Brake!

Inhale.

Exhale.

"Dick," Jason mutters, raking his hand through his already tousled hair. Should he call him?

He really, really doesn't want to call him for his help. He has, after all, just made peace with him. Sort of. More than he ever has before, anyway.

His pride would take a beating. But he cares less about his pride than he does about catching Joker again. God, he never thought he'd ever think that about his ego.

Making up his mind, Jason hurried down the stairs. Maybe he passed out or is already dead, falling down the stairs in his attempt to escape.

The stairs are empty of the clown's sickening presence.

Jason hurries outside, the wind whipping at him. He makes a deal with himself as he runs around the block, becoming more frenzied as he realizes that the Joker isn't anywhere he's checked. If he can't find the Joker in half an hour, then he'll call Dick. The search extends to a two blocks, then three, then four.

Then five blocks.

No sign of him.

Jason collapses onto a bench by a bus stop, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He does some rapid calculations in his head. He's searched five blocks. If the length of a block is a fifth of a mile and he's searched twenty lengths of a block, he's just sprinted four miles. There is no way the Joker got that far without help. He knows for sure that he couldn't be hiding somewhere in a house. No one would take him in, especially with him so injured.

Then, of course, there's also the fact that he couldn't have just hid in a trash can or behind some crates because he searched those too. How did he get away then?

With a defeated groan, Jason pulls out his cell, dreading the conversation about to take place.

"Hello?"

"He's gone," Jason says simply. "I've looked behind crates, garbage cans, I've checked parked and moving cars on my way-"

"Where have you searched?"

"I've looked from Davidson, to Ford's, to that Ben & Jerry's over on Fourth."

"That's…you ran four miles?"

"It wasn't too bad," Jason says casually. "I could have done six, maybe six and a half."

"You are so stupid, Jason," hisses Dick. "You're going to be completely exhausted and absolutely no good on this hunt. You waited so long. It's already eight. We might not find him now. It's too dark. Why didn't you call when you found him missing?"

"Are you going to yell at me or get your ass over here?"

"Where are you?"

"At the Starbuck's with the rusted door."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes? Are you stopping to buy flowers? Be here in five at the most."

"The only way I can do that is by breaking every traffic law in this city," Dick says incredulously.

"Be here in five," Jason repeats before hanging up.

The second the call disconnects, Jason leaps from the bench and heads toward the storage garage conveniently located about three steps away. Sneaking in is easy; so is getting his motorcycle out. He quickly locates the key he hid months ago and uses it to open the lock on his motorcycle. He checks his watch. Two minutes till Dick gets here.

Starting up the engine is a quiet business, seeing as he's never been one to take out the muffler of his bike to make it roar. Managing to get his bike out before Dick's will be complicated, however. The garage is positioned so that if he had to exit on his motorcycle, he would have to either get on the sidewalk or get on the street going the wrong way.

When choosing between two evils, pick the one you never tried before.

In Jason's case, it would have to be the one he had tried less, since he had done both, so he prepares to go on the sidewalk.

There aren't many people on the sidewalk since it was so late, maybe four or five, so he shoots forward.

They leap back in surprise, dropping papers and cups of coffee, much to his surprise. Who drinks coffee at eight at night? It wasn't as though they needed to fight crime into the wee hours of the morning the way some people had to.

Jason waits until he is back at the Starbuck's then calmly parks the motorcycle and turns it to face the right way just as Dick, dressed as Nightwing, pulls up on his motorcycle.

"You took long enough," grumbles Jason as though he had been waiting the whole time.

"I timed myself," Dick says, pulling a stopwatch out of his pocket. "Seven minutes, twenty one seconds."

"Good boy," deadpans Jason. He takes a look at all the people around them, completely ignoring the two vigilantes on motorcycles. It was almost sad how desensitized Gotham's citizens had become when it came to oddly dressed individuals fighting criminals. It didn't even turn heads anymore.

"Put a mask on," Nightwing says irritably. "Come on, we have a clown to catch."

The next two hours are a combination of search the city and race your brother on a motorcycle. As satisfying as it is to beat Dick, Jason can't stop the growing worry spreading through him. Where the hell is he?

After another hour of searching, it's almost eleven and they have to give in. Even with the lamp posts and lights, it would be a waste of time to try to get anywhere.

"I'm sorry, Jason," Nightwing says, nudging his bike a little ahead. "I think he's-"

"No, stop!"

"What?"

"LOOK!"

Nightwing glances down and his heart almost drops to his knees. He cannot believe what he is seeing. He cannot believe it.

"For chrissake, get your motorcycle off!"

"It's called the Nightbird, for your information."

"I don't care what it is called- did you say Nightbird?"

"Yes, I did."

"You named your motorcycle Nightbird? Could you possibly have come up with a more generic name?"

"Well, what did you name yours?"

"I didn't name my motorcycle. Who the hell names their motorcycle?"

Changing the subject, Nightwing gestures to the green haired lump under his motorcycle. "You know what; I'm just going to move this motorcycle."

"Good idea."

Once he has done so, Jason stares at the broken mess on the ground. "Do you think he's dead?"

"I have no idea. We should call an ambulance."

"For that piece of garbage? No. I say if he's dead, leave him for the crows, and if he's not, let him die and then leave him for the crows."

"Jason. You're better than that."

"No, not really."

"Jason, come on. We can't let him die."

"You're the one who ran him over!"

"He was already on the ground. Besides, you're the one who beat him with a crowbar!"

"I hate to say this, but he started it!"

"You sound like a six year old, pouting over a playground squabble!"

"You sound like a forty five year old soccer mom telling the kids to play nice!"

Dick suddenly lets out an exasperated growl. "Will you listen to yourself? This isn't how we do things!"

"No, this isn't how you and Bruce do things," Jason says quietly. "I won't kill him. But I won't save him either. If he dies, he dies and we'll all be better for it."

Dick watches him get back on his motorcycle and speed away.

"Dammit!"

At the sound of someone pounding on the door to his hotel room, Jason heaves himself out of bed and staggers to the door, wrenching it open and opening his mouth to give the person there the burn of a lifetime.

And then he closes his mouth.

Because standing at the door is someone he hadn't expected to see. "Dick, you bastard."

"Good morning to you too, Jason," is Dick's crisp reply. "You look like hell."

Slightly dumbfounded, Jason watches Dick step into his hotel room like he paid for it himself and take a seat on the sofa. Then his brain kicks in. "What are you doing here? Get out of my room!"

Looking bored, Dick arches a brow at Jason and says, "Jason, if you want me to take you seriously, put some street clothes on."

"There is nothing wrong with black silk pajamas," Jason informs him icily, snatching the TV remote out of his hand and flinging it over his shoulder. It shatters a glass vase but neither of them break eye contact.

"They have Mickey Mouse silkscreened onto them," Dick says, tongue tucked firmly in cheek.

"I'm aware."

"It's a good look."

Jason glares at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have exactly fifteen seconds before I eject you forcefully from this room. Out the window, not the door, I might add. Since you like crashing through windows so much."

Dick glares at him. "You did it too when you were Robin."

"You still do it and you're Nightwing now," Jason quips. He runs a hand through his sleep tousled hair and yawns. "Twelve seconds, by the way."

"Look, I know you've been pissed because I called an ambulance. But you have to understand why I did it."

Jason's eyes narrow and he grinds out, "Ten seconds."

"If I killed him, or left him to die which is basically the same thing, then I'm no better than him. I'm the same."

"You never beat a kid with a crowbar then blew him up," Jason spits out forcefully.

"It doesn't matter. If I kill, I'm the same. I have no right to kill."

"Five seconds."

Dick gets up slowly from the couch looking regretful. "I wanted to remind you about Babs' party, Jason. I'm still here for another two weeks and I'll be back for the party. You should come. We all miss you."

He leaves, closing the door behind him. Jason gets up and sighs, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window he had just threatened Dick with.

We all miss you.

Inhale.

Exhale.

We all miss you.