A/N: Longest chapter yet! Almost 7 K words X) I really wanted to cut this in half somewhere, but there just wasn't a good place to do so... so y'all got luckyX)

anyway I'm queer as heck so please keep that in mind while reading this chap lmao

Enjoy!

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If Nightwing had to choose his favourite source in his city, he'd pick the cast and crew of the Blüdhaven theatre. Their actors knew how to play dumb, smiling that secret smile only those who recognised it knew. Their Crew, dressed all black, silent as they listened to the whispering audience from the corners of the house. All of them were apologetically queer, and performed drag or poetry in dingy basement clubs, hidden from the city's judgement.

If he'd been raised on the streets here in 'Haven, he might've been one of them. Another performer in their brick circus.

He crouched in the rafters and looked down at the star of tonight, Ivory, getting his hair done by his stylist at his make-up station. He already wore his costume, a flowery 19th century waistcoat that was supposed to make him look like Mr. Darcy from 'Pride and Prejudice'.

Ivory wouldn't like what Nightwing had to say, so he'd picked a busy moment to catch him off guard. He'd have to convince him to bring his intel to the BPD, despite most cops being bigots that still called them slurs. It was going to be great.

Nightwing cleared his throat. Ivory made eye contact with him in the mirror.

"If it isn't Mr. Sunshine," he said. The hairdresser's hands paused on his head, but he gestured for her to continue. "This isn't your usual schedule."

He dropped from the rafters. "I'll keep this brief."

The doorknob turned and the actor playing Lizzy, Lea, peeked through.. Her hair was already done, a messy bun with daisies weaved through. "Five minutes to places," she said. "If you're late again, I'll shave you bald myself."

"See what I have to put up with," Ivory said to Nightwing. "I swear, all straights are lunatics."

Lea blinked when she noticed Nightwing. She stepped inside and closed the door, careful to not get it stuck on her dress. "Whatever this is, can it wait until after the show? We haven't started on time once this whole production."

"You need to bring your evidence to the police from now on."

Ivory snorted. "Like those pigs would take anything from us." He pressed his palm against his forehead and waved the other one with a limp wrist. "Chief, that faggot gave me queer cooties! Arrest him for crimes against my manhood!"

"They aren't all that bad," Nightwing said. It had gotten worse since his former partner Amy quit, but there were still some people who didn't sink that low. Like…

Okay, maybe it was that bad.

"That Grayson guy was kinda nice, though," Lea said.

Ivory laughed. "You mean he had a nice ass and didn't call you a slur. I have standards."

"The point is," Nightwing said, "that I won't be able to check the brick."

Lea frowned. "For how long?"

"Just take it as indefinitely."

Ivory stood up, bending toward the mirror to check his make-up. "The frick does indefinitely mean?"

"You're leaving 'Haven?" Lea stopped adjusting the waistline of her dress to look him in the eye.

Nightwing hesitated. He was, but not in the way they were thinking. "Sort of."

Ivory swirled away from the mirror to stare at Nightwing directly. "The frick does sort of mean? Can you speak English?"

"Hurry the hell up Darce! Places!" Came from the other side of the wall. A fist pounded against the door.

"This theatre is a fricking hate crime," Ivory muttered as he straightened out his waistcoat and strode towards the door. His hand shot up to wave goodbye without looking back. "Bye, Wing. Enjoy your 'sort of indefinitely' or whatever. We'll be here."

Lea smiled before she closed the door behind them. "Come back soon."

Nightwing let out a breath. That had gone better than he expected. Ivory and the rest of the theatre were the last of his contacts. Now it was only Officer Grayson who had to hand over his last cases at the BPD. Then he'd be free to disappear.

He sneaked back the way he came, using the catwalks above the house to reach the skylight they kept unlocked for him. Normally the open space would make him easy to spot, the railings of the catwalks low and the mesh bottom see-through, but the lights were already dimmed for the show, his shadow blending in with the darkness.

Their theatre was small compared to others, counting only two-hundred seats, the walls painted a simple red and black. The stage was barely big enough for their plays, and if the building was located anywhere else, they would've been run out of town. But four gangs had territory around it, which made messing with the place a dangerous provocation, even though there wasn't much to gain inside. It probably was the safest building in the city.

Nightwing opened the skylight, but before he could climb outside, a shadow blocked his path. Someone jumped through, his boots shaking the catwalk. The man cursed as he grabbed on to the railings, his voice metallic through the microphone in his helmet.

His mind couldn't make sense of what he saw. How was he here, inside this tiny theatre Dick didn't even keep files about? And why was he here at all? It didn't make sense.

A spotlight turned on. In the middle of the stage, a man opened a scroll. "It is a truth universally acknowledged," he began, "that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife."

Jason took off his helmet, placing it next to him on the catwalk. "Take a picture," he whispered. "It'll last longer."

More lights turned on, and both of them ducked below the railing to keep out of sight. The giant spotlights tied to the catwalk heated the space like an oven, their rays targeting the stage.

Nightwing had accepted he'd never see his family again. Jason had made it clear he had no intention of responding to Dick's messages after what happened at his hideout, and that was before the Black Mask fiasco, where he'd ruined things beyond repair.

He'd been so desperate to know what he'd done wrong, but now he realised it didn't matter. Whatever words had driven his brother away had done him a favour. It had been a relief in a way, not having to come up with another lie, another reason for his inevitable disappearance.

But it seemed Jason was hell-bent on acting out of character.

And Dick was so done with these emotions. They only brought him back to Spyral, his mind unable to detach the little things from what left him gasping and broken. Every splinter like a gunshot, every liquid running red. With every thought of his family, he felt the weight of his son's lifeless body in his arms.

He couldn't deal with Red Hood's bullshit right now.

Jason pushed him back when he attempted to climb through the window.

"Not a chance."

"Let go," Nightwing whispered. He pulled at his arm, but Jason's grip was firm. The audience clapped as the man with the scroll bowed and left the stage.

"We need to talk."

"There is no we. I'm done with Gotham and it's problems."

Jason laughed below his breath. "You really ain't all there, are you? Not that I mind you staying the fuck out of Gotham after you tomahawked Mask in the face. The city's running real bloody with wannabes who think they got what it takes."

"Fuck you."

Jason's grip on his arm tightened. "I think you're forgetting who has the anger issues here."

"What do you want, Jason? I have shit to take care of."

"I want to know what's your goddamn problem!" Jason whisper-shouted. "First you leave the most pathetic, whiny messages about needing to talk. Then you fuck up years of gang politics. But hey, you looked like absolute dogshit doing so, so I was like fine, lets go to goddamn Haven, and now you suddenly have—" Jason made air-quotes "—shit to take care of? Did I get that right?"

Dick opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down, where Lea and Ivory entered the stage, spotlights following their paths.

"That's right," he said.

Jason breathed out heavily. His hands shook as they inched closer to Dick's neck. Good. Dealing with an angry Red Hood was like bullfighting: first you taunt, then you dodge. Always keep him angry enough to forget the gun on his hip. If Nightwing could get through the window, there was little chance Jason could follow him for long if he was angry enough.

Faint movement from behind the audience caught his eye. Shadows moving across slits of light near the exits. He pushed his brother aside to get a better look.

"Fucking hell," Jason said. Dick shushed him and pulled him back down into a crouch.

"Don't fucking sssssh me, you—"

"Look," Dick whispered, forcing his brother's body to face the lights. Armed men came through the theatre doors, shuffling sideways and opening them as little as possible to stop anyone from noticing.

"Shit."

"Shit," Dick agreed. This was going to be great. Just fucking great. Who would even dare to target the theatre? And did they have to do it the only evening, hour, minute, Red Hood was in the building?

The armed men fanned out behind the last row, tiptoeing past the unsuspecting civilians. When the last of them came through the doors they halted in front of them, blocking anyone from leaving. They wore black jumpers with bulletproof vests, their faces hidden by white full-face masks. One of them, a woman with a single braid tucked over her shoulder and a Glock in her hand, pulled the emergency light switch.

Light flooded the theatre, making Lea and Ivory freeze on stage.

"Everyone stay calm," Braid said before the audience could start to panic. "As long as nobody moves, nobody gets hurt."

The audience murmured, everyone's eyes wide as they noticed the armed men guarding the exits. On the stage, Ivory tried to sneak towards the closest wing. That idiot.

Braid's eyes snapped to him, and she fired her Glock at the ceiling without warning. The loud bang made everyone flinch, a few screams escaping from the audience.

Ivory froze.

"I said nobody move," she warned.

Ivory nodded, his face ashen and defeated. He and Lea knelt on stage and held up their hands. Nightwing let out a breath. Nobody had died in the initial confrontation, which meant the odds of everyone making it out alive had risen significantly. But if these people had no qualms about pulling triggers in a room full of civilians, things could turn bloody quickly.

"Who are these people?" Jason whispered.

None of the gangs or villains in Blüdhaven had any reason to target the theatre, and none used these outdated European Glocks. He hadn't seen guns like these on this side of the coast in years.

Half of the robbers holstered their guns and pulled out sacks while Braid threatened the audience into dropping their valuables inside. Thank god people complied.

"They're not local," he whispered back. "My guess is they're passing through and need cash—A full house like this is an easy target if you have a clean way out of the city." If they were planning to leave Blüdhaven right after the robbery, they wouldn't have to worry about the gangs.

"Figured they couldn't wait another five fucking minutes so we wouldn't have to deal with it." Jason said, voicing Dick's exact thought. Except 'dealing with it' was the last thing they should do right now.

"We only monitor for escalation," Nightwing said. "If a gunfight breaks out, the whole theatre will be in the line of fire. We can't risk getting involved until absolutely necessary." People could reimburse their money a lot easier than a shot through the head, after all. They'd confront the robbers when there weren't two-hundred civilians in the room.

"So we just gonna sit here and watch? Real heroic."

"You're free to leave."

Jason scoffed but didn't move. They watched the robbers pace the aisles with their sacks, people dropping watches, necklaces and cash inside. He hoped the police wouldn't arrive before they fled—most of his colleagues should not have access to guns.

After a few beats Jason shifted towards him. "So we gonna talk, or?"

Dick shot him a look. "I'm serious. If you're not going to help, you can fuck off."

"Help you do what?," Jason whispered back. "We might as well fucking talk. I didn't waste my time tracking your sorry ass down just to watch some D-grade goons commit their baby robbery."

"You're not supposed to be here, Jason. Not after everything I did."

"Oh, get off your fucking high horse!" Jason whisper-shouted as they crouched on the catwalk. "Your self-proclaimed martyrdom is getting real old. Newsflash, no one hates you! People thank you when you spit in their face! Superman would give you a medal if you committed a war crime! Hell, you could kill joker ten times and Batman would still buy you a fucking birthday present!"

Did Jason actually believe himself when he called Dick 'Goldie'? How stupid.

"You know I actually did kill him, right?" Dick whispered back, leaning away from Jason's fuming expression. That had been his first murder, long before Spyral. Batman had been right about one murder leading to many.

"And still you have the keys to the manor."

"No," Dick said, "I don't."

That made Jason pause.

A shift in the audience below caught their attention. Braid walked up to the stage while her goons collected the money. Not good. Not good at all. Ivory and Lea still kneeled in the middle of the stage, the bright lights making their make-up look coarse and thick.

Ivory set his jaw as Braid climbed up onto the wooden stage. This wouldn't end well—the man frequented protests, spitting in policemen's faces until they hauled him off. Now that ivory had replaced Mr. Darcy on the stage.

But these weren't policemen.

"Who are you supposed to be, then?" Braid asked, tapping the barrel of her gun against his cheek. Her eyes raked over his outfit. "Are those buttons real gold?"

Ivory stayed silent.

She halted her gun against his face. "Take them off."

"Fucking heathens," Jason muttered, and Nightwing shoved him to shut him up.

Ivory ripped off his top button, then the one below it. Soon, golden balls filled his hands. When Braid reached for them his expression changed, and he threw them backstage. They clattered to the floor like marbles.

"Whoops," he said, staring straight ahead.

The entire theatre held its breath while Braid stared at him. Her expression was impossible to gauge behind her mask.

"You idiot," Dick whispered. He didn't know this woman, didn't know how she'd react to provocation. If she hurt him, there'd be nothing hecould do without risking every civilian in the room.

Braid moved, but before she could do anything, Lea threw up her hands. "Please forgive him," she said as she stood slowly. "I'll get them for you, together with the other valuable props backstage. We have tons of handmade lace. It sells really good."

Braid stepped past ivory. She scoffed as she took in Lea, then hit her in the face with the bud of her gun. She crashed to the ground, clutching her head and shying away.

"Lea!" Ivory attempted to stand, but Braid kicked him in his gut and he buckled over, retching and clutching his stomach.

"Art is fucking dead," Braid said. "We have Mexicans wearing fancy coats, and that one—" she pointed her gun at Lea, whose temple welled red. "—isn't even a woman."

"Can I shoot her yet?" Jason whispered, his body angry and tense.

"There's like two-hundred civilians," Dick whispered back, even though his hand itched, too.

"You know I won't miss."

"No."

"I don't get you."

"The feeling's mutual."

"God, why am I even here?"

"I wonder that too."

Jason squeezed his hands on the railing, his knuckles whitening from the force. "Oh my fucking god, Dick."

"The feeling's—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You hear that?" Braid said. She squinted up at the stage lights hanging from the Catwalk, right where Dick and Jason ducked below the railing. It was virtually impossible for her to spot them in the darkness above the lights, but she wasn't deaf.

"You're going to get them killed," Dick whispered.

"I am going to get them killed?"

Braid's gaze pierced right through the mesh catwalk. After multiple seconds, she looked away.

"Go check for rats," she told two of her men, who nodded and made their way to the ladder at the back of the stage.

Nightwing shared a look with his brother, who nodded. They couldn't stay here.

"I'm on channel five," Jason whispered as he put his helmet back on.

"I'm not wearing a comm."

The helmet came back off. "Why the fuck aren't you wearing a comm!"

"I don't know, Jason! Maybe I have no one to call!"

"Do you want to bleed out in an alleyway?"

The catwalk shook as the first robber grabbed onto the ladder.

Both of them shut up. Nightwing reached for his escrima sticks, but then changed his mind.

"To the roof," he said. They'd climb back down after the robbers left the catwalk. It was unlikely the men would realise the skylight was an exit.

Red hood nodded under his helmet and reached for the latch, but halfway through the motion he froze. His head jerked down and he stared down into the theatre.

"Move," Dick hissed. He pushed his shoulders, but Jason was heavy even when Dick wasn't bone-tired.

A hand appeared on top of the ladder.

"Jason," Dick said, but his brother was like a block of concrete, holding on to the railing as he stared down onto the stage. He shook Nightwing's hands off his shoulders, pushing him back towards the ladder.

Dick caught himself on the railing just as the first robber stepped onto the catwalk. He readied his escrima sticks, the only weapon he'd brought beside his grapple. He couldn't bring himself to touch his wingdings since the church.

The goon startled as he saw them, expecting crew instead of armed vigilantes. But before he could shout a warning, sound boomed from Jason's helmet. The noise was an explosion after their whispering, the volume of the microphone inside his helmet cranked to max. Every head in the theatre snapped towards the catwalk.

Jason laughed, raw like a chain-smoker.

Nightwing stared in disbelief, his heart beating in his throat. Why? What was happening?

"Actually," Red Hood said as he drew his gun, "I'd really like to shoot someone right now." He aimed his gun down at Braid.

What was he thinking? All the robbers had to do was aim—they wouldn't even have to deal with friendly fire. There was no cover beyond the mesh floor of the catwalk, nowhere to go except the skylight behind Jason. And don't forget the two-hundred hostages.

"I knew I heard a few rodents scurrying around," Braid said. She walked towards Lea and put her gun to her head. "But are you sure about that?"

Jason snorted, his aim unwavering. "I'm pretty sure."

The two robbers on the catwalk stalked forward, guns drawn.

"They'll kill your blue buddy before you even pull the trigger!" Braid yelled up at Jason. She grabbed Lea's hair and pulled her up, making her claw at her own scalp with her nails. "If you guys are capes, then do the heroic thing and leave!"

"The fuck are you doing?" Nightwing asked. They stood back to back, Jason peering down onto the stage and him facing the robbers on the catwalk. The men had stopped their approach, the front one holding Nightwing at gunpoint just out of melee range. The man behind him couldn't aim without risking friendly fire on the single-file catwalk.

Nightwing might be able to dodge the first bullet if he ducked, but then it'd hit Jason, and at this range even his thick Kevlar was no guarantee. Not to mention he'd never be able to dodge a second shot, or a third and fourth from the dozen robbers on the floor.

"I'm giving you a dose of your own fucking medicine," Jason said. Was he going to risk all these civilians just to mess with him? Exactly some fucked up revenge for what happened at the church? His brother was better than that nowadays, wasn't he?
Wasn't he?

He had to be.

But how well did Dick even know him? They only really spoke as vigilantes, only teamed up when it made sense to do so. The only time Jason had invited him for something not related to crime fighting had been that disastrous night they'd picked up Ruthello.

Jason's hand flashed up to the ceiling. He shot the skylight, glass shattering over the robbers on the catwalk. They ducked and covered their heads, giving Nightwing the chance to retaliate. He wouldn't let anyone else become collateral—Damian had already been too much grief to bear. If Jason wanted to fuck this up, Dick wouldn't make it easy.

He threw his escrima sticks and whacked both guns out of the robbers hands. They clanged on the metal catwalk and fell onto the stage. That had been his only option, but now he was unarmed and trapped together with Red Hood.

Red Hood, who had decided today was a good time to go insane.

He braced himself for the coming gunfire, praying Jason had some sort of plan. He had to, right? If his brother died tonight, he couldn't even find it in himself to feel guilty. He hadn't asked Jason to come here. Told him to fuck off, even. But instead, Jason had opted for double suicide.

He braced.

And waited.

And waited.

…and waited.

Braid's gun arm shook as she pointed it at Lea. Most of her henchmen had lowered their weapons, a few of them slipping through the exits amidst the silence.

"Please don't shoot!" One of the men on the catwalk said. He ripped off his mask, revealing his dark skin and Asian features. He and the masked man behind him both held their hands up.

What was happening?

"I'll kill him!" Braid shouted, her voice shaking and higher than before. She pressed the barrel of her gun against Lea's throat, her other hand pulling at her hair. "I swear I will if you don't go!" The eyes through the slits on her mask were frantic.

Tears streaked down Lea's face, leaving streaks of make-up on her cheeks. God, she didn't deserve any of it. Dick was going to kill Jason if they made it out alive.

"First of all," Jason said as he cocked the hammer of his gun. "that is a fucking woman, you transphobic piece of shit. I should blow your brains out just for that."

"Leave!"

"You also deserve a bullet for disrupting the play," Jason continued, unfazed by her screeching. "Jane Austen inspired millions of women in the eighteenth century to rally against the fucked up gender-roles of their time. Which makes starring LGBTQ+ actors in a modern rendition of 'Pride and Prejudice' a powerful statement beyond the brilliance of the book itself. So you can shove your opinion on the 'death of art' in the trash where it belongs, you fucking tasteless heathen."

Everyone stared. One person in the audience clapped, but when no one joined sound died abruptly.

"Thanks," Jason said.

Nightwing was so confused he almost forgot to be afraid. Jason had had his moments over the years, the effects of the Lazarus Pit making him irrational and ruthless when he sank into his anger. But this wasn't pit-madness.

Just madness.

You don't have to shoot," the Asian man kneeling on the catwalk said, "the guns, they're—"

"Shut up!" Braid yelled at her henchman. She shot towards the ceiling, her aim wild and nowhere near Dick and Jason. When that didn't stop Red Hood from pointing his barrel at her, she threw Lea to the floor and ran towards the audience, leaving her stunned men behind.

She probably thought he wouldn't shoot at her if she surrounded herself with civilians. Nightwing knew better.

Jason sighed and aimed. Before he could pull the trigger, Ivory rose from the stage, his hands clamped around one of the guns the henchmen on the catwalk dropped.

"Die, you vile rat!" He shouted.

"Stop, you Idiot!" Nightwing yelled, but it was too late. Ivory shot the leader at blank range. When his first bullet missed, he pulled the trigger again and again, but she kept running, jumping down from the stage and sprinting down the middle aisle.
"Take what we have!" She yelled to her henchmen.

"What about Pete and Kai?"

"Forget them!"

Nightwing jumped the railing and dived towards the stage.

"Whoa, what the fuck are you—" Jason's voice faded away as he focused on the floor.

He didn't have time to slow his landing, so he grit his teeth and landed feet first, pain shooting through his soles as he crashed into Ivory. The gun pressed against his chest, Ivory making a strangled noise as Nightwing bowled him over.

Then his finger slipped on the trigger.

Hot pressure exploded on Nightwing's chest. He gasped for air, rolling off Ivory to clutch his hands to the wound. The Lycra below his fingers was liquid, melted by the force of the gunshot.

"Oh my god, Nightwing," Ivory said as he pulled himself from the floor. "Holy freak, please, please, please be okay."

Dick hacked and coughed. "Off course I'm not fucking okay!" he said in between breaths. "You fucking shot me!" He removed his sticky hands to assess the damage, surprised he was even still alive. He'd must've gotten extremely lucky for the bullet to miss his lungs, heart and spine.

He paused. There was no hole. Only a circle of sticky, half-burned Lycra the size of his fist.

"You're really fucking slow for a spy," Jason yelled down from the catwalk. He aimed at the Leader, who had almost reached the door. His shot hit her shoulder, and she fell forward, her head slamming into the heavy door. Her body crumpled against the door.

"Oof," Jason said. "That's gonna be one hell of a headache."

The robbers who hadn't fled yet looked at each other, then up at Jason. They dropped their guns and raised their arms.

"We're all unarmed!" Kai or Pete yelled from up at the catwalk.

Blanks. The robbers had been using blanks, and Jason had known. He'd know this entire time.

Dick was going to fucking kill him. He stood up, leaving a shaking Ivory on the floor.

"I had to do something," Ivory muttered as Lea wrapped her arms around him, her hair a tangled mess of flowers and knots.

"If that gun had been loaded," Nightwing said, "you'd be going to jail. People like her—" he pointed his grapple at the crumpled heap against the door "—are not worth your life. Next time you hide. You run. You hand over your money, your clothes, your fucking underwear. You give them every. Fucking. Button."

"Stop it," Lea said.

"The only thing you can't survive is death, so do everything to stay alive. Everything."

"Okay," Ivory said into Lea's shoulder. "Okay."

"Scanner says the cops are outside," Red hood said from the catwalk. "Let's get the hell out."

Nightwing looked back at the huddled actors one more time before he grappled back up to the catwalk. "Take care of yourselves," he said.

Next time, he wouldn't be there.

Red Hood said nothing as Nightwing pushed him aside and climbed through the broken skylight. The cold air stung the burns on his hands and chest, but under the open sky he could breathe. At least it wasn't raining. At least everyone was alive.

Except for Braid, who Jason had shot in the back. Jesus Christ.

Blanks. Fucking blanks. It'd been so long since he fought someone who didn't actually want to kill, that the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Sirens blared in the background, so he picked a random direction and swung away from the theatre. It didn't matter where. Just not here, where he'd tainted yet another thing he tried to fix.

He still had to resign from the BPD. Still had to find a new tenant for his apartment. Still had to book a flight far, far away from here. Breathe and keep going.

Jason was hot on his tail, keeping up with his frantic pace easily. Dick could never outrun him after neglecting his cardio for weeks.

And for once, he didn't want to.

"Only you would get hurt by a fucking blank," Jason said as he landed next to Dick on another concrete roof. He put down his helmet on the air conditioning block next to him and reached for the burn on Dick's chest.

Nightwing punched him in the face. He put his whole weight into the hit, slamming his fist into his jaw. He deserved worse, but Dick was unarmed and bone-achingly tired.

Still, Jason didn't move an inch. He spit blood on the ground and massaged his jaw. "That's fair."

"What the fuck was that, Jason! You can't just—" he threw up his arms "—Just do shit like that."

Jason laughed. "In my defense, you should've noticed they weren't armed. It was obvious even before I put on my helmet. And you can't blame me for swan-diving in front of an active shooter—I didn't think you were that stupid."

"Blanks can kill people, Jason! You know this! But you still taunted that woman while she held her gun to someone's head!" He rubbed the burn on his chest, stinging the sensitive skin underneath.

That could've been Lea's face.

Jason was right, he should've noticed the blanks from the beginning. Braid had shot straight up in the air, and yet the skylight had remained whole. But that was no excuse for his brother to mess with civilians like that. Or to shoot that robber, knowing she was unarmed. Inexcusable.

"Please, she was never gonna shoot."

"And then you shot her in the back, anyway!"

Jason pulled out his gun, took off the magazine, and shook out the bullets inside. They rained to the ground, the ammo folded into the shells black and rounded. "They're rubber, you fucking idiot! Unlike you, I respect the way people do business on their turf."

"But she—"

"Is going to have a killer headache. Everything is still sunshine and roses. You seriously need to calm the fuck down. No one died."

"I thought you were going to," Dick said quietly.

"And how do you think I felt when you crashed into a dozen armed lunatics, tased yourself, then started a gang war?"

"I never meant for that to happen."

"Of course you didn't! There couldn't have been a single fucking thought in your skull that night."

"I just needed to—they said you were in trouble, and the last time we spoke I—What I said, it hurt you, and I just… I had to—"

"Had to do something?" Jason said mockingly.

God. He'd been so cruel to poor Ivory. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for everything. I don't know what I said that made you ghost me for weeks, but I'm sorry. I won't call you anymore. You can just move on, Jason. It's okay."

Jason rubbed his face and sighed. "Why is being mad at you so fucking agonising? All you do is grovel and whine! Boo hoo I killed people, Boo hoo daddy hates me. Boo fucking hoo, my kid won't give me a hug. It's pathetic."

He deserved that, but any mention of Damian grated against Dick's soul. He couldn't think about the boy without unraveling, and breaking down was the last thing he wanted to do right now. "Leave Damian out of it."

"Or what? He didn't fucking die, did he?"

Dick froze.

Jason turned away and breathed deeply, doing his best to control his temper. "He didn't, right? No way you'd be sulking in Haven if he did."

When Dick didn't answer, Jason's expression changed from angry to blank. "Dick."

He swallowed. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Jason asked, each vowel low and deliberate.

How could he even explain this? Jason was clearly just as much out of the loop as he was. Batman would never let Red Hood into the cave, and Jason didn't like Damian enough to set aside his pride and call Tim.

"Bruce said—"

Jason's expression hardened. "The fuck did that asshole do now?"

No. He wouldn't let this become about Batman tonight, like their arguments so often did. "It was me who—."

"I doubt it."

"Will you let me finish? It was me who fucked up. He—"

Jason clearly didn't care about keeping Batman out of it. "The next thing out of your mouth better be exactly what that Old Fuck told you."

Dick sighed. Even if Jason was an adult, even if he was an asshole, even if they could barely speak without arguing.

He was still Dick's little brother who didn't deserve to hear any of this.

But his mouth didn't listen. It spilled and told him everything.

He told him about pier nine, about how his fucked up pride had made him patrol when he shouldn't have, how that decision had gotten Damian shot. How he'd raced to the church, terrified of him dying again. How Bruce had said what he did afterwards. How he was right to do so.

When he finished talking, they were sitting on the edge of the roof, feet dangling into the dark streets.

Jason took a drag of his cigarette. "You really believe all that, don't you?"

"I just can't risk it."

Jason scoffed. "You're being fucking stupid. Why the fuck is Bruce even involved? Those brats can choose for themselves if they want to see you or not. You really think he could stop three Robins and a Cain?"

No, Dick didn't think he could. That was why their silence spoke volumes.

"Do they even know you aren't just sulking? You run away all the time, Dick. B has to know they won't approve of the bullshit he told you, or he would've said it over the open line. So if he didn't tell them, and you didn't either, how are they supposed to know anything happened?"

The realisation made his blood run cold. That would mean the others thought he'd abandoned them while Damian bled out. That he'd chosen to run away, not just in the moment, but days afterwards. Gone without a word. Of course Bruce wouldn't tell them he ordered Dick to stay away. Last time he hadn't even told them he was alive.

"But it's weird they didn't call," Jason continued. "Everyone knows the brat's yours. They'd know something's up if you didn't check in on him."

Jason was right-of course they could make up their own minds about him. But that didn't change what was best for them. He couldn't go back. Couldn't burden them more han he'd already done.
And if he couldn't be with them, he didn't want to be anywhere.

It's been his plan all along to make them hate or forget him, hadn't it? Did it really matter what they believed as long as they were safe? No matter if Bruce had told them or not, they hadn't called or texted. Maybe this was better. This way, they wouldn't Blame Batman, which would be better for everyone in the manor.

"I'm sure they've just been busy," Dick said. Speaking about busy—he'd probably caused Jason a lot of grief by deleting Black Mask from the picture. "Do you need help with the gangs?"

Jason snorted. "Not from Nightwing I don't. Killing Mask ain't made you very popular."

"It doesn't have to be Nightwing."

Jason gave him a weird look and shook his head. "Our last team-up didn't go so hot, Big Bird. You and guns don't match."

Right. In the chaos of it all, he'd almost forgotten about their argument at Jason's hideout.

"I really am sorry for that night."

Jason stubbed out his cigarette against the concrete. "I hadn't figured."

"You don't have to forgive me."

His brother groaned. "Talking to you is like talking to a teenage girl who calls herself ugly so her friends compliment her. Except you actually believe you're ugly as sin, and complimenting you makes me want to puke."

"What else do you want from me? I apologised. You clearly didn't care, and that's OK. You don't have to compliment me if you don't want to, obviously."

"I do forgive you," Jason said. "But don't make me say it again. Not like you even know what you said, anyway."

He almost didn't dare ask, but he'd never see Jason again after tonight. "Can you tell me?"

Jason stood and walked away from the ledge to grab his helmet.

Dick followed him. "Please, Jason."

"It's not worth bringing it up."

"I won't ever bother you again."

His brother ran a hand through the white stripe in his hair and sighed. "You remember how I didn't give you shit for fucking off for a year?"

He did. It'd been his first night back from Spyral. Damian had held a sword against his chest. Tim had ran. Bruce had grabbed his wrist, hissing bitter disappointment in his ear. It'd been a rough night. Only Jason, who he'd expected to hate him the most, had played saint.

"The penthouse," Dick said.

"Yeah. I figured we…" Jason scratched his neck. "God, this is so fucking embarrassing."

But you never asked, Jason had said.

"I figured we had this understanding after that," Jason said. "That what we did in those years didn't matter. Whatever the fuck they made you do at Spyral, I guarantee I've done worse. And I have to live with that shit, even if it was pit-madness or whatever. I guess I thought you were the same."

You're just going to run away?

Like you ran for three years?

"And then I called you out on staying away," Dick said miserably. Like it had been Jason's fault he'd gotten killed and resurrected in the Lazarus Pit. Like he'd done something wrong by not coming back.

Just like Bruce had told him.

"Bingo."

"I didn't realise—" He sighed. "I lashed out. You know I'd never judge you for all the shit you did." He knew how it grated when people lectured him like he needed a lesson in morality. Like he didn't understand already that murder was wrong. Like it didn't haunt him when he closed his eyes.

How easy is it to call your conscience clean when no one ever pushed a gun into your hands? When you never had to choose between you or them, between a stranger or family? He did regret having to kill Black Mask, but he didn't regret his decision in the moment. That would imply he valued the criminal's life above Damian's.

"We both know it wasn't okay without someone having to rub it in."

Jason put his helmet on. "Right."

"I hadn't slept, and then I just—"

He tightened the clasps on his gloves. "It's done now. Just worry about your own mess, because whatever you're dealing with needs a whole lot of fixing."

He almost laughed—there was nothing that could fix him. But if he said so out loud, even Jason might feel bad enough to drag him back to Gotham. So he stayed silent.

Jason sighed. "You aren't going back, are you?"

He looked away.

"You want me to poke around for you?"

"No," he said, his eyes wandering over his city. If he learned Damian was alive, he'd never be able to keep himself out of Gotham. And if he was dead…

He wouldn't make it past dawn. He needed his life for a couple more days.

Jason stared at him, his expression hidden by his helmet.

"No," he said more gently, "I need to figure this out on my own."

He hadn't realised how similar their circumstances were. Dead. Then resurrected into someone else. They both fought their way back to Gotham, the city unchanged and uncaring despite their hardships.
Except for one key difference: The villain Red Hood had never been Jason's fault. It had been the Lazarus Pit that created him, and when he'd broken from it's influence that part of him disappeared.

Dick didn't stop being Grayson when he came back from Spyral. Jason had left the villain in him behind, but the murderer was the only part Dick had left.

Jason hesitated before he grappled away. "Take care of those burns," he said. Then he took off.

Dick watched him zip across the horizon until he vanished into the landscape.

At least this was one goodbye without blood, hurt, or anger. Weird for it to be Jason, of all people.

Who would've thought.