Alright, so this is a prompt from crumpeting over on Tumblr, asking for Jason/Dick, and prompt 29: "I thought you were dead." (I agree; it is indeed too obvious to pass up.) So, I'm not sure what you were expecting but, I'm pretty sure this wasn't it? XD I honestly don't know how Midnighter snuck in there, but it just sort of happened and now I kind of want to write a total PWP second chapter, or maybe even make this a legitimate love story? I don't even emknow/em. Anyway, it's a little weird but I hope you enjoy anyway!

Warnings for: Not really character death, painful break up, and rough but consensual foreplay.

It feels like old times to be pushing Jason's window open, crawling through into the dark apartment that was always so neat it was hard to believe that it belonged to someone as outwardly rough as Jason. He was always doing that; ripping apart my expectations at the seams because who you see at a first glance has nothing to do with who he is deeper down.

No one looking at Jason would believe that he keeps his safehouses carefully neat, that he's a hell of a cook, that if he's not working he'll be watching classic romantic movies or reading even more classic literature. No one would believe that Jason is one of the softest, kindest people I've ever had the joy to get close to, even if he gripes and grumbles when he gets caught at it.

I close the window behind me, staying quiet on my feet as I slip through the empty bedroom and out into the rest of the apartment. There's a faint light coming from the kitchen, and I follow it to find the light above the stove on, and Jason leaning against the counter next to it. There's a bottle to his right that I recognize as whiskey, and he's dressed up in his Red Hood gear minus the domino mask or helmet. Everything about his posture says defensive and shut down, and his gaze flicks up to me when I slip through the door and stays there. He's silent, though his jaw tightens a bit and he reaches for the bottle. I'm half convinced he's going to throw it at me, but he just twists the cap off and takes a swig from it instead.

It's probably the most friendly 'welcome back from the dead' greeting I've had tonight, honestly. That's saying something.

He sets the bottle down again, stares at it for a second, and then looks back at me. "Say what you came to say," is what he splits the silence with, voice low and rough and everything that I know means he's angry and upset all at once.

There are a thousand things I could say — apologies, confessions, explanations, and things that couldn't be called anything but 'begging' — but what I settle on is, "I missed you, little wing." I let that sit in the air for a moment before I continue. "I can explain all of it, if you'll let me. I wouldn't have done any of this without good reason, you know I wouldn't."

"You mean pretending to be dead?" Jason asks, and his arms cross over his chest as he holds my gaze. It's not as… Well, not as furious as I was expecting, honestly.

It hurt to leave Jason behind, to not tell him, but I trusted that the family would get him through it. Maybe Jason didn't take it as badly as I expected, or maybe the warning that Barbara sent out the moment I contacted her gave him time to calm down some. That doesn't seem all that likely; I know Jason clings to his anger, especially when people really deserve it. I deserve it for what I put him through.

"Yeah," I agree, shifting my weight a bit. "Jason—"

"I knew."

I freeze up for a moment. "I… What?"

His mouth curls into a small snarl, and he gives a snort that sounds bitter and absolutely humorless. "Does that ruin your coming home speech, Agent 37? Is it harder to pretend this was all for some famed grand attempt to save the world when someone calls you on that total bullshit? " The bark of laughter is nothing but anger and pain , but I'm frozen still. "Here are the facts from where I'm standing, golden boy. You left me, and you let me think you were dead when a single text or sentence could have clued me in and saved me from all that pain. You sacrificed your whole life, everything we had, for the sake of some goddamn mission. You know, for not wanting to be Bruce you can be just like him when it suits you, Dickie."

I swallow, wincing and then accepting the pain. I deserve that too. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Sorry's not good enough," Jason immediately counters, eyes narrowing. " Me , Dick. You let me think you were dead. Me of all fucking people. Did it not connect in your head that losing my fucking partner, the person I loved , might fuck me up? If you wanted to dump me you could have just fucking said so."

My breath catches, and then I jerk forward a step as I gasp, "No! God , Jason, no! I never wanted to hurt you; I never wanted to leave you. Please don't believe that. You know you've always been enough for me, little wing. I don't want us to be over and I never did. I swear."

The grin he gives is savage, even as he lets loose another one of those barks of laughter. "All evidence to the contrary cause you know what, Dick? This doesn't look like love to me. You don't abandon the people you love, and you damn well don't come back expecting forgiveness afterwards. I honestly can't fucking decide if you thought that the shock and the relief at seeing you alive would have been enough to smooth over the fact that you're a liar. You're such a manipulative bastard you probably planned that part out, huh?"

My heart feels like it's shrinking in my ribcage, like I can barely breathe . "How did you know?" is all I manage.

Jason's grin morphs into a snarl that's just as savage, and he jerks up and away from the counter as his arms fall to his sides. "I thought you were dead! " he shouts. "Do you have any fucking idea what that did to me, Dick?! I came so close to going totally fucking nuts all over again! I almost snapped!" He drags in a sharp breath through his teeth, hands clenching into fists as his voice lowers. "I decided that I couldn't survive without you, that the world needed you in it because you've always been so fucking central to so many lives, and so good. Good fucking thing I knew how to bring you back, hm?"

"No," I whisper, already knowing where the story is going.

"I was ready to walk back into the fucking Pit with you in my arms and deal with whatever happened to both of us, Dick. I was going to damn myself all over again to bring you back to the world, but then I got to your grave and here's the fun fact you already know. It was empty ." He gives a laugh that digs at me so deeply it feels like I'm getting dragged over broken glass. "Just detective work after that, and there was the ugly truth. You'd just left me behind without a word, without the fucking courtesy to let me know you were going to tear my goddamn heart out. Some hero you are, Dickie."

"Spyral—" I start, helplessly, and Jason snarls and cuts me off.

"I don't care , Dick. I don't give one single fuck about what evil organization you had to stop this time, or how important the mission was. God, I don't even fucking care that you left me behind!" He takes in a slow, deep breath, visibly restraining himself, and then spits, "What I care about, is that you couldn't take five goddamn seconds out of your new life to send me a text and tell me you weren't dead. I care that I had to find out by digging up your fucking grave. I care that apparently you either didn't think about the fact that you dying would tear me apart, or it didn't matter enough to make you stop."

He breathes out, leaning back against the counter again and closing his hands over the edge. He's gripping it tight enough that his knuckles are white, and for the first time his gaze is lowered down to the floor between us. "The fact is," he starts, much quieter, "that the mission mattered more to you than I did. And the fact is that it always will."

I jerk another step forward, gasp a breath into my burning lungs to answer, and—

"Don't," Jason whispers. "I can't do this, Dick, not anymore. I spent most of a year coming to terms with all of this, and even if it was something I could forgive, I can't trust you not to do it again. I can't survive it again." He's utterly still, and he looks up again to meet my gaze. It's just pain in his eyes now, almost all the anger is gone. "Let me be clear, Dick. I don't want you in my life anymore. I don't want to see you or talk to you ever again after tonight. I'll work with you if I have to, but don't ever expect anything else from me again. You can't fix this; don't try." His mouth curls into something strained, something tight and bitter as he remarks, "You were pretending to be dead; keep pretending. Be a ghost, and stay out of my life."

I can feel the tears slipping out of my eyes, but I manage to drag a shaky breath in to speak. "Alright," I whisper. "That's… That's your right; I deserve it. I…" I resist raising my hand to wipe the tears away, struggling to find my words. "What are you going to do?"

Jason watches me for a moment, and then his shoulders lift in a small shrug. "Tonight, I'm going to get really fucking drunk and pass out. Seems like the right thing to do. Tomorrow, I'm going to pack this place up and get out of Gotham. Permanently." Another snort. "Then, I think I'll find someone tall and pretty to fuck me rough and hard enough that I stop remembering what your smile looks like."

My heart seizes , and I have to close my eyes and bite my tongue to not just sink down onto Jason's floor and break apart. Then I find an answer, and I have to rip my heart open to force it out of my throat but I manage. Barely. "Midnighter. I… Go to Midnighter. He plays rough, but he's a good guy. He'll make sure you're— He'll give you what you want."

Jason nods, and then tilts his head towards the door behind me. He doesn't have to say anything for me to understand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper one more time, before I turn to leave.

"M, want another?"

I give a small grin, tilting my head and considering for just a fraction of a second. It's not like the alcohol's actually going to do anything to me, and he knows that, but the taste's nice enough and it's fun to just relax. Been a bit since I've had the opportunity to not be doing anything. It's a nice change of pace from getting stabbed by my Ex and getting taunted with the past I can't remember at every turn. It did make me just a bit more paranoid, true, but I think I'm starting to ignore that.

"Sure," I answer easily, throwing back the last of what's in my glass. Ice included, because the crunch of it between my teeth is a nice little added sensation. I hear the footstep behind me, shift the glass to catch the reflection, and don't turn around and deck the guy sliding onto the stool next to me.

"M, huh?" Blue eyes with an edge of green too sharp to be natural catch my gaze as I look over, and I don't even mind the appraising flick down my side. "You must be Midnighter."

I set my glass down, turning half a smirk on the kid. I don't need the red symbol splashed over his armor or the leather jacket to know who he is; he's just one more name and profile stored away in my head. "Guess that from the coat or the letter, Red Hood?" I ask with more than a little sarcasm, as the computer in my mind whirls away.

Heroes don't track me down too often. Usually it's a job or some kind of team offer, but sometimes they take it upon themselves to drop warnings about how I need to 'mend my ways' or they'll come after me next. This kid's not one of them though, there's nothing aggressive in his posture and it would be pretty damn hypocritical of the Red Hood to lecture me about killing anyway. I kinda admire the kid, honestly. Takes some serious strength to survive a dunk in the Lazarus Pit without going crazy, from what I hear. Grayson talked about him quite a bit; fool was head over heels in love, that's for sure. I wonder if this kid cares about him the same way.

"Some of both," the kid answers, with just as much sarcasm. "You look about as civilian as I do right now."

The bartender drops my glass in front of me, I tilt my head in thanks, and then turns to the kid. "You want anything?" he asks, barely even blinking an eye at the fact that his vigilante hero crowd has just doubled from one to two.

The kid shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

Flat out lie, that one. He's hiding it pretty well, but the kid's in a lot of pain of the emotional variety. Easy to recognize if you happen to have a supercomputer in your head and enhanced senses. He might appreciate a bit more privacy than bringing up whatever he came to talk about right at the bar. I could take him to a more sheltered table, but I don't have to. Bartender's got a bit more practical experience than that, and he's already moving out of earshot to check up on other customers. We're far enough away from everyone else to not be heard as long as neither of us is too loud.

He glances around, confirming that for himself, before leaning against the bar and mostly facing me. "I'm going to be really fucking blunt here. I'm in the market for some rough, exhausting, no-strings-attached sex with someone good enough to overpower me for real. I heard you were the guy to ask about it. You interested?"

Everything about his expression says he's serious, but that pain I saw makes me ask, "Bad break up?"

He goes rigid for half a second, before something bitter slides into his eyes. "Basically, yeah. Saw it coming a long way off; didn't matter much when it came down to it. In the mood to forget a lot of things, and I haven't had good sex in fucking months . Could use some."

I watch the kid for another second, reading everything I can off of him — fifty-fifty chance he breaks down in tears at some point, from what I can see — before I give another small smirk. "Well, as it turns out, my last boyfriend was actually a villain that specifically created everything about himself to appeal to me, strung me along for months, and then tried to kill me. I could stand to forget a fair amount of stuff too. Let's go, kid."

He snorts, and then he's reaching for my glass and pulling it out from in front of me. I watch with amusement as he tilts it back and downs the whiskey in one long swallow, then sets the glass down and flicks it back towards me. It slides to a stop pretty much right where it originally was. I raise an eyebrow, but don't call him out on the theft of my drink. Kid could probably use it more than me anyway.

"You call me that while we're fucking and I'm going to have to punch you," he tells me with a flash of teeth, as he gets to his feet. "Lead the way."

I follow him up, and keep an eye on him as I slip my hands inside my pockets. "Door," I order, and he jumps a bit as the portal springs to life about two feet to his right. He relaxes again in a moment, which is better than a lot of other people have done when I pop open portals right next to them.

"No wonder you're hard to track," he mutters, obviously studying the portal before his gaze drops to my hands, looking for how I work it.

I smirk, and walk through before he can figure out anything concrete. Best not to give the kid ideas. "Been tracking me?" I throw over my shoulder, glancing back to make sure he's through the portal before I close it behind us. He's making a bit of a face, but hasn't reached up to cover his stomach. Kid's got spine, definitely; doors like mine aren't pleasant to go through unless you're used to it.

"For a couple days," he answers, spinning on one heel to take in everything he can see of my apartment. I dropped us in the living room. "You jump around a fair bit; sightings are all over the place."

"Good to know." I shrug out of my coat, tossing it over my couch. "So who pointed you my way? Your little group, only person I've been in contact with anytime recently would be Grayson." My hearing lets me pick up the sharp spike of his heart, and the way his breath catches. So I turn around, and catch the look on his face before his expression closes off. "Ah. That would be the break up. Sorry to hear it, kid, Grayson's always seemed like a good guy."

Anger, but mostly it's just pain and a sharp edge of bitterness. "Dick's a good fuck ," Jason corrects, his eyes a little narrowed. "He's not a good partner."

Definitely a story there that I don't know, but, "He loved you. You know that right?"

"Doesn't matter," the kid snaps, and then he shoves out a breath and shakes his head. "What it comes down to is that he'll sacrifice anything for the sake of the mission, and it's damn well never going to be me again."

"Fair enough," I agree, as I lean against the back of the couch. "Look, kid, I appreciate the honesty so let me ask you something. You sure this is what you want? Cause I'm reading about a sixty/forty chance"—odds have gone up since I mentioned Grayson—"that you end up in tears. Not a criticism, just saying that's what my computer's telling me. You want sex then I'm good for it, and I'll make sure you come out the other side alright, but are you sure?"

Jason studies me, and I let him. Most people don't make their minds up as quickly as I do. I can read the internal struggle, and then that slight give of surrender as his breath comes out a little more forced and his gaze falls to the floor. "I want to forget," he says softly, "and I don't know any other way. You got a better idea?"

"I might." I push off the back of the couch, meeting and holding his gaze when it rises back up to me. "I've got some people I was going to track down tomorrow morning. Stay the night, have a few drinks, spar a couple rounds with me. You'll lose, but it should help work out some of that anger." I offer him a crooked smirk. "I'll even let you hit me a couple times. Tomorrow, come on that job with me; I like having eye candy around while I work. You still want the sex after that, you got it. As long, hard, and as many times as you want. Sound like a deal, kid?"

The kid watches me for another second, and then breathes out an aggravated sigh. "Yeah, alright. I reserve the right to change my mind at any point though."

I snort, tilting my head back towards the couch. Jason takes my cue, circling around the edge of it, and I follow just a step behind him. "Trust me, kid. If you decide you want me to fuck you tonight after all, I'll take you up on it. I like my simple pleasures." He turns around, and I draw up short as he faces me. There's challenge in his eyes, and I speak before he can get the words out of his mouth. "I know you're not just giving it up, kid. I know you'll fight me every step of the way and that you want me to beat you." I take half a step closer, and he might be about an inch taller than me but I'm bigger and wider. "I also know you'll end up bruised, and bloody, and calling me sir by the end of the night."

Jason swallows, and yeah, I can read the bursts of nervousness and arousal all mixed into one. "Sounds like a hell of a night; I've never called anyone 'sir' while in a bed, Midnighter."

I smirk. "Maybe we could do it on the floor then; keep up your streak ." His eyes flicker, and I let the smirk go and reach forward to gently push against his chest. He rocks back on his heels, but doesn't retaliate. "Come on, kid. Sit down; I'll grab you a drink and be right back. Whiskey your preference, or you just like stealing other people's drinks?"

"Some of column A, some of column B. I want it to burn."

"Uh-huh." I believe the kid wants it to hurt, but I don't think that's actually his preference of drink. "I'm not letting you punish yourself with the burn of alcohol, kid. What do you really want?"

His mouth curls into a small smirk, and he snorts. "No point in lying to someone with a supercomputer in their head, huh? Whatever you've got is fine; spent some time in Russia so I've got a taste for vodka. Straight's fine, mixed is better."

"You got it." I turn to head for the kitchen half of my living room, running through what I've got in there in my head. "Russia, huh? What were you doing there?"

I can hear the slight creak of the couch's springs as he sits down. "Training; I was a little over seventeen and picked up with a pretty good instructor. Bomb-making expert. Spent quite a bit of time there, but the asshole turned out to be part of some extremist group of bastards. I put him and them down before they could finish their plan. Did that to a lot of the people that trained me; turns out most of the deadly people in the world are pieces of shit too. Go figure."

"Sounds like you've seen some nasty parts of the world," I comment, as I grab him a cup and throw some vodka in it. Bit of ice, and some random coffee liquor that I think Matt might have left here before he tried to kill me. Fun times.

"Hah. Russia's a piece of cake compared to Gotham. Somehow all the shit of the world tends to end up there. Nothing really compares to waking up in your own grave though, you know?"

I head back, setting the drink in front of the kid and sitting down next to him. "Can't say I do." I stretch my arm out behind him, and Jason picks up the drink and leans back. His neck presses back against my arm, and I wrap my arm down along the outside of his far shoulder. "I heard you ended up in the Lazarus Pit too."

"Definitely don't recommend that," the kid mutters. "You know, I—" He cuts off, and then takes a deliberately large swallow of the drink I made him. I gave him a large glass; figured that was easier than refilling it.

I give his shoulders a squeeze, and relax back into the couch. "Whatever you want to say, go ahead. I hear I'm a damn good listener, and I haven't got any reason to defend anyone you want to talk shit about."

He takes another drink, and then shakes his head. There's quiet for a long few moments, and then he breathes, "I thought he was dead. He let me think he'd died even though… I was ready to dig him up and dump him in the pit too. He would have come out so much better than me. I would have been there to hold him through it, to teach him how to control it, and everyone would have been there to support him. That makes all the difference, I know it does. Turns out he was just a lying bastard ."

I watch him for a second, spinning possibilities and conversations in my head before I answer, "Yeah, I agree. Sounds like a pretty shitty thing to do to anyone, but especially people you say you care about."

He cracks a smirk, glancing over at me. "Perfect boy Dick Grayson doesn't look so perfect anymore, does he?"

I shrug, mirroring his smirk. "Never really my type. He's hot as hell, but a little too goody two shoes for my tastes. Gets his panties all in a twist when I take out the trash."

The kid barks out a laugh. "I know the feeling. He's pretty damn good in bed, always has been, and it's— It's one hell of a thing, having all that energy and attention focused on you. But then the job comes back around, and you realize that it really doesn't matter how much he says he cares. He'd never put his own happiness above what needs to be done, and that includes his relationships." He looks down at the drink, turns it between his fingers. "I won't be collateral. Not again."

"That's fair," I repeat. "Still, sorry it happened, kid. I get what it's like to love and lose."

"Talking about the Ex that tried to murder you?" he asks, after another drink.

I grip his far shoulder a little tighter. "Well, that sucked, but no. I had a husband, the first man I ever loved. His name was Apollo, he was practically a god and he was fire and light and everything that I wanted. But what I was made into has its drawbacks. I don't remember who I was before, or any of it, and when he found out he was pretty pissed. I could see how the fight ended, so I walked out before it had time to start. It was better that way."

Jason shifts a bit closer to me, tilting himself into my side. "Sounds like a pretty shit situation."

I look over, feeling his weight as it presses against my side. "So does yours. Drink to that?"

"You don't have a drink," he points out, but swallows some of his anyway. "Let me guess, enhanced metabolism like Flash? Alcohol doesn't affect you?"

"Cost prohibitive to get to enough that it would." I pull Jason a little farther in against my side, raising my hand off his shoulder to slide it through his hair. He grumbles a bit, but doesn't shrug me off. "Still tastes good though, and most people don't know about that so it's fun to fool them. I've won a lot of money that way."

A sharp laugh escapes the kid, and I catch the edge of a grin as he takes another sip. Smaller this time. "Isn't playing pool kind of an asshole thing to do? Don't you win with one shot?"

"Sometimes it takes me two." He gives another snort of laughter, and I can feel him relaxing a bit. "You know, not sure if this makes things better or not, but you're pretty damn hot yourself. Different way, but you could still give him a damn good running for hottest batkid."

"Not sure? Thought that computer of yours meant you were always sure." He drains the last of the drink, and sets the glass down on the small table to the left side of the couch.

"Almost always," I correct, ruffling his hair.

He turns on me pretty fast, twisting away from my touch and swinging his weight around to face me. I don't see violence in it though, so I let him set his knee between mine and push me back against the couch with one hard hand in the center of my chest. I take a glance along his frame, grinning up at him as I let him hold me down. He smirks back, and there's definitely more than a little bit of desire in what I can read off of him. Challenge too. It's kind of a heady mix. Grayson would have been a damn good lay, but I don't think he'd have the same kind of fight as Jason's showing. I can appreciate a little fight; or more than a little.

"I'm not a kid," he says, in a voice low enough that it rumbles out of his chest like a growl. "You want me to prove that?"

I raise my right hand, touching the knee between mine and then sliding my fingers a bit up his thigh. "That's your call," I remind him. "You decide what you want?" The chances are good — about a seventy/thirty split — that he has, but I still want to offer him the choice. Even if I know someone's going to choose a certain path, a lot of people don't appreciate me moving things ahead without giving them the chance to make that decision themselves.

He shifts forwards a bit, presses me back a little harder, and then murmurs, "Yeah, I think I did. We fuck tonight, do I still have an invitation to go on your job tomorrow?" Before I can open my mouth, he's adding on, "Because I could probably still use a good fight."

I slide my hand a little farther up his thigh; damn the kid's got nice legs, among other things. "You think I can't tire you out enough in one night?" I tease. "Sure, kid. You can still join me tomorrow."

He shoves me back, and his other hand comes up and grabs the back of my neck as he leans in. His mouth meets mine, and the blunt pressure of his teeth against my lip is a nice little edge of sensation. He snarls into the kiss, digging his nails into my neck as he pushes his leg up and into my hand. I move my hands to grip his hips, pulling him in closer and ignoring the faint feeling of resistance. He gives a small groan into my mouth, and I grin around it as I let him shove his tongue between my teeth. Let him think he's got the upper hand for the moment.

He pulls back after a minute, breathing just a little harder. Then he's shifting, letting go of my neck. I can see the coil of his body but I choose not to stop him from slamming his fist across my face. It hurts more than I expected — he's not me, but he's strong — and it splits my lower lip as well, snapping my head to the side.

"I told you I'd punch you," he growls, hand splaying out over my shoulder.

I laugh, tightening my grip on his hips and forcing him to rock down against me. Then I shove him off of me and the couch, and immediately follow him as he crashes back onto the floor. I shove his legs apart in that fraction of a second that he's stunned, and then as he reacts — starting to swing up at me — I intercept his fists and twist them off to the sides. He doesn't stand a chance against my enhanced strength, and he gasps as I pin his hands down to either side of his head before his legs tighten in against my sides with what would be bruising force on anybody else. Might still be, once I get my armor off.

He pulls against my grip, wrists twisting underneath my hands as he bares his teeth up at me. I don't even need my computer to read that this is exactly what he wants. So I lean in and kiss him, tightening my grip on his wrists until I know it's threatening to bruise, and he gives a groan and shudders. That's when I bring my teeth together sharply at the bottom right corner of his lips, breaking the skin between my teeth.

"Fuck!" he snaps, twisting away even as I pull back. He's bleeding now too, his lip split just like mine. He snarls up at me, and I grin down at him.

"You want me to stop, just say so, kid ," He bucks up against me, twisting in a move I recognized the second I thought it might happen, and I laugh and rest my weight a little more firmly on top of him. He doesn't manage to move me, and I can tell by more than just the little flicker to his eyes that it seriously arouses him.

"I'm not a kid ," he spits, tongue sliding out to swipe over the cut on his lip. It smears the blood across his skin, and I just barely resist leaning in to lick it off completely. He might not appreciate that.

I do rock myself down against him though, tightening my grip on his wrists a touch more. His teeth grit together, and I smirk.

" Prove it."