Chapter Text
Dick is practically vibrating as he approaches the front of the Tower, excited to surprise Tim with some brotherly bonding. The other Titans have gone back to their respective hometowns, and Tim is staying over to update the network; the absolute perfect time for a big brother to show up.
When the door doesn’t respond to Dick’s code, he’s not worried. Tim is probably resetting the system, and Dick cheerfully goes to use the override code at the back door, a distinct spring in his step.
It’s—okay, it’s a little weird that all the lights are out. All the lights, even the backup generator powered emergency floor lights. Dick isn’t in costume, doesn’t have any glow sticks or flashlights, but he does have his phone. It works well enough. If everything is out, Tim’s definitely going to be in the main control room.
Dick goes through familiar hallways, a little eerie in the dark and absolute quiet. Nothing is humming, nothing is on. His footsteps seem to echo and he looks back more than once, unsettled.
Hopefully Tim is in the control room; Dick shivers a little at the idea of hunting through a darkened Tower, trying to find him.
Light streams out of the open control room door, and Dick hurries forward, excitement pushing back his disquiet.
“Tim,” he calls. “Surprise!”
No answer.
He steps into the main control room, but—no one is in there. His gaze skates over the main chair once, twice, three times, before he finally accepts it’s empty. And when he looks at the rest of the room, he distantly acknowledges he wasn’t ready to see this.
Signs of a fight. Overturned chairs, bullet holes, Tim’s staff—Dick swallows. Tim’s staff is snapped in half.
The rusty iron smell finally registers as he finally sees the blood. It’s—there’s a lot. Too much. Dick stares at it for a moment, mind blank. He steps back out in the hallway, and sees the blood trail continues as far as the light reaches, leading deeper into the dark Tower.
He doesn’t have any weapons, any comms, and when he flips over his phone to check, it has no signal. The smart thing to do would be to backtrack and call for help, and then go find Tim.
But—this is his little brother. His little brother, who’s left a literal blood trail down the hallway. Dick was off-world the last time one of his brothers was in trouble, and he can’t just walk away now, not even to summon help.
Walking down the hallway, he breathes deeply. He can’t afford to be a panicked older brother, not without any armor, weapons, or backup. He flicks his phone flashlight back on.
There are droplets on the hallway floor, a bloody handprint at the corner. Eventually, the trail turns into a smear and Dick realizes someone was dragging Tim.
Dragging his bloody little brother down a hallway.
He focuses on breathing evenly, letting the rage simmer under his skin but not control him. The blood trail turns into the rec room and Dick hears voices behind closed doors, light coming through the cracks.
Overwhelming surprise is his best bet without weapons or backup, trying to get the enemy to focus on him. Dick would enjoy taking out whatever asshole made his little brother bleed.
He kicks the door down, and then freezes just inside the room. Tim is gasping out, “Dick, run,” but Dick’s eyes are fixed on the gun pressed to Tim’s head.
One of Tim’s arms is dangling awkwardly, while the other one is twisted up behind his back. The Red Hood stands casually behind him, one hand pressing on Tim’s twisted arm, forcing him into a kneeling position. Hood’s other hand holds the gun, and Dick doesn’t think for a second he’d pause before shooting Tim.
Tim’s face is covered in blood and—and Dick knew Tim was bleeding, followed the trail here, but so much of his uniform is sodden. Fear twists through him; Tim needs immediate medical help, but—
“Nightwing,” Hood says, despite the fact that Dick is in civilian clothes. “How kind of you to join us.”
Dick is frozen in the doorway, not sure what the right move is, but Hood takes the choice away from him.
“Get on your knees.”
Hesitating, heart pounding, torn between fear and fury, Dick puts his hands up. “Maybe we can talk about this,” he says, smiling, trying for his infamous charm, pretending like he’s not imagining snapping Hood’s neck. “I’m unarmed and—”
“You think I don’t know how much damage you can do without any weapons?” Hood laughs, and it sends a chill through Dick. “The famous acrobat doesn’t need weapons.”
Most people see a pretty face, a skin-tight costume, and don’t look further. It makes sense that someone who could break into one of their secure facilities would be smart enough to look past that.
When Dick doesn’t move, Hood’s voice gets darker. “Get. On. Your. Knees. ” Tim gives a gasp of pain as Hood twists his arm further. “Or your Robin pays for it.”
Dick hesitates another moment, desperate for a solution to present itself, but when Tim gives a gasping cry of pain Dick sinks to his knees.
“Please stop,” Dick says, trying to stay calm as Tim whimpers, hating to hear his brother in pain. “I’m doing what you asked.”
“Hands behind your head.”
Dick complies, interlacing his fingers, acutely aware of how vulnerable this makes him. Silence falls over the room, broken only by Tim’s ragged breathing. Dick is trying not to imagine how much pain Tim must be feeling, how scared he is. Dick is trying not to think about how badly he’s letting him down right now.
“You interrupted us,” Hood says casually, yanking Tim back to his feet. “I was working on getting Tim to scream for me. Little birds can be so stubborn, don’t you think?”
Neither Tim nor Dick answer.
Dick was so stupid not to call for backup.
“Well, that’s been my personal experience at least. I mean, I broke his arm with his own staff—he’s pretty sloppy with it, ‘Wing, you probably should have done more work with him—and he took a couple of bullets. But he’s still being stubborn.”
Hood shakes Tim a little, like he’s a misbehaving dog, and Tim’s face goes white under all the blood. It’s obvious Tim is in agony, trying not to make a sound, and Dick clenches his jaw. How dare he hurt Dick’s little brother?
“Hood,” Dick says, cold with fury. “What do you want?”
“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Hood says. “Right now, I’m still shocked you let him out to play as Robin, with such terrible training. Don’t you remember what happened to the last one?” Dick’s heart gives a terrified pang.
Hood lets go of Tim’s arm and spins Tim to face him. The gun is pointing at Dick now, and Hood wraps a hand around Tim’s throat and squeezes.
“Wait—” Tim chokes out, before he can’t speak anymore.
Dick’s blood turns to ice, anger gone in a flash. He can’t—he can’t watch his little brother die in front of him, not when it’s his fault, not when he should have gotten backup before getting both of them trapped in here, before—
Hood picks Tim up by the throat. Tim’s never looked so small, dangling there from Hood’s broad hand, starting to twitch as his air runs out.
“Hood,” Dick says desperately. “Wait, please, just—don’t—” It’s hard to think, hard to find words, and it should be easy, because Dick isn’t the one being strangled to death, isn’t the one strugging for air and dying but—
Hood drops Tim back down, but Tim can’t keep his feet, narrowly missing his broken arm as he collapses, gasping for air.
Dick feels his chest loosen a fraction, but he’s paralyzed, the barrel of the gun pointed unerringly at him as they both watch Tim try to breathe. He needs to think of something to get them both out.
“Hood,” Tim rasps out, sprawled on the floor. “Let Dick go. This is between you and me.”
“And let him miss out on this?”
“What is going on?” Dick asks, trying to buy time. “What is Hood doing here?”
“Well,” Hood replies, crouching down next to Tim. “Right now I’m just here for a good time.”
When he flicks open a switchblade, Dick breaks and lunges upwards. He can’t just not try and if Hood is focused on him, then—
Hood rests the blade on Tim’s neck and Dick goes utterly still, standing and facing them.
“You really want to do this, Dickiebird?” Hood asks, softly.
Dick is almost shaking with rage— that’s his baby brother— and if he could just— he forces himself to close his eyes for a moment, suppressing the insane desire to leap forward anyways.
“There are so many ways to hurt him, and I don’t have any desire to make it fast. Slitting his throat? It will be a mercy when I am done with him.”
The fight bleeding out of him, Dick slowly sinks back down on his knees and puts his hands back behind his head. Tim’s life is on the line, and it’s making him crazy, it’s his fault, but he won’t get Tim killed by being reckless.
Dick swallows and asks again, voice quiet, “What do you want?”
“The real question—” Hood runs his hand gently along Tim’s broken arm in a sick parody of comfort, and Tim makes a high pitched noise of pain. “—is what do you want?”
Tim’s body gives a minute tremor, but stays still, the knife still resting on his throat..
“What do I want?” Dick says, confused and horrified. “I want—I want you to stop.” Dick wants Hood dead, wants Hood gone, wants his brother in a medical bay, wants this all to have been a nightmare.
Hood takes the knife off Tim’s throat, and runs his hand along Tim’s torso before digging his fingers in near his hip. Tim gives an aborted yell, and jerks futilely.
“That is a nasty bullet hole, isn’t it?” Hood says to him kindly. “But you’re still not screaming for me.” Completely ignoring Dick, Hood moves his hand down to where Tim’s uniform is soaked through with blood on his thigh, and digs his fingers in again. Tim’s body shudders, and Dick is so tense he can barely breathe.
“Stop it, Hood, I want you to stop it! You asked me what I wanted, and I want you to—” Dick breaks off as Hood pulls on Tim’s broken arm and an agonized cry rings out into the room, before Tim goes limp. Dick prays he’s unconscious.
“That’s more of what I’m looking for,” Hood says cheerfully. “Maybe I need to break some more bones.”
“Hood,” Dick says desperately, aching to hold his brother and fix this. “Don’t do this.”
“And why not?” Hood says, finally, finally, finally turning his attention to Dick. “Why do you care? You’ll just get another kid to put in the suit when this one is ruined.”
“No,” Dick breathes, horrified. “No, that’s not—he’s not just Robin, he’s—” and they don’t make the relationship obvious in the masks, but—Tim’s mask is long gone, Hood knows who they are in and out of costume, the time for secrecy is over, and Hood isn’t—Hood doesn’t—Dick has no reason to hold back.
“He’s my brother,” Dick whispers. “And I can’t—” his voice cracks. “I can’t lose another brother.”
Hood is staring at him, and Dick needs to keep his attention. He has no idea why Hood is here, why Hood wants to hurt either of them badly enough to break into the Tower, but if all he knows is that Hood wants to hurt them, better him than his brother.
“Please, Hood, let him go. Just—take me, I’ll do—I’ll do anything you want, just please, don’t hurt my brother. Please.” Dick is trembling now, heart thrumming in his chest, unable to breathe until Hood responds.
“You care about this one?” Hood finally asks.
“Yes,” Dick says desperately, “But—I cared—I care—the other Robin—” Dick can’t bring himself to say Jason’s name, not ever, and especially not here, with Tim’s life hanging in the balance. “He was my brother, too. I did care.” Dick still cares, for all that Jason’s been dead nearly four years. “And I won’t—I can’t—not again, please. Take me.”
“You weren’t there for him when he died,” Hood points out.
Like Dick doesn’t remember that every moment of every day.
“I was off-planet.” Dick’s voice breaks again. “I wasn’t there, but I’m here now, please. Please, Hood, let him go, please. Or—or just leave him here, and take me wherever you want. I swear, I won’t fight, I’ll do anything.”
Hood isn’t hurting Tim, hasn’t glanced at him since Dick finally got his attention, but Dick is terrified he’ll turn back at any moment. Beneath Hood’s mercifully still hands, Tim stirs.
“Take me,” Dick begs. “Please, don’t—” But Hood is glancing down and Dick is terrified he’s lost his only chance and now Hood will do more awful things to his baby brother, and Dick will have to watch and know if he’d just been—been better then his brother wouldn’t be screaming in pain. If he’d just been better, Jason wouldn’t have died.
Is Dick ever going to stop failing the people he loves?
“You would let me take you, instead? Knowing I’m going to kill you, and it’ll hurt before it’s over?” Hood’s voice is flat, helmet tipped down and looking at Tim.
“Yes,” Dick says without hesitation. “Yes, please. We can—we can leave, and get out of the Tower, even, where no one—no one will be looking. Just—don’t hurt him.”
“Give me your phone,” Hood demands, turning to him.
A surge of hope makes Dick feel light-headed. He digs it out his phone and tosses it to Hood, who breaks it and throws it aside before rising up.
“Fine,” he snaps out. “Let’s go.”
Dick’s sense of relief at getting Hood’s attention is short-lived, and he glances hesitantly back at Tim. “But—” That’s a lot of blood.
“Do you want to save him, or not?” Hood is at the doorway, clearly impatient.
“Of course I do,” Dick says. “And—and I will, but Hood—can I—he needs—he’s going to bleed out if we just leave him.” Dick tries to keep his voice even, trying to reason with a murderer for his brother's life.
He won’t be saving Tim if they leave him to bleed out in the Tower, all alone.
Hood sighs. “Pick up your brother.” He sinks a wealth of meaning into the word, but Dick can’t be bothered to unpack it.
Grateful, Dick hurries over to Tim and carefully gathers him up, blood immediately soaking into his clothes. Trying to carry Tim as gently as possible, Dick follows Hood as he uses a glowstick to light the way to the medical bay.
“Dick,” Tim whispers, plucking at his sleeve weakly. “Don’t do this. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Don’t—don’t go with him.” Dick’s throat is too tight to answer.
While Dick lays Tim down on the bed and gets him pain medication, Hood brings the power on for the room and brings out blood. Dick isn’t even surprised he knows Tim’s blood type as they quietly start the IV. Hood cleans the thigh wound and Dick is grateful the other wound is just in his hip, near no organs that might mean surgery or complications. Dick is as quick as he can be in cleaning and pulling the bullet out, hating to cause Tim any more pain, murmuring quiet reassurances the whole time.
Hood digs out the one in Tim’s thigh, Tim’s hand painfully tight on Dick’s, and Dick gently brushes the blood-drenched hair off his face. Then Hood and Dick stitch the wounds closed. Tim keeps his eyes closed, breathing shallow but steady.
Sitting on the bed, Dick quietly asks, “His arm?” because it’s not fatal, it’s not necessary, but—
“No,” Hood says. “We’ve done enough. He’s not in any more danger.”
“But—”
“Did you want to change our bargain?”
“N—no,” Dick hurriedly replies. Hood is standing there, waiting, and Dick leans forward to kiss Tim’s forehead.
“Dick,” Tim says, voice slurred with medication. “Don’t go.”
“I have to, baby bird,” Dick whispers. “It’s going to be okay.” Tim’s hand is clinging to him, and Dick delays a moment, and then a moment more, watching Tim slip further into drugged unconsciousness. He’s not yet fully out when Dick realizes he can’t stay any more, not without risking Hood’s ire.
It hurts to pull his hand from Tim’s, and something breaks in his chest when Tim shudders and softly cries, “Dick, don’t go. Don’t leave me.” Tears are slipping out of Tim’s eyes, but Dick is saving Tim, so he doesn’t have another choice. He shakily presses another kiss to Tim’s forehead and stands up.
His eyes are burning and he’s trembling as he stands and faces Hood.
“I’m—I’m ready,” Dick says, hating the waver in his voice. He’s not afraid, not for himself. But this is going to break his family, one way or the other.
“About fucking time,” Hood says, “Let’s go.” He turns to go, and then turns back to Dick. “I don’t have to remind you what will happen if you try anything cute, do I?”
Dick flinches and says, “No.”
He’s not going to risk Tim’s life. He’s not going to risk making this worse than it already is.
They walk down to the garage, and Dick obediently climbs on the bike behind Hood. A lamb willingly led to the slaughter.
A thousand plans rush through his mind, daring and desperate, and he lets them all wash away.
It’s not long before Hood is stopping in front of a motel, and unlocks a room. Dick walks a few steps into the room and just—stops. There’s nowhere to go. He’s willingly delivered himself to be tortured and murdered, because the alternative is unthinkable. Soon the blood covering his clothes will be his own, not just Tim’s.
He wishes there was something keeping him here, handcuffs or a gun at his temple, something he could fight against. Something to let him pretend just for a moment he’s not walking into this by choice; something to make this feel a little less awful.
Hood circles him and Dick drops his gaze. What’s the point? There’s no need for bravado, no need to try to figure out Hood’s plan. Hood’s won, and there’s nothing more for Dick to do.
“Nothing to say?” Hood asks, taking a seat on the bed and watching him.
No, Dick has nothing to say. He can see Tim’s blood drying on his hands, a stark reminder of why he’s here.
“Dickie, don’t you know what’s going to happen here?”
“You’re going to kill me,” Dick says flatly, his emotions locked away. “And you’re going to make it hurt.”
“You don’t object to that?”
Dick lifts his gaze and stares at that horrible, expressionless helmet. Does he object to being tortured and murdered? But all he says is, “I’ll do anything to save Tim.”
“Hmmm,” Hood says, and Dick can’t see his eyes but he can feel them staring at him, picking him apart, finding his pressure points, planning how to break him down. “It’s a shame the other Robin never got this devotion. You might have saved him a painful death.”
Dick’s eyes feel hot, and he doesn’t want to argue, not with someone who’s tormenting him, who’s planning to—but he can’t—he can’t let someone speak like that about Jason and not refute it. Dick’s going to die anyway; what’s the point of staying quiet?
“I would have,” he says hoarsely. “I would have taken his place in a heartbeat.”
“Should we test that theory, then?” Hood says, rising and pacing around him. “Should we string you up in chains and I’ll beat you with a crowbar until you can’t even cry for your dad anymore?”
Dick shudders, but stays quiet.
“And then, of course, the grand finish. The explosion. Maybe we can let Bruce know just a little too late and—”
“No,” Dick finds himself saying harshly. “Leave him out of this.”
“Leave him out of it? When none of us would be here, except for his crusade?”
“It’s not a—” Dick stops, and breathes deeply. He has no power here. But he can’t let Bruce show up just a moment too late, not again. Staring at the floor, he quietly says, “Please don’t bring Bruce into this. It’s bad enough—if you’re going to kill me—” his voice breaks and he has to swallow, stomach churning. “It’s going to be bad enough for him without bringing up old memories.”
Hood flicks open his switchblade and drags it along Dick’s cheek. Dick stops breathing.
“I wonder, though, how awful those memories could be for him. After all, he replaced the kid so quickly. You let someone else wear your costume so quickly. So, why would it be so bad for Bruce to find you? Are you less replaceable than Jason?”
Dick flinches to hear Jason’s name, struggling to explain, wondering why it matters, but unable to just let it go.
“He was—” the knife flickers along Dick’s face and he lets his eyes close. “—not replaceable. No one could replace him. No one could ever—”
Look at me, Dick! I can finally do the back flip, just like you showed me!
Bruce is taking me to my first game Saturday! Please say you’ll come with, please ?
I got an A in all my classes, Dick! My English teacher said it was the best essay he’d read in a long time.
Jason’s bright smiles, happy manner, easy affection lighting up the Manor; how can he explain this to a stranger? Why would he explain this to a stranger who wants him dead? It can’t possibly take up enough time for him to hope for a rescue.
“No one could ever replace him,” Dick finally says unevenly, a tear slipping out from behind a closed lid.
The knife vanishes but he keeps his eyes closed.
“I’m not a fan of warehouses, anyways. We’ll have to come up with another idea. Maybe I should start with your eyes?”
Dick can’t help the shiver, but stays quiet and keeps his eyes closed.
“Or maybe I should start with your neck.” Hood’s hand comes up and cups his throat gently. Dick sees Tim dangling, gasping for air, and swallows heavily. “I could paralyze you, so you can never do one of your famous quadruple somersaults.” Dick opens his mouth, and then closes it without speaking.
“An objection? Perhaps you would like to trade places with Tim? It’s not too late to go back,” Hood says, coaxingly, letting his hand fall away. “Just a few minutes, and you’ll be free.”
“No,” Dick says, heart racing at the idea. “We’re not going back. Just—do whatever you want to do.”
“You’re not as fun as him,” Hood complains, sitting back down on the bed. “I’m not sure I like this deal.”
“No, please,” Dick says, suddenly panicked. “Please, what do you want? Do you want me to beg? Or—” he swallows. “You wanted Tim to scream? I can do whatever you want, just please don’t go back.” He can’t stop Hood, and that belated realization suddenly sends true terror through him. Hood could just decide he’s bored and go back to Tim , and then Dick really would have failed and his family will shatter again and it will be his fault—
He steps forward. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, wildly. “I’ll—I’ll put out my own eye, that should be a good show, right? Just, please, please, don’t go back there.”
When Hood stands up, they’re only a few inches apart. He flicks open his switchblade again.
“Would you cut your fingers off for me? Saw away at your own arm until it fell off? Gut yourself for my pleasure while I watch? That one’s always a slow death.”
The malice in Hood’s voice crawls over his skin, but Dick doesn’t flinch back, not anymore. “All of it,” he says determinedly, as the tension in the room thickens.
“Is he really worth all this?” Hood asks intensely, leaning in. “Is Tim worth dying for?”
“He’s my
brother,”
Dick says, equally intense. “Maybe you don’t know what it means to have a brother, but
I do,
and I’m willing to do
anything
to save him. I failed last time, and
I won’t fail again.”
The tension swells to an unbearable state, and then breaks when Hood steps back.
“Leave,” he says, turning away.
“No,” Dick says, dread rushing in. He reaches out and grabs Hood’s arm. It’s not like things can get any worse. “No, you can’t go back to him, you can’t. What do you want?” Dick finds himself trying to pry the switchblade from Hood’s hand. “Please, give it to me, please.”
“Dick,” Hood says. “Dick, Dickie, stop it.”
He catches Dick’s wrists in one hand, and Dick knows a hundred ways to twist out, but he doesn’t want—he can’t—
“Please,” he begs, chest heaving. “Please, just let me.”
“Fuck,” Hood says.
“Please.” Dick can’t fail at this, not when he’s failed at so many other things, failed so many people. Tears are running hot down his cheeks.
“Don’t hurt him,” Dick begs brokenly, hopelessly.
Hood doesn’t do or say anything, and the defeat is so crushing Dick crashes to his knees, Hood still holding his wrists above him. He’s failed.
“Fuck,” Hood says again, dropping his wrists.
Dick buries his face in his hands and can’t stop sobbing.
“I’m not—I’m not going back to Tim,” Hood tries, but Dick is past listening. He’s heaving for air, sobs wrenching painfully from his chest, seeing Tim’s terrified face superimposed over Jason’s autopsy photos.
Hood hovers for a moment, and then drops to his own knees and wraps his arms around Dick. Dick stiffens for a moment, expecting—he doesn’t know what, but nothing good. But Hood is just—he’s hugging him?
The surprise shakes him out of his desperate misery enough that his sobs slow, and finally stop. Hood lets go and stands up, and Dick looks up at him, feeling cold.
“I’m not going back to Tim,” Hood tries again, and Dick hears him but—
“Why?” His voice is thick with tears, some still dripping down his face, though the sobs are gone.
“I—fuck.” Hood takes a step back, and then another. And then he reaches up and unlatches his helmet, lifting it off.
Dick gets an impression of dark, messy hair before Hood peels off his own domino. Who wears a domino under a helmet? Who is that paranoid?
Scrubbing at his eyes, trying to clear his vision, Dick stares for a moment. And then rises, encased in pure fury. He doesn’t feel helpless or trapped or worried about Tim, not anymore.
“Who are you?” he demands darkly, stalking forward. “How dare you wear that face? How dare you wear that face and ask me if I cared that he died?”
Hood steps back again, holding up hands, and says, “It’s me, Dick. It’s really me. Not—not a trick.” He gives a small smile, caught between hope and fear, and Dick hesitates. What if—
“Tell me something only the real Jason would know.” There’s a desperate wish throbbing in his chest, but this—it can’t be real, it just can’t.
“The first time you took me train surfing, I fell off. You treated my scrapes and we hid it from both Bruce and Alfred.” He says it quickly, like he was prepared to prove it, like he really is— “No one would know that, unless—unless you told them after I died.”
Dick never told anyone and his fury vanishes like it was never there.
“Jason?” He reaches out a trembling hand. “Is it—is it really you?”
“In the flesh.” Jason’s voice sounds cocky but he’s pulling back, hunching his shoulders, and Dick—Dick closes the distance between them and tightly holds the brother he thought he’d lost, the brother he failed.
His tears start again, and Dick is shaking, clinging like he will never let go. The fear and anxiety of the past hour hit him all at once, and he slumps against Jason; still clinging, still crying.
“Shit, Dickie,” says Jason’s soft voice, lifting him up in his arms. It’s Jason’s voice because Jason is somehow alive, and Dick failed, but he’s getting a second chance and—
Jason tries to lay him on the bed, but Dick won’t let go, so Jason settles against the headboard with Dick curled up in his lap, head buried against Jason’s shoulder.
Dick is still crying. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop. “Jason,” he sobs, brokenly. “You’re alive.” His fingers bury latch onto Jason’s jacket sleeve, holding on painfully tight.
Jason rubs his hands up and down Dick’s back, a comforting rhythm proving this isn’t just a dream. “Yeah, I am.”
Eventually, Dick runs out of tears, but he doesn’t let go of Jason. He’s not sure he’ll ever let go. What if it is a dream? He presses tightly to Jason, listening to his heartbeat.
Jason’s thumbs rub warm circles on Dick’s back as he softly asks, “Were you that scared? Did you really think I was going to torture you in a motel?” He laughs a little, still soft. “Are you too rich to know how thin these walls are?”
Dick doesn’t lift his head so his voice is muffled when he says, “I wasn’t crying because I was afraid, I was crying because you’re alive.”
Jason doesn’t respond, but he’s still warm and real and alive.
Dick suddenly remembers their conversation, hearing it differently now that he knows it wasn’t a stranger goading him. “Jay, did you really think I didn’t care?”
“You replaced me,” Jason eventually says, arms still holding Dick safe. “Like I didn’t matter.”
“You’ve always mattered,” Dick says fiercely, pressing impossibly closer.
Jason just tightens his arms without answering.
Jason’s heartbeat, his warmth, his soothing hands, all combine to make Dick incredibly sleepy. He’s safe; no one is going to hurt and kill Tim, no one is going to hurt and kill him, and Jason is alive.
Dick yawns, suddenly, slumping further into Jason.
“Dickie.” Jason nudges him. “You can’t sleep here. I—I need to go, actually.”
Dick tightens his fingers on Jason’s sleeve.
“I triggered the alarm on the way out, Dick, they’re going to be looking for us.”
Dick isn’t really listening to anything other than Jason’s heartbeat, thrumming softly, proving Jason is still alive.
“Dick,” Jason says, insistently. “You need to get up.”
No, he really doesn’t. He needs to stay here, stay in this dream, and never let Jason go.
When Jason gently shoves Dick off his lap, Dick narrows his eyes but goes without protest. And when Jason stands up, Dick pounces, bringing him back down to bed, sprawling out on top of him.
“Dick!”
“Can’t leave, Little Wing,” Dick says, arms wrapped around Jason’s torso. “Can’t. Leave.”
“I’m the Red Hood,” Jason says, but he isn’t trying to get free. “I attacked Tim and I kidnapped you.” Tim is fine, though; Jason triggered the alert so people will have come for him.
“Shhh,” Dick says, vaguely aware he’s left rationality far behind. “Shhh.”
“Dick,” Jason says helplessly, and Dick just snuggles further into him. “Okay, fine, I can stay for a few more minutes. But then I have to go.”
Dick hums noncommittally as Jason wraps an arm around his back and settles the other one in his hair. Jason idly runs his fingers through Dick’s hair, tugging gently at his scalp, and Dick goes completely boneless.
“Just a few more minutes,” Jason repeats.