Jason looks like hell. He's torn off his mask and flung it into a corner of the filthy room and his face is streaked with sweat and blood. He has a tortured look in his eyes, as though instead of beating the Joker, he feels like he's back on that floor, being beaten. He does not look like a man Dick wants to fight.

He'll bet that Jason doesn't feel like a man Dick wants to fight, either.

They've always had their differences. Huge ones, little ones, problems, arguments, fights. Seeing him like this makes it seem very far away all of a sudden. He wants to help him but he knows that Jason will only reject it. Dick's only hope is trying to explain to Jason that killing Joker or beating him or whatever he is intending to do, won't make him feel whole. It won't heal him.

"How is this helping?"

"It already has," Jason answers.

"When you kill him, what then?"

Jason pauses for a second. "So secure you won't win?"

"I know you. If you want to kill him, you will find a way, no matter how many times I try to stop you."

"Why are you here, anyway?"

"I'm visiting."

"That's sweet. Are you done talking or what?"

Nightwing heaves a sigh. "I'm done."

Joker cackles louder. "Break a leg, kiddos."

"I've already broken yours, so what the hell, why not?"

"Exactly how much did you break?"

"I'm not quite sure but I'm guessing one broken jaw, three torn ligaments, one punctured lung, three broken ribs, a broken nose, a broken arm, and a shattered collarbone."

Nightwing swears roundly. "How could you-"

"I did no more, if even the same, than what he did to me," Jason cuts him off sharply. "I just extended it more."

"By how much?"

"Well, I've had him here for four days. And didn't you say we were done talking?"

Without waiting for an answer, Jason lunges at Nightwing, ducking under his right hook, and slamming his fist into his side. With a hiss of pain, Nightwing swings out his leg and catches Jason around the ankle, pulling him closer and unbalancing him, and then catching him in the jaw with a right jab and a kick to the gut.

Jason retaliates with a swift elbow fake jab to the face then roundhouse kicking Nightwing in the chest, causing him to stumble back a few paces, his feet skidding along the wood floor. Nightwing takes a swipe over Jason's head with one his sticks, the end crackling, which Jason ducks then stabs him in the chest with his other stick.

Jason jolts, reeling backward then slamming his foot into Nightwing's jaw, snapping his head to the side. As he twists in the air, turning sideways for the three seconds of landing from the flying kick, Nightwing's hand shoots out and wraps around his ankle, dragging him down.

Quickly twisting his body so that his shoulder catches the momentum of the fall rather than his head or neck, Jason spins, playing on Nightwing's hold on his ankle, and kicks him with his opposite foot, using Nightwing's body as a kickoff board.

Nightwing staggers back then, ducking Jason's fist, kicks him once at the thigh then punches him low in the gut. Jason falls, then spinning quickly onto his left side, swipes Nightwing around the ankle with his top leg, tugging him closer, and then sending him flying back with his bottom leg.

Jason reaches up and launches himself onto Nightwing, his arm easily deflecting the side of the Eskrima sticks and shoving him to the ground. Pulling out the knife that was just about to cut out Joker's tongue and possibly more, he forced Nightwing's head to the side, gripping his jaw.

"When this is over," Nightwing spoke suddenly, his voice a hoarse murmur, "Jason, what will you do next?"

Jason was surprised into delaying his movements for a second. Taking advantage of his shock, Nightwing slams Jason hard in the jaw, sending him flying backward.

He twists, trying to anticipate Nightwing's next attack, furious with himself for pausing, when out of the corner of his eye, he spots Joker crawling towards a corner of the room. His eye follows the line of vision from Joker's perspective, just as he was taught, and his heart clenches as he sees Joker's fingers close weakly around the crowbar he had carelessly dropped aside.

"No!"

Jason lunges across the room, forgetting all about Nightwing. He knocks the crowbar from Joker's grip, his heart thudding madly, his ears roaring. He knows that Joker isn't strong enough to do anything, that he couldn't even pick it up most likely, but his vision is tinted red and he knows, he knows, that if Joker picks up that crowbar, terrible things will happen.

He's standing over him, crowbar clutched in his hands, eyes wide but not seeing. He's frozen, locked into a torrent of memories that crash into him like ocean currents.

He feels someone's hand on his shoulder. Dick.

"It's fine. Just-"

"Don't touch me."

The words are as harsh as they are desperate. The seconds tick past. Dick drops his hand.

After a few minutes, Jason becomes vaguely aware of Dick moving around him. He blinks and the world slowly comes back into focus.

Swiveling around, he sees that Dick has tied Joker up against a chair, his head lolling pathetically to one side, his face a mess of blood and his body a jumble of black, blue and purple, with the odd broken bone or two jutting into his skin.

Jason looks back at Dick. "Let's get out of here."

They walk to the broken window, dropping down the six feet like it was six inches, and rolling onto the ground. They don't speak to each other as they continue their way down the street.

The day has almost begun, night retreating back into its shelter and the sun shooting colors into the sky. The moon is faintly visible, a mere outline in the upcoming day.

"Where will you go?"

Jason shrugs. "I don't really have a place."

"You could come back with me."

"To the manor?" Jason snorts. "I'm sure they would be delighted to see me. Especially like this and after…everything…"

His voice trails off and he swallows, looking away, at a lamp post, a mailbox. Anything but Dick.

"They would be happy to see you. They miss you, Jason."

"How do you know?"

Jason stares obstinately at a patch of dead grass on someone's lawn, still refusing to make eye contact. Dick's exasperated voice cuts through his self-pity.

"For chrissake, Jason! They will always take you back. You're family."

"Do you actually believe that?" Jason demands, wheeling around suddenly to look him in the eye. "When you look at me, is the first thing that you think 'brother'?"

There's a short pause. "Yes."

"You're a liar."

"Why, because you don't think brother when you look at me?"

"I think Bruce Wayne's son," Jason spits.

"Do you not consider yourself his son?"

"A father cares for his son. A father loves his son. A father would avenge his son!"

"Don't you think he wanted to?"

"If he wanted it enough, he would have."

"You want to know why he didn't?" Dick stops walking and turns to face him, eye to eye. They're within half an inch of the other's height, the same build, similar features despite the fact that they are not brothers by blood. "You want to know why he didn't avenge you the way you wish he had?"

Jason doesn't speak.

"What was the first thing he taught you? What is the first thing you remember him teaching you?"

"How to roll with punches," Jason answers flatly.

Dick makes a sound of exasperation. "He taught you to control your anger and that justice wasn't revenge. Don't you remember that?"

"So what?" Jason shoots back sullenly.

"He taught you to fight crime and bring people to justice."

"What's your point?"

"So the one person he tried to drill that into the most, was the one person he would break that rule for?"

"Why the hell not?"

"Jason, you were what he considered his greatest mistake. He would never have even considered dishonoring your memory by messing your last moments up by killing Joker. It was what he had taught you were wrong all along."

"How could avenging me have been such a huge dishonor?"

"He thought that if he avenged you by killing Joker, it would have been turning into a hypocrite. That your last moments would have been turning him into a hypocrite. Don't you understand?"

"Bruce already is a hypocrite." Jason scowls at a mess of weeds as the two wait for a car to pass, the driver gawking at them. Jason briefly considers flipping him off but decided against it. He's too tired to pick a fight.

"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," Dick replies.

Jason smiles. It's a tight, thin lipped smile but a genuine one all the same. Dick considers it a score.

"Do you need clean clothes?"

Jason arches his brow. "What do you think?"

"I meant do you have a set of spare clothes?"

"Not really," Jason mutters.

"You can borrow some of mine."

"No," Jason says sharply. "Absolutely not."

"You can borrow some of mine," repeats Dick forcefully. "Actually, you can keep them. I doubt I'll want them back."

Jason suppresses a small smile. "Fine. But I'm not going in there."

"I guess you'll just have to shower in a hotel then," Dick responds, walking up to the gate. He turns and grins at Jason. "It's your loss. We still have the hugest showers of anyone I have ever met."

Over his shoulder he calls back, "I'll drop off your clothes at your hotel. I'll send one of the drivers."

Jason stares at his retreating back warily. It was almost pleasant talking to his brother again. But there was still the Joker to contend with and…everything.

Jason sighs, running a hand through his matted and bloodied hair. He really did need to shower.