Chapter Text
Out of all the scenarios that played out in his head, Dick was not expecting this. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what to expect after he received a message on a private line from Oracle that the infamous “Red Hood was killing again.” It took him by shock. Red Hood. His brother. Why would he suddenly break the truce with Batman? Unless…
No. Dick had learned the hard way that making assumptions about people only led to bloodshed. Just like how Jason had assumed his father would choose him over saving his own murderer. But hey, let bygones be bygones.
Somehow seeing Jason sat alone, cigarette in hand with his legs dangling over a rooftop above the slums of Gotham, fresh blood dripping from his torso and domino mask practically torn on the ground, with nothing but a blank expression, was more terrifying than he could imagine. Actually, what was more terrifying was the fact that he hadn’t even acknowledged Dick’s presence, nor tried to hide the fact that he was feeding a stray kitten who was happily scoffing down a can of cat food. If this was any other day, he would joke about how soft Jason actually is, but for some reason something feels off.
When Dick attempts to take a step forward, the cat startles and knocks over the can as it flees the scene; this prompts a tut from Jason as he takes a drag of the cigarette.
“Am I interrupting something?” he questions, trying to keep the nerves he hadn’t realised had been building up from hinting in his voice. “Since when did you adopt a cat?”
Jason exhales a large cloud of smoke as he sighs and closes his eyes. Dick immediately sensed annoyance – something he was apparently good at making Jason.
He opts to take a seat next to him on the edge of the roof and tries to study his brother, scanning his body for injuries. Is that blood his or… Or the people he killed? He hadn’t shown any signs yet that he was hurt, but this was Jason. Jason who would receive a stab wound and shake it off like it was just a paper cut. Jason who wouldn’t ever tell anyone that he was bleeding out until he’d pass out in a pool of his own blood.
“It’s not mine,” Jason breaks his silence, reading Dick’s mind without even looking his way. “But you knew that already, didn’t you, Goldie?”
It’s not like he tried to hide the murders.
“What?” Dick asks, trying to sound confused, but even he could tell how fake he sounded. And Jason wasn’t an idiot.
“Don’t play dumb,” he growls. “’m not in the fuckin’ mood to deal with your shit today.”
“I’m not allowed to check in on my brother?” Which wasn’t technically a lie. It wasn’t the full truth either but he was honestly worried sick all the time for Jason. Things had been fucked up ever since he died, forever changed. Being resurrected with mind-altering-goo didn’t exactly help their already rocky relationship, but Dick was trying to make amends for all the times they fought and all the times he hadn’t been there to save his brother. To save him from the Joker.
From Bruce.
“Unfortunately, all the rooms are full so I can’t accept any check-ins. Now kindly fuck off.” He takes another drag from his cigarette, and his eyelids slowly open as if it took all the energy in the world. He looked exhausted. Dick had seen him many times at his worst, but this was different.
There was no life in his eyes, and Dick tried not to panic.
“Something tells me I should stay.”
Jason lets out a small laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
He laughs again. “Only you would interpret that as a means to stay.”
Dick returns the laughter. “Huh, I guess you’re right.” He stares at his younger brother’s face and takes in his features; his jaw seems sharper, definite weight loss. Dark bags under his eyes indicate lack of sleep. Paler complexion which could mean a lot of things, none of them good.
If Jason wasn’t conscious and speaking right now one could almost mistake him for a corpse. Dick shudders at the thought and hates himself for even picturing that.
They sit in a somewhat comfortable silence, or as comfortable as one can be with distant sirens blaring constantly in a city with one of the highest crime rates. Dick waits patiently for Jason to say something. Anything. He could practically feel the anxiety clawing through his skin with every passing second, his thoughts spiralling as they try to fill in the missing blanks of what-the-fuck-happened. And right now, he really can’t shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.
Jason flicks the bud of his cigarette off the roof, ash falling gracefully onto his thigh. It bothers Dick that he doesn’t wipe it off, but he supposes the blood is probably a lot worse. The blood that now seems to be drying, all except in one spot. Now that he’s looking closer, he notices a slight tremble and the way his jaw is slightly clenched, as if in pain.
“You’re injured, let me-“ he reaches out his hand and Jason smacks it away, eyes wide like a rabid animal trying to protect his pride. Dick backs off almost instantaneously, raising his hands in defence and maybe out of slight guilt. He knew that Jason despised being touched, but his nurturing instinct decided to ignore the warnings and all he wanted to do was help.
When it came to Jason, he always felt useless. Powerless to do anything. He remembers when Tim once asked him, ‘why do you try to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?’ He thinks about it a lot, and every conclusion he comes to is ‘just because you don’t ask for help, doesn’t mean you don’t want it’.
Jason never asked for help, always fought his battles alone. It was time that changed.
“Jay.”
“It doesn’t even hurt.”
Liar, Dick thinks. “Then stand up and, I don’t know, do a handstand.”
“Fuck off,” Jason scoffs. “I’m not performing for you. That’s your shindig, circus boy.”
Dick brings his hands to his mouth in fake shock, mocking his younger brother. “Oh my God…”
“What?”
“You don’t want to… Because you can’t.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “What- Of course I can!”
“Then why are you getting so defensive?” Dick smirks.
“Because I don’t fuckin’ want to! What’s the big deal?!”
“I don’t know man, you’re the one making it a big deal. Just do the handstand.”
“I am not doing a goddamn handstand.”
“What will the people of Gotham think when they learn that their hero Red Hood can’t do a meagre handstand? There will be riots, and your reputation will be ruined. Do it for the people.”
“You are so fucking intolerable sometimes Grayson,” Jason sighs as he shakes his head in his hand. “Fine. I can’t do a handstand-“
“Ha! Knew it!”
“Because I can’t feel my legs.”
“Oh. Oh.”
Step one: get Jason to admit he’s injured. Complete. Step two: well, Dick hadn’t thought that far. Actually, he’s never made it past step one.
“Yeah. Oh.”
“That- That’s serious, Little Wing.”
“No shit.”
“And let me get this straight-“
“You and straight don’t belong in the same sentence.”
Dick almost chokes on air. “Jason.”
“Dickie.” And the deflection starts.
“Wh- How were you- Were you planning on just… Just bleeding out on a fucking rooftop, without telling anyone?”
Jason pauses for a second and time must be moving weird because Dick could’ve sworn it had been an eternity before the man simply shrugs. “You found me, didn’t you?”
That made Dick’s blood boil. How could his brother have been so reckless? Unless-
No.
“And if I didn’t find you?” Dick asks sternly but with genuine concern and fear.
No.
He doesn’t answer. He’s sure he heard him ask the question and instead chooses so stare into the void.
“And if I didn’t find you, Jason?”
“It’s just a gunshot wound. Went clean through, missed my organs. Hardly fatal. Quit bein’ a fuckin’ bitch about it. I know that’s pretty hard for you,” he snarls.
“Just- Just a gunshot wound?!” Dick laughs in disbelief. “Oh, well I guess that makes everything okay! My bad!”
Then something inside Jason snaps, so suddenly that Dick has to put his hands on the ground to stop him from physically flinching off the edge. “Why the fuck don’t you tell me why you’re really here, huh?” He screams, his voice sounding raw with rage. “Stop this lame ass ‘good brother’ act already, you were never fucking good at it.”
Ouch. Dick has had his fair share of wounds, but it was safe to say this stung the most.
“I know,” is all he can muster, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know and- and I’m trying- I want to change that.”
“Bullshit. Why. Are. You. Here.”
“I- Babs and I were worried about you. You…”
“Killed a bunch of people and you came to see if the pit had taken over.” Jason snaps his head towards Dick, looking directly into his eyes to gauge his reaction. Dick was never a good liar. It was written all over his naïve face. Guilt. “I knew it.”
There was no point in feigning a lie. “No, Jay. I- I mean it was a concern, but I didn’t want to assume-“
“Didn’t want to assume I had gone bat-shit crazy like everyone expects me to. Like- Like I’m a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. How ironic.”
“I don’t think that at all.”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t.” Tears threaten to spill from his glossy eyes, and Jason lowers his head to look away from Dick, towards the bottom of the street. “My main concern is your wellbeing.”
“I don’t believe you.” And that was the core issue. Jason had no reason to believe him, or any of the family. Every shred of trust he had was torn away the moment he came back from the dead and everyone treated him like an outcast. The moment Bruce had thrown that batarang at his neck.
Dick didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to help. He so desperately wanted to cry and beg on his knees for forgiveness. For a chance to start over and do things right. Yet he knows he probably doesn’t deserve forgiveness and it was selfish to wish for.
“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be here.”
“You’re just buying time.”
“Time for what?” Dick was genuinely confused, and Jason sneered like the answer was obvious. “For what?”
“For big ol’ Batman to arrive and lock me away in Arkham for good.” The words leave Jason’s mouth so easily it’s actually heart shattering. Did he actually think that? Dick could scream. He probably was, but he couldn’t hear anything except the loud thuds of his heartbeat playing the world’s-worst-timed drum solo in his skull.
“Is that… Really what you think?” Dick’s not sure how much his voice waivers because the drums are so fucking loud.
“Dun’t matter what I think.” He sounded defeated. Sad. Like he had already accepted his fate.
“Of course it matters, Little Wing. Why wouldn’t it?”
Jason freezes for a moment, like he’s considering carefully what, or what not, to say. And all the rage from his outburst dissipates into solemn. “’Cause I’m not gonna let you and B and anyone else fuck with my life again.”
“What do y-“
“-Nightwing.” Oracle interrupts.
“Not now, Babs!”
“Are you with Hoo- with Jason?” She asks with desperation, but Dick can’t focus and his heart is racing and Jason is reaching for his gun- “The killings weren’t random. They were all bosses of human trafficking rings. Dick, he took out all the gangs in the entire southern province.”
“Jason?”
“There are six rounds in this revolver,” he spins and closes the chamber. “My job’s almost done.”
“Dick? Report?”
Jason smiles the most eery smile that will haunt Dick for the rest of his life. “One bullet left, how poetic. Saving the best for last.” He presses the gun against his temple, the tremble completely gone. He was calm. Dick was terrified.
There was no way in Hell he was going to let his brother die again.
Years of training and hostage situations had led to this moment, and Dick was ready. Ready to save his brother.
Out of instinct and pure adrenaline, Dick rapidly flings his arm and smacks the barrel of the gun as it goes off.
His ears are ringing, he’s not sure if he’s even breathing. The gun went off.
The gun went off-