Chapter Text
Leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, Dick watched Bruce knot his tie. “I thought the point of a family vacation was to spend time with family?” he asked, wry and a little uncertain.
“It is,” Bruce said. “It's just, there is this one meeting,” and he trailed off when Dick bit off his sigh. “There's a party downstairs though, for other children.”
“Children?” Dick asked.
“Young adults,” Bruce amended.
“That's worse,” Dick said and Bruce finally turned around, shrugging into his suit jacket. “Like, that's just worse. Please don't use that term again.”
Bruce looked like he was trying not to smile. “I thought you liked spending time around others your own age.”
“It helps when I know them,” Dick said, and reached out to straighten Bruce's tie for him. “Why are you so useless at this?”
“I'm not,” Bruce protested. “Even Alfred is impressed that I can finally match colors together. It's you he despairs of ever acquiring that skill.”
“I can match colors, I chose not to,” Dick said. “Besides, it took you how many years? Forty? I have time.”
“Alfred would despair to hear you say that,” Bruce said, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.
“So you have a meeting,” Dick said, hands going automatically to brush down the shoulders of Bruce's suit. “And you're sending me down to the kid table. What's Damian doing?”
“I think Alfred made sound about taking him to a movie,” Bruce said. “Something animated and child appropriate.”
“That will be a horror,” Dick said. “Are you sure I shouldn't go along and make sure...?”
“Alfred and Damian will be fine one night on their own, even in public,” Bruce said. “Besides, I thought you might miss spending time with others your own age. It's different from school, out here.”
“Because out here is about skiing and spending time with family,” Dick said, and Bruce winced. If Dick had not spent so many years knocking around Bruce's mansion, desperate to understand the man who had taken him in, he might have missed it entirely. “I'm just giving you grief,” he said quietly. “It's okay. But we will spend tomorrow night together, right?”
“Yes,” Bruce said. “We'll spend New Year's Eve together, I promise.”
“No last minute business?” Dick said, giving Bruce a teasing smile and Bruce knocked his shoulder back.
“No. Now go be a pest to someone else.”
Dick gave Bruce a sloppy salute on his way out the door.
-0-
Jason thought, as far as “going away presents” went, being invited along to a party at the local resort and then abandoned by his supposed friends was a pretty sucky present. In fact having foster parents who worked the shitty tourist resort in a tiny town in the mountains in general was a sucky situation.
He supposed it was just as well he would be leaving again soon.
But in the meantime he was stuck at a party full of idiotic tourists, wandering around in horrible clothes straight out of the pages of some glossy magazine about what was fashionable that week. He could, admittedly, leave, except that would mean stomping down the frozen mountain at night. Though, if his “friends” never showed up again he would probably end up having to sleep downstairs in the lobby until morning came and he could navigate through the snow.
In the meantime, he leaned against the wall, listening to horrible karaoke. Seriously. What poor suckers thought getting up on stage and making idiots of themselves was a good way to pass the time? And who the fuck thought a hair cut like that was cool?
He missed when the other boy entered the room, because life was not that much of a cliché. There was no light, no time slowing down. Jason just tilted his head and saw him, standing not too far away, holding a cup of punch loosely in one hand and pretending to listen to the girl in front of him. She was practically swooning and the other boy seemed to be taking that with good grace.
Jason's fingers itched and he almost leaned forward because no one else in the room held themselves like that, no one else in the room dressed like that, like a carefully controlled explosion that had nothing to do with the trends of fashion and more an inherent desire to mix the worst colors and yet somehow still hold oneself with the poise of the totally confident.
That's what Jason didn't get.
Who the hell was that kid and how did he get here?
Jason was so busy staring at him, that he almost missed the spotlight picking him out of the crowd. “Come on!” a voice yelled up from the stage. “We need our next victims—I mean volunteers! How about you two?” and Jason noticed everyone else was staring at him the same time he noticed the light was somewhere on the other boy and the girl he had been talking to.
“What?” he blinked. “Hell no,” he said, as someone pushed him from behind. “I don't sing—” and across the way the girl was blushing furiously, making frantic hand motions to a similar effect. It was obvious the other teens around her were about to start pushing when the boy handed her his glass with a brilliant smile and stepped forward instead.
“Sure, sounds like fun,” he said, casually and confident and like it had always been him being singled out, like he wasn't saving the girl from embarrassment.
Jason really wanted to punch him, and not just because no one else had tried to help him save face.
Instead, he got shoved up to the stage about the same time the other boy arrived, leaping up gracefully and honestly, Jason's mouth had gone totally dry by the time the microphone was shoved into his hand.
The host of the party was saying something about correct song selection and Jason found himself staring at insanely blue eyes. “It's nice to meet you,” the other boy said.
“I don't fucking sing,” Jason said, the microphone already in his hand so it was too loud and everyone could hear him. The host made a shocked sound and said something half joking, half scolding about language but the boy in front of him just smiled.
“You might as well try something at least once,” he said. “Come on, why not?”
“Who says I haven't already tried it?” Jason demanded and the boy shrugged as something sappy and pop-y started coming over the speakers. Those blue eyes darted away from him, and Jason stared at the line of his jaw when he turned his head, the way his neck moved when he swallowed.
God, he was standing on a stage, staring at this boy and wanted to bite the line between his jaw and throat and everyone in the room was staring at them.
Maybe going down the mountain in the snow at night wasn't such a bad idea.
Then the boy started singing, a little too low at first before he seemed to get a feel for the song, his mouth twitching like he couldn't believe he was actually singing in a room of strangers. Jason's staring only got worse and he turned to get off the stage, only to have the host shove him back. The boy's voice was low, warm and he must have had lessons at some point because there was no other reason—
When the verse changed, the boy looked at him, smile wide and his hand reached out, taking Jason's wrist before he realized what the other boy was doing. His blue eyes were bright, his cheeks a little flushed and his fingers were so warm against Jason's wrist—
“Come on,” the boy said, holding the microphone away. “Just enjoy yourself.”
“I am,” Jason said. “I mean,” and he gave up, because just singing the stupid words on the screen could not be more embarrassing then what he had been about to say. The first note he sang was closer to a croak but then he cleared his throat and tried again, hitting it right.
While he sang the other boy was swinging their wrists and Jason realized they were swaying back and forth against the stage when he joined in on the chorus and they were singing together. Jason felt the bottom of his stomach drop out, except they were swaying to the same beat, and their voices didn't clash and the fact everyone was staring stopped mattering for just a few seconds.
Because that boy was looking at him and they were dancing, loose and careless and his fingers were still around Jason's wrist, so Jason tilted his hand so he could wrap his own around the boy's wrist in turn.
They were holding on to each other and singing and Jason couldn't look away from his stupid blue eyes.
-0-
“Hey, wait,” Dick called, when the other boy on the stage bailed the second the clapping started, heading straight for the patio outside. “Hey, come on, it wasn't that bad, just wait.”
The boy stopped when he was outside and Dick shivered in the cold mountain air. “Hey,” he said, approaching quietly.
The boy jumped. “Hey,” he said, voice rough. “What do you want?”
Dick's eyebrows twitched together but he smiled anyway, his most charming. “I just wanted to talk to you,” he said. “That was fun, wasn't it?”
“I'm not sure fun is the word,” the other boy deadpanned back.
“You seemed to get into the song,” Dick said, though he could not for the life of him remember what any of the lyrics had been. He might as well have been singing a love song and he wouldn't have actually processed it. Except, considering what the host had been saying about appropriate music, he doubted it. “And honestly, that was some of the most fun I've had on the whole vacation. Didn't you have any fun too?”
“Must be a really lame vacation,” and Dick winced, a tiny motion.
“Well, it's had its moments,” he said softly. “Why are you so set on running away?”
The boy shrugged but he seemed to have settled down where he was.
“What's your name anyway?” Dick asked, stepping closer again, leaning his elbows on the railing around the patio and turning his head. The only other people out there he noticed was a couple hidden in the corner between the door and the wall, and they were wrapped around each other. He could feel his cheeks flush slightly and the boy was staring at him.
“Jason,” he said finally, licking his lips.
“Well, Jason,” Dick said, holding his hand out. “I'm Dick.”
“You're kidding,” Jason burst out, not taking his hand. “There's no fucking way. You can't possibly—you're yanking my chain.”
“I'm not,” Dick laughed. “I'm a traditionalist.”
“Sure, it's traditional for old men who saw action in the Pacific Front,” Jason said. “You can't possibly go to high school going by that.”
“Actually, I do,” Dick said, and he couldn't stop smiling. Sometimes he thought he kept that name just to mess with people. Except it had been what his mother and father called him, and Bruce had slipped in to it without a question.
Sometimes Dick thought his chest would never be big enough to feel enough for everything Bruce was.
“I still don't believe you,” Jason said, giving him a wary look.
“Are you here with your family?” Dick asked and Jason's face closed off.
“No,” he said. “Just friends.”
Dick tried not to glance around at the complete lack of friends in the area. “Come on, is talking to me so bad? I had fun tonight.”
“I,” Jason said, expression blank before he ducked his head down. “I guess it wasn't awful.”
“Hey, if you're going to be here any longer, like, tomorrow,” Dick said. “Why don't I give you my number? Maybe we could—”
“No, I'm leaving in the morning,” Jason said too fast.
Dick paused, looking up from where he had pulled his phone out. “Well, maybe,” and he looked over when the doors burst open again, laughter and light spilling onto the patio, breaking the couple in the shadows apart. When he looked back, Jason had practically bolted down the patio, going around the corner while Dick watched.
He felt his jaw work for a second before he tucked his phone back into his pant's pocket. “Okay,” he said quietly and watched the snow fall for a few more minutes before slinking back upstairs to their suite, Damian and Alfred already back and Bruce still out.
“Did you have a good time, Richard?” Alfred asked, folding clothes even though there was no need.
“This is supposed to be a vacation for you too,” Dick said, tugging his shirt out of Alfred's hands. “Did you have a good time at the movies?”
Damian made a noise from where he was playing his 3DS on the couch. “Damian did not enjoy the film itself,” Alfred said dryly. “I thought it was at least... bright and had moments of brief cleverness.”
Dick tried not to laugh, ducking his head down instead. “Wow, Damian must have really hated it.”
“Oh go to sleep, Grayson,” Damian said and Dick still was not over a seven year old calling him by his last name.
“Only if you give me a good night kiss,” he said, coming up on the back of the couch and wrapping his arms around Damian's chest, pulling him up.
“No!” Damian yelled, flailing as Dick blew a wet kiss into his cheek. “Get off!”
Alfred was covering his face, as Dick beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom, Damian throwing all the couch cushions one by one after him. Closing the door, he leaned against it for a moment, thinking about the flash of Jason's eyes, the moment when his hand had wrapped around his own wrist, and he sighed, letting his head fall back against the cool wood.