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Jason was born with holes in his hands.
Holes in his hands so that whatever he holds to the tightest, he drops.
When other people had a cup, Jason had a sieve, and every good thing was water; the more he tried to catch the more he lost.
Jason didn’t care if he couldn’t hold onto cars, or money, or clothes. There were times when he had an overabundance of material goods and times when he had a scarcity. And while nothing taught you the value of a good meal or a warm place to sleep than the lack of them, Jason had learned that whether or not he had people was what made life bearable or not. The only things worth having weren’t things - they were people.
And if things were like water, then people were like oil.
Catherine, Bruce, hell, even Sheila. Slipping through his dumb holey fingers.
Jason looks at the sleeping form of the man next to him in bed, thinking that he’ll never be able to hold onto to Dick Grayson. Trying would be worse than an exercise in futility - trying would just make him pour through Jason’s hands even faster. Because of Jason’s congenital flaws, his time with Dick has an expiration date. He doesn’t know if it would be a month or a year, but he knows he’ll never be able to keep the golden boy for long. From the first kiss, Jason had resolved to enjoy Dick while he could, since nothing so lovely can last. Not for Jason, anyway.
One thing he knows, though, was that if Dick became Batman, there wouldn’t be anything left of him for Jason to hold onto. If their relationship was doomed either way, the least Jason could do was try to save Dick.
It’s simple, then. Jason will have to be Batman instead.
Even if it ends their relationship, because Dick Grayson was oil, and Jason has holes in his hands.
***
Dick’s washing dishes in their crappy but spacious (for New York City) apartment, listening to hit songs from 2005, and Dick starts doing a ridiculous dance and lip sync routine to “Don't Cha.”
Jason, from his spot leaning against the bar as nurses a post-dinner/pre-patrol coffee, rolls his eyes. “I am so embarrassed by you right now, I can’t even believe that I know you,” Jason says, but he knows he’s smiling.
“Ahh, come on. This is a great song. A masterpiece of lyricism. Seriously, it’s my favorite from when I was a kid.”
“You were what, nine, ten, when this came out. Don’t tell me Bruce and Alfred let you listen to this kind of music.”
“Oh, I’ll have you know that Alfred is a big fan of this group.”
“Alfred is a big fan of ‘The Pussycat Dolls,’” Jason states flatly, not buying it.
“Absolutely,” Dick says, somehow maintaining a straight face. He starts singing along instead of just lip syncing. “Don’t you wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Dontcha?”
“I have to tell you something, Dickie, and I know it will be a bit of a shock, but I don’t want a girlfriend. I’m gay.”
Dick laughs. “Well, that’s a relief, since we are sleeping together.”
Dick’s phone rings, something from Elgar, because of course that’s the ringtone Dick assigned Alfred. “I’ve got to get this, Jay,” he says apologetically, and turns down the radio before answering.
Dick’s singsongs a casual “Hiya Alfie,” and then his smile slides away from his face. He turns away and heads towards their living room.
Jason thinks he should follow. It’s clearly bad news, and he should act like a supportive boyfriend. It’s the right thing to do. The non-asshole thing to do. It’s what Dick would do, isn’t it?
But Jason isn’t Dick Grayson, and he never will be.
Jason has holes in his heart too.
Before he can decide, Dick returns. He’s staring at the phone in his hand as if he no longer recognizes what kind of mysterious electronic device it is. As if everything he thought he knew for certain had been flipped upside down.
“Everything okay, Goldie?” Jason asks and then curses himself because it’s so painfully obvious that the answer is no.
“Bruce is dead.”
“Don’t you wish your girlfriend was raw like me?” a pussy cat sings.
“Turn that shit off. My dad just died.”
As if Jason hadn’t just lost . . .
Hadn’t just lost someone too.
***
Jason once watched a documentary about the California Gold Rush. The deluded, the dreamers, the desperate, believing they had a right to something that never should have belonged to them, shivering in snow-melt streams and blistering their hands on pickaxes, searching for something of value.
So many of them went broke, even the ones who found gold. Their fortunes slipped away, out of the same grasping fingers that had once sifted precious metal from plain rock.
But still the gold called, and people came for it. Over and over again.
***
Jason hasn’t seen Dick smile since before the funeral. Since the phone call that interrupted the stupid song washing dishes. Jason can’t stand the thought that the last memory he’s going to have of Dick happy is singing a song Jason can’t even think about without grimacing, so he’s going to have to come up with something.
He decides to get Dick out of the house, and convinces him to ride their motorcycles on the country roads east of the Manor. Dick doesn’t want to leave the others alone, but Jason convinces him that the only way he can support the rest of the family is if he takes an hour or two to get his head on straight.
“This is definitely a case of putting on your own oxygen mask first, Dickie,” Jason says and finally Dick agrees.
Dick can’t find his helmet, so Jason lends him his spare. Jason would give Dick anything to keep him safe, even their relationship.
They ride their bikes too fast for safety, but when they return to the Manor, something is looser in Dick’s shoulders than Jason has seen in days.
Dick takes his helmet off, and shakes his hair. A warm golden ray from the westering sun caresses his cheekbone, his eyes are like the Grecian sea, and something like a smile plays across his lips. Jason wishes he could take a picture in his mind and keep it forever. He wants to memorize this moment, before Jason ruins it.
Dick looks like he is going to say something, probably something sappy and idiotic that is going to make part of Jason feel sweet and gooey, like the core of a molten chocolate cake. And another part is going to feel terrified, because he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling that seems so similar to happiness.
“I know what Bruce’s message to you said,” Jason starts before Dick can say something that would make this even harder than it already was, because if Dick says something nice, or grateful, or funny, then Jason doesn’t think he can say what he needs to say.
Dick’s face immediately shutters closed.
“I know he didn’t want to you to be Batman, and I agree. Being Batman would be terrible for you.”
“I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.”
“Look at me and tell me you didn’t hate it, every single day.”
Dick looks at Jason with scorn in his eyes. “If I’m not Batman, then who? You?”
That hurts more than Jason thought it would, but he squares his shoulders. “Yes. Me.”
“I could stop you.”
“No, Dick, I don’t think you will. Because I know it and you know it. You don’t want to be Batman. You’ve never wanted to be Batman.”
“How would you know?”
“Everything you’ve done since you were Robin. Your team. Your friends who became your family. You let them in, and you saw them as equals. You became a cop so you could fight the corruption at the heart of the system while also fighting crime on the streets.”
“Bruce hated that,” Dick says with a frown, but Jason thinks he’s making progress at least.
“You smile in your suit. No one is afraid of Nightwing.”
“Ouch.”
“That’s not what I meant. You scare the bad guys when you need to, but the public loves you, and that’s how you like it. You don’t want to terrify everyone.”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s not even about what Bruce wants, because he died! He’s dead and he doesn’t get to order me around anymore.” Dick drops the helmet with a thud. “You don’t get to either.”
Jason runs his hands through his hair. Dick isn’t listening to reason. Or maybe Jason just isn’t saying it right. He has to convince Dick to stay Nightwing, even if it means Jason won’t have Dick in his life. “Fine. I was hoping you wouldn’t make me say it, but you would be a terrible Batman. You would hate it and it would destroy you. You’re not strong enough.”
Dick looks at Jason and Jason knows that nothing will be the same between them again.
"Fine. You take the mantle and move into the penthouse. I’ll take Damian and Tim and we’ll stay in the Manor. If I hear the tiniest whisper that Batman is using guns, we’re over.”
"We're not," and Jason has to clear his throat to keep speaking, "You mean, we're not over now?"
"Not yet. But do you think we can stay together, after this?"
"I hope so." Jason will
"I need time."
Jason nods. "I understand. I just. I just - I need you to know that I'll always come for you."
Dick exhales, low and slow, and then nods once. "I know." Dick turns around, and walks away.
Dick Grayson is like oil, and Jason has holes in his hands.