Chapter Text
The last thing Dick remembered was falling. He'd escaped the melee leaving more groaning and sprawled bodies behind him than conscious ones, but in the end there were just too many. As he fled, body aching from countless hits, he witnessed Superintendent Mills making her getaway in a black Hummer. He'd flicked a tracker onto it and had been perched on the sill of the shattered office window about to pursue when something hit him from behind.
He fell, aware that he'd left too many enemies behind him and that if the ground didn't kill him, they would. He'd just thought he'd be fast enough. Maybe at the beginning of the night. Maybe if he'd slept the night before, or the night before that. At least he seemed likely to black out before he hit the ground. Small mercies.
The ground was a lot softer than it should be, though. And it smelled like sunshine, dryer sheets, and something sweet. Dick inhaled deeply before he realized he was on a bed, his head resting on a pillow. He opened his eyes and found morning light streaming through two windows and a skylight into an unfamiliar bedroom.
He was alone in the room, but the door was open and he could hear someone moving around beyond it. He took stock of himself quickly, unsure of how much time he had.
His mask was gone. That was a concern. Escrima sticks, too. Most of his suit seemed to be missing, in fact. He wasn't wearing his boots, and he was lying on the torn remains of the top half of the costume, leaving his arms and torso bare except for the careful bandage on one of his arms, and the ice pack (mostly melted) on the worst of the bruises on his ribs.
He could feel another bandage above his right eye and remembered flipping away from a punch only to whirl right into someone's knee. He was pretty sure they hadn't even been trying to hit him, it had just been that chaotic.
There was no point in cataloging all his pains. He was a solid bruise, every hit he'd taken blending into the others. But he could move, so that was the first step. He started by turning his head, looking down at his hand where it rested on pale green sheets. The black on his fingers stood out starkly. He curled them into a fist, hiding them.
The bed had a metal frame. Vining plants of some kind were crawling up it, twining through the thin rails of the headboard. They had clusters of tiny, bell-shaped flowers that seemed to be the source of the sweet scent Dick had noticed.
That was when it finally clicked. Shade. He had a hazy memory of the whorls of his mask, the green streak of his hair falling into his face as he bent over Nightwing. He must have… abducted him from the water treatment facility and… patched him up?
Dick shook his head. Was he drugged? He didn't feel drugged. If he was drugged he would hope he'd be in less pain.
He shifted to the edge of the bed and stood, moving stiffly. The room was bright, airy, and altogether wholesome. It was painted a soft yellow and most of the furnishings were pale wood. There were plants on every available surface: succulents in small pots on the dresser, snake plants reaching for the ceiling in each corner, a riot of purple and white flowers with long stamens and dark green leaves trailing from baskets hung from hooks, more climbing flowers framing the door and windows…
Dick felt surrounded, yet, somehow, not threatened. He might be in a plant-themed villain's bedroom, but these plants just seemed like plants. Of course, if he was a plant-themed villain that's just what he would want an injured, captured vigilante to think.
He tried to pull the top half of his suit back on, but between the pain in his arm from the ricocheted bullet, his ribs, and the state of the costume, it just wasn't possible. It looked like Shade had noticed the failsafes built into the obvious catches and clasps and had just decided to peel him like a banana rather than risk setting them off. Dick must have been really out of it for the time that would have taken – but then, he didn't remember the whole trip back here, either.
He went to the windows and looked out, figuring his position. The room was at the top of a tall building Dick didn't recognize, but he could see that they were near Melville Park. Not bad for a young supervillain.
Dick tied what was left of the arms of the suit around his waist in an effort to keep the bottom half in place. Most of his gear was gone so grappling away out the window wasn't an option, and he didn't fancy scaling the building in his current condition.
He eyed the open door of the bedroom, framed in flowers, and inched toward it. They didn't so much as rustle as he approached, so he peered out of the door, taking in the apartment at with a quick glance before ducking back into the room.
It was long and narrow, the floor plan open. The front door was to Dick's left in a sitting area with a low, grey couch, a mismatched armchair, stocked bookcases, and a modest television stuck in the corner almost as an afterthought. There were blankets tossed carelessly over the furniture, and an oversized blue throw pillow on the floor shoved halfway under a glass-topped coffee table.
The living room gave way to a dining area defined by a square table with a pine-finished top, green legs, and two chairs that matched. Two other chairs didn't. Dick's mask and escrima sticks were sitting on the table, his boots on the floor by one of the chairs.
And beyond that, at the far end of the apartment from the bedroom, the kitchen. Most of the cabinetry and appliances were on the back wall, which seemed to be brick where it peeked through. From how bright it was, Dick surmised the existence of a very large window, probably sliding doors letting onto a balcony. Most important, though, was the fact that Shade was standing in that kitchen, his back to Dick, surrounded by plants.
Well, there was nowhere in the apartment he wouldn't be surrounded by plants. Like the bedroom, they covered every surface. Jasmine, philodendron, several varieties of ivy, and more and more that Dick couldn't name spilling from the bookcases, climbing the walls, lining the windowsills.
It was exactly as many plants as could fit without competing for sunlight. And somehow the smell wasn't overpowering; not all of the plants were flowering, but the ones that were should have been enough to be unpleasant all at once. Shade probably had something to do with that.
Shade, who had looked casual at the counter, wearing a loose pair of black sweats and a purple racerback tank top. Not exactly armor. And this wasn't exactly a lair. What was he doing?
There were a million questions arising from this scenario, and Dick wasn't leaving without either answers or shoes, so he figured making a start for one might net him the other.
He crept from the room.
Shade was still in the kitchen, talking to himself. Or, no, not himself. A vine that stretched across the tops of the cabinets and occasionally unfurled a tendril down to him. He batted it away every so often, like it was an underfoot cat.
"Stop that, you don't get a say in this," Shade said, almost slamming the refrigerator door on it. He poured himself a glass of water and had to literally hold the vine away from him while he took a drink. "Oh, fine," he said, and left it on the counter. The vine dipped into it once, then retreated, ignoring it. "Really? You just wanted it because I had it."
Dick was almost to the table and was reaching out for his escrima sticks when Shade turned. Dick froze.
Shade glowered, but not at him. He glared at all the plants lining the walls and the floors and the shelves. "What the fuck, you guys. Worst security system ever."
Dick still didn't move, hand hovering over the table, staring.
"All right, what is it with you?" Shade demanded, crossing his arms. "Why do my plants like you so much? My vines grab onto you while we're fighting, they don't warn me when you wake up and sneak up behind me, and my mask has refused to grow since I brought you back here so who the fuck are you that they care so much?"
It was true that Shade's mask was nowhere in evidence. His arms were free of plant life. And the streak in his hair was no longer green, but pure white.
"I—" Dick started, then twitched his hand back, away from the weapons, curling it in close. His thumb ran over his blackened fingers in an involuntary twitch.
Shade's eyes tracked it and his face went still. Dick couldn't tear his eyes from his hair, obviously staring. Shade's hand rose as if to touch the white streak, then fell before he did, his mouth opening, then closing.
"They say you were Robin," Shade said at last, his voice low and rough, something hunted around his eyes.
"What's your name?" Dick asked instead of answering. It could be a trick. No one would know to trick him like this, but it could be a trick.
"I told you. Nightshade."
"No. The name of the boy. The one who ran errands for the bosses on his block, the boy who ran from Robin." Dick's fingertips were tingling. He wanted to vault the table, to touch, to prove.
Shade's body was a coiled spring. "I guess," he said eventually. "That if Batman had a file on me it would say Jason Todd."
"Jason," Dick breathed. "Jay. They called you Jay."
"Yeah, well, I wasn't gonna give my full name to a bunch of strangers, was I?"
"What happened to you?" Dick asked. "We searched. We couldn't find you anywhere. A boy with a white streak in his hair from Crime Alley… it was like you fell off the planet. Was— was it Ivy? Did she get you before we—"
"Hey. Watch what you say about her. Ivy saved my damn life and that was years after I met you. You guys must just suck at finding people." There was no heat in it, just a calm statement of facts.
Dick moved around the table, weapons and gear forgotten for the moment. Jason watched him approach, eyes searching his but constantly flicking back down to his hand, hunger plain in his gaze.
"Can I?" Dick asked, raising his hand tentatively between them.
"Yeah," Jason whispered. He looked down, ducking his head just slightly.
Dick reached out and brushed the snowdrift of hair away from his face with the backs of his fingers, just as he had so many years ago. Jason's eyes closed and his chest expanded with a deep breath, while Dick stopped breathing altogether.
He let his hand drop and Jason lifted his eyes. Dick smiled, small and soft, and turned up his palm. A single pale pink blossom nestled there, layers of overlapping petals surrounding a bright yellow center. He offered it silently to Jason.
Jason took it gently. "Sorry," he said. "That… happens sometimes." His hair had streaked green for a moment when the blossom had unfurled, and now it was back to plain white.
"What is it?" Dick asked.
"Uh, camellia, looks like," Jason said. He set it in the glass of water. "Don't read too much into it."
"Into the camellia?"
"Yeah." The flower floating in the glass seemed to have captured all of Jason's attention, but Dick picked up slightly quicker breathing that Jason was clearly trying to get under control.
"Okay. Do you want to talk about the fact that we're soulmates?" About the fact that touching you sent a bolt of fire straight up my arm, my God, it was like the Nightwing stripes were painted on me in lightning, did you feel it, did you feel even a fraction of—
"I'm not going to stop."
"Stop?" Dick echoed. Why would I want you to stop?
"Haven Pharm. The treatment plant, the food lab, all those fuckers. I'm not going to stop going after them just because we— because you're— this doesn't change anything," Jason said.
"Doesn't change— bullshit," Dick said. "You saved my life. You brought me into your home. Before you even knew."
"Only because it was my fault you ended up in that situation," Jason said. "I know you were rushing things trying to beat me to the punch. You're just lucky I was keeping an eye on the plant. Mills might deserve to get her head smashed in for what she's doing, but you don't."
"They deserve to be brought to justice. To be made an example."
"Heads on pikes make pretty good examples, Wing," Shade spat.
"And what if there's more?" Dick asked, refusing to back down and, in fact, stepping closer. "There needs to be an investigation, an official one. Sure, you found the people trying to use the Venom, to profit off it, but how did it get here? Who's supplying it? Is it being manufactured here? Imported? We can't just treat the surface problem or the real contamination will just bury itself deeper."
"You can play detective all you like after we stop the immediate issue, which is that the literal ground Bludhaven is built on is being poisoned," Jason argued, pulling himself up to his full height which gave him just enough to look down at Dick.
"What about the victims, then? The people who got the bad drugs Haven Pharm was experimenting with, the bad food, the bad water, the… whatever the hell they were doing with the sneakers?" Dick's hands fisted at his sides. He and Jason were practically on top of each other, Jason deliberately looming, and it was an effort not to shove him, show him that he wasn't intimidated by Jason's size. "The victims deserve recompense and they'll only get it through legal action. Burying buildings and bodies doesn't leave them with anything."
Jason took a seething breath and then, to Dick's surprise, stepped back. "All right, you might have some points. Maybe. But I'm not talking about this with you until you put a shirt on."
"Excuse me?"
"You're distracting," Jason growled, pushing past Dick and heading back to the bedroom. Dick blinked, then grinned and followed him, only to be met with a shirt to the face as Jason threw one through the door at him. This was followed by a pair of pajama pants. "Can't imagine the spandex is particularly comfortable after a whole night in it," he said with a shrug and pointed out the bathroom for Dick to get changed.
When Dick emerged a few minutes later – longer than it should have taken since he'd forgotten, in the euphoria of finding his soulmate (and immediately picking a fight with him), that he'd been sort of shot, beaten, and pushed out a window in the not too distant past and his injuries were tired of being ignored – Jason had set a large glass of water, a mug of tea, and a BLT on toast on the coffee table.
"Sit," he ordered, pointing at the couch. The bottoms of the pajamas dragged a little, and the Gotham Knights t-shirt was too large as well, but given the state of Dick's ribs that was probably a good thing. He sat meekly, Jason watching his every stiff movement with narrowed eyes. "We have two nights before the big meeting with our current batch of idiots," he began, then frowned at Dick. "That sandwich isn't just for decoration."
"I'm not going to sit here and eat while you pace. I'll get a crick in my neck looking up at you."
Jason huffed and dropped into the armchair. "Better?"
"Yes. You want half of this?"
"I eat sunlight."
Dick almost choked on his water. "Are you serious?"
Jason rolled his eyes. "No. Well sort of. It's complicated. Anyway, no, I don't want half of that, I would have made my own damn sandwich if I wanted one. You haven't eaten since before you went out last night. Trust me, you need the whole thing."
"How do you know when the last time I ate was?"
"I've been watching you, you moron."
"You… what, even at home? You knew who I was this whole time?" Dick asked, feeling faintly scandalized. The frisson of panic at giving away his identity – and all the other people that would compromise – was distant.
"Not the whole time. I only found you yesterday afternoon. I got lucky; there's a linden tree on your block that knows your smell." Dick stared at him and Jason gestured vaguely. "Not smell, I guess, it's a little more… there isn't really a word for it. Anyway, yeah, the tree gave you away. It's not really something I'd worry about most people figuring out. Although." He looked down at his hands. "I mean, I don't expect you to, I guess, but a name would be nice. If we're going to work together."
Dick grinned at him. "Are we going to work together?"
"I have some conditions. The first is that you eat that sandwich."
Dick took a large bite. The thought of poisons and toxins had crossed his mind, but if his soulmate wanted to hurt him like that… well, he should probably find that out now. But all he got was a mouthful of bacon, lettuce, and tomato.
Jason nodded. "Okay. I'm thinking, we can try it your way. But," he said, holding up a hand to forestall Dick's pleased exclamations. "The second any of them walk, or wiggle out of it, or default on a medical payment, all bets are off. No second chances. I take what's owed."
Dick thought it over. "By taking what's owed, you mean…?"
"I'll make sure they never hurt anyone again. I'll destroy whatever's left of their businesses, and then I'll execute them."
Dick sighed. "I can't condone killing," he said. "Not in my city."
"Then you can hope the system works. Or that they get out of town before I catch up with them."
Dick's hand went to his mouth, fingers moving across his lips again, that old habit. He thought of Wonder Woman, of Donna, of Kori. He nodded slowly. "All right." Then he noticed Jason's eyes, fixed on his fingers where they met his lips. He smiled and dropped the hand. "Do you really not know my name?"
"It's not like you walk around introducing yourself to trees," Jason said. Dick wondered if he'd licked his lips consciously.
"Dick Grayson," Dick said, since Jason apparently needed to hear it out loud.
"That's your name?" Jason asked.
"That's my name."
"Thanks for telling me. Dick," Jason said. Dick's skin gave a pleasant little shiver at hearing his name in Jason's mouth.
"You don't seem… surprised," Dick said.
"At your name? It's a little old fashioned, but I wouldn't call it particularly surprising."
"You've never heard the name Dick Grayson before?" Dick asked, not entirely certain how to take that.
"It kind of sounds vaguely familiar. Why, is he somebody famous?"
"Not that famous, apparently," Dick said. "Never mind. Google it later. We need to figure out how to clean up this Venom conspiracy."
They planned. They plotted. They compared notes and resources, dredged up evidence and anecdotes and went after the roots of the conspiracy. They were deep, deeper than even Jason had known. Dick had suspected, once he'd started digging, but he hadn't had time to build anything properly resembling a web of who was involved.
They did so now. The big meeting was tomorrow night, but now that Jason was on his side, Dick felt no rush. Let them have their meeting; they could bug it and use it for recon if they had to. Jason would prefer to wrap it up then and there, though, and if they could they would.
A strategy began to take shape. A few weak points in the organizations to lean on, a few good detectives Dick knew, a few victims Jason knew who would be willing to testify.
Lunch time came and went. They ate while they planned, sitting across from each other at Jason's little kitchen table. Jason might claim to eat sunlight, but apparently he ate sandwiches too, and brought snacks and drinks over to the coffee table when they moved back to the couch and armchair.
Over the course of their planning, other details began to emerge, as well. Jason had been living in Bludhaven almost a full year. He hadn't been planning on going all eco-terrorist, but as the contamination from the companies involved began to leach into the soil he began to feel it, and so did the local plant life. He couldn't stand by.
"It's lucky I caught you," Dick said with a grin.
Jason rolled his eyes. "Who caught who, exactly? I had you on the ropes."
"I guess we'll never know!" Dick said brightly. "But why did you move here in the first place?"
"Why did you?" Jason countered.
Dick shrugged. "Well part of it was to try and get myself to stop obsessing over my lost soulmate. Which turned out to be a good decision," he said with a raised eyebrow in Jason's direction. Jason rolled his eyes at him. "But mostly it was Batman. Getting out from under his wing. It's a very large wing, and it's dark under there. Bludhaven looked like it needed my help."
"Kind of the same for me," Jason said. "Except I never really realized…" He tugged lightly at the white part of his hair. "I mean, I sort of suspected, but I didn't know so I just didn't think about it. But I did need to spread out on my own, and I needed to get out of Ivy's way. She's been afraid to tangle with the Bat since she had me to protect," he said. "She didn't want him to find out about me and take me away, or toss me in Arkham just because of…" He gestured at the plant life all around them. A cord of climbing jasmine had crept out from somewhere and was curled affectionately around his ankle. A cluster of yellow poppies on the bookshelf behind them had turned their blossoms to face him.
"Oh," Dick said. He wanted to also say He wouldn't, or I would never let that happen, but when faced with the same situation Dick had been faced with meeting Nightshade, he doubted Batman would have been careless or hasty enough to accidentally find out about his soulmate status in the first place.
"Yeah, so I kind of took off to enable my supervillain mom to get back to her villainy. Sorry," Jason said with a shrug. "For what it's worth, I think Harley's softening her up a little."
"Harley and Ivy? That's not reassuring at all," Dick said.
"They're a surprisingly good influence on each other. Maybe it's a soulmate thing," he said. His eyes moved, as they had so many times that day, to Dick's fingers. Dick didn't mind. He'd been staring at Jason's hair plenty, himself.
Dick cleared his throat. "We need to iron out a few more details," he said. "Tell me how you know this Mrs. Alvarez will be willing to testify…"
They went over it all again and again, shoring up weak angles and nailing down details. Jason had a fine eye for contingencies and potential wiggle room for their intended targets, and Dick had the connections and experience with the justice system he lacked.
Dick's body was sending a constant stream of complaints at him while they worked, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. No matter how he sat or lay or stood, he'd be in pain. So he ignored it. A day of quiet planning in soft, comfortable clothes on a soft, comfortable couch was probably much better than he would normally have treated his injuries, anyway.
Afternoon wore on. There were breaks to water the plants, for more food, for pacing. Jason eventually joined Dick on the couch, occupying the same space as a bright patch of sunlight for a few hours, until it began to move up the wall. Jason stayed where he was, though.
When they'd finally been able to run through the plan twice without having to make any changes, the last of the sun was leaving the sky.
"I don't think we can do anything more tonight," Jason said. "Right?"
"Not that I can see." Even if there was, Dick knew he was at the limits of what he could wring out of his brain in one sitting. And the amount of self-control it had taken to make it this long without getting completely distracted—
"Oh, thank God," Jason said. "Being responsible sucks ass." He grabbed Dick's hand, the one with the marked fingers, turning on the couch cushion so he faced him. "Tell me this is okay," he said, pulling Dick's hand to his lips and kissing his fingers.
The kiss was an oddly formal gesture, curious and courtly. Dick felt his face heating as though Jason had just asked for permission to bend Dick over the arm of the couch and make him scream Jason's name, rather than for this simple, reverent gesture.
"Yeah," Dick managed.
"Touching you is all I've been able to think about for the last hour."
"Just the last hour for you?" Dick laughed.
"What can I say, I'm a dedicated justice-planner-person." Jason's lips lingered on a knuckle. Dick curled his free hand around the back of Jason's neck, pulling him closer, and replaced his marked fingers with his mouth.
Jason pressed forward, pushing Dick back so he was resting against the armrest. Dick hummed his pleasure and pulled his legs onto the couch, laying himself out under Jason.
Jason leaned back and looked down at him, nodding once in approval. "I think I'd like my shirt back now," he said.
"You couldn't have told me that before I laid down?" Dick grumbled.
"I'll help." Jason tugged at the hem of the shirt. "Can you lift your arms?"
"Can I— I am one of the best acrobats in the world, yes I can lift my arms," Dick said, determinedly not showing how much it hurt even to sit up slightly so that Jason could pull the shirt the rest of the way up. He was just stiff. From all the bruising. And the bullet wound.
Jason tossed the shirt on the coffee table and leaned close. Instead of kissing him, though, he ghosted his lips over Dick's cheek and whispered, "Turn over."
"Jason—" Dick started, something in his brain screaming slow down while something else yelled, just as enthusiastically, soulmate!!
"I'll make it worth your while," Jason promised, voice soft. "And if I do anything you don't like I'll stop the second you say the word." He pulled back, examining Dick's face and allowing Dick to do the same to him.
Dick searched his eyes and found nothing but sea green, lovely and guileless and perfect for drowning in. He reached up and touched the white of Jason's hair with the tips of his marked fingers and shivered as his skin pricked with the feeling of connection, of belonging. Jason blinked slowly, his exhale a little harsh, but didn't move to touch Dick or try to encourage him any further.
Dick nodded, finally, and Jason rose up on his knees so that Dick could turn underneath him. He settled on his stomach, arms crossed in front of him to pillow his head, trying to ignore the burn of abused back muscles at the stretch. That was where he'd taken most of the hits last night, it felt like. Each bruise was its own lamp, a hot, steady flame that showed no sign of dimming yet.
Jason's fingertips traced up his spine, brushed lightly against the planes of his shoulder blades as if mapping them. Dick felt the cushions shift as Jason redistributed his weight for more stability and so that he wasn't crushing Dick's legs. There was a gentle clink, like glass on glass, and Dick was about to sneak a peek over his shoulder when Jason's hands returned to his skin, running confidently over his ribs.
Sudden coolness bloomed where he touched and Dick couldn't help the groan that escaped him a second later. He dropped his forehead to his crossed arms as Jason rubbed gentle circles over his bruises, his hands sliding easily as a light floral scent rose around him.
"Told you it'd be worth it," Jason said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
"What is that?"
"My take on Tiger Balm. Why, what did you think I was going to do?" Jason asked innocently.
"Nothing as good as this." Jason's fingers pressed a little more firmly into one of Dick's shoulders, finding not a bruise but a knotted muscle. Dick's voice broke from him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks.
"Yeah, we'll see about that. Sometime when you can actually move, though," Jason said. He leaned close and kissed the back of Dick's neck. "I want to see exactly what one of the best acrobats in the world can do in peak condition."
Dick swore into the couch cushions. If he'd thought Nightshade was dangerous, that was nothing compared to Jason Todd.
Dick stayed the night.
Coda
Was it fate that brought Jason Todd back into Dick Grayson's life? Did fate give the two a nudge, soften their meeting, shove Dick out of a window and into Jason's arms? Or did fate see that Jason had slipped through its fingers and abandon all plan for the young man's life (and death), leaving this mated pair entirely on their own to make of life what they will?
Jason does not know. Nor does Dick. Neither is particularly wondering about it at the moment, for they have more important things on their mind, namely:
The satisfying recoil and catch of a line letting Nightwing down into the midst of a conspiracy meeting in ruins.
The delicious expression on several criminal faces when they realize how thoroughly they've been caught.
The crunch of bone and cartilage as they – or, their hired help – try to fight back anyway.
The way Nightwing looks when he dances through a melee, not a foot out of place.
The way Nightshade looks threshing a path through the crowd, fighting his way to Nightwing's side.
The faltering and break of the tide as a fight turns to a rout.
The net of red and blue lights in place, of everything in place, of every plan and contingency slotting together to form an unbreakable wall.
These people are going to jail and, looking at Nightwing, triumphant in the aftermath as they watch from a nearby rooftop while the authorities take things in hand, Jason lets himself believe that they'll stay there. That they'll see justice.
That maybe, just maybe, there could be something to this partnership thing.
Then Nightwing looks over at him, flushed from the fight and grinning like a sunrise, and Jason doesn't need to wonder or believe or question anymore.
He knows.