Work Text:
There were a lot of phone calls he could have made. A lot of people he could have called for help.
He almost fell forward, hands pressed shakily against his body, each breath a shallow heave as he tried to push himself forward. Bruce was going to kill him, seriously, Dick was in for the lecture of a lifetime. He could almost hear it.
He stumbled again, Dick didn’t remember the rooftop ever being so being, or that the world was sideways. His body hit the asphalt, the scratchy material digging into his limbs. He groaned, a hand sleek with blood shakily moving to right himself.
Dick took another deep breath, he didn’t think he could get up. Not this time. Not with these injuries. So instead, he pushed himself to lean against an HVAC system, the machine rattling every now and again. He should have smarter, fuck he could have been so much smarter.
Nightwing, or rather, Dick Grayson was pressed wearily against a wall, his side gaping open, blood coming out at a quicker rate than he could stop it. His toes were starting to get cold, he could feel his heart beating in his chest. He inhaled again, muscles and flesh shifting slightly, he felt another wave of warm coat his hand.
This was one of those moments, Dick thought to himself, here he needed to make peace with his gods and accept that he wasn’t going to survive this. He wasn’t going to survive from his own stupidity.
He just…he just needed to call someone. Even though he knew that it would probably be the last conversation he had. Millions of names rushed through his mind. He could call Bruce…Alfred, Tim, Barbara. Old friends lingered on the tip of his tongue, Roy, Kaldur…Wally. Though Wally had been dead for several years now, maybe he’d get to hear his voice finally when this was all over.
No, Dick knew that there was one person he could call, one person who wouldn’t react dramatically if he broke. Jason’s contact number appeared on screen before he could think about it. His heart raced a little bit faster, a sharp pain jutting through his side, or what was left of it.
Jason picked up on the last ring, “what do you want?”
His voice was gruff, and it sounded like he was chewing something. Dick squeezed his eyes together, he was going to try his best not to ruin his brother’s appetite, “well hello to you too.”
“Did you seriously just call me to say hello?”
Dick smiled, a slow movement that took more energy than it should have, “well, we haven’t talked in quite some time. I figured, given a few select circumstances, that I should check in.”
Jason exhaled slowly, “you and your mother henning, it’s gonna be the death of me.”
He felt a wave of cold wash over him, something grim, something final, something that made his teeth clench, “Jay,” he bit out, trying to keep the lightness in his voice, “I’m sorry.”
“What?” The tone shifted slightly, and Dick did his best to manage the panic that was rising in his chest.
“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there…for a lot of things,” he rasped, “and I think there were a lot of moments where I could have been a better brother to you.”
Jason went silent for a moment, “are you drunk or something.”
“No…no,” he said quickly, “I just,” he paused only for a moment, hesitating with the words, “I love you, okay. You’re my brother, and I’m sorry I couldn’t have done better.”
Again, Jason didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched thin, and Dick found himself counting the rattles of the HVAC unit to keep from drifting. One. Two. Three. His vision pulsed at the edges, darkness bleeding inward like ink dropped into water.
“...don’t say stuff like that,” Jason finally said, his voice quieter now, wary in a way that made Dick’s chest ache worse than the wound, “not out of nowhere. You know better.”
Dick let his head fall back against the metal, the cold seeping through his hair and settling onto his scalp, “I know,” he breathed, “I’m really bad at timing.”
“Dick.”
There it was. Not some insult, or fiery quip. Just his name. Dick swallowed around something thick, his mouth tasted too metallic. His mind stuttering over an image of Jason standing somewhere dim, jaw tight, instincts already flaring even if he didn’t know why yet.
“Are you hurt,” Jason asked flatly.
Dick laughed, a wet and rattling sound. His side flared up again, “you could say something like that.”
“How bad.”
He stared at his hand, slick and trembling, blood pooling between his fingers no matter how hard he pressed. Though Dick was confident he didn’t really have the strength to press hard anymore.
“Do you remember when we were kids and you fell off the fire escape?”
“...Yeah.”
Dick nodded slowly, unwilling to talk specific details about his situation, “you were crying so hard you couldn’t breathe. And Bruce was freaking out, and Alfred was trying to be calm, and I just-” he swallowed, “I just sat with you and told you it hurt because you were alive, and that meant you were going to be okay.”
He sucked another breath in, it felt cold and flat in his chest. He didn’t remember feeling this heavy moments ago, maybe the adrenaline was finally wearing off and the blood loss was getting to him, “I think,” Dick murmured, eyes slipping closed, “I think I understand how scared you were.”
A sharp sound on the other end, Jason standing too fast, maybe it was a chair scraping, “where are you?”
Dick hesitated, not because he didn’t want to say. Because focusing on coordinates felt like trying to grab smoke, “rooftop,” he managed, “some industrial district. Near the old shipping yards. The red crane, the one that never got finished.”
He could hear shuffling on the other end, Jason was already moving. Dick could hear it now, the wind, the echo of boots, “stay awake,” that was all the other seemed to muster for a little bit.
“I am awake,” Dick said weakly.
“Don’t lie to me.”
He smiled again, smaller this time, “okay. I’m trying to be.”
Another wave of cold rolled through him, deeper than before. His fingers went numb. He couldn’t feel where the asphalt ended and his body began.
“Hey, Jay,” he whispered.
“What?”
“I love you.”
“Don’t start talking like that,” Jason bit back, he sounded a little out of breath, “don’t get existential on me, not right now.” Jason’s voice cracked then, just a hairline fracture, but Dick heard it and felt a twinge of regret, before his brother’s voice cut through again, “you don’t get to die on a roof, okay.”
So many things boiled in the back of his throat. He wanted to say ‘I’m sorry’ again, or ‘I’m scared’, hell even just a ‘please hurry.’ But all of those felt too selfish, instead what came out was an honest and small, “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know,” Jason said immediately, “you do a lot of reckless crap, but I don’t think you were out looking for a death wish.”
The world tilted again. The lights of the city smeared into long, watery steaks. Dick focused on Jason’s voice like it was a lifeline thrown across a dark river, “I don’t think I’ve got too much longer.” He admitted, voice stolen by the wind.
Jason said something, too faint for him to hear, “think about something else,” he finalled offered, “think about something that isn’t you dying right now.”
Dick swallowed, looking up at the sky and all of its blurry stars, “remember,” he thought, “that stupid move you made me watch. The one with the zombies.”
“Hey,” Jason said, playing into the tone switch, “that movie is a cinematic masterpiece. A masterpiece that you insulted for two hours straight.”
“They ran weird,” Dick choked, “like…like toddlers.”
Jason laughed. Actually laughed, breathless and broken, “God, you’re such an asshole.”
“Yeah,” Dick agreed, “but you tolerated me.”
“Oh I did more than tolerate you.” The cold had reached his chest now. Each breath felt borrowed. His heartbeat stumbled, uneven, like it was forgetting the rhythm.
“I love you,” he said again, a truth that Dick believed deserved to be repeated.
Jason was moving faster, he could hear it in the pace, there was something desperate in his movements, “I’m going to find you,” he said, no room for argument, but there was a doubt that was starting to crawl in, “but…Dick.”
“Yeah?”
“If…I can’t…you were a good brother,” Jason said, “you still are. You hear me? You’re-you’re one of the best men I’ve ever known.”
Dick didn’t realize tears were falling until he felt the moisture run down his cheek, his throat unbearably tight. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. For a terrifying second, he really did realize that this was it. This was the quiet edge where things slipped away. He forced a breath, and heard his voice crack, “fuck this is scary,” he breathed.
Jason didn’t try to talk over that. His breathing remained heavy, loud in Dick’s ear, “I know. I know it is.”
The city continued to move around him, distant and uncaring. Sirens wailed, the HVAC unit rattled again. The hollow mechanical sound rattling his body. Dick’s fingers twitched uselessly against the concrete. He couldn’t feel them anymore. He wasn’t sure he could feel much of anything below his shoulders.
“Jay, if I-”
“Hey, no, no, what happened to staying with me for as long as possible. Whatever you have to say you can say it to my face,”
The phone felt heavy in Dick’s hand. Too heavy, He adjusted his grip and nearly dropped it, panic flaring briefly before subsiding into something dull and slow, “Don’t let Bruce blame himself,” he finally said, the words coming out with what little energy he had, “and Tim.”
Dick blinked hard, the tears welling more, “tell him he did good. I-I want Damian to know that I loved him too.”
Jason swallowed audibly, “you can tell him yourself.”
“Maybe,” Dick said softer, “if not…will you?”
“Yes,” Jason said, voice completely breaking now, “yes, I will. Just, just don’t stop talking, this is the one time I’m asking you to run your mouth.”
Dick searched for something else to say, something clever, something reassuring. His mind felt like it was sinking through thick water. His thoughts slipping away before he could catch and process them, “will you say bye to Babs for me?”
“...yeah. I will.”
He nodded, the knot in his chest loosening against his will. Something faint rang in his ear, he closed his eyes listening, “I think,” he said slowly, “I can hear circus music.”
“What?”
“An old song,” Dick clarified, a ghost of a laugh in his voice, “my dad used to hum it all the time. Off-key. Drove my mom crazy.”
Jason didn’t respond, and Dick wondered if the connection had been cut. His shoulders loosened, the fear drifting away into something euphoric, “I’m glad I’m not alone.”
“That’s right. You’re not.”
“Hey, Jay?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks,” Dick said, “for answering.”
Jason made a sound that might have been a sob, “yeah, I’m glad I caught your call.”
Dick’s eyes drifted shut. This time, he didn’t have the energy to fight it. The rooftop no longer felt hard or sharp or real, just distant pressure, like a memory of pain instead of the thing itself. He registered the phone slipping from his fingers, the sound of it clattering against the asphalt. Jason kept talking.
At first, Dick could make it out. Stupid things, about the bike he’d rebuilt last month, about the awful diner two blocks from Crime Alley that Dick used to pretend to like, about nothing and everything…and home. His voice filled the space, frantic, desperate, loving.
Dick didn’t answer.
By the time Jason burst through the rooftop door, chest heaving, helmet forgotten, the city was quiet again.
Dick Grayson lay slumped against the HVAC unit, head tilted back, expression strangely peaceful. Blood pooled dark beneath him, already cooling. The closer he got, the more he realized how big the wound was. His side was practically torn open, he could make out the glint of bone, and the pulse of muscle. It was an injury that Dick should have died from well before he called him.
Jason dropped to his knees so hard it hurt.
“Hey,” he whispered, hands shaking as he reached for him, “hey. I’m here. I told you I’d find you.”
The phone, still lit, buzzed weakly beside them. The call disconnected. Jason pressed his forehead to Dick’s shoulder and let out a sound that tore straight out of his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice thin. The words dissolving into the cold night, meant for someone who would never hear him again.