Blood dripped onto the concrete as Jason stumbled away from the man he was fighting. Four more men lay unconscious or groaning in pain on the ground of the alley. A distant streetlight flickered behind Jason as he lifted his gloved fingers away from the gash in his side.
Looking back up at the man smirking overconfidently in front of him, Jason growled, "This was my favorite jacket, asshole."
Drawing his spare gun, Jason aimed and fired off a round before the fear in the man's eyes could spread to his feet and take him running off down the darkened alley. The rubber bullet---something Bruce had insisted he use, but which he had only relented to when Dick had asked him to make the switch---slammed into the guy's chest, sending him sprawling onto the concrete. Metal clanged as the knife in the man's hand fell from his grip.
Shoving his gun back into its holster, Jason stalked away at the sound of approaching sirens. His bike should be exactly where he had left it, stashed behind a dumpster more than a few blocks away, but he didn't plan on riding it.
Pulling out his Bat-issued grappling gun, he grappled to the nearest building and headed east.
As he arrived at a rundown apartment building, he clambered down the fire escape until he reached the right window---which he easily shimmied open before sliding into the dark apartment. Taking in the room full of scrappy furniture, Jason snorted. Dick's apartment had seen better days---only before the older man had moved in, apparently.
Sliding off his ripped jacket, Jason tossed it onto the coffee table---after scooting the various days' old fast food leftovers aside. Grumbling about the state of the place, he peeled off his torn and bloodied shirt and tossed that too onto the coffee table.
Blood oozed from the gash in his side. "Damn it! Where does Dickface keep his medkit?"
After a few minutes of rustling through Dick's cabinets and coming up empty, Jason snatched a beer from the fridge and sank into the motheaten couch.
His beer was nearly empty by the time he heard footsteps approach then come to a stop outside the apartment door. Keys jangled then one slid into the keyhole. He heard the lock slide and the door creak open, then the lights flicked on overhead, causing him to squint at the sudden harshness of the light.
"You're out of whiskey, Dickwing," Jason told him, grunting as he leaned forward and set his now-empty beer on the coffee table. "Medical supplies, too."
The door clicked shut, and Jason heard a drawer open before Dick was suddenly standing in front of him holding a medkit. "Shit, Jay, who did you piss off?"
Jason shrugged, reaching for the medkit in his brother's hands. "Nobody in particular."
Dick moved the medkit out of Jason's reach, earning him a glare and a growl. He narrowed his gaze at Jason, his blue eyes zeroing in on the large gash on Jason's ribs.
"That's going to need stitches," Dick said, stating the obvious.
Rolling his eyes, Jason gestured to the medkit. "Yeah, dipshit, I know. And if you would hand me that damn medkit I could stop bleeding out on this mothball you call a couch."
Dick pressed his lips into a thin line at the insult.
Jason could tell his brother wanted to insist on stitching him up himself, but he wasn't about to let him do that.
Pressing his hands into the couch cushion, Jason stood, barely stopping himself from wincing at the jolt of pain from the various cuts and bruises the movement caused.
Towering over his brother now, Jason snarled, "Hand it over."
Dick seemed to scan his eyes for a moment, his expression unreadable but every muscle in his body was tense as he waited for Jason to forcibly take the medkit from him. "Okay. Here you go."
Accepting the medkit from his brother, Jason sat back down and started cleaning his injuries---starting with the one across his ribs. As he tended to his wounds, Dick walked away. A few moments later he heard the shower running.
A long while later, when Jason was finishing up with the medkit, Dick returned, carrying something. Looking up at him, Jason watched him approach.
"I saw this at the store the other day and thought you would like it," Dick said, handing him what looked like a blanket. "Feel free to stay a few days and heal up. There are blankets and pillows in the futon if you want them."
With that, Dick went to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.
Looking down at the, surprisingly heavy, heap of fabric Dick had given him, Jason lifted it up and held it in front of him.
Jason blinked. It was a weighted hoodie.
Slipping it on, Jason felt himself relaxing ever-so-slightly under the comforting weight. Turning his head in the direction of Dick's door, he couldn't help but wonder if Dick's gift was random or if his brother knew what day it was.
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Jason watched the clock strike midnight and the date change. But, for the first time in six years, his mind wasn't flooded with painful memories of maniacal laughter, but of sitting on gargoyles with his brother eating burgers as they watched the sun rise.
