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Jason Todd was the Red Hood. Dick had his suspicions for a while now, he had his theories, but now he knew for certain.
Of course, it was a bit late for that revelation, laying on the frigid, unforgiving concrete with no fight left in his body. The fall had been brutal, the landing more so, but Dick was pretty sure nothing was broken. Probably.
He didn’t try to move when muted footfalls approached him from behind, outside his range of vision. His breath rattled in his chest, and he wondered if he was concussed. It was possible, but he didn’t feel nauseous and his vision wasn’t swimming. In fact, the sky had never looked so clear. It seemed the grey of Gotham’s perpetual doom and gloom had blown elsewhere for the night.
It was a little strange, the sky without smog.
He could still smell it, the salty brine from the ocean, the smoke and grime from exhaust pipes, the slight sweetness of someone’s cigar. It all combined into a scent that was uniquely Gotham. He used to hate it when he first moved here. He felt like he was choking, every single day. Or maybe that was the grief, keeping a hand on his throat and never letting up.
When did the air here become something comforting to him?
The sky twinkled knowingly, a little too far away for him to identify any constellations. He knew they were there, framed by buildings that rose like giants on every side of him. It really was a maze down here, and they were the rats, running around trying to make sense of it all.
It wasn’t a bad life.
A shadow cut across his body, alerting him to the man’s presence before he saw Jason’s face, leaning over him with a twist to his lips.
Tonight was the first time Dick had seen him maskless since he died, and he didn’t regret any of his decisions this evening, even though his lungs made a horrible wheezing sound every time he inhaled.
He hadn’t been able to stop himself from approaching Jason, not when he realized that cursed red helmet was nowhere in sight. He didn’t realize Jason was maskless at the time, not until he whipped around and bared his teeth at him, furious and breathtaking.
Dick had barely gotten a sentence out before Jason attacked, launching himself forward with a flurry of violence and barely restrained rage. He’d ripped the mask off Dick’s own face and tossed it aside. To even the score, he’d said.
The glue peeled off a layer of skin but Dick didn’t mind, not when it led him to this moment, memorizing the curve of Jason’s cheek, the exact shade of jade in his eyes. They used to be teal, like the color of the ocean when his troupe visited Coney Island. Then again, the person he’d known from before was gone. This was a new person, but not an unwelcome one. Dick wanted to know him better.
“Jason.” The word left his mouth involuntarily— a prayer.
“Don’t,” Jason spat. “Don’t you fucking dare. After all of this, after everything, don’t… Don’t.”
Dick exhaled, breath rattling, and Jason’s expression flickered, so fast that Dick wasn’t sure it was real. “Jason.”
Before he could blink, Jason dropped to his knees and pressed a curved, ornate dagger to the hollow of his throat.
“What did I fucking say? I’ll slice your throat open, that’ll shut you up.”
Dick wasn’t afraid, even though he recognized the expression on Jason’s face. He meant what he said. Still, Dick didn’t tense or roll out of the way or disarm Jason like they both knew he could.
He took another breath, and the dagger cut into his skin. The blood pooled at the hollow of his throat and trickled down the side of his neck in a slow glide. It stained the tip of the blade a deep, dark red, nearly black in the nonexistent light.
Jason glared down at him, righteous and furious and different, but the same. He gripped the dagger with both hands, waiting for an excuse to plunge it into Dick’s body and steal his voice, his wings, his life.
Long eyelashes, dark as soot, framed Jason’s eyes, and they were gems, they were scarabs, they were the northern lights, aurora borealis.
His scowl deepened the longer Dick didn’t answer, didn't do anything, and he pressed the knife harder, hard enough that Dick, with all of his tolerance and resistance, felt the burn and the pain, the metallic bite of the blade.
Dick opened his mouth.
“You’re beautiful.”
In the second before Jason stumbled back, wrong-footed and graceless, his eyes widened, and Dick’s world narrowed down to green green green green green.
The green was fire, the green was death, the green was life.
Then the green was gone, and the knife from Dick’s throat lifted like it had never been there, even as the blood continued to run.
Before Dick could move or speak or breathe, Jason vanished. He didn’t make any noise, not the soft patter of boots on concrete or the harsh clang of a grapple gun catching a ledge. He was simply there until he wasn’t. Like a shadow.
Like a ghost.
Dick stared up at the sky and took another breath.
…
“Hood.”
Jason startled and whirled around, angry at himself for letting someone sneak up on him. He’d left his safehouse to escape the trapped, caged feeling that suffocated his senses. He should have taken his helmet, he should have put on his mask, but he didn’t think… He didn’t think, that was the problem. Sloppy, he was sloppy.
He thought he could scale the building and try to get a full lung of air, maybe it was clearer up here, but he should have known he was in the Bat’s city. There was no peace here, not even in the 2 am quiet.
“Jason.”
Jason clenched his hands, nails digging into the skin hard enough to draw blood. He pressed down harder. “Don’t say my fucking name.”
Nightwing took one step towards him, closer to the edge of the roof, and then took another step. Jason tried to move, but he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch as Dick took stepped closer, flowing like art in motion.
When he reached Jason, he tilted his head like a curious bird, like Jason was some sort of freak to be examined and categorized and dissected. Jason couldn’t see his eyes, only reflective white lenses. He hated it.
Dick reached out a gloveless hand and touched Jason’s cheek with soft fingertips, starting from his temple and gliding down to his chin, cupping his face. Jason wanted to lean into the touch, but he couldn’t move. He could only watch as Dick, fascinated, slid his hand down until his hand wrapped loosely around Jason’s neck.
He squeezed once, then smiled. It was blinding, just like always. “You don’t have a pulse.” He said casually, like conversation at Sunday dinner. “You’re not alive, Jason. You’re not real.”
I know, he wanted to say. I know. But he still couldn’t speak, could only move his lips and hope Dick understood.
Dick’s grip tightened to an uncomfortable degree, and the smile dropped from his face. “You shouldn’t be here. This place is for the living. It’s not for you.”
His fist continued tightening, and Jason could no longer draw a breath. He gasped like a fish out of water, panic flooding his veins, and finally his hands flew up to claw at Dick’s arms, desperate for him to loosen his grip.
“It’s not for you, do you understand? You shouldn’t be here.”
The world blurred behind Jason’s eyes and his lungs burned. He was about to lose consciousness, he would pass out in less than thirty seconds if he couldn’t get free.
He closed his eyes, and in a burst of strength he brought his fists up between Dick’s arms, loosening his grip and dislodging him. Dick stumbled two steps back, one on the rough surface of the roof and one into the night air. He flailed for half a second before falling, his momentum pulling him off the roof, gravity claiming him for once in his life.
He fell without a sound, but Jason cried out, rushing forward like he could reach him in time. He reached the edge just in time to see Dick land on the concrete. The sound of his body hitting the pavement was horrible, and bile burned in the back of his throat. Ignoring the sensation, he grappled down as quickly as he could, rushing to Dick’s side.
He looked all wrong on the ground like that, twisted and positioned like an broken doll. Blood bubbles on his lips, and his lungs wheezed as he drew a labored breath.
“Dick? Dickie? Are you okay?” It was a dumb question. Of course he wasn’t okay, the height he fell… But maybe he’d be okay. Dick had pulled off the impossible before.
Jason grasped his hand, squeezing, but Dick didn’t squeeze back. With his other hand, he peeled off Dick’s mask, gentle and careful. He needed to see him, needed to see his eyes.
Crystal blue stared up at him, just as blue as he remembered. The same shade he saw in all of his dreams.
“Dickie?” Jason’s voice was desperate, he was pleading, but he wasn’t sure who with. God never listened to his pleas before. “Say something.”
Dick took another breath.
“You’re beautiful.”
Jason stumbled back, letting go of Dick’s hand as he scrambled away. In his haste, he tripped, but instead of landing on the concrete, he splashed into the freezing waters of Gotham Bay.
The water was green and the sky was green and his fear was green too.
He sank like a rock, thrashing and flailing and losing air too fast as he searched for something to save him, to pull him to the surface.
He opened his mouth to scream. Murky water filled his mouth, and he drowned.
…
Jason gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. It was helpful to hold onto something, it was grounding. He lifted his eyes up from the crack in the plaster to the mirror, meeting his own reflection even though he didn’t want to.
You’re beautiful.
Jason wasn’t sure who Dick was looking at when he said that. It couldn’t be the same person he was seeing. Jason’s reflection looked exhausted, strung out, and unhealthily pale. He had an ugly yellow bruise around one eye and deep eye bags under the other. His once smooth skin was covered in textured scars and raised welts and uneven burns from Willis’s favorite brand of cigarettes.
Jason’s reflection had a chipped tooth and cracked skin on his lips, like he hadn’t applied chapstick in the last three years. His left eyebrow grew uneven from a blow to the head during training with one of his League “mentors”, and his hands shook like an addict in withdrawal.
Worst of all, Jason’s reflection was dead behind the eyes. Most people carried some sort of emotion in their expression, but when he looked at himself, it was empty. There was nothing there, not anger or sadness, satisfaction or pain. There was nothing at all.
You’re beautiful.
Jason shook the words off and went back to bed.
…
He should have left five minutes ago, but he was still here, following Nightwing from the shadows because he had an inability to let an idiot reap the consequences of his own actions.
Nightwing limped forward on his bleeding leg, and Jason shook his head. Stupid, Dick was fucking stupid tonight, and he should have known better. He knew he was outnumbered, he knew he should have called for backup. Why didn’t he? Gotham was full of new faces these days, eager faces willing to help. Why didn’t he call for help?
The wound wasn’t life threatening and it wouldn’t cause permanent damage, but right now Dick could barely walk. If anyone came across Nightwing in this condition, he wouldn’t be able to properly defend himself.
Still, Dick was a professional. He staunched the bleeding and took a back way to his apartment, holding out for long enough to trip through the window, where Jason was waiting on his sofa.
“Hood,” Dick said. If he was surprised to see Jason sitting on his thrifted couch in full Red Hood regalia, he didn’t show it.
Jason sighed and took off his helmet, setting it next to his feet on the floor. “Dipshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Half of Gotham is now covered in your DNA. You know that right?”
Dick waved off the concern, setting his mask on the kitchen table and clumsily unlatching his suit. The show of vulnerability set Jason on edge. Had Dick really grown so… careless while he was away? Or was always this careless and he’d just never noticed. “I’ve bled on lots of things. You know it won’t come up in any databases.”
Jason pursed his lips. “You need a blood transfusion.”
“It’s not that bad. A couple of stitches and some ibuprofen will fix me right up,” he grinned crookedly at him. Jason tried not to let the sight pierce his heart.
“I don’t think you’re steady enough to pour yourself a glass of water, nonetheless stitch your wound.”
“I’m fine,” Dick insisted, struggling with removing his left glove. Jason raised an eyebrow, and Dick looked away. “Why are you here, Jason?”
The mood shifted instantly, and Jason opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say.
You need someone to yell at you for being stupid.
I didn't end up here on purpose.
Did you mean it?
You’re beautiful.
“Let me help you.”
He pulled off Dick’s glove, refusing to think too hard about it, and set Dick down in one of the kitchen chairs. “Stay there. I’m going to get your med kit. You need to hydrate and take your fucking medicine.”
His voice was gruff and low, nearly unrecognizable, but he refused to hate himself for it now. He could do that later in the shower with the heat turned up to boiling.
Dick didn’t say much as Jason sewed up his leg in neat little stitches. He mostly watched him in between sips of his water. Jason didn’t look up to see what expression was on his face, he didn’t want to know. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Clean the wound and disinfect the skin and thread the needle and close the flesh and make it as painless as possible.
It was calming, having something to do with his hands. It was rhythmic, soothing, almost hypnotic. By the time he was done, his heart rate had gone down and his breathing evened out.
“Is this going to be a habit now?” Dick’s eyes glittered in amusement as Jason stood by the window, awkward and stiff, trying to avoid looking at Dick’s mostly naked skin. “Should I call you nurse Todd?”
Jason wanted to quip back something witty, something that would make Dick laugh, but he couldn’t. His future plans were a deadweight in his chest, and he knew they’d have no more days like this.
Dick wouldn’t speak to him again, once he accomplished what he came back to Gotham to do.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
Dick’a gaze sharpened— there must have been something in Jason’s tone. “What do you mean?”
“I… just don’t think you’ll want to see me in a month. That, or I won’t be around anymore. Either way, you’ll need someone else to play nursemaid.”
Before Dick could ask any more questions (he really was too nosy for his own good), Jason slipped out the window and into the night.
He’d been foolish to follow Dick home like that. Then again, maybe he was a fool, because he felt a lot better now than he did at the beginning of the night.
Catharine was right when she said he was a foolish, foolish boy with a foolish, foolish heart.
…
Dick padded across the kitchen floor towards the coffee maker, yawning with a stretch that raised the hem of his blue t-shirt above his sweatpants, exposing vulnerable skin.
He turned on the coffee maker, pushed himself up to sit cross-legged on the counter, and waited for the machine to fill his stained Superman mug. His coffee machine was one of those new ones with the little pods that brewed one cup of coffee at a time and didn’t taste very good.
He smiled as the scent of his generic brand medium blend filled the apartment, steam curling up into tendrils and ribbons. Most people drank their coffee in the morning, but not Dick. He’d come to associate the feeling of a warm mug in his hands with the muted sounds of Gotham at night and the way his apartment looked without sun pouring in through the blinds. He preferred it like that.
Instead of getting off of the counter, he opened the fridge with his foot. He snagged the cream and added enough that it was hardly recognizable as coffee anymore. Then, because that wasn’t enough of a war crime for him, he shoveled spoonfuls of sugar into the mug and stirred with a used cereal spoon.
He took a deep breath in and a deep breath out, savoring the moment, then took a sip. His hair flopped endearingly over his forehead, and he looked young, disarming.
Jason watched it all from the fire escape a building over.
He watched as Dick took another sip of coffee, then unfolded himself from the counter and spread his latest case notes across the coffee table. He watched as Dick set his mug precariously near the edge of the table and sat on the floor so he was at the perfect height to see and reach all of his documents.
He watched that small crease form between his eyes, the same one he got every time he concentrated, and Jason was going to miss this. He’d made his peace with everything else, but he was pretty sure he could watch Dick for a lifetime and still never have his fill.
He didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, but there wasn’t a reason to. He and Dick… they weren’t really anything to each other. Not strangers, not friends, and certainly not brothers.
What he wanted from Dick was impossible, and what Dick wanted from him was indiscernible. They could dance around each other for months, fighting in practiced motions like choreography and patching each other up in the middle of the night, but Jason didn’t have that kind of time.
Tonight was the night everything would change, so he drank his fill of Dick hunched over the coffee table now, committing the sight of him to memory.
He pressed his fingertips into the rusty fire escape railing and pretended it was the window, the coffee table, Dick Grayson’s cheek.
He watched him and whispered the only words he knew to say to explain the weight of the storm in his heart.
“I’m sorry.”
He already died once with secrets buried deep in his chest. What was a few more?
…
Arkham Asylum never changed. Sure, patients passed in and out of its doors, but fundamentally it remained the same, from the tortured sounds of the criminally insane, to the scuffed white floors reminiscent of a hospital, to the antiquated, faulty ventilation system that filled the building with a sick, putrid smell, like death and decay.
Jason hated this place. He hated it when he was Robin, and he hated it now. The whole building was wrong somehow, and Jason was very familiar with that feeling. He felt wrong when he woke up in his own coffin, gasping and clawing at the satin-covered walls. He felt wrong when he bathed in the waters of the Lazarus pit, spluttering and drowning in an emerald cesspool of madness and insanity. He felt wrong when he looked at his body in the mirror and didn’t see the malnourished teenage boy he’d been before, but a broken man that had been sliced open and sloppily sewn back together.
He knew wrong, and this place… it made the hairs on his arms raise and bile crawl in the back of his throat. He hated it here, but this trip was a necessary evil. He reminded himself of that as he slipped through the building, mindful of security and cameras and inmates. He needed this to get closure, he told himself as he descended further and further underground, fighting the urge to spring back to the surface and gasp lungfuls of fresh air. Never again, he wanted to scream. I will never be trapped again.
The corridors grew narrower the further he went, the walls worn and cracked, but the locked metal doors and security measures only grew more sophisticated. Of course. As if he would allow anything less.
By the time Jason neared his destination, his stomach churned and he fought the desire to heave. He had to do this, he needed to do this.
He didn’t want to do this.
His hands trembled as the memories crept in, despite his desperate attempts to keep them at bay.
Looks like I caught myself a little Robin.
His forearm ached as if freshly broken— the first bone but not the last that snapped that day— and his heart raced like a rabbit caught in a trap, like prey.
He could even smell the blood, like he was drowning in it again, choking on scent, metallic and stale and horrible.
He didn’t want to do this.
But he was here now, and there was no going back. He’d reached his destination, a long hallway that led to a single, isolated cell, hidden away behind an impenetrable door. Jason made his way to it with echoing footsteps, and he kept a hand on his gun. He had the upper hand this time, he reminded himself. He was in control.
He reached the door, and he squeezed his fingernails into his palms, splitting open old scabs. He was in control, he was.
This lock was digital and much more advanced than the others, but it didn’t take him more than three minutes to crack. That was more than enough time for the occupant of the room to figure out whoever was at the door didn’t have clearance to be here.
He would be expecting him. Jason needed to be better.
The door unlocked with a click, and Jason gripped the handle of his pistol tight. His kris was within easy reach if he so needed it, and he also carried several pellets of sleeping gas as a last resort.
He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that, because he wanted the clown to know exactly who he was.
Deep breath. This is what you trained for.
Jason kicked the door open and scanned the room, searching. He found the sole occupant lying on a cot facing the wall, unmoving. He didn’t move and didn’t acknowledge Jason’s presence. He didn’t even tell a single joke.
It made Jason uneasy.
“Get up, motherfucker, it’s judgment day.”
No reaction still. Jason’s sense of unease grew. It was a trap, it had to be. A trick of some sort, a card up his sleeve. Jason moved closer, gun trained on that neon hair.
“Yoo-hoo, green and ugly, I’m talking to you.”
No laughter, no giggles, no cruelly-crafted taunt. Fuck this.
“Did you hear me?” Jason grabbed the clown’s shoulder and yanked. “I said get the fuck—”
He stumbled back, all the way back to the door of the cell. The joker didn’t move or speak or even look at him. He just laid there, covered in crimson blood.
The sight swam in front of him, Jason’s vision blurring, re-centering, and blurring again. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear his head and focused on one of the breathing exercises Durca taught him to use when he heard or saw things that weren’t really there.
The world spun under his feet, but after a few long moments, the spinning slowed to a stop. He took another deep breath (blood-rot-decay), but when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed.
The Joker’s throat was slit from ear to ear in a sick pantomime of a smile, though the clown’s mouth was twisted down in a frown.
The Joker was dead.
…
Jason tumbled through the window of Dick’s apartment, shaking and hyperventilating. He knew he was in the midst of a panic attack, but he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t stand the feeling of his clothes on his skin, restricting him. His helmet, choking him.
Dick jumped up from the sofa, and Jason couldn’t even find the strength to get up off of his knees.
“Jason, are you alright?”
Jason clawed at his helmet in desperation, too clumsy to undo any of the latches.
“Let me help you.” And then Dick was there, kneeling beside him as he de-armed the helmet’s security and pulled it off Jason’s head. “Take a deep breath, it’s okay. You’re okay.”
A warm hand rubbed his back as he gasped for air.
“Just breathe, you’re okay,” Dick murmured. The sound came from far away, like he was under water. “Can you speak? No? Okay, that’s okay. I’m going to ask yes or no questions. Nod for yes, shake your head no.”
Jason opened his mouth, but the words weren’t there.
“That’s okay, don’t force yourself. Are you hurt?”
Jason shook his head, and Dick smiled at him encouragingly, though the skin beside his eyes was tight.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m going to grab you a glass of water and run a bath for you. Then we’re gonna take off all this restricting clothing and you can soak in the bath until you feel warm. After that, we’ll get you into some comfy clothes and go to bed, unless you’re hungry and want something to eat.”
It vaguely registered in Jason’s mind that Dick was talking to him like he talks to victims, using the same voice and everything, but he didn’t care. When Dick asked him to acknowledge what he just said, Jason nodded and focused on not ripping out chunks of his skin with his fingernails.
He was cold, he was so so cold.
Dick’s presence disappeared from his side and Jason tried not to panic. It was okay, he was just getting water, he wasn’t gone forever, he didn’t leave him here alone and by himself again with bugs crawl underneath his skin and he can’t get them out he needs them to get out—
“Whoa hey Jay, let’s stop scratching for just a second okay? Here, take a sip of water, it’ll be good for you.”
Dick nodded at the glass in his hand, and Jason blinked stupidly at it. How long had he been holding that? He took a sip. The cool water felt nice going down his throat. It gave him a positive sensation to focus on, so he took another sip.
“I’m gonna take this off for you, okay?” Dick placed his fingertips at the edges of Jason’s mask and added solvent to the sides when he nodded. He peeled the mask off with gentle hands and smoothed his thumbs across Jason’s cheekbones. “There, now I can see you.”
“Dick,” Jason croaked, grabbing Dick’s wrists. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. His grip on Dick’s wrists was so tight that it must have hurt, but Dick didn’t wince or indicate any sort of pain.
“Hi, sweetheart. There’s that lovely voice of yours. Can you tell me what happened?”
“He—” Jason paused, took a breath, and tried again. “He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead he’s—”
“Who’s dead, honey?” Dick asked, but the sight of Jason’s panicked eyes and increased heart rate was enough to tell him that Jason physically couldn’t say. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay. Is it someone we know?” Jason nodded. “Is it someone bad?”
Jason nodded again, and Dick guided Jason’s hands back to the glass of water again. “Take another sip, just one more.”
After Jason drank a little more water, Dick began the process of removing Jason’s uniform. Carefully, oh so carefully, he peeled off Jason’s jacket, asking for permission before removing each article of clothing. Jason’s mind was static. He answered numbly as he watched the scene from outside his body. Dick moved in slow flowing motions, speaking to him softly and making sure not to startle him.
Jason knew he looked a mess, folded in on himself on the floor of Dick’s apartment, shaking and hyperventilating and crying. He didn’t know when he’d started crying.
The bath brought him back to himself for a little while, enough to appreciate the warm water and his lack of clothing. The itching under his skin was gone for the moment, though his arms and neck were covered in deep red welts.
He didn’t do much in the way of actually cleaning himself— Dick did that, swiping a soapy purple loofa across his arms, legs, shoulders, and back. He massaged shampoo and conditioner on his head, and Dick’s fingers in his hair was an anchor, something he could focus on.
Sliding into Dick’s clothes felt nice too. The scent was familiar, and the silly oversized Superman tee was comforting. Dick wore that shirt all the time.
Jason drifted all the way from the bath to the bed, where Dick made him drink another sip of water, laid him down, and stroked his hair until his eyes felt heavier and heavier.
His muscles relaxed slowly into the mattress, and he couldn’t form many conscious thoughts. Before he drifted off, he knew only one thing for certain.
He was safe.
-Three months later-
The night air blew in through the window, cool but not cold enough for Dick to get up from the kitchen table to close it. He liked the sting of the chill, liked the yellow light from the lamp, which kept the apartment just visible enough but not too bright.
Most of all, he liked the beautiful outline of Jason’s silhouette sleeping soundly in his bed.
His face was peaceful for once, devoid of the stress and insecurity that wrinkled his brow when he was awake. Dick knew that Jason was deathly afraid that this was all some elaborate scheme, that he’d wake up one day and everything would be gone— Jason’s clothes in the closet, the picture of them on the bedside table, and all the love that he had unfettered access to.
It would never happen, of course, but Jason didn’t know that. Life has taught him to hold everything with a loose fist, as it could be ripped away at any moment. Those first few weeks were like that— Jason coming and going as he pleased, never staying too long, never spending the night, despite the longing that shone in his eyes every time Dick extended a hand and invited him to bed.
He was skittish. Afraid.
These days, everything was different. Jason lived here full time, and he never declined an invitation to bed. In fact, more nights than not he’d wind his arms around Dick’s neck, whisper some coy pickup line through hooded eyes, and drag him off to bed himself.
The bed was their place of safety, comfort, and love.
Dick would join him soon. He had a few more reports to review, but soon he would slip underneath the covers, sink into the soft mattress, and pull Jason’s body close. It was one of his favorite parts of the day.
His phone buzzed with an incoming call from Barbara, but he ignored it. It rang again, rang a third time, then automatically connected.
Dick sighed.
“ It’s kind of late to be calling, Babs.”
“I know what you did.” Her voice was professional, tense if you knew what to listen for. It was nothing like the playful banter they exchanged on a typical day.
“I’ve done a lot of things, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
“I know what you did for Jason. The Joker.” Her words were terse, abrupt. She was angry.
Dick placed his case files back in their drawer (Jason didn’t like it when the kitchen table was messy) and stretched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The phone stayed silent for a long two minutes, so Dick used that time to clean some of the dishes off the kitchen counter. Tomorrow Jason would kiss him for tidying up, then set his hands on Dick’s waist and call him his house husband. The truth was the other way around, and they both knew it.
By the time Babs spoke again, the kitchen was nearly spotless. “Tell Midnighter to stay out of Gotham.” The line went dead.
Dick went into the bedroom, where Jason shifted and looked up at him with bleary eyes. “Who’s that?” He slurred, half asleep. Dick’s heart blossomed with affection.
He slipped under the covers, pulled Jason close, and placed a kiss on his bare freckled shoulder. Jason’s body went boneless at the touch.
“It’s nothing, love. Go back to sleep.”
And Jason did.