Alright, here's your Christmas gift, guys! That's right, I finished it! I hope that you enjoy this chapter, and may you all have a fantastic day (however much you have left of it; time zones are fun) with whatever kind of holiday you celebrate! Even if that's just a lovely day off from work. XD Enjoy!

Warnings for: conditioning of a child, and the usual abuse/pain/brainwashing/etc.

Roy's been looking at me strangely for the past week. Not bad strange, but there's something in his expression when he looks at me or Dick that's different, almost calculating, and I'm not sure that it's good either. It's even more pronounced when Dick and I are next to each other, and I'm honestly getting fed up with it. Roy's got the right to keep secrets, we all do, but not when it's about us. He's keeping something to himself, it's obvious, and maybe Dick hasn't said anything but I'm sure he's noticed too.

Dick notices things a lot faster than I do, especially when they're aimed at him.

I think the only real reason that I haven't snapped at him yet is because we haven't been seeing much of him. Roy spends nearly all his free time now with Cheshire and their daughter, Lian. Honestly, he looks like he's living up in the clouds most of the time now. He's just a little dazed, happy, and it's almost infectious. Almost. I only barely managed not to punch him when he saw me one day, grabbed me by the arms, and proclaimed that Lian had said his name. If he'd held on just a second longer, I probably would have.

I really am glad for him. I'm not sure if he really deserves happiness by the standard measure, but I want him to have it anyway. If Roy can be genuinely happy, maybe that leaves hope for Dick and me too. Longer road, definitely, but maybe it can happen.

Maybe we can put a fucking hole in the Owl's head and go about our lives with him gone. Permanently. It's a hell of a long shot, but just maybe we can make it work.

That's why we're here. Gathered in Dick's room, with Roy on the single wooden chair in here and Dick and me at the foot of the bed. We need to talk about what we're going to do. How much of Ra's' help we're willing to accept, how long we'll stay here, what our actual plans are when it comes to taking down the Owl. That's the kind of shit that you just don't do without a plan and about fifteen different contingencies, just in case.

Roy's got that look in his eyes again though, and it's pissing me off.

"Alright, what?" I demand. I feel Dick's gaze flick to me, feel the slight brush of his shoulder against mine, but I keep my gaze focused on Roy. "What is it, Roy? What are you not saying?"

He blinks at me, and then his mouth curls into a grin and I just know before he's even started to speak that he's not actually going to tell me anything. "Nothing, Jaybird."

"Bullshit," I counter. "You've got this thing in your expression every time you look at either of us, and I don't know what it is and it's irritating me. So just say what you have to say and get it over with."

"Okay," Roy's voice still doesn't sound like he's actually going to tell me, "I should have said 'it doesn't matter.' It's just a silly idea that I'm absolutely not voicing because you'll both think it's ridiculous, but it won't get out of my head. I promise, it's nothing dangerous, and it's nothing that the two of you actually need to know."

I narrow my eyes, swallowing down my irritation. "That's not helpful, Roy."

He winks, grins a little wider, and cheerfully answers, "Well, I'm not generally a very helpful person am I, Jaybird?"

My jaw clenches just a little bit, and then Dick's shoulder presses against mine with just the tiniest amount of pressure, and I look over at him. "If they're not dangerous," he murmurs, "then Roy is entitled to keep a few secrets."

I hold Dick's gaze for a second, and then shove out a sigh and shake my head. "Fine," I grudgingly agree. "It better not be important." I aim that last part at Roy, and he nods and leans back in his chair with a flick of his fingers that looks a bit like a salute. "So, anyone want to start with ideas for how we actually pull this off? Gotta say, died once already, not looking forward to doing it again."

It's a joke, mostly. Remembering dying — and that knife through my jaw — still aches somewhere back behind my heart. It doesn't give me that rush of cold fear up my spine anymore though, and it doesn't make the remnants of the Pit that I've buried in the back of my head any louder. I spent a week with Dick, all but locked in his room while I fought to work past the insanity of the Pit and get control of myself again. The fear was honestly the worst of it, but it's calmed down some. I still wake up sweating and shaking most nights, but I've been sleeping in Dick's room as well so he's always there when I wake up.

Thank god that Dick gives me enough space to be able to calm down after my nightmares before he ever touches me.

He's strong enough to stop me, but I've gotten bigger and taller than him and it's not as easy for him to pin me down anymore. Luckily the most I do when I wake up is jerk and sometimes shout, and without any direct threat after that I don't get violent. Even though I know I probably wouldn't really hurt him, it still freaks me out a bit to think that I might. Plus, I can't help the shame in my gut that I have fucking nightmares. Every time I wake up with the taste of blood on my tongue, and fear choking me, I feel weak. I hate it.

There's this long moment of silence where Roy winces, and Dick shifts a fraction next to me in a way that I've come to recognize over the last couple weeks means he feels guilty. Maybe I just wasn't noticing it before I spent so much time so close to him, or maybe whatever he went through in those four months I was dead broke him down some and made him really feel again. I don't know which, and I'm not going to ask. If he doesn't want to tell me what the Owl did to him while I was dead, that's not my business. I wouldn't want to describe what he did to me while I was under him either, and I'm fairly sure that this was worse.

Punishment isn't the same as discipline. It's so much worse when you can't learn your lesson and make the pain stop. All you can do is pray to a god that never cared in the first place.

I raise one hand, scrubbing it over my face as I mutter, "Jesus, it was just a joke."

Roy gives a crooked smile, but his guilt lingers in his eyes. "Sorry, Jaybird. Bad memories for everybody, I guess."

Yeah, no shit. I die, Dick gets — I assume — tortured for four months, and Roy gets out of it alive but then has to face addiction and withdrawal for a second time. The Owl really fucked all of us up, and I can put a lot of that down to the fact that we weren't expecting him and Dick was dying, but that just means that we weren't nearly ready to face him. You should never expect to have a fight go completely your way; you'll lose every time.

"We can't face him head on," I put out there. "The suit gives him too much of an advantage; we don't have much strong enough to get past the armor and the added strength pretty much just fucks over any hand to hand we could try."

"So the first order of business is to disable the suit, or catch him while he has it off." Roy glances to Dick, and now his eyes are focused and a little narrowed. All evidence to the contrary, but Roy can focus when it's important, and he is one hell of a strategizer. "Do you know the schematics for the suit? Or even just weak points? Anything?"

Dick is quite for a moment, and then glances towards me. "When I fought him the first time there were some new features, so I can't say my information is up to date, but I can give you what I have. Jason might have newer information."

I give a very small nod, and I break Dick's gaze to look back at Roy. "I don't know about any specific weak points, but I can tell you where the armor's thinner. Has to be so he can still bend and move. I think I know most of what it can do too, but we should probably talk to the Jokester when we get a chance. He's survived this long, he must know a pretty decent amount about how to fight him in that thing. It's not like his costume has any real armor."

"The Jokester's never beat him though," Roy points out.

Dick's voice is quiet and matter-of-fact when he answers, "He's never been willing to kill him either. I agree, we should contact Jokester. We should speak to Ra's too, he's come the closest to killing Bruce."

"Ra's doesn't tell us shit," I almost snap, and then duck my head a bit. "That's not what I meant. He just… I don't think he's telling us the whole truth about any of this, and I know we need him but I don't like not knowing why he's helping."

Roy looks like he agrees, but it's Dick's voice that intercedes. "Is the reward of having his greatest enemy dead not enough?"

I snort. "Maybe for normal people. He's put a lot of effort into the three of us, Dick. Bringing me back, breaking you out and healing you, making sure Roy recovered, and then training the two of us on top of that?" Roy winces, but I ignore it. "That's a lot of risk, and honestly what are the chances we really take the Owl down? We didn't do too well the first time, did we? It doesn't make any rational sense for him to be putting this much effort into us; there has to be more to the story."

"He's right," Roy agrees, tilting his head as he gives a small grin. "Been thinking about that, Jaybird?"

Yes.

"I'm not just a weapon anymore," is what I choose to say, "and I'm sure as fuck not anyone's attack dog. If I'm going after the Owl then I need to know exactly why I'm doing it. Ra's' reasons aren't cutting it so far, and I need to know he's committed to this before I do anything for him."

Dick's shoulder presses to mine, a little firmer this time. "Very well. It's your call."

I blink, staring at him, and then glance at Roy and catch the edge of his nod. "My call? Why? I've got the least experience of all three of us."

"Doesn't mean you're wrong," Roy counters.

Dick gives a small nod, and I see his fingers twitch like he was going to reach over and take my hand but decided not to. "I'm with you, Jason," he says softly, like it's that simple.

Roy gives a crooked grin, glancing between us with that look back in his eyes. "Me too, Jaybird. I'm along for the ride until all this is done. After that? We'll see."

I stare at Dick for another second, trying to read what's in his expression but not recognizing it, before looking to Roy. "You have a daughter," I stress. "If you stay here you can be with her; why would you risk that? Don't you love her?"

Roy's grin turns to a soft smile, and his gaze flicks to the floor for a moment. "Of course I do, but I'm not one of you two. I can't spend the rest of my life locked up here with a bunch of people that hate me. Not even for her. I want a life, I want to show Lian the world, and I can't do that while there's a target on my back." He gives a small laugh, hooking his right arm back behind the chair, his fingers curling around it much lower down. "Besides, I owe you two, remember? Need to repay what you did for me."

"You don't have to do that," Dick intercedes, and Roy almost immediately shushes him as he raises a finger to his own lips, grinning.

"Yes I do, D. Just go with it, alright? You've got me for this fight; write down whatever information you know and I can draft out attack plans while you two relearn how to fight. Maybe I'll watch and pick up a few pointers, but honestly we all know I'm just the ranged support here. You guys are the real powerhouses."

He's not wrong, but that doesn't mean that he's not important. Yeah, I could kick his ass all day, and so could Dick, but he's still one hell of a shot. Honestly he's way better than the two of us when it comes to anything ranged, and he's got more of a head for strategy than either of us as well. If he had the time to study us, build his gadgets, and make a real plan of attack, I'm not positive that he wouldn't beat us. Combat skill isn't everything. Anyone can be beaten.

That's one of the only things that keeps my hope alive. The Owl is the nastiest, scariest bastard I've ever met, but he's still just human. He bleeds, he hurts, and he can damn well die too. I'll make sure of that.

"Alright," I agree, "so it's the three of us. This— Okay, stupid question." Roy tilts his head, clearly curious, and Dick raises one eyebrow. I end up looking at Roy. "This might go a hell of a lot smoother if we had more people. Is there anyone else we could maybe trust to help us do this? Anybody we know wouldn't betray us?"

Roy winces, and then rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't know. Jokester and Co. maybe? There are a lot of people who hate Owlman, but hating him and actually trying to kill him are way different. No offense to anyone — especially you, Jaybird — but this is kinda still a suicide mission. Getting anybody else involved is sorta like asking them to be alright with dying. It's a big thing to ask; most people have a real life to live for."

I snort, shaking my head. "Fair point. So, we could ask for backup but when it comes down to it…"

"It will just be the three of us," Dick finishes. "The Jokester will likely be willing to run distractions or something similar. Ra's will probably give us transport and recovery, if we survive. I doubt either of them would be willing to actually aid us in the fight though. Jokester wouldn't kill, and Ra's runs too much of the hero world to risk all of it on one fight. He'll protect himself above all else."

"Better than nothing," Roy points out, with a small grin. "Here's another dumb question. What if we survive? What then?"

"What do you mean?" Dick asks, with a very slight narrowing of his eyes.

Roy shrugs, rocking the chair onto its back two legs and balancing it there, feet still on the ground and keeping him from falling all the way over. "Well, say we kill the Owl and all make it out alive. Bonus points, let's say we're all more or less fine and uncrippled. What about the aftershocks? I don't know if you guys saw it as much as I did, but the Owl is a pretty central gear in the whole Crime Syndicate. He runs pretty much all their long term strategy, not to mention overseeing battles and things." He moves his weight forward again, letting the chair come back down on all four legs. His grin is gone. "If we kill him, what happens? Speaking as the planner of the three of us, there would be no better time for the heroes to go after the Syndicate than right after Owlman dies. This could start a war; the heroes could stand a pretty good chance of winning."

There's silence for a second, and Dick is the first to break it. "That's not our problem."

Roy makes a face, shrugs again, and then gives a tight smile. "Except where it is. If the villains win, big whoop. We stay out of the way, probably no one looks for us, we get real lives. But if the heroes win? We're still criminals, D. Sure, we're on shaky good terms with Ra's, and you guys have got something like an ally in Jokester, but we're criminals. You two were Talon, and that's a hell of a name to have over you. Even if we're the ones to take down the Owl, you know that doesn't wipe out everything else we've done, and what we've done is more than enough to get us all put in prison for the rest of our lives, if not straight up executed. If the Syndicate goes down, we could go down not long after."

"That's a lot of 'ifs,' " Dick counters, and Roy laughs.

"I'm a strategist, D. 'Ifs' and 'thens' are some of my best weapons."

I brace my hands at the edge of the bed, staring down at my knees as I think, and then nudge Dick's shoulder to get his attention before looking at up at Roy. "So, stupid answer for a stupid question. What if we help?" Roy blinks, looking completely confused, and I roll my eyes. "So the heroes either lock us up or kill us if they win this war that might happen. What if we were on their side instead? The three of us, with our information, and our skills? We could be a big weight to tip the balance in their favor. Do you think helping them win that war, and then — I don't know — promising not to become criminals again, would be enough to make them give us a free pass for what we did before all of this?"

Roy definitely looks like he's seriously considering the question, his gaze lowering to the floor and his mouth pressed into a thin line. After maybe a minute — I only fidget a little bit — he glances at Dick, and then looks at me.

"I think we need to have a pretty detailed talk with Ra's," is his answer. "He's a big voice in the community, and he's one of their best planners too. He'll have an answer for that, and he'll have at least a good guess of whether or not the heroes are going to make a move if Owlman goes down. Plus, we need to find out his motivations for all of this."

Dick shifts, almost like he's going to stand. "Now?"

"No," Roy counters quickly. "If he won't give us his motivations… Better idea to wait. Learn as much as you can, I can draw out some ideas and we can get a real plan going, and then we confront him about all of this. Better not to risk the chance that we don't like his answers or he stops supporting us. He doesn't need to know any of our thoughts until we're ready for him to know. Sound good?"

I nod, and then give a small grin. "Sounds like a plan," I tease. "Alright, so we wait. Dick and I will learn, we'll give you the information we have, and whenever we're ready we'll talk to Ra's."

"Sounds good," Dick murmurs, with a tiny flicker of a smile.

"Great!" Roy snaps to his feet in one swift moment, and I'm still watching the corners of Dick's mouth as they settle from that smile so I actually flinch before I can help it. "Then you two do your thing, compare notes, write down what I need to know, and come find me whenever you're done."

"And where will you be?" Dick asks, with a touch of humor to his tone. No smile, but there's a slight glint to his eyes that I know means he's amused.

Roy grins, brushing down his clothes even though as far as I can see the casual sweatpants and shirt aren't going to benefit much from a sweep or two of hands. "I am going to go spend some time with Lian. I don't know if I've told you yet, but I have full permission to see her whenever I like."

I snort. "You have told me. Repeatedly. You know it's late, right? Kid as young as that is probably asleep."

He shrugs, the grin fading to a soft smile. "So I'll sit next to her and listen to her breathe. I got a lot of time to make up for, Jaybird, and I'm going to spend as much with her as possible." His smile falls just a bit, and then he adds, "Just in case." Barely half a second later and he's shaken off whatever the moment was and is laughing, winking at Dick before he turns around and heads for the door. "Have fun!"

I roll my eyes, but hold back the sarcastic jibes on the tip of my tongue and let him go. I wait until the door's closed to roll my eyes and mutter, "Dork."

Dick makes a small, amused noise. "He has his good points," he says quietly.

I lean into Dick's shoulder, closing my eyes as I tuck my head down next to his neck. "One or two," I allow, letting my tone be teasing. "Takes some getting used to."

It's easier to let myself relax without Roy around, when it's just Dick and his warmth, his solidity. I know now that Dick would never let anything happen to me if he could possibly stop it, and over the last few weeks he's been pretty much the only thing holding me together. He taught me how to control the Pit, he let me lean on him physically and emotionally until I didn't need it anymore, and he gave me space when I needed it too. He's been… I don't even know how to describe it. He's been everything I needed, and then some.

I think this is what family is supposed to be like. God knows I never really had a functioning one, but I think this might be it. Someone who cares, who supports you, who would sacrifice anything to keep you safe. That last one scares me a bit, honestly, but I'd sacrifice just as much for him so I guess it evens out.

Roy's helped, in his own way. We've talked about all sorts of things, and he's sparred with me a few times — and never seemed to mind that he always lost — but it's been Dick who's held me together. Through the nightmares, the panic attacks, and the moments where the screaming in my head is so loud it feels like my skull might burst right open. He's been there through all of it; a steady shoulder, murmured words, and calm blue eyes. He's put me back together when everything in me wants to fall apart or just go mad. All of it while I can still see that flicker of green in his own eyes, and the occasional tremble to his hands or measured pattern to his breathing. He's struggling with the Pit too, but he's never let it stop him from helping me.

Dick's answer to my teasing is a small hum that almost sounds like comfort, and then his left hand is gently touching my side. Just a brush of fingers as he slides it further around and underneath my shirt to rest at my low back, his palm flat against my skin and radiating heat. I give back a quiet rumble of sound, blindly reaching over and touching the outside of his leg, letting my fingers curl in the thick fabric of the pants he's wearing.

I've found out that while touching itself is nice, and being able to press up against Dick and have him hold my weight is comforting, nothing is as good as skin to skin contact. It just feels so good to be touched without expectation or violence behind the hand. It's not something I have any hope of controlling, and I don't want to. I trust Dick, so I can let myself relax into his touch and forget about the world for a minute or two. It won't stop spinning without me.

I feel the slight pressure of Dick's head on top of mine, and then the curl of fingers over the top of the hand I have on his leg. "Are you alright to talk about Bruce?" he asks in a murmur, hand rising off my back for a moment before he starts to gently stroke it instead.

I wince, shudder a little bit as my throat stings in remembered pain, my mind replaying the hard yank of fingers in my hair and the feeling of cold metal and agony sliding up through my jaw. I take one deep breath in, feeling the stir of the Pit and remembering Dick's lessons. Remembering the best ways to keep myself steady to drive the green madness back into the corner I buried it in. I focus on that one thing that I chose to center myself around, breathing out slowly and letting that word, that thing, burn the madness out of my skull.

What else could I have possibly chosen but Dick?

"Yeah," I answer, feeling the heat of the hand curled over mine and the gentle stroke of fingers across the skin of my low back. "I can handle it." I snort, opening my eyes but not making any move to pull away. Not yet. "If I can't, you're here. I'll get through it."

"I'll always be here," Dick agrees, and I can feel his breath rush over my scalp and through my hair. "For as long as you want me anyway."

God it feels good to hear that. To know it's true.

"I'll always want you here," is my whispered admission, and I close my eyes again and tilt my head in towards his neck. "Give me a few more minutes? Just like this?"

His fingers squeeze mine, and he promises, "Anything, Jason."

When Ra's starts his promised training, this time with me and Dick, it turns out that he's got a much larger training room deeper in the mountain. He never showed it to just me, of course, but that's where he leads Dick and me the first day he's got the time to train us. Honestly, it's probably because it's got an entire section of it dedicated to acrobatics. Suspended bars, loops, high beams, swings… I swear Dick perks up at just the sight of it.

We also get told that we're welcome to come down and work however we want to inside this room, when he doesn't have the time to personally train us. So when he's here we learn, and when he's not we just work up a sweat for the fun of it. It's still training, technically, but I'm just enjoying being able to spar with Dick again.

I'm stronger than he is, which is a weird revelation, but that doesn't win me much. Especially because I hadn't realized how far Dick had already fallen when we were very first training. He was already hurt, and he was still teaching me so he wasn't really matching himself against me. But now I'm bigger, taller, and almost as good as he is, so he's not really holding back. I didn't know just how capable he is when he's not being forced to play defensive.

The way he moves is… It's breathtaking. He's fast, and so smooth that it looks and feels like every shift of his muscle is just buildup for the next. Like every kick is just the lead in for a pin, or a punch, or a grab and twist. He's still better than me, even with the advantage of my build and what Ra's has taught me. It still leaves me in awe to watch him.

Which is probably what lands me on my ass half of the time. Being awestruck by how your opponent moves is not a good way to actually win fights, as evidenced by my current state.

Flat on my back, a knee in the center of my chest, one hand wrapped around my throat and another pinning down the wrist of the arm that isn't trapped underneath my own weight. Dick's grip is just a reminder though, and he lets go only half a second after he's pinned me. I appreciate that he's careful about shifting his weight off of me, and doesn't put any of it into my chest through that knee right above my sternum.

I give a small groan at the lingering ache of having my breath knocked out of me, and I can see Dick's mouth flicker at the corners in one of his miniscule smiles. "Ow," I grumble, as I pull my other arm out from underneath my back. It aches too, but not as much as my chest. Neither of them are bad enough for me to really care, anyway.

Dick offers me his hand and I let him pull me back up to standing; he takes my weight as easily as if I was made of feathers and not solid muscle and bone, all without even a hint of effort. "You're distracted," he points out.

Before I can think about it I answer, "You're distracting," and then promptly clasp my free hand over my mouth. "I did not mean to say that," I breathe, muffled behind it but definitely still loud enough he'll hear.

Dick's mouth flickers in another smile. "Am I?" He sounds genuinely curious, even as he lets go of my hand.

"Well…" I lower my hand, shifting my weight onto my heels and dropping my gaze down for a second in embarrassment. "It's just the way you move. It's all so smooth and precise like it's some kind of dance, and I— I can't help watching because fuck it's just so—" I hesitate, and finally let myself say, "So interesting." The word doesn't sit quite right on my tongue, but I know it's close. I can feel my cheeks starting to burn, and I drop my gaze again to avoid Dick's eyes. "It's impressive. Sorry, I'll try and focus."

I can see Dick step closer, and I follow his hand as he raises it, watching until it lightly brushes across my cheek. I let my eyes close, tilting my head into the touch as he murmurs, "It's alright, Jason. I don't mind."

My mouth curls into a small smile as I open my eyes, meeting Dick's gaze. "It's not really a good thing to have happen in a fight," I half-joke. "Letting yourself get distracted by how your opponent moves is kind of ridiculous."

"True," Dick agrees, but he's 'smiling' too. "I can show you something even more interesting, if you want?"

There's more? I mean, Dick's already pretty damn cool, what else could he do? What haven't I seen?

As my mind spins in circles, I end up saying, "Sure, alright."

Dick lowers his hand away from me, and asks, "Do you know how to be a catcher?" My mind grinds to a sharp halt, because he can't mean what's at the front of my thoughts. I mean it's— I'm not sure it's a bad idea but— "Acrobatics," he clarifies.

Oh. Oh well that's— Okay, that makes more sense.

"Yeah," I spit out, fighting away whatever the strange, uncomfortable heat in my stomach is.

Wow did I not need images that were that vivid in my head. I really didn't need to get catapulted into being that hyper aware of Dick's fingers, and mouth, and skin. It was just one stupid question that I misunderstood, why the hell did it come with the thought of Dick— Of him— Of me with—

I blame Roy that my head's been anywhere near sex recently. It's stupid and ridiculous because that's not happening. Even if Dick were remotely interested, I don't think I could stomach being that physically intimate with anyone, not even him. Not after how the Owl conditioned me against it, and that low thread of nausea that always curls in my gut whenever I see something sexual. It doesn't make me actually throw up anymore, but I remember that stretch of time after Catwoman distracted me. I remember being locked in a cage with the videos — just porn — my only company, and the pills that the Owl forced down my throat that made me violently ill. I remember starving but not being able to stomach the smell of food, let alone the taste.

I remember it happening again and again and again until he shoved me in that cage, started the video, and I threw up all on my own. No chemical assistance needed; betrayed by my own body. For a long time after that just the thought of sex would make me gag, and actually seeing something was an instant route to emptying my last meal on the ground. I remember that I was pretty sure that the Owl didn't think it was actually going to be as effective as it was, since he always seemed just a touch surprised whenever it struck. Was I weaker, or did he never do that to Dick? Did Dick never have to be forced into avoiding sexual thoughts like I did?

That curl of nausea is persistent though, and I swallow once, hard, and resist raising my arm to press over my stomach. That's another thing that I usually can't bring myself to do; admit weakness. I was never good at pretending that I wasn't in pain, but I was still taught to not admit to any weakness. Not openly. Defensive body language was what got me in trouble the most.

Dick's gaze flicks over me, and then the corner of his mouth twitches downwards, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "Conditioning?" His voice is soft, and that makes it easier to give a small nod.

"Yeah, sorry." I take a deep breath in, and give in to the urge to press my left arm down across my stomach. Dick flinches. That startles me enough that I freeze in place, and I stay that way as I watch Dick swallow, following the bob of his Adam's apple and then raising my gaze to his eyes.

His head dips in a small nod. He's not quite looking me in the eyes. "I understand."

"Made you sick too, huh? What for?" Another flinch, and I spit out, "Fuck," and duck my head away. "No, nevermind. Stupid, invasive thing to ask. Ignore it. I shouldn't have—"

"I tried to run," Dick interrupts, and my gaze snaps up to his. He's perfectly still, and there's something detached in his expression even as he swallows again. "He left an escape route open, and I fell for it. I never even made it off the manor grounds before whatever he put in my system took effect." His gaze flicks to the side, and I watch his brow furrow just a bit, like he's thinking particularly hard. "I… He would put me in front of the open door and tell me to run; promise to let me go if I stayed hidden from him for long enough."

"How the hell did you manage to get away from him after he did that?" I ask, partially curious and partially horrified. All the evil shit the Owl did to me, but he never even let me think that there might be some tiny chance of getting out of it. Not like that.

Dick's face smoothes out again, and he meets my look evenly. "I chose survival. When all you have to live for is the idea of still breathing the next day, giving up the hope of getting out isn't that big a step. I shut myself down before he could condition me as well as he wanted to, but some of it is still in me. There isn't much I can do about that."

I snort. "Yeah, I know that feeling." I force my arm down, force myself to ignore that lingering hint of nausea at the back of my gut. "Still want to show me whatever you were thinking of?"

Dick pauses for a moment, and then gives a small nod. "Sure. Come up on the bars with me?"

He waits until I've given my own nod before heading for the other side of the room. The ease that he swings his way up onto one of the middle height bars — forty feet — makes my breath catch a bit, and I do my best to follow him up. It takes me longer to get up there next to him, but he waits until I'm sitting next to him on the steel. He gives me one flickering smile before nodding up towards the even higher hanging trapezes, and the net stretched out below it.

"Get onto one of those, I'll be on the other. I'm going to build up momentum first, and when I call it, swing down and be ready to catch me. Understand?"

"You got it," I answer, and just like that he's dropping off of our bar and catching it with one hand, somehow building up enough momentum to propel himself to the next without any apparent effort. I stare for a second, watching the arc of his body, before I head in the other direction to the trapeze he pointed me towards.

It seems like so much higher when I'm up on the platform, the rope of the trapeze held in my hand. I've got no fear of heights — kind of impossible as Talon — but it's still pretty high, and trusting the safety of me and Dick to nothing but a net makes me just a bit nervous. It's ridiculous, because I've made higher, riskier jumps with nothing to save me if I slip, but I guess I just never had the chance to stare down at the drop and think about it first. Silly difference, but it's still a difference.

Dick swings down, the rope of his trapeze drawing tight underneath his weight. I almost jump down after him before I remember to wait. Instead I draw the trapeze up higher, mentally rehearsing the twist and pull I'll need to hook my legs over the bar and have my arms free to catch Dick. Only distantly though, because most of my brain is definitely occupied with watching the arc of Dick's body as he rises, lets go of the bar, falls again and catches the bar without even a second of wasted time. It's amazing.

"Now!" he calls, and I drop down off of my platform. A second later I've twisted my knees onto the bar, and I twist my head up to watch him.

Momentum carries me forward, but my throat goes tight as I watch Dick fly. He's arcing through the air and then he's twisting, spinning once, twice, three times, four. And then falling, stretching out as he reaches for me. My stomach lurches as I realize his eyes are closed, but a half a second later his hands are closing around my lower arms, and mine around his, and just like that he's safe and I have him. We're swinging back, and I see Dick's eyes open a moment before we're back on the platform. He touches down, and then holds the trapeze as I uncurl and get back to my feet.

I stare at him, and then bark out a laugh. "Wow." Dick's mouth flicks into a tiny smile. "How do you even do that?"

Dick tilts his head down, sits down at the edge of the platform, and I follow him. Our legs hang over the edge, and his shoulder presses to mine. My mind replays that twisting curl of his body, the speed, and my breath catches all over again before I can even think about it. Jesus, that's incredible, and it looked so graceful. I know I can't do that. I don't think I could even come close to pulling off a trick like that.

Dick leans weight into the press of my shoulder, and I turn my head to look at him. His gaze is aimed somewhere around my thigh, and there's something in his expression that looks soft and almost vulnerable. I don't think I've ever seen him look like that before.

"My parents were acrobats," he starts, in a murmur just loud enough for me to understand. "The Flying Graysons; headliners at Haly's Circus." His mouth curls into a tiny smile, a real smile, and he meets my gaze for a brief moment. "I learned how to fly before I could walk, before I could speak. It's in my blood; always has been."

I stay silent, afraid to break whatever this is, hoping to know more and for him to keep talking.

"I don't remember them very well," he admits, "and what I have is mostly fuzzy. But I remember how they felt, and I remember what they taught me. I was working with them when they were killed, I'd just done that same trick to end my routine and it was their solo part of the act. One of the ropes snapped, and we worked without a net so there was nothing to save them. I found out later that Bruce had it engineered. Just enough damage so the rope would fray as we worked. I would live; they would die. He saw my talent and decided I was going to be his."

"Son of a bitch," I hiss, before I can stop myself.

Dick's other shoulder lifts in a small shrug. "It was a long time ago, and I choose to remember them by what I still have left, not what I lost. That trick I showed you is called a quadruple somersault, and as far as I know I'm the only person in the world who can do it without flaws. My parents could, but now it's just me."

I swallow. "You remembered it all this time?" Because I know it's too flashy, too impractical. The Owl would never have let him take a move like that into a real fight.

He nods, gaze rising towards the rest of the room. "Bruce had me practice it, occasionally. The last time I tried to do it I fell; dislocated my shoulder and snapped my collarbone on impact. He stopped telling me to after that, but there are some things you don't forget how to do."

"What happened?"

He pauses, and then meets my gaze. "I'm too tall and too heavy for the ideal measurements of an acrobat. The speed and force behind that trick would be easier if I was lighter, and when I was a kid I could do it with no problem, but as I got older…" He hesitates for a second, and I recognize the way he shifts as pushing past conditioning to speak. "I black out," he admits, holding my gaze. "At the end of the last turn, my vision goes and I black out for about half a second. I can't do that trick without someone to catch me, and that's what happened the last time I tried."

"You trust me that much?" My voice comes out small and quiet, and Dick's answer comes almost instantly.

"Of course."

I stare at him for a second, and then drop my gaze away and turn my head, avoiding the way he's looking at me. I knew Dick trusted me, and of course I trust him too — trust him with my life which is a big fucking statement coming from me — but I didn't think he trusted me that much. For the two of us, trusting someone enough to admit weakness, to admit need, is insane. The fact that he apparently trusts me enough to catch him when he's free falling, and unconscious, without even telling me that tidbit first is enormous. I don't even know how to process that because I don't really understand it. I'm good, but I'm not that good. I could have mistimed my swing, missed catching him, and he would have been in for a rough landing on the net. Not fatal, or crippling, but it would have hurt.

He trusted me to keep him safe.

I swallow, raise my head to look at the ceiling and try to ignore the hard lump in my throat. "I—" I want to show him that he matters too, and that I trust him just as much as he apparently trusts me. No matter how crazy we both are to even think about it.

"My mother was an addict," I whisper, and then force my voice to rise as I lower my head. "She cared for me, but she was almost always too strung out to even notice I was there. When she wasn't high she was passed out, or in withdrawal, or hunting for the next fix. My dad…" Anger boils up my throat, and I choke it back and clench my hands to fists to vent it out, closing my eyes. "He was an abusive bastard, to me and her. Had scars from him before anyone else. He vanished when I was ten; I'm pretty sure he got arrested but as far as I know he could be rotting at the bottom of Gotham's bay. Mother overdosed not long after, and I ended up on the streets. Guess it was just bad luck that the Owl even noticed I existed."

Dick's hand touches the back of my hand, and I let out a slow breath and stretch out my fingers so he can lace his through the gaps. "Thank you for telling me," he murmurs, lightly squeezing my hand.

I give a jerky nod, then turn my head to look up at him. "I— I want to ask you a couple of things. Shouldn't ask, so just— Just ignore me if you don't want to answer."

"Go ahead."

I lean into his side, and god I shouldn't ask what I'm about to. I don't need to know, and he hasn't told me already so it's not my business. "What did the Owl do to you?" I breathe. "Not before, but… While I was dead, what did he do to you?"

I can feel Dick tense, just a bit, and I wince. He doesn't answer for a long couple of seconds, and then the tension drains back out and his fingers flex over mine. "Arkham," he says softly. "He put me in Arkham, and left me to die. Slowly. Guards were bribed and threatened to keep the inmates from outright killing me, but otherwise it was free rein. First with the less important ones, later with the heroes he has in there."

I suck in a breath through my teeth, fear slicing down my spine at the thought of Arkham. I knew it was a possibility, but I didn't really think… No wonder Ra's let Dick into the Lazarus Pit. I can't imagine anything but that Dick was all but torn into pieces in there; 'alive' doesn't mean much, and he was already dying.

Dick is silent, still in a way that I can feel through our contact and recognize as a leftover Talon habit. As if there's an enemy just in front of him that he's ready to kill at even the slightest notice. "It was just pain," he murmurs, but that stillness doesn't go away. He doesn't relax.

"It doesn't sound like you believe that."

Dick glances over to meet my eyes, and there's something in his eyes that I'd almost call unnerved. He looks shaken. I watch him swallow, feel his shoulders twitch, and then his gaze drops again. "It felt like hell," he whispers. My breath catches. "I thought I could take it, to begin with. Pain and hatred; that's nothing new. I didn't think that I could break any further, but in that place… When Ra's got me out, I was starting to go mad. I could feel it. I didn't… I didn't have anything to try and live for. It didn't matter."

I stare at the side of his face, hearing the resigned note to his voice and hating it. "But you've always survived," I tell him. "The Owl, everything he did, all those years and you survived."

"I didn't want to anymore." Dick's voice is flat, but it still makes me recoil about half an inch.

"What?"

Dick's shoulders lift in a small shrug, but he's still not looking at me. Won't look at me. "As far as I knew you and Roy were dead. Without him — without you — there was nothing to live for. You—" Dick pauses, and then his head tilts towards me, his fingers flexing over mine. "Before I met you I was surviving, and I probably could have kept doing it for the rest of my life, but you reminded me what it was like to live. I didn't want to sacrifice everything I was to him so I could go back to just surviving. I couldn't. I'd rather have died."

My breath is coming sharp and fast, and before I know what I'm doing I'm turning my body to face him, raising my free hand to touch his cheek and pull his head up to look at me. "Jesus, Dick, no. You can't do that." I don't know why he lets me move his head to make him meet my eyes, but what I can read of his expression is pain and suffering, and it makes my chest ache. "Dick, don't. Don't you ever give up like that. Please don't."

I barely even register the faint shiver that pleading forces out of me.

"That's not it." Dick's voice is so quiet he's barely even audible, and he looks raw and unguarded in that moment. "I don't want to live in a world without you in it, Jason. I will, if that's what happens, but I won't choose that. Not ever." His hand tightens on mine, almost painfully, and I can see him swallow. "If it meant you'd still be alive I would have done anything Bruce told me to, in a heartbeat. But I won't sacrifice who I am just to survive, not anymore." I stare as his voice lowers another notch, and he leans into the touch of my hand as he whispers, "Learned that from you."

I can't find words. Something is happening, something here is tenuous and fragile and I don't know what to do with it. The fear of Dick dying, of him letting himself die, is cold and hard in my chest, in a lump in my throat, but there's more than that. There's something… I can barely breathe, and I don't think I've ever had this mix of worry, fear, and that thing all mixed together in my gut before. I don't know how to handle it; I don't know what to do with it.

"You're everything to me, Jason," Dick admits — promises — at the same time as a fact in the back of my mind shoves its way to the front.

Dick is what I picked to steel myself against the Pit's influence. I chose Dick.

I twitch forward, pulling him up and leaning down and then my eyes are closing and my lips are brushing his. It's— I—

Dick startles, his shoulders jerking, and I yank myself away.

"Fuck," I spit, dropping my hand away from his face and pulling back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean— I shouldn't have— I'm sorry."

Run, hisses a voice in my mind. Run and try to get as far away as possible before he recovers and hurts you. I try and pull my hand away from his so I can do just that, but his fingers are tight around mine and he's staring at me, his eyes just slightly widened. I consider dropping off the platform regardless — he'd let go to save himself, and the net's down there — but then his other hand is pressing to the center of my chest and curling into my shirt to hold me in place. I just swallow instead, knowing that Dick can see exactly how scared I am but not being able to stop even a little bit of it.

I have fucked up. Royally.

"Dick, I didn't—"

"Shh," Dick hushes, and my mouth snaps shut again. "Jason, did you mean that?"

And knowing he can see right through my lies, knowing that I have no chance of telling him anything but the truth, I whisper, "Yes. I'm sorry, I know it was wrong, it was stupid, it was—"

Another hush, sharper this time. "Why?"

I take in a shaky breath, feeling the heat of his hand against my chest even through the fabric. "Because the thought of you is how I control the Pit. I chose you."

Dick's eyes flicker a little wider, and then his hand is relaxing and smoothing out to rest flat over my chest, almost on top of my heart. "I chose you," he echoes, and I freeze up a little bit. "Is this what you want?"

Another breath, and I don't know where the words are coming from but things are clicking together in my head and I just know they're true. "Yes," I say again. "God, Dick, you— you saved my life, you protected me, you trained me. I am fucked up and you accepted me anyway; you understand me and you know what I've been through. Yes, I want this but please don't do it just for me. Don't—"

"Jason, stop." My heart plummets, my chest shrinks in on itself like my ribcage is too small, and then Dick speaks again. "You taught me how to live, Jason, and you reminded me what it was like to care. I wasn't lying; you're everything to me. I mean that with every single bit of who I am."

His hand curls into my shirt as I stare at him, and then he's slowly pulling me forward and down, and he's leaning up. I close my eyes automatically, and the breath whooshes right out of me when his lips brush over mine. I gasp in another breath, my mind stuttering to a halt along with my lungs, and then the hand at my chest is sliding up along my neck and into my hair and Dick is pressing up against me. His lips gain a bit more pressure behind them, and I jerk back into something like action.

My hand finds his side, and I let it follow the line of one of his ribs around to his back. I press my palm against his low back, barely able to stop myself from pulling him in closer and harder against me. His fingers are as gentle against my scalp as his lips are on my mouth, and then his other hand tugs free of mine and slides up my arm. I shiver at the feeling, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips all the way up until they reach my neck. I lean into him, leaving my free hand on the platform to keep my balance as his hand settles around the back of my neck.

It feels like an eternity that we kiss, but when he starts to pull back I still clench my hand into his shirt and try to keep him close. I hear him give one of his soft huffs of amusement, and this time I can feel the breath against my face. I open my eyes and almost my entire vision is taken up by the impossible blue of Dick looking back at me. I swallow, but I don't move.

"We're really going to do this?" I ask, fearing the answer as much as I need it.

Dick's hand lightly squeezes the back of my neck, and it should scare me but it doesn't. It just doesn't. "Yes. As long as you want me, I'm yours." It's barely even a whisper, but it's everything I've ever needed.

"I— I don't think I can— Not with anyone." My cheeks are probably flushed, and I know my words are vague as hell, but Dick seems to understand them somehow.

I see his mouth curl into a tiny smile, and stay that way. "I wouldn't even know how to start," he admits. "You're the first, Jason. For anything."

So that was… I just took Dick's first kiss? Ever?

I lean in, take a second one, and shove aside my insecurities so I can pull him a little closer to me. "Don't stop," I whisper against his mouth. "Don't ever stop."