#jaydickweek2017

>>Team A, do you copy me?<< Oracle's voice sounded shaky through the line, as if she had seen a ghost or something similar. Her call was answered quickly by both teams, whom noticed her tone.

"What is it Oracle? Oracle?" Nightwing asked before anyone could even say a word. His body tensed which wasn't good as he was jumping from rooftop to rooftop. He felt the news were bad and grew anxious at the wait. "Oracle?" He called once more before someone pulled his arm to stop him.

"Calm down Nightwing." Batwoman's demanded, frowning at him. The others caught up in a blink, neither paying attention to the call but to the oldest of them. They felt it. Something bad happened.

>>I need Red Robin back here. There was a call, not long ago. Nobody said anything. It had static, a lot of it.<< She explained giving the main details. Her voice was confident again, but the worry touch was still there.

"Ok. Red Robin is on his way." Nightwing glanced at the far silhouette of his younger brother heading south to the lower buildings. Below them, the sound of a powerful motorbike roared to their south.

Although Oracle kept talking, Nightwing wasn't listening at all. The oldest just stared at the vehicle avoiding other cars, then at his sibling leaping from the rooftop landing perfectly seated, then he got the controls turning it to the direction it had come from. It reminded him of someone, who he couldn't quite recall at the moment.

>>Copy. It's everything okay over there?<<

"We had worst nights."

>>There's another attack. I'm sending the location right now. Be careful.<<

Nearly an hour passed since Red Robin had left. Nightwing couldn't quite brush the feeling of worry of him. It followed him and was present at every movement he did. Every punch he threw, every kick he send. Every single movement he did from place to place. The others knew he was anxious by the way his body tensed so often in so little time.

Once they were out of the warehouse, they stayed o the rooftop to overlook at the busy streets of their home city. Neither said anything. Neither wanted to say anything. What could they even say?

Few minutes passed before there was an entry call. With a single button they all answered.

>>There's no time for chit-chat. Listen up, everyone.<< They were greeted by Oracle, who was more serious than ever.

>>We tried tracking the call. It came from one of B's gadgets, one of the old ones. Location, west warehouse near the chemical factory from...<< Red Robin's voice went silent all of the sudden. Everyone attentive. A gasp was heard from the other side. >>Oh my goodness! It wasRed Hood!<<

"What?"

>>Huh...I think...<< The sound of keyboard keys. Taps. Silence. >>Ok. Ok. Listen up. Wait! Where's Nightwing?!<<

Red Robin's sigh was loud to get everyone's attention.

>>Team A, there's a robbery in North side. Split up. Location is send to your vehicles. Team B, stay on the call...<<

Nightwing was in a motorbike, heading to the location the team send. He knew it wasn't the exact direction, but knowing Red Hood he wouldn't require a lot to find the place. His mind was like a blank paper, with his Robin successor's name filling it. He wasn't even thinking about him. He only repeated the name again and again. No images no memories. Only the name.

>>Nightwing? Answer me you idiot. Nightwing!<< His younger brother claimed, demanded. The oldest could hear everything but he struggle to talk to him. The background sounds like Oracle typing, videos or his brother's grunts. >>Nightwing...Please.<< He pleaded, now with a softer and quieter voice.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, finally pressing the button. He could almost hear him sobbing and it made him mad. Mad that he is causing his brother to worry about him. "Tim...?" Gently he called, his grip in the handgrip was harder as he started to be frustrated at himself.

>>Just tell me why are you doing this. B just came back from the J.L. meeting and I need to explain this to him.<<

"I...I haven't seen him in so long...He is in trouble, I can feel it. I know it." His brother listened at every word, not interrupting. "What you and Babs tried to tracked down is an old tracker. Back when he was Robin, B gave it to him. I used to have one too. It isn't accurate, because it was design that way. So before a mission it could be drop somewhere near. It has a control which you keep. Press a button and the thing sends a shock to the cave. Since it's old, you can't track it well."

>>Hum, yup. B just confirmed it. He went to search old gadgets to see which one it is.<< He younger gave a pause, like he was choosing his words. >>You still haven't answer my question completely. You haven't seen him in a while, we haven't either. Tell me what's the fuss about.<<

"You are going places kid. You lack social skills but as a detective, you nail it." Laughter from both sides we heard.

>>You are so easy to read.<<

"Then can you tell me why I'm doing this?"

>>Ugh...Touché.<<

"Found the places. Doesn't look old nor abandoned. Might looking up so info' for me?" His bike was near, one block away out of enemy sight. Without much struggle he climbed up the nearest high place, which was the factory. Some guards were outside on the entrance, some below him inside the closed factory. Disguised with the shadows and the dark. His presence went unnoticed by any of the bad guys or so he thought.

>>Not much. Built back in 1989. Its purpose was to store the factory's merchandise and materials. Since the faculty, where you are currently hiding, is still functioning so is the warehouse.<< It didn't take long before images send by him were projected in from of Nightwing. >>But it's common to find some thugs wondering around this place. So you might as well expect anyone. Probably Black Mask, he's Hood's main target.<<

The oldest looked around him. There was a lot of movement inside. Also flashlights and unclear screams. He waited a few seconds before double checking the bag where they'd take medical stuffs. Ever since missions started getting tougher, precautions were to be taken.

>>The other teams are quiet busy. So, this are B words, in and out mission. Get in, get Jason and get out. No playing around. He will be there soon.<<

"Loud and clear baby-bird."

Tim was right, when is he ever wrong? This are Black Mask's men. It makes total sense that Jason is here...somewhere. Tim is gone sorting out some of the other teams so I'm on my own in this.

What was I even thinking? Jason won't be happy to see me.

Then why would he...used that? Maybe...No. No. He wouldn't joke whit us like that. He isn't like that.

Concentrate Grayson. This is not the time.

A glass roof, what a disadvantage. The ventilations are my only hope then. Movies. Movies teach so many good ideas for spies.

If only this place wasn't that old, I wouldn't make so much noise. Hopefully they are dumb and think that there are rats. If not, I'm doom.

"Where's that dips* hiding? I swear when I find him."

"Shut up. Hear that?"

"You are crazy. Let's move."

People say I'm a lucky guy. Guess they are right.

Somewhere, in one of the five main rooms is Jason. And somewhere, in the same five rooms I am. Should have ask for a map.

If I beat them up, they'll know someone is here since I don't think Jason is capable right now. My only mission is to find him and take him out of this crappy place. Should be easy...I hope it is.

...

This place is creeping me out. How is this not closed yet? Or renew? Or demolish? If it weren't for the blood stains and bodies I swear this place would have looked the same. I could have been in a room round and round and not notice. That could happen.

In the fourth room, near big boxes, I heard a faint cry. I knew it was him. But where exactly? The room was the darkest and nobody was here. Yup. Black Mask's men are dumb or they don't know about this room.

Still in the shadows, I reached for him the best I could. No flashlight. Great. Wish I was a bat right now. I need their senses so bad.

I found him, laying on his back with his arm covering his upper body, just below the rib cage. Eyes closed and constant panting. Cuts and wounds in his body showing in his ripped clothes. The leather jacket was next to a near box and covered in blood. His clothes weren't much difference. It was worst than I thought. Worst than any other day we'd meet.

I didn't say anything. It was quiet and it'll be better that way. Making no noise, I knelt next to him pulling the medical bag over my head. He felt me and grabbed his gun in response. I was in better shape and he was too tired.

"Shhh, it's me." I whispered, hoping I could start helping him soon.

I don't think he'd heard, his guns was still in his hand. As gentle as I could, I grabbed his guns taking it away from him. That's when he got up, quiet harshly and a loud groan escaped his lips. I held him tight, as he was already falling to his back again.

"Jason. Quiet please. I'm Dick, listen to me. I want to help you."

He was calm now, on his back still silent crying. It hurt me seeing him like this.

"It's okay, Jay." I whispered, and I wanted to believe it too.

Bigger cuts and wounds clean, and bandaged. Since I didn't and couldn't stitch the cuts, it probably stings. The other wounds and cuts weren't so important but I still cleaned them. I didn't know if he had any broken bones, but I guessed he did since he could hardly move any part of his body. He had lost so much blood I didn't know how he was still awake.

Although he was in this condition, I was surprised he dragged himself to safety and didn't leave a trail behind.

More cries.

Tears were in my eyes, threatening to come out. The fight to hold them back was hard. But somehow I managed to not cry, yet.

I felt the pain in me.

My hands started to shake. One more thing to do. His face. Fresh and dried blood painted in his face.

I still don't know how I didn't cry...I was devastated but he was still alive.

Still there...

...with me.

...

I just sat there. Sorting the last things from the bag before turning to see him. He hasn't said a word since I came and I didn't know if I was grateful or not.

I saw some lights shining our way but the boxes did their job to cover us. Voices coming in and out. Heavy boots and shotguns. If I could just take a sneak peak of all but I knew I couldn't. Not with a Jason still trying to recover.

The blood lost was something I couldn't do anything about.

Wait...

Did I do it right?! Is it a good idea keeping him there?! Should I have got him out of here?! Can he walk?! Can he even stand up?!

I rushed to his side, check his pulse and heart beat. Both slow.

Could it be I did wrong?

"Dick?" He called, bringing me back to earth. He was trying to sit up, to which I helped. I wasn't confident so I didn't let go. Couldn't. If he felt?

"Yes?" Now my voice was shaky. I was scared I'd made a mistake. I didn't know what to do anymore. I needed help.

"Thanks for...humm...savin' me..." He sounded so tired. Was I losing him?!

"Stay with me, please. Everything will be alright, okay? Just stay with me." I didn't want to loose him...It will be my fault if he does...

"Don't be such dramatic. You and the others ain't gettin' rid of me that easy." I couldn't think straight. Not with the thought of him d...No. No. I wasn't loosing him. I was not....Please...

"Don't play with me...I'm scared."

His eyes opened wide. Why was he surprised? Was it something I said?

"Scared? For?"

Oh...

"I not want to loose you. I love you. I love you and I dont want you to die. Not today. Not tomorrow." The tears were still there. I don't think I can hold them back any longer. "I want to grow old with you. I can't see myself without you."

He was shocked.

Of course.

Ever since he came back as Red Hood our relation was pretty much trash.

Constant fights and who know what else we did to each other.

Of course.

He was a criminal. That was the way things were supposed to be. I didn't think we had...I didn't think we could have anything...

He was quiet. No answer from him.

I heard explosions of the next rooms. Guess our ride is here.

"It's B...I'll go help him or something. Stay here..." He didn't look at me. "Stay back. Soon...Soon things are going back to normal...Just forget what I told you...Pretend it never happened."

I knew it.

I knew he wouldn't...

I messed up bad.

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Huh?"

His lips are soft and cold.

He kissed me and I held back. I was too shocked to respond.

His eyes locked with mine, now he waited for an answer.

This guy...

This guy is going to drive me crazy.

"So? Wanna take me home? My body is still sore."

"Shut up."

I leaned forward, so did he. Our lips meet half way, forming a sweet short kiss. I felt alive. Emotions burst out like bombs of colours.

He was a tease. I could tell by the way he kissed me. The way he smiled when we separated. The way his eyes stared at me down.

"What 'chu say Golden Boy, take me home, help me recover. Then date me to a date. Or a movie. Or even have a wild night. Either works."

"You are such a jerk."

"You wouldn't love me any other way, would you?"

When did he...? Is this even my Jason?

"You've lost a lot of blood."

"Yup. Like if I was drunk." He paused before relaxing again in my arms. I didn't know what he was playing, and I didn't know how I felt about it. "Maybe I'm freaking out because you were my teenage crush." I'm glad to know, kind of?

"Was I?" I smiled, playfully at his words. I never knew I could be his crush.

Vicki Vale checks in on twitter at the Briarwood Tattoo Shop in Downtown Gotham and a notification pops up on Jason’s phone. It was netted, unexpectedly, among the alerts set-up for threat surveillance, and while Vale has broken her share of high-profile exploits, she’s not usually releasing information Jason is interested in. Even in a resettling, broken Gotham her news is mostly of the rich and famous.

Jason thinks of ignoring it, but then his phone buzzes again as the tweet starts to garner traction. Whatever Jason expects when he looks it over it’s not, ‘Dick Grayson, reclusive heir spotted getting ink in Downtown Gotham. Is reclusive Wayne ward home for good?’

Attached are two paparazzi shots of Dick. He looks worse than the last time Jason saw him, and that had been months ago after he’d chased Jason into a fight in Penguin’s territory; and after Jason had punched him the face. Now, Dick’s hair has grown out of the undercut to a messy length he’s pulled back messily into a tie at the nape of his neck. His facial hair is no better.

Looking at the picture, Jason wonders how long it’s been since Dick last chased him down. How long since he’d heard “Nightwing spotted” shouted over the GCPD scanner? Dick’s wearing sweats in public which isn’t part of the cultivated Wayne, playboy persona. He doesn’t smile for the cameras like he usually would. Instead his hands are up to ward off the flash of cameras. He looks tired. Jason can’t help wondering if, under his domino, Dick had looked this tired during their altercations.

The thought needles at Jason. He revisits the pictures over the week in the quieter moments between running from the GCPD and staking out warehouses, waiting for the power shifts over Black Mask’s former territory. Amongst the dark stone and scaffolding of a city rebuilding, sometimes the screen of Jason’s phone is the only light as he scrolls the replies to Vale’s post.

For five days, Nightwing is absent.

Jason tells himself it’s reconnaissance when he seeks out Dick’s penthouse apartment. Dick is the only one left who knows who the Arkham Knight is, and while Dick hasn’t acted on that knowledge except to approach Jason himself, Jason needs to be vigilant of him becoming a threat.

Jason tells himself this over and over as he spies on Dick through the sliding glass door on the balcony. Inside Dick is soft, wrapped in sweats just like in the photos. He eases himself gently through the open plan apartment from kitchen toward the living room. He has an arm cradled against his side, light pressure on his side that could mean a broken arm or broken ribs. With his free hand, Dick draws his fingers through his hair, pulling it up and holding it out of his face.

There’s enough light that Jason can see the shadow of his reflection imposed on the glass. He’s in full gear and the blue light from the helmet disappearing into the points of his Bat-like armour. He looks intimidating. Like a threat.

As it turns out though, Jason wasn’t as well hidden as he thought. Dick opens the door suddenly, and he looks bewildered. “Jason? What are you doing here?”

The mask modulates his voice. It doesn’t sound like him when he says, “Nightwing hasn’t been spotted in Gotham or Blüdhaven recently. Someone needed to make sure you weren’t dead.”

It barely skirts the truth: that there’s no one left in Gotham to check in on him. Dick doesn’t say anything. But he doesn’t close the door on Jason either.

Curiosity has Jason following Dick inside.

“I’ve been recuperating,” Dick says quietly. He tucks stray hair behind his ear and moves back to what he was doing before seeing Jason startled him.

Perching gingerly on the edge of a couch, Dick reaches with his good arm and looks over the mess of papers on the coffee table. Now inside, Jason can see that there are several open case files, intake photos of Harvey Dent and Oswald Cobblepot stare up at them amongst the photos of people Jason doesn’t recognize. He assumes they must be people that have been on their payroll, if not out right associates of the rogues.

It looks like Jason’s own files on who will be shuffling for power in the vacuum created by the loss of Batman.

Jason looks at Dick, brow furrowed in concentration as he takes notes in code on a legal pad. He’s several pages into it already, and the files are a scattered mess like Dick has picked one up to read it then placed it haphazardly down to look through another, then repeat every time he had an idea.

And, yeah, Jason may have missed years while he was trapped with the Joker, but he still remembers this. The look of a man consumed. He remembers it clearly in Bruce, especially those weeks right before Jason was taken. Bruce hadn’t eaten or slept because he was too busy trying to figure out how the Joker had escaped Arkham.

Jason has never seen Dick this badly in it though.

“This doesn’t look like recuperation. It looks like obsession,” Jason says.

Dick doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Excuse me if I don’t take a lecture from you when you were spying on me from my balcony in full armor.”

It’s surprising, the hint of anger in Dick’s voice. It reminds Jason of years ago, how Bruce and Dick would scream in frustration at each other after a case gone wrong. And when they were done days would stretch in tense silence, their anger still tangible. Jason had nearly forgotten about it. He’s heard sadness in Dick’s voice since he came back. Even hope the handful of times they’ve worked together (always spontaneous, never coordinated, and always with GCPD on their heels). The first days after - well, Dick had chased him for days, looking as relieved as he was desperate.

This anger is closer to what Jason had been expecting from Dick.

“You know for a second I thought you were Deathstroke? I thought maybe he’d come to fulfill a contract.” He flicks his gaze to Jason for just a second.  “I’d have expected that more than you coming to visit.”

“You told me I was welcome.”

“Yeah, and you replied to that invitation with a right hook. Thanks for that.”

Jason notices his fingers are shaking as he turns a page in one of the files.

“Dick,” Jason says. It feels wrong saying his name and hearing it mangled by the modulator.

In the months following the manor detonating, taking with it the only two people Jason had thought of as family, the fire and anger has burned out of Jason leaving him adrift without a mission. And Dick had been on his heels ever since. Trying to bring Jason in from the cold. A reminder that someone knew Jason Todd had once existed.  

Jason’s not ready, yet, but he’s looking at how much the loss has stripped from Dick. He can read it in the tension of his shoulders.

He reaches out, can’t help it, to brush the hair falling into Dick’s eyes.

It’s a stupid move. Dick moves instinctively, and quicker than Jason’s expecting. He raises the arm he’s been cradling against his ribs to block Jason’s hand. It’s two moves, blocking Jason’s touch and raising his other hand for a return strike. But Dick stops before he makes contact with his closed fist. His body is twisted around, and his breath picks up with sudden adrenaline as he freezes up in a fighting stance.

Just as suddenly as he acted, though, his eyes widen and he gasps. The sensory data in the Knight helmet starts analyzing the heat of Dick’s body and pings injuries across his side.

Dick drops his guard, arm pressed to his ribs again as he struggles to say, “Fuck, you just caught me off guard,” through pain.

“What happened?”

Dick ignores the question, but he’s hissing through his teeth. Jason feels a spike of fear looking at Dick, and it’s a surprise.

When Dick still doesn’t reply, Jason does the only thing he thinks might get a response. Pressing the side of the mask causes the face panel to slide up, revealing Jason’s face. He kneels down into Dick’s space, bare faced and brand free to scrutiny.

“Dick look at me.”

Jason burns with the vulnerability, but Dick stops. And his eyes are so blue, Jason thinks, seeing them so close.

He reaches out to Dick, not quite making contact with the injured area, but trying to convince Dick to let him look nonetheless. Jason has to keep acting so he doesn’t head right back out the door. It’s easier to handle Dick’s assessing stare, the lingering of his gaze on the rough scar tissue of where the Joker marked him, if he’s got a job to do.

“How are you injured?”

“It’s nothing,” Dick says, distracted. His fingers curl into tight grips in his sweater though, like he’s holding back from reaching out.

Jason pulls carefully at the hem of it, tugs until Dick gets the idea and relents. He lets Jason pull the sweater up around his shoulders, but even when he’s making protests, Dick doesn’t look away from Jason’s face. Not even when Jason pulls his undershirt up as well to reveal deep bruises all across Dick’s ribs and sides.

“Someone shot at me,” Dick says. “The Kevlar took the worst of it.”

Jason barely refrains from cursing aloud. The bruises are so deep they’re dark purple at three points of impact. But they must be weeks old by the yellowing of the edges. Healing is already starting, and yet, Jason thinks that he has no idea how old the injury is. He tries to think of when Dick might have been shot in the last month, was he in Gotham or home in Blϋdhaven? How hadn’t Jason known?

“I heard from Gordon,” Dick offers. It fills the uncomfortable silence as Jason presses as carefully against Dick’s ribs, and checks for internal injury. “There’s pressure to investigate Batman’s known-associates. There’s suspicion of Nightwing.”

“There’s always been suspicions in Gotham.”

“Yeah, but now they know Bruce is.” Dick stops. “Bruce was Batman.”

Jason wants to ask more, but his fingers are turning Dick’s arm toward him. He just wanted to move Dick’s arm out of the way so he could get a better look at the spread of the bruising and see how far the deepest purpling part stretches. But he turns Dick’s arm and sees dark ink against his skin. Vale may have broken the news, but the reality of Dick Grayson having a tattoo is something else when it’s right under Jason’s fingers.

The skin around the ink is red and inflamed. The ink is raised where it’s healing. Jason feels a sudden vicious urge to press his thumb down hard on it. Almost acts on it as he looks at the image of an open hand, raised as if in surrender to the dagger poised above it. Simple black ink makes up the shading and lines, but it’s less the imagery of offering Dick chose that makes Jason stop. It’s the carefully tattooed words beneath them.  

“Jason?” Dick asks.

He reads the words, “A Good Son” inked on the inside of Dick’s arm and some of that anger rekindles in Jason’s core. He’s careful not to do anything but draw his fingers down to Dick’s elbow. He shudders at the touch, and Jason catalogues it for later consideration.

Jason presses as carefully against Dick’s ribs as he can, and checks for internal injury.

When he's done, and he's sure Dick hasn't probably punctured a lung, Jason asks, “Do you have a first aid kit?” as he stands up. "Don't." It takes Jason a moment to realize it was Dick who spoke, not him. Dick who curls his fingers loosely in Jason's sleeve and it seems innocent. But Jason knows how strong those fingers are, how they have held up Dick's body weight on edges of buildings. If he tries to move, Jason knows Dick could hang onto him if he wanted to. Except, Jason pulls away, out of reach. And Dick lets him, his shirt coming free of Dick's grasp without a fight.