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It happened too soon. It happened too soon. They weren’t supposed to see him without his helmet yet, they weren’t supposed to see his face yet, they weren’t supposed to know he’s alive. So, in all his eighteen years of wisdom, he did the only thing he could think of:
“Who’s Jason?” Shit.
He watched as Dick’s face fell, a nervous, hesitant frown replacing his overjoyed grin, “Jason? Little Wing? That’s, that’s you. My brother. My little brother.”
Well, Jason might as well run with the lie he already started, “No clue who that is. No clue who you are. So, um, fuck off.” He turned to leave, to make his great escape and then run away some more, until he’s someplace they would never be able to track him and recover and hope Dick will forget all about this little revelation. Maybe even go back to being terrified of the Red Hood.
He knows that won’t happen, but he can dream.
Dick leapt at him, grabbing his arm and refusing to let him go, “No! Jason, Jaybird. I know this may be weird, and I know we were just fighting like, really brutally. But this changes everything. You change everything. You’re my little brother, Jason, please.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about!” He tried to pry free of Dick’s hold, but Dickwing so much stronger than what Jason remembers, and he has a death grip on Jason’s arm. As if he fears Jason will die again if he lets go. As if he fears Jason would disappear, which, frankly, isn’t far from the truth. And Jason, for some reason, is reluctant to use brute force - pain - to make Dick let go. Jason, for some reason, is feeling his chest warm as butterflies swarm his chest, battling the Lazarus green in his heart.
It’s a weird feeling. He hates it. He wants it gone.
“Let go!”
“No! No, listen, Little Wing,” Dick stepped forward, into his personal space, cupping his face lovingly as he smiled softly, staring at his brother - his brother, “I don’t know what happened to you. I don’t know why you don’t remember me. But none of that matters, ok? None of it. You’re here, you’re back, you’re back with me and that’s all that matters. We’ll sort everything else out later, so please? Come home.”
Oh, oh how tempting that could be. To go with Dick, to start over, to rejoin the family in a way where they could hardly hold him accountable for his actions. The poor boy, with no memories and so easy to manipulate. The poor boy, dead and resurrected in a way that allows him to be exploited by the League of assassins - raised with no opinions or thoughts outside the ones they put in his head. So, how could any of his murders be his own fault?
He’d be free of the red on his hands.
He wouldn’t be a disappointment to them. He wouldn’t have to see the looks of disregard and hate on their faces. Just pity, pity and love as they “fix” him and bring him back into the family.
… what a dream.
They’re detectives though, the lot. They’ll catch on to the fact he’s faking. They’ll realize he’s lied to them all, again and again and every action he took is his own and every speck of blood he spilled was of his own volition; done with glee and green running through his veins. They’ll hate him, more than what they would if they knew from the start. He’s dug his own grave, so to speak, and now he’s gotta lie in it. Again.
“Listen, Nightwing, I don’t know who the hell you are and I certainly don’t remember us ever being brothers. So… let go. Ok? I’m obviously not whoever you’re remembering.”
He tried to turn away again, tried to rip his arm free, but Dick lunged, pulling him into a tight hug with arms like bars locking him in place, “It doesn’t matter! Sure, you’ve killed, but someone clearly put you up to it. Sure, you’re Red Hood, but that doesn’t even matter because you’re back,” Jason tried to ignore the way Dick’s voice cracked, wet. He tried to ignore the tears he felt falling on his armor, the way Dick’s shoulders shake.
“Nightwing…”
“Please, Jason. I can’t lose you again. I can’t, it nearly killed me the first time and I can’t handle it again. I can’t handle having you back just to lose you. I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re confused and terrified and lonely but I’m selfish and I can’t - I can’t,” Dick clung tighter, “I am so sorry Jason.”
Jason made a small, confused noise, “Sorry for what?”
Then he felt a prick in his neck and his heart froze.
He tried to struggle, tried to get away, but he already felt the world flicker, felt the green blaze through his body in an attempt to keep him awake but the sedative was too strong, overpowering, and he stumbles. Collapsing. Falling into the arms of his brother.
Then there was nothing but the feeling of betrayal.
Jason woke to a warm bed, soft beneath his body in a way he’s no longer used to. He opened his eyes, blurry, groaning softly as he tried to focus. With another groan he forced his vision to clear, gazing upon clean walls and extravagant curtains. Dressers and side tables made of wood that cost more than his entire life. Ah, he’s in the manor.
Shit, he’s in the manor.
He shot upright, eyes wide as he looked around the room. How did he…? Oh yeah, Dick. Fuck.
He rolled out of bed, his legs giving as he went to stand. He hit the floor with a loud thump and cursed the lingering effects of the drugs. He struggled back to his feet a little too late, the door to the bedroom slamming open to reveal Bruce. The last two person he wanted to see, of course. Not even Alfred was there…
“Jason, you’re up.”
Jason had to bite his tongue. He still… he can’t let them know he knows. He has to control himself.
Dammit, he’s never been good at control.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Don’t even try, Jay. You talk in your sleep.”
“…No I don’t.”
Bruce let out a long breath, “Chum, please. Why are you pretending that you don’t remember us?” Bruce stepped closer, as if afraid of startling him. As if he’s a fragile. Bruce sat on the bed, slowly, hesitantly, setting his hand on Jason’s shoulder and leading him to sit back down. Leading him off his shaking legs, “And why did you become the Red Hood?”
Jason stared at the hand on his shoulder. Warm, firm, grounding in all the ways that make him want to scream. Then he looked at Bruce, the man ho was once his dad. The man who adopted him. The man who is allowing his murderer to run free.
Jason saw green.
“Why? Because the only person who’d avenge me is me! The only person who cared about my death is me! Don’t pretend to love me when you don’t - you giant fucking douchebag! I am doing what should have been your job - as my father, as Batman, as… as…” His words trailed off when he was suddenly pulled into Bruce’s chest, shock overcoming his tirade as his father gently cupped the back of his head, his other arm locked tight around his shoulders.
“Sh, chum. You’re right. I’m sorry. But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Now, today, tonight, you’re with your family and alive and that’s all that matters.”
Maybe, in this moment, that really could be all that matters.
But tomorrow? Tomorrow there will be hell.