Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a simple job. Head to the docks, bust down the door, stop the deal, and burn the cargo. What Jason hadn’t been anticipating was a firefight with armor-piercing rounds.
Shit––!
The wooden crate to his left splintered apart as a bullet shattered its contents. His helmet sat on the floor, half the face broken off and shattered from a bullet that had grazed him. Luckily he’d worn a domino tonight.
The bullets continued to fly around him–– He had to keep moving. He turned, firing a few covering shots over his shoulder before bolting towards a stack of shipping containers.
His breathing was ragged as he leaped for cover, bullets whizzing past him, panting hard with his back pressed against the cold metal of the shipping container. Knowing they’ll close in on him soon had his adrenaline pumping. He needed to keep moving.
Jason took a step forward when suddenly the world blurred around him. It took him a second to register that he was on the ground. He looked around, trying to stay focused as his vision began to white out–– that wasn't a good sign.
He did a quick once over–– oh. There was blood pooling around his legs. Definitely not a good sign.
Jason forced himself into a seated position, leaning against the wall for support and trying not to retch; moving suddenly made him nauseous. When his vision cleared he looked down at his leg to find a gaping bullet hole in his calf.
Fuck.
He pressed his emergency beacon, pulled a roll of gauze from his belt, and applied pressure to the wound, ripping off a piece of his undershirt to make a quick tourniquet around his upper calf. The bats wouldn’t get there in time if these thugs caught him, but at least those little shits wouldn’t nag him for not asking for help.
The sound of footsteps from behind him reminded him of just how dire his situation had become. He glanced over his shoulder, spotting his discarded helmet on the ground.
Heh. Perfect––
He pulled the remote detonator from his belt and ducked behind the wall as the bomb went off–– that should buy him some time. His brothers had given him so much shit for wearing a literal bomb on his head, but it had come in handy on more than one occasion.
He pulled himself to his feet, supporting himself against the shipping containers as he limped towards the docks. He turned a quick corner, ducking out of sight just in time to see some goons run past his previous hiding spot. Hopefully, none of them would notice the little bloody trail he’d left behind.
He needed to get out now. The sound of waves crashing drew his attention, looking out over the edge of the nearest dock. It was stormy out, with winds kicking up the waves–– not the best option, but it might be his only option.
Damn it––!
He was so fucked.
Shouting bounced off the walls of the shipping containers, growing louder by the second. Jason glanced over his shoulder and spotted two–– no, three–– goons approaching his newest hiding spot cautiously, one of them pointing out the bloody trail on the ground.
Jason was up in a second, stumbling for the edge of the dock as the shouting followed after him. He threw himself over the edge, crashing into the churning waters below.
The shouting was silenced, muffled by the water that quickly filled his mouth and ears. He tried to gain his bearings and swim toward the surface, but the raging water tossed him around, throwing him back and forth against his will.
He struggled to move upwards, sucking in a deep gasp as his head breached the surface, only for a wave to immediately overtake him and send water into his lungs. His lungs burned with salt and a desperate need for oxygen. In an attempt to force out the water, he coughed and heaved, but that only made him swallow down more of the disgusting seawater.
The water was filling his lungs— fluid in his lungs— it felt like he was dying— dying again—
He breached the surface again, but the coughing and the waves kept him from getting a good breath before he was submerged again. His vision swam and he was starting to get lightheaded from both the lack of oxygen and no doubt the blood loss.
He felt dizzy and his lungs burned, begging for some sort of relief. He was helpless and alone–– struggling at the mercy of the waves.
Fear and panic began to flood through him. He was alone. They wouldn’t get there fast enough. They’d find him again–– just like last time ––
Fuck that.
The pain from the bullet hole in his leg was splitting, shooting up his leg as he kicked desperately towards the surface again, this time managing to gulp down some air before the water swallowed him again. He wasn’t sure how long he was tossed about as the waters raged around him.
Another wave crashed into him, tossing him face-first into one of the support beams holding up a pier. He latched onto it, pulling himself up towards the surface, finally breaking past the surface of the cold water and pulling himself up just above the waves. He retched and coughed as his body expelled the polluted seawater from his stomach and lungs.
His grip around the beam weakened by the second, but he could see the shore from where he was.
Jason grunted as he positioned himself to jump, timing it before the next set of waves dragged him back under. He pushed off the beam, gliding through the water until he was able to latch onto the next. He repeated the process, inching his way closer to the shoreline, only pausing to brace for the next surge.
He was halfway to shore when a strong swell ripped him from the beam and sucked him under, sending him tumbling as if he were a rag in a washing machine. His head slammed into another beam, sending stars across his vision as he fought desperately against the waves and the undercurrent. He was losing.
His feet could just barely scrape the sandy bottom when his wounded leg struck something solid, sending white searing pain shooting up his leg. His mind slipped from the blood loss and pain, and everything around him went dark.
Dick was sitting at the Batcomputer nursing a coffee after two long nights of patrol. He was in town, covering for Bruce while he was out of town with Duke, Steph, and Cass.
He was about to call it quits for the night when the alert came in. More specifically, when Jason’s emergency signal went off. Jason never used his emergency signal. His head shot up to the screen and his hand shot to the com in his ear.
“Hood! Come in. Can you hear me?” He pulled his hand away when he was met with static.
“Robin, Red Robin come in. Hood needs backup––”
Dick stared at the screen, eyes wide as he watched the blinking symbol move from the docks into Gotham Harbor. It had just started to wash out to sea before the signal died.
“Red Robin here. What’s up Wing?”
Dick brought his hand back up to his ear, “Hood needs immediate backup. His signal just went out in Gotham harbor… O, can you get a read on him?”
“No luck so far, checking security cameras in the area now. I’m sending you all the coordinates to his last known location now.”
“Robin reporting in. I am en route to Hood’s location.”
“I’m right behind you R. I’ll meet you in Tricorner.”
Dick ran to his bike. It took 20 minutes to get from Bristol to Tricorner, “I’ll meet you guys there in 10.”
Jason groaned, rolling onto his side as he slowly regained consciousness. He stayed where he was for a moment, catching his breath as he coughed up the last of the seawater in his stomach and lungs, the taste of sea salt and bile mixing on his tongue.
The first thing he registered was the sand coating most of his face and body–– that would be a bitch to scrub off later.
Where was he? A beach? Why was he… oh. Right. Bust gone bad. God, Tim was never gonna let him live this one down.
The second thing he registered was the pain–– constant and throbbing. He looked down at the bullet wound that was still slowly oozing blood into the sea.
He wasn’t sure when or how he’d made it to shore or how long he’d been unconscious. Judging by the fact that it was still dark and he could still feel his lower leg despite the tourniquet, he hadn’t been out for very long.
He listened closely for shouting or gunshots. When he heard nothing but the sound of the waves and wind, Jason rolled into a sitting position, shoving more gauze into the wound before dragging himself to his feet.
The world was blurry and starting to tilt around him, but from what he could tell, he’d washed up on an entirely different part of the beach from where he started–– how far had the water carried him?
Jason dragged himself across the beach, favoring his uninjured leg as he trudged through the sand and back into the city, not bothering to strip off his domino or armor. He made a point to stick to the shadows in an attempt to avoid being seen.
Where was he? God, if the world could just stop spinning for one goddamn second so he could get his bearings.
He glanced around, peering at street signs. Definitely closer to Old Gotham than Tricorner. He had at least one safehouse in this area–– he could make it there on foot. Probably.
Jason walked about five blocks before reaching his safehouse. He had to drag himself up the fire escape to get to his shitty and practically unused safehouse, and by the time he made it to the fourth floor, he was on the verge of collapse. The adrenaline from the night had mostly worn off, and the throbbing pain in his leg was becoming more and more intolerable by the second.
He disabled the security and practically fell through the window onto the floor.
He needed to clean the wound and stop the bleeding. His stomach sank as he inspected the wound. Stitches wouldn’t be enough.
He hobbled over to the kitchen, lighting the gas stove with a match before pulling a knife from his belt and setting it to rest over the flame.
He then moved to the bathroom where he knew the medkit was stashed, pulling out the alcohol and antiseptic.
This was going to suck.
Jason plopped down on the edge of his shitty bathtub, doing his best to keep himself upright as the room began to spin around him. He opened the antiseptic and took a deep breath.
Fuck it.
He poured the antiseptic over his wound.
It burned, and tears welled up in his eyes as he swore an endless string of profanities at the empty bathroom. He shoved his leg under the faucet, running water through the wound in an attempt to fish out any leftover sand and debris. The bullet had made a clean exit, and that was just about the luckiest he’d been all night.
By the time the wound was clean, his vision was swimming, his chest was tight, and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He was probably concussed. He shifted and the room spun faster around him.
Yep. Definitely concussed.
Jason glanced over at the stove; it was visible through the doorway of the bathroom. The knife sitting over the flame was red hot.
He’d better get this over with.
He dragged himself back into the kitchen, grabbed the knife handle with a rag, and moved to the couch, his vision still swimming. He bit down on the sleeve of his leather jacket and pinched the wound closed with his free hand.
He ducked in a deep breath and pressed the hot blade to his skin. The leather between his teeth was the only thing keeping him from screaming.
120, 119, 118––
He panted hard, sweat pouring down his face as he counted down in his head. The smell of burning flesh was not a pleasant one.
59, 58, 57—
His hands shook where they held the blade in place.
27, 26, 25—
Fuck this— fuck— shit—
3, 2, 1—
He pulled the blade off his skin, nearly tossing it across the room with the force of his movements. Another wave of nausea washed over him, and he collapsed back against the couch.
Halfway there.
He moved back to the kitchen and dropped the knife back on the stove, bracing himself over the sink as he waited and nausea threatened to send him toppling over.
Once he could see somewhat straight, he grabbed the knife and sat back down, sucking in a deep breath–– biting down hard as he pressed the blade into the other side of his calf to seal the wound.
He bit down hard on the leather in his mouth and held the blade steady, starting the countdown again.
120, 119, 118––
The hot metal soldered his skin closed followed by red-hot pain.
55, 54, 53––
Fuck––! It hurts. It hurts. It hurts––
He sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep himself conscious.
33, 32, 31––
His vision spotted black and he groaned in pain.
12, 11, 10––
He was unconscious before the blade even clattered to the floor.
Dick raced to the docks, definitely breaking several traffic laws in the process. His bike skidded to a halt at the entrance to the pier as he reached Tim and Damian who were already there, waiting for him.
“No sign of Hood yet, Wing. His com and tracker are offline.”
“Dammit,” Dick reached for his own com, “O, any updates on Hood’s location?”
“Nothing yet. Still checking nearby security footage.”
“Robin, Red Robin, we’ll split up and search the area. I’ll take the West side, Red you’ll take the East. Robin, check the beach. Don’t hesitate to call in if you find something. We’ll meet right back here in an hour.”
They split up, and it didn’t take long for Dick to find his first clue. Four-by-four tire tracks skidding in the opposite direction indicated some kind of caravan–– likely a shipment. And they’d made a quick exit.
The second clue he found was more disturbing. Abandoned in a dark alleyway a ways away from the tracks was Jason’s bike. Dick’s stomach dropped at that. Jay loved his bike, he wouldn’t just leave it here––
“Nightwing, Robin, come in. I’ve found what looks like some kind of shootout. I think Hood was in over his head.”
Dick brought his hand up to his ear, “I just found Hood’s bike. Looks like he got out of here some other way.”
If he got out. Dick refused to think about it for long.
“Hey, Wing? You’re going to want to see this…”
Dick’s stomach dropped at the desperation that undercut the typically steady tone of Tim’s voice.
“I’m on my way.”
Dick made it to Tim in a matter of minutes, scanning the wreckage around him. There were shrapnel and bullet casings scattered across the shipyard. Dick grimaced. Whatever had gone down, it hadn’t been pretty.
“What happened here?”
“A shootout. With armor-piercing rounds, too. Looks like Hood was caught off guard,” Tim spoke with an unnerving softness as he continued to pick through the rubble for clues.
Tim was crouching amidst the rubble staring down at the floor. Dick walked up beside him and sucked in a gasp.
A fragment of a white lens peeking out of red armor stared up at him. Dick sucked in a deep breath and forced down the panic rising in his chest. Jason was alive. He had to be alive–– this was just a bad series of coincidences––
“Hood’s tracker didn’t go out until he was in the water. Maybe––” Static filling his com cut him off.
“Nightwing, Red Robin. I’ve located one of Hood’s pistols on the beach. Still no sign of him.”
Dick tried to keep himself steady as he felt all the blood drain from his body. His breathing was coming fast as every worst-case scenario started to flood his brain.
“––Nightwing!”
Dick blinked back to reality. Tim was shaking him.
“You good, Wing?” Tim was looking at him with deep-set concern and sighed, “I’m worried about him too, but you and I both know that Hood’s too stubborn to stay down. He made it out. I know he did.”
Dick sucked in another deep breath, “Ok. Okay. Let’s go check the beach.”
Jason came to with the pounding of a terrible headache and a deep set ache in his muscles–– and he was warm. So warm.
He groaned as he sat up, slowly peeling his body armor off of him before standing and stumbling to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Advil or Ibuprofen, or both at this point.
Jason didn’t make it to the kitchen.
He collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath, and the tightness in his chest was making him nauseous.
Fuck.
Maybe he’d inhaled more water than he’d initially thought–– not that the blood loss was helping him think very much either.
He slid to the ground, attempting to suck in a breath, but was met with the taste of bile instead.
Shit. He’d never make it to the bathroom.
His body convulsed, but there was nothing left in his stomach. A coughing fit overtook him, making it harder and harder to breathe. His vision began to grow spotty again.
Fuck shit fuck– –!
He got one last good breath in before the ground was racing toward him and he was pulled into darkness again.
The beach was a bust. They found no other clues indicating where Jason had gone, and Dick was starting to freak out.
Barbara’s cool collected voice pulled Dick out of his panic.
“I’ve got eyes on Hood.”
Oh, thank god––
“Where, O?”
“Cams spotted him near the Westward Bridge, about 10 minutes ago.”
Tim’s face scrunched in confusion, “Old Gotham? How’d he even get all the way over there?”
Dick ran for his bike without hesitation.
“Doesn’t matter–– O, we’re on our way.”
Dick sped through the streets of Old Gotham, with Tim and Damian following closely behind him. Tim had said Jason had at least one safehouse in every sector of the city as a safety precaution, even if it was outside of his territory. The only issue was they had no idea where that could be.
Dick pulled off into an alleyway and brought a hand to his ear as Tim and Damian pulled up beside him.
“Any more visuals, O?”
“Not yet, but no cameras have caught any sight of him near Wayne Tower or the Financial District, so you’re in the right area.”
Great. That only left a couple of square miles for them to search. Easy enough right?
“Any luck, Red?” Dick’s leg bounced nervously against his bike.
Tim stared intensely at a small monitor in his hands and nodded, “I’ve narrowed down possible aliases in the area Hood could be using to rent out a safe house. I’ve got three possible locations.”
“I suggest we split up and search each location independently. If Todd is in need of assistance it is best we find him as soon as possible.”
“Codenames, Robin,” Tim sighed, “But you’re right. We should split up. Sending each of you a location now.”
“Tt. Of course I’m right.”
“Call in as soon as you find anything!” Dick sped off before the address could finish sending.
It took Dick less than 5 minutes to race to the address Tim gave him, a shitty rental under the name Jackson Peters. Dick pulled up to the side of the building, immediately ditching his bike in favor of scaling the building to the top floor.
His com buzzed to life in his ear, “This is Robin. There is nothing notable at this location. No sign of Hood.”
“Red Robin here. I’m almost to the third location.”
That’s one down. Dick fired his grapple and scaled up the building, stopping on the third floor–– there was blood on the fire escape. A trail of blood, actually, leading up to the fourth story. Dick’s stomach churned.
Dick brought a shaky hand up to his com, “I’ve found blood on the fire escape… Could be Hood’s.”
“Be careful, Wing.”
Dick pulled himself up to the fourth floor, following the bloody trail to the windowsill. He peered into the dark windows, scanning for anything that would indicate Jason’s presence. He couldn’t see very well into the dark apartment, so he moved to open the window.
There was a security system hooked up to the window, but it had been disabled. He slid it open and slipped into the living room, landing in a crouch.
He stood slowly and looked around the room, sucking in a breath at the sight of Jason’s jacket and body armor scattered around the living room.
“I’ve located Hood’s gear, but I haven’t–– Jason!?”
Dick rushed over to the body collapsed on the floor, and pressed against the wall. The smell of bile, antiseptic, and burnt flesh hit his nose immediately. Jason was pale and his pulse was weak, but he was alive.
“I’ve got Hood. Requesting emergency evac.”
“Batmobile enroute. ETA 7 minutes.”
Dick took his hand off his com and took stock of Jason’s injuries. He had a bullet wound in his leg that had been cauterized, and he was shivering and soaking wet.
“Little wing? Can you hear me?” Dick’s hands hovered anxiously over his brother.
Jason only groaned in response and stared up at him with glassy eyes.
Crap.
“Jaybird, you’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you,” Dick crouched down and pulled Jason into his lap, brushing Jason’s salt-crusted hair out of his brother’s face. Jason smelled like sea salt and bile. Dick didn’t care.
“We’re gonna get you all patched up back at the cave. Don’t worry, B isn’t there. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”
Jason continued to stare up at him blankly, conscious, but not lucid enough to understand what was happening, “Dickie…?”
It was so quiet Dick almost missed it, “Yeah, Jay. I’m here.”
“Dickie I’m cold,” Jason was shivering in his arms–– did he have a fever? Dick pulled off his glove and placed his hand on his brother’s forehead. Jason leaned into the touch. He was burning up–– they needed to get him to the cave ASAP.
“I know, little wing. We’re gonna get you all patched up.”
“Can I come home, Dickie? I wanna go home.”
Dick held the breath that threatened to escape him at the rawness of Jason’s words.
“Of course, Jaybird. Let’s get you home.”
Jason was dreaming. He was 12 years old again, wandering through the manor, lost in the vastness of the place. Shivers wracked his small frame. Was the manor always this cold? Alfred really needed to turn up the heat. God knows Bruce could afford it.
He wandered aimlessly through the halls when he heard his brother calling out for him, but he couldn’t see him, “Dick? Dick where are you?”
The voice got louder and louder until he could almost see the kind blue eyes, “Dickie…?” The chill of the manor air made him shiver, “Dickie I’m cold.”
The manor walls disappeared around him and he stared out at an unfamiliar room with shapes and lights blurring around him.
He wanted to go home.
But he knew he couldn’t go home. Why couldn’t he go home? Where was he?
He wanted to go home. Could he?
“Of course, Jaybird. Let’s get you home.”
Jason smiled weakly. Dick was here. Dick was safe. His brother would take him home.