Work Text:
After years of being a vigilante, nothing really surprises him anymore.
Because really, what can you do to catch someone off guard when you work with a man dressed as a bat since you were eight?
Crazy psychotic clowns. Green lady who is obsessed with plants and Mother Nature. Aliens. Guy who is made out of clay. Mercenaries who have been obsessed with you since you were a teenager. Brothers who died and somehow got resurrected. Hell, even a giant ass crocodile and a talking gorilla doesn't surprise him either.
Which is why a kidnapping doesn't surprise him— and being the adopted son of a popular billionaire playboy and a vigilante, it’s more often than one thinks.
What surprises him, though, is the person kidnapped with him.
Of course Dick recognises him. Why wouldn't he? It's the same man who wore his symbol and stained it with blood. The same man who ran around cities and killed people. The same one who beat Tim bloody just to intimidate him. The same man who shot Damian just so he could.
Red Hood. Jason Todd.
Sure, they have worked together when the situation demands it— but that's just it. It has always been Nightwing and Red Hood, not Dick Grayson and Jason Todd. Never them. Never anything beyond the suit.
Dick bites back a groan, and pushes himself up slowly. He stares at Jason, who is still out cold. He looks almost peaceful, if it weren't for the crease in between his eyebrows.
He’s alive, at least. His presence should be reassuring. It proves that he isn't alone in whatever this is. But really, it isn't. Not at all.
He forces himself to tear his gaze away.
Okay. Time for an assessment.
No restraints. No injuries. Mask is gone— Jason’s too. Trackers, comms, panic buttons, all missing. Weapons stayed, though. That’s either a mistake or a message.
Dick likes neither option.
The room around them is wrong in a way Dick can’t put a finger on it. Stone walls. No visible doors, no windows, no corridors. Just a box, or something pretending to be one.
He finds himself staring at Jason again.
Because why is he here?
The last thing Dick remembers is being on patrol in Blüd before a needle pricked his neck and dragged him to fuck knows where. So how did they manage to get the Red Hood from Crime Alley?
And why them?
Dick sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Reluctantly, he crawls over to Jason’s space, and nudges his thigh with his knuckles.
No response.
He nudges again, insistent this time.
Jason’s eyes snap open, gaze locked onto Dick immediately. Terrifyingly alert for someone who just woke up from a drugged sleep.
“The fuck?” Jason rasps, squinting at Dick. His eyes drop from his face to his suit, and back to his unmasked face again. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Dick says dryly, gesturing to the room they’re in. Jason looks around. “And I think you meant we.”
Jason frowns, pushing himself up on his feet, while Dick remains sitting. He watches as Jason goes through a mental assessment, the same one that he did before. Bat-training never really dies.
“Where are we?”
Dick sighs with a shrug. “I wish I could answer that for you.”
“I got fucking kidnapped?” Jason laughs, almost hysterical, his hands buried in his messy curls. “And with you, of all people?”
A sharp feedback screech rips through the room before Dick can retort.
Both of them react instantly— hands over ears, wincing at the sound. A second later, it cuts out just as abruptly, and silence holds for half a beat.
Then a voice replaces it, smooth and immediate, as if it had been waiting for them to stop speaking.
“Richard John Grayson,” it says.
Dick has to fight back the flinch. Jason stares wide-eyed at him.
“Jason Peter Todd.”
Silence.
“The ones who defined what Batman became.”
Jason mouths something at him, but Dick doesn't catch it. His attention is still stuck on the voice— because why the hell does it sound like Bruce Wayne?
“Who the fuck are you?” Jason finally snaps after a brief silence, clearly feeling just as impatient as Dick is. “And how the fuck do you know us?”
“Only one can remain,” the voice says instead, completely ignoring Jason. Can’t answer or won’t answer, Dick doesn't know.
Then there's nothing but silence.
Dick looks at Jason. Jason looks at Dick.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jason yells, throwing his hands in the air. “First I got kidnapped, and now I’m stuck in some place with you and a creepy voice that won't tell us anything. What the fuck?”
“We’ll find a way out,” Dick says, but even he can hear the uncertainty in his own voice.
Jason scoffs, his arms folding across his chest. “Like hell we will.” He gestures to the room. “Do you see any exit point, Nightwing? Because I fucking don't.”
Dick scowls at him, fighting the urge to flip him off. Jason somehow manages to make Nightwing sound insulting— and his name is Dick, for fuck’s sake.
The wall next to them suddenly gives way. Not collapsing— unfolding, like it was never solid at all.
Dick is on his feet immediately, his arm snapping out in front of Jason instinctively.
Another room sits behind it.
Dick makes a questioning noise, staring at it.
“What the?” Jason mutters, frowning.
“I don't like this,” Dick says quietly, grabbing for his escrima sticks.
Jason follows suit, unholstering his gun. Dick takes a step forward, scanning around the room for some kind of booby trap or monster or anything that will kill them.
There’s nothing.
And that's just as much of a threat.
The room behind the wall is unsettling in a way that makes Dick’s skin crawl before his mind can catch up to why. He steps in anyway— because really, what choice does he have?
Each step lands too loud, too deliberate, like the sound is being delayed by half a second too late. The timing is wrong in a way he can't explain it without sounding insane.
Another step further in, and the floor beneath them shifts. Dick stops abruptly, staring down at it, eyes wide. Jason bumps into him with a grunt, cutting himself off mid-swear when he notices the change under their feet.
Warm wood grain bleeds through it. Dark. Polished. Expensive.
Dick blinks, breath catching as he looks up at the room again.
White fades away like it was never there, replaced by a darker brown. The air shifts— he can almost smell coffee and old paper. A chandelier hangs above them, perfectly still. Portraits line the walls in frames too familiar to be comforting. Display cases glinted with wealth.
Wayne Manor.
“What the actual fuck,” Jason hisses behind him, gun still raised like he expects something jump at him. “Is this some kind of fucking test Bruce set us up for?”
Dick doesn't answer. He spins around and—
—the room they came from is nowhere to be seen.
And in its place is a portrait.
Bruce stands in the middle, both of his hands are placed on each of their shoulders— one that Dick remembers taking a long time ago.
Except they're both kids here— Robins— something impossible, because it didn't happen at the same time. Never happened.
“Fuck,” he whispers, grip loosening on his escrima sticks without him realising. He takes a step back. “I really don't like this. At all.”
“Tell me about it,” Jason mutters back, holstering his gun.
Dick swallows, sliding his escrima sticks back into his holsters. He turns, hesitantly walking further into the room with Jason following behind quietly. His eyes sweep over the place, and frowns.
“Is it just me or is the room not… moving at all?” Dick asks tentatively, rubbing the back of his neck. He can feel eyes all over him.
“Fuck if I care, Goldie,” Jason grunts, walking ahead of him when Dick slows down. “I don't care if the walls start singing or whatever bullshit— I just want to get the fuck out of here.”
Dick rolls his eyes, scoffing. “And you think I don’t?”
“Who knows?” Jason shrugs. “You’re crazy enough to stay with Bruce.”
“You say it like he’s holding me hostage.”
“Is he not?”
Dick barks out an incredulous laugh. “Just because you have issues with him doesn't mean everyone else does too.”
Jason snorts, turning his head just enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s funny. I remember someone else having plenty of issues with him when I was Robin.”
Dick scowls, ready to argue back— only to freeze a second later.
Jason continues walking, not noticing a thing.
“Jason, stop,” Dick orders.
He groans, and turns to look at Dick. “What?”
Dick points to the portrait— the same damn one that was just behind them earlier, now in a different place. Closer to them. They’re both still kids, but…
Bruce’s eyes are looking directly at them.
“...Well that’s not fucking creepy at all,” Jason mutters, more to himself than to Dick. “Are they watching us?”
Dick tilts his head, considering the question. He squints at the portrait, studying it carefully. But there's no eye hole or anything— just a pure picture.
“I don't know,” Dick answers honestly. “We need to get out of here.”
Jason huffs. “No shit, Sherlock. I don’t plan on staying in some creepy room.”
“This isn’t just some creepy room,” Dick adds quietly. He swallows once, forcing his gaze away from the portrait. “I think it’s trying to make us question what’s real.”
Jason glances at him. Dick swears he looks concerned. “You don't sound sure.”
“I’m not.”
The uncertainty hangs there for a beat.
Then, as if the room is listening, it shifts.
The change isn't like the previous time. It doesn't fade away like before— but it melts away, slowly, deliberately, like it wanted them to watch every second of it, to feel the wrongness settling in before anything else replaces it.
It dissolves layer by layer until the idea of the Manor is gone.
What replaces it is an empty room.
Clean. White. Clinical in a way that feels less like design and more like intent— like a space built for containment rather than comfort, the kind of place meant to hold something that isn't supposed to leave.
And at the center stands a single, full length mirror. Just there, as if it's been waiting for them. To do what— Dick doesn't know yet.
Jason exhales sharply through his nose. “And here I thought we were done with creepy rooms,” he mutters, dragging a gloved hand over his face. “What the hell are we supposed to do with a fucking mirror?”
“Do you always have to complain about everything?” Dick shoots back automatically, his attention somewhat drawn to the mirror.
Jason snorts, but doesn’t offer a reply. Dick takes that as a yes as he finds himself walking towards it. He doesn't feel… in control of his own body. Like the mirror is pulling him forward, making him gravitate towards it without him knowing.
Dick expects to see his own reflection in the mirror. Instead, there’s nothing.
For a brief, disorienting moment, the glass remains empty, reflecting neither him nor Jason. Dick frowns and takes another step closer, his pulse picking up as he searches for some kind of trick. Then, a second too late, their reflections appear.
His breath catches.
They aren't children, not like the portraits from before— but they aren't exactly the men standing in front of the mirror either. Dick knows the age immediately. He remembers it the way he remembers the first time he pulled on the suit. The face staring back at him is younger, his hair longer with a different suit. His first Nightwing suit.
He’d been eighteen when he first became Nightwing.
Jason freezes beside him. Dick glances over to Jason’s reflection and immediately understands why. He’s in League uniform, his eyes a vivid Lazarus green instead of Jason’s current muted teal.
“Well,” Jason says, voice flat. “At least it wasn't the time when I was catatonic.”
A frown tugs at Dick’s lips. “How old were you here?”
Jason doesn't answer immediately. His gaze fixed on his reflection.
Then, he snorts, shooting him a lazy smirk. “Use that big brain of yours and figure it out yourself, genius.”
Dick huffs, shaking his head. “I don’t even know why I—”
The words die in his throat when something shifts in the corner of his vision.
His head turns automatically, searching the room for whatever caught his attention. His hand reaches back for his escrima sticks, muscles coiling in preparation for an attack that never comes. There's nothing there. No movement. No hidden doorway. No monster waiting to jump out at them.
“Dick,” Jason calls out to him. Dick turns to look at him with a frown. “Look.”
He points at Dick’s reflection, and his stomach drops.
His reflection is smiling.
Not broadly. Not enough that someone else might miss it. Just a slight curl of the mouth that absolutely hadn't been there before.
“Holy fuck,” Jason breathes.
Dick tears his gaze away from his own reflection and looks toward Jason’s. The younger version of Jason is staring directly ahead, expression unreadable. Unease crawls up Dick’s spine as Jason raises a hand and gives an awkward wave.
The reflection doesn't move.
“Holy fuck,” Jason repeats, his hand dropping to his side and backing away slightly.
Neither reflection blinks. Dick isn't sure they’re even breathing. They just stand there, watching, as if they had been waiting for Dick and Jason to notice something wrong.
Then Dick’s reflection slowly lifts a hand, and presses it against the glass. A second later, Jason’s reflection does the same.
The mirror ripples beneath their palms like disturbed water.
Dick takes a step back immediately, his arm rising instinctively in front of Jason without thinking about it. Jason doesn't seem to notice the gesture, too focused on the glass, looking like he’s debating with himself if he should shoot the glass or not.
“Do we run?” Jason whispers.
Dick shoots him an incredulous look.
“Or just get as far away from the mirror as possible,” Jason amends in a harsh whisper, as if saying it quieter will make any difference.
Dick shifts his weight backward again, already agreeing with the idea even if there’s nowhere obvious to go. The problem is, the room doesn't feel any safer than the mirror in front of them. It feels like they’re surrounded, just not physically yet.
The reflection moves first.
Their hands punch through the glass without resistance. Dick barely has time to register what he’s seeing before fingers curl around his collar and yank him forward. Beside him, Jason lets out a startled curse as another hand grabs hold of him.
“Dick—!”
He digs his heels into the floor, trying to wrench himself free. Jason catches his arm with one hand and grabs the edge of the mirror frame with the other.
For half a second it almost works.
Then the pull doubles.
The world lurches violently.
Dick hears Jason shout something that is immediately swallowed by the sound of shattering glass.
And then they’re falling. Somehow, his feet hit the ground first.
He immediately looks over to Jason. “You good?”
Jason only offers a grunt and a thumbs up.
“What—” Dick cuts himself off, looking around the room.
Unlike the previous rooms, this one is filled with mirrors.
Hundreds of it.
Glass stretches from floor to ceiling in every direction, turning the room into an endless maze of reflections.
Jason lets out a low whistle.
“A funhouse mirror maze?” He questions, walking towards one of the bigger mirrors. Dick watches as his expression immediately sours. Jason crosses his arms over his chest with a scowl. “Huh. Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
Jason points a thumb at the mirror. “Because I would never be Batman.”
Dick blinks, and walks closer to Jason— and sure enough, an image of Batman with a red helmet and bulkier build reflects before them.
Next to him, another Batman appears, this time with a blue symbol that is almost similar to Nightwing’s. There's no doubt that that is Dick himself, even if the Batsuit he wore before was different from this one.
“Who would've thought, huh?” Dick tries to joke, but it comes out flat. Jason only glares at him, and Dick takes it as a sign that he’s right.
Curiously, Dick walks over to another mirror. It shows a different image of him— an EMT. No suit in sight, which probably meant Batman never existed.
He passes by different mirrors. Robin. Talon. Renegade. Nightwing. Batman. A Nightwing in futuristic armour he doesn't recognise.
Some versions look familiar.
Others feel like looking at strangers wearing his face.
One mirror shows him looking older, streaks of grey in his hair as he stands beside Bruce beneath a Bat-signal.
Another shows him alone.
Dick tears his gaze away before he can question why that version looks so tired.
Across the room, glass shatters.
He spins around immediately, taking a defensive stance. But it wasn't trouble or anything— just Jason standing in front of a cracked mirror, jaw tight.
Dick’s gaze unconsciously sweeps over him for injuries, and he catches the way Jason’s fist is still clenched. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy.”
He doesn't push. Doesn't want Jason to accidentally unleash years of resentment onto him— not when they’re trapped in whatever the fuck this place is.
He only gets a glimpse of the reflection before Jason grinds the broken glass beneath his boot and keeps walking.
Bruce is there.
Smiling.
That itself is already an answer.
Dick walks further into the room, and slowly, he realises the mirrors stop showing possibilities he recognises. One Nightwing wears a symbol Dick has never seen. Another version of him carries guns. A third is a vampire, smiling at him through the glass.
Dick doesn't remember smiling.
A chill crawls down his spine. He knows that smile. He spent years learning exactly how his own expressions felt, how they sat on his face, how they looked reflected back at him in camera footage and bathroom mirrors.
That isn't his smile.
It only looks like it.
The thing in the glass tilts his head slightly, studying him with unsettling patience.
Dick forces his gaze away before it can do anything else.
“Jason,” he says, sharper than intended, quickening his pace until he can see the other man again. “Stick close.”
Jason only glances at him without a reply or a snark. Seems like he needs the company just as much as Dick does.
Before they know it, they reach the end of the room— which is surprising, because Dick had assumed that it was endless.
And unlike the other mirrors, this one shows an image of themselves— as who they currently are, who they’ve known for years. Not as someone who became another person.
But a flicker of doubt hits him.
“Something feels off,” Jason says— unknowingly agreeing with him— as he rubs his chin with his fingers. “But I can’t put a finger on it.”
“This whole place is off,” Dick mutters tiredly, scrubbing his face. “Are you just now realising it?”
Jason shoots him a look. “I don't appreciate the snark.”
Dick ignores him. “What now, then?”
The mirror flickers, like it's answering him.
For a moment, neither of them is reflected at all. The glass is empty, like the room is holding its breath. Then, slowly, it resolves something else.
Dick feels his stomach tighten.
It’s him.
Not Nightwing, not Robin, but a version of him where he looks less tired and more… free. Smiling wide, surrounded by others— Bruce, Tim, Damian, Steph and Cass.
Jason is there too.
Not Red Hood— Jason Todd.
It’s the boy who never experienced death, who actually grew up to be Dick’s brother.
There’s no white streak in his hair. No permanent tension sitting between his shoulders. No guarded look in his blue eyes like he’s expecting disappointment before it even arrives.
He looks genuinely happy.
The sight hits Dick harder than he expects.
And judging by the way Jason goes completely still next to him, he isn't the only one.
The people in the mirror laugh at something Damian says. Bruce rolls his eyes. Cass steals food from Tim’s plate. Steph looks like she’s about to start a fight for fun.
Jason is right in the middle of it.
Like he belongs there.
Like he always did.
They look like a family.
A real one.
And Dick suddenly understands exactly why this mirror feels wrong.
This isn't showing who they are.
This is showing what they both want.
In a blink of an eye, Jason holsters one of his guns and aims it at the mirror. Dick barely has time to push his wrist away before Jason fires at it.
“What are you doing?!” Dick yells.
Jason jerks his arm free from his grip before Dick can stop him. His jaw is clenched so tightly that Dick can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
“Opening your fucking eyes,” he snaps. “You know this isn’t real.”
“I know,” Dick admits softly, like he's confessing a sin. “I just—”
Jason fires anyway.
Almost instantly, the family in the mirror goes still, slowly turning towards them like Jason and Dick personally offended them. They probably did. It’s eerie, watching every expression tilt at once into something that doesn't belong to them.
The mirror doesn't shatter.
Instead, the surface behind the reflection darkens, like ink spreading under glass. They both take a step back, unsure what to expect. Every room is different, yet it affects them all the same. The images inside the mirror stop moving entirely, not frozen like before, but deliberately paused.
As if waiting.
A seam appears along the edge of the wall.
“Great,” Jason grumbles. “Now what?”
The entire surface shifts sideways with a soft mechanical sound that doesn't sound like it belongs in the space, sliding apart to reveal something beyond it.
A new room.
Jason enters first without hesitation, his gun back in its holster again.
Dick follows a second later, his emotions a mess after what had just happened.
The walls are lined with framed openings— doorways without doors. Corridors bending away into separate directions. Some lit. Some collapsing into darkness. Some showing movement at the edge of his vision that disappears the moment he tries to focus on it.
“Look.” Dick follows Jason’s gaze, only to see him pointing at… nothing? “There’s an exit right ahead. We can finally leave this fuckass place.”
Dick frowns. “What are you talking about? There’s no exit there.”
Jason looks at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me,” he says, gesturing at absolutely nothing, “that you don’t see that huge fucking exit in front of us?”
He looks between the empty wall and Jason.
“Jason,” Dick says carefully, suddenly unsure which of them the maze is messing with. “There's nothing but a wall there.”
Jason lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re fucking with me right?”
“Why would I joke about that?”
“Because there's literally an exit right in front of us.”
“Jason—”
“Do you want to go home or not?” Jason cuts in, frustration creeping into his voice. “Because I fucking do.”
“Of course I do,” Dick snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think I want to stay here, in some place that will fuck me up in more ways than one?”
“Then why do you keep insisting there's no exit?”
“Because there isn't!”
“Look, you don’t have to like me, Dick, but for once could you stop acting like I’m making shit up?”
“I’m not acting, Jason!” Dick insists, gesturing to the empty wall. “All I’m seeing is an empty wall. There's no exit.”
Jason studies him. Then, he drags a hand down his face. “You really don't see it?”
Dick shakes his head firmly. “No.”
Jason doesn't seem angry anymore. He looks confused.
Genuinely confused.
Like he can’t understand how Dick could possibly miss something so obvious.
“Jesus Christ.”
“What?”
“It’s fucking huge, Dick.”
And Jason sounds so genuine too, like he’s actually seeing an exit right there. Realisation hits him.
“How—” Dick starts, then pauses. Restarts. “So you’re seeing an exit, but I’m seeing an empty wall.”
Jason grunts, walking away from the wall he insisted it was the exit. “Pretty much.” He exhales sharply, massaging his temples. “How are they messing with our heads?”
Dick doesn't answer. Doesn't have one, really. He catches up with Jason, the room flickering like it’s shifting as he goes. He doesn't pay close attention to that.
“There's another exit here,” Jason informs, nodding toward a corridor on their left. “But since we established that we're both seeing different things, I don't know if it's real or not.”
Dick glances at it, and shakes his head. “Nothing.”
Jason lets out a frustrated breath. “Okay. Let’s keep going, I guess.”
Dick nods in agreement. “Stay close. If one of us finds something, we say it immediately.”
Jason grunts, acknowledging.
The room shifts as they begin walking again. Every corridor feels like a trap waiting for them to fall into. Every corner looks the same, and Dick can't tell if they’re moving forward, or they're just walking in circles.
Eventually, Dick stumbles upon an exit.
“Here,” he says, turning back toward Jason.
Jason slows, then stops a few steps behind him. His gaze shifts past Dick, toward the corridor ahead.
“Dick. There's nothing there.”
Dick closes his eyes briefly, sighing. “Not this again.”
Jason snorts, short and humourless as he leans against the opposite wall. They’ve been on their feet for what seems for hours. Dick can't even tell the time anymore.
“I don't know what you're expecting,” he says. “We’re stuck in a weird place that fucks our minds. You really think getting out of here is going to be easy?”
“No,” Dick snaps. “Of course it won't be— but I was hoping we’d find something by now.”
“We did,” Jason points out. “We tried. But every time one of us finds an exit, the other can’t see it.”
“Maybe we’re approaching this wrong,” Dick mutters, mostly to himself as he paces around, his chin in between the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “Maybe we need to look at this differently.”
“And how are we supposed to do that?” Jason scoffs. “Nothing’s changing. We keep finding exits that aren't exits and getting nowhere.”
Dick blinks, and glances at the exit he found— the exit only he can see. He tilts his head, considering.
Then, he steps closer to the exit.
A hand grabs his arm, yanking him hard. Dick stumbles back, a grunt escaping him as his back hits a wall. Jason is in front of him immediately, effectively blocking the exit with his body.
“The fuck are you doing?” Jason snaps, his hand on his chest, pinning Dick against the wall. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“What do you mean what am I doing?” Dick hisses, pushing Jason’s hand away. It doesn't budge. “I’m trying to leave.”
“No, you’re trying to give yourself a fucking concussion. That’s what you’re doing.”
“Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not there.”
Jason barks out a short, incredulous laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “So you’re asking me to run into walls too?”
“No,” Dick snarls. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
Jason narrows his eyes. His grip tightens around Dick’s collar. “I trust you,” he says, voice low. “But I don't trust this fucking place.”
“Well, I’m glad we finally have something we agree on,” Dick says tightly. “Now let go of me so we can actually deal with it.”
Jason exhales sharply, holding his gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then finally releases him. He steps back, creating a distance between them.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Great.”
He turns away and starts walking, jaw still tight.
Dick stays where he is for a second, watching him go. He considers following, then doesn't— Jason’s not running off, just trying to get control of himself again.
And, well, there's nowhere to run off to, really.
Dick slides down the wall to rest his legs, leaning his head back with eyes closed while waiting for Jason to return. He doesn't really know where he went, but he doubts Jason would get lost.
Minutes passed, and footsteps returned.
Dick listens to them approaching, steady and familiar, and doesn't bother opening his eyes. “You done brooding or can we continue trying to find our way out?”
Silence.
“Still brooding I see,” Dick mutters to himself.
The footsteps stop a few feet away from him.
Dick leaves him be. Pushing Jason when he’s already in the mood never ends well. It always ends with a fight or a bullet in his body, so he stops trying after a while.
Jason still hasn't said a word.
It’s fine. Dick doesn't expect a conversation. They aren't friends, let alone brothers. Jason has always been good at acting like his family doesn't exist when he wants to.
After a while, Dick pushes himself off the wall, rolling his shoulders and neck before getting back up to his feet again. He sighs, and turns to Jason.
The corridor is empty.
No Jason. No exit. Nothing.
Dick tilts his head slightly in confusion.
He could've sworn there were footsteps a moment ago— Jason standing right there while he rested. The exit had been in front of him too.
Did the room shift?
Did Jason walk off again?
But…
He hadn't heard anything.
A little boy’s laugh echoes through the space, light and familiar, but wrong in many ways. Dick’s stomach tightens at the sound of it.
“Jason?” He calls, as if saying his name will somehow summon him.
“Right here.”
Dick hesitates for a brief second
Then he follows the voice, rounding around the corner—
Only to find a dead end.
Dick frowns. He swore he heard Jason’s voice coming from here. Maybe it was a different corridor. Maybe the room had shifted again, rearranging itself without him noticing.
Or it’s messing with him again.
“Having trouble finding me, Dick?”
Dick freezes.
The voice is closer this time.
Behind him.
He turns around slowly.
There's nobody there.
“Jason,” Dick says, trying— and failing— to keep the irritation out of his voice. “If that’s actually you, I need you to stop.”
A soft chuckle echoes through the corridor.
“You're always chasing ghosts.”
Dick’s stomach drops.
What the hell does that mean?
He shakes off the voice like it’s something physical clinging onto him, and walks away to look for Jason. There's new doorways, new exits that hadn't existed before, and Dick half-wonders if Jason had stumbled upon it.
“You don't trust me, do you?”
“Sometimes I don't know if I can,” Dick blurts out before snapping his mouth shut with an audible click. He narrows his eyes, shaking his head. “You’re not Jason.”
Silence answers him for a moment.
Then, further down the corridor—
“Still trying to decide what’s real?”
Dick grits his teeth, and turns away, as if trying to run from the voice. “I swear to God, Jason,” he mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”
“That’s not who you’re trying to find.”
He freezes, hands clenched tightly at his sides.
And it's quiet again.
It takes a minute for Dick to exhale slowly, forcing his hands to unclench as he looks down the corridor, jaw tight as he tries to decide whether standing still is safer than moving.
Then—
“Dick!”
He bites down on his lip, the instinct to ignore it is already there, but something about the tone makes him hesitate.
He’s already irritated and frustrated from being separated from Jason, from being stuck in a place that keeps changing whenever he moves.
“Dick?”
“Shut up,” Dick bites out.
Footsteps approach, heavy and familiar, and Dick has a half-mind to not turn around— because certainty has stopped meaning in this place.
Yet, he turns anyway.
“Jason?” Dick breathes out.
“You asshole, why were you ignoring me?”
“Why— did you ignore me?”
Dick doesn't know who to listen to.
He blinks, pursing his lips. “I—” He hesitates, and something flashes in Jason’s expression. “I didn't. Hear you, I mean. I wasn't ignoring you.”
“You looked straight at me when I tried calling you earlier, you fucking jerk,” Jason hisses.
“What?” Dick frowns. “When?”
“When you first called my name,” Jason growls. “I was right there. You fucking looked at me— and you just walked off.”
“Jason,” he says carefully, forcing his voice down. “I was trying to find you. I wouldn't have just ignored you.”
Jason scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Dick insists, voice strained. “You’re acting like I’m lying.”
“Because you don't trust me either.”
“Jason—”
Jason gestures sharply down the corridor. “You keep asking why I don’t trust you, but you didn't trust a single thing I said this entire time.”
“That’s not true.”
Jason laughs. “Bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Dick snaps. “I believed you. Even when I couldn't see anything.”
“Yet you didn't trust me when I told you I was seeing an empty wall,” Jason shoots back. “Maybe I should've let your ass run into it instead of stopping you.”
“At least I was trying,” Dick hisses. “Standing around arguing about what we could or couldn't see wasn't getting us out either.”
“Oh fuck you,” Jason snarls, shoving Dick. “You always have to do this— act like you’re the only one trying to fix everything.”
Dick stumbles back. “That’s not what I—”
“Isn’t it?” Jason laughs harshly. “You always need to be the hero. The one who saves the day. The one who’s right.” His lip curls. “Do you want me to congratulate you, Nightwing? Because the kid you’re trying to save died a long time ago.”
“I’m not—” Dick starts, then falters, the words dying in his throat.
Jason scoffs, turning his head away slightly. “Yeah? Then why do you keep looking at me like I’m him?”
“That’s not true,” Dick snaps automatically— then hesitates like he’s already unsure of it. His hands clench at his sides. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“You think I don't know the difference?” Jason mutters. “You think I don't know how you see me— how Bruce sees me?”
“No,” Dick says sharply. “That’s not fair.”
Jason laughs bitterly. “Fair?” His jaw tightens. “You wanna talk to me about fair?” He scowls. “You think me dying is fair?”
“I never said that.”
“No,” Jason says. “You just keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be grateful I got a second chance.”
“Jason—”
A crack splits across the wall.
They both take a stance instinctively, watching as the whole room crumbles into dust. Dick throws an arm over his face, squinting against the debris as Jason coughs beside him.
And when the dust finally begins to settle, the maze is gone.
What’s left of it is nothing like the shifting corridors they've been trapped in so far. This time, it's a circular chamber, bare except for a single exit across from them, and a large sigil carved in the floor in front of it— too deliberate, too central to be anything but the catch.
Jason seems to come to the same conclusion. He moves towards the sigil, crouching down to inspect the carved lines, while Dick heads to the door instead.
It doesn't budge, no matter how hard Dick shoves against it.
“Locked?” Jason asks from behind.
Dick pushes his shoulder against the door, and shoves harder, jaw tightening when it still refuses to move. He huffs, and turns to Jason. “Yeah.”
Jason straightens slowly, eyes still fixed on the sigil. “Then this probably opens it.”
“Or kills us,” Dick mutters.
“Worth a try.”
Before Dick can stop him, Jason steps onto the sigil.
The moment his weight settles on it, the carved lines flares to life. The chamber jolts violently— and the door across the room wrenches open with a grinding shriek.
Beyond it is nothing but blinding white light spilling into the chamber, swallowing every shape it touches.
The floor jerks again, and Dick stumbles back, catching himself hard against the wall.
“Jason— try getting off it.”
Jason shifts his weight and steps off it.
The effect is immediate. The door across the room slams shut with a loud bang, cutting off the blinding light in an instant. The sound echoes through the chamber too sharply, too final, like something being locked in place rather than being simply closed.
For a moment, everything stills.
Even the tremors stop— briefly.
The silence that follows feels wrong— heavy like the room is waiting to see what they do with the information it has just given them.
“That's not good,” Jason comments breezily.
“Fuck,” Dick mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “There has to be another way.”
“What other way?” Jason asks, gesturing to the carved lines. “It’s a fucking sigil. You don’t override something like this— not without knowing exactly what it’s tied to.”
“I don't care,” Dick snaps. “We’ll find a way. We’ll both get out.”
Jason stares at him for a second, like he can’t decide whether Dick is being stubborn or just stupid. “Dick. If either of us step off this thing, the door closes. Instantly. We both just saw that.”
“Then we’ll make it think someone is still stepping on it,” Dick shoots back immediately, pacing around. “If we can somehow trick it—”
“It doesn't work like that,” Jason cuts in. “It’s not a pressure plate, and unless you’ve somehow secretly learned magic in the last five minutes, you’re not tricking a sigil.”
“If we can’t trick it, then we’ll jam the mechanism or force the door open—”
“Dick, stop.” Jason’s voice hardens. “There isn't a workaround. One of us stays on this thing, or the door closes.”
Before Dick can argue back, a burst of static screeches through the chamber, cutting Jason off. Their hands fly up to their ears, wincing as the sound drills into Dick’s skull— and dread drops hard into his stomach.
Not again.
“Only one can remain.”
A beat passes, and the room seems to hold its breath.
“Or die together.”
Dick glances at Jason. His jaw is clenched, eyes fixed somewhere over Dick’s shoulder, like if he doesn't look at him, it’ll be easier to say it.
Dick knows exactly what’s coming.
“No,” he says before Jason can open his mouth.
Jason’s eyes snap to his. “Dick—”
“No.”
“I haven't even—”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dick cuts in, voice tight. “And the answer is no. We are leaving together.”
Jason lets out a short, humourless laugh. “No. Either one of us leaves or both of us dies. There isn't a loophole for this. One of us has to stay, Dick.”
“And that won’t be you.”
Jason’s expression hardens. “Then who? You?”
The ground gives a faint, uneasy rumble beneath them.
“We don't have time, Dick,” Jason says, voice low. “You need to leave before this whole place goes.”
“I am not,” Dick says through gritted teeth, “leaving you.”
Jason exhales sharply. “Your city needs you,” he says. “Your family needs you. Bruce needs you. I’m just someone replaceable. I’m not someone who people see. You have people who need you to live.”
A beat.
“And I’m no one's son,” he adds quietly.
“You’re my fucking brother,” Dick says, voice cracking slightly, “and I’m not letting you die again. Not on my watch— not while I’m still around.”
“You have a brother,” Jason says, voice tight. “Two, in fact. Who actually cares about you.”
“And you have people who care about you too, Jason!” Dick snaps. “They might not show it, but they do. Bruce cares.”
Jason scoffs, like the idea itself is insulting. “Bruce cares,” he repeats flatly. “You keep saying that— like it’s supposed to mean something to me.”
“It does,” Dick shoots back. “Because you’re still that same boy who wanted to do good. Who loved Bruce too much.”
Jason scowls. “I’m not the same fucking boy—”
The ground lurched again, harder this time, like it’s counting down to their final day. Dust shakes loose from the ceiling, drifting down between them.
Jason notices first. His eyes flick briefly to the sigil, then to the door across the room. Something shifts in his expression— something sharper, colder.
“This is getting worse,” he says.
Dick doesn't look away from him. “I don't care.”
“You should,” Jason snaps. “Because if this keeps going, neither of us is getting out.”
“That’s not happening,” Dick says immediately.
“Then stop making this harder and leave!”
The rumbling deepens again, longer this time. The sigil’s light pulses erratically next to them, reacting to the instability. Dick glances down at it— and then slowly, back to Jason.
“I’m not letting you die, Jason,” Dick says, voice firm. “And I’m not letting Bruce lose you a second time.”
Before Jason has a chance to protest, Dick steps onto the sigil. The carved lines flare instantly again, and the door across the chamber slams open with a violent shriek. The entire room jolts hard enough to throw them off balance.
Jason snaps his head towards him, eyes blazing. “What are you doing?!”
Dick doesn't look away from the sigil. His voice low, controlled in a way that sounded worse than screaming, even in his own ears.
“Ending this.”
Jason moves to shove at him, but Dick reacts faster— turning aside, catching Jason off balance and driving him backward hard enough that he stumbles closer to the open exit.
The room shudders again, small debris falling between them.
Jason regains his footing immediately, furious now. “Get off that fucking thing, Dick.”
“No,” Dick says sharply.
The word lands differently this time— not as a refusal, but as a decision.
Jason hesitates for half a beat— long enough for the room to groan again, the sigil pulsing brighter beneath Dick’s feet like it's telling them to hurry
Jason speaks up again, almost frantic this time. “Dick, don't—”
Dick finally looks up at Jason.
“You were the best Robin he’s ever had.”
For a fraction of a second, the entire room feels like it stops responding, as if even the sigil is listening to his words.
Jason freezes.
And Dick takes the chance to move first.
He shoves him— hard.
Jason stumbles backward into the open exit, off balance, caught mid-reaction. His hand shoots out, catching at Dick’s arm—
—but the floor gives away with a loud crack.
The sigil erupts in light.
The chamber finally collapses.
“Dick—!” Jason’s voice breaks through the noise as he reaches back again, but the space between them is already breaking apart.
Dick doesn't move towards him, even as his brother screams for him.
He holds his ground until the collapse takes everything.
He wakes up to cold.