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Later, Jason will only remember flashes.
Being told, begged, to hold on. Being on someone’s back, his feet still on the ground. Having one of his guns removed from his belt.
“Will you shoot me, little bird?”
A voice: old, sarcastic. One that makes him shivers with how wrong it is, despite not being able to fully understand what’s going on.
“Do not try me, Slade.”
Another voice: cold, calm anger that somehow still feels safe. Familiar. This voice isn’t wrong.
A shuffle, a gunshot, and then…
Darkness.
The darkness is comforting. There is no pain, but there is no death either. The person with the cold voice will save him.
Jason knows death, and he knows this isn’t it.
When Jason wakes up, he’s on his couch. He blinks a few times in confusion, taking in his safe house. There’s a thick blanket on him, and his body is telling him that moving won’t be a thing for at least a few hours, if not a few days.
There is someone with him, a voice.
Someone is talking. It takes him a while to decipher the words.
“No, I just wanted to let you know… Could you tell him we’re okay and not to look for us? …I will. Thank you, Alfred.”
The phone clicks and the person sighs tiredly. Jason blinks again. Groans.
“Hey,” says the person. “Welcome to the land of the living.”
The voice is warm; it feels safe. His big brother.
When did Jason start associating Dick with safety? He’s too tired to think about it right now.
Come to think of it, Dick had been the icy, cold voice back there. He was terrifying. Jason presses his right hand on his face, trying to ease the feeling of exhaustion.
“Did you kill Deathstroke?”
A heavy silence falls in the room. When Jason opens his eyes, Dick is looking at the wall, face tense.
“Dick?”
That seems to get the other out of his thoughts.
“No,” Dick says dryly. “He won’t be walking on his own anytime soon, though.”
Jason nods. He feels something tighten in his throat. He knows how much Dick cares about Bruce’s rules on violence. He also knows his big brother has a history with Deathstroke. Whatever he did, that couldn’t have been easy.
He starts to get up, and that’s when he notices the tube in his left arm. Still a little confused, he follows it up, half expecting to find a blood bag. What he finds instead is Dick’s arm.
Dick is sitting on the couch’s back, above Jason, the top half of his Nightwing’s suit off. In his right arm is the other end of the transfusion tube.
“You’re a blood-bag,” Jason says before he can think twice about it. Dick just laughs.
“Yeah, you didn’t have any blood stocked in your safe house, so I improvised. Don’t worry about compatibility, I’m O negative.”
Jason nods. “You’re a universal blood-bag.” Dick just laughs again. He sounds a little tired.
“That suits you,” Jason adds, not thinking about it. His brain isn’t working as fast as usual, and he just says things before even noticing what they mean.
“What do you mean?” Dick asks, as if reading his mind. “You’re into blood type significance now?”
Jason grunts. “That’s not it. It’s just, you’re getting along well with pretty much everyone…”
Dick makes a face at that. “I don’t think Slade would agree but I see your point.”
“… and you’ll bleed yourself dry for the first stranger in the street.”
Dick closes himself immediately. Eyes toward the wall.
“You’re not the first stranger on the street. You’re my brother.”
Jason shrugs. He doesn’t want to have that conversation. He doesn’t want to think about a Dick who might have tried to get along with him but who never really forgot Bruce’s betrayal. He doesn’t want to think about the time when he was Robin. He doesn’t want to think about the feelings of hatred he had after his resurrection.
“Sometimes I don’t feel like I am,” his mouth says, again, before he can think about it. Except. Except this time this isn’t some nonsense about blood-bags this time. This is his deepest insecurities.
Dick turns toward him, finally. “You are. I’m sorry that… I know you’ve got a lot of good reason to be angry with me, with this family. But I don’t want to fight. Not right now.”
Dick looks incredibly old, Jason realizes. Like he had aged ten years in one evening. His older brother is exhausted. And why wouldn’t he be? Not only did he rescue Jason, but he fought Slade Wilson, a man Jason knows still haunts his brother's nightmares, and he’s currently giving his own blood.
And he’s not wearing a shirt, Jason remembers. He’s freezing beneath the blanket and Dick isn’t wearing a shirt. He nudges part of the blanket.
“Take this. Why is this safe house so cold?”
“It’s not that cold,” Dick objects, but he takes the offered blanket nonetheless, scooting closer to Jason. “You’ve just lost a lot of blood.”
Jason makes a face, looks at the tube. “You’re losing blood too.”
Dick smiles. “I’m not losing it. It’s going inside you, so it’s not lost. Don’t worry. I know when to stop.”
“Do you?” Jason asks, without malice. Knowing when to stop is an issue for this family.
“Yes,” says Dick immediately. “You didn’t lose so much blood that I’ll be in any danger giving you mine. I’ll remove the transfusion in a few.”
“What if I had?” Asks Jason before he can stop himself. This is unfair, asking that kind of question, and he knows it.
“Jay,” Dick’s voice is slow when he talks, “Are you asking if I would have traded places, all these years ago?”
Jason realizes how horrible what he just asked is. “No, I… You know what, forget…”
“In a heartbeat.”
Jason feels something that has nothing to do with his injuries tighten in his chest. His voice is strangled when he asks: “What?”
“If I could have, and heaven knows I tried, I would have traded places in a heartbeat.”
Heaven knows he tried?
Some part of Jason bursts at the revelation. He itches to ask more, and at the same time, he’s not really sure he wants to know. He always thought… well, he always knew, in some part of his mind, that Dick cares for him, but not like that.
“And if I needed to bleed myself dry to save you, I would. This isn’t self-hatred, this is…”
“No,” Jason stops him, because he doesn’t want to hear that. “You wouldn’t. You hate me.” Because it’s easier that way. It’s easier to believe people hate him. He can’t deal with the alternative.
“Little Wing, I never hated you.” And it’s the kindest thing Jason has heard since before the pit. And he doesn’t want to hear it, because kindness lies, kindness gets you killed. He hates the nickname. He loves it. He wants to hear it more. But Dick doesn’t let him the time to think about all that. He just continues.
“I was jealous of you. I was scared of what your presence meant for my relationship with Bruce. I was scared of you, and for you, when you came back. I didn’t understand you, and most of the time I still don’t. I don’t agree with you on a lot of things. But I never hated you.”
Jason looks for a lie. He finds none. He still doesn’t believe his brother.
“No,” he repeats. “I tried to kill Tim.”
Because this is something that’s unforgivable, right? This is something he can’t forgive himself for, so surely, Dick can’t either. This is his last barrier, the last proof he’s irredeemable.
“That’s… As much as I wish that hadn’t happened, Tim chose to forgive you. And I’m not going to go against his wishes on this.”
“If he didn’t, or… if I had succeeded, what would you have done?”
There is no answer. Jason knows he’s asking cruel questions. But he can’t help it. He’s tired, cold and vulnerable. And he’s just been told… Well. He’s just been told a lot.
“Were you ready to kill Deathstroke?”
This one seems easier. Dick takes a deep breath. Let it go.
“You know how I feel about killing. If there is another way, I’d rather take it.”
Right. That’s the one thing they probably will never agree on. But Dick said he didn’t want to fight, and, to be honest, Jason doesn’t want to either. He doesn’t know why, but the pit isn’t bothering him right now. Maybe it’s because it knows his body is too weak to hold a fight. Maybe it’s because his brother’s presence calms it.
“You used a gun,” he objects instead.
Dick smiles. “I know how to use a gun. And I know how to use a gun non-lethally. For reasons that are mine, I don’t often do, but it was the fastest way, and you were losing blood.”
Jason swallows. “Would you have killed the Joker?”
Something cold and dark flashes in Dick’s eyes. There is anger in there, but also desperation, helplessness, and shame. Jason didn’t know his big brother could have that kind of expression.
“Dick?”
“I thought you knew,” his big brother murmurs, almost inaudible.
“You thought I knew what?”
Dick closes his eyes for a few seconds, then opens them. And in one second, the cold darkness is gone, and the smiling, calm, warm Dick Grayson is back.
“It doesn’t matter.” Except, Jason feels like it does. “I’m gonna remove the transfusion. Then I’m gonna make food for the both of us. And then I can stay with you or get out of your hair and check in later. Or I can drive you to Roy’s or even to the manor.”
Dick is all business again and Jason knows the moment they had earlier is over. Jason turns so he’s facing the couch, so his face can’t be seen.
“You can stay,” he says as if he’s giving Dick some kind of permission. As if he’s not the one who doesn’t want the warmness next to him to fade so soon.
“Okay,” says Dick, in a tone that means he understood anyway.
There is a pinch in his arm as the transfusion is removed. As his brother’s blood stops flooding in his veins.
The warmness doesn’t fade just yet.