Chapter Text
Dick tried to contain his irritation with his family when he arrived at the Batcave for medical attention, but it wasn’t easy.
It probably wasn’t fair either, considering he’d been missing for over two days by the time he’d stumbled home, lethargic and wounded. And he could tell from the first glance at Damian’s glower that the boy was particularly pained by Dick’s disappearance, and most likely blamed himself if he was anything like the rest of his family. Not that it was his fault-he’d been on patrol with Dick, but Dick was the one who let himself get caught off guard and subdued.
But Dick’s chest burned where Jason had stitched him up, his shoulders screamed from his time chained up against a wall, and his head was pounding the excruciating beat of withdrawal. Whatever this new drug was, it was worse than he’d known from Bruce’s reports. His body was a mass of aching muscle and bruised skin paired with the exhaustion and mood instability that came with dangerous drugs.
He’d taken Alfred’s inspection and Bruce’s blood tests with what he considered to be an abundance of grace, all things considered. And maybe he’d been short with them while they did it, but he also managed to overpower the urge to raise his voice when Bruce turned that all too familiar gaze of disappointment on him and asked what went wrong when Dick already knew full well it was his fault anything had gone wrong at all. Which was probably for the best, considering how raw his voice was at normal volumes.
And yet he was forced to sit there and apologize and explain his own shortcomings like a scolded child, and he was already running low on patience. He’d woken up low on patience, in a strange room with Jason’s hand curled over his wrist. And while it was nice to feel that protective grasp, a connection that remained unbroken even as they both slept, it was also infuriating that it felt nice.
It was infuriating after Jason had repeatedly ignored any attempt Dick made to be friends while also growing closer to Cass and Steph and even Damian. Everyone except Dick and Bruce, apparently. It was infuriating that Jason didn’t have a nice thing to say to Dick when he was conscious, but when he was dead to the world Jason could carry him to safety and treat his wounds.
It didn’t help that Jason didn’t find it necessary to inform the family and left them in the dark far longer than he should have.
It had been a long morning already, following right on two terrible days of confused, drug-addled sensation and pain. Dick was running low on patience, and he finally ran out when Bruce responded to his request for information on the case by cutting him out.
And, sure, Dick wasn’t supposed to have been investigating the drug ring that night with Damian. He was supposed to be on a normal patrol. But he’d seen something, and he’d stepped in, and then he’d fucked up. He’d made a dumb mistake, but he was a part of the case and being immediately shut out for one mistake…
“Alfred is in the guest room,” Damian told him after the argument with Bruce had concluded miserably, Dick left waiting for Alfred to clear him from medical. “He wants to remain with you when you return for rest. He…worried about you.”
Oh. The cat.
“I’m sorry to have worried him,” Dick said calmly. Even angry as he was, he couldn’t bring himself to snap at Damian. Especially not when the young boy was offering up his emotions, in his own convoluted way. “But I’ll be fine.”
“Well, he can be sentimental.” Damian wrinkled his nose as if in disgust, but the guilty glower he’d been wearing all day was smoothed away. There was a moment of silence before Damian seemed to gather his courage and spoke again. “Perhaps Father is not…entirely wrong, at the moment.”
“What?” Taken aback by the unexpected comment, Dick tried to find his footing somewhere that wasn’t condescending or annoyed. Not with Damian.
“You are injured. Alfred will tell you to rest.” Damian widened his stance into something stubborn and immovable, and anger was beginning to win out over any other emotion because Dick was not a child-
“The brat may be onto something,” Tim offered from across the cave, where he’d been heading up to the Manor with Stephanie. “You don’t need to jump right back into the case.”
Where Damian had offered his opinion with an air of determination, Tim’s was given in resignation. Tim had been around long enough to know that Dick did need to jump right back in, that any of them would have needed that. There was nothing worse than being benched after losing a fight, being robbed of the chance to prove yourself against someone who had beaten you once.
“Besides, the cat will be lonely if you don’t show up,” Stephanie teased. Damian remained rooted in front of Dick while the others filed upstairs to finally rest after two days of stress. There was hesitance in Damian’s face, even as his stance remained solid. It was always so heartbreaking to Dick, seeing Damian caught so clearly between caring for someone and the persona of strength he constantly put on.
“Whatever Alfred’s verdict is, I’ll listen,” Dick assured him, so Damian wouldn’t have to force himself to ask. The tension dropped from Damian’s shoulder and after a quick, accepting nod, he took off after the others, admonishing Stephanie for disrespecting Alfred the cat by refusing to call him by his name.
Dick didn’t actually need to wait for the verdict, though. He already knew Alfred would want him to stay put until he stopped showing any side effects from the drugs and then he’d recommend staying off patrol until Dick’s wounds healed even though he’d know it was pointless. And absolutely none of it would be something Dick would want to do, but he’d given Damian his word.
But he certainly wasn’t going to stay in the cave and watch Bruce work the case without him.
Dick had been waiting on Jason’s couch for an embarrassingly long time before the man finally turned up, well after sundown. After Alfred offered him ibuprofen to help with the muscle aches and fever as he got over the drugs still in his system, Dick had managed a stronger grasp on his rising emotions. The reason he was getting overwhelmed by things that would usually be internalized as a slow-burn of miserable feelings was just because of the drugs still affecting his body. He’d be better in just a few days.
Predictably, Alfred had wanted him to stay until any possible negative effects from the drugs had passed. Dick was able to convince him that, as the patient, he would be more comfortable recovering at home-with the promise to come back if his condition worsened enough to warrant it. And then he’d left, with every intention of going home and cocooning himself in bed until his body felt less sore, less like raw meat pounded with a mallet.
Instead, he’d ended up returning to the apartment he’d woken up in that morning. When he realized Jason wasn’t there, it had seemed like the obvious idea to wait for him. By the time Jason came back Dick was well past regretting that decision and finally considering just leaving anyway, like he should have done in the first place.
Jason arrived with noise, stomping up the stairs and fumbling at the door. It was enough to convince Dick it was on purpose, a show for his benefit so that when the door finally did swing open Dick could observe Jason, dressed the same he’d been that morning and with a bag of groceries under one arm, perfectly at ease. Dick almost expected Jason to hesitate in the doorway, to punctuate the weight of the distance between them with silence.
He continued into the kitchen without glancing at Dick and started unloading the groceries onto the counter. A lot of fresh food, Dick could see now.
Even without talking there was no silence to build until it became heavy against Dick’s skin, begging to be broken. Jason filled the air with the banging of pots, running water and then the rhythmic thud of a knife against a cutting board. Dick was left with the feeling that he could sit back and watch Jason cook with more skill than Dick would ever possess forever, that he’d be perfectly comfortable never interrupting this moment. That it was peaceful in the absence of spoken word and any effort to talk would break that fragile atmosphere.
Dick also knew it would be much easier to have any conversation with Jason now, when they weren’t looking at each other. Less chance to fall into an argument.
“I didn’t know where else to find you,” Dick offered, half an explanation and half an apology. It wasn’t a bad safehouse, spacious and comfortable. Jason would probably burn it after this, so Dick couldn’t find him anywhere. “I…I wasn’t sure you were coming back.”
“I wasn’t, until I realized you were here,” Jason said. There was no pause in his cutting.
“How did-?”
“A little bird told me.” For that one, Jason leaned over the counter to wink at Dick. “So, what was it that pissed you off? One of my stitches come out uneven? Couch was uncomfortable enough you had to file a complaint?”
“What? No, I’m not,” and of course Jason would assume he’s angry because they’re always fighting these days, “I was just…I wanted to thank you.”
“Really?” Jason came around the counter, leaving whatever wass on the stove to cook. “For what? Bringing you here?”
“Yeah, I mean…You found me when I was in some trouble and you helped me. So thank you, for all of that.” When this wasn’t immediately met with a rebuttal or deflection, Dick raised his eyes from the pattern of the blanket stretched over his knees to meet Jason’s gaze, which was unwaveringly directed at him. There was something in that look, behind those eyes. Something was present that Dick hadn’t seen before, something that he was too exhausted to try and decipher. At the moment, Dick was just grateful he hadn’t stumbled into another fight.
Jason turned back into the kitchen while Dick stared after him, but didn’t answer. Dick was left feeling somehow he’d just faced a test and couldn’t be sure whether he’d passed or failed. The answer seemed to come when Jason returned with two paper plates laden with cooked rice and vegetables.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s not like I was gonna just leave you there, Dickie.” Dick paused in accepting a plate from Jason, surprised at the nickname. It was one with less negative connotations, more teasing behind it than anger. “What you should thank me for is keeping you away from Bruce a little longer.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I would if you’d let them know we were safe. You’re in the group chat.”
“I don’t understand you people,” Jason started around a mouthful of food, digging into his pocket for his phone. When he wrestled the device free, he showed the screen to Dick to show off the hundreds of notifications from the group chat. “How do you think I’m going through that many messages in one day? Let alone contributing to it?”
“You always manage to insult me whenever I message you,” Dick pointed out patiently. And it was true. Without fail, Jason managed to sift through those hundreds of texts to find the one from Dick and attack it.
“Yeah, well, you deserve it. Do I look like I’m interested in a family game night?” Jason spread his arms in invitation for scrutiny, and Dick examined him. Dressed down in a warm hoodie and faded jeans. Dick examined the table between them. Small and plain and supporting their food as they ate across from each other. Dick examined the last twenty-four hours, when Jason had treated his injuries and stayed with him while he slept. Dick examined the last three months, where Jason had come closer and closer to comradery with the family in the field but backed off every time that connection threatened to run deeper.
Dick examined his own wrist, where Jason had held onto him even in sleep.
No, he realized, you don’t. Jason looked like he wanted just about anything but family, be it friends or enemies. At some point Cass and Steph had conformed to that before Dick even knew what he was doing wrong, pushing family events at Jason and waiting for an acceptance to come.
“I thought you’d have fun,” he said eventually, going for optimistically casual to avoid falling into a discussion neither of them was ready for. “Besides, Steph brings her boyfriend all the time.”
Jason choked on his food violently enough Dick dropped his own fork, ready to Heimlich if it was needed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason demanded. Dick almost laughed at the look of intensity on his face.
“It means if I invite you, you should feel welcome.”
“Oh. Well,” Jason settled back and seemed to take in the information. By the time he reached for his food again, he was smiling widely. “You must be crazy if you think I’d voluntarily subject myself to an evening of watching you people fight over board games.”
“You just know I’ll beat you,” Dick teased back, feeling a smile of his own stretching his face.