Chapter Text
Gotham loved galas.
Jason hated them.
There was something deeply offensive about being forced into a suit so a room full of billionaires could pretend they weren’t all secretly judging one another. The tuxedo pinched in three places, the shoes were designed by someone who had clearly never needed to run from a crime scene, and Bruce had called the whole thing a necessary public appearance.
Which was billionaire for: Smile while strangers evaluate your bloodline.
Jason stood near one of the tall windows, a glass of champagne untouched in his hand, watching the ballroom.
The room glittered around him. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, throwing warm light across polished floors and expensive dresses. Waiters moved between the guests with trays balanced effortlessly on one hand, offering champagne and tiny pieces of food that probably cost more than Jason’s first apartment.
Bruce was somewhere in the crowd, doing his usual thing. Shaking hands. Smiling politely. Pretending he wasn’t counting exits.
Tim had disappeared approximately twelve minutes ago, which meant he was either hacking the guest list or asleep in a coat closet.
Damian was standing beside one of the sculptures, looking like he was personally offended by its existence.
And Dick-
Jason looked across the room.
There.
Of course.
Dick was surrounded.
Not by people who actually wanted to talk to him, either. Just the usual collection of Gotham’s wealthy socialites who seemed to think Dick Grayson was some kind of free entertainment. Put him in a room full of strangers and he’d have half of them laughing within five minutes.
Jason had never understood how he did it.
He suspected it was witchcraft.
Dick stood with one hand around a champagne glass, laughing at something an older man was saying. His other hand rested loosely in his pocket, posture relaxed despite the fact that he’d probably been trapped in conversations like that for the better part of an hour.
Then Jason noticed the woman standing particularly close to him.
Very close.
She was beautiful, probably somewhere around Bruce’s age, dressed in a black evening gown with enough jewelry to buy Jason’s apartment twice. Her dark hair was pinned neatly behind one ear, and she had the kind of smile that made it obvious she was used to getting whatever she wanted.
Jason watched her place a hand on Dick’s arm.
Dick smiled.
Jason knew that smile.
It was the one Dick used when he wanted someone to think he was enjoying himself. The one that showed absolutely nothing except a perfect set of teeth and a complete refusal to make anyone else uncomfortable.
The woman said something Jason couldn’t hear.
Dick laughed politely.
Her hand moved higher, fingers brushing his shoulder.
Dick’s smile remained exactly where it was.
His shoulders, however, had gone slightly rigid.
Jason’s grip tightened around his glass.
He waited another few seconds.
Maybe he was reading too much into it. Dick was good at handling people. Maybe the woman was simply being friendly.
Then she touched his arm again.
Dick shifted subtly away.
She followed.
Jason put his glass down.
Nope.
He crossed the ballroom.
By the time he reached them, the woman had moved her hand from Dick’s arm to his shoulder again.
Dick noticed Jason approaching, and his expression changed almost immediately.
This one was real.
“Jay.”
Jason slipped between them.
“Sorry. Bruce needs you.”
Dick blinked.
“He does?”
“Yep.”
“For what?”
Jason looked at the woman.
Then back at Dick.
“Rich people emergency.”
Dick stared at him.
“What does that even mean?”
“I have no idea.”
The woman looked mildly annoyed.
Good. Jason considered that a public service.
Dick, however, looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
“Right.”
He turned toward her.
“Sorry. Apparently I’m needed.”
She smiled, although there was a trace of irritation underneath it.
“Of course.”
Jason placed a hand against Dick’s shoulder and guided him away before she could say anything else. He kept his grip casual, because Dick hated being rescued in a way that made it obvious he needed rescuing.
They made it maybe ten feet before Dick started laughing.
Jason glanced sideways at him.
“What?”
“Rich people emergency?”
“You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t even have an excuse.”
“I didn’t need one.”
“You absolutely did.”
“You looked uncomfortable.”
Dick’s laughter faded into a smaller smile.
“I was.”
“I know.”
Jason glanced back toward the woman.
She was still watching them.
Dick noticed.
“She’s been talking to me for like twenty minutes.”
“And?”
“And I think she has decided we’re soulmates.”
Jason nearly choked on his champagne.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Really?”
“Deeply. I’ll send a card.”
Dick bumped his shoulder against Jason’s.
“You’re a good brother.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Ruins my reputation.”
Dick laughed again, and Jason felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The sound was familiar enough to settle something in him, a small reminder that Dick was still himself beneath the polished suit and practiced smile. For the moment, at least, he was out of that woman’s reach, and Jason could stop imagining all the ways the conversation might have gone wrong.
That was better.
At least Dick was out of there.
Jason watched him for a moment.
He looked good tonight.
Too good, probably.
Black suit. Blue tie. Hair slightly messy despite Bruce’s insistence that everyone look presentable. The jacket fit him perfectly, which was mildly annoying considering Jason’s own suit still felt like it had been designed by someone who hated human beings.
Dick had always been annoyingly good at this sort of thing. He could walk into a room full of strangers and make them feel like old friends within minutes.
Jason had never understood how he did it.
He also didn’t trust anyone who made it look that easy.
“You want a drink?” Dick asked.
Jason raised an eyebrow.
“You already have one.”
Dick looked down at the champagne glass in his hand.
“Oh.”
He laughed quietly.
“Right.”
Jason frowned.
“Are you drunk?”
Dick looked offended.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Jason.”
“What?”
“I’ve had one.”
“That’s what everyone says before the second one.”
Dick rolled his eyes.
“You’re unbearable.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
They stayed together for a while after that.
Jason didn’t particularly enjoy the gala, but standing beside Dick made it tolerable. More importantly, it meant Jason could keep an eye on him without making it look like he was keeping an eye on him. He could pretend he was simply bored, that he was only there because Dick was the least irritating person in the room, and that his attention wasn’t constantly returning to the way Dick moved through the crowd.
He told himself that was all it was.
Dick was too trusting. Too willing to give strangers the benefit of the doubt. Someone had to notice when people got too close, when a smile lasted too long, when a hand lingered where it shouldn’t.
Someone had to watch his back.
Jason had learned that lesson the hard way.
They traded quiet commentary about the people around them. Dick made fun of Bruce’s expression from across the room, whispering that their father looked like he was personally calculating the financial value of every person he spoke to. Jason nearly laughed when Damian started arguing with an elderly man about military history, the two of them standing beside the sculpture like they were preparing for a formal duel.
At some point Dick stole one of the tiny desserts from a passing tray.
Jason stole one too.
Neither of them admitted it.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Almost.
Then Bruce stepped onto the small stage at the front of the ballroom.
The conversations gradually quieted as guests turned toward him.
Jason leaned back against the wall.
Dick stood beside him.
“Here we go,” Dick whispered.
Jason glanced at him.
“You know this speech is going to be at least fifteen minutes.”
“Twenty.”
“Twenty?”
“Bruce likes to pretend he’s concise.”
“He’s not.”
“Never has been.”
Bruce began speaking.
Something about the Wayne Foundation.
Something about funding.
Something about Gotham.
Jason stopped listening after approximately thirty seconds. He’d heard Bruce give this speech in at least four different versions, and all of them contained the same number of words: too many.
He looked at Dick.
Dick was watching Bruce with a faint smile.
For a moment, Jason felt something in his chest loosen.
This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
A boring night.
A stupid speech.
Dick beside him, alive and irritating and stealing desserts.
He’d spent too long learning how quickly ordinary moments could become something else.
He should have known better than to trust one.
A waiter passed behind them carrying another tray of champagne.
Dick shifted slightly to make room.
The waiter stopped beside the nearby table, offering drinks to a small group of guests. One of them took a glass. Another declined.
The waiter then turned toward Dick.
Dick shook his head.
“No, thank you.”
The waiter continued on.
Jason barely noticed the exchange.
A few minutes later, Dick glanced down at the glass in his hand.
His expression tightened.
Jason noticed.
“What?”
Dick looked at him.
“Nothing.”
“You made a face.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.”
Dick glanced at his drink.
“Maybe it tastes weird.”
Jason looked at the glass.
“You said you’ve had one.”
“I have.”
“Then don’t finish it.”
Dick smiled.
“Yes, mother.”
“Shut up.”
Dick lifted the glass anyway, but before he could drink, Jason caught his wrist.
“You just said it tasted weird.”
“I said maybe.”
“That’s usually enough reason not to drink something.”
Dick looked at him for a moment before lowering the glass.
“Fine.”
He set it on the table beside them.
Jason let go of his wrist.
“There.”
Dick sighed dramatically.
“You’re ruining my evening.”
“That’s my job.”
“Thought Bruce hired you to be my brother.”
“Same thing.”
Dick laughed under his breath.
Jason smiled despite himself.
He looked back toward the stage.
Bruce was still talking.
The glass sat beside them.
Mostly full.
Jason noticed a faint smear along its rim when the chandelier lights caught it. He couldn’t tell what it was. Lipstick, maybe. Condensation. Something else. The mark was so small that it could have been nothing more than a trick of the light, and Jason almost dismissed it before the thought had fully formed.
He almost mentioned it.
Then someone nearby laughed loudly, pulling his attention away.
It was probably nothing.
Probably.
The speech continued.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Jason checked the time.
Then looked at Dick again.
He wasn’t there.
Jason frowned.
His eyes swept across the ballroom.
Nothing.
He looked toward the doors.
Maybe Dick had gone to the bathroom.
Or the balcony.
Or to find Tim.
Dick disappeared from parties all the time. He had a habit of slipping away whenever a conversation became too tedious or a room grew too crowded, and no one in the family usually questioned it. He always came back eventually, usually with some ridiculous story or a stolen dessert in hand.
It wasn’t unusual.
Still, something about it bothered him.
He looked down at the table.
Dick’s champagne glass was still there.
Jason’s stomach tightened.
If Dick had gone to the bathroom, he would’ve taken the glass with him.
Probably.
Maybe he’d left it because he wasn’t drinking anymore.
That was possible too.
Jason looked around again.
No Dick.
The feeling in his chest sharpened.
He told himself not to overreact. He’d been watching Dick all evening. Dick had seemed fine. Maybe a little tired, but nothing serious. He could’ve slipped away simply because he’d had enough of the crowd, and Jason knew better than to turn every small change into a crisis.
But Jason knew his brother.
Dick would’ve told him.
The thought landed harder than it should have.
He would’ve told me.
Jason pushed away from the wall.
He scanned the ballroom once more before leaving. Bruce was still speaking, his voice carrying smoothly over the quiet room. Tim had reappeared near the back of the room, half-hidden behind a column, while Damian was still glaring at the sculpture as though it had personally insulted him. Nothing looked out of place. No one seemed alarmed. The gala continued exactly as it had before.
Everything looked normal.
That somehow made Jason more uneasy.
He slipped through the nearest doors.
The music became quieter the farther he went, muffled by the thick walls of the mansion. The warmth and noise of the ballroom faded behind him, replaced by the muted hush of the corridor and the distant creak of the old house settling around him.
Jason stopped at the end of the corridor and listened.
Nothing.
“Dick?”
No answer.
He started walking.
The first sitting room was empty.
The balcony was empty.
The hallway leading toward the guest rooms was empty too.
Jason pulled out his phone.
He opened Dick’s contact.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
Then he heard something.
A faint scrape.
Jason looked up.
At the end of the corridor, someone was leaning against the wall.
Dark suit.
Messy hair.
One hand braced against the wallpaper.
Jason’s heart jumped.
“Dick?”
Dick lifted his head.
For a second, he seemed genuinely confused about where the voice had come from. His gaze moved across the corridor without settling on anything, as though the sound had reached him from a great distance and he needed time to understand what it meant.
Then his eyes found Jason.
A small smile appeared.
“Jay.”
Jason started toward him.
“What are you doing?”
Dick gave a vague shrug.
“Taking a walk.”
“During Bruce’s speech?”
“Needed it.”
Jason slowed as he got closer.
The joke he had been preparing died before it reached his mouth.
Something was wrong.
Dick’s face was pale.
Not gala-under-bright-lights pale.
Actually pale.
His hair had fallen into his eyes, and there was a strange looseness to his posture, as though he wasn’t entirely sure where his own body was in relation to the floor. His left hand was pressed against the wall, fingers spread against the wallpaper as if he needed the support to remain upright.
His fingers were trembling.
Jason’s eyes narrowed.
“Hey.”
Dick looked at him.
“What?”
“You okay?”
Dick smiled automatically.
“I’m fine.”
Jason didn’t answer.
He took another step closer.
Dick’s eyes followed him, but there was a delay to it. A tiny one, barely noticeable unless someone was paying close attention, but Jason had spent years learning every shift in Dick’s expression and every change in the way he moved.
Half a second.
Maybe less.
It was enough.
Jason had seen Dick exhausted before. He’d seen him concussed, feverish, injured, half-asleep, drunk, and once so sleep-deprived that he’d tried to unlock the Batmobile with a hotel keycard. He knew what Dick looked like when he was pushing through pain, when he was pretending to be fine, and when he was genuinely too tired to care about appearances.
This wasn’t any of those.
Jason’s voice lowered.
“Look at me.”
Dick did.
His pupils looked strange.
Not hugely dilated.
Just… wrong.
Unfocused.
Jason’s stomach dropped another inch.
“How much did you drink?”
Dick frowned.
“Not much.”
“How much?”
“One.”
“You told me that already.”
“I know.”
Dick blinked slowly.
Jason watched him carefully.
“Did you have anything after we stopped talking?”
Dick thought about it.
The fact that he had to think about it scared Jason more than the answer would’ve. Dick usually remembered everything, especially when Jason asked a direct question. The hesitation suggested that the last few minutes were already becoming blurred around the edges.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
Jason’s expression hardened.
“Think.”
Dick rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t know.”
His voice was quieter now.
Jason stepped closer.
“Okay. Forget the drink. When did you start feeling like this?”
Dick leaned harder against the wall.
“I don’t know.”
“Five minutes ago?”
“Maybe.”
“Ten?”
Dick closed his eyes.
“I think so.”
Jason’s hand moved to his shoulder.
Dick flinched.
Not away from him.
Just a reflex.
Jason immediately noticed.
“Sorry.”
Dick shook his head.
“No. It’s okay.”
He tried to straighten.
His knees almost gave out
Jason caught him around the waist.
“Whoa.”
Dick grabbed his arm.
For a moment, his entire weight settled against Jason. The sudden heaviness of him, the way he failed to correct his balance before Jason caught him, sent a sharp pulse of fear through Jason’s chest.
That scared him.
Dick was strong.
Even when exhausted, even when injured, Dick normally fought gravity like it had personally offended him. He would have made some sarcastic comment, shoved Jason away, or at least tried to stand on his own before accepting help.
Right now he barely seemed to notice that he’d almost fallen.
Jason tightened his hold.
“Okay. We’re done.”
Dick looked at him.
“Done with what?”
“Whatever this is.”
Jason looked down the hallway.
“We’re getting Bruce.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
Jason looked back at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?”
Dick swallowed.
“Because he’ll make it a whole thing.”
Jason stared at him.
“You’re standing in a hallway like you’ve forgotten how legs work.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“You almost fell.”
“I caught myself.”
“I caught you.”
Dick gave him a tired smile.
“Technicality.”
Jason wanted to laugh.
He couldn’t.
Not anymore.
His mind was already moving through possibilities. Food poisoning. Alcohol. A medical problem. A neurological issue. Drugs. Each possibility brought its own set of dangers, but the last one settled in his thoughts and refused to leave. The timing, the strange taste in the champagne, Dick’s sudden confusion, the way his balance had deteriorated so quickly-it all fit too well.
He looked toward the ballroom.
Then back at Dick.
“Did anyone give you anything?”
Dick frowned.
“No.”
“Did anyone touch your drink?”
“I don’t know.”
Jason’s jaw clenched.
“Your glass.”
Dick looked confused.
“What about it?”
“You left it behind.”
“I know.”
“Did you drink from it after I walked away?”
Dick stared at him.
Then slowly shook his head.
“No.”
Jason studied his face.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
The answer sounded more certain this time.
Jason exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
He didn’t believe it was okay.
But he needed Dick to keep talking. He needed to know how much time they had, how quickly the symptoms were progressing, and whether whatever had been put in him was getting worse. Most of all, he needed Dick conscious and responsive long enough to get him somewhere safe.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
Dick leaned his head back against the wall.
“Dizzy.”
“Anything else?”
“Everything feels kind of…”
He waved one hand vaguely, searching for a word that seemed to remain just beyond his reach.
“Far away.”
Jason’s chest tightened.
“Vision?”
“A little blurry.”
“Headache?”
“Not really.”
“Nausea?”
Dick considered it.
“A little.”
“Can you walk?”
Dick looked offended.
“Obviously.”
He pushed away from the wall.
Jason didn’t even have time to react.
Dick made it one step.
His ankle turned.
His shoulder hit the wall.
Jason caught him before he could slide down.
“Yeah,” Jason muttered. “Obviously.”
Dick gave him a weak glare.
“Shut up.”
“Gladly.”
Jason shifted his arm around Dick’s waist.
Dick didn’t argue this time.
That was another thing Jason didn’t like.
Dick always argued. He complained when Jason helped him, made jokes, insisted he could walk, and called Jason dramatic whenever he showed the slightest concern. Even when he was hurt, he usually found enough energy to push back against anyone trying to take care of him.
Right now, he simply leaned against him.
Jason could feel the weight of his head against his shoulder. His breathing was slower than it should’ve been—not dangerously slow, but just enough to make Jason listen more carefully than before.
One breath.
Then another.
Jason counted without meaning to.
Dick noticed.
“Are you counting?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
Jason looked down at him.
“You’re drugged.”
Dick’s mouth twitched.
“Probably.”
The joke should’ve made Jason feel better.
It didn’t.
They reached the side door leading outside.
Jason pushed it open.
Cold night air rushed inside.
Dick inhaled deeply.
His shoulders dropped a little.
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
They stepped onto the stone terrace.
The gala continued behind them, muffled through the closed doors. The gardens stretched out below, dark and quiet except for the occasional movement of trees in the wind. The cold air carried the smell of damp earth and leaves, a sharp contrast to the perfume, champagne, and overheated atmosphere inside.
Dick leaned against the railing.
Jason stayed beside him.
Not because Dick had asked.
Because Jason didn’t want to let him out of reach.
He kept one hand around Dick’s arm, feeling every tiny shift in his balance. Even standing still, Dick seemed unsteady, his weight moving subtly from one foot to the other as though the ground beneath him refused to remain level.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Dick shivered.
Jason immediately noticed.
“Where’s your jacket?”
“Inside.”
“You took it off?”
“Got warm.”
“It’s freezing.”
Dick shrugged.
“I was warm before.”
Jason stared at him.
“You’re not making this easy.”
Dick smiled faintly.
“Wasn’t trying to.”
Jason sighed and shrugged off his own jacket.
“Put this on.”
Dick looked at it.
“Jay.”
“Put it on.”
“You’ll be cold.”
“I’m from Gotham.”
“That’s not how biology works.”
Jason almost smiled.
“There he is.”
Dick blinked.
“What?”
“Nothing. Put it on or I’m calling Bruce.”
Jason helped him into the jacket. Dick didn’t protest when Jason pulled the sleeves down over his hands and adjusted the collar, which was so unlike him that Jason found himself watching his face for any sign that he was getting worse.
That silence worried him more than any complaint could have.
Jason stepped back.
“Better?”
Dick nodded.
“Yeah.”
His eyes drifted toward the gardens.
Jason watched him.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“When did you last feel normal?”
Dick frowned.
“Before the speech.”
“Before that?”
“Maybe when we were eating those tiny cakes.”
Jason nodded slowly.
“So it started after.”
“I think.”
“Did you feel anything immediately after drinking?”
Dick shook his head.
“Not at first.”
Jason’s eyes narrowed.
“Then when?”
Dick pressed two fingers against his temple.
“Maybe ten minutes later.”
Jason looked toward the ballroom.
Ten minutes.
That was enough.
A substance in the drink could’ve taken time to work.
The thought made his skin crawl.
“Okay.”
Dick looked at him.
“You’re doing the face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re thinking too much.”
Jason looked away.
“Because someone drugged you.”
Dick was quiet.
Then he nodded.
“Yeah.”
There was no panic in his voice.
That scared Jason too.
Dick had reached the same conclusion.
He wasn’t guessing anymore.
He knew.
“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
Dick looked down.
“I thought I was imagining it.”
Jason’s anger rose, but it wasn’t really anger at Dick.
It was fear.
“You weren’t.”
“I know that now.”
Jason took a slow breath.
“Okay. We’re going back inside.”
Dick hesitated.
“Jay.”
“What?”
“I don’t think I can walk through that room.”
Jason looked at him.
The ballroom was crowded. Hundreds of people. Music. Lights. Waiters. Guests. If Dick collapsed in there, they could have a medical emergency handled immediately, but if someone had actually drugged him, Jason didn’t know whether the person was still inside. He didn’t know who to trust, and he didn’t know whether the attacker had been watching them since the moment Dick began to feel sick.
And if Dick was right, someone had already managed to get close enough to his drink without either of them noticing.
Jason looked at the door.
Then at Dick.
“We don’t have to go through the ballroom.”
Dick frowned.
“What?”
“There’s another entrance. We’ll go around.”
“Bruce?”
“We’ll find him.”
Dick nodded.
Jason turned toward the door.
He stopped.
Something had moved at the edge of the garden.
Jason stared into the darkness.
Nothing.
Just trees.
He waited.
Still nothing.
Dick shifted beside him.
“What?”
“Stay here.”
Dick gave him a confused look.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
Jason ignored that.
His hand moved toward the weapon beneath his jacket.
He scanned the terrace again. The security lights illuminated most of it, but not all. There were dark gaps between the columns, shadows beneath the hedges, and places where someone could stand without being immediately visible from the house. The garden was too quiet, the darkness too complete beyond the reach of the lights.
Jason’s instincts were screaming now.
Not quietly.
Not subtly.
He had spent too many years in Gotham to ignore that feeling.
Someone was watching them.
He could feel it.
Jason stepped closer to Dick.
“Come here.”
Dick obeyed without a joke this time.
Jason positioned himself between Dick and the garden.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know.”
Dick looked past him.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“That’s the problem.”
Jason reached for the door handle.
Only a few steps.
That was all.
Open the door.
Get inside.
Find Bruce.
Find Tim.
Get Dick somewhere safe.
Simple.
His fingers closed around the handle.
Behind them came a faint scrape against stone.
Jason froze.
Dick’s hand tightened around his sleeve.
“Jay.”
“I heard it.”
Jason slowly turned his head.
A figure stood near one of the columns.
Dark clothing.
Mask.
Gloved hands.
The figure remained perfectly still for a moment, almost blending into the shadows, but the faint reflection of the security lights against the mask gave them away. Jason’s body reacted before his mind caught up, every muscle tightening as he shifted his weight and placed himself fully between the stranger and Dick.
He shoved Dick behind him.
“Stay back.”
The figure stepped forward.
Jason’s hand went beneath his jacket.
The attacker raised something in one hand.
A short metal object.
Jason barely had time to register it before the figure lunged. He twisted, trying to keep himself between them and Dick, but the attacker moved faster than he expected. The blow caught him across the side of the head, and pain exploded through his skull with enough force to erase every other thought.
His vision flashed white.
For one terrible second, he couldn’t hear anything except the high ringing filling his ears. The terrace seemed to tilt beneath him, the stone shifting at an impossible angle as his balance disappeared.
His knees buckled.
He reached blindly behind himself.
His fingers caught Dick’s sleeve.
Then slipped.
Dick stumbled.
Jason forced his eyes open.
The terrace had tilted sideways.
The lights above him stretched into long, blurry lines.
He could see Dick.
Pale.
Confused.
Reaching toward him.
Jason tried to stand.
Nothing happened.
His legs wouldn’t cooperate.
He tried again, forcing every bit of strength he had into his arms and knees, but his body refused to respond. The attacker moved between them, blocking Dick from view for a moment before shifting just enough for Jason to see him again.
Jason’s heart slammed against his ribs.
No.
Not Dick.
He couldn’t let them take Dick.
He’d already missed the signs.
He’d already let him walk away alone.
He should’ve taken the glass.
He should’ve called Bruce.
He should’ve-
“Dick!”
The name tore out of him, barely audible beneath the ringing in his ears.
Dick reached for him.
Jason reached back.
Their hands almost touched.
Almost.
For one suspended second, Jason could see Dick’s fingers stretching toward his, could see the fear finally breaking through the haze in his expression. Jason tried to move closer, tried to drag himself across the stone, but his limbs felt impossibly heavy and the darkness had already begun closing in around the edges of his vision.
Then it rushed forward, swallowing the terrace, the attacker, and Dick’s outstretched hand all at once.
The last thing Jason felt was the cold stone beneath him.
Then nothing.