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Jason can’t say he’s surprised when he gets the call. Little Jay told him Thursday morning that Dick was coming to visit for the weekend. If anything, he’s shocked it took until late Saturday night for Dick to get into a screaming match with Bruce.
What he doesn’t expect is what Jay asks him.
“Can I bring Dick with me?” Jay sounds scared in a way Jason has never heard from him before.
Jason has to take a moment to consider. On one hand, Dick is his brother, but on the other hand, he’s not sure he’s ready to face him. The shakiness in Jay’s voice makes his mind up for him, though.
“Yeah, go ahead and bring him. Be safe,” he says. “I’ll have some tea waiting for you both, okay?”
Jay thanks him, sounding far too relieved, and hangs up. Jason pretends he doesn’t feel unsettled as he sets the kettle to boil. He feels jittery, so he starts a batch of cookies—Alfred’s shortbread recipe, learned a lifetime ago. He still refuses to admit that he’s a stress-baker, because Tim teases him enough about it already.
The door unlocks and opens just as the cookies come out of the oven, and Jay comes stumbling into the apartment, pulling Dick with him. Jason glances up, and his heart sinks when he catches sight of Dick’s face.
He has a black eye.
That explains why Jay looks like he wants to crawl under the kitchen table and hide from the world for a while. He’s not too far removed from having to take care of his mother after taking the full force of Willis’ anger. Jason is suddenly grateful that it’s past Tim’s bedtime. He’d hate to see his hero like this, and Jason wants to shield him from the darker side of their messed up family dynamics for as long as he can. Cass will understand, as she always does, but Jason wishes he could protect her, too. For now, he has to focus on Dick and Jay, who both look more than a little lost.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Jason says, fighting to keep his voice level.
Jay guides Dick to the couch, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder and the other twined with one of Dick’s. Jason gets plates and mugs down from the cabinet and places three cookies on each. He pours tea and takes a deep, steadying breath as he moves to the living room. His hands shake as he passes the dishes to his two brothers. Jason snags his own plate and mug and sits down on Dick’s other side.
“Hi Dickie,” he greets, as softly and kindly as he can. “Did little Jay fill you in on who I am?” Dick nods but doesn’t speak. Jason’s stomach ties itself into knots, and he breathes around the lump in his throat. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No,” Dick murmurs. His voice sounds terrible—probably from screaming back at Bruce. “I’m fine.”
“Hate to break it to you,” Jason says, nudging him gently with his shoulder, “but you’re not the eldest sibling anymore.” He waits for Dick to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be strong with me, okay?”
Dick’s stubborn, defiant expression cracks apart, showing the exhaustion underneath. He hangs his head, looking both conflicted and ashamed. Jason waits him out. He understands the burden on his brother’s shoulders, but it’s his burden to carry now. He hates himself for realizing too late that he’d do anything for his family. Too late, at least, in his own world. But the family he’s building for himself in this world? He can still make things better for them.
“Do you need space?” Jay asks, and Jason can’t remember himself ever looking so young. Dick nods, and Jay gives his hand a squeeze before standing up. He leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him, and Jason feels a rush of pride for his alternate self. He’s a good kid.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Jason says, “but I think you should. I can understand, at least.”
“Please,” Dick scoffs, “even during their worst arguments, B would never hurt Jay.”
“Your Jay, maybe,” Jason replies, voice tight. He waits for Dick to look at him and tugs the collar of his shirt down, baring the ugly scar on his throat. “It’s a different story for me.”
Dick freezes, expression twisting into something pained.
“Bruce did that?” He sounds so small, so terrified of the answer. Jason nods, and Dick’s next breath is sharp with shock.
“A lot of bad things happened,” Jason says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as he can, despite the memories nipping at his heels. “I tried to force his hand—make him choose between killing me or letting me kill the Joker.” He huffs, a bitter little laugh. “He made his choice, alright. Batarang to the throat.”
“He chose wrong,” Dick says, and it’s the most he’s sounded like himself since he got to the apartment. He hesitates before he keeps speaking, visibly fighting with himself to pick his words carefully. “We got into another argument. He lost his temper, I guess. Told me to get out and to give my keys back to Alfred. I didn’t move at first, and he got impatient.” He gestures helplessly to his eye.
“You didn’t deserve that,” Jason says, fierce and protective. “And if you ever need a place to stay, you’ve got a home here with us.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Dick hedges.
“Dick,” Jason insists, “you have family here. Bruce may be an asshole, but he’s not the only thing keeping us together.” He reaches out and takes his brother’s hand. “Robin means family, right?”
Dick’s expression crumples, and he bites his lip, blinking back tears. Jason tugs him into a hug, and Dick collapses against him, tucking his face against Jason’s shoulder. His shoulders start to shake, and from the damp spot on Jason’s shirt, he’s letting himself cry. Jason’s never seen Dick cry before, and it feels like everything he knew about the world has turned inside out. He’s the eldest, now.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jason murmurs, threading his fingers through his brother’s hair. “You’re going to be alright, Dickie. I’ve got you.”
“He regrets me,” Dick says, and his voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “He regrets letting me be his partner as Robin, and he regrets letting me be his ward.”
His ward, not his son. Jason remembers the long arguments Bruce and Dick had over that exact same thing, back in his universe, before he died. They’d figured it out, eventually, but it took a lot of heartache to get there. He wishes he could prevent it for this version of his brother, but the hurt is already deeply-rooted.
“Little Jay doesn’t regret you,” he says gently, “and neither does Alfred. Cass will love you, and oh man, Timmy is going to be over the moon to meet you.” Dick sits up, wiping at his eyes, and Jason nudges him with his shoulder. “I’ve got your back, okay?” He waits for Dick to nod and offers him a warm smile in response.
Jason turns to look over his shoulder, letting his smile turn a little exasperated.
“Alright Timmy, you can come out now.”
A tiny face appears around the doorway to the living room, bashful and adorably curious. Jason beckons him over.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, shuffling his feet, “I woke up and heard you talking, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He reaches the couch, and Jason drags him up to sit between him and Dick.
“No worries, kiddo,” Jason says, letting the fondness bleed into his tone. He glances over at Dick. “Tim, meet Dick. I think he could use some hugs, and I’m volunteering you. Plus, I think you could always use more hugs, too.” He emphasizes the point with a poke in the ribs.
Tim giggles and swats at him, and Jason can see the exact moment Dick mentally adopts the kid. He wraps his arms around the tiny little bird and pulls him in for a patented Dick Grayson hug. Tim practically melts at the contact, snuggling closer to his new brother, and Jason stands, ruffling both boys’ hair.
“Gonna make more tea for myself and some cocoa for the kids,” he says, stretching. “I’m guessing you want cocoa, too, Big Wing?” Dick nods, cheek squished against the top of Tim’s head, and Jason can’t fight the fond smile on his face.
He turns toward the kitchen, feeling simultaneously at peace and terrified. He’d do anything for his family, but he knows it’s a big responsibility. Jason’s determined to be a home for them—determined to be better for them. Glancing back at his brothers on his sofa, he thinks he’s off to an okay start, all things considered.