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Jason’s in a small town somewhere in the Russian wasteland the first time he sends a postcard to Dick. He’s got a bone-deep tiredness from his lessons and it has washed out the rage in him for a moment. It will come back, within the next few hours, and grant him the strength he needs to put his teacher into the dirt. Then he can pack up and leave this place.
He’s gone to the solitary convenience store that the town proffers. The single meals and too ripe fruit have been Jason’s staples since he got here; the Pit water has kept him strong even with the threat of malnutrition. There’s a rack of postcards and magnets next to the checkout that Jason idly looks at while the man in front of him buys a case of booze. While displays like this are common in America, it implies a sense of tourism that Jason doubts this town sees.
The magnets remind him of Dick, which is nice. Most things remind him of Bruce—and so he avoids most things. Dick is safer, at least, for everyone else in this store for him to reminisce about. His fridge was covered in magnets back in Bludhaven, as he used them to prop up letters and pictures and bills. The vast assortment of them were puns and last Christmas (not last Christmas, Jason’s last Christmas) he had gotten Dick a magnet that had a hippo and a lighter on it. It was speciality made and he’s never, not for a moment, forgotten how Dick groaned when Jason told him the punchline.
(What’s the difference between a hippo and a zippo?)
His eyes stray to the postcards. Most of them are photos of Moscow or Saint Petersburg. All of them are generic. There’s a few that look like they could actually be of the town, or the area that surrounds it. A large, snowy mountainous range.
(I dunno, Little Wing. What’s the difference?)
One of the postcards has a log cabin on it. Smoke comes out of the chimney, and it sits next to a frozen lake. The mountains are so tall in the background that the peaks are not in the frame. There’s Russian written on the front side, which Jason is rusty in. He picks it up and flips it. On the address side, on the left, is the English translation. ‘Wish You Were Here’.
(One is really heavy and the other is a little lighter.)
Loneliness and want wash through him and it leaves Jason breathless for a moment. He does wish Dick was here; he wants to feel less alone. He drops it on top of the microwave pizza that he slides to the cashier and asks for a set of stamps. The trek back to the inn he stays in is miserable. Once the light leaves, and it does after about four hours, the outside turns from inhospitable to uninhabitable. Jason has to make do, however, as he will venture out later tonight when his teacher does not expect it. He’ll bury the body in the tundra that surrounds the town. It will be found only when summer comes, and only if summer ever comes, and Jason will be far, far away.
But as of now, he’s removed his gloves and his under gloves, taken off his boots and three sets of socks. The postcard goes on the dresser. Jason doesn’t look at it until he’s ready to leave again, the pizza box in the trash and all of his layers back on besides his gloves. The emotions he felt in the store continue to eat at him.
He writes Dick’s address in block letters. Dick will be able to tell this is not his sender’s natural penmanship, but he won’t be able to read Jason from it. He leaves the rest of the card blank and lines up the stamp to the perfect edge. Then, Jason puts three more stamps on there. He’s not sure what the conversion rate is right now and even as his mind screams that this is a bad idea, he doesn’t want the postcard to miss the intended recipient.
The postcard goes into a mail receptacle on his way to learn one last lesson.
--
The second postcard is from a bodega on a miniscule island in the Philippines. Here is where he learns the scope of poisons and their applications from a tiny, wrinkled woman named Ligaya. She’s lived long because she cuts enemies down quickly and Jason can’t fault her for that. He’ll leave her here on this island composed of less than two hundred people.
Jason eats better, here. Ligaya insists he dines with her and she travels from home to home most nights. The families are glad to see her—her knowledge on herbs extends to medicinal as well—and welcome him in. He learns to eat with his hands and how to set up his plate. A few months pass in this fashion and he begins to take to the sea to help haul fish in. It helps as his teacher does nothing physical with him, keeps Jason’s energy down and his thoughts quiet.
The only reason he had entered the bodega was that Ligaya had been called to a birth for assistance and waved him away with instructions on where to meet for dinner. They had snacked together every day since his arrival, pastries and noodles and fruit, and Jason was hungry.
He steps into the bodega with a chime of a bell above the door. A fan above the coolers blows the air lazily. A teenager sits at the register with a buri fan in her hand. She raises it to wave at him as Jason enters. He lifts a hand back before he wanders through the low-raised shelves. Most of the food here is fresh—sweet fruits and fish. He avoids the bagoong that is offered in plastic bowls with mango under it. Regardless of what Ligaya thinks, he cannot get past the smell.
There are piles of longan that he plucks a bundle from. Jason starts a slow and steady walk back to the cashier when he passes the spinner rack that is next to the carbonated drinks. It has pamphlets on the best activities to do on and around the island and keychains that have names on them. They are English and generic, but this is here for the tourists that fill out the strip of Airbnb huts on the south side of the beach. He spins the display and it turns to postcards.
The worst part is that Jason was aware he wouldn’t know if Dick received the first one when he sent it. There was no return address and he wasn’t about to leave one. And he thinks of his brother again, caught in the laminated shine of the sunset over perfect blue water, thatched roofs and big bonfires.
One is a generic shot of the sea, middle of the day, but it says on the back, ‘Thinking of You.’ And Jason is thinking of Dick so he brings up the card to the front and buys his longan and it, as well as a handful of stamps.
He’s not ready to leave yet, so it sits on within his duffle bag. But the words on the postcard stick with him and he can’t help but think on Dick. He goes to dinner that night and lets the conversation surround and swell around him. The art of the language is still one that Jason hasn’t fully grasped but these cozy moments create an almost peace that includes him. He thinks on Dick, and how he always made sure that Jason was a part of the conversation, even if he didn’t want to be.
(Hey, Little Wing, wanna go to the arcade?)
The sun sets before Jason escorts Ligaya home. The small lights of the homes here do little to prevent the twinkle of the stars. She points to a few of them as they move through the sand. Jason wonders why Talia sent him here, here where there is scant reason for him to want to leave.
(What, are you not talking to me? C’mon, what’d I do this time?)
They make it to her home and he stays by the steps while she fetches a jar for him. It’s for tea, his teacher says. Jason jokes that it could have poison in it. Ligaya smiles, a cryptic stretch of mouth, and tells him it’s an assignment. The first she’s given him. He needs to separate out the leaves that are safe to brew from those that aren’t.
(Not everything is about you, Dick.)
When he’s absolutely certain, she will brew a cup.
(Oof, first name. Okay, so I really screwed up. Did I forget your birthday—no, that’s in August. Did I forget Bruce’s? No, I definitely didn’t. Is it about the mission with the Titans?)
He bids Ligaya farewell and sits the jar over the postcard when he gets back to his room. The way of things here means that he can take his time with the assortment of plants she has stuffed into the brew. He will work on it slow and steady, and live through it. Is his first assignment also his final test?
(No.)
Jason wakes to the bright sun as it breaks the horizon and humid weather the next morning. The sand slaps hard beneath his feet as he does his morning run to the boats. There is an assortment of men and women, all dark tans and salt-crusted wrinkles, that wave to him as he comes into view. He will push the boat out, take out the net, and work for the first few hours of the day in tangent with these people even if they can’t understand him or he them.
(So that’s a yes, then. Keep making that face and it’ll get stuck like that, Jaybird.)
They share breakfast with him. One or two of the fishers will link arms with him and bring him back to their home. He settles to eat and drink, his acquaintance smiling at him while their family chatters on and fills his plate with rice and meat and spices. The children, whenever there are children, look at him with dark eyes, whisper to each other and touch their cheek. He tries to pretend they are talking about his scars.
(Maybe I want it to get stuck like this.)
He spends the time between morning and lunch with the jar of plants. Jason sorts out each plant and makes a pile of it. The day is in full swing when he walks to Ligaya’s home. There are people returning from the orchards with baskets full of fruit and the market is being set up. The smell of fresh fish and fried dough and the sound of hecklers and gleeful children rise up around the town.
(What’s the matter with me going with the Titans, huh? It’s a quick mission, I should be back before the weekend’s over. Unless that’s not it?)
The stairs that lead up to her door are weather-worn. The old woman is crouched on them, body loose to prevent the heat from being trapped to her skin. She calls out to Jason, says he’s late. If he comes on time, she will never be ready and will scold him for the early arrival. When she stands to let him enter, he ducks his head and apologizes. They both smile like it’s an inside joke.
(You made the Titans when you were thirteen.)
There are books that line her walls, and he pulls down one. Ligaya calls out a plant and he attempts to find it by description alone. She’ll tell him a story on how she used it and what it smelt like and what it did. Jason will identify similar herbs or flowers to it based on appearance, function, and time it takes to set in. The afternoon passes like this. A pregnant woman and her happy husband bring lunch in wraps and a covered bowl for the rice.
(Yeah?)
They walk the beach after lunch. Sometimes, they discuss poisons. Others, Ligaya will talk about her medical work. She likens certain poisonous plants to healing ones, in color and size and shape. The words are so artfully strung together that Jason can’t help but to paint a picture in his mind of the plant she talks on.
(I’m fourteen. Why won’t Bruce let me have my own team?)
After dinner, Jason asks to borrow a book to help with his assignment. His teacher laughs at him and swats at his hand. Then, she brings out some pencils and blank parchment. The books won’t leave her home, and the herbs won’t leave their piles in his, but he can bring illustrations. Another great assignment, she says.
(Do you want your own team?)
The next day he manages to sketch three of the sixteen plants before he heads to Ligaya’s. He gets there late, really late, and sees the door is cracked open for him to enter. A spoon flies towards his head when he gets in. Jason realizes he should have done different angles of sketches, each of his crude representations pair with at least four separate plants within her books.
(I dunno. Maybe. But if I even bring it up, B shuts down. Why do you get one and I don’t?)
The days pass in the next month with him bringing one very detailed page of sketches with a description on the side for each plant. Ligaya lets him alone before lunch. Their conversations before dinner turn to her life—her daughter, and her daughter’s children. The island and why she has stayed here, how the warmth keeps her bones from pain. How the mornings are to train a set of herbal nurses. Her favorites, and the ones she wishes would drop her class.
(He just wants to keep you safe. The drawback of being the youngest—parents realize what they did wrong the first time around and don’t do it again.)
Ligaya slows down. She’s always moved with a steady purpose, but now she shakes with it. Jason worries even as Ligaya tells him that it is not necessary.
(Yeah, well he’s keeping me on a pretty short fucking leash.)
The class finishes for the year and Ligaya invites him to the celebration. One of the girls there is from Portugal and her family shipped out some Sumol for her. She gifts him a drink and they speak in a halted dance of Portuguese and English; a vacation that also comes with credits for her college. She’s going home in a week, she tells Jason. She bats her eyes the same way Dick used to around Kori.
(Well, how about you come with me this weekend? Be a Titan?)
Jason takes her home. It’s the first time he’s felt alive since he’s been brought back. He can feel her pulse at her throat, and his body, his emotions, is a livewire in the night.
(A Titan?)
The next morning, the girl is gone and she’s been thoughtful enough to put her trash in the bin and the towel into the hamper. Ligaya smiles knowingly at him and he asks about her next course and when she’ll be teaching it. He jokes that he’ll sign up and she sighs, says that it was the last for a while.
(Yeah, if you wanted. If you wouldn’t mind being on a team with your big brother.)
He brings the jar of tea to her. Ligaya tells him a story about how this is a test she has each student complete. Though it depends on what they learn to what leaves they get. She has the kettle on while she speaks and Jason sits with an empty cup in front of him. He wonders how many before him, that learn what he has learned, have passed her test.
None, she says.
And then, the tea is brewed and she is drinking it, the steam curls the hair that wisps down from her bun. Jason is not quick enough to knock the cup from her hand. He is not so arrogant to think that he is the first to pick out the correct mixture.
Ligaya smiles and it is old, and it is young, and it is all that is in between. He’s right, in that he is not the first, because oleander is easy to misidentify when dried. And she puts a hand on his cheek, and tells him she was going anyway. And that she wanted to pick when. Then, Ligaya, who still has strength to stand and speak, says that she can impart him one lesson that he could learn that none of her other pupils could. Death is a choice, and it is rare to know if you have chosen right.
--
Jason sends the postcard on a different island in the Philippines. He had packed up and left after one last, short walk with Ligaya, left before she was found. They had walked arm in arm up her rickety stairs and into her home; Ligaya slipped a book of medicinal herbs from the American Northeast. Tucked inside is a letter, Jason knows. He doesn’t read it. She had a goodbye note prepared for her next visitor but they both knew it was better for him to be gone.
This island is more of a tourist town than the last. It works for Jason, after he drops the card at an office, as he still can’t get Ligaya’s words from his head. It is less of a home than a hotel. He needs that right now.
--
He’s more discerning in the teachers he takes from Talia’s suggestions. She suggests a man who knows battle surgery as a next, good step. The man lives in a small Croatian village—Jason watches as the man spends all of his time between three small towns, as he provides relief to his people. The man is old. He’s got smile lines, and an adopted daughter.
Jason refuses.
The next teacher he has is a mountain of a man that shows him hand to hand. His first few lessons are uninstructive, nothing Jason was unaware of before his death. The man lives in Brazil, and has a fondness for dog fighting. Jason makes his lessons quick and the death slow. He avoids gas stations and bookstores, anywhere that he could see a postcard to send to Dick.
The next instructor is for scopes. The one after, torture. He hates that particular training over most others. His next teaches him how to use a sword. They all give all that they can, their knowledge, their time, and eventually, their life.
His teacher after that trains him in archery. The man lives in Provins, a town untouched by the passage of time, right outside of Paris. They go out to the fields that surround the area and work on his draw weight, his precision. Jason spends a lot of time in the town’s rose garden and thinks on Austen and loves of old. It reminds him of the Manor, of being curled up on a couch in the library, fire crackling in front of him, fully safe and warm and fed, his only worry was if he would finish the chapter before patrol, or, Alfred sending him to bed.
Jason goes to their gift shop to get a bottle of water and fumbles over the transaction in his French. It’s passable, but that is less than acceptable to the people of France. He’s about to leave, red-face, when he spots the postcard section. One has a section of the garden with an overhang of ivy and bushes that line the walkway. La Roseraire de Provins is all that it says, in a thin, elegant script.
(Hey, Dickie, can I ask you a question?)
It points to the exact location he was at, but he’s been careful with the shop’s camera. That habit was drilled into him from the paparazzi more than his stint as Robin. Jason could pay in cash.
(You just did.)
Jason will just pay in cash. He takes it to the other register, the girl who first helped him nowhere to be seen. That’s all the better, in his opinion. He sticks to no, and thank you, and gets out without both of the attendants knowing he’s got a little too Gotham in him to ever properly pronounce their language.
(You are not as funny as you think.)
There’s a bakery shop next to the grocery store he frequents here. Every three or four days, he brings a new brown bag and a tiny blue one up to his loft above a glasses store. It’s a small room, bed almost touching the counter with the sink and the door into the bathroom not being able to open fully due to the new installation of a fancier, shinier toilet. The old amenities, the tight squeeze, it reminds Jason of a younger him.
(Ha! I think I’m funnier. What’s your question, Little Wing?)
The sky sets through his window each night. His teacher is exacting that the best light and quietest time is in the early morning, and so Jason’s afternoons are free. He tries to make dishes with the ingredients he gets, eats too many small cakes and drinks wine that he’s not old enough or refined enough to truly enjoy. There’s a book on the ledge of his window that is not intermediate-French friendly that Jason struggles through.
(Why did you say no when Bruce asked to adopt you?)
In the morning, he wraps his knuckles. His teacher has a fondness for striking them when Jason is not up to snuff. The man has a fondness for buying women and shorting them, a fondness to get kicked out of pubs when he gets drunk. Too angry, trop fâché, as the girls Jason’s talked to say.
(...Why do you want to know? Is it about Bruce asking to adopt you?)
They practice with the sun in Jason’s view. Sometimes the conditions are unfavorable, his instructor says. He grits his teeth and fires with tears in his eyes. It’s not as if in the field he wouldn’t have sunglasses of some sort, Jason thinks. The arrow hits the target, but misses the mark. His teacher makes Jason do it again. And again.
(I mean, yeah. Was he not good to you or something?)
He learns how to hit the target near blind. Then when the target is moving. The weight of a shortbow becomes familiar to the muscles of Jason’s arms. His fingertips split open under the onslaught and then develop calluses.
(No! No, jeez, Jaybird. Bruce was as good to me as he was capable of being, I think. It just, with my parents being murdered, it felt like I would be betraying them. When he asked me, I was more interested in being his partner rather than his son.)
Jason manages to make a galette bretonne that doesn’t look an absolute mess. The crepe stays together, and he layers ham and cheese on top. It took him several tries to get the texture right and he’s so proud he almost gets out his phone to call Alfred. He wants to share it and for a moment, in the delight of victory, he had forgotten the distance and time and life and death between him and Alfie.
(And if I don’t? Want to be his partner more than his son?)
He gives up on the book, takes it to a thrift store to donate. Jason gets the impression that his lessons are at a close, or close enough. He buys stamps for his postcard to Dick then, a few months between when he bought the postcard and now. The time difference should make it at least difficult to track him.
(I know Bruce would love to hear that. He loves you as a son, or else he wouldn’t’ve asked you.)
There’s a painting of Saint Sebastian that Jason’s seen, within the Louvre, the one time he ventured into Paris. The idea to kill his teacher in a similar way strikes him and then Jason tosses it. He won’t immortalize the man with a reference to a saint. Better to kill him and plant his body near the treeline of the pasture they practice in, so that hopefully his body will be better used by the soil.
(What about you? Like, is it cool with you, if I say yes? Or if I say no?)
The woman who works at the post office is friendly. She’s a British expat, and he puts on a country accent. Just in case she’s here, just in case Dickie comes sniffing. He watches her put the postcard away.
(I want you to do what you want to do, Little Wing. It won’t change a thing between us—you’ll always be my brother.)
Talia’s called him up to return to the Island for a bit of time. He’s on the plane, he’s left France, before the sun sets.
--
He runs a mission for Talia. He drops twelve more bodies and feels satisfaction at putting the monsters into the ground. When he’s done, he returns, blood still fresh on his gloves. Talia instructs him to take a shower, and eat with her. He’s too pent up. She can see this. Talia frowns and Jason is good at reading people, but he isn’t sure why she’s upset. He’s done a good job.
The next morning, Talia has a new instructor for him lined up.
--
His teacher lives in Francistown, Botswana and shows him how to track. The woman grins too much for his liking and tells him that animals and humans are the same in this regard. That no one is too careful that they can’t be found. They do most of their practice around evening, not too hot for the bugs to be out, with still enough light.
Jason seeks out a postcard the moment he is there. There’s a rhino on it, words he doesn’t understand, but Dick’s got enough of them that he’ll know what it means. That Jason, even if Dick doesn’t know it’s Jason, is thinking of him. The desire to have it is like an itch in him, like that small piece of laminated paper is the only thing that’s going to keep him sane here.
(Hey, Dick, you wanna come to my spelling bee tournament?)
There is a reserve only a few miles out of town. The nature there is quiet, even if his tour guide is sometimes not. He’d rather get out and explore—save the fact that there are hyenas and leopards present. Old mines litter the reserve but the wildlife thrive within.
(A spelling bee tournament? You got into the tournament?)
He takes a cooking class. It’s inside a grocer’s market, which means that the ingredients are as fresh as they can be. Jason is the youngest attendee, and the only man. The women coo over him. It reminds him somewhat of the galas that he went to when he was younger—except all these women are soft-faced and actually friendly. Jason gets good at opening up jars.
(What, like it’s hard? If you don’t want to go, it’s fine, I’ll just ask Alfie. It’s over in Bludhaven so I figured—)
His teacher is passionate about her area of expertise. But when it comes time that the tracks are fresh, she hires the men in town to scout it out. Jason watches as she urges them on too many times. A few men die in the pursuit and Jason begins to pay more than his teacher to keep them from taking the job. His card, supplied by Talia, never runs out. And she never calls him on it either. Probably that he’s using the budget that he didn’t hit in his last few insightful expeditions.
(I didn’t say that, cool your jets. I mean, I’d love to come! You can come over the night before, we can have a sleepover, maybe Robin will be seen in Nightwing’s city! Wouldn’t that be so cool?)
Jason learns his teacher was from South Africa and that she supported, funded the apartheid. That she campaigned to have it instituted in Botswana.
(Yeah, that’d be pretty cool. If you make sure you’re up in time to get us there!)
It’s perhaps not the smartest, but he starts to converse with the people in Francistown. Jason learns about other trackers, ones that do it to feed their family, ones that would be able to teach him because they had to hunt down poachers.
(How early could it possibly start?)
Jason meets a man named Kago. He’s serious, gruff, the guardian of his two grandchildren. It’s apparent that he doesn’t like the shape of Jason, but he doesn’t turn down his money either.
(Nine AM, Dickwing.)
His first teacher goes missing. The police aren’t contacted—it’s assumed that she finally got caught by the beasts that she hunted. And in a sense, she did.
(Why the fuc—frick does a spelling bee need to be that early?)
Kago is no-nonsense with him in the field. He doesn’t invite Jason to come meet his family. There is not a moment where Jason knows more than that Kago used to be a ranger that hunted down poachers up somewhere in North Africa. They don’t share food. His lessons are brusque and informative and nothing more. It is exactly what Jason wants.
(Oh, no, my ears have almost heard a swear. My delicate sensibilities are shifti—ow, no fair! Get off of me, you fat ass!)
Jason hails a taxi to the airport, asks them to make a detour for him to drop some postage off. He has no idea where he’ll be when it finally arrives to Dick. Kago goes home to his grandchildren.
--
He learns how to dodge, how to move his organs, how to fall from great heights, in Tennessee. There’s a thrill in the postcard he sends from there, the skyline of Nashville with the city’s name spread out large and yellow.
He goes to Indonesia to brush up on strategy. His teacher makes him read The Art of War, which Bruce kept in the library but Jason hadn’t touched before. They play a lot of chaturanga. Jason doesn’t send a postcard here, and instead ships out a piece of the game to Dick’s home. He had won the board.
There’s a teacher that shows him how to change his face, behave a different way. How to go undercover. Jason is terrible at this. It’s part of why he chose the Hood that waits at the end of Talia’s required trainings. He sends an earring to Dick from here. He wonders if it changes the shape of the sender in Dick’s eye. The other one was used on his ear, to make him look more seductive, since his teacher said he was hopeless at creating the atmosphere and would have to rely on his looks alone. Jason blushes his way through that month of training, almost kills the man on principle and then does kill the man when he finds out what he does with kids.
Jason gets an instructor for guns. It’s all at once like archery, and all at once not. The kill is quicker, though. And he finds he enjoys them more than he thought he would; there is a safety that is almost built into the metal. He sends a bullet and hopes Dick doesn’t take it the wrong way.
Camouflage, metal work, lie detection. He finds gifts for Dick throughout and reasons to think on his brother. Jeet Kune Do, freerunning, hacking.
Finally, it’s been about two years. And he’s at the end. Talia brings up the old man who teaches field medicine again. Jason’s last teacher. He agrees, thinks on Ligaya, and can feel his whole chest tighten. He resolves to not get attached.
--
Jason touches down early in the morning. He grabs his duffel bag and moves through the small airport. There’s an old man who holds a cardboard sign with his name on it. Jason would put all his money on it being Jakov—the man who will be his teacher. They meet in the middle of the linoleum and Jason sticks a hand out to say hello, and is wrapped in a hug. Jakov’s shorter than Jason and shorter still with age. His hands are still steady and he’s warm.
The hug is over before Jason knows how to respond.
They go out to a beat up sedan, older than Jason himself, that’s car door screeches when he pulls it open. There’s a set of dice on the rearview window. Jakov hits them and goes into a rambling tale about how he got them off of a man he used to play poker with, who got them in the sixties when he was in the states. The story carries the conversation until they get out into the woods.
Jakov asks how he knows Talia. Jason demurs, states it's really his dad that knows her, and Jakov laughs. They talk about how Jakov met Talia when they were both in Bosnia. She had helped him stabilize a kid that was caught during the civil war; they had been caught in a bomb drop while moving through the kid’s home and had to huddle in the living room for two days. The kid lived and no matter where Jakov went, Talia knew where he was.
A cottage comes into view. The roof sinks in some, ivy growing over the walls and windows. There’s strawberries blooming out front. There’s Jakov’s daughter, Nika, on a swing. She waves as they park.
There’s a room made up for him. The bed is well-worn, the desk is old, and there’s black and white pictures on the wall. It’s cozy. He sleeps well.
Jason spends his time alternating with going to the market, bringing in firewood, and watching Nika on their journeys to the other towns. Jakov fits a boy with a prosthetic leg, made of wood by the boy’s father. He special orders glasses for a baby. Most of the training for quick surgery come from animals, pets and the like, and Jakov’s voice is gentle and hands are sure as he explains how to stabilize, how to cauterize, how to stitch and clean. How to set a bone.
Nika graduates from elementary school. Jason attends the ceremony as Jakov needs to help with a kid with a broken arm. She smiles so big when she sees him. He wonders if this is how Dick felt, like a warmth that couldn’t be broken or dislodged. There’s a cake waiting at home for her, made with wild berries from around the cottage. Nika says strawberries are too common for a cake.
(Jaybird! What are you doing here? How did you get to Bludhaven? Where’s Bruce? Alfred?)
He takes to thatching the roof. Nika spends most of her summer running down the trail to the sea and watching Jason use their rickety ladder to get up on the roof. Jakov waves goodbye to him each morning and brings back pastries in the evening. It’s only on the weekends now that Jason travels with him.
(I took a bus.)
The summer rains are sweet and warm. Jason sees the babes of the woods stumble along the treeline as he takes his lunch on top of the roof.
(Why didn’t you call? I could have grabbed you if you needed to get away from the Manor for a bit.)
Nika teaches him a line dance. He’s horrible at it, but it makes him laugh. Jakov takes him up to a graveyard to let Jason meet his wife. They got married young, both nurses in war.
(I did call—you didn’t pick up.)
It wasn’t safe for her to have children, but they both wanted one so badly, Jakov says. He wishes she could have met Nika. A dangerous pregnancy, he says, one they both should have known wasn’t worth it.
(Oh, shi–take mushrooms. You’re right. I got a new phone, my last one was dropped in the water by the docks.)
They sit by the gravestone. Jason, halting, tells Jakov about his family. He leaves out many things—Batman, Robin, his death. Clawing his way out of his own grave. He tells him about Dick. How much he misses his brother.
(Oh. Well, I’m here now. If that’s okay? Bruce—)
Jakov tells him he should write to him. Jason does his best to explain how he’s estranged. From his father. He isn’t sure how Dick would receive a message from him. If he knew it was from Jason.
(You don’t have to explain Bruce to me. Mi casa es su casa. Let me get you my new number—I haven’t memorized it yet.)
You won’t know if you don’t try, Jakov says. They walk back to the cottage. Nika is at a sleepover with a school friend—so the night is a quieter meal. Jakov still likes to crack jokes, face wrinkled with smile lines and determined to give Jason some as well. He tucks a notebook and some pencils into Jason’s hands after they finish washing up.
(It’s just gonna get crushed next week. Or dropped off a skyscraper. Or eaten by a meta. Dickie, you never take care of your things.)
Jason spends days just trying to see how to start the letter. When he was back in school, if he got stuck on an essay, he’d start in the middle. That’s what he does now. He just writes about how he’s been traveling. Doesn’t mention his emotions, doesn’t mention the little trinkets and postcards he’s been sending. The letter goes in the trash.
(I can’t argue with that. But! Next time I’ll pay the extra to keep the same number. Bruce can afford it.)
The next one is all mush. He cries while writing it, pours out how lonely he’s felt. How each memory that he’s had returned to him is an awful mockery of comfort and betrayal. That Talia told him that Dick didn’t come to his funeral. Does Dick care about him? How much Jason wishes he could see him again. The letter goes in the trash.
(Okay. What’s the number?)
They visit a home for a man who degloved himself. The man is unbothered by the accident and drinks an ale while Jakov asks Jason how he would do it with limited medical tools. More limited than the bag that they carry with them.
(Gimme your phone. I’ll plug it in.)
Jason keeps working on his letter. Nika jumps up on his bed and asks what he’s doing. Jason slams the notebook shut, cheeks red, before she can read it. She asks if he wants to take her to the movies. There’s a second movie out for a franchise that Jason hasn’t heard of before. He says he’ll take her if she can convince Jakov to let Jason drive them there.
(Thanks.)
The woman at the ticket booth coos at how sweet it is for Nika’s big brother to take her to the movie. He gathers it’s a romance movie from her words.
(Yeah, and call me whenever. Seriously. I’ll always pick up. Anyways, are you hungry? We could order some takeout.)
Jakov thanks him for taking Nika. He asks how the letter is going. Jason lies. He says he thinks it’s going well. The only letter that he hasn’t tossed yet consists of three words: ‘I miss you.’ No names.
(I’m starved.)
He stays for a few more weeks. The roof is fixed, and Jason can stitch a wound in the dark, with his left hand, half-asleep. The only letter he manages to not hate is the three words, small on the large page. Jason sends it anyway when he leaves.
--
Jason’s back in Gotham. It’s rainy, and humid, and too full of shit and people and Bats. There’s three running around as it stands—his replacement, who has already been replaced, the next in the model upgrades of Robin, and big Bat himself. Jason is ragged trying to keep his plan going. The only advantage he has is the knowledge of who he is up against, something that Bruce and his birdies lack.
His arms and legs are tired, his fingers cold and shoes wet. He trudges up to his safehouse and shoves his feet out of his boots. It’s been like this for weeks now. A slow climb to be a crime lord, after he shoved himself as far up as he could with the decapitation trick. There’s maybe two hours before Jason has to head back out, early meetings with palms to grease, then kids and shelters to check on, then the girls before their shifts start, then his shift as he does his best to fuck with Black Mask and keep from Bruce.
The constant drone of work had broken Jason’s resolve a week ago. He shouldn’t have, when in the bookstore, looked over and picked up a postcard. It’s got Gotham Harbor on it. He sent it to Dick.
The consequences of his actions stand in his living room. Dick, in all his Nightwing glory, looks out the window. He’s propped up on the wall, body facing the entrance. Jason doesn’t doubt for a second that he heard him the moment he came in. Jason’s in wet socks, but the rest of his arsenal is there.
The Red Hood brings out a gun. He’s a shoot first, ask questions never, but this is Dick. His brother. (I miss you.) The gun’s safety is on. “You’re trespassing.”
Nightwing's head moves as he takes in Red Hood. “Thought I was just responding to all the fan mail you’ve been sending me.”
Jason snorts. “I ain’t a fan of pansies who don’t know when to take out the trash.”
“And yet, I’m certain you keep sending little things to me. Why?”
“You were the one raised by the detective.” So was I, Jason thinks. He doesn’t say it. “Why don’t you figure it out?”
“I think you know me. So I know you—but I honestly can’t recall who you are. Who you could be.” He pauses. Dick shifts to face him and he looks. Tired. That’s the only way Jason could describe it. His face is thin, haggard, with his hair hanging limp to frame it. “Did we used to…?”
“Gross,” Jason says. “That’s just nasty, Goldie.”
“Interesting.” Dick says. “Anyways, I’ve been getting your stuff forwarded for ‘bout a year now. Don’t know if you heard what happened to Bludhaven.”
“Haven’t been keeping up with the news.”
“Let’s just say I’m living in New York now, since Bludhaven isn’t there anymore.”
“That’s tough.” Jason pauses, flexing his hands within his gloves. “Any chance I could get your new address?”
Dick barks out a laugh. It isn’t the Golden Boy’s laugh, not the high bright smile of Robin. It’s more forced out than Jason thought he was capable of. His years may have been kinder to him than Jason’s, but that doesn’t mean they were kind. “Maybe. Gonna keep sending me cards even though you could pop over to my city?”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t like Batman. You do like me. We haven’t dated.”
“Those aren’t questions, Dickwing.”
Dick hums and cocks his head. His stance is loose, considering there’s a gun trained on him. “No, I’m just making statements. Want to make sure my story’s straight.”
“We haven’t dated. I tolerate you. I don’t like the old man.”
Jason is as aware of his slip-up as he is sure Dick is. There’s a moment where neither of them move and then Dick is pushing off the wall, and Jason, Jason is panicking. The gun doesn’t shake, but he keeps it trained. “Back up.”
“Take off the helmet.” Dick takes a cautious step closer.
Jason doesn’t shoot him.
“It’s a Hood, jackass. Kinda part of the name.”
Dick takes another step, hands shaking at his side. “Why’d you send me those cards? Those trinkets?” There’s something blocking Jason’s airway. His eyes water and he’s back in that convenience store in Russia—so cold, and tired, and missing his brother so fiercely that it eats at him. “Show me your face, please?”
Jason coughs, tries to clear his throat. He lowers his arm. They both know the threat isn’t a real one, just like all of Jason’s threats growing up. He’d rather bark than bite. Dick’s so close now to Jason, shivering like he’s in shock. He’s warm and real and present and every moment—every moment Jason’s thought of him through the last few years, within this life, threatens to overwhelm him.
“Why’d you send me those…?” Dick’s voice trails off. He reaches out and pulls back at the last second, like Jason might not be there if he touched him. Like the mirage might not hold up if he got closer.
“I missed you.” Jason puts the gun away and works on getting his latch free. Now that he’s decided that this is how he wants this conversation to go, face to face, he’s desperate to be free of the Hood appearance. He wants to talk to his brother. The air hits his face colder than he expected. He forgot the window was open. “I missed you, Dick.”
“Jason,” Dick breathes out. He rips off his domino, and there’s bruises under his baby blues, lines that Jason doesn’t remember him having around his eyes. Tears are welling up in them and Jason clenches his teeth as his body responds. As his vision goes blurry as well.
“Jason, I can't believe,” Dick sobs and launches himself at his little brother. He clings to Jason’s jacket, a solid presence. The want and sadness and desperation in his voice rocks through Jason. He grabs onto Dick; it feels as if he lets go they’ll both fall. That they are the only support keeping each other up. “Oh, god, Jason, I missed you so much. So, so much.”
He holds onto Dick tighter. In this moment, it doesn’t matter that Black Mask is out there somewhere, that Bruce is running around trying to find him, that Joker waits in Arkham. All that matters is his brother is here. And he felt the absence as much as Jason did. “Me too.”