Author's Note: Nightwing finds himself in a light spot of trouble and needs Red Hood to bail him out. Once a warehouse has gone up in flames and claimed dozens of lives, Dick and Jason discuss certain things at Jason's Bludhaven safe house before attempting to move forward together. Brotherly love, but of a different sort. NOT SLASH, just one older brother trying to reconcile the fact his younger sibling is a murderous vigilante who has nearly killed everyone else in the family at one time or another. Tim Drake also stars.

Switches between Dick and Jason's POV for the duration of the chapter.

Please read carefully for plot holes and spelling errors :P I don't want any.

One reference included to events in a previous story of mine. This reference is asterisked with an explanation at the bottom of the story following the final paragraph. It is not integral to enjoyment of the story.

If well received, I may do more.

Enjoy.

Brother Dearest

Dick

Copperhead.

Should've guessed kicking up a fuss like this would lead to these guys bringing out bigger guns to fire at me. I just didn't expect poisonous assassin and what amounts to a pretty severe sneak attack. Five minutes after dropping into the warehouse, expecting to catch them all with their pants down, my ambush turns into my last will and testament.

his is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening. Except, as I fight for my life, it definitely is. I just got scratched with something that was undoubtedly a really lethal neurotoxin. Now, as I'm convulsing on the floor, to add insult to injury, someone is trying to finish me off with a syringe of the stuff. Since I can't take a breath anymore, I'm guessing my brain's signals are already being blocked by the chemicals. I'm going to die in about six seconds if someone doesn't...

The needle goes into my neck and I black out completely.

Jason

Okay, Golden Boy is going to live...probably, and everybody else here isn't. Definitely. I throw away the empty antidote syringe, pull out both my pistols and headshot half the room before they can react. I could have used rubber bullets, but it turns out all I have on me are hollow-points with some ridiculous expansion capabilities. Several heads literally explode after I cap them. And while that's pretty funny to watch, it doesn't help us get out of this shit-show. Fortunately, I have an exit-strategy in mind. It's a two-part plan: step one, I pull the pin out of one grenade. Step two, I pull the pin out of the other grenade. After that, it's just a gentle roll-up to the crates of explosives they're all sheltering behind. They think I'm not crazy enough to pull a stunt like this. But I am crazy.

Crazy like a goddamn fox.

I grab Ponytail and fireman-carry his ass out of the building whilst counting down to the big finale...

Three.

Two.

One.

Hello post-apocalyptic collateral damage.

I get us into cover just before the shockwave and debris really start to make some ear-splitting noise. As the debris comes down, I realise not all of it is building material. There's some flesh and charred bone raining down like confetti too. Ah well, can't make an omelette without breaking...

I draw my pistol when I hear what sounds like a survivor close-by. Turns out it's just Dick confirming he is still alive. Great. More brownie points for me with the big guy. And hey, with no witnesses to tell on me, I can probably get away with saying it was a terrible accident and not deliberate mass-murder. Even more brownie points for Jason Todd and the fine art of vigilantism! I hear the sirens wailing from miles away, even as the entire place is swallowed by seriously hungry flames and smaller explosions that make it seem like they had a lot more merchandise than I thought.

I get Golden Boy back to my safe house within fifteen minutes of causing Armageddon. A quick check of his vitals shows that he's going to pull through easily. His heartrate, definitely going above two-hundred in the warehouse, now barely pushing sixty. Pulse is good, blood pressure's great. Eyes show no sign of haemorrhaging or internal damage. Breathing is solid as a rock. That's Dick Grayson, nature's perfect little bastard. Oh, he's got a flesh wound on the shoulder. Not perfect after all. Those are brownie points for him.

I stitch him up as neat as I can, strip him down to his skivvies to make sure his skin can breathe, and then dump him on the couch to sleep it all off.

"You're welcome, asshole." I mutter under my breath whilst unplugging my vape from the wall socket and digging a half-bottle of tequila from the fridge. As far as working on-the-fly goes, tonight went really well. No more explosives for Bludhaven's scum to kill innocent civilians with, no more warehouse to stockpile them and no more security detail or middlemen to distribute them. And all it cost me was two standard military-issue grenades and twelve of my good hollow-points. Talk about being frugal. I congratulate myself by drinking a double from the bottle and sucking on Mango Paradise flavour vape juice for five minutes. I really don't miss smoking anymore. These things are just...

They suck ass, but they're cheap.

Dick

I wake up with the mother of all hangovers, but I do wake up. No pine box just yet. It takes me all of ten seconds to wish I hadn't. He left his helmet on the kitchen counter across from me. And his guns, the ones he no doubt used to land me in more trouble than I was in with Copperhead and the stupid neurotoxin. Jason. I owe a life debt to Jason. Great. This is just how I want to start my week, holed up in one of his safe houses whilst Bludhaven's underworld knots Nightwing and Red Hood at the hip. He's a murderous vigilante, so I'm a murderous vigilante. That's how they'll see it. And nothing will change their minds from this point on. A peaceful solution to this trafficking problem and turf war has just flown out the damn window.

I groggily get to my feet and walk my lead-like legs in the direction of what I assume will be the bedroom. I regret doing this inside of five seconds. Lights are on, he's asleep buck-naked with a tequila bottle cradled in one arm and a semi-automatic rifle in the other. I can literally never forget this image now and how utterly perfectly it sums him up.

I'm about to move away and find my suit when He suddenly rears up and brandishes the rifle at my head with a single arm. I doubt he can handle the recoil enough to hit me from where he is, but I raise my hands halfway up my torso to show him I'm not a threat.

"You gonna save me and shoot me?" I ask him.

He smirks and lowers his weapon. "That's too cold even for me. How's your head?"

"Like I downed two bottles of gin and went to an all-night rave, but I'll live. Where's my gear?" I say letting my hands down back down to my sides. He gestures behind me.

"Suit's on the radiator drying. All your other stuff is in one of the bottom kitchen cupboards."

"Cool. I'm going to bounce..." I say, really keen to get away from the lunatic who thinks we're on the same side.

"Yeah, I wouldn't be leaving here as Nightwing anytime soon, Ponytail. Everyone in Bludhaven's looking for us. You want to borrow some street clothes?" He asks, trying to gloss over the reason why Nightwing isn't welcome here anymore.

I clench my jaw and stare him dead in the eye. "What did you do?"

He shrugs. "Nothing important."

"What did you do, Jason?" I almost snap at him. I am too hungover for guessing games.

"Blew up the warehouse with everybody inside." He tells me with another casual shrug.

My eyes almost pop out. "You blew up that literal powder keg? You're lucky you didn't level four city blocks and us with it!"

"Since the last time I rolled into town, I blew up half of it with a nuclear bomb, I think one warehouse and twenty pond scum is pretty good." He counters with a lopsided grin this particular conversation doesn't deserve.

"Can you cover up your junk please? It's hard enough to take you seriously without your balls hanging out."

He reacts to this request by dropping the semi-automatic in-between his legs with the barrel pointed towards the wall. I'm not sure whether he's playing mind games with me or whether this is legitimately how he rolls these days. Either way it's creepy.

"Look, I'm going to leave, before you accidentally shoot somebody through the wall with that thing." I tell him after a couple of seconds to collect myself.

He flips the safety catch. "How about we both put some clothes on and have a talk. I've got some things I need to say to you, Dick. Important stuff. About the past, and all the shitty things I've done to you."

He sounds sincere. The smile's still there, but its lost all its cockiness in the last ten seconds. The thing is, one conversation isn't going to change the fact he blew up half of Bludhaven and Gotham, impersonated Nightwing in New York, tried to kill Tim, Damian and me when Bruce was lost in time, poisoned over a hundred people at Blackgate, escaped justice and then decided to make amends...with Bruce. His body count must be...well over a thousand by now. He's twenty-four and already assured of a place in the deepest circle of Hell. I try to see the best in people. I really do. But he can't make any excuses that wash for what he's done since coming back into our lives.

"You think saving my life, once, makes up for the dozen times you tried to take it in the last three years?" I say with a bluntness that makes him roll his eyes.

"Look, whether you want to admit it or not, we're in this together. This turf war between the East Boys and Westside Mafia is getting out of control. Those explosives are only the tip of an iceberg that runs thousands of feet under the waterline. They hired Copperhead for Christ's sake: they're getting serious about getting rid of you. You need backup." He says putting his rifle to one side and getting up off the bed before moving towards the nearby drawers.

I scoff. At everything about this situation. "What happened to wanting to apologize to me?"

"Clearly you're not interested in me baring my soul, right now. So, let's just get down to brass tacks and forget I tried to open up to you." Jason says shoving on a pair of joggers with all the grace I remember from his teenage years, I.e. none whatsoever.

"Okay, brass tacks? Keep out of my business. Go deal with your own somewhere far away from me." I say only for him to get right up in my face with his two-inches of extra height and fifteen pounds extra weight.

"You'd be a corpse right now if I wasn't in your business, Golden Boy. Trust me, the last thing you want to be is a corpse, especially in this family which, by the way, I'm now a part of again. I will shadow you whether you want me to or not until this is over."

"Why do you care whether I live or die? Let me guess: brownie points with Bruce? Are you still doing that stupid system?"

This visibly cuts him. I haven't seen him drop the mask since we all thought Bruce bought the farm, but that was big. This is one snide remark. But it hurts him almost as much. He backs off a couple of feet and scoffs.

"Doesn't matter. You'd probably think I was lying anyway."

"I know when you're lying. Say what you need to say and I'll decide for myself if you're full of it."

"Promise you'll let me help if I'm being straight with you?"

"I'll consider it. So? Why do you care if 'Golden Boy' punches out?"

He swallows hard, licks his lips once and then shrugs. "Because I love you, Dick. You might not think I'm capable of it, after everything I've done to you, but I don't want you to die. You're my big brother; I wouldn't be anything without you. I know that doesn't make things right between us. I know you'll never love me like you did before...but I..."

I hold up a hand to stop him pushing the envelope any further. His voice is not steady at all. Every signal he's sending says he's super fragile at the minute, digging deeper than I ever expected him to try with me. That he feels guilty at all is...a relief. That kid I knew is still in there somewhere. "You can help, Jay. Just promise me you won't pull another stunt like last night again. I need to know I can trust you to be...restrained. Like the Bossman taught us."

He runs a forearm across his eyes, takes a breath and nods. "Yeah, I can be a team player."

"Okay, how about those street clothes?"

Jason

We sit in the living room together, strategizing like the old days. He's sporting one of my better T-shirts and the blue jeans that don't have holes in the knees. I'm still only wearing my jogging bottoms. We both have coffee, even though we both hate it. I'm all walled up again, but I feel good for having gotten him to actually give me a chance. I get that he's not totally buying me as an ally, but at least he isn't just blanking me. That's always killed me the last few times we've been around each other.

Because I do love him like a brother. Because he is, in all the ways that matter, my brother. We go with the idea that blowing their shipments sky-high will prompt a bout of finger-pointing between gangs and then a city-wide manhunt for Nightwing and Red Hood. It follows that someone in the neighbourhood will have spotted either me or Dick or both of us operating in that area just before it became a crater. And its easier for criminals to blame the heroes than each other. It gives everybody a scapegoat and lets them avoid anymore costly bloodshed for the time being. The smart thing for us to do is go incognito. No masks and just engage in some quiet and tactically-minded sabotage of their operations. We need them both weak before we give one more power and control than the other. We need whichever side is more diplomatically-minded to take the reins. That'll end the turf war and stop them amassing arms against one another like little bitches.

"I need a day before we start pushing pieces around this very dangerous board." Golden Boy tells me slouching back against the couch cushions and sighing.

Most people would be in a medically-induced coma if they'd taken as much neurotoxin as Dick. He's lucky he's got so many Poison Ivy and Scarecrow antidotes floating around his bloodstream, otherwise he'd probably be a vegetable or paralysed at the very least, even with the antidote I gave him. A day to him is like six months physical therapy with anybody else. I nod my head.

"Sure, man. We'll get takeout. There's a pretty good Chinese around the block that does killer Szechuan Chicken..."

"Yeah, not feeling that right now. Stomach still isn't back to normal."

"Okay, whatever you want. Want to sleep it off some more? I can go out."

"I thought you had things you needed to say to me, little bird." He says, closing his eyes before pressing his palms into them.

"I'm thinking maybe you're not in the mood to hear them right now."

"Oh, I am, believe me." He says before forcing his head up and opening his eyes. "All those times I tried to help you, even after everything you did to our family, I kept telling myself it was because Bruce would have wanted it. I made out like I only put in the effort with you to honour Bruce's wishes. But that's worse than just admitting the truth. The truth scared me, Jay."

"Dick, if you're about to say 'I did it because I felt guilty'..."

"He picked you because I pissed him off. He used you to hurt me. And then he hurt you because you weren't my clone under the mask. And then Ethiopia..."

"None of that has anything to do with..."

"What you did next? Don't feed me that line. I know you better than you think, Jay. You became the Red Hood to hurt him. And kept being the Red Hood to hurt everyone he cared about. Even when you were being a vigilante with Scarlet, you were doing it to spite him. Everything you are now, started with me getting fired by Bruce. If I'd been a better soldier in his eyes, maybe none of this would've happened and you'd be...better."

Wow. Stepping into Bruce's shoes tortured him more than anything I've ever done. And I get it. Being the Golden Boy isn't as shiny and perfect an existence as I thought when I was a kid. And having to keep up those standards even as you creep towards thirty isn't as easy as when you were twelve. But we both know he's still way better than I am. The guy's resolve is almost as good as the big man's. I respect that he wants to play dirty, but never will.

"He was always going to break us in the end, Dick. If you hadn't have snapped when you did, you'd probably be what I am right now. And, if I'd had the balls to walk a few months earlier than I did, I probably wouldn't be what I am either." I tell him, leaning forward in my seat.

He looks at me for a long time in silence. He knows I'm being straight with him on all counts. I think he's just trying to remember the last time we sat this close together without one of us being in chains.

"We could both be worse." He says to surprise me a little. "Sometimes I think your head's in better shape than mine. At least you're at peace with who you are. I've wanted to be and not be Bruce so many times I don't know if I'm actually me or just a lame copy of him."

"Can you still tell bad jokes?" I ask to try and lighten the really dark mood starting to smother us.

He smiles, rolls his eyes and then fires straight into what he thinks is his 'A' material. "What do you call a pile of cats?"

I grin at him, already knowing what's coming. I play dumb. "I'm sure I don't know."

"A meowtain." He says before smirking. Normally he laughs his ass off, but I'll take a smirk.

"You know that one was my favourite when we were kids." I tell him.

He nods. "I know. Only one to ever get a smile out of you."

"Being super-jaded will do that to..."

Someone's knocking on the door, and it isn't the old lady across the hall. Fortunately I've got a nine-mil stashed in the cardboard box next to the doorframe. It's always cocked for emergencies like this. Dick silently asks if I'm expecting company. I shake my head and then gesture to the box. He narrows his eyes. He mouths 'rubber' at me. I suck my teeth and he gets the message that I'm fixing to kill our caller.

Dick

I tell him, as best I can without verbalising it, to NOT kill whoever is at the door. I try to mime just knocking them out with the butt of the hardware he's hiding in that box. He does some eye-rolling disappointment at my moral values, but gives up a nod and noiselessly moves towards the door.

"Yeah?" He calls through the door whilst stooping to pick up whatever's in that box. He comes away with a nine-millimetre pistol, police-issue before they can give a response.

"It's the pizza boy." A really familiar and annoying voice says through the wood. Judging by Jason's face, he recognises it too.

"You're late." Jason says whilst unlocking the door, grabbing hold of our guest and jerking him inside. Yep. That's definitely a Tim Drake he's caught there, one who isn't wearing a pizza delivery outfit. "You're not getting a tip." Jason tells him before closing and locking the door. Tim scoffs.

"Like you knew I was coming." Our younger brother retorts before turning his attentions to me. "Should have known you'd be with Jay. He's the only one crazy enough to help you with a war this stupid."

"He wasn't part of my plans originally." I tell him as he invites himself to sit on the coffee table in front of me. "I thought you were in Europe."

"And I thought you were in New York. Good job I keep track of you at all times of the day, huh? Got the Titans to give me a lift from Madrid last night. The GPS in your suit went offline right around the time a massive explosion in Bludhaven popped up on my Eastern Seaboard monitoring software. I searched all your safe houses and then most of Jason's. This was literally the only one left on my list. If you weren't here, I was going to start checking local morgues. What happened?"

"I was trying to stem the bloodshed between Bludhaven's warring clans by taking out their explosives supply. After nineteen IED attacks in three weeks, it seemed a smart bet. I got there and found out they'd hired Copperhead as security. Long story short, I got scratched by her, went into shock from the neurotoxin and Jason bailed me out. The place went up by accident. One of them held a grenade too long. Big cascade effect on the rest."

"Copperhead go up too?"

"I doubt it. Jason said he saw her skip the fireworks show and exit out the back."

"You're okay though?"

"Like I said, Jay had my back, even if I didn't know it."

"Is that why you're covering for him now?" Tim says with his usual perception. He looks over at Jason who looks nonplussed by the accusation. "You used U.S military grenades. Their merchandise was Chinese. You're lucky I took the fragments from the crime scene earlier today. Wasn't easy bluffing my way onto an active forensics team in broad daylight. No need to thank me."

"Was never going to, Tim. Did you get my hollow-points too?"

"They're already in the lab being tested. They're not custom are they? Or prototypes from Wayne Tech?"

"No and no. They're Russian imports. A lot of the Russians in Gotham carry them as added insurance. Are you going to tell on me to Daddy?"

"Bruce doesn't know about any of this, yet. But since this story's already aired on television, chances are he'll know everything by tonight."

"Well, it was real sweet of you to visit us, Tim." Jason says before grabbing under Tim's armpits from behind and easily lifting him to chest-height. "But as you can see, Dick's fine and we've got our next moves all neatly planned out." He add whilst walking both of them to the front door. "So you can get yourself back to Europe and stop worrying about us. We're good, Short Round."

"Seriously?" Tim sighs before pressing his shoe soles against the doorframe and using a short, sharp bend in his knees to catapult both himself and Jason backwards with some speed. Jason releases his grip on Tim to counter the inertia and performs a neat backward handspring as our younger brother executes a rolling handspring followed by a backflip to my right. It lets him land in the exact spot Jason lifted him from, in front of the coffee table. Tim taps his chest. "I'm not Indiana Jones' sidekick, Jay. Not in a million years."

"I know that. But you are a short-ass who's put on a few pounds since I last saw you. Short Round, short and round. Do you see now, Tim? Do you see now, you little, fat munchkin?" Jason says. I have to make the biggest effort in the world not to laugh at how insulted Tim looks right now.

"Yeah?" Tim says before unzipping his jacket and lifting the hem of his T-shirt to showcase the same ridiculously chiselled midsection we all have. "Mine's better than yours, Jay."

"Only because I'm not tensing mine like you are." Jason fires back with a sly grin. Tim lets his shirt drop back down and huffs before looking at me for some kind of back-up.

I shrug my shoulders. "Sure you want to stick around, Tim? This is literally his default settings for missions. He drove me crazy when he was a kid with his mouth. Me, Tim, the guy who talks all the time, found him too much to stand."

"Hey, I didn't forensically tamper with an active crime scene just to score Brownie points with Bruce. I did it because I want to help you settle this without leaving a war zone behind. Guaranteed Jason will do everything in his power to make sure we do the opposite." Tim says. I know Jason will take exception to pretty much all of those assumptions, even if it sounds like Tim's ribbing him just a little.

"Fuck you, you long-haired midget. As it turns out, Dick and I already have a tactical plan in mind that does that. " Jason snaps with an authority only he seems he's entitled to.

Tim scowls at him. "Screw you, Jay. I'm only six Inches shorter than you."

"Your legs aren't the only place you're missing six inches, Tim." Jason says. I lose it completely and start howling. Both of them look at me but I can't stop laughing.

"Leave him alone, Jay." I say five minutes later when I've composed myself. "No more size jokes, okay? If Tim is willing to put up with you, let him lend a hand. The kid's smarter than both of us put together. I know it's not much of a challenge, but it's something, right?"

Jason smirks. "Tim knows I only use my 'A' material because I like him so much. Hey, how's my girl doing?"

"*Sasha's great. I left her in charge until I get back. I know she can handle it." Tim says to suck any tension out the room.

Jason smiles appreciatively, instead of with more sick burns in mind. "Good to know. When this is all over, let me hitch a ride with you back to Spain to see her. Feels like it's been a while."

"Depends how well you behave on this mission, Jay. No more killing and we've got something I can agree to." Tim tells him firmly.

Jason just shrugs. "Suits me. Let me grab a shirt and we'll hit up the Chinese around the block for some Szechuan chicken..."

Jason disappears into the next room, leaving me and Tim alone to talk. He sits down next to me thumbs in our middle brother's general direction. "You're cool working with him?" Tim doesn't have a problem with Jay, not like he ought to, given their history. He just knows I always have and also knows until now I've always been firm on never working with him unless I have to. We both know I don't have to involve him here. Tim and I can handle things just fine. But he should be included.

"I've been a hardass to him for way too long. I didn't realise he still hurts inside until today. It's something of a game changer for me."

"Hey, I know he's done some seriously messed-up things to the family. I know he tried to kill us all, and me especially several times, but he is really trying. For what it's worth, I'm really glad you're giving him a chance. After Bruce, you're the guy he looks up to the most."

"Brothers, right?" I say clapping him lightly on the shoulder. He smiles at me and nods.

"Until the end, man." He tells me as Jason comes back out dressed in actual clothes.

"Ready to get our order in, Tim?" Jason asks.

Tim nods and rises to his feet. He claps me on the shoulder. "I'll make sure to get you some beef in black-bean sauce for tomorrow when you're less..."

"Of a pussy." Jason says to finish a thought Tim was never going to articulate. "I'm kidding, Dick. We'll pick you up something, I promise. Just rest up for tomorrow's fun and games. It's gonna be wild."

*Sasha is Scarlet, Jason's former partner in crime who is now being mentored under Tim as in events depicted in the Forge story arc.