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"He never loved me."
Jason eyed the empty bottles strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the slumped form of his brother collapsed against the wall. "What?"
"He likes me, sure." Dick's grin was sloppy and sad. "Likes who I am, likes the man I turned out to be, an' likes the idea of me as a son."
Jason's eyebrows shot up. He'd thought his brother was talking about... a friend, a member of the Titans, a boyfriend, maybe. Not... this.
"I think he liked raising me. I think he liked -" Dick sighed. "Liked the early days, us being Batman 'n' Robin, liked how it felt lighter than his solo Batman loner act. I think he liked saving me, after my parents. My parents. Uh. Fell."
Dick nudged his toe against a glass shard on the ground. "I think 'e needs me. But I don' think he loves me."
And the only thing Jason could think was, holy shit, he'd always known Bruce hadn't loved him, or at least loved him deep enough, in a way that never had to find excuses. But he'd thought... he'd thought that if Bruce could have found it in his cold, dead heart to love anyone, that, well, it would have been the Golden Boy.
"But I cannnt," Dick said, "hate 'im. I mean, I love 'im. S'my dad. But he d'sn't, he doesn't, love me back."
"Don't thnk he ever, loved me back." Dick looked up at Jason, eyes glazed over. "You. He might've l'ved you, maybe. When you were dead. But not before, an' not after."
And suddenly his throat was so painfully constricted he briefly wondered if he'd swallowed broken glass.
"He loved that damn pedestal, wi' the bloody Robin suit." Smile loopy with empty amusement, Dick raised a half-empty bottle. "Ta little Jason Todd, best damn soldier there ever was."
Jason wanted to sock him in the jaw, or flat out run away. He did neither.
Dick tried to take another swig, but his hands didn't seem to want to cooperate with each other, and he fumbled with both hands until he dropped the bottle altogether.
"Jaaaayyyyyy," he slurred. "Jaaaaaaaay."
And Jason watched, helplessly, as his big brother started to cry.
"Why, Jaaaayy." Dick scrubbed a fist over his eyes. "Why doesn' he love me?"
Dick was much, much too out of it to care about platitudes, which was maybe a small mercy, since Jason had none to give. So instead he crouched down to the floor, beside his brother. And before he could even attempt to hesitantly reach out with an awkward one-armed hug, Dick tipped over and slumped against Jason, clumsy hands grabbing at his leather jacket.
"I love you, Li'l Winggg," Dick mumbled. "Love you, an' I'm sorry Broooose doesn' love us."
Jason wrapped his arms around his brother in what was probably the weakest, shittiest hug ever. He found he couldn't remember the last time they'd properly hugged each other. They were more the type to punch, or scream, or maybe awkwardly say they cared about the other before grappling away to stop a conveniently-timed mugging.
"Hey," Dick said, face brightening. "I c'n be your dad now. I'm already Dami's, whaz one more little brother?"
Jason choked on a laugh-sob. "Dick, I. I'm only five years younger than you."
"Hmmmmmm." Dick looked troubled for all of three seconds before he forgot his train of thought completely. "This jacket makes you comfy. Like a comfy leather couch. I'm gonna take a nap, an' you can’t stop me."
"Okay," Jason said, for lack of a better response.
It was only after he heard his older brother's snores begin that he let himself start to cry.