Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He had a plan. He always did. But, Jason sighed as he looked over the empty dock surrounded by the Gotham Harbor, things didn’t always work out the way he expected them to.

He wasn’t supposed to be alone out there, in the cold and wet night. Nightwing was supposed to be there. 

The two of them were not working together; in fact, it was quite the opposite. Nightwing had entered his territory two nights ago—his presence had ruined all the progress Jason had made in the case he was working on, a case that involved selling laced drugs to minors—and Jason was going to make him pay. 

Then… he was going to head to the Titan’s Tower and teach the newest Robin a lesson. But that plan had been pushed to the back burner for the time being. 

As the minutes passed, with no sign of another presence, the fury inside Jason died down. He was still looking for a fight, but it seemed that the night had spared Dick Grayson. 

Or Dick had figured out he had been compromised—not likely, but not improbable. Jason had accessed the intel using Bruce’s old codes, the ones that bypassed most of the security within the system—only to be used for emergencies—and the ones that didn’t set off any alarms or leave any trace of being used. If things had changed, if Bruce had added an extra layer of security or removed the failsafe that hid the breach of privacy, there was a chance that Dick was keenly aware that someone was paying attention to his every move. 

Jason’s eyes scanned the area one last time. The mist of the night made it near impossible to make out much in the distance, but an object, that moved only slightly as the water continued to rush around the city’s edges, caught his attention. 

The night air felt thick and sticky around Jason as he moved closer to the edge of the dock, purposely ignoring the tainted rushing water below and the onslaught of rain droplets from above. The darkened gloomy skies made it nearly impossible to get a better look at the object; the night sky concealed whatever was floating with ease. 

It was large, that much was clear. Too large to be a discarded duffel bag from an operation gone south. Yet it was too small to be an abandoned form of transport. There were not many other options of possibility that popped into Jason’s mind as he continued to watch as the water slowly moved the object closer. 

Jason took one step closer, feet only inches away from the edge of the dock, and as lightning illuminated the night sky, and a clap of thunder pierced his ears, he froze. 

There was no mistaking what the object was anymore. 

It was a body. 

Floating. 

Suspended in the water—head pulled under the soft currents; body clad in a familiar black and blue. 

Jason moved before he fully registered the situation. He didn’t think; he simply acted—diving into the nasty brown water of the harbor without a second thought. 

Tiny currents rippled through the water and for a moment nothing felt real. Everything was damp and quiet despite the sounds of thunder playing overheard. The few flashes of lightning that followed every clap from the sky illuminated Dick’s floating body. 

He was hurt. Bruised and covered in blood that the water had yet to fully wash away. If he was alive- 

Jason shook his head. 

When he got Dick out of the water, the wounds would need to be cleaned and monitored. The harbor was unforgiving on the best of days… it did not feel like the best of days to Jason. 

Jason reached out, hesitating only slightly at the sight of the man's abused body, and pulled Dick towards him. 

He didn’t have time to be gentle; he didn’t have time to be empathetic. He needed to get Dick out of the water. 

Jason moved through the water with ease. No longer fighting the natural movement of nature, instead working with it to get the two of them back to the dock. He pulled both of them up with less strain than he expected. 

Water clung to every inch of his body, the rain continued to soak his already drenched clothes, and Jason felt like he had been pulled under the currents that continued to crash against the side of the dock. 

He gently placed Dick on the wet wooden dock and took a step back. He needed-

There was so much happening. 

So much that wasn’t supposed to happen.

The night wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

Jason was supposed to find Nightwing, alive-

Jason stilled. Alive. 

Dick wasn’t…

He removed his helmet and tossed it to the side. He couldn’t breathe. The night air punched him in the face and ignited his lungs. 

Dick wasn’t moving. 

And Bruce was-

Jason looked towards the night sky, towards the city where protection was a promise hard to keep, and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

The air was thin and cold, no longer as thick and sticky as it once felt. The mist had tainted every molecule around them. 

Jason dropped to his knees beside the crumbled, unmoving, body and leaned his head down. He placed his ear next to Dick’s mouth and listened. 

And prayed.

To whom, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t stop the onslaught of please, not him, please, he can’t. 

But there was no answer. 

And there was no Bruce. 

Just him. 

Just Jason. 

For the first time that night, for the first time in many nights, all was still; all was quiet—unmoving—indirectly mocking Jason by giving him exactly what he asked for. 

A night of silence. 

A night of stillness.

A night of peace. 

The world seemed completely at peace at the moment, even as the rain hit Jason’s skin with spikes of near ice and the air suffocated his lungs. There were no strikes of lightning, no claps of thunder—no noise or light to be seen or heard at all. 

Yet, there was no peace for Jason to find. 

The sound of water crashing no longer registered in his mind—muddled between his rapid thoughts and shaking hands, hidden beneath his trembling breaths and blinking eyes. He pulled away from the unmoving figure of his brother. 

His brother.

The dread slowly settled in. 

Replaced only by anger. 

He punched the spot beside Dick’s head; the old wood broke easily under his punishing fist, and Jason resisted the urge to strike the wood once more. 

He was mad. 

No. 

He was furious. 

And he was worried. 

And he was furious that he was worried—that he cared—that the man beside him still… mattered.

He wasted no more time lost in the thoughts that threatened to pull him under. He didn’t have any more time to spare—he never did. 

He placed his hands on top of Dick’s chest and began to count through the compressions, eyes darting up to the skies every few seconds in hope of… something. 

Anything. 

Anyone.

But there was only one person that Jason wanted at that moment, and he knew how dangerous it was to count on him. 

The motions Jason went through were uncanny; they pulled on his skin and left him feeling restricted and wound up. It seemed like only yesterday, Dick was showing Jason the proper way of administering CPR, with one too many jokes about bruised and broken ribs—and now… now Jason was-

A loud gasp, cut off and painful, had Jason removing his shaking hands from Dick’s body. He turned Dick over on his side and tried to ignore the smell of acid as Dick threw up the polluted water he had been submerged in for…

Jason’s grasp tightened slightly on Dick’s arm. He didn’t know how long Dick had been in the water, submerged and lifeless; he didn’t know how much longer Dick would have survived-

But that was the thing, Jason thought bitterly to himself as he watched Dick continue to throw up, Dick didn’t survive. 

Dick was dead. 

Had been dead. 

He wasn’t breathing. 

He wasn’t moving. 

He hadn’t survived anything. 

If Jason hadn’t-

If Jason had gone to the Titans Tower-

Jason shook his head, with each passing second it was getting harder to breathe. 

His eyes moved over Dick’s back. Even with the lack of light, Jason could see the bleeding that tainted Dick’s suit. The suit was torn in places, burned in others, and the strain of his body, as he continued to vomit, twisted his skin and made the bleeding increase tenfold. 

Dick slammed back down, his abused back hitting the splintered wood beneath them, and took a deep breath. 

Jason moved back an inch and stood. Dick paid him no mind; he wasn’t even sure if Dick knew he was there. Jason grabbed his discarded helmet and tightened his numb fingers around the cool metal. 

Dick’s body twitched; Jason’s eyes narrowed and he slowly put back on the helmet. 

If he was someone else… someone dangerous—and not Red Hood dangerous, not someone just looking for an exchange of fists, but someone looking to kill… or worse— it would have been too easy. 

He could have ended Dick’s life right then and there and no one would have been any the wiser.

Not until it was too late. 

Not until Dick had already taken his last breath. 

Not until-

“Where is he?” Jason snapped an extra layer of emphasis coating each word that broke through the silence of the night. 

Dick stilled. His body twitched. Jason had startled him back into reality. 

He turned his head slightly, and his eyes landed on the red of Jason’s helmet for only a brief second, before he reacted. Dick tried to push himself away from Jason, flinching at the strain the attempted movement put on his body and raised one bruised arm in front of his face. 

He was… 

Jason’s hands curled into fists. 

He was shielding himself.

From Jason. 

Jason rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the way his stomach clenched at the sight. 

Dick’s body shook; his blood continued to paint the wet and worn wood beneath them. He didn’t speak—there were no quips or wisecracks, no jokes or taunts—just silence. 

Jason hated the silence. 

He waited only a moment before making his next move. He leaned down, ignoring the broken plea that barely made its way through Dick’s chattering teeth, and grabbed onto the upper part of the arm that wasn’t covering Dick’s face. He felt Dick flinch beneath his touch and Jason resisted the urge to pull away and apologize. 

“Please,” Dick muttered again. Jason’s hand stilled for a moment. He had no words of comfort to offer—no promises he was sure he wouldn’t break in the next few minutes—so he remained silent as he pulled Dick to his feet.  

Dick stumbled slightly, his body continued to shake and his teeth chattered—the sound of which penetrated Jason’s skull—and he leaned into Jason’s body. 

Dick continued to whisper; hushed pleas gently landed in the space suspended between the two of them, and Jason resisted the urge to snap. 

That was what he wanted, right?

He wanted the silence to disappear. 

And it had. 

Replaced now with the broken pleas of his older brother. 

Jason wasn’t sure what he was doing. He had no plan—not for this. He looked over at the broken wood covered in vomit and blood, at the waves that continued to slowly crash into the dock as the rain progressively fell heavier from the darkened skies, and at the trembling silhouette of his brother. 

Who would have a plan for something like this?

Dick stumbled once more; Jason’s arms tightened around Dick, and he only just managed to keep them both upright. 

“I’ve got you,” Jason whispered. The modulator barely caught the words—they came out jumbled and fused together. Dick twitched in response. He tried to pull away, an effort that nearly made them topple over once more. 

Jason had a scolding on the tip of his tongue, but the feeling of Dick’s body going limp beside him, and the increase of weight against his side, stopped the words from coming out. 

He waited. 

One second. 

And then another. 

Thunder clapped in the distance. 

Lightning struck. 

Dick took a breath. 

He was alive. Alive, but unconscious. 

But alive.

He was alive. 

Nightwing was alive. 

Dick-

His brother. 

Alive. 

And breathing. 

Jason let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and readjusted his grip until he was carrying the full weight of his unconscious brother. He cast one last glance at the sky before heading in the direction of his nearest safe house. 

It was going to be a long night. 

Chapter Text

Jason watched, helpless, as Dick struggled against the lush blanket draped over his body. It wasn’t the first time that evening that Dick had nearly awoken from a nightmare, but whatever he was dreaming now seemed to weigh heavier on his sleeping mind. 

The twitching and silent gasps, muted only when soft pleas crossed his lips instead, left Jason’s skin feeling itchy and tight. It was unnerving. 

The movements, disconnected and strangled, the sounds, near silent and helpless, were impressed on Jason’s mind. Anytime he looked away, he could still see the pained face of his brother and anytime he left the room, the whispers and gasps followed him. 

It seemed, even in Dick’s sleep, the man could know no peace. 

Jason sighed and looked at the tray he was holding. His knuckles were red and bruised; his fingers curled tightly around the plastic. 

Soup and water. 

He had made the soup before he had processed what he was doing and now he stood there, unsure and like a child, as he watched his brother’s chest rise and fall with concerning speed. 

Jason stepped closer to the couch, intent on watching the older man for the time being, when he noticed the slow evening out of the rapid breathing that had plagued Dick throughout his rest. 

The man was awake. 

Dick let out a small groan, only slightly more pleasant than the pained gasps he let out in his sleep, as he attempted to sit upright. 

“Finally awake,” Jason muttered, as he walked further into the area allowing light to illuminate his being. 

Dick didn’t react, not at first. His movements were slow but his face was alert when he finally looked at Jason. 

“Where-” Dick closed his eyes for a brief moment, “-Why am I here?” 

His voice was scratchy and raw. Jason frowned but gave no answer. 

“Red Hood,” Dick continued, voice growing more hoarse the longer he spoke, “I don’t know what you want-”

Jason moved closer without thinking. The pale skin, the bruises that littered Dick’s face and body, the way his body still trembled—it was too much. 

It was all too much. 

Jason dropped the tray on the coffee table in front of Dick. 

“I want you to eat.” 

“You want me to eat?” 

Jason felt a flare of anger race through his body. 

Why was he the one who had to deal with this? Where was Batman? 

Where was Bruce? 

“Did I stutter?” Jason snapped. He clenched his fists. 

Everything was always a challenge. 

“No, but-” Dick cut himself off. Jason’s eyes continued to search over Dick’s face—trying and failing to figure out what the man was thinking as he eyed the food placed in front of him. He looked worn down and tired; his body was still shaking though less noticeable than before. “What happened?”

Jason shrugged. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. 

There was a slight drop in Dick’s shoulders that left Jason feeling confused. He had expected Dick to pry or demand answers, instead, he went silent and continued to stare at the food in front of him. 

“There was an explosion,” Dick muttered, more to himself than to Jason. Jason didn’t speak, he didn’t move, he simply watched as Dick tried to piece the events of the night together. Dick turned his focus away from the food and onto Jason. “Is that why I’m here?” 

Jason shrugged again. 

“Red Hood-”

“Eat.” 

There was no reason for Dick to trust him. The man didn’t see him as a brother, he saw him as a threat. 

Because that’s what Jason was. 

A threat—a killer. 

Vicious. 

Cruel. 

Evil. 

And yet, Dick reached out towards the bowl of soup as if the thought of poison never crossed his mind. 

Jason knew it had. 

Dick made a strangled noise, almost unnoticeable, before crumbling back into himself on the couch. 

Jason took another step closer, hands moving towards the bowl on instinct. 

Dick flinched at the proximity and raised his hands. 

“Stop,” he muttered, arms raised to block a blow that wasn’t coming. 

Jason tried to ignore the dread that made itself at home in his stomach. It made his throat itch and his stomach burn. He was slowly becoming accustomed to the feeling. 

What did it matter if the man who was once his brother thought he was a monster?

“Eat,” Jason repeated, mechanical voice breaking through the tense air, and pushed the bowl closer to Dick’s hands. 

Dick shook his head and dropped his arms back down. 

“Can’t.” 

“Can’t?” Jason tilted his head slightly. 

“Can’t,” Dick repeated. He looked ill, though that was not a new development. 

Jason sighed. It was just soup, but he would rather not clean up any vomit—any more vomit, Jason corrected in his mind as he thought back to the brief moment Dick had woken up, and threw up, before falling back into a fit-filled slumber. 

Jason placed the bowl of soup back on the tray with more force than necessary, a drop of it spilled on the wooden coffee table and onto his gloved hand. 

He grabbed the water cup instead and brought it up to Dick’s face. 

Dick stared at it. 

“It’s just water,” Jason muttered, moving the glass a bit closer for Dick. 

Dick still refused to grab the cup and Jason wanted to snap. 

He wanted to yell. 

Scream. 

Throw the cup and demand that the other man, so distrusting and hesitant, leave. 

Jason took a deep breath before moving away from Dick and leaving the room. 

--------

Jason used more force than necessary in opening his fridge. There was a 12-pack of water, with sealed caps and visible labels, on the bottom shelf, and he grabbed one before looking for the unopened pack of straws he had just bought. 

The safe house was new, recently furnished, in a great spot, and would soon be abandoned. 

It was the closest thing Jason had to a home—a true home with a stocked fridge and a working AC, with neighbors that greeted him and beds that didn’t hurt his back—and come tomorrow he would once again be without a permanent place to stay. 

One step forward, two steps back. 

Jason took off the helmet for a brief moment, running his hand over his face with a gentle sigh. 

Come tomorrow, he thought… 

What would tomorrow have in store for him? 

Dick still looked unwell, but it was unlikely that he would need to, or rather want to, stay at Jason’s apartment much longer. 

Hopefully, Jason thought with some dread that he tried to ignore, the man would be gone by the time he made it back to the living room. 

If the room was empty, Jason would make the trip to Titan’s Tower. Though, even as Jason made the half-formed plan in his mind, he lacked any real conviction. 

He was still mad. 

More mad now than he was at the start of the night, but it wasn’t the pretender he wanted anymore.

No, he wanted to, needed to, be more direct. 

Dick’s almost death had enraged him more than the burning embers of pain and sorrow from not being avenged. 

Another person relying on someone who would never come—a person who only showed up when it was too late. 

Why did nothing change?

Why wasn’t his death enough? 

Why wasn’t he enough? 

Jason’s grip tightened around the bag of straws and he stormed back into the living room. The brief feeling of relief at seeing Dick sitting on the couch was overshadowed by the pain that was nesting in his heart. 

He squatted down in front of Dick; white lenses met white lenses. 

“Hood-”

Jason held up the water bottle, flipping it over in a dramatic manner to show it had not been messed with, before lifting the packet of straws to do the same. He slowly opened the water bottle, letting the sound of the cap seal break penetrate the air, before opening up the straws and shoving one in the bottle. 

He didn’t know how, but he could tell that Dick rolled his eyes at the gesture. There was a small smile on Dick’s face and his head was tilted a bit to the left as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was witnessing. 

It was unnerving and not for the first time that night, did Jason wish he could hear the other man’s thoughts. 

“Drink,” Jason said. 

Dick did with only slight hesitation. He didn’t drink much before pushing the bottle back into Jason’s hand. 

“You need more than that.” 

Dick shook his head. 

Jason sighed. 

“Sorry,” Dick offered and the small tilt of his head was back. He was putting together something in his mind—Jason had seen it happen before—rapidly running through all the details he knew and all the guesses he could make with reason to reveal the answer to a question that was being hidden from him.  

“Whatever.”

“Why am I here?” Dick tried again. 

Jason shrugged and stood up. “Does it really matter?” 

Yes. 

“No,” Dick said, voice slightly muted. “I guess not.” 

Jason nodded and left the room once more. 

He needed a moment to think—a moment away from the older man—a moment to breathe. He reached for his cigarettes without thinking. 

Jason grabbed the pack and tossed it in the air twice before heading out for a quick smoke.

When he came back, Dick was asleep once more. This time, he seemed less restless and oddly at peace. 

Jason tossed the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. 

There went his plan of kicking the man out. 

--------

He left Dick in the apartment. 

Maybe it was unwise, in fact, Jason knew it was unwise, but the man had hardly moved or done much of anything the last three days. 

Jason shook his head. 

Three days.  

Dick had been sleeping on his couch for three days, only waking to use the restroom or when Jason forced him to eat or drink something. 

Three days. 

Jason had been watching over his brother like a hawk, slowly driving himself mad as each moment passed. 

Whatever conclusion Dick had come to the first night he woke up in Jason’s apartment entailed trusting Jason. 

Fully. 

That or Dick was more injured than Jason realized. 

“You okay, hot shot?” Sandy asked, her rough voice breaking Jason out of his thoughts.

It was raining out, her voice was hardly noticeable over the sound of harsh raindrops smacking the pavement they stood on. 

She was the only street worker out that night. 

“Fine.” 

It was short. Curt. Not like their normal conversations. 

Sandy raised an eyebrow and frowned. 

“Everyone’s in a mood these days.” 

That piqued Jason’s interest. 

“What?” 

“You… Batman-”

“Batman?”

Sandy shrugged. 

“Yeah. Throwing harder punches, using more force. He hospitalized three crooks just last night. I mean, he hasn’t been this bad since-” Sandy cut herself off with another shrug. 

“Since?” Jason prompted. 

She gave him a strange look. “Since a few years back. You remember those nights, I’m sure.”

Jason shook his head.

“No one knows what happened. Maybe his little sidekick got hurt-” Sandy turned to face the car that raced past them, “-would explain why he was alone. But, it was brutal. I’m surprised he survived.” 

Jason tilted his head. 

Sandy let out a laugh turned nasty cough. 

“He was taking hits and dealing them out twice as fast-” Sandy shook her head, a small smile on her face, “-He was a menace.” 

“Sounds…” Jason trailed off, unsure. 

Sandy sighed and moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk, eyes focusing on a car slowly making its way toward them. 

“It was a scary time, Hood. Felt like Gotham was mourning and no one knew why. Everything was just…” She trailed off before turning to look at him. “Dark.”

Jason opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what to say. 

“I’m glad you don’t remember, kid. It wasn’t a fun time for anyone.” 

She raised her arm and waved at the car. 

Jason turned away, whispering a small, be safe, before heading back to his apartment.  

--------

Jason didn’t know what to think. 

Jason didn’t know what to do. 

He wanted Dick gone. 

He wanted-

He just wanted to be alone. 

He couldn’t think straight and everything felt-

It was too much. 

Jason glared at the sleeping man on his couch. There was a gun holstered on his left thigh, and one pointed towards the ground in his right hand. 

When Dick did stir, the sight of Jason with a gun was enough to get him moving. He stood up, stumbling slightly in a way that anyone who didn’t know the true grace of Dick Grayson wouldn’t notice. 

Jason ignored the instinct to reach out. 

“Leave.” 

Dick tensed. 

“What?”

“Leave,” Jason repeated, modulator doing a poor job of expressing the anger underneath his skin and in his mind. “I’m not holding you hostage.” 

Dick seemed unsure. 

“Seriously,” Jason continued, “I’m not lying. You can leave.” 

He watched as Dick took in the words. He saw the slight frown and narrowed eyes even behind the mask. He probably thought it was a trick or a trap, that there was a catch of a tracker on his suit.

Jason scoffed at the idea. Like he would need a tracker to find the man. 

“I didn’t put a tracker on you,” Jason snapped. 

The slight tilt of Dick’s head let him know that he was right in his assessment. 

Dick shook his head. 

The air was tense and it curled around Jason in a way that made him sick. 

“Listen, believe me, or don’t. I’m not keeping you here.”

“Why am I here?” Dick tried once again, ignoring Jason’s words. 

Jason sighed. 

Dick thought he was holding back information, but the truth was that there was no answer. He didn’t know why Dick was there. He could have dropped the man off elsewhere, hell, he could have even taken him to a hospital, and yet-

“The harbor’s running out of room for new bodies,” Jason offered, eyes intensely focusing on Dick’s reaction. 

“The harbor,” Dick repeated. 

“You still don’t remember, do you?”

Dick shook his head. Jason knew he was waiting for an elaboration of the question, but they both knew it would never come. 

“Leave,” Jason said once more as he pointed towards the window with his gun, before leaving the room. 

There was a rusty fire escape that led to the streets. It was old but in good condition. 

Probably. 

Jason headed into his room and sighed. 

Once Dick left, he would start packing. It would be hard to say goodbye to the place that had become his home over the last few weeks. 

For once, since his return to Gotham, he had a place with clean walls and no mold, a king-size bed, and a guest room. He had a nice kitchen and a spacious living room. Maybe to some, it wasn’t much, but to Jason, it was more than he could ask for. 

And Jason had thrown it all away. 

For Dick Grayson. 

Jason took off his helmet and ran his hand over his face. He needed a smoke. 

--------

The paint was peeling in some places, something Jason never noticed until he was walking back through the hallway toward the living room. 

There was a slight color difference between two layers of paint—the original and what Jason assumed was a last-ditch effort to conceal something made by a former tenant. 

Little things, small imperfections that made the place feel lived in, continued to stick out. 

Jason entered the living room, trying to ignore how much the place finally felt like home-

“You’re still here.” 

Dick was standing by the couch. The window was open, the attempt to leave was clear. 

Jason frowned. 

Dick looked at him and then looked at the window. 

“It’s raining.” 

Jason rolled his eyes and silently wished his helmet did a better job at expressing his annoyance. 

He headed over to the window, frowning once again as he noticed the puddle of water on the floor. 

“Afraid of the rain?” Jason sneered as he slammed it closed. 

“Yes,” Dick replied, voice rough but sincere.

Too sincere. 

Jason’s hands freeze on the closed window. He turned to look at Dick. 

“You’re being serious.”

Dick nodded. 

Jason didn’t know what to do. It seemed like everything that could go wrong, had. He looked at Dick, at the window, then back at Dick once more. 

“Why?” 

Dick flinched. It was hardly noticeable.

“I don’t like how it feels.”

Jason’s frown grew. It was an evasive answer at best. He knew it wasn’t a lie, but he also knew it wasn’t the full truth. 

“Well… shit,” he muttered to himself. “You can’t stay here-”

“I’ll leave once the rain stops,” Dick interjected quickly. White-lensed eyes peering at him. 

“It’s supposed to rain all night.” 

Jason watched as Dick’s shoulders slumped under the information before the man stood upright once more, a determined look on his face. 

“I’ll-” Dick looked at the window. 

He stared at it, body tense and hands balled into fists. The flesh on his arms was exposed—Jason had to cut the Nightwing suit to stitch up some of the cut—and he was covered in goosebumps. 

“I-” Dick shrugged, voice a bit too chipper as he spoke. “It’s just rain, right?” 

Jason watched as Dick cautiously approached him. He took a step back and Dick placed his hands on the window. 

They were shaking. 

And the window didn’t budge. 

It was an old window, sometimes tricky, but easy for someone like them. 

Dick dropped his hands to his sides and wiped them off. 

It was his third attempt. 

There was a sharp intake of his breath as he stared at the rain and the shaking of his hands increased. 

“Fuck-” Jason snapped, hitting the wall beside them. Dick jolted back and stood in a defensive position; Jason rolled his eyes. The man couldn’t even open a window, what chance would he have against the Red Hood? “Just stay here until it stops, damn it.” 

Dick relaxed slightly, his body was still too tense to be natural, but nothing about their current situation was natural. 

“No-” Dick shook his head, “-I just- if you could open the window, I’ll-”

“You’re not leaving if you can’t even open a damn window.” 

--------

Anger.

It wasn’t something that controlled him, not fully at least. It was a motivator, and a hard one to overcome, but Jason wasn’t stupid. He knew when to make his emotions take a back seat. 

But it was hard. 

And it was getting harder. 

He wanted to yell.

He wanted to hit something. 

More importantly, he wanted Dick’s fidgeting to stop. 

Jason wasn’t doing much better. His continuous pacing of the room as he watched Dick like a hawk and the strong urge to check and recheck that the window was closed only added more tension to the stiff air. 

He watched as Dick moved slightly, his hand ran over the neat stitches on his right arm—the ones that Jason had done when they first arrived at the safe house. Dick was more alert than he had been throughout the other days, yet, in a way that Jason couldn’t quite explain, he seemed further away than ever. 

Lost. 

Void. 

A shell of a body left on the couch as his mind ran to other places. 

Jason rubbed his hands together and left the room. The Nightwing suit, the one Dick was still wearing—the one that had been burnt and torn and then torn again when Jason had to assess his injuries—needed to be disposed of. 

Jason was sick. 

He was tired. 

And seeing Dick’s injuries, even with the knowledge that soon they would be healed, left his skin sticky. The burns and cuts, the tears in his skin, and the dark purple and blue hues that painted his body, were too much. 

Dick shouldn’t have lived. 

Jason grabbed a change of clothes and tossed it toward Dick once he reentered the living room. Despite the appearance of being lost in thought, Dick caught them with ease. His eyebrows raised as he examined the items but he didn’t ask. 

“There’s a bathroom-” Jason pointed towards it “-if you don’t want to change out here.” 

Dick shook his head. His mouth opened, halfway, then shut only to open once more-

“I know who you are, Grayson.”

Dick’s body went rigid, his hands tightened around the clothes, and the frown on his face grew. 

Jason sighed and made his way over to the couch. He, just like many nights before, had no reassurances to give—none that would be believed—yet, he wanted to-

He needed to do something. 

It was a gamble, showing his cards instead of holding them securely against his chest, a risk that might not be worth taking, but there wasn’t much else he could do. 

Even through the anger, and the fear, the rage, and the pain, the man beside him was his brother. The man beside him was the same man who let Jason drive the Batmobile when Bruce was away on a League mission. 

He was the same man who gave Jason the Robin suit—who made it official all those years ago. 

The same man who hid the vase Jason broke on accident during his first year living with Bruce. 

The same man that wasn’t there when Jason needed him—when his mother betrayed him and the bomb went off. 

And yet, as Jason stared at Dick, he didn’t know how to be angry. 

He was angry, he was furious, he was pissed, but he… looking at Dick, looking at the bruises and the burns, he couldn’t ignore how much he cared. How much he always cared about everything. 

Everyone. 

It would be his undoing, in a way it had been. 

“I’ve known for a while,” Jason muttered with a small laugh. He was speaking less to fill Dick in and more as a means to get out of his head. “I’m not going to… I won’t tell anyone who you are-”

“Why?” 

“What?” Jason asked, even as it was clear what Dick was asking. 

“I-” Dick cut himself off. “It would make sense if you told everyone.” 

Jason remained silent for a moment. 

“Does it matter?”

It was the same stupid answer, vague and elusive, just a question designed as a response. Maybe this time, Dick would press for more information. 

Dick sighed. “Where’s the bathroom?” 

Maybe not. 

Jason pointed towards the room once more. “You should probably shower-”

“Not tonight.” 

Jason tilted his head. He was still missing something—something big, something important—something Dick was keeping hidden from the light.

What didn’t he know? 

What happened? 

What was happening now?

How did it feel like they were in the past with feelings of trepidation that only came from the unknown future?

Dick looked at the window. His fists were clenched, his nails dug into the skin of his palms, and Jason reacted without thought. His hands reached towards Dicks and he slowly opened the fists. 

“Stop Dickie.” 

Jason tensed. 

The words spilled from his mouth without intent and now the cat was out of the bag. 

“Dickie,” Dick repeated, turning his attention away from the window and onto Jason. 

Jason ran his hand over the red helmet and forced himself to relax. He removed it slowly, feeling Dick’s eyes on him as he did, and set it on the coffee table in front of them. 

Dick didn’t speak. He didn’t react at all, Jason noticed as he avoided looking at the man. It wasn’t shocking—he knew Dick was close to putting all the pieces together, and yet… 

Yet, Jason was hoping for something . 

“You’re alive,” Dick finally said, his voice was even and smooth as it uncurled in the tense air. 

“Yeah.” 

“Huh,” Dick muttered with a small nod. 

Jason looked at him. 

“I expected more of a…” he trailed off. 

“Reaction?” 

Jason nodded. 

“Sorry-” Dick shook his head, “-I just- it’s been… a long week.” 

Jason laughed. That was one way of putting it. 

The sound of rain coming down harder, hitting the closed window, invaded the brief peace between them. Dick kept glancing towards the window, body less tense than before but far from relaxed. 

Jason followed his line of sight and watched as lightning illuminated the sky outside. 

“I don’t like the rain either.” 

There was a clap of thunder in the distance. 

“It was raining when I dug my way out of my grave.” 

Dick grimaced. He opened his mouth and then closed it, before repeating the action another time. 

“There was-” Dick cut himself off. Each time he started to talk, he stopped himself. He shook his head and looked at Jason. “I don’t remember.” 

Dick let out a cruel soft laugh. 

“I think I told her not to- not to touch me, but maybe…” 

He shook his head once more and Jason moved his attention from the window back onto his brother. 

Jason knew. 

He didn’t need any more explanations or words, soft confessions, or pain-soaked stories, he knew what Dick was saying. 

Jason carefully put his arm around Dick and ignored the spike of confused emotions as Dick sunk into his hold without a second thought. He was smaller than Jason now, both in height and in bulk, and Jason didn’t know how to feel about either of those things. 

“If you have… I’ll call Bruce-” Jason tensed at the words, “-I won’t- he won’t… I won’t say anything,” Dick offered. 

“Why?”

“What?” 

“Why do you want to call Bruce?”

“You don’t want me here.” 

Jason heard the confusion laced through Dick’s words. He nodded awkwardly but didn’t speak. 

“I need a phone to-”

“You can stay.” 

“What?”

“I don’t mind.” Jason removed his arm and stood. If he stayed in the room any longer, he might do something stupid. 

He might start crying. 

“There’s a spare bed in there,” Jason muttered as he pointed towards the room near the bathroom. The safe house wasn’t big enough that Dick needed detailed instructions, but Jason still felt obligated to make sure the man knew he didn’t have to sleep on the old couch any longer. 

“Thank you.” 

It was a whisper. Barely audible and yet it hung in the air like a scream. 

Dick stood up and walked slowly past Jason and towards the room he pointed at. His hands were tightly gripping the clothes that Jason had brought him. He stopped at the entrance of the room and turned to face Jason once more. 

“Goodnight, Jay.” 

Jason gave him a rusty smile. 

“Goodnight, Dickie.” 

Chapter Text

It was the third time that hour, the fifth time that night, that Jason had woken to the dreaded feeling of eyes watching his every move. There was no noise, no loud sounds or hushed breathing, just the unnerving feeling of being stared at from a distance too close for comfort—and it was driving Jason insane. 

He sighed and faced the slightly opened door. 

Dick was standing in the hall, staring. His face was half hidden and the dim light that poorly illuminated the hall made him look more like a hallucination than a real person. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Jason snapped, his tired voice rough as the words penetrated the silent night. 

“Sorry.”

Dick’s voice was low and nearly silent; Jason watched as he took a few steps away from the door until he was no longer visible. 

Jason turned back around. If he wasn’t tired, if he had a bit more energy, he would get up and close the door—maybe even lock it—but the bed was comfortable and-

Dick was back. 

“Go to bed, Dick.”

There was no sound of movement. 

Jason sighed once more. 

It had been a long week; it would be a long night. 

He moved over on his bed, putting more flair in his movements than necessary, and, unsurprisingly, that was all the prompting Dick needed. There was a dip in the bed, a gentle pull on the blankets wrapped around Jason, and a silent release of stilted breath into the air as Dick laid down beside him. 

Jason waited, one second and then another, but Dick didn’t speak, he didn’t move, he remained perfectly still—back turned to Jason, taking up as little space as possible. The smell of Jason’s body wash filled the air around them-

“You took a shower.” 

Silence. 

Jason sighed. 

“Yes.” 

The air felt like it was buzzing around Dick, there was a level of nervousness that clouded the space between them, and Jason took advantage of the darkness to ask.

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“My shower?”

Jason let out a soft laugh. 

It wasn’t funny. 

None of it was funny. 

“You know what I meant.” 

The assault, the panic, the rain , the nightmares.   

Jason was asking for a conversation that could only take place under the protection of the clouded night sky. It wasn’t something to be talked about when the sun came up or when the rest of the world was awake; it was private and it was scary. 

“I was fighting Scarecrow,” Dick offered. Not intimate, yet familiar, whispered like a confession of a sin. “That’s why I was in the harbor.” 

“You remember.” 

“Yeah,” Dick’s voice was soft and it floated in the air. 

Jason waited a moment as he fully registered Dick’s words. He had tended to Dick’s wounds, but-

“Did he get you?” 

Dick remained silent and Jason frowned. 

He hadn’t administered an antidote for fear toxin; nothing that Jason looked into, and he had looked into what happened at the harbor, pointed towards Scarecrow. Most of it pointed toward Dick being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“I didn’t know,” Jason offered like it would make anything better, as if his ignorance would ease the mental torture Dick went through the last few days as his body tried to flush out the fear toxin with no help from remedies that were usually readily available to the man. Jason knew that giving Dick the antidote now would do little, but it was the only thing he had to offer. “Do you-”

“It’s too late now,” Dick interrupted. It was eerie that after all their time apart, Dick still seemed to know exactly what he was going to say, or rather offer. “But thanks.” 

“Explains your nightmares.” 

Dick let out a soft laugh. 

“Normally they aren’t so bad.” 

Jason hated it. 

He hated how easy everything felt. 

It wouldn’t feel that way in the morning, when the sun came up, but for now, in the dark, everything felt normal.

Like the old days, though they were few and far between.

Maybe things were easier back then; maybe they were just younger. 

“Do you get them a lot?” 

“Most nights.” 

“I’m sorry, Dick.”

It meant little; the words weighed nothing. 

“Me too, Jason.” Dick paused for a moment, his body relaxed slightly. “Me too.” 

It didn’t take long before Dick’s breathing finally evened out, leaving Jason alone with his thoughts in the dimly lit room. He sighed and closed his eyes. 

“Good night, Dick,” Jason whispered into the silent air and to his sleeping brother. 

-----

His grave. 

Dirt. 

Rain. 

Screams. 

Tears. 

Jason shot up in the bed, gasping. He grabbed at his throat painfully trying to pull away a nonexistent restraint-

There was a hand on his. 

Jason stilled, then swung. 

His fist connected with flesh and kevlar. He pulled back to strike one more time, anger ran through his blood and his body felt hot. 

His fist was stopped halfway through the haphazard movement-

“Jason.” 

Batman. 

It was a whisper spoken like a plea. Jason clenched his fist tighter and pulled his hand away from the gentle grasp. He looked over at the opposite side of the bed; Dick was still sleeping, face pressed heavily against the pillow and body relaxed—oblivious to the happenings that surrounded him. 

“If you wake him,” Jason seethed, keeping his voice low and steady, “I’ll kill you.” 

“He needs to come home-”

“If you wake him,” Jason repeated, standing up and shoulder-checking Batman as he made his way to the door, “I’ll kill you.” 

------

Jason waited. 

His body, like a bow whose string was pulled too far, was drawn tight. One of his hands was wrapped tightly around his gun, the other was clenched; his tight fist left fingernail indents in his palm. 

There was fire in his veins; his body felt hot. The night no longer seemed comforting as artificial light illuminated the last man Jason wanted to see at that moment. 

He raised his gun, finger just slightly right of the trigger, and the words died in his throat as Batman slowly removed his cowl and stepped closer. 

“You need to leave.” 

Bruce’s eyes, red-rimmed and highlighted by dark under-eye circles, met his. They darted to the gun only twice. 

Jason opened his mouth once more, to yell or to scream, to snap or to demand, to beg or to plead, but he closed it as Bruce closed the distance between them until his forehead was pressed firmly against the gun in Jason’s hand. 

“Jason-”

“I hate you.” 

The words weighed a thousand pounds and they crashed into the air, pulling Bruce down with them. 

“I know.” 

“Then leave-”

“I can’t do that.” 

Bruce’s finger wrapped around his wrist; Jason tensed and waited for the pain that was sure to come from the disarmament. 

It never came. 

Bruce held his wrist, gun pressed against his forehead, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and Jason watched as the man’s face crumbled and a tear raced down his cheek. 

“I can’t do that, Jaylad,” Bruce all but whispered, fingers tightening slightly on Jason’s wrist. 

“Where were you?” 

Fury laced every word; Jason spit fire without remorse. 

“I-”

“He died,” Jason snapped, finger itching closer to the trigger. 

“Jason-”

“He was dead. I pulled his dead body from the water-” Jason ignored the way Bruce’s fingers tensed. He didn’t care; Bruce didn’t deserve the peace that would have come from ignorance. “He wasn’t breathing, and you- you didn’t even know. Did you?” 

Bruce remained silent. 

“Did you?” Jason asked, his voice louder this time. Bruce’s eyes snapped up to his; they knocked the wind out of his lungs. 

“No.” 

“I could have left him there-” Jason paused for a moment, ensuring that Bruce was listening to his every word. “I could have killed him.” 

“No.”

Jason stilled. 

“What?” 

Bruce took his chance and finally made his move. His hand pulled Jason’s arm to the side, causing the gun to be pointed just right of Bruce’s head, and he stepped closer. Jason took one step back preparing for a fight he knew he wouldn’t win. 

Two hands came up, there was a tug on his body, but-

It didn’t hurt. 

Bruce tightened his hold on Jason. His arms were wrapped snugly around Jason’s body and he was gripping onto the back of Jason’s shirt like he was afraid to let go. 

It was a trick. 

It had to be a trick. 

A cruel, evil, trick meant for a cruel, evil, person. 

“I missed you.”

Three words. 

It took three words to shatter Jason where he stood. He didn’t know what to do. 

This wasn’t the confrontation he expected, or planned for. This was-

The gun clattered to the ground and Jason wrapped his arms around Bruce, fingers digging into the black cape that he used to hide under as a child. 

“I hate you,” Jason whispered, pulling Bruce closer as tears streamed down his face. “I hate you so much.” 

Bruce rubbed his back, unfazed by the words, and whispered quietly. 

It’ll be okay. 

I’m here now. 

It’s okay . 

Jason pulled away slowly. 

“Come home, Jaylad.” 

“I’m a killer-”

“You’re my son,” Bruce cut Jason off. He turned slightly, his eyes darted to the hallway, “You’re both my sons.” 

Jason’s eyes followed Bruce’s line of sight. Dick was standing in the hall, nearly hidden, watching. His eyes landed on Jason and he sent a weak smile. 

“Come home,” Bruce said once more. “Please.”

Jason sighed. 

He was still mad. He was furious and pissed, unavenged and cold, but he was tired. He was so tired, and he had been tired for a long time. 

Just this once, just for tonight, as the rain continued to pour down on the dirty streets of Gotham, Jason was going to let go of his anger; Jason was going to go home. 

“Okay.”