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More often than not, Nightwing kept his distance from Gotham. Jason wasn’t sure if he liked that or not.
He certainly appreciated that he wasn’t after Red Hood or his guys. Jason was proud, sometimes even arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid. If the bird wanted to fuck his operations up, he would fuck them up.
On the other hand… alright, maybe Jason didn’t really have a reason to want Dick here. That doesn’t mean he didn’t. He quickly disregarded that as stupid and returned to trying to find a real reason.
Maybe it was easier to torment him and Batman if they were in the same city. Yeah, that was it.
So Jason wasn’t sure how he felt about lack of Nightwing in Gotham. It wasn’t hard to understand the reason though, at least not for someone who was there to witness Dick’s teenage angst. He could count the number of times he’s seen him and Bruce get along on one hand. He might not even use up all the fingers.
Although, he’s heard that the two started actually getting along again. Seems that even after everything, Dick truly is the golden boy, returning to daddy bats eventually. He wonders if his death somehow contributed to that. Father and son coming together again, to console each other in the tragedy that was losing their son/brother. He snorts at the wording his brain chooses.
All this to say, Jason’s pretty surprised to find his ‘brother’ in the city, especially on Red Hood’s turf.
Former brother really, if one at all. In the past they were at least tied together by papers claiming them as Bruce’s sons, but Jason Todd was dead, erasing whatever legal relation Dick had to him.
As for emotional… Dick couldn’t be called a bad brother as much as an absent one. To be fair, he did try. Coming to visit when Bruce was gone, buying him food, taking him on trips and even that one vacation. But Bruce didn’t leave often and as much as Dick claimed to care about him, it never truly topped his anger at their father.
And now? Jason wasn’t even the same person. The body came back, but the kid died there. Not to mention he was a criminal, murderer. He broke Batman’s most important rule. The one thing Nightwing kept even after trying to shed the bat’s shadow.
Bruce made it pretty clear what he thought about it. Dick having a different opinion was a far-fetched theory.
It was funny how his brain still referred to Bruce as father and Dick as brother more often than not.
Definitely something he should be thinking about while his said ‘brother’ gets beaten in front of his eyes. It’s whatever, Nightwing can take it. Even if he’s just taken a baseball bat to the back of his head- okay, fuck it.
The first gunshot is a surprise to everyone. He doesn’t let them get their bearings, firing again and again. It takes Dick way too long to get it together and start to fight again. It has to be the concussion. Jason refuses to accept any other explanation. He doesn’t know how to deal with any other explanation.
All too soon, the fight is over. No more gunfire, screams, bodies hitting the ground. No more sounds to drown out his thoughts.
Just a realization of what he’s done. Killed right in front of Dick. Get over yourself, Todd, Grayson already knows you kill.
Jason looks away regardless. Maybe he’s not ready to see the judgement on his- on Dick’s face. Or to hear his name being called out with such uncertainty.
“Jason?”
He risks looking down from the roof and at Nightwing, just to assess the damage. Because clearly, Dick must be really out of it to call out his name in the field. Not that anyone’s around to hear, but the boy wonder isn’t one to break batdad’s rules.
“This is the part where you say Thank you for saving my ass, Hood.” And hopefully get the fuck out.
Dick looks around at the blood pooling under like half of the goons. The ones Jason took out. He makes a face and the mask definitely isn’t enough to hide the disgust in it. Just what Jason’s been trying to avoid. For a moment his chest feels too tight and he can’t suck in a breath, before whatever came over him switches out for familiar anger.
Fucking golden boy, he didn’t die. Never had to crawl out of his grave or find out his murderer is still alive. Bet Joker would be dead if it was Dick he killed.
His hand trembles around the gun and he drops it before he does something stupid with it. Not that it helps, because the acidic desire to shoot Nightwing gets replaced by even more pressing need to punch him. And wasn’t that an idea?
Before he could think it through, not that he wanted to, he was sick of thinking, he was already on the ground and steadily heading for Dick. The other watches him without fear. He seems to have gotten over the corpses too, good for him. Jason didn’t really care.
“Thank you. It’s nice to know you don’t want me dead”
Nightwing’s giving him that signature Grayson grin, way too cheeky, but somehow hard to get truly mad at. Good thing Jason’s already pissed. Still, he’s kind of curious why golden boy isn’t commenting on the bodies yet. He grits his teeth and pauses his approach and Dick apparently takes it as a sign to keep talking.
“I was actually on me way to a family dinner, you know. Got bribed with the promise of Alfred’s great cooking. You should come with, you have to miss it after such a long time.”
Jason stops moving entirely, probably stops breathing too, just stands there and tries to process what just come out of Dick Grayson’s mouth. And maybe also trying to supress the fact that he does miss Alfred’s cooking. And the whole manor. He misses having a home, not just switching between safehouses.
A chuckle escapes him, before turning into a full-on laughter. He doesn’t even find it funny. It hurts, if anything.
“That must have been some hit, Dickie-bird. I’d check for brain trauma if I were you”
Dick looks up at him with confusion and Jason’s starting to actually consider brain damage as a possibility. Whatever, not his thing to handle, just like it’s not his place to join a family dinner.
“Is it about these guys? I won’t tell Bruce. And you saved me-“
He did. And he’s starting to seriously regret it. He couldn’t bring himself to stand back, that wasn’t an invitation for Dick to try and drag him to a dinner with a man who not only didn’t care enough to avenge him, but condemned Jason for going far enough to actually save people. With a kid that took his place? What was Dick even expecting? That he’ll be good and play at a happy family?
“You think I did this to save you? This is my turf.” He motions around himself, then to the bodies. “These aren’t my men. I was simply cleaning out the trash, you just happened to be here. Which reminds me, get out.”
Dick gives him an I-call-your-bullshit look and Jason’s blood boils.
“C’mon Jay, if that was the case you could have just let me deal with it. You don’t need to pretend not to care, after all I’m your-“
“Get out”
Dick keeps grinning, clearly not taking him seriously. He really should have just let him get beaten.
“What if I don’t want to?”
“Dick, Get. Out.”
“No”
It’s the blatant refusal that does it. Dick acting like he’s on top of everything, like he has Jason figured out when he doesn’t know shit. He might have left his gun on the roof, but he has two. And the second one is in his hand, warm.
He does his best to turn out any pained sounds Dick might be making. He didn’t hit anything vital. It was just Dick’s leg, just a warning, a message.
He quickly turns from the sight and starts moving away. It’s definitely not to spare himself the view of his brother’s blood. His body moves without his guidance as he picks up his other gun. The symbol of rebellion, the mark that clearly brands him as an outsider to the bat.
He doesn’t hear the “wait…” from Dick. Doesn’t hear his name being called out. He doesn’t let himself.
They’re not his family. An he’s not theirs.