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Jason Peter Todd, twenty three years old, has three little brother, one sister and one older brother he constantly has to look after mostly cleaning up after their stupid stunts. Having been forced to grow up since the age of eight, Jason isn’t exactly unfamiliar with carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Take right now, for example, he and Red Robin are tied to chairs, every single weapon confiscated and piled in the corner. After assessing the surroundings, he twists his wrist slightly, testing how tight the ropes are. The faint clatter of metal makes him click his tongue before glancing at Red Robin, who’s just starting to wake up beside him.
"Damn it… that hurts"
"Sleeping Beauty’s awake, huh?"
"Where are we?"
Red Hood stays silent for a moment. The air feels breezy, probably near the docks. "Some warehouse near Gotham Harbor"
Red Robin doesn’t reply. He’s busy piecing things together. Two hours ago, he and Red Hood were busting a drug storage operation when he must’ve inhaled a whiff of odorless knockout gas released during the fight. And after that…? The blurry memory still fogs his mind; the drug hasn’t worn off completely. The good news is, the tracker in his logo should still be active. Batman will come soon hopefully.
The creak of a rusty hinge cuts through the air. Both of them look up at the same time.
Black Mask strolls in, flanked by his goons, dust rising from the long neglected floor. If he weren’t tied up, Jason might have clapped his hands, this was just as dramatic as one of those movies he’d watched with Dick back in his Robin days.
"Well, well, boys. Looks like you’re awake"
"Cut to the chase" Red Hood mutters behind his helmet, already guessing he’ll have to handle this himself again since Batman is never on time.
Black Mask clicks his tongue in disapproval, then gestures for his men to bring in "the main course" for their guests.
Two buckets of water are dumped straight over their heads. Red Robin shivers from the freezing shock.
"Do you have any idea how much money you’ve cost me? My territory, my position, my income, all gone because of you brats!"
"I think if you’d just stayed in prison and stopped bribing your way out, you wouldn’t have lost so much" Jason snaps back. Taking advantage of the fact that his legs are tied together but not fixed to the chair, he kicks Black Mask hard in the stomach.
"You little bastard!!"
Suddenly Red Robin screams, the electric crackle of a taser echoes, his body jerking violently.
Jason inhales sharply. His back goes cold. This is worse than he thought. Plan A is scrapped. Batman’s not coming anytime soon, barely an hour has passed. He grits his teeth and looks up. "What do you want?"
Black Mask grabs his face, squeezing his cheeks and pulling him close. "I just wanna play with you boys, little girl"
---
Batman arrived two days late.
Red Robin had passed out long before pain, blood loss, suffocation. Red Hood fared slightly better, thanks to the lingering side effects of the Lazarus Pit. At least that cursed thing had one practical use beyond driving him insane.
He staggers out of the warehouse, blood still seeping from his shoulder, one arm wrapped around Red Robin’s limp body. The kid is light so light Jason almost swears, not from concern, but from how utterly unromantic it feels carrying someone like this through freezing midnight streets. The stench of smoke, blood, and gasoline stings his nose. He breathes in, steadying himself just as the iron door behind him slams shut with a heavy clang.
"Gotham and its goddamn warehouses should be declared a world heritage site for pure danger" Jason mutters.
The harbor wind cuts through his torn jacket. He kicks aside a stray pipe, then hears the growl of a familiar engine.
The Batmobile screeches to a stop. Tires shriek against concrete. The door hisses open, and Batman steps out massive, black, shadow swallowing the light. Jason squints at him, half-tempted to laugh, half-tempted to punch.
Batman’s voice is even as ever. "Get in. Both of you are injured"
"Oh, you noticed?" Jason smirks. "You’re late again. But relax, I cleaned up the mess. No one died."
Before Bruce can reply, Jason shoves Red Robin into his arms. "The kid inhaled knockout gas, blood loss, trauma, all of it. Get him back quick. I’ll report in later"
He turns away, limping but forcing his back straight like he’s convincing himself he’s fine. Behind him, the Batmobile door opens again, and a familiar voice calls out.
"Hood!"
Jason pauses. "Staying behind, huh?"
Nightwing walks closer, streaks of dried blood probably Tim’s on his gloves. "I can help patch you up. Or at least-"
"I don't need" Jason cuts him off without turning. "Still got both hands"
"Little Wing…"
"Don’t" His voice drops low. "Just… don’t. Leave me alone. I don’t want-"
Nightwing frowns and steps closer, but Jason yanks his hood up, voice cracking dry and bitter. "I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. There’s someone else who deserves that more"
He nods toward Red Robin being loaded into the car.
The Batmobile roars back to life. Its headlights spill across Dick’s face, catching the look behind his mask worry, guilt, tenderness. Jason gives a faint, crooked smile, unsure if it’s mocking life or himself.
Tonight’s going to be another long one.
---
When the apartment door shuts behind him, Jason nearly collapses. His body feels heavy, the skin under his jacket sticky with blood and soot. He drags himself to the cabinet, grabs the first-aid kit, throws it on the table, and drops into a chair like a deflated sandbag.
"A perfect night, Red Hood" he mutters hoarsely.
He treats his wounds himself efficient but careless. The knife slices through the blood-stiff fabric, revealing bruised flesh. Each swipe of alcohol burns; his jaw clenches. Sweat beads along his neck while crimson seeps between his fingers.
He stands, shuffling toward the bathroom. Steam fogs the mirror, leaving only his eyes visible dark red and hollow under the light. Jason leans forward, turns the tap. Cold water knives across his skin, washing away the metallic stink of Gotham’s harbor.
Shedding his armor, he sinks into the tub. The water rises. When it touches the open wounds, he almost gasps aloud. His back slumps against the edge, breaths dragging heavy as the night itself. The scent of salt, smoke, and metal clings to his hair and skin.
He closes his eyes. Through the haze of steam, a face appears, Dick Grayson’s, soft smile, gentle eyes, that reassuring hand on everyone’s shoulder as if everything would be fine. Jason’s fist tightens beneath the water.
He hates himself for letting his heart stray for that look, that voice, that warmth that made him believe, even for a second, that Dick saw him. That maybe, in all of Gotham’s chaos, he wasn’t invisible.
But Jason knows better. Dick’s kindness is duty habit. The exhausting goodness of the eldest Wayne. Dick cares about everyone.
And Jason? He’s just another name on the endless list of souls waiting to be saved.
The bathwater trembles, reflecting blurred light. Jason’s face looks almost like he’s smiling, though his lips are trembling.
The sting of his wounds is nothing compared to the cold settling in his chest. He stares up at the ceiling, letting fatigue drown out thought. Outside, Gotham roars on sirens, wind, life while he sits, motionless in the water, unsure whether he’s washing off blood… or trying to rinse away a feeling he shouldn’t have.
Finally, he leans back, letting the water take everything. The light flickers, reflecting his faint, broken silhouette a man who can’t live, can’t die.
---
Dick Grayson lands on the seventh-floor balcony of a rundown apartment building.
The window’s closed, curtains half-drawn. Dim light spills out just enough for him to recognize it Jason’s place.
Dick frowns. Jason should’ve gone back to the Cave for treatment, not vanished like this.
He knocks lightly on the glass. No response. Only the faint dripping of water somewhere inside.
A sharp worry tightens his chest. Dick picks the lock. The latch gives with a soft click. Cold air rushes in as he steps inside.
The apartment is dark except for the weak glow from the bathroom. The air reeks of blood and antiseptic. On the table half-used bandages, dark stains on the wood. His jacket and gloves lie crumpled on the floor.
"Little Wing?" Dick calls softly.
He crosses the room in seconds. The bathroom door is ajar, steam billowing out, carrying that metallic tang of salt and blood.
He hesitates only a heartbeat, hand on the doorknob then pushes it open.
What he sees freezes his blood.
Jason sits slumped in the bathtub, head bowed, water up to his shoulders. The water is red. Steam curls around him like fog. His wet hair clings to his forehead; his lips pale, skin ghost-white.
"Little Wing!!" Dick gasps, lunging forward. He drops to his knees, fumbling for the drain, twisting it open. The water swirls away, pink foam circling the drain.
He slides his arms under Jason, lifting him out. The body is cold, heavy. The smell of salt and blood burns his throat.
"Jay, listen to me....Jason!" Dick pats his face, gets no response, shakes his shoulders harder.
Jason’s eyelids flutter open half-awake, half-gone. The world blurs before him, but he recognizes that face.
He blinks slowly, mind hazy, and for a moment he truly thinks he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s thought about Dick too much his mind weaving this gentle illusion to comfort him through the cold.
A tired smile touches his lips, faint as a breath. "What a sweet hallucination…" he murmurs.
"It’s not a hallucination! It’s me...your brother!" Dick nearly shouts, cupping Jason’s face and forcing him to look. "Hey, don’t sleep. Not now, you hear me?"
Jason’s eyes droop, breath weak but still trying to smile. He doesn’t resist just lets Dick hold him, as if willing to believe the illusion a little longer.
Dick’s hands tremble as he wraps a towel around him, whispering his name over and over. The dim light flickers across Jason’s pale cheek, catching on droplets that might’ve been water or tears.
---
When Jason opens his eyes, the pain in his chest is still there, but duller now. Heavy warmth drapes over him a blanket, and another weight resting against his hand.
He shifts slightly. Dick sits beside the bed, head tilted in sleep, still holding Jason’s hand. His hair is messy, dark circles under his eyes, and he’s wearing one of Jason’s shirts.
Jason stares for a moment, silent. Everything from last night rushes back. He thought it had been a dream, but here Dick is, real and breathing, close enough to touch.
"Hey…" Jason croaks, throat raw.
Dick jolts awake, blue eyes wide. The second he sees Jason conscious, he squeezes his hand tighter. "Does it hurt? Are you dizzy? I tried to..."
Jason chuckles weakly. "Do you always worry this much?"
Dick doesn’t answer. He just looks at him for a long moment, then gently brushes the wet strand of hair off Jason’s forehead. His voice softens. "You disappeared for two days. I thought I’d lost you"
Jason lowers his gaze. "Didn’t mean to make you worry. I just…"
Dick cups his cheek gently. "Come home with me, okay?"
Silence. Jason breathes in; something cracks quietly in his chest, not pain, but warmth. He gives a small, bitter smile. "You know, I thought… if this was a dream, I wouldn’t want to wake up"
Dick smiles faintly. "I don’t want you waking up like that again"
Another pause. Then Jason meets his eyes, voice rough with emotion.
"Dick… you don’t have to keep treating me like a kid. I’m not that scrawny little brat anymore"
Dick hesitates, lips pressing together. Then he leans closer so close their breaths mingle. "I know" he whispers. "But if I don’t… then who else will?"
He tilts his head and brushes his lips against Jason’s.
Jason freezes, eyes wide.
When they part, the morning sunlight spills across the room, warm and golden like honey.
"Jason" Dick says softly, voice trembling "I love you. I’m terrified of losing you again. Please… let me take care of you. If you don’t want..-"
Jason’s voice catches as he interrupts, "I want to…"
Dick pulls him into his arms, not out of fear this time, but simply to hold on to the fragile peace they’ve finally found.