"I want to hire you to kill Deathstroke."

Jason wasn't sure how Dick had managed to find him, but in the end he thought he shouldn't be too surprised. He made a face behind his mask that Dick couldn't see.

"The golden boy wants someone to die," even with the voice modulator the sarcasm seeped through. "Well Dick, why him? Why me?"

"He tried to kill my brother." Dick said.

Jason scoffed. "Tried?" Robins were dropping like flies, apparently.

"I stopped him."

"But you didn't kill him?" Jason teased.

"Couldn't." Dick grit through his teeth. "Was a little busy bleeding."

"I see." Jason observed him for a moment. Dick did look terrible. He leaned against the wall with a hand pressed to his side. Looked like a strong wind would tip him over. "Why me?"

"You're the Red Hood, right?" Dick said. "After Deathstroke, you're the best hitman in town. I don't know what your deal is-" Jason frowned. "-and I don't particularly like you. But I need a man to die."

Jason stilled. He didn't know. Dick didn't know. Of course Bruce never told him. Jason crossed his arms to avoid the reaction to hit something. Dick had no idea who he was, besides a random crime lord.

"I'll pay." Dick added after the silence stretched on.

"Tried to kill your brother, huh?" Jason asked. He tried to imagine Dick hating someone enough to want them dead. "That makes someone worthy of death? By trying? What if someone succeeded?"

Dick gripped the wall harder, and Jason couldn't tell if it was from anger or pain.

"Look," Dick snapped. "Someone did, okay? I have three younger brothers. The first one was killed by an awful man. The second one was nearly killed-" oh, so Bruce told him about that little incident. "-and now, yet again, another one is nearly killed! I need to stop it."

"Took you nearly losing three brothers to do anything about it huh?"

"I've tried." Dick grumbled. "I did something the first time, I killed the man who killed my brother."

Jason startled, his arms slipping to his sides. "You, what?"

"It didn't stick." Dick grumbled. "But I need this one to, okay? This man has been in my life enough. He kidnapped me-" what the fuck "-he tried to kill Damian, I-" Dick cleared his throat. "I need him dead. And I can't do it right now. Please. I can't lose another brother."

I can't lose another brother.

Jason felt the urge to tell him. To take off the helmet, to reveal it all. To yell, to scream, to ask so many questions about Dick supposedly killing the Joker. But in the end he couldn't bring himself to. He watched Dick sag against the wall, watched the dark look Dick shot his way, and all he could think was how sad it was. He knew what anger felt like. What fear felt like. He saw it in Dick. He also knew that for Dick, this wouldn't last. If Bruce couldn't bring himself to seek revenge for a lost child, Dick certainly wouldn't.

The silence stretched on and even in the dark Jason could see Dick's concentration fading.

"No." Jason said.

"Name your price-"

"I said no!" Jason snapped. He took a step forward then sighed, raising his hand to his face in an aborted gesture before motioning at Dick. "You look like you're about to fall over," Jason said. "Go home. Get better. Think this over. And when you realize this isn't what you want? Well. Don't call me."

"This is what I want." Dick insisted.

"Then do it your own damn self."

Jason turned his back on Dick and stalked off. Let that loser drag himself home. Jason had better things to do.

----

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face as the elevator doors shut on Damian's pouting face.

"Dick is fine," Bruce repeated to himself as the elevator took him down. Lying to his sons exhausted him and Damian was particularly stubborn.

The doors opened with a ding, letting out into the Batcave. Bruce strode past the empty medical bay without sparing it a glance. Dick wasn't there. Wasn't resting, like he'd told Damian. But if Damian found out that Dick had left the manor in his condition Bruce would have a nightmare to deal with on top of everything else. Hopefully Alfred would keep him distracted long enough for Bruce to find Dick and put his ass back in bed.

Tim was pouring over a computer and didn't even look up when Bruce put a hand on his chair and leaned over. The screens we full. Many showing scene from cameras Bruce knew were near Dicks frequent locations, but none of them seemed to showing Dick himself.

"Anything?" Bruce asked.

It was Barbara's voice that answered from the speaker. "Not yet." She sounded tired. Bruce didn't bother checking whatever goddamn time of night it was. "Tim is looking for Dick-"

"I'll find him." Tim muttered.

"-and I'm still looking for any information of Deathstroke. I'm worried-"

"Deathstroke didn't take him." Bruce said. The cameras had told them that much. The idiot child had limped out of here of his own free will.

"I'm worried," Barbara repeated. "That we're not the only ones looking for him."

"Who else?" Bruce asked.

"League of Shadows."

Bruce winced. Not surprising, but not what he wanted to hear.

"Deathstroke tried to kill Damian." Barbara pointed out.

"There's no way Talia doesn't already know." Bruce grumbled. He hated the idea of her having eyes inside his city. Even if it was to keep tabs on her son.

"Let them have him," Tim finally looked up. His eyes burned with unshed tears and anger. "That son of a bitch has done enough."

"Language." Bruce hissed. Tim just glared, and Bruce forced himself to take a breath. He reminded himself that the kid was, well, a kid. A kid whose brother was grievously injured and missing. "Sorry," Bruce added. "You aren't wrong."

"I'm worried," Barbara repeated, "That Dick will get caught in the crosshairs between the League and Deathstroke."

Bruce startled. "Dick is going after Deathstroke." It wasn't a question. It was so obvious.

Tim laughed. "Of course." Pulling the chair away from Bruce, he hunched over his keyboard again, flicking screens and typing code Bruce only half understood.

Bruce stepped back. No. Dick wasn't fine. He'd been fucking shot and now was apparently running amok in the city. Apparently getting himself caught in the crossfire between Deathstroke and the League of Shadows. Bruce was itching to get out there, to do his own work. Maybe he should suit up-

His phone rang. No. Batmans phone rang.

Tim paused to glance at it, then at Bruce.

"Well?" Tim demanded when Bruce hesitated. "Answer it!"

Bruce didn't want the call to be related to Dick's being missing, but he also wasn't willing to divert his focus right now. He picked up the phone anyway. Tim returned to his work when Bruce answered, but he knew the kid was listening.

"I could use your expertise here," Jim Gordon said without preamble. "Got a scene that I think you might have special knowledge of.

----

As it turned out, it was three in bloody morning. Dick had been missing for nearly twelve hours.

Spotlights lit up the scene, illuminating the gory details. The SUV was crunched to hell and looked like it had recently been on fire. The corpses the EMT's were covering looked charred. The only survivor was being hustled into an ambulance for immediate medical care.

Bruce felt sick looking at it. He lingered in the shadows, but Gordon found him anyway.

"You wanna tell me why your boy smashed a car with a garbage truck and left these guys to burn?"

Bruce sucked in a breath. "Which one?"

Jason, likely. But if Dick . . .

"Which one?" Gordon looked somewhere between frightened and offended. "How many of your dogs are off their leash?"

Bruce glared solidly, but Gordon didn't look phased. He just waved his hand as if to clear the air.

"It was Nightwing."

Dick.

"Is he here?" Bruce demanded.

"Nope." Gordon shook his head. "Fled long before we got here. Just got the camera detail. This isn't like your boy, Batman." Gordon pressed. "What's happening?"

"Who were they?" Bruce asked, ignoring the question.

Gordon fiddled with wallets in his hand. "Dunno yet." He said. "Got some IDs, trying to figure that out-"

"Let me see."

Gordon sighed, but handed them over and waited semi-patiently while Bruce read the information aloud.

"On it." Barbaras voice crackled from Bruces comm. The police weren't willing or able to crack the internet in the way Barbara could.

Bruce passed the IDs back dismissively.

"He's looking for Deathstroke." Bruce admitted.

Gordon sucked in a breath. "In Gothem?"

"If you hear anything about him, and I mean anything," Bruce said. "I need you to let me know immediately. And then stay the hell away from him."

"The cops can handle Deathstroke," Gordon said with a frown. "If you let us-"

"There are a lot of angry people after him right now." Bruce gestured at the scene in front of them. The scene Dick had caused. "They're not in a respect the cops kinda mood. They'll kill anyone who gets in their way."

Gordon grunted. "Your boys killers, Batman?"

Bruce grit his teeth. "Not yet." Spinning around, he stalked off into the dark. Not most of them, anyway. Not Dick. Not if he could help it.

----

Bruce found the door to the warehouse already swung open and heard whimpering inside. The address Barbara had directed them to was a frequent location of one of Dicks earlier victims. Barbara thought it was some kind of illegal printing press. ID's, most likely. That implied that Deathstroke was looking for a new ID, and that he might be trying to flee the country. It would be a lot harder to find him - or Dick - if he left..

Bruce gestured for Tim to hang back while he peered through the door. The room inside opened up to a dim office. Red Hood stood in the middle of the room, gun in hand. He was facing the man responsible for the whimpering, fair enough given that the man was pinned to the wall with a piece of rebar jutting out of his body.

Beckoning Tim, Bruce swept into the room.

"R-" Bruce didn't know if he'd been about to call Robin or Red Hood, but either way the name choked in his throat. "Hey."

Red Hood turned around, twirling his gun lazily over a finger.

"You're late."

The voice modulator made it impossible for Bruce to detect even a hint of the child he once knew. Then again, maybe that child wasn't even in there.

Tim lurked behind Bruce and sucked in a breath at the sight. "What did you do?"

Behind Red Hood, Jason, was a mess of blood. The man looked beat to hell, and a fresh bullet wound oozed from his leg. He barely looked conscious as he gripped the rebar.

"I shot him." Red Hood said easily.

Bruce threw him a look.

"Really!" Red Hood holstered the gun he was toying with and held up his hands. "Like I said, you're late. I found him like this."

"You found a man impaled to a wall," Bruce growled. He couldn't believe the nerve of this-

"Your precious golden boy did this."

The words were like a punch to the gut.

"Killing is off the table, but did you ever tell him not to torture people for information?" There was a smirk in Red Hoods crackling voice.

"He wouldn't." Bruce snapped. "You lying-"

"Nah, this was Nightwing."

Both Bruce and Red Hood startled. Neither of them had noticed Tim slip from Bruces side to inspect the man on the wall.

"Please," the man begged. "Help me."

"Major bruising, electrical burns consistent with Nightwings sticks, this reads like Nightwing." Tim ignored the man completely as he poked him over. "Rebar is a little dramatic, but . . ."

"Told yah," Jason shot over his shoulder at Bruce.

"Why would he do this?" Bruce wasn't really asking, the question just came out.

"Hey," Tim slapped the mans face, drawing his focus. "Who are you anyway."

"Nobody," the man whimpered. "Please, let me go. I told that blue freak, I told this red freak, I don't know where Deathstroke is!"

"What else did you tell me?" Red Hood prompted. He didn't move any closer to the man or Tim, but the man cowed anyway.

"S-same that I told the blue one. Nightwing. There's a man downtown, he might know more. . ."

"I got an address right before you showed up." Red Hood sounded smug.

"We'll check it out." Bruce said. "See if we can't get to him before Nightwing does."

"Like hell we will." Red Hood snapped. "I don't need your help. I got the info, I'll find Nightwing."

"Why do you even care?" Bruce tossed back. "Not like you've given a damn about this family recently."

Tim sucked in a breath. Other than that and the mans quiet whining, there was silence.

Red Hoods fingers twitched over his guns and Bruce silently dared him to pull one. He needed an excuse to hit someone.

Instead, Red Hood crossed his arms and turned away.

"He came to me." Red Hood muttered, and Bruce almost missed it. "He asked me to kill Deathstroke and I said no. So. Guess he decided to do it himself." Jasons head twitched towards Bruce. Despite the opaque glass, Bruce got the impression he was being glared at. "You didn't tell him." Jason said accusingly.

The words took a moment to process. You didn't tell him . . .

Oh.

"I didn't think he'd go looking for you." Bruce hissed.

"You didn't. Tell him."

"Tell him what? That my dead sidekick is alive and a crazed kill-"

"Okay now!"

Suddenly Tim was between them, a hand on Bruces chest pushing him away from Red Hood. Bruce was furious. As if he was the one that needed to be held back.

"No, none of us told Nightwing, Hood, I'm sorry." Tim kept a hand on Bruce even as he turned to Red Hood. "It's difficult, okay? But we can't fix that until we find him."

"Why do the two of you even care about finding him, huh?" Red Hood snarled. "You can't be bothered to tell him the truth about the world. You-" he gestured at Bruce "-have a new child to ruin, why bother with him? Let him rot like you did me."

"I did not-"

"Because!" Tim spoke loudly over Bruces shouts. "We're family! Okay? We find our own, when we can."

"Shitty family." Red Hood muttered, turning away. "I'm going. You're not. I'll find him."

Bruce was ready to argue, but Tim was pulling on his cape.

"Red Hood and I will check the address." Tim said. "You get this guy to a hospital." He pointed at the man who had gone limp on the wall. Bruce wondered if he was even still alive and felt a pang of guilt for not checking on him sooner.

"Tim," Bruce didn't understand why Tim was attempting to defend Jason. It hadn't even been a year since Red Hood had tried to kill the current Robin. Bruce was still upset, Tim certainly had a right to be. "You don't have to go with him." Bruce said softly. Not soft enough, given the scoffing from Red Hood. "I can-"

"You can't." Tim said flatly. "You shouldn't. I can. It's fine." He glanced at Red Hood, who hadn't moved or objected to his new partner. "We'll be fine."

----

Jason shook Tim off as soon as he pulled the bike up in front of the address the man had coughed up. The address that was, allegedly, where Deathstroke met with the man who had actually sold him the fake ID's. It looked innocuous enough. Until you took into account the shattered windows and busted in door of course, but Jason had seen worse.

"Thanks for the ride." Tim muttered, pulling off the borrowed helmet and handing it back to Jason. Jason didn't respond, just tossed it on the bike and strode towards the building.

The inside was just as messy as in the outside, possibly worse. The hallway was littered with bodies. Whoever had been working here was long since dead and their killers hadn't spared any furniture or walls in the killing.

"Even I'm not this messy." Jason muttered, trying to find a place to step that wasn't steeped in blood.

"Dick didn't do this." Tim said.

"What do you see?" Bruces voice came over the comms.

"Shut up." Jason growled. "You focus on your job, and we'll focus on ours."

"You never told me why you cared." Bruce clipped back.

"You never stopped being an ass."

"Alright," Barbara cut in. "Cut it out or get a new channel. Tell me. What is happening?"

"Buncha bodies," Tim responded. "Dick didn't do this."

"How do you know?" Bruce asked, desperation in his voice.

"Afraid your favorite child is going to fall from the pedestal you put him on?" Jason commented.

"Remember earlier when Barbara mentioned the League of Shadows might be after Deathstroke too?" Tim said, ignoring the argument.

Jason stiffed. "What? Why?"

"On account of him trying to kill their heir, and all." Tim muttered. "Long slices, blades. Lotsa blood. I don't even know if Dick could do this with a wound like he has."

Jason strode past him, abandoning his hope not to get his shoes bloody, and marched down the hallway. The door at the end was broken in, a sure sign it was the one they were looking for.

Jason pushed past it and . . .

"Jesus Christ."

Two more lay dead in the floor, and another sprawled on the desk. His body, Jason could only assume it had been a him, was sliced to hell. There was hardly a part of his body that wasn't oozing blood.

"What is it?" Bruce demanded.

Jason ignored him, wondering if the man Bruce was supposed to be taking care of was getting any care at all.

"If this is the shit Damians gonna pull one day," Tim said, walking up beside Jason. "Someone tell him to clean up. I thought assassins would be . . . sneakier than this?" Tim ignored the bodies and started pulling open cupboards in drawers in the office.

"It's less about sneak and more about flair." Jason commented.

"Is anyone going to update us?" Barbara asked.

"More bodies." Tim said. "No Dick. And, ah ha. Cameras."

"It's fresh," Jason added, toeing a body. A few hours at most. Jason was willing to bet sooner.

"Got something," Tim said from where he was clacking away. Jason abandoned the body moved to join him, reluctantly glad he'd brought the new Robin along. Computers weren't his thing.

The replay kicked on. "There." Tim said. "Two hours ago."

Dick.

He looked . . .

"Is he okay?" Bruce demanded over the comms.

"He looks like shit." Jason said.

Dick was in his Nightwing suit, but the front of it was already stained red. He stumbled into the building, a hand clutched his side as he took out the henchmen on his way it. Sticks. Fists. No swords. Dick knocked the men down but wasn't slicing them up. Tim was right. Someone else had dealt this damage.

Jason winced when Dick jumped and kicked a guy into a wall. With his gaping gunshot wound, that had to have hurt Dick more than the man. But still. Dick persisted. The camera showed Dick catching himself on the wall and pushing forward. He busted in the door and interrogated a man that Jason suspected was now dead on the desk. But Dick left without killing him.

"Here," Tim pulled the footage forwards. Dick was gone. The men in the hallway started to stir. Then, one after another, the cameras went dark. The last one, the room they were in, a shadow moved in the doorway, something hurtled towards the camera, then it too shorted out.

Even without the footage, Jason could guess what happened next.

"We just missed him." Jason muttered.

"Two hours isn't just missed."

"Fuck." Jason watched the scene play out again. Dick stumbling out and heading gods knows where, having gained god knows what information. "Fuck!" Jason yelled, snatching a paperweight off the desk and throwing it at the wall. "We got nowhere!"

"Not completely," Barbara said. "Tim, patch me in to their cameras."

"On it." Tim fiddled with the computer towers. Jason just wanted to break more stuff. He never should have left Dick. Should have hauled him over his shoulder and dropped his ass off at home. Or maybe a hospital.

Jason heard Bruce cuss through the comm.

"Told you he looks like shit." Jason said. His eyes flicked to the screen, which Barbara must be showing to Bruce by now. Jason had seen Dick earlier, he'd looked bad, but it was dark. How was he supposed to know how bad Dicks injuries were?

"Where is he?" Bruce growled through the comms. Jason honestly couldn't tell if it was more Bruce or Batman in that tone, all he knew was that the man sounded pissed. No, not pissed. Scared. Jason wondered if Bruce had felt half that fear when Jason died.

"I'm tracking him." Barbara said. "Regroup, gimme an hour, I'll find him."

Silence echoed from the comms and Jason had to assume Barbara had logged off to focus, and Bruce was probably punching shit.

Tim was on the floor, doing some detective shit. Jason didn't care. The detective bit was never his thing.

"He's awful worried about the golden child." Jason said casually, like his stomach wasn't doing a turn watching Dick on the camera. "Don't think the old mans ever been this worried about anyone before."

He felt Tims eyes on him, but refused to turn.

"I've seen him. . . like this, before." Tim said. "Four years ago, Bruce was . . . he was losing it."

Jason scoffed. "What made the old man go crazy?"

"Four years ago? His son died."

Jason snapped his head towards Tim, but the kid wasn't looking at him anymore. Wasn't even focused on his detective shit. Just trailing patterns in the blood on the floor with a finger.

"And Dick was, well, he was dealing with his own stuff. Anger at Bruce. Guilt for not being there for his brother. Grief. He wasn't in a place to help Bruce. So I did. I became Robin."

"You became Robin," Jason didn't like how dry his voice sounded. "To help Bruce? Are you insane?"

"Batman needs Robin," Tim said simply, pushing himself to his feet. "The second Robin understood that. I was just doing what needed to be done. I couldn't bring back the old one, and I could hardly fill his shoes," Tims gaze skittered to Jason for a moment before darting away again. "But I did what I could."

Jason felt the wood of the desk creak as he gripped it. He want to hit something. He wanted to cry. He wanted to run away and wash his hands clean of these people.

"So don't think Dick is special," Tim said. "Bruce grieved for you too." The statement was like a slap in the face. Then, as if to add insult to the injury, Tim slid his mask off his face and turned to him with a smile that didn't look entirely forced.

"I forgive you, you trying to kill me." Tim said. "I can't say the nightmares will go away, but, for our family, I think we need to set it aside."

"You're not my family." Jason hated his voice for betraying him, even through the helmet. Tim didn't look convinced, but he shrugged.

"Lets start with acquaintances then, huh?" He stuck out a hand. "Hi, I'm Tim Drake, the current Robin. Nice to meet you."

Jason stared at Tim so long he watched the kids smile waver into something like concern. Before he could fully process his actions, Jason had his helmet tucked under his arm and his hand in Tims. Tim looked just as surprised as he felt.

"Jason." Jason grumbled. "Not dead."

Tim released his hand and the smile on his face looked more genuine, as did the relief as he took a step back.,

"Pleasure. Well, they might not be your family, yet, but they are mine. Help me save them?"

Jason huffed, settling his helmet back on his head.

"Dick never could keep himself out of trouble."

----

The roof Bruce met with his boys on was shrouded in shadow, the perfect recon sight for some bats. Bruce shook his, glancing at Red Hood. He needed to stop thinking of Red Hood as Jason. Just because he was helping them find Dick didn't mean he was apart of the family again. Didn't mean he even wanted that.

Tim nodded to the building adjacent to them. "That's the address Barbara gave us," he said. "It's been quiet so far."

Bruce sized up the building. He opened his mouth to speak when a new voice came over the comm.

"Father."

Bruce stiffened. "Damian?"

"Would you like to explain to me why Grayson is not in his infirmary bed?"

"Damian," Bruce brought a hand to his face.

"I do not care if you would like to," Damian continued. "Grayson is missing and you are looking for him. I am joining you."

"You are not!" Bruce said. "Wherever you are-"

"I'll be there momentarily."

"Damian!"

Jason groaned and muttered something that sounded like "demon brat" as a shadow alighted on the roof beside them.

It was . . . Damian.

"What are you wearing?" Tim asked.

"My Robin costume." Damian said simply. It looked like it. Though none of the Robins had ever carried a sword like that before . . . "I will help you recover Grayson."

"His Robin-?" Tim glanced at Bruce, then at Damian. "How did you even find us?"

"Barbara told me." Damian said.

Suspicious silence echoed from the comms.

Jason crossed his arms. Bruce sighed.

"We will discuss this later," Bruce said.

"Yes we will." Damian agreed.

"But for now, you will stay on this roof while we-"

"No." Damian said. "I will handle the Leauge of Shadows who, as we speak, are approaching the area. You will recover Grayson."

"No-"

"Father," Damian clenched his fists, then let out a huffed breath and released them. "Grayson nearly died to save me. I can handle the League. I will help you."

Bruce hesitated. As ferocious as his son was, despite his upbringing, he was still just a kid.

"He can handle the League." Jason confirmed. Bruce jerked his head towards Jason, surprised. "Let him. They'll just be trouble if we're trying to battle Deathstroke on one side and the League on the other."

They were all just . . . kids. But Dick was out there bleeding somewhere, Jason tapped his fingers on his guns, Tim was poised and ready to go, and Damian looked determined to fight. . .

Bruce didn't have time for guilt or second guessing. He'd periodically been reminded how young his boys were, but . . . Reluctantly, Bruce gave a terse nod.

"We will talk about this later." He warned.

Satisfied, Damian joined them at the roofs edge, peering over.

"Are you sure this is the right building?" Damian asked.

An explosion lit up the interior, and screams rang out.

"Pretty sure." Jason muttered.

"Move." Bruce said. "Robin, Red Hood, with me. Damian . . ."

"On it."

They leapt to the street and the three of them darted into the building. Bruce glanced over his shoulder to see Damian, clad in the Robin costume, settling in front of the door, sword drawn, waiting.

"Leave him," Jason muttered. "You've done it before."

Bruce turned to snap at him, but Jason was already down the hallway after Tim. Bodies littered the hallway. Most of them groaning, all of them bleeding. Neither Tim nor Jason hesitated stepping over them, and Bruce followed. The door at the end of the hallway was swung open.

"-glad it's you to take the shot, Grayson." Deathstroke. "Though I'd recommend aiming a little to your left, you're drifting."

Bruce pushed his way into the room. Deathstrokes eye flicked past Dick to him.

"Ah," Deathstroke inclined his head. "The party poopers have arrived."

"Shut your stupid face." Jason snapped. He and Tim hovered by the door, but Bruce stepped forward.

"Nightwing," He said carefully. Dick stood lilting in the middle of the room, a gun pointed at Deathstroke. He had a hand wrapped around his waist, blood oozing between his fingers. He looked unfocused, but his gaze was focused stubbornly on Deathstroke.

Ignoring Deathstroke, Bruce stepped closer to Dick, putting out his hands, but not touching him.

"Nightwing, put down the gun." Bruce said.

"No," Dick rasped. "I'm not losing another brother."

"I'm not losing another son," Bruce insisted. "Put down the gun. Let us take you home."

"I can't let him live anymore. Not after everything he's done."

"He didn't kill Dami-"

"THAT'S NOT ALL HE'S DONE." Dick shouted.

In the silence that followed, Dicks heaving breaths, a question swirling in Bruce's mind. Now wasn't the time to ask it though.

"I should have killed him years ago." Dick said. "I didn't-" Dicks legs finally gave out and he collapsed. Bruce quickly knelt beside him, catching him before he could fall completely to the ground. Jason was at their side in an instant, but Dick raised the gun again, pointing it unsteadily at Deathstroke.

"That's not what we do," Bruce said. "We save lives. You save lives."

"Not all of them." Dick whispered.

"You're injured, Dick," Bruce said softly. "Let us help you."

Bruce reached out slowly for the gun, but Dick shook his head.

"No."

His grip spasmed more than an intentional pulling of the trigger. The gun clicked. It didn't fire. Jammed or empty, it didn't fire. Deathstroke stood looking unimpressed.

Dicks head lolled towards Bruce, giving him the most pitiful look Bruce had ever seen. Dick looked so hurt, so disappointed. So desperate.

"Let's get him out of here," Jason said, swooping down beside them and scooping Dick up easily in his arms and taking him from Dick. Tim was there, pulling the gun out of Dicks limp grip and guiding Jason out.

"Well, this has been a beautiful reunion." Deathstroke commented. Bruce turned his attention towards the man to see him near an open window, one leg swung out. "But I've really got to get going. My apologies for trying to kill the kid." He shrugged. "Gotta do what you gotta do, you know?"

Bruce clenched his fists. Deathstroke smiled, as if reading his mind.

"You can chase me," Deathstroke offered. "But you'll be abandoning Dick. Again. I wouldn't recommend that."

Again.

"What did you do to him?" Bruce asked.

Deathstroke chuckled. "Not my place to tell you," he said. "Ask the kid yourself."

He was gone. Bruce hesitated a moment longer, then swept after his boys.

The Batmobile was parked out front. Damian stood beside it, watching anxiously as Tim helped Jason slide into the back seat with Dick.

"I've got a ride." Damian said as Bruce approached. He nodded towards the shadows, where Bruce could barely see a reflection in the darkness. The League was holding back. Fucking Talia.

Bruce just nodded and slid into the drivers seat as Tim buckled in beside him. Bruce hit the gas, ignoring any and all driving laws or safety rules.

"Oracle," Bruce snapped. "Tell Alfred-"

"Way ahead of you." Barbara's voice sounded further away. "I'm on my way too. Meet you at the cave."

Bruce glanced in the mirror at Jason in the back with Dick. Jason had removed his helmet and he looked . . . soft. Softer than Bruce had ever seen him. One hand was pressing on Dicks wounds, a desperate attempt to keep any more blood from flowing, while the other carded through Dicks hair with a gentleness Bruce never would have suspected.

"Jason," Dick whispered. His eyes were unfocused, and Bruce wondered how much he was actually processing. "I'm sorry."

"You should be, dumbass." Jason muttered. "Making us come save you. It's-"

"No," Dick interrupted. "I'm sorry I didn't save you."

Jason froze, emotions crossing his face that Bruce couldn't decipher in the mirror.

"I should have been there." Dick muttered. "I wasn't. You died. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," Jason said gruffly. "Worry about yourself dying, okay?"

"If it means I get to see you again," Dick said with a smile. "Then dying will have been worth it."

Dick hadn't anticipated this night getting so messy, but when did he ever? He'd hit his emergency alert the second he'd realized that there was fear toxin on the premises, but his comms unit had gotten knocked off him in an earlier fight, so he had no idea when backup might be arriving. Too late, that was sure. Dick knew he'd already inhaled too much for his liking and the clock was ticking before his brain started seeing things that weren't there. It rarely effected him as bad as it could, but Dick wasn't a fan of even the toxins mildest of effects.

With no backup and less time, Dick did what he was best at. Improvise.

Actually, everyone in his family would probably disagree with that statement. Dick kicked over the last can of gasoline and flicked the lighter.

"Nightwing?"

Dick froze when Damian's voice came from the doorway, but it was too late. The sparks caught and Dick chucked the lighter in favor of barreling towards the bright suit.

"Damian!" Dick screamed. "Get away from here!"

Damian backed up, but not fast enough. Dick was crashing into him, scooping him into his arms as the flames grew and an explosion sounded. They were both thrown to the ground and Dick rolled, losing his grip on Damian.

"Ah, shit." Dick muttered, laying in the rubble. Okay, maybe that wasn't a great idea. He raised his head and ignored the pounding in it as he scanned for Damian. There. Limp and quiet, not too far away.

"Damian?" Dick shuffled closer, pulling Damian closer to him. The boy flopped limply in his arms and Dick fought off a wave of guilt induced nausea. This was his fault. He should have known that someone was looking for him and would get caught in the mess.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Dick was running out of time. Every moment he hesitated getting back to the cave was a moment the toxin could seep into his body and warp his judgement. Dick tried to focus on the things he knew were real. The building was in flames. There were still baddies on the loose, and close. Damian was unconscious. 

There was a fast approaching screech and Dick winced. The toxin was making him more sensitive to noise. He wondered if the goons knew that, and were trying to weaponize the sound against him. Distract him. He wouldn't let it work. Setting Damian gently on the ground, Dick surveyed the scene. He'd hesitated too long and he was surrounded. It was a large group, at least half a dozen people approaching him as their awful siren screamed in the background. They were coming closer. Dick wouldn't let them.

Rising, Dick drew an escrima stick and held it out. He flicked the electricity on, gratified to see the goons look towards the light. With his other hand, he snapped his wrist out and sent a smoke bomb tumbling through the air. The goons yelled and stumbled back, but they were far too late. Dick was already moving. Both sticks were in his hands now and the goons crumbled under him. He jabbed one goon in the neck, clocked the other over the head with the back of a stick, he sent one guy down so hard the force of the impact itself knocked him out.

Within a minute, they were down.

Dick slipped his sticks back into their holsters, breathing heavily. He needed to get moving before the gas really started affecting him. There could be more goons on the way, it wasn't safe. He didn't even think before he was scooping Damian's limp body into his arms. Then he was running.

Up on the rooftops, he felt safer. He was stumbling a bit, from the toxin or an injury he wasn't sure. But it was hard for most people to get to the roofs, and even harder for them to leap from roof to roof like he was. It was the fastest way to get anywhere. Where they were going Dick wasn't sure. He just clung to Damian as he pulled out his grappling hook and pulled them up higher onto another building. Higher. Higher was safer. He needed to get somewhere safe, then he could figure out what to do.

Finally, Dick stopped running. He landed on the highest roof he could find, dropping his grappling gun carelessly as he knelt. He cradled Damian gently, turning his face towards him. Please be okay. He fumbled against Damian's wrist, holding it for a moment. No pulse. Dick shook himself and pressed his fingers against Damian's neck. No pulse. "Damian!" Dick tried the other wrist. Please please please. No pulse.

Dick sucked in a breath, willing himself to calm down. No, no, no. He scolded himself. The toxin played with fear. He needed to calm down. He needed to not think about it. Not think about Damian being dead in his arms. Not look as the lifeless body- oh gods he was going to have to explain this to Bruce. How in the world was Dick going to tell Bruce that he'd gotten his son killed?

No. Not thinking about that one. If he could get Damian back to the cave . . . stranger things had happened.

His panic was broken by an arrival to the roof. A dark figure pulled itself up and stood for a moment, staring at them. Then it said, "Nightwing. Give Robin to me." It moved closer, but Dick was faster. He was on his feet and standing between the figure and Damian in an instant. The escrima sticks crackled in his hands. He didn't even remember pulling them out.

The figure stopped short, staring at him. "Nightwing," it said slowly. "Stand down."

"No." Dick shook his head, cursing his thoughts as they sloshed in his brain. He was getting worse. He needed to end this quickly. "Back off."

"Not gonna happen." The figure said. "Give me Robin."

"Over my dead body." Dick snarled and leapt at the figure. It dodged him easily enough, Dick blamed the toxin for slowing him down. Fine, fine. Fight smarter. Not harder.

They exchanged blows. One of Dicks sticks went skidding across the roof, but he just used the opportunity and the free hand to strike the figure in the face. It gasped and stumbled backwards. Dick was about to attack again when he realized his mistake. He'd been so caught up in fighting this figure that he hadn't noticed the others. One was standing above them, watching. The other was kneeling by Damian's body.

"No!" Dick screamed. He hurled his escrima stick at the figure beside Damian, not even waiting to see it before he was running towards them. It didn't hit. Yet another figure appeared and knocked the stick off course. Dick growled and feigned like he was going for a punch to the face. When the figure ducked, Dick leapt and used the figure as a springboard, flying up and over them and swinging a leg down to hit the figure that was kneeling. His heel connected with the figures face and it cried out, scrambling away as Dick landed beside him.

Behind him, the other figure was already turning. Dick quickly swept out a leg and sent the figure crashing to the ground. He pulled a batarang and hurled it at the first figure who was trying to get back in the fight. Dick dove for his escrima stick, rolling elegantly as he swept it up, and crouched beside Damian at the edge of the roof. The first figure was recovering from the batarang, and the second one hadn't gotten off the floor, nor had it moved closer to Damian. It seemed to be watching him. The third was getting to its feet, cussing. The one above them was still watching.

Dick growled again. Four against one, when Dick had a brother to protect. Or at least a body to hold onto. That was the least he could do for Bruce, bring his sons body home. This wasn't a fight he could win. Not with the toxin creeping into his system and slowing his judgement.

Holding the stick out as a warning, Dick slid his free arm under Damian and started to pull his body up.

Suddenly, the click of a gun brought Dicks attention sharply to the figure on the roof.

"Stand down," the figure said. Sure enough, it had a gun pointed at him. "Or I shoot the kid."

"Do not shoot Robin!" The second figure protested, but the gunman didn't back down. He just stared down Dick. At least, that's what Dick assumed was happening. The toxin was already started to warp his vision. The gunman didn't have a face. He didn't have a face. Just a plain black sheen and voice that grated at Dicks ears.

Dick took a breath, weighting his options. Damian was already dead, which apparently they didn't know. That didn't mean he wanted this lunatic to shoot his brother. He thought about covering Damian's body with his own. Then he thought about how pissed Damian would be if he knew that Dick had taken a bullet for his dead body and banished the idea.

"Jokes on you," Dick snarled. "He's already dead." Gods his voice sounded rough. Was he breathing alright? He didn't know if he was breathing alright. It could be the fight or it could be the toxin at this point. Someone else was speaking, but Dick interrupted them. "You want Robin?" Dick asked. "Come and get us." Dick stood suddenly, dropping his stick in favor of scooping up Damian, then pitched himself back off the roof.

There were several shouts from the roof, but Dick was already lost in the rush of flying. He was a flying Grayson, after all. It's what he did best. Right? He could fly, couldn't he? No. That was the toxin talking. No flying. Just falling in style. Right. Not going splat. Shit.

Dick was rapidly loosing time to figure out how to turn his out of the frying pan and into the fire situation into a better one when the choice was taken from him. He was tackled roughly and his fall brought to a sudden halt as something wrapped around him and swung him to the side. They crashed gracelessly onto another roof. Dick only had a moment to curl himself around Damian's body - a pointless effort to break Damian's fall - before a boot was connecting with his stomach and driving him away from Damian.

"No!" Dick screamed as someone pulled Damian's body out of his arms. He pushed himself up to follow, but the same figure that had kicked him punched him in the jaw and Dick went down again.

"Stay down, Nightwing." The voice growled. It was that gunman again. The one with no face. At least the others had faces. This one was kind of freaking him out.

"Not gonna happen." Dick snapped, rolling to the side as the figure tried to grab him. Past the goon, Dick could see someone else hoisting Damian's body up. "Let him go!" Dick yelled. He was barely on his feet when a set of arms wrapped around him, holding him back.

"Nightwing," a gruff voice growled in his ear. "Let us give you the antidote."

"What?" Dick shook his head. No. It was the toxin. He misheard that.

"You've been poisoned." The voice said. "You and Robin."

"Leave Robin alone!" Dick snarled, hauling his head back and feeling a satisfying crunch as it connected with the person holding him. The figure grunted, but didn't let go. "Let go! Let me have him!"

In the side of his vision, another one was approaching. Dick vaguely recognized it as the figure that had been kneeling by Damian earlier. The one he'd kicked in the face. It was back up now, a needle glinting in it's hand.

"Hold still." The figure said.

Dick stiffened as the needle got closer. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He'd already been poisoned once this night. What was it the figure holding him had said? They were going to poison him? He seriously didn't need two poisons.

As the figure reached out for him, Dick suddenly went limp in his captors arms. Struggling to adjust to the sudden weight, his captors grip on him slipped and that was all Dick needed. He twisted out of their grasp and barreled towards the figure with the needle. He caught it around the middle, eliciting a cry as he dragged it towards the edge of the roof. The figure tried to break free, but Dick grabbed an arm and twisted it behind him. The figure whined at the tension.

"Nightwing, stop." It begged.

Dick didn't listen. He dragged them both to the edge of the roof, pushing the figure back until its heels just slipped over the ledge.

"Drop him." Dick demanded, pointing at the figure holding Damian. "Or I drop this." He shook the figure in his grip roughly. One of the figures hands came up placatingly at the demand, but the other just growled.

"Nightwing I swear," it was the one that sounded funny, it's head all wrong. Dicks brain was warping it into a monster. "I'm gonna fill you so full of holes."

"Nightwing," the shadowy figure said, hands still raised. Actually, that one looked strange too. It's face too black, it's ears too pointed. "Just breathe for a second, okay? You can have Robin back."

"No," Dick choked suddenly. He could have Robin back? He'd lost that long ago. His vision blurred. "He took him from me. They're all dead now. He took Robin and they're all dead."

The figure started to say something, but then Dick felt a sharp prick in his shoulder. He spun around, hand still grasping the figure, to realize that with its free hand, it had stabbed him with the needle.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The figure tripped over it's words, fear crossing it's face as it looked up at Dick. More startled than intentional, Dick let go and stumbled back. The figure flailed, then tipped, then fell.

A blur rushed past Dick as the shadow leapt off the roof after it. Then a foot was connecting with his knee and Dick dropped heavily to the ground. He wasn't sure what the figure had stabbed him with, but he thought it was making him dizzy.

"Sorry, Dickwing." the figure behind him said. "But not that sorry."

"The fuck are you doing here?"

Dick whipped his head over his shoulder at the modulated voice, hissing out a quiet "shhhh" as he gestured Red Hood down.

Red Hood just scoffed, and stepped up next to Dick and looked down. From their perch on the roof, they could see men entering the warehouse carrying boxes. The boxes were clearly labeled with explosives.

"Get down." Dick whispered.

"Not until you tell me what you're doing on my turf." Red Hood crossed his arms, a gun loose in his hand.

"Batman is going to try to stop those guys from selling illegal weapons in Gothem." Dick said. Then he hesitated, looking up at Jason. "They're not your guys, are they?"

"Wouldn't tell you if they were."

Dick took that as a no, and returned to his recon.

"I just need to figure out what they're doing before Batman gets here."

"Uh, didn't you just tell me they were selling illegal weapons?"

"They said they are, but look." Dick gestured to the men carrying the crates. "Those are far too light to contain, well, anything. It's a trap, I just-"

"Bat spotted!" The whisper took around the yard, and everyone hesitated only a moment before carrying on.

"Got the device ready?" Someone muttered.

"As soon as he steps in." Someone replied.

"Damn it," Dick hissed.

Batman swooped in. The men in the courtyard went down with just a few hits and then Batman was rushing inside.

"Damn it!" Dick swung himself off the roof, rushing after him. "Batman!" He was in the doorway when the explosion happened. An eruption of smoke and force rattled the windows and sent him stumbling. In the ensuing cloud, Dick wasn't sure how to navigate the warehouse and then-

Then someone was barreling into him. Dick struggled as his attacker grabbed him around the waist and shoved a cloth against his face. Dick kicked out as he was dragged along, biting the hand that was pressing against his face. His attacker cussed, but didn't let go. Just continued dragging Dick along until he was thrown to the ground. Coughing against the cold concrete, Dick thought fresh air had never been so good.

Red Hood stood over him, his jacket in one hand while he inspected the other.

"You better be thankful I wear gloves, Dickwing." Red Hood said. "If you'd have bit my skin I might have left you in there."

Dick glanced past Red Hood to the smoky building he'd just been dragged from.

"Batman's in there-"

Behind him, a course laugh startled them both. Red Hood slipped a gun from his belt and Dick turned to see one of the men Batman had knocked down pulling himself up.

"He's not Batman any more!" The man crowed. "After a dose of that drug, that's a killing machine, that's what that is!"

Inside the warehouse, something shattered.

"If this experiment goes well, we can introduce it to the rest of the Justice League!" The man looked almost giddy. "Turning the worlds heroes against it's civilians, there won't be heroes anymore-"

Bang.

The mans head whipped back when the bullet connected with it and the man dropped to the ground, dead. Dick turned back to Red Hood who still held his gun aloft.

"Was that necessary?" Dick hissed.

Red Hood just shrugged. That's when Batman stumbled out of the warehouse. Dick pushed himself to his feet.

"Batman?"

Batman's attention turned rapidly towards the two of them. A very unBatman-like growl emitted from his throat, then he drew a batarang, and threw it.

Dick was still shocked when Red Hood grabbed his collar and dragged him behind a truck, the batarang flying harmlessly past.

"What a way to say hello, Batman," Dick hissed as he crouched close to the ground.

"I don't know about you," Red Hood said dryly. "But it's usually how he greets me."

"That's not, well, not usually, how he greets me." Dick said. "If that man was right, some sort of drug is affecting him. We're gonna need backup."

"We?" Red Hood asked.

Dick just shrugged. "Like you said, it's your turf. I can get Robin and Spoiler in to help clean up this mess, or you can have a rampaging Batman around. It's nearly sunrise." Dick pointed out. "People will be around soon."

Red Hood growled, but didn't make a move to stop Dick from making the call.

"You got a plan, wonder boy?"

"I'm interested to see how many nicknames you come up with for me." Dick said, grinning.

"I got plenty to go round."

"You know you can just call me Nightwing, right?"

"Fuck you Dickwing."

"Oh-kay. Plan, yeah, I got one of those." Dick risked a peek around the truck, watching Batman punch an empty crate to splinters with his fists. "You're gonna track these goons and find out if they have more of this drug," Dick nodded to one of the men who was picking himself up. "Robin and Spoiler will be here soon, they'll help you."

"While you sit back and help how?"

"I'll keep Batman occupied." Dick said. He stood and held out a hand for Red Hood. Red Hood ignored it, pushing himself to his feet and drawing a gun.

"You're gonna fight an angry Batman alone?" Red Hood sounded skeptical even though the mask.

Dick shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Red Hood stared for a moment, then seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. "Scream if you need help." He said.

"Just circle back when you know the drugs are gone and the goons are tied up."

"Oh course." Red Hood hoisted a gun up to his shoulder.

"Tied up, not dead." Dick warned.

"My turf my rules, bird boy!" Red Hood said, walking backwards. "You do your job and I'll do mine."

Dick was starting regret having engaged Batman alone.

Robin and Spoiler were somewhere nearby, gunshots fired from across the block and Dick could only hope neither of them had been hit. He didn't have time to check though, because he was too busy trying to stay on his feet at this point.

The blows came faster than Dick could dodge them. He was losing track of how long the fight was taking, putting all of his focus into avoiding the worst of Batman's attacks. He thought he was doing pretty well, until a kick hit him in the ribs and sent him flying.

"Gah," Dick hit the side of a truck and fell heavily to the ground. "B," Dick said. Suddenly Batman was on top of him and Dick was struggling to get away. "B, it's me! Come on!"

Batman's hands found his throat and squeezed. All Dick saw in those eyes was pure anger and hate. Batman wasn't there. Didn't know what he was doing. Dick couldn't reach his utility belt from his position, but he could reach Batman's. He slipped a knife he knew was tucked in the belt, and hesitated.

Bruce didn't know what he was doing. Dick couldn't just stab the man.

His hesitation cost him, and his consciousness began to waver.

Bang.

Batman jerked to the side with an impact, then slumped over Dick.

"B?" Dick coughed, batting Batman's loose hands away from his throat. Dick shoved Batman off and rolled to the side, quickly reaching out for a pulse. Thank god. Dick breathed a sigh as he found the man breathing, not a wound on him. Dick turned his head to see Red Hood handing Robin a strange looking gun.

"Tranq gun!" Robin called. "I brought it, just in case."

Dick sat back on the ground, panting.

"Damn man," Spoiler said. "That looked . . . rough. You look bad."

"You distracted him though," Robin said, kneeling beside Batman and taking his vitals. "Good job, no one got hurt."

"No one else got hurt," Red Hood corrected. "Blondies right, you look like shit. Not the first time, huh?"

Dick gave him a look. "Well, he's not usually crazed when I fight him." He glanced at Tim hovering over Batman. "Say, how long-"

"Fifteen minutes." Red Hood cut in. "I thought for sure you'd be dead by the time we got here."

"Love your faith in me. The goons, are they-"

"Got 'em." Spoiler said. "All tied up, despite someones best efforts."

Red Hood grunted.

"And the drugs destroyed via explosion."

"I did not authorize the explosion," Tim insisted, looking at Dick.

"A compromise," Spoiler said. "Instead of killing people."

"As long as it's gone," Dick said. "I don't care."

"Batmobile incoming." Tim said, poking away at the device on his wrist. "We've got about an hour before that wears off," he gestured to Batman slumped on the floor. "We have to get him back to the Batcave, and figure out what they did to him."

Dick slid his hands under Batman's shoulders, but was bodily forced aside as Red Hood took his place. Dick opened his mouth but Red Hood cut in with "Shut it, Sparky." And Dick stepped back. When the Batmobile rolled up seconds later, Dick opened the backdoor and let Stephanie and Red Hood maneuver Batman into the car. Stephanie slid in after him, and Tim made his way to the drivers seat.

"Hey," Dick said. Red Hood was half turned away, but stopped when Dick spoke. "Thanks, for your help tonight."

"Forget it." Red Hood said. "Seriously, don't mention it to Batman."

"Are you-," Dick hesitated. "If you're injured you could come with us to the cave-"