"And now, for our final story," the newscaster droned. Jason was only half paying attention as he finished off the last of his food. It was a good practice for vigilantes like him to watch the news regularly so they knew what was happening in the world, but Jason wished the newscasters would just focus on the important stuff and leave out the other, boring stories he didn't care about. Maybe the next time Dick stayed over at his safehouse, he'd make him watch the news instead and summarize it for Jason afterwards. That could be the price of admission for crashing on Jason's spare mattress.

But on patrol, Dick had been impaled - straight-up gutted, internal organs visible and everything - by a hit he'd taken for Jason, and even though he insisted that his healing factor meant that was okay, Jason could see how much energy it took to heal something that big. Jason had dragged him to his closest safehouse instead of letting him go all the way back to the Manor, and then he'd dumped him on the mattress and told him to get some rest. It hadn't taken much convincing before Dick's eyes slid shut.

So maybe next time, Jason could make Dick watch the news for him, but this time, he was going to let his brother sleep.

"Mourning in the nation's capitol," the newscaster continued, "as a vigil begins on the anniversary of the death of Congressman Jim Walters-"

Behind Jason, there was the sound of something shattering.

Jason whirled around to find Dick standing in the middle of his kitchen, a broken glass at his feet. His eyes were blank and distant, and Jason didn't know what he was remembering, but he knew a trauma-induced flashback when he saw one.

"Dick? Hey, Dickwing, can you hear me?"

Dick didn't even blink. Jason swore under his breath and got up from the couch, taking a slow step towards Dick. Startling him when he was having a flashback like this wasn't necessarily the smartest idea, but Jason needed to snap him out of it somehow. "Dick, are you in there?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. He didn't get one.

The TV continued droning on in the background, and Jason reached blindly for the remote to turn it off. He wasn't sure afterwards if that had been a good idea or not, because he did think something about the TV had probably triggered this, but without it, the room was silent save for Dick's ragged, uneven breathing. He was clearly trying to keep his breathing quiet, which honestly made it worse, but with no other sound in the room, Jason could still hear it every time it stuttered.

"Dick," he said again, trying his hardest to sound gentle and reassuring and safe. "You're in my safehouse. You're fine. Whatever you're remembering, it's just a memory."

Nothing.

"Come on, Dick, snap out of it," Jason added, letting his voice sharpen a bit. Maybe, if he phrased it like an order...

But that didn't prove effective either. Dick's gaze was still far, far away.

"Shit," Jason muttered. He had one last idea, and while maybe it wasn't the smartest plan, he thought it might actually work, so it was worth a try.

Slowly, he reached out and put a hand on Dick's shoulder.

He hardly touched him before he found himself thrown backwards. Jason hit the wall and fell to the floor, gasping as he tried to regain the oxygen that had been abruptly forced out of his lungs on impact.

He was right. That hadn't been a smart plan at all.

But Dick was actually looking at him now, awareness mixed with the horror in his eyes, so it was at least partially a win.

Dick crumpled as Jason pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry," he gasped out. "Sorry, I- I-"

"Hey, I knew the consequences of touching you when you were having a flashback," Jason said, rubbing the back of his head. Honestly, he'd gotten off easily. If Dick had really been trying, he could have thrown him through the wall, not just into it. As it was, Jason had hit hard enough for some bruises, but not hard enough to break anything.

Dick made a tiny sound, somewhere between a sob and gasp. Jason took a step closer and swore, then barely restrained himself from swearing again when he saw Dick flinch.

"Dick, you're kneeling on a pile of broken glass. You have to move."

"I'm fine," Dick said, his voice small. "I'll heal."

"Yeah, and if you're not careful, you'll heal with glass still in the cuts. Plus, you're getting blood on my floor. Get up and let me clean this."

Slowly, clearly moving at least partially on autopilot, Dick got to his feet. His gaze was going a bit blank again, so Jason quickly added, "Go sit at the table so I can clean up."

Dick silently did as he was told. Jason winced as he padded barefoot over the broken glass, but he supposed, between the healing factor and the trauma, little pains like that probably didn't bother Dick too much anymore.

Jason grabbed a broom and dustpan and swept up the broken glass, then decided he would leave the blood for now and deal with it later. There wasn't much there anyway. Next, he got tweezers and a towel out of the bathroom and went to the table to sit down next to Dick.

"Any glass stuck in you?"

Dick blinked twice before his gaze focused on Jason. "Don't think so," he finally rasped. "Sorry about the glass."

"Yeah, well, you can pay me back for it." Jason put the tweezers and the towel on the table. "In case you need them."

Dick's gaze drifted to the table, then back up to Jason. "I killed him."

"What?"

"The congressman. Jim Walters. He was my first contract. I killed him."

It had been nearly eight months since they'd found Dick again. He'd spent the six months before that with Deathstroke. It made sense that he would have taken contracts a year ago. Except, of course, for the part where it made no sense at all. Jason knew that Deathstroke killed people, and he knew that Renegade had probably helped with that, but the thought of Dick Grayson, Bruce's golden boy, killing someone still didn't feel quite real to him.

But judging by the look of anguish on Dick's face, this was real.

"It's not your fault," Jason said, wishing someone else were there. Cass would be perfect, or even Damian would be better at this conversation than he would be. Sure, Jason had killed people before, but he hadn't regretted it, not the way Dick clearly did. And he'd never killed anyone for a contract because an asshole messed with his head and twisted him into thinking that was normal for him.

If Jason saw Deathstroke again, he was going to shoot him in his other eye.

Dick laughed harshly. "I pulled the trigger."

"Yeah, and if you hadn't, Deathstroke would have," Jason replied. "And it's not like you knew what you were doing."

"I did," Dick said. "I knew exactly what I was doing as Renegade. I just thought it was okay."

"Yeah, because Deathstroke messed with your head," Jason retorted. "You had massive brain trauma. You literally had a piece of shrapnel stuck in your hippocampus. I don't think you can be held responsible for anything you did back then."

"But I'm the one who did those things," Dick countered. "It was me. That was the first contract that Deathstroke let me take point on. I did the research on the congressman. I figured out his usual routine. I followed him. I shot him in the head."

"Dick-"

"That was me," Dick repeated, his voice anguished. "That was me, Jason. I didn't even have a reason to shoot him. I don't even know why someone wanted to put a hit on him. I didn't care. I just killed him."

"And, like I said, you can't be held responsible for anything you did when you had shrapnel in your brain."

"I still did it!" Dick yelled, jerking to his feet and knocking over his chair with a crash. "There are people mourning him because I put a bullet in his head. And when I did it, I didn't care that he had friends, or a family, or anything! The contract said to kill him, and Deathstroke told me to take point on it, and so I shot him. And maybe I had shrapnel in my brain, and maybe I didn't remember anything, but I still did it. That was still me. I'm still the person who has to live with that, and I- I-"

Dick slumped, the anger melting out of him in an instant. Jason watched him and wished he knew what to do.

"Look," he finally said. "You killed him. Maybe he deserved it, maybe he didn't. I don't know shit about this guy, so I can't tell you either way. But I can tell you that the Dick Grayson I know would never kill someone like that. Renegade wasn't the real you. It was the screwed up version of you that Deathstroke created and manipulated. That's not who you are."

"The Dick Grayson you know did kill someone," Dick countered. "I told you the story about how I killed the Joker."

"Killing the Joker doesn't count as killing someone. The Joker is a piece of shit masquerading as a human being. Killing him should be worthy of a medal."

"The Joker's morality or lack thereof doesn't matter. What matters is that I lost control and beat him to death. The potential to kill someone was in me before Deathstroke got his hands on me. That means it's still in me now."

"So?" Jason asked. "I've killed people. Damian's killed people. Cass killed someone. Alfred was in the army, so he's probably killed people before. Are you saying that means there's something wrong with us?"

"No, of course not," Dick backtracked quickly. "But Jay... There's this anger in me sometimes, and I thought I could control it, and then the Joker happened, but I thought I could handle it again, and now..."

"You haven't killed a single person since we got you back," Jason said. "You haven't even come close. You barely even spar with us because you don't want to hurt anyone."

"If I could beat a man to death with my bare hands before, imagine what I could do now?" Dick asked humorlessly. "I can't risk it, I can't."

"Okay, so you don't trust yourself," Jason said, trying to boil the issue down to its most base component. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," Dick replied immediately.

"Do you trust the rest of the family?"

"Of course, but-"

"Then trust that we won't let you kill anyone," Jason said. "Trust that we won't let you do anything you can't take back. It's not going to happen, Dickwing, so you don't have to worry about it."

Dick wavered. "But what if you can't stop me?"

"Dick, our dad is Batman. We'll figure something out."

Dick sighed, and the tension leaked out of his body on the exhale. "I trust you."

"Good," Jason said with a nod. "You should. I'm very trustworthy."

That earned him something that could generously be called a smile. "I know you are, Little Wing. I can always trust you to have my back."

"And look, this is going to sound sappy and I'm hoping I don't break out in hives just from saying it, but we're all here for you, all of us. Hell, considering it's you, about two thirds of the superhero community would probably drop everything in an instant to help if you needed it. Some of them are most trustworthy than others, but everyone has a soft spot for you."

This smile was more real. "That's because I was the first kid. When Bruce took me in and made me Robin, the whole Justice League just decided that I was their collective kid. By the time the rest of you came around, they all had their own sidekicks."

"So you're the Justice League's baby. Even more reason for you to believe that we'll help you if you need it."

"I am not the League's baby," Dick protested, sounding affronted. "I'm a member of the League myself. I led the League."

"And you just said you were their collective kid, so..."

"I mean, when I was little, and only with the older members of the League. They don't feel that way about me now."

"You sure about that?"

"I- Shut up, Jason."

Dick seemed to be feeling better, even if the banter was a bit brittle. Jason would take what he could get.

Of course, Dick's expression went solemn again a moment later. "I did kill people, though. How do I live with that?"

"I know you've been brainwashed before and gotten the whole spiel," Jason said. "If you weren't in your right mind, if you weren't in control of your own actions, then you're not to blame for them."

"My hands, though."

Jason grabbed Dick's hand and used it to slap his own face. He only managed it because Dick wasn't expecting it; almost immediately after Dick's palm made contact, he yanked his hand away.

"Jason, what-"

"Was that your fault? It was your hand."

"It- You just used my hand to slap yourself."

"Yup, I did. I did it, not you. Even though it was your hand."

"You just used my hand to slap yourself to make a point."

"I sure did."

"You're insane."

"And also the one to blame for what just happened, even if I used your hands. Check and mate."

Dick rolled his eyes, but he did it fondly. "I get your point. I think it's a bit reductionist, but I get it."

"Ooh, reductionist," Jason mocked. "Using the big words, huh?"

"Are you really making fun of me for using big words, Jason 'Literary Quotes' Todd?"

"I am as true as truth's simplicity," Jason replied, "and I can make fun of you for whatever I want. I'm your little brother, it's basically my job."

"Sometimes I like to remember the good old days when I was an only child," Dick said dryly.

"Well, it's too late to get rid of us now. You're stuck with us forever."

And Dick, being the overly-emotional sap he was, smiled and replied, "You know what, that sounds pretty good."

Jason would never admit it, but he thought it sounded good too.

And that's a wrap! I hope everyone enjoyed!

There will be a part three to this series, which will be more plot-driven like the first one. I'm not sure when it'll be finished, but I hope to not have as long a gap as I did between parts one and two. At the very least, I won't let there be a longer gap. Be sure to subscribe to the series to get updates when it starts!