thebluemango

[thebluemango]

jason being metal as hell pt. 10284737191948

[thebluemango]

Villain, got shot, borderline breaking down: …ha, ha. So what’s under the Red Hood?

Nightwing: Me, if he’s well behaved.

Red Hood:

Villain:

Nightwing: Probably not today though.

Villain: …what the fuck?

[thebluemango]

[thebluemango]

Love the tee-only look, no jacket 

[thebluemango]

Rules of Engagement

Continuation of my favorite crack fic | Happy Halloween Folks

Dick seems to forget the rules regarding being a booty call. Jason gets blue balls.

**

            Jason was hunched over a weight bench with his elbows on his knees and his phone in his hands, swiping through tinder when a familiar face popped up on his screen.  Dick’s smiling face was looking back at him: Dick, 26, Gotham

            Jason swiped through the pictures slowly, soaking in Dick’s good looks. When he swiped for a third time, the fourth picture caught his breath in his throat.  Dick was wearing faux leather pants, a black crop top, small circle sunglasses, and bent over a plastic cane seductively. He distinctly remembered Dick forcing Kori and Roy to dress up with him as the three blind mice last Halloween.

            Jason swiped out of Tinder quickly and into his messages,

            If I see you on Tinder one more time…

            He sent the message quickly, laying back down onto the bench to push out ten repetitions. His phone dinged from next to him and he racked his weights, huffing and glancing down at the screen.

            Yeah?

            Your profile could use an update—No wonder you aren’t pulling any new booty calls.

            Don’t worry… I can share ;)

            Jason wiped a bead of sweat off his brow, reaching down to fish his phone off the floor to type out his quip, but his mind fell blank. All he could think of was Dick and his sexy blind mouse costume.

            Take down the fourth picture.

**

            The next day was Halloween and Jason found himself sitting at the bar of his second least favorite club nursing an IPA, dressed as Maverick from Top Gun, when his favorite sneaky link slides through the door. He holds his breath for a moment, soaking in the man before him. Of course, he was dressed as a fucking blind mouse.

Jason’s jaw clenched and he felt his cock stiffen in his flight suit. He had each arm looped into a different “mouse’s” arm.  On his left was Tim, wearing a far less promiscuous outfit that included black jeans and a black T-shirt, mouse ears, and a circle of black face paint on his nose. On Dick’s right was a man Jason didn’t know.  He had cheap highlights, a black muscle shirt and skintight jeans. He had Dick pulled close to his body. 

            Jason’s nostrils flared with annoyance. 

            I see you at Comix. Who’re you with?

            He paused for a minute, smirking.

            Tell him he’s a cunt.

            His phone read delivered but Dick didn’t look down.  Jealousy burned at his ears, and he could feel his cheeks flushing pink.  He watched as Dick grinded on blind mouse number three, his face pressed into the junction between his neck and shoulder. He barley even noticed when a scrawny black-haired man sat in the bar stool next to his.

            “Jason.” Tim’s greetings were almost always dry. He waved over the bartender and ordered an expresso martini.

Jason didn’t even spare him a glance; his gaze was stuck on the scene in front of him.  He only turned when he heard Tim stifle a laugh.

“What?” He whipped his head toward the younger man, the condensation from his beer glass was making his left hand clammy.

“You two are so toxic.” Tim replied, smiling into his martini glass.

Jason gaped at him for a moment before narrowing his eyes, “What do you mean, you two?”

“Your… situationship. It’s toxic. Either make it exclusive or call it quits, Jason, this stuff never ends well—and you guys work together.”

He rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his IPA, “There’s no situationship, Replacement.  We fuck sometimes. That’s it.”

Tim hummed as he waved the bartender over for another drink, throwing her a charming smile when she placed it in front of him. 

“Sure, Jason, that’s why you’re sitting here in a green onesie glaring at two of the three blind mice.” Tim chuckled, picking up his glass by the stem to make his way back to the dance floor.

Jason just grunted, “It’s not a onesie.  It’s a flight suit.”

            Tim walked away and Jason glanced at his phone. His message had been read but Dick hadn’t bothered to reply.  Jason’s dignity said to let it go, but his IPA took over and his fingers danced across the keyboard.

            Call me to come pick you up when you’re done with him. I’ll give you a ride.

            Jason was grabbing his coat off the back of his bar stool when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

            OK Jaybird ;)

**

            At one am his phone rang.  Jason was perched on the edge of a roof when he directed the call through his helmet.

            “Dickiebird.”

            “Hey, Jay.” Dick’s voice was low and raspy, alcohol licked at each of his syllables. Jason held his breath as the other man let out a long breath. “About that ride…”

            Jason chuckled, standing from his perch, “Done with your boy toy?”

            “Jay Baby, are you jealous?” Dick’s voice was teasing; his words were going straight to Jason’s cock.  “Don’t worry, little wing, you’re still my favorite lay.”

            “Still at comix?” Jason was on his feet, reaching for his grapple.

            “No.” Dick let out a long breath. “I’m in your bed, Jay. Waiting for that ride you promised me.”

            Jason has never made it across Gotham so quickly.

**

            Jason was on cloud nine, watching in awe as Dick Grayson bounced on his cock wearing nothing except his circular “blind-mouse” sunglasses.  Jason groaned as Dick ground his hips against his, leaning down to press his lips to his ear.  His breath was hot against his flushed lobe,

            “Jason.” He dragged out the syllables in a low rasp, catching Jason’s earlobe between two sharp teeth.

            “Fuck, Dick.”

            “Did I make you jealous today, Jay Bird?” Dick cooed.

            Jason’s cheeks flushed and for a moment, embarrassment pulled him out of his ecstasy. But just as quickly, Dick’s warm lips traveled down to his neck, pressing hot kissed into his sensitive skin and he gasped,

            “Yeah.”

            Dick smirked and raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

            Jason tightened his grip on Dick’s waist, “Because you’re mine.”

            Dick nipped at the skin where Jason’s neck met his shoulder, “I’m not though, baby, am I?”

            The younger man let out a long groan when Dick rotated his hips again. He thrusted his hips up to meet Dick’s movements, panting heavily as he got closer and closer to his orgasm.

            Dick paused on his upward motion, pressing his lips close to Jason’s ear again, “I asked you a question, Jaybird.  I’m not yours, am I?”

            Jason groaned, his hips twitching at Dick’s lack of movement, he breathed out,

            “You wish you were.”

            Suddenly, Dick stopped moving all together. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled himself off of Jason’s throbbing dick and rolled off the bed.  Abandoning his Halloween costume, he turned to Jason’s closet, ripping shirts down from their hangers and throwing a pair of sweatpants over his naked legs.

            Jason’s eyes flew open, “Dick! You know what I meant!”

            Dick just scoffed, turning on his heels and striding toward the bedroom door, “You’re an asshole, Jason. Enjoy your blue balls.”

            He slammed the door behind him and Jason collapsed back onto the bed, “Fuck.”

[thebluemango]

Texts From My Situationship

Summary: Jason and Dick rekindle their toxic situationship.

Ispired by the texts from my suitationship trend on Tik Tok – look it up if you want I’m obsessed – kind of a crack fic, kind of not, we’ll see where this goes. Might have more parts if I’m inspired. Also posted on AO3

PT 2

**

            Jason watched with narrow eyes as the couple entered the crowded bar.  Dick Grayson, wearing tight jeans and an equally as tight blue V-neck, was hanging off the arm of a tall, muscular man.

            Jason hadn’t seen the older man in a few months, for other than ‘night work’ related conversations. It had been about as long since he himself had been the one walking into a bar with the prettiest boy in Gotham hanging of his arm.

He gripped his glass tighter as the man bent down to kiss Dick on the cheek; his stomach turning when the smaller man’s cheeks flushed. 

            He fished his phone out of his pocket and swiped furiously until he found Dick’s contact picture.

            ‘Who the fuck did you just walk into this bar with?’

            He took a sip of his beer, watching Dick as he read the message and looked around the bar for Jason.  He didn’t seem to see him, but three grey dots popped up in the message window before Jason's phone buzzed again.

            ‘Oh hey, it’s been a while, that would be my boyfriend.’

            Jason scoffed, chugging the rest of his beer as the couple made their way to the dance floor. His eyes were full of judgment as he watched Dick’s boyfriend snake a hand around his waist and pull him close.  The man was tall, probably around Jason’s own height. He had black jeans and a button up flannel.  Despite the bitterness that it brought him, Jason could tell the man was fit. 

            He’s not good enough for you.

            He shot off the message quickly, before he could regret it, and then turned his attention back to the two.  The next message came quickly, he felt the buzz, but Jason didn’t look right way. Dick was looking at him over the man’s shoulder with a small smile. He winked and then pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s neck before turning away. Jason’s cheeks flushed with jealousy, and he turned back to his phone with a deep frown,

            Neither were you :)

**

            Jason left soon after that. He couldn’t stand to watch Dick dance with some dumb hunk.  He was sat on the edge of his fire escape when another text came through.

            I’m going to break up with my boyfriend at 9 and then can I come over after?

            Jason’s lips pressed together and he blew the smoke out of his nose. He should tell Dick to kick rocks.

            You know you don’t even have to ask to come over here.

            He paused for a moment, letting the cherry of his cigarette burn as he thought.  Then, he said fuck it, stubbed out the rest of his smoke and then shoved the butt into his pocket.

            Want me to pick up your crying ass some thai food?

            Jason sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.  He shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned to crawl back into the window.

            It’s the least you could do.

**

            Dick showed up five minutes after nine with a fresh black eye and a hickey at the base of his neck.  Jason’s vision turned green for a second before fading back into normal color. He shoved a pad Thai into Dick’s chest and turned for the couch,

            “Nice boyfriend you got.”

            Dick huffed out a laugh, “Nicer than you.”

            Jason dropped himself onto the couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table, “You better not try to spend the night after we fuck.”

            Dick grinned as he seated himself next to Jason, “You wish.”

            Jason just scoffed, as he shoved a bite of food into his mouth. He kind of did wish.

**

            Dick was sprawled out on his stomach, naked as the day he was born minus Jason’s cum splattered across his back.  Jason was pushed up onto his forearms above him, panting heavily with his eyes still closed.

            Dick groaned, “Get off me.”

            Jason let out his own long groan as he pushed himself up and onto the other side of the queen size mattress.  He reached to hamper to retrieve a semi-clean bath towel. Dick waited for him to wipe him down before he rolled off the bed to retrieve his clothes.  The older man was climbing into his jeans when Jason spoke,

            “Stay.”

            Dick paused as he pulled up his zipper, “You don’t mean that.”

            Jason propped himself up onto his elbows and raised an eyebrow at him, “What if I do?”

            He reached down for his discarded shirt and threw it over his head, “What’s in it for me?”

            Jason smirked, making eye contact with the larger and darker hickey that he had placed over the one that Dick came with, “Smooches.”

            Dick just rolled his eyes and slipped on his shoes before turning to the bedroom door, “Pass.”

**

[thebluemango]

Devils in the Details

Day 11: “911, What’s Your Emergency?”

Makeshift Splint | Self-Done First Aid | Sloppy Bandages

No Capes AU

Whumptober 2022

Note: I took French in high school, all Spanish is Google Translate.

Could be read as slash, could be read as platonic friends --- up to you

            Dick woke up slowly, his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks before he opened them.  He found himself staring at stark white ceiling paint. He was laying on a bed, that much he could tell. He could also tell it wasn’t his bed. He blinked a few times as he tried to get his barring, he turned his head to the left and then to the right before pushing himself up straight. White hot pain shot through his left arm, and he cried out, collapsing back into the pillows.

            “Easy there, Richie Rich, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

            Dick’s eyebrows shot up and he turned sharply toward the voice. Sitting in the corner of the room with a book propped on his lap was a man. He was wearing a brown leather jacket with a red hoodie underneath and dark blue jeans. 

            “Who’re you?” Dick tried his best to sound demanding, but instead he found himself squeaking out the words.

            “I’m Jason. And you need to lie down.” Jason popped a bookmark into his book and the dropped it onto the small table to his left, then stood up to stand next to Dick.

            “Is this a ransom thing?” Dick looked down at his throbbing arm. There was, what looked like, the end of a wooden broom, secured with white fabric splinting his arm.  In between the two rods was messy, stained red gauze, tapped to his arm with scotch tape. “What did you do to me?”

            The other man frowned at him and crossed his arms over his chest, “I didn’t do anything to you.  You have compound fracture of your radius and ulna. Which was, by the way, not from me.”

            Dick blew a strand of hair out of his face and grunted, “Why should I believe you?”

            “Believe what you want, but I’m trying to save your life.  Roy says we’re just going to go pick up a package for the boss, ‘I’ll take Jason and Tony’ he says. No big deal. I could use the extra money, man’s gotta eat. Then, we roll up to the diner on fifth and Richard fucking Grayson comes out. Next thing I know, Tony’s checking the ammo in his Glock and Roy’s unlocking the door and we’re shoving you into an alley.  You fell real hard, broke the fuck out of your arm, saw your bones, and then passed out.”

            “Okay, so where’s the part where you’re saving my life? Because it sounds like you and your buddies kidnapped me.”

            “We were supposed to kill you. But, I didn’t sign up to kill no body, definitely not the son of Bruce Wayne.”

            “Ex-Ward.” Dick spits back.

            “Ward-ever. Either way, we’re supposed to kill you to pump the breaks on the grant going to reform Crime Alley. Figure, Wayne isn’t going to pour money into the place where his son got killed.  The money is going to create legit jobs, push out a lot of the gang activity, and put emergency services in the neighborhood.” Jason looks at Dick, his eyebrows are knitted together into a frown. Dick looks back with his own confused frown,

            “Okay, so why didn’t you kill me then? Are you not… in a gang?”

            Jason scratches the back of his neck and shrugs, “No one wants to be in a gang, not really, but when you live around here, you’re either with a gang or you’re hungry—sometimes you’re both. I’ve lived here my whole life, yanno Crime Alley. I… I don’t want to pump the breaks on the grant.  It’s goin’ to help a lot of people; my friends and my neighbors.”

            “That’s… That’s fair.” Dick hums and runs his good hand through his hair, “So what now, Jason?”

            “I don’t know. I gotta get you to a real police station or maybe Wayne Enterprises. But, they’re lookin’ for us. We can’t just walk out of here. I don’t have my phone and neither do you.” Jason strides away from the bed to the window to crack open the blinds and peak out. “I give it a few more hours until they’re busting doors down.”

            Dick grunts as he pushes himself up onto his uninjured arm and then into a sitting position, “Then we have to go before they do that.”

            “Your arm is really broken!” Jason looks at him with wide eyes, his arms out in front of him as if he’s ready to push Dick back onto the bed.

            “If they’re going to start busting doors down, then people are going to start getting hurt. We need a plan before it comes to that.” Dick throws his legs over the edge of the bed with effort. “Is there anyone in this building who can let us use a phone?”

            “Everyone is scared, Richard.” Jason’s voice is low and serious. “No one is going to help us at the cost of their life.  Reform grant be damned.”

            “Dick.”

            Jason’s eyebrows fly up, “Excuse me?”

            “That’s what people call me, not Richard, Dick.” The older man shots Jason a crooked smile. “And there has to be someone who will help. People are braver than you would think.  Like you.”

            Jason’s cheeks visibly blush, and he runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, Dick, what do you think we should do.”

            “We’re in an apartment building, right? We need to make a phone call.”

**

            How Jason got roped into running up three flights of stairs with his red hood pulled over his face, he isn’t quite sure.  Regardless, he’s knocking rapidly on 23C with his mouth pressed to the seam of the door,

            “Carmen, por favor, soy Jason.” Carmen, please, it’s Jason. “Por favor.”

            “Tienes que ir, Jason! Ellos van a saber que estas aqui! ” No you have to go, Jason! They’re going to know you’re here.

            Jason presses his forehead to the door, and knocks one more time with a closed fist, “Lamento venir aquí! Necesito tu ayuda! Necesito usar tu teléfono!” I’m sorry to come here! I need your help! I need to use your phone!

            “Yo tengo una familia, Jason!” I have a family, Jason. His heart aches at the desperation in her voice, he knows she’s scared. He’s scared, too.

            “Una vida major para tu familia, Carmen.” A better life for your family, Carmen.

            There is silence on the other side of the door.  Jason’s shoulders hunch in defeat. That was it, she was the only one.

            Just as he is about to turn away and head back to his apartment to think of a plan B, the door is cracked open. He turns sharply to see a small hand pushing a cheap prepaid cell phone across the threshold. The woman looks at him with wide eyes,

            “Para mi familia, Jason.”

            “Gracias.” Jason nods in thanks, scooping up the cell phone and then taking long strides back to where Dick was waiting. He practically throws the door open and then slams it shut behind him, holding the phone out in victory.

            Dick throws him a wide smile, “I told you, Jay, there are always brave people.”

**

            “We can’t call Bruce. His line is secure, unknown numbers won’t get through.  We could call Wayne Enterprises, but you never know who’s going to answer or how far this goes up.” Dick taps his finger against the hard wood of Jason’s dinette.

            “People at W.E. want to keep Crime Alley a slum?” Jason frowned with confusion, what do rich people care about Crime Alley?

            “There are a lot of investors against it. They don’t want to put the Wayne Enterprises name on it, but shoving money into a community isn’t going to inspire change.  The support of WE is an essential part. The Wanye’s get the final say since we have the biggest share.  There are good people everywhere and bad people everywhere, Jason.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who can we call who wouldn’t be tapped?”

            “Do you have a friend who could come get you?” Jason asks optimistically. “A friend with a bulletproof car.”

                        “Us.”

            Jason’s face morphs into confusion, “What?”

            “Someone to come get us. Or are you not going to get offed the minute your boss finds you?”

            Tony and Roy were probably singing like canaries about what Jason had done. He winces, “Okay, and Carmen and her family.”

            “Okay, we’ll fill up the hypothetical car. Let’s work on getting a car first.” Dick’s eyes light up for a moment. “We can call my brother.”

            “The one from TV? Isn’t he like seventeen?”

            “Unless you have a better idea.” Dick waits, looking at Jason with a knowing expression. The younger man just shrugs and pushes the phone towards him. Dick makes quick work of punching the numbers in and the both of them hold their breaths as it rings.

            On the third ring, the line opens up and there’s a heavy sigh, “I’m not buying whatever your selling—”

            “Robin.” Dick says sharply. Here is a moment of silence on the other line and for a moment, Jason worries that the boy has hung up.

            “For serious?”

            “As a heart attack.” Dick presses his lips together and waits again. There is more deafening silence before there is shuffling on the other end of the phone.

            “Okay.”

Then the line goes dead.

Jason looks at Dick with his mouth open in a surprised ‘o’, “That’s it? We risked other people’s lives for that. For you to say five words to some teenager?”

Dick glares at him and crosses his arms, “Tim will know what to do. We need to get to the roof.”

“This is just great!” Jason stands up abruptly, pushing his chair out from the table. “You rich people really live in your own little world, don’t you? What does it mean? Is it an extraction code or something? You don’t give a fuck about us!  You get to go home to your cushy life while we all rot here.  I bet you’re going to tell your dad to pull the funding, too! Do understand the sacrifice a woman might have just made to get us that phone? A woman with two kids. And you use that to call—”

Before he can finish, there’s a loud banging on the apartment door,

“We know you’re in there, Todd! Get your ass out here, with Wayne’s kid, or we’re going to kill your friend.”

            “Por favor no!”

            “Listen, Jason.” Dick uses his good arm to make Jason look at him, focusing his horrified look away from the door and to the older man. “I know it’s hard, I know you’re scared, but I need you to go out the fire escape and up to the roof.”

            Jason splutters, shaking his head back and forth, “They’re going to kill her!”

            “Hey!” Dick’s words are quiet but firm. “They’re going to kill all of us if you don’t do as I say.  It’s probably going to take Tim thirty minutes to get here.  When he does, because he will, the team he sends is going to need someone to be up on the roof.”

            “The roof? Dick what are you talking about? This isn’t a spy movie! I’m not just going to run away while they kill Carmen! I—”

            The banging continued. The door to Jason’s apartment was fairly sturdy and had good number of locks on it, but it wouldn’t stand for ever.

            “Remember that bullet proof car we talked about?” Jason nods. “Well, there’s no car. It’s going to be a helicopter and the guys in it are going to need to know exactly where we are as soon as it touches down.  If you stay, your friends outside are going to shoot you in the head, then your friend, and come look for me. It has to be you, Jason. I swear on my life, I’m going to do everything I can to keep your friend alive, but I need you to do what I say. Do you understand?”

            Jason gapes at him for a second, his eyes flickering between Dick and the shaking door.

            “Jason! Do you understand?”

            “Yeah, Dick, I understand.” Jason nodded quickly, turning to the small bedroom to escape out the window. He’s out the window and climbing up the first rung of the stairs when he glances back, just in time to see Dick open the front door and get thrown face first onto the floor.  He hears the older man cry out when his arm is grabbed as he continues up as quickly as he can.  He reaches the roof in record time, bringing up his wrist to check his watch.  Dick said thirty minutes. Jason tugs at locks of his hair, pacing across the roof. Dick could be dead in thirty minutes.

**

            As Jason turns to the bedroom window, Dick turns to the front door.  The four dead bolts that run down the seam are shaking as the person on the other side rams into it. Dick has half a mind to look through the peep hole, but the thought of getting hot through his eyeball keeps his curiosity away.

            “I’m coming!” He unlocks the door quickly, swinging it open to come face to face with four meaty looking men.  “Can’t a man take a nap without having the door busted down—”

            The man directly in front of him grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him down onto the carpeted floor.  Dick can’t hold back the cry of pain that slips past his lips when his broken arm is wrenched up behind his back and zip tied there with his other arm.  The pain is white hot, and it travels up his arm to his shoulder, from where his nose is pushed into the rough carpet, Dick has to blink stars out of his eyes.

            He sees the feet of three other men stomp into the small apartment followed by a small, curly haired, Hispanic woman being dragged behind them. She has tear tracks running down her face and her arms are also zip tied behind her back.  As Dick feels guilt begin to swallow him, he is yanked up by his broken arm and forced to stand on wobbly feet between two bulky men.

            “Where is Todd, Richard?”

            “Dick.”  The man in front of him reeled back and punched him in the face.  Dick would have fallen over if not for the two men flanking him and taking most of his weight.  “My name is Dick god damnnit!”

            The man to his right huffed out a laugh but stifled it when the leader gave him a hard look. He then turned his attention to Dick, grabbing him roughly by his jaw and forcing him to look at him,

            “You’re going to tell us where that little bastard is or we’re going to kill the bitch and then her kids, and then everyone else in this goddamn shit hole, until we find that little traitor!” Dick wanted to flinch when spit flew from the man’s mouth but settled for morphing his face into that of disgust.

            “I don’t know where the other guy went.” He lied. “I woke up with a broken arm and some kid trying to ransom me back to Bruce. I hit him in the head and hid here.”

            The man threw a fist into his stomach, and he groaned loudly, “Wrong answer?”

            “Jason thinks he’s a hero: helpin’ old ladies across the street and giving food to the kids with cracked out parents. I don’t believe for a goddamn second that he tried to ransom you to anyone.”

            Dick laughed, “Okay, you got me. But I still don’t know where he is.”

            This time the punch hit his left temple, leaving his vision swirling with stars. He spit a mouth full of blood out onto the floor, blinking rapidly, “Look, man, whatever you think you’re going to get from this: you’re not. Bruce is going to pour money into this neighborhood whether you kill me or not.  It’s a done deal.  So, why don’t you rub your two little brain cells together and make the smart decision: get out of dodge.”

            The man’s nostrils flared, and he landed two heavy punches to his ribcage, Dick tried to double over but the two men at his sides held steady. He looked up at the clock, stall for fifteen more minutes.

            “You tell me where Jason is, I’ll let you live.”

            Dick snorted, “Fat chance.”

            The man sighed before pulling his gun out of the holster at his waist and jamming it up into the soft skin under Dick’s jaw, “Okay, Dick, how about you tell me where Jason is, and I kill you quickly?”

            Dick winced at the cold metal pinching into his skin relentlessly, “How about you kill me, then my dad has feds chase you down for the rest of your miserable life while he still pours money into the community.” Dick smiles, showing bloody, red teeth. “You don’t win. Doesn’t matter how this plays out, you Dick, you are going to lose.”

            The man releases the pressure on the underside of Dick’s jaw and slams the butt of his gun against the side of his face. Dick feels warm blood well up in the new cut on his face.  His vision goes black for five seconds, the two men at his sides let go of his arms, and he drops forward onto the floor heavily. Dick blinks slowly, trying not to let the ringing in his ears overcome him.  He can hear the man above him screaming at him, but the words are muffled. Dick rests his cheek on the floor and he’s in direct eye contact with where Carmen was sitting. Except, she wasn’t sitting there anymore. Instead, there was an open window behind where she should have been and the steady red blinking of a smoke grenade.

            The smoke grenade went off just as Dick’s eyes slid shut.

**

            Jason paced on the roof for exactly twenty-eight minutes before he heard the loud chopping of wind. He squints his eyes to find the source of the noise through the brightness of the sun.  When he sees it, his eyes are wide, he’s never seen a helicopter before. It lands on the other side of the roof and an eight-man tactical team pours out of the sliding door followed by a dark haired, scrawny looking kid, Tim his mind supplies, and then Bruce Wayne himself.  Jason gapes as the two Wayne’s make their way toward him.  Bruce reaches him first, reaching out a hand, which Jason shakes slowly,

            “I’m Bruce, this is Tim. You are…?”

            “J—Jason.”

            “Jason. Tell us what you know.”

Bruce listens with his lips pinched into a tight line. Humming in agreement once and a while and grunting in disagreement a few times as Jason explains the past twenty-four hours to him as quickly as he can.  He tells them exactly where Dick is, and then where Carmen’s kids should be. At the end, Bruce nods in thanks and turns on his heel toward the tactical team, leaving him and Tim looking at each other.

“Thanks for coming.” Jason says, mostly to fill the space but also because he is grateful.

“Thanks for not killing my brother.” Tim cracks him a smile and takes a sip of the coffee Jason didn’t even realize the boy had been holding.

Jason scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, about that, am I going to get arrested after this?”

The two of them turn as the tactical team repel off the roof. Then, Tim laughs and shakes his head, “I’m sure Bruce would have you arrested. But, from what you’ve said, I’m sure it would be over Dick’s dead body… Hopefully, not literally.”

Jason winced at the bad timing of the joke, “I thought Wayne wanted to reform the neighborhood? Arresting twenty-three-year-olds isn’t very reformative.”

Tim laughs again, “It’s not Bruce who wants to reform Crime Alley. It’s Dick. He’s using his whole trust fund to pay for the grant, with Wayne Enterprise’s logo stamped on it.”

Jason gapes for the second time in twenty minutes, “Why would he do that?”

Tim shrugs, “His favorite diner is here.  He says he’s met a lot of good people here and they deserve a real chance at life. He thinks that the support of Wayne Enterprises is a critical part to real change.”

“What about his fortune?”

“He’ll still be rich. Bruce, Dick, Damian, and I all hold twenty percent of Wayne Enterprises, and the rest is split by investors.  He will be a lot less rich, like millions, but he will definitely still be wealthy. But Dick doesn’t care about money.”

            Jason stands silent for a moment, absorbing the information he’d just been given. Then, a second helicopter lands on the roof and Dick Grayson is being pushed through the roof access door. Bruce and Tim are at his side in seconds, asking questions and holding his free hand. Dick catches sight of Jason and pulls the oxygen mask down,

            “Thank you, Jason.”

            Jason doesn’t have time to reply as Dick is wheeled into the second, smaller helicopter. He just stares as it lifts off the roof and then moves toward the sun.

**

            Exactly two weeks later, Jason is standing at his kitchen sink listening to the news play behind him when there is a knock on the door.  He turns off the water and dries his hands. A generous donation to his landlord has his rent paid for the next two years, in addition to his bloody carpet replaced with a new, softer one and his broken door fixed.  He doesn’t bother to check his phone to see who it is, even though he could sine the same generous donation installed fancy camera doorbells and good locks on everyone’s door.

He pulls open the door and makes a surprised noise,

            “Dick.” He looks down the hall as if someone was going to jump out at him. “I… How are you?”

            Dick’s previously broken arm is wrapped in a black fiberglass cast and he has stitches running along his cheek, but his smile is bright as ever,

            “Howdy, Neighbor! I’m good! Just came over to say ‘hi’!”

            Jason frowned, “Neighbor?”

            Dick nodded, “I’m moving in next door.  Bruce put me in charge of a lot of the spending of the funds in the Park Row grant, so I figured what better way to put the money to good use than to integrate myself into the community?”

            Jason hummed, “Yeah, your brother told me somethin’ funny about that. Something about it being your money with Wayne’s name on it?”

            Dick rubbed his neck and smiled sheepishly, “He told you that?”

            “He didn’t tell me that you are the generous donor behind my two years of paid rent, my new carpet, all the doorbell cameras, and setting up Carmen and her boys in metropolis; I put that one together myself.”

            Dick chuckled, “Well, Bruce paid for your carpet.”

            “You throw an awful lot of money into Crime Alley. Why didn’t you say anything when I was basically calling you a stuck-up douche?”

            “Ah… You know, I never want my money to feel like a power play between me and my friends.” Dick smiles wider at the last word.

            “We’re not friends.” Jason huffs.

            Dick pushed past him and into his apartment, making himself at home and dropping himself on the couch with a sigh, “We definitely are friends. We spent a lot of time together a few weeks ago!”

            “Because I basically tried to murder you…”

            Dick snuggled deeper into the couch and smiled lazily,

            “Pshh… Details.”

[thebluemango]

You're Welcome... Or Whatever

Day 10: Poor Unfortunate Souls

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

Description:  Our favorite shiny red helmeted crime lord helping out our favorite blue bird. That’s it.

My Whumptober 2022

Then

            Jason’s not sure how it’s always him who gets into these situations.  Nothing for him is ever just easy, or straightforward, there is always some type of catch. 

            For instance, when Jason caught wind of a new drug runner establishing themselves in the Narrows, he thought it best to introduce himself.  He’s a friendly guy, Red Hood usually introduces himself to new neighbors.  He thought the catch was going to be finding out that the drug runner was actually running people.  Not ideal by any means, but he would be able to shut it down just as fast as he had caught wind of it—No big deal.

            So, when he gets word from one of his guys that the new not-drug runner is asking for his attention, he has the unsettling feeling that the catch has yet to come.  Jason hates being right sometimes.

**

Now

            When Jason pulls up on his bike, there are three men standing outside of the dingy warehouse.  Two of them are leaned against a red brick wall while the last man is sitting on a cement step that leads into the front door.  Their eyes follow him, expressionless, as he parks in front of them.

            “I heard you were lookin’ for me.”  The voice modulator of his helmet adds a seriousness to his voice, but behind the red mask his lips are curled up into a sneer.

            The shortest man grunts and moves from his spot against the wall.  Jason’s hands tingle for a moment in anticipation of a fight.

            “What are you supposed to be?” The man—Jason decides to call him Napoleon— snorts out a laugh, looking back at his friends before crossing his hands over his chest.  Jason has a few good quips he could throw back, but there is a special dark place in his pit brain reserved for human traffickers.

            “I don’t exchange pleasantries with scumbags. Be a good dog and fetch your boss for me, will ya?”

            The man’s nostrils flare for a moment before he turns on his heel and disappears into the warehouse. Jason is only standing outside with tweedle dumb and tweedled dee for a few minutes before Napoleon comes back, waving him inside.

            When he enters the warehouse, he has to physically stop himself from groaning in annoyance.  Lying on the dirty concrete in a small pool of blood is none other than a blue and black spandex clad idiot; also known as Richard Grayson.  There is a towel covering his face and there is a man shouting at him.

            “Are you working alone or with the Batman?”

            Before Dick can even attempt to answer, the man is pouring water onto his mouth and nose. Jason winces as he watches while Dick splutters and his body jerks.  Jason clears his throat from his place across the room,

            “Most times, when you torture people, you give them a chance to answer the question before you start the torturing.”

            The flow of water suffocating his brother stops for a moment, leaving him gasping and coughing on the floor.  The man standing over him smiles wide at Jason and hands off his bucket.

            “Red Hood!” The man steps over Dick’s body.  “I’m glad you accepted my invitation! You can call me Donovan.”

            Dick’s gasping suddenly ceased, and his shoulders relaxed a bit. Jason wanted to tell himself that the other man was only untensing because he could breathe again, but he knew better.  Dick had proved time and time again that he trusted Jason wholeheartedly, and as much as Jason would hate to admit it, but it made him feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside seeing it.  Time to end this production.

            Deciding to skip right to the point, Jason crosses his hands over his chest and looks to Donovan, “There is no human trafficking in the Narrows.”

            The man’s smiles faulters for a moment before returning, “I think you should hold off on your decision. I understand your apprehension, however, you haven’t heard my proposition yet. We can offer you a royalty on our sales, plus I’ll even throw in the Nightwing. Maybe he’ll be of more use to you than us.”

            Jason felt the tips of his ears heat up with rage, “There is and will be no human trafficking in the Narrows.”

            Donovan’s smile fades and turns his head to look back at Dick before returning his attention, “We don’t have the time or resources to procure answers from him.  A man with your resources would be better equipped to produce results. I have heard of your rivalry with the Batman, I’m going to hand you the first Robin on a silver platter. You can’t overlook our differences for an offer like that?”

            Jason looks down at Dick, who is bound with his hands behind his back. The positioning of his arms is forcing his back into an arch, displaying damage associated with a whipping. Jason wasn’t sure what kind of whip could even break though Kevlar, but regardless, his blood was boiling at the thought of it. There were distinctive circular burns on his hands and bare feet that screamed cigarettes that complemented parallel, small circular burns on his neck from a taser.

            “There is one thing I won’t look over.”

            From his spot on the floor, Dick muttered something from under his waterlogged towel.,

“He’s…”

Donovan frowned, turning to the blue and black vigilante, “Speak up.” He removed the towel, tossing it aside.

            Dick sucked in a long-tired breath before looking up at him and smiling, “He’s my brother.”

            Jason took that as his cue, and the with expert speed had a gun in each hand.  There were six clean shots and the men around Donovan were on the ground unconscious. Leaving Donovan standing over Dick, hands in the air in surrender.

            Donovan shook his head, “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

            Jason just chuckled as he took a few long strides over to cuff the man, “Sucks to suck, Donovan.”

            “This isn’t over, Hood! I’m going to come back stronger than ever! I’m going to—“

            Jason bent down next to Dick, who was trying to roll over despite his injuries, cutting the duct tape that bound his wrists together and helping him to shaky feet. Dick winced and shook his head at the criminal,

            “Yada yada, we know, man.”

            Jason slung Dick’s arm over his shoulder and began hauling him out of the building.  The threats of the bound criminal following them as they went.  Dick hissed and winced as they stumbled down the front steps. 

            “Are you good on a bike or should I call the Bat?”

            Dick huffed out a pained breath, “I’m good, Hood.”

            Jason nodded quietly, helping him the rest of the way to his bike.  Jason made his own wince of sympathy as Dick slowly swung his battered body onto the bike.

            Once they were both settled on the vehicle, he felt Dick lean a tired forehead into the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, and sigh heavily,

            “Thanks, Jay.”

            Jason just grunted and pulled away from the warehouse just as they began to hear police sirens nearing.

**

            Jason had to practically drag Dick up the stairs to his apartment.  When he twisted the lock and toed the door open, Dick looked around lazily.  The apartment looked… lived in.  More so, than a safehouse usually did.  There was a grey knit throw blanket tossed over the back of a green couch in the living room, and dishes drying in a dish rack in the kitchen. A small stack of books sat on a small coffee table next to a half drunken cup of cold coffee. Dick tilted his head, taking in the space,

            “Jay… Do you… live here?”

            Jason snorted, pulling Dick through the doorway and depositing him on the couch,

            “Does it surprise you I have a home?”

            “You’ve never invited me here before.” Dick huffs. Jason sits on the coffee table in front of them a few minutes later with a medical kit, leaning forward to help Dick unzip the top of his Nightwing suit and slowly pulling it down his torso.  Dick grimaced but didn’t make a noise, his eyes were still filtering through the rest of the apartment.

            “You always invite me to your place.” Jason shrugged, filing through his medical supplies. “Plus, you’ve got a big TV.”

            Jason let out a low whistle when he caught sight of the damage on Dick’s back. There were three distinct crisscrossed gashes; they were deep, jagged, and sluggishly bleeding. Surrounding them was deep purple, dark bruises that covered the rest of the pale skin on Dick’s back, some even wrapping around his ribs.

            “He whipped you.”

            Dick hummed, rubbing a tired hand across his face.  Jason moved his gaze to the bright pink burnt skin on his neck, reaching across the space between him to angle Dick’s chin away to get a better look,

            “Taser?”

            Dick just shrugged, “Cattle prod.”

            He dropped the older man’s chin and reached for his hands. Circular burns were raw, the skin at the edge of the circle charred,

            “Cigarettes?”

            “Cigars.”

            “I should’ve killed him.” Jason feels his eyelid twitch and his vision twinges with pit rage for a moment.  The feeling of searing skin from the cherry of a cigarette isn’t something that can be easily forgotten, even after death. To think that Dick has felt that pain too has his vision melting into a green haze. He can almost smell the burnt skin until Dick pulls his hand away and pokes him in the knee.

            “It’s okay, Jay, honest. I’ve had worse.”

            Jason huffed out a breath and tried to blink back the green, “Doesn’t make it any better.”

            Dick just turns and flops down, belly first on Jason’s couch,

            “Alright, fix me up, Doctor Todd.”

            Jason doesn’t say anything, just turns to shuffle through his medical kit.  He starts with a lidocaine burn cream, deciding that fixing the burns will help to clear the green haze.  Dick begins to ramble about how cozy his apartment is and how offended he is that he didn’t know about it. His hair is still wet from his waterboarding, and despite his lack of complaining, Jason can see the way his body trembles every time he applies burn cream to another mark.

            “I was kind of scared, yanno.” Dick mumbles into a throw pillow. “I really hate waterboarding.”

            Jason grunts, “I don’t think anyone likes to be waterboarded.”

            Dick rotates his neck to glare at him, “What I mean is, I was scared, but when you got there, I knew you were going to help me. And I wanted to say thank you.”

            Jason nods as he begins flushing one of the gashes on Dick’s back with saline, “Yeah, whatever, I wasn’t going to leave you on the ground flopping like a fish.”

            Dick sighs loudly and reaches back to poke Jason in the knee again, “I’m serious!” He searches Jason’s face for his attention for a minute before catching his gaze. “Thank you, Jason.”

            “Geesh, Dick, why do you have to make everything weird?” Jason bites his lip and scratches the back of his neck, “Uh… You’re welcome…  Or whatever.”

[thebluemango]

Nothing To Be Sorry For

Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Whumptober 2022Day 9: The Very Noisy Night

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning

Jason still gets nightmares from their time in captivity. He goes to the manor to make sure Dick is still alive and hears some things he needed to hear.

A follow up to Day 6 "Was it a Crowbar?"

Whumptober 2022

            Jason wakes up with a shout. There’re droplets of sweat pooling at the base of his neck, and his breath is coming out in hitched gasps.  Flashes of a nightmare are still fresh in his mind.  It’s been almost a month; Jason’s bruises had long since healed, and Dick was on a steady path to healing. Still, every night since they had been rescued Jason has found himself ripped from sleep by a nightmare.

            In some, Dick would be dead, hanging from his wrists in that dingy basement with his eyes holding an empty gaze.  Other nights, instead of the metal baseball bat that nearly pulverized his brother, it was a crowbar.  In place of a collapsed rib cage would be long ugly gashes made by the beak of the tool. 

            No matter hypothetical the situation, Jason woke up in a puddle of his own sweat.  Tonight was no different than any of the others, so just like clockwork, Jason threw his blankets to the side and swung his legs off the edge of the bed.

            He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, letting out a long sigh.  He really had been trying to avoid the stalker tendencies.

            The week that he had stayed vigil by Dick’s bedside, his anxiety would be soothed quickly by the steady rise and fall of Dick’s chest.  He would sit and match his own breaths with Dick’s until he didn’t feel lightheaded anymore.  But the first night Dick had convinced him to sleep in a bed, Jason was back within three hours of his departure, pushing back his panic with slow breaths.

            Jason tried hard to not be creepy about it, he really did. He would quietly let himself in the room through the window then plant himself in the plush armchair in the corner of the room until he could breathe again before leaving. Okay, so creepy—Sue him.

            Tonight, when Jason had pushed the window open and looked to the bed, ready to let out a breath of relief. Except this time, his blood ran cold, and he stopped breathing for a moment all together.  It took everything in Jason not to accidentally let go of the windowsill and fall backwards when his eyes laid on the empty bed.

            Jason dropped into the bedroom silently. He walked quickly to the empty bed and pressed his bare hand against the spot where Dick should’ve been.  Cold.  That meant hopes of Dick getting up to use the bathroom were null. Jason pushed down his panic as much as he could while he made his way to the bedroom door. The door was cracked open an inch and there was light shining from the hallway.  Jason’s mind was fuzzy as he followed the maze of the manor hallways, just turning wherever the lights were on, until he made it to the main level.  He found himself standing just outside of the kitchen when he heard voices.

            “Bruce, I’ve already told you a million times. It’s okay. What more do I need to say?” The sound of Dick’s voice was like music to his ears.  He finally could let out the breath that had been stuck in his throat.  Jason had half a mind to storm in and ask Dick why he wasn’t in bed at this time of the night but opted instead to press himself against the wall and listen.

            “Chum, I love you so much. You know that right?” Bruce’s slurred words screamed alcohol, Jason’s eyebrows shot up and he pressed himself closer.  Bruce doesn’t usually drink.

            Jason could almost hear Dick roll his eyes as he groaned, “Bruce, I know! I told you; you made the right choice.”

            “There was no right choice!  I shouldn’t have picked at all.”

            There was a clink of glass on a marble countertop, “That’s enough bourbon for you—You’re a mess.”  Then there was a long sigh, “He would’ve killed me and Jason if you didn’t choose. He said that.”

            “He—” Hiccup. “He might not have. He might have just chosen himself.”

            There’s a beat of silence and then Dick’s voice is low and serious, “Maybe, but then he could’ve picked Jason.”

            Jason’s heartbeat loudly in his ears.  He had been beating himself up for the better part of a month, wishing he could go back and take his brother’s place.  Jason knew deep in his heart that Bruce wished the same. But he wanted to hear him say it. He wanted to hear Bruce admit that he too wishes it had been Jason and not Dick.

            However, instead of the big admission Jason was waiting for, a long and wet sob rang through the quiet kitchen. The first cry is followed by more cries that could easily be described as wails.

            Jason’s ears are ringing but he still hears and Dick shuffles slowly around the kitchen. He wants to peak to see what’s going on but stays still in favor of staying hidden. Dealing with crying, drunk Bruce is the last thing that Jason wants to do.

            “Jason’s been through so much... After what happened with Joker, I didn’t want to—” Bruce croaks.  “I— I couldn’t—”

            Dick cuts him off, “I would never want you too, B. I know that nothing I say is going to make you feel better. It might have been just me getting my ass beat but it was traumatic for all of us. Take however long you need to feel okay. But, Bruce, I’m never not going to be grateful that you didn’t pick Jason. I forgive you. I still love you. You don’t have to carry this burden.”

            There’s a sniffle and then a hiccup, “He said that you’d say that. I knew you would say that, too.”

            “He would forgive you, too, if he were in my place. I had the easy job, Bruce.” Jason can hear a chair slide across the tile floor. “You need to go to sleep. You’re going to be hung over. Damian is going to freak out if you pass out at the table. Do you need help?”

            He hears a signature grunt from Bruce and then the sound of bare feet landing on the marble tiles, “I’m okay, Chum… I’m… I’m still really sorry.”

            “Alright, alright, I forgive you. Now bed.”

            It’s then that Jason peaks around the corner, watching as Bruce stumbles out of the kitchen through the opposite entrance. His gaze drifts from the hallway over to where Dick is sitting on a dining room chair.

            “Oh, hey, Jay.” Dick’s lips turn up into a genuine smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here until later, it’s only two.”

            Dick’s wearing an oversized grey tee shirt and plaid pajama pants.  His left leg has a black walking boot while his right is wrapped in a blue fiberglass cast.  The pajama pants cover the top of the cast, but Jason can see black sharpie artwork covering the bottom before disappearing under the plaid fabric.  There’s an equally well decorated cast that traveled from Dick’s hand all the way up to his bicep on his left arm and then a black fabric wrist brace on his left.  Jason’s gaze flickers to Dick’s face where the soft smile still sits, next to nearly healed sutures and yellowing skin where a bruise had been. 

            “You knew I was coming?” Jason chokes out.

            Dick nods seriously, “I figured you would, you have been every night.”

            Jason’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, “I’m sorry.”

            The older man’s head tilts in confusion, “Don’t be sorry.  I get it, Jay. I get the nightmares too.”

            Jason’s eyes find the floor quickly and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, “Of course, you went through something horrific. I didn’t come here to whine to you. You had it way worse than—”

            “Sit down, Jay.” Dick’s words are firm, and he nudges out the chair that Bruce had just been sitting in. “C’mere.”

            Jason complies silently and without making eye contact.  He felt guilt licking at his chest as he collapsed into the heavy wooden chair. Who was Jason to be seeking comfort from the man who took a gruesome beating for him?

            “Look at me, Jason.” Jason’s eyes drifted up to look at Dick, it took everything he had not to look away when they caught sight of the stitches that were lined across his cheek bone. Then Dick snaps his fingers in front of his face, “Hey, none of that.”

            “Look, Dick, I didn’t mean to be creepy. I just come to check that you’re okay. I didn’t realize I was waking you up. I won’t—I won’t do it again.”  Jason’s voice cracked as he forced out the lie.  He would probably do it again, just from further away.

            “Jason, what you went through was traumatic.  You don’t need to sneak in the window to see me, you didn’t before, and you definitely don’t now.  I can’t imagine how hard it was to be in your position, and I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” Jason searches Dick’s features for any sign that he’s being insincere but finds nothing.  Dick’s blue eyes are bleeding with understanding, the look makes Jason want to spill his guts.  So, he does.

            “I—I thought you were dead.” Dick just listens, so Jason continues. “When Tim uncuffed me, I saw you laid out on a stretcher. The medics couldn’t find a pulse. I thought you’d been beaten to death… Like me.” Jason sniffles and rubs at his wet eyes with his sleeve.  “Bruce should have chosen me, and I can’t figure out why he didn’t.”

            Dick’s eyebrows are pointing down into a frown, “I know this may be hard to believe, but you are not the low value human that you think you are. The choice that B had to make was impossible, there was no right or better choice.  Don’t think so lowly of yourself that you can’t fathom that our dad would opt for you not to get beaten to death for a second time.”

            Jason’s breath hitched and he felt a sob trying to crawl out of his throat, “I’m sorry, Dick.”

            Dick leans forward, cast and all, to collect Jason into his arms, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Jay Bird.”

            A tear slipped from the corner of his eye and slid down his cheek, “Why did he pick you?”

            Dick’s breath hitches, as if he’s asked himself the same question. He buries his nose into Jason’s dark hair, “I don’t know, Jason, I don’t even think he really knows. But I’m grateful he did.”

            Jason lets the sleep deprivation and guilt wash over him in a wave and the tears come quickly. Within thirty seconds, the sobs are coming out of his mouth, and he’s made a snotty mess on the front of Dick’s tee shirt. 

            Despite his injuries, Dick manages to coax the younger man back to his room. He leads Jason to the king-sized bed in the middle of the room and pulls back the blankets.

            Jason shakes his head, “I can’t sleep here, you need to rest.”

            Dick collapses in the bed next to him, reaching to the nightstand to pull out the television remote, “We’re both sleeping here. You go first, I’ll wake you up if you start to look uncomfortable.” 

            “Dick—”

            “Remember what I said about you not being a low value human? You deserve sleep, Jay Bird. So, sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up and then you can watch me. Win-win.”

            Jason wants to argue but the warmth of Dick’s body mixed with the warm sheets and the soft mattress make his eyelids dangerously heavy.

            “This is really crossing the threshold of co-dependency.” He grumbles, relaxing back into the pillows.

            Dick just hums as he clicks through the channels, “Sleep, Little Wing.”

[thebluemango]

He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother

Day 8: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying

Stomach Pain | Head Trauma

Whumptober 2022

Note: For the sake of my fic – Can we pretend that Jason & Dick got along when Bruce took in Jason? And also, that Dick and Jason are 3 years apart. Thanks xx

            When Bruce took in Jason, he was thirteen.  He didn’t really want a brother, much less a sixteen-year-old brother who was constantly trying to smother him.  Literally.

            “Jay Bird!” Dick would sing as he did a cartwheel down the hallway, making his way to Jason’s room. The minute Jason heard the sound of Dick’s voice he was placing a bookmark in whatever novel he was reading and then throwing himself out of bed to lock the door. But Dick was built for speed and agility and his efforts were usually futile. 

            The door would be flung open and the minute Dick’s eyes fell on Jason, the younger would find himself looking up at the ceiling, flat on his back with a whole Dick Grayson sprawled out over him.

            “Little Wing! Were you going to lock me out?”

            Pinned underneath two-hundred pounds of pure muscle, Jason would groan and push at his shoulders, “Dick!”

            “Gotta be quicker than that!” He would say.  

Jason’s cheeks would flush in frustration and he would try with every muscle in his body to force the older teen onto the floor, before giving up and collapsing back onto the carpet,

            “Get off me, Dickhead! You’re so heavy!”

            There would be a loud, dramatic gasp and jut out his bottom lip with a dramatic cry of, “You can’t say I’m heavy! I’m your brother!”

--

            When Jason returns from the dead, he’s nineteen.  He’s not the same when he comes back. Green twinges the corners of his vision at every minor inconvenience. He has memory lapse episodes in which his vision goes green, and he turns volatile with no memory of doing so. Everyone around him knows this, and they do their best to keep him at an arms distance.  Everyone except Dick, of course.

            It’s a Wednesday when Jason finds himself standing on the roof of a building.  He recognizes the feeling of awareness as green melts from his vision, and he slowly becomes conscious of his surroundings.   He blinks in rapid succession, trying to clear his vision quickly. As the fuzzy green haze clears, the slumped blue and black body of Dick Grayson appears in his gaze.

            “Aw, shit.” Jason runs a hand through his hair, taking a step back. “Are you alive?”

            Dick rolls over with a long groan, his face is a mess of bruises, and his left leg is bent in the wrong direction, “Yeah, I’m good.”

            The older man looks up at him with a loopy smile. One of his eyes are swollen shut and his teeth are stained red with blood, but despite this, the corner of Jason’s lips twitch upward.  He’s able to smooth out the smile as quick as it comes,

            “I did this?”

            Dick grunts, pushing himself up onto his forearms, “Eh, you did have a hand in… this. But I wouldn’t say it was your fault.”

            Jason extends an arm down to his brother, which Dick accepts with a grimace. The older man sucks in a sharp as he stands on his good leg.

            “Looks like I fucked you up… Again.” He feels a twinge of regret and embarrassment as he says it. Despite common misconceptions, he would like to stop viciously beating his siblings during black out episodes.

            “No big deal, Little Wing.” Dick slung and arm around Jason’s shoulder and leaned his weight into his predecessor. “I can usually tell by your eyes when I should back down. But you were pissing me off.”

            Jason snorts and leads him toward the exit, scooping him up bridal style as they reach the stairs,  “Well stop making me angry. Now, I gotta carry you.  You’re damn heavy too, Dickwad.”

            Dick smiles lazily, leaning his head into Jason’s leather clad shoulder, “Quit sayin’ I’m heavy.  You should be nice to me, I’m your brother.”

--

            Jason is twenty-four now. He can control his pit rage. He hasn’t “greened out” in almost a year.  But today, nothing can stop the bright green rage from melting into his vision when he sees Nightwing go down. 

            They’re elbows deep in hand to hand combat with goons whilst the two youngest bats work their way through ten thousand Conex Boxes in search of a drug shipment. Jason has just pistol whipped a two-hundred-pound man, who dropped to the floor, when he hears the shot go off.  His gaze snaps up to Dick.

Dick isn’t looking at him though. His jaw is dropped open to form a small “o” as he looks down at the growing patch of red that stains the blue of his suit.

To Jason, it feels like slow motion as Dick reaches a gloved hand to touch the hole in his abdomen while at the same time, a man coming up behind him swings a short metal pipe into the back of his head. 

Maybe it’s the shock of the events before him unfolding or maybe he’s just not fast enough, but either way, he’s a millisecond too slow.  The pipe connects with the back of Dick’s head right before Jason’s rubber bullet strikes the other man in the temple. Dick doesn’t even cry out; he just drops to the cement floor.

Jason’s pretty sure the loud shout that he hears comes from his own throat, but he can’t be sure because it’s the last thing his muffled ears catch before his brain is drained in pit rage.

When he comes too, he’s knelt down next to Dick’s boneless body. There is a mess of mangled henchmen scattered around them, but Jason can’t bring himself to care if they’re dead or alive.

He presses down firmly on the gaping hole in Dick’s abdomen, “Nightwing?”

Jason pushes hair from his brother’s forehead before reaching behind his own head to unclasp his helmet. The helmet crashes against the ground loudly when it falls, but Jason is already pressed close to Dick’s nostrils,

“C’mon, N, show me you’re breathing.”

The silence that rings in Jason’s ears feels deafening. Dick’s skin is pale and clammy, and Jason is painfully aware of the lack of rise and fall in Dick’s chest.

He feels a lump begin to swell in his throat and he lets go of the pressure on Dick’s wound to shake him by his shoulders roughly,

“C’mon, Wing, you’re not drowning. Breathe.”

Jason smacks roughly at Dick’s cheeks before returning his hands to the bullet wound on his stomach. Pressure bandage. His mind screams at him.  He reaches into one of the pockets in his suit with shaking hands, and then once the bandage is secured, he leans close to Dick again.

“Dickie, please, breathe.”

There are thirty more long seconds before Jason feels warm and humid air tickle his flushed cheek. He lets out a long breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding and then places a gloved hand on Dick’s pale cheek,

“Fuck. Okay. You’re okay, Dickie, I gottcha.”

Jason shifted his body, sliding gentle arms under Dick’s knees and behind his neck, and then hauled all two-hundred pounds of acrobat into his arms.  As he makes his way toward the Bat Mobile, Jason steps over unconscious criminals, staggering a bit when his boot catches on a stray arm.

Two smaller bodies flank him as he steps off the pier, their concerned chatter rings in Jason’s ears, but he can’t quite make out what the words are supposed to say.  He holds onto Dick a bit tighter and decides to ignore them in favor of continuing forward.

Next, the Batman stands in front of him. He stops for a second, frowning behind his domino at the older man.

“What?” Jason spits. He’s not in the mood for a lecture about the people he (probably) killed.

“Let me take him, you need to get checked out.” Jason wants to be mad. He wants to tell him to fuck off. But when he looks at the man in the cowl, it’s Bruce stepping forward to take his unconscious son rather than Batman reaching for Nightwing.  Still, Jason can’t bring himself to hand him over. He just holds Dick closer to him, shaking his head.

“It’s okay, B, I got him.”

Red Robin perks up from his left, eyeing him suspiciously, “You’re bleeding, Hood. You shouldn’t be carrying him; he’s pretty heavy.”

Jason just shrugs and continues walking, “It’s alright. He ain’t that heavy… He’s my brother.”

[thebluemango]

You Aren’t Anyone’s to Have

Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Shaking Hands | Silent Panic Attack

The Rest of My Whumptober 2022

She makes him think she won't survive if she can’t have him. But, Dick Grayson isn’t anyone’s to have.

Note: Trigger Warning for domestic abuse themes and scenes. If you live in the US 800-799-7233 is the National Domestic Abuse hotline. My inbox is always open. You are not alone.

            “Todd.” There was a tightness in Damian’s voice that made Jason stop what he was doing. “I am in need of a ride to the manor.”

            Jason frowned, dropping a dirty bowl into his kitchen sink, and leaning against the counter, “It’s Friday.”

            There was a long pause before Damian returned a grunt, “I am aware.”

            Fridays were Damian’s favorite day of the week—The whole family knew this.  This was because every Friday, Dick would pick him up from school and he would spend the night at his apartment in Blüdhaven.

            “So, where is Dick?” Jason was already making his way toward the door, phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder, and he slipped on a pair of boots.

            “Can—Can you come or not?”  There was a vulnerable hitch in the boy’s voice that drew Jason’s eyebrows into a frown.

            “Yeah, bud, I’ll be there in a few minutes. We can go see what’s got Dickhead held up.”

            There was a scoff on the other end of the line and a short retort of, “I am not your ‘bud’.” Then, the line went dead.

            Little shit.

--

            The ride to Dick’s apartment was a silent one, something that Jason found himself grateful for.  Damian stared out the window with a pinched look on his face while Jason hummed along to the radio. Talking about feelings, especially with the youngest Wayne, was more Dick’s speed than it was Jason’s, so if Damian didn’t want to talk then Jason was not going to offer.  As they pulled up to the building, Jason twisted the dial on the radio down and cleared his throat,

            “So, are we going in the door or the window?” He said it lightly but he was half serious.

            Damian didn’t turn to look at him, he just fished in the pocket of his coat for a moment to pull out a silver key,

“I have a key.”

            Jason just hummed and parked the car, wincing when Damian slammed the door of the car harder than necessary. Be nice, Jason.

            Dick’s apartment was on the third floor, and the elevator ride up was painfully awkward. Damian and Jason’s relationship was rocky at best, but generally they didn’t get along.  Jason shoved his hands in his pockets and made an attempt to avoid eye contact with the teenager.  Which wasn’t too difficult as Damian aimed a hard glare at the stainless-steel elevator door.  The door dinged open and Damian didn’t wait for Jason before striding toward Dick’s apartment.

            Jason sighed, running a hand though his hair and following him, “You better have a good reason for pissing off the demon brat, Dickhead.”

            He caught up with Damian as he was turning his key in the keyhole, but nothing could have prepared Jason for the sight before him. Dick’s apartment was never particularly clean, but it was never this bad.  It seemed that every single dish that Dick owned was shattered on the floor. Every cabinet and drawer were open and the items in them still looked like they had been tossed by a burglar.  In the middle of the mess, Dick was hunched over picking up small shards of ceramic and dropping them in a plastic bowl.

            “What the hell, Dick?” The words slipped out of Jason’s mouth before he thought to stop them.  The flinch that ran through Dick’s body shook his shoulders and he spun around quickly. His jaw dropped to make a small “o” as his gaze found his two younger brothers,

            “Oh shit! Is it three o’clock?”

            Damian’s hands crossed over his chest, “What happened here, Richard? And, what happened to your face?”

            Jason took a longer look at the older man and noticed a growing bruise sprayed across his cheekbone to match a split lip. The collar of his shirt was stretched to its limit, revealing a seemingly too thin clavicle with three bright red scratch marks.  Dick smiled and made a dismissive noise, muttering something about Nightwing and being fine; but Jason caught the way his hands shook as he held the plastic bowl in front of him.

            It took Jason four long strides to make his way to Dick, plucking the bowl from his hands and leading him towards the couch, “How about we sit down, huh?”

            Dick allowed himself to be pulled toward the ugly green loveseat, collapsing heavily when the pillows hit his knees, “I’m so sorry, Dami, I lost track of the time. I didn’t mean to leave you stranded. I’m such a shit brother.”

            Damian scoffed, moving to sit next to him, “Nonsense. You are much more useful than, Todd.” He held up a hand when Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Tell us what happened here. Were you robbed?”

            Dick let out a wet laugh, “Be nice, Dami.”

            There was an awkward moment of silence as Dick pulled at the sleeves of his shirt. The two younger boys watched as he picked his words carefully.

“There wasn’t a break in.” Is what Dick settles on, letting out a shaky breath and dropping his head into still shaking hands. “I— I had a disagreement with my—my girlfriend.”

Two sets of eyes widened in surprise,

“Your what?”

Dick sighed, “My girlfriend, Andrea.”

Jason nodded slowly, “Okay, so what, you and your secret girlfriend, Andrea, get in a fight so you trash your apartment and forget to pick up Damian from school?”

“I thought you would have more self-control, Richard. You always tell me to control my anger and you’re here throwing a temper tantrum—”

“Damian!” Jason shot him a dirty look before turning back to Dick. “I have a feeling that’s not what happened.”

Dick winced and ran a hand through his messy hair, “I didn’t break my own dishes, that’s for sure. We were arguing. I—I didn’t tell her She was grilling me about why she couldn’t sleep over every night. We’ve only been dating a few months and I’m not ready to tell her about Nightwing, so I’ve been cutting out time together short before I go on patrol.  And, she was so convinced there was another woman. I told her there wasn’t and that I just like to have my own space. She starts throwing all the clothes out of my closet, looking for ‘evidence’.  There’s nothing to find because there’s no other woman. That made her madder! She keeps saying ‘You can’t hide the whore’ and she’s tearing apart the kitchen. Then, she starts chucking plates and bowls at me, accusing me of cheating.” Dick’s shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are welling up with tears. 

Damian looks murderous, his fists clenched in his lap, “Then what happened?”

“She ran out of dishes and left.” Dick slumped back into the couch, running a tired hand over his face, rubbing self-consciously at the growing bruise on his cheek.  “I—I understand why she’s upset. I know its suspicious.  Leaving at night with no explanation. This is why I don’t date usually, but she was so persistent.”

Jason shifted from his standing position to sit on the edge of the coffee table, “You know… You know that’s not okay, right?”

“I—I can see why she thinks I’m cheating on her.” Dick sighs.  “I’ve been trying to end it for a week or so, but every time I mention needing space, she brings up suicide. I don’t want to be the reason she kills herself.”  

“Dick, that’s…” Jason sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s not okay.”

A single tear falls from Dick’s eye before he wipes it off quickly and plasters a smile on his face, “I—It’s fine. I’m fine. Forget I said anything, you know how girlfriends can be.  Never had an angry woman key your car before?”

Jason takes a moment to glance around at the carnage in Dick’s apartment, “It’s abuse.”

Dick’s smile falters for only a moment before returning, “I’m a man, Jason. That’s not how it works.”

Before Jason can argue with him, Dick is up on his feet, “This was weird. How about we sleep at the manor tonight, Dami. I’ll clean this up tomorrow.”

“Dick, we should talk about this. It’s not okay—”

Dick turned to look at Jason with a tight smile, “There’s nothing to talk about, Little Wing.”

Jason sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, but he decides to let it go.  He wishes he didn’t.

--

            It’s a whole week before they hear from Dick again.

            When Dick pulls up to Gotham Academy to pick up Damian, he’s wearing a thick blue cast and a pair of Ray-Bans. Damian squints at him as he gets into the passenger seat,

            “I was unaware you were injured on patrol, Richard.”

            Dick chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his neck, “Ah, this old thing? I tripped and fell; can you believe that?”

            Damian tightened his grip on his backpack, “No, I do not believe that.”

--

            The Friday after that, Dick asks if Damian wants to sleep at the manor instead of at his apartment. He says it’s because misses the home gym, but Damian eyes the cast that’s still on his wrist and the new bruises that wrapped around his biceps and doubts that but agrees anyway.

            Damian has long since fell asleep when Dick finds himself in the kitchen, digging through the big fancy fridge for a snack.  He settles on the package of strawberries, shutting the stainless-steel door only to find Tim is standing behind it. He flinches, gasping as the fruit falls from his hands and they roll across the tile floor.

            “Shit! I’m sorry, Dick!” Tim  bends down to start picking up the dropped produce.

            “It’s okay. I’m tired, it makes me a little bit jumpy, yanno?” Dick smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

            “What happened to your arms?” Tim’s voice is small. Dick feels like the air is gone from his lungs.

                        “I’m a crime fighter, Timmy, hazards of the job.”

            Tim bites his lip, picking up the last strawberry and standing straight, “Right…”

--

            It’s Jason who drags Dick to a family dinner the following Sunday. It’s manipulative really; everyone knows that Dick can’t say no to Jason wanting to spend time together as a family.  They look at him with careful eyes and their lips turn up in gentle smiles when they speak to him.  They don’t know. He tells himself.

            They’re only halfway through entrée’s when his phone rings. He declines it with shaking fingers and returns his attention to the table with a tight smile. Almost immediately, it rings again and the steady buzzing of a stream of text messages coming in vibrates against his lap. He starts to stand up to excuse himself, when a gentle hand lands on his forearm,

            “Don’t answer.” Jason’s turquoise eyes find his; despite the twinge of green around his irises, they’re still kind. “You—You don’t have to go back to her.”

            “I have to, Jason.”

--

Bruce invites him over to help with a case three days later. Dick has half a mind to say no, but in the best interest of the case, he shows up.

            The briefing isn’t long, but Dick can feel the eyes on him from his seat.  He pretends they don’t see the ugly bruises that peak out from the collar of his Nightwing suit. Bruce ends the meeting with a grunt and Dick can’t get out of his seat fast enough, stepping away from the table as he slides his thumbs across his phone screen to read all his missed text messages. The next phone call comes in and he groans. Dick taps the decline button and forces the corners of his mouth up into a smile, walking back towards Bruce. The chattering of his sibling’s quiets as he approaches.

            Bruce clears his throat, “Your brothers say you have a girlfriend.”

            He can almost hear three chairs creek as his siblings straighten in their seats.  He licks his dry lips and nods.

            “Loose use of the term, Father.” Damian grunts when Tim elbows him.  

            “Do you plan to bring her over soon?”

            It’s an olive branch. A shitty one since he’s sure that his brothers have said their peace about his relationship. Dick knows it’s Bruce’s way of trying, but Bruce is dense.  And, Dick doesn’t want to bring her.

            He agrees anyway.

--

            The next day he’s sitting at the dining room table with Andrea to his left and Jason to his right. The room is tense, he tries to lighten the mood with small talk, but the looks from his brothers are cold.

            “Will you excuse me for a moment?” Her voice is light, but her smile is tight. She slides away from the table, walking quickly toward the hallway.

            Dick stands quickly, only glancing down for a moment when Jason reaches to grab his arm. He just shakes his head and follows the woman, leaving Jason, Bruce, Tim, and Damian sitting at the table in silence.

            “If he wanted our assistance, he would ask.” Bruce says evenly. Damian’s fiery eyes shoot to him, and the boy makes a disgruntled noise.

            “Maybe it’s not about what he wants.” Jason shoots back, his eyes are shining green, and his hand is tight around his fork. “Maybe it’s about what he needs.”

            “Victims of domestic abuse who are men are less likely to ask for help.” Tim twirls spaghetti on a fork as he speaks, not looking up to make eye contact with either of his brothers.

            Jason pushes his chair back and stands, “I’m not just sitting here any longer.”

            Bruce looks up at him with tired eyes and runs a hand through his hair, “If he’s not ready to leave her, then we’ll just push him away.”

            Tim nods, “If we tell them we suspect abuse, she might isolate him even more. Then what?”

            Damian stands abruptly, “No, I agree with, Todd.”

            The argument is ended by a large crash and the shout of a woman. Disagreements aside, all four of the males are quickly up.

            “What did you tell them? To make them look at me like that?”  Andrea’s voice cut through the silence of the manor. There was a loud smack and a sharp intake of breath,

            “I didn’t tell them anything. I—I told you that bruises were suspicious.” Dick’s voice is small.  “They’re my family, they’re just worried. It’s not that they don’t like you, Andrea.”

            There’s another smack and then a thud.  Jason rounds the corner first and he hast to suck in a deep breath when he sees them.  Dick is standing with his back against the wall, his cheek is bright red and there’s a book on the floor next to his feet. His eyes are cast down to the floor and his shoulders are hunched.  When he hears Jason step through the door, the noise he makes is dangerously close to a whimper,

            “You’re just going to make things worse.”

            Andrea spins around, hands on her hip and an eyebrow raised, “You called the calvary for someone the size of me?”

            “Back up, bitch.” Jason spits out.

            “Jason!” Dick moves to step away from the wall, flinching back when Andrea turns to him.

            She points an accusing finger toward him and takes a menacing step forward, “You! You have made me out to be this monster to your family?  Do you tell them that I hit you? Are you going to tell them that a five-foot three girl beat you up, Dick? No one’s going to take you seriously!  No one will believe you!”

            Dick’s hands are shaking. He’s taking in short breaths through his nose and his eyes are blurry with tears. His mind begins to fill with panic. Self-deprecation drips into his panic, sending him spiraling.  Why did you bring her here?  

            “Dickie, breathe.” Jason’s voice cuts into his haze of panic but he still doesn’t look up.

            “I can’t.” Dick’s eyes are squeezed shut and his shaking hands have overtaken his whole body.

            “You are fine! You’re a man, act like it!” Andrea’s eyes are bright with anger, and she pokes her finger into Dick’s chest, “No one is buying it!”

            Dick squeezes his eyelids together tighter, why did you bring her here?

            “We believe you, chum.” Bruce is looking over the girl’s head at Dick.  Dick returns his gaze with tired eyes. “You brought her here. You knew we would help you.  Let us help you.”

            “We only want your safety, Richard.”

            “Let us help.”

            Dick looks toward the door, Damian and Tim look back at him with wide eyes. Suddenly, he feels so embarrassed.

            “Hey,” Jason takes a small step forward, extending a hand to him. “Don’t get stuck in that head of yours. Stay here.  You’re so close, dickiebird.  Just c’mere.”

            Dick’s mouth opens for a moment before he closes it and looks back to Andrea, she’s looking at him with fierce eyes, daring him to make the wrong choice. There’s a wet sob that tears from Dick’s throat and he takes a small step toward Jason.

            That’s all it takes for Jason to close the space between them. He’s quickly collecting the smaller man in his arms as Dick’s body is wracked with sobs.

            “It’s okay, Dickie, you did so good.” He rested his chin on Dick’s head and the two of them collapsed into a large antique armchair. He pushed Dick’s face into his chest as Andrea was ushered out of the study. “It’s gonna be alright.”

            Dick sniffles, wiping his nose with the edge of his sleeve, “I—I have to go back. I don’t want to kill her, Jay. If I leave her, she won’t survive. She’s can’t live without me. What is she going to do if she can’t have me?”

“I don’t know, Dickie.” Jason carded a warm hand through his dark hair. “She’s going to have to learn, because you’re not anyone’s to have.”

[thebluemango]

me whispering as i open yet another ao3 fic: you better fix all my problems you little shit

[thebluemango]

people arguing over fanon vs. canon batfam is so funny considering the comics wouldnt know character consistency if it hit them over the head with a steel bat

[thebluemango]

ok sir….

[thebluemango]

Was It a Crowbar?

TheBlueMango Whumptober 2022 Master List Here

Note: It was supposed to be a short one shot for the prompt but I got a little bit too into it but I'm a sucker for Dick and Jason angst…

Day 6: Proof of Life

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse.” | Screams from Across the Hall

Bruce must make a choice—He just hopes his sons can forgive him for it.

            Jason wakes up slowly. His eyelids flutter for a few beats before he pulls them open, and once he does—He wishes he was still asleep. It takes him a few moments to take in his surroundings.  He’s standing up straight with his arms hand cuffed to a metal pipe above him. It’s not a necessarily comfortable position to be in, but his arms aren’t stretched painfully, and he his feet are making full contact with the floor.  He’s still wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and his boots. Jason realizes quickly that he’s not wearing any tactical gear, so he’s not Red Hood. 

            The room he was in was dark. The walls and the floor were both cement, but the ceiling was unfinished. There was open duct work above him and metal pipes. As he followed his metal pipe, he found another pair of hands handcuffed to a pipe parallel to him.  He follows pale hands down long arms to a mop of dark hair and groans internally.

            Dick is still unconscious. He’s restrained similarly to Jason, but since he’s still unconscious his weight is all on his arms.  The room isn’t large, the two men are relatively close together. Jason extended his leg to nudge Dick with his foot,

            “Hey!” He hisses. “Wake up!”

            Dick is wearing tan chinos and a white button-down shirt. The front of the shirt is clean for the most part, aside from dirty scuffs on his sleeves, but Jason can see just enough around the back to see dirt and dust collected on his back indicating he had probably been dragged.

            Jason is about to nudge the other hand a bit harder when a door behind him is swung open.  His body tenses as he hears heavy footsteps approaching. A man approaches in the left side of Jason’s peripheral vision, he’s holding a laptop in one hand and a bottle of water in another one.

            Jason looks at the laptop, eyebrows raised in surprise when he sees Bruce’s face plastered on the screen in what seems to be a video call.  He quickly soothes out his face to put on an angry glare.

            “I’m hurt you can’t trust me, Wayne.” The man sighs placing the laptop down on the floor.  Jason makes the assumption that the man isn’t speaking to them. 

            Their kidnapper is small—for a man. He’s probably about five foot five and a bit lanky, in Jason’s opinion.  He had on blue jeans with black suspenders and a white T-Shirt.

            “Proof of life, Rossi. For both of them. Then, we can talk about what you want.” Bruce’s tone is sharp. It reminds Jason of years of listening to Bruce talking to bad guys when he was a child.

            “Alright, alright…” Rossi picks up his computer and faces it to Jason. He giggles and puts Jason and Bruce face to face, “Here’s the… serious one.”

            Bruce’s mouth is pinched into a tight line as his eyes scan over Jason’s face.  The younger man can see himself in the small square in the corner. His hair is a mess and there’s a blossoming bruise under his right eye.

            “Jason.” Bruce grunts. “Are you okay?”

            Jason wants to ask what’s going on but instead he just nods. Rossi lets out a satisfied huff and then turns the computer to Dick, who is still unconscious.  He untwists the cap of the water bottle with his teeth before dumping it on Dick’s face.  The man wakes up spluttering, his wet eyelashes trying to blink water out of his vision.

            “Wake up, Richie Rich!”

            Confused blue eyes searched the room while Dick scrambled to get his legs underneath him.  Jason’s heart squeezed in sympathy.

            “Dick.” His voice was steady and firm. Dick’s eyes zeroed in on him instantly and his shoulders relaxed an inch. As soon as Dick had stopped spluttering, the laptop was shoved in front of his face.

            “There ya go, proof of life.” Rossi turned around to place the laptop on the desk to the left of them.  “Now, to what I want.  I want my brother released from Black Gate… Immediately.”

            Jason almost groaned, why could it never just be money? Gotham criminals can never just take a check.

            “We can definitely talk about that. I am a powerful man; I can make a lot of things happen.” Bruce’s response came out even, but Jason knew better. That was a resounding no. Rossi’s eyes hardened.

            “Do you think I’m a stupid man, Mr. Wayne?”

            “No.”

            Rossi backed up two steps from the laptop and reached up to grasp Jason’s jaw, “Then don’t fucking patronize me.”  He released Jason’s face to turn and do the same to Dick. “Which one of your sons do you love more, Mr. Wayne.”

            Jason could imagine the way that Bruce’s face pinched at the question, “I love all my children equally.”

            Rossi released Dick’s jaw and then punched him square in the nose in one quick motion. Dick grunted and his eyebrows knitted together.

            “Hey!” Jason flexed his arms in his cuffs.

            Rossi’s head spun around to face Jason and he poked his finger into his chest, “My brother is in prison because my father decided that I was more value to the family business than he was.”

            Dick huffed out a laugh from the other side of the room, “Your brother is a murderer.  He was just too low on the totem pole for family protection.”

            Rossi punched Jason in the face this time. His head flung back but he didn’t make a noise. The man turned back to Bruce who was openly frowning now,

            “Wayne, you’re going to pick who I’m going to use to convince you to release my brother. Or I’m going to kill both of them.”

            Jason raised his eyes carefully to look across at his brother. Dick’s gaze was already on him, and he gave him a reassuring smile.  

            “Who’s it going to be?” Rossi smiled eerily.

            Jason thought he might throw up.

            It was no secret, where Jason stood within their ‘family’ unit.  Dick was everyone’s favorite.  A constant ball of energy that bounced around to bring light to everyone else. Jason on the other hand, was arguably a least favorite—perhaps in competition with Damian. He was violent with homicidal tendencies, not to mention his chronic case of pit rage. Bruce tolerated him at best. Jason knew what was coming.  He steeled himself for the decision, but he knew deep down that there was nothing he could do to stop the hurt that would pull at his chest.  But nothing could have prepared him for the way that his heart dropped into his shoes when Bruce spoke.

            “Richard.” Jason’s eyes widened in horror. “I choose Richard.”

            “No!” Jason didn’t even realize his mouth had open until the words fell out of it. “Bruce, what the fuck? No! You can’t take him!”

            “Jason, it’s okay.” Dick’s voice was even and there was no fear laced into his expression. Like he had known that he would get picked, as if he was okay with it.  Well, Jason was not okay with it.

            “Fuck you, Bruce!” Jason was practically thrashing in his bonds, but they held surprisingly tight for a lousy pair of handcuffs.

            Rossi blew out a short whistle and two men flanked Jason, both of them held small caliber handguns in Jason’s direction. The small man leaned in close to Dick’s ear, “If you try to fight me, I’m going to kill him.”

            Dick narrowed his eyes at him but stayed quiet, allowing his arms to be lowered from the pipe and in front of him. As Dick was led past his brother, he offered Jason another reassuring smile and a soft, “It’s okay, Jay. I got this.”

            Rossi must have left the door to the room open to add to Jason’s suffering, because he didn’t hear it shut. Jason was gaping at the cement wall where Dick had just been, listening to the sound of metal on metal as Dick was presumably hung from a different pipe.  He twisted his body around painfully to try to get a glimpse of the other man. Dick was hanging from a higher ceiling this time, his arms above his head with just his toes scraping the floor.

            “Turn the back around.” His guard was gruff and poked the small barrel of his gun into Jason’s ribs.

            Jason glared at him but complied and his eyes fell back onto the wall. Dick was still going to get hurt if he got shot; it would just be for nothing. It took 342 seconds before Jason could tell they were torturing his brother. 

It began with a hitched breath. He could hear the scraping of Dick trying to find purchase on the floor with his toes.  Jason couldn’t tell what they were doing to him, but he could hear the way Dick let out a heavy breath through his nose every 2 minutes.

            It was twenty minutes before Dick was grunting. Jason’s ears could identify the distinct sound of fists on flesh.  He knew intimately how much damage an old fashion beating could do.  They could be breaking ribs to puncture his lungs. Dick could be taking hits to his kidneys that would have him pissing blood for weeks. That was if he lived from his beating at all. Jason tried not to think about that. He tried not to get sucked under by the wave of overwhelming guilt that splashed in his stomach. He wondered vaguely if Bruce had a plan.

            Dick was shouting ten minutes later.  They were short and loud, but they were shouts none the less. They rang out from across the hall and Jason flinched along with his brother’s voice.  Right before each shout of pain was a familiar Thwack! That made Jason’s eyes go fuzzy.  Dick was crying out and all that Jason’s mind could come up with was,

            Is it a crowbar?

            Is it a crowbar?

            The laughing of Rossi was swirling in with memories of clown laughter. Suddenly, Jason felt fifteen again, the cold grey walls of his room were feeling less like a basement and more like a warehouse in Ethiopia.

            Jason’s forehead was slick with sweat and his eyelashes were wet with tears.  Jason had been keeping track of time well before but now he was lost in his own panic. The thwacking continued but Dick had stopped shouting and was reduced to moans of pain. Jason didn’t know how much time had passed before his ears recognized the sound of calvary.

            Red Robin appeared in his view with a grim expression, reaching up to unlock his handcuffs. The ease in which Tim was able to release him was like a slap in the face. Jason spun around as soon as he was free, to look at Dick’s bruised and bloodied form laid out on a stretcher. Dick’s white button down was ripped open, and his chest was a mess of deep ugly bruising with a mess of broken ribs.  Jason held his breath as a paramedic felt palpated Dick’s wrist.

            “I’m not getting a radial pulse—left or right.”  The medic moved to his brother’s carotid.

            “I’ve got a pulse!” A paramedic called as they attached leads to Dick’s exposed chest.  “We need to go, he’s hypotensive.”

“Unhand me!” Damian’s voice cut through the fog that loomed around Jason; he sounded younger, more frantic. Red Robin was pulling him back as paramedics hovered closer to Dick.

            Tim tried again to pull Damian away by his arm, “He’s Dick, Robin! You can’t stay with him; we have to go! Jason’s here.”

            Jason put a shaky hand on the smallest Robin’s shoulder, “It’s okay, Robin. I’ve got him.”

            He could feel the intense glare through the lenses of his Domino.  Damian watched him for a moment before he finally relaxed his shoulders, “Okay, Todd. Okay.”

            Neither Bruce or the Batman were anywhere to be seen. He was probably playing concerned parent with the Police Commissioner and the press. Jason was glad because if he had been, he probably would have laid the other man out—or worse. He couldn’t resist flinching when a paramedic laid a gentle hand on his shoulder,

            “I need you to come with me, sweetheart. We gotta get you checked out.”

            Jason looked at her for a bit, probably a mix of exhaustion and shock. She had kind blue eyes. They’re the way that he imagines a mother’s eyes to look. For a moment, he’s almost sucked back to Ethiopia again, looking between a ticking bomb and his mother’s blue eyes. He has to shake the thought and look at her hands instead, “I’m okay.”

            “Well we just want to make sure. How about you just ride with your brother.”

            It feels like a good offer, so Jason moves to follow her, but he can’t help the way the way his eyes search the room as he leaves, was it a crowbar?

--

            “Jason.” Bruce’s face was almost expressionless. The only thing that portrayed worry was the way that his eyebrows knit together to form a line.  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

            “Fuck you, Douchebag.” Jason’s words were spat out like fire. The man was already taking long strides toward his ‘father’ with his fists balled up. “Of all the fucked up atrocities you have pulled off, this one takes the gold.  Golden Boy worships the ground you walk on, he does everything you ask him to do, and this is how you show him gratitude? What’s your play, old man? You don’t even like me.” Jason’s fist connected with Bruce’s cheek with a crack. “You’re a selfish fucking bastard. And, you’re a lousy father!”

            Fire licked at Bruce’s irises, “You think I don’t feel like shit, Jason? Of course I do, and I deserve it! But, what was I supposed to do? What was the right choice?”

            “You should have picked me! That should be me bleeding out in the OR. Not Dick. Any of us before Dick!”

            “It was an impossible choice!” Bruce roared straightening out his body. “I love all my children equally. I’ve said it a million times, Jason. How many time—”

            “Will you shut the fuck up?” Jason fumed. “This isn’t about us! You may love us all equally or whatever bullshit you spew to the press, or you shove down all of our throats. If you’re not going to be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself! You chose Dick because he loves you more than all of us do! I saw it in your eyes, you piece of shit, you chose him because you knew he would forgive you; that he would still love you if he lived!”  Jason’s voice cracked and he collapsed back into a hospital chair. “If he lives.”

            “You’re right.” Jason’s head shoots up to look at him. Bruce’s eyes are rimmed red and there are tears glistening along his waterline. “You’re right.”

            For the first time since the beginning of his ordeal, Jason let out a wet sob, “It should have been me.”

            “That’s not true, Jason. Neither of you deserved what happened.” Bruce laid a cautious hand on Jason’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.  The younger man leaned into the touch and his breath hitched again, tears streaming freely,

            “I’m never going to forgive you, Bruce.”

            Bruce sniffled, rubbing small circles on the top of Jason’s back, “Yeah, Jay, I know.”

---

            Dick Grayson is not a stranger to pain, but the agony he felt when he opened his eyes this time was unmatched. Whatever pained noise that he wanted to let out was smothered by the pathetic whimper that slipped from between his lips.

            “Dick, Chum?”

            Dick pried his eyes open slowly.  Standing in front of him was Bruce. The older man didn’t stand close, he was about an arm’s length away. His hands hovering in the air, as if he was ready to assist if needed; or maybe to show no harm.

            “Ja—sn” He realized quickly that his throat was raw, and his lips were cracked and dry. “Where… Jason?”

            “I’m right here, Dickhead.” Dick rotated his neck to follow the voice and meet a pair of blue-green eyes.  Jason’s words had no fire behind them, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. Large bags had formed under his eyes to accompany a purple bruise splashed across the bridge of his nose and a split lip.

            “Jason.” He sighed, relaxing into his pillow half an inch.

            He didn’t look to confirm but he could feel Jason’s hand wrapped around his own. The other man’s body temperature always ran warmer than all the other bats. He squeezed the younger’s hand in attempt at comfort.

            Across the room, Dick’s gaze the sleeping forms of Tim and Damian both squished tightly into a hospital sized love seat,

            “Take them home, Bruce.” He says quietly.

            Bruce looks at him with emotion in his eyes, “Chum, I’m so sorry. Words cannot describe how sorry I—”

            Dick stopped him with a small movement of his free hand, “B, it’s okay.”

            Bruce’s bottom lip twitched minutely. “It’s not okay. I’m not sure it will ever be okay.”

            Dick could practically feel the heat coming from where Jason was seated next to him. He squeezed the younger man’s hand again; this time Jason furrowed his eyebrows and bit his lip before squeezing back.  Dick looked up at Bruce and gave him his best attempt at a warm smile,

            “It will be.” He motioned affectionately toward the two younger Wayne’s. “Get them in a real bed, if you can.”

            Bruce let out a long breath before nodding, “I’ll try.”  He stopped for a moment, looking back to his oldest son. “I—I love you, son.”

            Dick watched with tender eyes as the two groggy teens were guided out of the large hospital room.  He coaxed them away as they both argued with Bruce, waving a ‘shoo’ hand with promises that he would see them the following day and that he would be okay while they were gone.

            When they had filed out, he turned himself back to Jason. The bigger man stiffened and held onto his hand tighter, “I’m not leaving.”

            Dick sighed, “I know.”

            “We’re trauma bound now.”

            Dick snorted, “Like we weren’t already.”

            Jason smiled and rubbed a thumb across Dick’s hand, “I’m not joking. I’m sensing some serious co-dependency coming.”

            Dick coughed and then winced, “I’m going to pass out now.”

            “I’ll be here when you wake up.” Jason promised, shifting in his chair to appear more comfortable. He watched intently as Dick’s eyes fluttered shut, studying the gentle rise and fall of his chest.  Dick muttered something and Jason leaned in closer,

            “Speak up, Dickie.”

            “I heard you…” He breathed out a tired sigh and patted the top of Jason’s hand with his free hand. “It wasn’t a crowbar.”

            Dick had a grocery list of broken bones and a canvas of bruises. It would be a very long time until he was okay again. But for Jason, it felt as if an ugly suffocating weight had been lifted from his chest. For the first time in a week, he felt like maybe things could be okay again.

[thebluemango]

Relax

Day 5: Every Whumpee’s Needs

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hypothermia

            Dick didn’t see who walked through the thick steel door when it was pushed open.  He only knew that when they came, he was hardly cold anymore. He had already long sine run out of energy to rub his hands together to try to create friction warmth. He was almost grateful that his teeth were clicking together and his body had stopped the involuntary violent shivering; but, he knew what it meant that the feelings had stopped. 

            There was a three-inch-long gash running down his side that had been bleeding sluggishly for the better part of two hours.  His arms were tied tightly in front of him, which stopped him from putting any type of real pressure on the wound.

            “Dick?”

            Dick’s thoughts were swimming. He couldn’t grasp onto one for more than a few seconds before it seemed to float away again. Probably blood loss.

            It took all his strength to shift his head slightly, he looked up through half lidded eyes, and recognized a domino mask and black hair. He smiled weakly,

            “Robin…” He licked his dry lips and released a shaky breath. 

            The domino mask clad shadow chuckled, “Not exactly.”

            Dick narrowed his eyes trying to get a better look at the person above him.  His eyes refused to focus, and he gave up after thirty seconds.

            “Sorry, Dickie, this is not going to feel good.”

            Dick was about to ask what that meant when there was white hot pain flooding through his right side.  The gash in his side had gone numb a half hour previously, but the sudden, firm pressure ignited a new agony.

            “Damian stop!” Dick cried out, withdrawing from the pain. His hands had been untied but he was freezing, and they were useless. There was a thick and heavy jacket wrapped around his body, he wanted to tell Damian to put his coat back on.  He was about to argue more but he wanted to be strong for his youngest brother, so he bit his cracked lip and allowed the boy to put pressure on his wound.

            There was a comforting hand that began to card through his hair, but the painful pressure didn’t cease.  Waves of nausea hit him in waves and Dick couldn’t pull himself together enough to hang onto any of the words that were spoken above him.

            “… blood loss… GCS 10 … think’s I’m Damian … hypothermia”  

            Thinks I’m Damian.  Dick wants to say you are Dami.  He strains to try to get a better look at his rescuer, but his vision is so blurry, he can’t make out much.  This brain supplies that figure is larger than Damian,

            “Tim?”

            The figure above him laughed softly and continued to run warm fingers through his hair. The heat of his skin touching his ice-cold scalp almost made him shiver again.

            “Try again, Dick.”

            It was then that Dick made out a thin strip of white hair above the middle of the other’s forehead. He breathed out a sigh of relief,

            “Jason.”

            Jason laughed but didn’t release the pressure on his wound, “Ding ding, we have a winner.”

            “Jason.” He sighed. Dick’s whole body went lax. Jason was here. His little brother would take care of him.

            The other man pressed a comforting warm hand to Dick’s cheek and sighed outa a cold breath, “It’s me, Dick, you can relax.”

Requests Open Always! Link to the rest of thebluemango whumptober 2022