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Those times Dick was morbid enough to think about his own death, he’d never really imagined drowning in Gotham Harbor—or even drowning in general. His dreams were usually of falling. He supposed that being pulled under by an anchor tied around his bound legs might count in some warped way as ‘falling’, but his dreams had definitely been faster and with less crushing, slow panic as he sunk further down into the dark depths.
His lungs were burning now, as he rushed to try and free himself from the chains wrapped around his legs, twisted up into some Gordian knot that made keeping calm difficult. His lenses weren’t helping him see in the dark water, cracked from a blow he’d taken to the head. The deeper he sunk the quieter it got, and Dick even thought the sound of his own heartbeat was slowing, struggling to pump his blood with no oxygen to pave the way. He had no equipment left on him and the cuffs around his arms made working on the chains around his legs even harder.
It was absurd, that the only thing he could think of as he sunk further and further and took that first reflexive gasp of water that felt like poison down his airways, was that the only thing they hadn’t done before throwing him in was unmask him.
Then, suddenly, the weight was gone and something wrapped around his waist. A second later, the underwater silence was replaced by the shock of the night air and the sound of Gotham’s night, sirens and cars and noise. His blood was rushing in his ears and his vision blurred, and he gasped for breath, coughing and spluttering. Then, a moment later, his knees hit something hard and hands were all over him, pounding at his back while he coughed and coughed and tried to remember how it was to breathe without pain.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
It took him a few seconds, gasping for breath, to recognize that the words existed outside his own head, that someone was next to him, wrapping him in a blanket and rubbing at his arms. It was only then that he even realized he was cold and his teeth started to chatter.
“We’ll go after the men,” someone said, and the world around him remained a blur he could barely concentrate on, too focused on breathing and the cold.
A hand tugged at his mask and Dick made an aborted move to intercept it, before abandoning it to clutch the blanket around his shoulders tighter. When the mask was pried off he could squint and see properly, and got his first good look at the worried person crouching at his side.
“Jay…?”
His little brother glared at him. He wasn’t wearing his helmet, and his face was bruised. “You’re an idiot.”
Dick snorted, clenching his jaw to try and stop his chattering teeth. A headache was starting to pound behind his eyes. “W-what’d I do?”
Jason got up, hauling Dick to his feet. Dick managed not to crumple back down by locking his knees. His legs felt like jelly.
“You almost died,” Jason muttered, pulling one of Dick’s arms over his shoulder, taking most of his weight. “Come on, I got a place nearby. And if you want me to call the Ca—”
“—No.” Dick shook his head, tightening his arm around Jason’s shoulder and leaning on him. Jason radiated warmth like a furnace. “I’m fine. No need.”
Jason pulled him along, taking enough of his weight that Dick was probably more hindrance than help to the process. “I wouldn’t say ‘fine’, Chatterboy Wonder.”
Dick laughed, coughing a few times at the renewed burn in his throat like he’d scraped the insides raw. “I will be. Thanks for the save, Jay.”
“Thank Bizarro,” Jason muttered, and under his arm Dick could feel Jason’s shoulders tense and hunch. He stayed quiet the rest of the walk back to the safe house.
***
Jason had a seemingly endless supply of safe houses in Gotham. Dick knew from records that Bruce kept in the Cave—because Bruce was part emotionally constipated brick wall and part overbearing parent—that Jason went through them so quickly that some were brought and sold again without him ever setting foot inside, as Jason played some obscure property game that Bruce was still puzzling over.
Dick honestly believed at this point that the purpose was purely to frustrate Bruce, no other reasoning required, but Bruce seemed unwilling to either let it go or outright ask Jason what was going on. Dick was content to let him bungle around and grow increasingly puzzled.
A Jason that had one up on Bruce was a Jason that was at ease enough for his brothers to approach regularly for bonding, after all.
The safe house they arrived at was one he recognized, one of the few that seemed to be permanent. The apartment in Old Gotham was almost Jason’s home. It had proper furniture and most of Jason’s books, and the PS4 in pride of place in the living room. It was also, thankfully, well heated.
Once inside, Jason directed Dick immediately into the bathroom, practically shoving him into the shower. “I’ll get you a change of clothes, don’t drown yourself.”
“Once tonight was enough,” Dick replied, managing a laugh as Jason rolled his eyes and left after making sure Dick didn’t fall over and concuss himself getting out of the Nightwing suit.
His legs held his weight and the hot water had him drifting, muscles loosening and tension draining away. By the time Jason returned, Dick was half-asleep and contemplating falling into the nearest bed and sleeping for three weeks.
Instead, he got dressed in a pair of Jason’s sweats and tugged on one of his hoodies and followed his little brother into his living room, flopping down on the couch beside him and plastering himself against Jason’s side, which still radiated a ridiculous amount of warmth that was very appealing while Dick’s head felt like it was stuck in a fishbowl and a chill lingered on his skin. He grabbed the thick blanket that was folded up on the back of the couch and wrapped himself in it and nudged Jason in the side.
“Play a game for me, little wing.”
“You’re so obnoxious when you’re sick,” Jason replied, but he leaned over to grab one of the controllers and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
“I’m not sick.” Dick frowned because the second the words were out he felt like sneezing. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth until the feeling went away. “I’m just cold and survived nearly drowning.”
“Entirely because Bizarro got to you in time, fool.” Jason jabbed at the controller buttons harder than necessary for a while, but eventually Dick felt him sink back more against the couch, relaxing slightly. “They got the guys. Artemis called while you were in the shower.”
“Are they coming here? I should thank Bizarro.”
Jason made a face, shaking his head. His eyes were glued to the television screen but he didn’t look particularly focused. “They have things to do. Besides, I figured you wouldn’t want them here in case the family descends.”
Dick frowned. “Why?”
His little brother was definitely smirking, Dick could see his lips twitch. “Because as much fun as it is for the rest of us to watch Batman rake you over the coals, you get kind of defensive when it’s in front of others.”
“Batman can’t lecture if he doesn’t know,” Dick said, giving Jason what he hoped was a winning smile. Jason avoided meeting his eyes, gazing fixedly at the screen. Dick stared at him in silence, cocking an eyebrow and waiting him out. Waiting out little brothers was one of his finest talents. Sure enough, Jason sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and started chewing on it. “Jason.”
“You almost died,” Jason said, hunching down on the couch and scowling.
There was a knock on the front door. Dick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling his headache suddenly intensify. “Who’d you call? Bruce or Alfred?”
“Both?”
“Jason.” Dick let his head drop to the back of the couch as Jason got up to answer the door. “Jay, little wing, how could you?”
“This is karma,” Jason said, because he was a petty little brother who held grudges unfairly for Dick’s rational actions when Jason was sick or injured or needed an intervention. “This is only what you deserve for being an idiot and nearly getting yourself killed and I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”
Before Dick could answer Jason opened the front door and let Bruce and Alfred in. His little brother stood back and smirked while they descended on him in the living room. Dick wrapped the blanket around himself like a shield of defense against mother hens and scowled.
Alfred clucked his tongue and felt Dick’s forehead for fever. “You did get yourself into quite a mess, Master Richard.”
“What were you thinking?” Bruce asked, standing in front of the couch with folded arms and a disapproving expression.
“Uh, I was thinking that I want to be an only child again,” Dick said, batting at Alfred’s hands and locking gazes with Jason just so he could watch his little brother’s expression as he dropped his next bomb. “And that I forgot to tell you what Jason’s hiding under a god-awful amount of bandaging, shoddy stitches and blind hope.”
Jason froze, one hand reflexively twitching to the wound he’d gotten earlier that week that Dick had pretended he didn’t know about. “You—”
“Sit down,” Bruce said, pointing to the couch, and Jason might have fought Bruce but Alfred was here and he couldn’t stand up to both of them, joining Dick on the couch and sulking when Dick tossed an arm around his shoulders and beamed at him.
“Welcome to hell, little wing.”
“I hate you,” Jason replied. “The second we’re alone I’m going to fight you.”
Dick smirked. “I know.”
That’s what brothers were for.