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Dick woke up sweaty and panting. It was the new nightmare, a remix of an old nightmare. This time, instead of running to save Jason just to watch a warehouse blow up, he stood next to fifteen-year-old Jason, tied up and bloody on a warehouse floor, and walked away while he screamed, the Joker’s laughter blending with the sounds of his brother getting assaulted—
He shook his head to clear it, checked the clock as he swung himself out of bed, and started his morning stretches. It was only eleven. Maybe he could squeeze in a nap later, though he had casework to do. He glanced in the mirror – there was some nasty bruising covering half his upper back, but it was slowly fading – slipped on a shirt and walked out to grab a bowl of cereal—
And found Tim on the floor hunched over Dick’s own laptop, in full uniform except the cowl. He didn’t even glance up from whatever he was reading. Dick grabbed the enormous energy drink Tim had next to him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, dumping the remainder in the sink.
“I think Gage is crooked,” Tim said, still not looking up.
Dick snorted. “You came all the way here to tell me a Bludhaven cop is crooked? Did you also want to check if the sun rose in the east?”
“For your case,” Tim said, turning the screen around so Dick could see Officer Gage’s bank statements. “See, regular payments.”
“His wife—”
Tim shook his head. “I don’t think she actually went back to work after having the twins. Childcare for two? The chance to save that money but keep the income stream—"
Dick took the laptop and replaced it with a bowl of cereal. “Eat first.”
Tim blinked and rubbed his eyes but accepted the spoon. Dick sat on the couch across the coffee table and ate quietly. Tim looked about the same as normal – like he’d had one too many all-nighters, maybe, but uninjured. But this wasn’t a social call, either. Those had never really started up again since Dick had moved back to Bludhaven. He needed to fix that – he needed to fix everything, somehow – but if he tried right now, while Tim was already on his guard, it would backfire. So he would wait.
Dick was on his third bowl by the time Tim finished his first. He put it on the coffee table and set his gaze on Dick. “Why does Jason have a comm?”
Several thoughts flew through Dick’s head – most importantly, how had Tim found out about that? – but he instinctively went for the most forthright answer. Tim didn’t appreciate overt emotional management. “Because I gave one to him.”
Tim’s face was expressionless. “Why?”
Again, there were several possible answers. Again, he picked the quickest summary. “So I can live with myself.”
“Okay,” Tim said, getting to his feet and grabbing his empty bowl. “I think Gage tampered with your witness, so he’s probably your best lead. I’m going to change before I leave, if you don’t mind.”
“Tim,” Dick said, catching his sleeve. “We’re not done here.”
Tim shrugged him off and put his bowl in the sink on the way to the bathroom. Dick pressed a palm to his forehead as he pulled out his phone. Like he didn’t have enough to worry about. Gotham and its vigilantes were an attention sink.
Barbara picked up on the first ring. “Yes?”
“What happened with Jason?” Dick asked, careful to keep any accusation out of his voice.
Barbara’s voice was equally guarded. “I asked him to say hi to Steph but didn’t give her adequate warning, so she called for help on the open line. I isolated her line and reassured everyone else, but Tim decided to verify on his own. He attacked Jason, who left immediately.”
So, it was a disaster. “Babs, why?”
She understood the context. “Because Steph needed closure, Dick, even more than you. She needed to see that he was okay.” Her voice softened. “I wouldn’t have considered asking, but he’s kept his comm on every night since he set them up. He didn’t have to do that.”
No, he didn’t. That was interesting.
He didn’t have time to ponder the implications. Tim came out of the bathroom in one of the spare sets of clothes he kept at Dick’s house, so Dick said goodbye and hung up the phone. “Come sit.”
Tim sat without speaking. He always had immaculate self-control, but with Dick it had been tempered with familiarity. With trust. Trust he no longer had for Dick, which was why his expression looked like he was analyzing some disturbing crime statistics.
“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the comm,” Dick said. “I didn’t intend to hurt you and I’m sorry I did.”
“Okay,” Tim said grimly. “Can I go now?”
“I want to make something clear first,” Dick said levelly. “I am not choosing Jason over you. I am not offering him my forgiveness. I am still furious with him for everything he has done. But that doesn’t mean I want him to die. I gave him a comm because he said no one would come after him, and – and if there is ever a chance that he finds himself in a bad place, and he can’t get out of it by himself, and he is willing to ask for my help, I want him to be able to reach me. I don’t want to leave him on his own. Okay?”
“Must be nice,” Tim said, “to have someone willing to be there for you.”
His words hurt. They were meant to hurt. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed it,” Dick said softly. “I’m sorry I left you on your own. I will say sorry as many times as you want me to. I left you alone and you had to do everything yourself and nothing I do will ever make up for it and I am so sorry.”
Tim’s face cracked, and he looked away. “Why did he do it?”
“He has no excuse—”
Tim shook his head. “No, not the Tower. During the kidnapping. Why did Jason do that?”
Dick exhaled loudly. “Do you really want to talk about it?”
“What do you - why else would I ask?”
He didn't want to talk about this with Tim. But Jason owed Tim at least as much as he owed anyone else. And maybe this would… do something. It probably couldn’t hurt their relationship, given what it was. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ll tell you what he told me. He said he did it because he was mad that they wanted to do that to Damian, and because I didn’t want to.”
“Of course you didn’t want to,” Tim said incredulously. “Since when has that mattered?”
Since when did it matter what any of them wanted was what he meant. But that wasn’t what Jason had said. It had bothered him that no one else had even offered. That everyone assumed Dick would take the brunt of the punishment.
Which was how it should be, of course. But it had bothered Jason. “That’s what he said,” Dick said lightly. “I talked to him for a while. He was mad you didn’t restrain him while he was paralyzed.”
“He couldn’t move,” Tim said. “I’m not him. I’m not going to torture someone just because I get the opportunity.”
“I think it was more that you were leaving yourself exposed,” Dick said. “He also said you’re a good Robin.”
Tim flinched. It was still a sore spot. Probably the only thing that would heal it was time. That’s what it had taken for Dick when Batman had given Robin to Jason, and Dick liked to think he was more patient and understanding than Bruce. “My point is that I think he’s got reasons for what he’s doing that are outside what we’ve thought of him for the last few years. So maybe give him a little benefit of the doubt.”
“Benefit of the—?” Tim gaped. “Has it occurred to you that he’s manipulating you? That he knows all of your buttons to push? He could be lying about everything! He might have been lying from the moment they pushed him into that room!”
“Well, then why do you think he did what he did?” Dick demanded. “What possible reason could he have had to let a bunch of men rape him for hours?”
“I don’t know what goes through his precious little head,” Tim snarled. “Why would I?”
“Because you’re a detective!” Dick shouted. “If you can’t figure it out it’s because you don’t want to!”
Tim stiffened in a way that meant he was shocked, and offended. But it was true. Dick took a deep breath. This conversation needed to be over five minutes ago. “You’re welcome to crash here, if you want.”
He needed it. He looked tired. But Tim shook his head, picking up the spare duffel bag that hid his uniform. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Okay. Thanks for your insight into my case.”
Tim’s mouth tightened into a grim smile. He left without saying goodbye.
Dick pressed his palms into his eyes and folded his torso flat against his legs. He wasn’t about to tell Tim how gratifying Jason’s concern for him had been. Like he’d been supporting a collapsing building for so long that when he’d felt the slightest bit of weight leave his back it had made him weak at the knees. Like he hadn’t even realized how exhausted he’d become. Hadn’t realized how little support had been offered before.
Jason had done so much so wrong that ever since his return it had been easy to think of him as an entirely different person. The height, the muscle, the guns, and especially the tendency to shoot at Dick on sight had made him into just another gang leader, if one who was unfortunately well-informed. But seeing his face had made Dick realize just how much he missed Jason, and how much he craved another chance to be the brother he had deserved.
It was a chance Dick still didn’t know if he’d ever get. But Jason had been keeping his comm on. Dick had given it to him so he could reach out for help as a last resort, and hadn’t even been positive he would use it for that. But, instead, he’d left himself available to Oracle, and Dick had no idea why.
But maybe it meant there was hope.
--
Red didn’t usually appreciate being wiry instead of bulky. It was hard to make up the difference when going up against a bigger opponent. But the only other person who could reliably fit through vents was Robin, and it was important to maintain a variety of abilities in their network.
He carefully crept behind shelving units until he could see the open portion of the basement where the meeting would take place. Four people were there, all wearing masks, and either there was some form of hierarchy-signalling going on or something a lot more hilarious, because three of them had flimsy plastic Greek-theatre style masks, and the fourth was wearing a latex Richard Nixon mask that covered his entire head. Red snickered to himself. Did Nixon not get the memo? Was it a prank on him? Had the instructions been ‘wear a mask’ and he was the only one who interpreted it weirdly?
At that moment, the Red Hood walked in. Red froze in a crouch behind the shelving, clocking the exits. Hood being here changed the calculus. Things could go south quickly. Sure enough, Hood scanned the room, and his helmet paused for a moment right where Red was hiding. What kind of tech was in his helmet? He could easily have night vision or thermal vision. Probably both. Either would be enough for Hood to announce they were being spied on. Red got ready to bolt.
But Hood said nothing, merely took a seat. What was he doing? He definitely knew Red was there. Dick’s voice in his head. You’re a detective. Figure it out. So Red settled down to observe. What would Hood do, knowing he was being surveilled?
Hood leaned back, posture relaxed bordering on bored, but he didn’t put his feet up on the table or lean his chair back on two legs. Not so committed to the bit that he’d sabotage his combat readiness. He hadn’t brought anyone with him, like a gang leader normally would. Was he signalling confidence on purpose, implicitly claiming he was too scary by himself to need backup?
Dick’s voice in his head. He said no one would come after him.
Red dismissed it. They knew from their surveillance that Hood had lieutenants. If he didn’t trust them enough to rescue him, he should be a more indispensable part of his own organization.
“We waiting on anyone else?” Hood asked.
“No,” Nixon said. So maybe he was in charge. “Surprised you agreed to leave your territory. Doesn’t Black Mask still have a bounty on your head?”
“Police have a warrant out for me, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of them, either,” Hood said. “People only pay that much for things they can’t do themselves. Which is the reason for our meeting. How many containers did you have?”
Nixon sat back, gesturing to one of the others. “Two,” the guy in the green coat said. “Scheduled for delivery on the ninth.”
“What dock are they coming in on? You need access to my customs agent?”
“We’ve got the logistics figured,” Green Coat said. “Don’t worry about it. We can get it to the Bowery just fine.”
Hood was looking at his fingers like he was inspecting his nails, except he was wearing red gauntlets, so it was entirely for effect. “Oh really? Maybe I want to know your guy’s name.”
“Not a chance,” Nixon said. Oh yeah, he was the real authority here. And as much as Red wanted to know their crooked customs official – and Hood’s – that wasn’t the information he needed.
“Be straight, Hood. What’s it going to cost us this time?” Green Coat asked.
“Maybe I’ll just say no.”
Nixon inclined his head. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t see why everyone feels the need to route all their activities through my territory,” Hood said. “There’s plenty more city. Maybe I think you should take your shit somewhere else this time.”
“You’re the only one who’s figured out how to keep the bats away,” Nixon mask snapped. “It’s the best place in the city to stash things. If you haven’t changed your stance on sharing with the class—”
“I don’t see why I’m the only one capable of shooting at them,” Hood said.
Red snorted in his head. That was a ridiculous deflection. Hood was the only criminal in the city who had both the training and the equipment he needed to be able to ward off Batman. Not to mention the emotional weight surrounding both Hood and Crime Alley. Compared to him, everyone else was using paintball guns.
“Then yes, we have to pay your exorbitant fees,” Nixon was saying. “So what’s it going to be?”
“I want more information first,” Hood said. “Are these drugs going to get out and give everyone in Crime Alley a bad time? I learned my lesson with Zod’s Special.”
Zod’s Special? That had been a novel drug Dick had dealt with during his time as Batman. It was an unholy mix of venom and fentanyl – the fentanyl was supposed to negate the side effects of venom, making it a perfectly safe temporary enhancement. In practice, it did the same thing every combination of uppers and downers always did. It had killed people.
Why was Hood bringing it up? This meeting wasn’t supposed to be about drugs. And that might matter, in a way that bothered him. “O,” Red whispered, “can you get me a line to Hood?”
“No,” Oracle said flatly.
She said no like she was mad at him, not like she was unable to do so. Red winced. Okay, maybe he deserved that. But never let it be said he couldn’t learn from his mistakes. He wouldn’t let his feelings cloud his operational judgment. “I’m watching him now, and he knows I’m here. He’s in a meeting with some other gangsters. I think I have information he needs.”
“Then tell me. I’ll pass it on.”
She didn’t trust him. He bit down on his anger. Fine. Once again he would be the only level-headed person working in Gotham. “Tell him Nixon isn’t smuggling drugs, he’s smuggling people,” Red said. “They’re refugees, but someone in Nixon’s organization paid to reroute them.”
Silence on the line. Nothing in Hood’s body language changed to indicate he’d gotten the message. But Oracle would at least have told him if Hood’s comm was off.
Green coat was saying something. “I don’t know what you think I should do!” Hood said.
Was that a message for Red? The rest of what he said was notably quieter. “O, tell Hood I think Nixon has the refugees separated from their kids,” he said. “I haven’t found the kids yet, and I don’t know how long I have to look.”
A pause at the table. “I might have space,” Hood said to Nixon. “But the price is going to depend on how long you need to store the goods. If you’re intending to open up a long-term supply depot—”
Nixon waved his hand. “No. A week at most. I’ll have space after that.”
A week. That didn’t give him much time. It would be a lot easier to reunite the refugees with their kids if he could do it while they were still in Gotham and not spread out all over the country. But at least he knew where they would be. Whether Hood would knowingly let him into his territory was a different matter.
“And I inspect at beginning and end,” Hood was saying.
“No,” Nixon said.
“Why? Afraid I won’t like what I’ll see?”
Hood’s tone was difficult to parse through the modulation. Was he joking or serious? Please, Hood, Red thought. Don’t antagonize the trafficker before we’ve found the victims. Hood waited for a deeply pregnant moment, then cocked his head. “It’ll cost more if you want me to waive inspection.”
Nixon growled, and the two of them started bickering over pricing. That was probably all the information he was going to get out of this meeting, so he made his way back to the vent he’d climbed out.
He was halfway through the route to the roof when he heard the low impact of distant gunfire. Had Hood lost his temper and shot the traffickers? Had he waited until Red was gone so he wouldn’t be able to interfere? Red cursed to himself and shimmied backward back down the vent.
It was quiet by the time he’d backed himself all the way into the basement so he didn’t bother shutting the vent cover softly. He braced himself for the four corpses of Nixon and his crew, but there were no bodies. No blood. No bullet holes in the walls or floor. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t happened here.
Red crept up the stairs, staff fully extended in one hand. He knew the building’s layout from the blueprints, but it was always different walking through it. Still nobody. Nobody was on the main floor, and though the doors were open, no one was outside. Here, however, there were signs of a fight. A couple dozen bullet casings were on the ground, and the cars on the street had bullet holes and burst tires, including one in a position that suggested it had been driving when it had been hit. But there weren’t any people. Behind Red, the brick façade of the building also had chips and holes. There had been a quick and intense gunfight here, and nobody was left to tell him the outcome.
Red cursed to himself. He needed to know what had happened to Nixon and his crew. He pulled out his grapple and pulled himself up to the roof, thinking of a polite way to get Oracle to ask Hood if he had murdered Red’s lead—
Hood was hunched on top of the roof. “Hood?” Red asked.
In a blink, Hood had a gun pointed at him. Red raised his hands placatingly. Now that Hood was more upright, Red could see a couple dark stains on his armor. Hood wasn’t even looking at him – he was smoothly taking things out of various pockets. It looked like medical equipment, but the gauze and bandages were black instead of white. They would be terrible for seeing the state of someone’s injuries at a glance, but Red could see the appeal when you didn’t want to advertise your injuries to every goon you passed.
With the gun still steadily aimed at Red, Hood opened a pack of gauze one-handed. “I’m a bit busy right now, so if you’re looking for your ass and need me to hand it to you, it’s coming by way of a bullet.”
Red didn’t move. “What happened?”
“Bunch of kids in morph suits ambushed us,” Hood said. “Don’t know who they’re working for. No fatalities.”
That was… surprisingly helpful. Pretty much all the information Tim could have hoped for. So it was time for him to go, since he really didn’t want to get shot.
It was time for him to go. But he was a detective, dammit, Dick, and needed his daily dose of prying. “You rent out Crime Alley for crime?”
“I have an expensive lifestyle,” Hood said, holding the black gauze to a bullet wound in his leg with the elbow of the arm holding the gun so he could wrap a bandage around it. His aim never wavered. “Escorts and ayahuasca add up.”
Red suppressed a snort at the thought of Hood at some douchebag hallucinogen wellness retreat. “I thought Talia bankrolled you.”
“What, forever?”
Actually, he hadn’t thought about it very much. Come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed anything about Hood in the League’s databases before he’d destroyed them, and he’d been thorough in his analysis. He hadn’t wanted to leave anywhere for Ra’s to hide. “Where are you letting Nixon keep the refugees?”
Hood shook his head. “Oh, no. They’re on my territory. Little birds stay out of Crime Alley.”
“Hood—”
“Can’t be letting people think I’ll turn a blind eye to trafficking. If these assholes tell everyone they got away with bribing the Red Hood I’ll have to spend weeks reminding everyone of the rules. Nah. I’m going to make an example of them.”
Red took a frustrated step toward him and suddenly Hood’s other hand was on the gun, cocking it, helmeted face looking straight at Red. He swallowed.
He was mad you left yourself exposed.
He said you were a good Robin.
Give him the benefit of the doubt.
Red could admit when something was missing, and Hood’s actions didn’t add up. He hadn’t exposed Red during his surveillance. His comm had been on. He’d been helpful. And yet, here he was, pointing a gun at Red, again.
He needed more information, so he was going to take a risk. Red took a step closer to the barrel of the gun. “Do you think Nightwing will still come for you if you shoot me?” he asked softly, wondering if Oracle was listening to him.
Maybe Hood was wondering the same thing. “Apparently all the other times haven’t bothered him,” he said. He still didn’t shoot.
Only long training kept Red from gaping. There was a weakness there. Hood was trying to disguise it, trying to upset him by implying Dick didn’t care if Hood shot him, but in doing so confirmed that he wanted the lifeline Dick had offered him.
But why did he want it? Dick thought his intentions were benign, but Red had his own suspicions. “B still hasn’t figured out how the kidnappers identified you,” Red said. “I think he’s afraid to look too closely. What do you think he’ll find? Think he’ll realize there was no way for them to identify you without insider knowledge?”
Hood had excellent body language discipline. He hadn’t moved a muscle. That combined with his helmet made it impossible to discern his reaction to Red’s theory. “Why would I arrange for my own kidnapping?”
“To throw suspicion off you,” Red said, shrugging. “Get us all in a room, make us see you as a person. Get sympathy. Access to B.”
Hood laughed, modulation menacing. “What makes you think I want to be in B’s good graces? Please, enlighten me, have I done something that makes you think I want anything to do with any of you? Last I checked, it was all of you who were coming to me.”
“You have an expensive lifestyle. Maybe you need the money. And you’re demonstrably less violent than you used to be.” Despite the gun still pointed at him.
“So, it isn’t just traffickers who are stupid enough to need reminders,” Hood said. He let the gauze he was holding drop to the ground, then holstered his gun. “You want a fight? Let’s fight.”
Red swung his staff as Hood launched himself toward him. He evaded the end of the staff, but the length of it still caught him against the chest. Hood’s hand closed around the Red Robin badge on his chest and he swung him around, transferring the momentum to Red so he stumbled back. But now Hood was out of close range, which made the staff more effective.
Hood deflected three strikes, but Red was faster than he had been last time they fought, more fluid, and he couldn’t block them all. Two landed in quick succession, right on lumps of black gauze. Any normal opponent would take a step back to regroup. Hood didn’t. He stepped in close again, throwing an elbow at Red’s head, and when he ducked, stuck a knee into Red’s stomach. It was armored, but so was Hood’s knee, and the blow took Red’s breath away. He needed a second to get it back, so he rammed the end of his staff into the last unbandaged bloodstain.
Hood didn’t grunt, but he did withdraw for a moment, which was enough for Red to start breathing again. He lunged and Hood dodged, Hood kicked and Red vaulted over him. Red grinned despite himself. It had been a while since a one-on-one fight had been a challenge, and this was only proving what Red already knew. He had gotten a lot better since the last time he had faced Hood.
The next kick landed, and his training took over, letting him roll back up to his feet. That was going to bruise. “I’ll make sure to let Nightwing know,” he spat. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Hood dodged the next few swings of Red’s staff. “You want to talk about Nightwing?” he asked. “You take him for granted.”
Red guffawed, genuinely shocked. “Nightwing stripped me of Robin and then abandoned me, Hood. I don’t take anything for granted anymore.”
“No?” Hood gave another mechanized laugh. “That explains why you were so ready to let him take a hit for you. Why all of you just assumed he would cheerfully offer himself up. I thought there would be at least a token resistance.”
The whole ‘decide which of you gets sacrificed’ doesn’t work when you’re dealing with the stupidest, most self-sacrificial family in the world. That was what Jason had said, back in that claustrophobic warehouse office. Tim hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Any argument, whether it was over who would volunteer or who the others would push out the door, would have satisfied the kidnappers, so his point hadn’t made any sense. And they hadn’t argued. There was no reason to do so, not when they all knew how it would end.
Dick’s voice. He said it was because I didn’t want to.
If nothing else, Hood knew how to stick to a story. “You may have forgotten, but we have protocols for that kind of thing,” Red said, swiping at Hood to keep him away. “Volunteering for torture goes in order of age unless prior injury requires adjustment.”
“Oh, the boy genius can quote bat-protocol,” Hood sneered. “Why am I not surprised?”
“It was under control,” Red said. “Your intervention was unnecessary.”
“Glad we established that,” Hood said, lunging inward to throw an elbow at Red’s face. “Glad you feel so secure in your actions. Glad you're so rational in your approach to crime. B must be so proud. He finally created the perfect soldier.”
Red jumped backwards as Hood tried to swipe his legs out from under him. He spun around, staff swinging, but before he made contact Hood kicked him in the chest and Red went flying – too far – over the edge of the roof. He dropped the staff and twisted, ready to catch himself—
And something snagged his cape. He hit the wall and dangled, ten feet off the ground. He didn’t move, still bracing himself for the fall, but nothing happened. He looked up. There was a grappling hook in his cape, holding him aloft. Carefully, he spun around, climbing up the brick until he could use the line to pull himself up, still ready for Hood to cut it at any time.
He didn’t. Red pulled himself onto the roof, ready to fight, but it was deserted, only a small pile of medical supplies and wrappers marking that Hood had ever been there. The grappling line was tied securely around a pipe sticking out of the roof. It was Batgirl’s grapple, purple and made for her hand. The one she’d given to Hood during the kidnapping so he could escape without being processed. Without… without being hospitalized.
Steph’s voice. He couldn’t even stand up. The kidnappers had hurt him. It had been annoying, falsifying all the blood samples the police had retrieved from the crime scene. And tonight, he’d been pointing a gun at Red because—
Because he’d been injured again.
He’d been protecting himself. And Red hadn’t realized that was what he was doing, had assumed Hood was the aggressor, because he hadn’t considered himself a threat. But why wouldn’t Hood see him that way? He had attacked Hood out of nowhere the last time he had seen him. When he had been sparring with Batgirl. When he’d been reassuring her.
And then Red had attacked him tonight. Again.
Maybe the reason Red was so convinced Hood had been trying to get them to sympathize with him was because it had worked.
“Oracle?” Red said into his comm. “I think I made a mistake.”
--
Jason sagged.
He tried to hold onto his residual anger, because if it faded he knew he would be completely empty. Too empty to move. And he needed to move. None of his injuries were serious – there was no reason to wear all his body armor if it didn’t provide decent protection against bullets – but he’d still lost some blood, and, of course, getting shot still hurt. Getting hit in actively-bleeding bullet wounds hurt even more.
This safehouse was in a basement too close to the harbor, and it was perpetually damp. It didn’t have any furnishings beyond the fridge and freezer, both of which were only stocked with medical supplies, so he carefully dumped all his weapons as far away from his supplies as possible before sitting by the fridge, leaning against the concrete wall.
Triage. He stripped himself of his armor. Worst first. Pulled out a bullet. Packed the hole with fresh gauze. Wrapped it. On to the next. His movements were mechanical. Once or twice, he pressed a finger into an unstitched wound, the pain keeping him angry. Keeping him focused.
Red had always been an arrogant bastard. Assuming Hood wanted to be part of the family. Thinking he had the answers for everything. He hadn’t even considered that Dick had his own limits. Injuries unseen. Red had become Robin, not because he cared, but because he could. He had taken it, just like he took everything – thoughtlessly, like it had never occurred to him that he shouldn’t.
But none of that was true, was it? Jason knew his anger toward Tim was unfair. Irrational. Tim had been an effective Robin, and while Jason didn’t know how everything had gone down with him and Dick and the brat, he was still effective as Red Robin. He did a lot of good for the city, and no one had forced him to try. Whatever the reason he did it, it wasn’t out of obligation. When Jason wasn’t worked up, he felt sorry for how he had treated him.
He wasn’t worked up now.
He could tell he was almost empty, so he switched to only prying the foreign objects out of his flesh until he ran out of energy for that, too. He leaned sideways onto the floor, wishing he had even the energy to let go of the forceps.
This would pass. It always had passed before. It would pass.
As always, the only thoughts that made it through the gray haze of his mind were unhelpful.
You haven’t changed a bit.
He’d never claimed he had changed. If Dick had thought he had changed, if he had said so to the bats, well, he was wrong. For a moment, he tried to recall the soft memory of falling asleep on Dick's shoulder, of waking up feeling safe. But there was nothing but the gray haze.
You get us all in a room, make us see you as a person.
He wasn’t, though. The kidnappers had known it. Had used him for all their worst desires. Tim knew it. Had seen the worst of Jason. The truth of him. He was just a shell. A thing. Anything worthwhile about it had died a long time ago.
Jason was tired. Too tired to do anything. That was the only thing keeping him from pulling out his own stitches. The only thing that kept him from reaching for the guns on the opposite side of the room.
Dick’s voice echoed in his head. If you ever need me, I promise I will come.
But Jason didn’t deserve it.
This would pass. It would. And if it didn’t… Jason couldn’t bring himself to care.