Archive of Our Own ^beta

Year 8
Gotham City

Base Beta
September 30 00:30 EST

Dick stood outside of the seemingly abandoned shack for over an hour, weighed down by his bags and the unrelenting feeling that something Bad was going to happen the moment he stepped foot inside. Of course, just being in Gotham again could give anyone that ominous sense of foreboding, but this was different. This was personal. This felt like heartache.

And oh did Dick know heartache. It was true that he’d lost more in his twenty years of living than most people could ever fathom, but the record amount of Bad which plagued the people he loved the last few years seemed determined to remind Dick that the ghostly touch of tragedy would never be done with him.

It followed him everywhere he went, be it Blüdhaven or Mount Justice or even space; this exhaustive force which gnawed on his very being no matter what choices he made or who he managed to save.

There was always someone he just couldn’t catch.

Barbara. Wally. Jas—

Closing his eyes, Dick shook his head and white-knuckled the bag straps in his hands until he could feel the fabric digging into his palms. Now was not the time for all of that. Things were going to be okay. Barbara was getting the best care Wayne money could buy. Artemis not only moved in with Will to help care for her niece, but she even enrolled in classes again. And Jason—

Dick’s breath caught when his foot creaked against the first porch step. This wasn’t about him—or them. He was in Gotham to help Bruce because Bruce needed him; between dealing with the aftermath of Batman’s lengthy disappearance from the city and the chaos amongst the Bat team following the latest incident with the Joker, it seemed only fair that Dick should use his leave of absence as leader to do some proper housekeeping.

Once you’ve borne the weight of alien invasions and secret double agents, the petty crimes of street gangs and criminal psychopaths felt like a walk in the park. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself the entire ride over.

“Come on, you idiot. Why go to the manor when you have a perfectly acceptable safehouse right here?” Dick scolded himself as he continued to hesitate on the front steps. “Just go in.”

He’d faced scarier villains than this old house—even if it was haunted.

“Really? This place?” Jason frowned. “All the Wayne money at your disposal and you found the one piece of shit that even the meth-heads wouldn’t be caught dead in.”

Dick smiled—a rare sight around Jason, but somehow he’d been doing it more often than he expected during their brief time together. “That’s what’s so great about it! It’s very unassuming.” He made a show of waltzing up the porch steps to prove just how genius his choice had been, before his foot broke through the rotten wood. “And, uh, it was quite the steal for property this close to the city center.”

Jason rolled his eyes, tugging Dick back towards solid ground. “Someone certainly stole something alright.”

“So what if it’s a fixer upper?” His smile began to strain.

“Is that what they call this?”

“I can put in upgrades that Alfred would never allow at the manor—”

“You’d be better off burning it down and cashing in the insurance—” Jason scoffed.

“—because it’s mine. Not Bruce’s or Batman’s or Wayne Enterprises, but mine.”

Dick could feel Jason’s appraising eyes picking him apart as the silence swelled between them. He shouldn’t have said that. He’d revealed too much.

Indifference was the only way to cover up his slip-up. “You didn’t have to come. This isn’t exactly training…”

Jason smirked. “Of course it’s training! I’m learning all kinds of valuable skills, like reasoning with an unreasonable victim—”

“Excuse me!”

“—infiltration of an unstable residence—” He dodged Dick’s punch to creep along the only patches of porch capable of bearing weight until he could wedge the window open.

“I didn’t say you could go in!” Dick hurried after him through the opening, failing to notice the large gap in the floorboards beneath it until Jason tackled him around the waist onto a dusty couch a few feet away.

“—and how to save a victim from their death-trap of a house,” he whispered from beneath Dick, hands flexing against his waist. “You’re a pretty good teacher, Big Bird.”

Dick’s cheeks flushed as he breathed in the dust and damp which hung heavy in the air. A simmering warmth radiated from where Jason’s hands gripped him, where his hands clutched Jason’s red hoodie in return, where their chests brushed with every exhale, as he reluctantly let himself enjoy the gentle touch. But the searching look in Jason’s eyes gave him pause; he always seemed to be searching for something that Dick couldn’t give.

Something which had an awful resemblance to hope.

Unable to bear that Look any longer, Dick quickly rolled off of Jason like he’d been burned. He didn’t know why he’d lingered so long; he wouldn’t let himself think about it, he just couldn’t. Every touch felt dangerous in a way that jumping off of high rises and flying through space couldn’t compare. He needed to end this—now.

“You’re insufferable. And I’m late for a team meeting.” Even though he hated himself a little more every time the anger won out, at least he could acknowledge the look of frustration on Jason’s face when he pushed him away yet again. It was safe and familiar.

“Fine. Be that way.” Jason brushed the dust off of his jeans as he stuffed his fists into his hoodie pockets. “You’ll regret ditching me for those stiffs.”

Turning back towards Jason and the couch, Dick’s stomach swooped unpleasantly—there was no one there. No moldy couch, which had been torn apart and left at the dump ages ago; no rotting floorboards or creaking steps or anything resembling the state his safehouse had been in five years ago. It was just him, his bags, and the weight of guilt rotting away in his chest.

He sighed. “You were right…”

Dropping the bags on the floor, Dick rubbed feeling back into his reddened palms and surveyed the layer of dust around him. He’d done everything he’d planned to do with the safehouse, just like he’d outfitted his warehouse in Blüdhaven to accommodate all the things a vigilante could ever need while appearing as unassuming as possible, but he never accounted for the dust. It was almost comforting in its familiarity after years spent away.

Dick moved to survey the state of the kitchen when a colorful silhouette caught the corner of his eye, drawing an icy gasp from his throat. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be—

“Pull yourself together, Grayson.”

Breathing slowly, he continued in his task with an intense focus while the ghostly figure flitted in and out of his peripheral vision; for someone taught to pay attention to every little detail, this proved monumentally difficult, but Dick had no other choice because he wasn’t really there.

So intent on distraction—or delusion—Dick almost jumped when the suffocating silence was suddenly broken by the vibrations of his phone.

“What’s up?” In one jagged motion, he managed to answer without looking towards the silent phantom lingering behind him. He’s not there. He’s not real. Pull yourself together.

“It’s the League of Shadows. They’re infiltrating Two-Face’s warehouse down by the docks,” Bruce’s stern voice answered back without preamble.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“Use stake-out protocols—observe and report. Intervene only when necessary.”

Dick paused in his rush to leave. “What? Why?”

There was a grunt as Bruce maneuvered into the warehouse; the wind, which had almost muffled the speaker before, had died down the further in he went until all Dick could hear of the background ambiance was gunshots and the clang of metal on metal.

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

“B—” The line went dead and Dick stomped his foot in frustration. He hated going in blind.

Gotham Shipyards
September 30th 01:09 EST

Too caught up in following orders, Dick didn’t notice that his haunting companion had vanished until he was halfway to the warehouse—he couldn’t say if that brought him relief or a new ache.

The muted chaos of the building looked practically cinematic with the pooling smoke, deafening pops, and bright lights flashing in the windows. To the naïve eye, it could have been a movie set with all of its clichés and melodramatics; not unlike the hot stage lights and cheering crowds of his youth. When Dick was particularly feeling the aster, he could occasionally pretend that that’s all any of this was—a death-defying show.

But one can only defy Death for so long.

Sneaking in undetected, he swung through the rafters to quietly land next to Batman and Batwoman. “Funny running into you here.”

It didn’t escape his notice that Tim and Stephanie were absent. Dick really needed to check in with them soon…Barbara, too.

“The Shadows are back and looking for trouble,” Kate frowned at the black-clothed assassins as they engaged with Two-Face’s men. “But do you notice anything odd?”

He paused to take it all in; gunfire echoed across the chambers in sporadic arcs. Weaponless ninjas knocked guns out of their opponents hands before dismantling them with unexpected proficiency. Not a single dead body could be found, despite such an aggressive assault by trained killers. Very odd, indeed.

The warehouse itself was only important to Two-Face’s Black Market weapons business. Any attack on the facility could indicate a coup, but even the GCPD didn’t bother interfering with his activities. Dent knew enough of the inner workings of the Gotham Justice System to keep everything below their interest level, not dissimilar to the way Cobblepot operated the Iceberg Lounge, which meant the Shadows should have no interest in it. Then why intervene…?

“The ninja assassins moonlighting as vigilantes?”

Kate nodded. “I heard on the police dispatch that an anonymous tip was called in. They’re on their way now.”

That nearly had Dick slipping off of his perch. “Did I miss the trucks full of stolen stock, then?”

“No. They’re not taking anything. There’s something else going on…” The delayed sirens had begun to wail in the distance, causing the methodical attack below to escalate; incapacitated gang members were bound and gagged while weapon pieces were piled up for eventual police confiscation. Dick couldn’t help but admire the ease with which they performed their clinical takedown—a mirror of the Justice League’s own coordinated missions around the world.

Dick tilted his head in a silent question to Bruce, who finally moved from his statue-like state to acknowledge him with a stiff nod. Bruce saw it too, the copycat quality of the performance they had just witnessed.

“Did that girl…” Dick frowned. “The ex-Shadow Spoiler and Robin are babysitting…did she have any information related to this?”

Kate shook her head. “We can’t be sure her attack and this are connected.”

“Yet.”

“Nightwing—follow the ones that leave. We need to trail them to their base in the city. Batwoman—stay here for further observation and report back on how the police handle the crime scene.” Bruce waited for acknowledgement from both before standing up. “I want to know where they are and why they’re in my city. Again.”

“Our city,” Kate corrected. Dick could see the quirk in her expression as she read between the lines of Bruce’s “orders”—investigate the crime scene to find what the cops miss—while Bruce swung towards the roof exit. “He does know he can’t boss me around, right?”

“Say hi to Renee for me,” Dick teased with an exaggerated kissy-face. He jumped out of reach of Kate’s slap to follow Bruce towards the roof, laughing quietly at her embarrassed blush; it almost felt like old times, making jokes to lighten the mood as he chased after that infamous black cape in the dead of night across Gotham rooftops.

How different things were when he was nine years old.

“You know, I didn’t see Dent down there. Do you think the Shadows have him?”

If not for years of training to watch his back, he would’ve missed the way Bruce’s silhouette stilled, the way the moonlight revealed a glimpse of long brown hair and sharp red nails in the distance, the way her bright eyes beckoned Bruce towards her, knowing he was incapable of resistance—he’d would’ve missed Talia al Ghul.

“Now wait a minute—” Dick’s warning proved too late; within one blink and the next, he had disappeared into the darkness in pursuit. “Of course. Of course it’s her,” he huffed.

Talia al Ghul had haunted Bruce’s heart for over a decade and her presence in Gotham could only mean trouble. He kicked around the idea of following them to knock some sense into his former partner, but there was no point—he knew exactly where they’d end up by morning and Dick wanted nothing to do with those particular activities.

Sighing deeply, he just watched as the lingering smoke from the warehouse drifted across the city to join the ever-present smog burning his lungs. Every inhale to steady the frustration in his veins left him nearly lightheaded after months spent enjoying the sea breezes of Rhode Island and the treated air of the Watchtower. It was like the city itself had taken a long drag from a cigarette with no intention of ever exhaling; every breath was a fight to keep living, even as the world tried to choke you out.

He didn’t know how much he missed Gotham until that moment, even with Bruce and his “complicated” villain relationships.

“Hmm…if I were part of a deadly ninja assassin cult, where would I hide?” Dick mused.

From the rooftop ledge, he could hear the whisper of footsteps reverberate from behind the warehouse like the pitter-patter of rats escaping a sewer. The Shadows weaved in and out of the flickering streetlights, navigating the convoluted city streets with an expertise he’d only seen in native born Gothamites, leaving Dick thoroughly unsettled. How often did members of the League of Shadows frequent Gotham?

He moved to follow the faint trail when the flutter of red filled his periphery once again. “Really? Can’t you leave me alone?!”

Dick spun around to finally face his ghostly shadow only to step back in shock when a Shadow dressed in red stood before him instead. The surprise went both ways; the man crouched low, gloved fist latched on to the hilt of a sword strapped to his back, while his feet looked poised to run. Dick’s own fingers reflexively reached for the escrima sticks at his thigh, but he couldn’t shake the bizarre feeling that he wasn’t in immediate danger. If the mystery man had wanted to kill him, he would have—or would have tried to, anyway.

“I mean…uh…nice weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?” Why did he say that?

A dizzying tension seemed to fill Dick’s head the longer he stared, obscuring any semblance of a reasonable thought. None of it made sense: the bright red outfit where every other Shadow wore black, the way his sword looked both natural and out of place in his skilled hands, the fact that he seemed oddly…familiar.

Was he even real?

“Is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” The words slipped out before Dick could bite his tongue, and he found himself wishing the assassin would rethink his position on not killing him, if only to spare Dick any further humiliation. “That came out wrong…”

Standing up with a start, the man shook his head, causing his red hood to fall down. Even though most of his facial features were covered by masks, the distressed tension in his shoulders was unmistakable. Dick briefly wondered if his unexpected comment had hurt the man—as much as it hurt Dick—until he seemed to curl in on himself, clutching at his temple in pain. No secondhand embarrassment could’ve caused that kind of reaction. Interesting.

Dick reached for the man who abruptly backed away in a panic. His silent feet rushed towards the edge of the building, ignoring Dick’s presence entirely, as unsteady hands pulled his red hood back into place. The heavy breathing which filled the rooftop air stifled any further conversation; muffled gasps kept time with Dick’s pounding heartbeat like rolling thunder in a storm. What was going on?

Too distracted by the man’s confusing actions, too concerned by his sudden urge to comfort him like a skittish stray found on the street, Dick failed to stop the man from completing his hasty escape. He could only watch as his red silhouette disappeared over the edge.

“WAIT!” Even a decade later, the sight of someone falling from a great height brought a slight tremble to Dick’s hands.

He only managed to wrestle his nerves into submission once the bob of that red hood could be seen swinging through the streets in a different direction from the rest of the Shadows. The man moved with stealth and grace, he moved like he’d been swinging through Gotham all his life, and Dick had a split second to decide who to follow—the rest of the Shadows or that fading Red Hood.

He never could resist a mystery.

Abandoning his mission, Dick stretched muscles he hadn’t used in ages to try and catch up to the Red Hood in the distance. Zeta tubes were great for long distance travel but nothing beat flying like this. Once or twice he slipped and had to stop himself just in time, though the strain on his body felt exhilarating. Once or twice he lost sight of the Red Hood entirely and wondered if he was chasing a man at all. Once or twice he even came close enough to overcome the Red Hood—Dick didn’t know when he’d made that the man’s pseudonym in his head and couldn't stop to rethink it now—but he always managed to elude him.

Dick hadn’t felt so alive in years.

The docks soon turned into the manufacturing district, which turned into the residential part of Gotham where the slums of the city thrived. The Red Hood flit between high rises and rundown buildings at greater and greater speeds, as if he’d gone from running away to running towards something, which only added to the mystery. Was he from Gotham?

Dick had just managed to gain some ground in the chase before a simple mistake had him crash landing outside the stoop of one of the few tenements not in use. The Red Hood had taken an unexpected turn down a street Dick couldn’t see until it was too late, and even when Dick doubled-back to pick up where he left off, he found no traces of the Red Hood anymore; it was like he’d never been there at all.

Bracing himself on the nearest street lamp, Dick tried to slow down and catch his breath, but further observation of his surroundings spawned a growing sense of horror deep in his gut. He knew this street. Not just from old missions or studying city blueprints, but from the handful of patrols he’d been coerced into going on with the Robin intended to replace him back in the day. Every time he’d lose track of the wayward boy, he’d find him crouched above this street in observation, like he was waiting for something.

Bruce often did the same near Crime Alley when nights were slow. If he waited long enough, perhaps he’d see the ghosts of his parents and their murderer one more time; perhaps he’d manage to do something different. At least, that’s what Dick always assumed.

Whatever their true reasons were, Dick often had to shoo them both away from their posts before they wasted whole nights standing vigil over abandoned places. For Bruce, it was easy enough, but for Jason? This was his home, in another life.

This street. That tenement. It was Jason’s home.

Why would the Red Hood lead him here?

The Bowery
October 11th 18:50 EST

The blood in his ears pulsed loudly as Dick raced across rooftops in pursuit of the Red Hood. At the start of patrol, he’d caught a glimpse of that taunting silhouette against the setting sun and couldn’t resist the chase, even though every cell in his body told him to let it go. He just needed one more chance.

One more chance to redeem himself.

After the Shadows fled the warehouse, no trace of their presence could be rooted out within the city. Dick had failed his mission because of this mysterious Red Hood—and he had nothing to show for it. No one else had seen the Shadow Dressed in Red. Even when he double and triple checked the CCTV footage from that night, Dick couldn’t find hide nor hair of him; it was like he’d never existed at all.

How many lives had been put in danger because Dick followed a ghost instead of doing his job?

Grunting upon impact against an alley wall, he hurried after the flash of red in the distance. This time would be different. This time he wouldn’t fail. Over and over again Dick told himself that this time he would finally get his answers; however, no matter how many corners he cut or leaps he ended earlier than was safe, Dick never quite caught up.

It took one last spill over a rusty fire-escape for some sense to finally bring Dick back from the edge. Sitting up against the cold metal bars, he breathed in and out slowly to release the tension coiled inside his chest while he surveyed his surroundings. This approach wasn’t going to work. The Red Hood clearly knew the ins and outs of the city and he had no intention of facing Dick; the Shadow had melted into the darkness once more.

Dick kicked the bars. He was doing it again—neglecting his job for the sake of a ghost.

“Now what would Batman have to say about all of this?” he mock-scolded himself.

Bruce had been unsurprisingly MIA since Talia’s arrival, which allowed the rest of the Bats to manage their own patrols and missions in his absence, even if they were a bit stretched thin at the moment. None of them outright condemned Dick for dropping the ball on finding the Shadows’ hideout the way Bruce would have, if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied, but the chill of a cold shoulder was in the air; every attempt Dick made to contribute to the ongoing investigation was brushed aside in favor of him picking up the patrols Bruce kept missing instead. It was grunt work. The basics.

How humiliating.

They all knew it as well as he did—Dick was slipping. The stress from leading the teams had begun to creep up on him. He’d gotten complacent, sloppy; he’d never really be able to stand on his own two feet without a team there to pick up his slack.

It was no wonder Bruce had to recruit other vigilantes to help him around Gotham.

The metal bars around him creaked the harder he gripped them until all he could feel was the sting of muscle working beyond its limits. Maybe going back home was a mistake. Maybe he needed more time after—

The yellow and red blur of a taxi zipped down the street below as a sharp breeze nipped at his exposed cheeks in its wake.

God he missed Wally. What he wouldn’t give to talk to him just one more time…

Suddenly, the flicker of red and black in his periphery nearly gave Dick a start as silent, familiar, boots tapped the bars next to his thigh. Robin boots, from a costume long out of commission. Of course.

“Oh, it's you again. Why is it always you?” Dick groaned. He didn’t expect an answer; he didn’t get one. The phantom simply hovered and watched him with an air of pity.

Dick knocked his head against the fire-escape hard enough to rattle his teeth but it wasn’t enough. He’d never be free of his guilt. Twenty was too young to feel so used up.

“If it’s any consolation…I am sorry, Little Wing…” he mumbled into the icy railing pressed against his cheek. It wouldn’t be the first confession Gotham’s infrastructure had ever heard—this city of heartache and secrets—and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

The sounds of rowdy teenagers down below bounced off of the surrounding buildings as a lively trio pushed each other through the doors of the bodega across the street. A bodega? How had he missed that?

Every time the doors opened, the powerful stench of damp, overcooked bacon and cigarettes circled through the wind like an unpleasant air freshener. But the kids didn’t mind it. They seemed to joyfully breathe it in as they laughed their way to the counter with a night’s helping of snacks; a stolen six pack of beer tucked safely within their hoodie pockets until they were well out of sight of the store owner. Sometimes Dick forgot that there were people in the city who lived very ordinary lives worrying over ordinary problems and celebrating the beautiful day to day mundanity of life that millions of others shared around the world.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he envied them.

“You’ll regret ditching me for those stiffs.”

A shiver crawled down Dick’s spine the longer he stared at the bodega. It couldn’t be…

“Robin to Nightwing, do you copy? I repeat–Robin to Nightwing, do you hear me?” Tim’s tinny voice seemed far away despite coming directly from the comm in Dick’s ear.

He stumbled through a greeting if only to distract from the spiraling thoughts in his head. There was no way…a second coincidence? Maybe he was reading too much into it. “Nightwing at your service. What would you like to order today?”

Tim muffled a laugh even though he sounded out of breath. “Could I get a helping of Fear Gas antidotes with a side helping of gas masks, hold the witty banter?”

“Unfortunately the witty banter is integral to your dish, sir. Where shall I deliver this auspicious meal of yours?” The prospect of a Fear Gas problem left a sour taste in Dick’s mouth. No matter how many times he underwent the emergency training for Fear Gas, he was always deeply disturbed by the horrors his brain could be influenced to inflict upon himself.

The cold breath of the antsy apparition behind him was proof enough of that. He suddenly felt very keen to leave that haunting street corner with the tragically familiar bodega.

Tim’s sigh seemed entirely uncalled for as he took his time to answer. “Fine. It’s the Shadows—they’re taking down Crane’s lab under the high school, but he’s putting up a fight and there was an on-going football game, and now there’s gas everywhere.” There was a series of coughs heard over the comm after an ear-piercing crash. “Please hurry…”

Dick was instantly on alert. It didn’t matter if he’d failed to catch the Red Hood. It didn’t matter that yet another chase had left him at one of Jason’s old haunts—almost every time he wanted a mid-patrol snack, he’d beg and plead for Dick to stop at this particular bodega, no matter where in the city they happened to be. The owner was one of many who offered condolences at the funeral when his “best customer” stopped visiting, if Dick remembered correctly.

“Please hurry…”

None of that mattered when a Robin was in danger and he could do something about it.

Standing up on frozen knees, Dick didn’t waste a moment, readying a line and mentally charting the fastest route to the school; one of Bruce’s nearby safehouses carried enough antidotes and masks to get by until official First Responders could arrive. “Be there in twenty or your money back. Nightwing out.”

So preoccupied by his new mission, Dick missed the way a reddened shadow in the darkness of a broken streetlight finally moved from his hiding spot to follow him.

Gotham High
October 11th 19:21 EST

Chaos was too weak a term to describe what happened at the school.

While the Shadows came prepared to dismantle an illegal lab full of noxious, brain-altering chemicals, they were not prepared to deal with a wild Scarecrow intent on protecting his hideout at all costs.

Another anonymous tip had been dropped at GCPD headquarters earlier in the day detailing the exact whereabouts of one escaped convict—Dr. Jonathan Crane—as he replenished his supplies. The officers predictably fumbled the arrest and allowed him to escape, but Spoiler and Robin followed his erratic trail back to the school. It didn’t take long for Scarecrow to panic and unleash a strong, unrefined batch of Fear Gas on all of his adversaries.

No one could’ve known that the Gotham High football team had so many fans that year; their games were never so well attended in the past.

Talk about the cruelty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Arms heavy with supplies—and nerves shot to hell after hearing Tim’s rundown of what happened during his journey over—Dick finally landed a few blocks away from the school. A haze of fumes had settled heavy in the air like fog obscuring the street ahead, and even with a mask on, the potent gas seemed to burn his skin. This was dangerous. He was running out of time.

Dick quickly carried his load over the police barricade, past the medical tents, and through the burgeoning quarantine zone without being seen. He couldn’t stop to check in, not when the professionals had their own supplies and Tim had none.

“Please hurry…”

And thank God he arrived when he did; the heart of the horror painted an even uglier picture than Dick had imagined. Batwoman stood alone directing civilians out of the school lot the best she could, but people in large crowds under duress tended to panic, so “directing” had become rescuing people from getting trampled. Half the job of vigilantism seemed to be herding people away from danger instead of letting them race towards it. Robin and Spoiler, on the other hand, were left to wrangle victims already inflicted with Fear Gas in an attempt to avoid further injuries.

Batman was noticeably absent.

Each Bat had a mask on already, so Dick distributed what he could to the civilians on the run. He ended up leaving the majority of them with a grateful Batwoman as she barely waited for permission before strapping masks to people’s faces. Meanwhile, the various boxes of antidotes were carefully shared between Robin, Spoiler, and himself, until at least half of the volatile victims were incapacitated. It never got easier, seeing people brought low by their worst nightmares. He wished he’d had more time to pick up extra antidotes. He wished he’d been quicker and spared more people from that terrible fate to begin with. But overall, he just wished his pulsing headache would go away.

“That’s all you could bring?” Tim panted with his hands on his hips.

Dick scoffed. “You try carrying all of that,” he waved to the dozens of people either wearing a mask or on the ground groaning as the effects of the gas started to neutralize in their system, “and swing halfway across Gotham.”

“Can we go beat up some assholes now?” Stephanie punched her fist into her open palm. “I think I’m ready to put the hurting on those bastards.”

“Not yet. These civilians still need help.” Dick motioned towards the remaining people trapped in the throes of Fear. Football players broke themselves on car doors, cheerleaders scraped their hands and knees trying to flee, and band members beat each other bloody with their instruments; it took everything they had to fight the demons in their heads. Fear was a powerful weapon and Dick hated when Scarecrow wielded it like a drunk butcher—getting blood and tears everywhere.

“Oh come on! I’m tired of holding back!” Stephanie tried to storm off but Tim’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Let me go or else—”

“Or else what? You really think you can take on the entire League of Shadows?!”

Dick’s head throbbed harder the longer he had to listen to the two argue alongside the cries for help and Kate’s repetitive orders for “everyone to please stay calm.” Nothing about the situation was calm. Teachers and parents and students alike were being tortured by the ridiculous machinations of cowards in masks who cared more about taking down Scarecrow than saving lives.

All of it needed to end.

“That’s enough,” Dick ordered.

“How about I ram that oversized stick up your—” Stephanie spat.

“I said, that’s enough!”

Tim bristled. “I’d like to see you try—”

“ENOUGH!”

Dick shoved his way between the two bickering teenagers with more force than he expected he’d have to use. They weren’t acting like themselves; neither one had been on the job long, but he’d never seen that level of unprofessionalism from the two before. Why would they—

His ears began to ring from the force of the ache in his head. The Fear Gas. The masks. Despite the unmatched advancement of Wayne technology, their masks were not foolproof, and Dick knew that the excess of gas in the area would inevitably leak through.

“Why are you even here? We don’t need a babysitter.” Stephanie narrowed her eyes. Her feet had become restless, tapping incessantly like they were waiting for permission to run.

Tim nodded, his breathing tainted with a wheeze which worsened with every word spoken. “Well I certainly don’t.”

Perhaps it had leaked through already.

Gasping at Tim’s childish insinuation, Stephanie reared her fist back and striked. Tim moved away at the last second, and in his step aside, he managed to keep Dick between the two of them—lucky for him. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so blindsided by a punch to the face.

He reeled back in shock and grasped at the cracked mask hanging from his nose. It’d taken the bulk of the hit, but it left him further exposed to the toxic air trying to suffocate them all.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Stephanie flip-flopped between checking on Dick and swinging for Tim again. “Look what you did!”

“This isn’t my fault—”

Abandoning the teenagers to their pointless fight, Dick stumbled away as quickly as he could, reaching for Kate through the haze blurring his vision. He couldn’t let the Fear Gas in. He couldn’t let the Fear Gas take over. Each step felt miles and minutes long, but the distance between the two closed quite rapidly. Since when could he move that fast? Maybe if his head didn’t hurt so much, he’d be able to wonder about it more.

“Kate…I need…” he pleaded between coughs.

She jumped on him in an instant. “No names in the field, Nightwing!”

Dick tried to respond in his defense—he tried to remember what his defense even was—when a series of loud honks stole Kate’s attention away. A couple of cars full of people had trapped themselves in while escaping, and were two seconds away from running over the people who chose to leave by foot instead. She shoved him aside with shaky hands and sprinted off through the fog, a great exertion visibly weighing her down as she disappeared. So even Kate seemed to be feeling the effects of prolonged exposure to the gas.

“You finally noticed, huh? Took you long enough.”

Dick froze. “Who said that?”

The pulsing ache of his head no longer kept time with his heartbeat. Rather, it became a distracting thump thump thump which seemed to rattle his brain like a rambunctious audience at a circus.

“Who am I kidding? Of course it did! You’re obviously capable of missing obvious clues.”

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Who was speaking? It sounded like himself—his voice, his words—but his lips weren’t moving. At least, Dick didn’t think they were. And why was the voice so loud? It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He needed to—

“You need to what? Finally become leader and wind up sending all of your friends to their deaths? Been there, done that.”

Unwilling to play this game, Dick closed his eyes against the blinding pain and grit his teeth. It wasn’t real. It was just the Fear Gas. He’d dealt with self-doubt before and he’d do it again, like always.

“But it isn’t just you…even your teammates find your leadership skills a disaster—heavy on the dis…”

“Shut up!”

“What if even one of you had been left behind, huh? Why take that risk?” The sudden lash of Wally’s angry voice brought Dick to his knees. His friend, his best friend, how could he have let him down? How could he have let him fall?

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

“You have no idea what your secrets have done to us!” Conner was right. He didn’t know how to lead; it was always going to be Kaldur’s team, in the end. He wasn’t Batman, he never would be. Dick couldn’t handle the sacrifices it took, the lives forever altered by his decisions, the burden of guilt—

“You’ll regret ditching me for those stiffs.”

Dick gasped like a bucket of ice had been dumped on his head. He had to get out of there. People were still in danger and the bad guys needed to be stopped. It didn’t matter if he was capable of doing what needed to be done—he just had to do it. Pull yourself together, Grayson.

With great effort, he managed to open one eye and then the other, only to see that he was on his hands and knees in the Gotham High parking lot. Just breathe, just breathe. One hand reached for the boxes of masks he’d left with Kate, but there was nothing. They were all empty.

Of course.

Numb fingers fumbled through the secret pockets of his suit before emerging successfully with a medical patch large enough to hold the broken pieces of his mask together. It would have to do.

“Come on, let’s go. You can do this.” Dick coached himself through the baby steps of standing up like his parents did when they taught him to swing from the trapeze at Haly’s. All he ever needed was balance and the will to try. You can do this, you can do this.

By the time he’d wavered upright once more, the surrounding chaos had dwindled significantly. The overwhelming cries for help mercifully subsided; the haze of Fear Gas started to dissipate. Even the First Responders, arms laden with all of the supplies the Bats no longer had, looked refreshed and determined to finish the job they had started. And to top it all off, Scarecrow sat tied up and unconscious near the entrance of his destroyed lab, like a gift-wrapped villain-of-the-week for the police.

All was well in Gotham City once again.

So why did Dick still feel like he was drowning?

A paramedic accidentally bumped into him as they rushed by and Dick had to stop himself from losing all the progress he’d made in the last few minutes. Minutes? Hours? Who could say anymore. He wobbled, he reeled, he even stepped back a few paces, but he managed to keep himself upright long enough to realize that he couldn’t see the others.

“Robin? Spoiler? Batwoman?” He tried the comm. “Anyone…?”

Nothing. Only the startling flap of a ghostly cape at his side kept him company in the remnants of the crime scene.

“Took you long enough…” Dick was almost relieved to see a familiar haunting companion in his drug-induced state. “So what now?”

The silent figure seemed to carefully consider his question until he dashed forward, catching Dick completely off guard. He’d never seen him before. At least, not fully. Feeling his presence on the periphery of his awareness was one thing, but seeing the remnants of a boy long dead proved something else entirely. The tattered suit barely hung onto his lean frame. The blood stains bloomed fresh and angry under the streetlights; he was a vibrant red from a past never quite forgotten.

It was Jason. The Second Robin. It really was him.

So lost in awe, Dick failed to notice the trajectory of Robin’s path until he was nearly out of sight. A few remaining Shadows were slipping away and he was headed right towards them.

“Not this time, you don’t.” He would not fail again. Dick would show them all that he was very capable of handling things on his own. It didn’t matter that he could barely walk a straight line at the moment or hear beyond the voices crowding his head. He could do this. He had to. Besides, Robin couldn’t handle the Shadows alone. What would Batman say if he let Robin get in over his head?

High with fear, and mind split between the past and the present, Dick bluffed his way through the crowd in pursuit. Some tried to stop and thank him, others tried with much more hate and aggression, but no one could catch a bird in flight.

Only one anonymous question heard in passing nearly brought him back to reality–where was Batman? Where was Batman? It’s true that Bruce believed in the abilities of his apprentices and eventual successors, but sometimes the citizens of Gotham needed a reassurance that only Batman could give. That only he could give. This had definitely been one of those times.

So why wasn’t he there?

That mystery would just have to wait.

The last Shadow to flee the school had begun his race home when Dick slammed into him from behind, causing the two to roll across the ground. The shock of the hit lasted a mere moment before the Shadow initiated a series of controlled punches to loosen Dick’s grip and regain their footing once more. They attempted a second retreat—why not stand and fight?—but Dick would not give up that easily. He seamlessly blocked every jab and every kick until the fistful of tunic in his hands could bring the weaponless Shadow within headbutting distance. It took one hit to the face and one sweep of the leg to bring them down to the ground once again.

Too easy, it was all too easy. Why wouldn’t they fight back?

“Where are you all hiding? Why are you in Gotham? Answer me!” Growling low, Dick finally unsheathed the escrima sticks at his side. “Don’t make me ask twice…” The sparks illuminated the unbothered mask of the Shadow beneath him, which only served to stoke the flames of Dick’s anger. Those stupid fucking masks.

He was sick of the mysteries. He was tired of the secrets and the deceit and the unanswered questions—the endless unanswered questions. He was done with masks.

Dropping the sticks to the ground, Dick punched the unarmed Shadow as hard as he could in the face. Once, twice, three times, until he stopped keeping count and the Shadow stopped trying to break free. No more secrets. No more nefarious plots. No more masks.

He felt so confident that they would surely tell him everything he needed to know after his show of force that it didn’t matter that blood—both theirs and Dick’s—had obscured any discernible facial features they might have had under their broken masks. It didn’t matter that nothing but a limp figure in black lay at Dick’s feet now. He’d done it! He didn’t need a team to back him up; he was perfectly capable of completing a mission with his own two hands.

Two hands that ached from the force of his assault. Two arms that shook with exhaustion. Two shoulders that were lost to the muscle memory of decades of training. What was he doing?

The punches wouldn’t stop. It was as if some dark force deep in Dick’s psyche had taken over and wouldn’t let him go. Each punch felt like retribution, validation, redemption—they were none of those things, but he couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t he stop?

The movement of a red suit seemed to circle Dick like a bird of prey as he let loose years of anger and grief on his unsuspecting victim. He tried to stop himself from tracking the movement, he tried hard to pretend like the disappointment wasn’t palpable over how sloppy and unjust Dick’s crime fighting tactics had become, he tried, he tried, he tried. But he couldn’t ignore him. It was wrong. He was wrong. This was wrong. What was he doing?

Releasing a desperate shout, Dick delivered one final right hook before collapsing onto his back next to what was left of the assassin. He’d gone too far. It was too much. What secrets could someone spill in such a gruesome state, anyway? That was not how interrogations were supposed to go; you’d think he’d remember that after years of vigilante training. Such stupid mistakes. At the very least, the Shadow appeared to still be alive—with the occasional violent twitch and wet gasp—which was a relief in and of itself. He’d almost crossed the line that could never be uncrossed.

The Shadow suddenly moaned rather pitifully for a disciple of Ra’s Al Ghul.

Maybe he already had crossed it. Oh God.

Dick’s whole body seemed to tremble with barely concealed pain. His head felt as numb as his bloody hands, making it hard to think. Short, shallow breaths burned through his lungs in an attempt to recover from the strain of his violent fight, like climbing a mountain peak without enough oxygen. He tried to lift himself off of the ground with little success; he hadn’t felt such a heavy soreness in his limbs since the time he trained for his first solo performance at Haly’s. And that had gone about just as well as this, come to think of it.

Perhaps it was performance anxiety again.

Dick burst into uncontrollable giggles at such a ridiculous thought. He had truly lost it. The stress of the last year—double agents, fake deaths, invasions, world-ending chaos, Wally, Babs—really had finally caught up with him, and he didn’t know what to do with it other than laugh. Laugh until his throat hurt. Laugh until his laughter turned into tears. Tears which threatened to dislodge his domino mask if he didn’t stop. His useless hands tried to swipe them away but it was futile; the blood smeared across his flushed cheeks would not make him look any more sane.

What a mess.

Eyes closed tightly, Dick slammed his head against the ground over and over and over again until his thundering headache dulled in comparison to the bruising on his temple. He needed a dose of reality. He needed this spiral of endless mistakes to end. He needed help.

“You’ll regret ditching me for those stiffs.”

“ROBIN!”

Dick bolted upright as a shot of adrenaline pulsed through his veins. Where was Robin? He’d run towards the danger, but there was no trace of him now that the threat had been neutralized. Where had he gone? Oh God—not again, not again, please not again.

“Robin! Robin, please…I’m sorry…” He had to keep searching. He had to keep going. They couldn’t lose Jason, not again.

Crawling forward on his hands and knees, Dick gasped through his relief when the silent, bloody boy reappeared under a nearby corner light. He was there, he was okay—relatively speaking—and he was tragically beautiful, like the day he died. His vibrant red hadn’t been smothered out again.

Dick reached for him, stretched his aching arm as far as it could go, hoping that one touch from Robin’s ghostly hand would be his salvation from this fuck up of a night. Just one reassurance, one confirmation, that he wasn’t a lost cause after all.

If only things were ever that simple.

A new figure emerged from the shadows right behind Robin, using a deadly stealth only skilled predators possessed. The sword on his back shifted with the roll of his broad shoulders while the curious tilt of his hooded head was cautious, like the prey he stalked might prove challenging if he let his guard down. From the bright red tunic to the glowing red eyes of his mask, he seemed to stand out amongst the endless darkness. An endless, hazy, darkness which swallowed up the rest of the city until there was only Dick, Robin, and him.

The Red Hood.

“Robin…come here. Come here now…” Dick couldn’t breathe. Not him, not now, not like this. “Leave him alone!”

The image of Robin flickered as the Red Hood inched past him like he wasn’t there at all. He looked more sure-footed than the last time Dick had encountered him; still confused and intrigued, but not frightened anymore. Not in pain.

How did the phrase go? Something about turning tables and all that.

“Little Wing,” Dick pleaded desperately. “Little Wing! Run! Go find B!” Embracing a second wind of strength, Dick wavered to his feet. He puffed up his chest and readied his fists for another round—if it meant giving Robin time to escape—but the Red Hood did not respond in kind. He didn’t square off to avenge the comrade Dick nearly put in the grave. He didn’t take advantage of Dick’s weakened state. The Red Hood didn’t do anything other than try to steady his uncontrollable swaying. Why was he helping him? Who was this mystery man? Why wasn’t Robin running?

“I’m warning you…you better leave him alone!” Knocking the Red Hood’s hand away, he rammed his shoulder into the man’s sternum. “Leave him alone! Leave him alone! Leave him alone!”

With each shove, Dick’s strength waned. He was running out of steam, running on fumes, and the Red Hood just. Wasn’t. Moving. After all those wild goose chases, he chose that moment to plant himself in Dick’s way? Why? Strong hands gripped Dick’s upper arms tightly when he started to stumble, but the hold wasn’t bruising or defensive or in preparation for an attack—just warm. Safe. Gentle. What was happening?

His feet began to slip further, weak knees buckling, until the Red Hood carried the burden of most of his weight. Dick couldn’t look him in the face. It was embarrassing, unprofessional, inexcusably foolish, to be so vulnerable in front of an unknown enemy—Robin was still in danger, after all—but the Fear Gas had him in a death grip. The toxic haze was infinitely stronger closer to the school; he swore his world was spinning, swimming, spiraling, despite the fact that he was standing still. This was the end. He was done for. But how would he go?

By sword? By the Red Hood’s bare hands? Or perhaps overdose, now that his patched-up mask had begun to fail…

“Grayson…”

Dick’s heart skipped a beat. Was that—? Did he just—?

The sharp prick of a needle pierced the skin of his neck, preventing any further thoughts from forming. None of it mattered, anyway. The end had come, and it was surprisingly peaceful, all things considered. He had a moment to wince, to watch as Robin smiled sadly at them in the distance, before the merciful waters of unconsciousness pulled him under.

Bruce was going to kill him for this.

Base Beta
October 12th 05:45 EST

Dick almost wished for death upon waking up the next morning with the worst hangover he’d ever had in his life. Which, considering the types of toxic chemicals he’d been exposed to, both in Gotham and during some of the League’s more wild parties, was truly saying something. It was like a bouncing ball had been let loose in his head, and with every bounce it grew larger and larger—soon enough it’d have no choice but to burst through his skull and escape. He used sore fingers to try and massage the pain away, only to find a series of bandages covering both the side of his temple and each of his reddened knuckles.

What the hell?

Sitting up slowly, Dick breathed through the dizziness to see that he was still in his Nightwing suit, despite being tucked away in bed. His bed. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but even in darkness, Dick could tell that he was in his Gotham Safehouse once again. Odd. He had no memory of returning home. Was it the—

A tickle in the back of his throat quickly turned into a series of heaving coughs that could only be soothed by the glass of water waiting on his bedside table. He had no memory of doing that, either. Or of patching himself up. Or of leaving the strange snack next to his comm and the spare Fear Gas antidote—the needle!

Dick gasped. A shaky hand grazed the burning skin around his neck until he found the source of the pinprick he’d felt while in the Red Hood’s arms only hours before. His face felt hot just thinking about it in those terms, but it was true. He’d held him, he’d vaccinated him, and he’d…he’d taken him home.

So he was real, after all; not just a haunting hallucination made to torment Dick. The thought wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped it’d be.

The journey out of bed and into civilian clothes unfortunately involved multiple trips to the toilet to empty out what little contents remained in his stomach, before he could purge himself of all the remaining toxins lingering in his system with one long, dangerously wobbly, shower. God, he hated Fear Gas. It was a dark sludge which tainted every cell in your body until there was nothing left but your worst self in all its ugly glory. No water was scalding enough to wash it all away.

His mind tried to wander the longer he sheltered under the spray, but he wouldn’t let it; it waded towards the growing sea of concerning questions regarding this mystery man who just happened to know exactly where his hideout was and how to get in without setting off any of his advanced alarms, but Dick kept forcibly shutting down those trains of thought. Now was not the time. He needed to check in with the others. He needed to find out what happened to the victims of the school—and the Shadow he’d nearly beaten to death. He needed to—

He needed to know why this man held him so gently. He needed to know why this man was so familiar. He needed to know why this man knew his name.

“I said not now!” Dick shouted into the stream of water coming from his showerhead. Did it ever end?

The buzzing of his phone defied his demand for silence as it suddenly shook the countertop with its urgency. It had finally turned on after dying the night before.

“Shut up!”

The buzzing continued.

Right.

He fumbled his way into a clean change of clothes before chancing a glance at the caller ID. Why did he feel so nervous? It was just Tim. Quite a few missed calls from Tim, actually.

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. There were some days where he wished he’d never left Haly’s–never abandoned the circus life and all of its controlled chaos—and the last twenty-four hours absolutely had him yearning for the trapeze and sparkly tights once again. Maybe it wasn’t too late to start over…?

“Hey, what’s up?”

The Batcave
October 13th 16:13 EST

“Are you sure about this?”

Dick tensed as the eager boy in front of him clutched the new suit close to his chest. His words asked for permission, but the way his hands shook around the colorful cloth spoke of an innate desperation for this gift to be nonrefundable. It was impossible to tell if he was just excited to finally have his own Robin suit to wear in the field, or if it was because Dick himself had been the one to give it to him—with his reluctant blessing.

“Sure. Go wild,” Dick sighed, crossing his arms tightly to hide just how not-okay he felt.

The whole thing was Bruce’s idea, to ease the transition between the former Robin and his successor; he thought it’d nip any growing resentment between the two in the bud—like a simple suit exchange could make Dick feel better about being replaced. Of course, Bruce couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance as Dick signed away the mantle he worked so hard to establish for himself. Alfred claimed it’d be more appropriate for them to do it alone, so it didn’t seem like Dick was being forced to do anything he didn’t want to do—as if he had much of a choice in any of it.

Bruce was lucky that Dick had already laid to rest any aspirations of taking over as Batman; he would never know what it felt like to lose everything and be told to smile as it happened.

With a whoop of joy, the boy raced off to the locker rooms while Dick awkwardly lingered near the glass cases. His old suit had already been enshrined since everyone thought it best that he start from scratch on a new look if he wanted to use a different name, break away from the Bat’s shadow, become someone new, etc etc. However, that didn’t mean that he liked seeing the suit he fought in, bled in, just collecting dust like a museum piece. Watching the boy—Jason, if he remembered correctly?—prance around in it would have been slightly more tolerable, but he deserved his own shoes to fill, not Dick’s hand-me-downs.

There were actually quite a few cases stacked next to Dick’s Robin suit and Bruce’s Batman prototypes, which left a sour taste in his mouth; Dick couldn’t stomach the idea of even more Bat vigilantes running around Gotham one day. Why was Bruce doing this to him? Wasn’t he enough? So what if he’d become caught up in helping the team more and more on Mount Justice, they could still be partners! He could handle both! It just wasn’t fair—

There was a crashing thud and painful groan from the locker rooms. Dick winced. “Everything alright?”

“Ye-yeah! Just a tighter fit than I thought it’d be. No one looks as good in tights as you do, but fuck! How can you stand it?”

A sudden laugh tried to jump out of Dick’s mouth but he, thankfully, managed to keep it in. This was no time to get hysterical! Even if the boy made it hard to hate him.

“Have some respect for the suit or I’m taking it back!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” Jason grumbled.

Maybe Alfred was right. Maybe he could get used to sharing. They were so close in age—barely three years apart—and it could prove reassuring to have someone else around who knew exactly what it was like to deal with Bruce, with Batman, with the secret identity, with all of the bullshit Gotham threw at them on a daily basis. Was that why Bruce took him in, all those years ago? For Dick to help shoulder the burden of the city’s turmoil? Even his teammates didn’t always understand the never-ending stress of having to juggle every facet of this complicated life at all hours of the day, and some of them were even three years older than himself.

He could hear Jason sigh dramatically from the locker rooms. “I hate to say it, Big Bird, but you might not be the only one who can make this look good. I promise not to break your heart with my devilish charms if you promise to show me some of your sweet moves in return.”

There it was again—the flirting. The teasing. It’d been happening since the moment they met and Dick didn’t know what to do with it, or what to do with the disturbing feelings it inspired. The boy was insufferable, but endearing. A pest, but perceptive. A usurper, but unendingly sweet. Dick feared that he might go mad should he try to make sense of all the contradictions bottled up in one thirteen year-old orphan from the city streets.

Finally re-emerging with his new Robin suit on, Jason realigned the cape and beamed up at Dick with the brightest smile he’d ever seen. He was simply radiant. Perfect. Like a seamless copy of the Robin that came before him, but with the burning righteousness still in his eyes—the one that Dick felt he’d lost somewhere along the way.

Fuck.

Bruce didn’t need him anymore. Jason already looked the part. How long before he could perform it too? What if he did it better than Dick ever could? He needed to get out of there. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to see this—

“Hey, you okay?” Jason caught his trembling shoulder as he tried to run away. The concern, the tenderness, it was all too much for Dick to bear. Why did he have to be so kind?

“I hope you know what you’ve signed up for, putting that on. Don’t make him regret it.” God, Dick was an asshole. He could see the shine of anticipation in Jason start to dim as his cold words planted seeds of anxiety in the back of his head; why was he ruining this moment for him? Jason didn’t need doubt clouding his judgment when out in the field. He should be supported, encouraged; there was no going back now that he knew the secrets of the Bat Cave, anyway.

Dick just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It didn’t matter how well he wore the Robin red or how eager he was to commit to his new role as partner and protector. This vibrant boy with the dark past and kind heart was in danger, and they were all just letting it happen.

What was Bruce thinking?

Dick swallowed around the lump in his throat as he stared at the pristine suit of the fallen Robin trapped beneath the glass case. It was still perfect; as unmarred and beautiful as it’d been the day Dick brought it to the cave all those years ago. Of course, it wasn’t the real one Jason had been wearing the day he—

The day he—

“Master Bruce should be down soon, my boy. Do you need anything in the meantime?” Alfred gathered up the rest of his cleaning supplies at a sedate pace. He’d given Dick space upon entering the Bat Cave—probably at Tim’s request, after what happened at the school—but those sharp eyes kept a close watch on Dick’s every self-conscious step.

He always seemed to know when something was off with the ones under his care. “No, I’m fine. Thank you, Alfred.” Which was one of many reasons why Dick just couldn’t bear to stay in the manor longer than necessary this time around.

Dragging his eyes away from the haunting suit, Dick fiddled with the Bat-Computer while he waited, wishing for the umpteenth time that day that he’d denied Tim’s plea to check on their absentee mentor.

The call the day before had gone from Tim profusely apologizing for his—and Stephanie’s—childish behavior that night at the school, to inquiring after Dick’s own health. He claimed to have heard some concerning chatter through the comms that night about a” missing Robin” despite the fact that he had been with Stephanie the entire time. Apparently Dick’s desperate pleas to a long-dead ghost had not gone unnoticed.

His ears still burned with embarrassment just thinking about it—and the awkward conversation that followed. Tim brushed it off like he couldn’t quite remember things clearly because of the gas, but the way he tip-toed around the subject told Dick all he needed to know about that lie.

Dick was never going to live it down.

Thankfully no Shadows—alive or otherwise—had been found at the crime scene, meaning there was still one secret Dick could continue to bury deep within himself. He’d actually been wondering for days if the Red Hood had been the one to do something about that part of his Fear Gas breakdown. Though, knowing the League of Shadows as well as he did, Dick highly doubted that his attack resulted in much more than a long weekend in bed for the Shadow he assaulted. The arduous training to become a member of the Shadows demanded much more from their recruits than the ability to take a few punches, anyway.

That’s what he kept telling himself, at least.

Despite the long-winded debrief and check-ins, Tim did eventually circle back to the nagging concern they both had after analyzing the facts of the incident—Bruce should have been there.

The young Robin claimed that he was still recovering at a friend’s house outside of the city, so it was left to Dick to check in with Bruce and find out what he’d found more pressing than their ongoing investigation. The continued interference of the League of Shadows was beginning to upset the balance of the Criminal Underworld, and Tim didn’t know how much longer the city could wait for Batman to appear.

Dick knew exactly what had Bruce so distracted, of course, but he also knew that just telling Tim the bewildering truth would not be enough. He needed to go through the motions and show him the proof.

Bruce’s heavy gait floated through the entrance of the Bat Cave like a man lost in a daydream. Dick didn’t know where to look; between the simple house robe hanging from his shoulders and the steaming mug in his hands, he almost appeared normal for once. There had only been a handful of moments in his time as Bruce’s ward where he’d caught him looking so casual, and Dick never quite knew how to react to the sudden change in demeanor of a man usually utterly devoted to his life’s mission.

Especially when it had to do with a romantic fling.

“I see Talia is still here,” Dick commented without continuing to stare at him. It was harder than you’d think.

“Was there something you needed, Dick? I thought you’d be taking it easy, after what happened—”

So that was how he was going to play it? Alright then. “Yes, I’d love to be laying about the house in my underwear, but someone has been missing their patrols, so I’ve graciously been filling in on their behalf—”

“Dick–”

“And everyone is fine, by the way, thanks for asking.”

“Dick, I–”

“Though I think people are starting to notice that Batman has disappeared again. I know we certainly could use his help in figuring out what the Shadows are doing here before they hurt anyone else. So if you see him, please let him know. Thanks.”

Dick turned to leave with his fists at his side. The residual rage from the last few nights simmered just beneath the surface of his flippant demeanor, and he didn’t want to risk letting it loose quite yet. Bruce never reacted well to Dick’s anger—not since Jason.

“DICK!” Bruce’s voice seemed to echo through the caverns of the cave, causing a flurry of bats to scatter in its wake. Breathing deeply, Dick waited as Bruce stepped forward, hesitated, then dared to squeeze his shoulder firmly. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. It’s been…I’ve been…”

He knew. He knew without Bruce having to say it. He always got this way when Talia was around; she made him believe he could take on the world with just her at his side and no one else. Dick knew all of this, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with him, however.

Instead of saying anything more, Bruce crossed to the Bat-Computer and loaded up the ongoing file on the League of Shadows. It contained a multitude of known members, their aliases, their allies, and some previously used hideouts throughout the city. There was even a city blueprint with certain underground caverns crossed out, like a bizarre treasure map. What had he been doing?

“I have reason to believe that the Shadows are looking for a secret Lazarus Pit somewhere beneath the city.”

What?

“Are you kidding me? Did she tell you this?”

“We’ve found evidence of their presence in multiple cisterns, catacombs, and tunnel systems—”

Dick scoffed. “Oh, we is it?”

“—but no trace of a pit, yet.”

“And no idea where the Shadows are hiding now, I imagine. What, is she feeding you delayed information so they have time to move places just before you get there?” This was ridiculous. Why did he even bother coming here?

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “She came here to warn us—”

“She came here to manipulate you, Bruce! Like she always does! I can’t believe you still can’t see that!”

“Enough! I don’t want to hear anymore about it. I’m sorry I’ve failed to keep the rest of you informed about this, but I have to move quickly on the information when we get it, lest we lose the trail entirely. There’s never enough time to bring in back-up.”

Dick shook his head. “None of this makes any sense. Why bother with Two-Face and Scarecrow, then? To distract us? Their operations had nothing to do with any underground Lazarus Pits. This just sounds like a wild goose chase to keep you out of the way.”

Bruce grunted and crossed his arms as the stern mask of Batman finally made an appearance. He didn’t say anything else. Dick couldn’t either. Even looking at him seemed impossible when the flash of red in the corner of his vision kept distracting him. It felt just like old times; Dick and Bruce at each other’s throats again, while Jason solemnly watched from the corner. Only this time there wasn’t even a ghostly apparition to stand in silent judgment of them—just an empty suit devoid of life, instead.

Dick couldn’t do this anymore—he needed to go.

“You know where to find us when you realize how much of a waste of time all of this is.” He rolled his eyes. “And maybe go visit Tim soon, he seemed pretty rattled by what happened. Your Robin still needs you, even if you don’t think you need him.”

He glared at the untouchable suit within the glass case until his eyes burned with unshed tears. He let his watery gaze linger on the locker rooms with baited breath—as if Jason might come bursting out with that bright smile of his once again. He wondered, for the first time in ages, what might’ve become of him had he survived five years ago. How would he have grown? Would he have continued to thrive as Robin or would he have evolved the way Dick had, instead, and become his own hero?

If only things had been different…

“Before you go…the red-hooded Shadow, have you encountered him again?”

Dick’s stomach flipped unpleasantly. Where had that come from?

“What?”

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “During one of our stake-outs, I caught sight of an unusual Shadow dressed in red that we don’t have a file on. Talia wouldn’t disclose any information about him—” meaning she avoided answering Bruce’s questions until he stopped trying, “—and Tim said you’d asked about him as well last week. Have you gathered any further information?”

Seeing the troubled look in Bruce’s eyes as he stooped to asking Dick for help was almost worth the headache of this pointless visit. Yes, he did have information. Not enough—not nearly enough—but the pieces were circling around him like a puzzle just begging to be solved. Everything he did know—the red, the tenement, the bodega, the kindness, the safehouse, Dick’s name—seemed to draw him towards an impossible conclusion he couldn’t quite fathom or bring himself to speak out loud, yet. There was no way. He couldn’t be…

“No, I don’t have any more information on him.” But maybe Bruce would believe him. Just tell him. He’d understand. He should know, despite his atrocious behavior lately. Maybe he’d abandon Talia and listen. Just tell him. JUST TELL HIM.

“Oh…” Bruce’s frown deepened.

“I haven’t seen him since that first night at the docks, really. Glad to know I wasn’t just imagining him! Until next time, B. Always love our little chats. Don’t be a stranger—bye!” Dick hurried out of the cave as fast as he could without raising suspicions.

Why did he lie? Why not tell Bruce that–

Tell him that—

No. There was no way.

Jason died. Jason was dead.

Wasn’t he?

Underground Tunnel System
October 16th 03:36 EST

The chill in the air settled deep in Dick’s bones as he moved quietly through the decommissioned service tunnel system.

A cold front had been lingering over the city for days, causing many folks to wonder about the prospect of snow—or worse—disrupting their upcoming Halloween plans. Gotham had developed quite the reputation in recent years regarding All Hallows Eve, and the wild celebrations became a very lucrative facet of the city tourism.

Apparently the threat of being attacked by one of Arkham’s regulars didn’t put people off the holiday spirit the way most (sane) people would assume; in fact, the majority tended to be disappointed if a Halloween passed without a masked villain making an appearance.

Some were appeased by seeing one of the Bats—preferably Batman himself—stalking the streets, but Dick could never understand the air of discontent which surrounded the parties that actually made it to November first without incident.

Civilians, smh.

Little did they know that almost all of the potentially harmful plots ended up foiled in the weeks before Halloween—Bruce made sure of that. He became particularly insufferable this time of year with longer patrol shifts, more thorough street sweeps, and even annual check-ups with every Rogue on file to make sure that all could be accounted for. Protecting children was always his number one priority, especially during the holidays.

Most of the Rogues grew to expect the severe behavior over time and acted accordingly—begrudging, but willing to cooperate—while others went out of their way to antagonize and cause trouble.

Then there were ones like the Penguin.

Unlike most Rogues, the Penguin used a series of under-handed, two-timing, seemingly innocent moves to keep his “legal” club open for any and all clients who fell on both sides of the law. What happened at the club—especially when the lights were off—depended on the people involved, which meant the Lounge couldn’t always be held accountable for whatever criminal activity took place. And ever since the Penguin had added a few city council members to his payroll, it meant that the Bats couldn’t threaten to close down the Lounge, should the Penguin engage in anything truly villainous. In fact, one of the largest annual Halloween parties in the city happened to be held there—with “valid” city permits and everything.

It was all rather genius in a morally bankrupt kind of way.

During his standard patrol earlier in the night, Dick received a reminder that he still needed to survey the Penguin’s territory before the week was out, and he figured there was no point in waiting any further. His mind had been churning since the disastrous meeting with Bruce, and even as he went through the motions of patrol, nothing had proved capable of distracting him from his woes.

Little did he know, the perfect distraction was just a disaster away.

Since the usual Spook & Threaten routine didn’t work with the Penguin, whichever unfortunate soul had the duty of checking up on the area surrounding the Iceberg Lounge either had to go in undercover, or sneak through the underground.

It was incredibly unfair that Brucie Wayne got to party it up last year while Dick hid amongst the rats now, but they couldn’t very well pull the same stunt two years in a row. That would just be sloppy vigilantism. However, he still believed he deserved some strong drinks and a night of dancing more than Bruce had.

Dick’s lonely trek over the rusting tracks became lonely no longer when the darkened shadow of the Red Hood—of course it was him, it always was him when it came to Dick these days—suddenly slipped behind a steel door tucked inside a nearby alcove. Dick almost would have missed it entirely had the flash of red not stopped him dead in his tracks.

The Red Hood hadn’t been seen around the city for a few days and Dick was beginning to wonder if he’d ever see him again. There were too many questions, too many theories, all piling up in his head, just begging to be dropped at the feet of the only man who could possibly answer them; Dick didn’t know what would come spilling out of his mouth the next time he came face to face with him, but he was kind of desperate to find out.

Stepping lightly down the concrete corridor, Dick took great pains to be as stealthy as possible in order to better observe the Shadows’ current operation—more had joined the Red Hood in the alcove as they seemed to spawn from the walls like their namesake. He hadn’t been spotted upon his approach, and he certainly was not going to let a stray boot squeak give him away, if he could help it.

So far, none of the Bats had ever been present at the start of a Shadow Attack, and Dick was rather astonished to see that the Red Hood himself commanded them, like a leader. Every Shadow looked to him for direction, dutifully following his silent orders with no hesitation or disobedience.

Had he always been in charge? Dick didn’t know how to process the new information. In all of his obsessing and theorizing, it never once occurred to him that the Red Hood was important to the League of Shadows. An outsider? Probably. An outlier? He thought the facts pointed to yes. But a leader…?

After slowing the rapid-fire beat of his heart, Dick hid near the entrance of the alcove and watched as the Red Hood paused to listen for trouble before following his men inside. They had infiltrated a vault situated beneath the Iceberg Lounge and quickly began rifling through the endless shelves of illegal merchandise like kids in a candy store. The Penguin had many similar vaults in his territory—full of money, weapons, blackmail, etc—but Dick couldn’t fathom what made this particular one so important.

It was just his drug stash.

Dick tilted his head in confusion. The Shadows tossed aside most of the product, carelessly piling it up much like they’d done with the weapons at the warehouse. Everything Dick recognized—weed, cocaine, meth, Drops, Joker Toxin, Diluted Fear Gas, Essence of Bane Venom—ended up on the floor, except for one unknown drug. Glowing green bundles were packed away carefully and unloaded out of the vault with factory-floor efficiency, meaning it was the real prize all along. Fascinating.

Slipping a bundle off of a nearby shelf, Dick crouched low to investigate further. Inside, he found dozens of tiny orbs which seemed to pulse and swirl with a toxic green substance he’d never seen with his own eyes before. Lazarus Pit water? There was no way. How did they—it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

Bruce couldn’t have been right.

The sudden clang of security on its way kicked the Shadows into high gear as they stole as many boxes of the product as they could. Dick tucked a handful of orbs into his pockets and replaced the bundle on the shelf with a growing sense of unease; he needed a new place to gather his thoughts and the last thing he wanted was to be caught in the crossfire of the impending showdown.

From his new vantage point behind shelves of old lab equipment—equipment which looked eerily similar to supplies used by Scarecrow, come to think of it—Dick had a rather perfect view of the series of events that were about to unfold.

At the other side of the vault, guards could be heard loading up their weapons with a frenzy while some of the Shadows moved into position to defend and distract. One Shadow in particular continued to catch Dick’s eye no matter how much he reprimanded himself for it; the Red Hood was, surprisingly, still among them, sword in hand. Despite having a pocketful of potentially Lazarus Pit-laced drugs and no back-up to help him, Dick found it difficult to focus on these issues when just the sight of the Red Hood’s increasingly familiar form left him a little breathless, a little dizzy with something too dangerous to think about while on the job.

He really needed a night off.

“The boss was right, they did come for the new shit. Get those fuckin’ assholes before they take it all! GO! GO! GO!” The head of the Penguin’s security burst through the doors shouting as his men ran in guns blazing.

“Use stake-out protocols—observe and report. Intervene only when necessary.”

Dick quietly groaned to himself. He itched to get involved, to take out his residual aggression on those who deserved it, but there were no civilians in harm's way at the moment. He didn’t even know what the drug did that made it so valuable to these criminal organizations; for all he knew, he was wrong, it could just be a fancy new form of weed that the Shadows wanted for meditation purposes or something. There were too many unknown variables to risk winging it, especially when he was alone.

The smartest move was to call for backup and follow the Shadows who fled after the fact, so Dick sent out the silent alert and waited; he rolled the green orbs between his fingers to keep them occupied in the meantime. He hated waiting and doing nothing.

But there was no reason to intervene. The Shadows could take down the Penguin’s men without killing—they’d done it before with Two-Face’s men at the docks. None of them brandished a weapon, other than the Red Hood, and even he proved perfectly capable of holding his own without causing permanent damage; a few knicks here, a minor cut there, but more often than not, the gun-wielding professionals ended up getting a punch from the hilt of his sword instead of a slash to any vital organs. He’d never seen a man wield a sword with such deftness and deadly accuracy, as if it was an extension of the Red Hood’s own arm.

Dick honestly found it rather invigorating to watch his red figure move through the chaos. He effortlessly took down gunmen after gunmen with expert proficiency, never missing a beat of the gunfire dance. He dodged with grace, he disarmed with the butt of his sword, and he knocked men out cold with hard punches to the face just because he could. Having never seen him fight before, Dick felt entranced by the mix of smooth, martial arts with the street style brawling often found in inner-city boxing rings.

So even his fighting techniques stood out from the rest—could he really be…?

“Shit, they’re getting away! The boss is gonna kill us!”

“We’re getting killed already—”

“That’s it, retreat! Retreat! Code Wing! Code Wing! GET THE FUCK OUT!”

The air in the vault stilled. The hired men who could still walk, frantically dragged their unconscious comrades back through the entrance before it permanently sealed itself. Bright red lights had begun to flash, the temperature rapidly fluctuated, and the remaining Shadows unanimously decided to abandon their task in favor of evacuating through the only exit left—the tunnel door which had been stuck ajar by a stray box of drugs.

The Vault was going to self-destruct. Fuck.

Dick unfurled from his hiding spot, ready to make a run for it despite the risk of being seen by the others, when he noticed that the Red Hood was still deep inside. Why wasn’t he running? Did he plan to single-handedly disarm the bomb or something? Was his mission really that important?

A reluctantly closer look revealed that no, his heroics had nothing to do with the mission; he was carrying as many men out—Shadows and Penguin’s alike—as fast as he could while there was still time. He had one man thrown over his shoulders while two more dangled from his arms like they weighed nothing—it was all rather unbelievable to witness. He was so strong. Dick couldn’t fathom why he would bother committing to the vigilante act with the dire change in circumstances. Unless it wasn’t all an act…

What a stupidly kind man.

It was something Jason would’ve done, too.

Cursing under his breath, Dick doubled back to help. He couldn’t let the Red Hood do it alone—no matter who he really was. He couldn’t let any of the criminals die, for that matter; it just wasn’t what they did. Of all the lessons drilled into him before he took the Bat Oath of Justice all those years ago, Bruce made sure to emphasize that rule above all others so it would become second nature.

Dick ran past the surprised Red Hood to grab the hand of an injured Shadow, hoisting them back on their feet. With his free hand, he managed to drag another unconscious one by their legs and quickly walked both to freedom. He needed to do this—it was only fair. A shiver of guilt sparked through his spine like ice in his veins as he once again thought about the poor Shadow he’d nearly beaten to death; Dick owed it to these men to help, despite what they’d done in the past.

The ground trembled with staggered explosions, but the silent duo refused to give up. Trip after trip, they worked in tandem to evacuate almost every potential victim, until only one remained; a lone Penguin man deep within the vault still laid unconscious as the countdown finally began.

Dick really hoped that his Bat backup could take control of whatever happened above ground once the bombs went off; it had cost him a precious few seconds to send the second warning, but he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders upon receiving Tim’s acknowledgment that he was nearly there. It’d be a hollow victory to save just the men in the vault if everyone above happened to perish in the explosion anyway.

“Go! We’ll be right behind you!” Dick shouted over the ear-piercing alarms. He’d convinced himself that he could surely handle one more man, if it meant giving the Red Hood time to escape. There was no point in continuing to risk both of their lives. He couldn’t let that happen to Jason…if he really was Jason…

But the Red Hood stayed frozen in place. Something was off with him. His fingers twitched nervously at his side with each flash of light. His chest visibly stuttered with short, gasping breaths that matched the intermittent buzz of the sirens. His exposed forehead even looked drenched in sweat, despite how easily he’d picked up the fully grown men only moments before. He was acting just like the skittish stray from the rooftop all those nights ago.

When he’d run from Dick.

“Just go, I’ve got this!”

Dick staggered under the weight of the last man. He managed to hold him up around his waist, barely keeping the man’s arm strewn across his shoulders, but he was decidedly heavier than Dick was prepared to deal with. Time was running out and his strength was waning.

Slipping under the other side of the unconscious man, the Red Hood’s trembling fingers grazed Dick’s side as he helped support him, too.

“Together.” His breathless voice warmed something deep inside Dick, giving him a rush of adrenaline to keep going.

He wanted to survive this, to thank the Red Hood for all he’d done to help him. He wanted to unmask him once and for all and lay to rest the wild theories spiraling in Dick’s head. He wanted to hear his beautifully haunting voice say Dick’s name at least one more time.

He wanted—

“Together,” he agreed.

He wanted to get out of that damn vault.

They shuffled as fast as they could to the exit with surprisingly few obstacles in their path. It was like a miracle; most of the supplies had been kicked away when the others fled, leaving a perfect winding trail to follow. They were almost there. They were going to make it. They’d save them all—together.

Rejoicing at their good luck, Dick finally allowed himself to truly relish the burning touch of those shaking fingers at his side once again—the ones he’d been obsessing about since that night at the school—when the unthinkable happened.

The unconscious man woke up.

Between one blink and the next, he’d shaken himself loose from their collective grasp and collapsed to the floor. It was the look in his eyes when he realized what was going on—one Dick had encountered in many unstable victims he’d had the misfortune of rescuing in the past. The man was panicked, losing control, and needed to lash out at something he could defend against. Unfortunately, that meant them.

He grabbed an abandoned gun from the floor and didn’t hesitate.

Dick had only managed to take one step before a single gunshot to the chest forced the Red Hood back against an empty shelf. Of course. Of course he’d aim for him. The man with the gun wasted no time in fleeing the scene after the final warnings wailed, and Dick suddenly felt the walls closing in.

They were almost there, but time had run out.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. I’ve got you,” Dick crouched down so he was eye level with the Red Hood, nervous hands brushing up and down his shoulders until they could gently cradle his head. The wound looked dangerous, but not deadly. Even if his wet gasps seemed to overshadow all other sounds; even if the red of his uniform failed to hide the growing dark stain of blood.

He needed help. 

An explosion rocked the vault, making the nearby metal rattle and quake.

They both did.

No. Dick closed his eyes and grit his teeth.

He had to be okay, he just had to. Dick still didn’t have his answers. What if his theory was wrong? What if he was right? What if the Red Hood really was—

“Come on, give me your arm. We’ve gotta try—”

“There’s no time.” The Red Hood’s words were slow, deliberate, like he had trouble remembering how to speak after spending so long in silence.

Dick shook his head in protest. He would not allow this man to die.

A second explosion nearly toppled them both. The electric sparks of broken wires set off even more pops as the piled-up drugs rapidly caught ablaze.

At least not alone.

He managed to wrap an arm around the Red Hood’s waist before all hell broke loose.

With one desperate act, the Red Hood smashed their bodies together and dragged the shelf over top of them both while the third and final explosion destroyed what was still standing. Metal creaked and burned white-hot, the floor violently shook and cracked open, even the walls crumbled in on themselves.

It was all too much, too loud, too hot.

Dick couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He blacked out…

…he was shocked when his eyes opened again a few minutes later.

Dick was alive.

Everything was smoking, smoldering, melting, but he was still intact. They both were. The shelf had shielded them from most of the blast while the Red Hood had taken the brunt of the rest. He’d saved them—and now it was Dick’s turn to do the same. The debris pinned them down, but a few wild kicks loosened the metal enough for Dick to slide them out of harm’s way. He could do this.

Not all was lost.

Dick carefully rolled them over so he was hovering on top of the Red Hood’s prone figure. His clothes were singed, the lights of his mask were broken, yet he was still breathing—thank God. He was still breathing.

“I’ll get us out of here, Little Wing. Don’t worry,” Dick’s hoarse voice choked on the fumes. The combination of all the drugs burning together had a disastrous effect on his motor skills, his sense of space and time, but that didn’t stop Dick from trying.

His knees gave out during his first attempts to stand, and his dislocated shoulder loudly sang of its discomfort each time he caught himself with it. But he kept going. He could do this.

Dick grabbed the Red Hood around his waist once more and started to drag him towards what was left of the opening. His back ached with bruised ribs; the skin of his face stung like the worst sunburn of his life, but he kept going. He could do this.

There was no time for pain.

What felt like a lifetime later, Dick finally managed to squeeze the two of them through the broken barrier with little more than some superficial cuts and burns on top of their initial injuries. The Red Hood showed no signs of waking up—not when the jostled gunshot wound continued to bleed the life out of him, even with the medical patch taped to his chest—but Dick wouldn’t let himself dwell in pessimism. They had survived the impossible and they’d do it again. And again. And again.

Together.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he smirked at his unconscious companion. It took everything he had left to hold the well of laughter and tears at bay as he sat in what remained of their section of the decommissioned tunnel system.

It was going to be a long night.

Base Beta
October 16th 06:05 EST

Leaning against the counter in the safehouse bathroom, Dick hissed as he adjusted the old shoulder sling he’d dug out of a cabinet of used medical supplies. He’d popped a million dislocated limbs back into place during his lifetime—both as a hero and as a trapeze artist—but he’d never immediately aggravated one by carrying a man out of an underground tunnel system before. The sharp sting of his aching bones wasn’t a new sensation; the way every bruised muscle in his body seemed to uncomfortably stiffen to the point of near paralysis did leave him a little stunned, though.

Dick tried to raise his free hand to pull down medicine from a shelf and nearly collapsed from the pain in his abdomen.

Perhaps he’d really overdone it this time.

The phone next to the sink buzzed with unread messages, making Dick sigh deeply. He wished Tim would just leave the whole situation alone.

The area above the vault had been swiftly evacuated and cordoned off when a “potential bomb threat” had been called in by an anonymous Tim source, but none of it mattered in the end. The explosion was contained underground, and the Penguin would not allow First Responders to investigate it further. No one was harmed. Dick had already checked in with ample assurance that he’d made it out alright. What more was there to talk about?

Did Tim see him with the Red Hood?

His phone vibrated again.

Tentatively reaching over, Dick turned the device off and threw it on a pile of dirty laundry. Tim would just have to wait.

He glanced at the mirror in front of him for a moment of silent reprieve only to turn away immediately. The haunted man staring back at him told too many truths that he wasn’t willing to face quite yet; chief among them being how bone tired he truly was. Exhaustion seemed to embed itself deep within his soul, like he’d never be free of its overbearing hands. He told himself that soon he could just lay down, get some rest, and avoid thinking about this disaster of a night for at least a few peaceful hours.

Soon, but not yet. Not until—

Dr. Leslie Thompkins finally backed away from her patient, motioning for Dick to follow her out of his bedroom. She collected her supplies with jerky movements; quick and brutally efficient, while Dick found himself lingering. Lingering and staring helplessly at the steady rise and fall of the Red Hood’s shirtless chest as he lay in Dick’s bed.

Dick hadn’t known what to do with him—leave him for his own men to find, leave him at a hospital, take him to the manor—but in the end, there was only one place he really wanted to go. It’d taken more strength than he genuinely had to get the Red Hood to his safehouse, even with Zeta technology at his disposal, and once the dust settled and the adrenaline crashed, he had no choice but to call in the only afterhours medical professional he trusted to help patch them up.

They were lucky to make it out of the tunnels—let alone to Dick’s bedroom—all things considered.

“How is he, Doc?” Dick whispered. His hand brushed the bandages wrapped around the Red Hood’s torso. He seemed so fragile in that injured state; so young, with the bottom half of his face mask broken off. Was he even a man, yet? Jason would’ve just turned eighteen this year, had he—

She looked at him sharply, cutting off his train of thought. There was something wild about her gaze; her eyes felt deadlier than usual, as if Dick had done something particularly stupid this time around and she was eager to chew him out for it. But she also looked oddly frightened…like she’d seen a ghost.

Ah. So she saw it too.

Of course she would.

Jason had always been her favorite. He was a natural charmer, and he only brought it out for people he felt deserved it—like an overworked, underpaid doctor who did everything she could to help the poor and under-serviced people of Gotham.

Bruce and Dick had been surprised to learn that Jason already knew Dr. Thompkins when the trio made their first visit to her humble clinic together all those years ago. It was quite laughable to think about, in retrospect. He’d been treated by her since he was old enough to walk, according to Dr. Thompkins’ stories; Dick had never seen her smile so warmly at someone, before he saw her interact with Jason. He’d never seen her smile so warmly at anyone since.

Some people just have that effect on you.

Dick had barely limped out of the doorway before she turned on him. “Is that who I think it is?” Straight to the point, then.

“I don’t know! Honestly, I don’t–” He raised his hand to stop her from accusing him of lying. “The League of Shadows has been in town and–”

“The Shadows? Of course it’d be those wack jobs. Only they would have the gall to pull something like this.” She started to pace. “But more appalling is the fact that you lot didn’t bother to tell me! I thought this was a partnership, Dick–”

Dick’s shoulders slumped. “There’s been a lot going on, Doc—”

“You’re telling me! I still have people coming in with Fear Gas poisoning, which I’m assuming has something to do with them, as well? And now this?! How can he be—? I mean it’s not possible, I saw him with my own eyes—”

“I know.” Dick placed a shaky hand on her arm. “I know. It’s unbelievable. Even in a world of magic and clones, gods and aliens, I still struggle to find it possible…”

Dr. Thompkins placed her hands on her hips. “Does Bruce know?”

He hesitated. Dick should’ve known she’d bring him up. “No. No, he’s got other things occupying his mind at the moment.” He couldn’t suppress the bitterness in his voice.

“Richard John Grayson, that man deserves to know that one of his boys might still be—”

“But what if we’re wrong? I can’t drop that bomb without being absolutely sure–”

“Well, had that gunshot been a few inches to the left, we would be having a very different discussion right now.”

Dick swallowed the rest of his practiced explanation. She really did know how to get straight to the point.

“Doc, I…” She was right. Tonight had been a close call. Too close. If that gunmen had been just a little more accurate, if Dick had been a tad slower in getting them out, if he hadn’t been there at all to help the Red Hood rescue the stragglers—

They could’ve lost him. Again.

“I didn’t…oh God…”

Before he knew it, his vision began to blur while breathless sobs choked out anything else he tried to say. The stress of the night had finally caught up with him. Aches in his chest kept his lungs in a vice, the burns on his skin stung with each teardrop that fell, but Dick couldn’t stop. What if that man was Jason? What if he had lost him again before knowing the truth? Why did he always fail those he loved?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mouthed through the pain until Dr. Thompkins grasped the sides of his face in a firm grip.

“Dick! Calm down and breathe, honey; you’re gonna suffocate at this rate—just breathe.” He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning off its axis. “We don’t know who that is in there or what his story is. All we know is that he’s alive thanks to you, and the only way he’s going to keep being alive is if you pull yourself together and calm. Down.”

It took a few minutes for Dick to center himself—even if it left him sitting on a couch with his head in his hand—but once reality set in, he found his airways a little clearer.

“You’re right…I’m sorry, it’s been…” he croaked out.

She knelt next to him and rubbed his sore knees. “I know. Do you think you’re good to take care of his burns once I’m gone? I still have a full day at the clinic later…”

Dick quietly nodded.

“Good.” Dr. Thompkins stood and rummaged around her bag for the antibiotic ointment needed to treat their burns. “Bruce better be ready for my next supply delivery; this was one of the last jars I had.”

Panic shot through Dick like lightning. “You’re not going to tell him about this, right?”

“Dick,” she heaved a deep sigh.

“Please! Please promise me you won’t! Not yet, I’m still figuring things out…I will do it myself, just not yet…”

Her hard eyes easily pierced the flimsy excuse, but it was all he could come up with in such a state of exhaustion. Dick wasn’t ready to deal with the uncertainty of Bruce’s reaction once he clued him into the unfolding mystery.

He needed a little more time.

“Fine…I’ll keep my mouth shut IF you let me bandage you up myself.”

Dick smiled a watery smile. They both knew she would have done it regardless of any deal, but he played along anyway. “I’d appreciate that.”

Sitting in a painful daze, Dick let her work while staring at the bedroom door. The Red Hood was in there; he was injured and under Dick’s care for the foreseeable future. Half-masked, half-dressed, drugged-up enough to potentially be compliant—the answers to all of Dick’s questions were within reach.

So why did he feel so scared?

It was like standing on the precipice of a dangerous jump without being sure he could land it. What if he said the wrong thing? What if he revealed too much and put the whole Bat team in danger? This was a member of the League of Shadows, after all. And not just a member, but a leader. Maybe he was chosen to purposely cause confusion and mayhem between him and Bruce, weakening their defenses. Maybe he was just biding his time, and his team would swoop in and kidnap them all for some unknown, nefarious plot.

Or maybe he was just a lost boy who had miraculously returned home. He’d had every opportunity to hurt Dick, but he didn’t. In fact, more often than not, the Red Hood himself was the one in pain, both physically and psychologically—those panic attacks were unmistakable, in hindsight—whenever they interacted. There always seemed to be a charged air of confusion and uncertainty around him as he led Dick to places in Gotham only a boy like Jason would think to visit.

Unfortunately, there was just one way to find out. If Dick was brave enough to take the leap, that is…

“Alright, that should do it. Keep your movements as limited as possible until I tell you otherwise, which means No More Patrols, you hear me?” Dr. Thompkins’ stern warnings vaguely drifted across Dick’s awareness until he remembered to nod and look at her once again. The new bandages around his shoulder and chest were tighter, stiffer, and almost as comforting as a hug.

“Good morning, Doc,” he waved her goodbye. The itch to get up and check on the Red Hood again grew stronger by the second. If only his legs hadn’t fallen asleep on him.

The shadow of that warm smile started to grace her face as she glanced at the doorway behind him. She opened her mouth to say something, shook her head instead, and turned to leave. Her disbelief was still palpable, but tinged with a sense of joy, now that the initial shock had passed.

What an overwhelming way to start the day, Dick mused.

He sat in the silence of his safehouse for longer than he intended to once she’d gone, until the jar of ointment caught his eye in the light of the rising sun. Right. The burns. A difficult task, considering most of the Red Hood’s burns happened to be on his back, but Dick was confident he could manage. Nothing seemed impossible after everything they’d done together.

Stumbling back into his bedroom, Dick felt a wave of relief wash over him to see the Red Hood still laying in his bed. He’d spent so long chasing after his ghostly trail, that it became hard to fathom that he was real, solid, and capable of being in Dick’s presence for longer than a few minutes without disappearing into the night. It was also kind of thrilling to have the Red Hood trapped in his bedroom, even if Dick would be unable to stop him whenever he decided to flee again; all he could do was hope that the Red Hood’s injuries left him in a sorrier state than Dick, so he’d at least have a chance to try.

“Alrightie, time for some ointment,” Dick whispered to himself as he gingerly sat on the side of the bed. “I’m staying whelmed, I’m feeling the aster, and I’m getting traught.”

One look at the Red Hood’s shirtless muscles, however, threw all of that out the window.

Despite how hard he tried to ignore it—and Dick really tried—he felt oddly captivated by him. Every time he’d encountered the Red Hood in the past two weeks, he was covered from head to toe, so seeing him in such an intimate state proved almost too much for Dick to handle, especially while he, too, was shirtless to better accommodate his sling. It’d been an awfully long time since Dick had been this naked with someone—

That train of thought needed to stop right this instant. Pull yourself together, Grayson.

The bandages still covered an expansive area of his heavily scarred chest—scarred more than anyone should be with such youthfulness in their face—yet the Red Hood’s strong arms looked relatively untouched by the explosion, beyond one minor wrist brace, of course. He hovered his fingers over the warm skin, reminiscing over the way they had felt when he’d embraced him during the Scarecrow Incident.

Dick wasn’t small by any means—not anymore—but the Red Hood had a way of appearing larger than life; his broad shoulders, his gentle arms, and his sturdy chest left Dick spiraling in a way he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

If this man was Jason, then he’d certainly grown—and grown up handsome.

The Red Hood moaned in his sleep and awkwardly shifted until his face was turned towards Dick. The bulky eye mask remained to give him some modicum of privacy, but the lower half of his face had become exposed when the red mouthpiece broke apart in the vault. It didn’t take much mindless staring before Dick’s fingers followed his eyes in tracing the outline of the Red Hood’s dry lips, his smooth chin, his lean cheeks; he was so painfully young, and so heartbreakingly beautiful.

The League of Shadows didn’t deserve him. Maybe no one did…

He leaned forward to better observe every last detail when he suddenly felt his upper body begin to topple forward. With only one good hand to catch himself and a million places he absolutely could not put pressure on without wounding the Red Hood further, Dick reeled for a few breathless seconds before coming to a halt mere inches from his face; a trembling hand pressed into the pillow next to the Red Hood’s head, allowing Dick to feel the tiny breaths which escaped from his slightly parted mouth.

He was so close. He hadn’t been that close to anyone in an embarrassingly long time, and the temptation to move closer was surprisingly enticing; like a distorted mirror of him and Jason on that moldy couch five years ago. Only this time, he could fully give in to the dangerous thoughts he’d had back then; the ones which had never quite left him, no matter how hard he tried to repress and forget.

He was so close. What if he got even closer…?

The jar of ointment slid against his sweatpants until the cold glass pressed uncomfortably against his stomach, shocking him back to himself. What was he doing?

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to touch you while you’re unconscious, I just…” Dick’s voice faded out once he remembered that the Red Hood wasn’t awake to hear his shameful apology. “I’m just an idiot who’s making a mess of things again.”

He managed to unscrew the lid with the help of his thighs keeping the jar in place, and dipped two fingers into the oily substance. Somehow, it was even colder than the glass. Where had Dr. Thompkins been keeping it? A freezer? Dick rubbed as much warmth as he could into the ointment before he reached his shaky fingers around the back of the Red Hood’s neck. Even in the dim lighting of his bedroom, he could see the bright red of his blistering skin, like the worst sunburn of someone’s life. Just staring at it made the slightly less burnt skin of Dick’s face tighten up and ache.

And to think that the Red Hood’s entire back was just as damaged.

Dick’s fingers had barely grazed his shoulder when a hand suddenly closed around his wrist like a vice. The grip was strong for someone who’d passed out from blood loss merely an hour ago; it was unyielding and threatening, but Dick could tell that the Red Hood was holding back.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay…it’s just me,” he breathed out. Even with just his domino mask on, he knew the Red Hood would recognize him eventually.

As he came to terms with the rather unexpected situation, it was impossible to tell where exactly the Red Hood was looking while he still had his mask on. The hand in the wrist brace tentatively felt the bed, the bandages, the jar between Dick’s legs, before trying to push himself into a sitting position.

“Wait! You need more time to recover!” Dick shouted.

He was awkwardly shoved aside so the Red Hood could use both hands in his escape. He’d inched himself upright with a gasping breath, threw his legs over the side of the bed in one violent twist, and wobbled on the edge while one hand gripped the pole for the IV & blood bags still connected to his arm. He looked winded almost immediately, like even a slight breeze would knock him down and make him start all over again.

Sorry state, indeed.

Rubbing his sore wrist, Dick’s eyes widened when he finally saw the extent of the damage done to his back; angry burns spread down the entire length, irritating the already existing scars there. The explosion had added its mark to the collection, it seemed.

The Red Hood lingered, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath, like the strength to stand was just out of reach, and Dick knew he wasn’t ready to leave—no matter how much he may have wanted to.

“At least let me do this for you, since I’ve got the ointment out already,” Dick suggested quietly. Please stay. Please stay and let me help. He waited for a sign of acknowledgement or disagreement or violence, but there was none. It was like he’d become a ghost once again.

Breathing deeply, Dick reached his shaking fingers out to glide the thin coat across the back of the Red Hood’s tense neck. The effect was instantaneous—he hissed, he flinched forward, and then he hung his head in relief and leaned back for more. It was working.

Dick could do this.

A thousand questions danced on the tip of his tongue—questions he still needed answers too—but Dick swallowed them all just to keep touching the Red Hood; to keep helping him, taking care of him, and living in their silent bubble of peace. He worked from the top down, using a light hand and the barest hint of pressure on every patch of burning skin until his back glistened in the early morning light. The Red Hood didn’t move, Dick barely breathed, but he couldn’t stop himself from bringing them closer together so that his ministrations wouldn’t strain the only working arm he had left.

The longer he massaged the ointment into his back, the more Dick felt his head wander into a hypnotized daze. He became numb to the repetitive motions of his fingers; the tension in his body drained out like a deflated balloon. What did any of it matter, anyway? The endless questions and mysteries and What Ifs. The man in front of him was real—made of warm flesh and blood. He breathed. He cared. He fought. He was real.

And he made Dick feel more alive than he’d been in months.

As his hands moved down towards the Red Hood’s waist, he failed to notice the droop of his head until he’d accidentally knocked it into the relaxed shoulder in front of him. Dick jerked back with a start, eyes wide and guilty, as the Red Hood shifted himself around to finally face him. His face was flushed from his cheeks to his ears; the white-knuckled grip he’d had of the sheets left tears Dick would never be able to repair. His breath came in heavy pants like he’d run a mile, swam a marathon, rescued an entire orphanage from a fire single-handedly.

The Red Hood had been affected by Dick’s touch.

“Grayson…” his hoarse voice whispered, breaking the bubble of tension around them.

The Red Hood had been affected by Dick’s touch.

“Is it really…are you—” Dick’s mumbled questions were silenced by the press of lips against his.

The kiss was hesitant, clumsy, like a fumbled first time between a pair of scared teenagers. It was soft, purposeful, and seemed to shatter Dick from the inside out.

Before he could linger, before he could go back for more with his own eager response to such a bold declaration, the Red Hood pulled back and dipped his own fingers into the jar of ointment. He rubbed them together—inspiring all kinds of filthy thoughts that had Dick blushing—and gently took Dick’s head in his hands for a moment. One cradled the side of his face, callused digits dragging down the curve of his cheek to lightly grip his chin, while the other reached up to smear the ointment onto his burning forehead. The sting ached—tears filled his eyes—but the ache in his heart hurt more.

This man…this tender man…

Dick hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until the weight of the Red Hood’s fingers disappeared from his face. Oh, how he missed them already.

Dick wished more than anything that this night—now morning—would never end. He wished that they could hide away in his bedroom for the rest of time; no Shadows or Bats or Rogues to disturb them. No one else. Just them. Just Dick and—

He swayed forward, unsure if he meant to kiss the Red Hood again or simply knock their heads together, the way Dick’s family used to do during emotional moments. When tensions ran high, when celebrations erupted, when heartbreak seemed ready to drown them—when love overflowed. A gentle knock was all they needed to communicate the things they couldn’t say. It’d been so long since Dick partook in the tradition, and now felt as good a time as any to bring it back.

As if he’d read his mind, the Red Hood wrapped his hands around Dick’s arms, allowing him to press their foreheads together and sigh.

What bliss.

Exhaustion had finally crept up on him, crashing through Dick in waves like a tide drawing him out to sea; a dreamless abyss waited for him there, where aches and pains could be completely forgotten while he had the Red Hood by his side. While he had his Little Wing by his side.

“I’m so glad you’re home…Jason…” Dick breathed into the space between their lips. Would it be too much to ask for another kiss?

He nudged their noses together and pressed forward; clumsy lips missed, landing on a flushed cheek instead, but Dick didn’t care. He didn’t even notice when the Red Hood stiffened against him. He didn’t feel his tired fingers latch onto the waistline of the Red Hood’s pants to keep himself steady. The only thoughts clouding his mind were ones of Jason, sleep, and getting those two things to come together.

So he led by example and closed his eyes again.

—

Hours later, Dick woke to the sound of a car honking as it passed by his safehouse. He was definitely feeling the mode. From head to toe, his body ached in ways he didn’t know were possible. Rolling over did little to help ease his suffering when unyielding bandages kept him from getting comfortable. Bandages…Wasn’t there someone else who had bandages? Bandages that probably needed a check-up.

He reached his free hand across cold sheets to find no signs of life. Weird. He could’ve sworn there’d been someone there not too long ago—

“Jason!” Sitting up in a panic, Dick felt his shoulders slowly slump as it dawned on him that the Red Hood had vanished without a trace once more.

Well, almost.

One glance at his side table had Dick fighting off a smile, despite the aching stretch of his recovering facial burns. Next to a generous cup of water and the same brand of strange snack he’d found the last time they’d done this song and dance, sat the Red Hood’s bulky eye mask propped against his lamp.

The weight of hope started to pull at the strings of Dick’s heart—the Red Hood was beginning to trust him.

“Dick! Are you there? You haven’t been picking up your phone and there’s been no sightings of you around the city! Open up!” The startlingly loud shouting at Dick’s door broke him out of his reverie long enough to stash the mask away—next to the glowing green orbs he’d taken from the vault—before Tim came bursting into his safehouse. Those secrets needed more time to simmer in his head before he let them loose on a teenage detective in training. “Dick, where are you?!”

“I’m in here, Timmy,” he called from his bedroom. He managed to bend and pick up his discarded phone only to cringe with embarrassment once it turned on. Dozens of missed phone calls and unread messages from the Bats, the old Team, even some Leaguers sat waiting for acknowledgement over the state of his well-being. Guess Dr. Thompkins really did keep her promise.

The young Robin rounded the corner into his room and briefly froze at the sight of his hunched form; disbelief visibly morphed into worry as he rushed towards him with his arms spread wide. The hug was rather unexpected, since he and Tim were still building their relationship dynamic, but the sentiment warmed Dick’s heart more than he imagined it would. His shaking arms were mindful of Dick’s wounds, his shallow breaths finally started to slow in relief, and Dick felt shame snake down his spine for dismissing Tim so easily the night before. He should’ve done more to soothe his fears. It’d been so long since he’d had a Robin to look up to him, and Dick wondered how long it’d be before he started disappointing him, too.

Silently convincing himself to reciprocate the hug—and finally give the trembling boy some comfort—Dick reached his arm around to pull him closer.

However, within seconds, the sound of glass breaking shattered their sweet moment and the two of them swiftly separated.

“What was that?” Tim sniffed away the unshed tears. He really must’ve been worried about him.

Dick was a terrible mentor.

“I don’t…” Dick trailed off as the sight of red and black flashed outside of his window.”I don’t know. Probably a ghost,” he teased, a smile finally blooming across his face. It was him.

Tim gave him an annoyed look. “Sure. Anyway, I think we’ve found a break in the case!”

Dick barely paid attention as Tim began to explain what evidence the others had found with regards to the League of Shadows; his wandering eyes were continuously drawn back to the place where the Red Hood had just been, making his mind buzz with excitement.

This was proving to be the most enjoyable haunting he’d ever experienced.

Robinson’s Park
October 31st 20:04 EST

Dick swung onto the building edge with the greatest of ease before spinning around to sit down. The vantage point provided a perfect view of the park beneath him where dozens of costumed children ran around enjoying themselves. Between the one-night only haunted houses, the handful of themed food stalls, and spooky party music which emanated from the makeshift stage, there were plenty of fun things for the children of Gotham to choose from now that Halloween had arrived.

Every year the Robinson’s Park Halloween Bash provided a safe place for families to kick off the holiday; some stopped by before trick-or-treating began, others finished their door-to-door route there just in time for the yearly screening of Hocus Pocus, while most chose to spend their entire night frolicking around the park collecting candy from the nearby businesses—a few were even known to give out full-sized candy bars, if you knew who to ask.

It was a miracle that something as wholesome as this could take place in Gotham after dark, and if it wasn’t for Bruce—both as Bruce Wayne and Batman—then it never would’ve started to begin with. Of all the things they’d ever accomplished together in the city and around the world, Dick knew that events like the Halloween Bash were the main sources of pride and validation that drove Bruce to keep doing what he did.

No one loved the citizens of Gotham more than Bruce, even if he’d never admit it.

Dick smiled as kids planned pranks behind bushes, parents snuck pieces of their children’s candy for themselves, and new people joined every few minutes to keep the party going.

When he was younger, they celebrated in much the same way at the circus by throwing Haly’s Halloween Spectacular—a special series of performances and spooky-themed attractions meant to thrill the audience of whichever city they happened to be in at the time. Once, they even brought the Spectacular to Gotham, and managed to obtain special permission to set up in the very same park Dick watched now—though it was much filthier back then. The show had surprisingly been a huge success, providing some innocent joy to the hardened citizens of Gotham, and Haly decided then and there to add the city to their regular East Coast route going forward

If only he’d known just how dangerous the criminals in Gotham could be. Dick was orphaned before the next Halloween Spectacular.

But it used to excite Dick to see all the children running around as dressed up as he usually was; it was the one time of year he could fit in with the crowds at the circus and experience the world through the eyes of everyone else. Almost no one would suspect that he was one of the stars they’d come to see, until he appeared on stage.

After his family performed whatever death-defying stunt they’d chosen for the year, the whole circus staff would come together for a party. It was amazing. Dick was allowed to stay up all hours of the night just to eat sweets and dance with his parents, letting the festivities consume his curious mind. It didn’t matter where they were going next or what new dangerous stunts they’d have to choreograph to keep the people entertained; when he was having fun with those he loved, nothing else mattered.

Wow. He hadn’t thought about that tradition in years.

A child’s shriek down below broke through his moment of nostalgia, instantly putting Dick on alert—eyes searching for any Rogues or Shadows intent on causing mayhem—but the shrieking quickly turned to laughter, and Dick felt his limbs loosen up again. False alarm. He didn’t know what he was expecting, really; every Bat’s annual Rogue check-up had gone much better than Dick’s, and Stephanie had already foiled a small scheme of the Riddler’s that was barely worth thinking about now. Plus, there’d been no sign of the Shadows since the vault explosion, leaving Dick to wonder, not for the first time, if they’d accomplished what they intended to do in Gotham after all.

Throughout the week of his recovery, Tim visited almost every day to update him on the case. Apparently, he’d flagged Kate’s notes about some unusual scientific equipment found during the raid of Two-Face’s warehouse, and when she went back to investigate further, those specific items just happened to be missing from the police evidence locker. It was all very sketchy, but nothing too unusual, considering how inept and corrupt the GCPD could be. However, the idea of something more going on only hit Tim after Stephanie noticed similar equipment in Scarecrow’s school lab.

It was the same equipment Dick had found in the Penguin’s vault, as a matter of fact.

Tim ended up copying the police forensic files to better identify which chemicals had been used with the confiscated equipment and, of course, other than the usual Fear Gas components, he spotted repeated mentions of an unknown substance that didn’t exist on the periodic table. Lazarus Pit water. The same substance that Dick eventually confirmed had been diluted into the drugs he’d found in the Penguin’s vault; the same drugs that the Shadows had been stealing before the explosion. Thankfully Tim had copied the report when he did, since it, and the contaminated evidence associated with it, had “accidentally” been damaged beyond recognition in a small fire a few days later.

It was all coming together, even while the Shadows worked to make it all disappear.

Dent had obviously smuggled in the special equipment for Crane to use in making the Lazarus Pit-laced drugs for Cobblepot, who must’ve compensated them both for their troubles. The Shadows eventually got wind of their new joint operation and decided to make an example of them all, while stealing the product for themselves. But where in the world did they find a Lazarus Pit in Gotham?

Once Tim reached that burning question in the investigation, Dick finally revealed to him all that Bruce had confessed to during their meeting in the cave—that he and Talia had been on the hunt for the Lazarus Pit since the beginning, only he didn’t know what it was being used for. Predictably, Tim was furious. He’d felt betrayed, insulted, disrespected, for not only being left out of the loop, but that such a crucial piece of information had been withheld from him. The last Dick saw of Tim, he’d stormed out in the direction of Wayne Manor—the place he, too, had been not-so-subtly avoiding since Talia’s arrival—ready for a confrontation with Bruce.

Dick was thrilled. A monumental step in fully embracing the roles of both Robin and Batman’s partner involved standing up against Bruce when you knew you were right and he was wrong. It was an unconscious test on Bruce’s part, to see if Robin had the gumption to confront him, and it helped to remind Bruce of why he took on a partner in his never-ending fight for justice. Dick had done it, Jason had even done it, and now Tim.

Dick had never felt prouder of the young protégé than he did in that moment.

As he continued to mull over the case, though, Dick found that he could accept that the criminal organization who had a monopoly on all things Lazarus Pit would want to thwart any burgeoning enterprises intent on using one as a resource, but there was still one question left that plagued him—the question of the Red Hood, of Jason, and how he fit into all of this. Why was he really here? Why had he allowed himself to be seen by only Dick and Bruce? What did the Shadows want with a man who potentially had direct ties to both Bruce and Batman?

He knew that the life of being a vigilante revolved around a series of never-ending questions, that answers usually only brought more problems, yet Dick hadn’t felt so totally upended by a case in such a long time. Few in his career ever reached so deep into his heart and twisted the way the Red Hood Mystery had, and Dick figured that the best way to bring peace to the chaos of his mind was to retrace his steps and start over.

During his week of forced civilian life, there was little more Dick could do beyond going about his daily tasks with the hope of seeing the Red Hood again. It was irrational, unhealthy even, the way he looked for him around every dark corner and rooftop perch, but Dick couldn’t stop. He wanted to see him again. He needed to see him again. And not just to confirm that the Red Hood hadn’t succumbed to his wounds; they’d formed a connection in his bedroom and Dick was determined to gather all the pieces of the puzzle that made up the Red Hood. He’d nearly broken through his final wall—the one which guarded all of his secrets—when they last met, and Dick knew he was so close to finding out the truth.

Unfortunately, chasing the ghost never worked. He had to wait for the Red Hood to come to him, the way his Robin hallucination used to appear to Dick when he least expected it—though, ever since the Scarecrow incident, that particular apparition had been oddly quiet. Well, quieter than usual, anyway.

Dick figured it was chance that brought them together on the warehouse rooftop and in the tunnels below, yet he still went out of his way to visit streets he remembered Jason frequented in the past to try and boost his luck; grocery stores he preferred, community centers he claimed had the best gyms, even a bookstore he’d caught Jason eyeing the last time they’d patrolled together.

It was a little pathetic, Dick could admit, but it eventually worked.

When Dick finally stopped at Dr. Thompkins’ clinic to get his wounds checked out again, he happened to notice a looming red and black blur in his periphery. The Red Hood was following him. He’d spent so long training himself to ignore the bright red of the ghostly boy who used to haunt his every step, that he’d nearly missed the presence of the very real man that had taken his place. So distracted by the realization, Dick almost got himself benched for another week when Dr. Thompkins grew annoyed by his wandering mind.

It took a little groveling, some over-the-top bribes, and an earnest plea that he couldn’t finish his investigation into the Red Hood from his couch, before she gave in and approved him for patrol work again. Her judgment wasn’t the end-all, be-all—Dick could, in theory, patrol even if she said he wasn’t fit for service—but defying her, falling out of her good graces, only ever ended in disaster.

Never piss off your doctors when you work in the vigilante business. The consequences could be dire.

From then on, everywhere Dick went, he deluded himself into thinking he was being watched. He was actually getting kind of desperate to see him again. The longer the Red Hood went on only existing on the fringes of Dick’s daily life, the more outrageous his plans to bring them together became. One plot involved nearly getting himself killed so the Red Hood could step in at the last moment and save him, but he figured they’d done that too many times already. A simpler idea was to just leave his safehouse door open with a welcome sign addressed specifically to the Red Hood, but Dick feared that could potentially lead to the first scenario, which he’d already ruled out. In the end, he felt the best solution to his problems was to reach out in a more official capacity and see if the Red Hood would respond.

AKA, A Date. Though Dick was too flustered to say that out loud.

He sipped on his drink as he continued to watch the families down below; a nervous tick taking over his left foot with each lonely minute that passed. Dick had made sure to stick the secret message about the meeting just inside the door of Jason’s old tenement, where the Red Hood had inadvertently led him to all those weeks ago. His next stop for food for two brought him to Jason’s preferred bodega where he’d been left during one of their many games of cat and mouse throughout the city; it also happened to be the source for all of the strange (but delicious) snacks the Red Hood kept leaving around Dick’s safehouse when he wasn’t looking—no other store carried the unique brand. Dick had checked.

So, all that was left for Dick to do was wait. Wait and hope that he hadn’t been wrong about whatever unnamed, all-consuming thing had taken root inside of them both, drawing them together over and over again, despite the unusual circumstances.

God, he hoped he wasn’t wrong.

Leaning against the decrepit gargoyle which overlooked the park—of course it’d been Jason’s favorite, because Dick seemed to remember way too much about Jason these days—he closed his eyes and sighed. This was all too much. What was he doing? Waiting for an officer of a secret ninja assassin cult, who may or may not be the grown up version of the dead boy who’d replaced him as the teenage vigilante sidekick to an even older vigilante years ago, to show up for a rooftop date? Objectively, it sounded absolutely ridiculous. Even knowing the context, he caught himself wondering just how sane the whole thing really was. What if he didn’t show? What if he did? Did Dick really expect to unmask him on the one holiday a year meant for wearing masks?

It was also the start of a time of remembrance, a small voice in the back of Dick’s head pointed out. A time to commune with the dead, celebrate them, and heal lingering wounds.

Maybe he could finally have a long-overdue talk with at least one of the ghosts who had haunted him all month long.

The soft sounds of boots landing on the ledge behind him had Dick suppressing a smile that begged to be set free. It was the Red Hood—he found his note.

Holding his breath, Dick decided his best course of action was to pretend he’d heard nothing. At least until the Red Hood properly revealed himself. All the guides on ‘how to deal with easily-spooked strays’ agreed that staying still, staying relaxed, and waiting for them to approach you on their own terms, proved to be the best tactics for gaining a stray’s trust. It also helped to entice them with food, and provide plenty of exit routes in case things went wrong—not that Dick expected for things to go wrong.

Quite the contrary. He refused to fuck things up this time around; who knew how much longer the Shadows would be in Gotham? If they hadn’t left already. It could very well be his last chance to get things right.

After a moment of consideration, the Red Hood slowly knelt down next to Dick. He perused the feast of snacks on display, he adjusted the sword on his back to make sitting easier, and he even unlatched the red mouth guard to take a sip of one of the drinks; Dick had multiple kinds to choose from since he’d talked himself out of getting alcohol at the last minute, which resulted in him grabbing everything left in the fridge nearest the checkout when the cashier rung him up. Trying to please a date was stressful work when you didn’t even know their name.

“I see you got my message,” Dick casually observed. Keep it cool. Keep it cool. “Thank you for coming.”

The Red Hood said nothing. He rolled his shoulders and coughed, rubbing a hand across his chest, instead. “I shouldn’t have…”

Oh. Right.

“Ye-yeah, it is a little unorthodox—” Dick tried to recover from the devastating blow. He’d yearned to hear the Red Hood speak for so long, but he’d failed to take into account what he might end up saying.

He had a mesmerizing voice, though.

“I mean…Talia, she….I was supposed to…” His voice was hoarse as he tried to explain something he didn’t seem allowed to confess. “Tonight we were…I’m the secret–”

“The Secret? Wait, I thought the Shadows were done with Gotham.” Dick’s confusion was palpable. Was something big happening? Something bad? Did the others need him—?

The Red Hood shook his head. “I…I’ve said too much—”

He started to stand up again, even with a pile of snacks in his arms that he’d somehow accumulated during the span of their short conversation. How did he…?

“WAIT! Wait, please don’t go! We don’t…we don’t have to talk about them,” Dick pleaded, bargained. This couldn’t end so quickly; he’d just arrived! “Please…at least finish your snacks…”

He couldn’t explain it, but Dick had this unrelenting feeling that he might never see the Red Hood again, once he left that rooftop—a fate he was determined to avoid by any means necessary.

As they lingered in the limbo of indecision, an MC down below wired up a microphone to begin Halloween karaoke, causing audio whines to suddenly ring out for all to hear. The obnoxious noise, while unwanted by everyone within a two block radius of the park, actually helped to fill the gaping silence between them. The only way to make it go away was for one of them to say something.

“Please stay,” he whispered. Please stay. Please stay.

Eventually, the Red Hood hesitantly sat on the roof edge once again. His eyes seemed to catch on the gargoyle which loomed over them, as if he wanted to draw strength from its monstrous form, before nodding to Dick. He would stay.

What a relief.

“I mean, all that swinging around the city can’t be good for your chest, right?” Very smooth. “How is your chest, by the way?” Other than delectably firm and perfect for cuddling against—FOCUS, GRAYSON. You almost just lost him.

“I’m fine…been through worse.”

Dick’s breath caught in his throat. Of course. The scars. A stone of regret settled deep in his gut as horny thoughts were chased away by the image of Jason in his tattered Robin uniform.

“I imagine so…”

A beat of heavy sorrow quickly suffocated the embers of the conversation he’d just reignited. Unfortunately, the dead often had that effect. The haunting memories from that day left deep scars—wounds that still ached, even years later—which sometimes caused Dick to avert his eyes when he saw a child running around as Robin for Halloween. They didn’t know what happened to Jason…none of them really knew…

Too lost in the past, Dick nearly missed the way the Red Hood gently reached for Dick’s recovering shoulder until he felt the graze of fingers near his spine. It was like he’d been shocked back into himself—back into the present. He’d forgotten how much he missed the Red Hood’s electrifying touch; like his very nerve endings yearned to be caressed by him.

“Did she…” The Red Hood cleared his throat and pulled his hovering hand away. “Are you alright?”

So he was at Dr. Thompkins’ clinic. The slip up brought a smile back to Dick’s face.

“Yeah, I’m good for patrol again. Can’t keep the circus boy down!” Wait. He shouldn’t have said that. The Red Hood may have known his last name, but that didn’t mean he—

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “The most amazing thing I’d ever…” The Red Hood trailed off with a painful grunt, clutching the side of his head. Why did that keep happening to him? Did he have a mental block or something? Why couldn’t he speak openly?

The whiplash of finally seeing the Red Hood’s smile at the expense of him being in pain right after, had Dick’s stomach fluttering and churning at the same time. Something was definitely wrong with him.

“What’s the matter? Is it your head?”

The Red Hood turned away. “Memories…I don’t…I can’t…nothing makes sense…” he lamented, nearly doubling over from the pain.

Memories? What couldn’t he remember?

Something was definitely wrong.

Inching closer, Dick reached around to cup his cheek and pull his face back towards him. “Hey, you can tell me,” he soothed. The Red Hood seemed torn between leaning the weight of his woes against Dick’s hand and running away so they’d stay buried forever—Dick pressed on regardless. “Let me help you…”

The Red Hood sighed deeply and let his shoulders drop. Even through the mask, Dick could tell that his eyes were closed. He needed help, and Dick wanted to be the one to do it. But he had to ask. He promised Dr. Thompkins that he’d ask. Bruce would never believe him if he didn’t try to ask—

“Little Wing…Jason…is it really you?”

He jerked his face away. “Who?”

The world seemed to grind to a halt. “What do you mean, who? Jason!”

“I don’t…”

“You can’t tell me it was all coincidence—”

“I don’t know—”

“—you showing up, looking the way that you do, visiting all of those places around the city that only Jason would go to—”

The Red Hood stumbled away in a panic, shaking his head the more Dick talked.

“—it’s the only logical conclusion! Unless you’re his clone, which would be cruel, even for the Shadows, but not the first time something like that had happened in this community. But, still! I saw the scars! There’s no way—”

Cutting himself off, Dick’s spiral of confusion morphed into a wave of fear. He was fucking things up again. Like always. He needed to calm down, take a deep breath, and start over, if he wanted to salvage their disaster of a conversation. The Red Hood was already half-way off the roof, ready to disappear for good if Dick didn’t find a way to stop him, and fast. GET IT TOGETHER, GRAYSON.

Memories…

He’d said something about memories…

Maybe Dick could go back to the start.

Who was Jason? Who was Jason?

“Jason was…Jason was Robin, years and years ago.” His desperate outburst caught the Red Hood off-guard. He didn’t turn back to look at Dick, he didn’t even step away from the roof edge, but he didn’t leave. So Dick kept going,

“I’d left to be my own hero, and Batman found this twig of a boy digging for scraps and scavenging car parts for money. He saw something in him, something that reminded him of himself and of me, and he decided to make him his partner in the field. Jason was loud, bright, and capable of charming his way out of anything, even when he pissed you off. A quick study, a skilled fighter, an intuitive detective—Jason had it all. He was so full of potential and hope for the future…he really was the best of us. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret pushing him away…” Dick felt tears burn his eyes. “Especially since I know he—“

He couldn’t say it, even after all this time. The way Jason had looked at Dick, the way he flirted and teased and always sought his approval; Dick knew what that was. He’d always known, in his heart. And now…

The Red Hood took Dick’s face in his hands to wipe away the tears. When had he gotten so close? His limbs felt weak with guilt and regret; his limbs felt strong with desperation and want. Snaking his arms towards the Red Hood’s face, Dick finished their embrace and toyed with the edges of his mask.

“Why are you here?” Dick whispered. “Why me? Of all the vigilantes in Gotham, why did you reveal yourself to me?”

His hands slid away from Dick’s face, he took a step back, but Dick kept with him. He refused to let go now that he was so close to the truth. They side-stepped across the roof together in an awkward dance until the Red Hood’s hands finally wrapped around Dick’s waist to keep him in place, Dick caressing his flushed cheeks in return. Their faces were mere inches from each other, sharing unsteady breaths and rapid heartbeats like they’d become one person, one entity—one Robin, as corny as that sentiment sounded.

“Please…”

The Red Hood stopped him from removing the mask, but the fingers wrapped around his wrist shook with fear. It was a lot to ask—Dick knew that—but it was the only way to move forward. Otherwise, they’d forever be trapped in this ghostly chase of past and present; Dick would be cursed to lose him over and over and over again.

Leaning his forehead against the Red Hood’s, Dick exhaled, “I just want to know you…” He nudged their noses together, their lips together. “Please, let me know you…”

The Red Hood trembled. He gasped, he froze—he let Dick finally kiss him.

It was everything he remembered, and more. The gentle warmth, the clumsy passion, and the too-quick ending. But he had to. He had to. There was one final barrier between them, and it needed to come down.

Pulling back, Dick tapped the mask again and waited. He didn’t even care, anymore, what the Red Hood’s name was; he didn’t care if he was Jason or a clone or an imposter or a supernatural entity—he just wanted to see his eyes, to know if he felt as overwhelmed by this as Dick did.

Nodding his consent, the Red Hood remained pliable while Dick eased the mask off and threw it away.

Oh. There they were. The same eyes in the same face that Dick had been missing for five years. He’d been right all along. The Red Hood really was—

“Jason,” Dick smiled wide.

Giddy laughter bubbled inside of him as he rubbed his thumbs up and down his cheeks. It’d been so long since they’d been face to face like this—too long, in fact. So Dick made a vow, while standing on that rooftop holding that beautiful man, that he would never let anything as cruel as that happen again. He’d done his time, served his sentence, accepted the punishment, for how he treated Jason all those years ago; things would be different now that he was back. Now that he was home.

Jason was home. Jason was alive.

Even with the blurry vision from his tears, Dick could see the way Jason blinked through the confusion and pain, trying to keep himself in the moment. It must’ve been torture to feel absolutely certain that you knew someone, but to have no concrete evidence in your mind to confirm it.

“Dick, I…” Jason started to speak but Dick impulsively pressed forward to kiss his name off of his lips. What an amazing sound! He thought he’d never get to hear Jason say his name again. It really was him. It really was him!

Before he could deepen their kiss, before Jason could properly gather Dick in his arms, a sudden roar of cheers erupted down below, startling them apart. What the—

Stepping towards the edge nearest the park—he was still on duty, despite everything that had happened—Dick rolled his eyes to see Batman pass over the excited party-goers in a dramatic show of power. Of course. He always had to make at least one public appearance during Halloween to appease the rowdy civilians. What Dick didn’t expect, however, was for Bruce to change directions and swing right towards him, Jason, and his emotionally charged rooftop date. Talk about a mood killer.

Jason!

Dick swiveled around with a plan already half-formed for how to sneak Jason away without alerting Bruce. He was ready to insist that he hide in his safehouse for the time being—maybe eventually pick up where they left off—and avoid revealing his identity to the Big Bad Bat a little while longer, but there was no one there. Jason had disappeared, masks and all, like he’d never even been there to begin with. Just…gone. Vanished.

Like a ghost.

The creeping tendrils of doubt began to crawl up Dick’s spine as he gathered up the snacks and drinks—all the ones that Jason had touched were gone, too. What was happening? He was just there…wasn’t he? How could he have lost Jason again so quickly?! Dick’s mind could conjure up a lot of cruel and fantastic things, but nothing so…nothing so…

Bruce landed behind him with a tense grunt. He hadn’t seen anything, right? He couldn’t have…if there had been anything to see…

“Nightwing, can we talk?” His voice seemed more bitter than usual. Gruffer. Angrier. Did he know…?

“Uh, sure, B. Sure. What’s up?”

He folded his arms tight against his chest, pouted a genuine Bat Pout that almost made Dick do a double-take, and huffed, “You were right…about Talia, I mean.”

Dick pursed his lips. Damn if he didn’t wish he was a little more wrong sometimes.

Gotham General Hospital
November 2nd 12:15 EST

“So get this! He apologizes to me for being such an ass about his secret dates with Talia—”

“Your words, not his–I’m assuming?” Barbara smirked from her place on the hospital bed. She’d been doing physical therapy before Dick arrived, and the workout seemed to energize her more than anything. He hadn’t seen her so lively in weeks.

He also hadn’t visited in an embarrassingly long time.

“Of course! Bruce could never be as eloquent as me.”

She giggled and waved for him to continue his dramatic reenactment of Bruce’s awkward apology from Halloween. The one that ruined Dick’s night—

He told himself he wasn’t going to think about him. Stay in the moment, Grayson.

“—and then he goes on and on about how she’d played him from the beginning; lying about why the Shadows were in Gotham, isolating him from the rest of us, using his skills and equipment—

Her smirk widened. “Skills and equipment, huh?”

Dick cringed from his spot on her bed. “Don’t be gross, Babs.” The chair had felt too formal, too clinical, and way too far away for the purpose of their overdue meeting.

“I’m just clarifying your story! Please—go on.”

He rolled his eyes. “Bruce basically admitted that he finally realized what she was doing and put an end to it, even though we all knew what was happening because it happens every time she sets foot in Gotham—I tried to tell him two weeks ago!”

Barbara nodded sympathetically. “And all this came from his conversation with Tim?”

“No! The idiot didn’t see reason until Talia betrayed him!” Dick shouted louder than was strictly necessary, but they were in a private wing—courtesy of the Wayne estate—and it didn’t matter how many people overheard about Bruce’s endless stupidity. In Dick’s opinion, not enough people ever heard about Bruce’s fuck-ups because he was usually so good at hiding them—even the monumental ones. This, though, was textbook thinking with your…heart…instead of your head. “They did find the Pit, even if Bruce wouldn’t say where, and she tried to convince him—”

“Seduce him, more likely,” Barbara interrupted.

“Will you get your mind out of the gutter?!” She was in a surprisingly saucy mood.

“Come on,” she laughed at him. “Let a girl live a little! It’s not like I’ll be doing much of that any time soon, anyway…” she finished with a self-deprecating smile. It’d been a long couple of months since her accident, and no matter what surgeries they tried or which experimental tech they used, the results were always the same—Barbara’s paralysis was permanent.

She’d taken it all in stride, for the most part; sometimes Dick caught glimpses of the pain hiding underneath her witty facade, and it made his heart break for her. He really needed to visit more often. She’d always been a friend, a confidant, a shoulder to lean on when life was putting Dick through the ringer—now was his time to reciprocate.

“Babs…”

Her sad eyes narrowed. “Shut up and keep going, I wanna know what happened.” Don’t pity me or else, was left unsaid.

So Dick obliged. “...he claimed that Talia wanted them to exploit the Pit’s resources together, rather than let her father take control of it. The way he said it all, made it seem like she was putting feelers out for a coup.”

She perked up. “A coup? In the League of Shadows? Now that is drama.”

“Anyway, he finally told her off, and their fight—”

“Was full of charged intimacy and tragic romance?”

“—their fight ended up destroying the cavern, making the Pit unusable—or so he claims.” Dick shrugged.

It wasn’t until after his conversation with Bruce that Dick realized that the fight over the Lazarus Pit must’ve been what he was talking about at the start of their—

Well, he certainly was a “Secret,” all right. And knowing Talia—how she liked to use knives as gifts—then he would’ve made a hell of a “Secret Weapon” in that fight too, had Dick not asked him on that—

Stop thinking about him!

She tilted her head. “You don’t believe Bruce?”

Dick forgot sometimes how new she, Kate, Tim, and Stephanie were to the vigilante life; they all had such vigour, such active intrigue, such black & white views of the world and the heroes who worked to protect it. Only experience would soften that, harden them, as much as Dick wished it wouldn’t.

“Do you ever fully believe Bruce?”

“Fair point…” Barbara was already starting to feel its effects; Dick could tell her faith in Bruce wasn’t as strong as it used to be.

They all went through it, though, one way or another. Blind hero-worship and awe gets knocked down by what feels like betrayal in the moment but, in truth, is just reality, allowing you to see that Bruce is just a man—flawed, virtuous, good, bad—trying to make a difference. It was as inspiring as it was cruel to endure such a rude awakening, but everyone went through it eventually.

In some ways, Dick’s came when Jason arrived.

NO. No thinking about him. Dick refused to—

“The worst part was that I could tell that he still had feelings for her! Like it’d all been some big mistake; that she didn’t mean to hurt him, it just happened because she lost her senses and ran instead of staying and letting him help her see reason. He wasn’t angry or upset about being jerked around all month long like any normal person would be! He was just…” Great job not thinking about him, Grayson. “He was just sad…”

Dick frowned down at his hands to avoid looking in Barbara’s eyes. If he looked, he knew she would be able to pick apart the secrets that yearned to be unleashed, and he just couldn’t do that to her. This was his mess to deal with, and he would deal with it. “Devastated, actually.” Deal with it like a champ. “It was rather pathetic, to be honest.”

“I see…” Her voice trailed off as she watched him fidget. She knew. Or she suspected. The lingering pause seemed too purposeful, as if he would just spill his guts if she waited long enough, but Dick wasn’t some sixteen year-old hot head anymore ready to burst with repressed emotions at the slightest nudge.

He was a twenty year-old hot head ready to burst with repressed emotions, thank you very much.

She decided to let it go. “I do have one question though?” For now, anyway.

“Just one?”

“Why did she do any of it?”

That took Dick off guard.

“What do you mean?”

She bit her lip in the tell-tale sign that she was about to say something incredibly intuitive. “Well, if the Shadows wanted to punish Dent, Crane, and Cobblepot for messing with a Pit, then why turn them into the GCPD? And why the no-kill take-downs? It just seems like a lot of extra work.”

Huh. Dick had been so caught up in—

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him.

That he didn’t really take time to investigate further why the Shadows would bother pretending to be vigilantes while operating in Gotham. It didn’t make sense when he’d encountered them at the warehouse doing it, and it still didn’t make sense now.

“I guess…I don’t really know.”

“And Bruce, why alert him to the presence of any Pits in Gotham at all? She could’ve just made up something else to distract him that didn’t risk blowing open their entire operation,” she pointed out.

Dick nodded along with every word she said. He’d been wondering the same thing. God, he missed working with Barbara in the field.

“Maybe she just wanted to add some spice to their relationship, keep him on his toes,” he joked.

“I think it does have something to do with their relationship, though! It was like she was showing off what they could do together if he decided to work with her as head of the Shadows; a courtship, to put it in dating terms.” She finished with a triumphant clap before leaning back against her stack of pillows, arms crossed as a smug took over her face. Barbara only got that way when she thought she’d solved a mystery others hadn’t even thought to investigate yet.

It made his heart sing to know that she was still capable of looking like that.

“A courtship? So she was seducing Bruce? With the Shadows?” Only Bruce could be seduced by righteous justice and a compelling mystery.

She shrugged. “It would explain a few things…”

“Well, if that’s the case, then let’s just hope they used protection!” Dick teased just to see her smile again.

“Now who has their mind in the gutter?” It worked. Barbara nearly doubled over with laughter, so Dick kept going.

“I’m just saying—can you imagine a Baby Bat running around Gotham City? One with the genes of both Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul?”

She slapped him on the arm before settling down again. “Sounds like that child would rule the world.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Dick agreed. He had no doubt that such an unfathomable creation would change the very foundation of Gotham as they knew it, if they ever existed.

Thank goodness Bruce Wayne wasn’t a wild bachelor, despite what the tabloids said. He’d never be so careless.

Probably.

“Speaking of babies…” Barbara nudged Dick with her hand. “Have you heard from Artemis, Will, and Lian lately?”

He felt his face flush with shame before he could hide it. “Uh, no, actually. I’ve been meaning to check in with them…” Big fat liar.

Dick hadn’t even thought about them in weeks. The last he heard of Will, he was starting a new business—Dick couldn’t remember what it was for exactly, but it had something to do with protection—while Artemis apparently had been excelling in her studies and was considering even higher education after she finished her degree.

As for Lian, based on the pictures they shared in the team group chats of her wild adventures, she’d seemed to have grown twice as big in half the time; Dick really needed to offer his babysitting services so he could hang out with his favorite little troublemaker again. It’d been too long…

Wally would be so disappointed in him.

“How about Kaldur? Conner? M’gann? Come on, give me the gossip! I’ve been so out of the loop lately…” Barbara’s enthusiasm started to wane as Dick looked more and more sheepish. He was such a terrible friend.

He never should’ve let that man—

For the last time, Grayson, stop thinking about Jason!

That ghost had distracted him for far longer than was sensible. Dick dropped the ball in every part of his life because of his obsession with the Red Hood—with Jason—and what did he have to show for it? A broken heart, a bruised ego, and an empty safehouse.

Even his Robin hallucination had disappeared for good, it seemed.

“To be honest, I haven’t really heard from anyone since I left…” Dick finally admitted. “There’s been a lot going on here.” What a lazy excuse, anyone could see right through it.

She took a beat to think and observe him; every twitch and bead of sweat felt magnified when Barbara looked at him like a case needing to be solved. Oh no. She was going to ask. Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

“Did something else happen?”

Damnit. She asked.

“Hmm?” It all still felt too fresh; speaking about what happened would leave a bitter taste in Dick’s mouth, and he wasn’t ready to deal with that. A part of him still clung a little too tightly to the sweet moments they’d shared, despite how it ended, and he wasn’t ready to taint them by admitting it wasn’t enough. That none of it had been enough to make him stay. That Dick wasn’t enough.

“You seem bothered by something, Dick. Is everything okay?” Her gentle eyes seemed to plead with him to open up, to lean on her like he used to, but he just…couldn’t. Not with this one thing. Not yet, anyway.

So he deflected, instead. “I’m fine! Don’t worry about me! Besides, it seems like you’ve had a lot of juicy drama go on while I’ve been away. Is that ex-Shadow girl still here?”

“If you’re sure…” She didn’t want to let him off that easily, he could tell. Unfortunately, it was a battle of wills that Dick knew he would win because he never usually put so much effort into avoiding a subject when talking with Barbara. She knew a lost cause when she saw one. “Yeah, Cass is still around. I think Stephanie is finally about to convince her to officially join us.”

“Oh really? That seems fast.”

She adjusted her position on the bed and sighed. “Cass really is something special. Her life has been hard, from what little she’s revealed to us, and I can’t imagine dealing with such brutality every day and still maintaining your humanity.”

Dick looked up at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

“She was trained from birth to kill, to use her body as a weapon, but it isn’t who she really is at heart. Did you know that she’s spent every single day with me trying to atone for what happened? I didn’t realize it at first—she’s very good at staying hidden when she doesn’t want to be found—but she never really left. I think it took a lot for her to break free of the Shadows’ influence.”

He felt his chest flutter with an emotion he didn’t want to name just yet. It was a different situation. There was no point in assuming he would…or could…

“She was so full of regret and shame, but eventually we got her to look past that and see the good in herself, too. She didn’t quite understand why I forgave her so quickly, she still doesn’t, and sometimes I wonder about it too…” Barbara softly touched the blanket which covered her legs. “It just seemed like the right thing to do. She needed us…and I have this feeling that we need her just as much. That’s all that really matters in the end.”

Dick looked away to gather himself while she wiped her eyes. What if she was right? What if it just took time to break away from something so manipulative as the League of Shadows? Memory loss was no small thing, and the pain of remembering could be unbearable, overwhelming, frightening—lonely. Maybe he hadn’t left the city, after all. Maybe Dick had given up too quickly. Maybe he could take matters into his own hands and track Jason down himself.

Maybe there was still hope.

“Sounds like I should meet her, one of these days.” Dick cleared his throat to hide the rise in emotions her story inspired.

“I think you should,” she sniffed.

They basked in the peaceful moment full of unspoken confessions for a few minutes longer before Dick teased her into finishing her stories about the highs and lows of hospital life. Whatever he decided to do about Jason could wait; there was time enough later for contemplating complicated problems of the heart.

Even if the familiar silhouette of a red-hooded ghost just happened to swing past the window as they talked.