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It was raining lightly, a misty cloud hanging over Gotham as the street lamps flickered on through the smog. Condensation collected in Dick Grayson’s hair, dripping down the sides of his face as he crouched on the edge of a rooftop, dark blue eyes roaming the street beneath him. The evening was quiet-- well, about as quiet as Gotham got. That alone made Dick uneasy.
He wasn’t supposed to be here. As in, Bruce had expressly told him to stay off of the Red Hood case. But Dick had stopped listening to his former mentor years ago, the moment he shed his Robin wings and took up the mantle of Nightwing. Besides, he could tell there wasn’t something Bruce wasn’t telling him… something big.
Dick had sent a message, requesting a conference. He knew which channels to use to get his message where it needed to go. He was certain Red Hood had received his request. Now, only time would tell if Gotham’s newest villain would actually show up.
He wasn’t left wondering for long. Dick sensed more than heard the villain’s arrival, the atmosphere of the rooftop shifting around him. The man straightened, throwing a brief glance over his shoulder to let Red Hood know he knew he was there. A flash of red and black drifted through the corner of Dick’s vision; the villain was clinging to the shadows, his features hidden under that inscrutable mask.
“Red Hood,” Dick greeted him, turning fully. His hands twitched at his sides, longing for the comforting weight of his escrima. But he was determined to leave them on his back; he wouldn’t initiate any combat, so long as Red Hood behaved.
The villain studied him in silence for a moment, his arms folded across his broad chest. “What, Batman couldn’t be bothered to come himself? Had to send his sidekick instead?” The man’s voice was soft, emotionless. Dick detected a hint of a Gothamite accent, confirming what he had already begun to suspect-- Red Hood was a native to the city.
“Excuse me!” Dick clasped a hand to his chest in mock offense, trying to ease the tension hanging between them. “That hurts my feelings. I’m my own man, you know.”
Red Hood was unimpressed with Dick’s theatrics; although, to be honest, most of the rogues were. “What do you want?” the man demanded, his tone taking a hard edge. Clearly, he had been expecting to meet someone else-- and now that he was here, face-to-face with Dick, he didn’t seem all that interested in talking.
Dick shrugged lightly. “Well, in my perfect world, we talk this over like mature adults. But something tells me that isn’t quite your speed,” he added, taking note of the gun holster at Red Hood’s side. The man hadn’t gone for his weapon, but something told Dick he was just as eager for them as Dick was for his escrima.
“Ding ding ding!” Red Hood mocked, throwing his head back; Dick could feel him rolling his eyes. “Someone give this guy a prize.”
“So that’s a no?” Dick sighed, taking a step back. Interesting , he noted. While his opponent’s build suggested an older man, no younger than Dick himself, his mannerisms pointed towards someone much younger. Somehow, the thought of a teenager wrecking havoc across Gotham was even more terrifying.
“It’s a no,” Red Hood confirmed, his gaze burning to Dick from behind the white eyelets of his mask. “Not so long as Batman’s got his head so far up his ass, he can’t see what’s wrong with this city.”
Dick eyed the other man warily-- while Red Hood’s composure was impressive, even he was having trouble remaining neutral. Every muscle was taut, prepared, as if he expected Dick to attack him at any moment. Trying to keep his voice light, Dick asked, “And you think you’re going to do a better job?”
“At least I’m willing to try,” Red Hood bit back coldly. There it was-- a hand dropped to his side, easily flicking one of his guns out of its holster. He hadn’t removed the safety, not yet. But Dick could tell he was ready. So much for remaining peaceful.
Dick rolled out his shoulders, his hands going up to test the handles of his escrima. He’d give Red Hood the first move; he hadn’t come here to fight, after all. Dick was a man of his word, and he refused to spill first blood tonight. “You know,” he pointed out, his body tensing, “drugs and violence wouldn’t have been my go-to solution, but to each his own.”
Red Hood growled; an uncanny sound, deep in his throat. “Don’t you ever shut up?”
Dick grinned at him wickedly. “Nah, that’s my trademark!”
And like that, Red Hood took the first shot.
Dick vaulted out of the way, arcing his body as he rose up and over Red Hood’s head, landing lightly on the rooftop behind him. He jabbed one of his escrima into the muscle beneath Hood’s shoulder blade, huffing in satisfaction when the villain flinched, his hold on his gun loosening. However, he wasn’t disabled for long-- before Dick had a chance to get away, Hood had whipped around and grabbed a hold of his wrist, twisting it outward in an attempt to disarm him.
Dick grunted in pain, bringing his knee up into the other man’s crotch. Hood growled again, ramming his head forward into Dick’s, sending crashing pain through his skull and stars flying across his vision. He staggered away, his defensive position slipping just long enough for Red Hood to catch him across the jaw.
“Shit!” Dick reeled away, his head spinning. He brought his escrima up to block his face as Hood threw another punch. That offensive effectively blocked, Dick sprang out of the way and out of reach of the villain’s well-aimed fists. Shaking the dizziness away, Dick backed towards the edge of the rooftop, finding a comfortable anchor in the brick ledge. As Red Hood approached, Dick leaped again, this time coming to land a little off to the side.
Hood had been expecting him to go over again-- his flank was left wide open for Dick to stab his escrima into the man’s side, electricity crackling from the end of the sticks. Red Hood dropped with a pained grunt, only for him to lash out and sweep for Dick’s legs. Dick avoided the attack, but just barely; springing backwards, hands first, he took up position just out of reach.
“Okay, so why the drugs?” Dick demanded, hoping to throw Red Hood back into conversation so he had a chance to clear his head. As it turned out, stupid red helmet to the forehead did not feel very good. “Why all the killings? If you’re really trying to clean up Gotham, I wouldn’t think that’s the route to go.”
Red Hood picked himself up off of the roof with ease. The shocking charge in Dick’s escrima, which normally knocked a goon flat with ease, seemed to have no effect on this man. Still, Hood kept his distance, firing back, “What, and shipping them off to jail is? No one stays locked up for long, not here. The people in charge of this shithole are incompetent, Batman included,” he added in a hiss, jabbing a finger at Dick. “Those roaches they keep trying to squash aren’t going to listen unless you speak their language.”
Dick nodded slowly, his heart sinking into his stomach. “...violence,” he guessed.
He could hear the cruel smile in Red Hood’s words when he replied, “You’re catching on.”
Combat resumed, the two of them circling each other like stray cats. The mental comparison would’ve made Dick laugh, if he hadn’t been so busy trying not to get killed. For whatever reason, Red Hood had abandoned his guns; throwing punch after punch at Dick’s head seemed to be suiting him just fine. And his moves were good ; Dick barely managed to block an uppercut to the jaw, staggering backwards as he attempted to ward off another attack. Most rogues weren’t this good, and that realization scared Dick.
Who is this guy?!
After a few minutes, they hit another lull, Dick’s breath coming in quick pants as he attempted to regroup. They were evenly matched, at least; he could see that Red Hood was beginning to wear down. However, he knew this fight couldn’t last forever. When all was said and done, someone was going to get hurt.
Dick didn’t plan for that person to be himself.
“I can’t let you keep doing this,” he threatened, leveling his escrima at Red Hood. “You’re only adding to the problem!”
“What,” Red Hood snarled back, his voice strained and breathless. “You think you’ll be able to stop me?” He clenched his fists, the muscles rippling in his finely-tuned body. Dick’s blood chilled at the sight. No wonder Red Hood had abandoned his guns-- he didn’t need a weapon. He was the weapon. And every fibre of his finesse was targeted straight at Dick.
Forget it. Maintaining his honor, drawing first blood… all of that was gone. If Dick was going to make it off this roof alive, he knew it was time to switch to the defensive.
Dick dropped into a crouch, wincing as he rolled out his neck. “You’re not the worst I’ve gone up against,” he challenged, throwing himself forward again.
Looking back, he wasn’t sure what went wrong. Maybe it was the rooftop, still slick with rain. Maybe it was that old ankle injury of his that acted up from time to time. Either way, Hood managed to get the upper hand. One moment, Dick locked in combat with that red-hooded fool, matching him blow for blow. The next, Hood had disarmed him and twisted his hands behind his back, gripping his wrists in such a way that Dick was worried they might break. One hand on the back of his neck, Red Hood shoved him towards the edge of the roof. He dug his fingers into the base of Dick’s skull, angling his head towards the city skyline.
“For fucks’ sake --” the villain snarled, his voice heavy and muffed behind the mask. “Look at this place! Look at it!”
With no other options on the table, Dick looked . He saw the smoky skyline, clouded still by the low hanging clouds that dumped their acidic tears across the city. He saw the lights that flickered through the clouds, blown out of proportion by the reflection of the water; he saw headlights and streetlamps, the red-and-blue of police cars and neon flashes of night clubs. He saw the graffiti splashed across the sides of buildings-- fanciful landscapes mixed with brightly colored tags and the dark smear of hateful symbols.
But there was more than just seeing. Dick could smell the smoke that crackled from apartment fires, burning despite the best efforts of Gotham’s limited fire department. He could hear the wail of sirens, the howl of chained dogs, and a distant scream from an unknown origin. He could taste the smog, burning and acrid.
For a moment, Dick didn’t see Gotham. He saw what Red Hood saw. He saw chaos.
“You call yourselves heroes,” the villain taunted, his voice steadying. “Yet everyday more and more people die thanks to your protection . The time for Batman is over . He had his chance, and he failed.”
Dick stiffened, earning another sharp squeeze from his captor. He may have not always agreed with Bruce or his methods, but he had seen firsthand everything his mentor had sacrificed for this city. He had watched as every disaster, every death, every tiny mistake tore Bruce apart. “He did his best,” Dick shot back. He winced; understatement of the century.
Red Hood laughed, a low and contemptuous sound. “And yet it wasn’t good enough,” he leered. He fell into a brief silence, clearly mulling something over; Dick could feel the way the air changed, could hear the gravel crunch beneath Hood’s feet as his posture shifted.
When he spoke again, Red Hood’s voice was the softest it had been all night. It was strangely… familiar . For a moment, Dick could almost believe he was talking to a friend. “You know, I thought you’d be better than him, Dickhead. But at the end of the day, you’re just another Batman.”
A bolt of pure terror coursed down Dick’s spine and he wrenched himself from Red Hood’s grasp. The villain must’ve not been expecting it, for Dick was able to scramble away without much of a fight. He paused a few feet from Hood, each muscle tense and terrified as the villain’s voice repeated itself through his mind.
Dickhead .
It was a standard insult. One had better believe Dick had heard every joke his name could generate. But not shot his way by villains… never uttered by the rogues he fought. After all, he wasn’t Dick Grayson to them-- he was Nightwing, protected by the cloak of his alias.
Dick could almost write it off as a strange occurrence. He could almost believe it had been a coincidence… if it weren’t for the way Hood had said it. The sharp jab had sounded familiar in Red Hood’s mouth, as if it weren’t a crude insult but a nickname. As if it were Dick’s name. And as if speaking it were second nature to the villain.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.
“Wh-what did you say to me?” Dick demanded, summoning what he could of his willpower to keep his voice from shaking. He wasn’t the only one who seemed caught off-guard; Red Hood had frozen as well, the defensive posture of his body relaxing into something uncertain, something almost… panicked.
The observation had hardly registered in Dick’s brain before Red Hood was gone, lunging into the shadows and tearing away towards the other end of the rooftop. For such a bulky guy, he moved quickly; by the time Dick recovered, Hood was already throwing himself over the gaping chasm of an alleyway.
“GET BACK HERE!” The order tore itself from Dick’s throat as he gave chase. Even if Red Hood had a head start, Dick still had the upper hand. Hood may have been surprisingly fast, but Dick was built for speed and agility. He soared over the gap between roofs, landing lightly on the villain’s heels. For a moment, nothing could be heard but sharp pants and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots as Dick gained on his target.
WHAM .
Dick slammed into Red Hood’s back, throwing the man off-balance. Seizing that narrow window of opportunity, Dick hoisted himself up onto the villain’s back, wrapped his legs around the man’s waist as he grabbed ahold of that damned red helmet. Red Hood’s hands flew up in response, but it was already too late: using the villain’s broad back as a springboard, Dick curled his fingers beneath the rim of the helmet and pulled , flipping away from Hood and landing messily on the roof behind him.
Dick’s hands shook as the helmet fell from his grasp and rolled away across the gravel. He let it go-- there was no way for Hood to retrieve it without going through Dick first. They were at a standstill, Dick’s glare trained on Red Hood’s back as the villain carded his fingers through his scruffy dark hair.
“Nowhere to go, Hood,” Dick panted, his hands curling into fists. “Who are you?”
Something like a laugh crawled up out of Hood’s chest, turning Dick’s blood to ice. Now that the helmet was gone, taking its voice distorter with it, he could truly hear the villain’s voice. And that… that…
He knew that laugh.
Red Hood pivoted slowly. Each second passed like an eternity; Dick’s heart felt moments away from bursting. For a moment, Hood’s features were cast in shadow, and Dick could almost believe that his world wasn’t shattering around him. Then the cloud covering the moon passed, and a brief lull in the rain threw Red Hood’s face into sharp relief.
His dark hair, shorter and straighter than Dick remembered, with a shock of white near his brow that was definitely new. His features, lacking the baby fat and lengthened by age, yet familiar nonetheless. And his eyes… they had changed. They were no longer that beautiful hue of blue, just a few shades lighter than Dick’s own, constantly sparkling with some new scheme. But Dick knew those eyes. He knew them anyway. They were engraved into his memory, from that time a little boy had looked up into his face and said--
I’m Robin, and being Robin gives me magic .
“Jason?” Dick whispered.
A host of emotions flickered across Jason Todd’s scarred face, before landing on a general discontent. His dull green gaze darting to the ground, the young man growled, “Not anymore.”
Dick crept towards him, hands outstretched. He scarcely dared to breathe, lest he stirred the air and Jason was carried away, no more tangible than the ghosts that used to haunt the corners of Dick’s vision. “Jason… Jay ,” he whimpered, eyes devouring every detail of the boy--of the brother --that had been stolen from him too soon. “I thought you were… no, no you were --”
Jason winced, backing away from Dick with a curl of his lip. “Stop,” he snapped, his hand going for a gun again. Dick froze, the skin on the back of his neck crawling as he made eye contact with his brother. “Just… stop talking. We’re done here.”
Bruce may have spent nearly a decade drilling caution into Dick’s head, but all of that flew out the window the moment his little brother spoke. Unwilling to believe that Jason-- his Little Wing --would actually shoot him, Dick continued to creep forward. “Jason--” he began, his voice cracking with grief.
He wasn’t given any warning before Jason was on top of him, thrusting him down towards the gravel-covered rooftop. The air was crushed from Dick’s lungs as his back slammed into the solid surface, his breathlessness made worse by the arm that Jason shoved up against his throat.
“Stop calling me that,”
Jason his brother
Red Hood snarled, his green eyes burning with rage.
“J-Jason--” Dick choked, his hands scrabbling at Hood’s arm. Jason knocked them away with a snarl, using his legs to pin Dick’s arms to his side. In a flash, he had the legendary Nightwing trapped, and the lack of oxygen was only growing worse.
“Jason’s dead!” Red Hood hissed, spittle peppering Dick’s face. There was more than just rage written on his face now. The dark shadows of grief clouded the corners of his eyes and oozed from the lines carved into his skin. “Or didn’t you know? Bet you were glad to see me gone; finally got the spotlight again, didn’t you?”
A bolt of panic shot through Dick’s chest as he began to choke, only made worse by the venom in Jason’s words. “I-- I didn’t--” he managed, gurgling as Red Hood pressed down harder.
The villain
his
brother
didn’t seem to be listening anymore. His eyes had grown distant, his face going slack as he snarled out, “None of that had to happen. None of that
should
have happened. But Batman couldn’t commit. Batman couldn’t
take care of things
, because the goddamn
coward
refuses to kill.” Anger boiled beneath the surface of Jason’s words, like a volcano on the verge of an eruption. Dick watched in horror as Jason’s face tightened, his lips curling back to bare his teeth as he raged, “What did he have to gain by keeping Joker alive?
And why the fuck is the bastard still around
?”
Dark splotches had appeared in the corners of Dick’s vision; he wasn’t sure how much longer he could remain conscious. “H-have to be-- better--” he choked, trying in vain to wrest his arms from beneath Jason’s grasp.
Red Hood laughed, a harsh and bitter sound. “Better?” he demanded, curling his nose in disgust. “We’re better by not getting rid of rogues-- because it’s better for innocent people to die, right? So long as Batman’s conscience is spotless.”
“C-can’t-- breathe --” Dick was begging now; he couldn’t help it. He could feel his pulse in his head, each rush of blood threatening to carry him away into the darkness.
In fact, the world around him had begun to dim when Jason knelt close, his lips inches away from Dick’s ear as he murmured, “Why are you making me do this? Why couldn’t you have…” His voice cracked, and for a moment he was Jason , not this haunted reflection that had risen in his place.
Hot tears beaded in the corners of Dick’s eyes. Summoning the last of his strength, he wheezed, “I’m sorry, Little Wing. I-- should’ve been-- there.” He felt himself begin to fade once the final word had left his lips.
And just like that, the pressure was gone. Dick’s hands flew to his bruised throat as he wheezed and choked for air, shakily massaging sensation back into his damaged trachea. The world around him was tilting violently; as though from a great distance, he heard Jason swear, “God damn you, Dick. Damn you!”
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Dick managed, “J-Jay--” He squinted, struggling to focus on his brother’s blurry form.
Jason had staggered away from him, his strong arms thrown around himself as he muttered intensely, “I can’t do this. Why can’t I do this?” That last sentence was punctuated by a fist to the earth; Dick winced in sympathy, but his brother seemed oblivious to the pain.
Cursing his limbs for feeling so weak, Dick repeated, “Jay, please --”
“I… I c-can’t--” Jason shook his head rapidly. He paused, his green eyes settling on Dick. For a moment, Dick could see his brother, the pain that hid beneath a scarred exterior, the remnants of the little boy who used to follow at his heels and drive Bruce half to madness. Then that glimpse vanished, like shutters closing across a window as Jason slipped back into the role of Red Hood, a cold disinterest stealing across his features.
Panic began to pound through Dick’s veins. He knew he was losing him; he knew Jason was going to leave and nothing in the world could guarantee he’d ever see him again. For just a moment, Dick had had his little brother back. And just like that, his chance at redemption was over. “Jason,” Dick sobbed, unable to stop the tears from coursing down his face. “Jason, we c-can talk this over-- Little Wing, I’m begging you, just talk to me--”
Jason rose to his feet, his lips twitching downward into a frown. He had done well to disguise his emotions; Dick couldn’t even begin to guess what he was thinking when the villain murmured, “Goodbye, Dick.”
“Jay, stop --!” There had to be the right combination of words that would convince Jason to stay. Dick couldn’t stand for him to go again, not with this gaping chasm between them. He couldn’t let his brother leave, not when there were countless wounds to be mended.
Jason stooped, scooping up his helmet from where it had fallen. His back to Dick, he pulled it on over his head, some of the tension in his shoulders smoothing out as he slipped back into his persona. He turned slightly, his voice muffled when he ordered, “Don’t get in my way again.”
Then he was gone, and the skies poured forth once more. Countless raindrops mingled with the tears that ran down Dick’s face, and distant thunder buried the sound of his desperate sobs.