Who: Batman (Dick Grayson, female), Red Robin (Tim Drake), Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (trope character), Superman (trope character). What: Arkham!Jason gets his retribution. When: 21st July (backdated). Where: Rooftops, Warehouse district. Status: Complete/Log. Warning: All the triggers. Violence, language, references to murder, mental illness, incarceration, attempted fratricide and attempted patricide. Notes: Characters moved/injured with player consent.
Checking the suit’s gauntlets one last time, Dick turned to Tim, giving him a nod. Trying to cram reassurance into the gesture but not certain if she achieved it. The cowl was a little too big in this current form, so Nightwing's domino mask was underneath in an attempt to pad it out, of course comms were up and running for Alfred and Bruce to listen in on their interactions with Jason. After scanning the rooftops of the apartment complex, Dick realized that the Warehouse district was probably the best option for locating their wayward Robin. Even in his current state, Dick didn’t think Jay would want to endanger innocents, or have civilians become collateral damage.
Spotting Jason atop one of the larger storage units, Dick wasted no time in getting up onto the roof, stepping out of the shadows and directly into her brother’s sight.
“Jason.” She couldn’t quite get the full timbre of Batman’s voice right, but then Dick never had been able to get it exactly the same as Bruce.
--
The rooftops had seemed a good enough place when Jason had laid down his challenge. He’d spent the last day on reconnaissance, still uncertain if what he was seeing was real, or the product of an overburdened mind. The latter still sounded likely. Apparently, even in his imagination, he couldn’t have peace. He was surrounded by strange creatures who gambled, screwed, and threw their lives away on nothing. A few had ended up with bullets in them when Jason had caught them pressuring unwilling partners, or looking like they’d just as soon slit the throats of their marks as steal their wallets.
Jason hadn’t been sure if Dick would be in this mindscape or not. He had a feeling Batman was, though. Which one didn’t matter, did it? They’d both abandoned him. Whichever one wore the cowl, Jason was going to put him in the grave. The only way they were staying out of it was to put Jason down first.
He couldn’t decide if he was pleased or disappointed when Dick showed up. The voice was a dead giveaway. No one managed to growl like Bruce did. No one could do disappointed the way he did, either, though Dick came in a close second.
“Hey there, Bats.” Jason’s smile was all teeth, like a wolf considering how best to tear a rival apart. “Look at you. All dressed up for little old me.”
--
Dick couldn't resist dipping in a sarcastic little bow as her appearance was commented on. Probably angering Jason further, but that was good. Jay was a formidable opponent, when his head was clear. If he was angry, he'd be sloppy, and that was what Dick was counting on to bring her brother in quickly and hopefully unharmed.
“I’m here.” Moving closer, she knew Red Robin would be taking up his position as planned, waiting for the right moment to engage. It was best to keep him out of the contact zone for now. She knew all her brothers’ fighting styles and Tim’s relied more on timing and space. Which was why he was the perfect Robin for this job, Damian would already have engaged by now no doubt.
“Do you want to yell some more? Or are you ready to come home?”
--
Had he been at his best, Jason might have noticed the signs of Tim’s arrival. He might also have noticed that something about Dick was off. His downfall had always been his anger, and he was as angry now as he had ever been.
“I’ve got a lot of things I could say to you. Problem is that you never listen.” Batman was still a pain in the ass when he was probably a hallucination, Jason noted, and scowled at how deeply ingrained that was in his psyche, that he’d actually imagine the jackass as such an irritating show off in his broken fantasies. “Since when do you want me home? Huh? I’m just a disgrace to you. The soldier who couldn’t follow orders. Something broken that you hand off to someone else to hide away, and claim that you really mean for them to fix me. What a load of shit. Do you have any idea what it’s like in there? Do you?”
Jason’s anger rose. His hand had fallen on the hilt of his knife. It was the one Jason had custom made to cut through Bruce’s lines. It could even breach the Bat’s armor if Jason aimed for the weak points, points that he knew like the back of his hand after years of being Robin and protecting Batman from having them exploited. “No one gets help in there, you know. The inmates are so fucking psycho that they can’t keep anyone decent on staff. Takes a special kind of sick to accept a position at Arkham and stick around. If you weren’t crazy when you got there, they’ll change your mind inside of a month, tops. And you put me in there. With him. So no, I don’t think I’ll ‘come home’. I think I’ll cut you open and let you bleed to death right here, same way you left me to bleed out in there, dying bit by bit every day.”
--
Jason’s fury was almost tangible, and much as she hated herself for doing so, she knew she needed to fuel it, to keep her brother off his game. “Here I am, I’m listening so spit it out, Jason. Right now all I’m getting is static noise, nothing real.”
She moved closer as the rant continued, trying to push down her own emotion as each word cut a little deeper than the last. It was true, she didn’t know what it was like in Arkham. She’d realised her mistake almost as soon as the doors had shut behind her brother. But once a sentence had been passed and an inmate taken in, she’d found it was nigh on impossible to get a quick overruling on their sentence. Especially when the arguments she gave had been deemed ‘too emotional’. As far as the Law was concerned Jason was just as much a killer as the Joker.
“Try it and I will put you down, just like I did with that fucking clown.” Dick hissed, “I’m not leaving you or giving up on you, even if I have to drag your ass home.”
--
Jason didn’t bother with another word. His knife was the only commentary he needed to deliver. The first strike was deliberately wild. Let the Bat think Jason was completely out of control. Dick woud hold back if he thought he’d hurt someone who wasn’t in full control of their faculties. Wild as he might be at the moment, Jason still had enough presence of mind to believe he was in control of his own strategy. Wear the Bat down, get inside his guard, then start cutting him up. That was the way to do it. No matter who wore the cowl, Batman relied on endurance and intelligence. He was human. Humans made mistakes. Jason just needed to draw those mistakes out.
--
Eyes narrowed at the wild strike and Dick remained unmoved by the action, merely leaning back slightly, and adjusting her stance for the follow up move. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that Jason would have rehearsed this fight over and over in his head, angry - yes, crazy - no, sloppy - hopefully. One thing was on her side at least, and that was her speed, even though Jason was prepared for Batman, Dick still fought like Nightwing. Two steps were taken, the second launching her toward Jason, leg extending to land a solid kick to the thigh that had just recently healed from the Reaper attack.
--
Ordinarily, Jason’s bulk would have worked in his favor. Batman was good, no matter whether Dick or Bruce wore the cowl, but Jason was solid muscle. He could take a hit better than anyone except maybe the old man. The speed surprised him; despite what he’d said earlier, Jason couldn’t clearly distinguish between Dick and Bruce in his head. Bruce was dead, but Bruce was Batman. With no time to dodge, Jason took the strike. He expected to walk it off. He didn’t expect the blow to lance through him like fire. His traitorous leg gave way. When the hell? He had little time to spare for the thought. Jason turned the fall to his advantage, used the momentum to make a sweep for Batman’s weight-bearing leg with his own good one. The Dark Knight would either go down or have to move. Either option gave Jason a little space to breathe.
--
A grim smile flashed briefly across Dick’s mouth as the kick succeeded in knocking Jason off balance, though she hated the pain that she had caused. She couldn’t dwell on that however as Jay, aimed to take out her own legs. A flip which anyone else would have found impossible got Dick out of harm’s way and she landed on the balls of her feet, watching close for any hint what Jason’s next play would be. Dick needed to disarm him, that much was clear, but Jay always kept a death grip on that knife when he had it.
--
Instinct kicked in. Jason made no conscious determination of which Bat stood before him, but his body knew the motions of fighting Dick Grayson. The second Robin had never been able to match the speed of the first. That had frustrated him to no end when he’d been a child, but when he’d come back, he’d found that he outweighed Dick. Not only that, but when it came to brute force, Jason was stronger. He drove his shoulder into Dick’s stomach, the knife an afterthought in his hand for the moment. Wear Dick down. Keep him grounded. Make no indication of his true target until Dick was too winded to dodge.
--
A hop backwards didn’t save her from the full force of that shoulder and Dick’s breath huffed out in a forced exhale as she was flung backwards from the impact, hitting the deck hard before rolling to the side and regaining her feet. Hands curled into fists at her sides, she contemplated Jason for a moment before charging full speed at the second Robin. Use your opponent’s weight against them. Jason was bigger, which meant he’d fall harder.
--
Too fast. Jason scrambled to dodge to the side, but that damn leg wasn’t just painful. It was weak. He was a split second too slow. Dick’s hands landed squarely on Jason’s shoulders like the second Robin was an oversized pommel horse. Unlike a pommel horse, Jason wasn’t built to stay steady no matter how much force a gymnast applied. He hated this trick whenever he was on the receiving end. He’d never been able to stop Dick once the other vigilante actually made contact. Despite his lesser weight, Batman--Dick, Nightwing, whatever the hell he wanted to be called--leveraged his momentum against Jason’s bulk to send the bigger man sprawling into the concrete. Jason grabbed hold of his gun as he fell, twisted to put himself on his back, and fired. Dodge that, jackass.
--
The bullet impacted with the suit’s shoulder armour, making her stagger which she turned into a tuck and roll. The grunt of pain was higher pitched than usual and for a split second Dick wondered how on earth it had escaped Jason’s notice that he was fighting a woman. A batarang loosed in the other’s direction dispatched the gun, sending it skittering across the composite. “Should have known you’d go for the easy option.”
--
That was not Dick’s voice. Jason stared, too stunned to move. “Who the fuck are you?” It wasn’t Babs. Couldn’t be Babs. She couldn’t … And Cass was too tiny. Steph didn’t move like that. Neither did Batwoman. It couldn’t be Dick. Could it?
Jason staggered to his feet, stared a the stranger in Batman’s mask. Could his mind honestly come up with this? Did it matter? Jason shook his head. “None of this makes any sense. But I guess that’s the way life works, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter. Batman needs to die, one way or another.”
--
Using Jason’s confusion to her advantage, Dick flexed the right gauntlet, popping the taser out of his compartment. Letting it charge up, she aimed to try a second, similar attack to the one used just moments ago. More of an Amazonian approach with a leap up about six feet from her mark, knees drawn up slightly, body twisted and fist swinging down to make contact, to send a few volts into her brother’s thick hide.
--
The trouble with Dick’s style was that it left him open, if you were fast enough to exploit its flaws. Jason had known the other man for years. Even if Jason couldn’t understand what was going on, why Dick Grayson was suddenly female, he could spot the gaps in his defenses as though Dick had marked them in neon lights. Jason seized Dick’s arm--too small, too light, but it didn’t matter, it didn’t. Even if Dick was a woman or Jason had completely lost it, Batman was finished. Jason pulled, hard, dragged Dick down with him as he deliberately flung his body back. The knife came up. Its tip sank into the gap between the armor’s plates, kept going, drew blood.
--
As soon as Jason’s hand closed around her arm, Dick knew she was in trouble. There was no move that could be made in time to save herself, what happened next was inevitable. Jay knew the suit’s weak spots, just as he knew Dick’s. The knife sliced through material, muscle and kept going, passing between ribs, finding something more vital. Dick felt oddly detached to what was happening, mind diagnosing the injury as it occurred traumatic pneumothorax. Someone screamed, probably her, and she fell beside Jason, clawing at the roof’s surface in an attempt to drag herself away.
--
Tim had landed on a roof nearby, waiting for the signal he and Dick had worked out. Of course, the signal never came and Tim could clearly see Dick was beginning to struggle. Taking a flying leap off the building, Tim dropped in, twisting his body so he'd land feet first. His boot connected with Jay, gravity aiding to cause some damage his lightweight couldn't usually supply.
Flipping back to create some space between himself and Jay, Tim reached behind him and pulled out his bo-staff, pressing the button to extend it to it's full length. Despite the confident stance, Tim knew he was the weakest link in this fight but he would do all he could to assist Dick in subduing Jason and bringing him home.
--
Jason lost his hold on the knife at the impact. Tim might have just saved Dick’s life. That made him a target. Batman wasn’t getting back up with a knife in his ribs. Not Jason’s knife. That thing was a beautiful piece of work. Unfortunately, it didn’t do him much good stuck in Batman’s side, and his gun was gone.
“This isn’t your fight, Replacement,” he warned. “You want to get out of here before I change my mind about killing you again.”
--
“Wrong,” Tim ground the word out with as much force as he could muster. “I know you don’t believe it now but we’re family. All three of us. That makes it my fight.”
With Jason’s state of mind, Tim knew anything he said would fall on deaf ears. There was no reasoning with him when he was behaving so manic. Tim had to get Jason away from Dick and the best way to do that was to draw attention to himself. Let Jason focus his rage on him.
“So come on,” the taunting was evident and Tim waved Jason to come closer. “Let’s get this over with so we can go home.”
--
“If that’s the way you want it, Pretender.” Jason stalked forward. “Guess you didn’t get enough of being a punching bag last time. We can fix that.” He’d wanted to get Tim out of the business, once upon a time. Now, he wasn’t sure if he cared. The kid had stuck around, stubborn idiot that he was. None of the Robins seemed to have the sense to leave the fight.
“What do you think you’re going to do? Save the big bad bat? Pretty sure he’s going to bleed to death, little bird. And he’s not going to save you. Never does get there in time for us. So get used to the idea of dying in that costume.”
--
“I know this costume gives me an expiration date, is it today? Who knows? Maybe.” Tim shrugged as if he didn’t care, his eyes darted around, looking for space as his mind calculated how this would go down. “I made peace with death a long time ago, Jay. Isn’t it about time you did too?”
Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Tim noted the open space to Jason’s right. Running forward, Tim jammed his bo-staff into the rooftop hard and used it to pole vault his way to the open space, hoping Jason wouldn’t grab him mid-flight. Once Jason had him cornered, that was it and Tim couldn’t allow it to end so quickly.
--
“Maybe it is.” Jason stayed to the ground more often than not in fights these days, not because he couldn’t take to the air like the rest of the Robins, but because the ground was where he had the advantage. With Tim, that presented a problem. Kid was too smart for his own good. He’d never had much luck against Jason only because he didn’t have the years of experience to back up the skill he’d worked so hard to develop.
Jason’s bad leg hindered him; it wasn’t enough to stop him. He sprinted for a machinery unit of some sort--maybe this strange place’s version of an air conditioner, but the function didn’t matter as much as the placement. Jason vaulted off of it and flung himself right into Tim’s path. If this worked, they’d both go down hard. That was fine. Jason could handle it. Tim was smaller. If Jason could control the fall, make sure Tim took the brunt of it at a bad angle, he could end the fight here and now.
--
Tim was already in the air when Jason missile launched himself into his path. No matter what twist or turn he performed their trajectory would end up in an almighty crunch. Tim just had to make sure he didn’t land too badly.
Twisting so his back was to Jason, Tim felt the air escape his lungs as they connected heavily. The motion causing him to lose his grip on his bo-staff. Freeing his arm elbowed Jason sharply, hoping to throw his brother off just before they landed. There were definitely a few cracked ribs that would hinder the fight, but Tim had fought with worse injuries.
Rolling away from the impact zone like it was nothing, Tim took stock quickly. Bo-staff, gone. Ribs, damaged. That left every other bone in his body to break and whatever was left in his utility belt after Damian went out on patrol with Dick in the Red Robin suit the night of his birthday. The odds weren’t good but if Tim fought smart he could still pull this off.
--
That bo staff was more integral to Tim’s style than most people realized. Without it, the third Robin had to work harder to create space. Tim lacked the natural talent gifted to Bruce’s other proteges. Sure, he had some innate ability. You had to, if you were going to survive in this business. But when it came to physical ability, Tim was a state high school champion trying to thrown down with six-time Olympians. He relied too heavily on his ability to outthink his opponent. All Jason needed to do was overpower him. Tim lacked speed. He lacked strength. He lacked agility.
Jason kicked the staff away. It clattered over the edge of the roof and disappeared. “You don’t look so hot, Replacement. Here. Let me help you sit down.” Their landing had put Jason behind Tim, and while the bigger man was bruised, he’d let Red Robin absorb the force of their fall. Every Robin’s biggest weak point was that stupid cape. Jason wasted no time snaking his hand out to snatch the fabric and pull. Force Tim in close, and the fight was won. Jason could finish the kid off any number of ways if he could keep him within arm’s reach.
--
The sudden jolt of his cape being grabbed and pulled had Tim’s eyes widening in shock. He couldn’t win close range. There was no way. Jason was a brutal brawler. Tim pulled a knife from his utility belt - thankful Damian hadn’t stolen it - and cut the cape clean off his suit. His breathing heavy as he tried to calm himself from that close call.
Cape free, Tim turned to face Jason, twirling the knife in his hand to a better position to fight with. “Is that the best you can do?” The taunting returned, however he was hoping that Bruce and Alfred were listening in. “Come on, Jason. Prove to Bruce he should have stuck with you. Prove to him that you’re the best. That you shouldn’t have been replaced.”
--
“You can tell him yourself.” The bigger Robin threw himself at Tim, finesse abandoned in favor of speed and strength. Unarmed, Jason went for the knife. Tim was clever enough to use the weapon against him, albeit in nonlethal fashion. When it came to strategy, Tim was perhaps the most merciless of all the Bats. He’d skirt the edge of Bruce’s morals if it meant winning in the end.
Get the knife. Disable him. Get him off the roof. Simple. Jason could have Tim out of his way in under five minutes if he played this smart. Then, he could turn his attention back to Batman, and taking him out of this world for good. Maybe Jason would even sleep at night once he did it.
The hand and wrist offered a wealth of vulnerable points that Jason could exploit. The Red Robin suit, like most of their suits, was built to favor dexterity over protection in that area. Bones ground together under Jason’s hand when his grip closed on Tim’s wrist. He’d break those bones if that was what it took.
--
Expecting Jason to use his body as a weapon, Tim ducked and weaved, slashing out with the knife when he saw a minimal opening that Jason quickly covered. Tim thought he got a few jabs in but Jason was relentless. There was a cry of pain when his wrist was grabbed, he felt the bones crush in the vice like grip, forcing him to release the knife.
He swung his free arm wildly toward Jason, hoping to connect with the soft spot at the side of his head to disorientate him at least enough to create space. This fight was ending just as badly as the last time he and Jason fought. Maybe his expiration date really was closing in.
--
The knife was in Jason’s hand before Tim had a chance to consciously register that he’d dropped it. Jason spun the blade, sank the serrated edge into the meat of Tim’s thigh. If the bird couldn’t take to the air, he couldn’t get away from Jason’s reach.
Nothing ever came easily with the Bats, though, and Tim’s strike found Jason at the same time the larger man buried the knife in soft flesh. Jason’s vision blurred at the impact, then swam Lazarus green. He lashed out, laying into the nearest target, Tim, with all the ruthless strength he possessed.
--
Tim stumbled back, his leg burning in agony where his own knife had been driven into it. He held his broken wrist close to his body and looked up to realise what a fatal mistake punching Jason was. Sure, it had allowed him the chance to get free but the look in his older brother’s eyes was feral and deadly. It wasn’t his brother he was looking at.
He didn’t really have anymore time to assess the situation, going on the defensive very quickly as Jason laid into him with ruthless aggression. Pain was set aside and ignored as Tim tried to fight back. Any punches that did land were ignored and Tim grew more frantic to defend himself, knowing this was going to be over very quickly but still determined to hold on for a few more minutes. Help had to be on the way.
--
Ever since he’d come out of the Lazarus Pit, Jason had heard whispers in his head. Some days, they were no more than the murmur of water over stones. Others, they screamed at him, burrowing deep like a stake driven into the earth. They were a rush of sound and pain in Jason’s mind in that moment. He could no more ignore them than a drowning man could draw breath from the ocean.
The Replacement was weakening. Jason pressed harder. His knuckles split as they cracked against armor and bone. Later, he would feel the damage. Right now, all he felt was overwhelming satisfaction. The Joker had beaten him to death. If Tim felt even a fraction of that, maybe he would stop. Maybe Bruce would realize what he had done to the children he had raised, and the farce would end. Bruce was dead, but Jason could fix that. He could find the body, take it to the Pit. Bruce only needed to be functional enough to see. That was all Jason had ever wanted. To be seen. To be counted as valuable. To contribute to the mission what only a child raised on the streets of Crime Alley could: that brutal understanding of the importance of survival over right and wrong.
They were at the edge of the roof. Jason spun and kicked, aiming for Tim’s midsection. The blow would put the kid down. When it did, Jason would finish his business with the Bat, and finally, finally, be free.
--
Tim would not stop although failure was imminent. He needed to get his brother back. This was not Jason. But no matter what he did no attacks would land. He was getting backed into a corner.
Or not.
For the first time during the fight a look of fear appeared on Tim face. He felt the air rush out of his lungs as Jason’s boot connected with his midsection. His hand reached out, trying to grab something as the ground disappeared beneath him and he went sailing over the edge of the roof. His grappling hook had been stupidly left on the other building so there was nothing to save him. No help had come.
It didn’t take long for gravity to pull him down but Tim refused to shut his eyes, just staring at the spot on the roof he was once standing. The sickening crunch he was prepared to be his end never came. Instead he plunged deep into a pool of yellow goo. His body finally giving into the injuries, too tired to pull himself out. So much for being the only Robin to never die.
--
Jason stared at the space beyond the edge of the roof. Empty air stared back at him. The Replacement was gone. He hadn’t just put the kid down. He’d … Jason shook his head. No. He hadn’t. He hadn’t murdered a Robin. All he wanted to do was make a point to Batman, to end Batman. He could still do that. The kid was fine. He’d live. How to fall was part of a Robin’s early training. You never let a fledgling leave the nest until that skill had been mastered.
He’s out of the fight, Jason told himself again. That’s all. That’s where he should be. Where he should have stayed. I’m doing him a favor..
He was so wrapped up in his fears that he didn’t notice the other Bats arrive on the scene.
--
“Jason,” The deep tone filled the silence that followed. There was no mistaking just who that voice belonged to. Bruce Wayne. Batman. A man who was currently regarding his second oldest son in disbelief. “What have you done?”
Bruce was crouched over Dick, his hand on his first son’s side, bloodstained from his efforts to staunch the flow from the knife wound. He’d wanted to join the fight himself, but Dick’s injury had been too severe to ignore. Tim could handle Jason for the few minutes it would take for Bruce to ensure Dick received the immediate help he needed. He had underestimated how desperately angry Jason was, and left Tim to pay the price.
--
That voice clawed its way into Jason’s core. Every Robin learned to fear the Bat’s disappointment. Jason hated the way it made him feel, like a small child caught in some forbidden act. Bruce had never laid a hand on him in anger when Jason had been Robin. Willis Todd, on the other hand, had favored fists and his belt when Jason failed to meet his expectations. Habit had Jason flinching away from Bruce’s words, the shock and horror in them. Jason had never quite stopped waiting for the next blow to fall.
“You should have saved him,” he told Bruce, his words hurried and desperate. “You should have saved him. Like you should have saved all of us. But you never do. Because we’re all replaceable, because you never had the conviction it takes to end any of this madness.” Jason turned to face the man he had once dreamed could be his father. What a foolish childhood fantasy that had been. His gaze fell on Dick--Batman--and he spun the knife in his hand. “You going to stop me, or are you going to let me finish this?”
--
The comm in Bruce’s ear abruptly came to life. “Red Robin is safe,” Alfred informed him, his relief clear despite his usual reserve. “Robin retrieved him from one of the pools in the street. They are on their way here now.”
Bruce glanced at Dick, squeezed his shoulder in reassurance though he was uncertain if his eldest was still lucid enough to understand what was going on. Then he rose and drew Dick’s escrima sticks from their sheaths at his back. “I don’t want to do this Jason, but you leave me no choice.”
--
Couldn't breath… Cowl was too close… Needed air… Dick pulled at the Bat’s mask, managing to free herself from the confined space. Numbness had set in, which meant shock, and she was unable to do a damned thing about it. Every breath was a struggle and she could only watch helpless as Tim disappeared over the roof’s edge. “Tim…”
There was real fear in the blue eyes that stared up at Bruce, not for herself, she was probably dead anyway or near enough. Dick was afraid for Bruce, Tim, Jason. Their family. She should have been able to fix this.
“Jaybird, I'm sorry…” Fingers curled loosely over the hand on her shoulder. “Don't… Bruce…” But the look on her Dad's face was familiar and she knew he wasn't going to back down.
--
Bruce spared another moment for Dick, his expression softening in apology before he turned back to his second son. He had to do this. He couldn’t let Jason continue as he was. “Tim will be all right,” he murmured, just loud enough for Dick to hear. “Damian has him.” Then he stepped away from his eldest, and gave the escrima sticks an experimental twirl to get the feel of them before he descended on Jason.
--
“Bring it on, old man. You’re just proving all those nasty truths you don’t want to acknowledge.” That expression on Bruce’s face, though … Jason knew he was in trouble. He gave ground, just a few steps, before he consciously realized he’d moved. He needed to make this quick. He only had the stolen knife, some light armor he’d scavenged from the room he’d woken up in. Bruce was larger, better armed, and had more experience. He was also angry, and an angry Batman was fucking terrifying, even to Jason Peter Todd.
--
Bruce was angry, but not at Jason. He was angry at the situation, at himself. He should have been the one to come up here, not Dick. But his eldest was as stubborn as he was, just one bad trait he’d passed on. Assessing his target at he approached, Bruce brought the escrima sticks to bear, three moves was all it would take. One swift downward stroke took care of the knife arm, and a sideswipe to the solar plexus with enough force to wind his second oldest son followed. As Jason buckled, Bruce took his weight, winding an arm tight around his neck, keeping up the pressure until the former Robin blacked out.
“Alfred,” Bruce said into the comms, his voice heavy with regret as he carefully lowered Jason to the ground, “I’m going to need some backup here. Dick’s got to get to medical, but I can’t leave Jason … ”
“I may be able to help with that.”
He’d known Clark was here, but it was still a shock to see him. Bruce had kept his distance based on what he’d learned of the other man’s arguments with him through a brief conversation with Diana. The Kryptonian alighted, Superman suit and all, beside Bruce, though still a cautious distance from him.
“Let me take Dick. You know that I can get him there faster than you can manage. I’ll come back for you and Jason if that’s what you want, or stay with Dick until you can get there. Up to you.”
Bruce’s caution and--he could admit it, paranoia--warred with his fear for Dick for only a moment before he nodded his consent. “Take him. Then come back. As soon as I have Jason secured, I need to get to medical. I’m not leaving Dick alone after this.”
“All right.” Clark eased Dick into his arms as gently as he could manage. “Hold on, kid. We’ll get you fixed up before you know it. Your brothers, too.”
And with that, Clark was gone, leaving Bruce to crumple beside his second son in a rare open show of weakness as he dropped his head into his hands and mourned the children that his Robins had once been.
--
Dick’s body felt like lead, and she couldn’t move any closer to her brother and father as they both seemed to fold onto the floor. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to them, knowing this was all her fault. Bruce had said Tim was okay, Dami was safe, Alfred too. But Jason… would he ever be okay again?
A familiar blue and red clad figure appeared from the sky and a faint smile came to Dick’s lips as he heard Clark’s voice. If tiny Jason had thought Robin was magic, then the first Robin had definitely thought Superman was the most magical being alive. Still did, and he knew Zatanna. For some reason as soon as Clark arrived, speaking so kindly to Bruce - Dick knew that they’d be alright. The Man of Steel wasn’t judging their broken little family, he was supporting them, helping them - and if Superman had that kind of faith in them, then Dick knew they couldn’t be a completely lost cause.
Managing not to wince as he was carefully cradled in familiar arms, Dick leaned against Clark’s shoulder, “m’bleeding on you.”
--
“It’s fine,” Clark told him, smiling and shifting his hold accommodate Dick. His take-off was smoother than usual, and he held back his speed to prevent jostling his passenger, despite the urgency of his mission. “Kryptonian fabrics are amazingly easy to wash, and I can shower. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Had to stop to recharge. No sun.” He wanted to tell Dick to get some rest, only he was afraid that if Dick closed his eyes, he wouldn’t open them again. Better to keep him talking. “Luckily, they have lamps for that. What do you want me to tell them when we get to medical? Is there someone that you see?”
--
“Al would like that.” Laundry in the Batcave was not easy, especially when the whole roost was home. “Like a lizard.. Not in a tank though..” Honestly, if Dick knew what was coming out of her mouth she would have died of embarrassment. But the brain to mouth link was wide open with no filter as delirium from blood loss and shock set in. The question had her frowning, realizing that “Batman’s” cover would well and truly be blown once she showed up at medical in the suit. “I work there… but, Caitlin. She has the Bat protocol.”
--
“Got it.” Medical wasn’t far, and Superman soon descended before one of the entrances. “I need a doctor here. Caitlin knows the protocol. If she isn’t here, then get someone who does.” He pushed through the doors, ignoring the staff to set Dick on a bed himself. “You’ll be all right,” he promised the vigilante again. “I have to go get the others now, but I’ll be back.” Superman turned his attention to the staff for a moment, offered one last, “Take care of him,” before he rush back to Bruce and the rest of his family.