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Everything is green. He sputters and chokes, trying to breathe through the burning liquid filling his lungs.
There is no sound. No sight. Just green and the pounding of his heart as his lungs struggle to bring in air.
He pulls in the smallest fraction of oxygen before losing to another cough fit.
In his disorientation, he grasps blindly until he makes contact with something warm. He squeezes, trying to ground himself. Why can’t he fucking see anything? Whatever he’s grabbed doesn’t hold up under his grasp and only when he hears a sickening crack does the green start to recede and does the world around him slowly start to return.
The room is quiet except for someone else's steady breathing. He's in a cavern. An unnatural jade-tinged glow but he doesn’t think it's him this time. Just the room, the reflection of whatever is behind him on the rocks around him.
The cave smells dank and he’s spent enough time in caves to know that they are usually damp, cold, but he doesn’t feel cold. Warm, almost unnaturally so. Unnatural seems to be the trend.
Why can’t he remember anything?
Someone breaks into a slow clap behind him, “Good show, Richard. I knew you had it in you. Clearly Deathstroke is not as incompetant as he seems.”
Ra’s.
What is he…?
Dick’s gaze drifts down to the body in front of him. Glassy, unseeing eyes stare up at him. The man's neck is a mess of purples and blues and it’s very clearly broken.
“What did you do?” He turns on Ra’s. He’s furious and Dick doesn’t feel a need to reign it in. He thinks that maybe that’s not right but the thought is fleeting, gone before it could completely form.
“Absolutely nothing, Richard. You did that in a blind rage, and it was a wonderful show. I always knew you were capable of such cruelty, such monstrous displays, but to see it in person. I’m honored, truly.” His lips curl into a cruel grin as the immortal lets out a chuckle. “I must admit Deathstroke had been adamant, insisting upon your potential, I had thought your morals would not be swayed. How fortunate that you were in need of the Lazarus pit to restore your body's physical potential after your last battle.”
Dick recalls the blindfold of green, reaching for something to guide him, to bring him back to a place a little less loud, squeezing and the sickening crack. He scrutinizes the dead man again before his eyes widen. He did that. He did that and a part of him is horrified but another part, a part that he doesn’t recognize, sings at the sight. Practically begs Dick to do it again.
Ra’s speaks again, pulling Dick back to reality, “Are you done admiring your handiwork? We have training to begin.”
The laugh that falls from Dick’s lips holds little humor. This man. This man who stole his little brother, who has done nothing but hurt his family. This man who abused Damian, Damian , he remembers his brother, his son. He remembers catching Tim as he fell 25 stories, and remembers finding out that Ra’s had stolen his little brother's spleen and put him through hell. The man’s creepy obsession with Tim and the constant threat of assassins hanging over Jason’s head. This man who has done nothing but tear his family apart wants Dick to train with him?
Something croons at the back of his mind. Show him what you think of that.
Is it really killing if the man’s beloved Lazarus pit is only 5 feet away?
“You should have brought more guards.” His voice is low and dangerous and his lips form a sadistic smirk. Ra’s eyes widen a fraction when he realizes Dick’s intention and green fills his vision again only this time he welcomes it.
Fuck, shit, fuck.
How did this happen? Why can’t he remember what happened that lead to him waking up drowning in the fucking Lazrus Pit? He doesn’t even stop to think about the red staining his shaking hands at the moment. He doesn't have time. He needs to get out because if he’s a monster now he refuses to be a monster for the league.
This is a mess.
“Richard!” He looks up from his feet where he had been watching as he moved through the halls unsure of exactly how to get out of this place. Talia’s face fills his vision, her emerald eyes staring directly through him.
“You do not have time to dwell on thoughts and questions now. My father will bring this entire compound down on you if you do not hurry.” She tugs at his hands guiding him through halls and into what appears to be a hanger.
“Take that one.” She says pointing at a sleek, black jet on the far end. It’s smaller, but it’ll get him out.
“Why are you helping me?” It comes out a little raspy amidst the panic and the onslaught of questions swirling in his mind.
“I fear I owe you a great deal, Richard. Now go.” She shoves at his back and Dick hears the rumbling of feet echoing the halls they just emerged from.
The jet has a similar make up to the Batwing, no doubt why Talia told him to use this one.
Now if only he knew where he was going.
Jason is not sure how things went so wrong. There had been no signs of League involvement on the case they had been working, and he didn’t think Ra’s even had any interest in Dick.
Physically Dick could take almost all of them in a fight, but Ra’s has always been just as much attracted to the mind. While Dick is smart, they all have to be in their line of work, Dick wasn’t Tim.
They were all aware of his creepy obsession with Tim.
So when Dick and Jason finished wrapping up the meta trafficking ring somewhere on the outskirts of Tijuana and the ninja’s filled the room, he figured they were there for him.
Only, Jason had woken up with a minor concussion and some small lacerations and bruises. Meanwhile, Dick hadn’t been anywhere. Not in the warehouse, not back at their hotel in the city. Jason had gone back to Gotham, tried his trackers, searched everyone of Dick’s safehouses he knew of. He’d even gone to the man's apartment in Bludhaven.
He was left with little options when he turned up in the cave to fill the replacement in on the situation.
“They took Dick?” The runt questions again.
“What the fuck did I just say? Yes they took Dick!”
Tim nods and turns to the computer pulling up maps and files Jason doesn’t recognize. Probably Tim’s League of Assassins files. Jason has a lot of experience in league politics but the kid has way more info. Updated info if anything. It’s been a few years since he’s called in any league favours so his current info is pretty much limited to what the bats keep updated unless he were to make a few calls.
“Does Bruce know you still have access to this shit?”
“Does he need to?” Tim responds absently, fingers clicking left and right across the keyboard.
He asks it like a genuine question. Like Tim honestly doesn’t see the reason why Bruce may want to know this information let alone that Tim has constant updated access to it.
Jason just shakes his head, watching while the kid sorts through file after file.
“They most likely took him to Nanda Parbat.”
“Goldie is a special guest?”
Tim snorts at that. “From the sounds of it.”
“Why do they want Dick? Ra’s has been gunning for my head since Talia threw me in the Pit and I was right there.”
“Not sure. The only thing relating to Dick I found in their files is an old recruitment request filed by Deathstroke back when the Light was still pulling the strings. Ra’s never followed it through. Something along the lines of ‘angering the detective too early on would call for unnecessary involvement from higher ups’ whatever that means.”
“Ra’s didn’t have a problem when it came to angering Bruce, but I can see where he’s coming from. Taking Dick would have brought unnecessary attention back then.”
“So why now?” Tim turns the chair to face Jason.
He shrugs, “Why not? Bastard probably got bored. Wasn’t having any luck drawing you out. Bruce and Dick keep Damian as close to them as possible and I’ve proven a worthy adversary-” Another snort from Tim that Jason elects to ignore, “Dick and I were wrapping up a case in Tijuana when we were ambushed. Probably saw an opportunity to get to Bruce and obtain a sick soldier in the process.”
“Alright sure, but you and I both know there’s no way in hell Ra’s could get Dick to kill for him. Like ever.”
Jason gets a sinking feeling in his gut but pushes it away. It’s only been two days. Ra’s wouldn’t go straight to that option. They still have time to get the golden boy back before it comes to that.
He shrugs hoping that Tim doesn’t catch onto his uneasy feeling. “So I don’t know about you but I’m not one for launching a full scale attack on Nanda Parbat.” He changes the subject.
The computer beeps and Tim turns to examine the alert before turning back to Jason with a grin. “We won’t have to. A single passenger jet just took off from the compound, a make and model matching the Batwing. No take offs were scheduled for today. I’ll bet you anything that's ‘Wing.”
Tension floods out of Jason’s shoulders, the kid is probably right. He usually is.
“Let me know where he lands. I’ll go get him.” Tim nods and turns back to what he was working on.
He sits in the pilot's seat trying to breathe. He doesn’t understand. Flashes of the Tijuana mission are starting to come back. They had been wrapping up when the ninja’s came in. He had fought like hell trying to stay close to Jason. No way they were taking his little brother from him again.
Not like the fucking clown. Flames light up under his skin. The fucking clown took his brother and Dick killed him for it.
He killed him for it and… Bruce brought him back.
He feels vindictive. The clown causes so much pain, Bruce should have let him stay dead.
He hits the dash. Fuck. He can’t go home like this. He hits the most remote location in the plane's logs and sets it to auto pilot before moving, a little uncoordinated, to the small bathroom at the back of the jet.
He splashes water on his face then looks at his hands. They're still red. So red. That’s what happens when you kill someone. He doesn’t recognize this new voice in his head but sounds a hell of a lot like Slade and he thinks it should shut the fuck up.
He killed Ra’s.
Logically he knows it won't last but that… that shouldn’t make it better. It shouldn’t, but there is something in the back of his head that just keeps repeating that he deserved it. Keeps repeating every fucked up thing that Ra’s had done to his family. Flashes of his own injuries that the League inflicted on him. Angry injuries that he finds little to no sign of on his healed body.
Limbs bending wrong, bones broken. He’s sure he had been internally bleeding. There is very little chance he would have survived those injuries and they knew that. Obviously.
His injuries make him think of the broken neck he had woken up to. Sure Ra’s deserved it but-
But what? He was a league assassin and he's done awful things for Ra’s.
That’s not- he doesn’t- when did his vision turn green?
He stumbles back gasping for breath and looks around the tiny room as his vision starts to clear. The mirror is shattered and his hands are bleeding, there are dents on the counter and the walls.
He pushes out of the room and stares blankly for a moment.
He should- well logically he should call Bruce. Bruce would know what to do.
But would he accept you? You're a monster now. Another flash of the man’s lifeless eyes.
You were never good enough for him before. Why would he help you now?
Flashes of Bruce sending him away.
“Leave your keys with Alfred on the way out!”
Of Bruce giving Jason his suit, his mother’s name and then sending him off to die like a good soldier. Soldiers. Bruce wouldn’t help Dick. Not like this. He broke the rule once when he killed the Joker and Bruce has never looked at him the same way, if he knew about this... About all the lives he’s been a part of ending since then…
Bruce is no better than Ra’s. Than Slade, The Joker. He’s just like all of them. End him and your family will be safe.
Something in the cockpit goes off pulling him out of his head. He blinks. Everything is that same shade of green again. The cargo hold is a disaster around him. At some point during his spiral, tears had started to fall.
He wipes his cheeks and moves to the cockpit. Huh, it's been 4 hours and he needs to… he needs to land the plane.
He can do that. He can do that and he can just not think.
This is fine.
Siberia. Fucking Siberia.
Why on earth would his idiot brother fly to the asscrack of nowhere, Siberia? Jason can think of one reason but he refuses to consider it until he sees that his brother is okay. His brother has always been one to take on too much alone in hopes to protect everyone else.
He lands the Batwing not far from the other jet and immediately notices the open back hatch and the figure sitting on the wing folded in on himself, neck curved back and searching the sky for something.
Dick hardly seems to register the new aircraft but Jason knows better. Dick either knows who's coming for him or doesn't care. The latter is an unsettling thought so Jason ignores it.
He climbs into the jet using the ladder so that he can join his brother on his perch, ignoring the wreck that is the cargo hold. He stops once he’s close enough to take in his brother’s appearance. His brother looks… small. Smaller than Nightwing is supposed to. He stops short as the white streak stands stark against his raven curls.
His stomach drops and he doesn’t even need to see the older boy’s eyes to know what happened. He steels himself and sits down next to his brother. Dick still doesn't react, just continues staring. Jason is caught internally in a war between saying something or waiting for Dick to say something.
He’s not sure how Dick will react to anything right now and he doesn’t want to risk touching him at the moment.
“You can’t see the stars in the city,” Dick says absently. “My mother used to tell me about them, stories of what they meant, where they came from.” His eyes flash green for a moment and Jason wonders where he just went.
Jason listens intently as Dick tells him about the stars. There's a mechanical lilt to his voice and the way Dick is acting leads Jason to believe he’s dissociating, or at least not fully present.
After Dick has been quiet for a while Jason speaks up, “Can I take you home, Dickie?” he keeps his tone soft.
Dick shakes his head. “Can’t.”
“Why not?” Jason has a few ideas, but he wants to hear it from Dick.
Finally Dick turns to face him. Lime green clashes with ocean blue, green winning out and engulfing the color Dick had always been known for.
“It’s too loud, Jay.” He turns back to the sky, “I just want it to be quiet.”
Jason knows that feeling intimately. Remembers the nights spent locked in safe houses fighting the voices calling for unnecessary blood, his own or otherwise. The voices that repeated every failure, every self-deprecating thought, every wrong ever committed against him.
It takes a lot of energy to fight that off.
He hadn’t wanted anyone else to understand what that was like.
He also knows that’s not the only reason Dick doesn’t want to get home.
He thinks about nights he sat at the top of the stairs as Bruce and Dick tore each other apart. Tire squealing as Dick left or doors slamming as he stomped to the front door.
He’s gotten better, and Jason knows it’s not because Bruce has gotten any less infuriating.
Add to that now a new lack of impulse control matched with Dick’s above average, possibly lethal, abilities. Consequences of training a child to fight since the age of 8.
Children grow up.
Jason is well aware of how dangerous Dick was before.
Hell, Deathstroke saw it.
Dick is afraid because if his anger was unleashed, it wouldn’t be just a few drug dealers who see the fallout.
It would be every rogue who slighted him and by extension his family. It would be super villains…
It would be Bruce Wayne himself.
Things Jason has had to fight hard to restrain himself from in the first place. Even then he hadn’t been able to hurt Bruce.
Jason shakes his head, tentatively placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. “Let me help you Dickhead. We’ll figure this out, alright? I can help you.”
Dick doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes trained on the sky.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Little Wing.” He says quietly. Resignation colors the words. Like Dick had just planned on staying here. Like Jason was going to let him.
So Dick killed someone when he woke up. It isn’t confirmation but Jason can read between the lines and he remembers waking up. He still has nightmares about it.
He wants to reassure the older man. Tell him that he won’t hurt Jason but Jason isn’t naïve either. Jason and Dick have fought often enough and with the heightened tensions… this won’t be easy.
But he also knows what it’s like to be alone.
There is no way he’s letting Dick figure this out on his own. He feels he owes him a little bit at least. Jason had been right there and they’d taken Dick anyway. He hadn’t been enough to save Dick from this fate but he can be enough to help him now.
Instead of placating or reassuring, he leans his head on his brother's shoulder. “Let me help you, big bird.” He repeats.
Jason looks up hoping to gage his reaction. He sees Dick’s eyes flash for a moment, “I don’t need your help.” He says sharp but instead of arguing further he stops, sucks in a breath, and nods, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.
The sun is coming up as Jason stands and makes his way into the jet, Dick following behind.