Chapter Text
It’s coming up to the three-minute mark, or that’s what Dick has managed to count to at least, but he’s not sure how accurate his timing is. Turns out maths is more difficult when you’re trying to multitask between keeping your brother alive and simply breathing, which Dick was finding harder and harder to do.
There's an invisible timer hanging over Jason’s head, and with each passing second is a second closer to death.
Dick wishes there was something he could do, heck he would even trade places with him if he could, but this time there is no bomb to be disarmed. There’s nothing. And the more his body jerks, the more blood that leaks from the hole in his side, reducing the timer at an alarming rate.
It’s unfair and it’s… It’s Dick’s fault, right?
Did he truly save Jason, or just prolong his death so he could endure more suffering?
No, he did the right thing. He tried- He did save him. So why does he feel like an executioner holding an axe with his brother’s name engraved on it?
“D-D’ck,” Jason gargles, barely audible.
Dick’s eyes widen like he had just heard a ghost, because he definitely hallucinated the sound of his brother’s voice, right? There was no way he was conscious right now; in fact, it was medically impossible, right?
His head drops to slowly meet Jason’s open eyes, bloodshot and full of green. Remember when he said Jason’s eery smile would stick with him forever? Yeah, well, maybe this tops it.
“J-Jason?! Oh my God…” He couldn’t find the words. This isn’t happening. This isn’t real-
“N-Not God… Jus’ me,” he smiles, that same smile.
How the fuck is he smiling, how the fuck is he awake-
“H-hurts,” he manages, and Dick brings one of his hands to stroke his matted hair which is caked with blood and sweat. “C’n’t stop… H-Help-“ Jason lets out a screech as Dick watches him bite through his tongue, blood now foaming in his mouth as he begins to choke.
“Fu- Fuck!” Dick turns his brother on his side as he continues to spasm, knowing full well moving someone during a seizure was a bad idea, but if he had to choose between breaking a bone or drowning in blood, the former was the lesser of evils. “Hang in there Jay, I’m gonna get you help real soon, okay?”
He couldn’t fathom what the Hell was happening right now, or how much pain Jason must be in; he doesn’t know what it feels like to lose complete control of one’s body as it tries to destroy itself against the rock-hard surface. Doesn’t even want to try imagine it, because even just seeing him like this, completely defenceless, is enough to give him a stabbing pain in his chest.
There’s something sinister about listening to the gargling sounds of his brother trying to draw in quick breaths, piercing against the otherwise silent night. Dick softly hums, if not to reassure Jason, then to at least ease his own weariness. Not that it’s much comfort, but he can’t bare to listen any longer, and prays for the episode to come to a swift end.
“K-Kill m-e,” Jason gasps, his voice raspy as his lungs fill with everything but air, green-laced eyes pleading for mercy.
It would be merciful.
Like putting down a dying dog.
He’s not dying.
“Don’t ask me to do that,” Dick cries out, and Jason screams so loud it scares an entire flock of birds just a few blocks away. “I’m so sorry Jay, I’m so sorry for everything! For being jealous when Bruce brought you in, for not being there to save you from the Joker, for not attending your funeral, for treating you like you were subhuman when you came back, for locking you away in Arkham,” the dam finally burst. “For- For being an awful brother… I-“
“Dick?” A familiar voice calls out from across the roof, and Dick immediately turns to see his other brother standing perplexed in his Red Robin suit; he has never been gladder to see him.
“Tim, oh Tim thank God- It’s Jay, he’s-“
Not moving.
Dick’s heart stops.
“…Jay?” He didn’t even notice when the sounds of struggle seemed to come to an abrupt stop. “Ja- No, Jason, Jay-“ He puts his ear against the still boy’s chest, begging to hear any sign of life, but the only thing he can hear are his own frenzied breaths as he tiptoes on the edge of hysteria.
Tim is beside him within milliseconds, pressing two fingers against Jason’s neck, and then again on his wrist. “Move,” he instructs, and Dick must be on autopilot because his body is moving seemingly on its own. “No pulse. Starting CPR.”
No pulse.
He failed to save his brother.
Again.
Tim places firm hands on his older brother’s scarily static chest, and beings to perform compressions, each at a steady rate full of conviction. He gently sings under his breath, so quiet but just discernible enough for Dick to hear. “Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here’s my number, so call me, maybe.”
It was Alfred’s idea; when he taught them how to give CPR, he recommended finding a song approximately one hundred and twenty beats per minute, which is the number of compressions one should aim to maintain until the person’s breathing returned to some normalcy. That way it was easier to keep a consistent rhythm, plus it had the added bonus of being calming, if not a little insane.
“Jason hated that song,” Dick jokes, because that’s all he’s good at. That was the only way he could cope with tragedy, lest he also end up on some rooftop with a gun to his head-
“Hates,” Tim corrects him. “Jason hates that song.”
Dick had used the past tense.
His brother wasn’t legally declared dead and he used the past tense.
Tim continues to sing the song and pounds Jason’s chest, stopping every once in a while, to blow air into his mouth.
And Dick…
Dick just stands there, mute. His limbs are heavy, uncooperating. His brother is fucking dying right in front him and he’s doing nothing. He feels like a complete joke. Just a pathetic hindrance, a fraud. How can he ever call himself a hero when he can’t even save one person? How can he live with himself?
His mind drifts further and further away, escaping the horror that relentlessly unfolds; there’s nothing but a black hole that pulls him closer until it dares swallow him hole.
And he’s gladly letting it.
Because it doesn’t matter. If Jason is gone then… Then-
“Dick-“ he thinks he hears his name being called somewhere in the distance, but it’s muffled and sounds foreign. He’s not sure though, because it’s so dark and empty. “Dick!” It calls again, this time with more urgency. “Snap out of it! Dick!”
And as if a switch had been pulled, he’s back and Jason is coughing up blood and-
Jason is alive.
A switch must have been pulled for Jason too, as without a warning his hands lunge towards Tim’s neck, and he squeezes.
“Jason, stop!” Dick wails.
But he doesn’t stop. He just squeezes harder.
Tim tries to claw at Jason’s hands in a futile attempt to break free, but bright green eyes watch its prey as his face gets redder and redder, tears forming as his lungs burn.
Dick springs into action, relieved that his legs actually work, and pries Jason’s hands apart, just enough for Tim to slip out of his grasp and crawl away, wheezing as his airways slowly open enough to take a breath again.
He has to literally pin him down as the now-conscious boy kicks and punches the air with pure adrenaline, almost like he’s fighting something that isn’t there. “Hey- Hey Jason. Calm down,” Dick tries. “It’s me Jay. It’s Dick.”
When he says his name, Jason stills, like his brain recognises the word and is trying really hard to process what it means, to no avail. “It’s your brother.”
“Broth’r?” He says, almost unintelligible.
Dick just smiles, because hearing Jason’s voice again is music to his ears. “Yeah, it’s me, Dick, your brother,” he repeats, “the handsome one.”
“Dickie?” Jason tears up, the glint of green now just mere residue.
“Yeah- Yeah, welcome back, Jay,” he soothes, pulling his brother’s head into his shoulder and caressing his hair with his free hand. He sits there, on what was almost his brother’s deathbed, as Jason silently cries in his arms.
He can’t recall the last time he hugged Jason – if he ever even did. And maybe he can’t even call this a real hug because he’s not sure if Jason fully grasps what’s happening.
But at least he gets a chance to hug him again, properly, some day.
“Safehouse,” Tim states as he stares down at his two brothers with a deadpan expression.
His neck is red and raw- Dick had completely ignored the fact that Jason tried to strangle him-
“Tim- Sorry I- Are you alright?” He’s ashamed of his neglect, and from the look on his face Tim is disappointed.
“Leslie’s waiting. My car’s just parked on the street below. Can you carry him?” He completely ignores Dick’s question – add Tim to the list of people to make amends with.
“I’ve got him, don’t worry.”
Dick scoops up his brother in his arms and cradles him like a small child; he hadn’t noticed how much weight Jason must have lost for him to be able to carry him so easily – he’s always been a brawler, a broad and muscular guy, whilst Dick was more on the lean side due to his specialisation in acrobatics. It wasn’t right, and he’s disgusted with himself for not checking in regularly as family should.
Although Jason is awake, he remains silent as he’s bridal carried; Dick thinks he’s either extremely embarrassed or still sluggish from the head injury and seizure. Probably both. He’s just glad his eyes are at least open and he’s finally breathing, although it’s still too shallow for his liking. Small victories, though.
Tim already has the engine blaring when Dick finally makes it down the fire escape; he sits in the back of the vehicle with Jason’s head resting on his lap, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb on his cheek as they make their way to their destination.
The atmosphere grows more tense the longer they all refrain from speaking to each other. It’s like an unspoken war, whoever cracks and breaks the silence first loses.
All Dick knows is that he’s used to losing, so what’s another?
“Thanks, Timmy-“
“Don’t.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t pressure the youngest to talk, instead he waits for him to be ready. Much like Jason, Tim doesn’t like to be argued with. Except Jason would usually respond with sarcasm and passive aggressiveness, whilst Tim was more reserved until he was able to say something that would outsmart everyone.
It annoyed Dick, but he loved him so dearly for it.
He also liked to have the final word, and as if on cue-
“Just- We’ll talk about this later.”
“Alright. It’s just… Your rendition of ‘Call Me Maybe’ sure was something, though,” Dick smiles, and he sees Tim’s cheeks flush red in the wing mirror.
“Never speak of this.”
“No promises.”