Chapter 10! This is it! Enjoy!

Warnings for this chapter are: fairly severe injury, and some serious emotional confrontations.

February 3rd, 10:09

"Arsenal!"

The call of my name is dim, fuzzy, like someone yelling through a pile of blankets or a soundproofed wall. I still twitch at it, dragging in a deep breath and cringing my way towards awareness. I hurt. My entire torso feels tenderized, like someone's been beating the shit out of me, and there's an ache in my skull that says 'concussion' to me, but by far the worst of the pain is the fire of my right leg. It feels wrong, it hurts, and every time I so much as twitch that fire spreads up from my calf to my thigh.

I pry my eyes open, grimacing and choking back the cry of pain that tries to claw its way up my throat. I barely manage it, and the effort costs me a few seconds of not really understanding what I'm seeing before my mind clicks back into action.

It's Jason crouched over me, the brown leather jacket and red helmet tells me that. But the helmet is shattered down the left side of his face, cracking at the edges and exposing a wide stripe of his expression. I can see his cheek, his left eye, some of that white hair at his forehead, and the corner of his mouth. He looks worried, and almost afraid.

"Jay?" I manage to gasp out. I find out that my metal arm still works when I raise it towards him on automatic, and he turns towards the brush of my fingers to his cheek.

"Thank god," he breathes. "Building went down. You got the worst of it; I caught myself, barely." One of his gloved hands brushes my forehead, and I wince at even the gentle pressure to what's definitely going to bruise. "We need to go, alright?" He glances up, and then back over his shoulder. "New wave from the portal, ring's been driven back a little ways. They're recovering, but we're in too far and if we get noticed by these things…"

I swallow, closing my metal hand around the collar of his jacket as I press myself to just breathe evenly. "I— Right leg. I don't think I can walk."

He looks down, along my body, and I can see his expression tighten up. I manage to lift my head far enough to see the massive piece of concrete firmly pinning that leg to the ground. "Fuck," he spits. "Alright, so I'll carry you, get you back to the zeta tube, to the medics. To hell with these heroes; didn't even help when the building crumbled under us."

He moves, down along me and carefully stepping to the opposite side. His arms curl under the concrete, and I can see him pause, take a deep breath in, and then strain upwards.

I think the noise that leaves my throat is better described as a shriek than a scream.

Something grinds through my leg, pain sweeps up to paralyze the rest of me, and Jason lets go of the concrete and jerks away. I collapse out of the tension, shivering and choking on the agony of whatever the hell is wrong with my calf. Dimly, I register that Jason is lying down next to me, craning his head to peer underneath the concrete. The next thing that I fully understand he's kneeling by my shoulder, gripping my flesh hand in one of his and gently tracing the fingers of his other one across my jaw.

"Come on," he whispers, staring down at me. "Can you hear me, Original? Please, talk to me."

I manage to jerk my head in a nod, squeezing down on his fingers with as much strength as I can muster. "Hurts," I choke out, and his mouth curves in a grim smile.

"Yeah, it damn well should. I'd be fucking terrified if you weren't in a shitload of pain." He looks up again, scanning the sky and the area behind him before refocusing. "So, bad news is that you've got a piece of rebar through your leg. I can't get the concrete off of you without disturbing it, and if I rip it out of there there's going to be a lot of blood. Worse news is that we're stuck here because of that, and I don't think it's going to be long before one of these idiot soldiers realizes there's a couple tasty humans down here."

"So what's the good?"

That grim smile sticks around. "The rebar's keeping blood flow to a minimum for right now, so you're not in danger of bleeding out for a long while yet as long as it stays in and steady. Also you've got me, and I'm sure as fuck not leaving you here. This just means I've gotta hold this spot until the heroes get their damn act together and shut these portals down." He leans down, and I close my eyes as his half shattered helmet presses to my forehead. His voice is a whisper between us. "I'm keeping you safe, you hear me, Roy? You are not dying on my watch."

I squeeze his hand again. "Got it." I swallow away the part of me that wants to keen or maybe cry at the pain, trying to force myself to breathe evenly. It sort of works.

Jason pulls back, and loops around to my other side so he can stare upwards through the more unobstructed side of the collapsed building. He looks still and poised, the worry faded away to make room for steel focus. There's a faint trail of blood down what I can see of his face, starting near the corner of his eye. Nothing big, but it's enough to give me an idea of the kind of force that hit him to shatter his helmet. That thing is fairly sturdy; I've seen it take hits before.

"You're hurt," I point out, quietly.

Jason's gaze flicks down to me for a fraction of a second. "Bruises and a cracked rib," he answers, voice hushed and clipped. "It's nothing."

Memory drags at the edge of my mind, and then I tighten my grip on his fingers and hiss, "Liar. I heard you when we fell, Jay. You don't shout like that for bruises." It was loud enough I could hear it over the crumbling of the building, so it either must have been a shocking pain or a serious one. Serious means a whole other thing to Jason than it does to me.

He gives a small shrug, not looking down this time. "Yeah, that was the rib. Particular hard edge that didn't fit in with the rest of the rubble, startled me into letting go of you. The rest of it just gave me bruises but that spot cracked the rib. It's fine, Roy."

"Jason—"

"It's fine," he snaps. "Look, it's not going to kill me and it's not going to get me killed unless I'm really stupid about it, so it's fine. I'll handle it until these fucking heroes get their shit together and we can get out of here." His mouth twists in a crooked smirk, and he looks down at me. "Worry about yourself, Original. I know my own limits, and I'm not the one who's pinned in place. You can harass me about my health after we've made sure you make it out of here."

I manage a snort, glancing up at the sky and the faint blur of the demons streaming past. "Gives me something to focus on," I breathe out. He echoes my snort as he recognizes his own words being said back to him. True, I'm not in the middle of a panic attack, or that desperately in need of something apart from memories to think about, but my leg hurts like hell and I don't like being vulnerable like this. Thinking about how Jason might be hurt is easier than thinking about how relatively helpless I'll be to defend myself from one of those things.

"You're an ass," he murmurs, even though his tone is soft. Then his entire face closes off as he looks up, and he shoves out the rest of his breath. "Here we go."

He pulls his hand away from mine, and I follow his gaze as he stands. The demons are taking notice of us, a section peeling off from the main force to dive down. It's not that far a dive, and Jason pulls two of his guns out as he steps around me. A sharp whistle calls their attention to him, as he moves away from me. His stride is sure and steady over the uneven footing of the rubble, and he moves far enough away that, theoretically, none of them should focus on me. Jason is obviously the bigger threat, and maybe if I'm still enough they won't realize I'm alive. Even if they do, I've got my own weapons, and I can defend myself as long as none of them are expecting me to fight back.

His guns rise, but he waits long enough for the shot to be completely sure before he starts shooting. He's efficient. Each shot takes down one of the demons, and he moves like it's a dance as he slips around the falling bodies crashing to the ground. I almost shout a warning, as I realize that the sound of the guns is attracting more of the demons, but I swallow it back. I don't want to call attention to myself and his head is tilted up anyway, so he can probably see them.

It's not enough for long. Soon there's too many of them for him to take out before they reach the ground, and then he has to turn his attention to the ones closest to him. There's also the precious seconds where he has to reload, and that's what lets them get too close for comfort. Jason is circling, dancing, and dodging with grace I didn't even know he had — have I ever seen him fight at this kind of skill level? — but it's not enough to keep the sheer numbers off of him. The next time he has to pause to reload a swinging arm grazes him, snapping his head around to the side and disrupting the flow of movement. Stalling him for seconds he can't afford to be still.

It burns that I can't do much more than sit and watch, heart in my throat, until I catch another glimpse of him. It hurts even more that the glimpse I catch is him being thrown from the group, flying through the air until he hits rubble. I can't hear the crack of his helmet smacking against stone, but I can see the way it snaps his throat into an arch from the angle.

He's moving again after a second, dropping both guns to yank the mostly shattered helmet off his head and throw it at the group of demons with a shouted curse. A flick of one hand into his jacket and the helmet explodes, prompting roars and cries of pain from the demons, and sending them crashing to the floor. The detonator gets dropped and Jason is on his feet again, guns in his hands and a snarl on his lips. It gives him another few minutes of advantage, as he takes out stragglers and then returns his sights to the diving ones, but it's still not enough.

The next moment of panic I get is when Jason reaches for another clip of ammo and comes up empty. I can see him freeze up for just a fraction of a second. That's right before he throws the two empty guns into the face of the currently charging demon and then reaches for his backup ones. One left at the small of his back, and the second smaller and in his right boot. Not that it matters; with no spare ammo left all he can do is empty the clips in those and then discard them too.

That's when one of the demons comes dropping out of the sky at Jason's back, jaw already open and breathing fire even as it lands. He screams, but has the sense of mind to duck out of the way and leap to the side, shedding his jacket as he moves. It's still on fire, but the damage is already done, and I can see the patch of melted, burnt, scorched armor and skin on the back of his left shoulder. I can see the way it makes his movements just slightly jerky and folds him in on that side.

My arm primes with only my barest consent, and I take just half a second to make sure it's necessary — it fucking is — before I aim and activate the laser. Three short bursts; three dead demons. It gives Jason a few seconds of reprieve. The arcing sweep of my arm, the laser cutting through the sky and taking out at least a dozen, gives him plenty more. It gives him enough time to close some of the distance between us, and get his knife into his hand. A pretty shitty defense against enemies like these, but it's not really like he's got any better options.

"You alright?" I call, as I check the power levels on my arm. Not high, too much of a fight before this for that, but good enough for now.

He doesn't look back at me, but I can see the edge of what I think might be that same snarl. "I'll live," he answers, sounding breathless and in pain. Considering I'm pretty sure that fire melted his armor into his skin, I'd be seriously fucking surprised if he wasn't. "Save the—" He cuts off, choking a little bit, and I ramp up my estimation from 'pain' to 'agony.' "Save the laser for the ones who go after you," he manages.

"I don't think so," I snap back. "I need you alive when this is over, Jay. This doesn't go one way."

I'm sure he would argue, but then down comes the next wave of the demons — I swear these ones look angrier — and the fight restarts. Jason's grace clicks back in as he circles them, darting in to shove his knife into tender spots. Most of those tender spots end with dead demons, the rest look crippled. I pick off ones on the outside that seem to have turned my direction, as well as flinging out swathes of the laser into the sky whenever I get the chance. Since it's taking Jason longer to kill the ones on the ground, I think my intervention is the only thing keeping him from being swarmed and overwhelmed. Bat training or not, he can only take on so many opponents at once, and only for so long.

I'm in the middle of another of those slices through the sky when I hear Jason cry out, and my gaze yanks back down to find him. He's staggering back, his knife stuck in the side of a demon's leg, clutching at his right side. It only takes me a second to see the blood dripping to the ground, but it's the same second that his foot catches on a jagged slab of concrete and he falls hard onto it. My breath catches on a shout, and I pull my arm down in what feels like slow motion as the demon lunges at Jason. Jason, who looks up at it but doesn't reach for a weapon because he doesn't have one.

He's going to die. Die defending me and won't that be the worst conversation in the world to have with Batman. Sorry, your not-dead son and I were fucking and maybe in love but I got him killed trying to defend me, so I guess you'll never know him after all. And Jason will be gone, permanently this time because the universe doesn't give random people third chances like that. All because he wanted to protect me, and wouldn't stay away from this fight even though it went against everything he'd been trying to do with his life.

"Jay!" I shout, the laser building but it's not going to be fast enough. Jason's head bows down onto the concrete.

Bright green knocks the demon away from him, slamming it to the side with casual power. Jason's head jerks back up, my laser stalls in its place, and fucking Green Lantern drops to the floor in front of my partner. He's got a few ripped, bloody spots of his own, but that doesn't stop him from bracing his ring arm and spreading his legs into a sturdy stance as the power flows from it. The power difference has never been so obvious, as I watch him slice apart the remaining demons with the sweep of a giant chainsaw and then turn some kind of minigun up at the few left in the sky. Within a few seconds the threat is gone, and he's spinning towards Jason and kneeling down next to him.

The residual silence is enough for me to hear him as he says, voice all sarcasm and lightheartedness, "Hey, kid. Leave some for me next time, alright?"

Against all odds, Jason's mouth twitches into a smirk. "No promises," he answers, before he gasps and groans, curling in on himself. I know his tells enough to know he's in a lot of pain, and not feeling anywhere near safe.

"Hang on, I gotcha."

The ring glows brighter, but Jason shakes his head. "No; Arsenal."

"Do not listen to him," I snarl across the rubble. "He's bleeding; I'm stuck but I'll be fine just get him out of—"

"Rebar," Jason snarls. "Rebar, through his leg. Couldn't get him away without pulling it out, you can cut through the bar and leave it in for the medics." Another gasp. "Just got this; blood loss won't be an issue for a while. Go before the bastards come back."

"Uh-huh," Green Lantern says, glancing between us. "Well how about I just take you both? That sound good?" He's up and moving before Jason can argue, floating over and settling by my leg. I try and stay totally still as the threads of his power wind underneath the rock, and mostly it works. There's still a grating shift as I hear whatever the construct is saw through the rebar, but I manage to bite back the cry of pain and any more movement than a heavy shudder. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the next thing I know I'm being lifted.

I did not know that Green Lantern's constructs were warm, but solid like steel. That's new.

"Jay," I breathe, turning my head as I open my eyes. I find him at the same time that Green Lantern lifts him into a second one of the stretchers, and his gaze fixes on mine.

"Alright," Lantern says, as he lifts off the ground. "I'll have you back at the medics in just a minute; hang on, kids."

"Not a kid," Jason grumbles, but without any real strength behind his words. I manage a smirk, and he answers with a small, crooked grin. He's a little less curled up now, and I wish that he was close enough I could reach out and take his hand but he's not. Probably for the best; I'll take him keeping pressure on that wound in his side over holding his hand, even if it would be reassuring.

"Mmhmm," Green Lantern agrees absently, "tell me that again when you're eighteen." Jason gives half a snarl, his eyes closing as he eases down against the green glow of the construct. "We did it, by the way. The portals are closed, we're just mopping up the last of them."

Tension eases out of my shoulders, and I breathe out in a sigh and mimic Jason, relaxing into the construct. It's steel near my legs, holding my impaled one carefully at an angle and very still, but the construct beneath my head and shoulders is soft, like fabric. I let my eyes mostly close, only holding them open enough that I can still see Jason through the slit. I'm not taking my eyes off of him until he's been treated, no way in hell.

"Well done, kid." Green Lantern's praise is soft, but it makes Jason pry his eyes open and look up. "Not many non-powered people could have held like you did down there. You did good work." His head turns, and I watch the flash of white teeth as he gives a small grin. "Both of you."

I give a huff, sharing a look with Jason. "Nice to be appreciated," I murmur, and Jason gives a pained snort.

"We're going to get so much shit once we're patched up," he counters, with a small shrug that immediately makes him wince and gasp.

"We'll figure it out." I know that the Bats are going to descend on Jason as soon as they get the chance, and I know that Oliver is going to come after me too, if he gets the chance. While we're stuck in medical would be a prime time to ambush us, so at the very least I'm sure that the Bats will be there. They take advantage of stuff like that.

This time Jason just gives a small nod, and a tiny flicker of his lips that's just enough to be called a smile. "Yeah. Deal."

February 3rd, 11:45

Jason's fingers clench around mine, teeth gritting as the medic carefully peels the bits of armor burned into his shoulder away from the damaged skin. If it wasn't my metal fingers, I might be concerned that he'd do some real damage. As it is, I just let him grip as tight as he needs to. I sure as hell abused his arm while they were dealing with my leg, he's owed at least this much.

"You doing alright, Jay?" I ask, and his head immediately jerks in a nod.

The medic behind him is frowning, even as she works. "This would be easier if you would consent to anesthes. Either of you."

I can see the immediate reaction in Jason, the sharp snarl of refusal, and I lightly squeeze his fingers and look up at the medic. "No," I deny, speaking for him. "High tolerance; you'd have to pretty much knock him out and frankly there's no way in hell that's going to happen unless you call someone in to hold us both down for it. He'll take the pain."

She sighs, depositing a chunk of armor down on the tray next to her. "Recovery will be slower without medication to combat the pain. The stress—"

"So give us something to go and we'll take it at home." Jason nods again, confirming my words, so I watch the medic. "No offense to you, but we're not going to get drugged up to our eyeballs anywhere but where we're absolutely safe."

She looks like she wants to argue, her mouth even parts to do it, but then she clicks it shut again. She meets my eyes for a second, and then gives a terse nod. "Both of you know the signs of infections, and how to change and dress injuries?" I wait for Jason to give another of his small nods before I echo it. "Alright, fine then. I'll finish here, then give you the prescriptions and instructions on when to take them. I'll include a second sheet for how to take care of these injuries, and all restrictions for until you've both recovered. Follow them, no pushing, or you will end up back in here. I don't care how badly you want to go out in costume."

Jason snorts. I give a crooked smirk. "Not a problem; we're not really the patrolling kind of heroes."

She's silent for a good few seconds, through Jason's small hiss as she pulls another piece of the armor off his skin, then she glances down before speaking softly. "For the record, you're both safe here."

I can see Jason tense a little bit more, but he doesn't immediately snap anything. I watch him for a second, just to make absolutely sure that he's not going to decide to actually react verbally or violently. Then I squeeze his fingers and give a shrug. "Sure, yeah." Which is about the furthest thing from agreeing, but I'm not going to give her more than that.

Physically, sure, we're probably safe. The League probably wouldn't arrest us, or at least not me. Jason is more questionable, but they probably haven't had the chance to look up anything he's done yet. Technically, Batman might not even know what name he's using yet. Possible he might know the costume, and already have put it together, but not that likely. So until that information comes out, we should be more or less safe from any arrest attempts. The only other physical danger is if Jason gets triggered by something and snaps, but that would just be them physically stopping him. Totally the wrong way to handle it, but they won't know that.

But apart from physical…

Oliver will be here soon enough, and so will the Bats. I have no idea how much damage they could do to Jason's usually precarious mental state with stupid comments, and how badly they might hurt him. Or, how badly he might hurt them. I'm sure that Jason could hurt all of them pretty badly just with words, if he wanted to. I think he does want to, but will he while we're in such a bad position to defend ourselves? He's smarter than that, but anger doesn't always give way to logic. I don't doubt that seeing and talking to the Bats, especially more than one of them, is going to fuck him up pretty badly.

He's always talked about Batman like it hurt to even think about him, and he didn't do that well with the confrontation earlier either. He didn't snap, but it hurt him. A real conversation might do a lot worse, and we're not going to get lucky enough to get out of here without the Bats ambushing him. No way.

Jason eases out once the medic is done picking pieces of armor out of his skin, and by the time she's put the pad over his burned skin, taped it down, and left to retrieve the information and medication for us, he looks more or less fine again. He's even gripping my fingers a lot less tightly. Still firmly, but it's hard to tell if that's just to hang on to me or because he's still in a lot of pain. I do recognize the particular pattern to his breathing and the careful relaxation of his face and muscles. He's keeping at least some of the pain at bay just by willpower.

I call his attention with a small squeeze of his fingers, and when he opens his eyes and looks over at me I give a tiny smile. As big of one as I can manage with how much pain I'm in. "We'll be alright," I promise.

He echoes my tiny smile, something soft and warm in his eyes. "I know. Have some interesting scars to show for all of this, though."

"Call it a souvenir."

He gives a bark of laughter, shaking his head as his mouth curls into a grin. "Fucking souvenirs," he breathes. "Morons."

I think it's the first time that thinking of Kid Flash doesn't hurt any more than a dull ache in the center of my chest, and I let myself crack a grin and squeeze his fingers again. "Right? That trophy room—"

"—was the dumbest idea," he finishes. "Everyone was always so insistent; gotta get a souvenir for every mission. Like anyone was going to know what the hell the one random arrow on the wall meant in five years time, or that one tracker. You have any idea what that was about?"

"I never payed close enough attention," I admit, with a shrug. "Totally ignored Nightwing when he tried to walk me through all the stories." I almost curse myself for bringing up Jason's predecessor, but his grin only falls a little bit.

Then he huffs out a breath, looking down at the floor between our two examination tables for a moment. "Yeah, me too." His tone is soft, almost fond but a little sad too. "God, that man can just talk for forever." He's not meeting my eyes, but he doesn't look angry. Just, hurt.

"It's uh," Jason's head snaps up, and his fingers clench down around mine, "one of my talents." Nightwing is at the door, mostly hidden behind it but he steps out into full view as he speaks. Jason's expression closes off, and his fingers loosen again but don't let go. Honestly he looks like he's ready for a fight. Nightwing gives a small, careful smile; obviously he can see that Jason's waiting for something to tell him which edge of the knife to step off of. "Hey, Little Wing." His voice is soft, tinged with something like hope.

Jason swallows, stares for a second. Then, that careful guard eases a little bit. "Hey, Goldie."

Nightwing's smile flickers just a little wider. Slowly, he moves closer, and with some surprise I recognize the way he's approaching as the same way I do when Jason's under the influence of the Pit. Straight on so Jason can see him every moment, slow but not cautious, just giving enough time for Jason to stop him if he's going to. But he doesn't. He lets Nightwing move right up to us, and then take a seat on Jason's table with about three feet between them. Jason's gaze stays steady on him until he's seated, and then flicks towards the door, briefly.

Nightwing speaks first, with that small smile and a laughing tinge to his tone. "Still using that stupid nickname, hm?" My slight confusion must show — Goldie? — because Nightwing looks over at me, tilting his head as he shrugs. "Golden boy."

"Well, can't say the rest in polite company." Jason's voice is equally quiet, and the words are teasing but his tone doesn't match. Instead it's carefully measured, with just a little edge of pain. That could be emotional or physical, it's hard to say.

I take a glance between them, but Nightwing's looking at Jason again. "I can go," I offer, and Jason's gaze flicks to me as his fingers clench down.

"No, stay." I don't know if he wants me to play buffer, or just wants my support there, but it doesn't matter. I nod, returning the squeeze of his hand. I can see Nightwing's head tilt, and practice lets me track his hidden gaze to our hands, up to me, and then back to Jason through the miniscule tilts of his head.

"The two of you?" he asks.

Jason tenses, like he expects the question to end in an attack. "Is that a problem?" he demands, his mouth falling into a flat line and his eyes narrowing a little bit.

Nightwing gives a quiet laugh, and a smile that seems just a touch sad. "No, Little Wing. Congratulations." His head turns obviously towards me. "Anyone who makes my little brother happy has my approval, Arsenal. Thank you." I manage a small nod, glancing over at Jason. I can't tell whether his expression is guarded, pained, or something else entirely.

"What do you want?" Jason's voice is barely a whisper, but it gets Nightwing's attention as if it was a shout.

"To see if you're alright, for one. I heard what happened. Are both of you okay?"

I nod, and Jason gives a small shrug. "I'll live; seem to be good at doing that." There's something hurt in his tone, but it doesn't sound like it's aimed at Nightwing. It just sounds like general pain, the kind I associate with his memories.

Nightwing's breath catches, audibly. Jason's mouth sets into a line that I think I'd actually call nervous. Then Nightwing is unbuckling his left glove and dropping it to the table before he reaches up. Every moment is slow, deliberate, and he looks like he's watching for even the smallest sign of rejection. Jason doesn't give one, except for a tiny flinch when Nightwing's bare fingers touch his temple. They carefully trace his hairline, and then Nightwing's face is cracking into a smile that's somewhere in the middle of joy and grief. I drop my gaze to the floor because it feels like I'm intruding, and that's the closest I can get to giving them privacy as long as Jason still wants me in the room.

"It's really you," Nightwing breathes. "Jesus, Jason, I never even thought— I've missed you so much." I can hear the rough sound of Jason taking in a shaky breath, but he doesn't speak. "I'm so sorry, Little Wing. What happened to you— I should have known, I should have—"

"Stop," Jason almost gasps, and it sounds like a plea. He lets go of my hand. "I never blamed you for that, Nightwing. Never. What happened to me was my own fault, my mistake, I—"

There's the crinkle of fabric, the sound of bodies hitting each other, and Jason cuts off with a sharp, startled sound. I yank my head up, ready to get Nightwing the hell away from Jason if he's done anything, and then go completely still at the sight.

Nightwing's arms are wrapped around Jason's chest, carefully leaving his arms free but holding him tight. His head is ducked down into Jason's shoulder, and he's probably hurting Jason at least a little bit considering the bruises he's pressing down on, but that probably doesn't matter. I look up at Jason to make absolutely sure that he doesn't need me to intervene — that this isn't going to trigger the Pit — but before I can even fully read his expression it collapses in on itself. His eyes squeeze shut, his mouth curls down into a grimace, and pain is so easy to read it's a wonder he's not screaming with it. But he also folds forward into Nightwing, his arms rising to clutch at the black and blue armor spread over his brother's back as he presses his head down into the crook of Nightwing's shoulder and neck.

I can't see his expression anymore, but I can see the shallow, shaking rise and fall of his back as he breathes in and out. I can see the tension in his arms from how hard he's clinging, and the way Nightwing is folded around him.

"You're alive," Nightwing says, a short laugh following the words. "I— You sounded so furious with me back in the main hall, I thought— I thought I'd done something, that you hated me… Please tell me that's not true, Little Wing. Or if I did something just tell me what and I'll fix it. I won't lose you again."

Jason shakes his head, tightening his grip for a moment. "Not you," he manages. "Just B, he's— I can't forgive him. Not yet." That's probably the most optimistic I've ever heard Jason be about his relationship with Batman.

"Damn, that's the other reason I'm here." Nightwing pulls a few inches away; not far enough to make Jason let go but far enough he can look him in the eye. "He's finishing up the last of the reports, dealing with stragglers and stuff, but then he's headed here. I—" Nightwing swallows. "I wanted to give you the choice. If you really don't want to talk to him, you've got roughly eight minutes or so to get out of the Watchtower, maybe a little more."

Jason stills, staring at Nightwing with something close to confusion. "You— You're leaving that up to me? You'd let me leave without an explanation or anything?"

Nightwing's mouth twists into a crooked smile that looks gentle and fond. "No one ever got far by making you do anything, Little Wing. If you want to go, I'm not going to stop you. That's your call to make. I want you to stay though, for whatever that's worth."

He stays still for another moment, and then Jason gives a small nod. His hands slide down to either side of Nightwing's waist; still holding on, but not clutching anymore. "Alright," he agrees, voice cracking just a little in the middle of the word. "Had to happen eventually, might as well be on my terms." He huffs out a breath and lowers his head a couple inches. "We both know B would track me down and ambush me in my own home if I left without talking to him at least a little bit. Not down for that."

Nightwing echoes the less intensive grip, his hands resting lightly near Jason's hips. But he stays close, just a couple inches away. I think it's beyond impressive that Jason is letting him stay that close, and with that kind of a grip, especially while he's armed and Jason isn't. It speaks volumes for how much Jason must trust Nightwing, even though he hasn't seen him in years, and left on a bit of a sour note. Jason would let me do that, and maybe the other Roy as well, but not anyone else that I can think of. He's a lot better than he was, but this is still a big show of trust. It's possible Nightwing doesn't know that, but I do.

"Can I do anything for you?" Nightwing asks, voice pitched soft and low.

Jason hesitates, and then snorts. "Actually, a shirt would be really fucking nice. Mine was…" I don't know if the word he was thinking of was 'melted,' but he settles on, "Ruined. The information and medication from the medic too, if she has it ready. I—" He looks back up at Nightwing, something cautious and a little hurt in his eyes. "I don't want to be stuck here waiting for that." Stuck around Batman, more like, but Nightwing doesn't call him out on it.

"You got it, Little Wing." His hands draw back, picking up the discarded glove and tugging it back on as he looks to me. "You, Arsenal? Anything?"

I consider for a second, and then shake my head. "I'm good." Unlike Jason, whose armor had to be peeled off of him, they only had to cut me out of the one leg of my suit. Only down from the knee too. It's going to suck to get out of here — they'll probably put me on a crutch thanks to that stupid piece of rebar — but I've been told I'll be just fine, and at least I'm not missing pants. Once we're home, and I'm safe enough to take some of those heavy duty painkillers, things will be even better.

It's just getting out of here, past Batman, that's the tricky part.

Nightwing acknowledges my refusal with a nod, and then slides off the table and to his feet. One last touch to Jason's uninjured shoulder, gloved fingers tracing up to his neck, and then he steps back. "I'll be right back," he murmurs.

I watch him leave the room, and then turn my attention to Jason. "You alright?"

Jason pauses, and then looks up to meet my eyes. "Actually, yeah." He sounds disbelieving, but then he gives a crooked smile. He gets off his table, and crosses over to sit down next to me. He carefully picks my left side, where he can press his uninjured shoulder to mine, and my leg isn't in danger either. He leans into me, tilting his head in against mine. He carefully takes my gloved hand in his bare one, and I turn my head to look at him. "I'm alright," he breathes out, resting his forehead against mine.

"Good," I answer, carefully squeezing his fingers. "This is probably going to be a nasty confrontation." Jason winces, but doesn't move away from me. "You want me to stay quiet, leave the room?"

Jason gives a soft, nervous laugh. "Fuck no, but it's probably best if we talk alone. You mind?"

"Course not; I get it." I tilt my head, and his eyes close as I brush my lips across his. The soft sound he exhales is just a little shaky, but he tilts into me and chases the brief contact. I let him, and I'd be a liar if I said that the contact doesn't reassure me too. Not that I doubted Jason, but it's another small sign that I can leave Jason alone and he'll probably be okay.

After a while Jason lowers his head, resting it on my shoulder. "I reserve the right to change my mind," he says, only barely loud enough that I can even hear his voice.

I lean my head down on top of his, turning my nose into his hair. "Always. Just hold on to me if you want me to stay; don't even have to say anything."

We stay like that until Nightwing steps back into the room, the medic at his heels. Even then, Jason only lifts his head. He doesn't pull away from my shoulder, or let go of my hand, or absolutely anything but lift his head enough to look at the two of them. I can feel the brief moment of tension through his shoulder, but it eases out of him in the next second. Nightwing tosses a balled up piece of white fabric at Jason — who snags it out of the air with his free hand — and then takes a seat across from us with a small smile. I can almost feel him studying how Jason and I are in physical contact, but he doesn't say anything.

The medic engages Jason in conversation, talking about dosages, pills, and restrictions as she presses a sheaf of papers into his free hand. I watch him fold and tuck those away in one of the pockets of his grey cargo pants, as well as the capsules of medication that she immediately follows it up with. The singular crutch goes to me, and I grimace but set it next to me. I listen to her with half an ear, but I trust Jason to get the specifics, and what he doesn't immediately remember will be on those papers. I can read them over later, before I dose myself and pass out for a good few hours. Hopefully, with Jason at my side and warm against me, if equally drugged.

Finally she seems done, and excuses herself with a walk that suggests that she has other rooms with other patients to see to. It's only then that Jason lets go of my hand and unballs what turns out to be a regular white t-shirt, tugging it on over his head. I can see the tightening of his expression as he lifts his arms — hard to say whether it's the stitches in his side or the burn on his shoulder that gives him more trouble — but he doesn't pause. He almost looks normal again once the t-shirt is on, with the exception of that small, scabbed cut to the side of his left eye. Better than me; half my calf is bare and the other half is a wrap of white bandages to hold together the hole in my leg.

I don't know whether it's luck or that he was waiting, but only a second after Jason's settled the shirt into place a black shadow slips through the door. Jason tenses a lot more this time, and only halfway relaxes when Batman stops a good seven feet or so away. Nightwing's very still, but he doesn't say anything.

There's a few moments of stiff silence, and then Batman lowers his head just an inch from that perfect posture. "Jason."

Jason swallows, his fingers clenched down hard over mine. "B," he answers, his tone cautious and maybe a little angry already. No green in his eyes though, when I glance up at them, so things are fine for now. He's practically glued to my side though.

"Jay?" I pitch my voice low, make his name a question. Jason's gaze snaps over to meet mine, and I can see the torn struggle in his eyes but then he nods. His hand releases its hold on me, and I carefully pick up the crutch and fit it underneath the arm of my uninjured side, which happens to be the flesh one. Shame; probably would have been easier if the support was through my metal arm instead. "Call if you want me," I tell Jason, as I shift my weight to my feet. Which burns, but I manage to not show much of the pain. Jason will know, but Jason always knows when I'm in pain.

He gives a second nod, and I take a few awkward steps with the crutch as I figure out how to walk with it. Batman shifts to the side to let me pass, and I make my way out of the room. I'm not oblivious to what it means that the door gets shut behind me, even though I wince. Shutting Jason into a room where he's already on defensive from the situation is not going to help. Trapping Jason is never a good idea, unless he's willing to let you.

I take a glance around the outside corridor, and promptly bite my tongue to swallow back a curse.

"Really?" I ask, setting my teeth against each other and glaring at the man sitting in one of the chairs against the opposite wall. "You couldn't just let this one go?"

Oliver gives a crooked smirk, that damn mask hiding his eyes. Not that I need to see his eyes to know that he's making that sad, hopeful, joking, pitying expression. I hate that look. "Roy, can we just talk?" He pauses, as I hold my ground — what am I going to do, run? — and then adds, "Please?"

Well, he's just going to stalk me if I don't sit down for a minute, and I guess half a year is basically enough time to give him the cold shoulder. I can at least talk. I huff out an irritated breath and wobble my way over to the row of chairs, taking one two seats to his left so there's an empty chair between us. I set the crutch down on my left, lean back against the wall, and cross my arms as I look over.

"So, talk."

He looks like he's fresh from the battlefield, pretty much. His suit is streaked in dirt and what I think might be alien blood, and his quiver is nearly empty, but it looks like he got through the fight basically unhurt. Point for him. I'm sure I look a hell of a lot worse, but I can't find it in me to be concerned that he might be worried I'm hurt. I am, and I took it with Jason at my side. Not Oliver.

He sits up, turning partway toward me and meeting my gaze. "Are you alright?" he asks, almost desperately. "I heard what happened, and— Are you okay?"

"Fine," I answer, keeping my voice short and clipped. "Nothing that won't heal." I resist adding anything seriously inflammatory to the end of that sentence, even though I could draw some parallels about things that won't heal.

"And your…" Oliver flounders. After a moment I realize that he's trying to find a way to describe Jason.

I let him search for a few awkward seconds, and then supply, "Partner?" Oliver nods, with a twist of his mouth that doesn't look particularly happy. I narrow my eyes, defensive instinct rising because oh fuck no, that's not alright. "He'll be fine, and you're going to wipe that look off of your face because honestly I couldn't care less what you think of him. I made my choice, and you don't get a say in it. Got that?"

Oliver's mouth tightens, but then he gives a clearly forced smile and a nod. "Got it. Not a word." He shoves out a breath, smile fading away. "Roy, come home. Please. I didn't hear anything about you for months, I didn't even know if you were still alive except on Red's word. Please, just come home."

My jaw clenches. "No." He winces, opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and I cut him off before he can even start. "Look, I'm not interested in talking with you, Oliver. You left me in a pod for five years, and I'm really not up for you trying to somehow fix that. You can't, and I don't want to." He looks a bit like I sucker punched him, and it feels pretty damn good so I go on. "I don't want your pity, and I was sick of you treating me like I was either some piece of fragile glass or one step away from a psychotic break a long time ago. You need to back the fuck off, get your head on straight, and come back when you're ready to look at me as an equal, not a victim."

"Roy—"

"No. I'm not your son, I'm not your sidekick, and I'm not your responsibility." I turn myself to face him head on, uncrossing my arms and baring my teeth for just a second. I can't really pull off threatening with the injured leg, but I give it my best shot. "Find some other kid who will buy your 'family' bullshit, because I have a home, Oliver. It's with Jason. I'm living my own life with or without your permission, so get on board or leave me alone."

Oliver stares at me for a few seconds, somewhere between shocked and hurt. Then he shakes his head, flashes me another forced smile, and says, "Got it. Loud and clear." He slowly gets to his feet, stares for another moment, and then turns to go. His shoulders are a little bowed, but I pull my gaze away and settle back into the chair.

Just in time for the door across the way to slam open, and a seriously pissed looking Jason to come through. I immediately reach for my crutch as he whirls around, looking poised to spring and just a few steps away from some kind of violence. There's only the slightest thread of green in his eyes, but it's enough to make me hurry. A little can turn into a lot pretty quickly.

"Fuck you," Jason snarls at Batman, who followed pretty much at his heels. Nightwing is a shadow over the Bat's shoulder, but he looks a lot less threatening than Batman currently does. "If all you wanted was to recite your stupid rules at me you should have just said. Could have saved us both a lot of wasted fucking time."

I brace on my good leg, figuring out how close Jason is to either running or fighting, and what that expression on the lower half of Batman's face is. That cowl really isn't helpful when it comes to reading him, though apparently Jason has enough experience at it to make it work. I get just a little bit of his mood from the square of his shoulders, the tight line of his mouth, and the tense muscle in his jaw. He's angry, or at least upset. Whatever it is, Jason isn't reacting well. Too much more and he's going to do something; one particularly bad thing could probably make him snap in a really bad way.

To stop that, I take a halting step forward and murmur, "Jay."

He doesn't look at me, but Jason does step back towards me. He seems to know where I am, more or less, because he ends up at my side. He still doesn't look over at me, but his body is tilted towards mine even if he's focused on Batman, and that gives me enough to work with. I shift a little closer, reaching out with my metal hand to curl it around his clenched fist. I have to slowly ease it into opening for me, and then I tangle my fingers with his. Then he glances at me.

Without another word he moves like he's going to pick me up, and only instinct makes me hiss and make a sharp, protesting noise. "Jay, no. You've got stitches in your side; you're not picking me up." He jerks to a stop at my side, and then leans into my shoulder. His face buries itself against my shoulder, and I can feel the faint tremble that sweeps through him. Words or aggressive actions aside, Jason is not alright.

Lucky that I've had a lot of practice dealing with Jason when he's not alright.

I meet Batman's gaze — even tighter than before; don't tell me that he's disapproving of our relationship on top of all of this — with as much determination as I can muster, holding my ground and squeezing my fingers around Jason's with as much strength as I know I can use without hurting him. "You need to back off," I tell Batman, ignoring the fluttery, nervous, scared part of me that's laughing at the fact I'm trying to give Batman an order.

"You don't know what we were discussing," Batman grinds out, as Nightwing worms out from behind him and through the too-narrow gap left between his bulk and the doorframe.

"I don't need to," I counter. "I don't care. Come on, Jay, let's go home." I lower my voice as I ask, "That's what you want, right?"

He shifts in what I'm almost sure is a tiny nod, and then straightens just enough that he can pull his head away from my shoulder. I put myself between him and the Bats as we start down the corridor, too slow because of my injured leg and the crutch, but it's not like we could have outpaced the Batman even if we were running. Especially not with Nightwing right there. So instead I just keep half an eye on both of them, and wish I could be surprised when Batman follows with only a few seconds of grace. Instead I just aim a glare at him, and focus on the way that Jason swaps which hand of his I'm holding, and then his left arm circles my low back to help support me.

I might not say anything, but I appreciate it. Without anything to numb the pain out, putting even a little pressure on my injured leg hurts like a bitch. I will be so glad when we're alone and safe enough for painkillers.

"Jason, stop." Batman's voice is a growl of command, and I squeeze Jason's hand as he flinches and stalls for a fraction of a second.

"Just as far as the zeta tube," I whisper. "Stay with me, Jay." He obeys me, stuttering back into action and keeping pace with my lopsided, awkward stride.

Nightwing slips past all of us, and then darts ahead and out towards the main hall. I don't know why, but he seems in a hurry, and he doesn't stop to say anything, so it's not my problem. I think Nightwing is decent enough not to trap us in here, considering he was willing to let Jason leave before Batman even had the chance to speak with him. Whatever he's doing probably isn't a bad thing for us.

When we actually get into the hall, it's clear what Nightwing did. He cleared the room; apart from us — he's standing near the tubes — the room is empty, except for the League's two Green Lanterns, which are both floating near the ceiling and involved in a conversation of their own. The black one, and the white one with brown hair; I don't actually know either of their names, and calling them both 'Green Lantern' can get a little confusing. I guess this is why sectors are only really supposed to have one of them.

We get halfway across the room before Batman shouts, "Jason!"

That's too much for me to counter, and Jason freezes and then turns back. I turn myself with him, no matter how strange and painful it is to have to balance on one leg and a crutch. His hand is still resting on my waist, and the other is still linked with my metal fingers. Only a little bit of green in his eyes, but everything else in his stance and his expression says he does not want to be here. I need to get him through one of those tubes as soon as possible.

Batman draws to a stop, and I carefully take stock of where Nightwing is — still by the tubes — and where the Green Lanterns are — at the ceiling, but their conversation is done and they're watching — before I allow myself to focus down on him. Jason has no such split of attention, his gaze is for the Bat and no one else.

"What do you want from me?" Jason asks, his voice low and rough. Not quite shaking, but definitely not totally steady either.

Batman's jaw clenches for a second. "Just to talk, Jason. I want to understand."

I can feel the way Jason stiffens, and see the anger that answer brings slamming to the front of his emotional range. "Fucking liar. We were talking, until you called me crazy and a murderer." I wince, and let myself shift into Jason's side a little bit for physical support. "If you wanted to understand you'd listen for a change, but that's never going to happen and I should never have even considered that it would. Fuck off, B."

Batman's head tilts towards me, and I didn't think it would be possible but somehow his jaw tightens further. "What is this?" he demands. "Of all the people you could choose; Arsenal? You're just a kid, Jason. You're too young for that kind of a choice."

That prompts fury from Jason, even as I recoil a little bit. But before any of us can say anything Green Lantern — the white one — is settling between us and Batman, with his head turned towards the Bat. He doesn't look happy, but none of it seems to be aimed at us.

"Batman, that's enough."

"This isn't your—"

"Enough!" Green Lantern shouts, squaring off with Batman and not backing down even a little despite the absolutely terrifying snarl that leaves the Bat's throat. How can a normal human be that scary? "Batman, you didn't see what happened in the battle earlier. You need to leave what's between them alone." Batman seems furious at the reprimand, but Green Lantern only stands tall and straight between us and him. "Whatever's between you and Red Hood is your business; I'm not going to interfere. But whatever Red and Arsenal are to each other you need to leave the hell alone. Leave it be; his choice of partner isn't anyone's choice but his own."

"It's not healthy—" Jason stiffens, but the Green Lantern cuts Batman off first.

"The only way it's not healthy," he snaps, "is that both of them were willing to suffer or die for the other." He crosses his arms, and now he's at an angle where I can't see his face, but his voice drops to steel determination. "I'll move when you promise to leave their personal relationship out of this, and not one second before. You're out of line and you know it, Bats."

Jason is still tense, but he's gone from furious to shocked. His hand is tight around mine, and the hand at the small of my back is clenched into a fist but not gripping me, which I appreciate because I'm still pretty sore across most of my torso. There's nothing serious, made sure of that when the medic checked me over, but I'm going to be pretty bruised for awhile. Jason got the worse end of this, as far as I'm concerned.

Batman glares, and Jason twitches in a shudder. Nothing big enough to be noticed, but enough that I can feel it through the press of my side to his.

"Jay?" I murmur, looking up at him. His gaze flicks to me. "We can go; you don't have to do this." It's probably not loud enough for Batman to hear, but it's hard to say that with certainty.

Jason stares down at me, and then it's like something clicks in his head. His eyes widen a little, realization sharp in their depths, and then he relaxes some and I can see that edge of green fade out of his gaze. I give him a bit of a look, wondering what he's thinking, but he just shakes his head. He leans into me, his mouth brushing mine for a second. Then he squeezes my hand, lets go, and turns to face Batman.

"It's alright, Lantern." Jason's voice might be quiet, but it's also steady. Green Lantern looks back, reads Jason's expression, and then gives a small nod and steps to the side. A moment later he's heading back to the ceiling, by the black Green Lantern, who definitely doesn't look pleased that his partner intervened. Jason doesn't even glance up, as far as I can see.

Batman shifts — he does noticeably glance up — and then focuses on Jason. "Listen—"

"No," Jason snaps, head lowering an inch or so in what's obviously supposed to be threat. "You listen, B. This is how this is going to work. You want me back, you want to talk, you want to fix all of this, and I don't. I don't give a single fuck what your stupid pity party is about, or what reason you've made up for why I'm just wrong because I'm not being helpful and obedient. Shut the fuck up." His teeth bare, and then he snorts. "I'm not willing to forgive you, B. I don't want to listen to your explanations, your apologies, or your accusations. Not yet anyway. Maybe that changes someday, and maybe it doesn't. Right now I don't feel like lying to make you feel like you've done the right thing and you're not at fault."

Jason draws in a deeper breath, shoulders rising just a touch. "You're going to leave me the fuck alone until whatever time that I decide I can stomach listening to your bullshit. That's not fucking negotiable. If you track, stalk, or try and contact me we're done, and you will never get that forgiveness you're so damn insistent on." His jaw clenches, and I can hear the snarl in his voice as he spits, "And if I was old enough to fight your damn war then, I'm damn sure I'm old enough to choose who I trust to fuck me now." Batman twitches in what I think is actually a flinch. "So fuck off, B. Either stay away, or give up all rights to me; there's no in between."

I watch, speechless, as Jason steps back, and blindly reaches out to curl his fingers through my metal ones. "Come on, Roy. We're done here."

I follow his gentle pull, but I'm still speechless even as he lets go of my hand and winds that arm around my waist instead. He takes more of my weight than he should be, with the stitches in his opposite side and the shoulder he's supporting me with being burned pretty badly, but I can't find the words to stop him doing that either. The pain grounds me some, bringing me out of shock because each step is a bit like my leg's being impaled again. I'm suddenly really fucking glad I don't remember what it must have felt like when the rebar went in; hooray for unconsciousness.

Jason pauses near the zeta tube closest to us, as he draws even with Nightwing. Nightwing who looks a little hurt, and wary, but doesn't have even a faint trace of disapproval in his expression. "Do I get the same goodbye?" he asks, his tone implying he's joking but the shaking flash of a smile confirming he's definitely not. I don't think I've ever seen Nightwing quite as visibly afraid as he looks in that moment.

Jason hesitates, then tilts his head towards the ground and whispers, "I'm not the person you knew, Nightwing. He's— It's too late."

Nightwing relaxes as if someone has flipped a switch. His step forward is slow, and the hand that touches Jason's far shoulder is even more so. "So I'll have fun relearning who you are now," he answers, with a smile that looks much more real. Then he leans in, and I feel something like shock as Jason lets Nightwing press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Good luck, Little Wing. Arsenal," I snap to attention as much as I can; ingrained habits, "whatever anyone says you're good for him. I can see it. Take care of yourselves."

He slips out of sight, moving back towards Batman, and Jason watches him go. Only for a moment, and then he's nudging me forward with his knuckles to my side. I go, mostly because I'm half convinced that Jason will pick me up if I don't, damn the consequences of what might happen to him. I am not interested in seeing Jason pop his stitches and fold over again; the blood will show more clearly on a white shirt, and the more blood is visible the more it will scare me.

I barely even notice that we've stepped into the actual zeta tube until the voice announces, "Recognize, Arsenal. B25. Recognize, Robin. B13."

Jason's head tilts up, and he calls, "Red Hood, B13. Update." There's a faint acknowledging bing from the computer, and then I shut my eyes as the yellow light brightens to blinding levels.

When it fades, and my eyelids are black again, I open them and find myself standing back in that phone booth. Jason is at my side, and as I watch him he looks down at me. There's something soft in his gaze, and then he tilts his head back for a moment and lets out a long breath.

"Fuck, that went better than I thought it would." He turns towards me, hand resting at my side as his other one comes forward and traces down my opposite shoulder. "You— You're incredible, Roy. You know that?"

"Me?" I echo, and then let loose a snort. "You just faced down the Batman, and won. If either one of us deserves some praise, it's you." To that end I reach up, lightly tangling my metal fingers through his hair. Then I draw him into a kiss, keeping it soft and slow because even if I wanted Jason right now, we're both too hurt to make that happen. "Let's go home, Jay," I murmur between our mouths, and he echoes the sentiment with a nod and a smile that only lasts for a moment before it vanishes.

"Of course. Lead the way, Roy."

Welcome to the end! Hope you've enjoyed, leave a review to tell me your thoughts, and I'll see you next time!