DC: The Man And The Hood

The instructor recovered quickly, his movements now more measured. Jason could feel his body beginning to falter—the pain in his shin throbbed with every step, his arms felt like lead, and his breathing was ragged. But he refused to back down.

The final exchange was brutal. The instructor swung with enough force to shatter Jason's staff if it connected. Jason ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow, and pivoted on his uninjured leg. He swept his staff low, aiming for the man's legs, but the instructor jumped, avoiding the strike entirely.

Jason barely had time to register the counterattack before the instructor's staff slammed into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He hit the ground hard, the staff rolling from his grasp.

"Enough," Ra's said, raising a hand.

The instructor stepped back, lowering his weapon. Jason lay on the ground, gasping for air, his body screaming in protest.

"You lost," Damian's voice chimed in, smug and condescending. "Again. No surprise there."

Jason pushed himself up on shaky arms, glaring at the boy. "Keep talking, kid. One day, I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Doubtful. But watching you stumble around is mildly entertaining."

Ra's approached, his gaze fixed on Jason. "You fought well for a beginner," he said. "Your instincts are sharp, but your technique is lacking. That will change with time and discipline."

Jason nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'll do better."

Ra's offered a faint smile, placing a hand on Jason's shoulder. "I expect nothing less."

As Jason limped away from the arena, Damian's voice followed him. "Try not to embarrass yourself tomorrow."

Jason smirked despite the pain. "Enjoy the show while it lasts, kid. It won't be long before I'm giving you pointers."

Damian scoffed but said nothing, watching as Jason disappeared into the shadows of the compound.

****

The cavernous Batcave felt colder than usual. Its usual hum of activity was subdued, weighed down by the unspoken grief that permeated its every corner.

Nightwing stood at the edge of the main platform, staring at the void beyond. The familiar scent of oil, old leather, and damp stone filled the air, but they were no comfort tonight.

He watched Bruce—no, Batman—moving like a ghost between the Batcomputer and the array of monitors that cast flickering light across the space. Bruce hadn't looked at him once since he arrived.

"Bruce," Dick began, keeping his tone soft but firm. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about." Batman's gruff reply came without pause, his back still turned.

"Nothing?" Dick's voice rose slightly, the frustration seeping through. "Jason is dead. You're shutting me out. You're—"

"I'm handling it," Bruce snapped, cutting him off. He finally turned, his jaw clenched, his eyes shadowed behind the mask. "I don't need your help."

"Handling it?" Dick gestured broadly at the empty cave. "You call this handling it? You've been running yourself ragged, Bruce. You won't talk to anyone, not Alfred, not me. You're barely even sleeping."

Bruce turned back to the monitors. "I have work to do."

Dick crossed the space between them, his boots scuffing against the platform. "Fine. Then let me help. Let me patrol with you tonight. You don't have to do this alone."

"No."

The single word was final, a wall slamming down between them. Dick's fists clenched at his sides.

"You can't keep doing this, Bruce. Jason—"

"Jason is dead," Bruce interrupted harshly, his voice cracking like a whip. "And it's my fault. I won't let anyone else pay for my mistakes."

Dick flinched, the raw pain in Bruce's voice hitting him like a blow. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

"You're right," he said finally, his voice quieter but no less determined. "It was a mistake. But shutting everyone out isn't going to fix it. Jason wouldn't want this."

Bruce said nothing. He simply turned away again, his cape swishing behind him as he walked toward the Batmobile.

"I'm going on patrol. Stay here."

Dick watched him go, his chest tight with frustration and worry. But he wasn't about to let Bruce self-destruct out there.

"Yeah, right," Dick muttered to himself. "Like I've ever been good at following orders."

****

[Dick Grayson's POV]

The streets of Gotham were slick with rain, the city's ever-present gloom amplified by the storm clouds overhead.

Batman moved like a shadow through the alleys, his cape billowing behind him as he pursued his targets for the night. A drug gang that had been expanding its territory into the Narrows.

Unbeknownst to him, Nightwing followed at a careful distance, keeping to the rooftops.

It didn't take long for Batman to locate the gang's hideout, a decrepit warehouse near the docks. He scaled the building silently, his grappling hook securing his ascent. From his perch on the roof, he peered through a cracked skylight, his sharp eyes scanning the scene below.

A dozen gang members were gathered around a table piled high with bricks of cocaine and stacks of cash. Guns were strewn about carelessly, their owners laughing and shouting as they celebrated their latest score.

"Subtle as always," Dick whispered from the shadows, perched on a neighboring rooftop.

Batman dropped silently onto a catwalk inside the warehouse, his movements precise and calculated. He activated a device on his belt, jamming all outgoing communications in the area. The gang wouldn't be calling for backup.

"Alright, big guy, how about a little help," Dick murmured to himself with a smirk.

As Batman prepared to strike, a sudden creak echoed through the warehouse.

One of the gang members looked up, his eyes narrowing.

"Hey! Did you hear that?"

Batman cursed silently. He hadn't accounted for the warped metal on the catwalk. The element of surprise was gone.

"Surprise!" Nightwing's cheerful voice rang out as he swung in through a window, landing gracefully on the floor below.

The gang members froze in confusion, their attention split between the blue-clad vigilante and the shadowy figure looming above them.

"Who the hell are you?" one of them demanded, raising his gun.

"Nightwing," Dick said with a grin, spinning his escrima sticks. "And you're about to have a very bad night."

Chaos ensued.

Batman dropped from the catwalk, his fists finding their mark with brutal efficiency. He moved like a force of nature, every strike precise and devastating.

Meanwhile, Dick darted through the fray with the agility of an acrobat, his quips flying as fast as his punches.

"Hey, nice jacket," he called to one thug, dodging a wild swing. "Is that real leather? Hope you kept the receipt, it's about to get scuffed."

He flipped over another attacker, landing a solid kick to the man's back.

"Seriously, you guys should unionize. Better benefits, maybe dental. That guy's missing three teeth, at least."

Batman growled as he disarmed a particularly large gang member, tossing the man's gun across the room.

"Focus, Nightwing."

"I am focusing," Dick shot back, deflecting a pipe with his escrima sticks. "Multitasking is a thing, you know."

Despite his annoyance, Bruce couldn't deny that Dick's presence was making a difference.

The younger man's agility and relentless energy kept the gang off balance, giving Batman the openings he needed to take them down efficiently.

As the last thug fell to the ground, groaning, Batman turned to Dick with a glare.

"You shouldn't have followed me."

"You're welcome," Dick said, twirling his sticks before holstering them. "You're seriously telling me you'd rather get shot at alone than accept a little help?"

"This isn't a game, Dick."

"I know that," Dick replied, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "But you don't have to do it alone, either."

Batman was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable beneath the cowl.

"Jason—"

"Jason would've wanted us to stick together," Dick interrupted gently. "He wouldn't want you to push everyone away."

Bruce looked away, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I can't lose anyone else," he said quietly.

"And you won't," Dick said firmly. "But that doesn't mean you have to carry all of this by yourself. Let me help you, Bruce. We're a team. We always have been."

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the rain outside. Finally, Bruce nodded, just once.

"Let's get back to the Cave."

Dick smiled, a hint of relief in his expression.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

Bruce shot him a look.

"Don't push it."

"Too late," Dick said with a grin as they headed out into the night.

For the first time in weeks, Bruce felt a small weight lift from his shoulders. He wasn't alone. And maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be.

****

[Jason Todd's POV]

The training courtyard buzzed with the faint sounds of sparring soldiers, but Jason Todd's focus was drawn to the unfolding match in the center.

Damian stood there, small but fierce, facing an opponent nearly three times his size. Jason tilted his head toward Ra's al Ghul, who stood beside him, hands clasped neatly behind his back, observing the fight with his usual cool detachment.

"So, what's this exercise all about?" Jason asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he watched Damian take his stance. "The kid doesn't seem nervous.

He looks… intense."

Ra's stroked his beard, eyes never leaving the combatants. "This exercise is more advanced than the ones you've been through," he began.

"In your previous matches, Talia and I acted as the referee, intervening when necessary and declaring a winner. Here, there are no mediators. Victory is determined only when one opponent is rendered incapable of continuing."

Jason hummed in acknowledgment, shifting his gaze back to the sparring match as Damian swiftly dodged a massive punch.

Despite his opponent's towering frame, the boy moved with fluid precision, his small stature an advantage rather than a hindrance.

"Go all out until someone's down for the count, huh?" Jason mused, watching Damian leap into the air. The boy twisted mid-flight, aiming a kick at his opponent's face. It was blocked, but Damian used the man's arm as leverage, vaulting backward to create space.

Ra's allowed himself a faint smile. "He is gifted, isn't he? A prodigy, unmatched in skill among his peers. Like you, Jason, he's a diamond in the rough."

Jason raised a skeptical brow, glancing sideways at the Demon's Head. "Why does he push himself so hard? He's got centuries to train, doesn't he? You know, thanks to the Lazarus Pit and all."

Ra's finally turned to meet Jason's gaze, his expression unreadable. "Damian is my legacy. I am forging him into a weapon capable of inheriting my mantle, one who will lead humanity into a new era.

He trains harder than anyone because he must. Just as you have great potential, so does he. Perhaps more." His tone carried a note of finality, but Jason couldn't help noticing the subtle pride in his voice.

In the ring, Damian executed a flawless takedown, wrapping his legs around his opponent's neck in a crushing grip. The larger man flailed, his masked face turning an alarming shade of red as his airflow was cut off. Despite the brutal hold, Damian's expression remained calm, almost cold.

Jason watched with a mix of unease and admiration. "Kid's got skills, I'll give him that. Guess that explains the ego."

Ra's inclined his head, his eyes gleaming. "Indeed. He is stubborn, like his father. But also relentless, like me."

The opponent finally tapped out, his hand weakly slapping the ground as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness.

Damian released him without hesitation, standing over the defeated man like a predator surveying its prey.

"Your turn," Ra's said, his tone a challenge as silence resonated across the courtyard.

Jason stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he sized up his opponent, a seasoned League warrior whose cold, calculating eyes betrayed his eagerness to dismantle the newcomer.