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The crash of shattering glass, and a lot of it, startled the pleasant hum of socialite conversation into hiding. Dick gripped his champagne flute as he turned to the enormous arched window – former window – of the Gotham Metropolitan Hotel's grand ballroom, pretty sure of what he would see.
He was mostly correct.
He was correct, for example, that there would be a spray of glass across the polished marble floor. It stopped right at his feet where he had moments ago been attempting to extricate himself from a conversation with a pushy older women who he was pretty sure was a contract killer, or at least open to the idea.
He was also correct that he'd see a figure rising from the professional crouch he'd landed in after barreling through the window, heavy weaponry on prominent display. Sparkling shards shed themselves from the leather of his jacket as he rose, shattering a second time when they struck the floor. He had every eye in the room, just as he undoubtedly wanted.
Dick had expected minions, though, and there were none.
And he had not expected the intruder to be Red Hood.
"Right. Sorry for the interruption, folks." Hood said, helmet amplifying his voice. He took a few steps forward and the crowd murmured backward with well-developed survival instinct. Dick was maybe a breath behind, too busy wondering what Jason was up to.
"I'll just be borrowing Mr. Grayson here. No heroics and no one gets hurt." He grabbed Dick, by far the closest of the crowd, by the upper arm, making him spill the last remnants of his champagne.
"Hey," Dick protested. Then, remembering himself, "Uh, I'm sure we can work this out like civilized men, Mr. Hood."
"Me too," Hood said, and Dick could definitely hear the grin in Jason's voice. Jason holstered his gun, yanked Dick closer, and hoisted him up and over his shoulder. "Have a nice night," he said to the crowd at large. He strode back to the window, fired a grapple, and then he and Dick were shooting away. The air rushed out of Dick's lungs as Hood's shoulder ground into his diaphragm.
"Was that necessary?" Dick wheezed as Jason hauled them over the edge of a neighboring building's roof.
"Keep moving," Jason said, prodding Dick forward. "Did you know there's a hit on you?"
Dick got out a laugh as his wind returned. "Oh, that explains some things. Ra's, right? He's just annoyed."
"I took out two snipers and half the Tricorner mob on the way in. Deathstroke's in the parking garage. What did you do?"
"Taught Damian the Macarena." Dick grinned over his shoulder at Jason. "And put it on TikTok. Ra's'll get over it."
"Down," Jason barked and Dick dropped to the rooftop as something bladed sliced the air where his face had been a moment ago. Jason leapt over him to engage the ninja that had accosted them. "Would some situational awareness be too much to ask?" he griped.
"Hey, I'm just a poor, kidnapped minor celebrity, what am I supposed to do?" Still, Dick got to his feet and threw a clumsy punch at the next ninja that dropped in, pulling on all his drunken boxing training. He so rarely got to use it, it was kind of nice.
The fight didn't last long; Ra's was just trying to make a statement. When they finished with the last of Ra's' fit of pique, Dick turned to find Jason looking at him oddly – or at least, the helmet was tilted at him in an inquisitive way.
"You're drugged," Jason said slowly, like he was just working it out.
"Am not. It's drunken boxing, it's s'posed to look like that."
"I know what drunken boxing looks like, dickhead, and I know what it looks like when you do it. How did you get drugged?"
Probably Dick had not been paying as much attention to his drink as he should. Probably he had been busy analyzing the guests, trying to figure out why so many of them were setting off alarm bells. Probably he had made a stupid mistake watching the contract killer and missed some regular old sex pest hoping to take advantage of Dick's name and trust fund.
Probably he was not admitting any of that to Jason.
"I didn't. I'm fine. Let's get off this roof. I can wait out Ra's' little temper tantrum at the Cave."
Jason crossed his arms. The leather creaked. Dick rolled his eyes and brushed past him, looking for a way down. The rooftop was perhaps a little more unsteady than he generally liked his rooftops, but nothing he couldn't handle.
"What do you call an alligator wearing a waistcoat?" Jason asked, out of nowhere.
Dick turned back to him. "What?
Jason didn't answer, just gestured in a Well? sort of way.
Dick frowned intensely at him. They didn't have time for silly, simple puns, and anyway of course he knew what you called an alligator wearing a waistcoat. "An inspect— spectogator. Wait. Spectagator. Spectatagator." Fuck.
"Oh, Dickie."
Dick found a rusting ladder over the side of the roof and crouched to take himself down and away from Jason's scrutiny.
"Absolutely not," Jason said, tugging him back up by the arm. He pulled Dick against him again, more gently than he had in the ballroom. He'd already anchored a line and simply stepped off the side of the roof, lowering them both at a controlled rate. Dick huffed into his jacket, annoyed.
"I've got an apartment nearby. You can lie low there," Jason said.
"I'll just go back to the Cave," Dick said, stepping away from Jason and looking around the alley they'd come down in. Jason's bike was parked at the end. "You can give me a ride," he added generously. If he was being honest he didn't feel particularly up to driving.
"And have every merc between here and Bristol taking pot shots at us? No. We can get to my place by the tunnels. Do not argue," Jason said when Dick opened his mouth to do exactly that.
"I'm wearing awful shoes for tunnels," Dick muttered anyway. He considered pretending to faint so Jason would carry him, but decided there was still a bit of pride sloshing around in there along with the champagne. He sighed. "Lead the way."
Dick acted weird the whole way back to the safehouse, and it had taken Jason longer than it should have – until well after Dick was tucked into the couch and snoring despite a valiant effort to stay conscious – to realize that Dick was embarrassed.
Well, that wasn't Jason's problem and if Dick had been thinking clearly he'd have asked Jason to do what he did next anyway, which was hunt down whoever had drugged Dick's drink before the night was over, just in case they were an everyday predator and wouldn't be swept up with the assassination crowd. Wouldn't do for someone else to fall victim.
Of course, Jason couldn't go himself. Drug tolerance or no, he wasn't leaving Dick alone to sleep it off. But who to call? Tim would relish the job; he liked this sort of investigation and he'd make short work of it. But the idea of someone drugging drinks at a gala boiled Jason's blood and he was very tempted to call in B and put the fear of several cthonic gods into whoever had tried it. Jason never asked Bruce for anything so he knew B would go all out on this one if he did.
But in the end he settled on Cassandra, because she could keep things to herself. No one in the family would hold being drugged in the middle of multiple assassination attempts against Dick, of course, but Dick wouldn't see it that way. And Cassandra would understand with one look at him. If it needed to be done, and if he had to ask for help doing it, she was the kindest option.
Dick would probably still gripe at him about it, so Jason wasn't really sure why he bothered. But whatever. Dick was currently drooling a spreading dark patch into his sofa cushions, so he owed him.
Round about dawn, Jason put down his book and casually went into the bathroom. He let the door clunk closed without trying to soften the sound and turned on the shower. Then he leaned against the door and waited politely while Dick snuck out the window. He wasn't worried; the drug had likely worked itself out of his system and all the bats had been working on the assassination situation. Dick could easily avoid what dregs were left, and that would be that. Jason had done a Good Deed.
He thought he should probably feel more pleased about that, but instead he was… dissatisfied. He went over the night in his head again. He hadn't missed anything. He checked Oracle's reports and the summaries the other bats had posted of their nights. Everyone was fine and everything was swept up neatly.
He rearmed his security on the window Dick had escaped through and went to bed, chalking his general disgruntlement up to Dealing with Dick Grayson.
The next night, the Red Hood was back at the docks, keeping an eye on a warehouse that had received some abnormal shipments in the last few days. He was damn lucky he hadn't missed anything last night, dropping everything to run to pull Dick's ass out of the fire, but a horde of assassins descending on the city disrupted shady docks deals too, it would seem.
The scuff of a boot against the rooftop where Jason was hidden was a courtesy. Jason didn't turn, though.
"An investigator," Dick said from behind him.
"Oh?" Jason said, feigning disinterest.
"Yeah." Dick said. He dropped down to sit on the edge of the roof next to Jason. "First pun I ever told you. You hated it. Wouldn't forget that."
Jason snorted. "Get down, dipshit. I don't need these guys spooking because someone spotted Nightwing on a coffee break."
Dick huffed a sigh, but sprawled out on the roof next to Jason anyway, flattening himself on his stomach. "I'm not the one wearing a bright red helmet," he griped.
Jason ignored him and focused on the total lack of activity at the docks. A few silent moments stretched into a minute, then longer, and Jason almost asked Dick what the hell he was doing here when Dick spoke first.
"You didn't forget it either, I notice," he said, his tone teasing.
"Who could forget a pun that terrible? Unless they were drugged."
"Yeah. About that."
This was it, the moment Dick complained about how Jason had done the job and who he had involved and why it was unnecessary—
"Thanks," Dick said.
"What?" Jason said.
"Thank you. I fucked up last night. You shouldn't have had to step in."
"Well," Jason said, nonplussed. "I guess even you can't be perfect all the time."
"It's not funny, Jay. We don't get to make mistakes—"
Jason snorted a laugh so loud, Dick stopped. "I'm sorry, what? Have you met this family? We're nothing but mistakes. What you're saying here is that you think you don't get to make mistakes. And, I dunno, it kind of sounds like you think it's your fault for being drugged in the middle of being stalked by several assassins."
Dick scowled. "I should have caught that. There's no excuse for missing such a basic—"
"It's not your fault." Jason said.
"But I—"
"It's not. Your. Fault." He growled it this time and turned to look Dick dead in the mask. Since they were both sprawled flat on the rooftop, this involved more of a roll, but it got the job done. Dick opened his mouth, but Jason interrupted again. "The only thing I want to hear is you agreeing with me that the only person to blame when someone gets roofied at a party is the slime doing the drugging."
"You're being ridiculous," Dick said.
"Your face is being ridiculous," Jason retorted. "Why do you think we have this enormous team, dickface? So someone's around to catch us when we fall. What do you think all of Bruce's contingency plans are? Don't answer that, I can tell you're going to be wrong. They're him preparing for mistakes. Because everyone but you, apparently, knows that mistakes are inevitable."
"And I didn't have a contingency plan for missing a drug in my drink," Dick said.
"Ugh." Jason turned back to watch the warehouse, resisting the urge to smack his forehead against the ground in frustration. "We're your contingency plan, doofus. Me and the whole rest of the flock you have wrapped around your blue striped fingers."
To his shock, Dick didn't immediately argue. He seemed to be watching the warehouse as intently as Jason should have been.
Probably because a bunch of guys in masks had just dragged open one of the big doors and were hauling out crates.
"Well, that's me," Jason said. Those masks were pretty obvious; Black Mask was staking a claim here. Time to pull it up. He quietly anchored a line and swung himself over the edge of the roof, planning a stealthy, dramatic entrance through the warehouse's skylights.
He glanced up to find Dick following him, just as silent, and rolled his eyes even though Dick couldn't see that behind his helmet. "Don't get in my way," Jason hissed when they touched down.
Dick had the gall to wink at him before disappearing into the shadows in the opposite direction. Jason shook his head and turned his attention to ruining Black Mask's night.
Dick did not get in his way. In fact, as Jason was putting down what he thought was the last of the idiots who hadn't had the sense to run, he heard the distinctive sound of a body hitting the floor behind him. He turned to see Dick tossing an escrima stick casually in one hand, standing over a knocked-out goon who was much closer than Jason had thought.
Well, at least that was all of them. He nodded professionally at Dick, and then made his way to the center of the operation to find the stuff that would really spoke Black Mask's wheel: the goods themselves and, even more importantly, the paperwork.
Dick followed him and watched him pry open a few crates before tossing him the tablet he knew Jason was looking for. Jason caught it with a grunted thanks.
"So," Dick said as Jason borrowed an unconscious thumbprint from the foreman. "I have you wrapped around my fingers, huh?"
"I'm going to regret saying that for the rest of my life, aren't I?" Jason grumbled.
"At least the next few hours of it," Dick said. He was grinning, which was miles better than brooding, so Jason just huffed and sent Oracle the very interesting manifests he'd just unlocked.
"Did you listen to any of the other extremely wise shit I said?" Jason asked.
Dick's smile softened a little and he looked over his shoulder at the groaning and unconscious minions scattered around the floor. "Well. You made a few good points, I guess."
"Good. Let's book; no point waiting around for a clean up crew." Jason stalked toward the exit, picking his way around the bodies.
"Hey Hood," Dick said, hopping to catch up. "I'm glad you're my contingency plan."
"Jesus, Wing, not where the goons can hear."
"And I'm happy to be yours, too," Dick went on, ignoring him. "You don't have to wait for a mistake next time, though."
"You inviting me to meddle?" Jason said, glad the helmet hid his pleased smile at knowing Dick actually had listened to him. "Not worried I'll get a little Crime Alley in your Bludhaven business?"
"Nah," Dick said. "After all, I have you wrapped around my finger, right?"
"Oh for—"
But Dick was flying away on a grapple line before Jason could even swear at him, his laugh tumbling behind.
Jason found he did not regret it all that much, actually.