Chapter Text
Was that a fucking bear?
Jason couldn't trust, or believe, his eyes—his head had been banged against the concrete floor hard enough that stars burst behind his vision, blood flecking everything at the edges.
This op couldn't have gone more sideways, in Jason's humble opinion. His head pounded—wrong intel, interference, weird gut feelings, all the way down to plain bad luck.
The warehouse smelled like rust and ozone, iron and machine oil. Gunpowder still hung sharp in the air, mixing with blood—his? Someone else's? Hard to tell.
The bear was a bit surprising—he wouldn't lie.
And where was Roy? Where was anyone?
"Shit!"
The goon with his boot planted on Jason's chest tried to turn, gun coming up— but the bear rushed him, swiping him clean off his feet. The armed thug hit the concrete with a satisfying thunk of body armor and bone.
"Fucking kill it!"
The bear reared back onto its hind legs—towering—and roared, the sound rattling around the metal ribs of the warehouse and straight through Jason's skull.
If he wasn't surely concussed, he might've even dared to say the bear had put itself between him and the others. Guarding him.
But that made no sense.
So why did it feel like that?
Jason's brain snapped back to reality, training kicking in—stay conscious, don't give in to the black creeping at the edges of his vision.
"Arse… Arsenal? Do you copy?" Jason slurred, tasting copper on his teeth.
"I'm in trouble—"
The black tide surged higher, pulling at him.
"…Do you— you—"
Jason's head snapped toward the bear as it slammed another man into a steel support beam, the echoing clang followed by a wet groan.
Yeah. Body armor could only do so much.
And it definitely wasn't bear-proof.
"Arsenal?" he tried again.
He didn't know why—lying there, head swimming, the fight muffled and distant—but his chest burned and his eyes stung, sudden and sharp.
Where was Roy?
Why had he left him?
Jason weakly rolled onto his side, movement sluggish, like he was underwater.
If he seized from the head hit, at least this way he wouldn't choke on his own vomit. That'd be the ultimate kick in the teeth—defy death once just to die stupidly.
He huffed out something like a laugh. Figures.
Jason closed his eyes, breathing through it. He was fine. He was—
"Roy, please—" he whispered into his comm, voice barely there.
"Got… my head. Fuzzy."
Somewhere beyond his narrowing field of vision, the bear finished the job.
Silence followed—heavy, ringing, broken only by distant water slapping against the old dock outside.
That was good.
Then the bear turned toward him.
Heavy paws thudded closer, claws scraping concrete.
That was bad.
"H—"
Jason couldn't do much else but hope Roy could hear him.
Being mauled to death by a bear was cooler than asphyxiation, sure—but it was still pretty fucking weird. Even by Gotham standards.
"Help—" he murmured, voice weak.
The bear stopped in front of him, staring.
Like it knew him.
Jason chalked it up to head trauma.
The bear leaned down, sniffing at his hair—the cold press of its nose snapped him more awake, just for a moment.
Was that Roy's cologne?—why he could smell it now?
Roy would never believe this.
But he could swear—
He could swear those eyes looked human.
All he could think of were Roy's beautiful green-hazel eyes—flecks of gold catching the light, warm like honey.
All Jason could think of with tears rolling down his cheeks was how much of a coward he was.
Roy—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
"—and you're lucky you were able to keep control, Roy," sounded like Dick.
"Oh, yes, I'd lose control over myself—get real, Grayson."
Weakly, Jason cracked open his eyes. Safehouse. One of his near the docks—smaller, yes, but it had a fantastic view of the waterfront when the sunlight sparkled along the surface of the bay in the morning.
"I'm saying it because you were compromised. Not him."
Compromised? Who'd been compromised?
If Sounded-Like-Dick was implying Roy—of all people—was compromised, Jason was going to have to set him straight. (In fact, it'd be his pleasure to rock Dick's world—)
"Hey—" Jason grunted.
"Shut up," he added, talking loudly into the air.
His voice came out rough, weak, but still sharp enough to make a point.
Don't make me get up. I'll clock you—concussion or not.
Roy suddenly stuck his head into the bedroom, eyes wide, relief breaking across his handsome face.
"Jaybird—"
He walked in fully now, shirtless, pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Nice.
Jason frowned at the bullet scars Roy had he'd never noticed before.
Sounded-Like-Dick was, in fact, the Boy Wonder. He peeked in from behind Roy, expression carefully neutral.
"Little Wing—"
"God, shut up," Jason muttered. "Who's compromised?"
He was feeling better. Not good, but better—his strength creeping back in bit by bit, the fog thinning.
Roy shook his head. "No one."
Dick opened his mouth to interject—but Roy turned on him.
Jason couldn't see Roy's face from the bed, but whatever expression he was wearing was sharp enough to make Dick stop.
"It's fine, Dick. I've got it handled."
"You get more territorial, I know, I'm just trying to help." Dick was in the room now, arms crossed over his chest.
"I'm in control, Dick. I've got it handled." Roy's tone held no room for argument, though Jason was sure Dick wanted to keep going. Jason rolled his eyes.
"But you—"
"It wasn't..." Roy sighed, throwing his hands up, turning away from Dick and walked to his bedside. "You okay, Jay?" the redhead smiled softly.
He looked exhausted. How long has Jason been out? Not too long, right?
"My head feels better. How long was I…"
"That's good. We were worried it was bad. And you've been out for, what, an hour?" Roy asked over his shoulder to Dick.
"Yeah," he confirmed, stepping into the room now. "Thereabouts."
"What happened? —there was a bear." Jason lifted his hand to his temple, wincing at the dull ache behind his eyeballs.
"There was?" Dick's eyes bore a hole into Roy's back. "What'd it look like?" he asked, his voice oddly clipped.
Jason was absolutely dumbfounded. Who asks a question like— "A bear, Richard. It looked like a bear."
It wasn't exactly like they were both at a gay club! Get real, Grayson.
"Yeah, but what color—" Dick continued, unfazed, stepping forward. Roy turned in an instant, shooting Dick another killing blow of a look, making Dick's usual annoying and unflappable nonchalance halt, eyes widening. Like he was… scared.
Something big about that bear—aside from being a bear, he supposed.
"Did it escape the zoo or something?" Jason asked, wincing at another throb of pain.
"No, it was R—"
"Dick!" Roy crossed the way between them, suddenly crowding Dick, corraling him toward the far wall now. "Shut. Up."
He'd never heard Roy's voice carry that dangerous edge before—that was sexy.
As he tried to sit up, Roy and Dick were now sharing a whispered conversation, Roy fisting a hand into his hair, giving it a tug. Dick's eyes kept flicking toward Jason, cycling between anger, annoyance, and fear. Jason raised a brow at them both, confused.
"Little Wing, you need to rest. That blow was still pretty bad."
"I know it was," Jason said simply. "Nothin' I can't take. Don't worry." He waved them off, sliding his fawn-like legs onto the floor. Jason took a moment to reoreint himself before standing up—a wave of nausea made saliva pool in his mouth, and he drank it back with a grimace.
"Did you guys tranq the bear? What about the warehouse?" He shuffled toward them, wishing he had a pair of sunglasses to cut the bright lights around him.
"I took care of it." Roy looked to Dick, then back to him, his face screwed up in happiness and concern. Jason reached up and put a hand on the archer's shoulder—Roy flinched—"Sorry," he sighed. "Don't worry about… all that." His eyes dipped down, like he was hiding something, lying, couldn't look him in the eye.
What the hell was going on?
He knew he had some head trauma going on right now, but both Dick and Roy were acting… weird.
Roy sighed heavily. "Can I get you some… some tea? Food? —I'm starving." His shoulders slumped, carrying something too heavy for him to say right now.
"I am thirsty." Jason nodded. "Can I get some shades too? —my eyeballs are throbbing."
"Yeah," Dick hurried out of the room, making to shut the door but stopping to shoot Roy a sharp glare, jaw tight, mouth a thin line.
"What the hell is going on? You're both acting weird." Jason covered his eyes with his hand to stop the sparkles in his vision from blinding him in their empty patches. He opened his fingers to watch Roy—the redhead looked…
Roy's eyes were filled with an absolute terror that made Jason pause.
"Roy?" he asked, voice softer now. "Roy—"
"N-Not now. Okay?" He looked away, worrying his bottom lip. "It's… too much right now," he whispered, adding: "For me." Overwhelmed.
Jason wondered how Roy had handled a bear and the remaining thugs in the warehouse—had he called Dick for backup? How had he got here anyway?
He knew Roy would tell him, but right now he looked far too raw. Like an exposed nerve.
"Okay," Jason said simply with a nod.
Roy looked back up at him with a tired and grateful smile, his eyes wet at the corners. Jason leaned in and wiped them away. Roy's skin was so hot to the touch.
Sitting at the cramped little kitchen table with sunglasses on his head and tea mug in his hands made Jason feel human again (at least). Dick was sitting pushed off from them in his own chair, arms and legs crossed like an angry mom glaring twin holes into Roy's profile.
"You can head out," Jason offered, wanting to defuse this stifling truce between the both of them. He was fine. He was just tired. Exhausted in all ways a blow to the head could make you.
Even the horror-soaked memory, dream, of that old familiar ache in his left temple, feeling metal crushing him inward mercilessly, feeling those sharp nail-rake pricks of tiny sharp broken mismatched bone fragments move in the slurry of his blood, meat, brains—
Jason shook his head, taking a gulp of tea.
Perfect. Just how he liked it.
He glanced at Roy, who motioned toward Dick.
"Thanks," he sighed.
"No problem, Little Wing." Dick kept his eyes trained on Roy. Had he blinked yet?
Roy's eyes were pinned to the tabletop, counting all the crumbs fallen from his measly sandwich (hey, he'd forgotten to re-up his outlying safe-houses lately, so sue him).
Time drew on, a held breath between the three of them, lulled by the ever-present electric static in the air from the power lines outside—the lapping of bay water on the rocky coastlines and rusted dockyards below.
Jason took another gulp of tea before taking a bite of Roy's sandwich.
Roy covered his mouth with his hand, moving to cover his entire face now, hiding himself away. Like he was ashamed, scared.
Why?
Jason looked to Dick, then to Roy, his confusion leading the way into his anger:
"What the fuck is happening?" He banged his fist against the table. Roy jerked, eyes peering out from his fingers.
"What? Why won't you tell me? What's going on?" Jason asked his questions rapid-fire, done with these secrets and games.
"Roy?" Dick prompted, frowning at the archer now.
"Dick—" Roy's voice was thick now, holding a tide of emotions back, locked up in his throat.
"Roy," Jason echoed, softening his voice. He reached out, hesitant, wondering if it was okay way too late before his hand covered Roy's on the table.
New scars on his knuckles, his palms—his nails ragged.
"What happened?" he asked.
Roy slowly lowered his hand, face red, eyes filled with tears, some rolling down his cheeks now in full force. He couldn't hold this back anymore:
"It was me," he shuddered, voice hitching.
"What was?" Jason leaned in.
Roy looked him in the eyes now, those same verdant-gold eyes of the bear staring back at him.
"The bear," Roy breathed out. Trembling.
"I… I was the bear."
What.