Archive of Our Own

Jason flipped Roman Sionis's unconscious body over with his boot, weighing the merits of shooting the asshole right then and there. It wasn't like it'd be any particular loss. The Black Mask had his hands on every illegitimate operation the city had to offer, and for a place like Gotham, the sky was the goddamn limit. Drug runnings, human trafficking, armed robberies. Putting the mutt out of his misery would be kinder to his victims than any other justice Jason could possibly dole out tonight.

He lifting the end of his piece, finger on the trigger, before thinking twice about the consequences of what he was doing. With a sigh, he shoved his gun back into its holster on his thigh. Killing Sionis would just leave a power vacuum. There'd be a turf war for the foreseeable future that'd inevitably end with some lackey becoming the new Black Mask. The last thing Jason needed was to pave the way for some new upstart that'd likely put a bounty on his head for appearance's sake.

So Jason settled for leaving Sionis hogtied in his own conference room, breaking into his servers, mass-distributing all his juicy secrets to Oracle, and finally picking the jerk's pockets, for good measure. Never let it be said that Jason Todd wasn't a petty, vindictive little bitch.

If one were to ask Jason why he was so intent on kicking Sionis in the proverbial balls — and the literal ones, if he was looking back on their fight with full honesty — he'd make some vague comment about the man's shitty habit of selling his product to kids, a taboo Jason had been meticulous about implementing in the city.

But cards on the table, Jason just straight up hated the guy. He'd fought Jason tooth and nail since the very beginning. Not many could resist conforming to the Red Hood's rule and live to see another day, but a man as powerful as the Black Mask was certainly a hell of an exception. He was disrespectful, toeing the line Jason had set with deliberate defiance, and crossing it only when Jason's operations were at their most hectic. If Jason wanted to maintain the hard-won reverence that he'd garnered in Gotham, he needed his biggest cynic out of the picture.

Plus, the guy was an ass.

Finally letting their pretenses drop and allowing their fists to do the talking was more satisfying than Jason had expected, and he'd looked forward to this confrontation for weeks, ever since he'd committed to launching this attack. Sionis was stronger than he looked, which was saying something given the man's frame. It'd taken five bullets, two sedatives, and a window-shattering entrance for Jason to take him down. His heart was still pumping from that.

Rifling through Sionis's jacket pockets, Jason typed out a message to one of his guys on his free hand, careful to keep his burner from slipping through his fingers. He ordered the release of a carefully-worded threat that warned against further disregard of his laws, and a not-so-carefully-worded suggestion for all of the Black Masks's men to report to Hood territory within the hour. If they switched alliances now, they'd be safe from the hell Jason was about to unleash on any remaining stragglers.

But when Jason's fingers brushed against something sharp and metallic, he paused.

It was a black key, looped onto a keychain with a logo Jason didn't recognize. A quick sweep through his helmet's scanner told him that there was a computer chip lodged within the blade of the key. Probably a secondary security element, to ensure that whatever lock it belonged to couldn't be hacked through typical means. Intriguing. Jason had thought that Sionis wasn't capable of surprising him anymore.

He ran his thumb alongside the jagged end of the key, the one with the ridges and notches, and glanced at the window. It'd probably be the smart choice to quit while he was away. Safer, too. Roy had offered to order a Zeta for him, said that they should catch up at that new bar in Star. If Sionis had hidden something so efficiently that Jason hadn't known about its existence, it couldn't be anything good.

Then again, if Sionis had hidden something so efficiently that Jason hadn't known about its existence, it had to be something interesting.

He texted Roy that something had come up, then set off a custom cautionary alert. It'd send an SOS signal to his emergency contacts if he didn't turn it off with a fifteen-digit password within three hours. Perfect for snooping, especially since he didn't want to get brained by a baseball bat and lose his entire weekend being interrogated by a no-name, lucky shot goon.

Then he rolled out the miniature blueprint of the building he'd stormed in his attack on Sionis, studying the layout. It was an apartment building, but only in the loosest sense of the word. From what Jason had been able to deduce, Sionis had bought the property a couple of years back, kicked out all of the residents by raising the rent far beyond their means, and had been the sole occupant ever since. He used the property as his base of operations, its location only given to his most trusted contacts.

The details Jason had wormed out of a particularly cowardly rat said that all of the doors in the building could be unlocked by a keycard. Jason had cloned Sionis's copy the last time they met, giving him unrestricted access to all he could get his grubby hands on. Not a particularly airtight security system, but Jason wasn't complaining when it made his job that much easier.

That meant that this could be the key to a locked cabinet, or maybe a safe of some sorts. Jason would have thought that they'd operate off of a multi-digit pass code, maybe even two-factor authentication. Not just a tiny slip of metal that Sionis could easily leave behind if he wasn't careful enough. It'd be just plain stupid.

Then again, Jason thought as he took to the sprawling hallway, it wasn't like Sionis was the pinnacle of intelligence. He began the slow, methodical process of trying his cloned keycard on every door, making his way up the floors at a painstaking speed. By the time he got to the top floor, he was about ready to throw in the towel. There really couldn't be anything juicy enough to warrant Jason throwing away his entire night on some wild goose chase.

Except when he reached for the door to the stairwell, he paused, eyes falling on the elevator panel. More specifically, at the twin up and down arrows. An up arrow, on the top floor, as confirmed by both the building blueprints and the doorman Jason had casually sedated a couple hours ago. It could be shoddy craftsmanship. Or, it could be something really quite interesting.

He stepped inside, the stairwell for a moment, but there wasn't a set of steps leading higher than he was now. In the elevator, there wasn't a button for an above floor either. But on a hunch, Jason let the doors slip closed and waiting in place, not pressing anything. After a moment, there was a soft dinging sound, and he felt the car gradually ascend.

Now his interest was well and truly piqued. Sionis had clearly gone through a great deal of trouble to hide whatever Jason was about to find. When he'd been digging into the building, scoping out the territory, Jason had learned that the whole crew who'd been assigned to revamping the property after Sionis exiled its past residents had died in the years since completing the renovation. Suicide, workplace accidents, that sort of shit. One thing about the Black Mask was that he knew how to bury his bodies.

The elevator doors opened, leaving Jason standing in a relatively small hallway. It was decorated in the same fashion as all the other floors', but with the difference of housing only a single door at the very end of the corridor. Curiouser and curiouser, Jason thought to himself as he made his way down the hall. Sure enough, when he slipped the black key into the keyhole embedded in the door, it opened with a click.

Jason opened the door and was greeted with a well-stocked apartment unit.

Huh. Alright, then. Why not? He ran through his typical threat assessments before stepping inside. There was a kitchen to his right, complete with the works. Marble countertop, more appliances than Jason could name, a fully-stocked wine cart. Beside it was a large, curved couch, facing a flat screen television. There was a glass coffee table standing proud atop a checkerboard carpet that Jason thought he recognized from one of Alfred's catalogues.

The bathroom was similarly typical for someone of Sionis's wealth. So was the study, though Jason took a quick minute to break through Sionis's firewalls through his own computer. There wasn't much on these servers that Jason hadn't seen yet, but he sent a copy of it to Oracle for completion's sake, if nothing else. While he was as it, Jason detonated a localized EMP, the kind that cut any sort of bugs in a fifty-yard radius, just in case. Nothing else was of note in the room, so he moved on.

As he studied the bedroom, Jason began to piece together what he'd found. It wasn't exactly common knowledge as to where the Black Mask hung his hat. Setting up his living quarters right above his most secure base of operates was actually a really smart idea. Covering up its existence, however gruesomely, actually impressed Jason beyond what he thought the man was capable of —

Jason froze. He blinked hard, sure that he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing, because there really was no way. He must have slipped on Sionis's blood at some point, cracked his skull against a mahogany nightstand, that sort of thing. Crane had dosed him with one of his toxins, surely. Or maybe this was all some messed up nightmare that Jason needed to wake up from.

Because there was no way in hell that Dick was actually cuffed beneath the Black Mask's desk in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants and a mask, stone-faced and corpselike.

There was a moment where Jason's brain went clinical. He took note of the desk, shoved to one side of the room, right against the wall, where the thick loop of chain came from. Dick's position, on all floors, head crashing against the wooden bottom of the desk with nowhere else to go. The lack of any give to the chain, which met the white skin of Dick's wrists.

Then reality hit him full force and Jason snapped to action. "Shit," he breathed, and rushed toward him. He crashed to his knees hard enough for them to ache, but he didn't pay that any mind as his hands fluttered over his brother, unsure as to where he should start. "The hell happened to you?"

His brother didn't say a word, and really, that was the first in a litany of disturbing signs. Dick was a goddamn chatterbox. No matter how many lectures he got for acting like a comedian instead of a vigilante, the lesson of silence never seemed to stick with him. Hell, Jason had seen his grapple jam once, sending him plummeting three stories before he managed to fire his back-up, without skipping a beat in the story he was telling.

Except now, Dick was chillingly quiet. While Jason hadn't touched him, he still hadn't given any indication that he knew there was anyone else in the room. A quick check told Jason that there weren't anything in Dick's ears that could be cutting away his hearing, which left very few reasons as to why he was acting like this.

Fuck. It shouldn't be Jason here, bumbling into this shit with flumsy fingers. He'd been told that he was about as useful in a precarious situation as a bull in a china shop. Damian, Tim, even Bruce would be a better fit for defusing this mess. But they weren't here, and Jason was, and quite frankly, Dick couldn't afford to be left alone during a time like this. So — shit. Okay. Jason locked in.

Man, fuck Stephanie's bullshit TikToks. If Jason spoke like this around his guys, he deserved to get usurped.

He decided to deal with the mask first. Too long on, and the thing gave the worst rashes. Jason could speak from experience. It was just one more problem in a see of shit that Dick shouldn't have to deal with, so he tackled it. He took out a housemade anti-adhesive from his belt and sprayed his brother's face, frowning when the other man didn't even wince. There was a beat where he waited for a reaction that didn't come, before waving the concern away and peeling off the domino mask.

Dick stared out with empty eyes.

Jason swallowed hard. Fuck. "Hey, N," he whispered, not really knowing why he was speaking so softly. "You alright there? It's Hood." Dick didn't react, didn't even look up at him. His gaze stayed fixated at some far-off point in the distance. "I'm gonna get you out of here, Nightwing. You're gonna be okay."

There wasn't a response. At this point, Jason wasn't really expecting one. The last time he'd had contact with Dick was a month ago. They'd fought over something pointless and stupid that Jason couldn't even remember anymore, and then Jason had gone off-radar for two weeks in preparation of Sionis's oncoming ass-kicking. That was a lot of time for a lot of bad to happen.

"Dick," he said, because fuck Bruce's stupid rules in a time like this, "I'm gonna get the chains off, alright? That means I'm gonna touch your wrists." He grabbed his lockpick set. "So don't freak out."

Not a necessary statement, it turned out. Dick didn't so much as twist while Jason picked his cuffs. They snapped open, one after the other, within a few minutes. Once they were off, Dick didn't make any move to get out from under the desk. Jason swore under his breath and took a step back, weighing his options.

His original plan had been to let Sionis rot. The bastard would wake up tomorrow with his entire operation all but destroyed, and no way to assemble the resources needed to get Jason back for it. Simple, clean. Not the kind of thing that Bruce would necessarily approve of, but not worth it for him to throw a bitchfit over.

Now, however, it was taking everything within him not to take the elevator back into that conference room and gut Sionis like a goddamn fish. Killing him had been an abstract reverie up, but now Jason actually had a reason to justify upsetting the delicate balance that was Gotham's criminal underbelly. Because despite all the shit between him and Dick, no one fucked with Jason's family and got away with it.

Except, he realized with a sigh, he didn't have the means of killing Sionis and getting Dick out all at once. Black Mask would be recovering soon, if he wasn't already on his feet. Jason had waited too much time fucking around, and that had unknowingly increased the risk he was facing, now with an extra life at risk. If Jason were to step out and quietly slit the man's throat, he'd be leaving Dick alone, vulnerable and confused and scared shitless.

Fuck. Never could be too easy. Jason flipped open his phone and dialed a familiar number, sliding the phone between his ear and shoulder as he studied the ground through the bedroom window. It took three rings for it to get picked up, which was just amateur hour work. Back in Jason's day, he'd always answer by the first ring. Messy, messy.

There was quiet panting, the kind that came from running. Probably in the middle of patrol, given the time and day. "What's wrong."

Jason spotted tiny, almost antlike figures pulling up to the curb. Two vans, each with about four people spilling out from the doors. Maybe more. It was hard to tell from up here. "I found Nightwing."

"He was missing?"

Jason had to bite down on his tongue hard. Like, drawing blood hard. Of course no one in this fucking family had Find My Friends. "Yeah, he fucking was. Black Mask snatched him, or maybe bought him. Not totally sure." He shut the bedroom door and shoved a dresser in front of the threshold. A quick glance told him that Dick hadn't reacted to the noise. Lovely.

"Shit. How is he?"

"Fucked up, but he'll be fine. I gotta get him out of here now, except Sionis called in back-up. You need to get over here now and arrest him, preferably with some friends of your own."

"I'll get Spoiler and BB, maybe Robin. Can you wait ten for a covered extract?"

"Don't need it. All you have to do is deal with clean-up. Think you can handle that?"

"Yeah, but — "

Jason cut him off before he started. "Good. Stay close to the phone. I'm not sure if I'll call again tonight. See if you can get a timeline on when Nightwing disappeared, but keep it on the down low." He took one more glance out onto the street below, where a third van was pulling up. "And for the love of Gotham, Replacement, don't let Sionis get away."

Then he hung up before Tim could get another word in. He didn't need to hear whatever bullshit he brought up before finally doing what he was told. Jason was on a time crunch, after all. With a grunt, he unclasped the fasteners to his helmet, taking it off and setting it by his feet. His domino was next. Whatever security system Sionis had set up, his EMP would disable it, and quite frankly, Jason needed his brother to recognize him by any means necessary right now.

He made his way over to Dick, taking a knee again as he shrugged off his leather jacket. "We'll be out soon, Dick. Until then, how about we cover up a bit? It's cold in here, isn't it?" He had no real expectation that Dick would respond to him, but he knew that talking to him, rather than at him, had to be a nice change of pace. Jason slipped his jacket over Dick's arms and zipped it up, his own skin prickling at the chill. He hadn't been lying about it being freezing in here.

"There. That's better, don't you think?" With that, Jason looked at the window again, trying to figure out exactly how he was going to get them out of this. He kept rambling as he ran through their options, trying to fill the silence. There really were only so many choices to make when you were on the fifteenth floor of the tallest building in a half-mile radius. "I think you'll like the Redwood safehouse. It's the one with the O'Keeffe reproductions, remember? The ones you kept insisting I take, even though Damian wasn't — "

He stilled, breathless, as Dick wordlessly climbed into his arms. Jason didn't so much as blink as his brother looped his arms around him, leaning his head against his chest, and squeezed him tight. He felt Dick's hands shaking. Really, his whole body was trembling, deep from his bones. Jason risk waiting a minute, and as he did, he noticed how Dick's breathing slowly synced up with his.

Heart pounding, Jason took a slow, deliberate breath. Dick copied it without hesitation.

Damn. From there, an embarrassingly long period of time was dedicated to suppressing Jason's urge to tear up, because last thing he needed was Dick mirroring that bit. When he had better control of himself, he risked bringing his arms up around Dick, at a frankly glacial pace, and giving him a soft squeeze of his own.

"Hey there, Big Bird. I knew you were in there."

Dick didn't respond. That was fine. Jason hadn't thought he would.

After a beat, Jason cleared his throat. Dick didn't flinch at the sudden noise, which was a mixed bag, frankly. "Alright, then. I hope you're ready to get the hell out of here, 'cause I sure am. You ready to go vertical?" He gave him a moment, on the off chance that the words would register, before climbing to his feet. Dick didn't exactly help out in the process, and it was sort of like lifting a bag of potatoes, but he quit going limp once Jason was fully standing. His knees straightened out, balancing him even as he leaned against Jason. Jason grabbed his helmet.

"There we go. Great job, Dick." That began the awkward procedure of Jason stiffly shuffling them both to the largest window, Dick's feet clumsily stumbling almost have a step behind the rest of his body. "Come on, there we go. Easy does it." As confident as he could be in Dick's ability to keep resting on him, Jason let his arms fall to his side. He grabbed the grapple hanging from his belt, raising it one-armed and firing it.

It sailed in a frankly geometric arc before snagging against an outstretched rooftop. Man, sometimes Jason swore that Gotham's architecture had been designed with the full intention of one day serving a platoon of emotionally compromised, violently oriented vigilantes. Central City could never.

Dick's arms seemed to have locked into place, looped around Jason's shoulders. Hooking one arm around Dick and holding as tight as he ever had, Jason took a breath. Fuck. This was a bad idea. One midair freak-out and they were both pancakes on the city sidewalk. He licked his lips. "Dick? We're about to fly, okay? Your favorite thing, so you're not going to panic. We're gonna have ourselves a nice, jolly old time. Good? Great."

Jason bit down on his lip, hard. Dick didn't twice. Then together, they were off.

Swinging through the Gotham skyline actually went pretty well. Dick's hold on him was borderline convenient, and the fact that all on-duty Bats and Birds were doing clean up at Sionis's meant that they didn't run into any prying eyes. The few glances Jason risked taking at Dick, the man had his eyes squeezed shut, so — uh. That was an update, at least.

What was considerably more difficult, however, was their landing. Jason wasn't stupid enough to finish their flight atop the building they'd be crashing in tonight, which meant that he had to pull the breaks a few complexes over, and essentially carry Dick down the steps, across the street, and into the elevator of his own apartment. Through the ridiculous process, Dick never so much as gave a peep, which quickly became eerie.

The apartment unit Jason had picked wasn't exactly a safehouse, but closer to one of Jason's actual places of residence. It was the one he stayed in when his safety wasn't a question, and as such, it was the one that Dick and the others knew about. Jason wasn't stupid enough to leave anything incriminating where nosy ass Tim could pickpocket whenever he fancied, but he did give into the urge to spruce the place up a bit. Hung some artwork up, got a pull-out couch that matched the paint on the walls, bought an air fryer. That sort of thing.

Dick still clinging onto him like ivy, Jason glanced at the wall. It was late out. His plan had been to stay out for maybe another half hour before turning in for the night. Dick's cramped position under the desk probably hadn't given him very good sleep. It'd likely be for the best if they went to bed sooner rather than later, which was easier said than done.

He eyed the sweatpants Dick was still wearing. They didn't look like his, which made sense, given the fact that he'd been wearing his mask. Ugh, which meant that they were probably Sionis's. Nasty. Trying to work Dick's pants off of him while he was in this state was a bad call, even Jason could tell. He'd have to settle for trading the uncomfortable leather jacket for a softer hoodie, and hope that the transition didn't freak Dick out. Maybe he'd be alert enough tomorrow for a proper change of clothes.

"Alright, here's what I'm thinking. You give me two minutes to change and get you something cleaner to wear, and then we'll reassess. I can cook something up if you're hungry, we can see if you're up for a shower, or maybe we'll call it a night. Thoughts?"

Dick, ear to Jason's sternum, just kept staring on ahead.

"Right on. Thanks for the input." Jason bit his tongue. Damnit. Why did he always said the shittiest thing he could? "Now, you're gonna sit right here," he pushed on, settling them both down on the end of the smaller couch, "while I change. Two minutes, okay? I'll be in the bathroom. The door is unlocked. You need anything, you holler. I'll be right back."

Truth be told, extricating himself from Dick's octopus hold might have been about the most difficult part about the night. Dick's arms were locked in place so strictly, he might as well have been a statue. Jason could've been imaging it, but he swore that Dick pulled him, just a bit, as Jason backed away. It hurt his heart a bit, because fuck knew what was going on in Dick's brain right now. But staying in his Kevlar uniform just wasn't an option, so Jason bit the bullet. Story of his fucking life.

"Two minutes," Jason repeated, again, and awkwardly stuffed a pillow into Dick's lap. Then he conducted the world's fasted quick-change. Like, faster than that one on the Broadway version of Frozen, during the annoying song that all Targets in corporate Americas played on loop. Faster than Wonder Women, even, which was not a comparison Jason made lightly.

Clad in the Lightning McQueen crocs he'd plundered from Tim, Blüdhaven U branded sweatpants, and a Phoebe Bridgers sweatshirt rescued from a Goodwill, Jason stepped out of the bathroom.

Only to find the living room empty of any Dick-shaped dickheads, fuck, shit, what the actual fuck, Richard.

"Dick?" he called out. Jason rushed so quickly to the windows that he nearly tripped out of his crocs. He overcompensated when trying to balance himself and stubbed his toe against the coffee table, and was promptly doubled over by enough pain to give the Lazarus Pit a run for its proverbial money. "Fucking shitballs," he whisper-screamed into the abyss, because if he woke up his next door neighbors at this hour, they'd actually lace his AC with powdered weedkiller. Again.

Jason dragged a palm over his face. With his free hand, he grabbed a throw pillow and screeched into the cotton. Then he tossed it back onto the armchair and sucked it up. The windows were still locked, and the front door's lock chain was hooked, neither of which Dick would've been able to do from the outside. He was still inside the apartment, which wasn't nothing.

The kitchen was checked first, because the thought of Dick, confused and alone with a plethora of knives, genuinely made Jason think he was breaking out in hives. Jason couldn't find him anywhere in there, even the cupboards, which would've been foolish to look in if this was anyone but Dick fucking Grayson.

The apartment really wasn't all that big. Beside the living room, which was already snug against the kitchen, there was the just one bathroom Jason had been in when Dick disappeared. That left Jason's bedroom, which housed its own mini-armory capable of giving Jason a heart attack. He crept inside slowly, eyes peeled, but quickly realized that his scrutiny wasn't necessary.

Dick was hunched underneath his desk, and that just made Jason's heart hurt.

He found his hand grasping the doorframe as his knees knocked together. He pressed his lips together and sighed, tired beyond words. Fuck. Okay. Alright. Jason could bounce back from this. He'd pulled Dick out from underneath one desk not too long ago. He could do it again, no problem.

Except Dick was in that exact same position, on all fours, as if he was still cuffed, and Jason didn't know how to deal with that. Any clarity that might — keyword, might — have sparked in his eyes had vanished. There was a miserable, troubled expression on his face that looked like he was about to vomit.

Jason took his phone out of his pocket, flipping it open and pulling up a familiar number. Be at Redwood at noon, he typed, not tearing his eyes away from Dick. Part of him was worried his brother would vanish again, maybe, which was just plain stupid. I can't handle this on my own. Then he slipped his phone away and came to a kneel in front of the desk.

"Hey there, Dick," he murmured, and sat criss-cross applesauce on the floor. "Wow," he gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "You're all kinds of fucked up, aren't you?" Jason startled when Dick immediately crawled out from the desk, clambering into Jason's arms again. The final word hadn't even been out of his throat when Dick started moving. "Oh, shit. You are listening, aren't you?"

Dick didn't give any indication that this was the truth. He just looped his arms around Jason's shoulders again and pressed his ear to Jason's chest, close enough that Jason could feel him alongside his heartbeat. They both were at an impossibly awkward position, but Dick didn't adjust himself in any way, so neither did Jason.

"That's okay. You don't have to respond. Not yet, at least." Jason sighed. "Can't promise the others will be as understanding, but what can you do? Not like they have my sparkling personality." At a frankly gradual pace, he rested his arms on Dick's shoulders. When that didn't prompt an adverse reaction, he risked softly rubbing Dick's back the way his mom used to do for him when he stayed home sick from school.

She used to have a system. Featherlight brushes when he was trying to fall asleep. Solid, weighty pats if he was feeling clingy and needy. If he felt like he was going to throw up, she'd run long, slow strokes down his spine. Jason did his best not to think about it too much and made a scritching motion with his nails as he passed his hand up and down Dick's back.

Jason spent enough time on the floor, Dick holding onto him like a life preserver, that his ass went numb. The urge to push through this moment rose within him a few times, but all it took was remembering Dick's utterly wrecked expression to keep him parked right where he was. After long enough, though, staying where they were was more harmful than it was helpful. Dick really needed to get some sleep of actual quality.

So Jason stilled his hand and whispered, "Hey, Dick. So, I'm thinking that we should both get some rest. That'll make us think much clearer in the morning." He tapped his thumb on the base of Dick's neck. Man, he really hoped Big Bird was aware enough to hear him right now. "Let me know if you're not down with that, okay?"

He gave Dick a beat to respond. There was nothing, though, so Jason had to assume that this was — well, fine enough, he supposed. The same way he'd gotten them both standing in Sionis's, Jason slowly got to his feet, Dick a step behind them. Once they were both vertical, he began to lead Dick toward the king sized bed parked on the far wall of Jason's room.

He kept up a rambling narration of everything they were doing. Killing the silence was a must, and for all he knew, it was helping Dick keep track of the conversation. He got Dick to release him, though his brother kept an ironclad grip on at least one of Jason's wrists at all time. It made things a bit complicated, but ultimately doable, as Jason peeled the leather jacket off of Dick and wrestled him into a hoodie. With that done, Jason moved to sit Dick on the edge of the bed, only to meet a sudden resistance he hadn't expected.

"The fuck?" Jason murmured, brow furrowing as Dick dug his heels into the rug. His brother's grip on him only tightened as a low, panicked hum filled the air. Jason could only watch as Dick's eyes squeezed shut, his lips pressed together like he was keeping his mouth closed at all costs. "Dick, you good?"

Dick started sinking to his feet, one hand squeezing Jason's wrist while the other buried itself in his hair. His shoulders hiked up to his ears. Jason stared at his brother and the floor and the bed he'd tried to put him on, and his stomach twisted in all sorts of uncomfortable ways. As green crept into the fuzzy edges of his vision, it took everything within him to stay present, instead of sprinting back into downtown and cleaving Sionis's sorry skull from his sorrier spine.

"Shit. It's okay, Dick. We don't — have to use the bed. Come on, the couch'll work just fine. Just — up we go, exactly. Great job, Big Bird. One foot after the other, just like that."

The pull-out sofa was safe, thankfully. Jason wasn't totally sure what their next option was if that got ruled out too. He shook out a massive quilt that one of his farmers market friends had given to him a while back, and covered the lumpy surface with every spare pillow he could find. Maybe that was why Dick didn't have a negative association with this. There was no way in hell a set up like this could be found in Sionis's.

Cards on the table, Jason checked for bugs three times before crawling into bed, Dick still clinging onto his wrist, now with two of his own hands. If one of the brats got their hands on this sight, he was nuking the Manor, regardless of whatever damage it'd do to Alfred's roses. Dick better not blab when he was better, either. This was a secret they were both taking to their graves.

Because Dick would get better. He had to. Besides, he'd responded to external stimuli for the first time, even if it wasn't a great reaction. That was proof that Jason just needed to wait for his big brother to realize it was safe enough to come out. Until then, he'd share a bed like he was little again and conserving heat when the power went out.

"Alright, get hyped, 'cause we're gonna get you all the fixings. You ever tried a kitchen sink breakfast?" Jason popped open the fridge and studied the contents. Fingers intertwined in his, Dick shivered at the sudden chill, which Jason counted as a win. Not long now and he'd be getting soliloquies, just you wait.

"It's when you've got a whole lotta nothin'. I usually do my grocery shopping every other Sunday, which means everything's either eaten, rotten, or just about there. So we're gonna use what we got and avoid being wasteful, because we're respectable Gothamites, aren't we?" With careful, frankly impressive balance, Jason pulled out a plastic container of green grapes, two packs of yogurt, and the last bit of orange juice he had to his name.

His pantry housed only one measly bagel, which he checked for mold before finding it clean. That got cut in half and popped into the toaster. Then Jason took the three bananas that still seemed to walk the fine line between tolerably mushy and overripe, and cut them up on a plastic plate. When that was done, he brought the rest of the odds and ends he'd found and set them out on the counter.

"Bon Appétit," he said, and popped a grape into his mouth. It squelched obnoxiously, sour on the way down, and he pulled a face. Damnit. With a long-suffering sigh, he tossed the rest of them away. When Dick didn't react to the food, he frowned. "Come on, Dick. You didn't eat a thing last night. I know you're hungry."

A beat. Jason moved to cross his arms, only to still when he realized Dick's clasped hand wouldn't let him do that. Ugh. Annoying, annoying, everyone in the world besides him was so unbelievably annoying. "I'm fucking sorry I don't have cereal!" he snapped. "You don't gotta go on hunger strike just 'cause I'm out of Lucky Charms."

Dick stared morosely at the food on the counter. The dark green flannel Jason had very carefully buttoned onto him an hour earlier hung off of him, oversized. He was practically swimming in it, and Jason hated it, because it made his big brother look so fucking tiny.

Once, and only once, Jason had tried getting up during the night. He'd slipped out from the blankets and into the bathroom, back in a heartbeat, only to find the pull-out couch empty. Already knowing the answer to his question, he'd checked his bedroom and found Dick there, huddled underneath the desk again. Getting him back into the living room took time he didn't want to spend, leading them to starting their day late.

"I know you can hear me," he said, studying Dick's eyes even as the other man continued to look only at the countertop. "On some level, you know what I'm saying. You listened when I helped dress you this morning. You let go to switch hands. So listen when I tell you that it's safe now. You can come back, Nightwing. No one's gonna hurt you."

Dick didn't so much as twitch.

It was ironic. After all the times where Jason had barked at Dick to keep his goddamn mouth shut, he was finally doing what he was told. He'd learned to shut the fuck up, despite it all. But all Jason wanted now was to hear his brother's voice again, and he didn't have a clue what to do about it.

When Jason least expected it, this anxious, sticky feeling clogged up his chest, and it took everything within him not to react. He'd nearly left him. It'd only been on a whim that he'd decided to check out whatever Sionis was hiding. Just as easily as he'd found him, Jason could have chosen to grab that beer with Roy instead. One tiny, insignificant choice was all that'd saved his brother from being at the mercy of that psycho for another night.

There was a knock at the front door. Jason amended his previous statement. He didn't have a clue what to do about it alone. So he'd brought in some outside help.

"Well, Dick, guess we gotta go meet our adoring fans," he said, and took a bite of his half of the bagel. Then, a beat later, he watched as Dick slowly rose the other bagel half to his mouth and took a nearly identical bite. His gaze was still distant. "Huh," Jason mumbled to himself. "Would you look at that." The knocking grew more insistent, thundering far too loudly for the hour, and Jason turned over his shoulder to yell, "Hold your horses! I'll be there in a minute, goddamn!"

When Jason brought Dick over to the front door and undid the twenty fucking thousand locks he'd installed, he was met with Tim and Damian, both sporting dark enough eyebags to win them world records.

"I didn't say to bring the brat," he grumbled. There was no fucking way Dick would want Damian to see him like this.

Damian just sniffed, wrinkling his nose like just being in the vicinity of Jason's apartment had dirtied him. "If you think Timothy would be shortsighted enough to not bring me, then you're more stupid than even Brown, which is a feat in and of itself."

"He put a boot on my car," Tim said dryly.

Jason frowned. "Don't you have, like, twelve of those?"

"He put a boot on all of my cars," he amended, before narrowing his eyes. "And I don't have twelve. I'm not Oliver Queen."

"You can keep yapping, but all I'm hearing is rich people problems." Jason was about to grit out something ugly and mean, but there was a minuscule, barely perceptible pressure that squeezed on his wrist, and he bit his tongue. "Well? What are you waiting for? Either come inside or go away."

He decided to give breakfast another go, leaving the two chucklefucks to lurk in the hallway. If they were half as smart as they claimed to be, they could figure out how to close a door between the two of them. Sure enough, while Jason chowed down on the smorgasbord he'd assembled, Dick silently mirroring him, those two sniped at each other but ultimately joined them in the kitchen.

Without looking up from his food, Jason said, "Dick, you wanna say hi to Timmy and the demon?"

Dick wordlessly stepped closer to him, hiding behind Jason like a shy toddler.

"Dick says hi."

"He didn't say anything," Damian hissed, puffed up like a cat. A really fucking annoying cat.

Tim just furrowed his brow, studying Dick so intently that even Jason got the heebie jeebies. Great, he was getting all clinical and shit. "Has he been like this the whole time since you found him?"

He made a so-so motion with his free hand. "He's been a bit more present every now and then. Still hasn't spoken, though."

"Did you give him a med exam?"

Jason frowned. When had this become an interrogation? "No. Haven't really had the chance to." All he'd been holding Dick together with was Band-Aids and bubblegum. He hadn't been able to ask what the hell had happened to him, much less bust out the first-aid kit.

"He could have — " Tim started, before cutting himself off. His eyes flickered toward Dick, who was chewing slowly on a banana slice. Softly, through gritted teeth, Tim whispered, "There could be something seriously wrong with him. Like, medically. Neurologically. Have you contacted B?"

Like hell was he bringing Bruce into this. The old man would get controlling and unfeeling, like Tim but on steroids, and he'd ignore whatever boundaries Dick had set up, and all of a sudden, Jason would be the bad guy here. Nuh-uh. No way. Jason was only getting Bruce if Dick asked for him, and even then, he'd drag his feet all the way.

Instead of giving that shit an answer it didn't deserve, Jason turned to Dick. "Hey, Dick. Switch hands for me? I want to wash dishes."

"He can't — "

Damian went quiet when Dick silently dropped Jason's right hand and instantly grabbed his left.

"He can," Jason said, plain and simple. "I know that this isn't ideal, but you need to give him time. Be patient, that sort of shit. And don't call Daddy Bats, or else I'll give you to Sionis topped with a bow." Then he turned to the sink and turned on the hot water, 'cause the dishes really did need to be done, actually. It had to have been, what? Four days since Jason had last cleaned the kitchen? Enough time that a small tower had piled up, anyway.

Washing dishes one-handedly was actually sort of difficult, truth be told. He couldn't grip the plates well enough to use the sponge, and Dick certainly wasn't letting go for long enough to actually be useful. Unexpectedly, however, Tim stepped up with a clean towel and began to dry off the silverware Jason had started with. Which, like, Tim? Which nanny had taught him that trick? Jason sure as hell knew that it wasn't his parents.

After a minute, Damian slid up to Jason's other side, opposite to Dick. When Tim offered another dishtowel, he just shook his head, stubborn as ever. He didn't help with the dishes, but instead slowly, softly, began to fill the silence. The same way Jason had done actually, by rambling about useless shit.

"My article for the school paper was published," he started, very deliberately not making eye contact with anyone else in the room. "Second page, before the insipid sports section. Of course, the Knights losing another tournament to Metropolis certainly isn't front page news. But I digress. I wrote about the shelter on Wilmington, the one that's set to close." He crossed his arms, frowning. "I hadn't thought anyone would care enough to read it, but I suppose you tend to understand these things better than I, Richard. So thank you for pushing me, as you often do."

There was a pause. This was normally the point where Dick would grin and ruffle Damian's hair, even as the younger boy squawked in protest but didn't actually put up enough of a fight to make a difference. Jason remembered being in Damian's place and going through the exact same motions. Dick and his Robin. The patterns remained, whether it was Nightwing or Batman executing them.

Then, from Tim, not looking up from the mug he was drying, "Tell him about your art teacher."

Damian scowled. "That man is a fool. He doesn't understand anything beyond the basics."

Tim rolled his eyes. Turning to Dick, in a stage whisper, he hissed, "His teacher wants him to enter an art competition, but he's too chicken to commit."

"I am not!"

"Then how come Alfred found the application in the trash?"

"You're an idiot."

"Cluck-cluck-cluck!"

"Shut your mouth!"

"Bawk-bawk-bawk-bawk — Oh."

There was a silence. Tim cut himself off as Dick shifted his weight to lean his head against his shoulder. The iron grip on Jason's wrist didn't lessen the slightest, and Dick's expression didn't so much as flicker. Still on the other side of Jason, Damian bristled, spiky and bitter. He turned away, arms still compressed into something tight, and started to stomp away, but Jason grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him back.

"Release me! Clearly I am unwanted here, so I'll do as Richard so obvious desires and vacate the premises — "

"Hug your brother, you brat," Jason huffed, and shoved him into Dick's chest.

Which, like. Probably a bad call, Jason would be the first to admit. Forcing the most violent Robin to date into physical contact with Mr. Lights-On-Nobody-Home. Not an equation Jason needed to graduate high school in order to solve. But then again, there was something about Dick Grayson that just made things different, and Jason knew that, come hell or high water, he'd never turn down the opportunity to cuddle with his little brother.

And that was just what he did. In a weird, stilted way, though. Jason watched as Dick, without letting go of his wrist, used his free hand to hook his arm around Damian and gently bring him close. If Jason squinted, he could pretend that Dick was scrambling to octopus-hug Damian for the billionth time, all while the young boy protested but didn't truly try to get out of his grip.

"Oh," Damian said softly. "Hello, Richard. It's nice to have you back."

Then, even softer, in a raspy, not-quite there voice, Dick murmured back, "Hi, Dami."

It was difficult to focus his gaze on any one thing. It seemed to slip and slide without reason, and whenever he let his vision idle, he came to staring at some meaningless point on the wall. Every so often, sensation would spark in one of his fingers, or maybe a tingly spot on his skin, and every thought would come to a grinding halt while all his processing power went to figuring out what the hell was happening.

The last time Dick had dissociated this bad was — Blockbuster, maybe? No, actually, that one was so much worse. Catastrophically, incomparably worse. This was probably on par with the episodes he used to get on the anniversary of his parents' death. When he was really little, he had faint memories of crawling into Bruce's bed and refusing to come out for anything, regardless of if the other man was even there.

It'd already been a shitty day when Sionis got him. He'd had to speak with his manager about the mother of one of his students, which he always hated doing, but slipping into panic attacks whenever Ms. Eisenburg came to pick up Maddie wasn't much better. The plan had been to come home and center himself with the grounding exercises Babs insisted he practice, except Amy had called for help with a drug bust, and that had lead to him following a series of vans back to Gotham, and by the time he realized how big the operation was, it was too late.

It was rookie shit, what else could he say? Someone with his experience should've called the operation in as soon as it crossed city lines, but Dick's brain had been foggy, probably to the point that he shouldn't have gone out, and he'd fucked up. Story of his life, or whatever. Anyway, he wasn't sure if his off-kilter status had triggered the weird treatment, or if Sionis had just been in a particularly fucked up mood, because what followed had been anything but routine.

Handcuffs attached to the legs of a desk. A gag. Itchy cloth looped around as a blindfold. Whispered threats of all that could be done to him. Ghosted touches he flinched against. Tremors in his gut. The shuddered sounds of too many people for a bedroom that small. Water he couldn't be sure was safe.

Then gloved hands undoing it all. A helmet he couldn't remember ever becoming something safe. His little brother's hesitant voice, promising that it'd all be okay. Good pressure where there hadn't been before. Noise rattling at the edge of his skull that he could maybe, sort of parse through if he tried really hard.

It had been four days. Dick spotted a calendar in Jason's apartment, when his eyesight was a bit better than it was worse. He double checked this with Tim's phone, which had been left face-up on the counter. It really wasn't that bad. Dick had been in worse places for longer. He hadn't even been gone long enough for his dead man's distress signal to go out.

Really, Dick should be back in the Haven, dialing up Wally for one of their twice-weekly calls, stretching on his carpeted floor while the new-ish Sabrina album played in the background. The same thing he did after every bad mission, give or take some of the smaller details. He shouldn't need to keep a death grip on his little brother, especially not one that turned into two and then three equally anxious clutches.

Except the thought of leaving Jason's apartment to find his bike and ride it back home genuinely made Dick pull Damian even closer to his chest, so, you know. Not something that was happening any time soon, it seemed.

"Dick?"

He looked down to see Tim, leaning against his left shoulder with a quilt tangled around his legs, which was weird, because Dick could've sworn that things were actually the other way around. The more he blinked, the less hazy his vision got, and Dick realized that Jason was on his other side, Damian in his lap, as four vigilantes huddled together in a pull-out couch they absolutely were too big for.

"Do you want me to grab some tissues?" Tim whispered, and oh, Dick was crying.

"I'm good," Dick said back, and buried his face into Damian's hair, who squawked and protested the treatment. Then he played it serious and dragged his sweatered arm down his face. "Um, what were you saying?"

"Jason was just asking — "

"I was asking — " Jason said at the exact same time, before cutting himself off and glaring at Tim, who rolled his eyes. "Anyway. If you need to, like, talk, I guess? We're here, or whatever."

Part of Dick was amused by the awkward way Jason clearly forced that out. The rest of him found the idea of confessing to his baby brothers all the shit Sionis had threatened him with over the past few days to actually be rancid, thank you very much, and it took everything within him to not vomit at the mere suggestion. Instead, carefully and controlled, he pushed out, "Thanks, Little Wing, but I think that's a convo between me and Dinah."

"Ugh. Lance is a hack," Damian sniffed.

Tim scowled. "And how many degrees do you have again?"

"One for each living parent you retain, Drake."

"Okay," Dick cut in, and shoved Tim off of Damian with his leg, "that's enough out of both of you, jeez! I leave for two seconds and this is what I get?"

Damian wrinkled his nose, burrowing further into the blankets and away from Tim."He started it," he pouted.

"You literally start it!"

"And I'm ending it, and now it's over," Jason growled, and leaned over to whack both of them in the head with a throw pillow, hard enough for them to yelp. It was a struggle for Dick to bite down his smirk at their reaction. Sure, wrangling the three of them was a clusterfuck sometimes, but having backup during times like these sure did help. "Funny how that works."

"Things were so much better when you were a corpse."

"Genuinely kill yourself."

Dick beamed up at Jason, who had one hand balled up into a fist that was mere inches from nailing one of the two pests that'd made themselves targets. "Aw, thank you, Little Wing," he practically sang, which did the trick. Damian and Tim both deflated, pouting to themselves, while Jason's face heated up. He crossed his arms and looked away.

"Whatever," he mumbled.

And with the attention on him, Dick cleared his throat and got down to business. He couldn't leave these things up in the air. "Okay, cards on the table, I'm — not doing great. Black Mask kind of shook me up." His brothers bristled, each in that special, specific way of theirs that Dick appreciated, really, but also loathed, because it often lead to a mess he had to clean up. "But I really appreciate you all being here for me, and I will get better than I am now."

Just admitting the truth made him feel that much fuzzier. He could feel the apathy threaten to drape itself over him like a warm blanket. It would be so temptingly easy to sink into that gray nothingness and let the rest of the world pass over him. Like those nights when he was little and tucked into the folds of Bruce's cape.

But all it took was one glance at his brothers, and Dick knew that he had to pull himself out of that abyss, bloody knuckles and all.

Damian was looking up at him through the fringe of his bangs, wide-eyed and young in that way that he rarely was. It made Dick feel guilty, in a weird way. The kid had been through so much bullshit that no one his age should have to experience. Dick had always made it a priority to be one of the only stable, responsible figures in his life. Acting at less than a hundred percent with him was never his first choice.

By comparison, though, Tim was staring down at his palms in rapt fascination. He picked at a stitch in the blanket with his fingernail, no doubt compiling some sort of plan to 'fix' Dick's mental health, or something along those lines. As much as Tim was a straight up genius at most things, he was also terribly predictable, and Dick knew exactly where this was going. It was sweet, in its own way.

And then there was Jason. Jason, with one leg hanging off the mattress. Jason, who had held his hand all night, even when Dick felt like he was floating away. Who had found him when no one else even knew to look. Who somehow, despite never being present when Dick phased out of reality, had known just what to do to keep him tethered until he felt safe enough to come back.

"You should stay here," Jason, who was a really great brother, muttered. "For a while, at least. Until you feel steady enough to go back to Blüdhaven, which you're, like, weirdly committed to, for some reason."

"Yeah," Tim piped up, "I gotta agree. At least Gotham's got sentimental value, like a bratty alley cat, but Blüdhaven's seriously the worst. Major dumpster fire energy."

Dick leaned his head back against the couch cushion, taking in the moment. Blüd could take care of itself for a few days, at least until he was confident that he could make the trip without forgetting he existed and crashing his bike on the freeway. Besides, his boss was always bugging him to use those vacation days he'd saved up.

"Okay," he said. "That sounds nice. But for the record, Blüdhaven is wonderful."

Damian pressed the back of his teeny-tiny, borderline baby hand, to Dick's forehead, and he had to bite back the cuteness aggression that always hit with his smallest brother. "You truly are lacking a sound mind," he said with grave severity, and Dick gave into the urge to smush his cheeks together. "Ugh, unhand me!"

And Dick just laughed.