Media: DC

Timeline: N/A

Genres: Alternate universe, Angst, Brotherhood, Family, Superheroes

Summary: An estranged Red Hood comes across a Talon with a recognizable face. Although the Talon doesn't seem to remember him, he still asks for his help. Well, he did save his life. How can Jason refuse?

Notes: Inspired by a fan art reel I saw. Typing on a new laptop so this is to test out the "writing ability" and to hopefully break my writer's block. I always wanted to write a "Dick Grayson as Talon" fanfic, so this is my first attempt (there's never enough Talon!Dick fanfics). I'm not too familiar with DC, but Jason's costume is a literal hood and face mask and he's estranged from the Bat-Fam (again). My more experienced DC enjoyers may do with that what you will.

Warnings: Jason's potty mouth. I don't normally swear in my works, but Jason doesn't feel in character without it.

P.S. Literally couldn't stop writing once I started and this ended up being longer than I thought it would be.

"Dick?"

Dick Grayson frowns. "That's rude considering I just saved your life."

The mask previously obscuring the identity of his resc—his unnecessary intervention dangles limp in his fingers. His skin is ashen, lacking the usual tanned flush of health. The most striking part of the image are the golden eyes where the blue used to be. Regardless, Jason is staring at the face of Dick Grayson.

The iconic blue Nightwing suit is absent. Instead, the acrobatic vigilante is clad in the same getup as Jason's attackers. Black cloth covers him from head to toe. Armor protects his shoulders and knees, leaving the rest of his body vulnerable—not that Dick wore much armor aside from the kevlar incorporated into the suit itself. He's armed to the teeth with his bandoleer and belt containing too many knives to count. That's more of Bruce's thing—Jason's too, admittedly. Nightwing prefers to be welcoming, open, a symbol of hope; only carrying escrima sticks on his back and a few concealed wing-dings.

If Dick noticed Jason's surprise, he didn't comment. Instead, he interprets the stunned silence as an invitation, bridging the gap between them with an outstretched hand. Jason stares at it, noting the rough gloves and retractable claws.

"I'm Talon. You're the Red Hood, right?" He nudges his head pointedly toward the red hood over Jason's dark hair.

Jason snaps himself out of his stupor and takes the offered hand. Dick's handshake is firm and inviting, yet professional as if meeting Jason for the first time. Doubt worms into his theory that this is all some stupid hoax. Undercover mission, maybe? It's not like Jason's getting family updates.

"The one and only." Well, that's not technically true.

Jason drops his hand. "So... Talon, huh? And those guys?" He nods towards the unconscious bodies on the rooftop.

"Also talons... with a lowercase 't'. I know, it's confusing. I don't fully understand it myself."

"Right. And they attacked me because...?"

"You're a threat to the Court, Red Hood."

Great. He's on a hit list—not that it's anything new. Every rogue in Gotham wanted a piece of Red Hood, some more than others. They were expected. It's not fair game if you're unaware. If Bruce knew about this and neglected to tell him... well, he could afford to be a bit more angry.

Maybe that's why Dick's here. Despite being an asshole, Dick's always preaching about family and love and all the sappy bullshit. No matter what Jason did, Dick still saw him as his "Little Wing"; his younger brother. Even so, Jason's not gonna fall at his feet in gratitude. Dick's still... well, a dick. He'll get his information, then send Dick on his merry way to wherever Bruce sent his sorry ass.

"The Court?" he inquires, crossing his arms over his armored chest.

"The Court of Owls."

Jason's eyebrows shoot above his domino mask. "The nursery rhyme?" Now the talons make sense.

Dick nods. "Is very real."

Red Hood suddenly feels exposed. He lowers his arms, his fingers brushing his guns. Talon Dick remains calm, posture relaxed.

"Don't worry. They're not watching... for now."

"Comforting. So what happens now?"

Dick hesitates. His golden eyes—Contacts?—shift to the ground, avoiding Jason's. "I need your help, Red Hood."

"Pass. Why not involve Batman?"

Dick squints at him like he's crazy. "The Batman's a target, too. All of his partners are. Besides, I was tasked to kill him. He'll never trust me."

"Right," he drawls. "So why me?"

"You're different from the others. You kill."

He says it bluntly, as if this isn't the whole reason for his feud with Bats. Jason stares at him like he's grown a second head.

"Yeah, no shit, dick."

No names on the field, he expects to hear. Dick merely tilts his head at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Is that the only insult you know? It's getting old."

Unbelievable. Jason throws his hands into the air. "Whatever, asshole. I'm out."

He turns his back to him and storms off. At the edge of the roof, he raises his grapple. Before he can launch it, fingers curl around his opposite wrist. Careful of the drop, Jason spins violently, expecting a fight.

He's never seen Dick so desperate. His unnerving gold eyes are wide and pleading. His voice cracks as he speaks, raw and vulnerable.

"Please, Hood. I need out. I can't do this alone."

Jason stills, though he twists his wrist out of Dick's grip. Nightwing or Talon—whatever he's calling himself—steps back to give him space. His hands are raised placidly, palms out and open.

"Please," he repeats. "If anything convinces you, I saved your life. You owe me."

Since when did Dick ever pull favors? Nothing makes sense. It's giving him a headache. He runs a hand through his unruly hair, pushing the hood off his head. Dick waits patiently.

"Fine," Jason grounds out. "You win. What do you need?"

Dick beams at him. It's a usual Dick expression, but to Jason it seems off.

"These guys will be waking up any minute now. Once they do, they'll report back that I've defected. The Court will be looking for me. I need your help to take them down. Then I will be free, and you won't have talons after your head. It's a win-win." He passes over a burner phone. "I'll contact you soon. For now, get far away from here and lay low. The Court is always watching."

With that Dick pulls the talon mask over his face and tips over the side of the building without a line to catch him. Jason's heart surges in his chest as he scrambles to the edge. The alley below is empty.

* * *

Talon contacts him two nights later. Jason meets him at the docks to find a weapons deal. For once, it's not one of Gotham's rogues but one of her socialites responsible.

"The Court is made up of Gotham's elites," Dick explains. "To take the Court down, we don't target its talons. We cut off the heads."

Jason grins beneath the mask. "Oh, yeah. I like this plan." He hefts his pistols for emphasis.

He waits for the usual admonishment on guns and killing, but it doesn't come. Dick just sports his own wild grin and flicks out a fan of knives in each hand. Pulling the mask over his face, Dick dives in. Jason follows after.

It's fun sticking it to the rich fucks polluting the city for once. It's totally up Red Hood's alley. He lets the bullets fly. For some reason, Goldie's being lenient about their oh-so-precious code, and Jason is going to take full advantage of it while it lasts.

He's barely broken a sweat by the time they're finished. He holsters his warm weapons, observing his handiwork with satisfaction. The gun runners lay on the ground unconscious or groaning in pain as blood leaks from the bullet holes. They'll be fine once Jason sends for an ambulance. While Red Hood has a reputation for killing, he only kills those who deserve it. These men are no more than low level thugs looking for a paycheck.

"See, Goldie?" Jason calls smugly. "Not even a single one dead."

He turns, eager to rub it in the boy scout's face. It all comes crashing down and forgotten as he views the carnage before him.

Talon is standing in the middle of a horror movie. Blood paints the walls, pools on the floor, drips from his hands. The bodies on the ground are mutilated. Open throats, dismembered limbs, and contorted bodies lay at the feet of their maker.

Talon's head moves. Large, round lenses stare at him over the shoulder. A chill runs down Jason's spine as he instinctively reaches for his guns.

Talon turns fully and pulls off the mask, revealing the familiar face of Dick Grayson—a face that should have no correlation to the scene around him. Even as he takes it in, Jason's mind simply can't comprehend it. Because Dick Grayson is not a killer. He's not a killer. He's not—

Dick looks at Red Hood's own mess and raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were the killing Bat." He almost seems disappointed. Bile rushes up Jason's throat. He swallows it down.

"I don't... I... You don't kill."

Dick's face is a mixture of shame and cold acceptance. "I'm a Talon, Red Hood. The Court made me their assassin. All I do is kill."

He roughly yanks the mask back on, hiding his face from view. "I'll contact you again when I have another lead."

Talon melts into the shadows, leaving Jason with the massacre.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Batman found out about the trail of bodies. Of course, his first conclusion is to accuse Jason while the golden child gets off scot-free. The thing is, Jason doesn't blame him. Not this time. Before that night, he wouldn't believe Dick was capable of doing something like that either.

"It wasn't me, B. I swear."

He feels the Bat-glare tearing him open, searching for falsehood. After a moment, the glare retreats and Batman nods.

"I believe you. Unfortunately, that means we have an unknown psychopath running loose."

If only he knew it was his eldest child. Would he still think of him a psychopath? Would he lock him up in Arkham? It was all fair game for Jason when he walked a similar path.

"I'm already on it."

Batman stiffens. "Do you have any leads?"

Jason always hated how Bruce's questions sounded more like orders. He demands they report to him like loyal soldiers. It may work on Dick and the others, but not on Jason. Not anymore.

He could tell him and let Bruce take care of his rogue soldier. It could be satisfying watching his hypocritical predecessor receive the same beatdown, the same treatment, as he did. Batman would have his criminal and Red Hood will be free to take down the Court on his own terms.

As he toys with the idea, he's surprised by the sickening guilt in his stomach for even considering it. Something is obviously wrong with Dick. The undercover theory has been thrown out the window for good. The golden eyes, the gray skin, the lack of recognition... all the pieces fit now. The Court had got their claws on Dick Grayson and molded him into a weapon. Nightwing is gone, replaced by Talon.

And yet he wants out. Somewhere deep down, Nightwing still remains. Hope and love and value of life are his core to the point not even the Court can wash it out. He asked for help, something Jason was too proud to do in his early days as Red Hood. Damn him if he throws Dick to the wolves.

"Not yet. And don't ask me to keep you updated because I will not be doing that. This is my case, so stay out of it."

Batman merely grunts, clearly wanting to argue but is either too tired or too busy to do so. "If too many bodies pile up, I'm stepping in."

Bruce walks to the edge prepares to grapple away. Then he hesitates, lowering his arm. As he looks back, his mouth is set in a grim line.

"Nightwing's missing. If you hear anything, let me know."

He swings away before Jason can decide if he would.

* * *

It's fun working with Dick again, though Jason would die a second time before he admits that. They meet up almost every night now to stop the crimes of the elite that would've otherwise gone unpunished. It's gratifying. For the first time, Jason finally feels like he's making a difference.

When they're not working together, he suspects Dick is making moves on his own. A few of Gotham's elites have been found with their throats slit and the words "They'll send the Talon for your head" written on the walls in their blood. Not that Jason didn't think these people deserved it, but Dick's new brand of justice is making it difficult to keep Batman off their backs.

One crisis at a time. First, they had to finish the job, which would be much easier if Dick could remember the location of the Court's headquarters.

"How can you not remember, Dickface?"

The nickname slips out easily. Dick lifts his head from his hands to fix him with a glare.

"What is your obsession with me being a dick? What did I ever do to you?"

When Jason says nothing, the older man lets it go and rubs his temples as if to coax the memory forth.

"I don't know why. The Court messed with my brain a lot over my time there. I always knew where to go after missions, so maybe it's a failsafe should I ever defect?"

He groans, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Jason pats his shoulder sympathetically. The Lazarus pit messed with his memories, too, leaving him with jumbled confusion and missing puzzle pieces.

"Don't sweat it, Di—er, Talon. We'll figure something out."

He walks around the kitchen island. Jason had to threaten violence for Dick to come over to his apartment. The Court refugee was rightly paranoid about coming to Jason's place of residence. Screw it if he's going soft, but Dick's been on the run for weeks without letting Jason know if he had a safe place to eat a meal or lay his head. Judging by the fact he didn't have an answer when Red Hood asked him, he didn't. So he dragged Dick to his home and is now shoving a bowl of pasta in front of him.

Dick smiles his thanks, but stares at the food a long time with his fork sitting loose and empty in his hand.

"Something wrong?" asks Jason before shoving another forkful of pasta into his mouth. He's hungry, damn it. Sue him.

"No, it's just... I haven't eaten in a long time."

"Like you skipped a couple meals?"

"No, like... I was never given food while I was with the Court. I can't remember the last time I ate. I don't even know if I can eat."

Jason chokes. He sets down his fork and prioritizes not dying again. Once he swallows it down, he returns to the issue at hand.

"How are you not dead?"

Dick rolls up his sleeve and shows off black veins bulging beneath pale skin. "Electrum. They gave me regular transfusions until I didn't need them as often. I haven't had a dose since I ran, so I've been feeling a bit weak."

Jason nudges the bowl closer rather than process that piece of information. "Maybe you'll feel better if you eat something."

Tentatively, Dick takes up the fork again. Jason tries to ignore how stabbing pasta looks like how Talon stabs his victims as he watches Dick bring the food to his mouth, chew, and swallow. He waits several seconds before trying more. As the meal progresses, Dick attacks with more vigor like the starved man he is.

Bowl now empty, Dick pushes it away and leans back with a satisfied sigh. "Didn't realize how hungry I was until I tasted it. Thanks, Hood."

"Anytime." After a moment to think about it, he sticks out his hand. "My name's Jason."

Dick's eyes widen, and for a second Jason thinks he's remembered. Then his brother smiles and shakes his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Jason. I'm Talon."

* * *

Turns out, they didn't need Dick's memory. Talon knew sooner or later the Court would get their claws on him again. When Jason arrived at the rendezvous, he was already gone, scattered knives and spilt electrum the only signs of the struggle.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks as he secures the tracker on the Talon suit.

"I'm not playing bait, Jason. Trust me, I don't want to go back there unless it's to burn it to the ground. This is just a precaution. If they do get me, you know where to find me and the Court."

And Jason did. The tracker led him to a building with a hidden elevator that travels deep underground. It led him through a maze that without it, he would have become hopelessly lost. It led him to Dick, who is strapped down to a table screaming as doctors wearing blank owl masks inject him with electrum and other unrecognizable toxins. Red Hood shoots them all. They deserved to die.

"Dick?" murmurs Jason as he frees him from the bonds. "Are you all right?"

His brother groans. "Asshole."

He swings his legs over the side and slides off. His knees buckle and he catches himself against the table. Jason hovers by his shoulder, ready to help if needed. After a moment, Dick straightens and stands on his own.

"Still don't know why you keep calling me a dick."

Jason smiles beneath the mask. "You'll figure it out later. Now—" he cocks his gun— "lets take this place to hell."

* * *

There's no evidence of their destruction on the surface. Beneath the city it ruled, the Court is buried with its secrets and its sins.

Standing on the rooftop overlooking Gotham, Red Hood tears his eyes from the view to glance down at his partner in crime. Hair soaked in rainwater, Dick sits in a dazed silence. He's in shock, Jason realizes. For the first time in Dick's limited memory, he gets to orchestrate his life. He can live without looking over his shoulder. He can make choices instead of being forced to kill.

"The Court of Owls is gone, Talon," Jason says softly. "You're free now. What will you do?"

"Figure out who I am, I suppose. I know I had a life before the Court. I just don't know where to start. I can't remember a damn thing."

Jason opens his mouth, but Dick's following words closes it again: "But I can't deal with that right now. Going back to whatever old life I had after everything I've done... it scares me. If there's anyone waiting for me, will they accept this?" He gestures to the changed body that was forced upon him. "I'm tired, Jay. I need time before I can breach any of that."

Jason nods, feeling a sentiment all too familiar. "I understand." He stretches out his hand. "We're even."

Dick stands and takes his hand, smiling. The shake is friendly and familiar, one built on friendship. It isn't the same as the bear hugs his big brother usually gives, but it's a start.

"Until next time, Red Hood."