Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

So often we dance on the needle’s edge,

walking that line between the dark and light.

Shrouded in the penumbra of death and life,

but never passing over.

It's onerous to go, when you call for me to stay. 

But I’m so close.  Almost, nearly.

Dick watched it happen as if in slow motion. One second Bruce was standing there looking at him and the next he was running. Dick didn’t know what had changed.  But there was something in Bruce’s eyes as he moved, that told Dick something was wrong.  Dick turned, peeling his gaze away from Bruce and to the street around him.  

It was raining.  Dick could see the little splatters of water as they hit the ground and ricocheted up from the earth they hit.  

The cars driving past were making skidding and squealing sounds and there was a drill somewhere in the distance breaking through concrete.  Dick wondered what they were building.  Gotham was always building and tearing down.  But nothing, nothing explained the look on Bruce’s face.  

Dick felt the force of it before the pain.  It was like being hit in the chest by a fist going hundreds of miles per hour.  He felt his chest give under the pressure and something-- a lot of things break.  

Dick looked down to see the slosh of red over his front.  He blinked.  The momentum pushed him back and he fell, still not sure what had gone wrong.  

It looked like someone had hit him with a balloon of red paint.  Dick reached back as he felt to try and catch himself.  His arm didn’t move the way he wanted it to.  His back hit the ground first and he finally felt the pain. Breath whooshed out of him in a gasp of blood and bile.  

The first scream reached his ears.  

He wanted to look around and tell them it was fine.  That he was okay.  That it was just some silly paint.  But another part of him was screaming to say that they needed to get down.  The words formed in his mind too late, his head smacked the pavement hard and he saw nothing but black.  

Dick blinked several times fighting both the agony in his chest and the blinding pain in his skull.  He wanted to tell whoever was screaming to run and take cover.  There was a sniper.  He needed-- he needed to move--to find out where they were.  Dick tried to sit up and found his neck unable to hold him.  He fell back against the ground again.  His breathe came out in puffs.  Blood splattered his face as he fought to get air.  Something hot and sticky was in his mouth.  It tasted terrible.  It was-- Dick closed his eyes just for a moment.  He-- he was cold .  

His fingers felt numb and his toes wouldn’t even move.

“Dick!”  

Dick’s eyes flew open as if on command.  He knew that voice.  He didn’t know why but it felt important to answer.  

“No!  Don’t move.  Stay still.  I’m right here.  Just stay still.”  The voice shouted back as Dick tried to sit up. The voice sounded far away.  Dick had a strange wish to go to it.  To crawl-- if he must-- to reach it.

“Dick, don’t move.” the voice called again.  This time it was almost a growl, but Dick didn’t worry about the sudden change in tone.    

He sank back to the ground.  Something about the voice was familiar, it made him feel warm.  Oh how he wanted to be warm.  It was so cold. Why was it cold? 

Something was hitting him.  Dick blinked once, twice and then a third time.  Water fell into his eyes.  It was... raining.  Had it always been raining?  

Dick turned his head to look at the ground.  Something ran down his face and mixed with the rain on the gray pavement beside him.  It was a ruddy pink.  Dick wasn’t sure but he didn’t think rain should be pink.  He frowned.  The liquid was hot and sticky.  He opened his mouth to ask the voice what it was, but something moved wrong inside him.  Dick choked on the words and a horrid cough rattled in his chest and lungs.  The pain blinding.  

Dick suddenly found that he wanted the voice to be closer.  He didn’t want to lay there and wait.  It hurt.  He hurt and was cold.  Dick reached out as if he could make the voice appear by pulling it from the air.

His hand closed on something briefly. 

“I’m here.  I’m here.  Just-- oh Go--” 

Dick felt sick as something pushed on his chest. His hand closed on empty air once more as the voice let him go.  He screamed but no sound came out.  The voice was back but-- it hurt.  Why was it hurting?  The voice had sounded so warm, so safe.  But all Dick felt now was cold and pain.  

“You’re okay.  Dick, look at me please.”  The voice sobbed.  

Dick didn’t like that.  He didn’t like the sound of it crying. He wanted to reach up and grab it again.  To tell it, it was okay.  But only the crimson liquid came out and a gurgling sound.  

“Chum.  Please-- Please stay.  Don’t leave.  I-- I need you.”

Dick fought to keep his eyes open.  There was something there.  The voice had a form.  The silhouette kept the rain back from his face, but Dick couldn’t bring it into focus.  It danced and moved like a desert mirage.  It was as if it was there one moment and gone the next.  

There was so much sound, so much noise, but it all felt faded and muffled.  Dick reached up to pull at his ears.  Maybe the voice had put cotton in them.  They had been ringing earlier.  Why though? He thought.  He couldn’t remember why he was laying down or why he hurt.

Something wet and hot fell on his face.  Dick started.  The voice was so distant now. He wasn’t sure what was happening. His hand floundered for a moment but then it found its mark.  The figure over him shook as he touched it’s face.  It was wet, a mix of cold, icy rain, and hot tears.  Dick didn’t like the voice crying, but he couldn’t remember why, and he couldn’t get the words out to ask.  His arm grew heavy and trembled.  

It was asking him to stay. Dick wondered for a brief moment, where he was going.  He wasn’t moving-- was he?

Dick’s arm grew weak and fell.  He didn’t hear the sirens or the voice scream.  He didn’t hear the paramedics shouting, or the sound of other voices fighting to pull his voice away.  For that’s what it was.  He decided as the world faded into nothing around him, the voice was his.  He wasn’t sure how but it was, in some way.  That voice meant something to him.  But he couldn’t hear it anymore.  It had left him.  Or perhaps he had left it.  He wanted to tell the voice something. He wanted to thank it for keeping him warm, but it had vanished.  Instead he was cold and lost in the darkness, drifting. 

Bruce stood pacing in the hallway.  Nurses glanced at him with looks of equal pity and fear.  He glanced down at himself and not for the first time shuttered.  He was soaked.  The rain outside blew in sheets against the glass of the hospital windows.  But the water that made his suit drip on the cheap tiles of carpet in the hall wasn’t what made him look so savage.  No  it was the blood of his--

Bruce closed his eyes as a wave of nausea hit him.  He had been so close.  Dick had only been twenty yards away from him and he was still too late.  He could still see the red dot on his chest, the look of confusion on Dick’s face as he fell.  He hadn’t understood.  Bruce felt his nails dig into the palm of his hands.  The pain was almost enough to clear his mind.  He unfurled his fingers after a moment and forced his eyes back open.  

Pacing wasn’t helping but he knew that sitting would be worse.  So he beat a pattern of footprints into the carpet.  If he stopped, he would think more. He wished for nothing more than his brain to stop.  

No.  That wasn’t right.  He wished he could trade places with Dick.  He wished he could make him better.  Bruce didn’t consider himself a religious man.  He had spent too long in the dark to walk a path of light, but he found himself praying.  I will give anything.  Just don’t take him . 

“Sir?”  

Bruce had never moved faster.  He spun on his heel, water droplets dirtied by blood flew from his suit coat as he did.  

A nurse stood several feet from him in pink scrubs. 

“Yes.  How is he?”  The words rushed out of his mouth in a single breath.  

“Still in surgery.  We-- we were wondering if you and your son would like to wait in--”

The words were both devastating and the best news he had ever heard.  Dick was still live if he was still in surgery.  He was still fighting.  But that meant he was still far from safe.  

Bruce melted slightly, his body was a wire, taught and tense, but it was like he had been loosened ever so slightly.  Then the words sank in.  “I’m sorry my-- my son?”  

“Yes he-- Did you not see him?”  The nurse looked around, suddenly puzzled.  

“What do you mean?”  Bruce felt panic climbing up his throat. What else could go wrong?  Was Tim hurt too?  He was at WE that morning as well. Bruce should have thought-- Had the Sniper taken another shot?  Was he too here injured and at the door of death?  

“He was just here.”  The nurse frowned as she spun.  “Oh.”

Bruce felt his heart sputter as his eyes landed not on Tim but on his youngest.  Damian was standing by the doors leading to the operation room.  Bruce knew he couldn’t see Dick from there-- He had looked himself.  Bruce started forward and then froze.  He looked down at himself and shuttered.  Damian knew Bruce was there and hadn’t come over to him. 

Bruce knew why.  He wouldn’t want to look at him either.  He turned to the nurse.  “I-- Do you have something I can…” His voice broke and he found tears building behind his eyes.  

“I’ll get you a pair of scrubs.” She turned and moved down the hall quickly. 

Bruce turned back towards the white doors, and Damian.  He wasn’t looking at Bruce. Bruce wanted so badly to hide. He wanted Damian to never see… He likely already had, but Bruce couldn’t go nearer.  He reached in his pocket for the third time to get his phone that day.  He had called for an ambulance and called Jason.  He still wasn’t sure what made him call his second eldest, but his fingers had dialed without thought.  

Jason wouldn’t stop hunting whoever shot Dick and he would tell the others.  Bruce’s hand shook as he pulled up his contact list.  He had needed someone who would be just as ready to hunt down Dick’s kill-- would be killer.   He had called Jason because he would do what Bruce wasn’t able to.  

It wasn’t fair.  Bruce knew that. But had he asked for Jason to come to the hospital, he would have refused.  Jason didn’t do the whole vigil thing. He wouldn’t let himself look vulnerable in front of Bruce-- not anymore. Jason might not show it, but he loved his brother.

Tim and Damian might have that title in name, but Jason had never really known them as such.  Dick was an odd linchpin.  One that Bruce feared to lose would be their undoing.  

They all would have hunted the sniper but, Tim was tied up at WE and Damian… Bruce looked up from the phone to look at the twelve year old just meters away.  He was so small.  

Bruce hit Alfred’s number and put the phone to his ear.  

“Sir?”

“Al.” Bruce’s voice broke over his name.  He had tried to be calm when he called Jason.  But Alfred...  “I-- I don’t.”

“I know.  I’m just parking. Master Damian didn’t want to wait for me to find a spot.”

Bruce exhaled.  So Damian hadn’t shown up alone.  Alfred was here.  “I’m a mess.”  

Alfred sighed.  “I’m afraid I’ll have to go back and--”

“No! I don’t mean.”  Bruce clenched his fist again letting his nails dig into his flesh.  “A nurse is getting me something to change into.  I just.  Damian doesn’t--  I can’t.  Not like this.” 

“Oh, sir.”  Alfred’s voice wobbled.  “I-- Master Jason didn’t say how bad.”

Bruce felt a sob build in his throat and found he couldn’t hold it back.  He leaned against the wall, pressing his hand over his mouth.  He could still see the paramedics reviving Dick on the scene.  He could still hear the sounds of Dick choking on his blood.  He could still smell the rain washing the blood into the storm drain. 

Alfred was softly speaking over the phone to him but the words were lost in Bruce’s muffled sobs.  He pressed on his mouth harder.  Damian didn’t turn but his back was ridged. Bruce fought to control the tears.  He squeezed his fist tighter.  Anything to make his mind focus on anything but the memory of life fading from Dick’s eyes.  

“Mr. Wayne.” The nurse sank down next to him.  

When had he sat on the floor?  He couldn’t remember.  

“I have some scrubs for you.  I’ll stay with your son while you clean up.”  She handed him some towels and a pair of light blue scrubs.  

She sat there with him as he fought to force his breath into an even pattern and rather gently pulled him to his feet.  

“Thank you.”  He mumbled as she ushered him into the nurses’ bathroom.  

The light flicked to life as he stepped inside.  He caught sight of himself in the mirror and gagged.  He rushed forward and bent over the toilet quickly.  His stomach was empty, he realized.

Lunch .  They were supposed to get lunch.  

He made his way to the sink keeping his eyes on the wall rather than his reflection.  He peeled wet layer after we layer off and piled it in the sink.  He turned on the faucet and let the water run over the likely ruined clothing.  Quickly he stuck one of the towels under the water and let it soak the fabric.  He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw and red.  

Bruce dropped the now ruddy towel on the floor and ran the dry one over himself, before pulling on the scrubs.  

The nurse was still with Damian when he emerged.  She was standing rather awkwardly as if unsure what to do.  Bruce wondered if Damian had lashed out in his fear.  However, the look on her face when she spotted Bruce wasn’t one of relief.  It was one of pity.  He sped up. 

Damian was looking at the door with glassy eyes.  They were red and puffy, but no tears fell.  

“Damian? He asked.  

Damian stiffened but didn’t turn.  

Bruce swallowed hard.  “Thank you.” He said to the nurse. She smiled sadly and slipped away.  

Bruce closed the distance between him and his youngest.  Damian was tense as a piano wire when Bruce pulled him to his chest.  Bruce didn’t let go.  He knew his son didn’t often allow for physical affection, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want and need it.  

“I’ve got you.  You can-- you can let go.  I’m right here.”  

Damian didn’t seem to even breath.  Bruce wondered if he had said the wrong thing.  Had it been Jason or Tim he would have muttered promises he knew he couldn’t keep.  He would have whispered reassurances that Dick would be fine and that they would all go home soon.  But Damian wouldn’t thank him for lies and half truths-- Not when Bruce didn’t know.

After a long moment Bruce realized his borrowed top was wet.  Damian had let his tears finally fall.  

Bruce stood there for what felt an eternity just slowly swaying with his son held to his chest.  They didn’t move until a light hand fell on Bruce’s shoulder.  Bruce turned slightly, loath to let go of Damian.  

Alfred looked ashen in the fluorescent light.  Bruce reached out with one hand to cover the butler’s, still on his shoulder.  

“Tim called.” Alfred said slowly.  He was eyeing Bruce  nervously, as if waiting for him to break.  Bruce knew he didn’t have the luxury of breaking.  Not again.  

“Where is he? How is he?”

“He’s upset of course.  Mr. Fox is with him and the police.”

“I.  I need to--”  Bruce’s mind was spinning.  The police.  He needed to give a statement.  He needed to go get Tim, he needed-- 

“Mr. Fox will bring him here after the police say it’s safe for him to leave the building.”

Bruce let go of Damian in shock.  The boy pulled back as well, looking more afraid.  

“Drake is in danger?”  He asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“Oh.  No. No.  I’m so sorry.” Alfred’s eyes widened as he realized both Bruce and Damian had thought the worst-- that the sniper was now after Tim.  “I meant there are road blocks everywhere and the city building is still locked down.” 

“So…” Damian asked nervously. “Drake is fine?” 

“Yes.  Very worried and shaken, but he is just fine.”  Alfred promised.  

Bruce sighed.  He wanted the day to be over.  Or better yet for it to have never happened.  He glanced at the doors.  No one came through with news.  Damian swayed slightly bumping into him.  Bruce felt his already aching heart give a painful squeeze.  “Lets go sit down, huh?”

Dick woke slowly as if he were shaking off layers of cobwebs.  The room was both rather cold and warm all at once.  His body felt somehow detached from his mind, as if he were floating above it somehow.  

He didn’t remember opening his eyes but there was the ceiling.  The popcorn coating was yellowing.  It looked as if it hadn’t been repainted in years.  He blinked, and let his eyes fall lower.  The room had a rather modern wallpaper.  It was a weave of blues and grays.  A small television was mounted in the corner but wasn’t powered on.  He slowly turned his head, it felt heavy and stiff.  He wondered how long he had been here.  

A small boy sat curled on a cheap pleather armchair, his knees tucked against his chest and his head lolling slightly.  Dick smiled.  Damian had drool on his chin.   

He opened his mouth to call out for him but found it dry and painful.  He winced and settled for just looking at him.  Damian was wearing his sweatshirt, he realized.  His hands were tucked inside of the too long sleeves, and folded over the tops of his knees.  A phone lay wedged between his leg and the arm of the chair.  Dick, turned his head further.  He hoped Damian wasn’t  here alone.  Bruce wouldn’t do that-- He didn’t think.  Perhaps it was an emergency.  Perhaps Batman was needed and Tim and Alfred were unavailable. 

The window was closed and the curtains drawn.  Dick wondered if it were late or early.  Batman would have wanted the blinds open incase he needed to stop by during patrol.  

Dick reached for the remote on the arm of his bed. The IV line tugged and he hissed in pain.  Dick hated IVs.  somehow they always seemed to hurt more than his injuries-- though that was likely his imagination-- and they always left him feeling hopelessly cold.  The liquid pumping into his veins might be necessary but he detested how it felt.  He reached for the yellow bell button that would call the nurse.  They would--

“Dick?” 

Dick felt an odd feeling in his limbs and chest.  The cold that had been inside his veins seemed to melt away.  His heart spluttered.  A figure moved, blocking Damian from view. But Dick didn’t mind.  He remembered that voice. The memory was faint and muddled but it had been Bruce.  Bruce had asked him to stay.  Bruce had been calling for him… Dick wasn’t sure-- He didn’t need to know why.  

“B?”  His voice cracked and broke over the word.  

The bed dipped slightly. Bruce.  It seemed impossible that he had ever forgotten him.  His eyes were wet, and blood shot.   Dick wondered why Bruce was crying. He opened his mouth again and found a straw at his lips.  Dick turned his head slightly and pulled away.  His stomach churned at the thought of water.  

Bruce chuckled.  “I know, but your throat’s going to hurt until you do.”

Dick watched him fumble with the cup for a moment, then opened his mouth.  Bruce smiled and put the straw back to his lips. 

 “Tim?  Jay?” Dick asked after a few sips.  

“They’re okay.  Jason found the sniper, he’s in custody.  Tim’s at home with Alfred. They’ve been taking turns staying with you.”

“How long?”  The words hurt but Dick found his hands didn’t  work enough to sign instead.

“A week.  You’ve woken up a couple of times but…” Bruce blinked several times fighting back tears.  “It’s been a very long week, chum.”

Dick’s eyebrows knit together.  He was so tied, but Bruce needed him.  He needed to tell him that they would be okay.  That he would live. The room seemed to fade and grow darker. Dick fought the pull of sleep.  It was important.  His hand shook as he raised it.  

Bruce smiled and took it in his own.  He felt so warm, like fire.  Dick opened and closed his mouth, a strange airy sound coming out. 

“Shh. I’m right here.  I’m not going anywhere.” Bruce lightly squeezed his hand three times. 

Darkness crept in and Bruce became a shadow.  Dick felt his eyelids grow heavier. No, this was much too important.  He needed to tell Bruce. 

“I’m not either.”

Chapter Text

I’m not ready to take the weight

I’m no Atlas, I hold no Titian’s strength

But for you?

I’d dare to hold the heavens, even if I'm one foot in hell’s gate.

Jason stared at the phone screen in shock.  Bruce didn’t call.  He texted, sent voice memos,  had Alfred call him, and stopped by annoyingly unannounced. He didn’t call.  It wasn’t their thing.  Dick would call Bruce and they could talk for a ridiculously long time.  But that wasn’t something him and Bruce were comfortable with.  

Jason answered feeling a strange anxiousness building in his gut.  

“Hey.” Jason hoped he sounded unbothered by the call.  

Shouts and sirens blared over the line.  Jason felt the blood drain from his face. 

“Bruce?” Jason didn’t like feeling like this.  He hated feeling as if his heart would leap out his throat.  

“Jason-- I.” Bruce was crying.  Bruce’s voice sounded raw and broken.  

Jason couldn’t breath.  

“Dick-- there was a sniper.  I need--”  Bruce was panting as if running.  

“Bruce, what happened?”  Jason didn’t think the room was spinning but it looked like it was.  His head was floating and his body drifting.  “Where’s-- Where’s Dick?” 

“He’s.  Jay--”  A sob broke through the chaotic sound on the other end of the line. 

The room stopped spinning.  His body seemed to come back to the earth with a terrible crash.  His bones felt as if they were melting and fussing with his flesh.  Dick was the only one who looked at him the same.  The only one who mistake after mistake would come over and try .  He couldn’t be… A wave of flames washed over him.  It was emerald green and filled with fury.  Jason let the wave take him.  He let the rage build in his body, because if he was angry then he wasn’t hurting.  

“The paramedics took him.  I don’t... I don’t know.” Bruce shouted over the sirens and muffled screams.   

Jason could picture him climbing in the front of the ambulance next to the driver, not knowing how Dick was and trying to hold it together. He could picture it well, because Jason was trying to hold it together too.  But he couldn’t hope.  The fire was already lit.  He wouldn’t allow hope to take over.  The rage would only be worse if he held it down with false hope.  He couldn’t handle the intensity of that disappointment.  

“What do you need?” Jason wasn’t sure how his mouth was working.  

“I-- can you call everyone. I don’t--”  Car door slammed and Jason wondered if Bruce was at the hospital. He could hear shouting and the squeal of wheels on tile.  “And the sniper, they--”

“I’ll call them.”  Jason said in a rush.  He would hate every second of it, but Dick would want him to.  “Where was the shot?”

“WE it came from the East. I-- Jay It was so fast.” 

“I handle it.”  Jason hung up before he could ask him any question.  He knew if Bruce asked he wouldn’t be able to be honest.  If he found the sniper-- when he found the sniper… He couldn’t promise anything.  Not even for Bruce.  

He was grabbing his helmet and out the door before Alfred answered.  

“Master Jason, how are you?”

“Alfred, Dick was shot.  Bruce called en route to the hospital.  I don’t know what one. I’m heading out to find the sniper.”  The words were said in a rush and bluntly.  Jason would regret it later, but right now he was fighting a green haze and this phone call needed to be short.  

“I’ll get Master Damian and head that way at once.  I’m sure it will be Gotham General they have a better trauma team.”  Alfred’s voice was brisk and all business.  Jason loved that about him.  How he could turn himself off and pull it together.  He loved it about Alfred, but hated that about Bruce.  

“I’ll call Tim.”  Jason said quickly.  

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”  Alfred hung up, but Jason didn’t mind. He was glad Alfred was working, glad he was holding it together.  Bruce certainly wasn’t.  And if Jason was honest, neither was he. 

Jason called Tim from his bike.  The call went to voicemail.  Jason felt the fire burn hotter in his gut.  “Dick’s on the way to the hospital.  Sniper.  I swear if you’re dead too, I’ll kill you myself.” 

Jason hung up and revved the engine. He sped through town until he was a block from Wayne Enterprises.  He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at Tim.  There could be a hundred and one reasons to not answer the phone.  But Jason could only picture him laying on the ground bleeding out with no one to save him.  Bruce wouldn’t survive it.  

Jason knew they would flounder without Dick, but two robins at once.  Bruce wasn’t that strong.  

Jason quickly shot his grapple gun and had it pull him to the roof of a tall building to the east of WE.  If Jason were trying to kill Bruce-- or anyone at WE-- this was where he would do it from.  Jason licked his lips under the helmet.  Maybe now Bruce would see the benefits of Jason trying to kill him all those years ago.  Had Jason not planned for this exact thing?  Had he not sat on the roof targeting his father and brothers?  Jason, though, had never pulled the trigger.  

He looked around the roof quickly and found a single casing.

Jason lay on his belly and allowed his helmet’s computer to calculate the shot.  They were about 1062 yards from WE’s Northeast corner.  Jason looked at the scene before him and gagged.  Police were cordoning off the block and the rain had washed most of it away, but the ground at the bottom of the steps was slightly pink.  Jason zoomed his lenses back out and closed his eyes. If it was still stained, then Dick had lost a lot of blood.  Rain would have obscured it otherwise.  Jason forced his eyes open.  

So Dick had been about 1054 yards away when he was shot.  Jason picked up the brass piece and turned it over in his hand.  It was riffled.  So that narrowed down the guns what could have taken the shot.  It was a .338.  Jason sighed.  It was going to be a long night.  

Jason strode into the iceberg lounge slowly. He hated coming in here.   He walked up to the bar, tapped the counter three times and waited.  

“Mr.  Hood?  I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”  Chip strode over to him smoothly.  Chip, Jason decided, was his favorite bartender at the lounge.  Mostly because he was all business.  The others tended to try and ask him questions about his personal life, which Jason of course never answered.  

“I was wondering about local hits open?” Jason asked smoothly, as if he wasn’t ready to pound whoever had shot Dick until they broke under his hands.  

“Oh not a lot, sir.  Lets see, there's one out for Zsasz, but no one has touched that.  A couple of smaller ones for a contractor and a whistleblower?”  Chip hesitated.  “You’ve not come in looking for jobs in a long time, sir.” 

“I’m not looking for one.  I want to know who has taken them?” Jason replied slowly letting the pit color ever word.  

“Hood, you know that I can’t tell you that. Never get any business if we did.”  Chip looked odd in the dim lit of the bar.  Pale and tented green.

“I only need to know one.”  Jason ground his teeth as he spoke.  “The one at WE this morning.  Who took the shot?”

Chip frowned.  “Look, I like you.  Hood, you always keep the streets clean even when you’re the one dealing.  But the boss won’t like me flapping.”

Jason growled low in his throat.  “I don’t take no for an answer.”

Chip swallowed. He leaned in closer, “you promise you won't say it was me?”

Jason felt the rage received slightly.  “You said no.”  

Chip nodded.  “Some out of towner paid it.  I think it was someone from overseas.  Had a thick accent.  Carried a sword.  Never got their name.”

Jason blinked. “Was there a black set of horns inlaid on the hilt?”

Chip nodded.  

“I know them.  Thank you.”  Jason stood up and snatched a shot glass from the counter as he did.  He threw the glass at the back of the bar and shouted. “What good are you then?”

He stormed out of the bar, hoping his display would make it look like Chip hadn’t answered him at all.  But it was the best he could do at the moment.  He had an assassin to catch.  

It turned out finding a ninja wasn’t as hard as it was cracked up to be.  Perhaps it was that Jason knew the league, or perhaps it was that the assassin knew they wouldn’t get far. 

He cornered him in the southern docks of the Tricorner.  It was easy, too easy really.  Jason wondered if it was some sort of trap, but he didn’t care.  He only wanted blood. 

The assassin was standing looking out at the water, a sword strapped to his back. A bag was on the roof by his feet.  Jason felt his head spin.  The man was watching the bay, after what he had done.  He had shot his brother, maybe killed him and here he was taking in the view.  

Jason landed heavily on the roof.  He didn’t care if he was heard.  He wanted to be heard.  He wanted to make this man fear him.  He wanted him to know that it was the Red Hood who killed him.  Jason wanted him to see the anger and pain Jason felt, and to feel it in turn himself.   

“I have a message for the bat.”

Jason froze just feet from the man.  He still hadn’t turned.  

“Ra’s is patient, but even he grows tired of waiting for him to return.”

Jason felt his hand clench into a fist.  Ra’s had sent someone to kill Dick… to send a message .  He felt sick.  He felt-- He would kill Ra’s.  He didn’t care what Bruce said.  The man deserved it.  For everything he had ever done to them-- he deserved it.  Jason should have done it years ago.  He had held back-- not that he would admit it-- for Damian and Bruce’s sake.  But this was the end of the line.  

“He’ll never come back.  You’ve insured that.  Dick was--”  Jason’s voice cracked.  Was .  Dick was-- He was already resigned and that hurt more than anything.  Jason knew he was gone.  The league didn’t fail.  

“If there was ever one thing that held the Bat here it was his first Robin.” the assassin finally turned.  He looked sad.  

Jason wanted to hit him.  He had no right to be sad.  He had-- He had destroyed the only good thing in Jason's family.  The only one who-- He stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar.  The man didn’t try to stop him.  

Jason pulled his arm back and hit without aim.  He struck blindly over and over.  He never fought back.  He just took each blow.  He made no cry of pain and Jason hated it.  He wanted him to scream, to beg.  He wanted him to cry out in pain.  

The green haze demanded it.  

Jason let him go.  Hitting wasn’t enough. He wanted-- He needed more.  Jason looked around, and spotted the bag on the roof.  How sweet would that revenge be?  To kill him with the gun that had taken Dick? He ripped it open and pulled the gun.  But a bullet would be too easy.  He grabbed it by the barrel and raised it over his head.  

Jason swung. The assassin laughed and Jason froze mid swing. His heart hammered against his chest and he watched the assassin carefully.  Why would he… 

Something wasn’t right.  Something was off about the man.  This change felt wrong but Jason couldn’t put his finger on it.  He had been stoic through every punch, and now he was-- Jason didn’t understand.  

“What? Too afraid to finish me, Hood?”  The man asked. 

Jason shook his head and lifted the gun.  He would do this for Dick.  It didn’t matter what the change was.  It didn’t matter.  He would kill him and then find Ra’s.  

The man’s teeth were stained with blood.  His smile was slightly crooked.  Dick’s smile was crooked.  Or it had been.  

Jason frowned.  He-- Dick, he wouldn’t smile again.  He wouldn’t laugh anymore.  The gun felt heavier in his hands, suddenly.  Jason could picture Dick so clearly in his mind’s eye.  He could see him as clearly as if he were really there.  Jason wondered if Dick could see him from wherever he was now.  If he was watching from wherever the soul went after… here.

Suddenly, Jason didn’t want Dick to see him.  He felt all too aware of the blood on his gloves.  Dick would be disgusted with him.  He wouldn’t say it, perhaps.  Not the way Bruce would, but he would have been so disappointed.  

The gun clattered to the roof as it slipped from between Jason’s fingers.  The assassin tilted his head, but made no move.  

Jason reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of cuffs.   Jason felt the tug of the pit in his gut still baying for blood in his chest, but he ignored it.  

Dick would want Jason to spare him.  The man didn’t deserve it, but he would live.  Ra’s-- Jason didn’t know what he would do about him.  He might not be able to hold back when he found him, but Dick couldn’t expect more from him.  Jason would do this one thing for Dick and that had to be enough.  

“What are you doing?”  The man sounded panicked now, but he was too injured to fight.  Jason’s rage had at least insured that.  

“What can’t live with what you’ve done?”  Jason said, feeling hollow.  

“I killed you’re-- What are you doing?”  

Jason titled his head, thinking. He had spent a long time with the league.  Death wasn’t something sought after.  It was escaped or accepted. This reaction...Jason bent down slightly.  

“Who really sent you?”  

The man paled. 

Jason raked his eyes over the assassin looking for any clue.  He looked like he was from the league. The blade had the proper crest, the tunic was right.  He looked the part.  But Ra’s wasn’t-- 

Jason felt a fool.  Ra’s knew how much Dick meant to them. To Bruce, to Damian.  He wouldn’t send an assassin.  It was easy to see now that the pit wasn’t in control.  It was still there, but this mattered more.  He needed to ensure Dick’s death wouldn’t be taken advantage of.  Dick would want him to ensure it.  

“Who. Sent. You?”  Jason dropped to a knee and leaned over the assassin, his voice shook with feary.  He wanted to grab him by the throat and squeeze the very breath from his body, but he didn’t.  Dick was watching.  

“Ra’s--”

“Bull--”

“I-- What?  You too infatuated with Ra’s to believe he could--”

Jason smacked him hard.  “I was trained by the best.  You really think you can lie to me?”

Jason watched the man fight to keep his breath under control.  All the while, wracking his brains for an explanation. Then it hit him.  He knew this man. He had a thin scar in his hairline.  Jason had seen the injury occur.

“You’re in the faction.” Jason felt a sick satisfaction as the man’s breath practically stopped.  “You’re the one Talia ran over with the boat when we were leaving the island.”

The man’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  

“You work for Sensei.” Jason felt it all fall into place.  “You weren’t trying to make Bruce return to the league, you wanted him to hunt Ra’s down for you.  You wanted him to dismantle the league so Sensei had a clear shot.  Well.  You’ve failed.”

The man swallowed.

“You are going to rot in a cell for the rest of your life knowing you’ve just set every friend of the Bat on your master’s trail.  We will not stop, until we’ve killed and captured every one of his followers and when it’s just Sensei left… I’m going to kill him.  I’m going to pull him apart in every way I know how, and you’re going to know it was all your fault.”

Jason felt the pit purr in his chest.  He would have to deal with Bruce but he would do it. Dick’s face flashed before him, and Jason hesitated.  Maybe.  Maybe he would do it.  

He would have to wrestle with the idea.  How much was Dick’s approval worth?  Jason didn’t know.  But he had time.  He would have to plan.  This was a mission that he couldn’t fail.  

Jason smiled at the man and picked him up. First thing first.  He would take the man in.  

Jason had just deposited an unconscious assassin at the police department, and now he didn’t know what to do.  He stood in a dark alley trying to figure out where to go.  He felt aimless.  Nowhere seemed appealing.  Home would be lonely and cold, but seeing people didn’t sound  good either.  He turned to find the nearest bar, when his radio crackled to life.

“Hood, come in.”  

Jason froze.  Damian’s voice wavered in his ear piece.  And for the first time in his life he heard what Dick had always insisted was there: a child. 

“Hood, are you there?”  Damian sounded so tired.  

Jason let the words wash over him, and felt something odd wake in his chest.  Dick was gone and Jason wasn’t ready to step into those shoes.  He’d never been able to fill them.  Not when he was Robin, and definitely not now.  But Dick would want him to try.  Wouldn’t he?

“Hood?”  He sounded so small.  

Jason cleared his throat, it felt like something was stuck there.  Damian was 12, Tim only just 18.  They were still so young.  Hadn’t that been what Dick always told him: that it was up to them to look after the younger kids, this was their job. Jason never listened.  They’d had Dick.  

“I’m here, Robin.”  Jason’s voice shook.  He meant it, he--Dick needed him to be here.  

Damian sighed.  “Grayson is out of surgery.  He-- Father would like me to inform you, he is stable for now.”

Jason blinked and sat hard on the curb.  The ground was dirty and litter sat on either side of him, but Jason didn’t care.  It was as if the world was thrown into full color. He couldn’t breath.  He’d heard wrong.  Damian was wrong.  He was-- Jason couldn’t hope.

“Hood?”  

Jason bent forward so his head rested on his knees.  The helmet pressed into his leg uncomfortably, but he paid it no mind.  “What did you say?”

Damian didn’t say anything for a long moment.  Jason felt his chest crush under the weight of the silence.  “Grayson is stable.”

A silent gasp escaped Jason’s mouth.  He sat on the curb holding back tears of relief and trying to force his breath into an even pattern.  Damian waited.  

“Right.”  Jason squeezed his eyes closed.  He wouldn’t cry.  He wouldn’t.  He-- “Well I’ve dealt with the shooter.”  He fought to keep his voice even.  He knew it didn’t sound right but it was the best he could do.  

“I’ll tell father.  Do-- Do you require assistance with the body?” 

Jason felt his blood run cold. “No. Gordon has him.”

The line was silent.  Jason wondered if Damian was mad.  

“Grayson will… be grateful.  But I must admit I… I wouldn’t have been… I would have understood it.”

Jason chuckled darkly.  “Let me know if anything changes.”

He cut the call and yanked his helmet off.  He needed a drink.

Jason didn’t know why he was here, again .  It had been days. Dick still hadn’t woken up.  It wasn’t like he could talk to him.  Well, Dick wouldn’t hear him if he did.  Maybe that’s why he never went in.  Sitting on the window ledge was enough.  Bruce tended to leave the curtain half open, so Jason could see in. 

He’d never told Bruce about his nightly visits, but he figured the man knew.  Batman tended to figure these things out.  Many times Jason would show up and find the chair next to Dick’s bed occupied by someone asleep.  Tim, or Damian were constantly there.  Bruce, however, would stand. He seemed too afraid to fall asleep at the hospital. 

Jason just sat and watched.  Dick looked wrong in the hospital gown, with his face covered in tubes and wires.  He looked horrible.  When he was young, he’d asked Dick about his uncle.  Jason hadn’t understood Dick’s answer at the time, but he did now.  

It was hard to look at someone who should be so full of life and movement and see them so still.  It was hard to see wires winding out of them as if they were an experiment, but it was also impossible to look away.   That’s what Dick had said all those years ago, and Jason had never understood.  Until now.  Now-- when he allowed himself to come-- he could only stare mesmerized by the stillness, entranced by the rhythm of machines counting his breaths.  

He could only wait.  

It wasn’t until the eighth night that Jason hid on his ledge, that it happened.  Bruce was sitting in the chair.  Which was odd, but not what made Jason’s heart stutter.  It was those blue eyes.  They were foggy and dazed, but they were looking right at him.  Jason swallowed and felt his hand raise without thinking.  He waved.  

Dick’s eyebrow twitched.  Suddenly the window was opening and Jason jumped in surprise.  Were it not for Bruce’s hand shooting out to grab him, Jason would be plummeting over the edge of the ledge.  Jason found himself pulled bodily through the window and into Bruce’s arms.  

“Jay?”  A weak and cracked voice asked in the rather awkward silence.

Jason flushing beet red, pulled away from Bruce roughly and glanced at Dick.  “you’re-- Hi.”  

“Hi.”  Dick was looking at him with a rather dazed expression.  As if he were half asleep still.  “You okay?”

Jason blinked. “I’m I?  Only you.”  He muttered under his breath. “I’m fine.”

Bruce shuffled uncomfortably next to Jason and Jason suddenly realized he didn’t know what to do.  It had been weird over the past week. They hadn’t really spoken since the phone call.  Jason hadn’t really spoken to any of them other than the occasional update from Tim or Damian.  

Jason leaned slightly away from Bruce all to aware of how close they were.  It wasn’t that he was upset by it… but it felt odd and unfamiliar.  

“Sorry.”  Bruce mumbled and shifted away. “I’ll get out of your hair.”  

Jason frowned as he slowly walked to the door.  

“B?” Dick’s voice was so wobbly Jason wondered if he had damaged his vocal cords.  

Bruce spun so fast, Jason worried he would get whiplash.  “Yeah?”

“Where you…”

Jason strode forward, not sure what had possessed him.  “No where.  He’s staying.”  

Bruce frowned and glanced at him nervously.  “If you want.”

Dick, assured that Bruce was staying, let his eyes flutter open and closed.  They seemed to glance between Jason and Bruce every few moments, but were never in focus.  

After a moment Jason sank into the chair that Bruce had once occupied.  “How long has he been up?”

Jason tried not to feel bitter that Bruce hadn’t called him to let him know.  

“On and off this evening.” Bruce sounded drained.  “I didn’t want to get anyone's hopes up.  It’s been… It’s been touch and go all day.”

Jason stiffened.  “What do you mean?”

“Doctors lost him a few times.” Bruce was staring hard at Dick’s face as if trying to memorize it.  

“What?”  Jason hissed “Why?  He’s been stable for days!”

“They had to bring him out of the comma or risk it becoming permanent.  And-- he didn’t do well.”  Bruce glanced at Jason nervously.  “You look tired.”

Jason blinked.  “What?”

“You have bags under your eyes.”  Bruce licked his lips. “Tim and Damian don't sleep much either.”

Jason snorted.  “I sleep like a baby.”

Dick’s eyes fluttered again, and both Bruce and Jason stilled.  

“I know you probably don’t want to hear it,” Bruce hesitated, his eyes still on Dick.  “But the way you handled it all… I was really proud of you.”

Jason stood stock still.  Bruce was right.  He didn’t want to hear it.  “I don’t care.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t do it for you.” Jason hissed trying to keep his voice from rising.  Dick was almost asleep, but there was an odd pinch between his eyebrows like he could sense they were fighting.  

“I know.”  Bruce said again, still quiet.  “I’m still proud.”

Jason leaned forward in the chair, wishing he had never sat down.  He wanted to leap from the window and never acknowledge this again.  

“When you called I thought it was because you wanted me to kill him.”  Jason felt an odd satisfaction in the way Bruce flinched.  

“I shouldn’t have put that on you.”

“No.  You made the right call.  Damian would have killed him.  Tim would-- Tim would have… I don’t know. I guess.”  Jason felt odd talking about the others that way.  “I was the best call.  The only call.”

Bruce shifted his weight nervously.  “It crossed my mind-- after-- that you might kill them.”  

Jason bit his lip. He almost replied: that he had wanted to, but that would have been too honest.  He wasn’t ready for that.  

“But that’s not why I called.” Bruce said after a long moment, where the only sound was Dick’s rattled breathing.  

Jason didn’t move, didn’t even blink.  He couldn’t.  It was as if he had been pulled out of time itself.  Suspended in amber.  

“I just-- I knew you would… I know what Dick means to you.”  Bruce’s voice cracked and Jason realized he was crying.  “I know I’m not good at-- I’m not what you’ve needed.  But Dick… I don’t know.  Maybe... I thought if he was gone I’d lose you again too.”

Jason found himself staring unseeingly at the bed Dick lay on. It was a world of green and grey smoke.  He felt anger and rage, but also the smallest bit of sorrow.  

“He’s still here.” 

Bruce pressed his lips together and looked at him carefully.  

Jason hoped Bruce understood.  He wasn’t one for words, but he hoped Bruce knew he wasn’t just referring to Dick.