Author's Note: Again trying something different for this story. This chapter's going to be from Dick's pov. He's going to become a more important part of the story now so I thought it'd be a good idea to get into his head. Let me know how I did and enjoy!

Later, Dick would be grateful.

He'd be grateful for his decision to leave Tim alone for a little while instead of going to Gotham to talk to him as he'd initially planned. He'd be grateful he'd bothered to restock his medical supplies without waiting for when he ran out as he usually did. He'd be grateful he'd had a long day and had woken up late for his nightly patrol. Thus he was still at his apartment when the little boy showed up on his doorstep and changed his life once again.

However at the moment the doorbell actually rang, Dick was definitely not grateful. He was annoyed at all of the above points, even more so because he had just reached for the Nightwing costume when the bell sounded. Grumbling under his breath and shutting the key-code protected closet back on it, he took long strides to the front door and swung it open.

The child that stared back at him had the widest eyes Dick had ever seen. He was panting.

"You're..." He gulped in a lung-full of air. "You're Dick, right?"

"Yeah..." Some of the annoyance subsided in favor of confusion. "Are you lost?"

The boy shook his head vigorously and grabbed his hand. "You have to come! My brother... he's in trouble. He got hurt and..."

Oh, so that was it. The child must have seen him as a cop at some point and somehow knew he was one of the few good ones in the city.

"Alright." He used his best soothing voice and placed one hand on the boy's shoulder. "It'll be okay. I'll call an ambulance for you."

"No! You're the only one that can help!" The urgency in his voice startled Dick, but not as much as what he said next. "I know… I know you're Nightwing. He said if you didn't come right now, I was supposed to tell you that… that Little Wing asked for you."

Dick felt his heart stop. He stared at the child in front of him, but in his mind he was seeing a different boy, one all donned up in red, yellow, and green, smiling, laughing, glaring, arms crossed as he argued with him. He'd argued with everyone. Little Wing… Dick had always meant the nickname with such affection, and he could count on one hand the number of people who knew about it.

"Jason?" He grabbed the boy by both shoulders, searching his eyes for confirmation, for hope. "You mean Jason, don't you?"

The blood pounded so hard in his ears that he wouldn't have actually heard the answer, but the child just nodded and pulled him out the door. He didn't ask any more questions, not about how any of it was possible, how the boy knew about them, or who he even was. He didn't think about much beyond grabbing the pack of field dressing with antibacterial adhesive and running out after him. The last slightly hysterical thought that crossed his mind as the door shut was that he owed Tim a drink.

He ran down the streets after the boy who was surprisingly fast for someone so small. When they rounded a corner into the alley in question, Dick looked around wildly before finally spotting the form only a few feet away slumped against the side of the building. He dropped to his knees in front of the younger man, studying his face, comparing it to the one in his memory. Yes, he was older, bigger, but there wasn't a shred of doubt in Dick's mind who it was.

"Jay?" He cupped his brother's face. "Jason! Come on, Little Wing. Talk to me."

And then, to his overwhelming joy, the man opened his eyes, and then here was really no more doubt. He struggled to focus on Dick, but then a slow, blood-stained smile emerged.

"I hate that fuckin' name."

Dick almost gasped in relief. Still holding him, he looked around. There was so much blood. "Jay, are you cold? How do you feel?"

"I'm not dead yet... again... so fan-fuckin'-tastic."

"How bad is it?"

He could tell he was trying to focus, to think. "Gun shot. Right shoulder. Think.. think the bullet went through, but 'm not sure. Abdominal laceration. Left side. Pretty damn deep, I think."

"Okay." Dick let go of him long enough to pull out the field dressing. He tore it in two and reached into Jason's shirt collar to press it against the entry point. Jason gritted his teeth but didn't make a sound. "Can you hold it there for me? Just reach up and put pressure on that."

Taking sharp, labored breaths through his nose, he finally managed to move his left hand and press it against the dressing. The white had already turned crimson. Dick took the second piece and after a second of searching, found the gash in his brother's side. He'd been right; it was deep, maybe even worse than the bullet wound. He pressed the second cloth against it and held. It took almost a full minute, but finally Jason looked like he'd gotten through the waves of new pain and wasn't about to pass out. Dick looked at him directly, made him focus.

"I need you to try to get up. Lean on me. We have to get you back to my place."

Jason nodded and tried to rise, but then stopped, looking around. "Damian?"

"The kid?" Dick asked. Was that his name? "He's right here."

The child in question came up between them, still looking scared, like he might burst into tears at any moment. To Dick's utter amazement, his brother forced his face to relax to the point where it was hardly possible to tell he was in any pain. He turned towards the boy and spoke with a kind of gentleness that Dick couldn't remember seeing from him before.

"Kid, I'll be fine." Jason assured the child. "'m in real good hands now."

The boy – Damian – seemed to accept that and relax a little. He watched as Dick slowly helped Jason up, one arm supporting him around the waist and holding the field dressing to the abdominal wound while the other held the arm Jason had wrapped around his shoulders. Somehow he got his brother to his feet.

"There's a..." Jason tried before a wet cough raked his body. Blood dribbled down his chin. "There's a real good chance I might throw up on you."

Oh, God, did he seriously think Dick cared about that? But he humored him anyway. "Don't. It'll take up too much energy on your part, and the stink will be a pain to get out on mine."

Jason tried to laugh but just ended up coughing again. "Your city sucks balls, Grayson."

Dick did laugh. It would all hit him later, he knew. The questions... There would be so many questions, but right now he didn't care about any of it. He didn't care about how it had happened. It was just so damn good to have him here, to hear him talk, even curse. He gave Jason's uninjured hand a small squeeze, partially to reassure himself the youth was real.

"I kind of want to kiss you right now."

His brother made a disgusted noise. "Curb that urge. Didn't... ah, fuck... didn't come back from the dead just to have you assault me."

They moved slowly for Jason's benefit, so it took loner than Dick would have liked to get them back to his apartment. When they finally walked through the door, he maneuvered Jason onto the bed and helped him out of his jacket, followed by the blood-encrusted shirt. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back with new patches of dressing, cotton balls, a roll of bandages, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol that he held up for Jason's inspection.

"I have to clean those," he said apologetically. "It's going to hurt."

Jason groaned. "I've been beaten, blown up, cut, and shot. Don't think you can do any worse."

He was wrong. Dick was sure more than just Superman could hear him all the way in Metropolis as Jason screamed and spat a string of curses so vile that his ears curled. But they were in Bludhaven, where screams were all too frequent. No one would come to investigate. Finally both of the major wounds were clean. Jason had been right about the bullet passing through which was one less thing to worry about, as Dick really didn't want to cause him any more pain digging it out. He placed the new patches of dressing against the sterilized flesh and wound bandages around tightly to keep them in place. Jason gritted his teeth.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he panted, "but right now, I hate your fuckin' guts, Grayson."

"That's okay," Dick grinned at him. He glanced over his shoulder at the boy who was perched on one of his kitchen barstools. "But should you be using that kind of language around kids?"

Jason shrugged as much as he could and huffed, the exact imitation of the noise he'd make when he was a boy who didn't get his way. "He's heard worse. Been through worse..."

"About that..." Dick dropped his voice so that the Damian wouldn't overhear. "Why does the cute little child in question think you're his brother?"

Jason sighed, also lowering his voice. "Because I am. So are you."

He gave him an intense, pointed look, but it still took half a moment for Dick to work out exactly what that meant. His eyes bulged, but Jason just nodded as if he could tell Dick had come to the right conclusion. He glanced at the boy again, then back to Jason.

"Who?" he whispered. The question needed no more elaboration.

"Talia."

"No kidding? Yikes!"

"Tell me about it."

"Does he know?"

Jason hesitated at that then jerked his head at Damian. "He knows. The capitol He doesn't. At least as far as we know. I guess he might. He's Batman." Dick's face must have registered the shock, because his brother added. "Little D knows that one, too. His mom told him. 'Bout you, 'bout me, 'bout our whole happy little family."

"I just..." Dick had to shake his head to clear it. He felt like he was in some kind of surreal dream that kept getting more and more outrageous, and he might wake up at any second. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted Jason here. Alive. "I'm going to need a minute."

"Yeah, take your time," his brother replied casually. "I had the last... three weeks or so to get used to him."

Actually Dick had meant he needed to process Jason being there, but he didn't correct him. Now that he studied him, he could see some of Bruce in the boy, especially around the eyes. There was a lot of Talia in him too, some in the skin tone. He wondered how Bruce would react. Ra's al Ghul had encouraged his relationship with his daughter because he considered Bruce a worthy heir, worthy blood to add to his own line. Dick hated to think of it in such... crude terms, especially when what emerged came in the form of an innocent child who was sitting only a few feet away, but speaking of the al Ghul family...

"Is that how it happened?" he asked, still quietly. "Did Ra's put you in the Lazarus Pit?"

Jason shook his head. "Talia did, and I don't think he's happy about it. Anyway, that was after. Their people found me in Gotham, wandering around the streets brain-damaged. Stuff happened before, but I can't remember. I mean, I remember some of it. Digging ou..." He stopped, and Dick didn't know if it was because he didn't want to relive the memories or because he wanted to spare him the imagery. "I don't know how I came back, but I was totally out of it until she tossed me in the pit. It's supposed to heal the sick, right? I think it sort of... rebooted my brain."

Dick thought that now there was a very good chance he might throw up. Jason had been in Gotham? For a while, as he understood it, maybe even a few years. He'd dug himself out of his own grave! He'd been in Gotham, alone and hurt, and none of them had known! How could that have happened?

"Jay," he whispered, touching his brother's shoulder. "I can't even... I'm... so, so very sorry."

"I don't want you to be sorry," Jason rebuffed. "I want you to believe it's me. That I'm not some kind of zombie or clone or some shit like that."

He didn't have to think about answering. "Of course, I believe it's you. Don't worry about anything now, Little Wing. You're safe. You're home."

"Not yet."

But Jason appeared to relax at the reassurance. The exhaustion seemed to finally catch up to him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the pillows, the first real smile of the night touching his lips. Dick knew what he meant. He wanted to see Bruce. Of course he wanted to see Bruce.

"I know," Dick slowly rose from the edge of the bed and brushed the strange white strands out of his brother's eyes. "Just rest for now. I'll take care of Bruce... Damian... Ra's..."

Jason's brow creased in a frown, and he opened his eyes for a moment. "How did you know Ra's' people were after us?"

A little birdie who I sohuld've listened to told me. Dick was about to say just that when a sad realization washed over him. He wouldn't know... he probably doesn't know about Tim! Jason was still looking at him expectantly, and he blinked.

"It was just a guess." He hoped he didn't look too suspicious. Lying well had never been one of Dick's strengths. "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything."