-to-god apology that he truly felt in his whole heart. Yet, when he really considered it, taking in Bruce’s admission of guilt, Jason started to recognize how real this really was.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Bruce exhaled again as if he had already accepted defeat, “But I do want you to know how truly and completely sorry I am that I made you feel that you are what’s wrong in this family… You aren’t. Not by a long shot."

He placed a large warm hand against his cheek, leaned closer, and whispered.

"You are not what's wrong in the world... The world did you wrong and you reacted. There's a difference."

Jason didn't know what to say...

"You really are magic, Jason. You were given a second chance to come back and make things right and you have… You really have. And I’m so sorry it took something like this for me to be able to acknowledge it. I've always seen it, that's true, but I've never said it.”

The tension between the two of them began as a maelstrom of emotions wreaking havoc on their insides, most assuredly to create ulcers that if weren’t there already would be soon, and melted and morphed into a slow moving wave of relief that washed over them. The red hot fiery rage Jason spewed through the alley and the subdued blue admission of guilt Bruce croaked out blended together in a purple blanket of soothing peace, enveloping both of them in a warm tingling calmness they felt from the tips of their toes to the follicles in their heads.

And before he knew it, Jason started to smile.

Crooked and ornery, but present.

“Well… I do know a thing or two about not thinking straight, huh?”

And sarcastic. Always sarcastic.

Bruce’s lips curled slightly as he nodded. He cleared his throat as he sighed, staring at Jason with a soft empathetic gaze.

“I'm sorry about the panic attack. I’m sorry that that weapon brought back all those terrible memories. If I had taken the time to listen to you in the first place, I would have learned that… and I would have been able to help you through it rather than pass unnecessary and undeserved judgment. I was wrong."

Jason took that in, actually finding himself appreciating the words in spite of himself. He shrugged indifferently despite the aching in his heart that wanted to fully buy into it, and played it off.

“Yeah, I guess… But what’s done is done, ya know.”

“No, it’s not,” Wayne countered, “It’s not done. It’s far from done. Damian and Stephanie owe you an apology, too.”

“They don’t need to–”

“Yes. They do.”

Shrugging again, seeing that Bruce was determined to see this wrong be righted, Jason felt lighter. A weight lifted off his shoulder without even thinking about it. 

However, something struck him as odd.

“Wait… How do you know I had a panic attack?”

Bruce’s soft grin turned into a knowing yet lighthearted smirk. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and looked into his inquisitive and confused face.

“Dick told us.”

Jason blinked at that. He frowned, considered that, and then lit up like a little boy realizing that Santa might be real after all.

“Wait, what? He knew? How did he--" then another thought hit him, "He’s awake?”

“And he’s asking for you…” Bruce’s smile grew, “He’s asking if you’re okay.”

The news that Grayson was not only awake and alert but that he was true to his own personality and checking to make sure his little bro was okay almost made Todd cry again. His green eyes watered and his lips pursed, but he refused to give him. Still, though, he hung and shook his head, giving a small crackling chuckle as he pictured the bedridden acrobat demanding to know if his brother was alright.

“Jackass doesn’t know how to rest, does he?”

This time, Bruce did laugh. A short, blunt chuckle, as ironically amused as the other. He patted Jason's shoulder and steered him out of the alley.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“I will say though, he’s always had this weird intuition about him, ya know? Like he always knew when someone else was hurting. Some sicko weird sixth sense of empathy.”

“That is true…”

“Just… don’t tell him I was crying, okay? Bad enough he’s sappy enough for the whole damn city, I don’t need him thinking I am, too.”

“I won’t.”

“You better not, or I’ll sock you in the other cheek.”

“Don’t be surprised if he finds out anyway.”

“... Dammit…”

Chapter Text

“Remind me again whose bright idea it was to make me wear Jimmy Choos to this?”

“You are the only one that is believable in your position, Brown.”

“What about Cass? How come she gets to wear flats?”

“You are more… girly than I am.”

“More girly?! Are you F’n kidding me?!”

“That’s enough, we need to focus. Spoiler, Batgirl, when you get in there, ask for–”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, ask for Chuckie Vasco.”

“Exactly. I’ll be around the back entering through their secret gate in the basement delivery area. It’s disguised to avoid suspicion but it will take me right into their auction area. Remember, no eye contact with me from either one of you. If Vasco isn’t there, ask for Bridger. They’ll know who he is and will direct you to the proper room.”

“Understood.”

“And Spoiler, just a reminder in case you forgot, your name is Vanessa Hoyt. Batgirl you’re Isla Summer.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I think it’s time for the peanut gallery to shut up and let us handle this. Or I pass on my stilettos to Damian and let him handle it.”

“TT… While I would do a better job than you, we stick with Father’s plan.”

“Why you little…”

Dick Grayson chuckled to himself as he eavesdropped on their conversation. It was funny enough as it was that Stephanie was volun-told (Cass had no issues saying yes) to go undercover in one of the seediest massage parlors that backed a known gang member’s illicit trafficking ring seeing as how she might be the most un-lady-like of the gang… but it was even funnier knowing full well that Damian probably could best the blonde in combat wearing nothing but four inch heels.

It had been a month and a half after the warehouse incident where he briefly greeted a slug before it went straight through and out. Dick was still laid up, unfortunately, but making strides daily to improve his mobility. The muscle damage and significant blood loss rendered him bed ridden for a painful amount of time (two days) before he could get up and into a wheelchair: his abs and obliques were shot– literally and figuratively– preventing him from standing upright and walking at all. Little by little, over the six weeks to the present, he had increased his walking time from zero to five minutes before crashing.

Still, though, progress was progress.

“Dick, would it be suspicious of me to suddenly re-break my leg and join you at the computer?”

Grayson smirked at Red Robin’s forlorn and tortured sigh, imagining the frustration he was going through being back in action with whatever was going to happen tonight. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the console to humor the teen.

“Yes. Yes it would.”

“Dammit…”

“Nightwing, do you have eyes on the inside?”

Batman’s no-nonsense voice boomed through. When he used code names it was all business, of course. Dick nodded to himself and stared at the multitude of camera angles on the screen, both in and out of the building. He pressed a few buttons to zoom in on a couple of them, capturing his father-figure and the two girls making their way into positions.

“I do. I have a total of thirteen different cameras hacked and ready for some prime time viewing. Two of them are trained on you, Bruce, and one is on Steph and Cass near the entrance to the parlor. Good luck guys. Give ‘em hell for me.”

“Will do.”

“You got it, Wing. Vanessa, goin’ in.”

Dick sat back in his wheeled seat and listened as the team moved into their places, whether rooftop surveillance or undercover in the thick of it. Spoiler, Batgirl, and Batman were moving into the building, two as women that were seeking employment in the establishment hoping to be taken in order to be sold and the third as a high end philanthropist from Austria ready to place his bets in the back room for the ‘lady of his dreams’. They knew who was running the ring, they just needed hard proof and evidence. Catching them in the act would be the best option. Meanwhile, Robin and Red Robin surveyed the outside for potential getaways. Damian might have been frustrated he was too young to go in, but he understood all the same. Thankfully he at least had Tim back in action.

“So, tonight’s the big raid, huh?”

Turning at the new voice in the cave, Grayson smiled as the familiar man came closer. 

“Yeah, but as usual Steph’s complaining.”

“Eh, she’s always griping about something,” Jason Todd plopped his muscular frame down in the beefy computer chair so hard the hinges and springs complained. “What is it this time?”

“Heels.”

“Ugh…”

“Stilettos.”

“Yikes. She should give them to Damian.”

“That’s what she said.”

“.........”

“Haaaaaa…”

Things had improved drastically since the incident. After everyone had discovered the truth surrounding Jason’s panic attack – and thoroughly apologized tenfold–, they all had made strides to be more compassionate, more understanding, and more attentive to details that provide clarity on a situation in which they thought they knew best. They all promised, especially Bruce (whose honest apology did take all by surprise, to be fair), Damian, and Stephanie, to be better listeners, to pause and wait for an explanation before passing judgment, and to be empathetic (even if Damian's bold arrogant ego took longer to admit fault).

After all, Batman didn't jump to conclusions, and neither should anyone else.

“So, how are things?” Dick prodded, folding his arms as he leaned back in his wheelchair.

Jason shrugged and relaxed his posture, crossing his foot over his knee.

“Eh, things are okay, I guess. Roy’s been pissing me off lately.”

“Yeah,” Dick snickered, knowing the hot-headed archer too well, “That’s Roy for ya. What’d he do this time?”

“He went out on his own last night even after we told him he needed back up… Ended up with seven stitches in his arm.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. He’s fine, but he’s a whiner.”

“He can be,” Grayson understood all too well, having spent many years with the rambunctious and sarcastic man with the Teen Titans. But then he cleared his throat and gestured nonchalantly, “So, um… and Kory?”

Jason tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, giving a decently curious side glance, “She’s doing fine… Why?”

“No reason,” the original Boy Wonder played it off like it was nothing, waving off the sentiment that there was something more to his inquiry, “Just wondering, that’s all. Bizarro? He good? All of them good?"

“Uh huh…” Todd waggled his brows teasingly, “Still hot for your ex, huh?”

“Pssh, no, I'm not.” The older man discounted the notion, but didn’t see any harm in asking. His soft tone was full of nostalgia, however, “And I don’t necessarily consider Kory my ‘ex’, per say… That implies things didn’t end well. We’re just… good friends that used to date, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…”

“Shut up.”

Jason’s smirk lingered longer than necessary, satisfied with teasing his brother the best way he knew how. It was enough to poke, but not enough to hurt. Being with the Outsiders– Arsenal, Starfire, and Bizarro– had helped Jason to heal over the past year, and especially after what just happened with his frightening panic attack that nearly killed Dick. Yes, the Bats were always there for him, namely Dick (mostly Dick...), but there was something about being with the others that felt like a good break. And after the incident, it was good to stretch his legs and release the tension with the three of them, getting away from the drama.

Dick watched him for a beat, seeing the way his younger brother only slightly zoned out as he was picturing things outside their walls of reality. His face softened with a kind smile that was both empathetic and curious, turned his chair, and pressed on.

“So… You really okay now?”

At first, Jason didn’t answer. He stared at the monitors above, chewed on his thoughts, and then released his tension through his nose. The glow of the screens reflected faintly in the white streak in his hair as he nodded along, actually opening up.

“I am now, yeah.”

Todd’s leg dropped and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He pursed his lips and remained quiet. Dick wasn’t sure if he was going to speak, but then his retrospective tone reflected on his past… specifically, that night.

“I know everyone knows about the panic attack, but I don’t think they know what it felt like. It was like, one second everything was cool, and then it wasn’t. There I was, pounding away on some wackos, grinding their ugly faces into the dirt, chasing after them like scared rats on a sinking ship. Ya know, a pleasant little evening! But... when that crowbar showed up, I… I wasn’t there anymore. Like a freakin’ out-of-body experience. I knew I was fighting with them, but they weren’t them, ya know? They were him. All of them turned into Him.”

Dick understood completely. 

“And I wasn’t me. I was just there kind of watching me… But then you showed up, except you weren’t you. That’s when things didn’t feel right. When I pulled that trigger it was like an instant click that something was wrong. Like everything just switched off. Does that make any sense?”

Grayson observed the man wrestle with his thoughts and his emotions, never interrupting. His eyes were locked on how timid the explanation came across, like admitting failure as if it were a weakness rather than an open door to healing. He watched as Jason’s fingers fidgeted in his lap, how his one foot started to bounce, and how he surreptitiously scratched at his neck once or twice the more nervous he grew when exposing his feelings.

“It makes perfect sense,” Dick acknowledged kindly, slowly acknowledging his compassion without stepping over bounds. But he cleared his throat and brought something else up, “Are the rest of your panic attacks all like that? Or was it just this one?”

Jason didn’t respond at first, but when the meaning of those words sunk in he turned his face and blinked at the calm expression.

“Wait, what?”

Dick’s knowing and nonjudgmental gaze said it all.

Jason rolled his eyes and shook his head, letting out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, “I still don’t know how you do that, man.”

“Do what?”

“Know things.”

“I was a child prodigy, what can I say."

Considering his answer to the question Dick posed about concurrent panic attacks as if he had known them the whole time, Jason inhaled and exhaled deeply, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. He still had a difficult time discussing his emotions, but somehow it was always better with Dick.

“It’s… not usually that bad. But that one… That one was pretty damn bad.” His mouth twisted and gestured ironically to the man’s wrapped side, “I mean, look at what happened. Kinda speaks for itself.”

Dick’s smile faded into something more thoughtful and understanding. No fault had been issued, guilt had been stripped bare to a more sympathetic truce, and all was forgiven. When Grayson stood in the shadows behind him and saw the helmeted man violently apprehend the suspects in such a manner unfamiliar with his typical Red Hood fashion, he knew something was up… and seeing him react after, as terrorized and frozen and hyper as he was, made him extremely worried and hesitant.

Then, after a moment’s pause, Grayson offered a new solution that shouldn’t have been new.

“Have you talked to Leslie about it? Like, maybe opening up about how often these happen and how bad they can get?”

“No.”

“Jason, I’m sure she can–”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Dick debated as calmly as he could. He leaned forward without disturbing his weak muscles, “And that’s okay. But you could at least talk to her. Maybe she can prescribe you something to help you cope. You know medication doesn’t make you weak.”

Jason snorted and darkened. “I didn’t say they did.”

“You implied it.”

“I implied nothing.”

Dick raised an eyebrow as Todd glared at the floor. His stubborn attitude refused to allow him any medication for mental health. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in seeking help, it was that he didn’t want to seek help for himself. For other people, sure… but he was fine.

“I don’t need to be hopped up on meds.”

“So… You’re just going to talk through your feelings?

“I never said that, either.”

“Well, those are your two options.”

“Nah, there’s a third one.”

“Booze is not an option.”

“Roy says it is.”

“Number one, Roy isn’t a good influence when it comes to substance use and you know it, no matter how clean he’s been. And Two, as stated, Roy’s been off that stuff for a while so he’d be the last person nowadays to convince anyone to do it.”

“I’m fine.”

Dick’s exasperated surrender rumbled in his chest as he rolled his eyes and his head back to the screens. He knew when to give up… only somewhat. He’d find some way to persuade (pressure) Jason into some kind of therapy session that would benefit him in the long run. The kind of life they lived and the work they pursued messed with one’s mind, that was sure, and the more they bottled it in the worse it became.

The Bats weren’t exactly poster children for seeking healthy help for mental stress. They just kept it inside, stored it deep down, and one day let it explode all over Gotham in the form of a new cape or cowl.

That was how the whole shebang started, wasn’t it?

Hmm… What would have happened if Bruce DID go to therapy at the age of 8? Hmmm…

The silence that followed (even if Dick was seriously pondering the odd notion of a young school-aged Bruce Wayne talking out his feelings instead of turning to the cave, resulting in the very real possibility that NONE of them would be here if that happened) wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, but rather pensive and warm despite a sliver of tension. While there were boat loads of things that needed to be addressed, Dick rationalized it was a start. However, the more he thought about it, one of those options might not be a bad idea after all. He smirked and looked over to the quiet man.

“So,” he casually began. “How about a beer?”

Jason’s head snapped over, raising a dubious eye, “Excuse me, I thought you said booze wasn’t an option?” 

Dick shrugged and played it cool, “With a responsible adult it is.” But then frowned when he noticed Todd noticeably scanning the cave in search of such a person, “Very funny… You want one or not?”

“The fact that you’re asking me says you really don’t know anything about me.”

“See that box?” Grayson chose to ignore that quip, instead lifting his head and tilting it towards the other side of the computer console, “That cardboard one that looks like it’s seen better days? Go grab one for me, too.”

Blinking with slight distrust and even more puzzlement, Jason stood and strode over to the container several feet away. Reaching down, he flipped open the torn lid and saw a styrofoam top. Tearing that off he opened his eyes and stared at its contents.

Inside was a cooler.

It was small, but mighty.

“…Ummm.”

Dick chuckled at Jason’s dubious wonderment, throwing a sly and proud wink. “Bruce thinks it’s left over from a delivery last month. I keep telling him I’ll get around to it and to leave it alone.”

“That… is genius,” He grinned and instantly snagged two bottles. Cracking them both open with his teeth, he handed one over to his older brother as he slumped back into the cushioned chair, “Pure. Mad. Genius.”

“Don’t ever doubt this Boy Wonder’s level of ingenuity.”

“I won’t now, Short Pants.”

“You wore short pants, too, you know…”

“Suck it.”

They clinked their bottles… and relaxed.

Things between Jason and the family were definitely improving… For one, it helped that Dick didn’t blame Jason for what had happened. Not one bit. In fact, Dick explained to the distraught hero that he had seen what was happening and stayed back. He witnessed the anxiety meltdown first hand, choosing to approach with caution so as to not spook the panicked and paranoid man. It was working until Jason rounded, firing first and asking questions later.

Dick also made sure Jason was aware that Tim had stood up for him, big time. Well… Barbara had told him, to be truthful: Dick was a little busy being unconscious to witness the heroic confidence of the younger boy. Because of Red Robin, the team wouldn’t have studied the cameras and learned the truth, seeing it first hand.  

“Hey,” Jason began, raising an eyebrow to his brother who was on his second sip, “What about Big Daddy Bat’s no drinking on the job rule?”

Dick snorted into his bottle, his rebellious ways showing, “Do I look like I’m on the job?” He gestured vaguely at himself. “I’m on injured reserve for…” he checked his invisible watch, “...another month. At least.”

"I thought Bruce said three."

"He thinks it's three..."

"You're a moron."

"Takes one to know one."

Jason snorted and took another gulp, leaning back to stretch out his legs on the console– another thing disapproved of by their resident Dark Knight. A warm and familiar comfort stretched between the two men, the first two Robins, the ones who kick-started it all.

DING

Dick glanced over to the red blinking light on the console. He reached over and pressed it, immediately smiling when he saw the words… or rather, the sender’s name.

[You bored with monitor duty yet, Boy Wonder?]

Jason arched a brow as he watched his brother respond one-handed, his beer occupying his other. But it wasn’t the talent of typing with a few digits that caught his attention… it was his sneaky and cheeky grin.

[Deathly bored. Havin a beer with Jay helps. More to share. Interested?]

A few seconds later it pinged again, piquing Jason’s interest as Dick chuckled to himself reading it.

[Another time, Twinkle Toes. Some of us have work to do]

Dick shook his head and beamed up at the screen, but his eyes were hooded and heavy, Jason noted, becoming more delightfully engaged with the woman in the Clocktower than anyone around him.

[All work and no play makes Babsie a dull girl]

Three dots appeared… She was thinking…

[We’ll set a date for the next round]

Dick’s grin turned downright dangerous.

[A date? Is that a promise?]

The open-ended no-response left him in suspense… Dick shook his head, gave a throaty giggle, and bit his cheeks, leaning back into his chair. His mischievous eyes zoned out as he was picturing the redhead as if she were right there on the screen… the way her full lips moved when she ordered him around… the way her luscious hair bounced… her bold and self-assured confidence… her independent bravado… her–

“You do know I’m still here, right?”

Dick Grayson shook himself awake and cleared his throat to rid himself of any embarrassment at being caught obviously flirting with Barbara. Raising his bottle to his lips, he shrugged with a quick ‘psshaw’ and played it cool, ignoring the smug grin rising on Jason’s cheeks.

Jason’s lips curved into something sly and solid, more deviously giddy as he found himself with a new target to throw his jabs at. 

“So… Am I invited to the next round or is it just reserved for you and your ‘good friend you used to date’?”

“I hate you.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“I might start hating you just to shake things up.”

“I know where the beer is, Dickhead.”

“.... Crap…”