“Ow,” Jason groaned, slumping against his older brother with a glare that could kill. Blood dripped from his split lip, pooling at the corner of his mouth as he pressed a shaky hand to the gash in his side. “Could you be more fucking gentle?”

It was a rough night—stupid goons ambushing him out of nowhere on patrol, managing to leave him bleeding out in a back alley with no backup. And now, as if his night couldn’t get worse, Dick Grayson had found him. His older brother, the golden child, the worst possible person to see him like this.

Jason could remember when he used to be smaller than Dick, back before the Pit, before Joker. Now, he was taller than him, built stronger, scarred and harder in every way. But the second Dick grabbed him, all his bravado cracked. Dick’s arm was steady around him, holding him up even as Jason tried to shove him off, grip weakening as he swayed on his feet.

If he wasn’t so out of it, he’d shoot him just for showing up here. But he could barely stand, and Dick wasn’t letting go. At least the idiot wasn’t using those damn nicknames. He could almost hear them, mocking him in Dick’s too-soft voice—Jaybird, Little Wing. Jason gritted his teeth at the thought. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He’d been through hell, and Dickface needed to get that through his thick skull.