Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dick Grayson wakes up but the first thing he thinks is that he wishes he hadn’t.

Why is he so tired ?

It’s not like he has any reason to be this tired. But that doesn’t change the bone deep exhaustion that has been consuming him for the last 2 months, growing ever so steadily. Of course, the voices don’t help. He knows they aren’t real. Just like Jason wasn’t real. When Jason was de-.

He stops that thought before it starts. He doesn’t need those memories on top of his exhaustion.

Mi amor.

No.

Poisonous.

Stop.

Querido .

NO.

He had to get it to stop. Her to stop. He didn’t want this. He didn’t.

He stumbles to the bathroom (roof?). His razor is sitting innocently on the sink (when was the last time he shaved?). He’s on the floor (ground?).

Mi amor.

Slut.

Failure .

The blade cuts into his arm. A trickle of dark red follows. Its like a weight has lifted and Dick can breathe ; but just once isn’t enough. Isn’t deep enough. He cuts again, deeper this time. Longer.

Then he moves to his thigh. Two cuts again. The world comes back into focus and realization kicks in. Dick knows he’s not okay, but he’s handling it . He’s trying. It’s not like he has anyone to ask for help anyway.

He would never force his problems onto his brothers. Especially Damian. Never Damian .

Bruce wouldn’t understand. He would tell Dick that he needed him at his best; not like this . Bruce would think he was weak. Pathetic. He wouldn’t be wrong.

Barbara-… Barbara would’ve helped. But not anymore. Not after her . He doesn’t deserve her help anyways.

Once upon a time he could have gone to Roy. But that time has long since passed. Dick can’t even remember the last time he talked to his old friend.

And Wally… Dick doubted his once best friend even thought of him anymore and if he did it was with hatred. For fucks sake, Dick had gotten his friend killed . Sent into the speed force. It was Dick’s fault. It was all his fault.

He’s so tired.

You lied to us Dick! Artemis could’ve died Dick! We hate you Dick! We need you Dick!

You failed me .

Dick jams his hands to his head, trying to get them to stop . It usually isn’t this bad. The blade usually stops them for longer. He doesn’t even know what time it is. How long he’s been sitting on the floor of his bathroom, staining the bath mat red. It’ll wash out with a little hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. He’s had plenty of practice cleaning blood by now. 

He forces himself to open his eyes and begin the tedious process of making his bathroom look like he hadn’t stepped foot into it at all (not that anyone would know anyways). He cleans his wounds, one of which was still bleeding sluggishly and was on the verge of requiring stitches. He cleans the floor and sink, places the mat in the tub and covers it with cleaners, then he wipes the mirror. Dick catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection and stops for a moment. 

He looks horrifying. But not in the “I feel like I’m dying and need help,” way. No, he’s put too much time and effort into making sure that that face never shows. No, if Dick didn’t know what he felt like then he would never know by looking at himself and that is what’s terrifying to him. Of course, that is exactly the persona that he wears everyday when he leaves his shitty apartment; whether that is as Dick Grayson or Nightwing it doesn’t matter, they are just different versions of the same mask he wears.

But Dick isn’t outside of his apartment. He shouldn’t have that face on. There is no reason that he should be putting on a show. There is no audience.

He is so tired .

When did performing become an evil? It used to be one of the only things that still connected him to his parents. Now he has tainted even that. They would be ashamed of him. It’s okay though, that’s no different than everyone else (it’s not okay).

Dick forces those thoughts to the back of his mind. He needed to focus. He walks out of the bathroom and into his pigsty of a kitchen. The clock reads 4:37pm. How long had he been in the bathroom?!?

He hasn’t eaten since he got home from patrol last night and even though he isn’t hungry Dick chokes down a protein shake. It’ll keep him going for the rest of today at least. He looks up from his drink and freezes. Jason is there. Not the real Jason, of course. Real Jason would never show up at Dick’s apartment. Not unless it was an emergency and there were no other options. No, this Jason was the one that haunted him some many years ago. The Jason that Dick failed. Completely.

This Jason was dressed in the remnants of the Robin uniform. Half the domino mask missing, blood dripping down his face. This was the Jason that had been beaten and blown to pieces. At least this is what Dick’s mind thought Jason would have looked like had Dick been there. But Dick hadn’t been there. He’d been in space for fucks sake. Not here when Jason had needed him. He had failed him.

He always failed.

Jason didn’t say anything. That was normal. Most of the time he would just watch Dick as he drowned in guilt and misery. Blinking with lifeless eyes and betrayal. Sometimes though he would taunt Dick with things he already knew. That Dick should have saved him. That it was his fault. Today though Jason just stood. Dick thinks that it’s worse. A silent judgment.

5:43pm now. Shit, sunset was at 5:50 today. He needed to get ready for patrol again. If he didn’t show up people would start to get suspicious. Or not. Dick doesn’t really know anymore. He takes one more look at Jason and then goes to change. Maybe flying would help. Probably not.

How much longer was he going to be able to do this?

How much longer?

Chapter Text

Despite popular opinion, Red Hood was not an emotionless bastard. 

Just a bastard? Absolutely . Emotionless? Hell no. In fact, Jason would wager that he felt more emotion in a day than most people did in a week. He had always been like that, even before dying. Of course, nowadays his most present emotion tends to be anger or spite. But that doesn't mean he can’t feel other emotions.

For example, saving a child and returning her to her mother always gave Jason a tight bittersweet feeling of wistfulness for a time when he was hugged like that. Or when embarrassment crawled its way into his heart after tripping while getting off his bike.

However, the only emotion he really tries not to feel is one he used to feel daily when he was younger. Idealization.

Now some may assume that Jason idealized Batman the most and strived for his approval. That’s not necessarily incorrect, but it's not completely true either. Sure, Jason wanted Batman and Bruce to like him and trust him but he wouldn’t call it idealization. No, Jason idealized someone else. Someone who he certainly didn’t look up to now. Really. He didn’t. No, Dick Grayson may have been a teen idol for Jason when he was Robin, but he wasn’t anymore. Absolutely not. Really. Truly.

But Jason isn’t so blind that he can’t see that at one point at least, Dick Grayson was exactly the kind of person Jason wanted to be.

He was the first Robin. The original. He was perfect . Infallible. Strong, brilliant, witty, a light in the dark. Everything Jason had ever wanted to be. But he hadn’t been around much and he hadn’t been happy to know that Jason had become Robin. Jason understood that for the most part now. Feeling as though you’d been replaced. But he hadn’t then, and getting the cold shoulder from his idol had hurt. 

Jason had grown to resent Dick for being perfect (no he hadn’t). For being able to do no wrong. It only got worse after dying. Now though Jason could see just how wrong he had been about Dick. He wasn’t perfect. But holy fuck was he good at acting like he was. Jason honestly had a hard time knowing what was real and what wasn’t when it came to his former idol. Of course, this just made Jason more resentful of Dick. They were both adults now, Dick didn’t need to pretend to be perfect for Jason anymore. 

It hurt that he wasn’t.

And as much as Jason taunted him about it, Jason didn’t blame Dick for his death . Sure, he was angry that the Joker was still alive and kicking. But at the end of the day, Jason’s problems were with Bruce. Dick was just the easier target, Jason knew he could hurt him. 

Now, on a normal day, Jason wouldn’t be dwelling on the intricacies of Dick Grayson’s role in his life, but today is not a normal day. Today is a bad day. One of the days where going to an auto parts store would be less than smart. An auto parts store where crowbars tend to be a common item. Today is one of the days where using explosives would cause more problems than solve them. Today is a day that Dick Grayson could make better.

A day where he could tell Jason that he would protect him. A day where his brother’s arms could hold him and Jason could believe the things he would tell him. A day that only Dick Grayson could make bearable.

Today Jason Todd needed his big brother.

That is how he found himself waiting for the moment that he could get off patrol and make his way to Nightwing’s apartment in Blüdhaven. It’s a drive, sure, but it’s what Jason needed. He just needed to talk to his brother. Who knows maybe Dick would open up to him a little (yeah right). 

Knowing that Dick usually went to bed directly after his own patrol Jason cut his own a little short so he didn’t have to deal with waking him up. 30 minutes later Jason was outside Dick’s apartment on the fire escape wondering if he was completely over reacting about this. Oh well, too late to turn back now, if Dick didn’t like it he could always tell Jason to fuck off. Whether Jason listened or not was completely up in the air though. With that Jason opened the window and slipped inside, boots hitting the floor with a light thud.

“Dick?”

No answer.

“Dickhead.”

Nothing. Maybe he went to sleep early?

Jason made his way to where his brother’s room was. Careful to make enough noise so that Nightwing could hear him coming but not enough to be aggressive. 

“Dick?” Jason knocked on the bedroom door as he made his way in. Well, he wasn’t in the bed that was for sure. In fact, the bed looked like it hadn’t been touched since the morning. Jason then saw light peaking through on the floor leading to the connecting bathroom. 

“Dick.” So what if Jason’s voice was a little more forceful this time. He came to get some support from his brother and he wasn’t even answering him.

There was a jerk of movement as Dick’s shadow jolted slightly. Huh. Nightwing is generally more aware of his surroundings, it isn’t like Jason had been too quiet coming in. In fact, he had been actively trying to get Dick’s attention. 

“Jay?” Dick’s voice floats toward him, interrupting his thoughts. 

His brother slides the door open and reveals the perfect picture that is Nightwing. Still fully dressed in his alter ego’s suit, Dick’s mask is the only thing missing from the vigilante. 

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt?” Again Dick interrupts Jason’s internal monologue, this time with concern evident in his voice and Jason almost entirely forgets any weirdness about his arrival. Because his brother just wants to know if Jason’s okay and Jason is ready to throw himself at Dick because today is not a good day .

And Dick looks okay. He doesn’t have any noticeable injuries and his expression only exudes a concern for Jason. He looks fine. 

Jason lets himself let go and lets his brother hold him. He lets himself be not okay because he knows Dick will make it okay. He lets himself believe that Dick is still the teen idol that Jason had once believed him to be.

Chapter Text

Cars streaked below in flashes of red, white, and yellow light as Nightwing flew from rooftop to rooftop, never letting his feet touch the rough hard surface for more than a moment. He scanned the streets below with a bird’s eye focus, quickly taking in the night’s scene with a precision only an individual who has had a lifetime of training could. He moved with a speed that if one looked up from below, the most that would be seen was a graceful shadow of black and blue.

The night had been a busy one with multiple muggings that had resulted in one too many bruises and cuts, a nasty drug deal (Nightwing had gained a nice gash in his abdomen from that one), and a gruesome car crash that had caused far too many deaths and injuries. There had also been a steady downpour of rain throughout the night. Got to appreciate the world’s devotion to the aesthetic.

Unsurprisingly, Nightwing had not stopped once since the time the sun had set. He had been fixed in the perpetual motion of vigilantism. Even now he darted down from the tip of a neon billboard to a scene of yet another mugging.

Nightwing descended silently into the dark back alley, the dim glow from a flickering streetlamp barely illuminating his silhouette in between the towering buildings around him. The thick scent of rain mixed with the gritty odor of the city streets, masking his approach. Shadows stretched around him, cloaking his body as he took in the scene—the terrified victim pressed against a wall, the mugger’s knife gleaming under the sparse light.

As Nightwing took down the assailant with a swift series of blows, the man found himself sprawled on the wet pavement, groaning in pain and with a dislocated shoulder. Nightwing crouched down beside him, cocking his head as he examined the would-be criminal.

“Really?” Nightwing scoffed, eyebrow raised. “An alley, a knife, and a rainy night? A little cliche don’t cha’ think?.”

The mugger scowled in pain and irritation from his place on the ground.

He grunted, trying to pull himself up. Nightwing shook his head and pressed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. “You know, there are much better career choices out there. I hear there’s a sale on those ‘Work Hard, Dream Big’ posters. Maybe you should grab one.”

The mugger sneered, managing to mumble, “I don’t need your advice…”

Nightwing shrugged, his grin stretching. “Hey, just a thought. You’re definitely not making it on Gotham’s Got Talent with moves like that. I give it…three out of ten. Maybe four, if I’m being generous.”

The mugger groaned, clearly defeated. Nightwing gave him a light pat on the shoulder as he stood up. “Good talk. Let’s work on this whole life choices thing, yeah? Think big. Like…without knives next time. Maybe with more selling and less taking. I bet you could make a great salesman.”

Turning to the still-shaken victim, Nightwing flashed a reassuring smile. “I’ll send someone for you,” he said, then shot a mock salute at the mugger. “Stay out of trouble, champ.”

A terrified nod and a whispered thank-you were all he needed before disappearing back into the shadows. This night had been relentless, but that had never stopped him. In a city as unforgiving as Blüdhaven, there was always someone who needed saving, someone who couldn’t fight back. Not like him. He could fight back if he truly wanted to. 

Dick stopped that train of thought before it could start. He wasn’t allowed to get mixed up in thoughts and memories during patrol. That would end badly. It would end in lives lost that could have been saved. Dick, Nightwing , needed to stay in the here and now. He needed to stay in motion.

Nightwing looked at a billboard and saw the time: nearly two in the morning. He should start making his way back to his apartment, Dick could catch a few hours of rest and then go to work at seven. He had that report on a murder case he had to finish.

With that in mind, Nightwing wove his way through the darkened city of Blüdhaven, stopping yet another mugging and preventing a DUI along the way, and arrived at his 400-square-foot apartment at just past three. The night was catching up with him and exhaustion was making itself known. Mixed with the numbness from the freezing rain, Dick was all but ready to collapse into his bed and become dead to the world for a few hours.

Silently he entered through the window of the fire escape and made his way to the bathroom without bothering to turn on the light. Showering felt like an impossible task right now but if he didn’t do it now he definitely wouldn’t in the morning, and he needed to at least pretend to be presentable at the station. Amy would kill him if he didn’t.

He had been so thankful when she had asked him to come back to the BPD. So happy that he had something to hold onto that wasn’t a black and blue suit that was tainted in ways that he never would have imagined. He had needed that ground to stand on. Now though… now it was just another place where Dick Grayson had to wear a mask. He hated it. He hated that he hated it and he hated that at the end of the day, he would do it until the day he died. 

As he stripped out of his suit and stepped into the too-hot, too-cold, too- wet shower, he absently wondered how long that would be.