Dramatis Personae

Dick made it look easy.

Dick always had.

"I care about you."

The words echoed, the truth of them painfully obvious.

They shouldn't have hurt.

They shouldn't have felt like the thing that finally cracked something open inside him. Jason's hand moved almost on instinct, catching gently around Dick's wrist—not to stop him, not to pull him away, just to keep him there.

''... I know,'' he breathed and his thumb brushed lightly against Dick's wrist, almost absentmindedly. He shouldn't, but Jason's eyes flickered to Dick's, seeing the weight of his words on his expression. And he should draw back, should find an excuse, pretend to have to leave, or something—

But he couldn't.

He didn't want to.

Suddenly the atmosphere had changed into something intense, almost electric.

Dick had to silently remind himself to breathe as he stared at Jason, keenly aware of the scant distance between them. Aware of Jason's hand on his wrist, the gentle caress that threatened to send shivers down his spine. What was happening? Was he reading this right? Did Jason…was there something more there in Jason's eyes than quiet gratitude?

Maybe.

He felt almost frozen, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe as Jason leaned forward. His eyes flicked down to Jason's lips, his own suddenly feeling far too dry. It was hardly the first time Dick had been in such a situation, he knew what was surely coming if he let this happen, but for it to be Jason…

For Jason to want this, to want him…

Was it real? Did Jason actually have deeper feelings for him? Or was this a coping mechanism, a need for closeness and intimacy regardless of who was here right now?

Did it matter?

No.

If this was what Jason wanted, what he needed, right now, then Dick would give it to him gladly. He'd been fighting the desire himself since they'd settled into the blanket fort to begin with; surely this counted as permission to act on it, right?

God, he hoped so.

He hadn't expected, nor wanted, Dick to wake up.

Not when his voice had barely been more than a breath, not when he had been so careful not to disturb him and for a second, Jason considered pretending he hadn't said anything.

It would have been easier.

Instead, he looked away, his fingers still resting lightly against the fabric near Dick's shoulder. "For earlier," Jason said quietly. The words sat heavy between them. "When I came at you." Jason's jaw tightened.

The memory came back too clearly—the darkness, the fear, the instinct that had taken over before he could think. The way Dick had been trapped there and still looked at him like Jason was someone worth reaching for.

"I could've killed you," he admitted.

The shame in his voice was quieter now than it had been before, but it hadn't disappeared.

Jason finally looked back at him.

Dick was still waking up, hair slightly mussed, expression softened by sleep and trust. Apart from the bruises, he looked nothing like someone who had just been attacked by him hours ago.

A pause stretched between them. Then, almost helplessly, Jason added, "You shouldn't have had to be the one to talk me down."

Jason hand lowered, but Dick's warmth lingered in his fingers. "I don't know what I would've—if I had hurt you...''

The admission felt too honest. Too exposed. Jason looked down, unable to hold Dick's gaze for too long.

Because the worst part was that he knew.

He knew exactly what Dick meant to him and what it would have meant if Dick truly had been hurt by him. Jason had known for longer than he wanted to admit.

Dick's eyes softened in understanding. It was, of course, far too much to hope that a single evening was enough to fully soothe Jason's nerves after whatever had sent him into such a state, but there was no reason for him to apologize. Not as far as Dick was concerned.

His shoulder wasn't even sore. Well, not really; he probably had a pretty good bruise forming by now, but in the grand scheme of things? Compared to some other injuries he'd had? It was nothing. But it clearly weighed on Jason's mind. It, and the what-ifs beyond it.

He hated seeing Jason like this, so off-kilter. So fragile. It didn't suit Jason at all. Never had, honestly; Jason should be bold and brash, bright and grinning and happy, not beating himself up over something that hadn't even happened. Over something that he'd been unable to help in the first place.

Dick's hand moved before he was aware of it, reaching up to brush some hair off Jason's forehead before cupping his cheek. "But you didn't," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And you wouldn't have. I know you, Jason; you don't hurt people without a reason. And to be fair," he added with a wry smile, "I did break in."

Jason had been defending himself; it was as simple as that. And as soon as he'd realized who had come in, he'd stopped.

"But I'm okay," Dick continued, thumb caressing Jason's cheekbone softly. "And I'd do it again. Call me, if things start getting bad again. Okay? I will make time for you. Jay, I-…"

There was no hesitation in it.

No uncertainty.

Just quiet, uncomplicated affection.

His body tensed for the briefest moment out of habit before the last of it melted away. The instinct to pull back never came. Instead, he found himself leaning into the embrace almost without realizing it, his head tipping just enough that it rested against Dick's shoulder.

Jason didn't remember deciding to close his eyes.

The movie continued somewhere beyond the blankets, voices rising and falling in familiar rhythms. He caught fragments—"As you wish." The sound of swords. Laughter.

Then even those drifted away.

For the first time in what felt like forever, sleep arrived without dragging him under.

It simply found him. ---------

Jason woke slowly.

Not with a gasp. Not with his heart hammering against his ribs. Not clawing his way out of another nightmare.

Just... slowly.

For a long moment Jason didn't open his eyes. He lay there suspended between sleep and waking, aware only of warmth surrounding him. A blanket had been pulled over him, and something firm and steady rested beneath his cheek, accompanied by a heartbeat.

Jason blinked, pulling himself from his sleep.

The room was darker than before. Outside the cracked window, evening had slipped into night, the apartment washed in soft blue shadows. The television was still on, though the menu screen had replaced the movie, its quiet music looping endlessly.

Jason blinked, trying to gather the scattered pieces of where he was.

Then he realized. Somewhere during the film he'd shifted closer.

Or maybe Dick had.

His cheek rested against Dick's chest, one of Dick's arms still loosely around him beneath the blanket. Dick's head had tipped back against the couch, eyes closed, breathing slow and even.

He'd fallen asleep too.

Jason stared at him.

The faint bruise blooming along Dick's shoulder where Jason had grabbed him earlier caught his eye and his stomach twisted.

Jason was relaxing.

Jason trusted him enough, felt safe with him enough, to relax in the first place.

God, if it wouldn't completely ruin the moment Dick could absolutely cheer. There was no possible way this could get any better.

And then it did.

The movie was almost half over by the time he noticed that Jason's breathing had shifted, that Jason's eyes had closed. Was he asleep…? Had he really fallen asleep? Dick bit back the urge to speak up and ask, in case he had. Jason almost certainly needed some real sleep right now; god only knew how long it had been since he'd gotten any.

Instead Dick reached over as best he could to pull over one of the thicker blankets, tucking it as best he could around Jason without jostling him too much, and then settled in for the rest of the movie. Unable to resist, he let himself nuzzle gently against Jason's hair once, pressing a soft kiss into dark strands. Sleep well.

He wouldn't even notice himself drifting off in turn.

His hand reached for his mask, ripping it off with a cry. "Arsene! Rip it down." The blue fire erupted behind him, and the Persona unfurled its wings proudly before sweeping forward and kicking out a long leg and shattering the window.

Unless, of course, the fear toxin always has this kind of effect in the Metaverse.

Regardless, this has to be stopped. They have to find Crane, have to find whoever hired him, and put both of them back where they belong: behind bars. Dick's about to ask shadow-Bat about leads when blue fire erupts and suddenly a long-limbed humanoid figure is kicking the glass out of the window.

"No!" His hand moves almost before he has time to think, grabbing Phantom's shoulder before the kid can dive into the room beyond. And Phantom is a kid, he has to remind himself; that sudden snap of frustration reminds him a little of Jason. "You don't know what's in there. We do. You go in there unprepared, you stand a good chance of ending up in the same state."

Thanks to years of habit his eyes go to shadow-Bat. "Let's go." And then he turns toward the window, only to pause as blue flame erupts beside him and something flies straight into his eyes.

He stumbles back a step, reaching up to his mask in confusion. "What the-"

Later. Focus, Nightwing.

That's Bruce's voice. Inside his head. What the hell?

Get moving.

Worry about it later. Right now, he needs to get that noose off that poor sod in the room before they literally die of fright. He dives through the window, reaching for the rope with a gloved hand that - he suddenly realizes - now has the same sharpened claws as shadow-Bat's gauntlet.

The shadow-Bat nodded once to Dick, acknowledging his question. He lifted a claw, motioning for them to follow him, then turned around without a sound. The cloak of mist and shadow all but completely erased him from the view ahead of them as it began to walk down the darkening street.

Ren cast an inquisitive glance at Nightwing. "Well, I guess there's our lead." He quickly fell in step behind the shadow-Bat and tried not to pay attention to how the darkness growing around them made his skin crawl. It reminded him way too much of the Prison of Sloth.

The oppressive atmosphere only got worse the longer they followed the shadow-Bat until all at once, the sky lit up like a beacon. Ren's gaze instantly flashed to the sky and saw not a beacon, but....

A signal.

Bright yellow with a black bat symbol in the center. It stood out sharply against the darkened clouds, shining its light down on the darkness like the moon should be. That must be another sign for Nightwing. But it was a little too heavy-handed, plus the symbol didn't match. Maybe it was someone Nightwing was associated with? But there again, it was way too heavy-handed. Unless that was a signal that was used in reality that the whole city saw on a regular basis....

Weird.

Ren was brought out of his musing by an insistent claw tapping on a nearby wall. His gaze fell back to the shadow-Bat, and then to the window on the building the shadow was standing in front of and tapping on. Inside the window made Ren's jaw drop open.

A Shadow. A living person's Shadow. But it was wrong. There was some sort of burlap sack pulled over their head. There was some kind of translucent shirt, ragged and torn, draped over their shoulders. But what was giving Ren so much panic was the rope around the Shadow's neck. It was a noose. And it was tightening, strangling the Shadow while they flailed and screamed.

Ren searched for the end of the noose, trying to see who else was in here...but there was nothing. It was just an empty room. The noose ended in a ragged tear that was being pulled backwards into thin air.

He falls into step behind shadow-Bat, watching the city shift around them. Darker, closer, mroe confining…god, is this really what Gotham's people think of their own city? It's depressing. There's no light anywhere, which has Dick frowning in concern until a bright beam shines out like a distress flare.

Which it kind of is.

Because that's the Bat-signal.

Dark and depressing the Metaverse Gotham might be, but at least her people trust their protector. That's enough for Dick. He stares up at the signal with a faint smile for a few seconds before shadow-Bat grabs his attention with the tapping. Then something flickers in the window beside the shadow, and Dick goes still.

That…looks like a person. An actual person, except they're clearly in distress. Sack over the head, noose around the neck, ragged shirt over their own clothes…and that noose is ragged, too, tightening around their neck. And the sack is familiar, with a stitched on face. Two crosses for eyes, a vague mouth…

His head snaps to shadow-Bat, shoulders suddenly straight, jaw tight with concern and anger. "Crane's back?" He glances at Phantom. "Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. He's fascinated by fear, but he's not usually one for huge stunts unless…"

He reached up with his free hand, pressing the hidden button at the back of the base of the helmet to allow it to release and yanked it unceremoniously off his head and sent it tumbling to his lap. He had learned how to breathe through it a long time ago, but he couldn't keep doing it when he was actively bleeding out. "Shit--...."

Even so, when he hears Jason's helmet rattle beside him he has to force himself to keep his eyes forward. How has Jason forgotten so quickly? Does Jason truly think so little of him?

Maybe.

Bruce can still vividly remember the year Jason returned. The standoff in that abandoned building. The anger, pain, hurt in Jason's voice as he'd stood there trying to force an almost impossible choice. It hadn't ended well for either of them, and had likely cemented Jason's hatred for him…at least, that's what Bruce has assumed since.

And yet, when he'd been most desperate, Jason had still reached out. Still called him for help. And yet had thought…what? That he wouldn't come? Why the hell would he not come if-

If you let me die again

The words hit like bullets from a sniper rifle, tearing through him and nearly making him lose control of the car; it takes an act of will not to slam on the brakes and spin out. Is that what Jason really thinks…? That Bruce would just let him die?

Fuck.

And then he started walking forward. Ren reached out a fraction of a second too late to stop him. "Nightwing--!" This was going to go badly, he had to stop him...! "Nightwing!"

The shadow turned its iridescent eyes to lock onto Nightwing. It seemed to Ren like it was staring straight through him. Ren watched in horror that turned into confused fascination as the shadow-Bat flexed its claws once, twice, and then lowered its shoulders, as if relaxing. Its head tipped slightly to one side, almost as if in greeting.

And then it turned those eyes on Ren. The tension in the shadow returned, and it took an antagonizing step forward, challenging him. Ren didn't back down. Nightwing said this thing was there to help, which meant that on some level, he recognized who or what this Shadow was meant to represent. He needed to show that he wasn't easily frightened.

Ren accepted the challenge, taking his own step forward, but his hand fell away from his dagger. He stood tall, confident, hands at his sides, but ready. The shadow-Bat seemed to accept this, nodding first to Ren, and then to Nightwing. Ren let out the breath he had been holding, and stepped up beside Nightwing now. "What are you here to tell us?"

The shadow-Bat regarded them for a moment, saying nothing. Then it extended a clawed hand and pointed at the skyline. Ren couldn't tell the difference, not really. He saw that the buildings were taller now, darker. He noticed that the ambient light had all but disappeared from overhead, and he could see what looked like clouds covering the sky around them.

Sure enough, Phantom holds his ground and shadow-Bat seems to approve. All that's left now is to figure out just what he's trying to tell them. That part Dick has no clue about, since shadow-Bat doesn't seem all that inclined to actually talk.

Can shadows talk in here?

Hm.

Oh well.

As shadow-Bat gestures Dick looks up and goes still. When had that happened…? A second ago he's sure they were standing in Bludhaven's subconscious; when the hell had they gotten to Gotham? Though that would explain just why shadow-Bat chose now to show up, since the man himself has never much liked unexpected guests.

Instead, there was only warmth.

Warmth from the cocoa cradled in his hands. Warmth from the blanket draped over his shoulders. Warmth from the solid, reassuring presence leaning against him as though there were nowhere else Dick would rather be.

His eyes stung.

Jason fixed them on the television before the opening scene had properly registered, more interested in the familiar weight beside him than the film itself.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this tired.

Not physically.

Bone-deep. Soul-deep. The kind of exhaustion that came after spending days fighting yourself until there was almost nothing left. Without thinking, he shifted, his back more to Dick, and Jason let himself lean back.

Only a fraction.

Just enough that some of his weight rested against Dick instead of holding himself upright. For a long while, neither of them spoke. The movie played on, filling the quiet with familiar dialogue and music Jason barely processed.

His breathing evened out.

The knot in his shoulders loosened another notch.

Jason was relaxing, slowly but steadily, the movie was comfortingly familiar in a way that needed no real attention, they were sitting in a blanket fort like a couple of kids…honestly, Dick could almost wish this moment would last forever.

He loved Jason. He really did. It wasn't new - Jason had been family for ages, love went without saying - but the depth of the emotion had changed over the years. He'd first realized it in that hospital bed, the day after Jason had saved his life, and in the days that followed that realization had only solidified.

A large part of him wanted to pull Jason into a proper hug, to hold him and stroke his hair and assure him everything would be okay. Hell, a large part of him wanted to kiss Jason again - just on the cheek, but a kiss nonetheless - but something held him back. Firstly Jason might not be ready for that level of contact yet at all, and secondly…well. Jason cared for him, yes, but that didn't mean there was anything more than platonic feelings there.

Dick wasn't about to push things. Not with Jason. Certainly not right now.

Still, when he felt Jason relax against him a little more he couldn't help himself. He slid an arm around Jason's shoulders companionably, satisfying himself with the almost-hug and smiling softly to himself.

He could walk. Sort of. He leaned hard against Bruce, his feet almost dragging as he forced them to move one in front of the other. His breathing was ragged now, hard and a little wheezy. He was going to blame that and the tunnel vision on the blood loss.

The batmobile felt smaller now, more cramped. He wondered if that was how Dick had felt when he was growing up too. He let his head fall back against the head rest, his eyes closing to try and focus on his breathing and keeping the pressure on his stomach. "I'm still awake, I just...need a second."

Assuring Bruce. If he had the time to think about it, he would realize that the reason he felt compelled to do so was the fact that Bruce obviously cared. He still cared. He never stopped caring. Everything Jason had done since clawing his way out of his grave had been done because Bruce didn't care.

But here he was. Caring. Helping. Still there.

Plus, Jason's enough like him to have booby-trapped that helmet to keep anyone else from removing it.

But then Jason speaks, and the relief is incredible. Still awake, still alive, still here.

Still here.

the boy nods at the bit about not needing to do this. he doesn't know what else he should do, considering most of his life, he has spent as a servant. the few, scarce years he's been alive. he speaks in english with some degree of fluency, the words strung together well, but with the awkwardness of someone who has not spoken the language often.

he looks at the computer, takes in the details on screen, but seems unbothered by what he can understand. one thing dai'adral taught him before her death was to see but not talk. to understand, but not show it. it's a skill he puts to use even now.

"you should rest," there is a pause, "bruce. a friend used to tell me not to stay awake for too long." dai'andral, again, when he decided to stay awake reading through the night rather than rest as he should; servants had precious little time for respite, so it was unwise indeed to spend what little he got reading.

He pauses for a moment, glancing back at his work. It is important, yes, but…it probably can wait until he's slept. Fresh eyes can only help him in his reviewing, too.

And he certainly doesn't want to discourage Gabriel from speaking up.

And it seemed like it was working. Sharp steel eyes shot up when he heard the noise above him, hand drifting to his dagger on reflex. Bats. Nightwing had been right on the money. Either he had a lot more knowledge of the way people thought in this city than he thought he did, or he was just guessing really well. Either way, it gave them a direction to go in, which Ren was not about to complain about.

He nodded in agreement and started down the street after the small cloud of bats in the sky. It was strange to see. Now, Ren wasn't around real bats often enough to have their anatomy memorized, but he was fairly certain that if he caught one of those they were following, they wouldn't look like any bat he'd ever seen before.

The Metaverse was wild.

He stopped dead in his tracks when the cloud shifted suddenly. The street around them got darker, somehow, like a full moon had just gone dark. He instinctively put his arm out to stop Nightwing, stepping in front of him as the bats in the sky started swirling, chittering in growing excitement and what sounded to Ren like anger. "Stay behind me."

The cloud swirled faster and faster and faster, some starting to dip toward the street barely ten feet in front of them. Then more started doing so, and more. And suddenly they all converged, melding into one dense ball of shadow before them. Ren pulled his dagger, preparing to fight whatever this was.

And then the shadow stood up, long, pointed ears protruded from a humanoid head like demon's horns. Arms ended in shadowy claws that flexed and clicked together as hollow golden eyes peered out from the shadow's otherwise featureless face. It stood tall, towering over Ren and Nightwing both. And behind it, swirling mist and darkness billowed and flowed like wings or a cloak.

When the bats start circling Dick pauses, blinking up at them. The squeaking and chittering is getting louder, excited and almost urgent. It's not fear he's hearing, he knows, and they're not angry either, but something important is happening.

Or about to happen.

Suddenly the bats are swirling downward, diving into the street and circling into a living tornado. Phantom's warning goes entirely ignored, Dick's attention locked on the bats now coalescing into a huge ball of shadow right in front of them.

No.

Not a ball.

That's a person. Or a humanoid shadow, anyway, kneeling as if it's just jumped down from one of the nearby roofs to land in front of them.

And then it stands up, and Dick can't help the grin that spreads across his face. The shadow is tall, far taller than it should be, but that flowing cape, the solid stance, the white lenses glowing where eyes should be, the ears rising from the cowled head, and the glimmering yellow outline on the chest…oh, he knows this one. Knows it as well as his own name.

Of course he'd have a shadow representation here.

How could he not?

And then the door flew open and two bodies rolled over the top of him. One landed with a thud hard enough that Jason was pretty sure the poor bastard got knocked out cold on the floor. The other dropped into a roll and popped up. The ears on the cowl gave it away a split second before they turned around to meet Jason's gaze.

Bruce.

The moment that hand touched his shoulder--shaking and clearly just as afraid as Jason had been a second before--years of grief, fear, and anger disappeared. This was not Red Hood and Batman. This wasn't even Robin and Batman. This was Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne. This was a father and a son terrified of losing each other again.

He's alive.

Jason's alive.

Oh thank god.

His hand tightens on Jason's shoulder. "You did well." You're alive. "I've got you." It's going to hurt even more, but they have to get Jason out of here, get him back to the Cave. Back where it's safe.

Back where Bruce can make sure he'll be fine.

He presses the jacket back against Jason's wound with a brief warning. "Brace yourself." Then comes the process of hauling Jason to his feet. He half-drags, half-supports Jason out to the car's passenger seat, already set up in medical mode. Once Jason's in, all that's left is racing back out of the city.

He'll be too late.

He's on his way. Just keep breathing. That's the key. Breathe.

And then the roar of the batmobile was loud; no longer from his phone. His eyes snapped up and around in the direction of the sound as though he could see through walls. He was here.

He was here.

His throat tightened with panic. This was when he had thought he was safe before and he was wrong. Here he was, bleeding in a fucking warehouse and waiting on Batman to come to his rescue again.

Pathetic.

"Back room," he managed to growl into the phone. "Up the stairs to the left. Down the hall, second door." With the directions given, Jason hauled himself to his knees, grunting in pain with the effort. He set the phone aside, choosing to reach for the brace he had shoved against the door when he got inside to begin with.

With another effort of will and no small amount of agony, the brace fell to the side and Jason followed it rather unceremoniously into a crumpled heap in a small puddle of his own blood.

He can feel his heart racing, knows clinically the anxiety bordering on panic that is threatening to take over. He was this close before, when his boy was torn away from him the first time. He can't be too late again.

He can't.

Following the traced signal he tears into the warehouse district, pulling up in front of one particular building. It has to be the right one, it has to be.

And it is. Jason's voice in his ear, giving him details. Upstairs, back room, second door. He's out of the car in seconds, kicking the door open so hard one of the hinges breaks. He has to move fast; with Jason talking again, if any of the attackers are still in the area they may seize the opportunity to strike and Bruce cannot allow that.

So.

Upstairs.

To the left.

Down the hall.

Second door.

His jaw tightens as he hits the hallway, a dark figure already reaching for the handle of Jason's door, and conscious thought ceases to be for a few seconds. Adrenalin lends him speed, a batarang catching the figure's wrist and buying just enough time for a flying kick to send them both through a suddenly-shattered door with a crash.

It's only years of reflex that have Bruce rolling with the landing rather than allowing himself to completely shatter the man's ribcage beneath his weight. He's back on his feet in less than a second, scanning for Jason and biting back a curse of his own.

The assailant forgotten for the moment, Bruce is at Jason's side in a heartbeat. He's not actually aware of his hands shaking as he reaches for Jason's shoulder. "Talk to me." Please. Please be alive. Please let me be in time.