Work Text:
The first thing Dick realized was that he was sore. He could feel it before he could open his eyes. Slowly, he tried to take stock of the situation. The last thing he remembered was going out with Jason on some mission. He knew to use the term loosely. It had been something about finding an arms dealer and bringing him back to…Dick knew he really needed to get into the habit of asking Jason more questions before agreeing to go out with him. The truth was though, he’d been happy for the distraction, and he owed Jason for funding his trip back out of Gotham.
“Hey there, Dickie, I can see you coming back.” Jason’s voice filled the air around him. Sluggishly, Dick managed to blink his eyes open, taking in the small studio apartment they’d been renting. Dick rubbed his hands over the couch.
“What happened?” he asked, grimacing as Jason dropped his booted feet heavily to the floor.
“Well, you got your ass kicked.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” Dick said, very carefully trying to sit up until Jason put a warning hand on his shoulder.
“And yet here we are.” The younger man pulled his hand back, apparently satisfied that Dick would stay still.
“Jason…”
“The intel wasn’t great. They got the jump on us,” he replied with a shrug. Dick turned his head towards him, noticing that he’d changed out of his tactical gear and was holding a battered book in his lap.
“And that’s how I got my ass kicked?” He watched as Jason leaned back in his chair, his eyes focusing in on the wall behind the couch.
“There was a sniper and he almost got lucky – he hit the top of the ledge you were hiding behind. A bunch of concrete and little bit of the metal support, it flew up around you.”
Dick noticed the detachment – the way Jason spoke as if reading from a menu. He didn’t point out how very Bruce-like it was, but Dick knew it was a coping mechanism. He could see it in the way Jason clenched his jaw, in the way he wouldn’t look at him right now. He tried to sit up again, his eyes closing as he attempted to remember. Bits and pieces came back, but everything was just a little bit fuzzy. Once he was at least a little better situated, Dick let his fingers run over his body, wincing as they brushed over the bandage taped to his collarbone.
“Still hurts a bit.”
“Yeah well,” Jason said, his eyes coming down to him again. “Some of the wall wanted to come home with you. I had to cut it out, stitch you back up.”
“So I got lucky?”
Jason made a noise in the affirmative, but it wasn’t completely convincing. He had been different since Dick had come back: a little less prickly, a little more like he cared. It was strange…but kind of nice.
“Hey, Jay?” Dick asked, unable to hide his groan as he finally moved to sit up all the way. “Why am I sore everywhere else?”
“You fell,” Jason offered with another shrug. “There’s a few scrapes you bled from; more bruises than anything else though.”
“And what about you?” Dick asked turning to look Jason over more closely. He couldn’t see much from the way he was sitting, but besides a scrape across his upper arm, he looked okay.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Sniper didn’t see me.” Dick rolled his eyes, moving his hands up to scrub over his face.
“I miss the Kevlar,” he sighed before moving to lie back down. “Concussion too I think, head’s a little fuzzy.”
“Not surprised.”
“How long was I out for?” Dick asked, letting his eyes slip closed.
“Little bit,” Jason offered. Even with his eyes closed, Dick could practically feel the tension in Jason’s face.
“How long?”
“You were in and out for a while on our way home,” Jason said with a sigh. “Mumbling all kinds of things, so not gone gone. You were zero help getting up the stairs by the way.”
“So all total?” Dick asked, his eyes opening again.
“Probably less than three hours. Honestly – I think your body just gave up for a bit. Figured this was your best chance at sleep and ran with it. You haven’t been sleeping much, ya’ know.”
“Pot, kettle,” Dick said with a laugh, regretting it immediately.
“Yeah well,” Jason said, getting up from his chair and moving into the kitchen. “Only one of us needed stitches tonight. You’re a little short on blood,” he called as he grabbed a small bottle of orange juice from the fridge. He came back and set it down on the coffee table he had been using as a footrest before. “When you’re ready.” He picked up his book again as he sat in the chair beside him. Dick watched him a moment as the younger man began leafing through the pages looking for his spot.
“Why are you being nice?” he said finally, unable to help the small smile on his face. He was pretty sure he knew the reason, but he wondered if Jason was willing to say it out loud – that he had missed having a brother.
“There was a little more blood and a little less consciousness than I would have liked, Dick.” Ah – he’d been worried then. “And I know heading home hadn’t been what you were hoping for – ” Understatement Dick thought with a sigh – “So maybe you work a little harder not to get your ass kicked, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, reaching out for the juice and lifting his head only enough to take a sip.
“Good,” Jason said, a wry smile playing across his lips. “Because the Dead Robin’s club isn’t nearly as much fun as it sounds.”
“You’re absolutely terrible,” Dick said with a groan. No matter how often he did it, Dick still hated Jason’s dead jokes.
“Seriously though,” Jason said, interrupting his thoughts. “How are you feeling?”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“I would have given you the good stuff before but we don’t have a lot of it and…”
“And I was already having nightmares?” Dick offered. He knew what most heavy painkillers did to his brain and he was glad Jason hadn’t given him any. Jason did him the courtesy of ignoring the question. Neither one of them liked talking about what happened when their eyes were closed. On more than one occasion, Dick had woken up to the sound of Jason yelling, offered to talk about it, and had had something thrown at him for his troubles.
“So,” Jason asked, nudging him in the leg with his book. “You want painkillers or not?”
“Just throw a handful of ibuprofen at me, please.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, moving for the kitchen again. Dick could hear him pouring some of the pills into his hand before coming back to sit down. Jason handed the pills to him with one hand, and the bottle of juice with the other. Without talking, Dick took them, and allowed himself to be helped back up to sitting long enough to down the pills.
After Jason had helped Dick back down onto the couch, he picked up his book again, making it clear that he was planning on sticking around. Dick didn’t say anything, he just closed his eyes and focused on the occasional quiet page turning.
“What are you reading?” he asked finally, feeling himself becoming tired again.
“Dickens,” Jason answered, turning another page. Dick snorted softly.
“That doesn’t narrow it down too much, Jay, “ he said. “You doing Copperfield for the millionth time?”
“Tale of Two Cities,” he offered, his voice made it clear he was at least pretending to try and tune Dick out.
“I hated that one,” Dick said, finally earning a laugh.
“I know, Dickie. I read it out loud for you for your AP lit class.”
Dick opened his eyes to see Jason looking down at him over the top of the very battered book. They had gotten into that habit when they were younger. Jason would read some of Dick’s school assigned books aloud to him to make his work easier; snazzy private schools weren’t always fantastic at coping with dyslexic students, but between Bruce, Babs, Alfred, and Jason – Dick got his reading done-ish.
“Will you…” he started. “Will you read it out loud?” Jason laughed at him again.
“You going to be able to pay attention with that concussion?”
“No,” Dick conceded, closing his eyes with a smile. “But Dickens uses too many words – so hopefully it’ll put me back to sleep.” He felt the book’s spine tap against this knee lightly in retaliation for daring to chastise Charles Dickens.
“From the beginning?” Jason asked him, annoyed but clearly willing to pander anyway.
“Where you are is fine,” Dick said settling in. The sound of Jason’s voice as he read washed over him. Tonight had been a bad night. Dick hurt, and he was exhausted, but as he nodded off to the sound of his little brother reading, he figured things might not have been great, but they could have been a lot worse.