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The rooftop spins around him, the forms of the League ninja trying to surround him blurring before his eyes. Poison or concussion? He isn’t sure. Red Hood clutches the wound in his side, feeling blood running down from his torn skin.
He’s not sure he’s making it out of this alive.
He knew Talia would be mad when he decided to change his plans, but he didn’t think she’d actually have him killed. If I am a fool indeed, he thinks, jumping back from another swing of a sword gleaming in the light cast by the bulb over the rooftop access door.
“Looks like you need a hand!” A bright voice rings out, and Nightwing lands directly on a ninja, slamming them down onto the gravel.
Red Hood isn’t sure why Nightwing is there at all. It’s not like they know each other. Hood keeps to Crime Alley, and he hadn’t followed through on his plan to kill anyone, isn’t any kind of Crime Lord like he told Talia he would be by now. He’s got his gang, pays them well, he’s taking care of the sex workers and working to set up a shelter for the street kids. He hasn’t enacted any part of his and Talia’s plan that should’ve put him on the Bats’ radar, so there’s no reason at all for Nightwing to be anywhere near him.
Why is he here? Here to arrest him for daring to work in Gotham without Batman’s say-so, probably, the ass. Doesn’t matter in the end, he’ll find a way out of here and keep avoiding the man who pretended to call him brother. He turns carefully, hiding the injury in his side. No way is he letting Nightwing close enough to catch him bleeding. The idiot will probably try to drag him somewhere for treatment, and there’s no chance he’ll give him any opportunity to stick around.
“I’m fine,” Hood growls, aiming and firing, catching a hulking man in the shoulder with a knockout bullet and forcing him to drop back.
“Sure,” Nightwing laughs, flying into another kick, catching a ninja in the jaw.
That leaves two. No problem for two fully-trained vigilantes.
Except that Hood suddenly finds himself on one knee.
What happened?
His vision swims. His breath is coming in harsh pants, and he finally notices the way his heart is beating irregularly. He thought it was the fight raising his heartrate but there’s clearly something else going on, and he clutches at his chest in what he doesn’t want to admit is a flash of fear.
“Lady Talia sends her regards.”
Red Hood looks up in time to see the ninja vanish over the side of the roof, leaving him alone with Nightwing.
“Red Hood?” Nightwing asks, rushing over to him.
Hood scoffs. There’s no way he would care if he knew that it was Jason under the helmet.
“Th’fuck ya wan’?”
The words come out in a frightening slur, and all Hood can feel is regret. He should’ve been better. Of course Talia wouldn’t just let him go, not after all the work she put into him, the way she aimed him like a gun and fired on Gotham.
“Hood, status,” Nightwing barks, grabbing his shoulders.
Hood shoves at his hands and only succeeds in knocking himself off balance. He falls back onto the rooftop, and the way his head bounces against the gravel pushes a sharp pain through him. Definitely a concussion, Hood thinks, blinking blearily.
His vision goes black, and then clears to reveal Nightwing’s concerned face hovering above him.
“You have an injury to your side,” the idiot informs him. “Do you have a concussion? Are you bleeding anywhere else?”
“Pois’n,” he spits out.
He can barely breathe, hot air under his helmet, and suddenly all he wants is to breathe the chill of Gotham’s smog. He fumbles with the latches under his chin, and Nightwing’s hands push his out of the way.
“Let me,” he says, and before Hood can tell him why that’s a bad idea, Nightwing undoes the latches. In the wrong sequence.
The helmet starts beeping dramatically, fast and getting faster, and Nightwing stares down at him in confusion. Hood wrenches the helmet from his head and throws it as best he can.
“Wh-”
That’s all Nightwing gets out before the helmet detonates, the explosion rocking the roof and sending them both tumbling. The gravel cuts into Hood’s face and digs into his bleeding side with a brutal stab of pain.
He doesn’t have the energy to turn over, barely can keep his eyes open, so when he feels his body shifting he knows it has to be Nightwing.
When he flumps over onto his back, Nightwing’s bleeding, a cut across his temple leaving him swaying slightly above Hood.
Nightwing stares into his eyes for a long moment.
“...What?” He breathes. His hand reaches out to touch Hood’s face. “Jason?” He asks, voice wavering.
“Dick,” Jason returns, blinking hard, forcing his eyes back open. He can feel his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. He can’t lift a hand to grasp at it. “‘M dyin’,” he groans. Dick looks horrified.
“No,” he says, “no, no, no, Jason, stay with me.”
Jason doesn’t want to die again. But more than that, he doesn’t want to die alone.
“Hold my hand?” He asks, and he watches Dick’s face twist in anguish.
Then there’s a bright light. And then. Nothing.