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Jason was pissed off.
Today was his brother’s funeral. The weather was annoyingly perfect, and a few people, though not enough, had already arrived at the ceremony to pay their respects. Dick was supposed to have been laid in the ground by now, but everything was on hold because the one person who should have been there…
Wasn’t.
Bruce fucking Wayne was late to his own son’s funeral, and Jason was going to give him a piece of his mind. It was the least Dick deserved, since so many of his friends didn’t even bother to come either. After minutes of needling, Alfred finally broke under Jason’s incessant questioning, and admitted Bruce was holed up in the Batcave with no intention of attending.
So Jason had left, storming back to the manor in his suit, on the back of his motorcycle without a care for his safety, with the intention of bringing Bruce to the funeral.
A green tint colored his vision, and he didn’t even bother to close doors as he rampaged through the house, marching through the lobby and the network of hallways until he was practically ripping the clock off of the concealed cave entrance to charge down the stairs.
But the clock wouldn’t budge.
Jason yanked on the door, stunned.
In all the years he’d been a vigilante, this room had never been closed to him before. Not even when he was technically a crime lord. He’d checked. But now his access was denied. Jason pounded on the door, shouting for Bruce, but the door wouldn’t open.
In frustration, Jason kicked the clock and paced around, trying to figure out how to get in, when a vague memory flashed through his mind. One of the few memories he had with Dick, ironically enough, back during his Robin days.
“If you’re going to be Robin, you must uphold a sacred tenement of the mantle,” Dick intoned, semi-jokingly. “Disobeying Batman.”
Jason rolled his eyes at him. “Like that’s hard. I probably fight him more than you do.”
Dick raised an eyebrow, calling Jason’s bluff. Jason flushed, and wrapped his arm around the stack of books Bruce had given him to study, bringing him up to speed on emergency procedures. It wasn’t required reading, but Jason was doing it anyways.
“My point is,” Dick clapped a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Sometimes Bruce will tell you to do things, and you just can’t, like staying out of the cave, for instance.”
“You know he can lock us out, right?” Jason drawled, going back to his books.
“No, he can’t. Because Bruce doesn’t know something about that cave.” Now, Jason was interested, and looked up to see a glint in Dick’s eye.
“What are you talking about?”
“Depends on if you want to see something cool.”
Jason smiled softly to himself, reminiscent of the memory. He went towards the nearest drawing room, which was ornately decorated with a large fireplace flanked by two floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The memory led Jason to the poker stand, just off to the side of the mantle, and with a deft twist, Jason grabbed the center of the stand, and pulled.
“Whoa!” Jason marveled, as Dick stepped back to pull on the left bookcase, which had slowly swung away from the wall to reveal a hastily carved chute cut out from the drywall.
Dick laughed at the younger boy’s reaction. “During the Prohibition era, a lot of houses found ways to conceal liquor or other illicit substances. The Waynes were no exception, but they had a bit more real estate than most, building down into the fissure of caves underneath the property. Bruce wasn’t even the first to use it for storage. The house is full of hidden tunnels like this, but this specific one actually leads down into the Batcave if you follow it long enough.”
“Seriously?” Jason gasped. “And Bruce doesn’t know about it?”
“Nope,” Dick said, popping his lips, before climbing into the chute, feet first. “Are you coming?”
Just as it had in the memory, the bookcase swung open, and Jason wrinkled his nose at the musty smell and the cobwebs that wafted out of the newly-revealed chute. Ducking into the hole, Jason squeezed through the tunnel. He chuckled as he realized how small it now felt compared to when he was a kid, but as a full-grown, 6’4” man, this tiny tunnel barely fit him.
He emerged into a wider section, and pulled out his phone, enabling the flashlight to help him see. A bright red mark on the wall came into view, and Jason was pulled back into the memory.
“What’s that?” Jason pointed at the red smear on the wall, marking one of the two tunnels forking ahead of them.
“It’s lipstick.” Dick smirked, and Jason whipped around to give him an incredulous look. “Catwoman showed me this tunnel when I was just starting out as Robin. She found it years ago, and marked the route to the Batcave. She routinely used it to get in and steal things. Or catch B by surprise.”
“The more I learn about their relationship, the less I want to know,” Jason recoiled in disgust. Dick just laughed some more.
Jason followed the occasional mark on the walls until light penetrated through the dark, and the silence was slowly filled by…shouting?
Picking up the pace, Jason forged ahead, shimmying through the narrowest part of the tunnel, until he was in the Batcave, underneath the Batcomputer platform, where sounds of an intense fight and the ensuing destruction echoed from.
“…you let the Crime Syndicate capture you. You let them torture you. You let them give your secrets to the world.” Jason could recognize Bruce’s pissed-off voice, and a sickening thud of one body part colliding hard with another body part followed close after.
“You weren’t there,” Another voice responded, and Jason startled, realizing all too quickly that Bruce was not only NOT alone, but that something was definitely not right.
Because the voice he had just heard belonged to the person he was supposed to be burying.
That voice belonged to his brother.
“You let them turn you into a bomb. You let them kill you. Before Luthor rescued you, you let everyone watch you DIE!” Bruce screamed, and Jason flinched. He crept up towards the main platform, staying out of sight, only to swallow a gasp at the carnage. The Batcave was trashed, and blood was everywhere. And in the center of the fight, his father and his brother were stripped to the waist, locked in hand-to-hand combat.
“I was trying to SAVE people!” Dick yelled, retaliating with blows to defend himself, ducking narrowly as Bruce swung a powerful hook towards his head.
“I trained you to LIVE AND I WATCHED YOU DIE!” Bruce screamed and Jason couldn’t watch anymore. Pulling his spare piece, the gun he always had on him, out from his ankle holster, he stepped out onto the platform, raised the gun towards the ceiling, and fired it.
The gunshot echoed throughout the Cave, causing both Dick and Bruce to flinch, and Jason re-aimed the firearm to point directly at Bruce. “You better have a damn good explanation for what the hell I just walked into.” He growled, and Bruce’s eyes darkened.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Dick exhaled, stumbling towards Jason. “Little Wing?” His voice rang out, shaky and filled with exhaustion.
Jason kept the gun level. “Clock’s ticking. Explain, now!” He thundered, sidestepping closer to Dick, checking him over for injuries. Even from a distance, the list was extensive, with multiple lacerations, abrasions, and bruises decorating Dick’s skin. Soiled bandages wrapped around Dick’s wrists, and torso. And what skin wasn’t damaged was dirtied and stained with dust, blood, and other unidentifiable substances.
“You need to leave.” Bruce stepped forward, and Jason didn’t even hesitated, pulling the trigger for a second time. Bruce jerked back, glancing down to look for a gunshot wound, but then his fingers travelled up to explore his ear, which had felt the gentlest whisper of the bullet’s path as it missed Bruce’s head by a literal inch.
“I don’t think so.” Jason shook his head. “Y’know, I came here to drag you to his funeral,” Jason cocked his head in Dick’s direction, who’s eyes widened as he whipped around to face Bruce as well. “But I guess it’s a lot harder to mourn somebody when you know they’re not dead, huh?”
“What is he talking about?” Dick asked, fists balling at his sides. “A funeral?”
Bruce sneered at Jason, who was totally immune to the older man in that moment. All he felt was protective rage, and he stepped closer and closer until Dick was in arm’s reach, the sight on the gun never leaving Bruce.
“Heads up, you’re dead, or the whole world thinks you are.” Jason announced. “The only question is why? Why, Bruce? Why fake his death? Why make us believe that, after everything?”
“I have a mission for him,” Bruce answered callously. “Undercover. You needn’t be concerned with the details, Hood.”
“Do you see a hood on me right now?” Jason’s voice couldn’t get any colder. “I have a name, you can damn well use it, Bruce!”
Dick stumbled into Jason’s side, and one hand finally left the gun, wrapping securely around his older brother’s torso, holding the lean body upright. Blood instantly soaked his clothes, and up close, Jason could see just how pale Dick was.
Dick needed medical treatment. Now.
“Fuck your mission.” Jason whispered. “Fuck you. I’m going to tell the others, and the minute this gets out, you’re fucking finished, you hear me, you abusive piece of shit?” Jason started stepping towards the stairs leading up into the manor, immensely conscious of Dick’s weakening state.
“He has to go on this mission, Jason.” Bruce insisted. “We’re all at risk if he doesn’t.”
“We’re at risk on any given day.” Jason dismissed, finally dropping the gun to haul Dick over his shoulder, who was now too weak and out of it to complain. “I’m taking him, and telling everyone the truth. And you better pray,” Jason’s voice cracked. “…that no one can find you when I do.”
And then he re-raised the gun, firing one last shot, this time actually striking Bruce in the leg. Jason immediately tossed the gun and made a break for it up the stairs, one arm tucked securely over the back of Dick’s knees. The other hand was now free to bypass the security measures, and Jason rapidly punched in the code on the door keypad to escape the cave.
Jason beelined for the civilian garage, and dumped Dick in the backseat of the nearest open-top sports car, hopping in the front seat. He didn’t bother looking around for the key fob, just yanking off the interior casing underneath the steering column to access the ignition line.
It was the fastest Jason had ever hotwired a car, and he already had a pretty impressive record.
He stomped on the gas, driving the car through one of the garage doors, speeding off the property. One-handed, he controlled the steering wheel as he pulled out his phone, calling Barbara.
“Jason, are you and Bruce on your way?” Babs immediately answered. “People are getting restless, and starting to leave.”
“Let them leave. Just cancel the whole effing thing,” Jason drawled. “I’ve got Dick in the backseat.”
There was a pause. “You what?” Barbara asked, sure she hadn’t just heard him right.
“I found Bruce whaling on Dick, who is surprisingly not fucking dead, in the Batcave. B was trying to force him to go on some undercover mission, and apparently faked Dick’s death? Was probably using the funeral as a cover to set the whole plan in motion, the asshole! But listen, Babs? Dick’s injured badly, and needs medical attention. I’m taking him to the clinic. Bring Leslie, and have her meet me there. I’ll do what I can in the meantime.”
“Oh god. Bruce, what did you do?” Babs gasped over the phone line, staring out at the assembled funeral in horror. Spotting Superman, an idea started to form, and she began rattling information to Jason. “I’m grabbing Clark. He’ll get Leslie there. The boys and I will get there as soon as everyone else leaves. Where is Bruce now?”
Jason couldn’t suppress the snort of disgust that came out. “I left him in the Batcave, with a gunshot wound to the leg. He’s probably walking it off.”
“You’ll fill me in later.” She instructed and hung up, and Jason yanked the wheel, making a hard right in the direction of the clinic.
All while praying he made it in time.
Barbara had followed through, much to Jason’s relief, as he spotted Leslie and Clark standing outside Leslie’s clinic, with mixed looks of concern and confusion. Clark was the first to reach Dick, gently removing his prone body out of the backseat, systemically noting each broken bone he could spot.
“I don’t understand…” Leslie trailed off, rushing off to follow Clark, but glancing back to look at Jason, who had jumped out of the car, and tailed them into the building, ripping off his suit jacket and tie. “Why would Bruce do such a thing?”
“Long story.” Jason griped, throwing open cabinet doors, grabbing supplies. “He probably has internal bleeding, on top of everything else. Can you treat that?”
“Of course,” Leslie sniffed proudly, before faltering as Jason turned on the surgical suite lights, revealing in full luminosity the extent of Dick’s injuries. Bruising littered what little of Dick’s skin wasn’t covered in cuts and bloodstain. His chest rattled, struggling to rise and fall, and a pained wheeze forced it’s way out of his mouth.
Jason reached out to grab Dick’s hand, being extra mindful of his brother’s bruised knuckles. Dick shifted on the bed, angling his head towards Jason, as if he were somewhat aware that Jason was there.
A loud bang echoed through the building, and Tim, Alfred, Stephanie, and Barbara burst through the doors of the surgical suite.
“Oh good lord,” Alfred gasped faintly, eyes locking on Dick. “What on earth happened?”
“Bruce happened,” Jason spat, still holding on to Dick’s hand. “Bruce beat him nearly to death!”
“I explained things in the car,” Babs murmured absentmindedly, unable to rip her eyes away from Dick’s body.
“Why would Bruce do this?” Tim asked, his voice shaky.
“I don’t know, but you’re not going back to the Manor tonight.” Jason ordered. “I don’t care if it’s a safehouse, the penthouse, or Titans goddamn Tower. You keep away from him, and tell Cass the same thing if she ever bothers to get back from wherever the fuck she is right now.”
“The airport.” Steph interrupted. “She’s at the airport. Her flight was delayed, but she WAS on her way back. She was supposed to get in this morning in time for the funeral.”
“And now there’s no funeral.” Tim muttered. “Only questions.”
“I only have one question,” Jason’s voice dropped into a low growl. “What are we going to do about Bruce?”
His question was met with silence. Tim gaped, eventually averting his eyes from Jason and Dick, unsure of what to say. Barbara just looked at Dick’s face, refusing to acknowledge what was happening. And Alfred…
Alfred just walked out of the room.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Jason muttered, gritting his teeth.
“If I had to hazard a guess,” Clark spoke up, startling Jason, who had managed to forget the Kryptonian was in the room. “He is going back to the Manor.”
Jason made to get up, but Dick’s grip on his fingers tightened, and Jason didn’t have the heart to pull away. “What the fuck did I just say?” Jason whispered under his breath.
“Did you really expect Alfred to listen to you?” Steph asked, raising an eyebrow. “Alfred’s a big boy, he’ll confront B if he wants to.”
“It’s not about that,” Jason argued. “B’s lost it! He FAKED Dick’s death for a mission. He beat him, trashing the cave in the process. I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“It won’t matter.” Clark mumbled, sending the entire room into silence. “Bruce isn’t there.”
“And you know that how?” Tim asked impertinently. Slowly, everyone turned to stare at the third Robin, waiting for the realization to hit. “…Oh. Sorry.” Tim blushed, dropping his head.
“Jason, Bruce wouldn’t hurt Alfred.” Steph said gently, grabbing his other hand.”
Jason sniffed. “You don’t know that.”
“I think we do.” She argued.
“Oh yeah?” Jason looked her in the eyes, and for the first time, she noticed his were glowing green. “The same way we knew he wouldn’t ever hurt Dick?”
No one had an answer.
No one said a thing.
Alfred stalked through the halls of Wayne Manor, his wrinkled hands pale at the knuckle, as he gripped his favorite shotgun, on the hunt for his former charge.
“Master Bruce!” He roared, searching room after room. Finally, he made it to the cave, which in all honesty should have been the first room he checked, but he supposed his detour allowed him to settle his thoughts, at least so much that he wouldn’t fire the gun on sight.
And there Bruce was. Hunched over on the medical bay bed, surgical equipment in hand.
Alfred inched closer. “Bruce.” His voice was cold and wrathful, but the other man paid him no mind. “Bruce!”
Bruce straightened up, brandishing a pair of tweezers, a single bullet pinched between the tongs. “Alfred.” Bruce’s voice sounded neutral, but after years of getting to know his mannerisms, Alfred could hear the exhaustion in his tone.
“I have just come from Leslie’s clinic.” Alfred’s grip on the gun tightened, the memory of Dick lying on that bed burned into his brain.
“I imagine Dick is relieved to see the others.” Bruce stated, making no effort of apology.
“Your imagination would be wrong. He’s not even conscious, having very nearly bled out in Jason’s vehicle.” Alfred admonished.
Bruce grabbed a nearby needle, not even turning around to look at him. “I see. There were complications.”
“Bruce, look at me.” Alfred ordered, stepping even closer. Bruce ignored him, starting to examine what Alfred could now clearly see was a bullet wound in the center of his right thigh.
“Damn,” Bruce swore under his breath, wincing. “The bullet broke the bone. It’ll need re-setting.”
“I’m sure Leslie won’t help you.” Alfred retorted, finally getting a look from the other man. Bruce’s eyes zeroed in on the shotgun, and he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you going to shoot me, Alfred?” Bruce asked, looking resigned.
“No,” Alfred faltered, meeting Bruce’s gaze. “Master Jason appears to have beat me to that. What I am going to do is ask you one time…what in the blazes were you thinking?”
Bruce winced. “I thought I was doing what’s best.”
“You thought wrong.” Alfred’s retort echoed through the cave, tolling like a funeral bell. “You made us believe that boy was dead. You made us try to bury him. You cut him off from everyone he has ever cared about, yourself included, and then when he tried to resist, you beat him, very nearly to death. What could possibly be worth that?”
“A mission, of vital importance.” Bruce didn’t acknowledge what Alfred had said, only answering the question. “An organization, dedicated to the study and utilization of metahumans, has compiled a significant amount of information on the Justice League. Enough information to be a threat, not just to them, but their families. They have intel on us too. And they plan to use it, in an attempt at supplying the world with a counteroffer.”
“What kind of counteroffer?” Alfred asked, humoring him.
“They plan to create some kind of individual, capable of destroying the Justice League. They claim it would be a last resort, just like my contingency plans, but I believe their intentions are to replace the League instead, for the highest bidder.”
Alfred swallowed, understanding the bigger picture, and he didn’t like what he saw. “Then why isn’t the Justice League handling it? It’s their problem!”
“Because they have the means to do it already.” Bruce flung himself into a standing position, his leg buckling beneath him. He stabilized himself on some nearby furniture, sending objects scattered across the floor. “If the League confronts them head on, they’ll be slaughtered. A subtle approach is necessary, and I believed Dick capable of doing that!”
“You know he is. What none of us understand,” Alfred ran a hand down his face. “Is why you couldn’t just TELL us that! We’re all capable of keeping secrets. This charade wasn’t necessary!”
“It would have helped sell it!” Bruce argued. “He was going in as himself, Alfred. Not under some alias, not as Nightwing. The world needed to mourn Dick Grayson, and they needed to see us join in.”
“We were already mourning.” Alfred snapped. “In case you forgot, Master Richard isn’t the only son we had to bury recently. We could have sold it, regardless.”
The harsh reminder of Damian’s death brought a grim look to Bruce’s face, and he turned away from Alfred, limping towards a supply cabinet, where Alfred knew they kept the materials for making casts. “You still haven’t forgiven Leslie for doing this with Stephanie. How do you expect us to forgive you?” The older man asked, outpacing Bruce to reach the cabinet first.
He methodically laid out the gauze, and the plaster, laying out everything that would be needed for the cast. The placement of the wound would be tricky, and a long cast spanning from Bruce’s hip to ankle would be necessary. Bruce said nothing, watching Alfred take care of things, yet again.
“I’m sorry.” Bruce finally whispered, quiet enough that Alfred nearly missed it.
“I am not the only person you need to say that too.”
“No, I mean…I’m sorry.” A cloud of gas enveloped the air around Alfred and he choked, inhaling the fumes. It was much too strong to figure out what it was, and his vision blacked out. The butler dropped to the ground, and Bruce lunged to catch him, disposing of the canister he had on hand.
He laid Alfred, now unconscious, gently on the floor. And then, Bruce grabbed a pair of crutches, and headed for his car, leaving the butler, the Cave, and his home behind.
When Alfred awoke, he was still lying on the ground, a vague headache left over from the gas clouding his mind. Everything was still as he had left it, all of the medical supplies still in place. The only thing missing…was Bruce.
“..ed? Alfred?” A voice called out, echoing through the Cave. Alfred pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the ache in his old bones. “Alfred?”
“Over here, Master Timothy.” Alfred called out, trying to climb to his feet. Nausea and dizziness overtook him, and he ceased the attempt, afraid of falling over. Tim finally came into his field of vision, his face the very picture of concern.
“Alfred, are you alright?” Tim asked, hooking one hand underneath Alfred’s arm, and helped him to his feet. The vertigo passed, and Alfred sighed, brushing himself off.
“I do believe so,” the butler replied, looking at the empty medical cot, still stained from Bruce’s bleeding leg. “But I’m afraid Master Bruce is not.”
“I don’t give a fuck about Bruce,” An angry voice interrupted, and Alfred turned to spot Jason investigating a set of tire marks on the ground nearby. “He attacked Dick, and he’s attacked you. I’m gonna kill him.”
“You will not!” Alfred admonished, glaring at Jason in full-force. “Besides,” He sighed, pulling away from Tim. “He seems determined to do that himself.”
Tim inhaled, putting something together in his mind. “You know where he’s gone?”
“Partially,” Alfred admitted. “I suspect he has gone to fulfill the mission he had planned for Master Dick. But I am sure he will waylay himself first to medical treatment. He cannot drive with a broken leg and a gunshot wound forever.”
“Clark’ll find him.” Tim said, sounding confident. Jason snorted, sounding the opposite.
“He is determined to carry out that mission. I doubt he will let Superman stop him.” Alfred sagged, falling onto the cot. “I do not think we will be seeing him for a while.”
“So, what do we do?” Tim asked, exchanging a worried glance with Jason.
“We carry on.” Alfred said, an edge of finality coloring his tone. “As we always have. Together.”
Dick woke up to darkness. He shifted on the bed, slowly trying to figure out where he was. Soft sheets encompassed his body, which was wrapped with bandages. A cushy pillow rested underneath his head, smelling familiar. He let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness, and bit by bit, picked out familiar features of the room he was in.
He was in his room, in the Manor.
A soft knock at the door interrupted Dick’s thoughts, and it opened to reveal Jason, who was carrying a bowl of something steaming.
“Jay?” Dick rasped, gladdened by the sight of his brother.
Jason gave him a sad smile. “Hey Dickie! Glad to see you’re awake.”
“Wha’app’nd?” Dick slurred, frowning in confusion. His head throbbed, memories fuzzy.
“You, uh, got beaten up. Leslie patched you up, the sedatives have probably just worn off.” Jason said carefully, putting the bowl down on the side table next to Dick’s bed. Dick tried to push himself up, but pain lanced up his arms, and he fell back into the mattress, writhing in agony.
“Ahhgh.” Dick moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, curling into a fetal position, despite the complaints he got from the rest of his body.
“Here, c’mon,” Jason pulled back the blankets, scooping Dick up and repositioned him into a sitting pose. “You must be hungry.”
“I…” Dick paused, trying to listen to his body over the dull roar of pain that ebbed through him. “…don’t know?” He realized, moving one hand to press on his stomach.
Jason raised an eyebrow. “Everything’s still probably waking up. You’ve been out of it for a while.” He sat on the side of the bed, and picked up the spoon.
“Are you going to feed me?” Dick asked, stunned.
“Would you be able to hold this thing if I didn’t?” Jason retorted, splashes of red coloring his cheeks. Dick glanced between him and the bowl, and shrugged, realizing the answer to that question was probably no. “Right, didn’t think so. Now, open your gob.”
Dick obediently opened his mouth, and Jason spooned some liquid into it. Soup. Garlic Mushroom. Alfred’s recipe.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Dick interrupted before Jason could give him another spoonful.
“What question?”
“What happened? To me?”
Jason sighed, and put the bowl down. “What do you remember?”
That gave Dick pause. He thought back. Arkham. Doomsday’s cell. Luthor. The Batcave.
The Batcave…
Memories flushed to the front of Dick’s brain, reminding him of the fight.
“Bruce and I got into it.” Dick whispered, trembling. “He attacked me. He…you shot him. You SHOT him!”
“I did,” Jason admitted, not displaying an ounce of shame. “You nearly bled out internally. Leslie ended up giving you six bags of blood. Nine broken ribs. Seven broken fingers. Two of the bones in your skull were cracked. Five bruised vertebrae. Bruised pelvis. Broken ankle. Countless lacerations, most of which had glass embedded in by the way. Over 200 stitches. The mother of all concussions. Your organs looked like they’d been dropkicked by multiple FedEx drivers and the US-fucking-PS, according to Clark. You’re looking at months of recovery.”
Dick was stunned. “…what?”
Jason sighed again. “He nearly beat you to death, Dick. I don’t know how else to say that.”
“I mean, is there any chance some of those injuries are older?” Dick rasped, trying to reconcile his injuries with the fight he remembered.
“Like from Arkham with the Crime Syndicate?” Jason asked, looking grim.
“Yeah…” Dick trailed off, already knowing the answer.
“Some of it could be exacerbated from that fight, but it’s hard to tell for sure,” Jason said carefully, not meeting Dick’s eyes. “…and Tim already took the liberty of matching everything on the footage with each injury.”
Dick allowed his head to drop back against the pillows. “Fuck.”
Jason finally cracked a smirk. “Wow, Goldie, language!” He teased, but the joke didn’t quite land. Dick let out a shuddering breath, and Jason picked that moment to shove another spoonful of soup in his mouth.
Dick didn’t even have the energy to fight it, and they spent a few minutes just eating in silence, until Jason finally set down the spoon. Dick could see the indecision brewing on Jason’s face, and he could tell the conversation wasn’t done.
“What’s running through your head, Little Wing?”
Jason startled. “I…I…don’t worry about it. We can talk about it later.” Jason made to leave, but Dick summoned the strength to grab his hand.
“Jay, please?”
“I can’t figure it out. I don’t understand how he could DO that to you.” Jason forced out the words, like he was struggling to even say them. “Like, I know he’s not perfect, he’s a fucking asshole, but you…he loved you! And he still did that! Like if it was me, I’d get it. I’d be pissed, but I’d get it, and…”
“Jay, stop.” Dick whispered, tugging on Jason’s wrist. Jason’s eyes met Dick’s, and Dick could see the unshed tears threatening to spill over Jason’s cheeks. “If it was you, I wouldn’t get it. You wouldn’t deserve that, no matter what you were, or what you did. As for me…”
“You didn’t deserve it either.” Jason interrupted.
“Jay,” Dick tried to say, guilt pooling in his stomach. “I got caught! I got exposed! And then they…” The words caught in his throat. “Luthor, he…”
“Killed you.”
Dick froze, fingers locking even tighter onto Jason’s hand.
“Lex Luthor killed you. I heard your fight with B, I was there, remember?” Jason reminded him. “I heard what Bruce was pissed about, and we found the damn cowl footage to back it up. Dick, we KNOW. And he blamed you for it. The same way he blamed me for dying!”
“Jay, he never blamed you for your death,” Dick was swift to refute, but Jason scoffed with disbelief. “I know he didn’t. He blamed everyone else. He blamed Joker, he blamed himself. Hell, he blamed me. Never you. I promise…”
“Wait, what?” Jason looked up, eyes glowing. “What do you mean, he blamed you? You weren’t even on the fucking planet?”
Dick gave out a hollow laugh. “He blamed me because he could, Jay. He was angry, and scared, and looking for someone to blame, or beat up, whichever came first. This was no different.”
“Oh, did he hit you then, too?” Jason asked sarcastically, but watched in shock as the color drained from Dick’s face. Dick didn’t say a word, all of a sudden taking more interest in anything else in the room. “Fuck, he did, didn’t he?”
Dick still wouldn’t say a word.
“He did, didn’t he?” Jason demanded. The lack of an answer was answer enough, and Jason gaped, trying to wrap his head around it. “We’re so fucked up, aren’t we?” He whispered, tucking himself up against Dick’s side, fully shifting his weight onto the bed.
Dick let out a wet chuckle. “That’s for sure. We don’t deserve it though.”
Jason matched the laughter, tears falling down his cheeks. He couldn’t tell if they were happy or sad. “What should we do to get back at him for it?”
“I think we should get Selina to don the Batsuit and take over Gotham with an army of cats that she bought using his credit card. And therapy. All the therapy he can afford.” Dick giggled, resting his head on Jason’s shoulders.
Jason tilted his head to rest on top of Dick’s, mindful of the bandages encasing parts of Dick’s skull. And the next thing he knew, he was asleep.
And if Alfred found them both still like that, hours later…well, he has the photo evidence to prove it.