Made of Stardust

by Imagined2080

I DO NOT OWN THIS. I JUST WANT IT ON THIS PLATFORM! ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNER!

Made of Stardust by beads33

Summary

Nightwing has been dead two years, murdered in front of the Bat-Family by Deathstroke. Yet, even after all this time, the after-effects of Dick's death are apparent. Batman is more violent than ever, Robin is emotionally compromised, Red Robin has hung up the cape, and Red Hood runs around Gotham angry and unchecked. On the second anniversary of Dick's death, Deathstroke finally reappears, but a mysterious and dangerous new associate is running alongside the mercenary.

Notes

"God, dammit, Dick, you can't die on us," Jason said, ripping his helmet off and throwing it to the side. He wanted to yell, but his voice came out quieter than he intended. He fell to his knees beside Red Robin. "You hear me? You, pain in the ass copycat. Dying is my thing./users/beads33/pseuds/beads33

stay alive for me

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Gotham, October 25, 2017, 1:14 AM EST

Someone needs to fucking die tonight or at least get the hell beat out of them, Jason thought as he puffed air from his nose, flaring his nostrils. He propped his chin in the palm of his right hand, rested his elbow on his thigh, and hung his legs over the side of a shipping container.

The temperature was already dropping in Gotham as the seasons slowly changed over. A slight drizzle had begun an hour or so ago, and it was enough to make him uncomfortably damp without actually making him feel wet. It was damn near annoying. He was cold, hungry, and not in the best of moods. He'd been sitting here for two hours already with no immediate end in sight.

He'd been following a continuous slew of shipment arrivals at the Gotham docks for several weeks. Guns, drugs, equipment, and various other goods destined for nothing but evil were intermittently arriving at the request of the different crime lords of Gotham. He sent his men to intercept previous deliveries, but tonight's was noteworthy. According to his informants, Deathstroke was receiving a scheduled shipment tonight, and Jason personally wanted to ruin the mercenary's business affairs.

To alleviate the tightness building in his muscles, he cracked his neck and stretched his legs out in front of him. A sea of shipping containers surrounded him as far as the eye could see. He was so freaking bored, which is why when a dark figure caught the corner of his eye, he couldn't stop the small smile that crept to the corner of his mouth. He stood up, groaning as his knees audibly protested the sudden movement, and made his way to follow the figure.

He landed softly on the warehouse roof and quietly padded toward the blue and black-clad man.

"Little Wing, how nice of you to join the festivities," Nightwing said without turning his head. Jason cringed at the nickname that only Dick used for him. Jason hated the endearing title when he was in a piss poor mood like he was now. He preferred their usual name-calling that stemmed from deep-seated pain and learned passive aggression from being a member of their fucked up family. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence tonight?"

"I'm just here for the honor of watching Deathstroke kick your ass. Well, that and to stop a shipment of weapons from getting into the Gotham underground. But mostly here to watch your ass get kicked," Red Hood responded, now standing next to Nightwing, who was sitting on the roof's ledge.

"How considerate of you. I hope you brought some snacks. It's probably going to be quite the show," Nightwing said, his lips settling in a straight line. The older man still didn't bother to look up at him, but instead, he stared blankly ahead. The only movement in Nightwing's body was the rising and falling of his chest.

Jason couldn't fight his confused expression, but the helmet thankfully hid it. The lack of a smile on the other man's face was concerning and off-putting. While he didn't know what exactly, Jason knew something was wrong. He usually had to beg Dick to stop talking or joking, but the typical behavior was absent tonight. He knew Deathstroke and Nightwing had a long-standing, unfriendly, prey and predator type relationship, but he didn't think it warranted the piss poor attitude.

Red Hood wanted to ask what his deal was, but Nightwing suddenly raised his hand to the communicator in his left ear.

"Got it. I'll move into position."

"Still taking orders from Daddy Bats? Why not just take the costume back from the kid if that's the case? Or you could bust out the short pants and pixie boots for old times' sake. That look was always intimidating," Red Hood teased.

Nightwing stood up and furrowed his brow. "I'm not taking orders from Batman."

Before he could respond, Nightwing flipped off the edge of the roof, shooting his grappling hook toward a nearby steel beam. The former acrobat flew through the air, landing and relaunching himself among the structural members of the dock's loading equipment. The movements weren't smooth, though. Just as he did in other aspects of his life, Dick usually glided by, but today, his actions looked choppy and uncontrolled.

Red Hood followed shortly after and landed beside Nightwing behind a shipping container. He was now hyper-aware of Nightwing's body language and behavior, but the man wasn't giving anything away at the moment.

"So what does the man want? Is he expecting the same shipment of guns I am, or is he more interested in murderous robots or perhaps certain ex-Titans?" Red Hood asked, putting inflection in his voice to try and get a reaction. Nightwing didn't respond but leaned around the corner, scanning the area. When Red Hood went to speak again, he was met with a hand up, signaling silence. He narrowed his eyes. Now, he was seriously suspicious. What escrima stick was shoved up Nightwing's ass tonight?

Nightwing pulled back from the corner and leaned against the shipping container's wall. At first, Red Hood thought the vigilante was standing, zoned out, but he suddenly realized someone was talking to Nightwing through his earpiece. He was intently listening to whatever the other person was saying. After a couple of moments, Nightwing lifted his hand to his left earpiece.

"Understood."

Nightwing leaned around the corner again and looked up towards the numerous structural beams above them.

Annoyed at the lack of communication, Red Hood asked, "So what's the plan? Who's all here from the crazy little family of ours? Please, tell me Black Bat is here. I need someone on my coolness level."

Nightwing sighed deeply, clearly aggravated at Red Hood's presence and accompanying banter.

"Batman and Robin are on the north end closer to the drop-off point at the warehouse. Red Robin is south near the docks to confirm the unloading process has started. We're in the middle. I am here to distract and cut off half of Deathstroke's team once the shipment has passed. Red Robin will meet me here after tailing the cargo from the ship. Black Bat and Batgirl are patrolling the rest of the city," Nightwing paused and looked at Red Hood, "I have no idea where you come in. Are you going to try and kill Deathstroke, or are you just here to destroy the cargo?"

"I already told you. I'm here to watch your ass get kicked. I'll deal with the cargo later."

Nightwing shook his head and took a deep breath. He almost looked disappointed Jason didn't offer to kill his old mercenary friend.

Again, someone began speaking in Nightwing's right ear.

"I'm in position. I'm just waiting for confirmation from Red Robin."

Nightwing dropped his hand to his side again as he closed the commlink. The older man looked at him briefly before turning his body away, intent on shutting Jason out. Red Hood was a trained Bat, though. The unusual behavior and whispered, "Ready," after Nightwing raised his hand to his left ear were evident to him.

What the? Did Nightwing have two communicators?

Before Red Hood could ask, an explosion came from the south further down the docks, causing the ground to shake.

"O, update. What happened?" Nightwing asked into his right earpiece, pausing as he listened to the report and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Seems we have a change of plans," Nightwing said, looking back at Red Hood before shooting a grappling hook towards the south and disappearing into the night.

Red Hood stood there for a moment and stared after the other man.

"No, please, don't worry about me. I'll figure out the new plan on my own," Jason mumbled to himself. He shot a hook into the night and followed Nightwing to the pier's entrance.

Just past the iron Pier Eleven sign, Red Robin fought several of Deathstroke's robotic henchmen. Nightwing landed near the pretender, pushing off with his hands and backflipping into a robot aiming at Red Robin's back.

"Thanks," Red Robin said, looking down at the robot who'd nearly taken his head off.

"No worries, I got your back, Red. Always," Nightwing responded, finally smiling.

"Gross," Red Hood said, pretending to gag as he joined the two other former Robins. Red Robin opened his mouth to respond, but his comeback was interrupted by the sound of clapping from the direction of the docked ship.

"Well, isn't this quite the sidekick reunion we've got here," Deathstroke said, continuing to clap as he walked down the gangway toward the dock. "Seems the whole flock is almost here."

"The only reunion you'll be attending tonight is between you and a prison cell," Red Robin spat back at the villain.

He couldn't see the mercenary's face, but Jason knew the mask hid a smile behind it. Deathstroke was toying with them like a cat with a ball of yarn. Dozens of robotic henchmen emerged from the shadows and surrounded the heroes. The three former Boy Wonders placed their backs together, readying for the impending fight. Red Hood prepared his guns, Nightwing removed his escrima sticks, energizing them as he got into position, and Red Robin held several batarangs in his knuckles with his bo-staff ready in his other hand.

Without words, the vigilantes launched toward the robots. Red Robin hurled the batarangs into the heads of three nearby enemies, sending them falling backward. Nightwing's escrima sticks made contact with two robots, electrocuting them as he swept his leg, knocking a third off its feet. Nightwing placed the two sticks side by side and shoved them through the robot's head on the ground. He immediately transitioned to a roundhouse kick, pushing back an approaching robot.

Red Hood shot several humanoid machines in the head, but the bullets were not effective enough to eliminate them. They began overtaking him, and one knocked a gun out of his hand, sending it flying to the ground. Annoyed, Red Hood kicked out at the robot closest to him and shot another in the face several times. When he went to pull the trigger again, a faint clicking sounded. His gun jammed, great. He tossed the weapon to the ground near the other useless gun and punched the robots with his fists.

Red Hood saw Deathstroke running towards the warehouse out of the corner of his eye, following a large container on a forklift driven by a robot. The mercenary jumped onto the back of the machinery and turned to watch the vigilantes fighting behind him.

Nightwing must have seen Deathstroke leave as well because the older man catapulted into an aerial front flip, crushing two robots' heads together in midair, and landed outside the circle of henchmen. Nightwing took off running after Deathstroke and the cargo.

Red Hood and Red Robin defeated the remaining robots, looked at one another, nodded, and took off towards the north. The forklift had entered a large open bay door on the side of a nearby warehouse. Red Hood and Red Robin slid to a halt inside the entryway. In the center of the space, Deathstroke stood before Nightwing, who had his escrima sticks at the ready.

"It's been a while, my boy. You don't seem like yourself. Where's the usual banter?" Deathstroke taunted. The mercenary began taking slow steps, circling Nightwing like prey. Red Hood rolled his eyes. Deathstroke was eating this up. It was apparent the man had a hard-on or something for Nightwing. Why else would he stalk the guy for so many years? Despite the long-standing complication of being adoptive brothers, he had to admit the reputation that surrounded Nightwing's ass was pretty warranted. Perhaps Slade was lashing out from not getting a piece of it himself.

Nightwing growled in response, which snapped Red Hood back into focus mode. The hero launched himself at Deathstroke, and escrima sticks clanked against steel as they made contact with a sword. Nightwing pushed off Deathstroke's weapon and connected his two sticks to form a bo staff. Then, the two begin engaging in close combat, dodging and deflecting each other's attacks.

Red Hood tensed as dozens of robots appeared from the corners of the room.

"For fuck's sake," he muttered under his breath.

As Red Hood and Red Robin began fighting the never-ending supply of robots, Batman and Robin dropped into the chaos, disarming several henchmen themselves. All the while, Nightwing continued to spar in the center of the room with Deathstroke.

"You won't get in my way, Nightwing," Deathstroke said, swinging the sword from his side, but Nightwing deflected it with his bo staff.

"You'll have to get through more than just me to get out of here, Slade," Nightwing replied, using his bo staff as a vertical pole, spinning around it to dodge another swing of the sword. Deathstroke quickly swung his weapon sideways when Nightwing landed, knocking the staff out of the vigilante's grasp. Nightwing briefly looked at the staff as it bounced out of reach but made no effort to retrieve it.

Red Robin witnessed this and ran toward the oldest Bat-son and Deathstroke. He launched himself at Deathstroke from behind, but the mercenary anticipated the attack, turning quickly to grab the young man around the neck in midair.

"Let him go!" Nightwing yelled, kicking Deathstroke hard in the side of the head, forcing him to drop Red Robin, who now lay gasping for air on the ground.

Deathstroke turned back toward Nightwing with his head still cocked to the side from the kick. He slowly cracked his neck with a fist under the chin and tilted his head forward.

"You're going to regret that," Deathstroke warned.

A red and yellow blur descended from the rafters, which caused the hair on Jason's neck to stand up. He'd been in plenty of dangerous situations, but he couldn't fight the sense of foreboding overtaking mind. Robin was trying to flank Deathstroke from the air, and, like Red Hood, Nightwing immediately saw the boy's mistake as the mercenary readied his weapon.

"Robin!" Nightwing yelled. The older man jumped toward Robin, and their bodies collided in midair. Robin landed in a heap on the ground several feet away, grunting as he rolled to a stop.

"No!"

Red Hood wasn't even aware he was the one screaming while the nightmare unfolded in front of him. After his screams died away, his mouth hung open while his eyes were wide. He should be moving and saving Nightwing, but his feet were firmly rooted to the ground.

The cross-guard of Deathstroke's sword pressed against the blue insignia on Nightwing's chest, which was slowly staining crimson, while the blade exited his back. Nightwing's head dipped down to stare at the weapon. From his own experience, Jason knew Dick probably didn't feel the intrusion at first. When adrenaline is pumping, the body will mask pain by releasing endorphins, allowing an individual to fight for survival after an inflicted wound. But he knew, oh, he knew when the pain hit, it would hurt.

Nightwing brought his gloved hands up to lightly grip the sword's hilt directly above Deathstroke's own hands. It almost seemed Nightwing would pull it back out himself, make a quip, and continue fighting, but Jason knew that was wishful thinking. When Nightwing lifted his head back up to meet Deathstroke's one eye, his breathing was feeble and faltering; the intake of air causing him pain. Deathstroke slowly removed the sword, sliding it through Nightwing's cupped hands, and let it hang at his side. Jason tried to ignore the blood pooling on the ground underneath the blade.

Nightwing took one standing pained breath before falling to his knees and then to his hands. He raised his hand to his chest and pulled it back to reveal the dark fabric of his glove stained with blood.

Sounds of crushing metal echoed in the open space as Batman violently disarmed the robots in the room that dared stand between him and his wounded son. Suddenly, Batman was crouched down at Nightwing's side with one hand hesitantly hovering above his son's back, as if he could hurt him more by touching him and the other on his arm.

"Nightwing, you're going to be okay," Batman said with his voice breaking. He gently helped Nightwing onto his side, placing the man's head in his lap as he examined the chest wound. Jason was no medical expert, but he knew there was nothing any of them could do for the gaping hole in the man's chest. Nightwing was mortally wounded.

Red Robin and Robin were at Nightwing's side within seconds as the initial shock dissipated. Deathstroke took a few steps backward, staring down at the dying vigilante before turning and running off in the direction of the open warehouse door. Jason reached for a gun but quickly remembered he'd lost them all amongst the fighting down at the dock. He took one last look at the

mercenary with gritted teeth before running over to the other Bat-Family members.

"We have to get him back to the cave, Batman," Robin said, his voice small, childish, and scared. Robin placed his hand next to Batman's on Nightwing's struggling chest, which rose harsh and inconsistent with each breath. Red Robin intertwined his fingers with Nightwing's left hand and gripped the man's wrist with his other hand.

Batman reached down and removed the domino mask on Nightwing's face, revealing pain-filled, wide blue eyes.

"Dick," Batman said, his voice trailing off. Bruce ripped the cowl off and placed his hands on either side of Dick's face. Jason had to divert his eyes at the fear evident behind the constricted pupils. He'd been here before himself, and he didn't want to think about the emotions and thoughts potentially crowding Dick's brain right now.

"God, dammit, Dick, you can't die on us," Jason said, ripping his helmet off and throwing it to the side. He wanted to yell, but his voice came out quieter than he intended. He fell to his knees beside Red Robin. "You hear me? You, pain in the ass copycat. Dying is my thing." Dick tried to force a smile on his face when he looked at him, but he was unsuccessful. The corner of his lips barely moved as tears formed in the corner of his eyes.

"Bruce," Dick started, his eyes turning upwards towards his mentor. When he went to continue speaking, he coughed up blood instead. If the blood loss didn't kill him first, Dick would drown due to the fluid filling his lungs. The realization made Jason want to vomit. After a few seconds, Dick tried to speak again. "I'm s-oo-so sorry."

Bruce began shaking. "You have nothing to be sorry for, son. You did everything right. You were perfect."

"Clearly not," Dick joked back, giving a weak, bloody smile. The sight forced Jason to look away again, so he focused on the slight movement of Dick squeezing Tim's hand instead. Dick raised his other hand to Damian's tear-streaked face and wiped a few falling tears away with his thumb. Damian snatched Dick's hand as it began falling away, gripping it tightly with both of his own. Jason reached out and encompassed Tim's hand, which still held Dick's. He squeezed tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat as his vision became blurry. There was no reassurance for Jason that Dick felt any less alone right now despite all the physical contact.

"This is my fault," Robin whispered. Dick weakly shook his head, trying to comfort the boy.

"Damian," Dick said between forced breaths, "no."

"Richard, I forbid you from dying," Damian said, his voice shaky but stern.

Dick smiled, but it quickly faded with the last fall of his chest. As Dick's body relaxed, his fingers lost their grip on his brothers' hands, and his pupils dilated, hiding some of the lifeless but still stunning blue irises. The juxtaposition between Dick's dead, still body and Bruce's shaking body was astounding. Bruce sat breathing slowly and ragged with his fisted hands on either side of Dick's head, and eyes turned down.

Tim covered his mouth with his hand, turning away as he began to sob. Jason let Dick's limp hand fall away to pull the replacement tightly into his arms. Tim started beating Jason's chest with his fist, but Jason could barely feel it due to the numbness that overtook him.

"He isn't supposed to die. Not Nightwing. Not Dick," Tim cried into Jason's shoulder.

Damian sat paralyzed. He still held Dick's hand in his own shaking hands and stared at the older man's face as if willing him to come back to life.

Jason held tight to Tim but briefly caught Bruce's eyes. He knew the look on his mentor's face all too well. He'd seen the same look staring back at him in the mirror many times. If given a chance, Batman was going to kill Deathstroke.

Chapter End Notes

I have been working on this multiple-chapter, complicated, slow burn of a story between finishing my other works. This chapter occurs after Bruce's return but before Damian's death and Forever Evil. In the context of this story, Dick's death at the hands of Lex Luthor, Spyral, and Agent 37 never happened. The story will jump ahead two years in the next chapter, and the Forever Evil storyline will have occurred, but without Dick's participation, of course.

What day of the week is the best for updates? Thursday? Sunday? Going into 2022, I want to do scheduled updates for this story and The Bat's Bodyguard, but sometimes life gets in the way.

heaven forbid they see you cry

Chapter Summary

Death was—for most people—permanent.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Gotham, October 25, 2019, 10:45 PM EST

Two years. It's been two years since Dick's death, and Jason still couldn't believe it. It was evident that Slade had intended to kill Damian and not Dick, which left them questioning why Slade had targeted Damian in the first place.

Well, it turned out Talia, mother of the decade, put a hit out on Damian when he decided to follow in Batman's footsteps and not Ra's. Upon Slade's failure, she pursued an alternate solution. In the months that followed, Bruce discovered Talia had produced a clone of Damian, which she then sent to kill the boy. However, raw and angry, the Bat-family was ready. They worked together to defeat Damian's clone, the Heretic, preventing the loss of another one of their own.

Unfortunately, an evil, murderous twin was only a tiny part of Damian's problems in the last two years. In the days following the incident at the docks, Damian began experiencing seizures. Even though the episodes lasted less than a minute, they'd been frequent enough to compromise his vigilante work. Bruce benched the boy until Dr. Thompkins ran every test she could and determined a final diagnosis. In the end, the doctor informed them stress and guilt triggered the seizures, and Dick's death was the initial catalyst. Prescription medicine appeared to reduce the number of occurrences significantly, but there was always the potential for more.

Following Dick's death and Damian's diagnosis, Bruce went on an all-out assault trying to hunt down and capture Deathstroke. However, the mercenary was still on the loose two years later. The old Batman was long gone, replaced by a ruthless, vengeance-seeking tyrant.

It was evident that Bruce had regrets about his failed relationship with Dick. Goldie would always show up when Bruce or Batman needed him most, asked or not, putting the effort in for the both of them. But, Batman or Bruce rarely returned the favor over the years, and now it was too late. The situation was different than the first son leaving to join the Titans or move to a new city. Death was —for most people—permanent. Dick wasn't coming back, shovel in hand, to dig up dirt when Bruce buried himself into his usual dark places. And Bruce knew it, too, so he brooded hard.

Jason knew any criminal stupid enough to cross paths with the Bat tonight would find themselves in a body cast for the next six months. Hell, that didn't even pertain to just criminals. It was practically a death wish for anyone to be out and about in Gotham tonight. Still, Jason couldn't sit in his tiny, shabby apartment alone, not today. When he'd tried, the walls felt like they were closing in, and his chest constricted with anxiety.

Jason's legs dangled off the side of the roof as the sounds of traffic echoed off the tall buildings and drifted up to him. It only felt right to jump and flip among the rooftops in honor of the late acrobat rather than sit still in front of the tv.

Like Bruce, Jason had been left with a disarranged Rubik's cube of complicated emotions when Dick died. He tried moving the pieces and solving the puzzle, but the colors were still mismatched. While a teenager, Jason had spent his time trying to obtain Dick's perfection status and approval with little success. Unfortunately for him, the brilliant, loud, and almost obnoxious show that'd been Dick Grayson was quite literally a hard act to follow. Jason had tried, but no one else could be Dick, who, like a snowflake, had been born one of a kind.

As the two men behind the mask, Dick's and Jason's versions of Robin had been very different. The first sidekick was a bright light for strangers, a joke-filled distraction for criminals, and an anchor for Batman. Jason's version was a bold, hot-headed soldier of a sidekick. He was cockier with a puffed chest, inflated from a life of anger and stoicism. Being Batman's partner was less of a game and more of a job for Jason. He'd been an overcompensating understudy who'd gotten his shot at the spotlight when he knew damn well he wasn't the first pick.

But that changed when he returned as Red Hood and realized the world wasn't so black and white. So Jason stopped trying to emulate Dick, and instead, he attempted to prove Goldie was more tarnished than met the eye out of spite.

While his relationship with Dick had been complex, to say the least, he never wanted the man dead. Even when the uncontrollable rage of the Lazarus Pit possessed him, the dull ache of longing always filled his chest when he thought of the first Boy Wonder. Dick would always be his Robin. He'd wanted nothing more than to make the other man proud and to be noticed by him.

It wasn't until the day of the funeral that he could even admit out loud the reasoning behind his complicated feelings. Following the service and half a forty-five-year-old bottle of single malt Dalmore scotch whiskey stolen from Bruce's exclusive liquor cabinet, a comment from Roy had sent Jason reeling. While sitting on his old bed, he'd thrown his drink straight at his best friend's head, who, being sober due to his past addiction issues, effortlessly dodged Jason's shitty throw.

"I'm just saying! I know we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Dick wasn't perfect like everyone out there was making him out to be," Roy repeated.

"You shouldn't speak of him at all, Roy. Especially if it's going to be this kind of bullshit," Jason said, staring at his now empty hands. The numbness from the alcohol was wearing off, and instead, it amplified the grief blossoming again in his chest.

Roy's eyes were on him, and he tried to stay neutral under the watchful gaze.

"You can just admit you liked him, Jaybird. You don't have to pretend otherwise," Roy said.

Jason was quiet as he pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs.

Roy continued when he failed to respond. "Sure, we had our issues, and even if he wasn't Mister Perfect, I could admit he wasn't all bad."

"I didn't just like him," Jason said, his voice barely above a whisper. Roy's forehead furrowed as he considered the statement.

"He was family. Even if you guys weren't as close as you could've been, it's normal to love those you consider family," Roy said.

He let go of his legs and flopped back onto the bed. The world spun a little at the quick change of his position. "Not that kind of love, Roy."

Roy began shuffling around nearby, but Jason kept his eyes glued firmly to the ceiling. The

mattress dipped as Roy moved from the floor to the edge of the bed. Still, Jason refused to meet his friend's eyes.

"I couldn't make myself not love him. I tried. I did. The whole thing was stupid, to begin with," Jason rambled, fighting back the tears. He'd told himself he wouldn't cry today, but it looks like whiskey rivers originate in the eyes of the brokenhearted. Roy placed a gentle hand on his arm, which caused Jason to swallow hard.

"Did you ever tell him?" Roy asked in a soft tone. Of all people, Roy knew Jason didn't speak about feelings often, if ever, and this was uncharted territory. In response, Roy was treading lightly on potentially unstable ground.

"No," he forced out after a moment. Roy added a small amount of pressure to his touch, letting his friend know he was here to listen. "How could I? Hey, Dick, I know we're kind of adoptive brothers, and I've tried to hurt you multiple times due to the Pit's influence, but I think I might be in love with you." He ripped his arm away from Roy's grasp to grab the pillow underneath his head and press it into his face. A manic laugh escaped from his lips, and he replaced it with a low groan when the exasperated laughter died from his throat. God, he was pathetic.

He shoved the pillow off the bed and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms. Roy didn't attempt to touch him again.

"Even on the off chance he felt anything for me, I couldn't do that to him," Jason continued, pausing to let his arms fall back to his sides, "Let him be with me, that is. Just knowing him made me happier than I deserved to be. And he deserved to be happier than I could've ever made him."

Roy went to say something, but Jason lifted his hand to stop him.

"Please, don't say anything. I want to pretend this day never happened. All of it. Including this conversation. It doesn't matter anyway. He's gone," Jason said. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed opposite Roy, turning his back to the redhead. "He's gone."

The memory faded as he took his helmet off and placed it by his side. He gripped the ledge as he stared up at the pollution heavy, starless sky. People say the darkest nights produced the brightest stars, but those people had never lived here. Gotham demanded darkness, and Dick Grayson, a natural-born, luminescent star, had been permanently extinguished by the evils of this place to ensure it got what it wanted.

Science shows that the brighter a star, the more energy it emits and the quicker it dies. It also indicates brighter stars tend to be closer, and Dick had always kept people he loved close. Dick had burned too bright and too close, and at his early end, his death was a supernova that collapsed the world inward. Left behind was a violent black hole that sucked anyone nearby into a dark place where even light couldn't escape.

And if Dick had been a star, Jason was a comet. Instead of emitting warmth, he was a ball of hard rock and ice that spent time orbiting more influential bodies. He became a more illuminated version of himself when he neared his star, and the ice melted away. But it was always temporary. He'd get too close, panic, and then sling back into space to harden, the icy exterior dull once more. Now, his star was permanently gone. With the primary source of life and energy muted in the city, Jason felt as cold and solid as ever.

He sighed as various emotions consumed him. He needed a distraction.

"Hood," a familiar voice called into his comms. The universe was a funny thing sometimes.

"What's up, O?" Jason asked.

"We have a situation," Barbara said in a disgruntled tone that caught Jason's attention.

"A situation?" Jason asked, raising his eyebrows. A brief pause occurred, followed by a frustrated sigh on the other end.

"Slade's in Gotham," Barbara said.

Jason's body went rigid. "Where?" he immediately asked, standing up and reaching for his helmet. The son of a bitch would regret his decision to come back to Gotham. Jason would make sure of it.

"At the docks, but that's only part of the situation," Barbara said before quickly continuing. "I need you somewhere else. I just got a notification from my silent alarms that someone is breaking into WayneTech. The intruder managed to avoid security and the main alarms, so the police aren't even aware of anything yet."

"Well, then call your father and let him know," Jason angrily said. "Let the police handle some bullshit break-in. I'm going after Slade."

"That's the thing. I think Slade is using himself as bait. I think he's a distraction from the break-in," Barbara hesitantly said.

"Why?" Jason impatiently asked, furrowing his brow.

"Based on what little I can see of our guest, his suit bears a striking resemblance to a certain mercenary's," Barbara said.

"Does Batman know?" Jason asked.

"He turned his comms off the minute I confirmed Slade's location," Barbara said. "Before you ask, Signal is with him."

That didn't make things much better, thought Jason. Duke was still new to the group, and he didn't know how to handle Batman on a good day, much less today.

"I'm sorry, Hood. I wouldn't even have asked, but Orphan and Spoiler are in Hong Kong right now. After last year, they made sure to skip town for the anniversary," Barbara said, her voice changing from frustrated to sorrowful. "I don't know what Slade is planning, but whatever it is, I don't want him to succeed." Jason knew Barbara had to be desperate if she called him for assistance.

While Jason had personally stopped using lethal force to remain in the good graces of his adoptive family before Dick's death, his gangs hadn't. After the incident, though, Red Hood affiliated gangs ceased all killing and unnecessary corporal punishment while fighting Gotham's criminals. Jason had hoped to alleviate further stress for the Bat-family and honor Dick's legacy, but the cease-fire didn't last forever. During a rare visit to the manor on the first anniversary of Dick's death, Jason found himself red-faced in a screaming match with Bruce.

Dick had done everything Daddy Bats wanted. The Golden Boy followed the moral code and stuck to the mission, yet, he still ended up d-e-a-d, dead. A man who'd never lived by the sword died by one, and the tragic irony wasn't lost on Jason. If Slade and Joker had been dealt with years ago, Dick would still be alive, and Jason would've never died. And during their fight, for the first time, Jason could see the foundation of Bruce's moral code crack to the point of potential failure. The deaths of two sons and almost a third appeared to invalidate Bruce's past arguments.

That was the moment Jason knew there might be no saving Bruce. The man had allowed darkness to consume him, especially now with the flicker of flame that was Dick Grayson extinguished. That was the same night Tim decided to permanently hang up the cape because he too knew Bruce might be a lost cause. Despite everything they'd been through in the year following Dick's death, Bruce allowed no reprieve, no empathy, and no time for anyone to grieve appropriately. Instead, he demanded more from each of them in the name of the mission, exhausting each of them—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Since that night, Red Hood stopped playing the peacemaker and reaccepted his role as the family outcast. He'd become merciless in his war on crime, much to the dismay of the surviving family. But neither Dick nor Tim was here to reel him back in when the hazy, green rage consumed him, and for the most part, Batman stayed out of his way. Of course, when Batman did show, he always prevented killings, but it became rarer and rarer for the Dark Knight to show up at all.

The fact Bruce was trying less and less to save people, even shitty people, let Jason know that his former mentor was slipping into a place of no return. And with the family split apart, there weren't many people left to catch him before he fell. The longer Deathstroke stayed free, evading justice, the closer Batman came to losing control and crossing the line. Whatever the mercenary was planning, they needed to stop him before Batman did something he regretted.

"I'll head that way," Jason informed her.

"Thank you," Barbara quietly mumbled, sighing. She seemed relieved he'd cooperated so quickly. While their current relationship was rocky due to his stance on crime, their past friendship had been strong two years ago.

After the service, but before his trip to the liquor cabinet, he'd accidentally caught her in the hallway outside Dick's old bedroom. After an awkward exchange, they began telling stories about Dick's shenanigans and all the dumb things he'd done. It was just a whole fucking embarrassing moment where the two of them ended up bonding over their mutual anger at Dick for leaving them. Since then, they'd spoken of their grief a hundred times in a hundred different ways. It wasn't like this was the first time for either of them. After all, losing people was a common side effect of their profession. But this loss was deeply personal for both of them, and talking to one another was the least judgy outlet either one of them had.

Out of all the people he'd encountered and spoken to, Barbara had described grief so perfectly to him that he finally felt understood. For her, it was an ocean full of waves. Sometimes the waves were so small she barely noticed them. Other times it was a tsunami that threatened to drown her completely. She would find herself laughing one minute and the next having a complete panic attack, shaking and unable to breathe while tears freely poured. And she could never predict when the flash flood of emotion would come. When it did, she'd usually seek Jason out for a therapy sesh. Well, she did before the fallout of last year. He honestly felt bad abandoning her to her grief, which he knew could suffocate her at times.

But he couldn't think about that right now. All he could think about was how bold and stupid Slade was to come back to Gotham, today of all days. If Slade orchestrated the break-in and didn't want them to notice, he picked the perfect night.

Jason grabbed his helmet and placed it back over his head.

"For your sake, bud, I sure hope the Red Hood gets to you before Batman does," Jason mumbled to himself, heading for his motorcycle.

When he arrived at the Wayne Enterprises parking garage, he headed toward the service entrance

to avoid security easier.

"I assume security won't be an issue for me," Jason said, walking into the service elevator. "And where am I heading anyway?"

"They'll never even know you're here. And our new friend is on the seventy-fifth floor attempting to steal proprietary Wayne Tech information. I'll patch you into the feed," she said, tapping away. A small camera feed popped up to the right of his helmet interface, so he could see what Barbara saw. Their guest was typing into a computer in one of the lab rooms. Jason pressed the floor number in the elevator, which began to ascend.

The lab computers had the same technology and security as the ones in the Batcave. But, of course, the standard techs who used the lab during the day didn't know that. However, the Bat-Family and Lucius Fox, who designed Batman's gear and gadgets, did.

The man reached into his belt and pulled out a USB with a cable attached. He plugged it into the computer and continued to type.

"Oh no, you don't," Barbara said, trying to override the download remotely. Jason smiled and shook his head. This guy had no idea who he was up against.

"Oracle knows we're here," the man said, his voice modulated. Jason's blood froze. Oh, shit. Well, it seemed the guy knew exactly who he was up against, after all. But how? If he knew who Oracle was and how to access their network, what else did this guy know?

"Overriding her remote connection," the man continued, typing into the computer again. Barbara growled loudly, which meant their new friend had succeeded.

"Transfer complete. I'm moving out," the man said.

Barbara cursed. "He's leaving the lab."

"I'm on the fifty-fourth floor. I've got another thirty-or so seconds before I can engage," Jason replied, tapping his foot impatiently as the numbers slowly turned over above him. The service elevator typically carried large deliveries, so it moved slower than the main guest elevators.

"He's heading toward the main elevators. I'm going to cut power to them," Barbara said. "That should stall him for a second."

The display in his helmet shifted as the man moved back down the main hallway and arrived at the elevators. A small smile crept to Jason's lips when the intruder shook his head in annoyance, realizing what Oracle had done. The man briefly hesitated before beelining for the stairs.

The doors to the service elevator opened right as the man entered the stairs. Jason squeezed past the still opening doors and went into pursuit. When he entered the stairway, he leaned over the railing to see how far the intruder had gotten, but Jason couldn't spot him. Footsteps rang throughout the stairwell, though, so Jason turned his eyes upward.

"He's going up," Jason said, spotting his target.

"Up? Maybe he's headed for the roof for evac, " Barbara replied, confused.

"Only one way to find out," Jason said, climbing the stairs two at a time. After several flights, his breathing got a little heavier.

"How are you doing? You know, with Slade's return and with it being, well, the day that it is, " Barbara hesitantly asked, distracting him from the burning sensation in his legs.

"I could ask you the same question," Jason replied, avoiding answering as he passed a door that read eighty-seven.

Barbara sighed over the commlink.

"I'll be doing better when we catch the asshole," she said. Shuffling sounds filled the comms, which Jason knew meant she'd put her hair up in a messy bun to get serious. "He left the stairwell at the ninety-second floor."

"Not the roof, then," Jason said. Then he remembered. "Bruce's office is on that floor."

The feed pulled back up in his helmet as he passed the ninetieth floor. Jason snuck side glances at the video while trying not to trip on the stairs.

The man ran into Bruce's office and immediately went to a cabinet against a sidewall. Jason knew the furniture hid a vault that housed a spare Batman suit and several gadgets behind it. It appeared nothing Batman-related was a secret to this guy.

The man wouldn't get in before Jason arrived, though. Unless he had access codes, which was damn near impossible, it would take thirty minutes to cut through the thick metal. So when the man typed in a code, and the green light of acceptance lit up, Jason nearly tumbled down ninety- two sets of stairs in surprise.

"What the fuck," Jason huffed, kicking open the door to the ninety-second floor. He crossed over the waiting area and stopped in the office doorway.

In front of him was a man whose suit did, as Barbara had said, bear a striking resemblance to Deathstroke's. The shirt and pants were a black kevlar, but the belt and boots were the same burnt orange Slade wore. In addition, a silver, metallic full head helmet, which matched the gauntlets on the suit, hid the man's face. The whole thing was eerily similar to an old version of the Ravager suit before Rose Wilson, Deathstroke's daughter, took up the persona. If Jason had to guess, he'd say this was the exact suit Grant Wilson, Deathstroke's first son, who'd died fighting the Titans as Ravager, wore.

The man turned to him from where he stood in front of the open vault. If he was surprised to see the Red Hood, his body language didn't show it.

"Evening, Hood," the man said, a smile evident in his voice despite the modulation.

Chapter End Notes

I landed on Tuesday for scheduled updates but decided this chapter was ready. So here you go. Chapter 2 is a whole day early. Happy New Year!

As for the story, two years is a long time, meaning a lot of change for our Bat-fam, so this chapter had to cover quite a bit of background. But they say there's no time like the present, right? So onward we go!

Fortunately for me, I will be traveling later this week, which means, unfortunately for

people interested in this story, the next update will most likely be in two weeks instead of one. Thank you all for the lovely response and general interest in this story. I'm excited to go on this little journey with you all!

the sun will rise and we will try again

Chapter Summary

"Crazy night, huh? I mean, crazy even for us."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"You work for Slade?" Jason asked, hovering one hand above a gun holstered to his thigh and the other ready to defend against an attack.

The man opposite him didn't make any sudden moves, though. Instead, the man straightened up and dipped his head back to laugh a deep, hearty sound while his shoulders bounced up and down. Jason's shoulders slightly drooped in annoyance, which the man noticed.

"Sorry," he started, waving his hand in front of him. "Slade informed me you were part of the world's greatest detectives club or something." He gestured toward his suit. "How many people would consider burnt orange a fashion statement?"

Jason shook his head and thanked himself for selecting a helmet as part of his armor. Otherwise, he knew the other man would relish in Jason's scowled and embarrassed expression.

"Okay, asshole. I get it. What the hell are you doing here in Gotham, then?" Jason asked, ignoring the man's earlier rhetorical question.

"I'll let the actual detectives on your team figure that one out later," the man said, shrugging. He swept a lazy, wandering gaze from Jason's combat boots back up to the crimson helmet, which Jason tried to ignore.

"Well, whatever it is, it stops here," Jason said, launching himself at the intruder.

The man gracefully moved toward the center of the office, dodging Jason's fist. Jason spun on his heel in an attempt to kick the man in the stomach, but the man grabbed Jason's shin, halting his forward momentum. The man pushed off Jason's outstretched leg and somersaulted backward over Bruce's executive wood desk before Jason could retaliate.

"Orange isn't my thing, but I like the outfit. I'm a little flattered, honestly," Jason bantered to maintain distraction and continue gathering intel. The more the man spoke, the more Jason could analyze the modulated voice. While the helmet's tech hid any indication of an accent or recognizable tone, there was still a chance it could momentarily fail.

The man laughed again. "They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. So I figured you'd like the colored helmet with built-in modulation," the man said as he tapped the side of his silver helmet with his finger. "You may be a bad detective, but you've got a better fashion sense than Slade."

Jason vaulted over the desk, but the man anticipated the attack, effortlessly performing a side aerial to avoid Jason's foot. The man moved like water down a rocky cliffside, finding the path of least resistance and effortlessly flowing where he needed to go without hesitation. Jason could tell the

man was well-trained, and he'd been doing this a long time.

"Hopefully, my setup does better at hiding my identity, though. Don't you agree, Jason?" the man taunted back after landing gracefully out of arms reach.

What the actual fuck?! Since the guy worked for Slade, Jason wasn't surprised he knew the information, but still. It wasn't a comforting discovery.

"Not going to make things fair and tell me your name? Seems like something you learn about a person on a first date," Jason said, his movements getting sloppier as his frustration grew.

"I hear mysteriousness is an attractive trait, though," the man said, dodging yet another punch by moving back toward the center of the office.

Suddenly, Jason realized he was the only one attacking. The man attempted no counterattacks, but instead, he bounced around the office like a damn tennis ball avoiding every blow Jason offered. The realization infuriated Jason even more than he already was.

Jason lunged at the man, growling as he did, and their bodies collided when the guy made no effort to avoid him. The man landed in one of the guest chairs near Bruce's desk with Jason standing above him, hands straddling on either one of the armrests.

"If I can't know your real name, what's your stage name, Mr. Showboat? Don't tell me you go by the Silver Hood. It'd be a little too on the nose," Jason said, lifting his knee into the man's lap and placing a hand on his chest to pin him down. It was difficult not to take note of the firm muscle present.

Before the man could reply, Jason continued to probe while pushing his knee further into the man's thigh. "I heard a rumor that Rose Wilson quit the Titans recently. So I figured you were taking up the Ravager mantle now."

"Deathstroke and I never discussed the whole name thing, honestly. So you can call me whatever you like," the man replied, running the back of his hand flirtatiously down the side of Jason's helmet before reaching both hands around Jason's neck.

Jason narrowed his eyes at the movement, but the distraction of their chests touching made his reaction sluggish. Then, before he could reach for the man's arms, a pair of hands grabbed the back of his leather jacket far down his back. They yanked the jacket over Jason's head, momentarily blinding him and trapping his arms.

Flustered, he flailed his arms as he tried to get the fabric back over his head, but in his haste, the man slipped between his legs, flipping backward out of the guest chair.

"Rose may care, but if you like it, I like it," the man said as he watched Jason try to gain his composure and straighten out his jacket.

Jason flared his nostrils and let out a grunt as he smoothed the hem of his jacket. He knew his face was probably the same color as his helmet at this point, especially since he was acting like a distracted little schoolboy.

During the lapse in fighting, Jason took the opportunity to observe the man in front of him. The man was shorter than Jason and less broad in the shoulder, but he was still muscular. The Kevlar fabric hid nothing as the man's flexed muscles strained against the dark material. Jason couldn't deny Michelangelo himself might have chiseled the guy into existence.

The thick utility belt with its many compartments encircled the man's narrow waist, emphasizing the lean midsection. The leather straps of a gun holster drew attention to the well-defined, slender but powerful thighs and legs. The man's body was perfect for agile and flexible maneuvers, which he'd already showcased. Jason caught himself lingering on different parts of the man's body with his eyes, so, instead, he tried focusing on body language.

Channeling all the lessons Cass had taught him throughout the years, Jason knew the man was cocky, confident, and assertive from stance alone. The man was good, and he knew it. Like a tiger on a hunt, he'd let his prey tire themselves out, saving his energy for the final attack. Taking note of the man's attitude and strategy, Jason couldn't underestimate him.

"I like Rav. I think I'll call you Rav," Jason clarified.

The man chuckled a little. "Rav it is, then. But only for you, Hood. I expect the rest of your brood to call me by my proper full name, Ravager." Then, finally, his new friend, Ravager, came at him.

Jason fisted his hands but was unprepared when the man dived between his parted legs at the last minute. Ravager popped up behind him, placed his back against Jason's, and wrapped his arms high around Jason's chest, grasping his hands together from behind. Once he had a good grip, Ravager flipped his lower half up and over Jason's head, pulling Jason with him as he did. Eventually, Ravager landed on his feet, but not before Jason's world started to spin. One moment he was standing, and the next, he was flat on his ass with Ravager standing over him.

Despite telling himself not to, Jason had still underestimated the guy. He was good. No, he was excellent. Whoever trained him had done one hell of a job. Jason had to have a good fifty pounds and a few inches on the man, but he flipped Jason over like a sack of dirt.

Jason went to grab the man's ankle next to his side, but Ravager reached for the gun holstered to his thigh. Ravager pulled it out and pointed it toward Jason's face, making Jason freeze everything but his rising and falling chest.

"It's been fun, Hood, but I need to finish what I came here to do," Ravager started, his arm with the gun unwavering. He cocked the weapon, making the corner of Jason's eye slightly flinch.

Jason's outfit consisted of a thick pair of combat pants with pads on the knees, thighs, and shin. Additionally, it had heavy boots, a thick brown leather jacket that covered padded arms, and thick armor over his chest and midsection. For the most part, he was well protected. However, at the junction of his shirt and helmet was a black material that covered his neck for some protection but was thin enough to allow free movement of his neck. In short, it was his outfit's most significant weak spot, but it wasn't something he advertised.

Jason didn't miss the slight movement of Ravager's finger as he pulled the trigger. Jason closed his eyes, waiting for the eventual ping of metal on metal and praying the bulletproof aspect of his helmet proved true. But the ping never came.

Instead, a warming sensation began radiating from his neck into his shoulder. He lifted his hand to his neck and felt the tip of a dart sticking up through the fabric—a freaking tranq gun.

"Really? Did you just fucking tranq me?" Jason asked. "I thought you were a well-trained professional. Don't believe you could win in a real fight?"

Ravager bent down, hovering just over Jason's slowly numbing body.

"Hood, I know I could win in a fight. But I don't want to embarrass you on our first date. Well, not

more than I already have that is," Ravager teased, placing another dart inside his gun.

"Considering how quick and dirty this was, I don't think there'll be a second date, bud," Jason angrily said. "I like a good tease before I get fucked over. Especially by a guy that doesn't even use real guns."

"Guns are for those who need to take the easy or fast way out. My skills allow me to handle my enemies the honorable way," Ravager said, standing and holstering the gun. "But right now, I don't have time for pleasantries, so the fast way it is."

Jason snorted, offended. "Okay, Mr. High and Mighty. We'll see what you say when we meet again, and I put a bullet between those pretty white eye slits of yours at first sight."

Ravager chuckled softly again. "I look forward to it, Hood."

Ravager stepped over his now rapidly numbing body as Jason turned his head to track the man's movements. Ravager headed back toward the vault and walked inside, rifling loudly through the room's contents. After a few moments, he stepped back into the office with several new accessories, one being a new prototype Batwing jetpack on his back. In his hand, Ravager held a compact glass laser cutter.

Ravager headed toward the window behind Bruce's desk, where he suctioned the laser cutter to the glass, programmed it, and stepped back. The device quickly cut a small but human-sized hole into the window. Ravager removed the device from the glass and kicked the cutout with his boot, separating the cut glass from the remaining window and sending it to the sidewalk below.

He took several steps backward, almost to the office door on the far wall, and tested a button on the jet pack. The suit's wings activated, extending several feet in either direction. He studied the extended wings, and once satisfied, he deactivated them, bringing them back inward.

"You'll have to tell your tech guy he's outdone himself," Ravager said, looking back toward Jason, who still lay unmoving on the floor. While his body couldn't move, Jason's dignity had long ago vacated the situation. He knew he was a sorry sight right now.

Ravager shook his head and shoulders, psyching himself up, took a deep breath, and sprinted towards the window. When he was close enough, he pushed off with his legs and dived through the hole in the glass, front flipping out into the night. Several seconds of silence followed before radio static reminded Jason he'd had an audience.

"Well," Barbara said over the comms now that Jason was alone. " While a disappointing ending, that was mildly entertaining."

Jason hummed in response, attempting to wiggle his toes, but they were still numb. "Don't start with me, O."

"What? You just seemed a little flustered. Has it been that long since you've had another guy under you?" Barbara teased him as she stifled a laugh.

"If you don't shut up, I swear. When I get feeling back, I'm coming to the Clocktower to end you," Jason snarled as he gritted his teeth in embarrassment. Barbara barked out the laugh she'd tried to contain. "I'm glad I could make you feel better." At least he was numb so that he couldn't feel the flush of shame traveling through his body.

"I'm sorry. I am," Barbara said between laughs. "This is serious. I just couldn't resist." More laughter. "Kind of like you back there."

"Fucking hell," Jason muttered under his breath.

"I'm done. Promise," Barbara said, her voice shifting to a serious tone. "He knows too much. More than what Slade would be able to tell him."

"You think?" Jason sarcastically asked. A question came to him with his eyes still fixed on the open vault. "How did he access the vault?"

Barbara's voice dropped all her joking tone. "With approved access codes."

"Which ones?" Jason asked, but he already had an idea what Barbara's answer would be.

"Nightwing's," was the quiet, mumbled response.

"Hood," Barbara started again before Jason could reply. " He knew your name, how to get into Wayne Enterprises, our network, the vault. Do you think it could be him? But how?"

"We tend not to stay dead in this family," Jason said, trying to sound lighthearted and joking. It was in vain, though. His mind was spinning with possibilities and theories. Could it be Dick? Was he working with Slade? If so, why and how?

He didn't know how long he'd laid there, but eventually, he could wiggle his toes and then his fingers. Then, a little while later, he was sitting up and massaging his muscles to help get feeling back into them faster.

"Have you made contact with Batman?" Jason asked, slowly standing up by using the chair to steady him.

"I sent him your body cam and all the security footage."

"Terrific. I always love when he gets to watch me make a fool of myself," Jason muttered. "Where's he now?"

"He turned his comms back off and went back to the cave. I confirmed with Signal that they both made it back."

Jason needed to get to the cave himself. If he and Barbara had the same theory, he knew Bruce did, too. He wobbled his way to the service elevator, pressing the floor button for the garage once inside. While the elevator descended, Jason took deep breaths to calm his rapid heart rate and thoughts. Despite being overcome with a mixture of excitement, worry, betrayal, joy, and hope, he needed to rationalize his theory. He didn't want to assume the new Ravager was Dick, but how could it not be?

Jason shook his head. There were lots of reasons it couldn't be Dick. First, Bruce ensured the body they buried belonged to Dick by testing its blood and hair for DNA confirmation before burying it in the dirt. Second, Bruce placed pressure sensors on the casket's lid, so if the body had been disturbed, they would've known. On top of that, there weren't any possible known resurrection methods to bring Dick back to life.

Shortly after Dick's death, they found out that Dick had made a deal during the timeframe he was Batman. While he had odd ways of showing it, Ra's cared for his grandson and potential future head of the League of Assassins, Damian. Dick had promised to train and keep Damian safe during Bruce's absence under one condition. If Dick died, Ra's couldn't allow anyone to throw Dick's body in a Lazarus Pit as long as the League maintained control of them, which they still do.

At first, Jason had been surprised by this information, but, over time, he realized it wasn't that out of character for Dick. When Bruce—allegedly—died, Tim and Dick had fought about throwing the body Superman brought back to the cave into the Pit. While against it, Dick finally succumbed to the temptation and dropped the body into the cursed green water regardless of the potential side effects.

It turned out the body didn't belong to Bruce in the end, but a clone. Despite learning Bruce was alive, the truth was, Dick was disappointed in himself. While the Pit served its healing purposes well for the living, without a soul, a body placed in the water could render permanent undesirable effects, mainly insanity. Dick felt taking such a risk without someone's consent, especially considering the clone went insane after his experiment, was morally wrong. That, and the decision nearly tore a permanent rift between him and Tim.

To avoid the inevitable family fight, Dick decided for them. If he died, he wanted to stay dead. He didn't want to risk insanity and make any of the family members feel guilty over the outcome if it happened. Dick intended for them to move on with their lives and not chase or focus on his resurrection. So, while Damian had begged his grandfather to allow them access to the Pit, Ra's stayed true to his word.

Once the elevator reached the parking garage, Jason exited the elevator. He quickly found his bike, revving it and taking off into the night. After breaking numerous vehicular driving laws, he found himself pulling up into the cave.

"Todd," Damian gruffly greeted him as Jason walked up to the computer area. The boy was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt as if coming straight from bed, but Jason knew, like the rest of them, Damian had been awake all night. Of course, given the emotional significance of tonight's date, Damian would've been sidelined, which would explain the more than usual pissed-off attitude.

"How ya doing, kid?" Jason asked, trying not to press the kid's buttons too much. He already had enough to deal with, much less being the trigger for a seizure.

"I'd be doing better if Duke was competent and hadn't allowed Slade to get away," Damian replied, glaring over at Duke, who was exiting the medical bay.

Duke stopped short and dropped his shoulders, defeated. "I tried! The guy is powerful and fast. He tried to injury civilians," Duke said, defending himself as his voice faded. Duke dropped his head in self-disappointment.

Jason walked over and placed a reassuring hand on Duke's shoulder.

"It's not your fault. None of us suspected Slade would return, and he's a difficult opponent even for the well trained," Jason said.

Damian snorted behind him. "T-t."

Duke gave him a forced smile before dropping his eyes again.

"Where is he?" Jason asked, removing his helmet and turning to Damian.

Damian lowered his eyes and sighed. "Where do you think he is?"

Jason didn't need to hear anything else. He left his helmet on the computer desk and headed toward the manor's cave entrance. Once inside, Jason traveled to the side door, which would lead him out to the small patch of trees near the house. He walked on autopilot toward the small iron fence surrounding the private Wayne Family cemetery plot. Before even walking through the gate, the

sound of someone physically overexerting themselves greeted him.

Jason came to a stop at the edge of the hole Bruce had dug up. He ignored his old mentor and read the gravestone at the edge of the hole.

'Richard John Grayson. Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend.'

There'd been a considerable debate when Dick died on where they should bury him. Barbara argued they bury him with his parents. At the same time, Tim and Damian insisted they bury him with his chosen family. Unsurprisingly, Alfred remained mute on the issue, offering advice in metaphors and stories, while Jason kept his mouth shut completely. But ultimately, Bruce decided for everyone. The man selfishly wanted his son's final resting place to be as close to him as possible. And they all know Bruce tends to get what he wants.

"Bruce," Jason finally said, watching as Bruce continued to dig with his back to Jason. No response, so he tried again. "Bruce."

A low growl sound came from Bruce, but no words.

"It wasn't him. Let him rest in peace, for fuck's sake," Jason said, his voice angry.

Still, Bruce didn't turn to acknowledge him but stopped digging for a moment, resting his weight against the shovel.

"I have to know, Jason. I have to investigate all possibilities," Bruce said, breathing heavily with his chin to his chest.

"We watched him die. It's him in there. You made sure of it," Jason replied, pausing before starting again. From an outside perspective, it may seem like he was trying to convince Bruce, but, in actuality, he was trying to convince himself. "Nobody got near the body before or after it was buried. You took DNA samples and armed the casket with pressure sensors. So if someone disturbed the body, you would've known."

"I'm aware of all these things," Bruce frustratingly replied, gripping the handle of the shovel. "But we have to investigate all possibilities."

Bruce forced the shovel into the dirt, placing his foot on the step to push it further down.

After a few moments, metal striking wood caught Jason's attention. Bruce stood up and threw the shovel up to the ground above him. Then, he kneeled and wiped the remaining dirt off the lid with his hands before reaching for the upper clasps on the side of the wooden casket. When he undid both latches, Bruce took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and yanked the top portion of the lid open.

Jason decided to divert his eyes and only focus on Bruce's face at the last second. A range of emotions quickly passed over Bruce's face. First, it was disbelief, then disappointment, and then lastly, a hint of anger. It only meant one thing. Bruce was staring down at the face of his dead son, which wasn't the outcome he'd wanted. Jason refused to give in to the temptation to sneak a peak to verify for himself. Being a vigilante, he'd seen enough dead bodies to know what happened to them after someone died.

Decomposition would've already taken its effects, causing a corpse's skin to turn splotchy black and begin stripping away. It wasn't a sight Jason wanted to fuel his already brightly burning nightmares.

After several tense moments, Bruce took another deep breath and reached inside the coffin. With

his focus point moved, Jason turned his attention to the sunrise. He hadn't realized how much time had passed since Barbara first contacted him. He could already see the first pale rays of sunshine peeking from behind the trees.

When Bruce reappeared, he held a lock of hair he'd taken from the body. Unfortunately, there would be no blood or saliva to test, so they would have to rely on the hair or remove the corpse's teeth for dental analysis. Jason hoped Bruce wouldn't go that far in disturbing the body.

Bruce took one last look inside the coffin and closed the lid again, latching the clasps gently. He placed an open palm against the casket lid as he paused for a moment to compose himself. Once Bruce finished, Jason offered a hand to help him climb out of the grave, which the man silently accepted. Bruce reached for the shovel and started to fill the dirt back in while Jason kicked what he could with his boot.

After they'd done a crude enough job, they headed to the cave with the hair sample. Damian and Duke, who'd changed out of his suit, were still present. Neither greeted the new arrivals nor commented on Bruce's dirty exterior.

Bruce set up the DNA analysis test and placed the hair inside the machine's specimen compartment. They all remained silent as the progress bar percentage increased. Jason leaned against the examination table that sat near the computer. At the same time, Damian hopped to sit on top of it and shuffled his way over until his side was touching Jason's. Jason reached up and placed a hand on the boy's knee, squeezing slightly. He knew how much Damian blamed himself for Dick's death. If it turned out Dick was alive, the enormous guilt inside Damian might release its unrelenting grip on the boy.

A window popped up when the progress bar reached one hundred percent, and the computer spoke, breaking the silence.

"DNA sample analysis completed. Subject identified, Richard John Grayson."

Jason's chin dropped to his chest as Bruce audibly released his breath nearby. Then, underneath his hand, Damian's body went rigid, and a small sob escaped his lips, followed by a sniffle.

Jason knew this was the logical outcome, but he couldn't fight the disappointment inside him. Despite all the implausibilities, everything from tonight's encounter screamed Dick Grayson was alive. But Dick was dead, and he was going to stay that way.

In a flurry of frustration, Bruce turned on his heel away from the computer and retreated to the manor. Having never met Dick, Duke read the room and swiftly followed suit, leaving Jason and Damian alone. Jason squeezed Damian's knee again in an attempt to both comfort the boy and anchor himself back to Earth. For the last five minutes, or maybe it was an hour, Jason felt like he'd been hovering outside his person. Damian's warmth radiating underneath his palm was the only reminder he was still alive at the moment.

"Could it still be possible?" Damian asked in a quiet voice, barely above a whisper.

Jason lifted his eyes to look at the call-out on the screen that read Dick's full legal name.

"I don't think so, little D," Jason disappointedly said. Damian gave him a sad smile, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"Only Grayson ever called me that," Damian said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as the tears broke loose and fell down his cheeks.

Jason raised his hand from Damian's knee and placed it around the boy's shoulders.

"I know," was all he could say before adding, "You should go get some rest. We all should."

Surprisingly, Damian didn't argue but simply nodded his head in agreement while he jumped down from the table. The boy made to say something but then appeared to think against it. He gave Jason one last nod before disappearing up the same stairs Bruce and Duke had a while ago.

Jason sighed, stood up, grabbed his helmet off the table, and made his way to his bike. After revving the engine and leaving the cave, he finally allowed the emotions to run their course as he drove. Before he could entirely drown in his sorrows, though, a call notification from Barbara illuminated in his helmet.

For a moment, he considered not answering, but Jason knew the night had been difficult on all of them. He reluctantly answered.

"Hey," Jason said, dodging oncoming traffic as he made his way to his apartment.

"Hey," Barbara said, her voice sad. "Crazy night, huh? I mean, crazy even for us."

"That's an understatement," Jason mumbled.

"I did some more research, and I may have a lead on Slade," Barbara said, tapping away at the computer.

Jason perked up and raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

"I've looked into the dock shipment arrivals several times, but I've never been able to find any connection to Slade," Barbara explained. "Even the shipment we thought was tied to him two years ago wasn't in the end."

"I feel like a but is coming."

"But, I found something odd about a shipment that departed just last night," Barbara said. "The shipment originated in France but stopped in New York and then Gotham. Then, it left again to head overseas."

"Seems like an odd detour," Jason stated as he pulled into the hidden garage for his apartment and parked his bike.

"I don't have time to discuss standard shipping routes with you, but this path is more common than you think," Barbara said. "But anyway. The ship contains recycled nuclear waste. Which, coincidently, is the fuel source for several pieces of technology whose blueprints were stolen from Wayne Tech less than twelve hours."

"So, Slade stole tech plans and their required fuel sources during his business trip?" Jason asked, turning off the engine to his bike.

"No security footage showed him removing any of the material. Plutonium is pyrophoric and can combust spontaneously in air. I'm sure he wouldn't want to travel long distances with it," Barbara replied. "Especially not in the enclosed space of a car or aircraft. I do have evidence he verified its presence on board, though."

"So, where's the ship headed?"

"Its next scheduled stop is in Suez, Egypt," Barbara said. "Fancy a field trip? Of course, it could be nothing, but we hadn't seen Slade in two years until tonight. If he's been operating internationally, that would explain a lot."

Jason sighed. "Suez is a long journey by boat. What is that? A three-week delivery time?"

"Give or take a few days, yes."

Jason gripped the handlebars. "Batman doesn't want to investigate this himself? Why would he want me involved? I haven't exactly been cooperative lately."

"He doesn't know. And I think it should stay that way," Barbara quickly answered. "Look, Hood. I want to catch Slade just as bad as he does, but he's more unstable than nuclear waste himself nowadays. If we send him on this mission, he'll tear the whole port apart and ruin any lead we have. I don't typically say this, but I think we need to keep him out of this. At least for now."

It was hard to disagree with that statement.

"Fine. I'll look into it. Let me know the arrival date as it gets closer, and we'll figure out the logistics then," Jason said.

"Will do," Barbara said, a happy tone in her voice again. "Who knows? Maybe you'll get to see your new friend again."

Jason growled and abruptly turned off his commlink. His increased heart rate gave him away, though. He kind of hoped she was right.

Chapter End Notes

I can explain! No, seriously. I can, and I will in the next chapter and then further along. I promise!

Also, side note: Looking up the time required to dig a grave and how long body decomposition takes has definitely landed me on a list somewhere. I just know it.

when did you believe you were alone?

Chapter Summary

Despite air entering his lungs and his heart pumping blood, he felt the way the world perceived him, dead.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Cairo, Egypt, October 26, 2019, 7:45 PM EET

Despite the ten hours of flying, neither of the plane's occupants had spoken a word to each other. Dick shifted in his seat for the hundredth time to get comfortable with little success. He'd made a show of observing the changing skies outside his window the entire flight and pretending Slade didn't exist.

He refused to sleep in Slade's presence if he could help it. Sure, he was tired. He was physically suffering from jet lag and mental exhaustion due to the stress of the latest mission, but it didn't matter if he slept for ten hours or three days; this wasn't the kind of tired sleep could fix. Sleep was less for physical purpose nowadays and more to escape his daily hell.

Last night was the first time he'd been back to Gotham since Slade appeared in his apartment, smiling and demanding his cooperation or Damian dies.

While Dick had carried on the mantle of Batman following Bruce's apparent death at Darkseid's hand, Flamingo attacked and critically injured Damian. During a moment of weakness, Dick enlisted Talia's help to repair Damian's damaged spine surgically. Unfortunately, Talia took the opportunity to insert a neural-spine implant into the lower lumbar section of the boy's reconstructed spine. The implant, positioned to be undetected during most routine scans, could be activated at any time to either control Damian or kill him. Slade, promising to remove Dick's morally good influence on the ex-assassin, was granted access to the device by Talia.

Anytime Dick decided to rebel against orders, Slade pressed the switch for the device. Once activated, an electrical current would pulse through Damian's neurological system, increasing gradually in strength until it effectively disrupted the brain's ability to maintain the natural rhythm of the boy's heart, stopping it completely. The symptoms from an attack mimicked those of a typical seizure. If the implant remained undiscovered during medical testing, the source of the episodes would be inconclusive since Damian had no known brain defects.

According to medical records stolen from Dr. Leslie Thompkins' clinic, Damian was on anti- seizure medications, which had shown to decrease the frequency of his episodes over time. However, the improvement wasn't due to medicine, but from Dick rebelling less, hating to see Damian hurting. As far as Bruce was concerned, Damian's seizures, which began soon after Dick's dramatic death, were stress-induced.

So on that day two years ago, with Damian's life threatened, he'd allowed Slade to escort him to a private airfield a few hours outside Gotham. Slade didn't let him pack anything or call anyone before leaving, so he boarded a small plane with nothing more than what he'd been wearing after a

thorough search. Shortly before take-off, Slade forced him to call Tim to inform him he'd miss the briefing before patrol and meet them at the docks later.

They'd been trailing Slade for nearly a week before they determined he was in town for a shipment at the docks due later that night. Or so they thought. Slade had a plan that didn't involve the illegal trade of guns or drugs, and the last big piece was replacing the real Dick Grayson. Because a complete clone would've taken years to grow and train, Slade found a shortcut. Slade used cloning technology, courtesy of LexCorp, to reproduce Dick's DNA in the forms of skin grafts, blood, and hair.

With the help of Dollmaker, Slade grafted a cloned skin cap with finely stitched hair onto a blackmailed metahuman with shapeshifting abilities similar to Martian Manhunter. Then, Slade performed a complete blood transfusion days before the shipment, entirely replacing the man's blood with Dick's replicated blood.

Studies show a donor's DNA, found in white blood cells, can be detected up to seven days in a recipient's blood following a procedure utilizing donated blood. So Slade knew if he produced a high enough white blood cell count and timed it correctly, the blood Bruce would test following the faked death would return positive for Dick's DNA. To ensure success, Slade pumped the replicated blood full of filgrastim injections in the months before he arrived in Gotham. The injections, typically used on cancer patients following chemotherapy to prevent infections, stimulated excessive white cell growth.

Slade also knew that the metahuman who he'd threatened the family of would remain in his final form upon death, meaning he would keep Dick Grayson's face until it rotted off. Slade even taught his hostage the basics so he'd pass for a trained Nightwing: using a grappling hook, front flips, sparring, his nicknames for his family, and more. With Damian's life threatened, Dick also provided the codes to his safe, which granted Slade access to his suit, comms, and gear. The metahuman had everything he needed to pass as a believable Nightwing.

Slade had even anticipated his family's attempt to bring him back. With the al Ghuls already on board with Slade's plan, they were more than happy to deny the Bats access to the Lazarus Pits. Using some bullshit, fake deal with Ra's, there was no chance his family would find out the truth from resurrection like they did Bruce.

If it weren't personal and slightly psychopathic, considering the time and effort involved, Dick would've been impressed. Tricking the world's greatest detective wasn't easy, but grief leaves people with skewed vision. His family may have missed minute details due to Dollmaker's well- executed craftsmanship even with a complete autopsy, especially if Slade's sword execution story was true. How many people would focus on recording details of a man's skull and hairline when he had a gaping hole in his chest? Then again, he figured the recent incident involving Bruce's clone would've had them on high alert, and they would have been more thorough. But maybe that was the optimist in him.

Fourteen hours after his initial encounter with Slade, he'd landed in Cairo, locked away with no knowledge of what happened in the hours following his departure. It'd taken nearly a year to get the details from Slade once the man was satisfied in his attempt to fool the Bats. While he had no evidence if Slade's story was true or not, he assumed that the plan was successful since he was still here. As far as the world was concerned, Dick Grayson was dead, buried six feet in the dirt.

Maybe it was his ego, but he wondered if they still thought of him, what his funeral had been like or if his death had been made public. He asked himself if Bruce had told the press Dick Grayson died in an unfortunate motorcycle accident or a civilian life lost in the latest scuffle between the

Justice League and the Crime Syndicate.

He wondered if news spread in the superhero community that Deathstroke slew Nightwing and how many of his old friends and teammates were allowed to attend the burial. He imagined Bruce would lie, telling them the funeral was on Saturday when he planned to bury the body the Friday prior and then cancel the public event.

Outside the window, he could see the lit-up skyline of Cairo's city center. He'd forced his eyelids to remain open the whole flight, but he allowed himself to lean back into his seat and close his eyes with only a few more minutes of flying. An image of the Red Hood in Bruce's office emerged behind his eyelids.

Due to their complicated relationship, seeing Jason last night was an emotional rollercoaster for him. He'd pushed the untrained, scrawny boy away when Bruce first brought him in, less because he didn't like the kid but more due to his anger at Bruce. And then the Joker brutally killed Jason, and the guilt of keeping the boy at a distance overtook him.

Following his resurrection, Jason returned, not as a scrawny kid but as a grown man. Broad shoulders and thick thighs left Dick cursing his fluid sexuality. Because in Jason's eyes and the rest of the family, Bruce adopted them both, making Dick's attraction taboo and unnatural. So for years, Dick hid his feelings as best as he could. Nightwing was naturally flirtatious in the field, sure. It came with the overconfident masculinity part of the job, but he never directed the jabs at Jason to prevent crossing lines he shouldn't.

However, he wasn't Nightwing anymore. Working as Ravager allowed him more freedom since a flirty interaction between Ravager and Red Hood could be expected. It didn't help that his fight with Jason was one of the first acts of physical human contact outside of Slade that he'd had in over two years. The lack of touch left a lot to be desired by him. He'd allowed Jason to collide into him at one point to feel someone else's warmth. He was pathetic.

Shortly after Jason rejoined the family, Dick provided him a private communicator to reach Dick whenever and wherever. He'd thought Jason had lost the gift for a while, but after several months, a distress signal came to him while out on patrol. Dick quickly headed to the coordinates designated in the message and found Jason in the throes of a panic attack at a safe house. Afraid to trigger him more, Dick announced his presence as he entered through an open window and neared Jason.

"Hood, it's Nightwing. You called me, and I am here to help," Dick said with his hands out in front of him. He hesitantly moved toward Jason but stopped as he got closer, and Jason growled in pained frustration.

Jason sat with his back pressed against an exposed brick wall with his knees tucked into his chest, still in his Red Hood gear. He had a hand on either side of his helmet, and his head dipped between his knees.

Dick crouched down several feet from Jason.

"I need you to breathe, Jay," Dick said, reaching toward Jason. "What's going on? Talk to me."

Jason groaned again and turned his helmeted head upward to look at Dick.

"The Pit," Jason said, his voice full of restrained pain.

Suddenly, Dick understood. He'd seen a Pit-induced episode happen, but typically Jason would

disappear from the scene before Dick could help.

"Okay, what can I do?" Dick asked, slipping slightly closer. "Can I touch you?"

Jason leaned his head back against the wall and put his hands in his lap. He hummed a response that sounded like permission, so Dick slowly closed the gap between them.

Jason's chest was rapidly rising and falling, so Dick placed his hand with palm outstretched on Jason's armored pec. He grabbed Jason's gloved hand and put it on his chest where the Nightwing insignia met in the middle. Jason's head fell to look at him.

"Match my breathing," Dick said in a soft tone followed by deep, controlled breaths. Underneath his palm, Jason's breathing pattern changed to meet his.

"I didn't plan to kill anyone," Jason started, breathing increasing again. "But then I found the kids in cages, and I just."

Jason's heart rate rapidly increased, and his breathing became sporadic again.

"Hey, it's okay. It's going to be okay," Dick said, placing his free hand over Jason's on his chest.

A manic laugh escaped Jason's lips. "Tell that to Bruce. I'm the failure he said I was," Jason replied, head rolling back again as he began to shake.

"That's far from the truth, Jay," Dick said, moving his hands to clasps Jason's wrists. He hated that he couldn't see Jason's face. "Why don't you take the helmet off? It could help you get more air."

Jason made no move to remove the helmet, but Dick remained patient. Finally, after a long silence, the modulated voice spoke.

"There are two pressures sensors that have to be activated to remove the helmet. One is on the back at the base of my neck, and the other is below my right ear. Press both and pull up."

Dick didn't hesitate. He placed gentle fingers, brushing the thin material at the nap of Jason's neck, and found the sensors Jason mentioned. He applied pressure and heard a slight hiss as the helmet's security mechanism released. Dick lifted the helmet up and over Jason's head, revealing the black hair with the tell-tale white stripe.

Dick couldn't fight a grin as the helmet hair made an appearance.

"What?" Jason asked, looking back at Dick through the white lenses of his domino mask.

Dick chuckled. "You've got some major helmet hair going on right now. It's a little hard to take the fear striking Red Hood serious."

Jason stuck his bottom lip out and huffed out air, causing a flattened curl to bounce against his forehead. Dick reached up and ran his fingers through Jason's hair to put some life back into it without thinking. When his fingers reached the nap of Jason's neck again, he noticed the tense muscles underneath his hand. Realizing what he'd done, Dick quickly removed his hand and placed it in his lap.

An awkward silence filled the air.

"Are you okay?" Dick finally asked.

Jason's guard was up again. He swallowed and averted his eyes.

"I'll be okay," Jason murmured.

Dick nodded and finally took in the room around him. The furniture in the room was sparse—an old leather couch in front of a coffee table, a heavy-utilized bookshelf, and a neatly made bed in the corner. It was strange to be in Jason's space. Ever since returning to the family, he'd kept his apartment and safe house locations secret from everyone. Dick kept hoping Jason would give him access to his private world, but it hadn't happened until today.

When he turned back, Jason was watching him. He could tell Jason was uncomfortable.

Dick sighed. "Well, if you're okay. I'll give you some space." He placed his hand on Jason's wrist again. "If you need me, call me back. Okay?"

Jason nodded, dropping his gaze.

Dick had left but stayed close to the building to see if Jason needed him. While Jason didn't contact him again that night, he would call several more times for similar situations in the future. Eventually, the visits swapped from panic attack interventions to friendly hangouts. The first time Dick got a distress signal because Jason needed someone to try a new Italian recipe he'd tried, Dick knew their relationship had turned a corner.

While happy, of course, it made things more difficult for Dick because he and Jason were spending more and more time together. The more time they spent together, the better Dick got to know him, which only strengthened his attraction toward the other man.

The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth as he chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. Seeing Jason last night wasn't a part of the plan.

He placed his head against the cold window and kept his eyes closed.

Slade strategically picked the date of his attack to his advantage. He was confident all available Bats would be down at the docks to investigate a rumor that Slade was in Gotham. However, it seems Slade miscalculated the current relationship between the Red Hood and the remaining Bats. If Jason could intercept him at Wayne Enterprises, it meant he'd been nowhere near the docks, which proved he was never aware of the rumor. Dick knew Jason, and the man wouldn't miss the opportunity to avenge a fallen Robin.

So maybe Barbara had contacted Jason once she realized the break-in at Wayne Enterprises could be related to Slade's arrival. If this was the case, at least Jason was still in contact with Barbara, if not Bruce. Dick didn't know, though, and it left him with many questions. Not just questions about Jason, but Slade, too.

None of it made any sense. Why would Slade hold him hostage for two years to use him to steal tech from Wayne Enterprises? His knowledge of the building, network, and the Bats couldn't be so essential Slade needed to fake his death to utilize it.

He found himself becoming heated again as his heart rate increased. He'd been pissed a lot in the last two years, so much so it became his natural state of being. He'd tried fighting and disarming Slade since the moment he threatened Damian's life in his apartment. Their fights had been so violent that Slade severely injured Dick multiple times, benching him for weeks. He'd suffered a broken wrist and collar bone, concussions, internal bleeding, and more, trying to fight Slade and run away. He'd tried it all, and every time, he failed.

Slade would push the damn button each time, and Dick would see a screen with Damian's vitals

going haywire. He only had seconds to control his anger and stand down, but he always did. He loved Damian too much to be the cause of his pain.

After a while, he started trying less and less, becoming apathetic towards his new life. Finally, he'd moved past the denial phase of the grieving process straight to acceptance. He'd accepted his family believed him dead, which meant no one was looking for him or keeping an eye out for distress signals.

While he continued looking for potential escape opportunities, he decided quietly and less often was more appropriate. There was no reason to make Damian suffer any more than he needed to. So, instead, he changed his mindset. Every time he fought or trained with Slade, it was intel. Dick learned the man's fighting techniques, strengths, and weaknesses. He'd read the Art of War multiple times; he knew knowing one's enemy was the key to success, so he observed and learned.

His body jolted slightly forward as the plane's wheels touched down on the private airstrip. Shortly after, the aircraft came to a complete stop outside the base's air hanger.

Dick didn't move, waiting until the robotic crew on the ground opened the flight door and readied the exit staircase. Instead, he stared out of his window toward the runway's surface, avoiding Slade's eye. It was nearly eight at night, and the sun had set hours ago. The only objects visible from the plane were those illuminated under the plane's lights or those at the nearby hanger.

Slade stood up and grabbed his bag from the seat next to him. The door creaked open, followed by Slade's steps down the metal stairs, but Dick made no effort to move.

Slade was halfway to the flight hanger when Dick finally emerged from the plane.

Slade entered the hanger walking toward an entryway into the compound's main building. Slade said he'd been using this place as a base since his first days as a mercenary for hire. He'd chosen this city as his headquarters due to its worldly central geographical location, the high population count making it easy to disappear, the numerous industrial facilities nearby leaving his build operations relatively undetectable, the international ports nearby allowing goods to come and go quickly, and the excellent food.

Dick abruptly stopped on the tarmac right outside the hanger door and blinked a few times before dropping his gaze to the tops of his boots, which were already dusty again. He'd called this place home for so long he'd gotten used to the constant layer of dust and sand on everything.

He vividly remembered his first spring in the city when the winds picked up, whipped his hair into his eyes, and sent dust into the sky, leaving it a deep, hazy orange color as it blocked out the sun. He always imagined some higher being taking the world he lived in, flipping it over like an hourglass, causing the dust to swirl around him, and restarting the timer for his life in Cairo. After his second year of sandstorms, he realized he might never leave, doomed until the hourglass stopped turning and he was buried here underneath the settled dust.

"Seems like you have something you want to say," Slade said across the hanger. While observing his boots, Slade had turned around to face him.

Dick dropped his bag to the ground next to him and stepped forward.

"What was the point of the trip to Gotham?" Dick asked, his chest rising high as he took deep, angry breaths. "What did we steal from Wayne Tech?"

Slade sighed out of annoyance before cocking his head to the side.

"That information is a privilege. One you don't have," Slade said, turning back around to enter the code into the keypad for the door. "But since you did a good job in Gotham. I'll tell you that your next mission is in three weeks."

"Doing what?" Dick asked, frustrated. No response. "You're going to tell me now, Slade, or I'm out."

Slade turned his face over his shoulder back toward Dick.

"Have you forgotten why you're here? There is no out for you," Slade warned, pulling the remote from his wrist that controlled Damian's neural-spine implant. This show of power only infuriated Dick, causing him to narrow his eyes and scream as he lunged toward Slade.

Slade quickly dropped his bag and evaded the punch, allowing Dick's fist to hit the metal door behind Slade. Slade kicked him in the back with his shin, pushing him into the wall. Dick growled and flattened his palms against the wall, pushing off, sending Slade's leg out and catching him slightly off balance. Dick bent down to the side and grabbed Slade's planted leg with both hands, flipping him onto his back.

Pinned under Dick's bodyweight, Slade grabbed and twisted Dick's shoulders to the side, sending them both rolling toward the middle of the empty hangar. After a few rolls, Dick found himself on the bottom now. Slade lifted his arm and punched him square in the cheekbone, right below his right eye. Dick's neck twisted with the punch, and he blinked rapidly, trying to fight the aftereffects of the hit.

Slade lifted the remote and pressed the red button on the rectangular device.

"You will not undermine me, Grayson," Slade said, his jaw unmoving as he clenched his teeth. Dick stared wide-eyed at him as he realized what Slade had done. After a few seconds, though, his eyes narrowed again, and he leaned upward, lifting his shoulders off the ground as he grabbed Slade's throat. Slade held the remote higher above his head as Dick's grip tightened.

"You know it only takes sixty seconds for the implant to kill the demon spawn, and you've already wasted at least twenty-five," Slade said, his voice breaking as Dick cut off his air supply.

Dick's fingers tightened ever so slightly as he stared at the device high above Slade's head and then back to Slade's one eye. Then, realizing Slade wouldn't back down, Dick's face fell, a deep frown forming as his fingers released from around Slade's throat. His head and shoulders hit the ground, and his eyes stared unfocused at Slade's chest. Slade pressed the red button again, stopping the timer on the screen that had reached forty-two seconds.

While Slade untangled himself from Dick's legs, Dick turned his head to the side, avoiding eye contact again. Once Slade stepped over him, Dick rolled over, lifting himself to his hands and knees, breathing heavily. He pushed himself up to his feet, his shoulders tense as he stood overlooking the runway through the open hangar door.

"Why won't you just tell me what the hell is going on? Why are you dragging me through all of this?" Dick asked with his hands in fists.

There was no reply other than the base's entrance door loudly shutting. The thudding sound echoed in the space, followed by silence, reminding him he was, in fact, alone.

He couldn't find the will or energy to move his body to follow Slade inside the building. Dick

swallowed hard and sighed. Despite air entering his lungs and his heart pumping blood, he felt the way the world perceived him, dead.

Chapter End Notes

Hello again! I know I said Tuesdays, but sometimes things feel ready a day early. I wanted to maintain a once-a-week update schedule, but life had other plans. That, and I made a last-minute decision to reduce from three POVs to just two, which has forced me to re-write a few chapters. So, anyway, my updates will (hopefully) always be within two weeks on a Monday or Tuesday.

We've got a few questions answered, but we still have so many more to go! But most important question.

Who is ready for a reunion between Rav and Red Hood? I always love a good Red Hood story where the family still doesn't know that the Red Hood is Jason. But it is gratifying to give Jaybird a taste of his own medicine for once. Don't you think?

but there's hope out the window

Chapter Summary

"And I like thinking of people that way, you know. Because when people leave us and we can't see them anymore, it's nice to know, like the stars themselves, they're still up there watching over us."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Suez, Egypt, November 16, 2019, 9:42 EET

He fiddled with the restraints around his wrists while replaying the many mistakes made to get himself into this situation. Jason had only anticipated ambushing Deathstroke or Ravager, not a small army of subordinates working for who knows what boss. So when twenty-plus people surrounded him at the loading dock near the ship from Gotham, he'd been caught off guard.

Once captured, they'd dragged him into a van, drove him a few miles away to a different dock, and carried him onto another large tanker. They'd stripped him of his weapons, thrown him in a small holding cell, and locked his wrists and ankles. He'd tried to track where they'd brought him, but the windowless corridors left him unsure of his exact location on the ship. The only indication of his current location was a tiny window that let moonlight pour into the space. It meant he was still on one of the upper decks above the waterline.

He'd told Barbara to give him time if he went off-grid. He had forty-eight hours to contact Oracle again before she called in the reinforcements. He figured he was over twenty hours into his captivity, especially considering he'd had to utilize the piss poor—pun intended—excuse for a toilet in the corner several times. So he was running out of time before a very agitated Batman made an embarrassing show of rescuing his sorry ass.

But an escape proved to be complicated. The cuffs on his wrists and ankles weren't the run-of-the- mill criminal handcuffs. Instead, they were thick metal with a wide straight chain, and a D-ring shackle bolted to the floor. They also didn't take a standard key but were computerized and required a code to open them. Even a trained Bat like himself wasn't picking their way out of these things.

He'd started to lose hope in an escape when the door creaked open, and several shadowy figures appeared. Two men carried an unconscious Ravager in, their hands tight around his biceps as his legs dragged along the metal deck. When the two guards tossed him into the adjacent cell, his body hit the floor like a ton of bricks, unmoving. One guard placed his arms underneath the limp man's torso, flipping him into his back and causing his limbs to splay out at unnatural angles. When the guard reached for the junction of the helmet to Kevlar suit, Jason let out a snort.

"Something funny?" The guard asked in his direction. Jason was the picture of coolness as he sat and leaned against the far wall in his cell, arm hanging over his propped-up knee.

"Of course not. Proceed," Jason said, gesturing with his hand.

The guard shook his head, annoyed, and continued his task. The man screamed in agony when the safeguard built into Ravager's suit violently electrocuted him. Jason let out a loud, modulated laugh. He had the same security built into his helmet, and these guards should've known better.

"Get up and leave it. We're not getting that thing off," the other guard said, watching his partner writhe in pain on the ground. The injured guard slowly got to his feet, his body jolting now and then as his nerves tried to calm themselves. The two guards placed restraints on Ravager's wrists and ankles, exited the cell, locked it behind them, and walked out.

Quite some time passed before Ravager's breathing pattern changed. Ravager may appear unconscious to the untrained eye, but Jason knew he'd woken up. However, before alerting the world of his new state, he'd gather details of his surroundings and potential threats. Jason couldn't ignore the unnatural angle Ravager's shoulder lay at as he waited. Jason had a hunch the bone wasn't positioned correctly in the joint.

The man began to stir, moving first his ankles then wrists. Then, on his back still, Ravager groaned as he lifted his non-injured arm and brought his hand to his helmet. He reached for his belt only to find it removed like Jason's had when they first captured him. Ravager went to sit up, and Jason decided to make his presence in the neighboring cell known by clearing his throat.

Ravager's neck snapped in his direction. Jason wished he could see the man's face right now because it had to be one of comedic confusion.

"W-what the hell? Where am I?" Ravager asked as he observed the room and then his restraints.

"You're still in Egypt, so don't panic."

Ravager continued to jostle the chains around, clanking them together to test their durability.

"You came all this way to see little ole me? A little stalkerish, but I'm flattered nonetheless."

Jason snorted. "I'm less interested in you and more interested in what you're here to retrieve."

"You can come up with whatever excuse you want, but I can read between the lines. It's nice to see you again, too," Ravager replied, eyeing the light dangling and gently swaying with the ship above his head.

Jason shook his head but ignored the comment.

"Want to tell me why you're interested in a shipment of specialized processed plutonium?"

This time Ravager snorted. "Is that what's inside the package I'm here to get? I'm glad one of us knows." More clanking.

"Bullshit," Jason quickly responded in an angry tone. "Stop acting like you're Jon Snow."

Ravager's body stilled until his shoulders lightly bounced up and down from laughing.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I am quite the Jon Snow in this situation. I don't know anything, and that's the truth."

Jason crossed his arms in frustration. "Okay, dude. Whatever. I'm seriously not in the mood. We know what blueprints you took and which ones require a plutonium core for a fuel source. So even though you won't answer this next question, I'm going to ask it anyway. What is Slade planning to use the weapons for?" Jason did his best to appear intimidating and confident by rolling his

shoulders back, emphasizing his broad chest.

Ravager's voice turned deep and agitated. "I already told you. I don't know. If you think Slade tells me anything, well, newsflash. He doesn't."

Jason was furious now. He quickly stood to his feet and threw his arms out in frustration, chains loudly clanking. "How could you not know?! You work with the guy!"

Jason didn't know whether Ravager was frustrated with him, the restraints he couldn't break out of, or the current situation. But Ravager met his stance, rising to his feet with shoulders squared.

"I work for Slade. Not with him. There's a clear distinction. We're not partners in this, "Ravager said, chest heaving.

Jason took a second before replying, trying to decipher the meaning behind the other man's words.

"So you're just here for a paycheck? No questions asked?"

Ravager laughed again, the sound a little more crazed and exasperated now.

"Sure. Let's pretend I have any choice in the matter. Then, when this is all said and done, I will miraculously benefit somehow," Ravager said, turning away from Jason to face his cell door.

Then, it dawned on Jason, and his following words came out soft and quiet.

"He's blackmailing you."

Ravager's head and shoulders dipped, and he angled his body further away from Jason, validating his observation. "So I was wrong in Gotham. You actually are a detective."

"Why is Slade holding you hostage?" Jason asked.

Ravager's shoulders fell further. Suddenly, the man appeared defeated and tired.

There was a moment of silence.

"I've already said too much," Ravager finally said, shaking his head. "The suit is continuously transmitting."

"They're blocking all incoming and outcoming signals. Trust me. I've been here over twenty-four hours, and I've gotten nothing but radio silence," Jason said. He didn't have much time before Oracle sent out the alert, telling the rest of the family he was missing in action. Then, they'd figure out what he and Barbara had done and how reckless he'd been to get caught so easily. "Slade won't hear anything we say."

Ravager watched him. For a moment, Jason thought he'd start telling him all his secrets, but again, the man shook his head.

"The helmet records everything. So even if he doesn't hear what I say right away, he will hear everything eventually." Ravager sighed. "I could tell you, but Slade has too much control. I'd piss him off for good, and this would've all been for nothing."

Jason wanted to know more because, much to his surprise, he wanted to help. Slade had already stolen so much from so many innocent people. This guy didn't appear to deserve being another victim.

"What's he threatening you with?" Jason asked. When Ravager simply shook his head again, Jason continued to prod. "I'm not going to figure out your identity from vague answers. I'm just trying to decide if I want to hate you or not."

Silence filled the space again as Ravager stood before him. The man placed his hands on his hips and put his chin to his chest.

"My brother," Ravager softy said. "He threatened to kill my brother."

It was Jason's turn to be quiet as he took a sharp breath.

"Seems to be a recurring theme with Slade," Jason sighed.

Ravager lifted his head toward him again. "What does that mean?"

Jason knitted his eyebrows together, confused about how to reply. "Slade didn't tell you?"

"If Slade told me everything he's done to his enemies, I'd still be back at base learning the details," Ravager said. "So, sorry. I don't know the full extent of your history with Slade."

"Slade murdered," Jason started before pausing, "family." He slid down the wall to sit back down again as tiredness overcame him.

"Your family?" Ravager asked for clarification. Jason nodded.

"Your brother?" Ravager hesitantly asked, head slightly cocked. Jason shook his head again.

"Sort of, kind of, not really. It's complicated," Jason said, waving the question off. He shifted his eyes to the only non-artificial source of light in the room, the moonlight streaming from the small window. He couldn't see the moon itself, but he could make out the pitch-black sky. Ravager must have followed his gaze.

"You can't see the stars due to the city lights," Ravager said, sitting down again.

"I don't see them anywhere anymore," Jason quietly replied as he pulled his knees to his chest. The chains scrapped against the metal floor as he did.

Ravager was quiet for a moment, staring out toward the window.

"Well, that's what's cool about stars, though, right?" Ravager said as Jason glanced his way, anticipating the eventual follow-up. "Even when you can't see them, they're still out there watching over us."

Jason didn't mean to, but a laugh escaped his lips. He could tell the outburst hurt the man's feelings when Ravager's shoulders slumped.

"Sorry, just so. I don't know. Such an optimistic perspective is all. It almost comes off naive," Jason responded. "Do you know what happens when a star dies?"

"I do, but it seems like you have an answer of your own ready," Ravager replied, shifting his legs to extend out like a pouting child.

"It forms a black hole. When a star dies, it collapses inward and takes everything else with it," Jason said as he tightened his grip around his knees.

"That's a real glass half empty way to look at it," Ravager said, tapping the toe of his boots

together.

"Okay, Shakespearean Neil deGrasse Tyson, what happens, then?"

"Statistically speaking? A lot can happen." Ravager's gaze shifted from his boots back to the window. "Yeah, a star can go supernova, and if its mass is heavy enough, create a black hole. However, a star is more likely to expel energy and material when it explodes," Ravager excitedly said, using his hands to emphasize an explosion. His chains rattled together, adding to the auditory component of his display. "This explosion can initiate the birth of new stars."

Jason shook his head in disbelief, huffing a laugh. "How fucking poetic."

"It is! It's the epitome of there being life after death," Ravager quickly added, his voice pleading for Jason to understand.

"Were you an astronomer in a past life or just a huge ass nerd?" Jason asked, chuckling still. He released his knees and let his legs lay in front of him like Ravager.

Ravager snorted and turned his face away, staring toward the cell door again.

"I used to be jealous of him," Jason started. When he lifted his head, Ravager silently stared back at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I didn't know how he did it. After Slade murdered him, I tried to take his place. I tried to be a source of positivity and play moderator for our family. But I couldn't do it. I wasn't as good as him or patient," Jason continued. He didn't know why he felt the need to tell Ravager any of this information about Dick, but it felt right. There were still so many emotions and regrets he'd never said aloud, and the weight was pulling him down.

"For a long time, I couldn't figure out how he was so damn good at finding even the dimmest source of light in a bad situation. Then, one day, I got drugged, tied up, and blindfolded alongside Robin and Red. The situation felt hopeless and, to be literal, was pretty dark."

Ravager softly laughed.

"And I remember thinking, I wish Nightwing were here." He shook his head and softly scoffed as he observed his hands. "He'd know what to say. And it made me realize. The guy hadn't been good at locating light in the darkness. He created it. He was quite literally our family's northern star. Our source of light," Jason said, getting choked up. "And he went and fell from the sky."

A heavy silence fell between them. Jason was suddenly embarrassed by his story and show of emotion. He wanted to say a witty comment, make a joke, flirt, or anything to play off the serious tone he'd laid between them, but Ravager decided to entertain the conversation.

"People are made of more than ninety percent of elements formed in the heart of a star. Did you know that?" Ravager asked, fiddling with his ankle restraints again. He repeatedly picked up and dropped the chain at his feet, which set a rhythmic metallic tinging in the small space.

"What?" Jason asked, confused as he looked up.

"We're all just little stars walking around. It's kind of beautiful. And I like thinking of people that way, you know. Because when people leave us and we can't see them anymore, it's nice to know, like the stars themselves, they're still up there watching over us."

Jason blinked a few times, but the man was still there every time he opened his eyes, proving this

wasn't a dream. Finally, he went to speak, but he found no words forming in his throat.

"What?" Ravager asked with a hurt tone in his voice as he turned to a silent Jason.

Realizing he still hadn't said anything, Jason waved his hand and dropped his chin to his chest. "Sorry, I just," he started, exasperated, "You're right. It's beautiful." He laughed. "I've read a lot of the greats, but that's some metaphoric, hit you in the soul shit, right there."

Ravager laughed a real genuine laugh, deep and hearty. Despite the modulation, it sounded like soft rain on a tin roof and was pleasing to the ear. Jason would give anything to press an ear on the man's chest and hear that laugh up close and personal.

"Ah, yes. I think that was my initial review of Pride and Prejudice, too. That's some soul-moving shit right there," Ravager said, tapping his finger to his chin.

They laughed briefly until the sound dissipated from the small space and reality returned.

Jason's gaze moved to his boot. He was so fucked. So fuckity fucked. The butterflies that had long ago frozen in the northern edges of his chest were twitching at the slightest indication of warmth blossoming inside him. It was only a matter of time before they migrated down to his stomach, back to the sunshine of spring, and left him full of excited flutters and other romantic bullshit. He'd thought those bastards had died in the freeze two years ago that persisted until today, but maybe, as Ravager said, there was life after death.

Jason considered saying more, but the creaking of the room's door opening stopped him. Two guards walked into the room and paused at Ravager's cell door. Jason narrowed his eyes as they stared at the black and orange-suited man.

"You work for Slade?" the guard asked with his hand gripping one of the cell's bars.

Ravager's head cocked to the side and his shoulders exaggeratedly drooped. "Is it not obvious?" He turned to Jason. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Jason playfully shrugged as Ravager stood up, chains clinking loudly.

"Answer the question," the guard asked, annoyed now.

Ravager shook his head. "Yes, I work for Slade. Who the hell do you work for?"

"I work for the bringer of peace," the guard replied.

An awkward silence filled the space.

"I'm gonna need more than that, bud," Ravager said, shifting his weight to one hip.

The guard began unlocking the cell door. "I work for Brother Blood, who reports to Lord Trigon himself."

Ravager tensed.

Now, it was Jason's turn to be confused. "What?" Ravager turned to him again, and Jason continued, directing the question to Ravager. "What does Brother Blood want with Slade?"

Ravager slightly shrugged his shoulders and held his palms up flat. "I have no idea."

The guards made their way into the cell, grabbing Ravager's wrists as they neared.

"Brother Blood is waiting," the guard said, removing a capped needle from his pocket.

Ravager began rapidly shaking his head. "Nope. That is not happening again."

Ravager twisted his hand out of the man's grasp and grabbed the man's shoulders, pulling him forward until he was table topped. Ravager pushed off the man's back with flat palms and lifted his feet into a handstand. His legs wrapped around the cord for the light dangling low from the ceiling. Once he had a good grip, he lifted his hands and used an elbow to shatter the lightbulb. With no fixture, Ravager could easily access the electrical circuit for the light. The man shoved the code panel of his cuffs into the broken filament, which sent an electrical pulse from the light to the cuffs.

There was a brief moment of sparking before the room plunged into darkness due to a blown breaker. The restraints around Jason's wrists loosened as they lost power. When his night vision settled, Ravager was no longer hanging from the light but standing over the two unconscious guards.

"This has been enlightening, but I think it's time to go," Ravager cooly said, dropping his restraints to the floor. Still in shock, Jason took a moment to acknowledge the terrible pun. Once he did, he laughed as he removed his shackles.

"Who the hell are you?" Jason asked, still laughing. "Not an astronomer for sure, but I'm sticking with the nerd option."

Ravager shrugged as he used the guards' keys to unlock Jason's cell. "Hood, you have no idea." Once the door swung open, Ravager nodded. "Coming?"

"I could be soon if you keep turning me on with moves like those," Jason said without thinking. He cringed at his words and Ravager's sudden tension. The awkwardness slipped away, though, when Ravager hesitantly laughed.

"I normally prefer to keep the lights on for this kind of thing," Ravager flirtatiously said, more confident now as he turned toward the main door. He slowly opened it, scanning the dark hallway. "It won't be long before they put two and two together about the power outage. Any idea which way is out?"

Jason shook his head, standing close behind Ravager. "Unfortunately not."

"Well, as long as we're going up, I think we can figure it out." Ravager slipped into the corridor, and Jason followed. They stalked through the halls, quickly disarming any guards they came across. When they passed a stairwell, Jason stopped and called out.

"I thought you said up was the way out."

Ravager stopped and turned, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. "Our gear is likely with security at the bridge, which is right up ahead." Jason acknowledged the signage down the hall behind Ravager. "Personally, I would like my gadgets before going on the main deck. I have a feeling we'll have a welcoming party, and I would hate to show up empty-handed."

"More like send-off party," Jason said, nodding as he walked past Ravager.

They burst into the bridge, taking out the officers and security. Once the guards were secured, they found their belts and other items strewn out on the sizeable nautical chart table. While Jason took inventory, Ravager picked up a small industrial container.

"Plutonium, you said?" Ravager asked, observing the black box in his hands.

"Yeah."

Ravager nodded. "Cool. Glad to know I was fighting with an unstable fuel source on my person earlier and didn't know it. I preferred it that way. Ignorance is bliss." He attached the box to his belt using several straps. Jason noted how he secured it to take it off later when the opportunity presented itself. He couldn't let Ravager deliver the fuel source to Slade. However, starting a fight on the bridge when they still needed to get off the ship alive seemed reckless.

They didn't speak anymore as they backtracked to the stairwell they passed and emerged on the main deck several minutes later. Sure enough, guards were waiting for them, which they effortlessly took down.

Ravager nodded and ran toward the boat's edge against the dock when they finished. The man lept off the railing without hesitation, shooting a grappling hook toward a loading crane. Jason quickly followed, not wanting to lose sight of the man or the fuel source. When he landed beside Ravager, he realized how far out into the water they were. The narrow dock had to be at least a mile or two long, making Jason sigh.

Ravager moved away from him, heading toward a parked dirt bike. He followed but froze when Ravager threw his leg over the bike and turned to him.

"Let's go," Ravager said.

Jason shook his head. "Fuck no."

Ravager's head slightly cocked in surprise. "What?"

"I'm driving."

"You're kidding me, right?" Ravager stiffly asked.

"I'm not, so back that ass up," Jason ordered, standing next to the bike with arms crossed and waiting. He needed to control their final location to separate the fuel source from the other man. Ravager didn't immediately move, though.

Screams from down the dock caught their attention. Ravager turned back to him. "Not the scenario I imagined those words in, but I don't have time to argue."

Ravager slid back on the seat, allowing Jason to toss his leg over and sit in front of him. He kicked started the bike as strong hands encompassed his waist and two palms rested on his chest. Jason peeled out, and the grip on his body tightened, which brought a smile to his lips.

He drove the bike among the stacked shipping containers and numerous pieces of machinery. A bullet whizzed by them, followed by several others. Jason sporadically curved their path to avoid being an easy target. Unfortunately, he still couldn't see the end of the dock, so Jason knew he'd have to do some of the best driving of his life to get them out of this injury-free.

A hand slid down the outside of his thigh, catching his attention. When he snuck a glance, a silver glove was removing the gun from his thigh holster. He went to protest, but the gun was lifted and discharged in front of him before he could. Ravager struck a nearby fuel loading hose, causing a steady leak of heavy fuel oil onto the dock to start. They effortlessly drove over the beginning of the leak, and when they did, Ravager tossed a flash bomb behind them. The fuel oil caught fire when it ignited, sending up a wall of flames and effectively stopping their advancing foes.

Jason had little time to celebrate, though. When he turned his head back to their front, two trucks with guards in the beds were headed towards them, guns at the ready. Jason gritted his teeth and adjusted their course, but it wasn't fast enough. Before he could avoid it, a guard off to the side threw a spike strip down in their path. He attempted to brake, but it was useless. As soon as the front tire hit the strip, his world flipped upside down.

Somewhere in his line of vision, a blur of silver and orange caught his eye, but he wasn't sure if it was Ravager or random shipping containers around him. Then, his body slammed into the hard concrete, causing him to groan audibly. Jason stared up at bright lights, blinking hard a few times before turning his head to find Ravager.

Jason spotted him on his stomach down the dock back the way they'd come. Their destroyed dirt bike lay nearby, with a puddle of liquid forming around it. It took a moment, but Jason realized the gas tank had been compromised in the crash. He heard shouting and noticed one of the guards pointing towards Ravager's unmoving body. Jason grunted as he rolled onto his knees. Another glance in Ravager's direction revealed something more alarming than the gas leak.

A cracked glass container lay a few feet from Ravager's body, glowing red with increasing vibrance.

"Rav!" Jason yelled, scrambling to his feet. Ravager groaned and rotated his head in Jason's direction. "Move! Now!"

The other man briefly hesitated but quickly saw the same problem Jason had. Ravager was moving, but Jason feared it wasn't fast enough. An object flew past Jason's head toward Ravager and the totaled dirt bike. After it landed and bounced a few times, Jason recognized the object as a grenade. He stole one last glance at Ravager's retreating form before the world descended into chaos.

Chapter End Notes

First, I apologize because life chewed me up and spit me out the last couple of months. I never had any intention of disappearing off the fan fiction planet. Second, I want to thank those who made it to the end of this long-overdue chapter. I thought about this story EVERY day and wanted nothing more than to provide all my readers more of the story.

As I mentioned in a previous author's note, I made the last-minute decision to drop a POV, reducing the total to two. Unfortunately, this chapter was one of the few I had to completely re-write due to that decision. So between that and the craziness of life, this chapter got dragged along for some time.

I hope it was worth it. This chapter is where the name of the story came from, and I'm so excited for you all to read it.

learned way too soon you should never trust

Chapter Summary

"I've waited two years for you to tell me why I'm here! Two years! How is that not patient enough?"

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Rav!"

"Grayson!"

"Dick! Please, you need to get up!"

There was a barrage of noise as his ears continued ringing from the explosion, but he tried to focus on the voices. One was modulated and scared, one was deep and concerned, and the other was feminine and pleading. But unfortunately, the static in his brain wouldn't allow him to identify the owner of each voice.

"Answer me!"

He tried to focus on and pinpoint the voice currently speaking.

"Grayson, I repeat. Answer me! That is an order!"

Slade. The voice belonged to Slade. His suit must have started transmitting again when they left the ship. He opened his eyes but squinted from the pain as he tried to move. His chest hurt, his shoulder, which was already injured, was throbbing now, and his ears rang despite the helmet's sound-dampening technology.

Using his good arm, he pushed himself into a seated position and surveyed the scene around him. The series of explosions started by the leaking gas tank had caused significant damage, and the resulting fire had caused the pier to fall into the gulf below, separating him and Jason.

Jason was too busy fighting the guards who'd initially thrown the grenade to notice him, but the other man appeared to be holding his own. With no way to get to the other side, Dick would need to worry about himself for the moment.

"Grayson!" Slade yelled through the comms, bringing his attention back.

"I'm here! And in one piece, I think," Dick replied, taking stock of his appendages.

"What happened?" Slade demanded.

Dick blinked and observed his surroundings again. Down the dock, several men were approaching, armed and ready.

"Uh, too much to explain at the moment. Where are you?"

Slade growled over the commlink, unsatisfied with Dick's lack of information.

"ETA is approximately six minutes. Can you stay alive that long?" Slade asked as a bullet whizzed in Dick's direction.

He rose to his feet and dove behind a nearby shipping container for cover, grunting in pain as his shoulder hit the hard metal. "I'm going to try," Dick said through gritted teeth. "Not looking to die here, personally."

Across the expanse, Jason was watching him now that he'd neutralized the guards on his side. The other man shot him a questioning thumbs up, which Dick returned with his good arm. Jason nodded in acknowledgment before looking for any way he could help.

"What's the plan for when you get here, Slade?" Dick asked.

"You need to go up. We run too much risk of damage if we have to land."

"That is a lot easier said than done," Dick said, scanning the area for any high points. The only potential escape route was a tall crane to the south with its loading jib extending out into the gulf, abandoned while loading containers on a ship.

He spared one last glance in Jason's direction, and the other man was still watching him. Dick sensed Jason wasn't going to leave until he knew Rav was safe. So, if he wanted to ensure Jason got out of here alive, he needed to get to safety himself.

He peeped around the corner, looking for the guards who'd shot at him earlier. They'd parked and walked in his direction with their guns ready. He planted his back firmly against the shipping container and took a deep breath. When one of the guards appeared around the corner, Dick gave him a quick punch to the face and a knee to the stomach, rendering the man unconscious. The following two fell quickly as well.

Another glance around the corner showed an empty dock between him and the crane, so he made a run for it. As he neared, he reached for his grappling hook and aimed it toward the crane. When he clicked the trigger, however, nothing happened. He hit the device with the palm of his hand while maintaining his speed, but it was useless. The hook was jammed, most likely damaged in the explosion. With a frustrated grunt, he tossed the hook to the side.

When he reached the crane's base, he tilted his head and groaned at the number of stairs he'd have to climb.

"There he is!"

More guards meant Dick didn't have time for a pity party, so he started climbing the stairs two at a time. He was making good progress when an explosion above his head shook the crane's structure. He covered his head with his good arm as pieces of metal rained down from above. When the shrapnel stopped falling and the dust settled, Dick spotted the issue. A guard stood below with a grenade launcher and had blown out a portion of the stairs above him. He cursed.

Another explosion and the grating below him gave way, sending him falling. His body hit the landing below, and he grunted as his battered body demanded a reprieve. Dick's back arched in pain as his shoulder threatened to detach itself from his body. He slammed his eyes shut and felt hot tears prick the corners.

"Dick," a voice said in his head. He opened his eyes and glanced right to left, but nobody was there. The voice was familiar. "You need to get up."

A warming sensation overtook his shoulder, causing him to grimace.

"Climb," the voice ordered. Above him, rungs for an emergency escape ladder taunted Dick.

"I can't. My shoulder," Dick weakly replied. He knew he sounded pathetic, but there was no way he could pull up his body weight at the moment.

"I'm healing your shoulder. You can, and you will climb."

"What? How?" Dick asked, confused. He lifted his arm to test his shoulder. The warming sensation was still there, but sure enough, the pain was less.

"Grayson, who are you talking to?" Slade asked.

Dick grunted as he rolled over, placing weight on his shoulder and giddy giggling when it didn't give out underneath him. The voice. It was Raven. How he hadn't realized it earlier, he didn't know, but more aware now, he could feel her on the edge of his mind. But he wasn't about to tell Slade his friend and former teammate knew he was alive and was trying to keep him that way.

"Myself. I'm talking to myself," Dick lied, which Slade responded to with a grunt. "I need all the motivational pep talk I can get right now, and you're not the best cheerleader."

Dick stood and began climbing the ladder, smiling as his shoulder held up. The structure shook again, but he braced himself and waited for it to subside before continuing to rise. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dick was on top of the crane's loading jib. He gathered all his acrobatic training and balanced on the crane's structural members.

In the distance, a black helicopter was speeding in his direction, and Slade was hanging out the open door. If Dick timed it correctly, he'd be able to jump directly from the crane into the helicopter. He waited a few moments, but finally, he took off running, carefully stepping on the metal beams. When Dick reached the last beam, he pushed off with all of his might, and for a moment, he was suspended, soaring. If he closed his eyes, he could easily be back in a circus tent performing or nosediving off a building in Gotham.

One second he flew through open air, and the next, he slammed helmet first into Slade's armored chest. Their bodies fell against the far side of the helicopter's interior, and Dick could feel the air leave Slade's body as Dick fell into him.

Realizing he'd made it, Dick started laughing in a crazed manner. He tried to ignore the strong arm tightly gripping his shoulder and the other around his waist. If Dick didn't know any better, he'd think Slade had been worried about him. Slade was pushing him off of him as quickly as the thought came, leaving Dick intermittently chuckling as he lay on the helicopter's fuselage. However, remembering Jason, he scrambled to his feet and peered out the door.

They'd circled back over the dock, and Dick could see Jason opening the driver's side door to one of the abandoned trucks. The red helmet glanced in his direction, and Dick raised his hand in a salute, letting the other man know he was okay. Jason returned the gesture before getting in the vehicle and driving off.

Dick slammed the helicopter door closed, and he could feel Slade watching him.

"You're mad," Dick said, staring at the closed door.

"You got yourself captured," Slade said, anger and disappointment in his voice. Dick closed his eyes and took a deep breath before removing the helmet.

"It wasn't exactly intentional," Dick said, half glancing back. "You didn't warn me about Brother Blood. That would've been useful intel." Now, it was Dick's voice becoming angry. Then, when Slade failed to respond, Dick scoffed. "That's what I thought."

Dick walked toward the front of the helicopter to sit the rest of the ride. He aggressively pushed his shoulder into Slade's as he passed the older man, but Slade ignored his pettiness.

They rode in silence the remainder of the way to Cairo. Dick's gaze stayed fixed on the floor between his boots as he repeatedly replayed the events in Suez. His brain was firing on all cylinders. Raven had contacted him, but why? And if she knew he was alive, would she tell his family? It was evident she hadn't yet, based on his conversation with Jason back on the ship. And Jason.

The logical part of him knew he shouldn't fixate on emotional nonsense right now, but hearing how much Jason missed him. Dick shook his head. There was a ping in his chest from this newfound knowledge. And there was no doubting Slade had seen the Red Hood, which meant he would wonder what they'd talked about on the ship. He'd also have to hope Jason could safely get out of Suez and back to Gotham by himself.

He nervously ran his fingers through his sweat—and maybe some dried blood—crusted hair as the helicopter landed and Slade opened the door. Dick waited a minute before following Slade, so he was surprised when the man was still standing at the door when he emerged.

"Come with me," Slade said without looking at him. Dick furrowed his brow in confusion but didn't argue, following Slade toward the base. Dick tried to keep his gaze centered and focused, but his eyes kept trailing to the middle of Slade's shoulders. He'd known Slade a long time, and Dick was trying to read how angry the other man was based on his body language.

"I brought you here for a reason," Slade started, still walking. "I don't do anything without a purpose, especially not something as annoying as dealing with your whining ass for two years."

Dick threw an angry expression at the back of Slade's head. "I'm sorry I've been such an utter inconvenience to you. I should've been a more gracious hostage, I suppose."

Slade ignored him and tapped a code into the base's keypad.

Slade walked down the hall when the door opened, fully anticipating Dick to follow, which he did. They walked down halls he'd ventured down a thousand times since Dick arrived two years ago. However, eventually, things became less familiar, and Dick realized he'd never been to this part of the base.

Finally, Dick couldn't take it anymore. "Where are we going?" Dick asked, agitated.

Slade stopped on a dime, turning to give him a hooded, annoyed expression. "Will you learn patience?"

Dick's eyes went feral. "Patience?! Patience?!" Dick threw his hands up. "I've waited two years for you to tell me why I'm here! Two years! How is that not patient enough?"

Dick was fuming while Slade stood there expressionless.

"Are you done?" Slade calmly asked.

Dick wasn't done, but he huffed a breath, saying nothing more. He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands at his side. Slade nodded his head to Dick's left, and Dick followed the gesture. To his side,

a door had opened, and Dick's mouth hung open at the person in front of him.

"Joey?" Dick asked, shock in his voice. Standing beside him was Joseph Wilson, a.k.a. Jericho, Slade's youngest son and Dick's former Titans teammate, who is dead. Correction. Was dead.

"You're supposed to be dead," Dick flatly said.

Joey signed to him. "So are you."

Dick stood there in utter surprise before an exasperated laugh escaped him. Slade appeared concerned by the reaction, but Dick ignored him, trying to catch his breath again.

"Touche. Touche," Dick said, tiny giggles intermittently sneaking out. "Well, this is a turn of events. Very unexpected." He placed his hands on his hips and observed his old friend. Joey appeared healthy and very much alive. After a moment, he pulled the blonde into a tight hug, which Joey reciprocated.

"How?" Dick asked, directing the question to Slade as he released Joey from the hug and stepped back. "I watched you put a sword through his heart."

Slade's face fell at the comment, and his eyes darted to Joey, then back to Dick. "Joey's revival is complicated to understand but, as you've learned, is related to our mutual enemy, Brother Blood."

Dick tore his eyes off Joey for a second to give Slade a perplexed expression.

"It all ties back to the prophecy," Slade continued. Dick threw his hands up to stop Slade.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dick said. "When you say prophecy and Brother Blood, it sounds like your leading to a Trigon-related event. And if you recall, the Titans kicked that guy's ass and sent him back into whatever hellish dimension he originated from for the rest of eternity."

"No, you didn't," Slade said, his expression flat.

Dick threw Slade an angry, confused look.

"The last time the Titans fought Trigon, your team didn't banish him to another dimension as previously believed," Slade continued, ignoring Dick's expression. "While his physical body was destroyed, his spiritual presence and consciousness, if you can call it that, were not. They still exist on Earth."

"Where?" Dick asked.

Slade gestured toward his son, and Dick shifted his gaze to Joey, whose face was sad. Then, realizing Slade's implication, a frown formed on Dick's face.

"And Joey is not the only one. There are more. And Brother Blood is gathering them all to attempt to bring Trigon back on the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year with the longest night," Slade explained, bringing Dick's attention back to him.

"The winter solstice is only a month or so away," Dick said. He shook his head. "This doesn't explain why I'm here. And why tell me this now? Why not sooner?"

"Brother Blood hasn't been active until now. So it is finally time for us to make our move, and I need your cooperation to succeed. And you're here because it was safer for us all, and I spared your life. You should be grateful."

Dick laughed, tilting his head back in exaggeration. "Saved my life? You ruined my life. Why wouldn't you tell me sooner if you were trying to help me?"

"Because I couldn't risk you telling your little family or your merry band of super friends," Slade said. "We are dealing with a very intricate plan. One that is much more complicated than you understand at this moment."

"Then explain it to me," Dick said, his tone desperate.

Slade stared back at him hard as if debating how much he should tell Dick.

"I've known about Brother Blood's and Trigon's plans for a long time. Years. Ever since Raven first contacted Joey," Slade said.

Raven's voice at the dock rang in Dick's head. "Raven?" Dick asked, hiding the shock on his face. "No one has seen or heard from Raven in over five years."

"That's because I believe she is hiding. She is integral to Trigon's return in this second prophecy, just like the original prophecy, and she knows it. She's contacted Joey in the past, and the information she provided made me sure I needed to do anything in my power to keep him safe."

"What information? And again, why am I here?" Dick asked in rapid succession, pointing a finger to his chest.

Slade sighed with annoyance, closing his eyes before slowly re-opening them. "If you would stop interrupting me, I would get to that part."

"Sorry," Dick sheepishly said, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He couldn't help himself, though. A million questions were floating through his brain.

"Brother Blood needs Raven, and it is well known she shares a special telekinetic link with a particular former leader of the Titans," Slade said, looking hard at Dick. "Has Raven ever attempted to contact you while you've been in my care?"

Dick mentally snorted at the use of the word care but shook his head. "No, she hasn't." Slade continued to eye him, gauging if he was lying or not. Dick didn't back down, though, maintaining eye contact with Slade until the other man continued.

"If they'd had you, they would've tortured you until Raven attempted to help you. Once she'd contacted you, and through physical contact, Brother Blood would've been able to follow the link back and retrieve Trigon's daughter. Once they'd had her, they would've had everything they needed to succeed," Slade said. "Well, almost everything." Slade glanced at his son. "Perhaps not having Raven has left Joey's retrieval as a minimal priority for Brother Blood. That, and I've done everything to keep him hidden."

"So why keep me in the dark?" Dick asked. "If you're trying to do the right thing, why not tell me? Helping former Titans and saving the world is kind of my M.O."

"As I am aware, Grayson," Slade sighed. "I couldn't risk telling you because they needed to believe you were dead."

"They?"

"The League. The Justice League and everyone associated with it needed to believe Dick Grayson, a.k.a. Nightwing, was dead," Slade said.

Dick's face fell into confusion again.

"Your precious band of superheroes is compromised. Brother Blood has informants on the inside. I'm not sure if he is using an ancient spell, magic, sorcery, mind control, whatever, but he is controlling high-ranking members of the League," Slade said, answering the question he knew Dick wanted to ask.

"I find that extremely hard to believe. What proof do you have?" Dick asked, hands on his hips.

"All I've learned I've only seen and heard with my own eye and ears in secret meetings and alleyway whispers," Slade said. "I have nothing to present to you as hard evidence, which is why I haven't done so."

Dick laughed. "Shock. So you expect me to go along with whatever plan you have based on your word?"

A slight smirk formed on Slade's face. "Of course not." Slade turned and continued down the hall. Joey briefly glanced at Dick before following his father. After a moment of hesitation, Dick followed, too. They didn't go far before they were in a large research room. There was technology and gadgets everywhere with sophisticated equipment throughout the space.

Slade grabbed a device off a table and carried it back toward Dick. Slade reached for the small storage container strapped to Dick's utility belt when he neared. Once unhooked, Slade pulled one of the remaining plutonium vials out and placed it inside an opened compartment on the weapon before handing the device over to Dick.

Dick looked between the weapon and Slade before accepting the item in his hand.

"You will get the evidence you so desire, and you will willingly help me once you've seen it for yourself," Slade confidently said.

"Where, when, and how?" Dick asked, turning the weapon over in his hand.

"The where? The League itself, of course. The when? Two days. The how? You've got it and the other gadgets at your disposal now," Slade said, gesturing toward several other pieces on the table.

"You want me to break into the Justice League and hack their computers?" Dick asked, astonished. "Are you insane? How do I even get in?"

"As nostalgic as your mentor is, you think he has deactivated your boom tube access to any League bases?" Slade asked. "He kept your access codes active in Gotham, for fuck's sake."

Dick wanted to argue, but Slade was right. "But what if, just what if, Bruce did deactivate my bio scan credentials?"

"Then we will figure out another way, but I don't have cause to believe it will come to that," Slade said.

Dick was overwhelmed with all the new information he'd received. He glanced at all the weapons on the table and realized Slade had been planning this for a while. They'd stolen these blueprints from Bruce, the world's most paranoid person, and Dick was staring at the man's contingencies for rogue League members. If Dick's bio scan was still active, he could very well walk into the League's base, incapacitate any threats, steal whatever files Slade wanted, and walk out.

But what if it were a trap? What if he granted a villain direct access to the League's secure

databases?

Two things were plaguing him, though. The first was Joey, who was standing in front of him. Joey, kind-hearted, saint-like Joey, wouldn't help his father if he knew it would hurt people. And then there was Raven contacting him at the docks. Raven had been missing for over five years, causing concern for all her old teammates. What if Slade was telling the truth and Dick had the chance to save two former Titans along with the world.

But Dick still had questions that needed answers.

"What is the prophecy?" Dick finally asked. "What all needs to happen for Brother Blood and Trigon to succeed?"

Slade sighed. It seemed the other man had anticipated the question but was hoping it wouldn't get asked.

"They need each individual Trigon has chosen to possess and Raven to be present together on the solstice," Slade said. "It sounds simple, but there are multiple people that need to be brought together, and some, obviously, do not wish to be found and participate. Once the sun sets on the solstice, Trigon will possess a present body, calling all his separated pieces of his spirit back together into that one individual."

"So Trigon went and pulled a Voldermort?" Dick asked, deep in thought.

Slade stared back at him blankly before rolling his eyes. "If you must equate this to a children's book, then Trigon has formed Horcruxes like Voldermort utilizing only people."

Dick smiled. "I'm thrilled to know you've spent any time reading Harry Potter." Dick's smile faded. "How many people are part of the prophecy? We already know Joey and Raven are involved. Who are the remaining people?"

Slade sighed. "That, you have to get from the League computer. I don't know. But I've heard rumors they've already been captured and are being held by the League. I know nothing more about the prophecy."

Dick pinched his eyebrows together as he followed the cracks in the concrete with his eyes. The last answer didn't satisfy him, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Slade was withholding information.

Dick had one last question. "You said you had heard or seen evidence that some of the Leaguers were compromised. Is Batman one of them?"

Slade shook his head. "I do not know. I've heard that Superman and Wonder Woman are. While I've not heard about Batman specifically, I've assumed that he was also compromised. It is why I ensured he was present during your so-called death. I needed him to witness it and report back to the League himself. I knew they would believe him if he believed it."

Dick nodded his head in understanding. He wasn't sure what he could and should believe. So far, the only real known thing he'd heard from Slade was that he did everything with purpose.

There was still a lot that didn't make sense to him, but he had a feeling Slade wasn't going to give anything else away. Dick could do as Slade asked by breaking into the League and stealing their files. Then, he may be able to leave a code for Oracle to find or make contact with Raven again. For the first time in a long time, he felt a glimmer of hope seeping to the surface.

He'd have to be careful, though. Slade still had Damian's life in his hands, and if the mercenary found out Dick was trying to betray him now, it could've all been for nothing.

Dick nodded. "I'll do it. I'll break in and get the files."

Slade smiled. "I'm glad you decided on your own."

Joey gave him a joyful expression while Dick frowned.

Slade turned to his son. "Joey, will you give us a second?" Joey nervously looked between the two men but nodded before disappearing. Then, when Slade was sure his son was out of earshot, he turned to Dick.

"Joey has been aware of your presence here since day one, but I informed him you two were not to speak for logistical reasons. If he were to speak with you before I was ready for him to, then the mission to save the world would've been a failure," Slade said, inching closer to Dick as he maintained hard eye contact. "My son is unaware of the threat on Damian Wayne's life, and he will not be made aware of it. Is that understood?"

Dick nodded.

"Good," Slade said, patting Dick on the cheek. Dick pulled his lip in a tiny snarl at the motion and wrinkled his nose. "Because you are so willing to retrieve the necessary information from the League, I'll let whatever transpired between you and the Red Hood slide."

Slade dropped his hand.

"Now go get some rest. You'll be singlehandedly taking on the Justice League in less than forty- eight hours," Slade said, smiling. "You may even get to have a little family reunion."

Dick glared at Slade but said nothing as the mercenary left. Dick neared the table when Slade was gone, viewing the devices. Toward the middle of the table was a printed sheet of paper, which Dick picked up and began reading. It was a list—Bruce's List—of League members and their associated weaknesses.

Superman - kryptonite, Martian Manhunter - fire, and on and on. Dick's eyes stopped hard at the last name, two sheets back, added in with delicate handwriting. In tiny font, Slade had added 'Batman—known weakness, Richard John Grayson.'

Dick knew there was no device for Batman on the table because there didn't need to be. Slade had him.

Chapter End Notes

Hi! I am a day late posting this chapter because I've had the flu! I didn't get the chance to edit over the weekend as I'd initially hoped. But hey, I am alive and...better. Let's just say better.

And now here we are with some answers(?). Or just more questions? What is going on, Slade?

Jason is off to recruit some help for this mission. Who needs a Tim Drake appearance

next chapter? Cause I do. Maybe I'm just craving coffee and its association. I don't know.

Since I was a day late, I posted a short JayDick story called Fanning the Flame to try and make up for it. So if you're interesteded, you can find that for your entertainment, too!

where we're from, there is no sun

Chapter Summary

"And yeah, you tried to kill me a few times." Tim tilted his head in a questioning manner. "I like to believe the past tense can be used here."

"Debatable," Jason said, causing Tim to flinch before continuing.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Pasadena, California, November 18, 2019, 1:36 PM PT

Los Angeles in mid-November was very different from Gotham during the same time frame. The sun was shining, bathing everything in warmth and light while Gotham had been in the mid-forties and overcast as ever when he'd left. The first snow, which usually happened in December, was forthcoming for the already dreary city. But not here. Despite the numerous students wearing jeans and jackets on campus, this place felt stuck in a perpetual spring season.

After leaving Suez, Jason had headed home to debrief the events with Barbara. Upon realizing the intricate weavings of the mission, she'd recommended Jason recruit additional assistance— assistance with unparalleled detective skills. So here he was, standing on a sidewalk cross- referencing the street address Alfred had written down to the one listed on the residence hall's sign.

Jason had no idea why the adopted son of a billionaire would choose to live in a cramped college dorm. Who was he to question someone's life choices, though? Tim had been wise enough to retire from being a vigilante while Jason was knee-deep in the chaos it brought.

He entered the building as another student was leaving, catching the door with his foot before it could shut again. He knew he looked a lot older than these future tech company workers, but thankfully college kids didn't take notice of much. He traveled through the building until he found the room with the same number on the door as the number listed on the paper provided by Alfred.

Tim had been in his first semester at Gotham U when Dick died. The stress and strain in the months that followed the incident made for a very tough ending to the boy's first year at college. On the first anniversary of Dick's death, the infamous fight between Tim and Bruce had ended with Tim putting in an application for transfer to Caltech. It was the furthest school away from Gotham he could attend in his field of study and from Bruce. To no surprise, the school accepted the academically acclaimed adoptive son of a billionaire without hesitation. The following January, Timothy Wayne-Drake was walking around the sunshine-bathed campus in California. He hadn't returned to Gotham since.

Jason knocked and waited.

Tim answered the door, headphones on with loud music playing and reviewing a paper in his grip with handwritten notes. When the retired vigilante finally acknowledged the man at the door, his eyes widened. He stumbled backward, dropping his notes while pulling his headphones down around his neck.

"Jason?!" Tim asked, startled.

Jason didn't reply but pushed into the room as Tim stood to the side, the doorknob still tight in his grasp. The room was bare and small, with only a desk, dresser, and bed for furniture. A few decor items were on the wall giving little insight into the room's inhabitant: a Gotham's Knights poster, a mirror, a picture of Tim and his biological parents, and a Caltech pendant.

"No, please, come in," Tim said as he got his composure back. He closed the door but didn't move; his eyes locked on Jason's through the reflection in the mirror.

Jason diverted his eyes, continuing to scan the room.

"Kind of small. I would think daddy's money could afford you your own apartment. I mean, I know rent is high here, but come on," Jason said, turning to face Tim.

"Most people here don't know my connection to Bruce Wayne, and those who do, don't care because they also come from money. And for your information, I like living on campus, thank you. It's nice being close to my classes and friends," Tim said, crossing his arms. His posture was screaming defensive, which wasn't the tone Jason was going for at the moment. "There is nothing wrong with wanting to be normal for once."

Jason sighed.

"First, Timbers, you'll never be normal. You're weird as fuck. You ran around with a man in a bat suit for years." Jason sighed and paused, softening his voice. "And I guess I'm just surprised," Jason said, rifling through the various papers on Tim's desk.

There were pages of notes involving calculus, differential equations, physics, and general witchcraft. Jason had no idea what subject Tim was studying in college, but he could tell he'd despise these classes.

"I haven't seen or heard from you in almost a year, and you just decided one day to show up at my dorm. Why?" Tim asked with a raised eyebrow as he searched Jason's face. He suspected Tim already had a hunch on why he was here.

"I assume you know Deathstroke made an appearance in Gotham a few weeks ago," Jason said. Tim took a deep breath. Yup, he already knew.

"Barbara keeps me up to date on things, so yes," Tim said, biting his lip. The younger man knew where this was going, and Jason could tell it made him antsy.

"So you know about his new friend?"

"Based on Barbara's description, the one that sounds like a new Ravager? Also, yes," Tim said, shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, arms still crossed.

Jason touched the notes again, pushing the top sheet of paper across the others. He could feel Tim's eyes taking him in, waiting for him to reveal his thoughts and his reason for being here. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of Tim's music still playing through the headphones hanging around his neck. Tim's phone was sitting on the desk next to Jason's hand, so Tim couldn't pause the music without walking into his brother's personal space.

"I need your help," Jason said, deciding not to beat around the bush. "Whatever Slade is planning involves Brother Blood."

Tim's face was confused.

"Brother Blood?" Tim asked. "Brother Blood usually means…."

"Trigon," Jason finished, watching college students walk about the courtyard outside the window. "I'm a good enough detective to figure that much out, but I, and I hate saying this, need that brain of yours."

"Jason," Tim said, heavy with sadness, "I can't."

The dry erase board above the desk indicated that Tim would be off for Thanksgiving break soon, with finals following shortly. Jason knew Tim wouldn't come home for the holiday break, though. He hadn't been back to Gotham for any holiday, birthday, or another occasion in the last year.

"Tim, it's time to stop acting petty," Jason said, turning toward Tim. "You're too smart to just sit in a dorm room and study."

Tim threw his hands up to his headphones, yanking them off. Then, he walked to the desk, slammed the headphones down, grabbed the phone, and stopped the music.

"What the hell, Jason?!" You can't just come in here and attack me for my life choices. This is my life we're talking about," Tim said, placing a pointed finger on his chest while his face was only inches away from Jason's.

A flash of color caught his eye. The background on Tim's phone was a photo of him with a group of people Jason had never seen before. They were sitting next to a bonfire on a beach, the sun setting pink in the background and Tim's arm around the girl's and guy's shoulders next to him, a beer in his hand. Tim's eyes were barely visible since he was smiling so wide his cheeks were completely rounded with all his teeth showing. Jason had to admit that Tim looked happy, much happier than he'd been the last time Jason saw him a year ago.

It was strange to think of Tim with new, civilian friends and potentially a new girlfriend. Upon leaving Gotham, Stephanie and Tim had tried to maintain their romantic relationship. But as Tim distanced himself from the city he'd call home for most of his life, he also distanced himself from his friends and family. Finally, after several fights, mostly around Tim's inability to visit, the two called it quits, effectively cutting the last active thread that connected Tim to Gotham.

His stomach knotted as he realized coming here was a huge mistake.

Jason backed up from the desk quickly, dragging his hand across the top, bringing several sheets of notes with him. He panicked, dropping into an awkward squat to grab the sheets of paper.

Tim bent down and grabbed Jason's wrist as he reached for a fallen sheet. "Jason, stop."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here. You have a life. You obviously left Gotham and all its shitty baggage behind for a reason," Jason hurriedly said. The panicked feeling rose in his chest again. He yanked his arm back, releasing Tim's grip on his wrist. He stood back up and started towards the door. After a beat, Tim moved quickly between him and the door, putting both hands up to Jason's chest and stopping him.

"Wait, talk to me. I'm sorry. You're just asking a lot of me," Tim said, pausing to drop his hands from Jason's chest, "Barbara told me they had suspicions about the new guy. She told me about Bruce..." Tim's voice trailed off.

Jason's chin rested on his chest as he studied the tops of his boots. He ran a hand through his

unruly black hair, feeling the texture change as his fingers traveled through the white stripe.

"Digging up his grave." Jason finished for Tim. "The DNA sample came back positive." Jason lifted his eyes to meet Tim's. "It's not him running around with Slade, but this new guy. He's not evil. He's not another Slade."

Tim studied him.

"I spoke to him and Suez. We can and should help him," Jason hurriedly said.

"Why, though?"

"Slade is blackmailing him," Jason said slowly, remembering the brother comment from Ravager. "He seems genuine."

Tim sighed and walked past Jason toward the desk, placing the collected notes back. He collapsed into the desk chair as Jason moved to sit crossed-legged on the tiny twin-sized bed, leaning against the bare wall.

"I don't want to ask or say anything to trigger you, but you're confident it's not him?" Tim asked, staring intensely at him.

Jason furrowed his brow. "I just told you…."

Tim cut him off. "I heard what you said, but I just want to be clear. You're confident it's not him."

Jason became frustrated. "It can't be. Are you suggesting that a body with Dick's DNA was buried in our family plot?"

Tim scoffed. "You died, and you're sitting across from me very much alive. I'm an intelligent and logical person, but I'm also aware the world as we know it is complicated. My best friend was a partial clone of Superman and shot laser beams out of his eyes."

"Touche," was all Jason could muster. He sat silent for a moment, fiddling his thumbs. "Tim." His voice trailed off as he avoided eye contact. "I wish nothing more for it to be him, but." He made eye contact with his little brother. "It's not."

Tim searched his expression, his eyes bouncing between Jason's left and right eyes.

Finally, Tim broke the eye contact and turned his attention to the ground. "I know you're right. It was just my first gut instinct. I know it's not logical, but a small part of me believes it's him. It's like when Bruce was still out there. I can't seem to shake the feeling." Tim swallowed. "What if it was him? God, how much better things would be?"

Jason considered the question for a moment. When the idea of Dick being alive first occurred to him, an array of emotions flooded him, a big one being anger. Sure, he'd groan and lie, saying he was hoping never to see the pretty boy's face again, but it would be just that, a lie. Then, after the initial joy wore off, he realized he'd be pissed. Pissed that Dick had manipulated them into believing he was dead in the first place, regardless if Slade had threatened him or not.

Jason's death hadn't been by choice. The Joker beat him to a pulp and set off explosives in his face as he resisted his restraints and crawled for the exit wanting to live. When he woke up in his grave, dug his way out, and wandered into the path of Talia al Ghul, the restoration of his mind, like his death, hadn't been by choice. If Dick had chosen to plague his loved ones with grief, having it tear their tiny family apart, Jason didn't know if he could easily forgive him.

He'd always kept others at a distance, trusting no one and watching out for only himself at the end of the day. Seclusion, for him, was necessary to survive on the streets and in life. Self-preservation, after all, was a basic human instinct, triggering a person's fight or flight response when threatened. The majority of the time, he'd chosen to stand and fight, but when it came to letting other people love him, his instinct was always to flee. An instinct he so blatantly ignored when it came to his adoptive family.

He'd trusted Dick with a guarded part of his restored soul that desperately longed to feel he belonged. And right when he'd gotten comfortable with having people who cared about him, the bastard got himself killed, leaving Jason and their family more broken than before.

Whenever he read Alfred Lord Tennyson's words, 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,' Jason figured the man had been high as a fucking kite. Because the thing about people, they're unreliable. They always disappear in the end, leaving a dull, hollow ache in their absence. And the closer people got, the worse they could wound someone. And Dick Grayson had managed to do the unthinkable. He'd wiggled his way into Jason's two sizes too small heart, flexing and contorting in true acrobat fashion until he fit. When the man died, Jason was left internally wounded; a hole left behind even the Lazarus Pit couldn't repair.

If it was him and Dick was alive, Jason would slap the son of a bitch so hard across his face that he'd probably wish he were actually dead.

"I don't know." Jason lied, the tops of his shoes receiving his full attention as he refused to look up to his younger brother. "So, will you help?"

"Why are you asking me and not anyone else on the team? Where is Bruce?" Tim asked as they made eye contact again.

Jason gave out an exasperated laugh. "Are you serious? After seeing Rav with Slade, the first thing Bruce did was dig up his dead son's grave! He so desperately wants Dick to be alive that he never even considered other possibilities first. Bruce has been so emotionally unstable the last two years and with Slade returning." He shook his head. "Tim, it's bad. Like paint a smile on his face and call him the Joker, bad. He's losing his mind."

Jason kicked one of his legs out, letting it hang off the side of the narrow bed.

"Rav?" Tim asked with a raised eyebrow and smirk.

Jason rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"I hate admitting this out loud, but besides Bruce, you're the best detective I know," Jason said, ignoring Tim's still raised eyebrow. "I need you to do a little digging, no pun intended, and see if you can find any information on Slade's current operations. We need to understand why he stole the blueprints from WayneTech and how Brother Blood is involved."

Tim considered Jason for a moment, lifting his chin in thought. "I don't have access to the Batcomputer software here. When I left Red behind, I truly left it behind. If I'm going to help, I'll have to come home." Tim reviewed the calendar above his head. "I have Thanksgiving break in a couple of days. I can come back to Gotham and do some research under the guise of coming home for the holidays. After that, I have finals, but then I'm free until the new year. If I have to come back home over winter break, I guess I could."

"So you'll help?"

"Under the condition, I don't have to work with Bruce," Tim said, his tone bitter.

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that. If you come home, I'm sure he'll avoid you the whole time in typical refusing to apologize, Bruce Wayne fashion," Jason said, his mouth forming a wide smile.

"You don't think he'll be suspicious?"

"Nah. Alfred knows I came here to talk to you. He's the one that gave me your address. So that means Bruce knows I'm here, too, and if he asks, I'll lie and say I dragged you home to be with everyone, given recent events. It's been pretty unbearable for everybody."

Tim nodded in understanding.

"I might actually enjoy having you home for the holidays, replacement," Jason said, pushing himself to the edge of the bed, letting his feet rest on the ground. "It'll be nice to have someone else around for Bruce to yell at if he does decide to acknowledge you."

Tim groaned and threw a notebook at Jason, who laughed as he deflected the notebook with his hands. His laugh died as Tim's face became serious.

"Can I ask you a question, and you answer honestly?" Tim asked.

Jason furrowed his brow but nodded.

"D-did anything ever happen?" Tim paused, stumbling over his words. The lines on Jason's forehead deepened as he brought his eyes up, green locking onto blue. "Between you and Dick, I mean?" Jason felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His breath faltered, and his eyes went wide.

"What? What are you getting at, Tim?" Jason asked. He knew he sounded defensive, but Tim caught him off guard, rattling him. It took everything in his power to try and keep his face neutral, but he knew he was failing. Moreover, his reaction had spooked Tim, retreating from his earlier question. The younger man shook his head.

"Nothing, just forget I said anything," Tim muttered, cutting his eyes back to the papers on the desk. Jason's breathing was as erratic as his mind raced, and his palms began to sweat. Dammit, Tim and his detective skills. Of course, he'd noticed. Or maybe Jason had just been that obvious throughout the years for everyone to see, not just the good detective in the bunch. He began panicking internally, wondering if the whole world had known about his crush. He needed to know.

"No," Jason said, his tone stern. "Ask what you want to ask."

Tim's eyes met his, and he saw the apprehension in those blue orbs. "I just, you and I, we're brothers. We act like brothers, talk like brothers, and legally, are brothers. And yeah, you tried to kill me a few times." Tim tilted his head in a questioning manner. "I like to believe the past tense can be used here."

"Debatable," Jason said, causing Tim to flinch before continuing.

"Either way, you're my brother. And Damian, the little shit, he's my brother, too. A very annoying little brother with a Napoleon complex, but still my brother. And Dick," Tim said, his voice trailing off before restarting. "He was and always will be an older brother to me. He was a mentor, a friend, and a role model. And he treated me with respect, like I was his equal and not a sidekick, even

when I was one." Tim paused as he swallowed, eyes unfocused toward the top of the desk. "But you and Dick."

Tim was watching him again, and Jason couldn't tear his eyes away, intent on hearing the following words from Tim's mouth. "You didn't come across as two men I would call brothers. Yeah, sure, you guys fought and bickered like the rest of us, and you did try to kill the guy on more than one occasion, but there always seemed to be something more. I could tell that you looked up to him like I did, but it was more than that. You admired him, and you cared about him, much more than you cared about any of us." Tim dropped his eyes again. "I just thought maybe something had happened between you both, or something had been said."

The silence in the room was deafening as Jason's heartbeat rang loud in his ears. The blood in his body rushed so quickly that he swore he could feel it. His eyes darted to different objects in the room, avoiding Tim's face. He didn't want him to see the emotion he'd tried so hard to hide. He already knew his body language gave him away: the tense shoulders, the rapid breathing, the defensive tone, and who knew what else Tim was picking up on at the moment.

"It was a stupid teenage crush," Jason said after a minute, his voice quiet and small. He didn't add anything more. After years of keeping the secret at bay, even denying it to Roy until the funeral, Jason had finally said it out loud to a member of his family.

"It's okay, Jason," Tim said, breaking the silence. Their eyes met again. "I get it. I never saw Dick in that way, but I get it. He was larger than life, a force that couldn't be ignored." Tim shrugged. "He was one of my favorite people. And I am well aware he had many admirers from all sides."

Jason's heart was in his throat. He couldn't believe this conversation was happening right now.

"His heart was just so damn big, Tim," Jason choked. He sucked in air and tried to maintain his composure, releasing the breath slowly. "Yeah, he screwed up the first time, abandoning me with Bruce when he knew damn well how the man was, but can I blame him? Bruce is Bruce. I can't be mad at him for wanting to get away from the guy and the dumbass kid that replaced him before the suit was even cold. I looked up to him the same way he looked up to Superman. He was fucking perfect. The few times he came by the manor, or I saw him as Nightwing, fuck, it was like seeing the sun. He was millions of miles out of my league. So much so, it wasn't even measurable. And he was the sun, Tim. I knew if I tried to get close to him, I would just be blinded and burned."

He let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. He sighed. His phone vibrated three times in rapid succession in his pocket, but he ignored it.

"It hurt him to see me there, living with Bruce and walking around in the suit. I could tell. He tried to direct his anger at Bruce, but I could still see it in his eyes. He hated me, and I wanted nothing more than to make him proud, impress him, get his attention and make him like me. I wanted him to think I was worthy of being Robin."

Jason moved back to the wall, leaning his back and shoulders against it as he pulled his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. "And then I came back, and I could tell he was regretful about all of it. But I was so mad at him. I hated him, especially when I found out he didn't even come to my funeral."

"But," Tim began to speak, but Jason cut him off, raising his hand.

"He didn't know. I know that now. I know he was off-planet, and Bruce didn't bother to tell him." Jason shook his head. "I felt like a failure as Robin and as a person. And the pit brought all that rage and insecurity up to the surface, making me do awful things to all of you, especially Dick.

When the guy was Batman, I tried to kill him. I pretended to be Nightwing once, prancing around with guns to piss him off. Yet, he still tried to reach out to me and include me in our little family after all that. And I hated him for that. I wanted to push you all away, and he just kept dragging me back in. He made me want to be included and loved, fucking asshole."

He wrapped his arms tighter around his knees, clenching his jaw as he refused to look up Tim. His phone vibrated twice again, but still, he ignored it. The vibration wasn't continuous, so it was only text messages he could read later. "So yeah, I had a big fucking crush on Goldie." His eyes snapped to Tim's. "And if you tell anyone anything I just said, I will kill you."

Tim gave a small nervous laugh. "I'm just glad you trusted me enough to admit it to yourself. I mean, I knew. I am the second-best detective, you know."

"Shut the fuck up," Jason said, throwing the notebook from earlier back at Tim, who deflected it.

"I'm just saying! I don't think anyone else would've picked up on it. I was just Robin after you. I studied both of you, and I could tell from the training videos and how you interacted with him after returning that there was more to it. I'm not judging you for it. I swear." Tim placed to hands up, palms out, in surrender.

"You're not, but everyone else would. Can you imagine what Bruce would say if his adoptive children were fawning over one another in some weird adoptive incest? I don't even know what that would be called," Jason said. Tim tensed at the comment, making Jason furrow his brow. "What, am I making you uncomfortable now, little bird, making you think of your so-called brothers potentially hooking up?"

Tim raised his brow in surprise and shook his head. "No, no. Just, um- Dick." The younger man's voice broke apart as his face formed a deep frown. "Dick was never officially adopted." For the second time in only a short amount of time, Jason felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

"What? You're lying," Jason said, his eyes wide. His phone vibrated several times in rapid succession, which tempted him to throw it out the window for daring to distract him. But instead, he was too focused on what Tim had said to care about the potential trash messages Roy was sending him.

Tim shook his head again. "I swear to you I'm not. Unless Bruce did something in the last few years, Dick Grayson was never officially adopted by Bruce Wayne. He was a ward of the state under Bruce's care until he was eighteen, and then he was a free man. You were the first one he ever actually adopted, followed by me, and obviously, Damian is his blood son."

Jason swallowed hard. "That bastard." The emotion caught Tim by surprise, who looked at him, confusion all over his face.

Tim's face relaxed, and he shrugged, realizing where Jason's anger lay.

"Bruce probably thought it would make you feel more grounded if you were officially part of the family. You didn't exactly have the same upbringing as Dick. He already had a family and parents that loved him. Maybe he didn't want to make the same mistake he'd made with Dick with you or me. It was kind of late by the time he realized it, too. Perhaps he didn't want to make Dick feel like a child by adopting him as a young adult. I can't tell you, Jason. No one knows what goes on in Bruce's head."

"That's an understatement," Jason muttered.

"We can't change things in the past, so let's focus on things we can," Tim said, his smirk back from earlier. "So Rav? It seems Dick isn't the only person you've had a crush on."

Jason shook his head and pulled on a loose thread on his shirt. "We need to help Rav, but we can't do that if we don't know where they're going next. So that is objective number one."

"Well, that's simple," Tim said, drawing Jason's attention. Tim was staring at his cell phone with a surprised expression.

"What?" Jason asked, confused.

"I know exactly where your boyfriend is. Everyone does." Tim said, looking up. "Check your phone."

Jason hurriedly pulled his phone, which had been buzzing insistently, out of his pocket. He had thirteen unread text messages, six from Barbara, four from Roy, one from Cass, one from Steph, and one from Bruce. He also had several missed calls from Barbara. He opened the messages from Barbara first.

'We may have a problem.'

'Someone is breaking into the Justice League's international base in Spain, and their suit looks oddly familiar.'

'Confirmed. It's Ravager. Rav is breaking into the Justice League.'

'Jason. Answer me. Bruce knows you were in Suez. He's not happy.'

'I gave him all the footage and information I had.'

'The stolen weapons and plutonium were for the League. Slade used them for Bruce's contingency plan. You know the one.'

Shit, he thought. He opened the messages from Roy.

'Ollie is summoning me to the League's Canary Islands base.'

'Says it involves Slade.'

'You know anything about this, Jaybird? Is Slade back? I heard a rumor he was recently in Gotham but didn't want to ask….'

'What does he want with the League?'

He shook his head and moved on to the following unread message.

'I would stay away until he's had time to think,' the message from Cass said. Jason knew she was referring to Bruce.

'Your boyfriend is sooooooo dead,' said the message from Steph. He rolled his eyes.

Only one message was left—the man himself.

'We need to talk.'

Jason sighed as Tim gave him a sheepish smile from the other side of the room.

Chapter End Notes

I never thought I would be THAT fanfiction writer, but it's happening. I didn't post because I was in a car accident that temporarily injured my wrist last week. It was just sore, but it prevented me from editing and ultimately posting. So yeah, here I am, apologizing for getting hit on my way to work despite the fact it was 100% not my fault.

If you were expecting a lot of action in this chapter, you're probably disappointed. Some necessary relationship rebuilding and conversations that will be relevant later needed to happen in this chapter. As for action, stay tuned because things are about to get wild.

i know i haven't been the best of sons

Chapter Summary

"Oh my god," Dick said. His heart skipped several beats, and his knees slightly buckled as he swayed in place. "You were right, Slade." He paused, his mind racing and his words failing as he continued to re-read the contents on the screen. "They're supposed to be dead."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

JLA's International Base, Canary Islands, Spain, November 18, 2019, 10:45 PM WET

He couldn't fight the disappointment that filled his chest when he successfully stepped into the League's base. Dick had secretly hoped Bruce would've come to his senses after the Gotham incident, but it appeared that wasn't the case.

The League had international locations sprinkled throughout the world. This one, located in the Spanish Canary Islands, was smaller but still active. He was sure none of the leading players would be here, seeing as it wasn't the central hub, but he knew they could be at a moment's notice.

He quickly followed the plan Slade had laid out for him by plugging the USB from his wrist gauntlet into the zeta tube dashboard. Bruce had installed the best security software on Earth for the League's mainframes, which meant the software was the same as the Batcomputer, and Dick was familiar with it. Since Slade was able to hack into the information systems at WayneTech using Dick's help, he had no doubt they could hack into the League's, too.

His finger nervously bounced on the keyboard's padding, waiting for the confirmation that he had control of the teleportation entrances into the base. They first had to prevent others from entering internally by zeta tube and then initiate the lockdown protocol to prevent external entry. He entered any information when prompted, but Slade was handling everything remotely for the most part. He was a sitting duck until given a verbal that the zeta tubes were secure.

While he'd been able to use his biometrics to travel here, his old credentials appeared to be disabled following the WayneTech break-in. Because of this, the hacking job was taking longer than Slade had initially anticipated, making Dick more anxious.

It'd been nearly three minutes since he'd entered the base when the zeta tube across the room began to hum, causing his heart to drop. While he'd prayed to the universe that no one would come, it appeared his prayers fell on deaf ears. Dick waited with anticipation to see if Bruce appeared. Before the mission, he imagined Bruce receiving an alert that someone had once again utilized Nightwing's credentials. Then, he'd show up in a rage, ready to rip Ravager into pieces.

"Recognize, Two-Five, Zatanna."

He released a heavy relieved sigh. He moved to shield himself behind the zeta tube equipment that he'd entered through while still keeping his USB plugged in. Zatanna's footsteps echoed in the lobby as she walked forward and paused, probably scanning the area for an intruder. The only

sound he could hear was breathing inside his helmet for a moment.

The adjacent zeta tube hummed again.

"Recognize, Zero-Seven, Martian Manhunter."

Dick cursed under his breath.

"Any update? I can't fight the entire JLA by myself, special tech or not," Dick whispered with a strained voice.

"Working on it," Slade said in a tone that left no room for argument. "We've already gained control of the camera and records systems. However, the zeta tubes are proving to be more difficult. If you need to unhook, do so. We don't require a physical connection for this part."

A rush of air blew past him as someone else entered the room.

"Red, why were we summoned?" Martian Manhunter asked. Dick immediately recognized the animatronic voice when it replied.

"An unexpected anomaly occurred moments ago. The computer announced a deceased League member into the base, and it drew my attention," Red Tornado replied. "When I went to review the footage, there was nothing. Given the sensitivity of the name, I immediately called for further support."

"Sensitivity of the name?" Zatanna asked, confused.

"According to the computer, which shows no record as evidence, Nightwing entered the base not more than five minutes ago. But without footage or record, it's like I imagined it."

Zatanna gasped at the mention of Nightwing, and Martian Manhunter hummed.

"I am not sensing another mind here," Martian Manhunter said. "But you are correct. Given the circumstances, it was best to call this in." A pause. "You are positive no one arrived?"

"I was not watching the screen at the exact moment since I was on the lower levels and only received an auditory alert. When I checked the cameras a few minutes later, there was no one there or any past footage of an arrival. The travel log is also empty," Red Tornado explained.

Dick wasn't surprised Martian Manhunter couldn't sense his presence. Slade informed him his suit contained technology that would prevent a being with telekinetic abilities from infiltrating his mind. When told, he immediately recalled his first contact with Raven occurred when his helmet was malfunctioning in Suez, but he left the thought for later. He didn't want to assume that Slade had actively prevented Raven from contacting him while outside the Cairo base's fortification, but the coincidence was prevalent. However, the implication was too much to delve into right now.

"I don't want to insult you, Red, but I have to confirm. So you're confident the computer stated Nightwing?" Zatanna asked.

"One-hundred percent," was the quick response.

"Who else did you contact?" Martian Manhunter asked, which Dick found strange.

There was a pause as Red Tornado considered the question. "I only contacted you both. Zatanna due to her relationship with the deceased and ability to sense spirits and you due to your ability to

read minds," Red Tornado finally said. "Should I have contacted others?"

"No, you did perfect," Martian Manhunter replied before Dick heard the clamoring of metal on metal. When he peeked from his hiding spot, he witnessed a pile of Red Tornado's disassembled parts lying in the center of the room. Dick quickly pulled back as his heart hammered in his chest. Martian Manhunter disabling Red Tornado wasn't what he'd expected, providing further evidence to Slade's theory.

The alarms inside the facility began ringing, the bright blinking of the red emergency lights filling his sight intermittently.

"I may have alerted the security system to our presence while manipulating the zeta tube code," Slade said.

"No shit," Dick murmured through gritted teeth.

"It seems Red Tornado was correct," Martian Manhunter said. "We are not alone."

Martian Manhunter began speaking over his comm, but Dick couldn't make out all the words due to the alarm sounding off.

Dick yanked on the USB, feeling it slam back into place a few seconds later. He began stealthy walking behind the zeta tube equipment, crawling and rolling whenever needed to avoid the alert eyes of the two people across the room. The circular room contained four different platforms evenly separated in the small hall. Dick had entered from one on the south side, while Zatanna and Martian Manhunter had entered from the two to the north. Having already been here, Red Tornado had entered the space through one of the two open doors on either side of the room.

As he moved through the space, Zatanna's voice cried out.

"There!"

Well, he couldn't hide forever. He ducked under a flying object, diving forward into the open space. He quickly stood in a fighting stance before his two assailants moved toward him. Before Martian Manhunter got too close, Dick activated the small flamethrower on his wrist, sending flames out in front of him. He tossed a second portable fire device out into the middle of the room. Martian Manhunter reeled back in pain, accidentally bumping into Zatanna beside him. Zatanna steadied her teammate while reciting a spell to toss a crate in his direction.

Zatanna continued to throw random objects in his direction, but each time, Dick tumbled out of the way. Eventually, he'd backflipped and cartwheeled himself close enough to touch her without her realizing it. With one arm incapacitated due to holding Martian Manhunter, Dick took the opportunity to twist her free hand back, leaving her defenseless. Then, he slapped a strip of uncured epoxy over Zatanna's mouth, which contained both a resin and a hardener, separated by a thin polymer film. The epoxy hardened and adhered to the skin when the film dissolved due to contact with skin moisture. Now set, the epoxy prevented Zatanna from speaking, rendering her spellcasting abilities momentarily useless.

Zatanna fell to the floor with Martian Manhunter to try with two hands when she couldn't remove the gag one-handed. Then, with Zatanna and Martian Manhunter incapacitated, Dick made his way toward the door. Several zeta tubes began humming to life as he retreated, but Dick didn't turn around to see who was arriving.

Instead, he turned his body and ran down the hall to the base's main computer room. While he'd

never been here before, Slade had provided him the base's blueprints, courtesy of WayneTech. He was about to turn a corner when a set of laser beams flew over his shoulder, hitting the ceiling above him.

"Stop!" A loud, commanding voice yelled.

Dick slid to a halt, stopping in the hallway junction he'd been about to navigate. Dick knew that if Superman had wanted to hit him, he would've. So there was no use attempting an on-foot escape. Dick half looked over his shoulder, breathing heavily.

"Who are you?" Superman asked with narrowed, red glowing eyes. Dick turned to face the Kryptonian head-on as Wonder Woman appeared behind Superman.

Dick went to reply, but suddenly loud music filled the hall, catching him off guard. All three people looked around, confused as the sound blared around them.

"Zeta tubes are momentarily deactivated," Slade said.

Suddenly, Dick recognized the rock-rap song "Fight For Your Right" by the Beastie Boys.

"What the hell did you do?" Dick asked, confused.

"The zeta tubes work off a queue system similar to a typical music playlist," Slade explained. "So I added some items to the queue. Approximately one thousand seven hundred and fifty-two items, to be exact."

"Wait," Dick said with realization. "Is this my rock workout playlist?"

"Not my selection," Slade answered. "I'm pleasantly surprised, though. I was expecting nothing but show tunes."

A computerized, text-to-speech voice filled his ears, which Dick presumed was Joey. " That is still an option."

"Please, don't. This is suitable," Slade quickly replied, but Dick ignored him as the Leaguers moved toward him.

Dick dodged Wonder Woman's lasso by twisting and flipping forward until he was directly next to her. He caught Wonder Woman's shin as she went to kick him, and his feet slid against the floor as she slammed him into the wall. Dick hunched over her leg as the air vacated his lungs from the kick, struggling to breathe. Dick wheezed as he attempted to huff air before ducking a punch from the Amazonian. The large hole left in the wall where his head had been caused his eyes to widen. She was not holding back.

Wonder Woman's leg fell away, causing him to fall forward. He tried to spin out, but strong arms encircled his body, stopping him. Superman held him tightly to his chest, squeezing more with each passing second. Before Superman could crack his ribs, he pressed the small button directly above his wrist with his free fingers. At once, a lid to a lead-lined box on his belt opened, exposing the small piece of Kryptonite inside. Superman immediately dropped him, groaning in agony at the sudden exposure.

Wonder Woman ignored her teammate and attempted to punch Dick again. He swung his arm and stabbed a small needle into her neck as he leaned out of the way. At first, nothing happened. Then, she tore the needle out of her skin, examining it before flicking it to the side with a smile. Dick backed up until he felt the wall behind him. Wonder Woman lifted her lasso, but she crumpled to

her knees, screaming before she could release it. The needle, made of an nth metal alloy, had released tiny nanobots into her bloodstream before electrocuting her from within and rendering her unconscious. Wonder Woman fell to her side, spasming from the electric shock, while Superman did the same a couple of feet away.

Dick set the container of Kypronite down, ripping the lid off, and continued down the hall. He was almost to the central control room when the music abruptly swapped from "We Will Rock You" by Queen to "Back in Black" by AC/DC. When Dick turned the next corner, he understood the musical shift. Standing before him was the man he'd hoped wouldn't show.

"Funny," Dick murmured into the comms.

"Figured you'd like that," Joey's computerized voice said.

Dick relaxed his body and squared his shoulders, standing to his full height. He nodded toward his old mentor. "Batman," he said in acknowledgment.

Batman didn't respond, though. Instead, he simply took Dick in, narrowing his eyes as they settled on the silver helmet.

"Who are you?" Batman finally asked. "And what do you want with the League?"

Dick's eyes darted between Batman and the door to the central control room. "I want information. Same as you," Dick replied. Batman opened his mouth, but several blast-proof doors behind Dick abruptly closed before he could speak.

"Sending the base into lockdown. The others won't be able to reach you, but you'll have to deal with the Bat yourself," Slade informed him.

"Thanks. I guess," Dick quietly mumbled.

"Excuse me?" Batman asked, unsure of what Dick had whispered.

"I said, you're in my way," Dick loudly said this time, making his move. He ran toward Batman, and within a few feet of his old mentor, Dick leaped into the air. He flipped and tried to vault off the other man's shoulder, but Batman grasped his wrists, preventing him from carrying his momentum forward. Caught in a handstand, Dick folded his legs downward, slamming them into Batman's back, suspiciously close to a previous spinal injury few were aware of. Batman crumpled under him, falling onto one knee. Batman growled as he twisted and pulled Dick's wrists hard, throwing his balance off and tossing him aside.

Dick rolled onto his side and immediately threw up his arm to block a hit from Batman. During the scuffle, the song over the speakers had changed to "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC, and Batman's next two punch attempts nearly contacted right on the beat. The two men began kicking and punching down the hall, with Dick ensuring they moved toward the control room.

Their fighting became more forceful and frustrated as the song's intensity increased. Finally, after a minute, both men faced one another and breathed heavily. The whole affair reminded Dick of when he and Bruce used to spar until neither of them could even talk anymore.

It was evident Bruce was fighting emotionally. Whether he'd had a personal alert or Martian Manhunter called him, Bruce knew Ravager had used Nightwing's credentials again. Using Bruce's emotionally fragile state and fooling him twice was sure to piss him off.

Tiring, Dick slipped up, allowing Batman to land a kick that sent him to his knees, which Batman

took advantage of. Dick suddenly found himself in a firm chokehold that was likely to leave a bruise and his leg pinned under Batman's. Trapped, he struggled to execute a counterattack.

"B-Br-Bruce, please," he finally managed to rasp.

Immediately the hold on his throat lessened, and precious air entered his lungs again. He fell forward onto his elbows as Batman abruptly dropped him onto the floor. Dick took advantage of the lull in fighting and kicked his foot upward, knocking Batman hard under the chin. The man stumbled backward in shock, and Dick followed up with another hard kick to the side of the head, knocking the man unconscious. Batman fell onto his side and lay unmoving. Dick fell to his knees beside Batman and placed a hand on his old mentor's shoulder.

Dick moved two fingers to Batman's throat and felt a strong pulse. He steadied his breathing before locking a set of hardy cuffs on both Batman's wrists and ankles. Once confident Batman wouldn't be a further threat, Dick headed to the computer.

"I must say. Amazing work," Slade practically purred into his ear. Dick ignored him as he plugged his USB into the nearest available port. Immediately numerous windows began popping up as Slade hacked into the mainframe. Dick tried to read all the pop-up windows, but they passed by too quickly. Most of the time, the only words he could make out were those in a big, bold text saying, 'Highly Confidential' or 'Restricted.'

After several moments, four files, large and legible, opened on the screen. Dick scanned their contents while a download bar appeared at the bottom of the screen, the progress percentage slowly increasing.

"Oh my god," Dick said. His heart skipped several beats, and his knees slightly buckled as he swayed in place. "You were right, Slade." He paused, his mind racing and his words failing as he continued to re-read the contents on the screen. "They're supposed to be dead." He blinked a few times to make sure he'd read the screen correctly. Finally, he tried to speak again, but no sound came out, his mouth hanging open.

"I had no reason to lie," Slade calmly said.

"Wonder Girl and Superboy," Dick said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes went unfocused to the keyboard as he hunched over the keys with rounded shoulders. The rage was beginning to build as the implication of this information started to set in. Below the names Donna Troy, Conner Kent, and Rachel Roth was the following message, 'Status: Detained.'

"You were right, Slade. Holy fuck. You were right. The League is compromised. They knew. They knew that former Titans were alive and held captive this whole time. Martian Manhunter disabled Red Tornado and then called in reinforcements. That means Superman, Wonder Woman, and Zatanna. Oh my god, how many of them did Blood corrupt? And Batman," Dick rambled as he looked back at Batman. Had Martian Manhunter contacted him, too? He turned back to the computer.

He clicked and scrolled through the files, reviewing information about the four Titans. In the 'Joseph Wilson (Joey)' report, he noticed that the following status was below his name, 'Status: Missing.' Slade wasn't lying about trying to keep Joey safe. He'd be a captive, too, if Blood had known where Joey was.

A loud banging at one of the control room's entrance doors, which Slade had closed behind him and Batman, drew his attention. He glanced back at the computer and noted that the download bar was only eighty-five percent complete. The screen began flickering as new pop-up windows began

randomly opening. He turned back to the door as the noise became louder.

"What's going on?" Dick asked.

"Only another minute or two until the download is complete. I'm trying to fight off your annoying little friend, Oracle," Slade said as the screen continued flickering.

Dick looked back at Batman, still lying unconscious, as his mind raced. Jason hadn't known about Slade being at the docks that night in Gotham, but he'd worked with Oracle. They'd also worked together in Suez. From what he could tell, it didn't seem Jason and Barbara were necessarily working against Ravager. It also appeared Bruce had been keeping the family in the dark, especially given Jason's surprise at Blood's involvement in Suez. If Jason was being held at arm's length and didn't know about Blood, he couldn't possibly be corrupted, could he?

"Send her the file," Dick finally said, trusting his gut.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" Slade exclaimed. " I've worked for years to keep this information secret, and you just want me to hand it over?"

"Delete all evidence that we were here: any camera footage, zeta tube or computer logs, anything. Then, send O the Titans' files. She'll help me get out of here," Dick explained.

There was more loud banging from the other side of the door.

"Absolutely not," Slade said, warning in his voice.

"Then I guess you should add a file with my name on it and put the status as detained because that's what will happen," Dick said as the door began denting from punches on the other side. "I will do my best to get out of here, but these are some powerful League members."

Dick heard an annoyed growl on the other end.

"You better be right about this," Slade angrily said. Then, a new progress bar appeared at the bottom of the screen with the words 'Transfer Progress' on top. As that bar continued, the download progress bar reached completion.

"Download completed," Slade responded. A few moments later, the transfer progress bar reached completion status, too.

Suddenly, the screen went black, and the lights in the room blinked once. The computer began to reboot immediately, but this time, a green alien head, Oracle's symbol, was in the center of the screen. Music continued to blare throughout the control room, meaning they maintained control of the zeta tubes.

He stepped back from the computer, hands on his hips as he took in the situation.

"She only has access to this computer at the moment," Slade explained as if reading his thoughts.

Dick hummed in response as the computer finished rebooting.

A message popped up.

Is this real?

Dick clicked on the reply box and began typing. Straight from the League's computer. No tampering. Check the file history for proof, he wrote. He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the

keyboard before adding, Can you help me get out of here?

The three dots appeared, signaling a reply before disappearing and then reappearing.

Why should we trust you?

Dick's finger drummed the keyboard nervously but without enough pressure to type anything. Barbara had used we, which he assumed meant Jason and her both. He finally settled on a cryptic reply, but one that would get their attention.

Because Nightwing did.

Again, the three dots appeared and then disappeared before appearing again.

There is a spare communicator in the drawer to your left. I've activated it and changed the frequency over to a private one. Get it out and put it on.

Dick scanned the desk drawers underneath until he found the communicator in question. The light was blinking Oracle green. He disengaged his helmet just enough to slide the earpiece inside before locking it firmly back on his head.

"Can you hear me?" Barbara's familiar voice filled his head. Dick swallowed as emotion overcame him.

"Yes," he replied, knowing from recordings he'd listen to of past missions with Slade that the modulation would still work inside the helmet.

"Perfect. I've chosen not to disguise my voice since you appear to know all about us. I wish you would do the same," Barbara replied. Dick snorted. When he failed to respond, Barbara continued. "It seems your partner has the zeta tubes locked up."

Dick hummed.

"Quite the music choice, I must ask. I like it," Barbara added, typing away.

"So escape routes," Dick said, returning the conversation to his problem.

"There is a decommissioned teleporter on this level," Barbara said before a brief pause. "It had some technical issues, so Batman had me decommission it. It still works, though." Another pause. "For the most part." Dick couldn't hide his shocked expression as Barbara continued. "No one in the JLA has access to it other than Batman and me. They won't even know it's been activated. I just need coordinates for the landing location."

Dick realized Barbara was asking him where he wanted to go.

"Slade?" Dick asked. "Where do you want them to send me?"

Barbara interjected before Slade could reply. "Don't just pick anywhere. The teleporter doesn't function the way it's intended. Trust me on this. If the trip injures you, you'll want to teleport somewhere close to Slade's current position."

Dick grimaced at this information.

"Okay. O, says I have to go to you. What are your current coordinates?"

He held up his wrist as the computer in his gauntlet binged, a set of longitude and latitude

coordinates visible on the screen.

"Is he moving?" Barbara asked before he could rattle off the coordinates sent to him.

Dick cocked his head to the side. "Slade, are you traveling?"

"Traveling over the Atlantic Ocean at the moment and headed in your direction. Why?"

"Yes, he's moving," Dick answered, ignoring Slade's follow-up question.

"Tell him to stop. You'll want to give me the coordinates right before you make the jump."

"Why?" Dick asked, confused.

"The teleporter had technical issues, as I said. The software doesn't account for the Earth's constant rotation when making the transfer," Barbara explained. "Somehow, we managed to get the galactic coordinate system positioning correct, but not the absolute coordinate system relative to the earth's satellites we use, which are also constantly moving." Barbara abruptly stopped and changed tones. "This software is more complicated than I can explain in the time we have."

Dick furrowed his brow inside the helmet, realizing what her explanation meant. "The Earth rotates on its axis at almost a thousand miles per minute and around the sun at almost seventy- thousand miles per minute. So I mean, the axis shift would be almost insignificant. But the rotation around the sun is a shift of almost twenty miles a second."

"I can try to predict your final location accordingly, but even a half-second delay would mean…."

Dick cut her off. "I end up ten miles away from the coordinates I provide you."

"Exactly, and with the other technical issues, we must get you as close to Slade as possible. If the transfer injures you and you end up forty miles away, well," Barbara said, her voice strained. " It's your only real choice unless you want to release control of all the other zeta tubes and risk the rest of the League coming after you."

"I'd prefer not to do that." He was afraid to ask, but he needed to know. "What are the other technical issues?"

Barbara sighed.

"I will explain while you move. Head back out the small door to the south. Cameras show no one is there," Barbara said.

Dick spared one last glance back at Batman before pushing the guilt in his chest down and exiting the room. He continued to follow her instructions as he traveled throughout the facility. Slade opened any locked door he required access to as he went.

"So, what are the other technical issues with this teleporter?" Dick asked. Another sigh greeted him.

"Similar to the longitude and latitude problem, the software doesn't allow elevation to be programmed into the final destination. Instead, the device simply transports you at the same elevation as the teleporter itself," Barbara said.

"And what is the elevation of the teleporter?" Dick asked.

"Roughly two hundred feet above sea level," Barbara said.

"So, not only will I possibly land ten or so miles away from my preferred location, but I could also fall two hundred feet to reach the ground? Or worse. I could be teleported into the dirt if the land is above sea level," Dick said, horrified.

"Correct," Barbara said. "Hopefully, Slade is somewhere with soft ground."

"Thankfully, he's over the ocean and not on a mountain. How many times was this thing used before being decommissioned?" Dick asked, huffing as he continued to run through the base.

No response.

"O?"

"Just once."

"You realize you could die from impact with the water's surface at that height, right? It's too high. It'll be difficult for me to spot you if you end up even a couple of miles away. It's night," Slade warned, breaking into the conversation.

"I'm roughly hundred and eighty-five pounds, right?" Dick asked, thinking hard as he followed Barbara's occasional instructions.

"Roughly, yes. Are you really worried about your figure right now?" Slade asked, annoyed.

"So I'll reach terminal velocity, oh, math, math, math, in approximately…." Dick trailed off. He came to a hallway junction, and Barbara told him to take a left. "Approximately seventeen...hold that thought." He bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to think quickly. "Sorry, I carried a decimal wrong. I love physics, but not under this kind of pressure."

"It would take about a quarter-mile to reach terminal velocity, which is one hundred and twenty miles per hour," a new person said. The voice was far from the mic and broken up, but Dick could recognize Tim speaking anywhere. Dick smiled.

"Shut up, nerd," Dick heard Jason say in a hushed tone, but still more clearly than Tim.

"At almost two hundred feet, he'll hit the water at seventy-six miles an hour," Tim added, ignoring Jason's order. "It's survivable, but I won't tell you by what odds."

"Good enough for me," Dick said, huffing as he ran. Jason cursed on the other end, realizing they'd been heard, revealing themselves.

"I don't agree with this plan," Slade said. "How do we know we can trust they won't send you back to Gotham where they're waiting to take you captive?"

"I don't see a whole lot of alternatives at the moment. It's fighting the entire League or trusting them to get me to you. The best option would be O to get the exact timing and coordinates down for a trampoline park, but I feel like that's a stretch. Pun intended," Dick said. Slade grunted but didn't argue further.

He rounded the corner, and the teleporter was in his sights.

"I'm here, O," Dick said, standing directly next to the device.

"Activating. Stand by for the coordinates request," Barbara said. The machine made a low humming noise as it powered on. A bright blue beam formed in the center, and it waited to send

Dick into who knew where if they were too slow on the data entry. "Provide the coordinates now. I will try to adjust them for a time delay, but again, I can't guarantee how far away you'll be."

Slade quickly recited the numbers directly through the commlink to Barbara as Dick stood there.

"Go!" Barbara yelled. Dick didn't even hesitate. He threw himself into the center of the blue beam, feeling his molecules shifting. He'd traveled through the JLA's tech several times, but it'd been a while since he'd last teleported. So despite all the warnings Barbara had provided, suddenly vomiting inside his helmet was his biggest fear.

He felt suspended as his body reformed itself somewhere else on the planet for a few moments. But soon, gravity took over as his body's weight was fully restored. His legs were facing down as they had been when he stepped into the teleporter, so he rotated his body in the air as he fell so that his feet were below him. He crossed his hands over his chest and tightly pressed his legs together, forming a mummy-like pose.

He knew from his quick math that it would take less than four seconds from the time he started falling until he impacted the ocean below. He tilted his head, ensuring there actually was an ocean below him and not solid ground. When he had visual confirmation of the water, he tucked his chin into his chest and closed his eyes. He felt crisp, cool air rush over his body as he neared the water's surface.

"No visual yet," Slade said. "Have you made the jump?"

Dick didn't have enough time to respond, though.

With little time for the molecules to react to the sudden increase in pressure, the water became like concrete during a high-speed impact. Intense reaction forces pushed back against Dick's body as the water moved to surround his body. While the helmet appeared to absorb some of the effects, his vision blurred slightly as his head witnessed increased external pressure. He continued to sink further until his body came to a gentle stop, and his momentum finally halted. The dim rays of moonlight breaking through the ocean's surface waved at him from above as they danced on top of the water.

He weakly tried extending his arms to push upwards, his legs helplessly kicking as he continued sinking downward. Water entered his nose and mouth as it leaked past the damaged seals on the helmet, and he instinctively took a breath. He began to panic, but after a few gulps, his body relaxed, his limbs loosely floating above him as the corners of his vision started to fade.

Watery, static-infused voices called out to him, but he couldn't respond before his world went dark.

Chapter End Notes

First, my only knowledge of zeta tubes or boom tubes, whatever your name preference is, is from Young Justice. So don't @ me if it's all kinds of wrong.

Second, my day job is as an engineer, so I'm going to over-science you sometimes. Because logic (I know this is a comic-based fic where people have powers) is still important to me. So I apologize if your eyes glaze over while I nerd everywhere.

Lastly, I posted a couple of days early, which I am sure there are no complaints about

because I need to focus on editing the next chapter. I leave for an international trip the first week of June, so I hope to get the next chapter out before then.

I lied; one more thing. If you're detail-oriented, you may notice the decrease in chapter count. Initially, as I've stated before, I had three POVs. However, I'm getting better at cutting unnecessary fluff and POVs, so the chapter count decreased from this change. This means we're HALFWAY there!

i've been thinking too much

Chapter Summary

"Back from retirement, baby!" Tim excitedly said before dropping the arms he'd raised above his head. His eyes bounced between Jason's hunched, tense form and Barbara's downturn expression. "I would ask who died, but in this family, the possibility of someone actually being dead is high. What's going on?"

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Gotham, November 21, 2019, 8:42 PM EST

It'd been over two days since the break-in at the JLA's base in the Canary Islands. Two days of ignoring Roy's endless questions via text and constantly wondering if Ravager had survived the jump. The last thing they'd heard was the rush of water before the comm went dead, either from traveling to a watery grave or being destroyed by Ravager.

All he'd wanted was to rush back to Gotham and debrief the events with Barbara, but she'd begged and pleaded—more like ordered—him to stay in California to distract Tim. Finally, confused but cooperative, he'd done as Barbara asked. She reassured him she would explain her reasoning, but it required time.

Instead, he and Tim had obsessively speculated the catalyst for Barbara agreeing to help Ravager. However, they couldn't agree on an answer. While Tim had momentary distractions with classes, Jason constantly contemplated the conversations and events at the base. Finally, two days later, Barbara gave him the green light to travel back to Gotham with the stipulation that he arrives before Tim. His flight had landed an hour ago, with Tim's landing later tonight. Tim didn't have classes on Fridays, and his professors had canceled most of his classes before Thanksgiving break. So they'd have Tim's brain for an entire week before they were at risk of compromising his studies.

As he stepped into the Clocktower, the tension was notable. Usually organized, the whole space resembled the aftermath of a tornado. Files and boxes were strewn around the room, covering chairs, tables, and anything with a flat area. Barbara sat among the mess with her hair disheveled in a lopsided bun and glasses low on her nose.

"Love what you've done with the place," Jason said with no reaction from Barbara. He dropped his bag at his side and tried again. "Barbara?"

She sighed and licked her lips before pursuing her lips. "Jason." She stopped again, which caused Jason to adopt a concerned expression. When she didn't continue, Jason moved to kneel before her, resting his hands on the sides of her wheelchair.

"Barbara, what happened?" Jason asked with worry. He could make out the redness on the perimeter of Barbara's eyes this close, signaling she'd been crying.

"It's him," she said as her voice cracked. "There is no other way."

Jason dropped his eyes and took a deep breath, realizing why she was upset. "I know. I've thought nonstop about everything the last two days, and we can't deny it anymore."

She stared back at him with sad but hopeful eyes.

"Ravager is Dick," Jason said, taking her hands in his. "I hate getting my hopes up each time only to get disappointed again, but we have to be honest with ourselves."

Barbara slowly nodded. "You remember how it felt in October to have that hope emerge and then snatched away again?"

"Of course. I had to relive my grief again," Jason softly said, squeezing her hands.

Barbara swallowed. "That's exactly why I asked you to stay with Tim until I could confirm the files Ravager and Slade sent me were real."

Jason furrowed his brow as Barbara removed her hand under his to grab a folder on her desk. She hesitated but handed the thin file to him. He opened the manila folder to find four printed sheets of paper, which he quickly scanned. He stood up as he reread them.

"What the fuck is this?" Jason asked, turning each page over to see if there was additional information.

"It's files from the League's databases, and based on the encryption originally protecting them, they were top secret. However, our friend Rav graciously gifted them to us," Barbara said, turning back to her computer.

"You're telling me the League knew that three dead Titans weren't actually dead, and two were detained with another Titan listed as missing?" Jason asked, working through the details.

"Precisely."

"Where are they being detained?" Jason asked.

"No idea. The file doesn't provide that information, and the League's computers were practically wiped. It took me two days to prove those documents were authentic," Barbara said, typing away. Then, finally, she stopped to turn to him. "I presume Brother Blood's involvement is key here."

Jason took a couple of steps back and fell onto the couch. He ran his hand down his face before resting his head back on the cushion, staring up at the ceiling.

"This is just further evidence Rav is Dick. All four people in this folder were Titans, and three of them died. For all we know, Raven died, too. And Dick Grayson, who was the fucking leader of the Titans, also died," Jason said as his mind raced. "So Dick and Slade are working together to save missing Titans?"

He abruptly sat up to find Barbara staring at him.

"Did Dick do this on purpose?" he asked. Barbara shrugged. He suddenly gave her an angry expression. "Why did you wait two days to show me this?"

Barbara frowned. "Because you'd already involved Tim."

"And?"

"Jason, Conner has a file. And that means Conner is alive," she said. Her tone was confused, as if

she didn't understand why Jason didn't understand.

"Okay? And Donna has a file and Joey. All people Tim has worked with. I know Conner and Tim were close, but why does his file matter more? If anything, it's more reason to tell us immediately," Jason argued.

Barbara straightened in her chair as her expression turned sour. "You already said it. You remember how it felt to have that small piece of hope that Dick was alive snatched away again. I wasn't going to do that to Tim. Not with Conner."

Jason continued to look at her, confused.

"Jason," Barbara started, perplexed, "Tim loved Conner. More than a teammate and more than a friend. When Conner died." She stopped, swallowing before starting again. "We, as in Dick, me, heck everyone, didn't know if Tim would be okay again. You thought he was bad when Bruce died?" She laughed. "It was a million times worse with Conner. You wouldn't know because you weren't here, which was no fault of your own. It's just. While you were recovering with the al Ghuls, Tim was trying to recover from death, too. It just wasn't his own."

Jason chewed on his lip at the information. "Understood. I didn't know," he quietly confessed.

"It's fine. Tim doesn't talk about it. Any of it. I thought maybe there was a chance he'd told you given everything that happened, but I shouldn't have assumed," Barbara said, shrugging.

"Everything that happened? What does that mean?"

Barbara cocked her head and gave Jason a questioning expression. Then, after a beat, she spoke.

"Do you know why Dick and I ultimately broke up?"

"Because of his terrible puns? Did you hear that trampoline pun a couple of days ago? So terrible," Jason tried to joke, shifting uncomfortably under her gaze.

"We broke up because he didn't look at me like he did someone else."

Jason attempted to maintain eye contact but eventually had to drop his gaze when she didn't continue. He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth.

"Don't," he finally said with an aggressive tone.

"Jason."

He put a hand up, staring hard at the ground in front of him. "No. I'm tired of false hopes. I'm tired of bullshit and assumptions and implications that are frankly pissing me off. It's one thing to find out that he is alive with tangible proof." He had to stop to take an agitated breath. "But give me the same courtesy you're giving Tim. Don't fill my head with more false hope right now, Barbara."

Barbara's face turned sad again. She seemed like she wanted to say more, but suddenly the door burst open, causing him and her to draw their attention to their new guest.

"Back from retirement, baby!" Tim excitedly said before dropping the arms he'd raised above his head. His eyes bounced between Jason's hunched, tense form and Barbara's downturn expression. "I would ask who died, but in this family, the possibility of someone actually being dead is high. What's going on?"

Jason stole a glance toward Barbara. "I'm not delaying the inevitable." He stood up, clutching the small folder, and walked it over to Tim. He offered the folder, which Tim looked at before dropping his bag and hesitantly taking it from Jason's grasp. Jason took a few steps back to give Tim a moment and read the files.

Knowing he'd placed Conner's sheet last, Jason waited for Tim to finish scanning the other three files. When Tim flipped to the last one, the younger man froze. After several moments of inactivity, Jason started to reach out to make sure Tim was still breathing. Before he could make contact, Tim abruptly looked up.

"What is this?" Tim asked, staring between Barbara and Jason before landing on Jason.

Jason dropped his outstretched hand. "It's the files Rav sent Barbara during the break-in. They're the reason she helped him escape."

Tim's eyes snapped to Barbara. "You've had these for two days?" Tim asked unnervingly calmly.

"I needed time to verify they were authentic," Barbara replied, her mouth settling in a flat line. Tim scanned the sheet with Conner's name again before slowly nodding.

"Okay," Tim said.

"Okay?" Jason asked, unsure. While Tim stared unfocused at the folder, Jason gave Barbara a concerned grimace, which she shrugged at.

"Have you two finally agreed that Rav is Dick?" Tim calmly asked, looking between the two of them again. Jason's mouth slightly fell open. Tim narrowed his eyes back. "It's obvious. It's always been obvious. I was reluctant to push the subject in California, given your emotional state, Jason. I just want to make sure we're on the same page to move forward. So I'm going to ask again. Are you both in agreement that Rav is Dick?"

"Yes."

"Yeah."

"Good," Tim said. "So we know why Dick is helping Slade." He held up the files in his hand. "The question remains, though. Did Dick know about this two years ago, or was he blackmailed initially? And if so, why?"

Jason shook his head before going back to the couch to sit again. He hunched over, placing his head in his hands.

"The files are old. As in, they were created when these deaths supposedly happened, old. So the League has known about this since the beginning of whatever this is," Barbara said.

"So that means the League has been compromised for a while," Jason added, looking up. "Raven went missing five or so years ago, shortly after Joey's death. If I had to guess, I would imagine Slade's involvement started sometime after that."

"So three years before Dick," Tim said, raising his hands for air quotes, "died." Tim gripped the folder in his hand. "These are the only files he sent?"

Barbara nodded.

"So Slade is still trying to hide the fact Ravager is Dick. But why? I think it's safe to assume we're

missing a file here," Tim added, lifting the folder as emphasis.

"Well, we know if Brother Blood is involved, Trigon isn't far behind," Barbara said, causing Jason and Tim to nod in agreement.

Tim quickly turned to Jason. "You said Slade blackmailed him."

Jason's expression was confused until he recalled telling Tim about his and Rav's conversation in Suez. "Yeah, he said he threatened his brother."

"That's a start, has…." Tim was interrupted when a shadowy figure suddenly appeared, crouched on the windowsill nearby.

"I knew I sensed mediocrity in the city tonight," a snide voice said as it stepped into the light.

"Good to see you, too," Tim said to Damian, who was in full Robin gear, with a flat expression.

Ignoring the comment, Jason addressed Damian. "I thought you were benched until further notice?"

Even with the mask, the eye roll was evident. "Father directed Signal and me to increase patrols while he is absent."

"Absent?" Jason asked, shooting a perplexed glance to Barbara, who returned the expression.

Damian glanced between the two and furrowed his brow. "He said he has JLA business to handle, and it was a no-contact mission. He requested radio silence."

Tim hummed. "Interesting development. When did he send this message?"

"Two days ago," Damian replied, crossing his arms.

Tim hummed again, which infuriated Damian.

"What is going on? Why is Drake here?" Damian suddenly demanded, throwing his arm out in frustration. Then, another figure rolled through the window, but less gracefully. Breathing heavily, Duke, in his Signal gear, stood up and rested a hand on Damian's shoulder.

"There you are. You're not supposed to try and distract me so you can run off!"

Damian shrugged off Duke's hand. "If you were more competent, you wouldn't be fooled so easily."

Duke loudly humphed before realizing who was in the room. "Are we interrupting something important?" he asked, raising his hand to his chest.

"A little, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. Right now, we could use all the brains we can get," Tim said, throwing out a reassuring smile that made Jason slightly uncomfortable.

Duke removed his headgear and moved to plop down near Jason, who gave him a look when the distribution of weight change made him slightly bounce. Random files that had been on the couch scattered noisily to the floor at Jason's feet. Duke sheepishly smiled back as he placed his helmet in his lap.

"So what have we missed? Also, hey, Tim!" Duke said, raising his hand in greeting.

Tim smiled again and nodded. "Hey, man. Good to see you." Tim turned his attention to Damian. "I think you two have missed a lot since the break-in at WayneTech in October."

Damian snarled. "Slade again?"

"Calm down, bird brain. It's not what you're thinking," Jason said, raising a hand. "We've got some things to tell you, and it won't be easy to hear or accept."

Jason paused when Tim's expression changed. Tim was staring at Damian with an accusatory, confused look.

"You're supposed to be benched," Tim suddenly matter-of-factly said.

Damian returned the look. "And?"

"You were benched because of your seizures," Tim said, ignoring Damian's question. Tim turned to Jason for support, but Jason wasn't following.

"Seizures that suspiciously started right after Dick died," Tim continued, staring hard at Jason, hoping he'd catch on to his point. "And then went away before recently re-emerging when Ravager appeared."

Now, Jason understood.

"Holy shit," Jason murmured, standing. Next to him, Duke nervously shifted. "Of course. Of all the people. It makes so much sense. Little D. Shit."

"We'll need to run tests," Barbara interjected, turning to her computer and typing. "The cave will have everything you need."

Tim nodded.

"Pull up all of Damian's medical records from Dr. Thompkins, too. We can chart them to see corresponding timing," Jason said.

"Stop!"

Everyone turned to Damian, who stood with his hands fisted at his sides and heavily breathing.

"I am right here. Someone explain to me what is going on?!"

Tim made eye contact with Jason, who nodded before starting. "Ravager is Dick."

Damian's shoulders fell as everyone watched him. He wrinkled his forehead a little, swallowed, and dropped his gaze in rapid session. "What are you talking about?"

"We have enough evidence," Tim started.

"The buried body and DNA," Damian interrupted.

"Were an excellent trick that fooled all of us," Barbara answered, extending a comforting arm to rest her hand on Damian's arm. The youngest stared at the hand but made no move to remove it.

When Damian remained quiet, Tim continued. "We have reason to believe that Dick was recruited by Slade unwillingly, which means something made him cooperative. Jason followed Rav to Suez, where he said Slade threatened his brother. Then, we had the League break-in, and we've since

learned three supposedly dead Titans are alive. Two are detained, while Raven, who's been missing, is also detained. The last person is Joseph Wilson, Slade's own son, and he is marked as missing."

Tim handed the folder to Damian, who slowly took it and read its contents over. They stood in silence, waiting for Damian to respond, but another person broke the tense silence.

"This is wild," Duke practically whispered. When Jason looked at him, he nervously smiled. "Sorry."

Jason shook his head, steering the conversation back. "But the main two questions remain. Why is Dick necessary for any of this, and why did Slade fake his death two years ago?"

"While we don't know," Barbara said, moving aside to show her screen, "I know someone who will."

When Jason peered over her shoulder, a grainy black and white image of Slade Wilson was on the screen.

"Where and when was this taken?" Jason asked, his eyes still glued to the screen.

"It was taken roughly six am local time at a small hospital in Paris. I've had the software working overtime for any visuals of Slade," Barbara answered. "It seems he got caught when he removed a medical mask to show his fake identification to the staff."

"What was he doing in a hospital in Paris?" Tim asked, stepping beside Jason to review the computer screen.

"Based on the camera footage and pharmacy inventory, he stole several doses of adenosine," Barbara replied, pulling up the hospital's logs.

"They use adenosine to stop and restart the heart. It aims to re-establish a normal heart rhythm," Damian said, appearing on the other side of Jason.

"Which may be required if someone recently went through asphyxial cardiac arrest," Tim added.

"Which can be a result of drowning," Jason slowly finished.

Tim, Jason, and Barbara all looked at one another.

"So he survived," Barbara finally said, voicing their same thought.

"Or so we can assume," Tim corrected, holding up a finger.

Damian jammed Jason hard in the side with his elbow. "Who survived what? Are we speaking about Richard still?"

Tim sighed, rolling his eyes. "I'll explain more when we get to the cave."

Jason shot Tim a questioning look. "You're not coming to Paris with me?"

"I will, but after we determine what tests to take. Then, once started, Steph or Cass can take over. Preferably Cass, because she won't get on Damian's nerves by tickling his feet while demanding he stay still in the MRI machine."

"T-t."

Barbara ignored Damian's annoyed outburst. "I'll call Steph and Cass to give them a debrief of everything before sending them to you. We still have our threats here, so I'll set up Duke and Steph on extra patrols while calling some favors in with Kane. I'll probably need one of them to help run down any leads on Bruce suddenly going AWOL, as well."

Everyone nodded in agreement with Barbara's path forward. Then, Tim turned to Duke and Damian.

"Get back to the cave. I'll head back to the manor shortly and meet you both there," Tim instructed. Damian gave a slight snarl but eventually nodded, following Duke, who'd put his helmet back on, out the window.

Barbara wheeled herself toward the hallway that led away from the main area. "I'll go call the other ladies and give you two a minute. Travel safe Jason. I'll be in contact."

Jason nodded, tilting his head back to take a deep breath. When he dropped his head back, Tim rummaged through the bag he'd brought. He pulled out some items, but Jason couldn't identify them while Tim had his grip on them.

"Here. If you run into Slade and Dick before I get to Paris," Tim said, holding out his hands, "you'll want these."

Jason took the items from Tim's grasp. "What are these?" Jason asked, turning the things over to inspect them.

Tim pointed to the square item that closely resembled a taser with two small metal prongs protruding from the top of the plastic box.

"That's to get his helmet off. I think we're on the right path. But until we have proof or understand how Slade is causing Damian's seizures, Dick may not cooperate. Even if we make it obvious that we know it's him, he'll be too worried Slade will retaliate and hurt Damian. So I think he'd just deny everything. Also, we don't know if there is another threat. So our best course of action is to prevent Dick from feeling the need to reveal himself. If we are the ones to force it off, I think Slade will be more lenient with him," Tim explained.

"Now and then, you say something smart," Jason said, humming. "When did you make this? I've been with you for the past two days, and I don't recall you building gizmos."

Tim gave him an uneasy, forced smile, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I actually made it four years ago. It's designed to overload even the most sophisticated circuitry by overheating certain shock-absorbing materials commonly found in advanced vigilante helmets."

Jason's eyes with wide with realization. "You didn't happen to make this to use against a member of your team who wears a shiny, red helmet, did you?" Jason asked, accusation in his voice.

"Hey, this was during the time Dick wore the cowl, you were out to kill us, and I'm pretty sure Damian was out to get me, too," Tim argued, raising an eyebrow. "I had my armageddon list for a reason."

"A list similar to the one that just fucked over old, paranoid, Bruce?"

"I said had, and I stand by my choice at the time, mister, 'I'm the better Batman,'" Tim said, throwing his hands up to mock Jason.

Jason gave a flat expression for a brief second before bursting into laughter. "This family is so

fucked up."

"Oh, absolutely fucked up," Tim replied, laughing, too. Their laughter died down before Tim's face turned sad, and his eyes stared unfocused out the window. "I missed it, though. The space was important for my mental health, but being with everyone again. Well, minus a few." Tim paused and turned to Jason with slightly watery eyes. "It feels like coming home."

Jason gave Tim a small, empathic smile. "That's because this is your home, Timbers."

Tim scoffed. "Doesn't change the fact you're all some of the biggest pains in my ass."

"I fucking hate you, too," Jason said, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder and patting it a few times. He couldn't find it in himself to say the L-word, but Tim would understand.

"Yeah, I know," Tim said, gaining his composure back and smiling.

Trying to steer the conversation away from his embarrassing show of emotion, Jason lifted the second item. It was a tiny clear, plastic tube, similar to a prescription medicine bottle. However, when Jason examined it closely, it appeared to be empty. "What's this? Poisonous air?"

Tim snorted. "It's special nanobot technology I developed in a WayneTech sponsored lab near Caltech. If we encounter Dick and he escapes, we can use that canister of air, as you call it, to track him without any indication we're doing so."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening. This air sounds interesting. How does it work?"

"I'm glad you asked, Jason!" Tim said, beaming to the point it made Jason groan. "Ever been captured and the enemy immediately does a thorough device and tracker search? What an inconvenience! If only you could have a tracker for your teammates that would have delayed activation and be practically undetectable!"

"Get to the point."

"Buzzkill," Tim mumbled, playfully pouting. He threw up his hands in a defense posture. "First, I have to say the obvious flaw for this tech is that it has to be swallowed. It would work fantastic in undercover situations or when attempting to follow a potential mark. Just slip it in their drink or food, and voila, you've got an in. When you're trying to track your long lost, allegedly dead brother working with his sworn enemy while wearing a helmet, well, it makes things more challenging."

"And the interested feeling is leaving."

"Look, if you can get Dick to remove his helmet and get even a few nanobots into his mouth, we'll be able to track him. They don't activate until they contact certain proteins found in human blood. So if swallowed, they will travel through the digestive system until absorbed through the walls of a person's intestines, which ultimately leads them into the bloodstream. Depending on digestion rates, it could be anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours before activation. This gives enough time for someone to be searched and arrive at their destination without knowing they're tagged. It'll take the kidneys several days to filter them out completely, so they'll be active long enough to locate your mark."

Tim stood there, evidently proud of his invention.

"I'll take it with me, but I make no guarantee I get this stuff where you're asking me to put it," Jason said, pocketing the container and the helmet taser.

"If you get desperate, you could always take a shortcut and deliver them right to the absorption source," Barbara said, wheeling herself in and interrupting. Jason's mouth hung open as he stared at her with wide eyes, surprised at her crude implication.

Tim snickered like an immature teenage boy, causing him to shove Tim hard in the shoulder.

"Shut up. Both of you," Jason said, pointing a finger between Tim and Barbara. She raised her hands in defense.

"I didn't say specifics. You both assumed. I simply meant you could get them in contact with a wound, putting them directly in contact with blood. May defeat the stealth aspect, but at least they're planted," she explained.

Jason frowned, and Tim snickered again while Barbara maintained the snarky grin on her face.

"She totally implied to stick it up his, you know what," Tim said, giggling.

"I change the context of what I said earlier. I actually fucking hate you," Jason said, snarling at Tim.

"I hate you, too, Jason," Tim said as he grinned wide. Tim dodged another playful punch from Jason while Barbara laughed.

"I'm going to Paris. See you all never," Jason said as he retreated, ignoring the sound of laughter that followed him out.

Chapter End Notes

And here we are. I wish I could be consistent and post on a set bi-weekly schedule, but alas, here I am, only one week out from my last update. I tend not to be able to focus on the next chapter editing-wise until the previous one is posted.

It's incredible how much fun I had writing this chapter. The dialogue was entertaining, and it helped move everything along at a fast pace.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Two weeks until my trip. I hope to get another chapter out before then, so send me good motivation vibes.

The closer we get to the end of this story, the more I realize I want to make this into a series. I know this story is only halfway done, but I'm pretty sold on the concept. Besides, I would be lying if I didn't have the following story completely outlined. That, and two other stand-alone stories, plus the rest of The Bat's Bodyguard. I need more free time to start knocking all these ideas out!

they're calling for your head

Chapter Summary

"I didn't necessarily lie. I just withheld a portion of the truth," Slade said, gripping his hands into fists.

"It's the same thing."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Paris, France, November 23, 2019, 8:12 AM CEST

When he opened his eyes, he squinted at the pale sunlight filtering through the window adjacent to his bed. Due to the city's northern latitude, the sun rose late and settled early in Paris this time of year. Dick groaned as he rolled onto his side and stretched his legs. He forcibly pulled the nasal cannula out of his nose, annoyed with the tickling sensation in his nostrils. His head protested the abrupt move with sharp pain, causing him to respond with a grimace and a palm to his forehead.

"You need to take it slow," Slade said, stepping into the room. Dick grunted, attempting to sit up and lean against the headboard. When he struggled, Slade reached out to offer assistance. Dick reluctantly accepted the help and heaved a sigh of relief when the headboard properly supported him.

Between the slight concussion caused by the impact, the minor hypothermia from being drenched in ocean water for an extended time, and the whole drowning thing, Dick was a little worse for wear. Following the momentary loss of oxygen, his heart had maintained an irregular rhythm since Slade restarted it through CPR. Upon reaching Paris, Slade made arrangements to attempt a re- establishment of a regular rhythm. The mercenary had somehow obtained drugs as a backup if anything went wrong, but Slade achieved a strong, steady beat pattern via standard electrical cardioversion.

After that, Dick had slept the next two days away, resting and allowing Slade to take care of him. Now, he was growing restless and tired of being waited on by his old enemy.

Slade moved around the space, checking the scarce pieces of medical equipment he'd dragged in to monitor Dick's recovery.

"Per usual, it appears you'll live," Slade said, sitting on the edge of the small bed and reading the blood pressure device. Dick gave him a fake, amused look.

"Lucky me," Dick murmured as he fiddled with his hands before drawing his eyes upward to find Slade staring blankly at him. "What?"

Slade took his time removing the blood pressure reading equipment from Dick's arm, narrowing his eyes, and focusing on the floor as if in thought. Then, Slade meticulously stored the cuff away before finally speaking.

"I believe it's time I told you the whole truth."

"Are you suggesting you've partly lied to me in the past? Shock," Dick bluntly said. He didn't mean to sound so harsh, but his mood had been quite sour since he'd left the League's base.

"I didn't necessarily lie. I just withheld a portion of the truth," Slade said, gripping his hands into fists.

"It's the same thing."

Slade hummed in response. A heavy silence filled the space. Dick clenched his jaw, tempted to speak if it meant breaking the awkward tension.

"There was a fifth file," Slade finally said in a quiet but stern tone. Dick furrowed his brow and took a few deep breaths.

"Another Titan?"

"Yes."

The silence returned.

Dick had anticipated this conversation eventually happening. He'd thought long and hard as he'd rested here. So many things in the last two years began to make sense following the incident in Suez and the Canary Islands. But one question had continued to nag him. Why him? And why the secrecy? His presence here meant he was involved.

"What does it say about me?"

Slade released a puff of air before turning to him. Slade's eye searched his own, bouncing from each, and Dick could see a slight relief behind the stare. It seemed Slade was grateful that Dick had figured out he was the fifth Titan on his own.

"That you died in Gotham on October twenty-fifth, twenty seventeen at the hands of the mercenary known as Deathstroke," Slade finally answered.

Slade reached inside the pocket on the front of his gray henley shirt, producing a folded sheet of paper. Dick took the sheet when offered. Sure enough, at the top underneath his name in bold letters was the following status: deceased. Dick nodded before handing the paperback to Slade, who re-pocketed it.

"I figured this part out after the break-in, so what about the rest of the story? Am I Horcrux for Trigon like the others? Last I checked, I never actually died."

Slade turned to the wall again and sighed. "Not quite. I should start from the beginning."

Dick nodded before resting his head back and keeping Slade in his sight.

"As you know, my son was possessed by Trigon nearly five years ago. I did what had to be done to save humanity as we know it." Slade's head dipped before rising again with a large breath. Dick was well aware of this incident, having been present with the other Titans himself. He'd witnessed the sword entering Joey's chest, instantly killing him. Slade continued, pushing the memory from Dick's thoughts.

"I buried him, and I thought that was it. Then, a couple of months after his passing, I received an unaddressed letter asking me to travel to Central America. I thought little of it and filed it away with the rest of my junk. Then, a couple of weeks later, I received another one with a reference only

my son Joey would know. After that, I got on a plane and did several months of recon before finding Joey living alone in the jungle. I don't know the specifics of when, how, or why he ended up there, but I took him back to America. All he knew was he'd woken up in a foreign land, and Raven had spoken to him. But with no resources, money, or contacts, he could only get what he could by using his powers. Unfortunately, he rarely interacted with people, so he didn't get to use them much."

Slade stood up and walked to the window, opening the curtain to let more sunlight into the small space.

"A few weeks later, Joey told me he'd been contacted by Raven again and that she'd ask him to travel to Paris. I was hesitant, but he told me she'd warned him of the second prophecy and his part in it. She'd told him about Conner and Donna, and that was enough to convince Joey to at least try and help," Slade said, stuffing his hands into his pockets while watching people in the streets below. "That, and she said you were somehow involved. Additionally, Raven informed him of the timeline and how the solstice related. She offered to help, keep him safe, and save you and the others. After all that, she again asked him to travel to Paris."

Slade paused, sighing. Dick felt anger rising in his chest when he realized Slade had known about Conner and Donna this whole time, but he held his tongue for the moment.

"Joey begged and pleaded, so we went. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing, but my son needed to do this. And if the prophecy was true and involved Joey..." Slade trailed off, shaking his head before turning to Dick. "I couldn't let Trigon take my son away a second time."

Slade walked back to the bed and sat on the edge between Dick and the window.

"The closer we got to Paris, the more Trigon's influence became apparent. His pawns watched us on trains, in the streets, while we ate, and anywhere else we went. I've been a part of this lifestyle long enough to know when I'm being followed. Finally, some men cornered us in a local bakery, and I realized we'd made a mistake. We'd walked right into a trap. It either meant Trigon had found us, or we'd gone right to him. If that was true, it meant Raven was being manipulated and controlled."

"Back in Cairo, you said you believed Raven was hiding," Dick pointedly said as the anger rose again. "Now you're telling me you believe she was a hostage this whole time?"

Slade shrugged. "I will get to that."

Aggravated, Dick crossed his arms and let Slade continue.

"Not knowing which it was, we fled. We ran for over a year at an unsustainable rate. Each place we settled, it wasn't long before Raven would make contact again. Shortly after, Trigon's pawns were back. At this point, I knew I needed to fight sorcery with sorcery, so I traveled to the ends of the Earth searching for anyone who could help."

Slade turned to Dick. "I attempted to make contact with one of your old teammates who I figured was well versed in magic."

"Zatanna?" Dick asked, remembering the attack back at the League's base.

Slade nodded. "Except she insisted on knowing why I needed her help. So I told her the truth. It was all I had. After that, she tried to capture me so that I could lure Joey to her. We escaped, but now I knew Trigon had infiltrated the Justice League. There was only one last place I knew to try,

thanks to intel I received from the al Ghuls while I'd worked alongside the League of Assassins. So I contacted a monastery in the Himalayas where some spiritually connected sorcerers lived. I finally gained some answers and potential solutions to our problem there."

Slade paused again, staring hard at the bed cover before reaching out to flatten out a wrinkle with the palm of his hand.

"They informed me of many things. The first was that Raven's contact with Joey gave away his location. Based on past events, this was undoubtedly true. It took a few months with the monks, but they had associates who helped design spells and integrated them into tech that would prevent Raven or Trigon from contacting us. Thankfully, they'd fortified the monastery walls with magic that prevented either of them from finding us during our time there."

"The next thing they did was confirm the same information Joey had already received. They told me they were aware of the failed first prophecy and had spent years planning on how to prevent the second. They stated the ritual required three additional anchors with Raven and a host to succeed. However, there were requirements for these individuals. First," Slade said, holding up one finger, "each person involved had to share a romantic or platonic bond with the others." Slade raised a second finger. "Second, emotionally, they all had to be connected to Raven." Slade lifted a third finger. "Lastly, Trigon had to select a host before the ritual occurred. The host had to be of this world, meaning they had to be fully human and of a pure heart. The more pure the heart, the more powerful Trigon would be."

Slade dropped his hand and turned to him with a clenched jaw as if the following sentence would physically hurt him. Dick wasn't an idiot. There were already five people involved, so Trigon had everyone he needed to perform the ritual. And it was hard for him not to notice that the others involved were not wholly human like him, meaning the process of elimination made the chosen host obvious. Dick's heart began hammering in his chest, flooding his ears with the rushing sound of blood. Slade started to speak, but his voice sounded muffled, far away.

"During the fight between the Titans and Trigon where Joey died, it's likely Trigon touched the soul of each Titan present. And that is when he made his choice," Slade said, stopping again to search Dick's face.

Dick tried to focus hard on Slade's voice and make the syllables more pronounced. Then, anticipating Slade's following words, Dick drew in a quick breath before biting his bottom lip.

"He chose you, Dick," Slade finished, studying Dick's reaction. "While Raven has never confirmed it, based on the information provided to us, it only makes sense."

Dick struggled to maintain a neutral expression. His heart rate was erratic enough that he was about to ask Slade to perform another electrical cardioversion. Finally, Dick released his breath and tried calming his heart rate by taking slow, controlled breaths. He tried to focus on the present and future. He knew he should ask Slade what the monks had told him about stopping Trigon, but his brain clung to one particular detail. He snapped his eyes to Slade.

"You've known for almost three years?" Dick asked with a voice sadder than intended. The anger had subsided, replaced with hopeless confusion. While he didn't want to show emotional weakness, he couldn't make himself understand why Slade had handled things this way.

Slade sighed.

"So why didn't I tell you?" Slade asked, turning to the window again. "As I mentioned back in Cairo, I couldn't risk you telling your family or anyone in the League. It was obvious to some

extent they were involved. And I lied about Raven because I'd held you captive for two years and used magic tech to prevent her from contacting you. If she'd successfully reached you, whether of her own free will or not, you would've trusted her over me. I had no proof that Conner and Donna were alive other than her words, which we couldn't trust. For all we knew, it was lies to manipulate Joey into helping. If I'd told you that, you wouldn't have believed me. In the same way, Joey didn't trust my initial instinct with Raven contacting him."

Slade turned back to him. Dick went to speak, but Slade lifted a hand in a stop motion.

"But the bigger problem was that other people were also beginning to learn the truth. There were moles at the monastery, and my talks with the monks weren't as private as I thought. Around the world, people who practiced dark magic had begun murmuring rumors of the chosen host and his identity. Some wanted to capture the host and hand-deliver him to Trigon so they could be in good favor with him. Others wanted to prevent the prophecy and kill the host. However, the monks told me killing the host would unlikely stop the prophecy. Trigon would pick a new host, and the ritual would continue. It was that simple. The monks told me the best plan was to keep the current host alive; otherwise, we would be back at step one trying to determine who the host was."

"That's convenient for me at least," Dick said, snorting.

Slade rolled his eyes and ignored him. "Soon, I had word that people knew Nightwing was the one, and people were prepping to get his head on a stick. There were even people offering to hire mercenaries to kill you."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "So you got paid for fake killing me?"

"I took the job just so no one else would. I never collected the bounty," Slade paused before murmuring, "I should've, though. It would've made the last two years a little more sufferable."

Dick huffed with a small smile, playing with a loose thread on the edge of the sheet.

"Grayson, look," Slade ordered, drawing Dick's attention with his serious tone. "I did what I had to. I didn't know who to trust. And I knew if Raven contacted you, you would've believed her over me. And I knew if you found out your friends were hostages, you would've jumped at the first chance to save them and get yourself captured in the process. So I needed a backup plan in case you attempted to flee. I never wanted to blackmail you with the boy, but I needed my ace in the hole."

"You didn't have the specialized tech on me three years ago. Why didn't Raven contact me like she did Joey to tell me all this?" Dick asked, ignoring Slade's half-assed excuse for everything he did to Damian. He couldn't tell Slade that Raven had succeeded in contacting him back in Suez. It was evident that her making contact never had a good outcome.

Slade shook his head and shrugged. "Honestly, I don't understand why they didn't contact you beforehand. From what the monks told me, it's possible Trigon can't directly contact any anchors or the host himself but can manipulate Raven into doing so. If she resisted her father's control, perhaps she successfully kept you safe that way. I'm not sure. I think only Raven could answer that for you."

"It seems there are a lot of answers we need from Raven," Dick said. His face contorted in a puzzled expression as he realized something. "Why not just hide me away until the solstice? We made it two years without them finding me."

Slade sighed, and his shoulders dropped. "Recently, I discovered some unsettling news."

"More unsettling than what you've already told me?" Dick asked with a raised eyebrow as he tried to remain level-headed and calm.

"I thought I could detain and hide you from Trigon to prevent the prophecy. No host. No successful transfer. But there is a strong possibility that your physical location means nothing."

Dick frowned. "What does that mean?"

"The monks say the text isn't clear. They are missing some portions of the manuscript, and the translation is up to interpretation. In one version, on the night of the solstice, regardless of physical location, the transfer of souls will happen as long as the anchors are alive. And last I checked, three of the four anchors aren't going to be dying anytime under Trigon's watch. And Grayson," Slade said, looking hard at Dick. "I will not be killing my son again."

Dick gave a tiny nod. "I wouldn't ask you to do that. I couldn't." Dick swallowed and stared at his hands. "Besides, as you said, we don't know if killing the anchors or myself changes anything in the long run."

Dick took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"So what can we do?" Dick finally asked, looking at Slade's back since the mercenary had turned away again.

"We have to find Raven. She is our only hope of preventing Trigon's emergence into our world. I'd hope the League's files would've provided the detainment location, but that wasn't the case. But I know that Joey and I were requested to visit Paris for three years. That, and my informants have visual confirmation that Blood has been here recently. So here we are. While you rested, I did some scouting, and I believe I know where Blood is," Slade said.

Dick immediately threw the sheets back, throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

"Whoa!" Slade said, grabbing Dick's bicep and pulling him back toward the bed.

"What?" Dick asked, yanking his arm back. "You said you know where he is. And that means the other Titans could be there, too. Let's go."

Slade shook his head. "You're recovering from a concussion, and it's broad daylight outside."

"I have a nice, shiny helmet that will take any damage intended for my skull and cover my face," Dick said, standing.

"Grayson," Slade sternly said.

"Wilson," Dick returned just as sternly.

They stared hard at one another. Neither wanted to back down. Finally, Slade cursed and shook his head.

"Blood cannot, I repeat, cannot know who you are. For all we know, they think you're dead and are wasting time trying to find whoever the new host is. Maybe Trigon is the only one who knows, and he can only talk through Raven. And maybe she hasn't told anyone in an act of rebellion. We just don't know. So we have to assume they know nothing and not give them any additional information. That, and there is a possibility the monks were wrong. Maybe they do physically need you to be present. If this is the case, you need to stay hidden," Slade said, rising to his feet.

Dick swallowed, remembering Raven's presence back in Suez. Part of him wanted to tell Slade it was already too late. They knew he was alive if all it took was a telepathic connection. But he knew if he did, Slade would never let him out. Instead, he'd send him back to Cairo to hide away with Joey while Slade tried to figure out a solution alone.

"They'll never know it's me," Dick confidently said. "I'll be extra vigilant." Dick raised his hand, palm facing out, with his thumb holding down his pinky and other three fingers straight. "Scout's honor."

Slade snorted. "You're a child."

Dick smiled and began to walk out of the room, but Slade grabbed his wrist.

"Don't think I've forgotten about your concussion that easily. So rest for the remainder of today, and we'll go at dark," Slade said, squeezing Dick's wrist before dropping it. Dick nodded and remained rooted to his spot while Slade walked past him and out of the room.

Dick took a deep breath, letting his head fall back as he released the air in his lungs. He slowly returned to the bed and placed his head in his hands when he sat. His conversation with Slade was a lot to absorb. He groaned and laid back down. He must have dozed off and on a lot because before soon, the sunrise had turned into a sunset.

As the sun finally faded, he found himself on a rooftop above an old, gothic church on the outskirts of Paris with Slade in his Deathstroke gear and him in his Ravager suit.

"According to the blueprints, several office rooms exist behind the sanctuary. If I had to guess, Blood sits there before his Trigon worship services, which begin in an hour. The church is also above a set of non-finished catacombs for easy escape. We need to get in, but not spook Blood into running below ground," Slade said, standing from his crouched position. "Ready?"

Dick nodded, following Slade. While Slade quickly ran across the top of the flying buttresses, Dick couldn't stop himself from vaulting between the masonry structures. Slade shook his head when Dick softly landed beside him on the metal roof of the nave. Dick shrugged before moving toward an open skylight that dropped them inside the roof's wooden structure.

As he moved behind Slade, his skin suddenly began to prickle. He froze as he snapped his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the movement he'd seen in the corner of his eye.

"Ravager?" Slade quietly asked, pulling Dick's attention back. He went to warn Slade that they weren't alone when something rammed into him from the side. Dick groaned as his injured head slammed into the rigid timber floor beams. With his head pushed against the floor and facing away from Slade, he couldn't see the mercenary but could hear him moving. The sound abruptly stopped when his assailant drove a device into his throat.

"No sudden moves, Wilson," a modulated voice said in a calm, authoritative tone.

"Hood?" Dick asked, grunting as he struggled against the arm holding him down. The force on his helmet increased.

"I'll talk to you in a moment," Jason said. "I'm speaking to your boss first."

Slade practically growled in response. "You don't know what you're doing. You're playing a dangerous game, boy."

Jason gave a fake, exaggerated laugh. "I'm not the one playing games here." Jason shifted his gaze

to Dick, who could barely make out the red helmet from the corner of his eye. "Little D is safe because we know." Then, Jason's gaze went back to Slade. "It's over. This part of your game ends now. He's not your pawn anymore."

Dick's eyes went wide. Damian was safe. Not that Slade needed Damian to get him to cooperate anymore, but it meant several things. One, Damian was finally genuinely safe again. And two, his family knew. They knew he was alive, and Jason was here to bring him home. A few ragged breaths escaped as Dick's chest swelled with emotion.

"You don't understand what's at stake," Slade angrily whispered, slowly creeping forward. "You're going to get us all killed."

The device dug deeper into the fabric covering his neck.

"I said no sudden moves, Wilson," Jason warned again.

"Hood, he's right. It's not what you think," Dick said, trying to convey the gravity of the situation in his voice despite the modulation. As much as he wanted to see the manor again, they had Titans to save. Hell, they had the world to save.

Jason huffed. "I don't know what else he's threatened you with, but this is over. You're free."

Dick went to argue, but the display in his helmet momentarily went dark before relighting in a flash of color. Soon, pain radiated from his neck to his face, feeling like little needles pricking his skin. He gritted his teeth, trying to remain quiet, but quickly the pain became too much. A muffled, restrained scream escaped his mouth as he clawed at his throat to remove the device. But there was no device to remove.

Voices argued above him as scuffling occurred nearby. He knew he was supposed to maintain his identity, but the pain was blinding. It felt like this electrocution had been going on for an eternity. Finally, he couldn't take it. He fumbled over the helmet's locking mechanism, clicking the buttons frantically. As suddenly as it started, the flashes of color and pain subsided, leaving him panting as he lay on his back with his eyes closed.

Nearby, Slade had Jason pushed up against a vertical, wooden beam, a knife close to Jason's throat. It was hard to see without his helmet's night vision, but the moonlight glinted off the metal, allowing him to see it. Then, noticing Dick was no longer thrashing and helmetless, Slade suddenly released his hold on Jason and rushed over.

"We need to leave," Slade said, grabbing him and yanking him abruptly to his feet. He wobbled a second, but Slade supported him.

"The only person he leaves with is me," Jason snarled, readying a gun.

Slade began to argue when someone new spoke, drawing their eyes to the other side of the room.

"Leave?" The newcomer said. "But you've only just arrived. And we've waited so patiently for you, Mr. Grayson."

Dick didn't need night vision to know who was speaking. He'd faced off against Blood enough as a Titan to recognize the man's voice. Before he could reply, Slade turned in his direction and whispered in an ominous and authoritative tone.

"Run."

So he did.

Chapter End Notes

She's back!

Man, oh, man. It has been a wild month. As I mentioned, I was traveling internationally for quite some time. A few days after I returned, I started a new job (same company, but a different department), and then my kiddo was sick. So essentially, I've been distracted.

This chapter feels very dialogue-heavy, but it was necessary. So maybe Slade isn't completely evil after all? Or perhaps he still is? Who knows. Jk, I know, or at least in the context of this story, that is.

I'm ready for Jay's thoughts on all of this craziness in the next chapter.

Also, please don't ask me why I decided to post on a random Saturday. I was just ready to get back to posting chapters.

we should take a moment and hold it

Chapter Summary

The closer an object is to a body of incredible gravitational force, the slower time becomes, especially if the object in question is traveling at high speeds. Einstein himself determined it, after all, and who was Jason Todd, unqualified in the world of science, to disagree with fucking Albert Einstein.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

He'd been chasing after Dick Grayson most of his life, so when Dick ran from the church, Jason didn't even hesitate. It was practically second nature for Jason to pursue. But, despite years of practice, he'd never actually caught Dick, and it seemed today would be no different.

Even without the night vision provided by the helmet, Dick was doing surprisingly well dodging various roof items and clearing gaps between buildings. Occasionally, he would stumble, but the man was back on his feet and at speed before Jason could make up any significant ground.

Sure. Jason was strong and well trained, but he was far from a tiny man. Dick, on the other hand, had the lean, compact body type geared toward endurance sports, which was evident by his current lead on Jason. Up ahead, Dick dived over a roof ridge, tucking into a roll that Jason presumed quickly sent him down the other side. When Jason reached the peak and peered out into the dark, Dick was nowhere in sight.

Jason frantically scanned the area below multiple times. If he lost visual, Dick could undoubtedly disappear into the maze of Paris' neighborhoods. So Jason gave a small fist pump to the air when he spotted Dick on the ground, running toward a building complex's courtyard exit. Jason slid down the metal roofing toward one of the building's squared corners before dropping from one balcony to another until he was on ground level, too. Once there, he sprinted in the direction Dick had gone.

Jason's heart sank when he ran through the exit, and Dick was again not there. Standing alone in a long, open breezeway between buildings, Jason tried to remain calm. Then, a glass door swinging with a little movement, as if someone had rushed through it at high speed, caught his attention. Without hesitation, he ran through the door himself when he reached it. It took everything in him to abruptly stop to prevent plowing Dick to the ground for the second time tonight.

Dick stood in a fighting pose with four men dressed in black before him. Dick glimpsed at Jason, ensuring the person who'd appeared behind him wasn't a threat. Then, after Jason nodded in his direction, Dick turned back to their foes. Jason tried to focus on the men in black, but the sight of those blue eyes, which he hadn't seen in two years, was flooding his thoughts. He darted his eyes from the mop of unruly, helmet-pressed black hair back to Blood's men, attempting to put his emotions aside for a moment.

One of the men yelled a battle cry and charged toward them. Jason prepared to fight when a figure descended from the balconies above, swooping and kicking the man to the ground. Standing above the unconscious man was Tim in his Red Robin suit, a rare sight nowadays. It was so uncommon

that Jason blinked a few times to ensure he didn't see things incorrectly. When Tim turned toward him, he gave a slight nod and a wide grin.

"I thought I was a little rusty, but clearly, I've still got it since none of you saw me coming," Tim said proudly, placing his hands on his hips and admiring his handy work.

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes inside his helmet. "Red, this is not the time. You can brag when they're all on the ground."

"Behind you!" Dick yelled, moving to kick a man who'd charged toward Tim while they'd been distracted. Tim jerked back, allowing Dick to take the man down.

As Dick stepped back, Jason gestured toward the second unconscious man. "My point exactly. I think you could use a little WD40. You didn't even see that man coming."

Tim ignored Jason's comment and instead stared hard at Dick. The grin from earlier had faded, which was understandable. It isn't every day a long-dead family member reappears from the dead. Well, for Tim, it was about once a year. But still. Not that often. Whatever emotions Tim was experiencing, he was masking them reasonably well.

"Dick…," Tim started, trailing off.

Jason's expression pinched as Tim commanded Dick's attention, and the two men stared at one another. Then, finally, Jason shoved his way between them to break their eye contact and challenged the third man in black to move forward.

"Save the pleasantries. We can have our reunion later," Jason growled. "We have guests to greet."

As if remembering where he was, Tim composed himself and turned his attention to the two remaining men.

"Odds aren't really in your favor, guys," Tim warned, readying his bo staff.

"Aren't they?" a voice boomed above, echoing off the stonework. Blood stepped onto the balcony and into the light a floor above them.

"You going to fight, too, old man?" Jason taunted, turning to address Blood. "Odds don't increase much if you do."

"There is no need to fight when my side has already won," Blood said, a wicked smile growing on his face.

Slade snorted from across the courtyard, and they all turned to him. The mercenary must have entered the space during the chaos and only now made his presence known.

"Mr. Wilson, I didn't think you'd find the situation so amusing," Blood responded with a sadistic smile. The villain raised his hand, and once at his side, a black energy field surrounded the appendage. The Bats' faces all fell while Tim's mouth also gaped open. Blood had many meta abilities, but magic wasn't one of them. Yet, here he was, utilizing powers that resembled Raven's. A small black energy disc appeared below Blood, which lifted the man off the balcony and delivered him to the ground level next to his men before disappearing.

Slade stood upright, trying to hide his dismay at Blood's magic use by appearing relaxed. "Your confidence is comedic. I don't normally agree with Bats, but the odds aren't particularly in your favor."

If Blood's smile got any wider, Jason was sure the man's face would split in two. One of the men behind Blood produced a tablet and handed it to Blood. He tapped the screen before turning it around to show them a video of Blood's men escorting Joey onto the ramp of an awaiting plane. Slade's relaxed persona fell apart as his muscles tensed.

"W-what is that?" Slade asked with disbelief, walking slightly forward to get a better view.

"Your son is on his way to fulfilling his part in the prophecy. He is safely in our possession, Mr. Wilson," Blood triumphantly said. "My sincerest appreciation to you for keeping him safe all this time."

Slade shook his head. "It's a fake. There is no way you could've found him." The mercenary straightened his back and squared his shoulders.

"Oh, the video is very much real. It was quite simple to find him once we got the intel we needed," Blood said, gesturing toward Dick. "Your partner was most helpful."

Slade's head whipped toward Dick, whose eyes widened.

Blood glanced between the two men, slightly cocked his head, and exaggeratedly frowned. "Oh, did he not tell you?"

Dick's natural and desert-tanned complexion had lost color, replaced with pale, blood-drained skin. Blood smiled at him, and Dick's eyes filled with remorse, exposing Blood's words as truth.

"We appreciate the help finding Joey after all this time. The contact in Suez was everything we needed," Blood said, nodding at Dick.

Dick's mouth moved, but no words crossed the ever-growing expanse between him and Slade as he took several wobbly steps backward. His eyes pleaded for Slade to forgive him, but Slade wasn't acknowledging the apology. Instead, with shaking shoulders, Slade turned away from Dick and engaged Blood.

"Where is my son?" Slade asked with his voice full of venom. But Blood shook his head and laughed before smiling.

"Your son is exactly where he needs to be. He will fulfill his higher purpose in due time."

Slade growled before lunging at the villain.

Several bodyguards appeared between Slade and Blood, and Slade began fighting them. In the commotion, Blood turned his attention to Dick, peering at him through the wrestling bodies. Knowing Blood's intention to take Dick, Jason instinctively moved between the two men. Blood gave Jason a contemplative look, sizing him up, and it pissed Jason off more than he already was. Jason could take him. He wasn't afraid.

Then, over twenty men dressed in black body armor descended from the balconies above the courtyard. Ah, well. Jason may not be able to take all of them. He leaned his head back to the side.

"We need to get you out of here," Jason said to Dick, eying a nod of agreement from Tim.

"You didn't happen to bring more Bats with you, did you, Red?" Dick asked, grimacing enough for Jason to notice.

"Wish I could answer yes, but we weren't a hundred percent confident Slade would stay in Paris, so

we didn't want to bring all our trustworthy resources here," Tim said over his shoulder. "And unfortunately, quick travel by zeta tube isn't an option given the League's involvement."

Dick nodded in acknowledgment, backing up as the men moved forward.

Jason searched for an escape route, but Blood's man filled every corner of the courtyard, slowly edging closer and closer. He stepped backward until he was back to back with Dick and Tim at the center of the foe-lined circle. Jason took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the fight of his life. Then, finally, one man made the bold decision to charge the Bats; that was all it took for chaos to break out.

Jason hadn't punched or kicked so many people in rapid succession in a long time. First, he flipped a man he'd had in a headlock face up on the ground before quickly karate-chopping someone in the jugular. Then, he promptly followed up with a roundhouse kick to someone's temple. After a few minutes, he felt the burn of overexertion in his limbs as he blocked a knife between his gloved hands. Jason jabbed the man in the pressure point on his shoulder, causing him to drop the weapon. Jason quickly turned it around and dug the metal blade into the muscle beneath the man's collar bone.

When the man reared, Jason glanced at Dick, who was backflipping while knocking heads together. While he'd noted the flexible and agile fighting style of Ravager, it had only been a percentage of what he'd seen Dick display as Nightwing. It was likely he'd done so to conceal his identity better. But, standing here now, he was reminded of how powerful and dangerous Dick was when unleashed and how much he'd missed witnessing it.

Jason diverted his attention as another couple of men came at him. He growled as he grabbed one by the shirt, yanking him up until his feet dangled before slamming him hard on the ground. Jason was about to yell out about the hopelessness of the fight as more and more men kept coming, but another person unexpectedly slammed into him. He lost his footing and fell on his knee.

"Move, Todd," the person angrily said. Slade was moving through the crowd toward Blood, pushing anyone in his way out of it. After a few, what had to be lethal encounters, Slade was within striking distance of Blood. Upon realizing their earthly master was in danger, several armored men changed course while others hesitated. The brief moment of confusion was enough for Tim to make a decision.

"Move!" Tim yelled, pushing Dick in Jason's direction. As they passed, Jason stood up and joined them toward the exit. The few men that hadn't moved to protect Blood realized their mistake and followed. Once at the doorway, Tim pushed Dick and Jason through before slamming the thick glass door shut.

Dick spun on his heel and banged his fists on the door.

"Red! What are you doing?!" Dick frantically hollered, grimacing again.

Tim gripped the door handle tightly, jostling it to ensure he'd locked it. He briefly looked at Dick before turning to Jason. "Go to the safehouse B established last year after the mission with Nightrunner."

Jason nodded, knowing the exact safehouse Tim was referring to. They'd assisted with an international child trafficking ring that, shock, began in Gotham and required the help of Nightrunner, a french superhero who worked with Batman Incorporated. The safehouse wasn't necessarily close, but it wasn't too far either. If they could make it, they'd be able to regroup and plan how to leave Paris.

As Blood's men reached Tim, Jason pulled on Dick's shoulder until the older man gave in and followed. They ran down the breezeway as the sounds of fighting began dissipating behind them.

"We need to get higher," Jason said after they'd run several blocks and through numerous alleyways.

Dick nodded but didn't verbally respond as his face twisted in pain. Immediately, Jason examined Dick's body for injuries. When Jason lifted the other man's arm, Dick yanked it back.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, his face contorting into accusation.

"You're the one looking like you're running with a stab wound," Jason said, taking a defensive step back with his hands up and palms out.

Dick shook his head and said through gritted teeth, "I'm fine. Let's go."

Dick pushed past Jason and began climbing the nearest fire escape. Once at the top, they stepped onto a small balcony space that the building's occupants probably used as a shared outdoor space. Two sides were open to the city with a decorative iron railing, and high brick walls lined the other two sides. A few shabby pieces of outdoor furniture filled the space, surrounded by several pots of growing herbs and spices.

Jason glanced around, ready to use a hook to get to the actual roof higher up, but Dick began pacing the space while murmuring and clutching his head.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop," Dick repeated to himself.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked, pacing alongside Dick and again searching for injuries.

Dick froze, slamming his eyes shut. "Raven won't get out of my head."

"Raven?" Jason asked, leaning closer until he was only inches from Dick's face.

Jason jumped back when Dick's eyes sprang open, and he tightened his grip on his hair. "Yes. The helmet. Ever since it came off, she's been begging me to surrender." Dick closed his eyes again and bent over. "I can't think. I just need silence."

Jason awkwardly stared down at Dick, unsure of how to help. He wasn't aware the helmet had served any other purpose than concealing Dick's identity. Guilt pooled in his stomach as Dick began murmuring again.

"Surrender," he whispered. Dick shot up, dropping his hands to his side as his face filled with realization and his eyebrows knitted in determination. "I have to let them take me." Dick turned to Jason.

Jason tensed, and his expression morphed from guilt to disbelief. All he could think was fuck that.

"What are you talking about?" Jason angrily asked. "Has she possessed you?" Jason aggressively waved his hand in front of Dick's face to see if he was still mentally there.

"They have Joey, and it's my fault," Dick quickly rambled, grabbing Jason's hand out of the air and pushing it back down. "Now that they have Joey, they have everyone but me, and Slade hasn't been able to find them all these years. No one has. They'll just hold everyone until it's time. And Raven can now find me anywhere."

Dick took a deep breath, pacing back and forth along the wall. Of course, Jason wasn't privy to the details of what Dick was referring to, but the idea sounded terrible to him with or without the additional context.

"Shit. Time. We don't have much time," Dick added, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes before turning and slamming them palm down against the wall.

Dick's breathing became erratic, and his eyes darted back and forth, unfocused. It didn't take a trained detective to know Dick was spiraling into a panic attack.

Jason removed his helmet and tossed it on the ground next to him. Without his domino, he usually felt exposed, but he didn't care at the moment.

"Hey," Jason said, grabbing Dick's wrist and spinning him around to face him. "Breathe." He lifted Dick's hand and placed it on his chest, allowing Dick to feel his controlled, rhythmic breathing.

All too quickly, Jason was back in one of his first safehouses with Dick crouched in front of him, doing the same technique to calm him down from a pit-induced rage. From the depths of his memory, he repeated the words Dick had said to him all those years ago.

"I need you to breathe, Dick," Jason calmly said. "Match my breathing."

Dick's gaze shifted from Jason's chest to Jason's eyes as he tried to control his breathing. Jason continued his slow breaths, counting to five with each exhale and inhale.

"Just breathe," Jason said again but softer. Dick gave a slight nod and closed his eyes. They stood there for the five repetitions it took until Dick opened his eyes again. When he did, Jason bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

"Is this amusing to you?" Dick incredulously asked, giving Jason a raised eyebrow.

Jason let out a small snort. "No, I just." He stumbled over the words trying to recite them correctly from memory. "Your helmet hair. It's hard to take the great Ravager seriously when you've got all that going on," Jason said, gesturing toward Dick's hair, pointing out in various directions, stuck there with sweat and possibly dried blood.

Dick scrunched his nose as the words processed through the filing cabinets of his mind. Then, a smile appeared as he located the memory referenced. "This conversation is familiar. Flipped, but familiar."

Dick dropped his hand, and Jason let it, leaving his chest cold where Dick's hand had been.

"I have to let them take me," Dick repeated but calmer this time, more sure.

Jason's face fell. He'd hope Dick would've dropped his stupid plan.

"Dick, why would you let them take you? What good does that do us?"

"Think about it, Jay. Slade has been searching for Blood for years and has never been successful in finding him. So the only way to find out where he's been keeping the Titans is to let him take me to them," Dick said, his hands out with palms up. He stated everything matter-of-factly as if there was no other logical choice, but Jason immediately began shaking his head.

Jason cut the air with his hand out in front of him, crossing over his chest. "Not happening. So we're just supposed to wait until you can make contact if you ever can?" Absolutely not." Jason

crossed his arms, huffing.

Dick's shoulders slumped, and he shifted his weight to one hip.

"Jay," Dick started with his voice soft. "I don't know of any other way."

Jason put his hand to his head, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and two fingers. He again shook his head. "If you can't get a signal out, we'll have no way of finding you. They're not going to let you walk in with a tracker…." Jason said before letting his voice drift off. His eyes snapped to Dick's. "Red, that brilliant son of a bitch. I missed him."

Dick raised an eyebrow, but Jason ignored it. Instead, he began digging into his belt in search of the nano-trackers Tim had provided him.

"Um, Jay. Not sure what you're looking for, but you should find it quicker," Dick said, drawing Jason's eyes back up from his belt.

A circle of dark energy began growing on the wall behind Dick, who was half turned around watching it enlarge.

Jason frantically dug in a pocket and felt his fingers run along the ribbed edges of the cap. He pulled it out, holding it triumphantly before him. He tried to open the bottle with his free hand, but the cap held tight. He tried pushing down and twisting it like a regular pill bottle, but still, the cap held.

"Fuck! What the hell is this bullshit," Jason cursed, groaning as he tried again to twist the cap off. He glanced at the wall, and the circle was almost Dick's height in diameter. Dick's eyes bounced between Jason's frustrated form and the growing portal behind him.

Finally, Jason placed the bottle's cap between his teeth, yanking with all his might. Suddenly, the cap began moving, slowly at first, and then it abruptly gave way, coming off into his mouth. The bottle shattered in Jason's tight grip without the cap to provide support.

Like the all too familiar sound of a ticking bomb, the broken bottle pieces rhythmically fell onto the tiled flooring below their feet. Jason stood in wide-eyed terror, staring as the bottle disintegrated like his rescue plan.

"What was that?" Dick asked, looking between Jason's distraught expression and the destroyed bottle.

Jason tried to form words, but his tongue reminded him of the cap in his mouth, preventing him from adequately speaking. His eyes shot to Dick at the realization. Behind Dick, the black energy circle was beginning to engulf Dick's feet and legs. Quickly, Jason ran his tongue along the underside of the cap before spitting it out and reaching out to grip Dick's neck and pull him close.

It wasn't how he'd imagined this moment happening. Yet, deep inside, a teenage version of himself was delighted at the pressure formed by his lips against Dick's. He slammed his eyes shut, terrified to see the shocked expression on Dick's face that was sure to be there.

Thankfully, given the situation, Jason didn't have time to succumb to embarrassment when he felt Dick tense at the intrusion into his personal space. He was surprised when Dick quickly relaxed, opening his mouth as Jason coaxed his-hopefully-nanotech-covered tongue into Dick's mouth.

The kiss was a mess with teeth clacking and misunderstanding of who was in control or why it was happening as Dick awkwardly moved his head in the same direction. Jason knew the moment

couldn't have lasted more than ten seconds, but seeing as the build-up was more than ten years in the making, the moment felt long and drawn out. That and science said so.

The closer an object is to a body of incredible gravitational force, the slower time becomes, especially if the object in question is traveling at high speeds. Einstein himself determined it, after all, and who was Jason Todd, unqualified in the world of science, to disagree with fucking Albert Einstein. So here Jason, an object, was pulling Dick, a body of incredible gravitational force that had been attracting Jason for the majority of his life, in as quickly as his limbs would allow. For years, he'd orbited this force of a man, taking him in from a distance and thinking the whole universe revolved around him. It turned out, though, that Jason may have been incorrect. Jason was a larger entity than he'd given himself credit for, as proven by the force he'd contained to bring Dick into his orbit.

What Jason had done was dangerous because when two objects of great mass and energy, such as stars, collide, one of two things can happen. They can merge and become something bigger and brighter or consume one another until nothing remains of either. Like most things in life, only time could tell the result. But at the center of this powerful, high-speed collision, time becomes relatively slow to the point of nearly stopping. So for Jason, the moment seemingly stretched on for light years while from an external viewpoint, it was happening at warp speed. With the moment stretching on from his perspective, time wasn't moving quick enough to tell Jason if his collision plan would foster the creation of new life or utter destruction.

When he pulled back and opened his eyes, Dick slowly opened his eyes, staring back at Jason with an unreadable expression. He was so distracted by Dick's red flushed cheeks and pink kissed lips that he didn't recognize the black energy that had engulfed Dick's entire body other than his head. The situation became apparent again when a hand reached through the wall, wrapped around Dick's chest, and yanked him backward.

Jason attempted to tighten his grip on the back of Dick's neck, keeping him in his orbit, but his hand slipped away as the assailant pulled harder. Dick disappeared into the blackness as the portal dissipated, leaving Jason standing alone on the roof with his hand still outstretched. He dropped his hand to his side, and his eyes wandered from the wall to the roof's entrance door, where Tim had just entered. Jason assumed Oracle had provided Tim with the coordinates to find him.

Jason stood breathing heavily and matched Tim's expression of despair before gritting his teeth and changing it to one of determination.

"They have him?" Tim asked as if he didn't know how else to break the silence.

Jason glared at the wall Dick had disappeared into and flared his nostrils.

"For now."

Chapter End Notes

Hello, hello! I usually complete 90% of my writing and editing on weekends. Unfortunately, since I've had to host people in my house the last two weekends, no writing or editing was getting done. But we made it!

I'm excitedly waiting for all of your thoughts on this chapter.

it's a bit darker than the last night's bout

Chapter Summary

While there isn't a lot of observational data related to the death of stars, there's some evidence that stars significantly dim before they die in a spectacular show of light. Dick desperately tried to ignore his current dimmed state and the implication of what came next.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

He'd laugh later at Jason's kiss sending him head over heels when the situation was less desperate. Yeah, it was through a doomsday portal to what he could only assume was hell, but head over heels nonetheless. He hoped he survived to see Jason's disapproving, annoyed expression when Dick told the flirtatious joke to his face.

After being aggressively pulled through the portal, he'd floated through the air, literally and figuratively, replaying the strange moment on the rooftop in his mind. But before he could think too hard about Jason's motives or intent, the world abruptly stopped spinning, and he lay with his back flushed against a cold, tiled floor. His head throbbed, and he was positive he'd lost consciousness during the travel ordeal.

A quick survey revealed his location as a white-painted cell with cinderblock walls on three sides and a thick plexiglass window made up the remaining wall. A smiling Blood was on the other side of the glass, staring back at him with his hands latched behind his back.

"We're so delighted you're finally here, Mr. Grayson."

Dick scoffed and grunted as he sat up, rubbing his temple to ensure his already concussed head wasn't more damaged. "I'm sure you are."

Blood regarded him with an unreadable expression, observing him as Dick stood to his full height. Then, with nothing more to say, the man smirked and walked off without another word. How long the man had been standing, waiting for him to wake up, was unknown to Dick, but regardless, it creeped him out. As Blood's footsteps receded down the hall, Dick made his way to the glass wall at the front of his cell. Once there, he placed a flat palm against it and peered down the hall after Blood.

"Dick?" a voice asked from the other direction.

Dick snapped his neck to the sound and involuntarily let his mouth gape open. Then, after an awkwardly long pause, Dick rapidly blinked and composed himself.

"Conner?"

Standing diagonally across the hallway from Dick behind another glass wall was Conner in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The other man wasn't wearing shoes, and his hair, longer than Dick had ever seen, hung curly and unruly below Conner's ears. Despite reading that Conner was

alive, this was the first indisputable evidence that Slade wasn't lying, and it caught him off guard.

Instantly, Conner's face changed from shock to a mixture of confusion and relief.

"God, Dick. I want to say I'm disappointed to see you because that means you've been captured too, but….," Conner said with his voice heavy with emotion and breaking. "I'm so happy to see you."

A sad, forced half smile formed on Dick's lips. "Don't worry. If I'd been locked up here for as many years as you have, I'd be happy to see someone other than Blood, too. That guy's an ass," Dick said, speaking loudly for the cameras he knew had to be nearby. Of course, he had harsher words for Blood, but this wasn't the time or place.

"Where are the others?" Dick asked, trying to get sight of the other cells. The hallway seemingly stretched on indefinitely, and the few cells he could see appeared empty.

"Donna and Joey are in the next hallway over," Conner informed him, turning his head to look down the hallway. He lifted a finger and pointed. "Raven is kept in solitary confinement down this hall. There is a cell at the end with a biometric scanner that only opens for Blood." Conner turned back to him. "I've only seen Raven once or twice, but I assume she's still here."

Dick frowned. A million questions swirled in his head, but he pushed them aside since the only thing he should be worried about was making contact with Raven. Knowing Conner had barely seen her since he'd been here was discouraging.

"What's the daily flow here?" Dick asked. "Do we get food on a schedule or yard time?" He made an exaggerated effort to appear physically appalled by his new living quarters. "Your boy occasionally requires a little fresh air, or he goes stir crazy."

Conner raised an eyebrow. "You? Dick Grayson? Hate to be detained?" Conner lifted his hand to his chest in mock shock. Then, he dropped it and became serious, knowing Dick was asking for intel. "Food is delivered three times a day, and we get time daily to workout in the gym. Never at the same time." Conner shrugged. "Blood says we need to be in top physical shape, you know, for dying. The weak threaten a successful ritual or some bull like that."

Dick hummed in understanding. He appreciated the information. The sooner he learned the schedule and daily routines of the guards, the sooner he could attempt to reach Raven. They had to be careful, though. If Blood realized what he was planning, they were dead. Well, earlier than they expected to be, anyway.

Conner cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck while chewing on his lip.

"How is everyone?" Conner finally managed to ask. He tapped his foot before adding, "How's Tim?"

Dick smiled softly, crossing his arms and slightly dropping his chin. "Everyone's good, or they were two years ago when I last saw most of them." Conner cocked his head at the statement and raised an eyebrow, but Dick ignored it, shrugging. "I mean, it's been some time, so things have happened, but for the most part, things are the same as they've ever been. I saw Tim not too long ago. He looked healthy." Dick paused, examining the tops of his boots. "Tim's…" Dick considered his words. "Doing well from what I saw, but he was never the same after," Dick said, gesturing toward Conner with his hand. "You know. He'll be excited to see you again."

Conner turned his face so Dick couldn't see it. "I hope I get to see him again," Conner whispered, barely audible for Dick to hear. "It's been too long."

Dick's expression fell. He couldn't fathom what Conner had endured—years of isolation and hopelessness. He wanted to say something comforting, but a door opened at the end of the hall.

A guard, wearing black combat pants and a long sleeve black tactical shirt, stopped in front of Conner's cell. "Gym time," he ordered, placing his wrist against the keypad, opening the door, and stepping aside to let Conner walk out. The guard never even spared Dick a glance. He was surprised by the lack of restraints, but Conner had long been here. An escape attempt or two had probably happened with little chance of success. If Dick was sure of anything, it was that Blood had technology that could suppress Conner's powers if needed. Still, the lack of sun was probably enough: that and many guards. If the Paris fight was evidence, Blood had quite the army on standby.

Conner nodded before allowing the guard to escort him down and out the hall. Alone, Dick took a deep breath before turning around and allowing himself to slide against the glass to the floor. No longer distracted by Conner, he finally acknowledged the throbbing in his head. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb knuckles, digging deep enough it hurt.

He sighed as he rested his head back against the glass. While he'd successfully achieved his first goal of being captured, he was at a loss on what his next goal should be. As a vigilante, his job was to exude confidence, whether it was there or not. The general public and his team needed reassurance that he had everything under control. Otherwise, he risked chaos and distrust. Sometimes, though, there was no plan, and Dick flew blindly. A lack of a safety net made for an exciting acrobatic show when confident the performer knew what they were doing. When they didn't, though, anxiety and fear were inevitable.

Before he could come up with a plan, he first needed to determine what, if any, weapons he had. In the chaos, they'd removed his waist and chest belts, which contained most of his stuff. Thankfully, the suit had several hidden compartments containing some potentially useful items. He couldn't risk getting caught taking inventory, though, so he pretended to massage his wrists and ankles to feel if anything was present. Disappointedly, it appeared they'd cleared out his gauntlets and ankle straps. Sighing again, he crossed his legs to casually view the bottom of his boots. From what he could tell, they hadn't touched the removable rubber blocks in the soles. He cracked his neck to cover up his investigative behavior as he straightened his back.

His boots appeared to be the only part of his suit that made it unscathed. Before heading to the church, Dick had stored the unused adenosine Slade had stolen from the hospital along with a few pain reliever pills in the hidden compartment of one sole. In the other, he had stored two tranquilizer darts, the same he'd used on Jason back in Gotham at WayneTech. While they'd removed his tranquilizer gun, with enough force, the dart could pierce skin manually. He huffed, realizing he had no weapons to use against the guards other than a heart-stopping drug and a couple of tranq darts.

He stretched his body, moving through several exaggerated yoga poses. Then, as he performed a butterfly stretch, he expertly transferred the darts to his gauntlet, which, having already been ransacked, hopefully, wouldn't be searched again.

The time passed, but Conner never came back from the gym. Dick suspected that their earlier conversation had been enough for Blood to separate them permanently. If he had to guess, Conner was now rooming in the same hall as Joey and Donna, which gave him comfort if it meant Conner telling them help had arrived.

Dick paced the cell, walking the perimeter so many times he eventually lost count. It was necessary, though. To devise a plan, he had to move, so the nervous energy didn't consume his

thoughts. But unfortunately, his body began to succumb to the exhaustion that plagued the edges of his mind. He eyed the bed in the far corner of the room and loudly exhaled, stifling a yawn. He wanted—no, needed—to keep thinking. Still, the darkness in his mind continued to creep inward, practically leaving him with tunnel vision.

His stomach hurt, which told him he'd been here long enough to require food, but he barely registered the pain. His headache was strong enough to ward off any other sensations his body was signaling to him. Finally, unable to resist, a yawn escaped him, and he trudged over to the bed. His best guess was that he'd been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, meaning he was essentially useless in combat if attacked. So he gently laid down, his body immediately relaxing despite the hard mattress.

He turned onto his side, placing both hands underneath his head as a pillow. He bit his bottom lip before running his tongue over the soft, pink flesh. What was Jason trying to open before the portal sent Dick here? And why did Jason kiss him when he'd failed to open whatever it was? He closed his eyes to re-imagine the sensation of Jason's lips on his.

His mind drifted, and soon he was pacing back and forth on the rooftop as Jason stood nearby.

"Dick, talk to me. What's going on?" Jason asked, grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him close. Their bodies were flush against one another, and Dick was suddenly acutely aware of each place Jason's body touched his. Jason waited for him to answer, but Dick was distracted by the blue- green eyes scanning his face.

Without warning, he surged forward, pressing his lips onto Jason's, who immediately froze. Then, realizing what was happening, Jason released Dick's wrist to push him away at the chest two- handedly. Caught off guard, Dick stumbled backward and slammed against the brick wall.

"What the actual fuck, Dick?" Jason asked in shock. He aggressively rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I-I…," Dick started, but he didn't know what to say. Then, Jason's nose wrinkled as he pulled his upper lip up in disgust.

Jason signaled him to stop. "Don't. Whatever your excuse is, I don't want to hear it. This," Jason said, gesturing between the two of them, "is never going to happen."

Dick's face fell. He stepped forward and reached an arm out. "Jay, please. I thought."

Dick's head spun, and his body lurched to the side as Jason's palm contacted his cheek. Stunned, Dick held his hand up to his face as he crouched.

"Wake up!" Jason yelled at him.

Dick's eyebrows pulled down as he stood back to his full height. "What?"

Another slap, sending Dick to the ground.

"I said, wake up!" Jason yelled again as he stood above Dick.

Leaning against the wall, Dick tried to re-evaluate the situation, to contain it. Suddenly, Jason moved forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and violently shaking him into the hard brick. Each impact with the wall jostled his aching head.

"I said get up!"

It took a second, but Dick's brain finally registered it wasn't Jason yelling but someone else.

Startled, Dick thrashed about, and the heel of his palm made contact with the bottom of someone's jaw. Suddenly, the man shaking his shoulders fell to the ground beside the bed. Sitting up on the edge of the mattress, Dick sat over the now unconscious guard who'd come to bring him food, the tray abandoned to the side. Nearby a second tray was present, which meant Dick had slept through two meals. Dick must have failed to respond, too deep in sleep, causing the guard to enter the cell and check up on him. Wide-eyed, Dick glanced at the door and then back at the guard, unsure what to do.

While he had no plan, he wasn't one to waste an escape opportunity. He jumped to his feet, grabbing the guard by the waist and hoisting him into a firemen's carry. At the door, he placed the man's wrist computer against the keypad inside the cell, mimicking the move he'd seen the guard do earlier at Conner's door. When the door swung open, he dropped the guard and stepped out into the hall.

"Stop!"

Dick ignored the guards who'd entered the hall and ran in the direction Conner said they kept Raven. Dumb luck tended to run out quickly, so he couldn't waste time hesitating. Before he got to the cell, a circle of black energy formed on the floor in his path. Suddenly, Blood rose from the tiled ground, standing between Dick and the door.

"Mr. Grayson, thankfully for you, I need you very much alive," Blood angrily said, stepping forward. Dick didn't wait to see if Blood had anything else to say as he made a poor attempt at a punch, his fist flying through open air past Blood's head. Blood grabbed his arm, twisting Dick's body and throwing him against the wall beside Raven's door. The biometric scanner was only a couple feet away from where Blood pressed his face into the wall.

Blood applied more force, pressing Dick's body hard into the cinderblock as he mercilessly twisted Dick's arm behind his back. Dick's free arm tried desperately to push back against the wall, but Blood was in control, or so Dick wanted the man to believe.

"You will never open that door," Blood viciously whispered against his ear. Gritting his teeth, Dick ran his finger along the activation button located on the inner palm of his free hand that would release the tranq dart. He pretended to struggle against Blood's grip as the man moved his head away.

"You're right," Dick grunted, readying his body. "You'll do it for me."

Dick threw his head back, connecting with Blood's nose. The man growled and grimaced, but the hit barely phased him. It did, however, cause Blood to slightly lean back, shifting his weight enough for Dick to take the upper hand. He lifted his free hand behind his head, grateful for his flexibility more than ever, and wrapped his arm around Blood's neck. The slight resistance let him know the dart had pierced skin.

"You insolent boy," Blood snarled, pressing Dick harder into the wall.

It wasn't long before Blood's grip lessened on Dick's arm.

"What did you do?" Blood incredulously asked, slightly stumbling as his knees started to buckle. Dick pushed off the wall with his chest and twisted his arm free to gather Blood in a chokehold, facing the assembled guards in the hall.

"Don't move, or I'll snap his neck," Dick threatened. Dick wasn't sure how much, if anything, the guards knew about him other than he was Trigon's host. He hoped his affiliation with Deathstroke was enough for them to take him seriously.

Keeping the guards in his peripheral, he guided Blood by the neck to the biometric scanner, holding the man's weight as his body numbed. Once the device accepted the retina scan and the door swung open, Dick dragged Blood's paralyzed body into the cell, all while keeping his front to the guards. They were only a couple of feet inside when the door swung back shut, separating them from the guards. Dick wasn't sure how long it would take them to override the security Blood had on the room, but he hoped it was enough.

He dropped Blood onto the ground.

"You won't get out of here," Blood said with a voice full of venom despite the fact he was facing toward the wall and not at Dick. Dick snorted, not wanting to waste time conversing with Blood.

"Dick?"

Dick turned to find Raven standing in the middle of the cell, staring at him with wide eyes. She wore a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants similar to Conner. She immediately closed the gap between them.

"Raven?" he asked, reaching out. Raven quickly grasped his wrist, and the world began spinning. Like the League's teleporter, Dick had to fight the urge to vomit. Abruptly the sensation stopped, and he was left gasping for air as he took in the area around him.

Pressure at his wrist brought his attention back to Raven.

"Dick," Raven said in astonishment. "You're here."

After a few deep breaths, Dick nodded his head. "Yeah, I'm here." He glanced around the space, which was nothing but stark white in every direction. "Where is here exactly?" he asked, turning back to Raven. He began releasing his grip on Raven's wrist, but she hurriedly stopped him.

"We're in my mind," she said, gripping his wrist tighter. "And it's imperative we maintain physical contact for the duration of this conversation. My father can only intercept my telepathic connections if they're over a distance. He cannot access my mind directly."

He cocked his head in question.

"Just think of it like a radio frequency. Whenever I contact someone, he knows anything and everything that is said between the other person and me. However, this way," Raven said, squeezing his wrist. "We can talk in one hundred percent privacy."

"So we can discuss how to stop him?" Dick asked with a raised eyebrow. "I'm hoping you say yes because I've got nothing, honestly." He shrugged. "No pressure, but the world's fate is on you."

The corner of Raven's mouth slightly lifted. She nodded. "I've done a lot of meditating and preparing for the second prophecy. Thankfully, there are pages of the ritual my father could not acquire and loopholes he is unaware of."

She squeezed Dick's wrist again. "His first mistake was bringing you here to me along with the others."

"Why?"

"My father believes the prophecy can only be fulfilled on the winter solstice, which is incorrect. As long as all of the chosen are present, the prophecy can occur any time before the solstice. Suppose the ritual doesn't begin before the solstice in December. In that case, it will automatically start on that night regardless of the participants' location."

Despite Slade's warning, Dick's eyebrows shot up in horror, but Raven tried to reassure him.

"Don't worry. My father doesn't know this. So unless I initiate the ritual, it won't come to fruition."

Dick took a deep breath, shaking his head as he exhaled. "Okay, okay. Well, that's good, at least. So we can start the ritual early, but what good does that do for us other than starting the end of the world sooner?" Dick asked.

Raven sighed and dropped her eyes. She bit her bottom lip before answering. "If we start the ritual when we want and how we want, we can stop, my father. For good this time." She paused before drawing her eyes back up. 'My father…," she started. "My father…"

Sensing the delay, Dick interjected. "Your father choose me as his host." Raven jolted.

"You know?"

Dick nodded. "Slade told me." Raven nodded back.

"Understood. Well, that saves me from being the messenger of that bad news," Raven said, sighing again.

"So, do we get to skip to the good news?"

Raven gave him a sympathetic expression, pulling her mouth to the side. "I wish. I'm afraid there is worse news, but to explain, I can start with the good news first."

"At least there is good news," Dick mumbled from the corner of his mouth.

"First, as I said, we can defeat my father. Once the ritual starts, I've developed an enchantment to prevent his soul from leaving a protected area. So with everyone gathered, he will reform, leaving behind the other Titans, and become one inside the chosen host's body," Raven explained. She bounced her eyes between his, a deep frown forming on her face. "The worse news now." She squeezed his wrists. "For my father to die, the host has to die, too."

The words were emotionless and sounded rehearsed as if Raven had recited them in preparation a hundred times.

Dick took a sharp breath, popping his lips. He nodded his head in understanding as if Raven had told him a simple fact like the sky was blue or Tim had a caffeine addiction. A range of emotions quickly passed over his face before he pursed his lips. "That's pretty awful news. I'm glad you said that part last," he tried to joke, failing.

"Dick," Raven called to him, realizing he'd zoned out. He restored eye contact but immediately regretted it when pity stared back at him.

"My spell barrier will prevent him from finding another body to inhabit. And since he cannot possess anyone who has already served as a temporary host, the other Titans will be safe. As long as no one new is within the barrier, my father's soul will have nowhere else to go. Upon death, his soul will forcefully ascend back with the host's soul."

Dick whistled before Raven's frown deepened. He was afraid to ask, but he did it anyway. "What's wrong?"

"I have worse news," Raven quietly said. Dick dropped his head back and rolled his neck before bringing his head back to the center.

"Just lay it on me," he sighed, tensing.

"My father's pull is greater than yours. So your soul will likely travel back with my father's and not vice versa."

Dick's expression was flat as the words processed. The faulty wiring in his concussed brain caused his eye to twitch as his processing core threatened to overheat. He raised his eyebrows in question. "So I'm going to hell for all eternity?"

"The realm my father lives in makes hell look like a five-star hotel."

Dick gave an exasperated laugh. "Jesus, Rae. Anything else?"

"I'm just trying to prepare you, Dick. I don't want you to be blindsided," Raven quickly said in defense.

Dick lifted his free hand and shook it toward Raven with the palm out. "I appreciate the warning, but don't expect me to shoot off confetti canons at this news."

He dropped his head to his chest and fell to his knees. Raven also fell with him, sitting before him with a hand gently cupping his cheek.

"Dick," Raven softly said, drawing his head up. "If there were any other way, I would tell you. I've spent years mulling this over. This is the only way."

He bit his lip and gave a slight nod. "I trust you." His mind immediately went to Jason and his family. They'd have to watch him die all over again. He choked on a rogue sob and tried to compose himself. "When and how do we initiate the ritual?" he asked, focusing on the mission instead of his emotions.

"It will be solely a spur-of-the-moment thing. Whenever the opportunity presents itself is when it will happen. I've told the others, so they know to be ready," Raven said, sighing. "We've waited for this long. What's a little more time?"

Dick forced a laugh as his chest constricted. It made sense now why they'd separated Raven from the other Titans. Blood had to know she could communicate with the others privately upon physical contact.

"The only thing I haven't figured out is how the host dies," Raven timidly said. "I don't have the heart to do it. I can't. And I'm sure the others can't either. But my father can't see it coming, so it has to be after the ritual has started and he's whole again."

The adenosine in his boot came to mind. He had enough of it to overdose Zitka's heart into failure.

"I'll take care of that," Dick said, switching to his overconfident leader voice.

Raven gave him a questioning look.

"Raven," he said, but that was the last thing he got out before someone grabbed his shoulder and

pulled.

His body jerked back, and Raven's grip on his wrist fell away. He was again in Raven's cell as guards dragged him back toward the door. A third guard placed restraints, similar to the ones in Suez, onto his wrists and ankles while he tried to gain his bearings. Nearby, a pair of guards held Blood up by throwing Blood's arms around their shoulders. Blood's expression would terrify any ordinary man, but Dick only narrowed his eyes in response.

Four guards approached Raven, forcing her to the back of the room away from Dick. Her knowing nod was the last thing Dick saw of her before the door slammed shut between them, and they dragged him back to his cell. Once there, they locked the restraints to a deadbolt on the ground. After they were satisfied, they left the cell and turned off the lights to the room and the hall, leaving him entirely in the dark. Heavy footfall echoed around him as the cell door slammed shut.

All he could do now was wait and hope that Jason and the rest of the BatFamily were able to locate him and the others. He collapsed to his knees as the recent events caught up to him, causing the chains to rattle. If he focused hard enough, he could trick his brain into thinking he was back on the ship in Suez with Jason in the next cell. A ragged breath escaped him before he swallowed it down.

In Suez, Jason had called him their family's northern star, their source of light. But sitting here in the darkness, he was far from the burning ball of energy Jason claimed him to be. While there isn't a lot of observational data related to the death of stars, there's some evidence that stars significantly dim before they die in a spectacular show of light. Dick desperately tried to ignore his current dimmed state and the implication of what came next.

Chapter End Notes

I've been consistent in posting every three weeks. Let's hope I keep it up.

Also, I've outlined everything in intense detail, and it looks like we're lining out at 15 chapters instead of 16, which means we're getting close! I intend this story to stand on its own, but there will be a sequel. This is a slow burn, after all.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I struggled through it for some reason, which always leaves me worried. It's probably because all the fun Batfamily banter is in the next chapter, so I want to skip straight to that.

i know you want to leave

Chapter Summary

"They need you now, not me."

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"How long have you been awake?"

"How long has it been since you minded your own damn business?" Jason grumbled.

"I'm serious, Jason. You can't just sit here waiting for the trackers to activate," Tim said with his hands on his hips as if scolding a child.

"If they activate. I'm beginning to lose faith in your intellectual abilities, Timbers. You should just drop out of school before anyone else notices," Jason said, hunched over the keyboard to the main computer. He rubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb before pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back in the chair as he took a deep breath.

Tim pulled his mouth to the side and sighed. Jason mentally prepared for a lecture, but it didn't come.

"I told you they would activate anywhere between twenty-four or seventy-two hours after being planted," Tim said, leaning against the desk next to Jason. "It's barely been forty-eight. So it could be another day of waiting."

Jason was aware of how long it'd been. He'd tried to sleep, eat, drink, or do anything other than think about Dick's current whereabouts, but it was impossible. He sighed before crossing his arms over his chest and letting his head fall back. The blackness of the cave was a welcome reprieved from the harsh blue light of the computer screen.

"I know this is a relative question because none of us are okay per se, but are you okay?" Tim quietly asked, leaning in so the others in the cave couldn't hear.

Jason grunted, spinning away from the screen to watch Cass and Steph spar nearby. "I'm fine."

Tim loudly scoffed, and Jason ignored Cass' concerned look from the training mat.

"Is Jason still sulking over Dick's rejection?" Steph asked from a headlock. Cass' grip tightened around Steph's throat as a warning. God, Jason loved that girl.

Despite Tim's suit recording the ordeal, Jason would live the rest of his life denying the kiss on the rooftop. Thankfully, Barbara was loyal enough to lock the footage away in a password-protected firewall Steph could never access. If Steph had her way, she'd hang posters of the scene all over the manor.

"I wouldn't say Dick rejected him," Duke interjected, defending Jason as he walked over to the computer from a nearby table where he'd been cleaning his suit.

Freed from the headlock, Steph sat crossed-legged on the mat as she rubbed her neck. "Dick willingly disappeared into a portal to hell to avoid making out with Hood any longer. If that's not rejection, I don't know what is," she said, standing with help from Cass.

"You'd know rejection better than any of us. Otherwise, Tim would still be dealing with your annoying ass," Jason snapped back.

"Low blow," Tim mumbled, but Steph only rolled her eyes.

"Who says he left me and not the other way around?" Steph asked, raising an eyebrow as her hands went to her hips.

A barking laugh escaped Jason, annoying Steph enough to scowl and defensively cross her arms.

Before she could retaliate, Damian cleared his throat from where he stood nearby with his arms crossed.

"While you imbeciles continue to lack focus, I'll make it known the computer has been blinking with a security alert for the last twenty-six seconds and counting," Damian said, gesturing his head to the screen.

Jason spun the chair around as Tim turned to the computer.

"Is that the manor's perimeter motion sensors?" Tim asked as Jason pressed a few keys to pull up the security footage.

A high-definition video feed of Slade Wilson sans his Deathstroke gear standing at the manor door played before them.

"What is Deathstroke doing at our door?" Duke asked.

"Only one way to find out," Jason said, standing. Then, without waiting for the others, he left the cave and walked through the manor, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Slade stood on the other side, staring at his watch.

"Your response time is poor," Slade abruptly said, making Jason snort.

"Why are you here, Wilson?"

"You're the detective," Slade said, sizing Jason up before adding, "A bad one, I might add, if you have to ask such a foolish question." Jason's mouth gaped open as Slade pushed past him into the manor. Jason shook his head and fought the urge to say a snappy remark. Inside the foyer, Damian held a knife while the others stood at the ready. Slade narrowed his eyes at Damian but otherwise dismissed the threat.

"Stand down, demon brat," Jason ordered while he shut the door. Damian grunted but relaxed his stance and lowered his weapon.

"Seeing as you're all here. I assume you don't have a lead on Grayson's whereabouts," Slade said.

"We're working on it," Jason said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"All that means is you have nothing," Slade said with a raised eyebrow. Slade ran a lazy eye over the various Batfamily members before returning to Jason.

"I need to speak with Todd. Alone," Slade sternly said. A fury of responses filled the small space.

"No."

"Not happening, bud."

"Forget it, old man."

Jason ignored the others, maintaining eye contact with Slade through narrowed eyes.

"Everyone out," Jason barked.

"Jason," Tim started, but Jason refused to break eye contact with Slade.

"Out," Jason said in a tone that left no room for argument. Grumbling filled the space as everyone shuffled out, giving Slade warning glances as they parted.

"They'll hear everything you say, so I'm not sure why you'd asked them to leave," Jason said as Slade paced the room's perimeter, inspecting the wall art.

"I expect that to be true, but I don't want to speak to them. I want to speak with you."

"Why?"

Slade clasped his hands behind his back and froze, tracing his eye over an abstract art piece of a seaside sunset beside the foyer's main window.

"I did what I thought was right," Slade quietly said. "I did it to protect them. Both of them."

Jason chewed his lip, wondering where Slade was going with this conversation. It was apparent he was referring to Dick and Joey.

"It may seem hard to believe, but I respect Grayson. Watching him grow from the brash, ridiculously dressed Boy Wonder to a selfless leader was a privilege. He never failed to impress me. That's saying something," Slade added. "People rarely impress me." Slade paused. "I'm angry that he kept secrets from me that ultimately endangered my son, but I understand why he did what he did."

Jason remained silent, sensing Slade wasn't done. A bird chirping in the tree outside the window seemly stole Slade's attention.

"I keep wondering if I did the right thing. If I should've told him sooner or left him in the company of you Bats," Slade admitted.

"Well, that's the thing about what ifs; they don't mean shit," Jason said. "For what it's worth, I believe you did the right thing. Otherwise, worse people could've kidnapped, killed, or tortured him. Do I agree with everything you've done? No, because you're Slade Wilson, and I refuse to agree with you on anything if I can help it cause you're an asshole."

Jason sighed before softening his voice.

"I don't forgive you, but I think we can move on for the moment to work together to save him and the others, including your son."

Slade nodded before reaching into a pocket to pull out a cell phone. He moved toward Jason and held the phone in his outstretched hand.

"There is only one number saved in this phone. It's a direct line to me. When you find him, text the

location information to the number, and I'll be there as soon as possible. If I find anything out, I'll text it to this phone."

Jason's eyes hovered over the offered electronic before reaching for it. When his hand closed around the device, Slade grabbed Jason's wrist with his other hand and pulled him in close. Then, with his breath hot on Jason's ear, Slade whispered, "I don't know everything about what's to come, but I know Grayson. When you find him, watch him. If history has proven anything, he will do something stupid that'll get himself killed if it means saving others."

Suddenly, Slade stepped back, releasing his hold on Jason's wrist. Jason hesitated, but he took the phone from Slade's grasp and pocketed it quickly. None of the cameras, microphones, or listening ears in the vicinity would've been able to pick up what Slade said; Jason had barely been able to do so. What the words implied, Jason didn't know.

"Anything else?" Jason asked, re-crossing his arms over his chest.

Slade squared off to him. "I should tell you why I did what I did and what Blood's intentions are with Dick and the others."

"That would be nice, but I've never known you to be that straightforward and nice."

Slade observed him, but the comment didn't deter him. He told Jason everything—the second prophecy, Dick's and the other Titans' parts in it, the time it would happen, Slade's plans to stop it, the League's infiltration, etc. Jason tried to remain neutral in the face, but it became more difficult with each additional detail the man added. Finally, someone sniffled, and he found the whole family had filled the room when he turned toward the source. He must not have noticed them gathering around while Slade told them the missing side of the story from their last two years.

From the stairs, Steph mumbled and apologized for crying as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Cass rubbed her back before dropping her hand to squeeze her legs back toward her body.

With a deep breath, Slade announced his departure, making Jason snap his eyes back to the mercenary. He still had so many questions, but he wasn't going to beg Slade to stay, especially not in front of the baby Bats.

"Remember the phone, Todd."

Jason nodded as Slade closed the door, leaving the Bats silent and alone.

"Todd," Damian started, breaking the silence.

With his back to them, Jason cut Damian off. "I'm going to get some sleep. If anything changes, wake me."

Concerned eyes followed him, but Jason walked past them up the stairs, stepping over the sitting bodies. The last thing he wanted was an argument about whether they could trust Slade. Despite its negligible weight, the phone in his pocket weighed him down. When he reached his room, he shut the door and leaned his back against it. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pushed off the door, walked to his bed, and flopped onto his stomach.

The idea of Dick being a host for some Satanic sacrificial ceremony made a chill run down his spine. No wonder Slade had reminded him about Dick's martyr behaviors. If his death were the only option for saving people, Dick would do it.

Jason flipped onto his back, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. A lot of the nonsense Dick

had murmured on the rooftop in Paris made more sense to him, but it wasn't comforting. He'd allowed the people who wanted to kill Dick to take him. Pain and nausea filled his gut.

He floated in an uneasy state of guilt and exhaustion as the sun set outside. He tried sleeping, but his mind was a cacophony of noise, like the sound of an orchestra warming up before a big show. Eventually, his door opened, and a figure stood in the doorframe, silhouetted by the light from the hall.

"They've activated," Tim said with his voice stiff.

Jason was on his feet, pushing past Tim with a speed that could rival the Flash. He stumbled down the stairs and to the map pulled up on the computer.

"Canada?" Jason asked, studying the map.

"Canada, eh?" Steph said with an accent, stepping beside him.

"It's not far from here. A couple of hours by plane max," Duke said, readying his suit. Around him, others were grabbing their gear. Jason glanced at the clock, realizing it was prime patrol time. "Who's watching Gotham?"

"Kane is in charge tonight," Barbara said, a video call popping up. Jason nodded and moved to get his gear. "The plane is ready at the airfield. Once you take off, you'll be at the location in an hour and twenty-five minutes."

Hums of understanding echoed through the cave. After that, they worked in determined silence, collecting and organizing their gear. Even Steph wore a serious facade; her typical banter was notably absent.

Jason pulled the cell phone from Slade out of his pocket as he changed his pants. He hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to tell Slade what they knew. Before he could talk himself out of it, he opened a text, typed the latitude and longitude coordinates he'd memorized, and pressed send. A text reading "on the way" flashed on the screen before he could even close the messaging app. He pushed the side button, blacking out the screen, before re-pocketing the device and resuming his outfit change.

They fell into familiar steps as they gathered in cars and on bikes without words. Soon, they were at the airfield and boarding the plane. Jason's emotional guard must have slipped as he settled in the co-pilot chair beside Tim. A hand on his shoulder made him relax his clenched jaw and fisted hand before giving Tim a tiny nod.

When ready, Tim guided the plane into the air with the others in the back.

"I've been researching the location," Oracle's disguised voice spoke through the speakers in the cockpit. "It looks like a converted psych ward. They've been generating their power, so it doesn't show on the grid. When you pinpoint it on a satellite, you can see the spike in heat from their consumption. I deployed some nearby drones, but their network and security are hardwired. I'll only be of use once I'm manually tied in."

"No way of knowing where everyone is located until we get there, then?" Jason asked.

"I pulled up the blueprints from city records, so unless Blood has significantly modified the floor plan, we can make assumptions on where he's holding his hostages," Barbara said. Jason pulled the blueprints up on the computer screen on the dashboard. "There are only two halls of hospital rooms, and they're across from one another, separated by a common area." A red square

highlighted a small room in the middle of the floor plan. "This is the main control room. If I had to guess, I could get into the network from there."

"You go to the main control room with Signal," Jason said to Tim. "Orphan and Spoiler will take the East patient's wing. Robin and I will take the West patient's wing."

No one argued or protested but simply nodded in understanding. The team continued reviewing the blueprints and small details until the silence returned when they landed.

The hospital was indeed in the middle of nowhere. They hadn't seen anything from the air for miles near this place; no buildings, no roads, no anything. It was far north enough that winter had already made an appearance and light snow crunched under his feet as Jason stepped out of the plane. The Bat's dark suits stuck out against the white backdrop. But Jason didn't care. Quietly sneaking in and subduing Blood wasn't his priority at the moment. Instead, he wanted to go in, guns blazing and, hopefully only figuratively, raising hell.

They moved toward the three-story building and entered an easy-to-pick side door. An uneasiness filled Jason's chest at the lack of guards in their path. They walked into the main area with two stairways leading up to the common area Barbara had mentioned on the second floor. He gave the signal, and they separated, with Duke and Tim disappearing further into the first floor. With Damian at his heels, Jason crept up the West stairwell to the second floor as Cass and Steph went up the other set to the East. They encountered their first set of guards as they stepped into the common area.

Jason gave Cass and Steph a head nod from across the room before striking. A series of smoke bombs filled the open space, and before the guards could make a distress call, they were unconscious on the floor. Jason bent down and removed the wrist computer from the guard's wrists while Cass did the same on the other side of the room. He tried it on the door's keypad, but the light blinked back aggressively in red. The guards must not be essential or trusted enough to get to the Titans, proving Blood to be freakishly paranoid. That, or Blood knew they were here and revoked their access. Unfortunately, Jason knew it was probably the latter, and they wouldn't be walking out of here as quickly as they walked in.

With the guards incapacitated and no access cards, each team of Bats stood at their respective doors, waiting for Oracle to be connected.

Impatient, Jason fought the urge to bang his head into the steel door. Once again, Dick was most likely within feet of him, the thought causing his heart to hammer in his chest. He didn't realize he'd zoned out until he caught Damian giving him a look that, even for him, was judgy.

"What?" Jason whispered, trying to keep the modulated voice low in volume.

Damian shook his head and turned his face to his boots.

"Nothing. I haven't seen Richard in a long time," Damian mumbled. "The last time I did." Damian's eyes pulled up to the door, and he bit his lip.

"It wasn't him."

"Doesn't make it feel any less real. I just want him back home."

Jason swallowed, remembering Slade's warning. "We're not leaving here without him. He's coming home."

Damian searched the front of the helmet that gratefully covered Jason's face. Only now did he

realize he'd been spoiled with several interactions with Dick. For Damian, he'd only heard of or seen grainy, quick footage of Dick as Ravager. As far as Damian knew, it could still be a hoax or another disappointment.

He nearly cursed into the commlink at the extended wait when the light on the keypad by the door swapped from red to green. Jason swung the door open with unintentional excessive force, revealing a dark hallway. He stepped inside, feeling Damian follow without instruction. When the door closed, the night vision in his domino mask automatically activated, revealing a row of cells on either side of the long hall. The hallway wall to each room had been torn down and replaced with plexiglass, removing any privacy for the room's occupants.

The first two rooms on either side of the hall were empty. Jason forced the disappointment down and moved his feet forward.

"Is Dick in this hall?" Jason quietly asked into the commlink.

"Third on the left," Tim replied. "Turning on the lights, now ."

As Jason walked forward, the night vision faded, and he could see the hall in the light. Through the glass of the third cell, Dick stood in the center with his hands and ankles chained, blinking at the sudden bright light that flooded the space. Despite his breath catching itself, Jason didn't miss the sharp air intake behind him when Damian saw Dick for himself.

As they neared, the keypad beeped, and the door slid open. Dick remained silent, observing them with a tentative expression as if they might be a figment of his imagination. Then, his eyes shifted to Damian, who stayed in the hall, frozen, before returning to Jason. Their eyes briefly met before Jason darted his eyes down and made quick work of the restraints, throwing them to the side once Tim and Oracle remotely unlocked them.

"How did you find me?" Dick asked, rubbing his wrists after Jason released their hold on him.

"Nanotrackers that Red made."

"Nanotrackers? How did you get them past Blood's security? I would've been sure he'd search and disable any trackers."

"He didn't find them because they were internal and not active until after you arrived. Did you think we would leave you here for three days if we'd known where you were?" Jason asked, circling Dick to check him for any injuries.

"Inside me? How did you…." Dick started to ask before his voice trailed off. His eyebrows knitted together as the pieces fell into place. "That explains a lot."

Jason wrinkled his nose, wishing this conversation away. He'd hoped to never talk about the kiss on the roof with Dick, much less only a few days later with Damian nearby and the rest of the family listening over the comms. Most Bats preferred not to speak of awkward or emotional situations, but Dick wasn't like most Bats. That's what made Dick, Dick.

"Did you think I kissed you just because I wanted to?" Jason asked, adding disgust to his voice. He might as well directly address the kiss instead of tiptoeing around it. He didn't want Dick to take his avoidance as embarrassment or shame, giving himself away. But then again, the feeling of Dick returning the kiss consumed his mind and brought heat to his cheeks. So maybe there was a chance it hadn't been one-sided regarding want.

Dick's face morphed into a mixture of disappointment and questioning before turning void of

expression. Dick shrugged.

"A man can dream, right?" Dick asked with a lopsided, goofy grin as he raised his eyebrow.

Jason's heart skipped a beat at the implication, but then he rolled his eyes. Dick was mocking and joking with him, which frustrated Jason, so he pushed the false hope down. His shoulders tensed, but Dick's attention had transferred to Damian, and he didn't notice.

Slowly, Dick edged toward the doorway before stopping a foot in front of Damian.

"You've grown so much," Dick said sadly.

That was an understatement. Since Dick had left, Damian had undergone a massive growth spurt. His voice hadn't dropped, but it had deepened enough to be noticeable.

Like Barbara, their shared grief had linked Jason and Damian together. But there was always a part of him that had disliked Damian, which Jason finally accepted one day as jealousy. With no known significant other, it was easy to think that the most important person in Dick's life—other than Alfred—had been Damian. He'd take time out of his busy schedule to go to the arcade with the youngest Wayne, hug him first and last at family gatherings, and cuddle up with him during movie nights. It had left Jason bitter.

But watching Damian's world fall apart after Dick's death made him realize he'd never been competing with the boy. If anything, the two's relationship had been something to be proud of, especially considering how Damian was when he'd first arrived. Dick had been the father figure Bruce consistently failed to be, training Damian not only to be his Robin but a kid. The Damian they all knew and reluctantly loved could only be attributed to Dick's love and attention, which is why the last two years were probably Damian's hardest. And that's saying something for someone that grew up trained to be an assassin by their mother.

With most of the team too afraid they'd trigger a seizure episode, Jason had been the only one brave enough to prod Damian to talk about his grief. While Dick would've been the best person to help Damian navigate the bodily and life changes, Jason made a valiant attempt at the parental talks that Bruce typically failed at. Wherever Jason lacked wisdom, Alfred had offered assistance. While not perfect, they'd navigated the rough seas together, significantly improving their relationship in the long term. So much so, despite Bruce's disapproval after he'd returned to using lethal force, Damian had consistently joined him on patrol throughout the city.

Unlike when he'd been jealous of Tim for hogging Dick's attention in Paris, a small smile formed on his lips as the two embraced in a tight hug in the hall. With a final squeeze, Damian pulled away and tried to force a serious expression.

"Raven is down the hall," Dick said, pointing toward the room at the very end. Damian nodded before walking away toward the door.

"I'd get her quick, Robin. We have a problem," Tim said.

"What is it?" Jason asked as Damian broke into a sprint. Unable to hear the conversation, Dick gave him a puzzled expression.

"There aren't a lot of guards, and I think I know why. External cameras show Leaguers have arrived."

"Shit," Jason mumbled as a frown appeared on Dick's face.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked.

"The League is here."

"Shit."

"Exactly what I said."

They stood in silence as Damian opened the door to Raven's cell, and she hesitantly stepped out. When she saw them, she and Dick maintained intense eye contact before she gave him a slight nod. After a moment of hesitation and with gritted teeth, he returned the nod, making Jason narrow his eyes.

"We need the rest of the Titans. Now," Dick said, still staring at the two walking toward them down the hall.

Jason momentarily turned off his commlink, pulling his helmet off and leaning toward Dick.

"What are you two planning?" Jason asked in an accusatory, hushed tone.

Startled, Dick turned to him but blushed and pulled back when he realized Jason was close without his helmet.

"What?"

"Just look me in the eye and tell me you don't have some type of martyr or sacrificial bullshit planned? Slade told us what he knew, so I know about the prophecy."

Dick swallowed, and his eyes drifted to Raven and Damian again, causing Jason to roll his eyes and grunt.

"You can't even pretend to lie?" Jason hissed.

"I'll do whatever I have to do to keep you all safe," Dick said, refusing to look at him.

"Do you really believe that? That getting yourself hurt or, god forbid, actually killed this time is what's best for us?" Jason said, huffing. A concerned glance from Damian, who was now at their side, made Jason lower his voice to a low growl. "You don't get to tell me what is best for this family or me, especially regarding you. You don't get it."

Dick narrowed his eyes as he scanned Jason's face, trying to determine the meaning behind the words.

"Then explain it to me. What don't I get?" Dick asked in a whisper as he leaned in closer, ignoring their audience. This close, Jason could see his reflection in Dick's blue eyes, but he wasn't sure if the fear he saw in them was Dick's or his own. His eyes unintentionally dropped to Dick's lips, and Jason cursed himself for the slip-up when he returned his gaze up.

"When you left, this 'family' or whatever sentimental term you want to use fell apart. Everyone went off into whole new worlds far away from one another. And look, two years later, we're finally working together again because of you. What do you think will happen if you leave us again?"

Jason resisted the urge to flinch when Dick leaned in, similar to how Slade did earlier, and his mouth gently pressed against the outside of Jason's ear.

"Remember what I said in Suez, Jay? When a star dies, two things can happen. A team doesn't just

miraculously come together. A strong force pulls them in and guides them on a set path. You say the family is back together because of me. But from what I can tell from Gotham, Suez, Paris, and now, they're here because of you. They need you now, not me."

Dick pulled away, leaving their faces only inches from one another. Jason's mind raced with his recent interactions within the family, and Dick wasn't necessarily wrong. He'd formed deeper connections with each family member in the last two years and successfully brought everyone together again, barking orders without protest. He'd gained their respect and trust despite his shortcomings, which isn't easy with such an emotionally traumatized group of people. But the issue wasn't the family. It was him. Maybe they didn't need Dick like they used to, but the same wasn't true for Jason.

His voice uncharacteristically broke when he spoke; his words quiet like a light wind.

"But I need you."

Chapter End Notes

Hello, hello, and happy Saturday, friends!

It's hard to believe we're so close to the final chapters. As always, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. If anything, I am proud of myself for sticking to my three-week turnaround timeframe. Thankfully, the next chapter is partially written and extensively outlined. Fingers crossed the trend continues.

For anyone wondering, which is probably no one, all the chapter titles are lyrics from Twenty One Pilot songs. Addict With a Pen is the ENTIRE reason this story started. The song uses deserts metaphorically, so naturally, I tried to spin a story together that would place Dick Grayson in a desert (not related to Spyral, of course). And while Cairo ended up not being as big of a setting for this story, it's where everything started. Interesting how things naturally grow from small little inspirations. Anyway, that's my little fun fact.

Thanks for reading!

you'll bring the fire

Chapter Summary

Oh, what he would give—maybe his soul, ha—to see Jason's face again.

Chapter Notes

Trigger warning: Drug usage, needles, and overdose are mentioned as foreshadowed in previous chapters.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Due to Jason's vulnerable and exposed expression, Dick had clung to his following words so intently that Superman crashing through the hallway door and slamming into him was a complete surprise. He'd strained, but all he'd heard was the broken 'but' before flying sideways into Damian, who rolled out from underneath them as Superman continued their momentum forward. As his head hit the ground, his screaming skull determined it was time for a reset, and the world went momentarily black.

When he regained consciousness, an arm pinned him down against the ground, kicking his fight instinct into high gear. But his attempts to disarm his assailant were halted by a modulated grunt that let him know the pinned position was intentional. Dick blinked against the bright light, bringing the red helmet into focus before suddenly being overcome with nausea. He resisted the urge to vomit as he was slowly lifted to his feet and propped against Jason, who supported him.

"Can I lay back down?" Dick mumbled as his head fell against Jason's shoulder.

"No," Jason bluntly responded.

Damian appeared before him, assessing his status, but Dick blankly focused on the wall in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.

"Richard, look at me," Damian ordered. He guided Dick's head back to the center to examine his eyes, making him grimace at the movement. "One of his pupils is severely blown."

Jason responded, and a conversation began between the two, but Dick's vision began closing in, missing whatever they said.

"Dick," Jason said, slightly pressing his chest with his palm to shake him. "I asked if you can stand on your own."

Dick slurred out a jumbled mess of words intended to be an overly confident, "of course." But as Jason released his grip to test the theory, he began falling over.

"We're fucked."

"We just need to get him out of here," Damian replied before speaking into his earpiece. "Red

Robin, what is the best route out of here?"

"No!" Raven loudly interjected, making Dick flinch.

"What do you mean, no? He needs a hospital," Jason said, tightening his grip around Dick's body as Raven stepped forward with outreached arms.

"Put him back in his cell," Raven ordered. "Now. It's important."

Jason and Damian stood firm, unmoving.

As Damian argued back, Raven's intention to begin the ritual as soon as possible finally returned to Dick. He attempted to wiggle out of Jason's arms, but Jason wasn't letting him go.

"Jay," he started, but Jason cut him off with quiet words intended only for him as Raven and Damian continued arguing.

"You're hurt. Like really hurt, and I've seen you fight with bullet wounds and broken bones. You can't fight like this."

Dick hummed and turned his face toward Jason, exposing his neck as he strained to look up at Jason's worried expression. Then, he lifted his hand to cup the chin of Jason's helmet.

"I'm not fighting. I'm doing what I need to do. You're the one fighting."

He'd been so disoriented that he only now noticed the chaos around them. Raven begged for cooperation as she struggled to maintain her protective shield from Wonder Woman's and Zatanna's hits on the other side.

"They're all fighting, too. But not me," he added, patting Jason's cheek affectionately.

"For once, I wish you wouldn't be so predictable," Jason murmured, sighing.

"Yeah, but that would be changing the things you love about me," Dick said, smiling wide up at him and bopping Jason on the face of his helmet. Jason tensed against him, and how he wished he could see Jason's face. Then, after hesitation, Jason handed him over to Donna, who had entered their protective bubble at some point without Dick noticing.

"Hey, there, Boy Wonder," she warmly said, bringing him joy and making his smile wider. Before he could reply, Raven shuffled them toward the cell that'd been his.

"Cover us," Raven instructed Jason and Damian, who nodded in understanding.

Once inside the cell, Donna gently sat him on the ground, facing him toward the door. She supported him while listening to Raven give instructions. Dick missed half of what was said as he watched Jason take a kick to the ribs from Wonder Woman, causing Dick to whimper to himself in distress.

"Dick," Raven said, bending down in front of him. "Are you ready?"

Around him, Joey, Conner, and Donna stared down at him. Their faces were stern, and he could tell the years had worn on each of them by the deepened frown lines. Suddenly, the two years he'd spent with Slade felt short and incomparable to the experiences of the others in this room. That, and a glance past Raven reminded him of the League members, trapped against their wills, too.

He reached toward his boot and removed the vial of adenosine and accompanying needle. The

faces above him shifted from stern to distraught while he readied the needle, maxing out the dosage on the syringe. He would have to inject himself four times to get to an overdose quantity.

"Does someone have anything that can be used as a tourniquet?"

Donna gave a sad nod as she reached to remove her hair from its ponytail and break the hairband before tying it around Dick's elbow. He thanked her, placing his hand on hers before giving her a reassuring smile. A tear ran down her cheek as she pulled away and stood back to her full height. It would be easier to ask one of them to do this for him, but he could never ask them to assist in this part. This was his decision, and he wouldn't make them accomplices.

"Start," Dick ordered, flicking his arm to make his veins pop. While Raven had already expanded her protective shield to encompass the room, the energy around them began pulsing with new strength. He'd have to move quickly to complete multiple injections before the drug started working and Raven's ritual truly began. He waited until Raven started muttering in an ancient language, keeping his eyes low to avoid eye contact with those surrounding him.

Sounds of fighting mingled with Raven's words, and it took everything for him to focus on the task before him. As the energy once again shifted, Dick knew this was it. It was now or never to catch Trigon off guard. After the injection, he'd enter Dick's body, oblivious to its imminent self- destruction. As the only viable host, Dick hoped Trigon enjoyed show tunes for their soulful road trip to wherever Trigon spent his eternal days.

He stabbed the needle after one deep breath, pushing the plunger until it bottomed out. He repeated the process three more times, his hands shaking on the last injection. The syringe and vial of adenosine dropped to the ground beside him as he lifted his head toward the door. Bodies momentarily appeared before disappearing as they ran and flew past the glass wall.

A hand on either shoulder brought him back as the Titans sat in a circle, and Raven continued chanting. The warm sensation spread through his veins as his heart unknowingly circulated the high dosage of adenosine throughout his body. Then, with a yell from Raven, the air crackled around them as Raven finished summoning her father.

Dick's body tensed and convulsed as his control slowly diminished. Pain shot through him, incomparable pain he swore was at a molecular level. He attempted to grit through it, but a piercing scream escaped him, causing the hands on his shoulders to tighten.

In front of him, yet far away, Jason was yelling and, from the sound of it, trying to tear the door down, which Raven's spell kept locked.

Like when Jason electrocuted his helmet, the flashes of color suddenly disappeared, leaving him breathing heavily. But his body was no longer his, and his hand lifted before him and turned over without his permission.

"This body will do wonderfully," Trigon said through him. He stood up, and the other Titans timidly stood before backing away with tense bodies. Jason stared back at him through the door, but Trigon paid him no mind, turning to Raven. "Daughter, what an unexpected treat. Could you not wait to see me?"

"I couldn't wait to see you fail again," Raven replied with her hands still glowing, holding the spell active. Trigon laughed, gesturing to the magic-lined walls.

"You think this will hold me? How long can maintain such an intricate spell?" He wickedly smiled, but Raven was unfazed, gritting her teeth.

"Long enough."

The statement only made Trigon smile wider, but it was short-lived. Dick felt his eye twitch and knee buckle slightly, catching Trigon's attention. He examined Dick's body, placing a hand on his chest as the hammering became evident. When Dick's shoulder jerked forward, Trigon knitted his eyebrows.

"What is happening?"

Dick fell to his knees, fingers gripping against the tiled floor. After noticing the vial and syringe nearby, Trigon's anger began building inside him.

"I do not need this body," Trigon forced out of him through gritted teeth. "I will find another host."

"Where will you find one?" Raven asked. "The only way your soul can leave this room is through ascension with another soul. It can't pass through in any physical form or solo spiritual form. And the last time I checked, none of those inside this room can serve you as host."

Trigon darted his eyes to each Titan before turning to the door. His hand shot to his chest as another stabbing pain struck him, hitching his breath.

"No, no, no," he began mumbling. "This cannot be." His jaw tightened as his chest constricted again. "You cannot." Pain. "Stop." Pain. "Me."

"We already have," Raven responded as Dick's body fell flat against the floor, convulsing. In the corners of his consciousness, Jason was yelling again, and something was banging.

"There has to be another way. Anyone else!" Jason screamed. "Let me in!"

"You imbecile. Sacrificing yourself will only serve to piss Grayson off. If he survives, knowing you took his place will ultimately kill him," Slade responded. Or he thought it was Slade. "Can Grayson be removed and replaced?"

Raven hesitated before responding above him. "Yes," she finally said. "The only stipulation with the spell is that Dick's body cannot pass through while possessed by my father. As an act of self- preservation, my father will search out another host once his body dies."

"Dies?" Jason interjected.

Raven motioned for ease, gritting as the spell depleted her energy.

"Depending on the person, it can be minutes, days, or even years before the soul departs after physical death. Dick's will likely depart in minutes. When his soul ascends, he will take my, unsuccessful in finding another host, father, with him. But if you wanted to save him, doing so while my father is out searching and Dick's soul is still here is the ideal time to remove him. But someone has to replace him. My father has to have a host soul to ascend with; I can't contain him here forever."

Jason began cursing profanity, but Dick didn't hear all the words as another scream escaped him. Conversations continued around him while consciousness slipped away from him. His body seized, and his eyes pressed tightly shut. His heart rate began decreasing to the point that individual beats rattled his chest and, he was sure, left an indent in the tiled floor. His heart naturally wanted to race due to the stress, but the medicine was signaling his heart to slow down. The crossed signals caused his nerves to fire on all cylinders, and every sensation was ten-fold.

His heart gave one last reluctant pulse before stopping. Nothing happened as he tried to suck in a shaky breath, and the blood in his veins seemingly halted. Then, with wide eyes and a gapped mouth, Trigon outstretched his arm toward Raven, who was still several feet away, staring sadly down at him like the other Titans. Somewhere behind him, yelling continued, but he couldn't comprehend the words, the voices muffled in one ear as he lay pressed against the floor.

Like his drowning experience, the edges of his vision tunneled inward, and the world became fuzzy. He strained to hear Jason's unmodulated voice. Oh, what he would give—maybe his soul, ha—to see Jason's face again. But like hearing Jason's words before Superman slammed him into the ground, he would never get the satisfaction of proper closure.

Everything slipped away, and the world was quiet.

Silent.

Cold.

Dark.

Suddenly, a hand pressing into his chest jolted him awake.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, finally," Jason breathlessly murmured above him. Dick frantically searched from side to side, disoriented as warmth filled his veins.

On his knees beside him, Tim's shoulders dropped in relief. "That was the longest I've ever had to do chest compressions. Jesus, Dick. Your stubborn even in death."

Dick blinked back at him, struggling to lift his head. Tim's hand suddenly cupped his face, holding him down, but he looked over Dick at Jason, who straddled Dick's head between his knees.

"I'll make sure we have the all-clear, and then you can get him to the medics. Wait for my signal," Tim said before standing and running off.

He tried to speak, but only a croak came out.

Jason shushed him. "For once in your life, take it easy, please."

Dick blinked again as all the sensations of being alive descended on him. He desperately tried to find his voice. "I'm alive?" he asked with a tight voice, lifting his hand to grip Jason's forearm.

"Are you disappointed?" Jason asked with a forced, amused expression that contradicted the concern in his eyes.

Dick took in Jason's face before giving a tiny smile.

"Not even the slightest. Raven told me I'd wake up in a place worse than hell, so I'm just confused."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "You don't know. This might be hell."

With the bait taken, Dick's smile widen. "Not if you're here. Seems like heaven to me."

It took a second, but Jason's eyes shone with shock before he dropped his head back and groaned loudly. When he brought his head back, he ran his gloved hand down his face.

"I can't believe we just spent five minutes performing CPR to save your life. What were we

thinking?"

Dick laughed but grimaced at the pain in his chest, forcing him to drop his smile. Concern spread over Jason's face as he pulled Dick up and against him by slipping his arms beneath Dick's and lifting him. Jason dragged him along the floor a few feet and propped him against the glass wall of a neighboring cell before sitting next to him.

Around them, various League members stood about being consoled by other heroes. The number of compromised heroes was unknown to him, but by the number of confused faces, it appeared to be a lot. He wondered if the last five or more years had been like when Trigon possessed him; he was aware of what was happening but had no control.

Next to him, Jason stared hard at the floor with gritted teeth. His arms sat on bended knees with his fist repeatedly opening and closing. Dick knew Jason well enough to know he was angry.

"You seem mad," Dick said, trying to strike up a conversation to distract himself from the pain.

Jason clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, his eyes following someone's movement nearby.

"Of course, I'm mad, among other things."

"Why? We won," Dick said before pausing, lightening his tone to joke. "We did win, right?"

"Yeah, Dickface. We won," Jason harshly said before turning to him. The tint of green in Jason's eyes was an old but familiar sight.

"Jay," Dick started, but Jason turned away.

"Don't Jay me, right now."

Dick pulled his mouth to the side and reached out. "I just want to help…."

Jason cut him off and grabbed his hand mid-air, stopping it. "What would help is if you valued your life as much as I—we do." Jason gripped his hand hard enough to hurt. "I watched you die. Again." Jason threw his hand away, which landed in his lap with a thud.

Dick chewed on his lip, unsure how to proceed. "But I'm here."

"Yeah, after several minutes of Tim doing chest compressions while I gave you mouth to mouth."

The tip of Dick's ears burned, and he knew he was blushing. He'd just died, so being embarrassed by the thought of Jason's lips on his own again was trivial, but it didn't stop the feeling from blossoming in his chest. Thankfully, Jason remained focused on his boots. He sighed, letting his head fall to his chest.

His mind raced with playful responses; I'd die for you. All of you. Obviously. Or No one in this family stays dead. I knew I'd be back.

But he couldn't get any of them out. So instead, a tiny whisper escaped.

"I needed to protect you all. Your lives are more important than mine."

Jason gave a restrained, maniac laugh, turning to him with wild, green eyes.

"To you, maybe. Why do you devalue your own life, Dick? You're surprised this isn't hell? Where do you think the rest of us have been living the last two years?"

Dick's mouth hung open, surprised at the admission. He jumped when Tim suddenly spoke, disrupting the moment.

"Everything is clear. All threats are incapacitated. You can head outside. The medical convoy will meet you there and take you to the Watchtower."

Jason nodded and stood, dropping their earlier conversation.

"Let's go, princess. Need to get you to your carriage before midnight."

The stark contrast in attitude left Dick frustrated, but he swallowed his sarcastic comment. He rolled onto his knees, trying to stand, but he couldn't quite get his feet under him. A sigh sounded above him before Jason lifted him into a bridal carry, causing the heat in his ears to return.

Tim awkwardly stood to the side as Dick protested the degrading scene by squirming in Jason's grasp. Then, grunting and ignoring him, Jason began walking down the hall, tightly restraining Dick. The tension between them was physically noticeable. Despite being mad that Jason was angry with him for trying to save their lives, he didn't have the words to argue. Unfortunately, he also didn't have the energy as he settled into Jason's hold.

Jason tried to sneakily glance to the side before quickly pulling his eyes back. Dick noticed the movement and twisted to view the cell behind him over Jason's shoulder. Despite Jason ordering him to stop, he saw what Jason didn't want him to see.

As they walked past his old cell, Joey knelt beside an unmoving familiar orange and black-clothed body. Startled, Dick strained to get a better view, but Jason held him tight and continued walking.

"Slade," Dick whispered.

"He's gone," Jason emotionlessly replied, causing Dick to give him a confused expression before turning back to Slade's lifeless body. Donna walked behind Joey, placing a hand on his back before kneeling and pulling him into a tight hug. Jason never stopped, and the sight disappeared as they walked into a lobby.

Dick wasn't even aware he was crying until Jason set him on an old, dusty chair, supporting his shoulders to keep him upright. Kneeled between his knees, Jason blurred in his tear-filled sight.

"Dickie," Jason said, wiping tears from his cheek. "I need you to calm down."

Dick began hyperventilating, grimacing from shock and his pained chest. "But, Slade." The name fell from his lips, triggering a new onslaught of tears. "I…it was me. It was supposed to be me."

Jason was silent, staring unfocused at Dick's chest as he continued gripping Dick's shoulders. Dick fell forward, pressing his forehead against the top of Jason's head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo mixed with sweat. The hands on his shoulders fell away to encompass his midsection in a tight hug. Slade had taken his place in the ritual. But why? More tears silently fell.

"It's what he wanted. I won't lie and say I'm disappointed about it," Jason said, muffled into Dick's shirt. "He said to continue impressing him and always to do things with purpose."

The words only made Dick cry harder, but Jason continued.

"After what Trigon made him do last time, he wanted to die a hero in front of his son and make him proud. And I know he wasn't happy about it, but Joey told him it was okay. Well signed him, that he'd be okay and loved him, or some sappy bullshit like that. I don't know. You were just laying

there dying, so my attention was elsewhere."

It was Jason's shoulders that trembled this time. Dick ran his hands through Jason's hair, breathing him in before lifting them to rub his face and lean back. Below him, Jason looked up at him, but Dick couldn't make eye contact, hiccuping and staring over Jason's head. Finally, as the fatigue overtook him, he dropped his head onto the worn cushion. As he closed his eyes, Jason moved forward.

"Oh no, you don't. I need you to stay awake. You have a bad concussion."

Dick grumbled, opening one eye to glare at Jason, who softly slapped his cheek with determined eyes.

"I'm serious. No rest for the wicked."

Annoyed and tired, Dick turned away and pressed into the cushion with closed eyes as stray tears slipped past his lids. Jason sadly sighed.

"I don't want to do this, but get up," Jason ordered, lifting him by the arm and supporting him. Dick grunted but leaned against Jason. "The League is sending medical convoys. We need to get outside and ensure you're on the first one."

"I can't, Jay."

"We're not staying here. Not happening. I refuse to deal with Damian's bullshit if you slip into a coma."

Once again, Jason effortlessly lifted him, causing Dick to groan. With heightened sensitivity, the quick movements made his stomach churn. Jason made it ten feet before Dick began panicking again.

"I need more time. Please, Jay. Just a moment." The words came out rushed and pathetic.

Conflicted, Jason hesitated before sighing. Then, he stepped to the side and set Dick on his feet, letting him slide down the wall into a seated position with his knees pulled to his chest.

Dick leaned his head back and took deep breaths. He began falling to the side, but Jason, now seated, again caught him and pulled him to his chest to support him. With his face pressed into the soft, worn leather of Jason's jacket, Dick closed his eyes, but the sight of Slade's still body replaced the darkness.

Crying again, he pressed into Jason's chest, listening to the strong, steady heartbeat underneath his ear. But, based on the feeling in his chest, his heartbeat was far from the rhythmic pattern of Jason's.

"Open your eyes, so I know you're awake," Jason said with his cheek against Dick's forehead. Their faces parted as Jason pulled back to get a better view of Dick, who stared back with one eye opened.

"Unfortunately, I'm awake."

"Well, I'm sorry you're alive. It can be a shitty state of being."

Dick closed his eye again. "Everything just hurts."

Jason hummed in acknowledgment, the sound deep and loud with his face against Jason's chest. A few moments passed as people shuffled about the space, but Dick kept his eyes closed, ignoring them. He ran his finger against the soft leather, listened to Jason's breathing, and took in the smell of sandalwood shampoo to center himself.

He must have been too quiet and still because Jason shook him.

"Dickie," Jason breathed into his hair.

"Ima awake," he slurred.

"You won't be long if we stay like this," Jason said, pushing him upward. "We need to move."

Dick protested, clawing at Jason's collar. "No, I wanna stay here," he said, continuing to slur.

Jason seemed conflicted again, sighing. "I'm sorry. But I'm going to do what's best for you."

Rubbing his cheek against the leather, Dick argued, "This is what's best. Rest."

"We're not resting here."

This time Jason ignored his protest, pushing him into a self-supported, sitting position. Dick frowned at the loss of warmth. As Jason stood and leaned to help him up, Dick blinked.

"Jay," he started. "I have a question."

"What, bird brain?" Jason asked, continuing to position Dick for pickup.

"What did you say before Superman turned my brain into scrambled Robin eggs?"

Jason froze, tensing. A moment passed, but soon Jason moved again as if nothing had happened and lifted Dick as he had before.

"I said you're an idiot."

Dick frowned. "No, you didn't."

"If you know what I said, why are you asking me?" Jason replied, avoiding eye contact as he focused on walking down the stairs.

"I don't know what you said, but I know it wasn't that."

"You just said you don't know what I said. And I'm telling you, that's what I said." Jason reached the bottom of the stairs and headed toward the door.

"It started with a but. I heard that much."

"But you're an idiot."

Dick rolled his eyes and let his head fall into the crook of Jason's neck. They stopped as Jason spoke to a nearby Leaguer who confirmed the medical convoy was en route with an ETA under four minutes. Nodding, Jason awkwardly stood holding Dick as other injured heroes joined the waiting party.

"You awake?" Jason asked him when a minute of silence passed.

"Mmhmm."

Realizing he was slipping, Jason continued talking. "It doesn't matter what I said."

The return to their earlier conversation piqued his interest, so he lifted his head. "I'll be the judge of that."

Jason's jaw tensed as he ground his teeth in deliberation. Jason slightly opened his mouth several times but never spoke. Then, when Dick thought he might tell him, Jason's mouth abruptly shut, and his expression became hard.

"How is he?" a voice asked.

Dick turned his head as Bruce, dressed in the same plain white t-shirt and sweatpants as the rest of the Titans, walked up to them.

"He's not dead, so you're welcome," Jason said.

Bruce stopped a few feet shy of them, giving Jason a disapproving look.

"And you?" Bruce asked, directing the question at Jason.

Jason cringed but rebounded to a neutral expression.

"I'm fine."

Bruce gave a tiny nod. "I worry about all my kids. Remember that."

Jason's eyes dropped, but he said nothing, so Bruce turned his attention to Dick.

"Like he said, not dead. I'm a little achy, but nothing some of Alfred's cooking can't fix," Dick said, smiling and trying to ease the tension.

Bruce's expression softened, and he moved forward to place a gentle hand on Dick's head, rubbing his forehead softly with his thumb. Dick closed his eyes at the comforting act.

"They'll have the best medical team looking after you soon. I'm sure we can arrange delivery of your favorites until you can come home."

There was a lot to be said, especially at the mention of home, but this wasn't the time or place, so Dick only hummed before resting his head against Jason's shoulder again. Finally, satisfied with Dick's current state, Bruce stepped back.

"Stay with him," Bruce said to Jason.

"Agreed," Dick quickly added. Tense, Jason's nose wrinkled and forehead pinched at Bruce's searching stare.

"I'll stay until I know he's safe," Jason said. Bruce narrowed his eyes but dropped whatever question lingered in his head, nodding.

"I'll find the others and see if anyone else needs medical attention."

Jason offered no reply, and Bruce turned to leave.

"Bye, B! See you soon!" Dick said with as much energy as he could muster. Bruce stopped and

half turned to them with a smile.

"See you soon, chum."

As Bruce walked back toward the building, snow and dead vegetation stirred around them as a League-sanctioned, space-certified plane landed nearby. When the plane's loading ramp touched down, several EMTs ran out, followed closely by Cyborg, who scanned the crowd until his eyes settled on Jason and Dick.

After walking over, Cyborg quickly looked at Dick before turning to Jason. "Batman said to ensure Dick made it onto the first convoy."

"He only died a little," Jason said as he transferred Dick into Cyborg's arms. The cold metal of Cyborg's robotic parts left him missing Jason's warmth. As Cyborg returned to the plane, Dick acknowledged the lack of footsteps behind them. Jason hadn't moved from his spot when he glanced over Cyborg's shoulder.

"Wait," Dick said to Cyborg, who abruptly stopped.

"What's wrong?" Cyborg asked, but Dick ignored him and peered back at Jason.

"Aren't you coming?"

Jason searched his confused, questioning face.

"No."

Dick's heart stammered, and pain filled his chest.

"You told Bruce you'd stay with me," he said sadly.

"Until I knew you were safe," Jason quickly finished. He gestured toward Cyborg. "I trust him. You're safe. I know it, so I'll stay here."

For a man who'd exerted so much effort to fill his lungs and help him breathe, Jason seemed to have no issue knocking the air right back out of him. He'd thought Trigon possessing him or the whole dying thing would've been the worst thing to happen to him today. But being abandoned in his weak emotional state by Jason took the prize for the shittiest moment. Dick momentarily considered begging or pleading, but Jason was Jason. Once he made up his mind, that was that.

Feeling faint, Dick brought his focus back toward the plane and shut his eyes.

"You okay?" Cyborg quietly asked.

"Yeah," Dick said after a few deep breaths. When Cyborg took a step, Dick stopped him, clinging to hope. "Just one last thing." He peered back over Cyborg's shoulder, shouting the same thing he had to Bruce. "See you soon?"

But it came out more as a question than a statement than it had with Bruce. Jason remained stoic, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil in Dick's mind.

"I'll see you," was the reply. Dick waited for the 'soon,' but it never came.

"Let's go," he whispered to Cyborg, who walked them up the ramp as Dick dropped his gaze. Around them, EMTs treated patients, but Cyborg carried Dick to the front, away from the others. When Cyborg laid him on an examination chair behind the cockpit, Dick melted into the cushioned

seat, fighting tears and sleep as his head lolled toward the wall. Cyborg readied an IV and began connecting various monitoring equipment to him.

The plane shook as the engine roared and the ramp retracted. Looking past the huddled bodies, Dick could see Jason illuminated by the tail lights that glowed a classic Red Hood red. The heat from the plane's exhaust billowed the red light against Jason's body like fire. That should've been all the sign he needed to know that majority of the heat between them was coming from one side. Fires burning blue are more intense than those burning red because they waste no fuel and burn completely. That was who Dick Grayson was—a Nightwing blue flame to his core. He'd burn up everything he had if it meant keeping someone else warm.

When the door finally shut, and Jason was gone, he turned back to the wall as sleep tugged at his being. Somehow, his soul had survived the day, yet he lay here empty and bare.

His mind continued to wander, though, because there was another color that burned in Jason for those close enough to see it. Unlike red and blue, flames of green signaled toxicity and contamination. However, Dick was an optimist, and when the three primary colors—red, blue, and green—combined, they formed white according to physics. A color that symbolizes goodness and newness, like a blank page in a book still to be written.

Chapter End Notes

I have no notes this time. I'm anxious to know what you all are thinking. Eek!

just need you to tell me we're alright

Chapter Summary

But either way, he didn't have the heart to believe otherwise.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Gotham, December 17, 2019, 8:35 PM EST

"There you are."

Dick swiveled the main computer's chair enough to catch a glimpse of Bruce descending the stairs over his shoulder. As Bruce neared, he eyed Dick's feet on the desk but didn't scold him or shove them off.

"Yeah, I just needed a moment," Dick said, fiddling with his thumbs.

"Not enjoying the continuous parade of friends bidding for your time?" Bruce asked, leaning against the desk. When he crossed his arms, Dick noted the manila folder in his grip.

Dick sighed, dropping his feet to the floor. "I love seeing everyone again, but it's a lot. I've been alone for the better half of two years, so the sudden influx of people is slightly overwhelming."

It'd been three weeks since the incident in Canada, and two weeks since he'd been allowed to return home under the condition he remained under strict medical surveillance. Thankfully, having maintained consciousness to the Watchtower, his medical team deemed him sound enough in body and mind to make his own medical decisions. So, naturally, he refused to disclose any more information than he needed to or before he had time to process it.

Bruce wasn't happy when Dick declined to sign the League's medical information release form that allowed his doctor to disclose the extent of his injuries to the rest of the Bats. It wasn't Dick's fault the only League paperwork approved third-party individual, and his emergency contact wasn't present; one Jason Peter Todd. As an adult and following several questionable medical decisions on Bruce's part, Dick had made the legal change years ago. However, he'd failed to enlighten Bruce of the change until he'd arrived at the Watchtower a few weeks ago.

Watching his doctor stand firm in the face of Batman was both impressive and honorable. So as mandated, Dick saw a local doctor twice a week, who sent the appointment report back to the League doctors. Over the last two weeks, though, it appeared Bruce was willing, for the time being, to ignore the Zitka-sized refusal in the room. But the Bats knew that if Dick wouldn't sign a form to make them privy to something, it probably meant there was something worth hiding. Sadly, their assumptions were correct, but Dick wasn't ready to admit it.

The events in Suez, the Canary Islands, Paris, and Canada had taken a toll on his body, especially the ritual in Canada. From his initial discussions with his doctor, his heart was, as the doctor calmly said, damaged or, as Dick eloquently translated, fucked. His doctor had suggested perhaps the condition was a temporary case of broken heart syndrome, which occurred following stressful

or intense situations. However, further tests revealed the problem was more crippling than a broken heart. His recurring symptoms of chest pains, shortness of breath, and irregular heartbeats were likely permanent.

Despite this, he was healthy enough to move about unaided, but it wasn't without difficulty. The cave stairs posed too great a challenge for his heart, and he had to take the elevator whenever he came down here. They may have defeated Trigon, but he'd clipped Dick's wings and grounded him in the end.

"I get it. But they all want to see you and make sure you're okay," Bruce said, snapping Dick out of his thoughts.

"I know. I know. I'm grateful, but I need a little space right now," Dick said, waving him off before quickly adding, "Not from you, I mean. You're fine. If anything, I need a mental distraction from everything. You know?"

Bruce nodded, smiling as he stared off into the darkness.

"I may be able to assist with the distraction piece. You're not approved for the field, but there is a potential case you could help gather intel for."

Dick perked up at the mention of vigilante work. But, of course, he'd have to present a letter of good health to Bruce before he was allowed to don the Nightwing suit again, which was unlikely. So he'd take any challenge to stimulate his mind if Bruce allowed it.

"Is that what the folder is for?" Dick asked, gesturing with his head toward the folder.

Bruce glanced at it before turning back. "No, that is something else I needed to speak with you about. It's actually why I came down here."

"Ah, well, here I was thinking you were just bidding for my time," Dick attempted to joke, but his energy fell flat.

Bruce gave him a half smile. "Be patient with everyone. Sometimes people think their presence can add fuel back to a fire, helping it grow, when, in reality, they're smothering it. People fail to realize that for a fire to become stronger, the best thing is to let it get some air and breathe," Bruce said.

Dick leaned back in the chair and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you talking about me or someone else?"

"Both," Bruce said, uncrossing his arms to set the folder down and lean on the desk with flat palms.

"So you still haven't heard from Jason either?" Dick asked, understanding the unspoken subject matter.

"The last time I spoke with him was with you in Canada."

Dick stared off into the blackness of the ceiling as he lay back.

"Same." He sighed. It'd been three weeks since Jason handed him over to Cyborg and abandoned him. He'd thought Jason would've shown up at the cave by now, if not the Watchtower, but as far as Dick knew, the only person who'd had any contact with Jason was Tim. And even that was minimal. He'd sent a few vague texts stating he had a backlog of errands to deal with as the Red Hood since the Ravager case had preoccupied him for so long.

For the most part, the topic of Jason was as taboo as Dick's medical situation. So he was surprised Bruce was mentioning it now, but not surprised the conversation ahead made Bruce nervous. Bruce was uncharacteristically tapping his finger, and while it was subtle, Dick, trained by the best, noticed. Bruce must have caught his eyes tracking the movement.

"I'm glad you mentioned Jason. I wanted to ask," Bruce started, his finger hovering before landing on the desk and staying there. "Did anything happen between you two?"

Dick's lounging, relaxed position turned stiff, betraying his Bat training. Then, when his brain caught up, he sat forward, straight and awkward.

"No. I mean, yes," Dick stammered. "Like yes, I died in front of him. Again. That was pretty shitty of me. I'll add a dollar to Alfred's swear jar. Sorry. He was mad at me for doing stuff without telling anyone."

If Bruce's raised eyebrow indicated anything, it was how he'd mucked up that response.

"I—nothing happened like…."

"Dick," Bruce said, interrupting him.

Dick crumpled under Bruce's knowing gaze, falling back into the chair. "Sorry."

"I don't know everything that happened while I was gone, but I reviewed all the body cam or mission footage available to me."

Oh, God. Dick dropped his head into his hands between his knees. Thankfully, none of the flirtatious footage from Suez had survived, but the files from Paris and Canada had remained intact. He'd know. He'd gone back and watched them for his mission report, which, with two years' worth of intel, had taken him over a week working nearly non-stop to finalize. He'd suspiciously left out specific details, such as the oral transfer of nanobot trackers or his belief he'd woken up in heaven after seeing Jason following the ritual.

"Bruce," Dick said with a small voice. He suddenly felt like a kid who'd done something wrong and was about to be scolded. "Jason isn't here."

An awkward silence lay between them as Dick stared at the ground.

"And?" Bruce finally asked.

Dick blinked a few times before sighing. "He's not here. I think that implication speaks for itself."

Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing Dick's eyes upward.

"You're not mad?" Dick asked. He'd known Bruce a long time. The man wasn't an idiot.

Bruce's hand remained, but his gaze went over Dick's head.

"I don't understand, and I don't necessarily approve. But I don't disapprove either. You're both my sons, but I realize your relationship may be far from brotherly. At least from one side, anyway. You came from different situations at different times. Your overlap was minimal compared to the others, and your relationship grew outside the life I experienced with you both."

Dick cringed at the awkwardness of the conversation as Bruce continued.

"Which is why I'm not sure how you'll respond to this," Bruce said as he grabbed the folder and

held it in front of Dick, who blinked at it before taking it.

When he opened it, a completed original copy of a 'Petition for Adoption of an Adult' form stared back at him. When he flipped the page, the statement stating the Petitioner, Bruce Wayne, was requesting to adopt the following adult, Richard (Dick) John Grayson, over eighteen, made him suck in a breath.

"Bruce," he breathlessly said.

"I should've done it years ago, but I didn't want you to think I was trying to replace your parents. It took you so long to adjust. I was so unsure of what I was doing back then. Not that I have any clue now."

Dick swallowed before closing the folder, gripping it tightly. "Bruce, I don't need paperwork to know you care or to make anything official."

"I'm not doing it because I feel like I have to. I'm doing it because I want to. You're my son, Dick. You always have been. I've made many mistakes, with this one being the biggest."

Bruce stared back at him with sad, regretful eyes. Dick stood up and encompassed Bruce in a tight hug, resting his head against Bruce's chest.

"I always knew, Bruce. You had your ways of showing you cared. I won't lie and say it wasn't hard to watch you adopt others without asking me. But they needed it; I only ever wanted it, and I see that now," Dick said as Bruce returned the hug. After a few moments, they separated, and Dick returned the folder to Bruce.

"Is that a no?" Bruce hesitantly asked.

Dick chewed his lip, thinking of the rooftop in Paris. "I can't give you an answer until I get some of my own."

Bruce took the folder. "I thought you said the implication was obvious."

"Jason has surprised me before," Dick said, staring at Bruce's chest to avoid eye contact. It was almost Christmas, after all. The hopeless optimist in him was waiting for a Hallmark holiday, movie-style appearance. "If there are any embers, I want to leave the door cracked so the fire can breathe. Then, if the fire dies instead, I'll have my answer. Or some wise metaphor like that."

Dick playfully punched Bruce's shoulder, making him chuckle.

"It's only wise because it came from Alfred."

Dick laughed, too. Thankful for the break in the tension. "Figures."

Bruce released a heavy breath. "I respect your decision. But know, this paperwork is ready to be filed at any point if you change your mind."

"Noted. Thank you, Bruce," Dick said, stepping back. Bruce's eyes wandered over him, making Dick feel slightly self-conscious. To the naked eye, he appeared healthy, and for that, he was thankful. When Bruce's eyes lingered on the silver chain barely visible under his shirt and around his neck, Dick sat in the chair again and leaned forward. The dog tag under his shirt fell forward as he rested his elbows on his knees.

He'd been surprised when Wintergreen arrived with several of Slade's and Ravager's items for Dick

to keep. When he'd seen Slade's US Army-issued dog tags in the box, he'd initially refused, stating Joey deserved them. But according to Wintergreen, Joey had insisted they go to Dick. He'd worn them every day since Wintergreen presented them to him. He wasn't sure how long he'd wear them, but the guilt of Slade's death still clung to his being, and he couldn't bare to part from them at the moment. It would take Dick and the rest of the family time to digest the events in Canada that ultimately allowed Dick to come home. Like his heart and Jason, Slade was a taboo topic.

A tightness encompassed his chest, triggering concern. He needed a distraction.

He forced the biggest, lop-sided smile on his face and sat up, tilting his head.

"So this case," Dick said, lifting his feet back onto the desk as he leaned back in the chair with hands behind his head.

Bruce smiled, searching his face. Dick wasn't sure if he hid his internal turmoil well, but Bruce eventually gave him a nod and turned to the computer, shoving his feet to the ground.

"Alfred will have to add money to his swear jar if he catches you with your filthy feet on this desk," Bruce said with a smile, tapping into the keyboard. Dick caught himself and laughed at the fatherly response; the pain in his chest momentarily forgotten. It was just that, though. As he listened to Bruce go over background details regarding the case, the pain returned dull and achy.

He was confident, perhaps optimistic, that it'd get better. But either way, he didn't have the heart to believe otherwise.

Chapter End Notes

Okay, first things first. If you made it to this note. Wow. Thank you so much for reading the ~65,000 words I poured my heart and soul into over the last seven months. Second, I sincerely hope you're not disappointed at the lack of closure/resolution. I always intended this story to have a sequel, and Dick coming home was a natural breaking point. That, and it's more manageable as a writer to think of them as individual projects, so I don't get overwhelmed.

And if you can tell by my writing, there was never a chance these two would solve all their problems in one final chapter. I've never read a comic where, when faced with feelings, Jason didn't run away first. What we have here are some complicated, emotionally constipated Bat boys. There are a lot of consequences and fall out from the events in this story that will linger in the sequel, which will jump ahead six months into the future. But fear not. I don't write unhappy endings. At least, not yet.

So, yes. I posted this final chapter early so I could focus on finishing the outline and finer details of the sequel. I hope to have the first chapter out soon, but I want to ensure the story is fully developed before jumping into things.

Thank you again. I sincerely want to know your thoughts, and hopefully, you're excited there will be more! I created a series, The Constellations We Make, so if you want to follow along, be on the lookout for a new story under that series!

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their /works/36027145/comments/new

Made of Stardust

stay alive for me

heaven forbid they see you cry

the sun will rise and we will try again

when did you believe you were alone?

but there's hope out the window

learned way too soon you should never trust

where we're from, there is no sun

i know i haven't been the best of sons

i've been thinking too much

they're calling for your head

we should take a moment and hold it

it's a bit darker than the last night's bout

i know you want to leave

you'll bring the fire

just need you to tell me we're alright