NOTE: Sorry for the wait – RL kicked me in the butt a bit.
When the fog surrounding his mind cleared, Jason was sitting with Fahim's head cradled in his lap. The old man was spitting blood, and his upper body was stained a vicious dark red. Fahim gave him a bloodstained smile when he saw sense return to Jason's face, and Jason's heart clenched painfully.
This was a nightmare.
"You bastard," Jason said. "What the hell were you thinking?" He was unashamed to hear his voice break; he couldn't decide if what he was feeling was anger, despair or something else. He didn't know that it mattered.
"I'm sorry Jase, it had to be done. You'll hate me, but I would rather that than you being killed. I needed to know you would be safe."
"I don't want to be safe you moron! You just took away the only two people who cared about me! I don't want to be here alone. I can't fight the Anathema alone. I just can't." Jason avoided looking at where he had last seen Dick. He was sure he was alive, certain of it at some deep level. He was also certain Fahim believed the opposite, and Jason wasn't going to deny a dying man his illusions.
Fahim patted his hand. "You'll find others, you'll succeed. I'm sorry about Dick. I truly am. He was a good boy, before they got him. But it was the right thing to do. It was what I had to do." Fahim wheezed.
Jason growled wordlessly. He shifted around trying to see the damage. Damage he had done. The thought chocked him for a moment.
He had shot Fahim three times. One in the chest, two in the gut. Stopping the bleeding was just putting off the inevitable, but he began to do it anyway.
"I'm sorry," he found himself muttering under his breath, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Fahim patted at him again. His eyes were sad, but still sharp. "Jase, you have nothing to be sorry for. Anyone would have done the same. I knew it was coming, one way or another."
That wasn't right, it shouldn't have gone this way. "I blacked out! If I hadn't, I could have shot to wound, to disarm. I could have brought you down with minor injuries, you could have lived."
But that hadn't happened and Fahim was going to die. There was nothing Jason could do to stop it. "I could have saved you both," he said, and his voice sounded strange and tight even to his own ears. He could have avoided the kill shot with ease, or he could have shot to kill – either would be preferable to this slow painful slide towards death.
"I'm sorry you're suffering for this Jase. I can't ask for forgiveness, but I hope one day you will understand."
"Forgive? You stupid old goat!" Jason was momentarily lost for words.
Fahim coughed with a spray of blood. "Jase, I know you can't absolve me, but if you can find it in you for mercy, end it now." his face was lined with pain and Jason's eyes kept turning back to the great sucking wound in his friends belly. It must be agony.
And he had done it. Him and his gun. Stray thoughts of Bruce kept intruding on his grief, and he felt closer to the edge of his own sanity than he had been in years.
He drew his knife and his vision blurred. He lay the blade against his friends throat, but he couldn't bring himself to move. "I forgive you," Jason said eventually. "But I'll never forgive myself."
"Stay safe, boy. You were my redemption. The reason I lived so long in that prison – I just didn't know it then." Fahim smiled at him through his obvious pain and Jason shouldn't have been surprised that he was facing yet another personal tragedy.
But he was. And everything in him mourned.
"Good bye old man," Jason said, ignoring the wet, traitorous slide of tears down his face
He drove his knife home.
He sat for a few moments, shocked and covered in his friends blood. Then he staggered to his feet and turned his attention to Dick. He was hoping, trusting that the shot hadn't been fatal – he believed that if it had been, he would have recovered from his blackout by Dick's body, not Fahim's. He was trusting that even in his confused state he would have assessed who was in the most danger of dying and gone to them. He was desperately hoping that the fact he had let Fahim die thinking he had killed Dick was a lie.
Dick was lying in the grass, bloody but awake, and a weight lifted from Jason's chest. Dick blinked up at him, his eyes creased with pain and his lips turned down with misery.
"I'm so sorry Jay, so sorry."
And Jason's world faded away again.
When he came back to himself, he was crying. He was crying like he had not done for years. Lost in his own grief, he felt destroyed. He could smell Dick, feel the hand his brother had on his back, but any sensation was lost in his weeping. Snot and tears and a burning flush. His breath was coming in broken gasping sobs. He had never cried this way in front of someone before.
But then, he had never murdered a friend before either.
He was aware that his brother was holding him, and he thought he could feel other wetness on his skin. Dick's tears, or his blood. Perhaps both.
A distant part of his mind was clamoring for attention. They weren't safe here, the Anathema were still close, they might still be tracking Dick - but Jason couldn't make himself care, too wrapped in his disbelief and grief.
It was a long night.
The next morning Jason woke confused, his nose was stuffy and his head hurt. The events of yesterday crashed back down on him, and he tried desperately not to think about what had happened - but there was blood under his nails and images of death burned behind his eyes.
He looked about himself, and found he was alone, under the cover of a low hanging bush. He was wrapped in blankets, and he was sure they hadn't had them yesterday.
There was a rustle of leaves and Dick's head appeared under the branches. "Hey," his soft voice broke though Jason's frantic thoughts about blankets and his ongoing cycle of self-recrimination. "How you feeling?"
Try as he might, Jason couldn't hear pity in his voice, only concern. "Like I just murdered my best friend and then had a meltdown. How'd you think I'm feeling?" Jason croaked, his voice as raw as his heart.
"I have coffee and breakfast ready, when you're up to it."
"Coffee?" Maybe Jason was missing something, but yesterday they'd had the bare minimum of supplies.
"I went back to the camp. What was left of it, and salvaged what I could."
"That was fucking stupid," Jason said listlessly.
Dick shrugged. "It was necessary. The Anathema are gone for now, but we need to get going," he said gently, and Jason's thoughts turned back to Fahim. Was he still lying out there in the forest clearing? Had he been there all night? He shuddered, hard.
When he had himself back under control Jason hauled himself out from under the foliage. He was still missing a boot, so he took the other one off and flung it towards the pile of blankets he had used as a bed – he would worry about that later.
The grass felt fresh and damp under his feet as he made his way to Dick's make-shift camp. He had a small almost smokeless fire going and a pot of water was bubbling away. Next to it was a jar of cheap instant coffee and despite his emotional turmoil, the sight of it sent a pang of want through him. Jason drank his coffee and ate a surprisingly tasty breakfast of jerky and baked beans. But his mind was far away. He refused to look at Dick, instead concentrating on his many physical hurts.
But there was only so long he could ignore his brother. Dick looked pale and drawn, his features pinched with pain. His left arm was strapped into a makeshift sling. Jason finally remembered Dick had been shot yesterday. Twice. He pointed at Dick's wounded arm. "Let me see that."
Dick shook his head. "After, no point stitching it now."
Jason almost asked 'after what?' but then he realized: Fahim. They were going to have to deal with his body. Jason shut his eyes. He was familiar with grief, he knew the sensation well, but this seemed so much more vivid. It was although all of his defenses had been stripped away and his emotions left raw and exposed.
"I know this is hard, Jay–"
"You really don't," Jason growled. It was stupid to be angry with Dick, but just being angry at himself wasn't enough. He wasn't sure he would be able to get through the day without rage.
Dick wasn't intimidated by him though. He just accepted Jason's anger – Jason wanted him to fight it. He wanted someone to punch, he wanted someone to punch him, beat him until he looked the way that he felt inside.
"Jason, we don't have much time, and as terrible as this situation is, the longer we stay, the more likely they will come back for us."
"They're going to do that anyway, Dick." Jason told him, his voice hard. "Fahim was right, they were tracking you. They activated a second chip that fucked you up and completely incapacitated you. I smashed the controller." Jason looked down at his swollen hand – he hadn't really registered the pain until he thought about it. "I killed the man they sent, and I smashed their tech, but they'll send another, and another."
Dick looked stricken, his eyes closed tight. Then he looked straight up at Jason, with sorrow and determination written across his features. The expression made something in Jason's chest twist up. "We can deal with that after, Jay. But I want to lay Fahim to rest first. He deserves that."
"Don't you fucking talk to me about him!" Jason snarled. His emotions were wild tangled things and he couldn't control them.
Dick ignored his anger though, and plowed on. "Do you know what religion he was? How he would have liked to be –"
"Who fucking cares? He's gone, it's done with. There's nothing left but dead flesh." He choked on his own words.
"Ok, well, we have two options. Use the machete," Dick nodded to the long knife resting on his knees, "and attempt to dig a grave. I thought about starting before you woke, but it was a bit of a struggle with one arm out of commission."
Jason glared into his coffee and tried not to think about being buried underground, covered in dirt and worms
"Or we could build a pyre," Dick offered gently "I salvaged some kerosene from the camp, we could probably get it to a good temperature."
"And attract the fuckers back to us?"
"Parts of the Eastsiders camp are still burning, I doubt they'll notice."
Jason nodded stiffly. "Let's do that then."
Dick had been busy while Jason slept. He had clearly anticipated Jason's choice in funeral arrangements and chopped some wood, as well as fetching the kerosene. He had also wrapped Fahim's body in a blanket so only his face remained exposed. Hiding the wounds Jason had inflicted. But he still knew they were there and he had to swallow bile just looking at him.
They built the pyre in silence. Jason chopped sturdy branches while Dick collected dry wood and brush. It was a bit hit and miss – based almost entirely on Viking movies and a vague understanding of thermodynamics. It was late afternoon by the time it was ready to light and both of them where exhausted, their shoulders aching and tight.
"Give me the stuff and leave," Jason said, and harsh as it was, he just needed to be alone for this. "He wouldn't want you here."
Dick nodded and handed him the matches and kerosene, before heading back to the camp, without another word.
Jason lit the pyre. "Goodbye, you stupid old goat."
He watched it burn for a while, until the flames were high, and licking at his friends body. He didn't stay to watch any more, instead making his way into the forest, to sit alone with his thoughts.
It was dark when he returned to the camp. Dick was sitting with his knees up to his chest, staring at their own small fire.
"I'm sorry." Jason said. "I should have let you say your good byes too."
Dick shrugged, still looking into the flames. "I said them already."
"He was wrong to attack you."
Dick looked at him and his eyes were haunted. "Was he? They followed me to the Eastsiders camp. Those people died because of me."
"They didn't. There was already a raid planned," Jason told him, remembering Cold Eyes' words. "The only one after you was the guard from the prison."
"But they did follow me. Fahim was right, I am putting you in danger."
"I don't care. We can find the chip and get it out. It's you and me against the fucking world now." Jason sunk down on the grass beside him.
Dick waved a hand towards their gear, piled up by the fire. "I found your other boot."
"Thanks. Gonna need that."
"How are we going to even find the other chip? It could be anywhere."
"An X-ray or MRI or something?" Jason suggested.
"Oh, that shouldn't be a problem around here." Dick gestured at the forest around them and Jason huffed something that might have counted as a laugh if he didn't feel so broken.
"We'll have to hit up a city. A detour before we get to Gotham."
"There's another option. You could go on to Gotham alone."
"No." Jason reached out and pulled him closer until their foreheads were pressed together. "No fucking way. We go together." he leaned the rest of the way forward and drew Dick into a kiss.
Dick gasped into his mouth before twisting his fingers in Jason's hair and kissing back with something that felt like it was close to desperation.
Jason was dimly aware that they both needed a shave, and he seriously needed a wash. Dick mouth tasted like stale coffee, but it was warm and he needed this closeness like he needed air. Needed Dick, wanted him like he had never wanted another person. It wasn't just desire, it was so much more. He shoved Dick flat on the grass and half covered him with his own body. Dick held him like he was drowning.
He was crying again, silently this time. The blood of his friend was still staining his clothes and skin and he was kissing his amnesiac brother.
He was already damned, what was the point in holding back?