Bulletproof

~O Chapter Two O~

It took a frustratingly long twenty-five minutes for Red Hood to reach the Batcave; the cast and boot on his broken leg cut maneuverability almost in half. Not that he thought he could actually beat the Batmobile home anyway. Nevertheless, by the time he pulled in and shut off his motorcycle, Dick had already been moved to a gurney and was being hauled away by Alfred and Dr. Leslie Tompkins. At least he knew his brother was in good hands with those two.

Jason left his helmet by his bike; he wouldn't need it for this. He'd left his crutches behind and hadn't bothered going back for them; it made walking hard going, but he pushed through. His leg protested the abuse, and he just ignored it. Limping into the main bulk of the Batcave, he found the dynamic duo engaged in some sort of discussion. As he watched, the de-cowled Batman placed a hand on the sullen Robin's shoulder as the boy crossed his arms over his chest. Not sullen, Jason realized on second glance, worried, and trying to hide it.

Stupid as it was, it had slipped Jason's mind – somewhere between being shot at and holding his brother's life in his body – that other people worried about Dick, too. Not that Jason actively worried about anyone's wellbeing, of course, but, ya'know, if he did, Dick would probably need it more than anyone. The idiot was too selfless for his own good. But, obviously, someone else had come to the same conclusion. Dick didn't have just Jason watching out for him it would seem; he also had a half-pint demon assassin in his corner. Jason shook his head, only Dick could inspire such unquestioning loyalty from such a ragtag gang of angry misfits.

Not really bothered about interrupting, and more than ready to get this over with, Jason cleared his throat. Damian, who had been gazing daggers at the ground by his feet, looked up and turned his glare on Jason. He had to bite back a smirk at the sight of a child-sized Batglare; it was a nice counterpoint to the gut-wrenching anxiety he'd been holding at bay for the past hour.

"Jason," Batman greeted, slipping his hand away from Damian as he stepped closer to Jason; father falling away to be replaced by the detective. "Report. Tell me everything that happened."

Straight to the point, just as Jason had hoped. He took a breath and looked squarely at Bruce as he began. "Dick and I were talking over comms as he patrolled my area. There was a gunshot and the commlink cut out. Dick stopped replying, but he had told me before where he was, so I went down to the alley. I came under fire almost immediately. I shot back, found Nightwing, and paged Oracle." Jason clenched his fists, but forced himself to relax when Bruce didn't move to interrupt or chastise him for his gun use. His voice took on a slightly darker tone as he continued. "The shooter was Arnold 'Lenny' Smith, goes by the tag 'Sharp Shot'. He escaped from Blackgate just over a week ago. 'Wing and I had a run in with him a couple months ago, came at us out of the blue trying to take one of us out to boost his rep and, well, now, I guess, he came back for a second round. Got one of us and tried to take out the other one too. I managed to at least clip him, but he got away while I was treating Dick." It was the only option at the time, but he couldn't quite help the twinge of regret for not getting a few decent shots into the sonofabitch.

"I've been investigating the Blackgate breakout. Three other mid to low level criminals escaped when Smith did. It looks like an inside job by one or more of the prison guards." A momentary pause. "Dick didn't inform me either of you were being specifically targeted. I would have enforced better precautions."

Jason rolled his eyes. The idiot. "Well, Dick knew." He shrugged, lacking an answer.

"Nevertheless, your swift action saved his life tonight," Bruce said, the barest hint of an indecipherable emotion in his eyes. "Thank you."

Jason just nodded in reply and looked away, slightly awkward and trying not to be pleased at those surprising words.

"I'll update Smith's file and look into where he would go to ground," stated Batman, detouring away from a conversation taking way too close a turn towards a chick-flick moment for Jason's liking. The subject change was much appreciated. "We'll apprehend him and return him to his prison cell, hopefully before he hurts anyone else."

"-tt-" Damian scoffed. The demon brat had stayed uncharacteristically quiet throughout Jason's debriefing. "Prison is too good for the bastard."

It surprised Jason how little he was surprised that he and the brat were of the same mind on that, his words paralleling Jason's earlier thoughts. And, really, he couldn't keep from voicing his agreement. "Well, can't say I disagree with the kid."

Damian seemed confused at his reply, scowl fading into a thoughtful frown, but he kept silent. He was looking at Jason like someone would an annoyingly interesting puzzle.

Jason turned back when Bruce not-quite-sighed. "It will be a while before Dick is allowed visitors. You should go clean yourself up."

Jason glanced down at himself, only to be startled by the sheer amount of blood soaked into his clothes. He hadn't even noticed there was blood on him, let alone this much. He flexed his one bare hand, watching as small patches of dried blood flaked off his skin and fluttered to the ground. Tacky lines of drying red clung to him, staining everything they touched; his hands, his clothes, his hair, all of him stained with his brother's blood.

He looked away.

Without a word, Jason marched off – well, more like hobbled away, trying not to put too much weight on his healing leg – towards the Batcave's changing room. There was a shower stall just off the changing area for this exact sort of thing: a quick wash-up when a night didn't go as planned. He turned on the shower, waited until he could see the steam rolling up into the air, and stripped down to his birthday suit. He still had bruises on his body from the opening of the orphanage a couple weeks ago. The deep black and blue of the day after had faded, now a light purple green, almost brown, healing finally. He found a trash bag under the sink to cover his leg so he wouldn't get his cast wet. He would hate to have to undergo the wrath of Leslie for that one. Another bag for his bloodied clothes to avoid Alfred's wrath as well.

Though he had planned on a quick shower, Jason ended up in there a good while. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until he was under the hot spray. Guess I was suffering from my own shock. Huh.

Finally stepping out of the shower, his five minute wash-up morphing into a half hour vertical soak, he grabbed a towel and wiped himself down. He slipped his boxers on and was reaching for his mostly blood free undershirt, figuring he would scavenge around for a spare pair of sweatpants or something, when something caught his eye. On the counter across from the shower was a neatly placed stack of clothes and a pair of crutches. He tossed the towel around his shoulders to collect the drips from his still-wet hair as he went to get a better look. Upon closer inspection, he found a set of Dick's clothes, carefully folded and laid out perfectly straight. An entire set, all the way down to the socks – excluding underwear, because, yeah, ew. He recognized the red and gold Iron Man t-shirt that Dick had worn the last time his brother had visited Jason at work, and the jeans with them looked faded and well worn – "well loved" Dick would have said.

Jason didn't have any of his own here, and he knew Dick wouldn't mind; he pulled the clothes on. They were a little snug, especially around his shoulders and waist. It was good that Dick got his jeans a few inches longer than necessary – and that these were regular fit instead of Dick's usual taste for skinny jeans – or Jason wouldn't have been able to fit; as it was, he was just lucky they were big enough to fit over the cast. Leaving his dirty boots in the bag with his clothes, Jason pulled on one from the pair of warm wooly socks that Dick fawned over. At least these ones don't have the rubber grips on the bottom. Someone's being kind.

The thought made him wonder who might have left him the clothes and crutches. He would have assumed it was Alfred if he didn't know the man was in with Dick. That only left either Bruce or. . . Nah. Not possible.

When Jason stepped back into the main section of the Batcave, Damian was conspicuously absent. Bruce was at the Batcomputer when Jason hobbled towards him, still in his uniform, but still with the cowl pulled off. Reading over his shoulder, Jason saw Sharp Shot's file open on the screen, complete with a mugshot at the top of the page. It seemed Bruce was looking specifically at aliases and known allies – which, Jason noted, had almost doubled in entries compared to the official police report Red Hood had looked up after their first encounter with the sniper. "Dick must have been working on this on his own," he mumbled aloud. There were a few more notes and entries likely written by Dick, details Jason himself had missed or dismissed, but not a single mention that Nightwing had been Sharp Shot's intended target. No wonder Batman didn't know about the danger Dick was in. Well, looks like I get to clean up your mess this time, big brother.

He filled Bruce in on their previous run in with Sharp Shot, all the details Dick failed to include in his report. Whatever reasons Dick had for keeping Batman in the dark about this, it wasn't worth the risk it put on Nightwing's life. It was moot, anyway; Bruce already knew, so there was no point wasting time about telling him. The more information that was known, the faster Sharp Shot would be caught. The only thing Jason wanted to see more than Sharp Shot behind bars, was the fucker with a bullet between his eyes.

"How are you doing?" Bruce asked, more or less out of the blue. He had turned away from the computer and was watching Jason with an assessing gaze.

"Uh. Fine, I guess." It came out sounding more like a question than a statement.

Bruce shifted slightly, eyes glancing around before settling back on Jason. "After everything . . . that has happened. . ."

Okay, awkward. Bruce trying to do the feelings talk? Weird. "Yeah, no, I'm alright." Even if I weren't, I wouldn't talk to you about it. A stab of guilt hit him at the thought, though it was mostly true. But Bruce was trying, so maybe Jason should—

The elevator dinged suddenly and opened to reveal Barbara Gordon. Oh thank God.

"Jay!" she called out, wheeling into the room, oblivious of the tension she just released from the room. "How is he? Is he okay?"

He turned towards the entrance, grateful for the distraction. "He passed out before we got here. I know he's lost a lot of blood, Leslie and Al are working on him now. It was a clean shot, though. He'll be okay," Jason announced, walking up to the concerned redhead. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down, an unconscious gesture that showed his worry.

"Thank God you were there. I saw his vitals spike the moment he was shot, but it would have taken at least a quarter hour before anyone got to him if not for you."

That was a thought Jason did not want to entertain. Dick had barely hung on with Jason there to help; fifteen minutes of increasing shock and continuous blood loss – it sent a chill down Jason's spine. "He was just outside my apartment building, told me where he was. When I heard the shot but no Dick, I didn't think about it, just went. Not that big a deal really." Plus he's my brother so of course I would be there. He kept that last bit to himself. Despite his nonchalant tone, just the implication that he might have left Dick to die got his ire flowing. Calm down, you moron, she's thanking you not blaming you. Enjoy this rare and momentous occasion. But fuck, why did his inner voice sound so much like his older brother?

Barbara looked like she was about to say something before she shut her mouth and pressed a finger to her lips. Tilting her head to the side, she studied him for a moment with a curious expression on her face.

"It wouldn't have mattered if Bats hadn't shown up in time. I wouldn't have been able to get him here. . . Why are you looking at me like that?" His eyebrow quirked and words came out gruff in his confusion. The look in her eyes as they watched him was uncannily similar to the look Damian had given him earlier. He felt like a specimen under a microscope. It made him antsy and uncomfortable but, maybe for the first time, he didn't mind it so much.

Her expression cleared, eyes sparking as though she had solved some grand mystery. "I think I'm beginning to see it," she said, almost to herself.

"See what?" Now Jason was more confused.

"Whatever Dick sees in you that has him refusing to give up trying to save you," is her simple and rather vague reply.

He was taken aback. Dick's persistence to help him was something Jason had noticed, thought about at great length, but had never actually stated aloud. To have someone else not only notice, but put it into words like that. . . "What do you think he sees in me?"

Her smile to him was sympathetic and probably the nicest thing she had directed at him in years. "I'm going to go check in with Alfred." She started to turn away, glancing back over her shoulder at him. "Take care of yourself, Jason."

Jason nodded and gave a small smile in return. How could he not? The two of them usually got on like cats and a rainstorm, but it seemed they were both trying to be better. And with what Jason knew, or thought he knew – Dick's too quiet voice echoed the words in his mind, she found the ring – he might even try harder to get along with her, if only for Dick. "You too, Barbara. You tell me if there's anything wrong?"

She pursed her lips as though considering his question. When she replied, her voice was full of playful humor. "I'll think about it." She flashed a last smile and turned back to front, but didn't leave. A moment later she called, "Damian."

Jason was about to ask what she meant, only to give a double take when the boy in question appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He had changed into his civvies, unlike night life extraordinaire still sitting at the Batcomputer ignoring them. Black jeans and a dark hoodie, hands buried deep in the sweatshirt's pockets. The kid was good; Jason hadn't even known he was there.

"Gordon," the hell sp—Damian acknowledged.

"Come on." Her voice was soft, but her gesture was firm when she motioned him closer. The tween raised his chin in what Jason thought was prideful defiance, but when Damian followed after her as Barbara began wheeling away towards the infirmary, Jason realized it wasn't defiance, it was determination. Maybe Jason really had been misreading the kid this whole time, or maybe Damian was only human when it came to Dick. Jason could sympathize with that.

Blowing out a breath, Jason pushed down all those annoyingly deep thoughts. His fingers itched for a cigarette, but he had kicked the habit, so he limped his way towards the training area instead. He couldn't actually train, not even with the punching bag when his stance was so off, but there were benches there to sit down. Jason didn't want to stay at the computers any longer; he and Bruce had just had two consecutive conversations without blowing up at each other and Jason didn't want to ruin that streak yet.

He plopped down on the bench, setting his crutches aside. He leg was throbbing and his headache was still there. Rubbing at his temples with one hand, he pulled out his phone. Flipping through his contacts, he hovered over a name, wanting to text Alialee since he hadn't talked to her since the day before. He honestly missed her. Which was weird for him to say about anyone. Instead he sighed, put his phone back in his pocket and decided to wait until later to talk to her. He got up and began pacing a circuit in front of the bench. The crutches chafed against his armpits, but he barely noticed.

His back was to the door when he heard footsteps behind him.

"Master Jason." Alfred said to get his attention.

Jason turned and looked at the elderly butler. "How is he doing?"

The response was instantaneous. "Master Dick is awake, alert, and refusing to rest until he has made his rounds with everyone. Dr. Tompkins has assured us that nothing vital has been hit, and has administered fluids to counteract the hypovolemic shock and a transfusion for the blood loss. Barring any complications, and assuming he gets proper rest, he should be healed within a matter of weeks. Though I highly doubt Master Dick will actually stay in bed for more than a week, he will undoubtedly be suffering degrees of discomfort for the foreseeable future." His sarcasm faded away as he finished. "He's asking for you."

"The others already gone in?"

"He has just sent Master Damian and Miss Gordon off to bed. Master Bruce is still hard at work, it seems. Attempting to narrow in on the perpetrator's whereabouts, I should hope."

Jason nodded, one side of his mouth pulling up into a smirk. "So, basically, my turn, huh?"

Flashing a small smile, Alfred replied, "Quite." He turned and led the way.

When Jason walked into the infirmary, Dick was awake and propped up in bed, chatting quietly with Leslie as she checked his vitals one last time. Alfred cleared his throat from where he still stood behind Jason, gaining both occupants' attention. "Shall I ready the car, Dr. Tompkins?"

"Nonsense. I drove myself here, I can drive myself back," she assured swiftly. She jotted down a few quick notes on the tech pad.

With a kind smile, Alfred announced, "Then I shall escort you to the door."

"That, I will gladly accept." She returned his smile, tucking a lock of greying hair behind her ear. She bent over the bed and planted a gentle kiss to Dick's forehead. "Get plenty of rest, take things slow. Feel better soon, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Leslie." Dick graced her with a softer version of his usual mega-watt grin.

"Oh hush." Turning towards the entrance, Leslie stopped in front of Jason, who had yet to take more than a step through the doorway. Eyebrow raised into a serious expression, she pointed a finger at his chest. "You keep off that leg." She jerked her thumb back towards the bed, "And keep him out of trouble." He nodded silently, despite Dick's disbelieving huff of laughter. She watched him a moment longer before her face softened into a weary smile. Leslie gave his cheek a few tender pats, then stepped around him and out the door, linking an arm around Alfred's as the butler fell into step beside her.

"We cannot thank you enough for your swift action once more, Dr. Tompkins," Alfred was saying as the pair disappeared towards the stairs up to the manor. "Whatever would we do without you. . ."

Jason took their departure as his cue to step closer to the bed, finally getting his first good look at his brother since Batman had carried him out of that alley. He's pale, is the first thing that came to mind. Not the same ghostly grey pallor Jason had noted when his mind was still filled with the adrenaline of being shot at, but still paler than was healthy; especially on Dick's usually tanned skin. He lay boneless against the thin mattress, head held carefully still on the pillow. If it wasn't for the fidgeting fingers and the blue eyes watching him, Jason would have believed his brother still unconscious.

More coherent than Jason expected, Dick gestured lazily at his neck. "Looks like Sharp Shot shot the deputy." Drug-dulled eyes sparkled with mirth, but Jason honestly did not appreciate the levity.

Frowning, Jason replied, "Yeah, no kidding. You're just lucky you were close enough for me to get to you before some other lowlife thought about taking potshots."

"So you're saying I was within earshot?" No one that pale and still should be able to smile that genuinely.

"Can you be serious for, like, once in your life?" Jason snarled. "That guy has almost killed you. Twice. To improve his image," he spat the last word like a curse. He stepped closer to the bed to properly loom over his brother.

"Well, ya'know, shoot for the moon, and all," Dick replied as though it was nothing; as if the thought of people trying to kill him for sport was nothing. As if it hadn't put him into an infirmary bed that very night. "I'm a hot commodity, remember?"

"Oh ha ha. Real funny," announced Jason in a voice that showed exactly how not funny he found the situation. He crossed his arms over his chest, telling himself it was a move of aggression, not defensiveness. He had nothing to be defensive about. He wasn't the one who'd withheld information and been shot because of it. "Any more jokes, wiseass?"

Dick seemed to think on it for a moment before replying. "Han shot first?" Whatever was on his face apparently spurred Dick to drop the humor and soften his features. Jason hoped his own expression was murderous; looking murderous was much better than looking terrified. "Jay, I'm okay. Couple of days, I'll be back to hoppin' rooftops like I was born for it." He paused again, watching Jason's face. Jason was beginning to think he was projecting a lot less 'righteous anger' than he had hoped, what with how carefully Dick seemed to have been choosing his words. "This isn't the first time I've been hurt on the job. Not even the worst I've been hurt. What's got you so worked up, Jayjay?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? Jason didn't know why this time was bothering him so much. Not even three weeks ago, a mind controlled Batman had Dick dead to rights and Jason had hardly bat an eye. But Dick gets shot and suddenly his composure is out the window? No, that wasn't it. It was because he couldn't do anything. With the Hatter incident he had something he could do to fix things; this time around Jason wouldn't even have been able to get Dick to help if he needed to.

"I dunno, man. Just knowing you got shot while I was right there and I can't help with this stupid leg." It was a rare show of honesty and Jason stood at the foot of the bed with his head hanging a bit. He felt exposed with how much he cared. He hated showing any kind of emotion, but Dick had a way of breaking down those walls.

"Jason. . ." A deep voice behind him said, and wasn't that wonderful, Bruce was here to watch his slow descent as well. Fantastic. "You did everything you could have done. I am just glad you got to him in time. You saved his life."

"Doesn't change the fact that I should be out there. It's my part of town. I should've been the one who got shot. Not Dick." There, now it was out in the open. Sharp Shot had been in Red Hood's territory; hitting Nightwing had merely been a matter of convenience, a substitution. Any other week and it would have been Jason out there instead of his brother. They all deserve to blame him. The thought of it alone set a pit in his stomach and had every nerve in his body baying for blood.

"Hey, no, Jay," Dick protested immediately. He shifted in bed, trying to sit up, and failed to hold back the wince of pain the motion caused.

"I should. . ." Jason took a step backwards, towards the door, but Dick's slightly louder voice raised in desperation halted his retreat.

"Jay! Stay? Please. Just, c'me here." He stretched a hand out to him, as though able to draw him closer by will power alone. "Bruce."

Bruce took the hint and vanished back into the Batcave, leaving the two of them alone once again. Alone. Three years ago, no one would ever have trusted to leave Jason alone with a member of this family, especially not one who was injured beyond the ability to defend himself. Oh how far he's come. All of that because of Dick, who wouldn't give up on him even when Jason was almost ready to give up on himself. And how did Jason repay him? By letting Dick get shot in his stead.

Jason went around the foot of the bed and stood next to Dick. He was fuming, anger now directed solely at himself. He couldn't say anything so he just stayed quiet.

"Look at me."

"You make me feel like a child when you do that. I already feel horrible." But he looked anyway.

"I am fine. I will be fine," Dick corrected at Jason's derisive snort. "Smith has taken a shot at me before, he wasn't going to pass up a second chance at me. He hit from a distance, I didn't even know he was there until I was down."

Jason huffed.

"Jayjay," Dick's voice was soft, almost pleading. "You can't fix a broken leg just by wishing it. You aren't useless just because you're hurt." Dick paused, his next words impacting with expert precision. "And you don't deserve to get hurt any more than I do. I was warned about him, too, wasn't watching my surroundings as well as I should've, so if anything you deserve it even less."

"C'mon, Dick, I should be out there!" He pointed towards the general direction of Gotham and her crime riddled streets. "If I was, maybe I could've seen that he was there before anyone got hurt. But because of my bum leg, I couldn't even pull you out of the line of fire if I had to. You were lucky that I was so close. That the moron was chased off instead of coming at us for a second go and that Batman got there before some shitless thug decided to take a whack at us."

"Exactly. We got lucky." Dick's expression was hard, his voice firm and serious. His brother's sudden shift of emotion instantly silenced Jason. "Should have, would have, could have. No amount of wishing or bitching is going to change what happened. Considering we are all here and breathing, I will take what I can get. If it was just dumb luck, so be it."

So be it. Spoken like a true Batman; black white, wrong right, it is what it is. Jason couldn't stand it. He'd hated the eighteen months Dick had worked as Batman. Even from a distance he had seen how much strain the act – because that's what it was, an ex-performer with a role to play – had put on his brother. He knew Dick had never wanted to be Batman, not when he had established his own persona, his own life that he dropped like nothing to take up the Dark Knight's mantel when he needed to. Then Bruce came back. Bruce was back, Batman was back, and Dick . . . Dick was left to find himself again.

Kind of like when I came back, floundering around, lost and angry. . . But Dick never let the anger get the better of him, not like I did. Hurt and anger and confusion and displacement. . .

He tried not to think about it ever; tried not to compare situations that were so very different despite glaring, blinding similarities. Jason wasn't Dick, and Dick wasn't Bruce. But with Dick lying there grimly stating this is how the world works, Jason couldn't help the passing thought. Dick would still make a good Batman.

"Fine, Dick," he relented. There was no more point in arguing the matter; they had both said their piece. Antagonizing his injured brother right then wouldn't make him feel any less awful. "You better get back on your feet soon. We can't both be out for weeks while the Arkham rejects are still loose." There, a peace offering.

Dick let the comment pass, probably seeing it as the subject change that it was. His voice was back to normal when he spoke again, the stiff mask disappearing as fast as it had come. "Alfred's getting your room ready. Stay here tonight?"

"I dunno know, Dick." He was shaking his head; he didn't know how things would be in the morning.

"It's late," Dick insisted. "Even by our standards. It'll make me feel better knowing you're okay." Jason would never understand how Dick managed that begging puppy eyes look to be so persuasive. Forget guns or fists, most villains would be stopped with just a glance of those pleading blues.

Jason rolled his eyes in exaggerated annoyance, putting on a show of giving in to erase whatever tension remained between them. "Fiiiine," he groaned. "I'll stay."

Dick instantly brightened, smile nearly infectious.

Jason was about to leave, already halfway to the door, but he turned back towards Dick when curiosity struck him. His words were hesitant, unsure of their reception, but open in a way he only ever had been with Dick. "So . . . she found the ring, huh?"

Dick's expression was perfectly confused when he asked, "What?" with as much befuddlement as ever could be put in a single word. It was good. Flawless, even.

Jason saw right through it.

"Don't act like you don't remember." It came out gruffer than he had meant it; he made an effort to soften his response. "Before you passed out, you told me she found the ring right before she left town."

Dick chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes fixed on the blankets. Hesitance and contemplation personified.

Jason moved back to the side of the bed and sat at the foot to face Dick. "Hey, man, I can't judge you, it just seems like it bothers you a bit." And it would certainly explain why Dick had been so clingy the past few weeks. Jason doubted Dick had talked to anyone else about it, and at the moment it looked like Jason was the only one outside of Dick and Barbara who even knew.

A beat of silence passed. Jason was about to try a different approach, when Dick finally spoke, voice oddly quiet. "I. . . I didn't propose, or anything." He glanced up at him, blue eyes meeting green. "I knew she wasn't ready. But I had thought about it."

"Well, she can obviously see that you are ready. . . But I think you should try talking to her about it. I dunno if you can wait to talk to her about this. This is kinda something big, ya'know?"

"Of course I know, Jay." The harsh words were tempered by his brother's desperate, almost pleading, tone. "I know this is huge, and I hadn't meant for . . . not—not until I knew she was okay with it . . . but. . ."

"But what?"

Dick heaved a quiet sigh. "But, that didn't happen. . . She found the engagement ring in my dresser drawers; she was at my apartment looking for something she had left and just. . . I've tried talking to her, tried giving her space. She wants to pretend it didn't happen, wouldn't take my calls 'til last week. Says that we need a time out. That she needs time. . ." His face crumpled, eyes squeezed tightly shut for a moment before looking back at Jason. "I'm afraid I'm losing her again."

Jason let that sink in for a beat, then offered a grimace and a shrug. "Well, I dunno man, I'm not the best to be trying to give relationship advice. . . I just think you guys need to talk about it. I know you know that. But just give her time to think I guess." He shrugged again and watched as Dick pulled his walls pack into place, looking worn out from more than just drugs and blood loss. It was amazing how such a social guy could be so private. . . He felt his own exhaustion begin to settle in. "Anyways, get some rest. You and I both have a lot of healing to do and quickly."

"Yeah, Jay. Thanks." He flashed a small, genuine smile. "For everything. Sleep well."

Jason nodded and left. He'd played therapist more than enough for one night. All this consideration and understanding was making his headache worse. He snorted at his own dramatics, shaking his head.

He saw Bruce head off for the infirmary the moment Jason limped into the service elevator – two flights of stairs with crutches and a cast was not an experience he wanted to repeat any time soon – and hoped Bruce would at least give it a day before chewing Dick out about withholding vital information. Jason was glad to skip out on that particular lecture this time.

He took the elevator up to the second floor of Wayne Manor, following the familiar path to his childhood bedroom. His name was still on the door. When he walked in, there was no sign of Alfred, but the bed had been freshly made and turned down, non-narcotic pain medication and a glass tumbler of water on the nightstand.

Jason gratefully collapsed onto the cloudlike mattress, both legs thanking the sudden relinquishing of duty. He swallowed down only a half a dose of the meds; just enough to knock out the worst of the pain without knocking him out too. The late hour and night's events would do that for him in a few minutes. He didn't bother with undressing before he slid between cool, silky sheets.

Dick was okay. Or he would be in a few weeks, with nothing more than a new pair of scars to show for it. Physically. But here Jason was thinking about feelings and mental health. As though everyone in this line of work wasn't so screwed up in the head already. Jason stared up at the ceiling. The same ceiling he had stared at almost every night he had slept in that same bed in that same room in that same house for years. It was longer than Jason wanted to remember since the last time he had even set foot in this room. All it had taken was Dick being shot to bring him 'home'. Dick, asking him to stay, to get Jason to step foot back into this room. . . Was that all it really took? For someone just to ask me to stay? Maybe I. . .

He was asleep before he ever got to finish that thought.

The end.

*Edited for content and quality: 11/28/17