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“Knife to meet you?” Dick says when Jason turns around from deposing the remaining False Facers in the alleyway. Jason glowers, first at him and then at the pocket knife jutting from his leg, Dick’s hand pressed on a wad of gauze to stem the bleeding.
Dick tries to smile at Jason from his bruised lip. It doesn’t move Jason in the slightest. If anything, Jason’s face grows more stony as he kneels down to inspect the injury.
Dick holds back a sigh. So much for winning over his cool, badass crush. Bluejay would’ve never ended up in this situation. Granted, Bluejay would’ve never gone cartwheeling through a crowd of enemies and high-kicking them left and right to knock them out in the first place.
The guy got a lucky stab in , Dick wants to say in his defense but the words freeze in his throat when Jason reaches a hand as if to rest it on Dick’s leg.
At the last moment, Jason pulls back, hand curling into a fist on his knee instead. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit a femoral artery,” he snaps. There’s a little growl to his voice that sounds a little too much like Bruce for comfort. Dick winces; if Jason’s already this bad, being chewed out by Bruce and Damian on top of that is going to be so much worse.
Jason sighs. “I’ll take you home, Alf’s waiting for you already in the medbay.” He reaches under Dick to pick him up bridal-style.
Dick’s breath catches - not in the fluttering-butterflies-my-crush-is-carrying-me kind of way, but the pulsing throbbing pain radiating from his leg kind of way.
“Shit, sorry.” Jason adjusts his grip to keep Dick’s leg still as he carries Dick to his motorbike.
Dick tucks his head under Jason’s chin and presses his face to Jason’s neck. He can smell the soap on Jason’s skin, feel the bob of Jason’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“Hold on tight,” Jason says when they settle on the motorcycle seat and Dick curls his fingers into the fabric of Jason’s uniform.
Then they’re off with the rumble of the engine, speeding out into the street.
For the life of him, when Dick looks back on this moment, he won’t be able to remember their return trip home, both because he keeps his eyes squeezed shut and because the ride’s over in what feels like minutes. They arrive at the Manor fast enough that in hindsight, Dick’s fairly sure Jason must’ve broken every city speed limit racing home.
But in the moment, Dick can’t process much with the haze of pain settling over him apart from the rocking motion of being lifted and carried, the firm warmth of Jason’s hands braced under his legs and against his back.
It’s been a while since he was last carried. Five or six years ago maybe, when he and Dad and Mom had free days to sightsee in the cities they were performing in and when he grew tired from all the walking and exploring, Dad would carry him home. He remembers it. Drifting in and out of sleep, the scent of Dad’s cologne and the soft rumble of his voice as he spoke quietly to Mom.
It’s a realization that brings a lump to Dick’s throat. He blinks away the stinging in his eyes and looks up in time to see Jason glancing down at him, mask impassive but mouth tight.
“You doing OK?”
Dick nods.
“You did great hanging in there. We’re home now. You’re in good hands with Alf - he’ll patch you up and have you better in no time.”
Sure enough, when Dick twists around - carefully as to not jostle his leg - Alfred is standing there, crisply snapping on blue latex gloves. He smiles at Dick. “Welcome back, Master Richard. Master Todd may be slightly exaggerating my abilities but I assure you that once I’ve finished operating, you’ll be tucked into bed with your favorite hot chocolate in no time.”
Dick tries to smile back at Alfred. But his stomach flips as Jason lays him out on the operating table and Alfred sifts through a tray of glinting surgical tools. He’s had his fair share of injuries as an acrobat but this is a whole other level.
He clenches his fist, nails digging into his palm. And then a warm hand covers his, folding around his knuckles.
Dick looks up at Jason. Without breaking eye contact, Jason peels off his domino.
No one but the Batfamily knows that Bluejay has a beauty mark under his left eye, concealed always under his mask. When Dick had first met Jason, he’d been drawn to his beauty mark, a feature so dainty and delicate for a boy seemingly so brash and coarse.
Something in Dick eases at the sight of the beauty mark now, Jason unveiling his softer side to him.
“So,” Jason says. “You’ll never believe what kind of shit Kid Flash and Speedy got up to the other day.”
He launches into his story, about the latest skirmish between Wally and Roy where Wally started a campaign to confiscate and destroy “Roy’s fuckin’ stupid little hat” at any given moment only for Roy to devise booby traps to spring on Wally every time he tries to lay a hand on it.
Dick laughs when Jason describes the time Wally grabs Roy’s cap only to rear back with a holler at the rat perched in Roy’s hair and the thought of the knife in his leg and what Alfred might be doing to remove it shrinks.
Time passes just like that, Jason’s words flowing over him like water, carrying him out to the sea in the green of Jason’s eyes, laughter instead of fear bubbling up in him.
Alfred finishes stitching him up right as Jason tells him of Roy’s matryoshka doll ploy, of having nested at least thirty caps of varying sizes on top of each other so that Wally’s met with hat after hat the more he tries to tear them off Roy’s head. Dick giggles so much at the mental image of Roy’s yellow caps flying everywhere that he doesn’t even notice that Alfred’s done until Alfred clears his throat.
With a swell of relief, Dick looks down to see his leg neatly bandaged. The smile he offers at Alfred this time is much less wobbly.
Alfred returns it, eyes crinkling. “You did well, Master Richard.” He shifts his attention to Jason. “I commend you as well for keeping him occupied, Maser Jason. Though I do wish you could’ve told less uproarious stories, I found it a tad challenging to operate on a giggling patient.”
“Sorry,” Dick and Jason both say, Dick far more apologetic than Jason.
Alfred squeezes Dick’s shoulder. “No apologies necessary, Master Richard. You were very brave tonight. Now then, shall I go and make you the cup of hot chocolate I promised you?”
Always a man of his word, Alfred does indeed see to it that Dick’s tucked into bed with a mug of hot cocoa made just the way he likes it, with cinnamon and nutmeg and a pinch of salt.
“Thanks, Alf,” Dick murmurs sleepily as Alfred smooths a hand over his blankets. “Jay too,” he says to Jason leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom.”My -” Dick yawns. “Hero.”
His eyes flutter shut before he can see Jason flush red.
The next day is a Monday, meaning usually Dick and Jason would be out the door by 7:30 sharp, Dick with toast in mouth and Jason swearing up a storm as he fumbles to knot his tie. But this week, with Alfred’s prescription of a week of bedrest to aid his recovery, Dick’s left to spend the entirety of Monday at home while Jason’s off at school.
As much as Dick’s excited to skip Home Economics class - Ms. Mahoney’s given him an earful every time he’s accidentally set off the smoke alarm in class - he’s bored in the Manor. There’s only so much Space Trek 3016 he can watch before he grows antsy.
He does get a kick out of walking around the Manor on his hands or scooting around on his behind - technically Alfred said he needs to rest his leg so he’s not really disobeying Alfred - up until Bruce, just having gotten out of bed after a late night patrol, catches him hopping down the stairs on one leg.
As expected, Bruce is displeased both by Dick not resting like Alfred told him to and for putting himself in unnecessary danger last night. Fortunately for Dick, Bruce’s growl is far less intimidating in his monogrammed bathrobe than if he’d been in his full Batman regalia. That, and Bruce rests a massive hand on Dick’s back and tells him he trusted that Jason would bring his youngest home safe.
When Dick asks if he can spend the rest of the day in the Bat Cave, Bruce only grunts. Dick takes a special pride in having lived in the Wayne household long enough to interpret the grunt as not a no and therefore a yes.
The afternoon goes much better, Dick chatting to Duke, the one member of the Batfamily operating in the daytime, on the coms and serving as Alfred’s assistant to wheel under Bruce’s cars to check that they’re in optimal condition.
When he next wheels out from under the Batmobile, splattered in motor oil and grease, he cranes his neck at the sight of Jason standing there in his Gotham Academy uniform, stack of papers in hand.
“Your make-up work,” Jason says.
Dick puts on his best winning smile. “Sorry, I’ve forgotten how to read for just this week, can you tell Mr. Alspach I won’t be able to finish it?” He attempts to wheel back under the Batmobile only for Jason to grab a hold of the slider before he can successfully retreat.
“Nice try,” Jason says. “It’s not going to kill you to work on it. You survived a knife wound already.”
“It’s Shakespeare ,” Dick moans.
“Like that’s a bad thing,” Jason fires back. “You don’t want to miss out on the greatness of the Bard. C’mon, I’ll help you.”
It turns out that while Old English - “Early Modern English,” Jason corrects him - is usually enough to make his eyes glaze over, Jason makes it fun and interesting. They’re halfway through annotating Sonnet 60 when there’s a knock at the door.
To Dick’s surprise, it’s Damian, not Alfred, who steps inside with a tray of dinner for both of them.
Dick’s never had the best self-preservation instincts - in spite of himself, he flings his arms around Damian’s waist as soon as Damian sets down the tray.
Damian tenses for just a second before he rests a hand on Dick’s head. “Hello, Richard.”
His hand’s nearly as big as Bruce’s, a thought that warms Dick. He lets go. “You’re not going to yell at me?”
“I was instructed not to by Pennyworth,” Damian replies dryly. “That, and as concerned as I am for your safety and wellbeing, my berating you would accomplish very little, especially while you are still recovering. I’ll be satisfied as long as you know to be more careful from now on.”
“I will.”
“Good. Pennyworth has prepared dinner for the both of you.”
Dick reaches over to take a plate of shepherd’s pie, mouth watering already, before he notices the little bowl filled with apple slices cut to look like rabbits, red peel sliced to form bunny ears.
A delighted laugh slips out of Dick. When he’d first arrived at the Manor, quiet and withdrawn, Damian had managed to coax him out of his shell one day while they were in the kitchen peeling apples for Alfred by offering Dick the very same kind of bunny-shaped slices.
He looks up with a smile curling on his lips. “Thanks, Dami.”
“You’re welcome, Richard. Enjoy your dinner and good night.” Damian inclines his head before shutting the door behind them.
Only then does Dick realize Jason has been watching the whole interaction silently - uncharacteristically so - the whole time. “What?”
Jason shakes his head in disbelief. “You know Damian had one of the highest kill rates in the League of Assassins by the age of 13 and now scares the shit out of the criminal element in Gotham, right? And here you have the guy going soft and slicing apples into fuckin’ cutesy bunny shapes for you.”
“Dami’s really nice, though,” Dick protests.
“Not to me or Tim, he isn’t. I think you just bring out the best in people.”
There’s something in Jason’s voice that has Dick twisting around to look at Jason. “You really think so?”
Jason doesn’t look away. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Dick’s heart clenches. He wants so badly to close the distance between them, even though they’re only sitting a few inches apart, for the feelings inside him to reach Jason, make him feel the way Jason makes him feel.
“Anyways,” Jason says, loudly. “Back to Sonnet 60.”
Dick swallows down his want.
They finish dinner, Jason pulling out his calculus homework to work on while Dick tries in vain to cobble together an analysis of the Shakespearean sonnets in his packet.
He gives up after a few hours, instead snagging the crutches Alfred’s laid out for him to go brush his teeth.
Eyes heavy, he returns to bed and tunnels beneath the blankets, watching as Jason packs up his things. It’s patrol time, Dick realizes drowsily. And he won’t be there to join Jason tonight.
“Sorry,” Dick says. “That I can’t go on patrol with you.” It’s shorthand for all the apologies Dick can’t bring himself to say. Sorry that you have to be the one taking care of me. Sorry that I like it so much that you do.
“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on resting up and getting better. You’ll be back in no time.”
Dick reaches out to tug on the hem of Jason’s shirt. “Come back safe, OK?”
“I will,” Jason says quietly. He turns off the lamp by Dick’s bedside. “Night, Dick.”
“Night, Jay.” Dick closes his eyes.
As he dozes off, he must imagine the brush of a hand against his hair.
The next day should follow the same routine - Jason back at school, Dick stuck at home - but this time, around noontime when Dick is sprawled on the carpet of the living room attempting to finish his English essay, he catches the sound of the front door swinging open and the distinctive meow of Alfred the cat greeting a visitor.
Seconds later, Tim steps into the living room, purring cat tucked in one arm and plastic case dangling from another. “Hey, Dick.”
Dick sits up. “Tim!”
Tim gently sets Alfred the cat down and kneels down next to Dick. “Sorry I couldn’t visit you sooner, things have been hectic at W.E.”
“I’m glad you could even visit today.” Tim had been buried in an avalanche of paperwork and meetings in the last few weeks, according to Steph and the shadows under Tim’s eyes.
And yet Tim had still made time to come see him.
Dick leans into Tim, presses wordless gratitude into shared touch. After a beat, Tim wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulders and squeezes once. Tim had once told Dick he’d only grown up in a family that never gave hugs but that he’d gotten the hang of them the more he spent time with Steph and Cass.
Tim lets go now to smile at Dick. “Thai?” he asks and lifts the plastic bag, the scent of spice wafting from it. “Alfred’s given me his blessing to bring you takeout for lunch today. I brought Mario Kart too if you want to play after.”
Dick’s eyes light up.
One bowl of red curry and rice and four rounds of Mario Kart - one round won by Dick, who thinks Tim maybe let him win this one - later, Tim says, matter-of-fact, “Jason blames himself for your injury. Don’t tell him I said that. I’m only telling you because he’s driving the rest of us up the walls with his brooding and wallowing.”
Dick blinks. “But I was the one who messed up. It’s my fault he’s stuck taking care of me.”
“Or maybe neither of you need to take on the blame.” Tim replies, voice light but wry. “Injuries are unavoidable in our line of work, Dick. All we can do is try and be strategic when we fight to minimize the amount of damage we take. Not just because we need to be in good enough health to go on patrol the next night or because self-preservation tells us that we should avoid suffering whenever possible but because we wouldn’t want to worry the people who care about us.”
There it is, the ‘c’ word. It shouldn’t feel as big as the ‘l’ word but Dick’s stomach churns. He fights the urge to squirm.
Jason does care and that’s the problem; that Dick can’t get enough and Jason lets Dick have so much of him. His time, his touch. The beauty mark under his eye and the kindness he keeps close to his chest and rarely ever lays out on the table. His promise to come back home safe to Dick.
And maybe that’s the real problem - that Dick wants him as much as he does.
“Jay is really, really good to me. More than he should.”
“That’s for him to decide, isn’t it?” When Dick looks over at Tim, Tim offers him a small sliver of a smile. “If you think Jason is good to you, it’s because you inspire him to want to be good.” Before Dick can ask what that means, Tim waves a hand. “In any case, I’ve meddled enough. Steph and Cass must’ve rubbed off on me.”
“That’s a good thing,” Dick pipes up and bumps shoulders with Tim.
“It is.”
They manage to play a few more rounds before Tim receives a call he absolutely can’t ignore and has to return to the office. Dick helps him brush cat fur off his suit jacket and slacks and waves goodbye to him as he slips on his shoes and dashes out the door.
With Tim’s departure, Dick now has the afternoon to himself. For once, it’s much needed as Dick thinks through what to do with the conversation he and Tim had.
When Jason comes home this time, poking his head into Dick’s room, tie already loosened and jacket slung over his arm, Dick’s prepared.
“It’s not your fault that I got hurt,” Dick announces. “So don’t feel bad.”
Jason looks at him, then looks up as if summoning all the patience he can from a higher plane of existence. “I don’t even know where to start, Dick. Any reason you’re saying all this out of the blue?”
“Uh,” Dick says. Tim told him not to reveal their conversation to Jason. Dick also hadn’t quite thought through what cover story to offer instead. “I just figured it out! All on my own. With the detective skills Bruce trained me to use.”
“Uh huh. Well, makes sense Bruce’s school of detectiving didn’t include any training on how to lie convincingly.I’ll disprove your theory now. For one, I don’t feel bad,” Jason says. And then his face does something complicated.
Jason, it turns out, is also not a good liar. At least when it comes to this.
Dick goggles at him. “You’re a soon-der-eh!”
“A tsundere,” Jason repeats flatly.
“Yeah! Like the animes that Dami watches with the characters who pretend to be tough on the outside but they’re warm and soft on the inside.”
“Sure,” Jason says, then sighs. “Fine. Yeah, I do feel bad. I had my back turned to you and next thing I know you’re sitting in a puddle of blood with a knife in your leg. It was hard to see you scared and in pain.”
“You made it better,” Dick says.
The tight line of Jason’s mouth loosens.“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” And because Jason also makes him braver, he adds, “Just like you can make it better if you come over here.” He pats the bed.
“Dumbass,” Jason says but there’s an undercurrent of warmth to it. He sets down his backpack to join Dick on the bed, leaning back against the headboard and kicking his legs out.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” Dick says. “I just wish I could take care of you for a change.”
“You do,” Jason says. “In your own way you do.”
Jason says it the same way he’d said I think you bring out the best in people , raw and reverent.
Dick’s chest squeezes. He lets want wash over him this time, pulling him in until he rolls over to curl into Jason’s side like the moon pulling the ocean towards her.
And when Dick tucks his head under Jason’s chin like he had two nights ago, Jason holds him, grounds him.
Dick smiles into Jason’s neck. Knife aside, it looks like he managed to win over his cool, badass crush after all.