Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was walking down a quiet, empty street. Other than the concrete beneath his boots, nothing felt familiar.

It was just a simple collision. He bumped shoulders with a man he didn’t know—or maybe someone he’d once known but had long since forgotten. As he staggered back a step, he felt something hard press into his stomach. Something was dripping, one drop at a time, onto the pavement.

Something red.

“Ah…” Looking down, he saw a knife buried deep in his gut. His first instinct was to press his fingers against the torn flesh where the silver blade had punched through—but blood kept seeping between them. It had gone straight through his leather jacket. The wound in his abdomen was huge; his shirt was already soaked through with crimson, and Dick—

He was just… surprised. When he looked up at the man who’d stabbed him, his mind was blank. No rage. No fear. Nothing. “What—” he tried to say, but the words just slipped away, like he’d forgotten every single one.

The man yanked the knife out so fast, Dick only managed a sharp gasp.

“I’m doing this for money…!” the stranger shouted, before driving the blade into Dick’s stomach again. The knife tore through another part of his jacket and found the same soft target.

It was easy for him, apparently. Like cutting through dough. Then he ripped Dick’s wallet from his jacket pocket, tossed it into his bag, and—after a brief, uneasy glance at the knife—muttered, “Damn it,” before pulling it free. Fear flashing in his eyes, he bolted down the deserted street until he vanished.

Dick blinked against the pain. His head was spinning so badly that when he tried to step back, his foot caught on something. Looking down, he realized it was an empty beer bottle. His toe caught, and he went down hard. The impact sent a thin, sharp cry tearing from his lips.

“Offhhp!” It felt like every ligament in his legs had snapped. Not a single shred of strength left in his body. “Hnnnh—”

A tiny snowflake landed on the bridge of his nose. It melted instantly, and he slowly tilted his head up. White flakes drifted down from the pitch-black sky.

“Christmas,” he whispered. “It’s here.” Considering he was slumped against a trash can, it wasn’t exactly the most magical holiday. He lifted a shaky hand to press against the wound again, but it was useless.

His fingers were numb, just like his legs. Then it hit him—his phone. A clunky old flip phone, the only device he still had. He fumbled for his pocket, only to remember he’d left it at home.

The universe seemed hell-bent on making sure Dick Grayson died right here, right now. He’d dodged the reaper once—maybe more than once—but tonight, there’d be no escape. In this deserted street, there were only two people: the man who’d stabbed him, and himself.

Which meant, yeah. He was alone. No help was coming.

When people bleed out, they often think of family. People they love. Maybe a dear friend. Or even just… someone. A stranger on the street whose smile they liked. A barista who knew their coffee order.

All Dick could think about was how bad the trash smelled.

The hot liquid on his fingers was thickening, drying against his skin. He rolled his eyes down at the wound. This wasn’t how he’d pictured his life ending. Then again, he hadn’t exactly pictured getting shot in the head—then waking up—then watching himself get shot again—before being dragged into some ridiculous mess by his 'family' either.

But it had all happened. Like some cruel joke played by God. And here he was, in a world he didn’t remember, with no one to trust, and no memories to anchor him.

Now he was bleeding out in a lonely alley.

As his gaze drifted up to the dark blue sky, he thought of the small dog waiting for him at home. He’d found it with Bea just a few days ago—missing a leg, sickly and shivering.

He hadn’t wanted the little thing to die alone. He’d taken it in, nursed it back to health—well, mostly. They’d only had a month together, but Dick had already grown attached to it like it was his own blood. “Aaah…” He pressed harder against the wound. “Who’s gonna feed that kid now?” he muttered helplessly.

His lips trembled. He wasn’t crying, but for some reason, his eyes burned.

Aside from the stabbing, the thing that really pissed him off was losing his cash. Every last cent he had was gone. At least he’d left the taxi’s keys at home—one small victory.

The warmth spreading through his leather jacket grew as his eyelids drifted shut. The cold didn’t help. Neither did the blood loss. He forced them open again.

“No stars,” he whispered to no one. Maybe he’d see one before he died. Maybe— He searched the night sky. Nothing but city-smothered darkness.

“Who am I kidding,” he murmured. “Who’s even listening to my wishes?” After all, Dick didn’t even remember himself—why would God?

There were no stars, but the snowfall was hypnotic. Calming. Sleep-inducing. He exhaled into the freezing air. Maybe these were his last breaths. “Snow… heh?” His lips curled in a wry smile.

His new stubble itched, but he didn’t have the strength to lift a hand. So he leaned back against the reeking trash can and just watched the flakes fall. White specks landed on the red pool, blushing before melting away.

“What a romantic moment to die in.”

His eyelids were so heavy. ‘I’m really dying.’ Did he have any regrets? Pointless thought—he didn’t remember anything to regret. “Would’ve been nice to have at least one,” he mocked himself. “Might’ve fought harder to stay.”

As he let his eyes close again, the sound of boots on concrete reached his ears. He opened them slowly to see a strange man standing there. A scar slashed across his face. Green eyes.

Dark brown hair—except for one odd streak of gray at the front. “Oh,” Dick breathed, frowning.

Dick didn’t recognize him. He smirked at the absurdity. 'Of course you don’t, Dick.' Another mugger, maybe?

“Look,” Dick rasped, coughing mid-sentence, his dry throat protesting. “I’m tapped out. Guy just took all my money. You’ll have to rob someone else.”

“This your Christmas gift to me?” the stranger asked.

Those green eyes looked at him like he was watching the world’s worst comedy. His thin lips parted. “Ridiculous,” he said, voice low and cold—something in it made Dick’s skin prickle.

“Who even gets stabbed in a mugging?” the man asked, now clearly irritated. He fumbled in his pocket, muttering curses under his breath.

Dick tilted his head toward the knife wound in his gut. “Guess that’d be me,” he said dryly. The blood on his fingers was crusting now. Weird. Like bathing in his own blood.

The man pulled out some gauze. Dick eyed it warily. “You just carry that around with you?” he asked. “You’re scarier than the guy who mugged me.”

When the gauze touched his skin, a small cry slipped from his lips. Even with all the blood he’d lost, it still hurt.

“That hurt,” he grumbled. “Thought you were supposed to feel less with blood loss. Lies.”

“Hospital?” the green-eyed man asked, then frowned at himself like it was a stupid question. “Of course hospital,” he answered, stomping his boots against the pavement as he stood.

He scooped Dick up bridal-style, one arm behind his shoulders, the other under his knees.

The gauze nearly slipped from Dick’s slick fingers, but the man pulled him closer, pressing it back against the wound before it could fall. “Hold it,” he ordered.

Dick obeyed. It was strange—this whole thing.

“You my mom or something?” he asked, half teasing, half exhausted. The weight in his eyelids was growing unbearable. Maybe he’d die on the way, no matter what this guy did.

The man let out a low chuckle. “Nah. Lost twin.” He opened the door of an old jeep and set Dick inside. “We’re going to the hospital. Stay awake.”

“’Kay,” Dick murmured, letting his head fall back against the seat.

The smell of pine filled the car. At least it was comfortable—and didn’t stink. Even if this stranger was trouble, Dick figured he’d be dead soon anyway. No point worrying.

The leather seats seemed to be swallowing him whole. His mind clung to one memory—Haley. Even though he knew sleeping was bad—knew the stranger had warned him—he didn’t have a reason to fight it.

He didn’t resist. He let the world take him. But then—without realizing it—his head thumped against the seat, jolting his eyes open.

“Ow…” Blinking, he noticed the stranger was yelling.

“Damn it!” he shouted, panic flaring in those green eyes. “You awake? Thank God. Don’t sleep. Ever.”

Dick tried to look at him through the rearview mirror. The blur at the edge of his vision wasn’t helping, but those piercing green eyes were sharp as ever.

Something was missing from them. Maybe a little blue, Dick thought. If there was a little blue in them…

Then he saw a child in the passenger seat. The kid was facing him—wearing something green, yellow… odd colors. Even if Dick didn’t die, he was pretty sure he was losing it.

The boy’s face was hazy. His voice crackled like a broken radio, the words running together. Blue, the boy said, mockingly. Did you forget?

“What?” Dick whispered. The boy’s face was fading. So you forgot, the kid pouted. Blue, he repeated, pointing to his face.

Blue eyes, he said, with childlike glee. Forgot, huh?

“Wake up!” came another voice. More real—more human. Dick blinked, and the boy was gone. The stranger was shouting, white-knuckled on the wheel.

The thought fled his mind. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about. The blaring car horn kept snapping him back; sleeping wasn’t much of an option now.

So he did the only thing he could. He looked—through the mirror—at the man’s scar.

He didn’t know why, but it hurt to look at it. “Must’ve hurt,” he murmured. His voice should’ve been drowned in the noise, but it wasn’t. The man heard.

“Huh?” The stranger met his eyes in the mirror, frowning.

Dick, clinging to the last threads of consciousness, tried to smile. The corners of his lips ached. His trembling hand gestured toward the man’s face. “…Scar,” he whispered. His arm dropped like a lifeless puppet’s, and his eyes slipped shut.

The man kept shouting. Words Dick couldn’t understand—maybe trying to tell him something.

“—ick!”

But Dick didn’t keep going. And really—why should he? Let it go, another voice said. There’s no point in remembering.

And Dick let his eyes close.

…

As his eyes fluttered open, the first thing he noticed was the sharp, sterile scent stinging his nostrils.

The classic hospital smell. Maybe the expensive kind.

As his blurry vision began to sharpen, he tried not to think about the hospital bill.

Because, without a doubt, it was going to bleed him dry.

Then came a small sting on his cheek. Like a mosquito bite. He slowly turned his gaze to the other side—and there he was. That green-eyed guy, standing right by his bed. The stranger was casually pinching his cheek as if it were nothing.

“What—?” he muttered, confused, rubbing the sore spot with his fingers. “Were you even real?”

The man crossed his arms—thick, muscled arms. An athlete. Maybe a boxer. Raising one brow, the man asked, “Did you imagine me?” Then, with a smirk: “If so, you’ve really lost it.”

Dick just stared at him, baffled—until it hit him. The stabbing.

He hurried to check the wound in his stomach, and a wave of pain ripped through him. “Ah—!” It felt like his gut was being split open all over again. He wrapped his arms around his middle, eyes stinging.

The man’s hand landed gently but firmly on his shoulder, guiding him back down. “Lie down,” he said, voice laced with authority. “Doctor said no physical activity for at least two weeks.”

Okay. Now Dick was starting to feel like he was missing something. “Yeah, but…” he muttered, propping himself up again, suspicious.

No way he was just going to listen to this guy. He was a stranger, after all. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

The green-eyed man froze. Really froze. For a moment, Dick actually wondered if he had imagined him after all.

Then those green eyes darted away, sharp with something like anger. “Of course,” he said, standing up. “Of course you’d forget me.” He turned back toward Dick, and his gaze glimmered in the dim light.

“They told me you might not remember,” he said quietly. He took a slow step toward the armchair in the corner and sank back into it. “I’m—”

Dick yanked the thin blanket higher over himself. “Let me guess,” he said, irritation flaring.

The pieces had just clicked together in his mind. Maybe he wasn’t the man he used to be, maybe he didn’t have all his memories—but his brain still worked just fine. He could put two and two together.

“You’re one of them,” he said after a beat of silence. “Not surprised.”

“Them?”

“The people who say they’re my family. Which one are you? Remmy? Johnny? Andy? Stephen? I don’t know. Don’t care. Saving my life doesn’t change a damn thing.”

He gave the stranger one last scowl before pulling the blanket over his head. Those sharp green eyes looked dim now, almost still.

“So screw off.”

He waited for the sound of footsteps and a door closing.

Instead: “Can’t.” The stranger had settled deeper into the chair. “Doctor told me to stay with you. Says you can’t even make it to the bathroom on your own. So… I’m not leaving. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him.”

Slowly, Dick peeked out from under the blanket. “Look,” he said sharply, locking his blue eyes on the man’s green ones. “You can leave. I’ve managed on my own this long—”

The man arched a brow and glanced meaningfully at Dick’s stomach. “Really?” he said, pure sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Dick didn’t have much of a comeback for that. So he went with: “Fine. Maybe I screwed up this time, but—”

“You were dying,” the stranger—or brother, or whatever—cut in.

Dick rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” The pain in his gut was getting harder to ignore, but he kept up the attitude anyway. “And besides…” He pointed at the man. “I’m not taking help from someone whose name I don’t even know. Whoever you—”

“Jason,” the green-eyed man said flatly. “My name’s Jason.”

He held out his hand as if expecting Dick to take it.

Not a chance, Dick thought. I’m done with this fake family crap.

Jason let his hand fall, stuffing it into his pocket. He exhaled sharply. “Two weeks,” he said. “No more. You heal, I leave. You keep hating me, I keep hating you.”

In the dim light, Jason—his brother, apparently—looked almost unreal. The ridiculous streaks of gray in his hair, the sharp green in his eyes—they seemed to shine in defiance of everything.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Maybe everything was wrong. But the brightness in those eyes… it didn’t look real.

“How do you hate someone you don’t even know?” Dick muttered.

He pushed the doubt out of his mind, ignoring Jason completely. No way was he going to feel guilty for not shaking the hand of a stranger. “You want to stay? Fine. Just keep quiet.”

He pulled the blanket back over his head. When his head sank into the soft pillow, the world went silent.

Maybe it was the drugs coursing through his system, but he fell asleep almost instantly.

…

A week had crawled by in the most excruciating way. Dick wasn’t talking, Jason wasn’t talking, and every so often, the silence between them turned sharp enough to cut. Even the nurses, when they stepped into the room, tried to crack jokes—anything to take the edge off.

“Are you mad?” the doctor asked Jason, having come in to check on Dick’s condition.

Jason was sitting in the chair beside the bed, nose in a book. He looked up, lips pressed into a thin line. “No,” he said flatly. “Why would I be mad at that idiot?”

“For getting stabbed, maybe?” the doctor replied with forced cheer.

Jason snapped his book shut with a sharp thwack. “You do realize he can hear you, right?” he growled, jerking his chin toward Dick.

The doctor turned toward Dick—who was glaring daggers from the bed—and smiled nervously. “Of course I know. He’s my patient.” He stepped forward, lifting Dick’s shirt to check the stab wound. “Looks good,” he said, a little too chipper.

Clapping his hands together, he let the shirt fall back into place. “Someone will be by to change the bandage in a few hours. Try to behave, alright?”

Before heading for the door, he paused and wagged a finger at Jason like a father scolding his kids. “Don’t push the patient.”

Jason was gripping his book so tightly it looked ready to tear in two. “If he doesn’t push himself, I won’t push him,” he shot back. “But look at this—gets shot in the head, forgets everything, and he’s still a hyper little bastard.”

“Watch your mouth,” Dick grumbled, yanking the blanket up over his head. This week was already unbearable; all he wanted was to get out of here.

Jason’s voice still carried from across the room. Dick had only known him a week, but thank God his memories were gone. If I’d known him for a lifetime, I don’t know what I’d do.

“Behave, and I’ll get you discharged early. Deal?”

Dick poked his head out from under the blanket, the motion sending a bolt of pain through his stomach. “Ow!” he hissed, then ground his teeth. “Great,” he muttered. “Just great.”

With a sigh, the doctor left, instructing the nurses to keep an eye on the wound. Jason was still frowning at Dick like some grumpy old widow.

“What?” Dick said stubbornly, pouting as he let his head drop back onto the pillow. “Stop acting like a little old lady.”

“I swear, bad jokes must be in your DNA. No, seriously—you’re even worse now that you’ve forgotten everything.”

Dick’s answer was to hurl a pillow straight at Jason’s face.

…

Somehow, they’d managed to get him out of the hospital early—or at least Dick had. No one really believed him when he promised to behave, but for once, he actually had. More or less. He wasn’t exactly bouncing off the walls… right?

And, surprisingly, Jason didn’t live in some huge, flashy, overpriced mansion. Unlike that blasted manor he’d been dragged to before, Jason’s place was just a plain, modest apartment at the top of a small building.

Or at least, as far as Dick knew.

The first thing he noticed when he stepped inside was the complete lack of photos. Even when his memories were gone, the place he’d woken up in before had been full of them—pictures of him, but not of him. Things that belonged to him, but also… didn’t.

Same face. Same eye color. Same skin. Same voice. And yet, none of it felt like him. It didn’t fit. Something was missing—something he couldn’t name.

Losing his memories was… strange.

Really strange. Like waking up and seeing the sun for the first time, but not knowing it was the sun—only thinking, Why is it so hot?

It was as if every memory had been erased without even the instinct to protect them. Swallowed up by a black hole.

No trace left behind. None. Except for a few people.

“How long are you gonna stand there?” Jason’s voice came from across the room. He’d already passed through the doorway and was now standing in front of a chair. “If it looks familiar, erase that thought. I’ve never brought you here before.”

“I was more thinking about how broke you are,” Dick muttered.

Jason arched a brow, letting out a short sigh. “Say whatever you want, big bird. I’m not dealing with your dumb jokes right now. Get inside.”

…

He dreamed of a circus. Two people had fallen from above and died. A woman and a man. His mother and father. He stood over them, screaming, crying like mad. “Mom,” he sobbed, then turned to his father, “Dad.”

Most likely, he was just a child who had lost the two people he loved most in the depths of his heart. A small boy, not even nine years old, standing beneath all the circus lights beside the fading bodies.

The same face, the same hair, the same voice. He didn’t need any more proof to know it was him. But—

He wasn’t crying. In the dream, even though that boy wept, he didn’t. He didn’t know the woman and man he had lost.

He had never seen their smiles. Never saw the love in their eyes. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t feel the loss, couldn’t feel what he was supposed to feel.

So where did this lead?

He woke from the nightmare in the dead of night. His fingers trembled, a terrible ache gnawed at his chest. But—no. That pain didn’t come from the tragedy of their deaths. It came from not understanding. “It was me,” he whispered to the empty room.

Even the moonlight hadn’t reached inside. In pitch darkness, he lay alone in a bed meant for two. After Jason decided to sleep in the living room, he hadn’t seen him again.

Now this bed for two—felt enormous. The cold sheets, like those cold bodies— No. Like his uncomprehending heart. “…It was me.” He couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t breathe.

It was him. He was the one there. But he didn’t understand. “But—”

The door creaked open, dramatically. Jason stepped inside. As if he’d somehow noticed Dick was awake, his green eyes—devoid of worry—just stared at him. A face without emotion, cold eyes.

Fear started crawling over his skin. Dick didn’t know this man. Every nerve in his brain screamed, I don’t know this man. He needed to run. Because every second he stayed meant loss.

Every second he stayed was a drop of blood. “Who are you?” he growled. His jaw was tight. His body felt like it was standing in the middle of a battlefield.

His eyes stung. Whether from fear or sleeplessness, he couldn’t tell. “Say it,” he repeated. The words cut out of his throat like a knife. “I asked who the hell you are!”

Jason tilted his head, leaning his shoulders against the cold doorframe. “Your brother…” he said, as if he wasn’t even sure of it himself. He shut his eyes. “Or at least, I was.” Quietly.

Then he opened them again. Those green eyes gleamed like lanterns. There were many things about Jason that weren’t normal—and those eyes were at the top of the list.

Now, squinting, Jason looked straight at him. “Maybe I was never your brother at all,” he said, his tone calm as he straightened in the doorway. “If you don’t know, then I can’t possibly know.”

Dick’s fingers curled tighter around the cold blanket. Confusion spread through him like the universe itself expanding. But his body—his body feared those green eyes. “You’re all the same,” he snarled. He snatched the pillow behind him.

He hurled it at Jason with force. “You say you know me, but—” Breathless, he stared at Jason catching the pillow. “All of you are nothing but liars.”

He sat up, bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Every step made the wound in his stomach ache worse. He stopped right in front of Jason. Lifted his head, met his eyes sharply. “I understand more and more each day why I forgot you.”

And he brushed past him. He just—just wanted to feel like someone was telling the truth. Because when even his own memories couldn’t help him, when he didn’t know who to trust and everyone acted like a bastard, what could Dick do?

He grabbed his jacket—stained with blood, split open by a knife—and hooked a leash to the collar of the dog sleeping by the door. “Come on, Haley,” he murmured, waking her. “We can’t stay here.” The dog looked up at him with big blue eyes, as if she were just as scared as he was. “Don’t be afraid, girl,” he whispered, stroking her head. He rested his forehead against her grey fur.

“Anywhere but here, we’ll be safe.”

As he moved, he could feel something tearing inside his gut—the borrowed T-shirt slowly soaking with something warm. But he had to leave. He couldn’t stay.

As he pushed himself up, he stumbled, catching the wall for balance. Looking down, he realized the wound had reopened. A wide stain of blood spread across his shirt. “Hhhhnn…” He straightened with the wall’s support. He could feel small drops pattering down his legs, but—it didn’t matter. He tightened his grip on the leash. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

And he opened the door. The cold wind outside cut against his skin like a razor. He felt it even on his eyelashes. He exhaled a warm breath into the night.

Then a hand clamped around his wrist. “I can’t let you go,” Jason said. His green eyes were as cold and emotionless as ever.

Dick slowly turned to face him, an ironic smile curling on his lips. “Can’t let me go?” he growled. He was furious. As he yanked his arm away from Jason’s grip, the pain in his stomach flared sharper. “Gah…!” He clutched his gut, hearing Jason mutter something under his breath.

Haley barked at his side, circling him in worry. A wave of grief—one he couldn’t quite name—rose in his chest, drowning him like an ocean.

His eyes burned. Almost—almost ready to cry. “It’s always—” he swallowed, “Always because of you!” he shouted with everything he had. Black crows on the rooftop startled and flew into the sky, their wingbeats so loud it felt like the whole world could hear.

“What do I have to do—” He lifted his head, eyes wet, staring at Jason. “What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?” he whispered. His voice trembled, his throat ached. Saying it felt like shattering his own heart. “Tell me. What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?”

Jason didn’t move. His lips pressed into a hard line. Dick wasn’t even sure he was breathing. In the dark of night, he couldn’t read Jason’s face—couldn’t tell if he was looking at him with sorrow or with hate.

And Dick was starting to fear everything he couldn’t understand.

His fingers pressed over the scarred wound. He dug his nails into it. His hair wasn’t as long as before, but it was starting to grow again. “Want me to take another bullet to the head?” he said. “Is that it?”

“Are you upset because the ‘Dick’ you knew isn’t here—Or because someone else woke up in his place? Or let me guess— You’d rather I’d died. Because—” Jason’s fist cracked against his cheek. Dick staggered against the stair railing. The cold metal seeped through his shirt, clinging to his skin. He gripped it with trembling hands, eyes burning with pain. “Isn’t that right?” he growled. “You all wish I was dead.”

“Shut up,” Jason said, brow furrowed in fury. His green eyes burned. “What the hell do you even know?” He stalked toward Dick, hands curling into fists. “Is this—” he gestured to the wound on Dick’s head. “—supposed to matter to me? It didn’t when you remembered me. It doesn’t now. They called us ‘brothers’ but let me tell you something.” He jabbed a finger into Dick’s chest. “We were never brothers.”

Something broke inside Dick. “Then why are you here?” His voice was angry, but carried more sadness than rage. “You should’ve let me die. Why the hell did you save me? Should’ve just let me go!”

Jason slammed his fists into the railing. The metal rattled under the blow. “I couldn’t!” he shouted. More birds scattered. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to kill you so many times—and I got so damn close, more than once.”

“I hated you with every cell in my body. Hated you so much that when you got shot, I didn’t visit. They said you wouldn’t wake up. That you’d die. I didn’t even come to see you one last time.”

Now Jason shook, like he’d been sitting out in the rain for hours. His brow was so tightly knit Dick half-expected the skin to tear. “Then why—” Dick tried again.

Jason slammed the railing again. “Because I kept seeing you!” he roared. The blows kept coming, the cold metal swaying with each strike. “Every time I closed my eyes—” He took a sharp breath. “I saw you. Sleeping. Awake. Always you.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor, like he was avoiding Dick’s eyes. “I hated it. I hated myself. Because no matter how much I wanted to—I couldn’t hate you completely. Replacement? Hated it. Gremlin? Hated it. Every damn thing about you. At one point I hated you so much—”

He sank slowly to his knees. Dick, aching, just listened. “Goddammit,” Jason muttered, swallowing hard. “You kept trying. You tried to bring me back. You stood behind me when everyone thought I was the villain.”

“You asked if I was okay. You came to visit. You were there when I thought I was alone.” When he finally looked up, Dick saw the tears running down his face—slow, deliberate drops from green eyes.

“You were dying,” Jason said, as if reminding himself. “I tried to ignore it. Told myself that even if you died, I wouldn’t go to your grave. But then—”

“Then they said…” He dropped his head again, palms covering his face. “They said you forgot. And that— “

“That was worse than you dying… If you’d died, I wouldn’t have gone to your grave. Never. But—”

“You were sitting in some old taxi, adopting a little dog. Burning your costume. Every piece of the man I once admired was disappearing. And then—” He lowered his hands. Lifted his head again. This time he wasn’t crying, but his eyes were bloodshot. “I thought—good. A new life. No risk of dying. Away from all this crap.”

Dick stepped back slowly, spotting Haley looking up at him at his feet, her grey eyes almost furrowed with sadness. Jason rose, running a hand through his hair. “Get better,” he said, his voice suddenly hard, as if he hadn’t just cried. “Then get the hell out. And this time, even if you get stabbed, I won’t help. I’ll keep on hating you.”

“That it?” Dick asked, still clutching his wound, his voice shaking from pain. “That’s what you tell yourself? ‘I’ll hate you’? Guess what, asshole. I don’t care if you hate me.”

“I,” Dick said, brow furrowed, “don’t remember you. And you know what? I don’t ever want to.” He straightened, pulling himself away from the railing. “And even if I did, nothing would change. Not even that big bat-dressed bastard could change anything.”

Leaving Jason behind, he stepped toward the apartment again. Every movement sent a wave of pain through him, but he wouldn’t give Jason that satisfaction. He stopped. Looked back one last time. “I saw my parents die in my dream.”

He bit down on his lip. Saying it hurt, but it was the truth. “They fell from stories high. I still remember the sound of their bones breaking.”

Jason turned toward him slowly, brow furrowed. And Dick had no intention of stopping. “You know what I felt?”

He pulled his hand from his stomach, pointed to his heart. “Here. Nothing.” He pronounced each word like a verdict. “Those memories that were once the most precious thing I had—they didn’t make me feel a damn thing. I didn’t cry.”

Jason turned fully toward him now. “Then why the hell do you look like that, you idiot?” he asked sharply, gesturing to Dick.

“Like your heart’s been smashed to pieces,” Jason answered for him.

And Dick just grabbed Haley’s leash. “One week,” he said. “I already spent one week in the hospital. They said two. So I’m leaving in a week. And you won’t follow me.”

“I won’t,” Jason agreed. “Ever.”

“Good,” Dick replied, stepping inside.

As he headed toward the bedroom, Jason grabbed his wrist again. “In that week—” he said, pointing to Dick’s stomach. “No bleeding. You’ll ruin my carpets.”

“I can handle—” Dick began.

But Jason smirked with mockery. “How? You even remember how?”

“Of course I remember how to wash something,” Dick snapped, rolling his eyes as Haley ran inside. He dropped the leash. Jason stood behind him, hesitating, watching him. “I meant the wound,” he said.

“Oh—”

Chapter Text

When Dick began to tremble slowly, Jason lit the stove without a single question.

With the fire, a small wave of heat spread across the room. While Dick watched the flames with rapt attention, Jason opened the drawer of a small nightstand behind him. He pulled out a white box and placed it on the table in front of the couch.

The fire seemed to add a touch of color to his pale skin. Dick closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the blood staining his shirt. The cold. The air. The snow. The memories. Maybe even everything that no longer belonged to him.

If he forgot them all, then none of them would exist.

While Jason placed each item from the first-aid kit neatly to the side, he said from the couch across the room, “Take off your shirt. I need to check if I have to stitch you up again.”

When Dick looked into those green eyes, he felt as if he were sinking into a vile green liquid. His whole body was covered in a sticky weight. Every ‘family’ member Dick had ever faced was strange. But if Dick had to choose, the strangest would be either Damian or Jason.

When the little boy came to mind, Dick flinched involuntarily. The child was not sad; he was angry. As Dick recognized this, he recalled having said a few unkind things to him. After all, Dick remembered nothing, yet a pint-sized child was scolding him.

Dick quickly scattered the thoughts in his head. He walked toward the couch where Jason was sitting and sat down in the farthest corner he could find. The farther, the better—for Dick.

He placed his hands on his knees and started watching Jason nervously. All of this—‘Pointless.’ he finished the thought. ‘Bea must be looking for me. Why am I even here?’ He could ask to borrow Jason’s phone and talk to Bea just once. Jason wouldn’t object anyway. Dick knew that but—

It was snowing outside. As if it were the end of the world. It was New Year’s Eve. Christmas. People were buying gifts for their children, lovers were kissing, husbands and wives were embracing each other. Even the animals outside seemed to be celebrating the day.

And Dick was trapped with a man he barely knew. His eyes drifted to Haley, sitting in the corner by the window. The dog was eagerly watching the falling snowflakes. Dick closed his eyes. His world faded into black.

‘That’s how it begins.’ said a voice in his head. ‘That’s how it ends. The second. The third. The fourth. You’ve erased them all anyway.’

“Shut up.” he said to himself. When he realized he’d spoken aloud, he turned to the piercing green eyes staring at him. “I wasn’t talking to you.” he added.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Take off the shirt.” he muttered, pulling out a few bandages and tape from the white box.

“I didn’t know you were a doctor.” Dick mocked, “Is there anything you guys can’t do?”

“Flying.” Jason answered wearily. “And shooting lasers out of our eyes. Most people can’t do that anyway.”

The two bandages on Dick’s abdomen were soaked red. “I can’t believe you managed to bust both of them.” Jason sighed. With furrowed brows, he slowly peeled back the first bandage. The gauze was heavy with blood.

“Two stitches came undone. Damn it.”

Dick licked his dry lips, taking a deep breath. The pain was still unbearable. “No alcohol?” he asked. If there were some—if he drank—

“No alcohol.” Jason cut off his thoughts. “But I’ve got something stronger.” From the kit, he pulled out another syringe. He pressed the tip against an empty spot on Dick’s stomach.

Dick flinched, shutting his eyes. The moment the needle pierced his skin, something fluttered in his gut. Then slowly, the pain in his stomach faded away. His mind felt wrapped in a thick fog.

While Jason worked on closing the wound, Dick watched him. He looked at the lashes that cast shadows over his green eyes. He studied the ugly scar on his face. Then—when the fire’s warmth and the drug flooded his mind, Dick ran his fingers through Jason’s gray hair.

Jason jerked at the touch, raising his head to look at Dick. “What are you doing?” His voice sounded angry, but to Dick’s ears it was only surprise.

“Did you dye it?” Dick asked. It had only been a few minutes, but he already felt lightheaded. The hair didn’t feel dyed at all beneath his fingers. It was alive. How could it be natural? “I guess they put you under a lot of stress.” he teased softly.

He pictured little kids swarming around Jason. Maybe a pet. He imagined him shouting in frustration, stressed out. It was funny. He found himself laughing.

Jason took a deep breath and went back to stitching. His fingers trembled as he pushed the needle through the skin. He muttered things Dick couldn’t catch. Then quickly drew the needle out the other side. “Wouldn’t you know it.” he whispered. “The Lazarus Pit—” He stopped. Pressed his lips together. “Never mind.”

Dick leaned his head against the couch. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling looked like the kind any ordinary person would have. Then Dick wondered if heroes ever used chandeliers.

“They don’t.” he said, not realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Or do they?”

Jason tugged off his gloves with an audible snap. He tossed them onto the table beside him. With a rag, he began cleaning the blood around the wound. “What are you even talking about?” he asked.

Dick raised a hand, pointing at the ceiling. “The chandelier.” he said. “Do heroes use chandeliers?” After a few seconds of silence, he tilted his head, trying to look down.

Jason stared at him in disbelief. “What?” He looked up at the ceiling in confusion. “What does that even have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know.” Dick said, closing his eyes. “It just came to me.” When he felt the last wound being bandaged, he opened his eyes again.

Jason was kneeling on the floor, looking up at him with those big green eyes. As if searching for something that wasn’t there. “What?” Dick grumbled. He snatched his shirt quickly. “Quit staring.”

With a small chuckle, Jason tossed the bloody gauze into an old rusty bucket. “You know what?” he began. After a deep breath, he lifted his head, meeting Dick’s blue eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

All the warmth drained from Dick’s body. It was as if the warm realm he’d been in had suddenly been buried under snow. “Wouldn’t you know it.” he mocked.

Jason grabbed the bucket and stood. “No, I’m serious.” His voice sounded like he meant it. With his free hand, he gestured at Dick’s head. “The memories? I wasn’t even in most of them. Really. Just—” His green eyes gleamed in the dark like moonlight. He tightened his grip on the bucket. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Dick stayed silent. He had no answer to give. He just stayed silent.

…

When he woke, his throat was as dry and hot as desert sand. At first, when he opened his eyes, breathing became so hard that each breath caught in his throat. Once he felt well enough to stand, he went to the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror. The whites of his eyes were blood-red. He pressed his fingers against the foggy glass. The person staring back was himself, but also a stranger. Looking at himself felt like déjà vu. Like seeing something he couldn’t remember.

Like a word on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes. Drew in a deep breath. “Run… Run from here,” he told himself. His fingers gripped the white marble of the sink. “I want to run away.” he whispered.

He plunged his face into the cold water. It was the opposite of his burning body. Then he quickly dried his face with a towel.

…

“What’s the dog’s name?” Jason asked. He was at the kitchen counter, washing dishes. “I’d rather call it by name than just say ‘dog’ when I feed it.”

Dick lifted his head from the pillow he’d been lying on for some time and looked at Jason. He was wearing an apron that said ‘Didn’t die today either.’ The kind of apron that kept water from splashing on him while doing dishes. Under the light, it gleamed in a comical way.

“Haley.” Dick answered after a moment.

He let his head fall back onto the warm pillow. Closed his eyes again.

Because of the snow outside, the air was growing colder by the hour. The chill had seeped into the very walls. Whenever his feet brushed the wooden floor, an icy bite rushed up to meet him.

And despite all of it—there was a strange, ugly feeling twisting in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t understand. It was like the walls were closing in on him, and Dick couldn’t escape. As if he were chained here by his wrists.

He just had to last a week. Then he could return to that life he didn’t have to understand. He would make stupid jokes, down brands of alcohol he’d never even heard of before, flirt with any stranger passing by on the street.

At least he wouldn’t have to be hunted by his past.

When the light behind his closed eyes suddenly vanished, he opened them. Jason was standing right in front of him, still in that apron. His green eyes were wide, fixed on him.

“What?” Dick muttered.

His lips felt numb. Then Jason leaned in, pressing his big hand against Dick’s forehead. Dick recoiled in fear, but the pain in his stomach flared, spreading through his whole body. His lips trembled as he tried to speak: “What are you—” But Jason’s hand remained on his forehead.

Jason didn’t pull it back for several seconds. His brows knit as he stared down at Dick. “You’ve got a fever.” he said. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dick swallowed hard, trying to pull away. But the waves of pain in his abdomen were still swelling. So he stayed put on the couch. Rested his head back on the pillow. Closed his eyes. Maybe if he ignored it, the pain would ease.

It didn’t.

“Dick.” Jason’s voice was still there above him. Dick wanted to say, ‘Stop acting like you know me.’ But the meaning of words was slipping away as the hours passed. Because Jason did know him. The only one who didn’t was Dick.

Or the Dick who couldn’t remember the past. Whatever they called it. “What?” he snapped. He opened his eyes, glaring at Jason. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, my whole body is burning—” He swallowed, then took a deep breath to continue. “Sure, let me tell all my problems to the ‘brother’ I met a week ago.”

Jason still stood there silently, unflinching, and that only made Dick angrier. Everyone else he’d seen so far had yelled at him, shouted at him. They wanted him to remember. They wanted him to go back to who he was before. Dick was used to it.

He was used to the demands. He’d learned how to respond. But now—while Jason just stood and looked at him, saying nothing—Dick felt like a deer caught in headlights. “If you thought I’d do that, surprise; no. I didn’t. And I won’t.”

Jason yanked the pillow out from under Dick’s head. For a split second, his skull smacked against the hard couch. “Son of a—” he tried to curse, but the sudden jolt only made his stomach wound throb worse.

Jason flicked his hot forehead with a finger. “Shut up.” he grunted, then slowly straightened. “Quit being an idiot and get to the table. I made food.”

When Dick saw the two plates of eggs on the table, he scoffed. “You call that food?” he said rebelliously. “I don’t even have my memories, but I know I could cook better than that.”

Jason whacked him on the head with a clean ladle. “Shut it.” he said darkly. “Shut up and eat.”

…

Waking up with a headache wasn’t unusual for Dick. Just a hot cup of chamomile tea, maybe some alcohol—maybe a lot of alcohol—and it would be gone. That’s how it was supposed to work.

But from the second day on, the pain in his head grew like a mountain. It felt like knives were stabbing every corner of his skull.

When he opened his eyes, there was a blurred face hovering above him. The man was old. His hair was white, his beard too— Something inside Dick—something died when he looked at this man. He lifted a hand, reaching toward the blurry face.

His fingers brushed against the man’s skin, slowly. Warm. Soft. But the longer Dick touched him, the paler the man became. As if he were fading away.

‘Master Dick.’ said the man. Dick couldn’t see his face clearly, but he could make out the shape of smiling lips. The old man’s pristine suit clung perfectly to his body. Like—an immaculate choice.

‘Remember.’ the man said, voice heavy with sorrow. As if he himself were in pain. ‘My child. Forgetting does not suit you.’

…

He found Jason fast asleep on the small couch. His sunken eyes were closed as if sleep itself were a rare prize to be savored. Small murmurs escaped from his thin lips. He wore a red t-shirt. Black shorts. His hair was a mess, like he was some father of two who had been running after his kids all day.

Dick gently touched his cheek with his index finger. The warmth of his soft skin spread instantly to his fingertip. The man in front of him was like a burning furnace. Too hot.

A small laugh echoed behind him. When he turned, he saw that strange-colored child again. “So warm!” the boy said with joy. He clutched the edge of his fluttering cape between his fingers, spinning in circles. A black mask covered his eyes. Step by step, the boy walked toward Dick.

With his tiny fingers, he held Dick’s much larger hand. The warmth seeped into his body. “Don’t you think so too?” he asked. Dick couldn’t see the boy’s eyes behind the mask, but he could feel them. Curious. Loving. Watching him.

“Is that so?” he whispered. The words slipped from his lips without him even realizing. They came as easily as sliding down a waterslide. As if the one standing before him wasn’t a ghost. He gently clasped the boy’s tiny fingers. “Hey.” Kneeling down, he slowly leaned forward.

He ignored the mask covering the boy’s face, trying instead to see the eyes behind it. Between the small gaps—blue eyes looked back at him. He stared into them. “Who are you?” he asked in a faint whisper.

Wind slammed against the window. The rattling grew into a loud echo. The boy kept looking at him through the black mask. “Did you forget?” he asked, lips pouting. “You can’t forget me.” he insisted. The boy’s grip on Dick’s hand tightened. “You promised. You promised! When I died, you—” From the tiny slit of the mask, a silver tear slipped down. “You promised you’d remember.”

Dick tried to wipe the tear from the boy’s cheek with his thumb. But the child was breaking apart into fragments, vanishing from his sight and his mind. “Hey—” he tried to call, but the words refused to come out. Like he had lost the thread of a rope. Like—there was nothing left to hold onto. “Don’t go.” he managed at last.

He reached for the boy’s small arms with his hands. But his skin passed through the child’s fading body. Like shattered glass.

Breathless, he watched slowly as the boy disappeared. Then suddenly, he found himself inside a small caravan. The familiar scent of crepes filled the air. He blinked several times. He couldn’t understand. He couldn’t make sense of any of this.

Slowly, he stood up. Ran his fingers along the caravan’s white walls. The metal was cold. So cold. His whole body felt it. From outside, he could hear faint laughter, conversations. He turned toward the window. Slowly pushed it open.

A sharp wind struck his face. He blinked against it in fear. “Wha—” he tried to speak. But before he could, he saw the people bouncing around in joy.

“Come on, come on!” said a woman in the distance. She wore a funny costume. On the other side, a pale man with a red nose stood. He looked like a clown. “That was funny! Hilarious—”

And then—He blinked again and again. Frozen in shock. He didn’t understand. His whole mind, his whole being couldn’t process what he was seeing. “Where am I?” he wondered, when he noticed a woman and a man staring at him from right by the window.

A young woman, with beautiful eyes. And a young man, strong and muscular, with a dazzling smile. “Dick.” his mother said. Her voice was gentle, delicate. Sweet, like the chirp of a bird. She reached out, clasping his fingers in hers. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She turned toward the door. The sunlight burned his eyes like headlights in the middle of the night. A trembling breath escaped his lips. And then he took a step outside—

He was falling. Falling. Thousands of feet, down into nothingness. The woman was gone, the man too. The laughing people, the joyful crowd—all gone. Dick was plummeting into pitch darkness—

“Dick!”

When he blinked again, Jason was standing in front of him. His messy brown hair was still the same. The stubborn streak of gray in front still there. “Are you with me?” he asked, his hand hovering midair. His brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on Dick.

A sharp pain stung Dick’s cheek. He rubbed his skin with his fingers. It didn’t feel strange. It felt like himself. “Did you just slap me?” he growled. But when he lifted his head to look at Jason, he understood why.

Those green eyes were glowing with worry. “You weren’t answering.” Jason said, voice laced with anger as his fingers ran through his hair. He drew in a shaky breath. His voice trembled. “Damn it. I can’t get used to this. I never will.”

And Jason walked away. Just like that.

…

He had never been chased by a memory before. He had never seen those unfamiliar blue eyes before. So why now—why was everything happening like this?

He had to leave. He had to return to the life he knew. To Bea’s bar. To playing pool, feeding Haley—drinking again.

Haley padded over to his feet. Rested her head on his knees. A small whimper escaped her. With her gray eyes, she kept looking up at him as though pitying him. From the moment he’d arrived here—Haley had only ever looked at him with pity.

“Haley.” he whispered softly. He slowly ran his fingers through her fur. He could hear her little murmurs of pleasure at his touch. “Why are you doing this?” he asked then. “Let’s just go.”

The dog whimpered again in reply. “This isn’t ours.” he whispered to her. He pressed his forehead against her gray fur. “It’s cold here. Cold, Haley. Too cold. Let’s go.” He drew in a deep breath. His eyes were stinging with tears. “Let’s go and never come back.”

He pressed his palms to his lips, trying to swallow down the ugly sob clawing at his throat. “Haley. Let’s go. Please. We can’t stay—”

A terrible fire wrapped around his skin. His body was burning hot. His lungs burned. His cells burned. Everything inside him was on fire. Dick was dying. Whether from the inside or the outside, he couldn’t tell. But he was dying. “Not home.” he said quietly. Hoping no one would hear.

Wind slammed against the window again. The noise rattled through the room. “This isn’t home.” he repeated. And then—he felt the touch of gentle hands on his face. “Where is home?” asked the woman before him.

He remembered her. Barbara. The woman who had visited him at the bar. The woman who had called him Dick. The woman who asked what had happened to him. The woman searching for the old Dick. A small breath slipped from her full lips. “Dick.” said the ghost before him.

“Come back.” Her long nails grazed his skin. Beneath her gentle touch lurked a restless yearning. “Come back.” she repeated. “Did you forget? Or did you erase it?”

…

On the sixth day, things got a little stranger. Dick began to forget many things. What Bea looked like, her voice, the men he hung out with at the bar, the color of the billiard balls.

It was strange. Very strange. Then— when he ran into Jason, he forgot his name. “Ah…” he said in surprise. Jason was staring at him with those green eyes in a strange way.

He was standing right in front of the bathroom door. He had decided to go in and brush his teeth but— the moment he saw Jason, every thought in his head vanished.

“J—” Dick’s voice trembled. Something was wrong. But he didn’t know what. “Jay?” he called out to Jason.

It felt familiar. It should have. Jason froze. It was as if every single red blood cell had left his body. He looked ghostly pale. Even his green eyes seemed to have changed color. “What?” he asked in shock. He placed his fingers on Dick’s shoulders.

He was angry. Or something else. In a trembling voice, he asked, “What did you just say?”

“I—” Dick tried to pull back, swallowing. “I said Jay.” he whispered. “But— it felt like that.”

‘Like how?’ said the boy in the funny colors. He was bouncing around in the distance. ‘Like family?’

He felt every limb in his body start to burn. A painful scream slipped from his lips. He didn’t even know when he had closed his eyes. But when he opened them again, he found himself collapsed on the ground.

Jason was staring at him in worry. “Dick?” he was calling out. But Dick couldn’t speak. He was burning. It was strange. Different. This feeling wasn’t familiar.

“What’s happening—” Jason looked around in confusion while checking Dick’s stab wound. “You’re not bleeding— Why are you so hot?”

‘Hot hot!’ the boy said. He stood right above him, grinning. His lips were smeared with crimson blood. ‘Hot!’ he repeated. He lifted his gloves and touched Dick’s forehead. ‘Just like an explosion.’ he said.

And then the whole world— truly fell into darkness. The last fragments of his mind drifted away.

…

As Jason pulled on his jacket, he said, “If you don’t want me to tell anyone, then stay right where you are.” He quickly shoved an old, worn cap over his head. “I’ll get medicine. And I’ll be right back. Don’t try to get up. If you need the bathroom, piss yourself.”

“Are you serious?” Dick growled, burying his face into the pillow. His whole body was burning, and on top of that, he was getting scolded by his ‘brother.’ “I’ll go to the bathroom.” he added quietly.

Jason was putting on his boots at the door. “Fine. Go to the bathroom. But don’t go anywhere else. Don’t get up. Don’t pet Haley. Don’t even drink water.” He was shouting from the corner just to make sure Dick could hear him. “Got it?” he asked one last time.

Dick lifted his head slightly. Jason was standing at the door, hands on his hips, brows furrowed, glaring at him. And Dick didn’t look like he was going anywhere without agreeing. He buried his head back into the pillow.

“Dick?” Jason said angrily.

“Yes yes. No moving, okay mom.”

…

He crawled to the table in the living room. Even the cold of the floor no longer had any effect. Reaching out, he tried to grab Jason’s phone from the table. He slipped it between his trembling fingers and quickly dialed the only number in his mind. His fingertips burned as they touched the screen. Contrary to what Jason thought, he didn’t have a fever. He didn’t have a fever, but his whole body was on fire.

Burning. As if thrown into a furnace—As if trapped in a factory oven. Every corner of his skin, every piece of him, felt like it was searing—He tried to suppress the pain with a small moan on his lips. It didn’t work. His body only burned more.

‘Burn, burn!’ said the cheerful little boy beside him. ‘Let’s burn!’

“Shut up!” he shouted with all his strength. His throat hurt from screaming. He grabbed the glass from the table and hurled it at the child. “Shut up already!” he cried.

The glass shattered on the floor. Like tiny mirrors, Dick’s face reflected back at him in the shards. The phone in his hand nearly slipped when he heard a faint rasp from the other end. His heart began to pound as if it were leaping off a cliff.

“Doctor Haas?” he said, between groans. “Are you there?”

A few minutes later, an answer came; soft classical music played faintly in the background. The blonde doctor, Isabelle, sounded alarmed. “Richard?” she said. She seemed to gasp, as if the papers before her had just scattered into the air. “God! You scared me. It’s been over a week and you—”

“I know.” he cut her off. He dug his nails into the cold casing of the phone in his palm. “I know, I know. I didn’t come to the sessions. I know.”

His face burned hot. His organs were melting. “Doctor.” His knees gave out. Barely, he managed to cling to the edge of the table before collapsing. Shattered glass pierced his feet. “Doctor. Please help me.”

He sobbed. His eyes stung. “Everything is burning—It’s burning.” A pool of blood spread beneath his feet. “My whole body is on fire. And—”

“I’m coming,” the doctor said immediately. A faint door closing sounded through the phone. “Go outside, Richard. I’ll come get you, but you need to tell me where you are.”

“I—” he said, trying to look out the window, only to realize he didn’t know where he was. He clenched his teeth in frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” he cried out.

“All right. Just go outside. I’ll find you.”

He headed toward the door. With every step, he felt the hot liquid beneath his feet. It was just like being stabbed in that alley. He didn’t even hear the whines of the dog behind him. It felt like being underwater—boiling water. Sounds blurred together. Lights tangled and—

“There’s not much difference between leaving and staying,” Bea had once said. “Whether you go or stay, you’re still there. What matters is not having regrets.”

“I don’t have anything to regret,” Dick had answered that day. Bea had smiled at him sadly, resting one arm on his shoulder. Her warmth spread across his skin.

“That’s the problem.” She had taken a sip from her small glass of liquor. “If you leave nothing behind, then what’s the point of existing at all?”

Dick hadn’t understood. He didn’t know how to stay, nor how to leave. It was as if he were digging into the earth with his bare hands, but the digging never ended. Over and over, the same hole. But it was meaningless—it was meaningless because he didn’t know why he was digging.

Across the room, he saw someone else. Someone he had never seen before. ‘Do you want to remember?’ they asked. ‘Or are you afraid to?’

“I’m not afraid,” Dick whispered back. He stared into the pitch black. Nothing was there. “I have nothing to be afraid of,” he told himself. Just a few more days left. Then he’d be free.

No more of this family nonsense, no more of anything else. Just Bea, a few men, and Haley. The familiar scent of alcohol, the familiar sounds of billiard balls.

He wouldn’t miss this leather chair he sat in, or Jason’s disgusting cooking, or his failed coffee. He didn’t belong here anyway. He was a foreign piece. The one ruining the puzzle. ‘Do you want to remember?’ another voice asked again.

“I don’t.” he told himself. “I don’t. Don’t you get it?” He lifted his head. Looking around, he found himself right outside Jason’s house.

The cold air stung his nose, so he cupped his hands over it. He tried to warm his skin with the heat of his own breath.

He watched the snow. White flakes drifted one by one, some dissolving away. Each reached the end differently. But the end was always the same.

Beside him, a child giggled. On his hands were ugly little red mittens. There was no mask over his eyes, but Dick couldn’t make out his face through the blur.

‘Zitka. Don’t you remember Zitka?’ the child asked. ‘You know.’ He lifted his head, turning his blurred face toward Dick. With a mocking grin on his lips, he said, ‘They’re playing a game.’ He raised his small fingers, pointing at Dick’s head. ‘With you!’

“Hey,” said a familiar voice. Dick spun on his heels and looked behind him. Black high-heeled shoes. Then, lifting his gaze, he caught a glint of golden jewelry.

It was Doctor Isabelle Haas. One of the first people he had seen when he woke up. The only adult who had helped him, who genuinely wanted Dick to heal.

Startled, Dick let slip, “Doctor Haas?” She had come. He had called, and she had come.

“Hello, Richard.” Her soft voice was like calm waters. Like a small island in the ocean. Like that stop you make when you’re lost. Like a candle burning in the dark.

“Hello, Doctor.” He smiled. “You really found me. How?”

He forgot where he was. He forgot the child behind him. He only saw the yellow jewel and his doctor. Beneath her blonde hair, a thin yellow stone, wrapped in threads, lay like a tiny rabbit’s tooth. The more Dick looked at it, the more he felt the heat inside him settle.

Weird, he thought.

The blonde doctor smiled gently. “You asked me to come get you,” she said softly. “I heard you were stabbed. That must have been painful.” She slowly leaned down and wrapped her arms around him. Held him tightly. “I’m here now,” she whispered.

Doctor Haas had a vanilla-scented shampoo she loved to use. The moment that scent reached his nose, Dick felt himself melting like ice. Forgetting everything, he slowly wrapped his arms around the woman holding him. “Doctor,” he said, his voice trembling.

“Doctor. I want to leave.”

Her slender fingers stroked his hair, as if waking him from a terrible dream. “We will,” she said tenderly. “Wherever you want to go, we’ll go.”

His body seemed to dissolve. Everything in his vision vanished. White turned to black. “Wha—” He tried to grab his melting memories with his hands. But all his efforts weren’t enough to stop it.

“Close your eyes,” the doctor said. Dick obeyed. He closed his eyes. And suddenly, the whole world disappeared beneath his feet.

…

He slowly opened his eyes. Snowflakes on his lashes melted, blurring his vision. A warm breath slipped from his lips, visible in the air.

And then, stumbling, he took a step forward. When he looked down at his feet, he saw that he was leaving a red trail on the snow. It didn’t even hurt—

When he lifted his head, he saw the staircase made of black iron. The place was surrounded by metal railings. It almost looked like the houses back in the slums.

And the snow was slowly falling heavier, covering the crimson stains beneath its whiteness. “Wh—” He looked at his trembling fingers. His skin was flushed red from the cold.

Strange. The chill in his fingers was as strange as he was. When he raised his head and looked around, he saw no one. No sign of life at all. Even the birds seemed to have vanished into thin air.

There was only the blue sky and himself left. Right. “I—” he tried to say, and when he felt the vibration in his throat, he rubbed his fingers against his skin. “Ah—” He could speak.

Strange. Everything was so strange. Like seeing the sun without knowing what warmth was. The words stuck in his throat like a lump, making it hard to breathe.

He looked at the iron railings. ‘Something to touch,’ he thought. He rubbed his fingers against the metal. Slowly, he followed the staircase. The black iron was nearly buried beneath the snow. But when Dick noticed he was leaving red footprints behind once again, he frowned.

It didn’t hurt.

“Trace,” he told himself. He quickly wiped the trail in the snow with his feet. “No trace,” he repeated to himself. He lifted his head. And then—

He saw a pair of green eyes staring at him strangely. “Wh—” the man across from him muttered in surprise. His brows lifted, lips parting. “Dick?” he whispered.

And Dick—stared back at him in shock. He frowned. “What?” he said harshly. “Why are you calling me—” He froze when he noticed the fear shining in those green eyes.

The man’s fingers were hovering in the air, as if desperate to hold on to something.

‘Is that my name?’ Dick thought suddenly. Though he couldn’t understand why his name would be something like that.

But when the man stepped toward him, Dick flinched and stumbled back. “Stop!” he shouted. His throat hurt from the force of it. “Don’t come closer.”

A pain stirred in his stomach, one he couldn’t explain. It felt like tingling. “Don’t…” he said again, his voice breaking. He grabbed the iron railing beside his foot. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Who was this man, and why was he looking at him like that?

He bit his lower lip. Looked down. It was at least five or six meters high. If he jumped, whatever was in his stomach would only get worse. “Will you move?” he asked. When he turned forward again, he avoided those green eyes. “Please. I don’t know you—Just move.”

The boots in his vision slowly stepped back. One step, then another. The white bag in the man’s hand swung as he moved, small sounds rattling from inside. Like a jar of candy being shaken over and over.

Dick lifted his head, trying to glance at him. “Thank you,” he whispered. Slowly, he started to descend the stairs. With every step he took, the man moved back as well, his hands raised in surrender.

“Dick,” the man said, his voice trembling. His lashes quivered with every breath he drew. “Dick,” he repeated again.

“Ric.” He took another step toward Dick. He set the bag down onto the snow. It landed with a dramatic thud, and Dick saw that inside was, indeed, a jar full of candy. “Richard,” the man said again.

Dick didn’t understand. He only stood there, staring at the man. There was just one more step left for him to take. “You won’t move aside?” he asked, his lips trembling with fear. It felt as if the whole world were a wolf, and he was the lamb.

“I will,” the man promised. He raised his hands to show him. “But on one condition.” He slowly backed away further. Swallowed. Pressed his lips into a thin line before lifting his head once more, looking at Dick with hope.

“What do you remember?”

‘I don’t know.’ Dick thought. Standing frozen on the last step, his black boots heavy. The iron stair beneath his foot trembled as though an earthquake had struck.

He didn’t know what he remembered. Or what he didn’t. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t know. Please move.”

“I want to leave.”

Chapter Text

The first thing Jason noticed was that Dick was burning up.

At first, it was a small flame, barely noticeable. But as the hours passed, as the days dragged on, the fever grew so much that Jason found himself standing at his brother’s bedside, watching his chest just to make sure he was still alive.

“He’s breathing,” he reminded himself. “He’s breathing. That’s what matters.”

At first, he thought the fever was from an infection. He did his research, checked books. At one point, he even thought about calling Bruce—but he wasn’t going to do that to Dick. And besides, Jason didn’t even like the guy.

So yeah, Jason didn’t call Bruce. Couldn’t. He knew little about medicine. The only things he knew were how to stitch a wound properly, stop bleeding, maybe handle head trauma. Beyond that? Nothing. Or maybe he once knew more, but had long forgotten.

Dick had discharged himself from the hospital. Sure, the risk of infection was there—but there were no other symptoms to prove it. No vomiting. No fainting. Just the fever. Just sleep.

Jason gave him medicine—practically forced it down his throat. It didn’t work.

“Dick,” Jason said, sitting at the bedside, laying a damp towel across his forehead. “We need to call Bruce. Or—I don’t know—Leslie. She’s not like Bruce—”

Through his groans, Dick muttered, “No.” His voice was sharp, wounded. “Don’t.” And Jason obeyed.

Though Jason wasn’t sure Dick even remembered who Leslie was.

Then, suddenly, Dick called him “Jay.”

There wasn’t even a flicker of recognition in those blue eyes—and Jason felt so sick staring at him that he couldn’t remember how he kept from throwing up.

“But that has to mean something,” he thought. “That has to be progress, right?” Maybe Dick remembered him—maybe. Then Jason froze. In the back of his mind, that small, unwanted voice whispered: “So what if he remembers you? You’re a lost cause, Jason Todd.”

It was like the ground vanished beneath his feet, like he was falling into a freezing ocean. His blood had turned to ice, as though he’d been living in some corner of Antarctica for years. He was so cold—he dug his trembling fingers into his palms just to feel something.

Because if Dick remembered him, that would be the end. With the ugly past forgotten, things were easier. No questions. No reckoning. No reasons. No past or future. Just the now.

But if Dick remembered that past—Jason would walk out the door, get on his bike, and leave. Because there was no fixing what lay between them. Not after all the mistakes. Not after everything he’d done to Tim, to Damian—especially the cruel words he’d thrown at Dick.

He wouldn’t be forgiven. Maybe he would. Jason could almost believe Dick might forgive him—but that didn’t mean Jason wanted it. When you have nothing, it’s easy to try. But when you have everything, it’s easier to lose.

One midnight, Jason found himself standing again at Dick’s bedside. Over and over, he told himself, “Him remembering is good. It means he’s getting better.”

Moonlight spilled across Dick’s face. Despite the fever, he looked a little more at peace. His brows weren’t furrowed like on the previous nights. His lips were slightly parted. His jaw wasn’t clenched.

And Jason thought, “What does it matter? Even if I want you to remember, nothing’s going to change. If you forget, maybe—maybe I can fix something.”

Just like the first time he’d learned Dick had forgotten everything, Jason thought, “Good. It’s good he forgot me. Good he forgot this shitty life.”

He looked down at his hands. Once boyish, his skin had hardened, scarred. He’d become a crime lord without ever needing that “family” love he’d once had, right?

Things like this shouldn’t bother him anymore. Shouldn’t touch his soul. He hadn’t spoken properly to Dick in years—so what the hell was he even doing here now?

His story was over.

Guys like Jason don’t get second chances. You can’t wave a magic wand and rewrite the past. The mistakes—the trauma—the exploding warehouse—none of it could be erased. Nothing could be fixed.

Because guys like Jason don’t get a second chance. Maybe he never even had a first one.

He turned away. At the doorway, just as he was about to take a step, he heard a faint, shaky breath behind him. He flinched. He didn’t even need to turn to know.

“Don’t go.”

Because Dick, even half-asleep, even with the fever burning through him, had said “don’t go.” A single word, whispered between pillows, spoken without even realizing what it meant. And Jason couldn’t leave.

He stopped. Turned back. A line he’d once read in some book came to him: ‘You want to change? Tomorrow? The next day? Monday? Doesn’t matter. Stand up and start now.’

Because change starts today. With the now.

‘You want to change, Jason,’ he told himself. ‘Then don’t go. For once in your life, learn to stay. Stay, and don’t run.’

…

For a moment, it was like his whole body forgot how to breathe. His lungs rejected oxygen, his nose refused to work, and his heart—his heart was racing like he’d been trapped on a roller coaster for hours.

Looking into those blue eyes meant death. It meant diving into the ocean, sinking to the bottom, and dying there. And if that wasn’t suicidal, Jason didn’t know what was.

The first step he took forward, he regretted instantly. He noticed the spark in those blue eyes—the joy of life that had once lived there—was gone.

“Dick?” he asked, his voice shaking.

He couldn’t cry. He shouldn’t cry. He sniffed so hard his nose burned, maybe tearing tiny veins inside. But he couldn’t cry. Another step forward crunched the snow under his boots.

The heart that had once been stone was now so easily breaking. Jason had never thought he’d miss the Lazarus Pit’s side effects, but now he caught himself wishing, “If only my heart was stone again.”

Because—for God’s sake. Who could possibly come back from leaving their brother in bed, feverish with something that looked like a stupid cold, going to get medicine, only to return and find him standing outside on frozen stairs, bleeding red into the snow?

Who could treat that as normal?

Jason Todd was a lot of things. A killer. A bastard. An orphan. A liar. A crime lord. But never—not once—had he been heartless.

“God.” The thought burned in him. Rage had once driven him to stand beside the Joker in front of Bruce himself. How could someone like Jason ever claim to be heartless?

Maybe—just maybe—Dick would respond if he called him.

“Ric.” Jason said it softly, hope hidden in the cracks of his chest. Since losing his memories, Dick had gone by Ric. He should answer. He had to.

But those blue eyes, cloudy like a stormed-over sky, stayed fixed on the snow. Dick, trembling, stood at the bottom step, head bowed.

I have to try something else, Jason thought. “Richard,” he said. But it didn’t work.

Instead, from between cracked lips, Dick muttered, “Aren’t you going to move?”

And Jason felt as though the ground disappeared beneath him—like he was falling. Maybe gravity had ceased to exist. Or maybe it was still there, and Jason was just plummeting. Maybe he was flying.

Maybe he was dying. Again. Maybe he was gone. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe—

“I’ll move,” Jason said, his voice tight with fear.

“But only on one condition—” He took a deep breath, diving into the waters he was terrified of. “Tell me… what do you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Dick said flatly. Just one word. “Please step aside. I want to leave.”

And suddenly the world split in two. The whole world crumbled. The sun collapsed—and all Jason could do was watch.

As he stepped back, he saw Dick move forward. Blood dripped scarlet onto the white snow, leaving stains that would never fade.

“You won’t get far barefoot,” Jason said, forcing logic into his tone. He picked up the bag he’d dropped. “And look down.”

When Dick looked, he saw the crimson spreading beneath his feet. “Ah…” he muttered in surprise. “Right.” The sting in his soles made sense now.

He must’ve cut himself. Somehow.

Jason lifted the bag in his hand. “I’ve got candy,” he said, even managing a smile. “Plenty of it. I can patch up your feet too. And I’ve got a pair of shoes you can wear to wherever it is you’re going.” He tilted his head, glancing at the icy air. “And this—” he drew in a sharp breath, “these clothes won’t take you far. It’s too cold. Let me give you something warmer.”

Dick froze. Slowly raised his head to Jason. His blurred blue eyes looked clouded, distant. His lips parted, but only a trembling breath came out. “I have to go,” he said, stepping off the last stair, stumbling past Jason.

“Dick!” Jason shouted. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand shot out, gripping Dick’s warm wrist, pulling him back. “Stop,” he begged, fear in his voice.

“You can’t. Not like this. Let me give you clothes—money. You know what money is, right? You’ll need it. It’s the only way to get anywhere from here. Come on.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at Jason. Then he looked down at his bare, bleeding feet. At the red spilling into the snow. “I’ll go—” he began, but Jason lunged forward.

“There’s a dog,” Jason blurted, desperate. His fingers shook, clutching Dick’s wrist even tighter. “Your dog. You saved her. Haley. She’s yours.”

“Mine?” Dick repeated, confused. “Mine…” He echoed again. Slowly, he straightened, turning to Jason. “My dog,” he whispered.

“Yours,” Jason said firmly. “Completely. Yours. A family.”

And at that word, Dick flinched—like he’d never heard it before. “Where?” he asked, almost bold. “Show me. I’ll stay.”

The moment the door opened, Haley bolted out. As if she could sense Dick’s condition, she circled him, whining, eyes wide with worry. Those blue dog eyes shone with hope as they fixed on him.

And Dick, stroking her chin softly, whispered again, “Mine.” A faint smile curved his dry lips.

“She’s a brave girl,” Jason said, slowly retreating toward the door. He lifted the bag in his hand, shaking it lightly to show him. “Stay for now. Eat something. You scared the dog. Take care of her. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

…

Jason handed Dick an old, worn photograph—faded and frayed, nearly torn. It was a polaroid, mountains in the background. Two figures stood in the frame, one small, one older.

The younger one wore a strangely proud smile; the older, a bittersweet one. But what they shared was clear: they were both enjoying that moment.

“This is you,” Dick whispered, brushing his finger gently over the picture. He could feel the years pressed into the paper. Jason, saying nothing, just sat across from him, trying to give Dick all the space he needed.

After staring at it for a long while, Dick said, “Your eyes are blue here. Now they’re green.” He lifted his head, studying Jason. Weird, he thought. Jason’s eyes gleamed in the dark like a cat’s.

“Things… happened,” Jason muttered, swallowing as he sipped his coffee and set the mug back on the table. “So—do you believe me now?”

Dick looked at the photo uncertainly. Somewhere deep inside, something told him this isn’t a lie. Whatever this is, it’s not a lie.

On the faded paper, nearly erased ink read: Jason & Me.

“This is me too,” Dick said softly, eyes lingering on his younger self.

Jason’s reply was rough, almost pained. “It’s you.”

Haley whined at his feet, gazing up at him with worried eyes, while Jason sat opposite, brows furrowed as though bracing for whatever reaction might come.

“I—” Dick drew in a breath. He set the photo gently down on the table. “I believe you,” he admitted. “I don’t know… it’s strange. Like I know how to read, but I can’t remember when I learned.”

Jason gave a short, quiet laugh. “Trust me, I know exactly what that feels like.” He stretched out a hand toward Dick, hesitated, then inhaled deeply, eyes flickering with fragile hope. “So… are you staying?”

“I don’t want to sleep in the bed,” Dick said bluntly. “If you want me to stay, you don’t have a choice but to accept that.”

And Jason, despite every curse forming on his tongue, accepted it. “Then I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow,” he said, retreating to his room and returning a few minutes later.

Dick stretched out on the couch to sleep. He stared at the empty ceiling, the ridiculous chandelier, for hours. He kept staring until exhaustion dragged his eyelids down. But nothing came to him.

It was all… gone. Strangely blank. Though that chandelier irritated him for some reason.

Turning his head toward Jason’s room, he called out, louder than he meant to: “What’s with the chandelier? It’s hideous.” The gaudy golden thing hung there like an insult.

Jason’s laugh echoed through the whole apartment. “You and that god-awful sense of humor,” he whispered back.

Haley curled into his lap, and Dick slowly closed his eyes.

In his dreams, he saw a circus. Then a vast city. Then a road cutting through empty land, stretching for miles. Nothing around him but the open blue sky.

The asphalt beneath his feet was hot as the sun’s surface—but it didn’t hurt. It felt warm, like waking in the morning under soft blankets, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Like the faint chirps of birds, the smell of breakfast drifting from the kitchen.

Home, Dick thought. The sky above him was home. The stones, the mountains—every piece of it was home.

Then, in his mind, appeared a woman with fiery orange hair. In a shabby bar, beautiful and sorrowful, her eyes begged him: Come home. Her blue gaze pleaded with him.

Come home.

And yet—when he tried to remember her face, it was gone. Only the hair, the lips, fragments of color. Everything else wiped clean.

A blank slate.

A sharp wind rushed past him. Small feet thundered over the ground beside him. A child ran ahead, eyes fixed on some distant point, as if there was no risk of falling.

Because that was where he had to go. The boy streaked by like a rainbow, leaving only his voice echoing behind: “I’m coming! Wait for me, Mommy!”

Gentle laughter answered him. Dick looked up and saw the woman again, smiling as she scooped the boy into her arms and lifted him onto her shoulder.

The sight glowed warm as the sun.

“Did you have fun?” she asked, drawing him closer. “Tell me. How was your life?”

The boy buried his face into her neck, giggling. “It was fun,” he said. “I found a new family.”

Her lips moved with a murmur Dick almost recognized. She stroked his thin, dark hair, step by step, radiating love with every touch. Something in Dick’s chest ached—bleeding, breaking.

“I’m glad you had fun,” the woman whispered.

And then she shattered. Like glass.

The boy’s arms reached into nothing. “Mom?” he cried. “Mama?”

“Dad? Tata?”

And then he, too, shattered.

Dick was alone. Or whatever he was now—he was alone with himself. “Strange,” he murmured aloud. Suddenly, a graveyard burst into being, stone markers rising from the white emptiness.

The names were blurred, unreadable. He couldn’t understand them. He passed by.

Then, suddenly, a hand gripped his wrist. He turned—and saw another child. One who looked so much like him.

Just like the memories before. “I like the warmth,” the boy said cheerfully. When snow began to fall, he tilted his head back, smiling at the flakes. “I like the winter too,” he added, exactly the same way.

The boy with the bright blue eyes grinned with silly joy. “And I love my family.”

Dick sank to his knees. He took the boy’s hands into his own, stroking the soft skin gently, as though soothing his own soul’s wounds. “What else do you love?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

The boy’s eyes, blue and radiant, lifted to his. He raised a hand, pointing behind Dick. “They took away everything we love,” he said slowly, sorrowfully. Each word carried a heavy breath.

Before Dick could turn and see what lay behind him—he woke.

It felt like dragging himself out of some foul liquid, clawing his way out of a swamp, barely alive. He lifted his head, heavy with exhaustion. The chandelier still hung above him, as infuriating as the night before. But in his mind, a name came clear: Dick Grayson.

The first thing he did was search it.

What he found almost made him laugh. But he didn’t. He felt… nothing.

Two dead parents. A circus. An orphan raised under the wing of a mad billionaire.

Who was he, to mourn that?