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Dick finds his little brother, and it's… it's not good.
Jason's fine, which is… it's something. Black Mask and Two-Face had gone to war, and the family has spent days trying to clean up the mess. The GCPD is actively working with them right now, even the ones who don't like them, because it's just…
Nineteen buildings leveled with explosives. At last count, there'd been over two hundred car accidents, people desperately trying to get out of the war zone, trying to get anywhere else. Over fifty buildings burning or burnt down. Six hundred thirty-two people injured. Seventy-two of those critically.
One hundred and thirteen civilians dead as they'd rolled into night four. Even though Bruce had arrested Two-Face, and Jason wouldn't say what he'd done with Black Mask when he'd caught him, it hadn't mattered.
Between the two gangs still fighting in the streets, and the rioting that broke out from people trying to get what they could, from people trying to take out their personal grudges…
Half of East End is still on fire. The police have cordoned the bridges off, and the National Guard is -according to Gordon -set to roll in in the morning.
That doesn't help the people still stuck here tonight.
Doesn't help the people already dead. The people already dying.
All the bats and birds been running full-tilt, staggering shifts so that at least three of them can go to the manor and get at least six hours of sleep every eighteen hours. Eighteen hours of constant fighting, constant moving, constant vigilance, for a reward of six hours of restless sleep.
Of course, some of them aren't even getting that. Four days, and Dick's stopped by the manor twice. Bruce and Jason haven't even done that much. Which is half the reason Dick has been looking for Jay in the first damn place, to make him go take at least a solid six hours.
When he finds his oldest little brother though… Dick knows neither of them are going to be sleeping for a while.
Jason is crouched over a kid. And there's enough blood on the kid's body that Dick doesn't… He ignores the five bodies he has to step over to get to Jason and the kid, ignores the large, messy bullet holes in foreheads, as he crouches down next to his little brother.
Jason's helmet is off. He doesn't even have a domino on right on, and… He really should. He should have a domino on, but he doesn't, and Dick doesn't point it out. Because the kid is…
Well, he's still alive. For the moment, anyway. And Dick can't see a lot, because Jason's leather jacket is covering the lower half of the kid's torso, and the upper part of his thighs, but Dick can still see a lot of blood, and there's no jeans or t-shirt sticking out around the jacket.
"Shhh. It's gonna be alright, kiddo," Jason says, glancing up at Dick, before back down at the kid. "It's… Look, Nightwing's here. They called in the B-team from Blud, so it's gonna be fine, yeah? You know it ain't that serious if they called him in."
Part of Dick -the Bruce part, the ordered part -is firmly saying they should call an ambulance. But they're over twenty blocks into East End. Even if they found an ambulance willing to come this far in… they couldn't get here past the rioters, the looters, the gangs, and the burning cars.
And one look at the kid is enough for Dick to know that he won't survive being carried. Not to the cordon, not even with Dick playing lineman to Jason's running back. Because there's blood pooling onto the pavement below the jacket, and the kid's wheezing and gasping like at least one of his lungs is filling up with blood.
Maybe… Maybe he can call Bruce. If Bruce can get one of the bikes here, they could… maybe the kid would survive the trip with someone riding front, keeping everyone off the second bike.
Even as he thinks it… Dick knows it won't work. Too many people, too many moving parts, and the kid probably wouldn't even survive being picked up, much less a trip by motorcyle to the cordoned area.
"It's… Everything's gonna be okay, kiddo," Jason says again, and while he's not crying, Dick can still hear the tears in his voice. "It's gonna be fine."
Jason looks over at Dick again, and there's… there's something in Jason's eyes that Dick hasn't seen in a long time. It's not quite 'hope', but something similar. Jason's hoping that Dick can come up with something, desperate for Dick to have some sort of plan that Jason hasn't thought of yet.
And Christ, but Dick would give anything to be able to give Jason that. Here and now, in this moment, Dick would let the rest of Gotham burn to the ground, if he could give Jason this.
But he can't. He can't, and he knows he can't. Jason knows he can't. Dick can tell by the way Jason's jaw sets, the line of his throat when he swallows down whatever he's feeling right now, and refocuses his attention on the kid.
"You don't have to be scared, kiddo," Jason says, his voice quiet. Soft, in a way that Dick hasn't heard from Jason since his Robin days. "This… When I was bit older'n you, I had… somethin' bad happened. Somethin' like this. And it's… Dyin' ain't so bad. It ain't so scary. S'kinda warm, and… nothin' hurts, and it's… it's kinda nice. It ain't so bad, after everythin' else."
Jason keeps murmuring the same soft, gentle words, over and over. And Dick watches, as the kid's pained, struggling wheezing gets quieter and quieter, as the glazed over eyes stop frantically darting around. But Jason keeps talking, quiet and gentle, for a few minutes after Dick knows the kid is gone.
But finally… Jason goes quiet. He goes quiet, and still, in a way that's very un-Jason like. Jason is loud, and angry, boisterous and moving.
Dick usually is too. But like Jason… he can't quite move yet. Can't break the silence.
"I lied."
Dick looks away from the small body, still covered in Jason's jacket, and finally looks at his little brother. "What?"
Jason, for his part, doesn't look at Dick. He's not looking at the kid either, but at the ground beneath his feet. "I lied. Don't remember much 'bout dyin'. Remember lotta pain. An' everythin' bein' too loud. Then it… it went quiet for a second. Next thing I remember is… swimmin' in the Pit. I don't remember dyin'."
Dick doesn't say what Jason already knows: odds are, the kid couldn't hear Jason anyway. Not with that amount of damage. Not being so close to death already. The kid probably didn't even know they were there.
"I lied. But it wasn't… Figure if I don't remember nothin', nothin' to remember, right? That's… that's a good thing. If he wasn't… maybe it…"
Jason's face cracks for a moment, pain and agony and hate and rage all rolled up into something that contorts his lips, his jaw, his eyes. Just for a second, then it's gone, hidden away and tucked out of sight as Jason pulls himself back together.
"You gonna call it in?" he asks, as he pulls himself to his feet. The bottom of his boots are covered in blood. So are his hands. Dick hopes that it's from the assholes who killed the kid, but he knows most of it is probably from the kid.
"I… yeah, I can," Dick says a few second later, his brain belatedly catching up to his ears as he processes what Jason said. "You don't wanna…"
He lets the question trail off, because he honestly isn't sure what he even means to say. He's surprised that Jason doesn't want to call it in. That Jason isn't going to pick the kid up, and carry his body to the cordon. The people who killed the kid are already dead, which means Jason doesn't have to hunt them down, so Dick can't figure out why Jason wants Dick to call it in.
But Jason just shakes his head. "He's gone," he says, and his voice is gruff. "Ain't nothin' I can do to help him now, 'cept make sure it doesn't happen to anybody else."
Dick pulls himself to his feet, and looks at his little brother. Looks back at the body. "They won't be able to send anyone for a few hours," he says, even as he pulls out his phone. "A body isn't going to take priority."
Jason takes a deep breath, staring up at the barely visible night sky overhead. "I know."
Of course he knows; he's doing the same thing that the cops will be doing. The right thing. Bruce always says, there's no saving the dead. Prioritize the living.
There's nothing Jason or Dick can do for the kid now. He's gone, but there's other kids out there who they can help. Other kids they might be able to save.
Except…
"Do you…" Dick chews on his lip for a second, looking between Jason and the body. "Your jacket."
Jason loves that jacket. Dick doesn't even know where he got it from, just that he showed up with it one day, and has never let anybody else touch it. He punched Dick in the ribs for trying to jokingly take it off him. He even grabbed Alfred's wrist when Alfred tutted over a small stain on one of the sleeves.
"Leave it. Kid deserves that at least," is all Jason says. Then he trudges out of the alley.
And Dick calls it in.