Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t do teams. Not anymore. He pulled his own weight and made sure Dick knew that.

He didn’t do family much, either. It was hard to think of the Batfamily as the Batfamily when they barely talked. The term felt forced, more than anything, and the thought burned Dick. Was losing one family not enough? Was it only fair to him to lose another one?

It wasn’t like they were blood, anyway. 

That doesn’t mean we’re not family.

Dick tried not to think too much about that. Keeping busy helped. The more crime he fought in Blüdhaven, the less he had to worry about . . . everything. It’d been a while since he’d fought with someone else. Vigilante life meant more solo time, and Dick wasn’t sure if he liked that — it meant he was the only one in danger most of the time — or not.

He wasn’t sure of much anymore.

Tonight was different.

Snow powdered the air around them, falling lightly. It sprinkled white onto their dark suits. Both had thermal suits, but the mission had been too last-minute to risk grabbing them. It wasn’t terribly cold, anyway. Dick’s suit kept enough heat in his body as he leaned against the pine tree, bark grazing his back. Jason sat in the snow, feet crossed beneath him, idly tugging at a pistol. His red helmet masked his features. Dick could feel the anger rolling off him, though.

He always could.

“This is strictly business,” Jason told him earlier when they met at the provided helicopter, jabbing his finger into Dick’s chest. “Don’t turn this into a family thing, Grayson. That’s long gone.”

Dick raised his hands in defeat. “Business,” he repeated. “Nothing but business. I can do that.”

He still felt Jason’s glare, hours later, burning through the helmet.

The helicopter dropped them off away from a newly located Deathstroke base, as if the man didn’t jump around from place to place enough. They only had a set amount of time to get in and get out. A blizzard was set to strike that night. Far too unsafe for air travel.

They had to be out before then, but that was set to strike in a little over two hours. Plenty of time to complete the mission.

Dick watched the compound down the slope. It looked like an abandoned military base, with its clean-cut geometric structure, half-buried in a mountainside. Guards in armor patrolled the perimeter with cameras. Nothing about this screamed super-secret-villain-lair. And knowing Slade, that was probably on purpose.

“Ready?” Dick asked, glancing at Jason. How the man managed to sit in the snow without freezing himself, Dick had no idea. He wasn’t about to ask either. Jason Todd made Dick look like a supermodel. He knew it, too.

Jason grunted. He dragged the tip of his pistol through the snow. “Where’s our cue?”

“It’s coming, Jay. Don’t you know patience?”

“No.”

Dick chewed his lip. 

He pressed his palm harder against the bark and leaned forward, eyes sweeping across the base. People had started to move. Some came from inside, some returned.

“Shit, okay, we’re moving.” Dick pushed off the tree. “C’mon, c’mon, we’re moving—”

Jason cursed as Dick pulled him to his feet. He grabbed Dick’s arm and pushed him back. “For the last time, Grayson,” he snapped. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then move! Our cue is happening right now!”

Jason shook his head and started sprinting down the slope. His feet skidded across the snow. Dick had the same problem, but he used it to his advantage, sliding past Jason.

“Shouldn’t you have noticed this earlier?” Jason yelled.

“I was thinking!” Dick yelled back.

“Oh, wow, new skill unlocked! Couldn’t you have unlocked it at a different time?”

Nightwing slid to a halt at the bottom of the hill, scuffing up snow. Guards had noticed them by that point and started to move in a fury, yelling orders in a different language as they ran towards crates and guns.

Red Hood joined him, and Nightwing tilted his head back to scowl. “Less complaining, more shooting. Pew, pew, Jason.” He mimicked finger guns at the enemies.

Red Hood growled. Actually growled. Like a feral dog.

He did twirl both pistols and do the pew pew thing, though.

Nightwing let Red Hood cover him from the back as he ran forward, escrima sticks poised.

The reasoning behind waiting until the guard change was on purpose, to take out as many people as possible in one run. They didn’t aim to sneak into Deathstroke’s base. That was too Nightwing-centric. Instead, they wanted to make their presence known.

Deathstroke had caused enough damage to the family.

He had the right to fear them.

Except, we’re not much of a family anymore, are we? a nasty voice in Dick’s head said.

He dropped to the ground, shoulder slamming into the snow, and sliced both escrima sticks through the air. Guards screamed as electricity shot through their bodies. Nightwing jumped up, and the guards went down.

Shut up, he thought back.

The fight itself was short. Dick only took a few glancing blows. Neither he nor Jason had been shot, so that was always great. 

Dick brushed the snow from his knees as he finished off the final guard and turned. “Nice pew pew-ing,” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Bones crunched as Jason walked over bodies to reach him, and Dick winced at that. It wasn’t that hard to not walk over corpses. Especially since most were still breathing. Just unconscious. 

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll pew pew you right through your pretty mouth,” Jason replied as he drew closer. He pointed a pistol at Dick’s head.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?”

Jason did not put the gun down. He cocked his head. “No. The entire city does, though,” he said, then fired the gun.

Despite himself, Dick flinched as the bullet shot right past his ear. He’d watched Jason move the pistol, as slight as the movement had been, and liked to think that Jason never truly would shoot Dick, no matter how much he made the threat. 

Half a second later, a thud sounded behind him. Dick turned to see a fresh body, face down in the snow, and glanced at Jason. “Thanks?”

“Keep moving, Boy Wonder.”

Jason shoved him in the back, and Dick sighed as he stepped over bodies to reach the door. Unfair that Jason could touch him and Dick couldn’t, but he wasn’t about to bring that up and risk a bullet in his mouth.

Dick didn’t hack as much as he used to when he’d been Robin, but he managed to get the doors open easily enough, revealing dark hallways spiraling into Hell. Somehow, the cursed place was even colder inside. Dick shivered as a breeze rushed past him. 

“Cold?” Jason asked, shouldering his way in first. He kept both pistols cocked as he walked along the hall, boots clicking against the metal floor. Being seen, heard, and feared was his style, and Dick played along. Just for this mission.

Deathstroke had dangerous information.

They needed that.

Dick followed, rubbing his escrima sticks with his thumb. He gave Jason’s back a pointed look. His clothes weren’t nearly as form-fitting, and he always wore a jacket. 

Apparently, not all of Bruce’s kids leaned into the pretty boy act.

“Less talking, more walking,” Dick said, avoiding the question as Jason took a turn down another hall. His teeth only clattered a bit. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Nah,” Jason replied, which was fine with Dick, because he didn’t know either, and Jason was a much scarier person to walk into.

Jason eventually led them to a dark room. Empty, but big. Some sort of control room. Dick tried stepping around him to get a closer look, but Jason took up the entire door frame. Dick settled by standing on his tiptoes to look over his shoulder. It kinda worked. Jason had a few inches on him and a lot more muscles.

“Well?” Dick said.

“Eh. It’s dark.” Jason finally entered the room, allowing Dick to squeeze in after him. “Gotta be something here, though.”

Dick hummed to himself as he scooted around Jason, branching off to computers hooked up along the sides. Jason joined him. His hacking skills were as solid as Dick’s, if not better. It was no surprise to Dick when Jason managed to get into the system first, seconds after starting the process. Not much surprise, anyway.

As Jason started shifting through information, the blue light of the screen reflecting across his red helmet, Dick found his mind wandering again. His thumb tapped against the table as he leaned over it.

This was too easy. Only guards at the front? Easy access to intel?

“Finding anything?” Dick murmured, eyes slipping to the side. He watched the information Jason scrolled through and gave up on hacking into the computer he was at.

“Mmhmm. It’s too easy, Goldie.” Jason turned to look at Dick. “This isn’t right. The folder is right here.”

All the information they needed. A click away.

Dick pressed more of his weight against the desk, head tipping forward. “Don’t click it,” he said. “Logically, it’s a trap.”

“But?” Jason pressed. He recognized Dick’s tone, no doubt.

Dick sighed. “But maybe that’s what he wants me to think. Maybe he wants to stall for as long as possible, and that’s the actual information, and a timed trap is set in this room. Or you open that file, and we’re both toast. Or none of this is real and Deathstroke isn’t actually here. It’s just a distraction.” Dick ran his hands through his hair, arching his back. “God, Jason, this is wrong. But I can’t—”

“You talk too much,” Jason snapped. “By this rate, we’re going to die in a blizzard. Does your computer have the file on it as well?”

“I — I don’t know.”

“Move your pretty ass.” Jason swung his hip into Dick to move him over and leaned over the computer. The hacking that had taken Dick far too long only took Jason a few seconds, and he actually removed his mask to give Dick a very annoyed look. “Listen, pretty boy, your problem is you’re overthinking. Slade’s expecting you to pop by and screw his life up. He’s not expecting me. Meaning he’s expecting you to do just this.” He gestured vaguely at Dick. “Panic. And overthink shit.”

Dick pressed his knuckles against his forehead. “And if he expected me to call on you, so therefore he has this entire thing planned out?”

Jason blinked at him, frowning. Dick preferred to see Jason’s face to the emotionless mask. Scarred, hard, and human. It was times like this that Dick remembered Jason’s age — practically a child still. Even with the scars etching his strong jaw, and the exhaustion bruising his eyes.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Jason muttered, sliding his helmet back on. “You think too much, Goldie.” He searched the computer, but it didn’t have the same file as the other one. “See?” he said, leaning back to look at Dick. “Harmless. This bad boy’s the big deal.” He returned to the first computer.

Dick swallowed. He glanced around the room in an effort to find some sort of hidden trap. Nothing caught his eye, though. Jason opened the file without difficulty. The ground did not open under them. No nets shot at them. No darts fired. 

Nothing.

Jason was silent, though.

Strangely silent for a man who should’ve found the answer he’d wanted for months.

“Well?” Dick looked at the screen. “What does it—”

Jason turned the screen off.

“Jason, what the hell?” Dick reached for the keyboard, but Jason grabbed his wrist with an iron-clad grip. Dick froze. “Jason. What’s wrong? What did it say? Where’s—”

“You knew.”

“What? I—”

Jason twisted Dick’s wrist and shoved him back. He slowly turned to face Dick and straightened up to his full height. “You heard me. You. Knew. We didn’t need Deathstroke for this. You didn’t need me for this. This was just some sick excuse to get me on a mission, wasn’t it?” he demanded, advancing forward until Dick’s back hit the wall. Jason shoved his finger into his chest. “You already know where the Joker is.”

Silence hit the air.

The only reason Dick had convinced Jason to join him on the mission. Because Deathstroke had information on the Joker’s location, and Jason had been hunting the villain for almost a year.

Red Hood would kill the Joker.

Dick’s lashes fluttered. “Jay,” he said softly, “please. Listen to me. I—”

“You knew!” Jason roared, grabbing Dick’s shoulders and slamming him against the wall. “Is this entire thing a lie? Is Deathstroke here at all? Or is this some cruel game you and Batman put together to get me to work with someone again? You can’t fix everyone, Dick! Maybe this family is broken because it’s supposed to be! You lied to me about my killer!”

Breathe, Dick thought, swallowing. “Listen to me, Jay. Batman’s dealing with the Joker, okay? He didn’t want you to know. The Joker knows a lot of dangerous things a-and we can’t just kill him without learning those things.”

“Oh, so Batman is on this, too. Great. I’m glad no one trusts me anymore.” Jason shoved Dick again.

“Whatever you saw on the computer was a lie,” Dick continued with a small grunt. “I know where the Joker has been. Not where he is. That’s what this is about. Finding out where he’s gone. I wanted you with me because you deserved to know. I just — I just hoped that I could get you to think clearly again. And—”

“I am thinking clearly!” Jason yelled, grabbing Dick by the mouth and jaw. His palm shoved against Dick’s mouth as he forced his head back, glove cutting into Dick’s lips and forcing his teeth to bite down against strong flesh. Dick made a muffled gasping sound as Jason lifted him off his feet with a grip on his mouth. “Stop trying to glorify yourself! I know you’re the perfect Golden Boy! I know that you’re Batman’s greatest success! I know that everyone loves you! That doesn’t change the fact that you freaking lied to me! For months!”

Dick tried to speak. Nothing came out.

How could he even explain himself to such a broken boy? Was it wrong of Dick to not want Jason to lose himself to his trauma? Was it wrong of him to act in favor of his father if it saved more lives in the long run?

Was he wrong to want his family back?

“Well, this is a sour family reunion,” a cold voice said from behind Jason. “And to think I was expecting you boys to hug it out.”

Red Hood’s grip turned crushing.

The bones in Nightwing’s face ached as he cried out against the hand, kicking out in a desperate attempt to get Red Hood off.

Without meaning to, Red Hood could easily break his jaw.

Red Hood took the hint and released him. He stepped back as Nightwing fell back to his feet, then stumbled back into the wall, clutching at his mouth. He worked his jaw to help with the aching. “Just when I thought this party couldn’t get any more fun,” Nightwing muttered. He pushed off the wall to move to Red Hood’s side. “What, finally decide to show your face, Slade?”

Deathstroke cocked his head. He stood at the back of the room, half-hidden by shadows.

“I got bored of watching you two fight.” Deathstroke pulled something out of his pocket — a black sphere. “Let’s change things up a bit, shall we?”

He threw the sphere to the ground.

Crap.

Nightwing spun around and did the only thing he could think of.

He tackled Red Hood.

Red Hood must’ve been caught off guard, for he went down with a startled yelp, and Nightwing plastered himself over his body.

Better for the grenade to break him than his little brother.

“Dick,” Red Hood gasped, his arms wrapping around Nightwing’s waist as Nightwing pressed his head down, shielding his skull with his arms. 

Except, the grenade never exploded.

Instead . . .

Red Hood was the first one to notice the smoke.

“Don’t breathe,” he hissed, slapping his hand over Nightwing’s mouth again. He pushed himself into a sitting position and held Nightwing in his lap, continuing to cover his mouth.

Deathstroke laughed as he advanced on them, swinging a broadsword. Sparks flew as it scraped the metal floor. “Oh, is Grayson without a mask? How terrible. Don’t worry. It’s a slow-killing toxin.” He laughed. “I would never want to kill such a pretty boy so fast. That’s just a waste of fun.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Red Hood growled, pointing his pistol at Deathstroke’s head. He fired twice. Deathstroke’s wrist flicked as he deflected both bullets, sending them ricocheting against the ground. Red Hood tried to shield Nightwing’s head by shoving it into his chest.

No. Dick Grayson was the older brother. Jason had been hurt enough.

Nightwing shoved Red Hood away. He covered his mouth and nose. “I’m fine, Hood. Come on.”

He jumped to his feet and withdrew one escrima stick. Red Hood sighed. He stood as well, stuffing one pistol into its holster. He grabbed a knife from his belt with his other hand, then joined Nightwing in fighting Deathstroke.

Their conversation wasn’t over. Jason would press Dick later, and he knew it.

But now, all that mattered was survival. 

Nightwing let Red Hood take over most of the fighting. He wasn’t as great one-handed, and even as he dug his fingers so tightly into his skin that bruises were promised in the future, he still inhaled some of the gas slipping through.

A detail he refused to tell Red Hood.

Just a minor inconvenience. A little toxic gas never killed anyone.

Deathstroke blocked Red Hood’s blows with his broadsword. He moved quickly for a big man, laughing all the while. Such a cruel laugh, too. When shoved far away, Red Hood would fire his pistol. He only had so many shots, though, and Deathstroke made sure that none of the bullets pierced him. He tried shoving Nightwing out of the way once. Nightwing barely managed to sidestep the shot.

He landed a few blows against Deathstroke with his escrima stick. Nothing phased the man, though.

This was too easy. Nightwing knew that. Deathstroke usually fought much dirtier than this.

Why play nice?

Nightwing struggled to connect the dots. A fog rolled over his brain, clouding his thoughts. His movements felt slower than usual. Red Hood yanked him out of the way of a quick stab.

“What . . . game are you playing?” he hissed at Deathstroke, as he and Red Hood pushed him toward the back wall. He deflected a blow from the broadsword.

Deathstroke laughed. He pulled out a gun and aimed it at Red Hood. Red Hood pointed his pistol at Deathstroke in return.

“A long one,” Deathstroke said.

He fired the—

Grappling hook.

Red Hood pulled the trigger at the same time, jerking his body to the side.

He moved to escape a bullet.

Not a grappling hook.

Nightwing lunged.

The air left his lungs as he threw himself in front of Red Hood, and two things happened.

One: a bullet pierced the back of his knee.

Two: the grappling hook shot into his flesh.

Nightwing turned enough for the claws to grab him by the thigh, not the stomach, but pain shot through his body from the double blow as metal claws tightened, tearing through layers of muscles and tendons.

Both hands went to his thigh as he cried, buckling.

Both.

The next breath he took was a deep inhale of pure toxins.

“Shit, Dick!” Red Hood reached for him as his escrima stick hit the floor.

Deathstroke laughed and pulled Nightwing towards him using the grapple gun. Nightwing tried to hold back his scream as the force threatened to rip his leg out of his socket, and he staggered into Deathstroke with a soft cry. Like a stumbling damsel.

His vision blurred around the edges. Both blows had been to the same leg. Fire devoured his skin from the inside, breaking veins, muscles, and bones. The leg trembled hard as the feeling slowly fled. Nightwing bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood, his vision and head swimming, mind clouded, throat closing fast, eyes burning.

Get. A. GRIP!

He placed his palms against Deathstoke’s shoulders and shoved, but his grip was slick, and the movement made his body sway harder. The grappling hook’s claws pierced harder. Wet blood gushed as the muscles broke farther.

He couldn’t stand like this.

He couldn’t do anything like this.

Deathstroke wrapped an arm around Nightwing’s waist to keep him pinned against his chest. Nightwing’s leg had already given out by that point.

Anger shot through the conscious part of his mind. His chin hit Deathstroke’s shoulder as the world tilted around him, slowly darkening. Red Hood yelled something. Nightwing had to concentrate on nothing but his younger brother to hear him correctly.

“Release him,” Red Hood demanded. “Now.”

Deathstroke shrugged, and the motion jolted Nightwing’s head painfully. He swallowed a hiss of discomfort as Deathstroke’s fingers flexed against his waist.

Out of all the places Deathstroke could hold him . . .

“Chill, Hood,” Deathstroke drawled out. “No need to beg. You can have him back if you want. I suppose family comes before vengeance.”

Nightwing’s eyes widened. They lazily traced the ground behind Deathstroke as his lids dropped lower. He wished he could turn and look at Red Hood. He could help his little brother more if he could see what was happening . . . What exact effect Deathstroke’s words were having.

“What?” Red Hood hissed. “What are you talking about?”

“The Joker, of course. A pretty birdie”—his fingers dug into Nightwing’s waist, and he gasped—“told me that you were looking for him. I don’t blame you, of course. He screwed you over terribly, kid. In fact, I want you to give him a taste of his own medicine.  And I can tell you exactly where he is, plus where he will be in a few days. That’s stuff that not even Batman knows.”

Nightwing tried to lift his head from Deathstroke’s shoulder. All that he managed was rolling his cheek against the armor with a groan. “J-Jay . . .” he groaned.

“But?” pressed Red Hood. “What’s the catch?”

Deathstroke clicked his tongue. “Oh, you know me too well, Dead Boy. It wouldn’t be nice of me to hand over such important information without a gift in exchange. So how about a deal? I give you everything you want to know about the Joker, and you let me keep pretty boy here a little longer.” He gave Nightwing another squeeze, arm slipping lower on his waist. “I promise I’ll play nice. I doubt it’ll be long, either. I’m sure Daddy will notice that his prized son is missing fast. So really, it’s a win for you. You get everything you need to fix yourself, while Daddy picks up your mess revolving around everyone’s favorite acrobat.”

“No,” Nightwing hissed. He was starting to see blobs of color. Hints of red. Endless death. “N-no, you can’t — mmph.”

He cut off as Deathstroke forcefully shoved his face into his shoulder to muffle his protests. Breathing was hard enough as it was. Nightwing’s protests turned into a soft groan.

Jason . . . Please . . . 

“That’s my brother you’re threatening,” Red Hood forced out, his voice unusually choked.

“Is that so? I was under the impression that Batman’s offspring are no longer your siblings,” Deathstroke said, his chest vibrating against Nightwing’s. “I thought you were tired of the pain they dealt you. Let’s be honest, kid. If I were to strap you both to a bomb, who would Batman go to first? His Golden Boy. Grayson’s always had things easy. He didn’t have to die to be seen. This will just be a little lesson. Isn’t stopping the Joker, a mass murderer, more important than saving a life that will be rescued in a few days anyway?”

Red Hood didn’t reply. The silence seemed to stretch forever. Nightwing’s eyes shut, and his head throbbed as he dangled in Deathstroke’s grip, leg buckled and bloodied beneath him, body limp from the gas.

Broken.

“Well?” Deathstroke said. “What will it be? We don’t have all day.”

Another round of silence.

Please, Nightwing prayed softly. Please choose wisely, Jay . . . Please . . .

The last thing he heard before the gas won and dragged him out of consciousness was Red Hood whispering, “Fine. Tell me everything.”

So it was true.

Jason no longer cared about Dick as a brother.

It’s strictly business . . . just as he warned.

..••°°°°••..

Red Hood focused on his breathing.

He had one job to do this right.

It pained him to see Nightwing like that. Injured in Deathstroke’s arms, held like some sort of — some sort of prize. His injured leg had completely buckled, and blood seeped from the claw hooked deep in his thigh and the wound in the back of his knee. Nightwing should be stronger than this. He was Dick-freaking-Grayson. Two simple injuries shouldn’t have dragged him to his knees so easily, as painful as they were.

The gas played a role in Nightwing’s quick defeat.

The HUD in Red Hood’s helmet alerted him to the fast-moving toxin. He didn’t recognize its name, and it moved fast. If Red Hood didn’t get Nightwing out of there soon . . .

But Joker . . .

Red Hood wasn’t a strategist. Not like Nightwing.

But Nightwing wasn’t in any state to make the decisions, so Red Hood swallowed his pride, focused on his breathing, and started thinking.

“Fine,” he said, his voice hollow in his ears. “Tell me everything.”

You win.

Deathstroke laughed. “There we go. See, you’re so much easier to talk to than your brother. Now . . .” Deathstroke glanced over his shoulder at Nightwing’s face and lifted his head off his shoulder, patting his cheek. Nightwing did not move. Red Hood prayed the unconsciousness was an act.

Yet if it was, it was hella impressive as Deathstroke yanked the claw out of his thigh, tearing the flesh even more. Nightwing’s body jerked, but he made no sound and stayed limp. Batman’s greatest success or not, even something so painful, especially when delirious from toxic gas, should warrant a bigger reaction.

God, Dick . . . You can’t do this to me . . .

Deathstroke bent and hauled Nightwing over his shoulder. He shoved his grapple gun back into his belt with his other hand.

“Now,” he said, withdrawing a flash drive and waving it in the air, “this has everything you could possibly want revolving around the Joker. And don’t worry about Golden Boy eavesdropping. I’m afraid he’s not in a state to do that. Everything you learn today is between you and me. The Joker is currently in Blüdhaven, and he’s been there almost three months. Wow, things are looking great for Grayson right now.” He jostled Nightwing on his shoulder. “He’s been scheming. For almost a year, but he’s getting closer to his goal. Next week, he’ll be back in Gotham City. Tomorrow, he’s doing something big.”

“How big?” Red Hood asked, allowing the growl in his voice.

Deathstroke shrugged. “The details are in the drive. I’m just making sure you know the basics. He’s not working alone. And no. Neither Batman nor Nightwing knows this. Well.” He cocked his head. “God only knows what Nightwing knows by this point. Like father, like son, yeah? Dick’s picking up on his ol’ Daddy’s lying habits.”

Red Hood’s breathing picked up, fogging lightly against his helmet. He squeezed his fingers into fists at his sides.

Nightwing had lied about not knowing about the Joker, even if it was just past knowledge. And if Nightwing really had known that Joker had been hiding in Blüdhaven for months, why not do anything? Why not tell Red Hood?

Did he not care about Jason’s killer? 

Did he not want Jason to fix himself?

Did he not care about Jason?

“Why — why are you telling me this?” Red Hood continued in a stall. It was a stupid plan. Nightwing wasn’t waking up any time soon. What was he doing, waiting on his older brother to save him again? An impossibility now?

“Because,” said Deathstroke, “I’m not a fan of the Joker. We’ve talked a few times. He’s insane. His methods are stupid. He’s not a strong man.” Deathstroke shook his head. “His survival is annoying. And I kinda like you, kid. I like that fire you have. It reminds me of myself. I know how much you want this. I know how much you need it.” He laughed again. Red Hood hated the sound of his laugh. “Besides, I get a prize for playing this game, so it’s all worth it in the end.” He squeezed Nightwing’s leg. “Well? Are you satisfied?”

Prize. Red Hood hated that. He hated how people viewed Nightwing, just because he had a pretty face, a pretty build, and a pretty smile. Charming, kind, and beautiful. An object in other people’s eyes.

Red Hood gritted his teeth. No, he thought, but said, “Yes.”

“Wonderful.” Deathstroke tossed the flash drive at him. Red Hood caught it in his knife hand and swallowed as he shoved the drive into his jacket’s pocket. “I knew you were understanding. If the ol’ Bat comes around asking about Goldie, you know where to find him. Blame me if you want. No need to know about our little deal.”

He moved toward the door and yanked it open. The sight of Nightwing dangling over his shoulder like that, vulnerable and unconscious. Deathstroke could and would do whatever he wanted with him.

And Nightwing wouldn’t be in any shape to stop him.

Red Hood’s fingers twitched against his pistol. He slowly raised it.

Dick may have lied. He may have hurt Jason more without meaning to. He may have made mistakes.

But in the end, he was still Jason’s brother, and he still tried to do better. 

“You know,” Red Hood said as Deathstroke stepped out of the room, “you know me well. Maybe we are too similar. And maybe that goes for how we view our family, too.” He cocked the pistol. “They come first.”

Bang.

Deathstroke moved, but not before the bullet struck his side.

He whipped around with a growl, unsheathing his broadsword. “Idiot boy,” he snarled. “You could’ve had things happen your way. You could’ve won.”

Red Hood lunged at him. “It’s not winning if you hurt my brother!” he yelled.

Nightwing’s weight slung over Deathstroke’s shoulder, slowed him down. Nightwing may not have been very big — a walking stick with slim muscles, honestly — but that didn’t mean his weight wasn’t, well, weight. Deathstroke’s blow with his broadsword wasn’t as planned. Red Hood deflected easily.

Last time, Deathstroke had aimed to wear him and Nightwing down so he could deliver the final blow.

Now, Red Hood refused to let the fight last long enough for that to happen.

Deathstroke may be bigger and stronger, but by hell was Red Hood more stubborn.

And stupider. That could’ve been a factor, too.

Especially since Red Hood decided to tackle him.

Surprisingly, it worked, and Deathstroke hit the ground with a grunt of pain. Red Hood caught Nightwing’s head to keep it from smacking against the metal. Deathstroke kicked up at Red Hood, knee shooting into Red Hood’s groin, but Red Hood bit his cry of pain and settled with stabbing his knife.

Straight into Deathstroke’s collar.

Deathstroke yelled and kicked out again. He tried to put Nightwing between them, but Red Hood locked his thighs against Deathstroke’s hips to keep him pinned down, withdrew the knife, then stabbed again. And again.

“Leave,” he gasped between stabs, “my — brother — a — lone!”

Deathstroke yelled. No words, just a sound of pure anger as he finally managed to shove Red Hood off.

Only, Red Hood dragged Nightwing with him.

“Touch him one more time,” he growled, standing over Deathstroke with a pistol pointed at his chest, “and I’ll personally rip your internal organs out and feed them to you.”

Deathstroke’s fingers curled against the ground. His broad sword lay by his hand, but he did not grab it. His chest heaved with shallow breaths.

“Stupid boy,” Deathstroke snarled. “That man is a liar. He lied to you, Jason! Aren’t you tired of people lying to you? Aren’t you tired of him being perfect? Aren’t you tired of being overshadowed?”

Red Hood shook his head. “This liar is my brother, and nothing will change that. I’m like you in many ways. But there is no way in Hell that I am you. Speaking of Hell, you should go there. It’ll fit you well.”

He fired the pistol. 

Red Hood walked out of the room with Nightwing cradled in his arms, head tucked under his chin, gentle breaths fanning across his collarbone. It was strange to carry him like this — like a child. Red Hood didn’t like how small Nightwing was, curled weakly into his arms, legs not even dangling past Red Hood’s hip. He — like the rest of the world — always forgot how small Nightwing really was. As a previous acrobat, he had muscle, just . . . slimmer.  Red Hood barely felt his weight in his arms. He wondered if he was carrying a child, not a well-known vigilante.

“Stay with me, Little Wing,” Jason murmured as he broke out of the base and stepped forth into the snow. “Please. Just stay.”

Dick’s head lolled against his chest.

His silence was a gunshot in the night.

Please . . .

Chapter Text

Jason almost didn’t like how little trouble he ran into as he carried Dick away from the base. The guards hadn’t been around, and that really bothered him. Deathstroke must’ve sent them away for a reason. Had they only been there for Nightwing and Red Hood?

Well . . . Deathstroke had only expected Red Hood to leave.

Willingly.

After betraying his brother.

Jason allowed a soft growl in his throat as he waded through the snow, clutching Dick tighter with that thought. 

“They ain’t touching you again,” Jason promised. He rested his face in Dick’s hair as the wind charred his mouth. “I swear it.”

Dick’s reply was a soft moan as he nestled closer, each raspy breath burning Jason’s throat.

Jason swallowed. The snow beat down on him, falling harder and harder, blinding everything in front of him. The wind only blew stronger, too. It chilled him to the bone and sliced his body. Jason could only imagine how Dick was feeling, and paused at the bottom of the slope to lower him on his knees.

Dick’s head lolled against Jason’s shoulder. Jason slowly pulled his jacket from his body, then wrapped it around Dick. His fingers trembled as they slid against muscle. Slim and carefully cut, as if carved from glass. The opposite of Jason in every way. The brown jacket was big on Dick, too, all loose around the wrists. The cuffs swallowed his hands.

This isn’t right, Jason wanted to cry as he hefted Dick back into his arms, wishing the weight was heavy. You’re not supposed to be small . . . My older brother isn’t supposed to be small . . .

He stumbled up the slope. The snowfall was terrible, turning everything into a blinding white. Thankfully, the HUD in Jason’s helmet allowed him to see well enough. He didn’t like how much Dick shivered against him.

He was already bleeding out . . . and the toxic gas wasn’t helping matters. Now, snow on top of things . . .

If Jason didn’t get him help soon—

“No,” Jason spoke out loud this time as he reached the treeline at the top of the slope, where he and Dick had been hiding out earlier. “The helicopter. It’s waiting. That’s his ticket home.” His shoulders slammed against trunks as he staggered through the pine forest. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just walk straight. He hadn’t — he hadn’t inhaled some of the gas either, had he? His lids threatened to droop as he finally reached the rendezvous point, where the helicopter awaited, resting in a clearing. “That’s how . . .”

Jason trailed off, leaning against a tree, and stared.

“What the sh . . .” 

He blinked again.

The helicopter was not gone. 

But it was in pieces.

“Shit,” Jason cursed. He fumbled as he started to lower Dick to the ground, then decided against it. The snow was too cold, and there was no telling if the people who had done this were still around.

Instead, he clutched Dick as he staggered on shaky legs through the wreckage. The ground was charred in areas, and so were the pieces of the helicopter.  It — it had been an explosion. Someone exploded the helicopter.

Their way out.

Dick’s savior.

Jason wanted to drop Dick, grab either side of his head, and just scream.

His eyes fell to Dick’s face. Mouth slightly open, lips tinged with blue, skin so pale that his beauty marks were more visible than ever. His mask hid his eyes, and Jason feared moving it, in fear of the signs of Death he would see.

I can’t let him die . . .

Not like how I did.

Jason clenched his jaw. He tried contacting Batman, but the comms were down. His HUD told him the signal was too weak — the result of a blizzard blowing through. 

“Okay, Jay,” Jason whispered to himself, glancing around. He let his HUD locate a hiding spot for him — a large cave. “Survive the blizzard, call B, get Dick through this alive. Easy.”

He wished it were easy. Jason almost collapsed three times before reaching the entrance, and he balanced his shoulder against the cavern walls for support.  Dick was not heavy. Dick, or any of Jason’s family, would never be heavy. Not for Jason.

Not anymore.

The entrance was tight. Jason had to hitch Dick higher in his arms to keep his legs from scuffing the walls as he pushed his way through.

Upon reaching the actual cavern, the first thing Jason did was find the driest part of the ground, then lay Dick down. He tucked his jacket to blanket Dick more securely. Dick still shivered and curled his knees to his chest, pulling his body into a fetal position, breathing weakly. Each breath loudly rattled his throat.

“Stay strong, Goldie,” Jason whispered, pressing a kiss to Dick’s forehead. “Please.”

He left the cave to find wood. The storm had picked up so much that even with his HUD, Jason could barely see where he was going. He was glad that his undersuit was long-sleeved, yet the cold still attacked him. Jason shivered hard as he collected the driest branches he could find, and leaves and bark. He returned to the cave and set the supplies down by Dick, then struck his knife against his pistol. Sparks flew from the metal-on-metal contact, and before he knew it, the objects had caught fire.

Jason took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” He settled down by the fire and pulled Dick into his lap. His legs held the smaller body as he folded over Dick, holding him with his own back towards the freezing entrance. Jason ran his hands down Dick’s body to strike warmth. “You’re okay . . . you’re okay . . .”

Once he got them both warmer, Jason was able to focus on Dick’s injuries. The only thing he had to wrap around Dick’s wound was his jacket. His wonderful, state-of-the-art, priceless jacket.

Groaning, Jason unsheathed his knife again and started cutting away at the sleeve. “The things I do for you,” he muttered, wincing as the knife sliced through perfectly good material. That’s my favorite jacket, too. “You’re hella lucky I love you.”

Dick whimpered, and something in Jason’s heart broke.

Jason did not sleep that night. He focused on holding Dick through the pain. Dick spasmed as the hours passed, curling deeper and deeper into Jason’s arms. He sobbed softly in Jason’s shoulder. Jason combed through his hair, kissed his forehead, and whispered promises into his curls. Promises that he’d be okay, that he’d survive the night. Jason rubbed his hands over his body to warm Dick.

His limbs went numb with each whispered prayer.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered. “Please . . . Please, Little Wing . . .”

The storm finally passed around mid-morning. Jason could finally contact Bruce. He threw his head back, drawing in a deep breath that rattled his lungs. 

“D-Dad,” Jason whispered as he called Bruce. “Something — s-something went wrong . . .”

“Jason?” Bruce sounded panicked. Unnervingly so. “Jason, talk to me. Slowly. What happened? Where are you?”

“Outside of Slade’s base. It’s — it’s Dick,” Jason choked out. “I d-didn’t — it’s my fault. I was the target. Dick jumped in front of me. He — he was shot.”

“Where?”

“Back of the knee. B-but that wasn’t . . .” Jason took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. “He — Slade had a grappling hook. And—”

Bruce cursed loudly. “Where?”

“Thigh. Tried to staunch the bleeding. I — I’m sorry, I—”

“No matter. Keep him alive. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

No asking about the helicopter they took to get there, or about the trouble they’d run into, or about what had happened to Deathstroke.

All Bruce cared about was his kid.

Jason shut his eyes and listened to Dick’s strangled breathing as he waited for Bruce. His fire had gone out some time ago. He had no strength to get up and find more fuel, and besides, Bruce was almost there . . .

“Stay with me,” Jason whispered into Dick’s hair, rocking him back and forth. He cradled him as securely as possible in his lap. He mumbled words and did not know what he was mumbling. Dick’s suit was too tight for Jason to slide his hands beneath the suit to massage his bare skin, to get more warmth into his body. He feared trying to cut through with his knife. Jason shook too hard — he might accidentally cut through the skin.

Instead, Jason just held him until he heard the deep thrum of the Batplane’s engines outside the cavern.

“Okay.” Jason tipped his head forward, resting their temples together, and drew in a slow breath. He cupped Dick’s frozen cheek with one hand, his shaking thumb brushing beneath his eye. “We’re okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

He struggled to his feet, scooping Dick into his arms. Jason cursed as the bones in his legs protested, twisting as if a knife drove through his calves on repeat. The throbbing shot up his thighs and bruised him at the hips — a slowly growing wildfire in his legs.

Out of all the times for his chronic pain to strike . . .

Jason shook his head, hitching Dick higher in his arms. Dick shivered and buried his face into Jason’s throat, his fingers latching onto Jason’s shoulders. Sweat glued his hair to his forehead. Jason shut his eyes as his older brother whimpered.

Jason’s pain did not matter.

He forced his aching legs to carry him out of the cavern, forced his feet to lift and slide, trudging through snow. Sticks and rocks tripped him up. His shoulders slammed against tree after tree, bark grinding against his arms. It was as if someone had poured acid into his bones. Jason squeezed Dick closer to help with the pain, his teeth biting through his lip enough to draw blood, tears building in his eyes.

The clearing with the helicopter remains was ahead. So close. He could see the Batplane there, its dark body contrasting with the white winter wonderland around it.

C’mon . . . almost there . . .

His legs wobbled with every step.

Jason could hardly breathe.

He didn’t matter, though.

Only Dick.

Only Dick.

He made it two more steps forward, then—

The pain was too great.

Poisoned daggers cut through the bones in his legs, and Jason fell to his knees with a pained cry. His arms trembled around Dick. His grip started to loosen, and he squeezed his eyes shut, frozen tears collecting on his lashes.

No, no . . . Get back up . . . Get back—

Footsteps. Crunching snow. In front of him.

Jason, choking back sobs, opened his eyes and lifted his head.

He wanted to cry in relief as Bruce knelt in front of him, dressed in his Batman suit. “Jay . . .” he whispered.

Jason shook his head. “Forget about me. Dick, Dad. Dick.”

Bruce didn’t need to be told that twice. He gingerly slipped Dick out of Jason’s arms. Dick looked so small against Bruce, head tucked beneath his chin, body curled into him, shivering and pale. Like an injured child.

Bruce kissed Dick’s forehead as he rose to his feet and turned, carrying him towards the Batplane.

Jason’s head immediately dropped, shoulders slumping. He dug his gloved fingers into the snow and tried to focus on his breathing, urging himself to gain enough strength to stand.

“Jay.” Tim. That was Tim’s voice as his younger brother knelt next to him, grabbing his shoulder. “Are you okay? Does it — does it hurt?”

He knew. Of course he knew.

Jason cocked his head, biting his lip. He couldn’t bring himself to look up from the snow, afraid of being dizzy. A smaller hand touched his other shoulder — Damian.

“This is saddening, Todd,” the boy said. “Come on. You can’t cry your eyes out in the snow.”

Jason drew in a breath through clenched teeth as Damian slid himself beneath one of Jason’s arms. Tim followed suit.

“I’m not crying my eyes out,” Jason hissed. “I’m — oh — shit,” he gasped as he was lifted to his feet, and his legs immediately exploded in pain, buckling. “Shit — crap — Damian—”

Damian and Tim lowered him. Damian patted Jason’s back as he looked at Tim. “Did you bring his medicine?”

“No.” Tim closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jason. I didn’t even think about it. All I knew was Dick was hurt and . . .”

“It’s fine,” Jason mumbled, letting his lashes flutter shut. Maybe if he let himself fall asleep, it would help with the pain. “Dick’s all that matters, anyway. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His brothers whispered something to each other. Next thing Jason knew, strong arms had wrapped around his body, lifting him into a firm cradle carry. Jason gasped, instinctively wrapping his arms around Bruce’s neck. He opened his eyes to find himself nestled beneath Bruce’s chin.

“W-what the hell?” he choked out. “I don’t — I don’t need to be carried.”

Bruce carried him onto the plane. Damian and Tim followed. “You’re my son too,” Bruce said, and that shut Jason up.