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He felt the blades pierce his body.
It was at the height of his leap, back arched as he sprang backwards over the car. A bolt of searing hot pain shot through his side, then thigh. But Nightwing still landed with grace and flung his escrima sticks straight into two gang members’ heads. Getting involved with a gang fight is always risky. But Dick always kept his wits about him and moved fast enough that he wasn’t a target.
But tonight his luck had run out. Sinking to his good knee, Dick cautiously probed the wounds. It was bad. Even through his gloves he could feel the hot blood streaming out and smell the iron in the cold night air. One blade had torn straight through his thigh but the other was still buried deep in his side. Too deep to remove on his own in a dark New York shipyard.
“Two stones, one bird.” Dick muttered and fired his grappling gun at a nearby roof. Flying was fine but climbing onto the roof was excruciating. He stayed hunched over on his hands and knees, trying to breathe through the paralyzing pain. It was pointless to even attempt to return to his base at the cloisters. He couldn’t even cross one rooftop.
Call someone. This is bad, Grayson. Call for help. Dick’s mind fumbled for a name, any name. Who was close by, who would even be on the planet? Planet, a team, the Justice League? High pitched ringing filled his ears as he raised a shaking hand to his com and began to whisper a name.
Until his other arm gave out and he hit the roof, unconscious.
---
“You alive, circus guy?”
No, now leave me alone.
A boot nudged Dick’s leg and his eyes snapped open at the flare of white hot pain. “Fuck!”
“My, what naughty language!” Red Hood squatted down by Dick’s head, gun dangling from his fingers. “Think Pops will approve?”
“Here to finish me off?” The words felt clumsy in Dick's dry mouth. That blank red mask tilted, city lights reflecting off the chrome. Only then did Dick realize he was lying on his back. Jason must’ve rolled him over. Trembling, Dick raised his head and looked down his body. Crimson stained the whole front of his suit, broken only by two clumps of white stuffed into his wounds. He flopped back down with a grunt.
“Is that what you think of me?” There was a low, dangerous tone to the question. Or maybe it sounded hurt or offended. God, what did he know? Dick could barely string words together now. Above him the stars were spinning.
“No, I–why are you even–if you’re not here to help then call someone who will!”
Jason didn’t flinch at the sudden anger. Casually, he motioned to Dick’s side with the gun. “Blade’s still in you.”
“Fucking brilliant, Sherlock.” This was no use. Jason still hated him too much to be an ally. Sorrow mixed with his blood-loss induced nausea. Dick pushed himself up on one elbow, ignoring the way his body seized and screamed at him to stop moving, to just give in. There were bandages on his belt. Maybe they would help until he got back to safety.
“I’ve seen blades like this before. It’s enchanted. If you don’t pull it out, it’ll keep burrowing deeper with every move you make.”
“I just need…my cloisters.”
Jason snorted. “You won’t even make it one block. But I could pull it out. That is, if you trust me to not slit your throat with it afterwards.”
“Sarcasm. Cute.” Spikes of pain shot across his abs, as if the knife really was burrowing in, and Dick gave up trying to reach the bandages. “Fine. Just get it over with.”
Jason knelt at Dick’s side, holstered his gun, and pulled off his right glove. “Where should I take you after this?” The sharp smell of rubbing alcohol filled the air.
“Why does that matter? I’ll tell you after.”
Another short laugh. “No, you won’t.”
Before Dick could fire off another comeback, fingers dug into his side. There was just enough clarity left in him to bite down on his fist and muffle his screams as Jason fished for the flat blade.
“Got it.” Jason grunted. He pulled at the blade.
Dick went numb with agony, arching as it seized his chest in a crushing grip. Lights burst before his eyes.
And then he felt nothing.
Blissful nothing.
---
When Dick woke for a second time that night, it wasn’t on a rooftop smeared with blood and sweat. It was in his bed, wearing fresh clothes. When he felt his side and thigh, fresh thick bandages met his fingertips. A distant sunrise peeked through the cloisters windows and bathed his sheets in shades of pale blue and orange. It was ridiculously serene after his chaotic night.
Sitting in an open window, maskless at last, was Jason. His eyes were closed. The gentle breeze ruffled some of the white hairs curling over his forehead.
Dick couldn’t remember the last time his brother looked so at peace.
“Little Wing.” He whispered, even though he hated breaking the fragile serenity around them. In seconds it would be replaced by the inevitable look of contempt that would twist Jason’s face before he snatched up his helmet and vanished for weeks on end.
Instead the man hopped down immediately. “No more Sherlock compliments?” Jason teased as he came to Dick’s side.
He was…happy? “What…happened?” Dick croaked. Was this a fever dream? Did he die on that rooftop?
“What do you think? You acted like you were having an exorcism and then passed out cold. Which is exactly why I asked where you wanted to go.”
“And yet it seems like you found your way.” Dick waved a hand at the stone walls surrounding them and finally noticed the IV port taped to the back of his hand.
“Yeah, Mr. Detective. You nearly bled out.” Using two fingers, Jason pushed his hand back down as if he were a disobedient toddler. “I only put two bags of blood in you. Didn’t want to make too big a dent in your stash. I stitched you up too and kept the blade in case you wanted to take a look at it.”
Dick couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “You did?” He and Jason weren’t exactly enemies anymore but they definitely weren’t friends. Which is why it made no sense that the Red Hood just happened to be in his city and was feeling charitable enough to be Nightwing’s personal doctor.
Dick wanted to be close with his brother. He missed Jason. He missed who they used to be. They had a second chance, despite the shitty circumstances. But after every attempt at reconciliation failed…Dick found it hurt less to not hope.
“I-I don’t understand.”
A strange expression passed over Jason’s face, so fleeting and quick that Dick almost screamed in frustration for having missed it. “You called me.” His little brother insisted. “Why wouldn’t I come?”
Oh shit.
“How did you get here so fast?” Dick said as he suddenly understood what happened. He’d messed up. Blood loss made him say another name that started with ‘J’ instead of the League. And Jason…he actually answered.
“I was passing through. I’m tracking one of the smuggling gangs you were fighting. I thought you knew–” Jason took a step back, back ramrod straight and nostrils flaring. “You didn’t mean to call me.”
Dick’s heart sank. “Jay, wait–”
“I knew it. I knew you’d never call me,” Jason stabbed a finger at Dick and hissed, “How many people didn’t answer before you were desperate enough to call a murderer?” He practically spit the word out like it was rotten milk.
“None. I only called you. Jay, please,” Dick held out a pale, trembling hand. “Maybe it was a mistake or maybe I really did remember you would be close by. All I know is, I’m happy it’s you.” Suspicious teal eyes glared back at him. “I swear to you–on Haly’s Circus–there’s no one I trust more to pull magic daggers out of me.”
Foolishly, despite all the other failures still fresh in his mind, Dick let himself hope.
“Not even Bruce? Or Tim?”
“They’re not the ones with a magic sword in their chests.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” Jason crept forward. He ducked his head but Dick spied that look from earlier. This time he saw how it left Jason’s face so open and vulnerable, as if he were a kid again, running around the manor and screaming with laughter. “Are you really happy I’m here, Dickie? Even though I’m…me?”
“Of course I am, Little Wing. You’re my brother. And you saved my life. Thank you."
That made Jason look up, eyes searching for any hint of a lie in Dick’s face. At last, Jason took Dick’s hand. He placed it back on the bed but didn’t let go. “You know…I’ll be in the area for a while hunting down shipments. In case you get stabbed again and need your fragile ass to be airlifted.”
Hope bloomed in his chest. Dick couldn’t help but grin. “What if I need to vent about the frustrations of my difficult life as a museum curator?”
Jason rolled his eyes even as a hesitant smile tugged at his lips. “Save that shit for Wally.”