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Creating a criminal empire from the ground up was a lot harder than Gotham’s constant crime made it seem. Of course, some of that was due to Jason’s insistence in imposing rules on this chaos to try and eke out a semblance of fairness from the smoldering ruins. Unfortunately, being still in the initial stages, he couldn’t be as discerning as he’d like.
Hence why he was in the Bowery, entering a warehouse full of traffickers and not planning on murdering them all and cutting off their heads. He still had eventual plans to kill them—no one was going to be trafficked in Jason’s Gotham, it was going to be safe—but right now, he was here because they had information on Black Mask and Jason was buying.
It didn’t make him feel any better. The helmet concealed the scowl on his face and his urge to gag, and Jason could pass off the way he crushed the leader’s hand as just an ego trick, but he still knew who these people were, what they did business in, who they did business in.
Every second they stayed breathing was a second too many.
“Welcome to Gotham,” the leader—Jason hadn’t even bothered to learn his name—said, discreetly shaking out his hand, “I have to say, you’ve made quite the splash.”
“Severed heads tend to do that,” Jason growled.
“Of course, and may I just say it’s a relief to have some new management around here,” the man said obsequiously, “All this chaos isn’t good for business.”
“Right,” Jason resisted the urge to tell him what he could do with his business, “Speaking of…?”
“You get straight to the point, huh, Mr. Hood,” the man laughed boisterously, “Don’t worry, I see this as the beginning of a great and fruitful partnership.” Jason wouldn’t bet on that. “In fact, I have the perfect welcoming gift. A fortuitous start!”
“I’d prefer not to waste time on formalities,” Jason started, but the scumbag was already beckoning at one of his underlings and Jason just sighed loudly.
“I promise you, this one will be worth your time,” the man said with a leer Jason didn’t like. The underlings took forever to return, and Jason was impatiently tapping his foot by the time they scurried back into the warehouse, dragging something with them.
Someone with them.
Jason registered that bound figure was a person about a half-second before he recognized the blue detailing on the dark uniform, and the combination of shock and disgust was enough to render him silent as the vigilante was hauled towards him.
“You know, I almost couldn’t believe my luck when we caught him!” the man laughed. Nightwing’s wrists appeared to be chained behind his back, as well as his legs, and when they threw him in front of Jason, Jason saw that his wrists and ankles were locked together. “It’s a good omen, isn’t it, Mr. Hood?”
Jason managed a noncommittal sound. It was a good omen that Batman was five minutes away from breaking into the building. There was no way those chains could actually hold Nightwing, which meant this was a setup, which meant that Jason had been discovered weeks before his planned showdown.
“You can enjoy yourself while we talk business,” the man said, motioning to Nightwing, “I hear his mouth’s fantastic.”
There was a ring gag locked around Nightwing’s face, holding his mouth open in an unnatural O. Jason looked away from him.
“I didn’t come here to get my dick wet,” he snapped, “Are you going to start taking this seriously, or shall I take my business elsewhere?” He wanted his information, and he wanted it fast.
The leader’s smile fell, and he held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, “Hey, man, if you prefer girls you could’ve just said that. We’re accommodating.”
Jason nearly rolled his eyes behind his helmet. “I don’t want your spoiled goods,” he hissed, accompanying his words with a kick at Nightwing’s side—Nightwing made a sharp sound and tipped over. That was ridiculous acting. “Do you have my information or not?”
The leader was almost pouting. “The bird’s a goddamn prize, you know,” he snapped his fingers at his goons and two of them hurried forward to pull Nightwing away from Jason. “But sure, Mr. Hood, we’ll talk business. What do you want to know?”
“Sionis,” Jason said, half his attention focused on the vigilante being hauled away. Nightwing’s head was lolling slightly, like he couldn’t support it, and something clenched in Jason’s stomach. “He’s getting quite a lot of shipments lately. Is he buying anything from you?”
The leader made a dismissive sound, “The man thinks himself above us. He’s been getting too many airs lately, Mask, ever since the gang war.”
“Oh yeah?” Jason’s gaze was still fixed on Nightwing. Something wasn’t quite adding up. Jason had expected Batman to show up by now.
“Too much time talking to people like Luthor,” the man sneered, “And what does he know? He can’t bag himself a vigilante, and we got Nightwing on his knees.”
The underlings had dragged Nightwing towards their leader, and the man fisted a hand in Nightwing’s hair, hauling him into an upright kneel. Nightwing made a choked sound he couldn’t entirely suppress, as limp as a rag doll in the grasp.
Jason refused to feel anything. If the Golden Boy had gotten himself in over his head, that wasn’t Jason’s problem. Batman would come for Nightwing after all, and Jason didn’t care. He was here only for information.
“What, does Mask want to move to Metropolis?” Jason asked, injecting a healthy sneer at the idea, and some of the goons chuckled. The leader, however, was more focused on Nightwing, running a gloved finger across the vigilante’s bottom lip.
“You do look delectable,” the leader murmured, “Don’t worry, birdie, we won’t leave you empty for long.” Nightwing jerked, like he was trying to wrench free, but the movement was barely a spasm. The leader only laughed, “Do you need another dose of the good drugs? Or are you going to behave?”
Jason went cold.
Nightwing again tried to writhe away, movements weak and faltering, but the man only tightened his grip on Nightwing’s hair and pulled the vigilante closer. “What does Mask want with Luthor?” Jason asked, hard, barely caring about the answer—just let him go, fucking let him go you asshole.
But the guy wasn’t listening. He was fumbling at his buckle and Jason was here for information, that was all, just information, he wasn’t going to get involved in Bat drama, he wouldn’t, Nightwing could take care of himself just fine—
The man yanked Nightwing close and Jason heard the gunshot before his mind caught up to his body. He moved on automatic, spinning and shooting, his mind clear and focused, until he was done and the warehouse rang with silence.
Fuck.
Jason exhaled raggedly. He was surrounded by corpses. Corpses that had the information Jason had wanted so badly, because his plan fucking hinged on the Black Mask, and he’d just murdered his only source.
All that fucking work to play nice with traffickers for just one goddamn evening, destroyed. Jason let the frustrated yell escape him and kicked hard at a gun that had fallen near his foot. It hit the other side of the warehouse with a satisfyingly loud bang.
The Pit was coursing through him, anger feeding in on itself, and Jason vented it on the random miscellanea left in the warehouse. Sometimes the things shattered, which made him feel better, an external symbol of everything that had been ruined just because he couldn’t control his fucking temper.
A particularly loud crash was accompanied by a short, high-pitched sound, switching Jason’s attention to the only person in the warehouse still alive.
“The fuck are you looking at?” Jason hissed at Nightwing, who had straightened slightly on his knees, “This is all your fucking fault!”
Jason couldn’t see anything on Nightwing’s expression between the gag and the mask, and it only stoked his fury. He wanted to shake Nightwing until the man got it, until he understood the depths of Jason’s frustration. This was a setback that would take days to recover from, and meanwhile the clown was still snug and safe in Arkham.
He had no idea what he was planning—everything inside of him was thrumming in rage—but he started towards Nightwing with deliberately heavy footsteps, intent on extracting some kind of price from the vigilante’s hide—
Nightwing flinched back at his approach, ducking his head and twisting to brace for a blow. Jason froze.
The posture was familiar. Jason remembered his mom doing it. Jason remembered doing it himself. Trying to make himself smaller in the face of a larger, angry, violent aggressor, in the hopes that this time it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Helpless. Alone.
Jason dropped to one knee before he realized what he was doing. He reached out slowly, but Nightwing still jerked back when Jason touched his face, and Jason had to hold his jaw to keep him still. “Stop it,” Jason said flatly, “I’m trying to get the gag off.”
The system of buckles looked too complicated so Jason just drew a knife—Nightwing went still at the sight, his chest rising and falling too fast—and sawed through the leather, pulling it free gently before throwing it away.
Nightwing snapped his mouth shut and worked out the kinks in his jaw, utterly silent. Jason refused to acknowledge that it made the concern beat higher. He just turned to the cuffs, pulling out a lockpick and undoing them easily.
“There,” Jason tossed the chains on the ground and moved back. Nightwing was free, and this stupid, tense feeling in Jason’s heart could go away. He’d done his good deed of the year.
…Nightwing still wasn’t getting up, mask tilted towards him, not making a peep. He was trembling faintly.
Jason blew out a harsh breath. Jesus fucking Christ. This wasn’t his problem. What next, was he going to tuck the Replacement into bed? Nightwing was a big boy and Jason wasn’t his keeper.
“Where’s the Bat?” Jason growled, checking the upper windows, “Have to say, I was expecting him by now.” His gaze sharpened on Nightwing, “Or are you too much of an idiot to press your distress signal?”
Nightwing just watched him for a long, stretching moment, hunched slightly on his knees, having made no attempt to move after Jason freed him, before he opened his mouth.
“Batman’s out of town,” he said in a voice that sounded like ground gravel, “Everyone knows that.”
What the fuck, no, Jason did not know that, his plan was predicated on Batman being here—Nightwing’s voice, fuck, Jason barely recognized it—wait, wait, back the fuck up, Nightwing was out here alone?
“Robin?” Jason asked, trying to keep his voice light, “Don’t you guys have a small army of Bats?”
Nightwing merely stared, silent.
Jason thoroughly cursed himself out in his head.
“Come on,” he snapped, striding out and wrapping a hand on Nightwing’s arm to haul him upright. He was heavy and shaking and nearly collapsed even with Jason holding him up.
“What?” Nightwing said hoarsely.
“I’m not saving your useless ass twice in one night,” Jason snarled, more or less dragging him towards the door, “And unless that drug is going to wear off in the next few minutes, you’ll be a sitting duck.”
Nightwing made a humming noise, twitching slightly in Jason’s grasp, but made no real attempt to get away. Jason refused to admit that the compliance made his heart clench.
This wasn’t—he wasn’t—this was just a momentary bout of insanity. Jason’s plans had already been ruined, might as well let the madness run its course.
He kept his grip on Nightwing, firm but not tight.
If everything else hadn’t gone horribly wrong already, Jason now had to burn one of his too-few safehouses. Nightwing was too unsteady to take very far on a motorcycle, so it was one of his strategic safehouses that Jason drove up to, practically carrying Nightwing through the window before depositing him on the couch.
He’d gotten the man warm tea to drink and bruise balm and antiseptic for the cuts and now he was fidgeting in the living room like he was fifteen years old again. The armor and guns and helmet made him feel slightly better as he crossed his arms for the twentieth time, glaring at Nightwing.
The vigilante took another sip of the tea, mug faintly trembling in his hands, before he looked up at Jason. “Not that I’m not grateful, because I very much am, but why did you bring me here?” His voice sounded slightly better, smoother after the liberally honey-infused tea. “I don’t usually get rescued by crime lords.”
It was paired by a quirk of his lips, the typical charming Dick Grayson smile, and green stole over Jason’s vision again.
He deliberately unholstered a gun. “Who said this was a rescue?” he growled.
Jason wasn’t expecting Nightwing to backpedal, because this was Nightwing, but he wanted to stop the chatter before it grew out of control. This whole thing was a mistake and Jason wanted to forget about it. To leave and never come back. Just as soon as he got over this burning need to keep eyes on the vigilante.
“You killed everyone in the warehouse and gave me tea,” Nightwing said, calm and the faintest bit patronizing. It made the green worse.
Jason raised the gun. “I’m not the good guy,” he drawled coldly.
Something flashed across Nightwing’s expression, too fast to catch, and the man slowly put the mug of tea down. And then he slipped off the couch, ungainly dropping to his knees, hands folded in his lap. “Then what am I here for?” he asked, quiet and scratchy.
Jesus fuck.
Jason lowered the gun, “Get up.” Nightwing flinched but didn’t move. “I said, get up!” This time, Nightwing reacted to the order, bracing a hand on the coffee table as he attempted to lever up. The hand wobbled and gave out and Nightwing nearly missed braining himself on the edge of the table.
Goddamnit.
“Stop,” Jason snapped, holstering the gun, “Before you give yourself a fucking concussion.” He stomped over to Nightwing and grabbed under his arms to haul him back up.
Before he could, Nightwing moved—faster than he had all night—lunging up at Jason and snagging his helmet. Jason reared back in surprise, but he heard the catches of his helmet click, and the harsh movement pulled the helmet off, sending Jason staggering back and Nightwing sprawling down to the ground.
That fucking little sneak—
Nightwing wasn’t moving. Nightwing was frozen in place, surprise visible even with the mask, one hand still clenched on the helmet.
“Jason?”
Jason calculated the merits of jumping out the window and fleeing into the night. Maybe if he ran fast enough, Nightwing would think that this whole thing was a bad trip brought on by the drugs. Or maybe Jason should fake his death and start this whole plan over again from scratch.
“Jason?” Nightwing’s voice was cracking, “Little Wing, is that you?”
Jason was frozen in place. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think.
Nightwing reached up and peeled off his mask, uncaring of the bright pink skin left behind. His brother’s eyes were wide and teary and painfully hopeful.
“Jay?”
It struck at some part of Jason buried deep, a part of him that he’d done his best to forget, and Jason couldn’t help the quiet, “Dickiebird.”
Dick’s face immediately crumpled, and the tears started flowing as he practically crawled towards Jason. Jason met him halfway, lowering into a crouch, and the moment Dick was close enough, he tackled Jason into a hug.
Jason couldn’t understand what Dick was saying between the sobs and the too-hoarse voice, but his older brother was clutching him like he was never going to stop, and Jason hadn’t realized how much it would hurt.
And how much he’d give to never let go.