Author's Warning:

If you don't want to read about animals dying and the repercussions of that, you might want to skip. I recently lost three people I cared about, and then the pet rabbit kicked the can. I didn't think I'd be upset about it—actually, I thought I'd be glad—but funny enough, I just snapped. My apologies for the previous chapter…it's more like a fanfic of my life than a Batman fanfic, but it'll be over soon. I just needed to work some things out in my head...and then this happened…

That said, you might like this chapter. There are hard truths in this world, but we can soldier on. Sometimes pulling up our big boy/girl pants and putting things behind us is the right thing to do. At least, I'm pretty sure.

There's an ancient tradition in art (don't remember where from), where they fixed broken pottery with gold. They used the gold like glue, leaving the most beautiful scars behind. I think life can be like that. And even though I love writing non-sense and funny stories, I kinda thought Dick and Jason are like the broken pots with the gold scars; more beautiful for having been broken and brought back together. This is the story of how they got their golden scars.

Now enough of that sentimental humbug, let's tell a story!

The Boys in Blue

Story 10: Happy Death Day To You: Part 1

To say Jason hadn't taken JB's…trip to the other side…well, would be an understatement. To Dick who had grown up around circus animals, the incident was just one among hundreds. He didn't get attached to animals the way he did to people. Sure, JB had been cute, and cuddly, and a genuine joy to have around. But he was still just a cat. Dick had seen a bear and a horse get put down when he was six; had been asked if he wanted to do it himself because Hector was fucked up like that. Once, he saw someone's dog squeeze into the tiger's cage, and that had been anything but pretty. Molly, the knife thrower, had explained that little animals were made to feed the bigger ones. And Molly was never wrong, so of course Dick had believed her.

All that was to say, in Dick's head, animals were supposed to die in a way that people just…weren't. It was sad, yes. But so were breakups. You pout, you stress eat, you get over them, and then you go find someone else. OK, so the part of him that would have been broken up over a dead cat was cauterized before he turned 7, and maybe that was a little screwed up; but the fact remained that Dick Grayson was not actually that upset about JB. What he was upset about was Jason's reaction to it.

They had a funeral of course (Jason's idea) and they buried JB next to Jason's unused grave so that when he died again, they'd be reunited in the afterlife (also Jason's idea). Jason had officiated, of course, which had left Tim and Alfred beyond appalled. Almost to the point of greatly disturbed.

It had all gone something rather like this:

Dick, Jason, Alfred, and Tim stood before a little headstone beside Jason's old grave in the Gotham City Cemetery, all dressed in black suits and all carrying big black umbrellas. Well, three of them were wearing suits; Dick was wearing black jeans and a black sport's jacket because this was fucking ridiculous. It was a rare sunny day in late November and the sky was clear, so Dick was made to hold a garden hose pointed in the air to the effect of rain. Because Jason was actually a drama queen, a literature nerd, and a big fan of pathetic fallacy. Not to mention a slightly demented little shit with a dark sense of humor.

"We are gathered here together to pay our last respects to the most awful creature God ever created," Jason had begun, "Justin Bieber was a menace. A true spawn from hell. But he was a loyal little fucker…"

Alfred had raised a disapproving eyebrow at that.

Jason had reworded his eulogy. "A loyal little…creatin…and he clawed his way into our hearts. Well, for those of us who have hearts." Here he'd given Dick a sideways look; and wow, role reversal much? "Justin Bieber got what was coming to him. After he made Dick crash the car, the clock was ticking down for that little shi…bastar…fuc…caaaaat. But we are none of us cosmic judges, and so here we stand to mourn JB, and send him off to his maggoty grave."

"What's wrong with you?" Tim had asked.

Dick had just quirked an eyebrow at his kid almost-brother. "You want that list alphabetical or chronological?"

Which is when Alfred had stepped in. "Perhaps we should proceed to burry Justin Bieber and move on to the brunch."

"Good thinking Alfie," Jason had said, "shovel please."

And then Dick had given him the shovel and Jason had smoked a cigarette while he dug a little hole beside his own empty grave. It made Dick's skin crawl, but there was really nothing for it. His apathy towards the cat did not extend to his brother, and he was worried to the point of being almost physically sick.

But then they'd put the shoe box and JB in the ground, and covered it up with dirt, and gone out to The Waffle House for an early brunch. Dick and Tim hadn't eaten almost anything, but Jason had ignored that and wolfed down three massive waffles and a bowl of fruit.

That had all happened two days ago and now Jason wasn't talking to him. Dick knew he hadn't done anything to deserve the silent treatment, which was making everything worse. He wanted to—no, he needed—to know what was going on in Jason's head. But unfortunately, that wasn't really happening.

Jason was getting annoyed with his brother. Dick kept starring at him through the transparent divider between their workstations in the BCPD's main office. The guy probably thought he was being discreet, but he wasn't. Every once and a while he'd see a flash of Atlantic blue peeking out from behind a pair of trendy reading glasses and out from under a curtain of long black bangs. Up to his armpits in police paperwork and up to the top of his head in repressed thoughts of death, Jason's patience was thinner than an anorexic amoeba.

"What?" he finally snapped, slamming his now empty coffee mug down hard on the desk.

Dick jumped a little, as did half the room. But Jason ignored them all.

"You…" Dick seemed to be suddenly at a loss for words, which didn't happen unless there was something really wrong, but Jason didn't have it in him to care about someone else's feelings at the moment.

"I what?" Jason snapped.

Dick's eyes traveled to the calendar November 24th. The day Jason Todd got blown up in a warehouse. The day he died. Jason glared as his brother. He was angry and on the verge of spitting out some scathing remark, when he got swallowed up whole in the most openly loving, and concerned, and honest look that had ever been directed at him. Whatever Jason had been about to say died in his throat and turned to ash.

A thousand unspoken sentences flashed through Dick's eyes, but all that came out was, "I'm really sorry I brought JB home. I didn't know it would end like that."

Jason sat back in his chair so suddenly it rocked with his weight. Did Dick actually know what was going through his head? Did he know Jason blamed him for what happened? For bringing someone else into his life only for that someone to be taken from him? Did he know that Jason thought he was himself poison…poison nobody could survive? Did he know that today, Jason could not escape thinking about his worst fear? His fear that he'd lose his big brother the same way he'd lost his parents, his own life, his fucking cat, and…everything else? Did he know that this was the absolute worst timing for everything?

Probably.

They'd spent every single day together for almost a year at this point. Dick probably knew everything. Which meant Jason could be as mean as he bloody well liked, and Dick would understand not to take it personally. Well, Dick took everything personally, but he'd make an exception in this case. He'd have to.

Jason picked up the empty coffee mug and stood up to get a refill. "Go play with your fucking staple machine," he said darkly, the most words he'd strung together in almost two days, "go pound something else into the pavement."

He went to get more coffee but what he really wanted was some strong whisky and a good hook up. He was just adding a dash of cream when his phone calendar chimed a notice at him.

"Happy Death Day."

Jason chucked his phone at the wall. The screen cracked. Good.

Go pound something else into the pavement.

Ouch. That hurt. Dick knew better than to take it personally, but he couldn't help it. Cats and, well people, going splat on the ground was kind of a thing that tended to happen around him. And while the fact that JB was gone didn't really get to him, the whole image of the cat falling to his death did.

He didn't mean it, Dick reminded himself, Jay's just upset.

So he repositioned his glasses, took a sip of his very cold almost stale coffee, shook out his fingers, and got back to his paperwork. Joy.

When Dick left the precinct around 5:00, he had to catch the buss because Jason, the prick, has taken the car and left without him. Brothers.

He took the 5:25 bus to North Amity street. He was crammed in the back with two teenagers who were eyeing him wearily; they were vaping and hoping he hadn't noticed. He had but he let them get away with it. That was their parent's problem and Dick had a child of his own to deal with. Honestly, the older woman leering at him from behind her Bridgerton romance novel was more concerning. Well, more irritating maybe. Dick drew his cap down over his eyes, and slumped deeper into his seat, determined to figure out what to do with Jason.

So his brother blamed him for JB. Not that Dick would begrudge him that, even though if they were going to cast blame, it was really JB's own fault. And possibly a little bit Jason's. But though he did have a petty streak, Dick wasn't about to accuse Jason of anything like killing JB. Because that would just be cruel.

People were hard to figure out under the best of circumstances. Trying to figure out Jason Todd on his Death Day was about as far from the best of circumstances as one could possibly get. Dick knew that his brother really just wanted to be left alone with a bottle of whisky so he could…probably pass out and not think. But Dick was a dick, and he didn't have the emotional fortitude to go through that again. Not without at least trying something else.

Perhaps he could…

Dick pulled sharply down on the emergency stop as the bus pulled onto Upper Oliva Street. The bus jolted with the stop, and Dick was almost thrown forward. He got several aggravated looks from the other passengers but that wasn't important. He grabbed his backpack with all his paperwork and bolted for the back door exit. Across the street, at the back lot of Olivia Plaza, was the Little Pet Shope. It was a gamble sure, but maybe just maybe, Jason needed a little living.

Nightwing and Red Hood get a pet: take 2

I hope this doesn't blow up in my face.

Jason was on his third shot—he thought he was drinking whisky, but it might have been scotch—when Dick pushed the apartment door wide open. Looking up from where he was sprawled across the couch, stripped down to his uniform trousers and a solid gray undershirt, one socked foot flung sideways over the coffee table. Dick didn't look as pissed as he'd been hoping.

And to think I stranded him at the station to rile him up. The asshole doesn't even have the decency to fight me.

"How was the walk back," Jason drawled.

"I got us steak and cheese from…" Dick's answer was cut off by the high pitched bark of small dog straining at the end of a bright red leash.

"The hell's this?" Jason demanded. His horror covered by the venom in his voice.

"Uhhh…" Dick seemed to brace himself for an inevitable onslaught, which meant the douche knew perfectly well what he was doing. "This is your Death Day present."

Jason threw the empty shot glass across the living room to shatter against the tiled kitchen wall. "You take that mut right back to wherever the hell you got it from."

"Technically, he's a German Shepherd," said Dick. He flinched as Jason got closer, stalking into the kitchen until they were only a foot apart, but Dick held his ground. Jason was almost impressed.

"I don't care if it's a fucking unicorn! I want that thing out of my house!" Jason roared. He couldn't be responsible for another death. He couldn't. It was bad enough that he had to worry about what might happen to Dick being so close to him, he didn't want to be responsible for a puppy. JB had proven that he was still a curse.

"Jay, it'll be alright," said Dick, his eyes full of sympathy and understanding, "we're not cursed."

"Yes we are!" Jason retorted. "You are. You are a curse. You're a fucking curse. You keep bringing things into my life for me to kill them!"

But Dick being Dick, understood the words he didn't say. "We're not cursed. You're not cursed."

Yes I am. Everything always dies around me. Even me. "I'm the walking dead! How is that not cursed?"

"Just give it a chance!" Dick pleaded. "You'll see…."

"No! Get that creature away from me!"

"I won't! You need to see that…"

"You don't get to tell me what I need," snapped Jason, "because you don't know."

"I…"

"No, shut up and listen for once. Stop trying to force your own brand of 'healing bullshit' on me. You're not me and you don't know what's best. Get off your goddamn almighty high horse and smell the roses. I'm not your project!"

"I'm only trying to help!"

"Well stop helping!"

"I can't. Because you'll get even angrier if I do! You don't want…"

"Stop telling me what I want!" Before Jason could even thing about what he was doing, he slammed Dick into the refrigerator. Bowls and cereal boxes on top of the fridge rattled with the impact, the contents inside clattered together. "What I want, is to be left alone."

"No you don't," Dick shoved him back, "you don't really want that."

Jason's anger was heating to a boil. "Get out of here, Dick. Get out!"

"No!"

"I said, 'get out'!" Jason reached for the nearest object on the kitchen counter. It happened to be a pair of dirty blue-jeans. He threw them at the other guy. "Just leave me alone!"

Eyes suddenly cold and emotionless, Dick nodded. "OK, if that's what you want."

No, it's not. I just want to fight you, damnit! I want all of this to just be someone else's fault.

But Dick was already out the door without another word.

Worst Death Day ever. Even worse than the first Death Day which was saying a lot. Jason stalked back to the couch. He ignored the frightened German Shepard puppy cringing in the corner by the bookshelf. Jason bent over the coffee table and picked up the whisky, but he no longer felt like drinking. He felt like crying.

Dick Grayson, now Nightwing, was getting an early start on patrol. He jumped off the roof of a three-story building onto adjacent roof of a two-story building like the parkour ninja he was. He rolled gracefully with the impact, sparing his knees and ankles. Then he got up and continued his sprint along Bludhaven's broken skyline. The autumn air was chill, especially since the sun was down, and the wind bit at his face. Nightwing didn't care. He just ran, and jumped, and ran some more.

He felt a little guilty for walking out on Jason. He knew his brother just wanted someone to yell at, someone who would take the brunt of his hurt and anger until it finally subsided into something manageable. But he'd left. He'd left not because Jason told him to, but because he was too angry himself to take that kind of abuse. If they did have a real brawl, which they would have if he'd stayed, the apartment wouldn't have survived. And neither one of them had Bruce's kind of money.

I'll apologize after I've had a chance to clear my head.

But that might take a couple days. Maybe longer since he'd decided to walk out on the encroaching conflict.

I feel like an such an asshole. Heh, who am I kidding, I'm an actual dick.

He'd known bringing home a puppy was a bad idea, especially today, whatever his good intentions may have been. Because Jason had been right about one thing; Dick did the thing that he wanted—made decisions for people instead of with them—it was one of his most annoying character flaws. Dick just wanted things to be fixed. Because, despite all evidence to the contrary, he believed everything could be fixed. And he got frustrated when problems didn't solve themselves as fast as he wanted.

What are you doing, Grayson? Why can't you just let him be? Why don't you try being there for him the way he wants you to, more than the way you want you too? Why won't you just play the long game!

Distracted by his errant thoughts and lulled into a false sense of security by the quiet of Bludhaven's upper end residential district, Nightwing was legitimately surprised by the crowbar that slammed into the side of his face. Momentarily disoriented by the blow, he fell victim to a pulse of electricity that hit the exposed part of his next. His insulated suit did nothing to save him from the vicious attack.

"Ooh, did that hurt, Birdy?" cackled an all too familiar voice, "it looks like it hurt."

The crowbar smacked against the back of his head again, but Nightwing was already concussed. Hating himself for the weakness but powerless to formulate a coherent though through the pain ripping through his skull. He fell. Landed on his butt on the rooftop. He thought it was only momentary slip—a brief lapse in balance—but when he threw up on his own lap, he realized that might not be the case. Oops.

"Now that's just disgusting; I'm not even sure it's funny." The Joker loomed over him, crowbar in hand. And that, Nightwing thought, was just ironic.

"Great timing, Nut-face," said Nightwing. Was that even an insult? He couldn't remember.

For his part, the Joker took no offence. Taking hold of a chunk of Nightwing's hair and dripping acid down the front of his suit, the mad clown smiled almost affably. "It is isn't it? Believe it or not, I'm here to do the family a little favor. After all, it is Robin's Death Day. It seems so…ill-mannered…of me not to get him a gift."

"Wha...?" More confused than he'd like to admit, Nightwing searched those insane green eyes for incalculable clues.

"Why, I'm getting Robin the Second what he's always wanted! I chance to find out once and for all who Batman loves most: you, him, or me." The Joker had never looked more pleased with himself.

The universe just like to prove me right; I'm a terrible brother. Never should have left Jason. That was the last thing that went through Nightwing's head before he let the Joker swing him over his shoulder. He dipped out of consciousness

I'm such an asshole.

Jason paced the darkened apartment, too restless to even bother turning on the lights. He was wearing a track in the carpet and holes in his socks. He hadn't stopped walking the same track for the last few hours.

OK, Dick was a jerk first, but he always is. He means well in his own asshole way…fuck, and that creature is actually kind of cute too. I always wanted a dog.

He stopped walking the livingroom for a second, long enough to crouch down on his haunches as stare at the German Sheppard puppy now lodged under the entertainment center. With gentle but firm hands, he pulled the dog out of its hiding place. Its fur was soft to the touch. Its bones felt fragile under his calloused hands. The puppy barked at him, still terrified from his previous raging.

"Easy buddy, I'm not gonna hurt you." Jason felt bad about scarring the little thing. "I'm not all that bad."

Except that I really am.

But the puppy seemed to possess that rare ability to forgive easily. It was a trait of the innocent, Jason knew. Maybe that's why he held grudges better than anyone but Batman himself; Jason Todd was anything but innocent.

The puppy, a girl he how saw, licked at his bruised and scarred hands with her warm tongue. Jason sat back into a cross legged position on the floor. He held the dog to his chest with one arm.

"Guess that was kind mean of me to yell at you, wasn't it? It's not your fault Dick is a jerk. He should have known better. Shoulda known it was a bad idea to bring you home after he…after I…killed JB." He looked into a pair of dark, almost black, puppy-dog eyes. "I'm worried 'bout him you know. He shouldn't be out there on his own. Especially not tonight. Sometimes, I think he's all I got left."

The puppy barked at him.

Jason laughed without humor. "No, you don't count. You're going back to the pat store before I get ya killed. That's what I do best, you know; get people killed. Nobody survives me. Not even me. It's a wonder Dick's lasted so long. I know I should leave before I get him killed too, but guess I'm as selfish as he is. I gotta have someone, ya know. Never did like bein' alone."

Seemingly tired of his self-pitying speech, the puppy wriggled free of his lap and began exploring the apartment. She found one of Dick's converse sneakers and began trying to shake the shoe to shreds. The worn bright blue fabric was already so full of holes, that Jason thought the dog might actually be doing the guy a favor.

I should go get that idiot before he gets himself hurt…

A/N: stay tuned. We will return to our regularly scheduled broadcast after Happy Death Day Part II. Because, while I am an asshole, I am not a total asshole.