Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Dick noticed was the incredible throbbing bass drum in his head.

Wait--that was his heartbeat. Why was his heart being so noisy?

The next thing he noticed was how stiff he felt.

"Hey, Hood, can you hear me?" A hand gripped his arm, and another brushed his forehead.

A moan escaped his lips.

"C'mon, open your eyes you big oaf." Oaf? That must be Tim.

Taking a deep breath, Dick pried one eye open. It settled on Red Robin's face, creased with worry, a bit too close to his own. Before he could say anything though, a bright light flashed in both of his eyes, sending piercing pain through his head. He pinched his eyes closed again for a moment, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Sorry," Tim muttered. Dick gave him what he meant to be a sympathetic smile, but something close to panic briefly flashed across the younger man's face.

"Ok," Tim said slowly. "I'm going to chalk that up to you having a concussion and not that you actually want to try and kill me again." He slid his arms under Dick's shoulders and helped him sit up.

It took until he was upright for the words to compute.

"What? Red, I've never tried to kill you." His voice felt...weird. And his body moved so slowly. But, wrestling his pounding head into submission, he managed to look at Red Robin's face in time to see the arched eyebrow.

"And I'm officially concerned," Tim said, drawing out the first vowel. "I freaking hate tangling with magicians, especially on Tuesdays. Why are the Tuesday ones always so much more trouble?" he muttered before turning and calling, "How's Nightwing?"

"Hey, Red, you alright?" Dick asked, frowning. But his question was lost as a voice shouted.

"Why the fuck do my limbs feel like melted butter?" Dick rubbed his head, not having the energy to look at the speaker. That voice was...familiar, but he couldn't place it...It certainly wasn't Jason's...

"Nightwing, your limbs are melted butter." And that was Robin's voice. But why was he calling the person Nightwing? His head was so fuzzy...

"The fuck do you mean, brat? And get that light out of my face, I'm fine." A wave of nausea hit Dick, and he pinched his eyes closed. That sounded like Jason, but why was his voice so...different?

"Nightwing, you are clearly not fine. Your emotional outbursts--"

"Emotional outbursts? I'll show you emotional--"

"Are reminiscent of Hood's antics."

Dick felt Tim shift his attention back to him, as if waiting for some response to that. Jason's--it had to be Jason, right? Even though his voice was so strange? Jason's response to Damian precluded Dick from saying anything.

"What do you mean reminiscent? How can I be reminiscent of myself?"

"Nightwing, you're--"

"Shut it brat. Hey Nightwing?"

Dick lifted his face to look over toward Jason. "Yeah?"

He froze. He was looking at...

Himself?

And the look on his face was exactly what he was feeling right now. Pure, unadulterated confusion. In a split moment, it became adulterated with horror as the realization dawned.

"Shit."

**

"Father will not be pleased."

After some effort (consisting of Dick and Jason having significant difficulty standing and walking and in general using their new bodies. Dick was sure that Tim was going to keep the recording of it from his suit to use as blackmail later) they managed to get into the Batmobile. Damian sat in the passenger seat, scowling at the two men seated in the back. Tim drove, considering he was the only one both coordinated and tall enough to effectively do so. He kept flashing looks in the rear-view mirror, betraying the anxiety he felt at the situation.

Jason, in Dick's body, scowled at the Damian. "Forget B, I'm not pleased. Have you seen what I've become? A sack of flab and Jello."

"Excuse me, you mean handsome and a fine specimen of humanity with a physique sculpted by the gods." Dick rose his hand to rub his face and nearly whacked himself with a limp hand. Getting some control of it, he clumsily rubbed his face...Jason's face? This was going to get really confusing really, really fast... "Besides, what about me? Seriously, how do you even move? You're body's like a freaking brick. I'm surprised you don't pull a muscle every time you do anything more than breathe." Shifting, he felt the armor of Jason's outfit rub in...both a familiar and unfamiliar way. Apparently, muscle memory was something of a thing...? Then again, maybe the ten minutes he'd been in it was enough to get accustomed to it.

Jason...that was weird to think of his little brother being the person who he was looking at considering it was his own face...Jason frowned. "Some people have normal muscles, Dick, unlike you. Brat's right, your limbs are melted butter. I'm surprised you don't just ooze around. Like, hot dang man, I'm so flimsy right now." Jason held up his...Dick's...arms and flopped them about. "Like, what even."

"Robin, did you call B and Agent A?" Tim cut in, voice seeming a bit on the tight side, Dick thought. Wait, did this body switch thing affect how he saw people? What if that was just Jason's perception of how Tim sounded right now? Was it the same way he would perceive Tim's mood? Or what if he was perceiving things as some weird blend of himself and Jason? Like a...Jay-Dick smoothie?

He frowned. That just sounded wrong, even in his head. Though he shrugged at himself mentally. Jason never could resist making things weird with his name. So he was blaming that thought train on Jason's brain, not himself.

"Tt, what do you take me for? Of course I called them. B is taking the jet back right now, and Agent A is standing by at the cave."

"Good." Tim glanced at them in the mirror again. "How are you two feeling?"

"Fine," Jason bit out, crossing his arms. Dick opened his mouth to speak, but frowned again. Tilting his head to the side, he then turned it right, then left. "Wait, Hood, do you have hearing loss in your left ear?"

"Uh, no." The response was much too forceful. "Don't be an idiot. Of course I don't have hearing loss."

Dick turned his head as Jason was speaking. "No, you totally do. I didn't notice it until now. But what else do you have going on that you're not telling us?" He started a quick catalogue of his body...Jason's body? Shoot, this was weird.

"What, you have hearing loss? Why didn't you tell us?" Tim's comment wasn't angry so much as concerned. "And how did it happen?"

"Tt, Todd, you are an imbecile."

Jason frowned. "Look, how do you think I got hearing loss? I was too close to an explosion."

"Probably one that you made," Dick muttered. Jason locked his eyes onto Dick, and dang he didn't realize his face could even be that intimidating.

"For the record, no."

"Uh huh," Dick replied, not giving a full account of just how much he didn't believe that.

He was still cataloguing when his brain tripped again. "Wait, and you wear an elbow brace?" The sensation just finally registered.

"Yeah, I do, but how about you quit spewing all my secrets, or I'll start sharing some of yours, huh?" Jason veritably scowled now. It made Dick pay closer attention to his cataloguing efforts.

But he rolled his eyes at the comment. "Sure, but that will be kind of hard considering I don't have any." He knew he had plenty, but felt justified saying it anyway. Even if it was just to be contrary.

Jason snorted, and Dick winced. He made a mental note to never make that sound. Like, ever, unless it was a life or death situation. And, even then, it would be a long shot whether he would. It was unflattering, to say the least.

"And what do you call not having any sensation in one of your fingers?"

"Documented by B," he replied, even as Damian's head whipped around. "Grayson! After all your lectures--"

"C'mon, I knew that one," Tim cut in, glancing at Damian. He received a scowl for the comment. Dick narrowed his eyes, meeting Tim's look in the mirror.

"How exactly do you know that? I told Bruce to keep that out of anything that you all had access to."

"'Don't have any,'" Jason mocked quietly.

Tim flashed him a sheepish grin. "He did."

Dick stared hard at Tim, ignoring Jason. "You sneaky little hacker."

Tim looked away, clearly uncomfortable. "Sorry," he muttered. He shook his head. "This is so weird to be talking to Dick in Jason's body." He shook his head. "I really hate magicians on a Tuesday." The car accelerated, and an awkward silence ensued.

"Oh, and did you call Zatanna?" Tim asked after a minute.

Damian fixed him with a look. "Drake, I am not an idiot."

"Well, weirder things have happened tonight than something slipping your mind."

Chapter Text

Bruce was not pleased.

"And how exactly did this happen?"

Dick and Jason were sitting in the cave on medical cots, Dick looking at the floor in apparent fascination, Jason glowering at Bruce. Alfred had checked them over and, apart from Jason's...Dick's? Dick hated trying to figure out how to think of them and their bodies--he had already gone multiple rounds in his head and out loud trying to find a good way of referring to them. Anyway, other than the concussion that Jason's body had, and bruising on Dick's body, they were fine.

Well, and apart from being in the wrong body. But, ya know...details.

"Magician," Dick mumbled in response to Bruce, resisting the urge to swing his leg like he was ten again and Batman was giving Robin a lecture about safety.

Bruce sighed, and Dick knew that sigh. It was the sigh that said Bruce was this close to pinching the bridge of his nose. Which meant he was this close from just walking away from this issue for the night.

Fortunately, Bruce had been only a few states away on a business trip. Unfortunately, he wasn't supposed to come back for another two days, and the fact that he was back early had put him in a less than stellar mood, as evidenced by the sigh. Not that he ever had stellar moods, but there was...brooding and less brooding. On rare occasions, he bordered on brooding-beneath-the-radar. That was usually when Jason agreed to stay a night at the Manor, or Tim and Damian actually acted civil, or he made a big break on a case.

This was definitely in none of the above categories. The only reason Jason hadn't left with Dick's body was because Alfred had expressly forbidden it, and Damian had given him a glare that scored an 11 out of 10 when he did try. He, less than amicably, had agreed to stay after that, muttering something about "knowing how to cut his losses." And Tim and Damian already had a full bout about whose fault this was, which Dick had managed to put a stop to right as Alfred had finished checking them all over, so all civility was already out the door.

"And I assume you called Zatanna?"

"Bruce, we're not amateurs," Tim said from his seat at the computer. Though he hadn't typed anything since they got back, Dick noticed.

"What did she say?"

"That she was unfamiliar with any spell that could do this, and would have to see them in person to know anything for certain." Tim made a move to type, but stopped with his hands balled above the keyboard.

"I'm going to make some calls of my own," Bruce said abruptly before stalking away.

"I'm showering," Damian said, also stalking away. But not before he glared again at Jason. The man looked to the ceiling, exasperated.

"I'm not going anywhere with your precious Richard," he spat. Damian seemed satisfied enough, and left.

They all had a half moment of silence before Tim said, "So, Dick, you going to work as Jason or you letting him cover your shifts?"

Dick moaned. He hadn't even thought about that. "I can't go into work like this. Or like that." He gave Jason a meaningful look. "No way they wouldn't think I had a concussion or something was seriously wrong with me."

Jason barked a short laugh. "You're saying I can't do the job of a cop? I know all the procedures. I can totally do your job."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Uh huh. And you can totally pull my personality off, not to mention all the office politics and relationships that I've learned to navigate. You'd throw me right off the deep end if you went in, not to mention could get me, I don't know, hurt or killed considering Bludhaven isn't exactly much safer than Gotham."

Jason raised an eyebrow at him, accompanied by a mischievous grin. "Oh, I wouldn't get you killed. But wreck your office politics? Now that sounds like a good time."

"You won't. Call my supervisor and leave him a message saying that I've had a family emergency." Dick was reaching for his phone already.

Jason held his hand to his face like he was holding a phone and spoke in a high pitched voice. "'Hello, I can't come to work for the foreseeable future because I'm stuck in my brother's body, and I won't let him take over my shifts despite him being more capable than me. You're going to have to do without this beaming ray of sunshine in your dank, God-forsaken armpit of a city. Whatever shall you do without me?"'

"Lovely, Jason. Now how about you cut back on the sarcasm and try channeling the aura of the body that you've stolen?" Frowning when the phone wouldn't unlock, Dick tried his finger on the pad again. He huffed a sigh when he remembered it wasn't his finger, and manually typed the passcode in. He pulled up his contacts and selected his supervisor. About to hand it to Jason, he backtracked and deleted his fingerprints from the unlock selections. He finally shoved the thing toward his brother with a meaningful look.

"No way, I'm not calling your supervisor," Jason said, backing away from the piece of electronics. "If you're not happy with what I just did, you won't be happy with anything, and I'm not having the consequences of you being unhappy in my body. My luck would be you'd eat only cereal until we switched back and I'd have to go keto just to get back to some semblance of feeling normal. And I like bread too much to be able to do that."

"C'mon, Jay, you know I wouldn't do that," Dick said, huffing a sigh. "Just say something like, 'Hey, sorry for short notice, I had a family emergency and don't know when I'll be back in.'" He wiggled the phone at Jason. "Seriously, here."

Jason was still for a moment before snatching the phone. Jabbing at the screen, he put the phone to his ear, glaring at Dick the whole time.

And if Jason didn't have his phone, Dick would be videoing the entire thing, because the amount of displeasure his brother was radiating was a rare thing to see.

"Uh, yeah, hi..." And Dick officially facepalmed at Jason's awkward greeting, and subsequently wished a hole would swallow him up.

"So, uh, I have a pretty major family emergency...and, well, I don't think I'll be able to come in--" Dick motioned at Jason about the wording. "Uh, I definitely won't be able to come in. So...yeah, if you have questions--" Dick's eyes got wide, and he made a slicing motion across his throat. Abort, abort!

"Uh, don't call me. Thanks, bye." Jason jabbed the screen again, and Dick hid his face in his hands. Moaning, he slid his palms down his cheeks and reached for the phone.

"Seriously? 'Don't call me?' You could have said, 'I probably won't be available much,' or literally anything else that didn't make me sound like a jerk employee playing hookie. And my voice, you couldn't have made it sound any more monotone and horrid."

Jason launched the phone at him at high velocity, and Dick fumbled with it before getting a firm hold. "Well, Golden Boy, if you wanted a better job of it, you should have done it yourself."

Dick smiled a bit and said, "Well, I did half of it, considering you used my mouth."

That earned him an eye-roll. "Speaking of, don't give me a sore throat with how much you talk. My body's not used to it because sometimes a bit of quiet is actually welcome."

"Aw, you know you love me."

"Whatever, Dickface."

"What? Jason, we're going to have to have a conversation about self-esteem. Why are you being so harsh about the way you look?"

Jason gave him a flat look. "No. Just...no. We are not having a big brother talk about self-esteem when I am trying to insult you. Now, if you're finished humiliating me, I'm going to bed." Turning, he marched for the elevator, albeit a bit slowly, as if he had to double check every movement he made. And, Dick presumed based on how he was feeling, he probably did need to double check every move.

Turning toward the remaining people--Tim and Alfred--he said, "I'm going to head up too. Jason's body does not have as much stamina as he would like us to think." He felt like he'd run a marathon carrying both Tim and Damian the whole way.

Alfred rose an eyebrow at him. "And neither does yours, I believe." Dick swallowed, trying not to blush at the accuracy of the statement. "Good night, Master Richard. If you need anything, please let me know. Oh, and would you take this up with you?" Alfred took a couple steps closer and handed a tray of mugs over to him. Grabbing for it, Dick only managed to hit the tray with the back of his hands. Trying to right the tipping mugs, he bumped Alfred's arm, and the tray crashed to the floor, sending the mugs into oblivion.

"Shoot, Alfred, I'm sorry." He immediately knelt and snagged for the large pieces of ceramic. A yelp escaped him, and he drew his hand back sharply. Glancing at the hot pain, he was surprised that red welled up in a bead from his finger.

"Quite alright. Did you hurt yourself badly?" Alfred snatched his hand before he could even think about hiding it. "Why don't you go upstairs and take care of this? I'll finish down here."

"Alfred I'm more than willing--"

The old butler patted his hand before letting it go. "I know, but right now you have more pressing things, like ensuring that Master Jason's body gets back to him in one piece."

Dick blushed, but a part of him felt the nagging of the subtext of that comment. We lost him once. Don't jeopardize him again.

"Ok, Alf. Sorry again."

"Take care of yourself, Master Richard," Alfred replied from where he knelt, picking up the pieces of colorful mugs. Dick glanced at Tim, who looked away quickly. But not before Dick caught the way he was observing him.

With that "I'm a genius, but I'm also a teenager" look. The look that meant trouble.

Sighing, he decided it could wait until tomorrow. Undoubtedly, he would know what it was about soon enough.

Chapter Text

Dick woke to sunshine leaking through the cracks of his curtains. Moaning, he winced at the pain in his head. Flinging an arm up, he managed to whack himself in the face rather than cover his eyes as he intended.

He grumbled at his clumsiness, and twisted so his back was to the window before shifting the pillow moodily. He just couldn't seem to get comfortable in any of the normal positions he tried. It almost felt like he hadn't stretched out properly last night.

Shifting the pillow again, his eyes caught on some discoloration on the bare skin of his arm.

Huh, that scar turned out funny, he thought, closing his eyes again, wishing the pain in his head would cease and desist its horrid pulsing. It took him a moment to cog.

He didn't have a scar that ran the length of that arm.

Eyes opening minutely, he stared at the limb. It looked like, from the color of the hair and how large the muscles were, it could be Jason's arm--

Oh, right.

It was Jason's arm.

Sighing, he gave up on returning to sleep now that his mind was on the events of last night. He sat up slowly, in respect for the pounding in his head, and the fact that Jason would have retribution if he caused any worsening of the injury for him to deal with once they switched back. Standing, he grabbed a shirt and pulled it on with a bit of difficulty. It seemed odd that it would have shrunk in the wash, Alfred was always rather careful--

Making a face that expressed just how done he was with this situation, he reminded himself that Jason was a significantly bigger person than he was, and that his normal clothes wouldn't work in this situation.

He stood for a moment, debating the best course of action, before steeling himself and walking down the hall to Jason's room. Not bothering to knock at the door, he opened it and stepped in.

He was met with a brief flash of surprise, then a scowl that would have put Damian to shame.

"Do you know what knocking is?" Jason asked as he pulled up the covers on the bed. Dick watched as his brother finished making the bed, even fluffing the pillows.

"Technically, this is your body so I don't have to knock," Dick said as Jason turned toward him.

"Uh huh, and this family has always been big on privacy, and now you have a semi-legitimate excuse to backup the bad habits." Dick just gave Jason a sheepish grin, and Jason shook his head at him. "I'm guessing you realized none of your own clothes are going to work?"

"Something like that," Dick replied, glancing around the near-painfully tidy room. "Care to share?"

Jason rolled his eyes and walked to the closet. "Considering I don't want you walking around buck-naked, I suppose I'll have to." He opened the closet doors and began pulling clothes into his arms. Dick walked closer, and frowned.

"Hey, that's my sweatshirt." Jason followed to where he was pointing.

"Nuh-uh, definitely isn't." He returned to picking out shirts for Dick.

"No, totally is." Dick snagged it, and, while he was leaning over Jason, caught sight of another thing. "And that's my shirt too! You've been stealing my clothes for years!" The shirt was one he remembered having gone missing a long, long, long time ago.

Turning, Jason gave Dick a wicked grin as he shoved a mound of clothes toward him. "Well, considering that this is your body, I'd say I have a decent claim to it currently. So, go knock yourself out with these."

Sputtering, Dick wasn't sure how Jason had shepherded him out of the room and shut the door before he could even protest. Frowning at the wood, Dick made it back to his own room and changed before going downstairs for breakfast.

He found his brothers had already beat him there. And Tim and Damian were having some sort of argument, though it wasn't animated yet.

Digging in the cupboards, he pulled out a bowl and cereal. He could feel Jason glaring daggers at his back, but ignored him as he poured milk and took a bite.

Making a face, he looked at the bowl. It was just...disappointing. He looked over his shoulder at Jason, whose face was momentarily disapproving, then morphed into delight.

"Care to try?" Dick asked, shoving the bowl at him. "I'm going for toast."

"Nope, not gonna do that Dickie," Jason said, springing toward the toaster as it popped. Quickly preparing the bread as he wanted, he added, "Your bad eating habits aren't going to be mine." Taking a bite of the snack, Dick watched with amusement as the light dimmed in Jason's eyes. Jason's look slid to Dick.

"Fine, let's trade." Dick grinned, and swapped with Jason. Taking a bite of the bread, he sighed. That was some good food.

"Richard, don't you agree?" Damian's demanding voice brought Dick's attention to him and Tim. They both wore scowls that, if he could, he would have taken a picture of. They were both quite reminiscent of Bruce, and nearly identical to each other.

Suppressing his smirk, Dick asked, "What's that, Dami? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." Damian's eyes flicked from Dick to Jason and back again. It clearly disquieted the kid to be addressing him in a different body.

"Drake was suggesting I don't have the ability to balance cups of water on the backs of my hands. I told him it was an infantile show of balance, and could do it in my sleep. He then suggested that you and Todd would not be able to do so in...your current condition." Again his eyes flicked between the two. Jason just ignored him, wolfing down cereal. Damian's attention came back to Dick.

"I told him that he was a fool to believe that either of you would be incapable of the act simply because of...this." He inclined his head toward Dick. "Wouldn't you agree?"

Dick grinned. "Oh, I would agree about myself, but Jason? No way he's got a hold of those melted butter limbs. He wouldn't last more than two seconds."

Jason's eyes flicked to Dick and he paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're joking. Melted butter or not, I've got your limbs fine. I doubt you've mastered my fine motor control though."

Scoffing, Dick replied, "Really now, you think so? Care to test this fact?" Dick set aside his second piece of toast, already angling for water glasses.

"Uh, yeah. Prepare to be crushed." Jason shoveled the rest of the cereal into his mouth and set the bowl aside as Dick filled the cups. "Hand those glasses over."

"Woah, wait a minute, a competition needs rules," Tim said, sliding between the two older men and grabbing the full water glasses from Dick. "Whoever lasts longest wins. Damian and I will place the glasses on the back of your hands. And we're doing this in the sitting area where glass won't break since it's covered by that huge ugly rug."

"Fine," Jason bit out, already marching away. "What are you waiting for, Dickface? Scared you'll lose?"

Dick, Damian, and Tim all trailed after him. "You so eager to get wrecked?"

"You admitting my body has the better balancing skills than yours?" Jason stopped on the rug and turned to face Dick.

"Hardly. I'm just that much more focused than you." Dick stopped opposite Jason, Tim and Damian holding the glasses.

"Alright, enough trash-talk," Tim interrupted. He glanced at each. "Hold your hands out, palms down." Both did as Tim said. "K, now the glasses." As the weight of the glasses settled on his hands, Dick winced slightly at the pull it caused. Jason's eyes flicked over his face, and Dick knew he caught the movement, and what it was for. But they both turned their attention to the full glasses.

As much as Dick didn't want to admit it, it was horridly difficult to keep the things balanced.

"Great, now whoever lasts longest wins," Tim said, stepping back. "You two have fun, I'll be finishing some paperwork." With that, he left, and Damian followed close behind.

Dick just stared at the cups, trying to find the subconscious rhythm that balance required.

It was probably a solid three minutes before either of them spoke.

"I can't believe I ate a whole bowl of cereal and enjoyed it," Jason commented.

Dick risked glancing at the man. He seemed to be having as much trouble as he was, if the creases in his face were any indication.

"It's good food," Dick replied, even as the cup wobbled from his lack of attention.

"Definitely is not. You've just trashed your tastebuds," Jason retorted.

"No, I haven't," Dick said, lacking the concentration to come up with anything better than a flat denial.

Jason didn't respond. He was definitely having just as much trouble as Dick with this little exercise.

After a few moments of silence, Dick winced again. "Jason, you've got something going on with your hand."

"Yeah, got a lot going on with that hand," came the distracted reply.

"Well, this little exercise is certainly aggravating it," Dick continued. Jason glanced quickly at him, then focused on the cups again.

"Giving up so soon?" Even underneath the quip, Dick could hear the...gratitude? Was that really what that was? It had to be. The gratitude that Dick was actually taking care of him.

"I can keep going but..." Dick trailed off.

"Alright, well, go ahead and put the glasses down. I'm going to see how long I can go."

Dick was about to comply when he came up short with a very distinct problem. The glasses were on the back of his hands. Of both hands.

Dick grumbled to himself before he shouted, "Tim!" Waiting, listening, he didn't hear approaching footsteps. Jason gave him a look. Raising an eyebrow in return, he said, "See a little problem for getting these off ourselves?" It took barely a moment before recognition dawned on Jason's face, quickly replaced by irritation.

"Replacement's gonna get it," Jason ground out. "Brat too."

"One thing at a time," Dick said, taking a careful step toward the kitchen. "Dump the glasses in here, we have to clean the carpet. Drop them out there, we have to clean up glass and the wood. Have to make it to the sink."

Jason glared at him. "Fine. Whoever gets there with both glasses wins."

Dick grinned. "You're on."

**

They both managed to make it to the kitchen without spilling their cups. After hunting around for Tim and Damian, who had both conveniently disappeared, they decided to make the most of their day however they saw fit.

And that's when Dick realized what Tim's look last night was for.

Everything in the rooms he frequented was shifted ever so slightly, enough that, combined with his unfamiliarity with Jason's body, he was constantly bumping into things. When he decided to go down to the cave, he found that all of his and Jason's things were missing, and, in their place, were cardboard replicas that melded the Nightwing and Red Hood symbols. Giving up on doing any sort of training downstairs, Dick headed back up and went to the bathroom to shower.

And, of course, the classic--hair dye instead of shampoo.

Nice Tim.

At least he realized it before he dyed his hair bright red. Or Jason's rather. That would be a fun one to try and fix.

Sighing, he wandered back to his room, wondering if anything had been tampered with in there.

He found nothing, save for a handwritten sheet of paper taped above the door.

Don't hit your head now that you're a giant.

Snorting, he wadded the sheet up and tossed it in the garbage.

Tim and Damian would have some retribution coming eventually. But, right now, there were more important things to do. Like stretching, since apparently Jason didn't believe in that sort of thing.

Sitting on the floor, he carefully worked through his routine, muttering in irritation on occasion.

"Jason, you really need to get more flexible."

Chapter Text

Dick watched as Bruce and Zatanna walked to the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind them.

"Well, that went about as well as would be expected," he muttered, arms crossed, still staring where the two had disappeared.

"Things are never simple, especially when a magician is involved. Especially Tuesday's magicians," Tim commented, leaning back in the chair by the computer. Zatanna had come over to take a look at Dick and Jason's predicament and see what she could do to help.

As it turned out, she couldn't do anything right now. She had to, for lack of better words, do research.

That made Dick feel just great. Especially considering how knowledgeable Zatanna was. It didn't bode well for a quick fix.

"Seriously? You have proof to back that up?" Dick glanced over at Jason's put out comment. He looked as irritated as Dick felt. He didn't want to spend an extra second in Jason's body, not with how stressed he was that something bad would happen to Jason or his body and it would somehow be his fault. He was sure Jason felt the same way.

"Yep. A whole spreadsheet in fact. You know that of all the times any one of us have encountered a hostile magician, over eighty percent of the times that resulted in something...less than ideal occurring happened on a Tuesday?"

Dick stared at Tim, irritation lessening as his curiosity grew at the number. "Are you kidding? Over eighty percent?"

Tim shook his head. "Totally serious. The next worst day is Friday, but that only accounts for another five percent."

"We just had to go stick our noses into that magician's business," Jason muttered grumpily.

"Well, it was a lead that you were working," Dick commented sourly.

"Hey, just because it was my lead does not mean that the blame lands on me for this. I figured it was just some prankster with a flare for the dramatic, as is normal for Gotham."

"Easy, what's done is done and there's really nothing to be gained by shifting blame around." Tim got up and wandered to the elevator. "You guys coming up?"

Jason snorted, and Dick winced at the sound. It was still absolutely horrible. "I have no desire to be around Bruce as he figures out how he feels about this whole situation, and how he's not going to deal with it."

Dick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, no, I'm staying down here."

Shrugging, Tim got on the elevator. "Don't hurt yourselves," he said with a grin as the doors closed.

Frowning, Jason turned away, clearly disgusted, before Dick saw him get a look on his face. He glanced to Dick, then the gymnastics equipment.

"No, don't you even dare." Dick couldn't get the words out fast enough. "I don't want to come back into my body with a concussion or broken bones or anything else."

Jason shot him a wild grin, one that was so characteristically him even on Dick's face. "Just you stop me." He was already out of reach and sprinting for the equipment.

"Jason! You freaking--" Dick cut himself short from actually cussing his brother out as he sprinted after him.

"Am I wearing off on you? Sounds like you wanted to spew a few choice words that would rack up a nice total in Alfred's swear jar." Jason was on the mats, about to make a leap for the bars, when Dick dove.

He caught Jason's ankles, and his brother landed with an Oomph before rolling to his back and kicking at Dick's face.

"Hey, I'd be careful if I were you. You have to live with any permanent damage you cause," Dick quipped as he ducked around the kicks. Snagging one leg, he pulled himself up until he was sitting on Jason's legs. The man squirmed under him and did a crunch to get within punching range of Dick's face, but Dick flipped around and pinned Jason's shoulders with his feet. Jason tried to buck under the pressure, but finally flopped his arms down, still.

"You're so weak," he spat, glaring from his position on the floor.

Dick grinned. "You're just that heavy."

Rolling his eyes, Jason said, "I hope to never see myself give another Dickface grin like that. And it's all muscle, thank you."

Dick gave an even brighter grin in response. "Wasn't calling you fat, Littlewing. Though maybe now is a good time to have that self-esteem talk since you aren't walking away?" Jason groaned before he squirmed again. Dick pushed harder with his feet, eliciting a grunt from his brother.

"You haven't realized just how strong I am," he ground out, glaring at Dick. "You're about to turn your own shoulders into pulp."

Dick frowned at him "Quit being dramatic, that's my job."

"Uh huh. Don't blame me when you're shoulder is ridiculously messed up."

"You're starting to sound like me. You sure I'm not wearing off on you?"

"No, you seriously do not know my body." Jason gave another wicked grin, and Dick felt a moment of dread. "But I know it exceedingly well." With that, he grabbed Dick's feet, fingers on the bottom, and wiggled his fingers for all he was worth.

Dick fell back with a shocked yelp, Jason rolling upright.

"You liar! You always say you're not ticklish!" And it was easy to believe--the man never reacted when anyone tickled him anywhere.

"You think I would actually tell you guys the truth about that?" Jason jumped and grabbed the gymnastics bars.

Dick just watched as his brother started swinging, then took a full turn around the bar.

"You be careful with my body or there will be retribution," Dick said, eyes narrowing. "I have a job and a girlfriend to get back to."

"Oh, is that a comment about how I don't have a life? You know, kind of happens when you die." Jason took another revolution around the bar, then flipped around to go the other way.

"No! Geez, Jason, don't twist my words!"

"How about you watch your words."

"Just be careful," Dick said, unwilling to have this argument.

"Ya know, this doesn't seem all that hard." Dick's heart leapt to his throat as Jason launched himself from the bar to the next higher one. One hand gripped, but the other missed.

"You're still not used to my body," Dick commented.

"And what does that matter? I haven't fallen yet."

"But if you do, are you going to be able to land right?"

"Yeah, totally. I mean, this is your body, and you practically live in the air and stick all your landings. There's gotta be some sort of muscle memory here." Jason did a flip before Dick could tell him to stop.

It was nearly a flawless performance. Except that Jason overrotated, and landed with a sharp rush of air forced out of him as his back connected with the ground.

"You alright?" Dick was already rushing to Jason's side, concern eating at him, as well as a healthy dose of frustration.

"Yeah, fine," Jason breathed, waving his hand as he continued laying where he fell. "Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"There's a bit of talent and work that went into me being able to do all that," Dick said smugly, "So don't do that again." He knelt next to Jason, looking him over. "I have to live with any damage you cause." Jason reached out his hand in a "help me up" gesture, ignoring the comments. Standing, Dick grabbed his hand and pulled him upright. Jason practically flew past where he thought he would.

"Geez, Dick, seriously. Tone it down on using those muscles."

Frustration still gnawing at him, Dick fixed Jason with a look. "I'm using your body just fine."

"Nuh uh, you're not. Before you punch something and your fist goes through it, why don't you use those weights and figure out just how much stronger I am than what you give me credit for."

Frowning, Dick stared at Jason a moment longer before moving to the weights. It probably wasn't a bad suggestion.

Stretching some--and still finding Jason's body to be incredibly and frustratingly stiff--he put on his max amount he usually lifted.

Jason raised an eyebrow at him. "You playing it extra safe?"

"Uh, no?" Dick looked at the bar. "This is a decent place to start."

Waving a hand dismissively, Jason grabbed another fifty pounds. "You really don't give me much credit. This is a good amount to start with, maybe you'll believe me that it's child's play once you send it through the roof."

Dick allowed Jason to put the weight on, wondering whether Jason was purposely setting him up for failure so he could have a good laugh at his expense. Either way, he was going to find out.

Jason stepped back and gestured for Dick to go ahead.

Taking up a lifting position, Dick grabbed the bar, flexing his hands a bit.

He couldn't keep the surprise from his face as the bar did almost literally fly from his hands.

"Now you know why my body feels like a brick. It is." He could hear the smirk Jason was wearing plainly in his voice.

Lifting the bar a couple more times, shocked at just how strong Jason was, Dick finally set it down. Turning to his brother, he kept the wonder from his voice. "Yeah, that's pretty good Littlewing."

"'Pretty good'?" Jason scoffed. "Just admit it, you're jealous of that physique. One that is actually a fine specimen of humanity, as you put it."

Dick grinned, the bright grin that had Jason cringing earlier. It had the same effect now, but Dick rolled right through it. "A fine specimen to go with a fine inner man."

Jason rolled his eyes, turning away. "Whatever, Dickface. Don't let the fine physique get flabby, or I swear--"

"You'll kill me, there will be retribution, the Red Hood will be after me, yeah yeah I know. Don't worry about it."

"Glad we have that cleared up." Jason walked for the elevator and Dick watched as the doors shut behind him before he went back to the bar.

Putting another fifty on, he started lifting again. It was an interesting sensation to lift this much, and he was going to enjoy it while he could.

Chapter Text

The door slammed far too loudly behind him.

He didn't care.

The frustration and anger seated in Dick's chest were far too powerful to feel remorseful for the action at the present moment, even as a distant part of him knew Alfred would be less than pleased.

Right now, though, it was all Dick could do to not punch a hole in the mirror of the bathroom he'd stormed into after Bruce's declaration that not only could he and Jason not go out on patrol (which, he had to admit, was a fair requirement, especially considering Jason's performance on the gymnastics equipment yesterday) but they also couldn't leave the manor. At all.

Hands clenching and unclenching, they were raised in frustration over his head in the start of running through his hair before they froze, save for trembling from emotion that needed vented. A growl of bitterness rose in his throat and he threw his hands down sharply.

That man could be so unreasonable it wasn't even funny. He was going insane and Bruce didn't even care. He had a blind spot a mile wide when it came to Jason's safety, and Dick's welfare was getting mauled by it.

Spinning about with his pent-up anger, the need to punch something was morphing to desperation as emotion burned in his chest. It wasn't fair that Jason and he were paying for the magician's stupidity. It wasn't fair that Dick couldn't do anything because Bruce decided it was too risky. Why should Dick go insane just because Bruce was paranoid?

He really needed to punch something before the heat in his chest burned a hole to release itself.

The only thing keeping him from it was that Jason's hands were the ones that would break against the porcelain or stone or whatever he decided to strike.

Attempting to keep Jason's hands in one piece, he paused and leaned heavy on the sink, breathing ragged as he gripped the porcelain with white-knuckled hands. Dick pinched his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before releasing it and opening his eyes. After a moment, his eyes settled on the hands, studying them, and the burning in his chest lessened. They were hands that were muscled, scarred, and calloused. Yet held such a capacity for gentleness, compassion, and protection.

Taking another deep breath, he looked into the mirror. Jason stared back at him. His eyes flicked over the reflection, taking in details that he never had before. The creases, the texture, the color, the scars...so many scars...

Lifting one hand, his finger traced over one of the lightest and least noticeable running across Jason's cheekbone. A small smile quirked his lips despite the situation. He remembered that scar. He'd been the one who placed it there, on accident, when they were sparring one time. His brother had made some snide remark about Dick adding to his collection of scar-tissue, and Dick felt horrible for a month after. But, oddly enough, it had become a sort of joke between them. Dick even felt that Jason became more relaxed around him. Maybe the accidental injury had made him feel less like he was being kept at arm's length or that the family was being extra careful around him. Any way around, Dick was oddly thankful for the experience.

As his eyes trailed down his bare neck, then over his arms, he only wished that the rest of the gnarled, discolored skin could be such a strangely good memory. He tripped over a few, speeding across them even as his stomach rolled and he had to push offending memories aside of times he thought he'd seen his brother die again.

One, in particular, his eyes caught on though. A pair that looked like a grossly oversized spider bite--if the spider had been about the size of a dog. Tilting his head, he considered it, wondering where it could have come from.

Abruptly, he realized it was about the right size and shape to be from the prying end of a crowbar.

Swallowing bile, he was glad of the distraction of a spike of pain registering in his wrist. He looked it over briefly. "Jason," he muttered with a shake of his head. He turned on the hot water and let it run a bit before adjusting the temperature with the cold. Satisfied, he put his wrist under it and let the warmth relax the tightened muscles.

How did he never realize his little brother was so...stoic? Sure, he knew that Jason hid injuries and tried to play off the severity of the ones he couldn't hide, but...this was something he hadn't really considered. The ebb and flow of pain that never seemed to entirely leave, just rotated where it settled for the moment. And even though his own body acted up when he strained it or aggravated it, this was somehow different. Jason always had some sort of discomfort or pain.

Sighing, Dick turned the water off. Grabbing a towel, he wiped his arm dry, wishing he were back in his own body by now. No one had said it directly, but he knew he was on thin ice. If anything happened to Jason's body, it would likely send Bruce down a path of self-destruction, and if anything happened to Jason in Dick's body, it would definitely send Bruce down a path of self-destruction again. And, either way, it would probably land on Dick as being his fault.

No, no probably.

It would be Dick's fault. Either because he wasn't careful enough with Jason's body, or his own body betrayed Jason and got him hurt or--

Dick didn't finish that thought. Instead, he wandered down the halls and then down to the cave, anger and anxiety building once more as he subconsciously clenched and unclenched his hands, heat building in his chest again.

As if he asked to be in Jason's body. As if he wanted to be responsible for his little brother's well-being so directly. As if he wanted to all but hear the accusation and warning every time Bruce or Alfred or Tim looked at him--Don't mess up. Don't make us lose him again. Don't, don't, just don't.

Stepping onto the mats, Dick took up a fighting stance in front of one of the punching bags. Striking it lightly, his mind wandered even further as his punches subconsciously hit harder.

He had his brother back, and Bruce his son, though it was an angry and touchy Jason who was back. Even so, he was thankful for it. But he couldn't let anything happen again. How would they handle it a second time? Bruce would definitely completely lose it this time, Alfred would just slowly die inside, and Tim--oh jeez, Tim would just fall to pieces. But to be put in a cage, to not be allowed to even leave the manor, to not be trusted--

Gritting his teeth, he hit the bag harder, a snarl carving itself into his face as his frustration turned to anger turned to rage. Blows falling without reserve on the coarse bag, his thoughts stoked his emotion, his emotion fueled his need to move, and the need to move demanded that this bag be ripped to absolute shreds.

Why should he be the one who always had to bear the burden of making sure his brothers were in one piece? Why should he have to be confined to a cage just because he and Jason weren't in their own bodies? Why should he have to pay the price for someone else's idiocy?

His combinations lost their variety as green tinged his vision, heat pressing viciously in his chest, everything in him clamoring, fighting, screaming for something to be ripped apart, for something to sate the fire in him before it burned through him.

The bag wasn't cutting it. It wasn't cooperating and disintegrating.

"Hey, easy on my hands there."

A yell ripped itself from his throat, and he turned, fist outstretched, toward the owner of the voice.

If the bag wouldn't be torn apart by his bare hands, he was sure warm flesh would oblige.

The warm softness of an arm blocked his blow, then his next, and the next. Lunging toward the figure, his hands grabbed greedily for the exposed throat just right there, just ever out of reach, dancing away and away and the heat was about to consume him if his hands couldn't get a literal grip--

Stumbling as something caught his foot, his eyes finally broke through to his brain.

He saw his own face. It caused him a moment of hesitation.

Why was he looking at himself? Why was he trying to rip his own throat out?

That hesitation was enough of a crack in the all but impenetrable wall of green-tinted rage that words finally broke through.

"--consuming, but you can do it, Dickface. Sheesh, if I could, you can."

Staggering as though a weight landed far too heavily on his back, Dick breathed raggedly and stared at the face in front of him. The man watched him carefully.

A fresh wave of that merciless fire swamped him, but he squeezed his eyes shut, lurching toward the man as the rage demanded that warm flesh be in his grasp, even as something else in him pulled the other way.

"Don't let it win, Dickie. If it wins, you'll never forgive yourself. I'd know, I've been there."

Growl filling his throat, the words stirred something in his mind, something near that part that was pulling him the other way. But the rage, the rage. Its heat demanded satisfaction, warned that he would be burned if he didn't provide what it wanted. It snaked from his chest to his hands and through his blood to his head, warming then uncomfortable then hot then burning burning burning--

Without thought, he was up again, hands outstretched for the bare throat before him.

Once more flesh thudded dully against his arms, something caught his foot, and he found himself on the floor.

"Dick, c'mon. You're so much classier than going for a strangle hold. This isn't you, it's the Pit. Just breathe, listen to my voice and breathe."

Remaining on the floor, a muffled shout broke free of his throat as the rage grappled with that deeper part of him, like two rabid feral dogs locked in a wrestling match, each snapping greedily for the other's throat. Teetering, he crawled toward the man's legs, propelled by the need to not be burned by that thing in his chest, in his hands, in his head.

"Dick, listen to that deeper part. That's the true you. The rage isn't you, but it will use you if you let it. Don't. Don't let it have its way."

A moan made its way through his gritted teeth. That voice, it threatened to freeze the demanding heat that flared violently against it, against him, against anything within reach. His body trembled, and he remained on all fours, head bowed and eyes glued shut.

It was almost a balm, yet the screaming primordial shriek that filled him contorted it to an agonizing burn.

Trying to trust the voice, a harsh, choked sound escaped him. The pain of not obeying that heat, it was too much, too much--

"There you go, keep it up. You can win this, Dick. I know you can."

Taking a shaking breath, then another, the heat flared again, and he slammed a fist on the hard ground with a shout, unwilling to let it take hold of him. He hit the floor again, then again, and again, and again--

The green heat flared fitfully once more before backing down.

Gasping, he sucked greedily for breath for a long moment before turning his eyes up toward the man standing in front of him.

"You back?" came the flat question, even as blue eyes flicked carefully across his face.

Pushing himself over, Dick fell on his butt, still watching Jason. "What the..." He was breathing hard enough he didn't finish the question.

"Dose of Pit rage," Jason replied to the unspoken question. His eyes flicked down to Dick's hands, then back to his face. He didn't elaborate.

"That...that's..." Dick shook his head, unable to finish the statement. That's what happened when you came back.

"Yeah. That's that," Jason said, moving toward a cabinet, not turning his back fully to him. Eying him still, Jason pulled out a med kit and walked over to kneel beside him.

"Let's see those hands," he said softly, reaching toward Dick but not touching him. Confused for a moment, Dick stared at Jason's outstretched hand, then looked down at his own. The sight made him pause.

They were...not pretty. The backs were completely slicked with blood, skin peeled back from his vicious round with the punching bag.

Another growl found its way from Dick's throat, but he gave one hand to Jason, looking away and glaring at the floor as he did so.

"This is gonna sting," Jason said, still quiet. Dick didn't respond, but the next moment a hiss passed his lips when the alcohol-doused cotton began wiping the raw flesh.

"We'll get this cleaned up and figure out a way to keep B from noticing," Jason muttered, gently pressing and wiping in a lulling rhythm.

Dick yanked the hand away, baring his teeth at the man in front of him as green encroached again. "Keep B from noticing? What, so I can be indebted to you? Or so that he doesn't keep you on a tighter leash like he will with me?"

"No, so that he doesn't flay you alive."

"I'd like to see him try," Dick snarled, pushing Jason away and flying to his feet. Casting about, he looked for a weapon, anything that could rend and tear and--

"Dick, that isn't you. Look at me. Look at me." Dick's eyes slid unwillingly back to the man who was still seated on the cave floor. "Tell me your name."

"Why?" he snapped, returning to looking for a weapon.

"Look at me Dickface. What is your name?"

Gritting his teeth, Dick slid his eyes once more to Jason. "Dick."

"True, you can be that. I want your full name."

Green pulsed at the corners of his vision. "Richard Grayson," he growled.

"Say it again."

"Richard Grayson," he spat.

"And is attacking Bruce Wayne something Richard Grayson would do?"

Closing his eyes, Dick swallowed hard, a new emotion filling him even as it mingled and competed with the rage.

Fear.

"No," he whispered, and the green fell away.

"Right. Now sit back down and let me finish with my hands." Walking slowly back to Jason, Dick sat with shaking legs. Jason once more took the hand and began cleaning it. Silence stretched on for several moments.

"I suppose I know what caused most of that pain you always have in your hands," Dick commented suddenly, guilt clawing at him.

Jason's eyes flicked to his face before he grabbed Dick's other hand and began swabbing it. "That's a major contributor," he said evenly. He hesitated before continuing slowly. "When I was trying to get a handle on the rage, I found exercise was incredibly helpful. But, as you found out, the rage can...mask most other things. It was easy to go too far." He paused with a frown and poked at Dick's hand, making him inhale sharply.

"Yep, you broke that one." Jason sighed, more tired than irritated. "Well, that's going to be more difficult to hide." He paused, thinking. "We'll worry about that later. Right now, you need to go for a run."

"Excuse me?" Dick snapped, irritation flashing.

"You've got that rage clamoring at you still, and one misstep is going to set you off again. So, you're going for a run, and while you're gone, I'm going to come up with a good way to hide this or a good story for it." Jason started cleaning up the dirty cotton.

Dick stood, watching him. He was right, the rage was just beneath the surface, waiting for something to trigger it. Closing his eyes briefly, he saw himself lunging for his brother's...his own and his brother's throat. He opened his eyes again quickly. "You're not coming with me?"

Jason shot him a look. "Uh, wasn't planning on it."

"But what if..." Dick trailed off, ashamed of his fear, ashamed of himself as a person. Was that really what Jason had fought with, alone, when he came back? The thought made him want to puke.

"What if you go berserk and hurt someone?" Jason shook his head. "I'm sure Damian, Tim, Bruce, and Alfred will all be able to handle themselves. After all, Tim survived me trying to kill him a couple times after I came back, and if I couldn't do it then, you in my body definitely won't be able to now." Even at Jason's words, fear gripped Dick's throat. He couldn't make Tim relive that if he did lose it. And Damian? What would he think--?

The fear must have shown on his face, because Jason stopped in his tracks and took a good, hard look at him. Dick met his look for only a few seconds before looking away, heat rising to his face.

"Don't worry about it, I'm sure I'll be--"

"If you really want me to babysit you, fine," Jason broke in, words lacking bite as he replaced the medical kit and closed the cabinet. "Let me change and we'll go out around the property."

Dick's eyes snapped back to Jason. Mouth open, he found he didn't have adequate words to express his gratitude.

"Thanks, Jay," he finally managed to get out as Jason crossed the cave.

"Yeah, whatever, Dickface."

Chapter Text

"I am so bored." Jason spun around in the swivel chair in front of the computer in the cave.

"Diddo," Dick commented from where he was laying on the training mats.

It had been a long three hours since they'd gotten up that morning. Consisting of doing...

Absolutely nothing.

Well, not absolutely. But close enough for it to count.

"What do you want to do about it?" Dick asked, still staring at the ceiling. He'd counted about forty stalactites from where he was positioned. And that was without moving his eyes or his head. If he moved at all, the count over tripled. That was his big revelation for the morning.

In his peripheral, Dick could see Jason shove the chair around again. It took his brother only a few seconds before he responded.

"Bet you can't match my marksmanship."

Raising an eyebrow at the ceiling, Dick held up his hand. "Currently I can't exactly hold a firearm without risking dropping it." Which he felt guilty about, considering it was his lack of self-control that had landed him in this position. Which he refused to admit out loud. He also didn't want to admit to Jason, or really to himself, that he wasn't entirely sure he wanted a firearm at hand in case there was a...repeat.

The motion at the edge of his vision halted. "Dick, it's not your fault." Jason sounded tired more than anything. "We've been over this, and I will thrash you once we're back in our appropriate bodies if you keep eating yourself with guilt."

That just made Dick feel worse. "Jay, look, I'm--"

"I swear, if you say you're sorry, I'm not going to wait to thrash you."

Swallowing the words, Dick finally lifted his head and met his brother's look. Much to his surprise, Jason looked away first. It made him frown.

"Jay, you ok?"

"Fine," came the gruff reply. "I don't want to talk about it."

Sitting quiet for a moment, Dick watched as his brother flushed. Frowning again, Dick thought he might know what caused the reaction.

"You're ashamed of it, aren't you?"

Eyes like shards of ice whipped back to him. "Wouldn't you be?" his brother spat.

Dick opened his mouth to say no, of course not, only to find the words hypocritical. He had just felt ashamed about his lack of self-control caused by the Pit and resulting in a busted hand.

"You shouldn't be," he landed on instead.

Jason just snorted. "So you are."

Wincing, Dick said, "But you shouldn't be, and neither should I. What happened and the results aren't you're fault. In the end, you've done good."

Jason's face slacked, and he stared at Dick. Dick met his look for several seconds before becoming uncomfortable. "Um, what?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position so he could look at his brother better.

"You just...no, you know what, I don't want to ruin it. You just said I did something good in relation to after I came back, and I don't want to know if that's because of some fluke due to you being in my body or if you're just pitying me, but never mind."

Dick frowned, hesitating. He hated how touchy anything relating to his brother's death was, but he felt it important to get his point across. "Jason, I mean it. You didn't start out on the right foot, but you've made progress." He'd become more than the rage and the hate that wanted to consume him, more than what the liquid of the Pit tried to chain him to.

Knowing the entire family, Dick was confident this was the first time Jason had ever heard anything positive about what had happened when he came back.

"Whatever, Dickface. Now you're just getting sentimental." Even as Jason said it, and with turning his back to Dick, Dick could hear the emotion that refused to be hidden in his brother's voice.

There was some clattering before Jason turned back to Dick, face smoothed over. He held a firearm in one of his hands.

"So, marksmanship?"

Considering for a moment, Dick pushed himself off the mat and stepped to Jason's chair. There was some warning before he went off the deep end last time, and, with Jason here, it was likely it wouldn't get that far before one of them realized what was going on. Handling a firearm would be safe enough.

"Sure, but I'm shooting at handicap since I'm using the non-dominant hand," he remarked, taking the weapon. It was one of Jason's favored pieces to take on patrol, but had a suppressor on its muzzle.

Jason snorted at that. "You should be able to do as well with either hand."

"Yeah, well, I still claim handicap."

"Weak," Jason quipped as he set up a target. Walking back, he snagged another firearm off the table before gesturing to Dick, then the target.

Dick swung his weapon around, in his left hand, and fired.

The bullet hit the 7 point ring on the target.

"Seriously? Is that the best you can do? I honed my muscles to be able to do that in my sleep." Jason snagged the weapon from Dick. "See, it's more of a fluid motion, you're flinging your arm around like you're on the trapeze." Jason demonstrated, and hit the 8 point ring. Frowning, he looked over the gun and muttered, "That should have been dead center. Must be kicking."

Dick snorted. "Uh huh, and it has nothing to do with the fact that you still aren't used to my body?"

"No. I'm a better marksman than that even when my muscles aren't working." Jason moved abruptly and another round buried itself in the 8 point ring, barely grazing the border for the 9 point ring. Muttering, he laid the weapon aside.

Dick grinned. "Should we see how Tim and Dami do?"

Jason returned the grin. "Yeah, except..." Snagging the weapon again, he hunted about for a small screwdriver. Finding one, he quickly messed with the sight, then laid it aside again. "Let's even the playing field a bit."

Dick had whipped his phone out and texted both siblings. A ping, followed by another, filled the cave. Grinning, Dick typed responses back.

"Tim says prepare to be slaughtered, and Damian says that Bruce will be displeased that we are doing target practice in the cave, but will come supervise to ensure nothing is destroyed."

"Of course he will," Jason quipped.

They didn't have to wait long for them to show up.

"You two really don't give up, do you?" Tim asked, walking over to them with his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jason asked, testy.

"Just that I know neither of you are used to each other's body still." Tim gave a smile. "I have footage to prove it with you, Jason."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Let me guess, Bruce's cameras in the cave that caught me on the gymnastics equipment."

Smile broadening, Tim said, "Yep. And you owe me, because I swiped the footage and replaced it before he found it."

That gave Jason a moment of pause. "Uh huh," he finally said. "Because you totally wouldn't use it as blackmail."

Shrugging, Tim replied, "Like I said, you owe me. And whether you repay the debt willingly or not doesn't make much of a difference to me."

Dick was touched by Tim's thoughtfulness up until his last comment. Frowning, he couldn't quite tell whether his little brother really swiped the footage just to have a debt he could call in or not.

Knowing Tim, it could go either way.

"You called us here for a competition, Richard. Are we going to begin?" Damian's question was accompanied by a scowl. "Because I believe that you and Todd are going to regret your challenge."

Dick had to keep the grin off his face. "Really? What makes you say that?"

"Simply the same as Drake. Neither of you are in peak condition. Both Drake and I are. Though, I must say, Drake in peak condition is not terribly impressive."

"Be nice to your brother, Damian," Dick said automatically, even as he caught Tim's eyes roll. "And, you're forgetting, Jason's a crack shot and I'm not half bad considering what my day job entails."

"But factor in that, even with Bruce's distaste for firearms, we can all still shoot ridiculously well, and Damian has a fair point," Tim commented.

Jason picked up the pistol he had tampered with and handed it butt first to Tim. "Care to show us?"

Accepting the weapon, Tim turned to the target the two eldest had been using. "You two trying to go deaf down here, or you got some protective equipment?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "It's got a suppressor on it, Replacement. You should be able to spot that at least."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to risk Bruce coming down here and see us with firearms and disregarding all normal safety with them. Earplugs and glasses, now."

Rolling his eyes, Jason grabbed a few pairs from a drawer and tossed them to each of his brothers.

Tim hardly waited for them to put the equipment on before he fired three shots.

A 4, 3, and 5.

Frowning, he looked at Jason. "You seriously shoot with this?"

Jason shrugged in return. "Not my fault you can't use my equipment."

"Tt, Drake, you're clearly incompetent. Here." Damian held his hand out for the weapon, which Tim gladly handed over as he stepped back from the line. Damian took up a proper shooting stance and, like Tim, fired three shots.

A 3, 3, and 4.

"Todd, your weapons are defective," Damian commented, handing the gun over to Jason.

Jason shrugged before he whipped out the pistol he had in his waistband and loosed six rounds.

Four 8's, two 9's.

"I don't see your guys' problem," he said with a smirk. "They work just fine."

"Tt. You clearly don't have your normal accuracy, however."

Dick was about to ask for a turn when he caught Tim's frown. "You messed with the sight, didn't you?" Damian seemed to perk up at that possibility.

"Excuse me? I keep my competitions fair and square. Besides, you know how irritating it is to have to re-sight in one of these suckers?" Jason waved a hand. "No way, not worth it. You two just can't shoot."

"Prove it," Damian demanded.

Jason fixed him with a look then shrugged. "Fine." Taking the gun he'd given Tim and Damian, Dick waited for their game to be called when Jason wouldn't be able to replicate his performance.

Once more, six rounds popped off.

All were 8's.

Dick did his best first not to openly gape, then laugh at Damian and Tim's faces.

"I refuse to believe that I am that poor of a marksman," Damian snarled.

Tim fixed Jason with a look. "And I know I'm not that poor a marksman. I still say you messed with the sight."

Jason just shrugged as Damian stalked coldly back to the elevator and disappeared.

"You know, you really should think twice before pranking us, Replacement."

The unimpressed look on Tim's face spoke volumes. "Uh huh. I'll take that as an admission." He then looked to Dick. "I want to see you shoot that one." He nodded to the gun he and Damian had been using.

Dick held up his bandaged hand. "Nope, thanks though." Even at the words and the motion, his gut curled. He could still feel the rage lurking just within striking distance if he wasn't careful, and he didn't want to risk it with Tim in the same area as him.

He was still terrified what would happen if he did truly lose it around any of them again. Including Jason. Though less so with him since he actually understood what was happening.

"I still don't believe you that you broke your hand by falling off the roof," Tim muttered, picking up Jason's weapon again and removing the remaining ammo from it. "Seriously, you can walk around just fine, wrestle with Jason fine, and you fall off the roof?"

Dick glanced at Jason, but the man was already covering for him. Unfortunately, it included that horrible snort again. "Seriously Timbo? Dick may put on a good show on the ground, but I have hearing loss, remember? That takes a huge bite out of any sort of balance."

Tim considered Jason for a moment, and Dick tried to not stare at him as well. That was...a clever cover.

"Ok, fine. Maybe you did fall off the roof. What about the fact that your continually wearing fingerless gloves now?"

"Believe it or not, Jason's always cold," Dick commented, which wasn't false. He had taken to wearing a long-sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt of some sort. The gloves had been a convenient addition to hide his busted knuckles.

And, somehow, they had managed to hide the broken hand from everyone except Tim.

Tim glanced to Jason, who shrugged. "I am. You all say my leather jackets are horrible fashion, I say they actually work to keep me in some semblance of warm."

Dick's look shot to Jason. He hadn't considered that as the reason for his brother's wardrobe choice.

"Ok, whatever." Tim sat in the computer chair and pulled up a file to work on. Jason started cleaning his firearms, and Dick hesitated before standing behind Tim and reading over the file.

It was only about five minutes before Tim turned around and fixed him with a look.

"You have access to this whenever you want. I don't need you looking over my shoulder while I'm trying to work."

Dick held up his hands. "Sorry, Timbo, didn't mean to hover."

Tim considered him for a moment. "Bruce won't let you two out still?" He glanced between Dick and Jason.

Jason frowned. "Don't need you rubbing it in our faces, Replacement."

Tim leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. "Not rubbing it in. You would know if that's what I were doing." He fixed Dick with a look. "You're holding untold power here and you don't even know it."

"Tim, cut to the chase," Dick said with a sigh.

And there was that look again. The "I'm a genius and a teenager" look. Heavy on the "I'm a teenager" part though.

"Have you asked Bruce to go out yet?"

"Tim, unlike many people in this family, I do occasionally try normal routes of getting what I want." Jason snorted beside him, making Dick wince.

"Uh huh. And did you use the magic word?" Tim asked with a sharp grin.

"You know please never works with B," Jason quipped.

Tim shook his head. "You two really aren't firing on all cylinders are you? Dick, just call him dad and I'm sure he'll cave. If not, add a little Dick Grayson flavoring to the Jason Todd look and you'll have him no problem."

Dick stared at Tim. "You're so manipulative."

Shrugging, Tim said, "And?"

"And I love you for it and am totally going to bust us out of this prison," Dick supplied, snagging Tim and giving him a nuggie with his good hand.

Yelping, Tim shoved at his arms unsuccessfully.

"What are you busting?" Dick let Tim go at Bruce's voice. His brother ran a hand through his hair, a mischievous smile playing around his lips.

"Busting the mystery that is Tim's amazing brain," Dick replied, hoping the man hadn't actually heard more. Steamrolling ahead, he walked behind Bruce as the man walked about the cave. "B, we were thinking, we haven't been out in three days, and we're going stir crazy--"

"No patrolling," Bruce cut in automatically, attention on a stack of papers he'd picked up.

"No patrolling, right, but what about going to get waffles? That's harmless enough and will at least let us see that the world still exists."

Bruce looked at him flatly at his dramatic exaggeration. "No."

Dick put on his best puppy dog eyes. "B, please, we're going insane."

Bruce turned away from him.

"No."

Gritting his teeth, Dick looked to Tim and Jason. Jason was smirking, and Tim made a small "keep going" gesture.

Dick stepped on the opposite side of the table that Bruce was standing at, organizing the papers. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath. He waited until Bruce glanced at him.

"Dad, please?"

Dick had never seen Bruce stiffen so dramatically before. The man's eyes locked with his before flicking over his face. Dick thought he'd done it.

"No," Bruce said, looking down and picking up papers before walking away. But Dick caught the change in tone.

Flashing a grin at his brothers, he waited until Bruce was far enough away to put the nail in the coffin. Getting a running start, he sprung and latched onto Bruce's back like a monkey.

The man took several hard steps but, shockingly, didn't fall under the surprise weight of Jason's body.

"B, please?" Dick whined, releasing the part of him that was still the kid Bruce's resolve always wilted under.

Reaching up and grabbing the arm that was locked about his shoulders, Bruce squeezed before dislodging Dick. Turning, he looked to Jason.

"You two are really going insane staying here? It's only been three days."

"Duh," was all Jason responded.

Bruce looked back to Dick, considering. Dick flashed him his biggest grin.

"Fine. Take Tim and Damian with you."

Dick beamed as Jason and Tim were already arguing over where they were going for waffles. Stepping close to Bruce, he said softly, "Thanks old man."

Lips twitching, Bruce said, "You're starting to sound like Jason."

Dick laughed. "Not such a bad thing."

Chapter Text

"You seriously expect me to believe that you're going to convince Bruce to let you two out like this?" Tim asked, glancing over his shoulder to Dick. The four of them were walking down a busy main street. Waffles had been consumed, in abundance, over four hours earlier. It was exactly what Dick and Jason had needed, something that was somewhat normal but not as dangerous as their normal nightly activities. Plus, it was entertaining. Dick would never let Jason live down that he liked berry flavored syrup. Though, to be fair, Jason didn't really seem to care that Dick knew his preference so...At the very least, Dick now had an idea about what to bring as a gift or bribe or as a convenient excuse to drop by unannounced.

"You opened Pandora's box, Timmy. There's no way I'm not going to get whatever I want from Bruce," Dick replied from behind his two youngest brothers, where he was walking next to Jason. Shoving his hands forcefully into the leather jacket he had on, he hunched his shoulders against the cold night air. It was only about eight o'clock, but the temperature had taken a sharp downward turn. Glancing at Jason, he couldn't help but be a little irritated at how comfortable the man looked. Of all the things he thought he would miss about his own body, the fact that he was always warm was not the thing he thought would be at the top of the list. Yet here he was. Shivering his butt off. Because Jason was in his body, which actually took not dying from hypothermia seriously.

Though, to be fair, for a body brought back to life through dubious means, it was shocking it actually functioned as well as it did.

"Yeah, but you know how Bruce is with anything safety related. And neither of you are at peak condition, as demonstrated earlier today as well as yesterday." Tim continued leading them down the busy street toward their target, a chocolate shop that had just opened a couple weeks ago. Apparently, Jason had been angling to try it since he read about its opening. The only downside was its location, since it was situated near several of Gotham's less savory bars. Dick kept a close eye on Damian, knowing well enough that, even for so early at night and accompanied by three other people, someone might be tempted to try something if the kid got far enough away from them.

"If we're this way long enough, he won't have a choice about whether or not to let us out," Jason griped at Tim's comment.

"For a lot of reasons," Dick added.

Tim shrugged as they neared the shop, leading them a bit closer to the street and away from a bar's noisy entrance. "Maybe. Lets just hope there's a resolution before that."

"Isn't that what we all want," Jason muttered.

Dick was about to comment when giggling distracted him, immediately followed by Jason jumping so hard he essentially body-slammed him. Grunting against the unexpected hit, his full attention was taken as Jason stared at two tittering women, both holding beers, and both clearly beyond tipsy.

"Keep yer hands to yourself," Jason growled at them.

The women giggled some more. They made a few rather loud remarks about his assets, as well as other lewd comments that would be associated with that topic by drunk people who lacked any discretion.

"How dare you--" Dick caught Damian under the arms as he ran at the women, shouting about their inappropriate behavior toward his brother.

Dick leaned close to the kid's ear, speaking softly but clearly. "Damian, let it be. They probably won't even remember they did it tomorrow. And you fighting them is going to cause more problems than it solves. For all of us."

Damian squirmed against Dick's hold, and Dick had was careful not to crush him. He was still having issues with Jason's build, and was glad he'd listened when Jason told him to try the weights to get some idea of what his movements were going to result in.

It took a bit, but Damian finally quit wriggling in his arms.

"Tt, Todd, you're useless," he spat. "You wouldn't defend Richard's honor if your life depended on it." Dick released Damian as Jason snorted.

"Kid, you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Damian's head whipped toward Jason, then sheepishly back to Dick before he hastily turned around. Damian strode past Tim into the chocolate shop, and the small bell on the door jingled loudly as the kid opened it with far more force than necessary.

"Uh, did the Brat just get us mixed up?" Jason asked. Dick looked back to him.

"I think so," he said. Sighing, he glanced at both Tim and Jason. "Don't tease him too much about it, please? Both of you."

"I happen to value the tenuous peace agreement we have too much to do that," Tim said before turning and following Damian's lead into the shop.

"Whatever, Dickface. That isn't really the best teasing material anyway. He's so sensitive about anything relating to you." Jason glanced back toward the bar, distracted, making Dick stop long enough to catch an expression that flitted across Jason's face.

"You good?" he asked, unsure what the expression actually was.

Taking a heavy breath, Jason scrunched his nose. "You deal with that all the time, don't you? How can you not care? Seriously, groping? While we had a kid with us to boot?"

"It's that physique that's such a fine specimen of humanity," Dick said with a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Dick," Jason said. And the way he said it, the nearly whine or plea that was somehow mixed with such firmness, made Dick shut up. "Don't just brush it off. Seriously, it's wrong."

Smile failing, Dick felt his face fall. "I know Jay. All things considered, what I told Damian still stands. Fighting them on it would cause more problems for all of us."

"But it's wrong."

"Jason," Dick said sharply as something unpleasant began clawing at his throat. "Just let it lie. What's done is done." Turning, he rushed into the shop, beating down the emotions that would chain him up and gut him if he let them.

What's done is done. That's what he'd told himself a thousand times.

It never made a difference.

**

Dick lay on his bed, staring at his ceiling. He had intended to go to sleep early.

His mind had other places to be.

After the debacle at the chocolate shop, none of them were in a great mood anymore. Damian was snappy from embarrassment; Jason on edge; Tim withdrawing and keeping out of the way; and Dick a flurry of busy, sure that he could drown the feelings clamoring inside if he could just distract himself enough.

"Way to go, Dick," he muttered at the ceiling. "Such a great way to handle the entire evening."

Such a great way to handle your entire life, came the small voice of accusation.

Rolling off his bed, Dick shoved that voice aside. It was an old one, one he'd grown used to over the years, one that always came up with each added failure. One he knew wasn't speaking truth, not really.

Regardless, it cut just as deep every time it opened its mouth.

He walked down the hall, then downstairs and toward the kitchen, emotion swelling. His movement became sharper, more tightly controlled, as the voice poked and prodded. Failure. Fool. Imposter. Hopeless. Dirty.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway on that one. That was the most recent addition. The one he wasn't sure what to do with. The one that wasn't familiar through years and years of life.

Clenching a fist in his hoodie pocket and gritting his teeth, he opened the tea cabinet and stared at the contents.

Dirty, his mind whispered. A dirty failure--

Slamming the cabinet, he grabbed the kettle and, filling it, started it heating. Staring at the metal as the warmth licked the base of it, he registered a pain in his temples.

Slowly relaxing his jaw, he couldn't keep the sneer from his face as the self-loathing voice skipped an flitted through his mind, taking all his attention. Failure. Weak. Worthless. Shameful. Powerless--

The kettle whistling brought his mind back to the kitchen, cutting his self-loathing short.

Absently grabbing a mug, he poured hot water and added cocoa powder to it. He stirred it, the clinking of the spoon on ceramic lulling in a weird way.

"Dick." Starting at his name, he turned around with a frown. Tim stood in the doorway. A quick glance over him had Dick setting the mug aside.

"Tim? What is it?" His brother looked spooked.

"It's Jason. I don't know what--he just started, I dunno, having a panic attack or something. He said his brain feels fine but the rest of his body is in total shutdown. He asked for you."

Dick was already hurrying to follow Tim.

"We were just sitting in the living room. He wanted to chill before going to bed. We had the TV on and I was working on my laptop when I heard his breathing go hoarse."

"What were you watching?" Dick asked as they entered the room. Though he was pretty sure he had a good idea of what.

"True crime."

"Uh huh. Assault?"

"Yeah," Tim said, voice small. "I'm sorry Dick, I had no idea--"

Dick knelt in front of Jason, who was gripping the couch arm so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes were wide, trained on the floor. He tried to maneuver into Jason's line of sight.

"It's not your fault Tim," Dick said. "Would you leave us for a while? It'll be fine." Liar, the voice whispered. It's not fine. Your being a dirty failure is what put Jason in this position.

"Are you sure?" Dick could feel the hesitation in Tim's person, even if it was well hidden in his voice.

"Yeah. I'll get you if we need anything else." His eyes didn't leave Jason, but he waited until Tim's footsteps retreated far enough for him to feel comfortable before he spoke again.

"Jason, look at me." The man didn't move. "Look at me Jason." Blinking as though just waking, his brother shifted his eyes to briefly look at Dick before looking away.

"I'm going to need to you to look at me, then breathe with me, alright? Look at me Jay." Abruptly Jason looked at Dick, the fear in his eyes unexpectedly snapping Dick from big-brother mode into something far more detached, like he was keeping things at arm's length. He wasn't sure if that was good or not, but went with it. "Good. Now breathe with me, ok? Ready, in..." Dick led Jason through a few rounds of breathing, the man gradually sounding less like he was about to hyperventilate.

"How are you doing?" Dick asked after a bit. "Tim said your brain felt fine?"

"I am fine. Now at least," Jason mumbled, hand still gripping the couch arm tightly.

Dick snorted. "That's probably the most blatant lie you've ever told me. Truth, now."

Jason was silent for a moment. "Brain's fine. This is all your body." His eyes found their way back to Dick's, and hardened as he took a breath.

Whatever the detached feeling was Dick had before, it abruptly shattered. "No, I'm not talking about it," he snapped before Jason could say whatever he was going to. Frankly, this was the last thing Dick wanted his family to know about, let alone talk about with any one of them.

Jason flinched and, impossibly, his hand on the couch tightened further.

Dick cursed. "Jay, I'm sorry. I just--" Standing, he turned away and ran a hand through his hair. He should probably call Tim back, because, right now, he was absolutely useless to Jason. But Tim shouldn't find out about this, not this way, and it was Dick's mess to clean up, not Tim's--

"Dick," Jason ground out, making Dick turn back to face him. "Either call Tim back in here or talk to me. Because listening to your thoughts screaming about guilt that isn't yours to carry is really fuckin exhausting while I'm at war with your body."

"Sorry. Really, I'm sorry." He knelt in front of Jason again, the other man's eyes tracking him, almost wary. "I just--whatever. I'm sorry." He swallowed heavily, heart beating loud in his ears.

"So you said," Jason replied dryly.

"What do you need?" Dick asked, forcing his voice steady.

"Not sure," Jason said with a frown. "It's like I'm watching this play out from a distance, like an out of body experience."

Dick choked in surprise despite the situation. "Did you just make a joke?"

"Didn't mean to. Surprised you haven't used that one yet though." Jason's hand moved toward Dick, but hesitated. He balled it in a fist, emotion running across his face almost too fast to keep up with.

"I can't decide if I want physical contact or not," he muttered, sounding like he was trying to work out a puzzle. He winced. "Fuck, I guess I have some idea of what a heart attack might feel like. If we switch back soon, you're chest is going to be sore."

"Yeah, territory goes with having a panic attack," Dick commented.

Jason's eyes sharpened. "You've had this happen before?"

Realizing his misstep, Dick hesitated before answering. "You've had training on how to spot it too."

"Dick." The disapproval of his attempt at evasion was clear. Dick winced and looked away. The voice nagged at him. Worthless, dirty--

"I have."

"More than once?" Jason guessed. Throat closing, Dick nodded even as he pushed the memories of the first few times down. The frantic beat of his heart, the seemingly herculean task of breathing, the shaking, the utter fear that was consuming...

"Fuck. I've talked people down from one but..." Jason's hand suddenly shot out and grabbed Dick's shoulder painfully. "And the impending sense of doom? That's...?" Dick's heart hurt at the undisguised terror in his brother's words.

"Normal. But it's lying to you. Everything's going to be fine," Dick replied automatically, trying to keep his own voice from betraying his internal battle.

It earned him, after a few moments, a heavy exhale from Jason. Which was good, except that Jason took another deep breath and held it. "Fuck," he said again, grip tightening even more on Dick's shoulder. "This is shit."

"It is," Dick agreed. "You'll be--"

He cut off as a loud clatter sounded from the kitchen area. He briefly looked toward the door, considering getting up to check what happened since Bruce and Damian weren't here and Alfred was downstairs. That meant it was Tim...

His attention was abruptly brought back as Jason looked wildly around the room. Grabbing the pillows on the couch, Jason clutched them tightly to his chest and curled up. Dick held out a hand to rest on the man's shoulder, but stopped short.

"Jason, you'll be alright. Ok? It's going to be fine."

"No," came the small whimper. "No, you've got...I can't..."

"What do you need?" Dick stood, but Jason curled in further on himself.

"I...I want someone here," he whispered. "I don't..." He trailed off, burying his body deeper into the couch and pillows.

"Jason, tell me what you need," Dick pressed.

"Just don't leave," Jason whispered. "I can't...don't...Not alone...not again, please." The man whimpered and covered his mouth with the pillow, muffling the choked sound that escaped him.

"I won't leave. I'm going to sit right here. You'll be ok." Pulling the coffee table away from the couch, Dick sat down on the floor by Jason's head. "You'll be ok."

Breathing becoming ragged again, Jason shook his head. "No, no I'm not." Jason shifted to look at Dick with wide eyes, and Dick noticed the man had begun shaking. "I can't...everything's falling apart..." His hand shot out and latched onto Dick's arm, making him suppress a wince at how tight the grip was, but he shifted uncomfortably. It only made Jason's grip tighten desperately.

"No no no, don't, Dick don't leave. I can't...someone could...I'm not..."

Dick gripped Jason's hand, beating down his own anxiety at watching his past experiences play out before him, of fear and desperation having their way with him. He got a handle on his own breathing in record time before saying, albeit roughly, "I'm not leaving Jason. I'm right here. You'll be fine."

His brother's face slacked, breathing leveling out, everything about him becoming very still.

"Jason? Hey, Jason." Dick shook his brother lightly. "No, don't do that to me, I need you to stay with me." He grit his teeth together, worry flaring at the lack of response. "Jason." He shook him a bit harder. He could not deal with a dissociative brother on top of his own panic--

Jason jolted, eyes coming to fix on Dick's face, paling worryingly quickly.

"Dick I--" The man blinked rapidly before taking a deep breath.

"You with me?" Dick asked, voice clipped.

"Yeah." Voice small, Jason added, "I didn't count on tangling with both of our pasts tonight."

Looking at him, unsure of what he meant, Dick just said, "I need to to talk to me. I don't want you doing that again."

Jason stared at him for a few seconds before Dick shook him once more. "Jason."

The man all but yelped as his eyes refocused on Dick. "Talk to me Jay. Tell me where you are."

"I'm...I'm in the manor," Jason replied slowly, twisting so he was staring at the floor. Dick kept his hand on the man's arm. "I'm in the manor. This isn't...it isn't..." He swallowed hard before sitting upright. Dick allowed his hand to slide away, but Jason caught his wrist almost absently, placing his fingers on Dick's pulse even as he kept talking softly.

"I'm in the manor with Dick." The man took a deep breath and, closing his eyes, let it out shakily. "I'm in the manor with Dick, and Tim is around somewhere. I'm in the manor with Dick..." He was quiet for a moment before continuing in a softer voice, almost to himself. "This isn't Ethiopia, and I'm not going to be assaulted by anyone. Tim and Dick won't allow it."

Oh. The guilt that had been gnawing at Dick earlier now dug its teeth deep. Both our pasts...

Dick just sat, letting Jason hold his wrist and mutter where he was and who he was with, how this wasn't Ethiopia, how he was alive, that Dick and Tim were standing between him and anyone who would hurt him, that the manor was a safe place...

Finally taking a deep breath, Jason released Dick's wrist and sat back heavily. Dick watched him a moment longer. Mouth drawn down, eyes slipping closed, each rise and fall of his chest distinct and separate, Jason was the picture of an exhausted man.

Dick knew that feeling, and he hated it. Hated the helplessness that weighed. Hated the shame that whispered and taunted. Hated the loathing that spewed venom.

Hated how he he felt like he wasn't good enough.

Watching Jason a moment longer, the familiar trio of helplessness, shame, and self-loathing grabbed at him, and every single time that he had been beaten, bruised, and abused by them came flooding back.

Pushing himself off the floor, he snatched for his phone. He needed something to silence those memories, or at the very least compete with them.

"You want tea?" he asked curtly. Eyes on his screen, he jabbed at it until it unlocked.

The sound of Jason taking another deep, steady breath would have been a balm save for the accusations toying with his thoughts. Shameful, worthless, powerless...

"Yeah." The sound of Jason shifting made Dick glance up. He had brought his knees up, arms curled around them. "Would you..." Resting his chin on his limbs, he looked away from Dick. "Would you...stay though?" His arms tightened as he asked, as though bracing for refusal or some cutting remark about how weak the request made him sound.

Or Dick assumed that's what the motion was conveying. That's what he'd always felt the few times he'd been in this position.

"Of course," he said lightly, still looking at his phone. He caught the way Jason's eyes snapped to him though. "I'm just going to ask Tim to bring us the tea. Would you like him to stay also?" Dick still didn't look to Jason. He knew it'd be easier for the man to accept the offer if he wasn't staring at him.

And it was easier to hide his own feelings while staring at the screen.

Dick finished texting Tim and frowned, risking glancing at Jason when he still didn't reply. The man was still hugging his knees, watching Dick.

"Jason?" he prompted.

"Yeah, he can stay," Jason supplied, eyes shifting again to avoid Dick's look.

Dick typed another text telling Tim to stay when he came before putting the phone back in his pocket. Shifting his weight, he wanted nothing more than to leave the room and release all his emotion doing something that involved moving. But he told Jason he'd stay, and so he would. At least until he couldn't stand it.

"Fuck," Jason said softly. "You look like shit."

Dick opened his mouth to reply before realizing what Jason said. "Uh, I look like shit? You're the one who just had the panic attack. You look pretty bad yourself."

"You do look like shit," Jason replied. "And I'm sorry."

Dick barked a mirthless laugh. "You're sorry? Now you're really starting to sound like me. This isn't even remotely your fault." It was my trauma that put you in this position, he didn't add.

"No, if I'd known you would be so rocked by it, I wouldn't have asked Tim to get you. I just...I didn't want Tim to have to deal with his older brothers' pain. Because, regardless of what he says or how he acts, I know he's really bothered by our predicament. I didn't want to add to it."

Dick ran a hand through his hair, surprised at how forthright Jason was about his care for Tim. He knew the man cared for all of them, he just rarely was so willing to put it into words. "Yeah, I get it. That's why I didn't get him to come back in." He laughed again. "What a pair of big brothers we make. Dragging ourselves through shit to keep our brother from having to deal with it, even though he's more than willing and more than capable."

"Goes with the territory," Jason commented with a small smirk.

"Yeah, I guess so. But seriously, you have nothing to be sorry for." Dick sat on the couch, still only for a moment before his leg started bouncing.

"Still am," Jason muttered. "I can't imagine that watching your body have a panic attack, which you've had before, is much good for your psyche."

"It's fine," Dick replied automatically, once more pushing accusing voices aside that gained volume at Jason's comment. Worthless, shameful, filthy...

"It's not," Jason retorted. He was quiet for a moment, then softly added, "As you once told me, you shouldn't be ashamed of it."

Dick's eyes snapped to Jason, leg stilling. "What?"

"Dick, you're an open book." Dick's leg started bouncing again, faster than before. "You're obviously unsettled by watching me have a panic attack in your body, and everything about the way you've held yourself since coming in here says that you feel ashamed." Jason's eyes flicked over Dick's face a bit. "You're thoughts are so loud they're fuckin' deafening. Not to mention how many there are. You've always been a motor mouth. Never realized you're that way in your head too." Jason tipped his head back, closing his eyes tiredly.

Dick was unsure what to say, but reflexively supplied, "Sorry."

Jason cracked an eye open at him. "Not even an attempt to deny it? Wow, now I  am really sorry if you're so rattled that you're not even trying to defend that you're ok when you're clearly not."

"Sorry," Dick moaned, rubbing his face. "I really am."

"Shit, Dick, I didn't say that to make you feel worse. I said it because I am."

"And I'm sorry for making you feel worse," Dick muttered.

"Ok, I'm obviously making this worse," Jason said. "Suffice it to say, though, it still stands you shouldn't be ashamed of it. Whatever happened wasn't your fault, and having a panic attack, or more than one, because of what happened doesn't mean you're weak. It doesn't mean you're worthless. It doesn't make that little voice of accusation that you keep wincing at true. It doesn't mean you aren't good enough. It just means your body is reacting to a something it thinks is a threat."

Dick huffed, hands grabbing a pillow and fingering the seams restlessly. Hearing someone say that, someone who actually knew him, made something shift in him. Like the words might not just be platitudes, but actually true. "Yeah, thanks Jay. I know."

"You may know it but it's clear you don't believe it," Jason griped.

"Working on it." Dick smiled a bit, warmed by Jason's attitude on his behalf, before frowning again. "Sorry you got a double whammy of both our pasts," he said. Though he was unsure what brought on Jason's dissociation and thoughts of Ethiopia.

Jason became very still. Dick glanced at him to make sure he didn't step on a land mine while trying to rid himself of some of his guilt.

"Not your fault," Jason finally said, again quiet. "Whatever that crash in the kitchen was, that pushed me over the edge." He shook his head. "I haven't experienced that much fear and panic since..." He shook his head again. "And combined with that crash, it was enough to..." He shrugged, letting Dick fill in the rest.

Sighing, Dick wasn't going to voice his disagreement about not bearing any guilt out loud. It was clearly partially his fault, considering his body getting triggered into a panic attack was enough to set Jason up to remember Ethiopia.

Jason broke into his silent disagreement forcefully. "I can hear your thoughts, Dickface. Not. Your. Fault."

"Ok," Dick said with a sigh. "I'm--"

"I know. I don't want to hear you say 'I'm sorry' again tonight. There's nothing for you to be apologizing for. Capisce?" Jason's voice was surprisingly soft and patient.

Dick barely caught himself from saying the words again. "Yeah."

"Good." Jason sighed heavily, settling back once more.

Dick watched as Jason's breathing slowed, not quite to the point of sleep. Shifting, he closed the gap between them and carefully wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders. Jason shuddered slightly, and Dick immediately began moving away. But his brother turned into him, opening his eyes briefly. It was just long enough to convey that the touch was welcome.

Settling close, Dick stayed awake long enough to catch Tim come in with their tea. Jason sleepily mumbled thanks. Tim hesitated a moment, but Jason pointed to the cushion next to Dick, and Tim obeyed the silent order. Dick pulled him close as well, content enough for the moment to follow Jason's example and fall asleep.

Chapter Text

"You both ready?"

Dick nodded from his position on the training mats, Jason mirroring him. Glancing to Damian, Tim, and Bruce, he gave them a smile before returning his attention to Zatanna.

The woman had dropped by unexpectedly, claiming she had something she wanted to try with him and Jason to fix their problem, and that the sooner the better. Something about it being easier to try closer to when the initial spell had been cast. Dick really didn't care about the details, he just wanted to be done with this debacle. Not least because he didn't want another repeat from a few days ago of Jason having to deal with crap that wasn't his to handle.

A sharp pang of guilt hit him at that thought. He'd been so worried he would hurt Jason's body at the beginning of all this that he hadn't even considered Jason would get hurt some other way. And yet here they were, with Jason having been traumatized because he was stuck in Dick's body.

Dick vowed to make sure nothing else happened. He wouldn't allow it.

"Alright. Let me know if you feel anything unusual or painful, and I'll stop." Dick pulled his thoughts back to the current situation as he and Jason both acknowledged Zatanna's command. Though Dick abruptly sat, earning him a confused look from Jason.

"You might want too also," he commented. "If our previous experience is an indicator, we'll likely end up on the floor anyway."

Jason gave a put out sigh but followed his lead and sat in front of him. Zatanna took one last glance between them before she started speaking rapidly in a way Dick had long ago quit trying to put together and understand. Closing his eyes, he let the words wash over him, trying to tamp down his nerves.

Zatanna gained volume before she finished with a flash of light.

Dick opened his eyes, hopeful...

And did his best not to let his disappointment show.

He was staring at himself still.

Frowning, he glanced at Zatanna. She looked at him, then Jason, with fierce concentration.

"So, uh, did it work?" Tim finally broke the silence.

"That would be a hard no," Jason said, staring at Dick. Dick felt more than saw the others deflate in disappointment.

"What went wrong?" Dick asked, turning his attention to Zatanna.

"Well, I felt something happen. It's possible I had the beginning part of the spell correct, and not the end, so it started switching you back but couldn't stick." She turned to look at Bruce. "I'm sorry, I'm going to need more time."

"Nn," Bruce hummed, noncommittal. Turning, he strode for the elevator, and Zatanna took another look at Dick and Jason.

"Sorry," she said quietly to them before following Bruce.

Silence filled the cave for a few long moments.

"I am going to prepare for patrol," Damian finally said, looking at Tim, who was seated at the computer. "You should as well, if you are going to insist on accompanying us tonight."

Tim sighed, and Dick could see the irritation flash across his face before it dulled into something tired. "Yeah, I will. I'm going to finish this up first."

"Tt." Damian glanced at Dick and Jason before disappearing to retrieve his suit.

"Who's on comms tonight?" Dick asked Jason, still trying to conceal his disappointment about Zatanna's attempt not working. He was itching to do something to distract himself, and he doubted that manning comms would cut it, but it was at least better than nothing. Alfred had seemed to appreciate it though when Dick had suggested it to Bruce earlier that day in hopes of getting a new distraction. And, as Tim had opened Pandora's box, Dick got exactly what he wanted without too much trouble.

"You are. I've got other plans."

Dick raised an eyebrow at Jason's response. "Excuse me? You are not leaving the manor in my body without me coming along."

Jason rolled his eyes. "I'm not, it'll be fine."

That earned his brother a look. "You know that makes me even more nervous. Those are famous last words, especially coming from you."

Sighing, Jason glared at him before grinding out with obvious irritation, "If you must know, I'm going to be reading. If it'll make you feel especially good, I'll even read down here where I can glare at you every time you interrupt me."

Dick held his hands up in surrender, fighting the smile pulling at his lips. "Take it easy, you can read wherever you want. But I'll never turn down your company."

Jason rolled his eyes again and walked toward the elevator. As he passed behind the computer chair Tim was still in, he snagged the back and shook it lightly.

"Better hurry or the brat will tear into you."

Tim sighed and saved his work on the computer before closing all the open programs. "Yeah, you're right." He stood, stretched, and took a few steps. Dick saw the wobble in his knee on one step, and on the next Tim's leg gave out completely.

Jason had his arms around the teenager before he could hit the floor.

"You ok, Timbers?" Jason asked, his concern poorly hidden as he held onto Tim, propping him upright.

Tim rubbed his head, but didn't push away from his brother. "Yeah. I got really light-headed for some reason." He gave Jason a sheepish grin. "Probably just dehydrated."

"You need to drink more water, Tim," Dick commented, concerned even as his brother regained his feet apart from Jason. "And lay off the coffee."

"Eh, maybe so," Tim replied, his tone saying Definitely not.

"Well, if you want to join comm duty, the more the merrier. Bruce and Damian can handle things on their own for one night."

"Nah, I'm good," Tim said, heading the same direction Damian had. "I'll see you two later."

**

Dick's fingers drummed a rapid pace on the desk. Eyes glued on the screen, he watched footage roll by from Bruce, Damian, and Tim's masks. Briefly turning his attention to other feeds from around the city, he found the same thing he had the last dozen times he'd looked at them.

Everything quiet. Quiet, quiet, quiet.

Quiet.

So quiet that Tim had joined Bruce and Damian on their route.

Normally he was all for that. But tonight he would have liked for something to be interesting.

"Dickface, I swear, if you don't stop that rapping I'm going stop it for you," Jason said from behind him.

Spinning around in the chair, he faced where Jason had propped himself up on the training mats, a copy of some classic held in his hand, eyes fixed on Dick in a glare.

"Sorry, I'm just--"

"Bored, I know. But you're the one who volunteered for comms."

"I know," Dick replied with a sigh. "I thought it'd be more interesting though."

Jason shrugged, turning his attention back to his book. "That's probably a good thing for them," he nodded toward the screen.

"Also true, though--" A beep from the computer forced Dick to cut off. Spinning around again, he managed to contain his excitement as he said into the comms, "Reports of a robbery in progress, half a block from you all."

"Copy," Bruce's growl cut through the comm. Dick pulled up the store's security camera feeds.

"Looks like at least five of them," he commented as his family's mask footage showed them nearly at the place.

"Copy," came from three distinct voices.

"Red Robin, there is no need for you to accompany us. Batman and I can handle this."

"As if."

"Later," Bruce growled, and both dropped the argument as they engaged the criminals. Dick watched, oddly engrossed. It was fascinating to see each of his family member's fighting styles on a camera, from what was essentially an aerial view. Each so different, yet so effective and so obviously related. Bruce, a mix of speed and a heavy dose of painfully honed raw power, all tied together with cold calculation. Damian, speed with the confidence that showed in Bruce's power, but without the strength to go with it yet. And Tim, all the control of Bruce without the blunt strength, relying entirely on calculation--

Tim dropped the criminal he was battling, the last of the group.

But Dick watched in horror as Tim collapsed to the ground as well, limp as a rag-doll.

"B, Red's out," Dick said tightly, even as he caught Robin freezing. Freezing. There was no reason for the kid to freeze. Unless he was abnormally concerned for Tim...

Behind him, he heard Jason stand and move toward him. "Robin, secure the criminals." Dick frowned as he watched Damian do...nothing. He was completely still, hadn't moved a quarter of an inch.

"Little D, you good?" Dick asked, concern mounting. He watched Bruce kneel by Tim before the next words froze his heart.

"Medical emergency, have Agent A standing by."

"Copy," he replied, his older brother instincts clamoring but getting boxed out by necessary efficiency. Jason's hand rested heavily on the back of the chair. "Status?"

"Completely unresponsive."

Dick's heart leapt to his throat, but he managed to choke out, "Copy." He watched Bruce place a portable oxygen mask over Tim's face, then gather him carefully in his arms, turning as the Batmobile pulled up. Eyes flicking over the screen, they landed on Damian again.

The kid hadn't moved.

"B, Robin's...not ok." Throat constricted, Dick fought the urge to stand and pace and pull his hair in worry. This was not what he wanted when he was hoping for something interesting to happen.

Jason's hand tightened on the chair-back.

"Robin, in the vehicle. Now." That was the voice that all Robins responded to, no matter the circumstance.

Apparently, this was no different.

Haltingly, Damian turned. He took two unsteady steps toward Bruce. He was taking a third...

His leg completely gave way and he fell to the ground. He didn't try to get up.

Bruce's growl was one that Dick knew to be laced with worry, though it wasn't significantly different from any of his other growls. The man bundled Tim into the vehicle before turning back and scooping up Robin.

"Have Hood standing by as well. I want all hands available."

"Already here," Jason responded.

"Robin, status."

The kid didn't respond. Bruce growled again, putting Robin in the vehicle and climbing in himself.

"Red Robin, can you hear me?" Dick suspected Tim wouldn't respond at all--when Bruce called someone unresponsive, there was good reason to.

"I--he--aahh--" Dick felt a bit of relief at Damian's voice, even though the words were halting.

"Robin," Bruce said, prompting.

"B, I'm in me," came the stilted reply. Dick frowned, glancing back at Jason. His brother shook his head, obviously as confused as Dick felt.

"Robin, it'll be alright. We'll sort it all out when you get back," Dick said.

"B, I--he--Drake is in my body."

Dick's heart stuttered as silence sliced through the comm.

"Robin, Damian, report," Bruce said.

"Drake is in my body," the kid repeated. Dick felt like facepalming.

It was Tuesday again. And Zatanna had come earlier today. She said she thought something happened, but it seemed nothing had.

Whelp...apparently the wrong something had.

"Red Robin, report," Bruce commanded. Though he sounded hesitant.

There was silence for a moment, then Damian's voice was back. "Yep, B, I uh...am here."

This time Dick did facepalm. What a mess.

Chapter Text

Dick sat in the chair next to Tim's bed, staring numbly at the oxygen mask over his brother's face. The slow beep of the medical equipment scarcely registered in his tired brain.

His brother was...kind of ok? Much more ok than what the picture he was staring at would indicate. He and Alfred had given Tim's body a thorough examination, and, as near as they could tell, the closest medical condition to fit Tim's situation was a coma. So, assuming Tim's consciousness got back soon enough, there should be no lasting damage.

But, currently, it was his consciousness Dick was a little more concerned about.

"I am fine," came Damian's voice from behind him, where the kid was seated on a medical cot. It roused Dick enough to rub his head tiredly. "Just because Drake is now in my body does not mean that I am in any way compromised. Despite what his level of incompetence would possibly do to someone else, I am unaffected."

"Damian, be nice to your brother," Dick said as he turned. Bruce and Jason were running tests and giving Damian...well, Damian and Tim, as it probably would be more accurate to state...a thorough examination now that Tim's body was settled as well as it could be.

"Tt, I see no reason to not speak the truth," Damian replied before glaring at Jason and swatting his hand. "Do not poke me again with a needle. You do not need any more blood."

Jason rolled his eyes, snagging Damian's arm from the air before the kid wrangled it away again. "First, I've only taken one small vial, and second, take that up with your dad. He's the one calling the shots here."

"We need another vial, Damian," Bruce said distractedly, not looking away from whatever test he was setting up.

"Tt, fine. But why did Richard and Todd not have to do this when they were switched?" Damian twisted his arm to expose the crook of his elbow for Jason to take the blood. Jason pricked him, watching the vial fill, before Damian stiffened noticeably.

"You alright?" Jason asked, eyes flicking to his face. He frowned at Damian's lack of response.

"Kid. Brat. Damian." Jason's voice tightened, and snapped his fingers in front of the kid's face, but got no reaction. Hastily removing the needle, Jason lightly flicked his brother's forehead. "Damian, talk to me."

That got a flinch from Damian, and he moved to rub the spot as he turned a glare at Jason. "What was that for, Todd?"

"You left us for a moment there," Jason replied, turning away but failing to hide his relief.

"Tt, I did not. Drake was simply being pushy."

Dick frowned at that, and everyone's attention came to rest squarely on Damian. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"He was trying to explain all the reasons why we need these tests, of which I was telling him all the reasons we do not, and he insists on speaking with you. But I do not wish to give him any more chance to worsen our situation than what he's already done."

They all stared at Damian for a moment. Dick was trying to decide what part of that statement to start with when Bruce beat him to it.

"Damian, this is in no way Tim's fault. You will treat him with respect, and if he wants to say something, you will give him the chance." The man fixed his son with a firm look. "Do you understand?"

Damian glanced away. "Yes Father." He stiffened again, then loosened noticeably. Looking around, his eyes flicked over each of them before landing on Tim's prone form.

"Oh..." He ran a hand over his face. "This is so much worse than I thought."

"Damian?" Dick prompted, unsettled by the sudden change.

The kid's eyes snapped to Dick. "Tim, actually. Damian's letting me use his..." Tim frowned. "His whole body, currently." Tim looked to Jason then Bruce, posture tightening with obvious anxiety. "What's...is...would someone give me the rundown of the situation? Damian's been mostly boxing me out since this happened."

"Zatanna accidentally switched you into Damian's body. We're running tests to make sure that you're both stable, and I've already alerted Zatanna of what happened. She's working on a solution and pulling in some favors to get more help." Bruce studied Damian's face. "I told Damian to treat you respectfully and to let you have a chance to say what you want when you want."

Tim relaxed slightly. "Ok. Thanks." His look drifted back to his body. "Can I do anything to help?"

"Currently just do your best to get along with Damian," Bruce said. Dick caught the tension in the request. Everyone knew that the worst part of the situation was that it was Tim and Damian stuck together, not that anyone was stuck together or that they didn't have a solution.

Tim's face fell a bit, but he nodded. "Alright then." He was silent for a moment. "Damian's getting impatient." He gave them one last anxious look before his demeanor changed again.

"Tt, Drake is handling this poorly," Damian commented, getting down from the cot. "If you are finished, I am going to shower and go to bed."

A small sigh escaped Bruce. "Come to the study before you go to bed. I need to talk with you."

Damian tensed slightly at the request, but replied, "Very well." He stalked off toward the showers.

Dick felt tension drain from him he hadn't realized was there. Glancing at Jason, then Bruce, he said, "I sincerely hope they don't kill each other."

Bruce started cleaning up his work area. "They won't." His look shifted for a moment to the bed Tim's body was resting on. "I'm just concerned Damian will make Tim's life miserable until this gets fixed. That's what I'm going to talk with him about." The man turned away, and Dick stood in surprise for a moment at the unusual offering of an explanation before he started helping Jason clean the rest of the area.

But Bruce froze them both as he said over his shoulder, "Are you two alright?"

Dick's look whipped from the back of Bruce's head to Jason, where he found his brother as at a loss for words as he was. Finally finding his tongue, Dick managed to get out, "Yeah, yeah we're doing fine." He glanced at Bruce again before back to Jason, realizing that the reassurance might not actually ring as true for Jason as for him.

"We're getting through," Jason said. Dick winced at the statement, the constant nagging guilt he'd had since Jason's panic attack prodding him harder. Jason glared at him at the movement, and Dick knew he'd failed to hide what he was feeling.

"Good." Bruce strode to the elevator and disappeared behind its doors. Silence hung heavy in the chilled cave.

"Is the world ending and no one told me? Bruce asking how we're doing, and talking to the brat to not make Tim's existence miserable?" Jason muttered, eyes fixed on where Bruce disappeared.

"It's a good possibility," Dick commented, also staring.

Jason shook his head. "The only thing that could make this weirder is if Tim and Damian actually end up enjoying their time together."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Dick replied. "I'll just be happy if one of them doesn't end up killing the other."

Chapter Text

All things considered, the past week had gone well for Tim and Damian.

So long as the standard for that mark was no one dying, that is. Because that's about all that Damian and Tim had managed to do--not die, and not kill each other.

That said, it wasn't entirely their fault. The situation was beyond strange and certainly took some getting used to. But they had succeeded in surviving as much out of accident as out of intent. As evidenced by the long scrape that now ran down the side of Damian's cheek.

Dick refrained from sighing as he flicked his eyes absently over the case file he was working on. It was one about the dynamics of Crime Alley, which he normally would have found at least semi-interesting. But the memory of watching Damian get that scrape tugged on him. The kid was walking down the manor steps, taking Titus for a walk, when his head snapped to the side as if something startled him. He was midstep, which wouldn't normally be an issue for most people regardless of whether they had been trained as an assassin turned vigilante.

The problem was that he completely froze up. Which made him miss the subsequent step and take a nosedive down the rest of them.

Dick nearly had a heart attack when he saw it happen. He was thankful the scrape turned out to be the worst of it, and was surprised there hadn't been a sprain or mild concussion resulting as well. When he asked Damian what happened, the kid had made no bones about how Drake had been distracted by movement in their peripheral, which startled (not the word Damian used, but it was close enough to the truth) him, and caused him to misstep. Tim had then tried to catch them, as did Damian at the same time, resulting in neither of them having control and ending up on the ground.

Stretching, Dick shook his head slightly. That was certainly one of the more minor things that had happened.

The time that had most worried Dick was when Alfred had told them all to be at dinner promptly at 6:30. The time rolled around, and all, including Bruce (miracles never cease), were present with the notable exception of Damian--and therefore Tim. They waited only about five minutes before Alfred sighed and recommended searching for the missing parties. Because, as he put it, "Masters Tim and Damian have a penchant for getting themselves into trouble, even when they are appropriately separated."

Dick had first tried calling Damian's phone, then Tim's--because sometimes technology was a useful thing--but got no response from either.

The tension coming from all of them as they spread out to search was palpable. Despite Bruce's assertion when they first got switched that they would be able to get along and not kill each other, and the marked improvement in Damian and Tim's relationship in the past several months, Dick was still worried that the unusual circumstance could push his brothers into something accidentally more severe than either intended.

As he and Jason began heading in the same direction, his brother glanced at him. Jason's concern was well hidden, but still there.

"You checking the brat's room?" Jason asked.

Dick nodded as they headed up the stairs. "Where are you looking?"

"Tim's." They fell silent as they approached the rooms. Dick stopped first, what with Damian's room closer to the stairs than Tim's. Knocking, Dick didn't wait for a response before opening the (surprisingly) unlocked door and ducking his head into the dark room.

Flipping on the light, he found the room seemingly empty. But he knew his brothers' (and his own) tendency to seek out strange hiding places when they felt unsettled or uncomfortable. Both of which Damian definitely was.

He only got a few steps in when Jason's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Dick, I uh...I found him...uh, them."

The hesitancy in the man's voice had Dick all but sprinting to Tim's room. He ground to a halt beside Jason in the doorway.

Tim's room was as cluttered and messy as ever, despite him hardly ever staying at the manor. But what caught Dick's attention was the incredibly odd spot and position Damian was standing in. He was straddling a pile of clothing lumped on the floor, one hand reaching toward a laptop that was open on Tim's bed. His other hand was stretched back a bit to counterbalance him. Aside from the minute expansion and collapse of his rib cage, Damian was standing so still he could have been a statue.

Jason glanced at Dick. "Any idea what happened?"

Dick carefully picked his way to his little brothers and laid a hand on Damian's shoulder.

He got no reaction.

"Either there's been a complication, or they're locked in a battle of wills." Dick gently shook Damian.

Still no response.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope it's a complication," Jason muttered as he stepped into the room as well. "Either way, we should take him down to the cave. You can't get any response out of him at all?"

Dick shook his head. "You can try if you want."

Jason stepped next to Dick and snapped his fingers in front of Damian's eyes, flicked him on the head, then finally wrapped one arm around the kid's shoulders and ran his knuckles over his sternum.

"He's way out of it if that didn't get a response." Jason's voice was clinical in a way that made it clear to Dick just how much worry was hidden beneath it.

"Go get Alfred and Bruce," Dick said as he maneuvered to be able to pick Damian up. Placing his arms so he could tilt his brother back, he found the kid unreasonably stiff.

Jason was already exiting the room when Dick muttered a curse.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked, ducking his head back in.

"He's literally stiff as a board," Dick replied, awkwardly attempting to lift Damian. "He won't bend at all."

Jason frowned. "About like he normally is," the man commented as he stepped back in. "You take arms, I'll take legs."

It took a moment for Dick to realize what Jason wanted, but, as his brother reached for Damian's ankles, Dick grabbed his wrists. They leaned Damian over, then picked him up.

"Like a trussed up boar minus the truss," Jason said with a grin.

Dick rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Jay, you're cracking jokes now? When we don't even know what's wrong?"

They shuffled toward the door. "Oh yeah, better believe it. If I had a camera, I'd be using it right now. But since I don't, I have to settle for cracking jokes. Have you ever seen Damian in such an undignified position before?"

Dick had to admit that it would have made good blackmail material in some form or another.

As soon as they crossed out of the room and into the hall, Damian stirred.

Well, "lashed" would probably be a more apt term.

"Unhand me you heathens!" he shouted, twisting in their hands. Dick was thankful both he and Jason had a firm grip on the kid, or one of them would have definitely had a black eye.

"Damian, chill. You're fine." Dick and Jason quickly lowered the kid to the floor so he could stand. He did so with a sniff, brushing at his clothes and smoothing them down.

"To the cave you go, brat. Need to run some tests," Jason said, daring to touch Damian's shoulder to nudge him in the correct direction.

"Tt, that is hardly necessary," Damian replied, leveling a glare at Jason. "I am in good health."

"Dames, you were in there, nonresponsive, for who knows how long. We need to do some tests--"

"As I said, unnecessary," Damian all but snapped, cutting Dick off. "I am fine."

"Damian," Dick said sharply. "Don't. You have nothing to prove right now and there are a lot of unknowns. Cave. Now."

Damian met Dick's look with a glare of his own that made Dick dread what the kid could be like once he was a full-fledged teenager.

It seemed like Damian was about to consent when Jason suddenly barked out a laugh. Dick looked sharply at him, wondering what it was about.

"Oh, kid, you've got to be kidding me." Jason all but cackled at the startled look Damian turned to him. "You and Tim really were just having a full blown argument, weren't you? And you don't want to admit it."

The tips of Damian's ears colored slightly even as he scowled. He took just a moment too long to respond, causing Jason to turn a sharp grin toward Dick.

"They're fine, just enacting the normal Brat-Replacement drama where none of us can hear."

Dick side-eyed Damian as he responded to Jason. "You think so?"

"Hah, I know so. I just realized that computer that's on Timbo's bed is the one he keeps half of his blackmail files on."

Dick only just managed to refrain from facepalming. "I don't even want to know how you know that. But, Damian, is that true?" The kid crossed his arms and huffed, but didn't deny it.

Jason ruffled the kid's hair. "I guess when they really get into it they just completely freeze."

Dick sighed. "So, Damian. What were you doing in Tim's room?"

"Tt, that doesn't concern you." Damian's tone was dismissive, but he wouldn't look Dick in the eye.

"It does, actually, considering Tim felt threatened enough by it to get you both frozen there until we were out of the room."

Damian remained silent for a moment, glaring at the floor, before finally growling, "Drake shouldn't keep blackmail on such an easily accessible computer." Dick was about to comment when Damian stiffened. It took a couple seconds before Dick caught on to what was happening.

"Damian, let Tim talk."

It was another second before Damian's posture loosened considerably and he looked Dick in the eye. "It's not easily accessible, he just has way to much access to all of my memories."

Dick couldn't deny that he was severely unsettled by the transition between Damian and Tim. "So Damian has access to most of your memory?"

"If I'm not actively blocking him, yes. And vice versa."

Dick shook his head at the rest of the memory as he started moving toward the locker rooms of the cave. He was glad that the whole situation had proven one thing at least. Tim could take care of himself even while stuck with Damian. And Dick trusted Tim enough to believe he wouldn't go too far unless thoroughly provoke. As much as he wished he could say he trusted Damian to not thoroughly provoke Tim...that would just be a lie and he knew it. If there was one thing Damian could be, it was provocative.

At least Zatanna had been pulling favors in. It was likely they'd have an answer soon for how to fix all of the issues they were currently having.

"Hey, Dickface, you already suiting up?"

Dick paused at Jason's question. Turning toward the man, he found him getting off the elevator.

"You kidding? I'm itching to get out, even if it's just to show your horrible helmet on the streets." Bruce had made the executive decision that both Jason and Dick needed to get out and be seen on their normal routes. The disappearance of Red Hood and Nightwing several weeks ago, combined with Robin and Red Robin's absences this week, had the Gotham underbelly stirring. It was prudent to calm it while it was still manageable.

Jason snorted. "You better not wreck my street cred. Don't need the Crime Alley villains thinking I've lost a marble or ten."

"Really? You could stand to loosen up a bit. And what about my street cred? You're probably going to go all dark and broody."

"You've developed the 'chatty vigilante here to whip your ass' persona to a deplorable point. You could stand to sober up a bit."

Dick grinned. "You just can't match my mid-fight quips."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I better start suiting up now if I want to get out before patrol's done. God only knows how you fit into that compression sleeve you call a suit."

Dick's grin sharpened. "It's a talent in and of itself."

"Obviously. Brat joining Alfred on comms tonight?"

Shaking his head, Dick followed Jason into the locker room. "Alfred won't allow it. Not sure how he managed to do it without a bloodbath, but Damian's relegated to upstairs for tonight."

"Probably for the best."

Dick found himself not caring too much what his brother was up to so long as he was safe. He was more excited to be going out and doing something night-life related.

"Probably."

Chapter Text

As it turned out, it was indeed for the best that Tim and Damian were relegated upstairs for patrol that night. Because then they weren't on the comms to hear Dick's ragged breathing or muttered curses.

Tonight wasn't supposed to go this way.

It was supposed to be Dick and Jason showing their faces--well, their costumes--out on the streets to settle the flareups of violence and crime that the disappearance of Nightwing and Red Hood had caused, which had only become worse with Robin and Red Robin's disappearances a week ago. 

Gotham's underbelly was stirring, and it needed quieting. Even if it was just by stopping a few muggings and petty crime.

It was supposed to be easy.

It was supposed to be relatively safe.

There was supposed to be next to no likelihood that one of them would be injured.

It wasn't supposed to go like this.

Dick bit back a cry of pain as he scooted himself across the gravel and came to a stop with his back pressed against the brick of the alley, chest pulling for air much too quickly. Removing his hand from his side, he tried to take a choke hold on the spike of anxiety that rammed through him at the red coating his hand glinting in the dim lighting. His head fell back with a soft thud on the wall he was propped against, the reverberations through the helmet echoing in his ears strangely.

"Fuck."

He had been doing fine. Stopped two muggings, bought some food for a street kid who recognized him, gave a few others some of the small stash of snacks Jason kept in his belt. He was on his way back to his bike when he got caught in the middle of what looked like a gang related shoot out. He had thought that his presence might deter the violence when he saw the tense gathering of people. Which led him to pick the wrong spot to show his face.

Because, as it turned out, none of the people involved cared. As bullets started flying, it occurred to him that he may not have done his homework about the dynamics of the various parties who often operated in Crime Alley.

It most definitely cost him.

He dove for cover, of course, but not before an unlucky bullet had found the one flaw in Jason's armor.

It was a small mercy at least that the shooters all had more important things to do than go after the Red Hood. He was left alone in the back alley, the sounds of gunfire growing fainter in the night as the people took their fight to more distant streets.

Replacing his hand with another grunt of pain, he pushed back the black encroaching on his vision. He needed to get a field dressing on this thing, and fast.

Shifting with a wince, he grabbed for the small batch of medical supplies Hood carried on him.

"Hood, status. Were those gunshots?"

Sucking in a breath to respond to Bruce's worried questions, he found whatever words were forming on his tongue promptly dying as a wave of pain crashed over him. Pinching his eyes shut, he waited for it to pass.

"Dammit, Hood, respond." The words were distant but that...that was the actual Hood, Jason, even though he was in Dick's body...Dick pulled his hand back slightly and blinked to clear his vision, praying that the damage didn't look as bad as it felt. The light dancing off the blood-soaked glove confirmed that it was a vain hope. Letting his head fall back again, he took a deep breath, forcing the worry and anxiety that was welling in his chest down as he realized Jason was the one who was going to pay for his stupidity tonight.

Just another failure to add to the list, a part of his mind hissed. Grunting and shifting to a more comfortable position, Dick pushed the voice away. He'd deal with it later. When he wasn't bleeding out Jason's blood in a dirty alley.

"Dickwad, I swear if you don't talk to us I'm going to whip your ass next time we spar."

Right. They had asked for a status report.

Taking a stuttering breath, Dick managed to get out, "I'm here."

He could feel the relief through the comms before Bruce spoke again. "Status, Hood." His voice was less demanding, more clinical.

Dick clumsily removed the medical supplies and arranged them next to himself. Fumbling with the hand not occupied with trying to keep Jason's blood in his body, he reached up and unlatched his helmet. Grabbing a package and putting the corner in his teeth, he ripped the thing open before he responded.

"Bad," he offered as he pulled out the dressing, trying to keep it relatively clean even in the dust and random assortment of trash in the alley.

"Need more than that, Dickface," Jason growled.

Dick would have rolled his eyes if he weren't focused so heavily on not dying. "Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Bleeding heavily. I'm working on a field dressing--" he broke off with a sharp inhale as he pressed gauze to the wound "--but I would appreciate some help. As soon as any of you all are available."

Pulling the gauze away again, the soaked material filled his vision. It was red, so red. How much blood had he lost? How much blood could Jason lose? He was a big person, so he could lose more than Dick could and still be alright. But what if Bruce or Jason didn't get here in time? What if this was...what if they...what if he died here? In this alley?

"I'm twenty minutes out," came Jason's voice in his ear, but it was hard to focus on it. The worry and fear bubbling up in Dick's chest washed it out, but not so much that he didn't catch what the words were.

Twenty minutes? He couldn't hold out twenty minutes, could he? He'd have to. What would happen to Jason if Dick let his body die here? What would Tim and Alfred do? What would Bruce do? What would--

Taking a deep breath and trying to even out his heart rate, the realization that his abdominal wound wasn't the only thing wrong with him sent a new spike of dread through him.

"I'm only four minutes out," Bruce said. "Hood, can you--"

"I think I got hit with fear toxin," Dick breathed out, ignoring the fact that he interrupted Bruce. "I can't--B, I can't--" Dick fumbled with the medical dressing he was still trying to apply. He would bleed out if he didn't get this on. But what if he didn't do it right? What if--

"Chum, you'll be alright. Do you have antidote on you?"

Swallowing hard, Dick stared for a moment at the ground, trying to let Bruce's reassurance take hold in his mind. Antidote. He could get the antidote. And it would be one less thing to worry about. Right. That would be good.

"Third pocket on the right." Jason's voice sounded closer. Jason's voice...His brother's voice.

His brother, who he couldn't let down.

"Jay, I--" A sob caught in his throat, and his hitching breath tweaked his wound. A groan of pain escaped his lips before he continued. "Jay, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Dick, third pocket on the right and you won't have to apologize for anything."

Something about that statement, delivered so gently, nagged at the back of Dick's mind. Something about how it seemed like Jason was trying to manipulate his actions through the guilt Dick was feeling. Like he was trying to get Dick to move by dangling the promise of not feeling guilty in front of him.

That nagging quickly succumbed to the fear hammering in Dick's chest.

"Jason, I failed you again. Again," Dick all but sobbed. His brother had to understand. Had to understand that all this was Dick's fault, that Dick had so much to apologize for, not just for the first time, but for this time too. Because there was no doubt in Dick's mind that he would bleed out in this alley, and this was the only chance he'd get to make Jason understand. "I failed," he asserted, hand pressing against the field dressing harder in a desperate attempt to keep the blood where it was supposed to be.

His vision blackened once more, and a distant, strangled cry hit his ears.

"Dick, keep talking to us." As air hissed through his nose and the world around him solidified into shape and colors other than a blanket of starred black, the words pricked his mind. It made him realize someone had been talking to him and he was only now with it enough to hear them.

He pried his eyes open, surprised to find Bruce standing in front of him, cowl down. The man was just staring at him.

"B?" Dick breathed out shakily. "Thank God you're here, B. We can't let Jason bleed out."

At his words, Bruce's face twisted into a hateful sneer, and he remained where he was.

Dick recoiled at the look, so foreign on his dad's face that it felt like he'd been struck by the man.

"B?" he asked softly. "What's wrong? Why...why aren't you helping me?"

"What makes you think you deserve my help, Dick?" the man asked coldly.

Dick's heart sped up. He's not going to help me. Jason's going to die again--

"B, please, you can't let Jason's body die. I need help." Dick's voice cracked on the words. He could feel his body--Jason's body--beginning to tremble, each breath taking more energy than the last, the toll of losing too much blood becoming evident. "I need your help."

"You should be able to handle this alone," Bruce said, eyes flicking over Dick's shaking form as if judging his son. Bruce's expression slowly morphed into disgust, and Dick knew he'd been found severely lacking.

He tried to ignore the crushing weight that landed on his heart at that expression, his desperation for help outweighing the agonizing confirmation of what Bruce thought of him. "But I can't. I can't do this alone, Bruce." He couldn't, he couldn't, Bruce had to see that, he had to see how badly Dick had handled...well, everything. How he handled things when Bruce had been lost. How, when everything was resting on Dick's shoulders, it all just steadily crumbled until there was nothing left but smoking ruins. How he had failed at being a brother first to Jason, then Tim, then--in many ways--to Damian too.

How he had failed at all the things that mattered most. And right now, as something else that mattered was playing out, he knew he'd fail if he had to deal with it alone. It was his track record, and it wasn't going to change anytime soon.

"Obviously." Bruce came closer, squatting in front of Dick as his eyes pierced into his son's. "Which also makes it obvious I clearly made a mistake trusting you."

Dick pushed his feet weakly against the asphalt, trying to sit up a bit more. But his legs slipped, getting no purchase as his strength slowly bled from the wound in his abdomen. All it did was make him more breathless. His head fell forward--he didn't have the will to lift it in the face of Bruce's disgust of him.

"B, I've made my mistakes. I know I have. But don't make Jason pay for them," he said softly. "Don't make Jason pay for what I've done wrong."

Bruce considered him for a moment before reaching out slowly and taking his chin in calloused fingers. Tipping his face up, the man's eyes trailed over the domino, then the rest of his skin. Dick knew he was studying Jason's face--the face of his son who he loved more than his own life.

The time Bruce considered him lengthened, and Dick hoped, maybe, the man would be moved to action for the sake of Jason's welfare.

Then his fingers slipped from Dick's chin, and Dick's head slumped downward again.

"Jason's a failure," Bruce replied as he stood.

The words landed like a blow to Dick's chest.

"B...Dad, Jason's your son," Dick protested weakly.

"What makes you think Jason has any place in my family after all he's done?"

Dick floundered for words at Bruce's statement. "You love him, Bruce," he finally whispered. "You love him. I know you do."

Bruce remained unmoved, glaring at Dick. "How can I love either of you after you both tore my family apart? You, Dick, driving Tim away by taking Robin, and being willing to leave me to rot even after Tim told you I was still alive. And Jason, he attempted murder. How can either of you have a place with me?"

"Dad, I--" Dick's plea was cut short as pain exploded in his side, causing him to cry out then gasp for air.

He turned watering eyes to Bruce as he clutched at the wound in his side.

"You have no right to call me that," the man growled. It took a moment for Dick to realize Bruce kicked him and that calling the man dad was what had elicited the reaction.

"I'm sorry," Dick whispered as Bruce knelt in front of him. The man's eyes were fixed on Dick's blood-covered hands. "I'm so sorry Bruce. I did my best. I really did. And Jason, it wasn't his fault--" He broke off with a gasp of pain as Bruce grabbed his wrists in a vise-like grip and tore his hands away from the wound. The man held them firmly in one hand, shifting Dick's body so he had better access to the bleeding mess.

Dick let him, his trembling body not having the strength to resist.

"B, just help me. Jason doesn't deserve to be stuck in my body for the rest of his life. Help me with this wound and I'll--I'll leave--" The plea caught in his throat. He didn't want to leave his family. But if it meant keeping Jason safe, he would. "You'd never have to see me again. I'd never fail you again that way. But don't let Jason suffer for my mistakes." Dick lifted his head slightly, trying to catch Bruce's eye. "Please, Bruce. Just help me keep Jason safe."

Bruce's hand tightened painfully around Dick's wrists. "Jason failed. You failed. Anything either of you get at this point you deserve." Bruce's cold voice washed over Dick, and the words pulled a sob from his throat.

"I know I do, but please, show Jason some compassion."

Bruce looked him in the eyes as his face twisted into something hideous. "No." With that, he put both hands on Dick's abdomen and leaned his full weight against him.

Dick didn't have the chance to scream before the pain plunged him into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The thing that Dick noticed first was how unfortunately familiar the feeling was. Consciousness returning slowly, mouth feeling like it was full of cotton, the anxiety quietly but persistently pulsing beneath the surface of awareness, and the prodding of pain in his side.

The unfamiliar thing was how lightheaded he felt, even though he was laying down with his eyes closed. It made him tempted to stay under the edge of complete consciousness for a while longer. It seemed like the best option--avoid the sharpening of all his discomfort that coming to full awareness would undoubtedly bring.

Then there was a soft noise, and he winced at it. It was the sound of a book page getting turned.

Even in his current state, he knew who was sitting next to him, and he knew there would need to be a conversation--that much was clear, even though his mind was having difficulty remembering the details vividly. He certainly remembered enough. Enough to know that Bruce and Jason had a lot they needed to discuss after he and Jason were finished.

Taking a deep breath, he took the plunge. He hauled his eyes opened, blinking against the lights of the cave's medical bay. The lightheadedness intensified, and he quickly pinched his eyes closed again.

He heard Jason move next to him, but he was too focused on not passing out to try and figure out what the man was doing.

"That gas hit my body harder than normal I guess," Jason muttered. Dick didn't think it was necessarily directed for him to acknowledge with how quiet Jason had spoken.

Dick took another deep breath, and Jason was silent for a moment before he said, "Here, drink this. It'll help."

Carefully opening his eyes again, he saw Jason shake a water bottle at him. Dick reached for it and cautiously pushed himself a bit more upright before drinking from it.

Jason was right. He did feel better almost immediately. Not a get-up-and-do-some-flips better, but less of a going-to-become-a-pancake-on-the-floor-if-he-stood better.

"How do you feel?" Jason asked. Dick frowned. The man was being oddly attentive, even considering it was his body that had been shot.

"'Bout like you'd expect for getting shot," Dick rasped out, frown deepening. "And dosed with fear toxin?" He wasn't so sure about how he would have been exposed, unless the bullet was laced with it...

Jason snorted. "Yeah, dosed with fear toxin. And since I know you're going to be a nosy ass and ask, yes I always get lightheaded after I'm exposed."

"B know?" Dick winced after the words left his mouth. The details were coming back more clearly. And he knew that Jason clearly feared Bruce's rejection. That much was clear even without his experience on the toxin. But he didn't doubt that Jason had seen something like that hallucination before, of Bruce refusing him help, of telling him he didn't belong. So bringing Bruce up as tactlessly as he had was a bad call, to say the least.

Jason hesitated. "No. And you'll keep it that way." The words were somehow a threat, a tired request, and a vote of confidence in Dick respecting Jason's wish all wrapped up in one. Dick was sure that skill had been picked up from Alfred.

"Ok," he said simply. He didn't think it was the right time to address that particular issue. He wasn't sure what to say, or how to ask about Jason's half of the hallucination, so he remained silent. Jason did the same, and the silence grew until it became uncomfortable. Dick fully expected Jason to leave, to get Alfred or Bruce to let them check him over now that he was awake as an excuse to get out of the uncomfortable room, but he didn't.

"Brat's worried about you," Jason finally said, staring a hole in the floor by Dick's bedside. "B wouldn't let him--them--down here yet."

Dick drew in a deep breath, glancing toward where Tim's body still rested on a medical cot as he exhaled. They were no closer to figuring out that problem, and Dick counted it a miracle that Damian and Tim had managed to stay civil for so long.

"Is Tim ok?" he asked. "Damian can be rather much to handle when he's worried."

Jason shrugged. "I think so. They froze entirely a couple times while Alfred was patching you up, so I assume Tim's still in there. Haven't actually talked with him, but he seems smart enough to not stress Damian more by asking for control."

"Ok, well, that's good I suppose." Dick stared at the ceiling, and as silence fell between them again, he again fully expected Jason to leave. He knew his brother would be able to tell Dick wanted to talk to him about something, and normally that would send him packing faster than anything else Dick could do.

Yet he wasn't.

Chancing a glance at him, Dick found Jason staring at the floor again, hands fidgeting with his sweatshirt. He was clearly uncomfortable, and it seemed like he must really want something to have not run yet.

As much as Dick wanted to push, he knew it would shut Jason down faster than anything else he could do. And, considering how lousy he currently felt, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to tease it out of him with any sort of finesse.

So patient waiting it was. Even though he had to beat down the anxiety that doing nothing about the situation raised.

Settling down deeper into the bed, he resolved to wait his brother out.

He lasted only three more seconds before the silence got to him.

"Sorry," he blurted out. "I was an idiot and you're the one paying for it."

Jason snorted. "Yeah, yeah you were. One of those gangs I let operate because they keep out worse people and feed me information. In return I stay out of their territory. That's a mess I'm not going to enjoy cleaning up."

Dick winced, barely keeping himself from cringing. It was just more conformation that everything he touched crumbled to something worse.

His thoughts were apparently running across his face, because Jason cursed quietly before saying, "Look, Dick, it's not that bad and it isn't your fault. A lot of the stuff that goes down on my turf doesn't get recorded anywhere, and it's not like I'm around sharing information with you. There's no reason you should have known." His voice grew progressively more bitter as he spoke, making Dick's look snap onto him.

"That's not something you need to apologize for," he said, watching his brother run through a variety of emotions before defaulting to angry.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter." Jason's growl turned tired. "Thanks for not dying. Bruce would have been a wreck."

"Yeah, and not solely for the reason you think."

This time Jason's eyes whipped up to Dick's. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dick took a slow breath, held it, and let it out even slower. This was a landmine he didn't know how to navigate. "He would have lost me yes, but losing your body would have sent him straight back into all the meories of losing you the first time."

Jason scowled at Dick. "Save it Birdbrain. I know where I stand with Bruce."

"The hallucinations I had that were influenced by your body would say otherwise."

Dick watched as anger grew on Jason's face for a few seconds, fully expecting a tirade before the man stormed out.

So he was surprised by the defeated look that Jason wilted into.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said softly.

Dick hummed, the whiplash of the conversation making it difficult to keep up considering the remnants of fear toxin and the painkillers in his system. But he wasn't about to back down from one of the conversations that had been needing to happen for a long time just because he nearly died yesterday...last night? Whenever.

"Don't talk about it with me. That's fine. But you should go talk to Bruce about it."

Jason's scowl returned full force. "Discuss feelings with a man whose emotional capacity is smaller than a freaking piece of quinoa? No thanks."

Dick gave a small shrug, amused by Jason's comparison but still focused on getting Jason what he obviously desperately needed. "You could have someone mediate you know. Alfred probably would. Or Dinah. I would if you want but I probably wouldn't be a great choice to be honest."

To his surprise, Dick saw Jaso actually considering the idea. His jaw worked minutely back and forth as he worked the possibility over.

"Do you think Tim would?" he finally asked.

Dick blinked, not expecting the question or the suggestion. Tim did have a lot of merit to be a good choice. He saw the wreck Bruce was, Jason trusted him, and if he could handle a multi-billion dollar company's board of directors he probably had some skills that would apply to mediating this kind of conversation. Though he sometimes wasn't much better than Bruce on the emotional side of things.

Regardless, if having him mediate was what it took to get Bruce and Jason to actually talk, any of the weaknesses he had would be worth overlooking. "Um, probably," Dick finally said. "But you'll probably want to wait until he's in his own body."

Jason nodded. "Alright then." He stood, turning his back to Dick and going to get something from one of the counters. He stood there for a while, clearly fidgeting, and Dick waited for him to speak again. But the silence lengthened so much that he started to doze off.

"Would you really leave?"

Dick's eyes blinked back open, and he was unsure he heard the soft question correctly. "What?" he asked.

Jason had gone very still by the counter. "While you were dosed on toxin you said you would leave if it got Bruce to help me. Would you really do that?"

Dick thought a moment, trying to remember exactly what he had said on toxin. He winced as his words came back to him.

He knew what Jason was really asking.

"Jay, don't ask me if I prefer you over Bruce. You know that isn't a question that I can answer, because I love you both dearly." Dick watched as Jason's shoulders hunched slightly. "That said," he continued, "If what it took to save you at that moment was leaving later, then I would."

Jason was silent and still by the counter for so long Dick was afraid he'd said something wrong.

"Why?" came the soft question.

Dick was flustered by the question long enough that Jason snorted and said, "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"Now you're being the idiot," Dick said sharply, the residual anxiety from the toxin flaring at the possibility that he would make things worse with what he'd said and his hesitation. Jason turned to him abruptly, confused frown on his face. "I love you and that's why. That's what I said and it's the truth."

There was only a moment of silence before Jason snorted again. This time it was a sarcastic sound. "You haven't lost any of your sappiness from this body swap thing," he said snidely. But Dick could hear the undercurrent of relief hidden in the words.

He grinned sharply at his brother. "Please, you're as sappy as I am. You just hide it under snark and that tough Red Hood persona."

Jason rolled his eyes with far too much exaggeration. "I don't hide nothin'."

"Right. And what would you call spending three hours working on Tim's bike after you dinged it on patrol? Yet always acting like he's a total nuisance?"

Jason pointed at Dick. "That, my pain in the ass brother, is called deflecting the wrath of my genius teenager brother who has a revenge streak wider than Crime Alley. I may not be terribly smart but I know enough to pick my battles with Timbit wisely."

Dick grinned even wider at him, all but beaming at Jason explicitly calling Dick and Tim brothers. Not that he was going to ruin the moment by teasing Jason about it. So he settled on, "Sure, Jason. Just keep telling yourself that."

The man rolled his eyes again before becoming deadly serious once more. "If I have to talk to Bruce, you do too."

Dick's heart rate picked up as a shot of adrenaline hit his system. "We're good," he said. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

"As you said, the hallucinations you saw would say otherwise. I never want to hear you weeping your eyes out and pathetically sobbing to Bruce that everything you touch is destroyed and how you know you deserve whatever you have coming from him."

Dick looked away. "That really isn't any of your concern," he said softly. He was beginning to wish Jason had fled the room earlier. Because he couldn't right now, regardless of how much he wanted to.

Which was very much.

"Bull, Dickface. The moment you sobbed that over the comms with me listening you made it my concern," Jason spat. "So save me the inconvenience of listening to it again in the future and fucking talk to Bruce. And Tim. Because if you don't I'm not talking to Bruce either."

Dick's head whipped back around to his brother. "You little shit. You already agreed to talk to Bruce." He wasn't surprised at Jason's manipulation per se he just...wasn't expecting it to be used to help Dick's relationships, and especially not his relationship with Bruce.

"There was no binding contract," Jason replied with a smirk. "Better get it in writing if you want me to do it."

Dick growled in frustration, glaring at his brother. "You're really weaponizing my care for you?"

"Yep," Jason said, unrepentant.

"This family is so messed up," Dick muttered.

Jason shot him a feral grin. "Yep."

Dick was silent for a moment before he heaved a sigh. He wasn't sure why it seemed so easy to offer to leave for Jason's welfare, but agreeing to do something that would in the long run help himself was so hard. "You're still a manipulative little shit, but grab some paper. I think you must be where Tim gets his manipulative streak from."

Jason picked up his book and slid a small slip of rough edged paper from near the center of it that had apparently been his bookmark. "Nah, we were both that way and just learned new tricks from each other." He cast about for a pen before he snatched one from the counter behind him.

"You two are terrors."

"The Gotham underworld would largely agree. Now, what's the penalty for not following through?"

Dick thought for a moment. "Doing Alfred's job for a week."

"No freaking way. If you break the contract that means we would have you trying to cook and none of us would survive that."

"Then helping Alfred for a week?"

Jason started writing on the paper as he hummed. "How about helping Alfred for a week and cleaning Timbo's apartment out?"

"Fine. But both of those should probably happen anyway."

Jason nodded. "Agreed. Alfred needs more breaks and Timmy is a hazard to himself." He glanced over his shoulder to Tim's still body. "I wonder if he'll remember that I said that. You know, like how people can hear things in a coma?"

Dick frowned as Jason signed the paper. "Dunno." He accepted the paper and pen from Jason and read and signed the little paper. "Get Alfred to witness it," he said.

"Good idea. He should come check you anyway." Jason stood and started walking toward the elevator.

"Jay?" Dick called.

"What is it now?" the man moaned dramatically.

"Thanks."

Jason turned around and waved him off. "Yeah whatever. You better keep this deal."

Dick smiled as Jason disappeared into the elevator. "Oh I will, Jay."

Chapter Text

As it stood, both Dick and Jason did their very best to avoid Bruce.

Which, considering the man was only around the manor for a day after Dick had been shot before he got called away on some sort of League business, was actually incredibly easy. Dick just hated the look Bruce gave him before he left. It was typical Bruce, all emotionally stunted and incompetent. Even so, the message it carried was all too clear to Dick.

Bruce was worried.

Dick honestly hated it when Bruce worried. Not because it felt like a judgment from Bruce about Dick's ability to take care of himself--though at one point in their relationship it certainly would have felt that way. Now, it was mostly because Dick understood that Bruce actually worried a normal amount for a parent, and had the unfortunate triumverate of money, emotional trauma, and emotional incompetency to make the worrying feel smothering and over the top. Which was irritating, to say the least. But Dick understood. And felt bad that Bruce put himself through that torment when he couldn't do anything to change the situation.

So, when Bruce left for an indeterminate amount of time, Dick breathed a silent sigh of relief. It would give Bruce something to focus on other than all that had gone wrong the last couple weeks, and it would give Dick and Jason some room to, well...exist without feeling like there was a landmine they were going to trigger at any point with the man.

But Bruce leaving didn't fix Damian and Tim's attentiveness. One of them had insisted to Alfred that they take over Dick's care for the foreseeable future, which is what led to the current situation.

Dick hissing as antiseptic was applied to his stitches.

"You could've warned me," he muttered, looking at Damian. The kid resolutely keep his eyes on the stitches in Dick's abdomen.

"You're, as Todd would say, 'a big wimp." Damian didn't look up from his task, gently wiping and dabbing along the suture line.

"I think he'd use some different language than that," Dick commented.

"Tt." The kid tossed aside the dirtied cotton he'd been using and glanced at Dick's face. "You are probably correct. However, you would not be in this situation had you actually read the report Todd had assigned to you before you patrolled."

Dick sighed, knowing Damian was just worried. The accusation still stung a bit. "You know as well as I do that that isn't necessarily true. Accidents happen even when we're well prepared." Dick fell silent as Damian snagged more cotton and put antiseptic on it. He was reaching back to the table to replace the bottle of liquid when he froze.

"Uh, Damian?" Dick prompted after a few seconds. The kid scowled before turning his attention back to Dick

"Drake wishes to speak with you."

"Does he now? And are you going to let him?"

"Tt." Damian's scowl deepened before it suddenly softened. The rest of his features and stance followed, loosening and deflating slightly.

"Dick." Dick's eyes flicked over Damian's face, trying to reconcile Tim's mannerisms being on Damian's face. Even after a few days of this happening, it was still unnerving.

"Tim," Dick acknowledged before running a hand over his face. "This must be what you guys felt like with me and Jason."

"Completely and utterly thrown off for the first few days? Yeah. Something like that." Dick tried not to squirm as Damian's eyes assessed him with all the sharpness and astute observation that Tim's normally had. "Glad to return the favor," he finally said. Dick barked a laugh.

"I would have gladly done without it. But Damian didn't let you use his mouth for this."

Tim frowned. It was softer than Damian's normal frown, but much sharper than any normal one of Tim's. "You're right." He fell silent, and Dick raised an eyebrow at him.

"You going to tell me? Or should I start making worried guesses?" That earned him a scrunched nose before Tim stared him down. Hard.

"Don't. Ever. Do that again." Dick was surprised at the emotion Tim failed to hide, especially when it was accompanied by a fist to his arm. He found himself staring at his brother as he tried to find something to say. The kid looked away, but not before Dick caught the glistening in his eyes.

"Hey, Timmy, I'm fine. We're fine. Honestly." Reaching out, he took Damian's shoulder and squeezed it.

Damian's body tensed and straightened. "Tt. I am well aware that you and Todd are well enough considering the circumstances." There was a pause, as though Damian was considering before he briefly froze, then unfroze. "Fine," he seemed to snap at the floor before looking up at Dick. "Drake informs me that you would be...touched to know that I was concerned for you as well."

Dick smiled. "Aw, Dami." The kid turned his back to Dick and grabbed new bandages without sparing Dick a response. Though he couldn't hide the flush on his ear tips.

Damian turned back to Dick, carefully arranging the materials so he could apply them without them getting dirtied. It was silent for a few moments as Dick watched his brother's meticulous work.

"You had a chemistry test today, didn't you?" Dick finally asked, the silence quickly becoming uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"And how did it go?"

Damian paused, considering. "Acceptably."

"Uh huh. Care to share details?"

The kid froze again just as he was finishing applying the bandage. Dick wondered just what Tim could want to say about that topic.

"Tt, Drake, it's hardly my fault that you are unable to leave a problem alone when it is in front of you. Even when it is my exam," Damian muttered.

"Wait, Tim helped you on your exam?" Dick asked. He didn't add the that'd be cheating part to the statement, not wanting to throw around unfounded accusations.

"Hardly," Damian said. "He was rather...enthused at having something to entertain himself with. Though the fact he does not find art entertaining just further enforces my claim that he lacks any sort of culture."

Dick tripped over Damian's statement. "Wait, Tim, you're bored?"

Damian rolled his eyes and froze halfway through the gesture. After a moment he aborted the motion and looked to Dick, hands coming together to fiddle in agitation. He kept looking at Dick before glancing away, as though embarrassed.

"Yes? I mean, Damian does some interesting things, but they aren't, you know...things I find enjoyable very often."

Dick opened his mouth to respond, but found he wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't something he'd even considered.

Unfortunately, Tim took that the wrong way. "Look, it's fine," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "It's not like I can't handle it, we'll make do--"

"Tim, let me talk to Damian," Dick interrupted. He immediately kicked himself for it at the hurt look that flashed across Damian's face before the kid stiffened again.

"Yes, Richard?"

"Would you be willing to give Tim some time to do whatever he wants? I know the situation isn't ideal, and you both are having to work really hard to make it any sort of good, but I think this might help you both out." Dick held his breath as he finished the request, hoping he didn't just push his little brother into making Tim's life miserable for the foreseeable future.

Damian scowled, but it was off somehow. Almost too tight. As if he were afraid of something and using displeasure to cover it. "Tt, you heard Drake. He's fine."

"He may have said that, but that doesn't mean anything when anyone in this family says it." Dick watched Damian shift his weight just slightly. In anyone else it wouldn't be notable. In Damian, it broadcasted nervousness.

"Damian..." he prompted, hoping he wouldn't have to drag whatever was bothering his brother out. "I know you and Tim have your differences, but I think if your positions were reversed, he would do this for you."

"It is not--" Damian started, before snapping his mouth shut before his eyes hardened. "Very well. I can accommodate some time each day for Drake. So long as he does nothing foolish or anything that will harm my performance."

"I doubt he'd do that," Dick commented. "Tim's not that petty, you know."

"Tt." The lack of response bothered Dick.

"Damian, if there's something else you want to tell me, you don't have to wait for me to pry it out of you to say so." He tilted his head, hoping he wouldn't have to wait long to get Damian to speak his mind.

Damian all but fiddled with the old packaging. "I am..." Fine hung unsaid. Damian knew Dick wouldn't accept the offhand answer, especially just given the conversation about it.

"I am unsettled by the current situation," he finally said.

"In any particular way?" Dick asked.

"No." Damian paused. "Yes," he amended quietly. He took a steady breath and let it out carefully before he continued. "Considering Zatanna has been at her research for several weeks, and the only fruit of it seems to be getting Drake stuck in my body, I am...not unaware that the situation may be permanent." He began cleaning the area of dirty cotton and discarded packaging.

"Oh, Damian," Dick said. He knew it was a possibility, but he hadn't thought about it too hard. Perhaps he had more experience with Zatanna to thank for that, confidence that she would find an answer, or someone who might. But Damian...he didn't really know the woman. Certainly not the way Dick did.

Reaching out, he caught Damian's shoulder, stilling the kid's self-imposed busy-ness. "Look at me, Lil D." Damian stared at the floor a moment before pulling his eyes up to meet Dick's look.

"I can't promise it won't come to that. But you know it is highly, highly unlikely it will." Damian nodded.

"And you know that we are all looking for some way of fixing it?" Another nod.

"Can I talk to Tim?" One more nod, and then Damian stepped back and away, out of Dick's grasp. He turned, hands reaching and grabbing the opposite arm even as he hunched away. He began walking for the computer.

"Timmy, I want to talk to you," Dick called, hopping off the cot and trailing after his brother. Tim stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Look, I'm sorry about how I said that earlier, when I wanted to talk with Damian. I shouldn't have done it that way."

There was a moment's silence, then Tim shrugged. "It's fine."

"Did you not listen to a word I said to Damian?" Dick asked, more tired than irritated. Tim began shuffling toward the computer again at that.

"Tried not to," he replied, sounding more small and scared than Dick had heard him in a long time.

"Tried not...Tim, hold up." His brother kept shuffling for his goal. "Timmy." That got him not only to stop, but turn and face Dick. Though he kept his eyes on the floor. Dick was in process of trying to decide where to start when Tim beat him to it.

"Dick, I'm sorry," came the soft words.

Blinking, all he could come up with for a response was, "Uh, what?"

Tim curled in further on himself. "Look, I'm sorry I messed this all up, that I'm taking away time from you and Damian, that I haven't found a solution to fix this with. I'm sorry that I've let you all down--"

"Woah, Tim, slow down. None of this is your fault. And you're not taking away from me and Damian."

Tim's silence was enough of an answer to what he thought of that statement.

Dick stepped near enough to touch him, but hesitated.

"Tim, do you understand me?"

Tim stirred and looked up at him. "Yes." Dick took a breath to keep going, but was cut off by Tim's addition. "But that doesn't mean I believe you."

That hurt worse than the bullet wound in his abdomen. His mouth snapped shut, and he stared at Tim, who stared back at him. There was something in that look, a challenge or a dare to prove him wrong, covering up the pain at what the supposed answer was.

"Tim, do us both a favor and ask Damian what I talked to him about while you weren't listening," Dick said with a sigh. Since you obviously won't believe me ran around in Dick's head, digging deeper into his heart. He might be needing to move up his conversation he was planning with Tim to be sooner rather than later...

Once more Damian's body froze, and remained so for nearly two minutes. Dick was beginning to itch to move and just do something when the kid shifted. And, from the looks of it, it was Tim who was back.

"Now I'm really sorry," he mumbled, staring at his feet.

"It's ok Tim. I'm the one who should be sorry, it sounds like. We've had our rough spots and...I should have never let them get so wedged between us so that..." That this happened. Dick couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Tim shrugged again, looking less afraid but no less uncomfortable. "The past is messy," Tim said simply. "And I really am sorry."

"I know. It's still not your fault." Dick stared hard at Tim. "Do you understand me?"

Tim's response was immediate. "Yeah."

Dick narrowed his eyes at his brother. "And do you believe me?"

Tim hesitated at that, but finally said, "Sure."

Dick beamed at him. "Good. For right now--" he scooped his brother off the floor, ignoring the surprised squawk at the sudden movement "--I get to cuddle with two of my brothers for the price of one." Flopping back down on the cot, he held the squirming mass until it suddenly froze. Worried he'd held on too hard, he immediately loosened his grip.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Damian says I should have seen that coming." He paused again before stiffening some. "And Drake says he might have if he was as accustomed to cuddling as I appear to be."

Dick's heart hurt again at that, but he pulled his brothers closer. "Well, we'll fix that then," he said, settling himself on the bed. After a moment, Damian positioned himself comfortably against Dick's side.

"Drake has agreed to observe how proper cuddling is enacted before he takes his turn."

Dick glanced down and had to keep his smile off his face. Damian was scowling up at him, utterly serious. "Is that so? Well, we'll have to make it a flawless example."

"Agreed." Damian settled his head back into Dick's chest even as Dick sighed, content.

Two for the price of one. And teaching one of them how to cuddle and mending his relationship with him. Maybe this whole body swap thing actually had some sort of plus side to it.