Jason's whole body jerked. His heart dropped to his stomach. Adrenaline shot through him. Drumming echoed through his ears.

He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Jason's breath got caught in his throat, suffocating him as he struggled for air almost as if he was back in that damn coffin. All the noises around him became too loud. His skin felt tight. His head pounded. He unbuckled his helmet with trembling hands and yanked it off his head, the cool breeze causing his white stripe to flop forward and stick to his sweaty forehead. After a couple shaky breaths, he opened his eyes again.

A leaf.

It's just a leaf.

Jason swore and turned his focus back to the street below.

The light green maple leaf continued fluttering in his peripheral vision, one of the few that had not yet turned red or yellow.

Jason brushed his hair back with his fingers and took a few more deep breaths of the crisp air. It was just a leaf. He's fine. After taking a few seconds to steady his trembling hands, he pressed his sweaty cheek against the side of his cold gun and continued staring through the scope.

The drumming in his ears slowly faded along with the other waning side effects of a panic attack, but he remained unedged and shaky. A staticky cover of Party In The USA faded in and out through a nearby department store window. Jason absetmindently hummed along. He was drowned out by the storm of noise from the street; a symphony consisting of pounding footsteps and the rumble of the subway, of meaningless conversations spoken from civilian to civilian or through phones, and the chorus of car engines accompanied by a sporadic honk or two. Somewhere a dog was barking and a cat was hissing. Police sirens faded and reappeared.

No one, not the busy Gothamites, nor the shoppers nor drivers, not the cat nor the dog, looked up.

Seven stories above them, Jason was just barely making out the entrance to a seemingly innocuous store. He could read the foreclosed signs through the scope. The curtains of the impeccable storefront were tightly shut.

He huffed, frustrated, as passerby continued to walk directly in his line of sight. They were mostly clad in t-shirts and shorts, no doubt enjoying the last bit of summer sun before autumn completely took over the city. Jason envied them. He was starting to get overheated in all this leather. He shrugged off his thick jacket, setting it next to his drag bag. It was a hassle to do so without peeling his eyes from the store, but he refused to look away. Even for a second. It was pointless, however, because the only thing he saw was a teenager in a superman t-shirt carrying a toddler in a baggy Pikachu onesie.

No one down below seemed nervous. And why should they? It was a relatively safe part of Gotham. Most of the city's rogues were in Arkham. It was the middle of the day. What could go wrong?

Jason was sure if any one of them looked up and saw the Red Hood with a rifle they'd be a little less calm. Or maybe not. He got all kinds of different reactions these days.

The lime green leaf fluttered into view again. Jason huffed, blowing a tuft of hair out of his face and squeezing his left eye shut. Everything but the scene the scope provided him with was shielded from view.

Being unable to see his surroundings didn't really ease Jason's anxiety. He was already boxed in by three taller buildings. Anyone could get the jump on him.

But if that leaf interrupted him one more time he'd lose it.

Lately everytime something green entered his vision, his body would treat it like a jumpscare. It didn't matter what it was. His hands would shake. His breath would come in erratic, strangled bursts. His heart would slam into his throat.

Imagine that. The Red Hood, most feared outlaw in Gotham — if not the world — turned skittish around a little nature.

At least there wasn't much of the color in Gotham. Or any color, really. Anything except for grey and black, and maybe some dull browns, were a scarcity. Jason found it comforting.

As long as his vision wasn't swimming in green, pit madness stayed away.

As long as the pit madness stayed away, he wasn't going to hurt someone innocent. Like Robin.

Jason pressed his lips together. There was no use dwelling on the past. Slitting the kids throat wasn't something he was proud of. On the contrary, it kept him up more nights than not.

But if he was being completely honest, he didn't actually remember it all that well. For those first few years after the lazarus pit, all he could remember was anger and pain, flashes of fights and screaming conversations, the league, the All-Caste, Joker, and green. So, so much green.

But it was all over now, so it was fine. It was fine.

Jason huffed, shook his head as if he could shake the memories away, and rolled his shoulder to try to get rid of the stiffness caused by being in one place for too long.

Before he could get settled again, however, he heard the near silent clang! and whiiir of a grappling hook, followed by the soft thump thump of two feet joining him on the roof.

Great.

Just what he needed.

He had already had a horrible conversation with Bruce.

And if it was Robin, insistent on following him around preaching about the good in him (yuck) he was just gonna snap and shoot the kid.

Not really.

But maybe.

After a few anxiety inducing seconds where neither spoke, Jason finally conceded. "Its not loaded," he sighed. "Just usin' the scope."

"I know!" insisted the too-quick reply. Jason rolled his eyes. Of course he knew the gun wasn't loaded. Golden Boy and the rest of the bats didn't have the tiniest bit of faith in him. He was probably being watched the second he stepped a toe in this city.

"Hmmph." Jason made a point to continue staring through the scope, not making any more moves to acknowledge Dick.

A few slow, hesitant footsteps approached him. Jason's fingers brushed against the knife hidden between the roofs surface and the barrel of his rifle.

A small part of him knew that if Dick had wanted to attack him, he would have done so by now. And he wouldn't be making such a show of not covering the noise of his footsteps.

Still. Never know.

Jason heard Dick sit down next to him, but didn't bother looking over. He kept the eye not trained on the storefront firmly shut.

Pat pat pat. Dick started doing that stupid thing he does where he drums his fingers when he'd nervous.

"Sooo. How's it going?"

"What do you want?"

Pat pat pat.

Thats gonna drive Jason crazy.

Well. Crazier.

"I just wanted to check in on you," Dick said slowly, emphasizing each word. His apprehensive tone made it clear he was scared Jason was gonna snap any minute.

Jason snorted. Yeah. Sure. Check in. Is that what they're calling surveillance nowadays?

"Well, as you can see, I haven't killed anyone. So why don't you go report back to your dear old dad that everything's just peachy here."

"I… I'm not here to spy on you." There was that same tense tone.

"Uh huh," Jason drawled.

"I'm not!"

"Then why are you here, Boy Blunder?" Jason snapped, turning to glare. Not that Nightwing could see it from behind his domino mask, but still. Dicks lips were pursed and he was staring at Jason as if he were a wounded animal, ready to lash out and bite at the slightest provocation. "You hear to steal another one of my friends?"

Dick stilled. His brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Typical," Jason snorted, turning back to his scope. Dick stole Roy, dragging him back to the Titans, and then has the audacity to act like he doesn't remember. "Forget it."

Dick pressed his hand to the roof and lowered himself so he was sitting directly next to Jason, but facing the opposite way and leaning back against the roof lege. His elbow brushed against Jason's rifle, nudging the scope way off course.

Finally giving up, Jason pushed himself up onto his knees and began disassembling the gun. Black Masks contact was supposed to meet with a member of the Falcone crime family hours ago. If they hadn't arrived by now, they wouldn't be coming. Jason pressed a small button and jiggled off the gun's bolt cover and set it in its case, seething. He had received a dud tip. He sat in this uncomfortable position all day for nothing.

Jason yanked the gun's recoil spring out too forcefully; it snagged his glove.

He was going to have to track down the goon who gave him the tip and have a very lengthy "conversation" about what happens when you lie to the Red Hood.

He was so focused on imagining what he was going to do to the poor man and packing up his rifle, he just now noticed Dick was talking.

" And I just figured that you and I haven't had much time together since, y'know…"

"My death?" Jason suggested bluntly. The older vigilante grimaced.

"Yeah. So I was just thinking that we could—"

"What, you don't consider lockin' me up in Arkham bondin' time?" Jason snarled, shoving his disassembled gun parts into his case with more force than necessary.

Dick went quiet. Besides the distant music, honking and natural bustle of the city crowds, the only noise was Jason attempting to slam his case shut. But, alas, it was fabric, so he resorted to angrily jerking on the zipper.

There was a time when Nightwing shutting up would concern Jason, but now it just filled him with rage. How dare he play the victim after all he put him through? He doesn't deserve to feel bad about this.

"Thats not fair," Dick eventually said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No, ya' know what's not fair?" Jason snapped, his voice rising. He jumped to his feet, tossing his jacket on and slinging his case over his shoulder. Dick looked up at him like a kicked puppy. "What's not fair is lockin' someone in an insane asylum not ten feet away from the psycho who killed him! You don't get to do that and then pretend you care about me!" He was screaming now. Jason picked up his helmet, poked Dick in the chest with his free hand, stared him in the eyes and lowered his voice to a growl. "Everyone else might buy your lovey dovey do-no-wrong bullshit, but not me."

Dick scowled then. He roughly smacked Jason's hand, rising to his feet. A hot spike of anger shot through Jason. No sooner had Dick stood did Jason shove him in the chest. Hard. He stumbled back a few feet, quickly catching his balance. They exchanged enraged glares.

"Dont ever touch me." Jason seethed.

"Or what, Jason?" Dick spat, obviously at his limit. "You'll shoot me? Slit my throat?"

"I'm considerin' it."

"You know, you did a lotta bad stuff, too, Jason. You cant just pretend—"

"I don't pretend," Jason yelled. "I know what I am! I know what I've done! At least I acknowledge the fact that I'm a monster." He gestured around wildly with his helmet. "I may have tried to kill Robin, or Red Robin, or whatever he's going by now, but at least I don't parade around pretending like I care about him! You on the other hand locked me—"

"Don't you dare compare those two things, Jason!" Dicks throat and face were turning red. "You slit a kid's throat! B and I sent you somewhere to get help because we care—"

"Oh, yeah, because Arkham is known for its rehab program," Jason said sarcastically. "Truly, a smart move."

"You know what? Forget it!" Dick cried, throwing his hands in the air. It was just then that Jason noticed on of his fists was closed around something. He told himself he didn't care. "Forgive me for trying to spend some time with my brother!"

"I! AM NOT! YOUR BROTHER!" Jason screamed. Dick recoiled as if he was stuck, the color and anger draining from his face. Jason drew in a shaky breath and clenched his fists at his sides, feeling the metal of his helmet bend. "We're not family, and we don't care about each other. So… so just stop."

Dick swallowed. He dropped his hands. "Okay."

"Okay?" Jason scoffed, pulling his helmet over his face. He was sick of having his emotions on display for the world to see. At least the cold metal gave him a small advantage.

"Okay," Dick repeated, sounding tired and defeated. He rubbed his face with his free hand, holding the other one out. "Honestly, I really came here cause I wanted to give you this. I don't think I need it anymore."

Jasons eyes darted down. His hands stilled from where they were buckling the leather straps under his chin.

In Dicks hand was a tiny leather drawstring pouch. A tiny green leather drawstring pouch. Something familiar shot through Jason upon seeing it, but that was drowned out by the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

The anger of the previous conversation faded and was replaced with the steadily increasing panic of green green green green lazarus green lazarus lazarus.

Jason gulped and tried shoving the nonsensical panic to the back of his mind. The more he struggled with it, however, the stronger he felt it. His face felt hot. His heart was in his throat and his stomach in his feet. Jason was very thankful his face was covered.

He tore his eyes from it and met Dicks. His blue eyes were covered by the pale white lenses of his domino mask.

Jason tried to keep the shakiness out of his voice. "Am I supposed to know what that is?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't." Jason clipped the buckle together and pulled it tight, hoping it wasn't obvious how his hands lightly shook. He turned, blocking both the vigilante and the green from his sight, and stalked towards the opposite side of the roof. "Goodbye, Nightwing."

"Wha— wait!"

A firm, gloved hand shot out and wrapped around Jason's arm.

In a split second his pistol was out of the holster and digging into Dicks chin hard enough to to leave a bruise.

"Dont—"

"Touch you." Dick let go and held his hands out placatingly, the bag dangling from his left thumb by the drawstring. "Sorry. Forgot."

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Jason fuming and Dick seemingly unphased, before Jason flicked the safety on and slid it back in its holster. "I'm only not blastin' your brains out cause I got work to do, and having B all on my case ain't gonna make it easier."

Dick smiled, weakly. "Sure, Lil Wing."

Jason stilled. Little Wing? Seriously? Dick hadn't called him that since he was Robin. Before he died. Half of him positively melted upon hearing it and the other half started coming up with the most painful way to kill his non-brother.

All in all, his brain short circuited.

"I want you to take this," Dick said casually, as if Jason wasn't on the verge of a breakdown. He held out the bag again. Jason refused to look at it. "And I wanted to know if you'd want to come skiing with me, sometime?" Skiing? What? In the middle of Autumn? Did he hear him right? "And don't answer now!" Dick said quickly. He slid the small leather pouch into Jason's hand. Jason was way too confused to resist. "Just think about it, 'kay?"

Jason blinked. He nodded sharply, fully planning on throwing the bag away and never talking to Nightwing again.

Dick smiled. Probably the first genuine smile of the evening. He reached out as if to pat Jason on the shoulder or give him a hug, but hesitated and drew back. He nodded instead. "Okay. Good. Yeah. Kay. I'll be seeing you, then."

Unlikely, Jason thought.

Dick stepped past Jason. Jason moved his head slightly to keep an eye on him, but didn't make any move to go towards him or say goodbye.

After climbing up onto the roof ledge and unhooking his grapple gun, Nightwing hesitated and turned back around. "And for what it's worth, I really do care about you, Lil'Wing. And I'm… I'm sorry."

Jason snorted. Sorry? Sorry for what? There was a list. He tried to ignore the fact that he had a hundred times more things to apologize for. It was easier to be angry than remorseful.

DIck sighed. With a clang! and a whiiir! he was gone.

Once again, it was just Jason, the lovely sounds of the most crime infested city in the world, and horrible, terrible anxiety.

Also, this stupid, infinitesimal pouch that he could completely conceal in one hand.

Now, Jason did intend on getting rid of the stupid bag. Truly. But his hands seemed to have a mind of his own and began to pull on the drawstring while his brain was still processing everything.

Jason tipped the bag over and something small, hard, and rectangular fell into his palm. He tucked the pouch away into his pocket, avoiding looking at the green.

For the second time in the past seven minutes, his brain stopped.

A cassette tape?

Really.

Thats what was so important?

A cassette tape.

Are you kidding?

Jason may have missed a lot when he was dead, but even he knew cassettes were old. Hasn't everything gone digital now? This was kinda weird, even for Dick.

He flipped it over in his hands. His confusion grew when he saw the tiny words "Jason — Time Capsule" scrawled across it in his very own handwriting.

Time capsule? What time cap—

It hit him.

Oh.

OH.

Oh no.

This is a continuation of a previous one shot entitled "Winter Is Coldest For Those Without Warm Memories" :)