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It takes Jason just a few days to find Dick, but as soon as he sees him everything falls into place. He still isn’t happy – Dick might not have been able to come visit him as Jason recovered from being almost beaten to death by Bruce, but being undercover doesn’t stop you from sending a fucking message. Actually ‘not happy’ doesn’t quite cover it, he’s still fucking furious.
He gets why the rest of the Bats haven’t reached out. Most of them are kids and live under Batman’s roof, and he isn't especially close with any of them. But Dick? He thought what was blossoming between them meant more to him than that. That he at least deserved the courtesy of a message telling him he was through with him, not just this silent excommunication. He knew Dick could be mean, but this feels fucking cruel. And to think he thought Dick would actually come visit him, that he’d have Jason’s back, or at least care for him enough to make sure he survived.
He feels stupid for thinking Dick was anything but Batman’s biggest bootlicker. Or for thinking he deserves anything more in life than this.
This rush of emotion upon seeing Dick only freezes him in the doorway to the Prodigal Bar for a split second before he finds his resolve. If Dick wants to play this cold then he can too. Jason’s not so spiteful that he’ll fuck Dick’s cover, that’ll hurt the innocents involved in whatever fucking case Dick’s working on more than it’ll hurt Dick. But he won’t let the bastard get away with thinking he could skip this conversation. And there’s no way he’ll make it easy.
For a shitty bar in an even shittier city, the place doesn’t lack in personality. The metal counter, cigarette burns on the walls, stained pool table, and dim lighting are fairly standard fare, but it feels cosy rather than dank and claustrophobic. And there’s nothing standard about the eclectic clientele or the fucking taxidermy grizzly in the corner.
The counter seats are empty save for Dick, who is turned away from Jason to give billiards advice to honestly one of the largest men he’s ever seen. Jason settles in next to Dick and looks up as a woman with long purple locs makes her way over from the dartboard to behind the bar. She makes an almost pointed show of looking at all of the empty counter seats before making eye contact with Jason.
“What can I get for you?”
“Just a pint of whatever you’ve got on tap.” Jason replies then looks at Dick’s empty glass. “And one for him too.” Jerking his thumb at the man who is still yet to acknowledge him.
“You hear that, Ric? This guy’s getting you a drink.”
It takes almost all of Jason’s willpower not to snort. Ric? Jesus fucking Christ. If he knew Dick was going to use his actual name for a cover, it would’ve taken him much less time to track the idiot down.
Dick pivots in his stool to face Jason with a broad cheeky grin. He knew Dick was a natural performer – he’d seen security footage of him doing undercover work, but damn. It was something else to see it in person. Not even a flicker of recognition. Not an ounce of surprise to see him.
That fuck.
It’d be impressive if Jason wasn’t so fucking angry. Can’t even break character for the briefest of moments for your almost-lover.
Dick has done a great job though. He genuinely looks like shit, very convincing. His thick black hair buzzed down, ratty clothing with holes and frayed patches, dark circles under his eyes, grub beneath his nails, sallow skin, and whatever he’s doing with his body language makes him actually look smaller.
“You wouldn’t be able to settle the rest of my tab too, would you?” Dick jokes and Jason’s heat aches. It’s exactly the kind of banter he’d expect from him. Obviously personality-wise this ‘Ric’ isn’t too far off from the factory settings. But just seeing him act so casual makes Jason’s blood boil and it takes conscious effort to keep his face neutral.
The bartender looks at Dick with exasperated affection as she puts the empty glass in the sink. “Don’t push your luck Grayson.” She says as she pulls two pints into fresh glasses.
Jason snorts, incredulity momentarily superseding his rage. “ ‘Grayson?’ Really?”
Fucking stellar work Dick. ‘Ric Grayson’ nobody’ll see through that. What the fuck is he on?
Dick turns to meet Jason’s sneer with nothing but confusion twisting his features. “What? Do I know you from somewhere?” Dick’s voice caught between confrontational and oddly pained. It’s not the response he expected.
“No, no.” Jason almost snarls before deciding flippant is more hurtful. “Just that was my ex’s name.” His eye’s meet Dick’s who just laughs. Is that a cover to compose himself?
“And the next guy you buy a drink for has the same name. Just your luck, huh?” Genuine mirth in his affect.
“Just my luck.” Jason feels like he’s losing grip of his anger. This isn’t the state he expected to find Dick in, nor is it the mood. Unless this bar is some secret base of operations and all the staff are highly trained, then Dick could have tapped out some kind of message by now, made some kind of 'fuck off' eyes.
“Well I can assure you I didn’t know them. Last of my line.” Dick lifts up his glass in cheers and sinks just under half of it in one go.
Wait, what? If he's on a case, why the fuck is he drinking? He's been taught by the master of pretending to drink, Jason's seen him at galas convincingly smashed without a single drop of alcohol in his blood. Of course Dick's a sturdy guy and it'll take more than half a pint to get him anywhere near drunk, but still. Weird choice.
"Sounds like you're local." Dick says while wiping his mouth.
Oh, so now he's testing Jason's improv skills? Well Jason's not fucking improvising anything.
"Almost. Gotham. Born and raised. Been outta town for a while though."
Again, not even a flinch. Casual interest facade perfectly maintained. He leans in and theatrically shields his mouth with his hand, grinning conspiratorially. "Don’t tell anyone in here, but I don’t think there’s a difference between a Gotham and a Blüd accent.” He says without dropping his volume at all, and it earns him a laugh from one of the guys in the back. Dick must have been on this case a while if he’s built up relationships with the other patrons. “Spent a couple of months in Gotham recently though." Dick says with a slightly bitter edge to his voice.
Could this be him trying to say something? The tone with which he said Gotham certainly felt pointed.
"Sorry to hear that."
Dick laughs again. He's giving his whole attention to Jason, and despite everything he feels his cheeks redden under Dick's warm gaze.
Jason keeps talking, it's clear something's going on, and it's got something to do with Gotham.
"So what brought you to my hometown?" Jason's careful to not make it sound like he's fishing for information.
"Nothing that makes for good bar small talk." Dick chuckles.
Okay so either Jason cast his line off the wrong pier and Dick's trying to steer the conversation elsewhere, or Dick's angling to take this conversation elsewhere.
"Is that all you want with me? Just some small talk?" Jason says with enough cheek that if going somewhere private isn't what Dick wants, then he can easily laugh it off.
"I was actually hoping for some deeper conversation." Dick says suggestively, as though Jason could've missed the innuendo.
To think Jason was worried what he said would be too forward. He guesses that settles it. He'll have to shelve his rage, something he's not famous for, and play at flirting long enough for it to be reasonable for them to leave together.
"Jesus Christ Ric, at least wait until I'm out of earshot." The bartender gripes good naturedly, throwing the rag she was polishing glasses with below the counter and returning to her darts game.
Dick winks at her then turns back to face Jason, shifting a little closer in his seat. "Before we get any further, I should probably know your name."
Jason leans a bit closer too. "It's Jason."
From there Jason is subjected to full force Dick charisma, and even though he knows they both have a speed agenda, Dick makes it convincing. He's funny, and charming, and says the exact right thing at the exact right time to move them forward. They share small touches; taps on the shoulder, knees brushing, hands placed on top of each other. Each one burns but Jason can't quite help leaning into them and hoping for more.
What this man fucking does to him. Fucking him over so badly, but Jason still melts in his presence.
Over the course of the play flirting, Jason learns some more scraps of information about Dick's undercover persona 'Ric.' He's a cab driver, lives in Blüdhaven, is seemingly estranged from his family, and bizarrely has Dick's Flying Graysons childhood. The cover is clumsy on several fronts – the obvious name, the real backstory, the same personality, and only four months of recent history ironed out, given how much he stumbles over any question about the times between early childhood and this year.
On the other hand some parts are immaculate. The acting, the styling, the grubbiness, and how his overall health seems. It's all baffling and Jason can't make sense of any of it.
It's taking a fair amount to hold onto his anger as it mostly gets replaced by confusion over this whole situation. Dick better have a pretty fucking good explanation.
Eventually Dick leads him by the hand out of the bar. One of the guys from the billiards game wolf whistles as they leave and Dick laughs, flipping the whole place off behind his back. They walk around the block to where Dick's taxi is parked, tucked away and out of sight.
Jason slides into the passenger seat and wow. Of course you wouldn't bring up the fact you're living out of your car to a guy you're trying to pick up, but it must be part of his cover. It's immediately obvious. Every little detail is spot on, the hangers hooked onto the grab handles, belongings packed efficiently below the glovebox, even the lived-in smell.
What the fuck is up with this case? Is Dick just playing a Dick Grayson who's fallen on hard times? If he is, why wouldn't he even acknowledge Jason?
Dick gets in on the drivers side and immediately hauls Jason over the console and smashes their lips together. For just a moment, Jason forgets himself and melts into it, before he suddenly jerks away.
“Wait, no, Dick stop.”
As soon as he says his name, Dick looks momentarily betrayed before his features contort in rage. “How dare you." He spits. "Get the fuck out of my car."
Dick's angry at him? For what? Fucking breaking the kiss? Wanting to talk? Has he fucking lost his mind? “No, fuck you Grayson. What the fuck are you on?”
“ You had an ex called Grayson. You were fucking playing me from the start.” What the fuck does he mean by that? As far as manipulation tactics go, Jason's been pretty transparent with what this is about. Dick too incensed to pick up on any of Jason’s confusion. “Did he send you?”
That fucking sends him. “He ? You mean Bruce? Why the fuck would you think I was working with Bruce?” Even if it weren't for his recent estrangement, the idea that Bruce could send Jason somewhere is laughable.
“I don’t think anything about you.” Oh fuck, that hurts. That hurts more than the ghosting. That hurts more than if Dick told him he never wanted to see him again. Jason chokes as Dick continues. “I don’t know who the fuck you are.” Wait, what? “I’ll only ask one more time: get the fuck out of my car.”
Jason feels like he’s got whiplash. Confused to angry to heartbroken and back to confused. Was the non-reaction to Jason’s appearance genuine? Could the lack of recognition be just that? He scrubs his face with his hands, feeling the wet corners of his eyes. “Wait, wait, wait. I think I’m missing some critical information here. What do you mean, you don’t know who I am?”
“I’m not fucking doing this. You obviously know what’s going on. If you didn’t, why would you pretend not to know me? You knew I wouldn’t know who you were and you fucking played me.” Dick snarls.
“I thought you were pretending not to know me. That you were undercover or some shit. Not whatever the fuck this shit is.” He says, gesturing at Dick. He knows an aggressive response is probably not the best course of action, but he can’t help but rise to match Dick’s tone.
“Well I’m sorry to fucking disappoint, but Dick Grayson was shot in the head and lost his memories and no amount of begging, trauma, or fucking exboyfriend entrapment is going to bring them back.”
Suddenly it all slots into place. This was never an undercover mission. The real name, the real backstory, the murky history, the gnarly scar Jason thought was a good prosthetic. He feels numb, like his little fishing boat has been cut adrift.
“You don’t remember anything? Like nothing at all?” Voice paper thin.
“Nothing since the circus. No Bruce Wayne, no Bats, no fucking exes.” Dick snaps before softening a little, seemingly realising Jason wasn’t trying to fuck him over. He pinches his brow and breathes steadily for a few moments before facing Jason again. “Look I’m sorry you found out this way. I really am. But I’m just trying to live my life and I’m not going to stick around to watch yet another person who claims to care, grieve the man I once was in front of me. I can’t fucking do it.”
And that explains the distinct lack of Bats. Did they all just leave Dick to fend for himself? Left him homeless in Blüdhaven with no safety net? He knows what it’s like to be cut off by Bruce, but he always thought that Dick was too loved, too good for that to happen to him. He’s the favourite, the Golden Boy. But just like Jason, he was cast aside when he outlived his use, more trouble than he’s worth. Jason’s heart breaks for a second time that night.
“Fuck Dickie-“
“It’s Ric.”
“Ric, I…” How does he put this? “I wouldn’t do that to you. I know what that’s like. I really fucking know what that’s like.”
“What, did you get shot in the head and lose your memories too?” He says incredulously, leaning back to rest against the door with his arms folded across his chest. Eyes still hard and guarded.
“No, I died and came back… different. Wrong, apparently.” That seems to shock Ric at least a little, who sits forward again, expression changing into something more contemplative. “I still feel it. That I’m not the Jason they want. That even when things are good it’s more of a ‘making do with what they’ve got.’” Jason swallows his rising discomfort in baring his soul like this, looking away briefly. “For everyone except you.”
Ric just sits there staring, soaking up Jason’s small confession. When he speaks again, his voice is hesitant but heavy with emotion. “If I’m so important to you, why did it take you so long to find me? How come nobody told you?”
“I shot someone, then Bruce beat me up and kicked me out of Gotham.” The suddenness of the statement startles Ric. Jason would feel bad for saying it so plainly, but if Ric can be blunt about his misfortune, then Jason will do the same. “I haven’t heard from anyone since. Been in recovery until now. Plus I don’t think anyone knew about us, you know, being a thing.”
Ric contemplates Jason’s story, staring into the middle distance before his eyes refocus and his mouth quirks into a small smile.
“And you all wonder why I’m not interested in that life. Shit’s fucked.”
Jason barks out a laugh at the tonal shift. It’s such a Dick thing to say. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucked.”
Ric chuckles with him for a moment before looking sombre again. “I am sorry though. If we were together. This is an awful way to find out. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were hurt too.”
And that too is such a Dick thing to say – apologising for something that wasn’t his fault, something completely outwith his control.
“No, Ric, I’m sorry you’ve been alone in this. I would have thought they’d do better by you.”
Ric looks at him with sad resignation. “Yeah, well, it is what it is. Just got to keep moving forward.” He takes a shaky breath, gearing up to say something more. “Despite everything, it was good to meet you Jason. I hope you can get some closure out of this. Whatever that is.”
Jason almost does a double take.
“I don’t want closure. You think I would just leave?” He wishes he didn’t sound so desperate.
“I’m not him. I know you don’t want to go empty handed, but this,” he gestures at himself, then at the state of his car, “is it. And I don’t want to be – how did you put it? Someone you just ‘make do’ with.”
And for a third time that night, Jason’s heart breaks.
“I’d never fucking do that to you. God, Ric. You're exactly the same. It was never your career achievements, or your inheritance, or fucking anything like that that drew me to you.” Ric stares at him, mouth agape. “It was this.” Jason says while poking him harshly in the chest. “Just you.”
Ric’s eyes swim with tears looking pleadingly, wanting to believe what Jason’s saying.
“ I’m not him, Jason. I’m not. And you’ll realise it later down the track and it’ll hurt so much more for the both of us.” Voice soft but rough with emotion.
“I know you’re not. I’m not looking for a fucking stand in. I want to know you.” And he does, this man means so much more to him than just some shared history.
“I’m not him.” Ric whispers, eyes wide and vulnerable.
“But you’re still Richard Grayson.” Jason closes his eyes, bracing himself for what he’s going to say next. Steeling himself to lay his heart bare. “And I think I’d love Richard Grayson in every iteration.”
Ric’s breath hitches and Jason is almost afraid to look in case he sees any rejection written into his features. But when he does look he sees Ric desperate and pleading, as though he’s a man starved and Jason has offered him his first proper meal in years.
Jason leans in to cup Ric’s cheek with his palm, brushing unshed tears away with his thumb. Ric inches closer and Jason closes the distance, capturing his lips.
This kiss like the last one is hungry and heated, but with none of the haste. Each motion is tentative like what’s between them is fragile and could break if either of them push too hard.
As it deepens, Ric wraps his arms around Jason’s neck to pull them as close as they can be in the front of a car, and Jason curls one hand around the back of Ric’s neck and snakes the other down to grip his waist. The hold anchors the both of them and Jason knows he’s never letting go.
Eventually they pull away, but rest their foreheads against each other, lips still barely a breath apart. While his eyes burn, the night air chills his cheeks wet with tears. Ric brings his hands up to cradle the back of Jason’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. Jason opens his eyes to see Ric already looking at him with such warmth.
“Thank you for finding me.”