Work Text:
Jason sighs as he shrugs into his jacket, fumbling for the keys in the pocket to make absolutely sure that he has them before he heads out. As he takes those last couple steps to the door, he tilts his head back and runs through a small list in his mind. Yes, he's locked all the windows. Yes, the curtains are drawn. Yes, he has a list of what he needs, his wallet, and the switchblade pushed into the pocket of his jeans in case anyone gets any funny ideas. It's a fifteen minute trip, so no need for anything else but the basics.
The door sticks a bit as he pulls it open, and the familiar twist-yank of the knob to get it to work pulls him back into the physical world. Closing it behind him is easy — only ever sticks when it opens, for some reason — and he locks the door with idle familiarity. Jiggling the knob afterwards to make sure that it's actually caught is automatic, not that these piece of shit locks will stop anyone who knows how to get in. Not that anyone in this building has much worth stealing anyway.
He steps back, turns, and sees an open door, two apartments down. He pauses as he’s retrieving his keys to tilt backwards and try to catch a glimpse into it. He was pretty sure that particular apartment was empty, ever since drug-problem-tenant vanished into the nothingness of Bludhaven’s corners. One of those peculiarities of living in a low-rent neighborhood. One of the other peculiarities is that leaving a door open? Especially when you’re not there? A very, very terrible idea even if you don’t have anything worth stealing.
He squints at the open door, sliding his keys back into his jacket and taking a few steps over, just enough to see through the doorway and into the room beyond. There are a couple stacked boxes, a blanket spilling haphazardly out of one of them. No sign of anyone actually in the apartment though, and it’s all of two rooms including the bathroom, to which the door is equally open; missing anyone would be hard. Is someone moving in?
His answer comes in the form of the stairwell door opening, and he turns to look mostly automatically. The man that comes through, two medium sized boxes stacked in his arms, right up underneath his chin, is unfamiliar. Average height, ear-length black hair, muscled arms, and blue eyes that are currently staring right at Jason, who (alright) is maybe a little too close to the open door to be polite anymore. The man blinks as Jason stalls out, boxes shifting a couple inches down so the guy is looking at him more head on. And Christ the guy is good looking. Just his luck to get caught staring into the apartment of the new, hot neighbor.
"Hi," he finally manages to blurt out, trying to contain a wince at how painfully awkward it sounds to him. "Are you uh… moving in?"
"Yeah," the guy answers, with a crooked, sort of bemused smile that Jason thinks probably means he's already been labeled as a 'weird one.' The guy moves, heading towards the open apartment; Jason steps out of the way. "You?"
"Oh, I— I was just coming out; I live a couple doors down. Saw the door open." He shifts to follow just enough to watch as the man heads into the apartment, carefully setting the boxes down next to the others already stacked there.
A dust-off of hands against the guy's jeans — tight enough to be flattering in all the right ways; the man can definitely pull off the jeans-and-plain-shirt combo — and then a raised eyebrow, still with that smile. "You always peer into open apartments around here?"
He flushes, takes a step back and denies, "No! I— I knew it was empty and I—” The man is smiling a little wider now, amused, and Jason makes himself cut off, raising a hand and scraping it through his hair. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Can we just uh, maybe start over so I can try not being a total ass?"
That gets him a little chuckle, and the man leans against the frame of the door as he gives a nod. "Go ahead."
Jason offers a hand, a wry curl of one corner of his mouth, and a, "I'm Jason; I live a couple doors down. Welcome to the building."
“Dick,” is offered back, as the guy shakes his hand. “Thanks; I just came over from Gotham.”
He can’t quite help how he snorts, hooking one thumb into the pocket of his jeans. “Gotham, huh? Why the downgrade?” He realizes a moment after he’s said it that the question could be taken in a not-nice way, but Dick just gives a little smile and shakes his head.
“Long story short? Family drama. Needed to get out on my own. My job agreed to transfer me over here, and it’s…” There’s a pause, and then Dick shrugs, gives a slightly more embarrassed smile. “Well, it’s far enough away I don’t have to deal with them but nearby enough to still be… close. If that makes sense.”
“I can’t say I personally get it, but I think I understand the feeling. Family’s…” He has to pause himself, trying to condense all of the emotions and issues of his family down into a single word. “Complicated,” he settles on.
The look that Dick gives him for that is an understanding, kind of twisted thing that comes with a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, it’s that.” It’s shaken off, and he straightens up off the doorway, quirking one eyebrow up. “So, what about you? A native?”
Jason hesitates for a moment before he admits, “No; I’m Gotham too. A long time ago.”
For a moment, Dick’s gaze is all too knowing, before it passes and there’s an easy, “Gotham sort of has that effect, huh? Get out or stay forever?”
Or die.
“That’s one way to put it.” He shifts his weight, changing the topic with about as much grace as he can manage, which isn’t much. “Must be quite the job, to let you just change cities like that.”
Dick takes the subject change without comment, cracking a small grin and then snorting. “More like desperate for anyone willing to work here that’s half decent.” Jason is not expecting the next sentence to be a frank, “I’m a cop.”
He blinks. Manages a slightly stunned, “Oh.” Dick just watches him, and Jason clears his throat, fights the urge to rake a hand through his hair again. “You picked a weird building to move into, I gotta say. This is… not exactly the most innocent collection of tenants you’re going to find.”
“That include you?” It’s asked with a smile, but there’s something just a little sharp to that blue gaze and Jason finds himself looking away from it, his hand lifting without his permission to rub at the back of his neck.
“Used to,” he says, not entirely sure why he’s telling the truth except that he doesn’t think he could lie and get away with it. There’s something about the focus of Dick’s gaze that makes him think that easygoing or not, he’s not half as stupid as Gotham’s usual pick of officers. He waves his hand, dismissing his own words as he tries not to shrink in on himself, chest feeling just a bit tight as he adds, “Juvie, back in Gotham. Been a long time.”
He’s seen all sorts of reactions to that, ranging from the automatic step away because now he’s ‘dangerous,’ to the more common Bludhaven grin-and-not-really-joke about there being ‘business opportunities’ for an experienced young man like him. Most people — decent people — tend to fall on the former side, and a cop? God knows. Jason’s done his damn best to stay away from anyone in uniform since moving here, given the past arrests that show up if he’s run for anything.
Dick’s head tilts, gaze flicking down his frame, back up. Then there’s a quiet, “It happens. Gotham’s whole system for dealing with juveniles… isn’t great. I’ve seen a good handful of kids get sent to Juvie that probably didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs. “I don’t know if you did or not, but hey, pasts don’t define people. Too many shades of grey for that.”
The compression of his chest eases, and Jason takes a deeper breath, feeling oddly relieved as he manages a sort-of surprised, “Thanks.”
Dick shrugs, gives half a smile. “Yeah, sure.”
There’s a couple moments then that are just silence, verging into the awkward before Jason clears his throat, shifting his weight and making himself actually say the words to offer, “Do you uh, want some help moving in?”
“You sort of look like you were headed somewhere,” is the counter, though it doesn’t actually sound like a rejection so much as some sort of reminder.
“Just the corner store; it’s nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow.” He pauses for a moment, and then more quietly adds, “I mean, if you want the help. I can just go, if you’d rather. I’d get it.”
For a moment, he thinks that Dick might go with that option, and really, he'd understand it. Even if he hadn't just flat out said he'd been in Juvie, someone offering to help in a neighborhood like this might not be an entirely sincere offer. If Dick isn't comfortable with his presence, that's fine. If some stranger from the building had offered to help him move in when he got here, he probably wouldn't have accepted either, though he knows he's more cynical than a lot of others.
But then Dick dips his head and gives another of those half-smiles. "Yeah, if you're not busy, I'd appreciate that. I actually have a couple pieces of furniture that I have to get up here and I... wasn't really sure how I was going to do that by myself." The laugh that comes out is quiet, maybe a little self-deprecating, but warm. "Guess that solves the problem."
Jason can't help but smile back. "Lead the way then."
"I'm down in front of the building." Dick tilts his head towards the stairs in invitation, and starts that way a moment later. "Coming?"
And he snaps back to where this all started, voice just slightly halting as he says, "You uh, might not want to leave that open." Dick turns back, following the vague gesture of his hand towards the still-open apartment door. “Not exactly the most innocent collection of tenants,” he repeats with a shrug, trying to keep the smile more or less on his face and only really succeeding at the ‘less’ part.
Dick seems to take it fine anyway, with a snort and an easy grin. “Fair enough.”
A couple easy steps puts him close enough to shut and lock the door, before he pockets the keys and then heads for the stairs again. Jason follows him down, and finds himself having to try to not stare at the line of his new neighbor’s shoulders, which starts him down a dangerous path that ends with him having to wrench his gaze away from Dick’s ass as they leave the building, before he gets caught doing it. Ogling attractive guys, openly, is probably not the safest of habits. (Especially not when that attractive guy is a cop who could easily make his life hell if he chose to; he’s not quite the right mix of brave and stupid it would take to try that.)
The car turns out to be a rented truck, and in this case it’s both shut and locked; good call there.
The back is full of boxes, stacked around and sometimes on top of larger pieces of furniture, and it’s… mostly full. More than Jason was expecting; this is going to be a couple-hours sort of a deal, he’s pretty sure.
“How were you planning on getting all this done by yourself?” he asks, as Dick starts pulling some of the easier boxes out. It doesn’t quite occur to him until he’s said it that it comes off a little bit harsh.
He winces, but Dick doesn’t even turn around, just chuckles and says, “A late night?” over his shoulder. “I don’t know, honestly. It hasn’t really been the smoothest of transfers.”
Jason steps forward to take the first couple boxes, hefting them into his arms and stepping aside to give Dick room to gather a couple more and set them on the ground. “Do you… want to talk about it?” he asks, as Dick locks the truck again.
It’s definitely surprise that he gets as a reaction, even as Dick leans down and lifts his own two boxes. “With you? I mean, I don’t really know you, and, well, it’s not a really bad story it’s just a pretty emotionally driven thing. Are you sure you want to listen?”
“Whatever you’ve got in terms of a dramatic home life, I guarantee it’s not as bad as mine,” he half-jokes, hiding it behind a crooked grin and starting for the stairs. “Go for it. I hear I’m a pretty decent listener.”
He can hear Dick following him back into the building. “Hah. Help moving in and an offer to vent? I should buy you dinner or something for this.”
Jason tries not to choke on his own breath, and mostly succeeds. (It’s an innocent offer. It’s definitely not actually an invitation to the dinner kind of dinner.) “Well I’m not going to turn down free food,” he manages, after forcing himself to breathe and push those thoughts out of his head. “Also, you know, sometimes it’s easier to talk to people that you don’t know. No prior connections to muddy things up.”
“I think that’s basically the whole idea behind therapists.”
He hums idle agreement, shifting the boxes as he shoulders open the door to the stairwell. “But they get paid to try and fix you.” He props the door open with a foot, to let Dick slide in next to him and start up the stairs. “I promise not to try and fix whatever issues you’ve got. Also not to surprise you at the end with a bill.”
That gets him a snort. "Thanks. I don't know what's around here, but maybe we could like, order pizza or something and get it delivered? Might be a nice reason to take a break, later."
"Sounds good to me," he says, with a grin. "I think I've got a couple local menus sitting around."
It's interrupted by a lot of grunting, and some debating over how to get the pieces of furniture around bends without killing both the walls and the furniture, but over the course of unloading the truck — and a pause to eat a good couple containers of Chinese food delivered while they're halfway up the stairs on one trip — he learns a good bit about Dick's 'issues.'
Born into a circus, and part of a trapeze act since he was a kid. Orphaned by an accident with the gear, but taken in by a new 'dad' that was more or less great, though the 'less' part got higher as he got older. Didn't much approve of the career choice, apparently. There was some big blowout fight, and he needed to get away for awhile. It's all in pretty vague terms, but Jason doesn't press for information. He doesn't need it. In exchange (mostly over the food), he offers some basics about himself. Carefully; no need to scare his neighbor off before they even get anywhere.
Dick is… nicer than most people he runs into. Engaging. Fun. (And massively fucking attractive in a way that Jason finds it hard to ignore, especially with all the movement, and lifting of various heavy objects.) He finds himself really enjoying the conversation, as it veers from topic to topic, in a way that he usually doesn’t with relative strangers.
When the last box is finally in the apartment, and the furniture is where Dick wants it (and the bed put back together from the deconstructed parts it was before), it finally comes to an end. Dick turns to him after sliding the last box onto the kitchen counter, smiling. Pleased, but definitely tired.
"Alright, I have to take the truck back to the rental place." Dick stretches his arms up, cracking his back with a sigh. "Thank you for the help. You're a life-saver, really."
"No problem," is the easy response, as he pushes his own final box a little more securely onto the top of its pile. "If you need any other help, feel free to knock on my door."
"Sure." Dick pauses then, before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and retrieving a fairly new looking phone. "So," he starts, stepping across the kitchen, "I might be completely misreading things — and if I am, just ignore this — but…” Dick hands him the phone, unlocked, over on a 'new contact' field. "If you maybe want to grab a real dinner sometime? I can call you?"
Jason freezes up for a second, trying to process that sudden invitation, and the phone in his hand, and— “I… are you talking like, a date?”
Somehow, Dick doesn’t lose the smile. “Yeah, I am.”
How the hell he manages to say it so plainly, without any trace of fear, Jason has no idea. He can’t imagine being confident enough to just say it like that. (And there’s a part of him that’s instantly worried about what ‘things’ Dick might have seen to make him think that it’s alright to just flat out ask like this; was he that obvious?)
He has to swallow, and take a deep breath, before he can force himself to nod, and to look down so he can put his name and number into the phone. When he looks up again, Dick’s smile is enough to make something in his chest go tight in a way that’s only slightly caused by fear.
It takes all his courage, but he hands the phone back, looks Dick in the eye, and offers a quiet, “I’d like that.”
“Good. Then I’ll call.” Dick tilts his head towards the exit to the apartment, and Jason takes the hint to head that way, slipping out the cracked door and into the hall. “Jason?” He turns, in time to see Dick close the door, and give him a slow smile. “Have a good night.”
He smiles back. Smaller, but he means it. “You too.”
Dick doesn’t call.
Jason spends the next three nights waiting for him to, frustration and a sickening bitterness twisting tighter in his chest every hour that passes without hearing anything from his new neighbor. He knows it was stupid to hope; as if a pretty-boy cop was actually going to be interested in some ex-criminal Gotham street rat. Those are the kind of dreams he’s better off not even entertaining, let alone hoping for.
He doesn’t see hide nor hair of Dick neither, not that he hangs out in the hall a little too long as he passes by each time, hoping for a cracked door, or literally any proof that he exists beyond the new scrawled nameplate above the room’s mail slot in the lobby. There’s nothing, so after the first few days he stops looking. The door stays firmly shut, no sound from within no matter what hour he passes by, and he doesn’t spot any new car down on the street.
He tries to put the whole thing out of his mind, but it’s… hard. He hasn’t been really interested in someone in a long time, and damn the man but Dick was interesting. Nice. Hot. Jason knows he’s basically none of those things himself, but he’d really thought for a minute that maybe… But it doesn’t fucking matter, because the cop’s a prick like all the others and there’s no point clinging to a pipe dream. He’s not meant for real dates or nice people; world just needed to remind him of that, apparently.
Over a week passes, and Jason does his best to forget.
Then he gets a call.
He’s sprawled out on his couch when it comes in. It’s a number he doesn’t recognize, and for a moment he considers just letting it go to voicemail — telemarketers are by far his most frequent callers — but a small, pinging hope at the edge of his mind gets him to answer the call as he leans back.
“Hello?”
"Hello, is this Mr. Jason Todd?"
He blinks, caught off guard by the title so rarely attached to his name. "Yes?" is about all he can manage. "Uh, who is this?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Todd. This is Claire, with Bludhaven Community Hospital."
His heart drops. He doesn't know why, or what could possibly be happening, but still, his stomach twists with nerves.
"We have a Richard Grayson that was admitted here, a few days ago. He's being discharged today, and needs someone to provide a lift back to his residence. He's still under a fair amount of medication; so he can't drive himself. He has you listed as his emergency contact? As…” There's a brief pause, as Jason blinks at the ceiling, feeling his face twist into something confused. "Let's see, his boyfriend, it says?"
That final comment links it together in his head, renames 'Richard' as 'Dick,' and Jason has to repress the visceral urge to ask what the fuck? Emergency contact? Boyfriend?
"Uh, I'm sorry, Dick's in the hospital?"
"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, I assumed you'd be aware. You do have a relationship with Mr. Grayson, correct?"
For a second, Jason considers throwing the whole thing under the bus. Cause one talk with a neighbor sure as hell doesn't give them a relationship, and the idea that Dick would list him as an emergency contact, let alone as a boyfriend, is an utterly bizarre notion. But Dick didn't strike him as nuts or as a stalker, especially considering he said he was a cop (not that being police necessarily makes him any less likely to be either of those things), so that makes Jason think there's probably a little more to this than just some creep neighbor who thinks they're involved just because he gave his number and shared some takeout.
"Sir?"
It’s enough that he’s willing to take a chance.
"No, I— I am, sorry. I hadn't heard. You said he needs a ride?"
"That's right. Can we expect you at the hospital, Mr. Todd?"
He takes a breath, takes the second to try not to think about just how horrible of an idea this is, and then blurts, "Yeah. I'll come by. I'm sorry, which hospital did you say it was?"
The woman repeats the name, rattles off an address Jason knows he'll forget the second he hangs up (it's fine, that's what phones and internet are for), and thanks him for his help. When the call ends, Jason starts to move before he even thinks about it, getting off the couch and heading for his room to get into real clothes. Where it occurs to him that he could use a shower and second impressions, no matter how bizarre the circumstances, are still sort of important. It’s not hope that makes him want to look nice, but that doesn’t mean he can’t at least be clean.
The shower doesn't help with how his mind is spinning in circles, but it at least gets him clean and that's probably good enough. Surely there's an explanation for all this. Something that makes some sort of sense.
It's almost an hour before he makes it to the hospital, and then comes introducing himself to the receptionist as Dick's boyfriend, which he definitely stumbles over a little. But she barely raises an eye, and a minute later he has both directions and a room number, and he's taking the elevator up to find it. This time, at least, the weirdness of all of it means that the nerves that usually get to him when he steps into hospitals are absent. Replaced with an entirely different kind.
The door opens easily, and Jason hesitates just a second before he steps inside.
The man on the bed is definitely Dick, his head turning at the sound of the door, a small smile curling his mouth long before those blue eyes actually land on Jason as the door falls shut behind him. Then the smile flickers, eyes widening. The surprise isn't faked; Jason's sure of that.
"Hi," he says, after a second of silence.
Dick blinks, pushing up from the tilted-up bed to sit straighter, wincing a little even as he asks, "Jason?"
Jason doesn't know what to say, what to do, so he lifts a hand to run through his hair as he fumbles for words. What comes out of his mouth is, "So… this is not the call I was expecting."
The way that Dick's expression twists, from surprise to confusion to something in the middle, is interesting to watch, but no more enlightening. "I didn't— What are you doing here?"
He steps forward, feeling awkward hovering in front of the door but not really much less awkward once he's taken a couple steps to be closer. "Hospital called me," he explains, sort of. "You uh, had me listed as your emergency contact? Your boyfriend?"
Realization blooms sharp in Dick's eyes, before there's a groan and his head drops forward into both hands, fingers prodding into his temples. "Oh, fuck. Oh my god, I'm sorry. I didn't think they'd call you. I didn't— I'm so sorry you had to come down here."
Jason hesitates, but then slowly shifts forward and takes a careful seat on the edge of the bed. Dick's head lifts to look at him. "I mean… I could have told them they had it wrong," he admits. "But um, mostly I'm just really confused and maybe we could start with an explanation?" His hands clasp together in his lap, grip probably too tight but he thinks maybe he needs that right at the moment. "Going from not getting called to being your boyfriend in the course of two minutes was a little shocking."
"I'm really sorry about that," is repeated, and Jason lifts his gaze to meet Dick's. It's… honest. "The guys at the station have been running me ragged; night shifts and doubles. It's just hazing, stupid things, and I should have at least texted you but it slipped my mind. I haven't had much time to do anything but sleep and work, and then, well, this happened and that was me out for a few more days. I should have called. I meant to."
"Not the shittiest excuse I've heard," Jason admits, quietly. "So, how did I become your boyfriend?"
That gets Dick to give an almost self-deprecating laugh, and another wince. "Well, I was filling out the paperwork here, and it uh… kinda occurred to me that you were literally the only person I knew in Bludhaven? Well, no, not the only person I know but the only person that I actually know a full address, phone number, and last name for. I just… didn't want to fill in my dad's information, and I maybe panicked a bit and filled in yours instead. I swear, I didn't know they'd actually call you. I wouldn't have, if I did."
"You… panicked?"
Dick colors just a bit, glancing away. "I also might have been more than a little high on the pain meds they gave me. It seemed like a good idea at the time?"
Despite himself, Jason finds his mouth curling into a small smirk. "Flattering. Really."
"Don't be a—” Dick cuts off, flushing a little bit more, but the damage has been done and Jason's smirk curls higher.
"A what? A dick?"
"Ha-ha," is the deadpan response. "Yeah, never heard that one before."
Jason limits himself to a small snort before he turns the conversation to maybe slightly more important things. "So what happened? I mean, with the whole hospital thing?"
Dick coughs, the flick of his eyes to the side definitely reading as evasive. "I uh… might have gotten shot."
His eyebrows climb. "A week working and you get shot? Exactly how long have you been a cop?"
"I wasn't the only one. There are four others; mine's pretty minor, all things considered. Thigh. I'll be off my feet for awhile but they said it should all heal just fine." Dick shrugs, shifts to sit a bit more securely. "And a few years. Bludhaven's nastier than Gotham, I'll admit, but if the higher-ups hadn't walked us into a trap I could have handled myself."
It's tempting to respond to that, to ask what and why and who did it, but Jason clamps down on the reaction. He doesn't want to know. He knows he doesn't. Better not to get involved with any of Bludhaven's seedier populace, and even knowing too much about them can do that. If it was a trap, it was a gang, and Jason does his level best to avoid them. Sort of like he avoids cops. At least, most cops.
"Yeah, I heard you needed a ride home." He clears his throat then, looks away for a second. "All this other… stuff aside, I can take you back to the apartments. My car's not real fancy, but it'll get us there in one piece, and the shocks aren't bad enough to make the ride hurt that much. I mean, probably. If you don't want to call a taxi or something."
"That's really nice of you," Dick comments, and when Jason looks back there's a smile aimed at him. Something gentle and warm that makes his gut tighten for reasons that definitely aren't all bad. "I'd like that, if you don't mind."
"Well I'm down here anyway." It comes out as half-hearted grumbling, and he knows, by the smile, that Dick isn't fooled for a second into thinking that he actually is irritated.
Then Dick scoots to the side, patting the bed up closer to where he's sitting. "You want to come up here? They said they were doing the paperwork to get me released, but I don't know how long that will take. It's uh, not dinner and flowers, but maybe I can make this a half-decent date? We can just talk? Get to know each other?" There's a pause, and then Dick adds, "And if I blew my chance, I get it. No hard feelings. But I guess this time it's my turn to ask if we can start over?"
Jason hesitates, but then nods and slowly moves, shifting up the bed to sit beside Dick's thigh. "Well, this is not the worst date I've had, believe it or not," is his next admission. "Wins some points for uniqueness, at least."
"I do my best to be different," Dick offers, with a brighter smile, as he leans back into the bed. "Thank you."
Then there's a hand touching his, and Jason startles a bit as fingers wrap around his, gently squeezing. He swallows, ducks his head a bit, but after a few seconds the urge to pull away falls underneath the fact that the careful touch feels… good. He thinks he's okay with this, which is sort of a new feeling. Holding hands isn't something that his limited experience quite covers, but it's... definitely not bad. And maybe the smile that comes with it is what lets him take a deeper breath, and relax into this whole weird, out-of-order, maybe-dating thing.
"Different can be good," he hedges, meeting Dick's eyes.
Dick hums agreement. Keeps smiling.
Jason inhales, gently squeezes back, and asks, “So, what do you want to talk about?”