Murder Muffin

The hold was darker than the deck above, lit only by lanterns swinging from hooks along the beams. Jason crouched beside the first crate and pried the lid loose with the hilt of his knife. His expression changed almost immediately. Gold coins glimmered beneath folded cloth, packed tightly enough that the lantern light caught on them with every movement of the ship. He stared for a moment before letting out a low whistle.

His gaze found Roy almost immediately.

The first mate stood among the crew with that familiar grin plastered across his face, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he raised a bottle toward Jason. For a heartbeat, Jason simply watched him. There was something about seeing Roy like this—unburdened, laughing, alive—that made the victory feel more real than the gold below deck ever could. Jason finally descended the steps toward them, shaking his head as the crew erupted into another cheer.

"Alright, alright," he called, raising both hands. "Don't start carving my face into the mast just yet. We've only robbed one ship."

That earned another round of laughter. Jason accepted the bottle Roy held out to him, taking a long drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The liquor burned pleasantly down his throat, and for once he didn't care about tomorrow's repairs, the navy, or the bounty that would eventually follow the black flag.

Tonight, they had earned this.

He lifted his bottle toward the crew, his expression settling into something quietly proud.

"To our first prize," Jason said. "And to the next one being bigger."

The response was deafening.

//From my Dickers/Nightwing :D if that's okay//

injury starters | accepting ( @nocturnalmuses )

Jason opened his mouth on instinct, ready to throw out the same answer he always did. I'm fine. The words never made it past his tongue.

His gaze dropped.

For a moment, he simply stared at the dark stain spreading beneath the torn fabric of his shirt, almost unable to make sense of what he was seeing. Blood. There was more of it than there should have been, soaking through the material along his side and trailing in a slow, ugly line toward his hip. His brow furrowed.

Huh.

He hadn't felt it.

There had been adrenaline, the fight, the sharp focus that came with putting one foot in front of the other and making sure everyone else got out. He'd noticed the impact, sure. A hard hit to his side, maybe a glancing blow from a blade or a bullet. Nothing worth stopping over. Nothing that had registered as anything more than another bruise waiting to happen.

The pain arrived all at once, vicious and blinding, as though his body had been waiting for permission to finally acknowledge what had happened. His breath caught violently in his throat. His stomach twisted. Heat spread through his side before becoming something colder, deeper, a brutal pressure that seemed to drive itself between his ribs with every heartbeat.

"Fuck—"

His hand flew to his side, and the world tilted.

Jason tried to straighten, tried to convince his legs that they were still supposed to be holding him upright, but his knees gave out before he could manage it. He stumbled forward, one boot scraping uselessly against the floor before he dropped hard, catching himself against the nearest solid surface.

Pain exploded through him again.

His vision flashed white.

"I got you."

Jason heard the words as though they were coming from somewhere far away. He swallowed hard, trying to force his vision back into focus. Stay with me. Right. He could do that. It wasn't like he'd been knocked unconscious. He was awake. He was breathing. He could still think, even if thinking currently consisted of little more than trying not to throw up from the pain.

"It's not too bad..."

Jason gave a strained, humorless huff that might have been a laugh under different circumstances. "Yeah," he muttered, voice rough and breathless. "Sure." He could feel the warmth of the blood against his palm, could feel the nauseating weakness beginning to creep into his limbs now that the adrenaline had finally burned itself out.

“Must have been a sadist”, Jason says.

<Checks notes>

Yeah. Uh huh. Yup. Right on the money there. Immaculate.

Every conversation seemed to pause for a heartbeat.

"What the fuck happened?"

Jason didn't break stride. He couldn't. Looking too interested would be just as suspicious as looking horrified. He kept walking toward the loading bay with the same lazy confidence he'd worn all day, though his pulse had already doubled.

A cluster of guards rushed toward the smaller holding area. One of them came back almost immediately, half supporting another man who was hopping on one leg, his face twisted in pain.

"Idiot slipped loading one of 'em," someone barked. "Looks like he busted his ankle."

Laughter answered him.

"Told you not to grab at the merchandise."

"Shut the hell up."

Jason kept his head down to hide the flicker of satisfaction threatening to betray him. Dick.

Only Dick could turn being groped into an "accident" that removed a guard from the equation without exposing himself. It was exactly the sort of improvisation Jason had watched him pull a hundred times before—using an opponent's momentum, letting physics do the work, never looking like he'd lifted a finger.

The middleman stormed out of the office, already irritated.

"We're short a body."

Nobody volunteered.

The silence stretched just long enough for Jason to feel hope twist painfully in his chest.

Then the middleman's eyes landed on him.

"You."

Jason stopped.

"The pickup can wait ten minutes. Martinez can handle it." He jerked a thumb toward another thug already reaching for the van keys. "Get your ass on convoy detail. They're loading now." Jason forced himself to roll his shoulders as though the order inconvenienced him. ''Fuck's sake -''

The middleman jabbed a finger toward the truck bay. "And keep your hands off the merchandise. Buyers are paying premium tonight. I don't want excuses."

Jason answered with a careless grunt before turning toward the loading area, every step measured despite the adrenaline roaring through him.

The truck came into view around the corner.

Its rear doors were still open.

Guards moved in disciplined pairs around the vehicle, checking restraints, comparing wristband numbers against a clipboard, and lifting captives inside with the detached efficiency of warehouse workers loading freight instead of human beings.

Jason's gaze swept the interior only once and he found Dick immediately.

Curled against the metal wall exactly as a heavily drugged captive should have been, head bowed, wrists bound, surrounded by strangers.

Still alive.

The engine roared louder, drowning out most of the conversation as the truck began to move. Jason kept his head lowered, adopting the bored posture of a thug who had done this too many times to care. Beneath that facade, his mind was already working. The route they'd take. The number of vehicles following. The plates. The names he'd overheard. The destination he suspected but hadn't yet confirmed. And, most importantly, how many people were going to be waiting at the other end. If they were lucky, they would be walking straight into the heart of the operation.

A guard moved farther into the truck, checking the captives one by one. When he reached Dick, his hand caught the chain between his wrists and gave it an unnecessary tug, testing the restraint. Jason's entire body went rigid before he forced himself to relax. His fingers curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms beneath his gloves. He couldn't interfere. Not yet. The man moved on after apparently deciding Dick was harmless, and Jason released a slow breath through his nose.

Then the radio crackled.

"Convoy's moving. Destination confirmed."

Jason's eyes lifted slightly.

The guard nearest the door answered, then looked toward the others. "We're going straight to the estate. No stops."

Estate.

Not a warehouse. Not another holding facility.

The buyers' location.

Jason felt something cold settle into place inside him.

They had them.

He glanced toward Dick only once, careful not to make it obvious. His expression remained blank, but his eyes carried the only message he could risk giving him.

We're close.

The truck picked up speed as the city disappeared behind them, and Jason reached beneath his jacket, fingers brushing the concealed transmitter he'd spent weeks positioning for exactly this moment.

Not yet.

They needed the destination confirmed.

One moment the nurse had been edging toward the door, the next he was pinned hard enough against the wall to rattle the picture frame beside him, voices overlapping in a blur Jason couldn't separate from the pounding of blood in his ears. His attention never stayed on the man for long. It kept snapping back to Grace as she shepherded him onto the bed with surprising firmness, every ounce of her focus fixed on him despite the fact that she'd been the one to uncover the attack in the first place.

He let her.

Not because he thought he needed the examination.

Because she did.

Jason sat still while she checked his pupils, his mouth, his pulse, watching the concentration settle over her features with the same practiced precision she'd shown the night before while trying to stop the bleeding from his shoulder. Her fingers trembled, but not enough to affect her work. He could feel the fear in the way she searched him for something—anything—that would confirm she'd caught it in time. When nothing presented itself, he saw neither relief nor reassurance in her expression. Only the terrible certainty that Roman Sionis had reached inside the hospital itself.

When she reached for the cables and began disconnecting them with quick, efficient movements, Jason caught her wrist gently before she could move away again. His grip was careful, more an anchor than a restraint.

His eyes opened to the dim bedroom, and he turned his head toward the door. Maria stood there, looking exhausted herself, and something in her expression told Jason she'd been keeping watch over Grace. The thought alone eased some of the tension that had settled in him. If Grace had managed to sleep that long, she had needed every minute of it. He pushed himself slightly higher against the pillows, immediately regretting the movement when his shoulder protested sharply. He swallowed the hiss before it could become anything louder and settled again, unwilling to make more of the injury than it was.

For a second, the confusion was all he could manage, the high of his earlier release settling into a slow dread. He'd been so focused on the closeness, on reading Dick's reactions and making sure he wasn't pushing too far, that the hesitation in his voice didn't make sense. He had thought that Dick had wanted—

The meaning finally caught up with him, the dread solidifying into Jason's stomach.

Had he gone too far?

The thought hit hard enough that his entire body seemed to lock up. His hands immediately stilled, and he pulled back just enough to give Dick room without making any sudden movement. "Hey," he said quietly, searching Dick's face. "You don't have to—" He stopped, swallowing.

There was no anger in his voice. No disappointment. If anything, there was something close to alarm beneath it. The possibility that he'd pushed past something Dick hadn't wanted made Jason feel sick.

But then, when Dick's hand guided his own against his skin, Jason's expression softened slightly. He understood then, or at least enough to stop panicking. Dick wasn't asking him to leave. He wasn't rejecting him. He simply wanted something different.

"Okay," Jason murmured immediately, his heart still racing behind his ribs. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Of course—'' He drew Dick gently against him, ignoring the discomfort in his pants after the mess he had made on himself, wrapping both arms around him. One hand rested between Dick's shoulder blades, moving slowly up and down his back, while the other settled securely at his waist.

''If I've done—'' Jason breathed against Dick's hair. ''I should have asked, I'm—''

Not from fear this time, but from something softer that he wasn't entirely sure how to name. He looked down at Dick tucked against him, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders as though he'd finally allowed himself to believe that Jason wasn't going anywhere. The admission that he didn't get this often struck deeper than it probably should have.

"Yeah," Jason murmured, his hand continuing its slow path along Dick's back. "Me neither."

There was something almost absurdly comforting about admitting it aloud. Neither of them seemed particularly good at asking for this kind of closeness, yet here they were, tangled together beneath the blankets with nowhere else they needed to be. Jason pressed another gentle kiss into Dick's hair, lingering there for a moment before settling his cheek against the top of his head.

Commision Finished !><