Jason Todd

Ice cold wind whipped off of Gotham Bay, and my face ached as Damian and I stood on the rocky shoreline, staring straight ahead. From here, only three miles of frigid, polluted water stood between us and Blackgate Penitentiary. Between me and Dickie. Assuming he was still alive.

Please, fuck, let him still be alive.

We had managed to slip out of the bunker undetected in the small hours of the morning. The others had stayed up late, plotting Dick's rescue at the Tribunal, and were still sleeping. Gotham was deserted that early - the fear of the Enforcers' wrath still kept people inside during curfew hours, even if there were only a handful left that seemed immune to the loss of the drugs. A fact we used to our advantage as we scoped out our options for crossing the brackish, choppy expanse.

Swimming was out of the question. The water was as close to freezing as it could be without becoming solid, and it still harbored most of the radioactive runoff, making it a deadly, poisonous swill.

"There are likely still boats in the marina," Damian suggested, "though whether any are dirigible remains to be seen." He pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned along the coast. Which was for the best, really, because he might have killed me for the exaggerated eye roll I gave him.

What a pretentious, insufferable…

"I've found a skiff that will be acceptable. The sail appears largely intact, and it is small enough that we have a better chance at avoiding detection." He lowered his binoculars and tucked them back into his rucksack.

"So your plan is to take a sailboat, in broad daylight, and mosey up to Blackgate. You gonna ask the guards to just give us Dick, too? Maybe if you say 'pretty please' they'll be more than happy to help us out. Or maybe we should have done this at night, like I said." I had a gnawing feeling that this was all going to go sideways fast. But I couldn't pay attention to it - Damian had already set a brusque pace toward the marina.

Clambering over the slippery rocks on the shore was harder than I thought it would be, but it was better than traipsing through the streets on the off chance we'd be spotted by one of the few remaining Enforcers who would be more than happy to load us with bullets and leave our bodies for the seagulls. Only a mile to reach the docked boats, but it took us nearly half an hour. By then the wind had died down and the usual sickly, thick mist rolled in.

I could just make out Damian's face a few paces ahead of me. He was sporting a smug smile and I swallowed the urge to wipe it off his face. "Perhaps one day you will learn not to doubt me, Todd. I anticipated the fog would provide the necessary cover."

"Sure you did," I snarked. Asshole.

Probably for the best, Damian ignored me, and set about inspecting the boat. I stood on the dock, only narrowly resisting the impulse to unmoor the damn thing and set him adrift. Hell, if I had a better plan to rescue Dickie, I might've. But this was a two-man job, at least, and as much as I hated it, I needed Damian.

After the 'skiff' (as he insisted on calling it) passed his inspection, I pulled the rope from the cleat and we set off at a snail's pace, with Damian cursing and adjusting the sails. Eventually we caught enough of a breeze to start moving forward, and some part of me was grateful for the outboard motor - we'd need that once we had Dickie with us. But for now, stealth was the name of the game.

Slowly, we headed toward the floodlights on the top of a turret on the edges of Blackgate Island. I tried to focus on what was coming next: angry Enforcers with M16s and high ground. But all I could do, as we bobbed along, enveloped in the haze, was think about Dick, and pray we weren't too late.

— — — — —

Before

I thought that nuclear Armageddon would have changed things, but as soon as the last bomb fell, and the all-clear alert was broadcast, people were out in the streets, robbing and hurting each other, looting and rioting. Business as usual. Naturally, Nightwing and Red Hood were back on the streets, too, trying to keep society from collapsing in on itself.

The work was more tedious than before. It was hard to sort out the difference between the bad and the desperate, but we did what we could, and came home every morning caked in sweat and fallout dust.

Even post-patrol showers were laborious. Dick and I had to take turns stripping off our suits under a scalding spray, then scrubbing down with a special, two step soap designed to prevent chronic radiation poisoning.

After a few weeks, I could see how helpless Dick felt when we came back home. Another difficult night. More people hacking and choking in the streets, covered in soot that the government assured us was 'safe'. He wanted, or maybe needed to save them all. The impossibility of it was grinding him into the ground. Or at least that's why I thought he collapsed into bed after his shower.

Which is probably why I jumped down his throat when I walked in on him in the bathroom, hours later, to find him bandaging large swatches of burns all over his torso, some of them blistering and peeling.

"What the fuck happened?!" I demanded as I was fantasizing about slowly killing whoever did this to him. Because it looked damned intentional, and I couldn't remember when he would have gotten an injury like that. The edges of the burns were sharp, crisp demarcations between the raised, red patches and healthy skin.

He was stunned at first, grappling with anger at the intrusion and shame at having been caught. Then he lowered his head, shaking it slowly, "Remember when I ripped my suit the other day? Looks like the dust is way more radioactive than they let on." He shrugged, and let me put the rest of the pieces together.

The burns were in the exact shape of the tears in his suit. The blistering, purple rash was from the radiation, places where that fucking ash had rubbed into his skin after a looter got a lucky shot and pushed him through a store window. Panic flooded into my chest and my next thought almost brought me to my knees.

Fuck. Is he dying?

I stood in the bathroom, mouth agape, trying to slap together my limited knowledge of fallout. "This is bad. This is really bad. How long were you planning on fucking hiding this?!"

Leave it to me to fall back on rage as a proxy for bone-deep terror.

But Dick always seemed to see right through me. "Relax, Jay. You worry too much. Looks worse than it is. Promise. They're not that deep, they'll heal."

He reached for my hand and tugged on my arm, pulling me into a tender, if brief, kiss. I tried to let my lips linger on his, but he drew away and went back to taping bandages down over the weeping skin.

"Damnit, Dickie. At least let me help you." I knelt down beside him and he lifted his arm, giving me access to the burn that stretched around to his back. I smoothed the tape down and he winced, but said nothing.

"Maybe we should take a few days off, let this clear up," I suggested. "Besides, my helmet filters shit out, but you've been breathing that goddamn ash for weeks. You're going to get yourself killed."

He just shrugged, as if he had already thought of that and accepted it. My heart sank into my stomach.

"Those people out there?" He stood, then walked into the bedroom and leaned on the window sill. "They've got nothing, Jay. They can't even go outside without getting sick. They're scared and hopeless - I have to help them, no matter what it costs."

Self-sacrificing asshole.

I stormed after him, spinning him around to face me, suddenly angry again. "What do you think I would have, if you died?! Nothing! I'd have fucking nothing, Dick! We only have each other. I can't lose you!"

Closing his eyes, he turned away. "I'm sorry, Jason. But I can't just sit back and watch the world tear itself apart. Not when I can do something about it."

"Fuck! Open your eyes, Dick!" I raged at him, even though I knew my anger would only make him more resolute. "The world is already destroyed! And there is nothing out there that's worth destroying yourself for." Before he could argue, I cupped his cheek in my hand stroking his soft skin, then swept him into a kiss that I hoped would convey everything: desperation, sorrow, fear. And love. Always love.

Pulling back, he looked up at me, tears in his eyes. "I can't stop fighting for them. I won't. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," I nodded sadly, resigned and too tired to argue any more. "I know."

— — — — —

After

Our approach to Blackgate Island was nothing short of eerie, and when the hull of our boat scraped against the shore, it was very clear the stone security towers were deserted. I had started to doubt that Dick was even here when I heard a commotion at the front gate. Damian and I crouched low and moved quickly against the wall, inching our way to the entrance.

We couldn't make out faces at first - it was just an amorphous group of thin figures, urged on by a gentle, echoing voice. I crept forward, even as Damian hissed at me to stay still. I had to see. Had to know.

I was only about ten feet away when I saw them clearly - a little over a dozen people, skeletal and bruised, being led into the mist by an impossibly familiar face.

Suddenly, I recognized who it was through the distortion and clambering, and I was drowning in relief.

"Dick!" I called out into the fog.

"Jay?" He replied, and then signaled to whoever was following him, "This way!"

Blindly, I ran towards him, scrambling against the mossy stones beneath my feet. Damian deftly followed behind.

Then I saw him. Really saw him, as we got close enough in the fog to make out details. My hope and relief shrank, and pain and regret bubbled up in its place.

He was barely upright, helping a gaunt kid across the slick rocks. His dark hair was caked in blood, and the side of his face was swollen so badly he could only open one eye. Both cheeks were a deep purple, and his lips were split at intervals. He swayed and staggered as he walked, and I stepped forward, gripping his shoulders tight and steadying him.

"God, Dickie… what's going on?" I couldn't stop myself as I pulled him into a tight hug.

"What are you doing here? It's not safe. You need to go…" He was disoriented and rambling.

"Fine. We'll go, but you're coming with us." Damian grabbed his wrist, but he pulled it back sharply.

"No. I can't. There are more prisoners inside… I was just getting these people to the boat at the docks. I have to go back." He turned to me, pleading, "I need you to take care of Duke, Jason. He's bad off."

"You're delirious, Dickiebird. Duke is dead." I could spot his concussion a mile away. I pulled on him again.

"No!" Dick stepped back, almost falling, and grabbed the shoulders of the kid he was helping. The boy's dark skin was ashen, his eyes fixed on some faraway point, and he was mumbling to himself, rocking slightly. His face was hollow and gaunt, but I finally recognized him. Dick was right.

Duke was alive.

"How…?" I began, but Dick just shook his head and pushed Duke into Damian's arms.

"You need to get him to Bruce. Now. We don't have a lot of time." He nodded to our boat and started guiding the injured and abused prisoners over to it, loading them on, one by one. Damian pulled a reluctant Duke aboard, and I stepped on, reaching out to help Dick up and into safety.

"I just have to go back and get the others. There's another boat on the north dock. I'll be right behind you. I promise." He offered a beleaguered smile as reassurance. "You have to go now. There are about six or seven very pissed guards coming this way. I can give you cover, but not forever."

"No. No goddamn way," I growled, "We are not leaving here without you, Dick."

He pulled me into an anguished kiss, and I could feel his tears on my lips.

"Yes. You are."

He stepped back and pushed on the hull with his foot, shoving us off into the rising tide. Then he slipped into the fog and was gone.

Damian fired up the outboard motor.

"Fuck! Turn that off! We're not leaving him!" I pushed past shrieking and terrified survivors, reaching for the kill switch. I wasn't fast enough, and Damian angrily wiped away tears of his own as he piloted us away from the island.

"Turn us around right now!" I screamed.

Damian just shook his head. "It's too late, Todd. Grayson made his choice. And we have a duty to uphold." He cradled Duke's head against his broad chest and set his sights on the marina.

I couldn't tear my focus away from Blackgate.

Damnit, Dickie. What have you done?