To Jason, it was simple.

One moment he was dead. The next, he was alive.

Of course, there had been the panic, the fear, the anger, but all that came later. Even the disappointment waited until he was out of his grave.

Dead. Alive.

Simple.

But, apparently, not everyone saw it this way.

There were questions of what they should have done, would have done, could have done, and why they weren't done. Things that happened between Before and After. Things that Jason was never part of, yet still had a hand in. Things that didn't matter to him, not one bit.

Except for the Replacement. That, at least, had to matter to him.

But Jason didn't care how much his death had hurt Bruce, or Dick, or even Alfred. All that mattered was that he was the one that had hurt the most, so he had the right to be angry, guns and all. And he was fully prepared to use that privilege.

Yet here he was, after everything, still falling for the same traps.

It had been a started a standard night. Drug traffickers, human traffickers, the lot. Then, of course, came the one on top. The one who mattered.

This time it was a man calling himself The Bowler- based on his ugly hat. Seriously, Jason was restraining the urge to throw up.

Red Hood was prepared- he was a Bat, no matter how much he hated that fact. He held his guns with steady hands, hands that had seen more than their fair share of blood, a lot of it his own. A shot to the shoulder, then to the leg, then to the hat. Maybe one to the head, but Big Bat was too close to his area tonight.

Jason didn't want to see the disappointment in his face. Not again.

He should've known, though, that Batman would avoid him. Bruce didn't want to see his face either. It hurt, sort of. But he was just too relieved that he wouldn't have to be reminded of everything again.

It was just his luck that someone even worse than Batman came along.

"Nice shot, Red," Nightwing smirked.

He had leaped down from the rooftop above. Jason wondered how long he had been there- had he been waiting for the kill? Or something else?

"Better shot than you'll ever be," Red Hood replied. Okay. That was unfair. It's not like he's ever wanted to hold a gun before.

Nightwing stood across from him and crossed his arms, his ever-annoying grin still in place. Jason noticed he had grown out his hair, and wondered how he managed to get so many women if he looked like a jungle animal. Probably with that smile.

"You didn't kill him," he noticed. Stated. Flatly. Like it was normal.

But he had to say it out loud, and that gave it away.

"Heard Batman was nearing my territory," Red Hood instinctively scowled. "If you see him, tell him I'll shoot his balls off if he comes even a meter closer to here."

Nightwing laughed, because he knew it was a hollow threat. Sort of.

If Jason had to shoot him anywhere, it would be straight through the heart. Twice.

"And what will you do to me?" The older man cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't know. Depends on what you want."

Now Dick's smile waned a bit. It fluttered like dying wings, like when someone forgets to take the clothes in and it just stands outside, like its been abandoned. A bit of a weird comparison, but whatever- he wasn't an expert poet.

He was an expert at being abandoned, though. That had to count for something.

He waited for Nightwing to speak. The silence grew, until-

"I want you to come home, Jay."

There are two types of hurt- the hurt you deserve, and the hurt you don't. Jason had much more than his share of hurt, and mostly all of that was for crimes he had yet to commit. Maybe that's why Red Hood was made; not made, stolen. To catch up to that hurt. So that he could tell himself he did deserve it, that life wasn't hopeless, that people had a chance. He had to make himself deserve all the hurt he got. It felt better, somehow.

But there are also two types of hope- hope someone gave to you, and hope that you have yourself. He had used up the latter until it was dry, and in the place of hope seeded anger. A lot of it, for all the hope he used to have. Because people who were content, who were satisfied, never needed hope. Not as much as he did. But somehow, though he had given up on himself, Dick hadn't. Kept giving him hope, a reason to survive. Something he had been trying to get rid of for ages.

That was why he got angry. Because hope and hurt were too familiar now, too close. He had to push it all far, far away.

"No names on the field," Jason said flatly.

Nightwing searched his helmeted face. "That's not an answer."

"It wasn't a question, was it? It's never a question. Never a choice. There's always someone demanding something of me, something I can't give! I can't go home, Nightwing! You know that!"

"Jason-"

"You think you can come up here, and ask me to come home, and that was all I needed?"

He looked down. Scuffed his foot across the rough concrete. "That was all I ever needed..."

Red Hood closed his eyes for a second. Of course. Or course that had been all he needed. They were different people, in different situations. Dick had left Bruce, left on purpose, and it didn't matter how much Bruce had hurt him, because that had been Dick's choice. He could have come back.

But Jason had died. Had been pulled away, without a decision. And that made all the difference.

That, and that Bruce had actually loved Dick.

"...That was you. This is me, Di- Nightwing. This is me, and we both know I'm beyond saving."

That was when Nightwing looked up. Red Hood had never seen that look on his face, that look of pure anger. Of shock.

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that." Nightwing was shaking his head, walking up to him. Jason backed away, out of habit. "I'm not giving up on you, you know that? Nobody is beyond saving-"

"I am. Everyone hates me, Dick! Don't even deny it!" Jason took a breath. "Don't tell me you didn't hate me, at least a little bit."

Dick looked at him. "I can honestly say I've never hated you, little wing."

Jason's fists clenched. Relaxed. Unlike what people thought, he wasn't impulsive. It's just, thinking things through, often the impulsive decision is the one with the most blood.

"Before Tim was my Replacement, I was yours," he snapped. "You can't say, then, that you've never hated me."

Nightwing's mouth opened. Closed. Set in a straight line, then opened again. "That's not the same, though, is it? Do you really hate Tim?"

"Of course I hate him. What kind of question is that?"

"Jason, you are many things, but you're not a liar."

Jason closed his eyes again. "I guess... I guess it's not the same as hating. But it's not like I like him, either. There's nothing... There's nothing that feels like being replaced."

It was true. The closest thing to that feeling was dying.

Nightwing smiled. "I know. I think I know that more than you ever have. But, I've never hated you. Bruce has never hated you, and neither has Tim. Not even Damian." He took a breath. "I've never really had the chance to say this, but-"

That was when something buzzed. His communicator. Again, Jason was pushed to second place.

Dick grimaced apologetically, but turned to leave. Paused. Turned around again.

"I missed you, Jason," he said softly. "I miss you."

It wasn't like that changed anything. Jason still felt angry, maybe even angrier.

But, when it comes down to it-

"Dick... I miss you too," Jason whispered.

With that, he left.

Hope you guys enjoyed! The next chapter will probably be the same thing, but from Dick's point of view. Please review with your honest opinions!