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Chapter Text

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MEETING: A Stranger

The first time that Jason meets Dick, it’s a total disaster.

He wakes up for school at the same time he always does and, when he can’t find either Bruce or Alfred in the manor, he decides to check the Batcave. He likes the Batcave. He likes that he feels safe. Where could he possibly be safer? No one knows how to get in besides him, Bruce, and Alfred. And the first Robin, of course, but Jason has yet to meet the elusive Nightwing. He really wants to. It’d be cool to spar with someone closer to his size than Bruce and to ask for advice and-

“-and you can’t keep me here!”

The second that Jason opens the door to the cave, he’s hit with a wall of noise.

“Like hell I can’t! You dislocated your shoulder-”

“For, like, the tenth time! It’s already fucked. Just give me the brace and let. Me. Leave.”

“Boys, can we please take a step back?” Alfred’s voice is as calm as always and Jason latches onto that as he starts creeping down the stairs.

Bruce’s voice is louder than Jason has ever heard it, even louder than when he’s Batman. “I’m not letting a teenager drive all the way to Bludhaven on a motorcycle, in the dark, in the rain, with a dislocated shoulder!”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic to make a point!” The voice yelling back has an accent -kind of Russian maybe?- and sounds very much like a pouting teenager. “It’s sprinkling. And I’m nineteen, you can’t stop me.”

He reaches the ledge and peeks over just as Bruce snarls, “you’re seventeen!”

He’s in a pair of sweatpants with a bandage around his ribs. Alfred is stitching up a brutal slash on his back. Sitting across from them is a teenager that Jason recognizes from the pictures in Bruce’s study. He’s shorter in person, Jason can tell. His legs don’t even reach the cave floor, instead just dangling off the med cot. He’s holding an ice pack to his shoulder but it does nothing to hide the expanse of fresh bruises covering his upper torso.

“Legally, I’m nineteen.” The teenager -Dick, Bruce has said his name is- grins and it’s vindictive. “Besides, I have work tomorrow. You don’t want to make me miss my shift.”

Alfred doesn’t sound phased by the yelling. “I think the Bludhaven police department will survive a single day without you handing out parking tickets, Master Dick. And more importantly, I believe there’s someone Master Bruce needs to introduce you to. Isn’t that right, Master Jason?” The butler calls, eyes swiveling to Jason even through the darkness of the cave.

“Aw, come on, I was quiet!” Jason protests. He stands anyway and makes his way down the rest of the stairs. He’s excited to meet Dick. His… brother? Something brother adjacent?

Bruce is still scowling. Which isn’t strange, because Bruce is always scowling, even when he’s kind of happy. Is that the type of thing he’ll be able to joke about with Dick? He’s not sure, he’s never had a brother before.

At least Dick is smiling. It’s a nice smile, with the type of straight, white teeth that only rich kids have. He’s got perfectly symmetrical dimples and his eyes crinkle at the side.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Dick.” He offers his hand to the older teen and wishes, belatedly, that he hasn’t already changed into his dweeby school uniform. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Dick shakes his hand with the perfect amount of strength, not too hard and not too soft. “I wish I could say the same but it seems like I’m a little out of the loop on manor gossip. And I usually go by Richie, actually,” he tacks on, not unkindly.

At least, it doesn’t sound unkind. It sounds normal. Charming, even. He has the same annoying Bristol accent that all the other rich kids at Gotham Prep have and he speaks in an easy, slow roll that reminds Jason of yogurt commercials. But… that’s not how he'd sounded a second ago. It leaves Jason feeling wrong footed, like he’s made a mistake before he’s even started.

“Dick, this is Jason Todd. He moved in with me a few weeks ago.” Bruce’s eyes flash with something, almost like a challenge.

Jason’s excitement withers a little under all of the tension. “It’s an honor,” he says, trying to save the interaction. “Really. I’ve always wanted to meet the first Robin.”

“...what?” Dick- Richie’s smile freezes. His blue eyes might as well be made of ice. “The first Robin?”

Oh, fuck.  

Jason Todd is a street rat through and through. And if there’s one thing a street rat is good at, it’s sensing danger. He never would have made it out of Park Row alive if he didn’t trust his gut and right now, his gut is telling him to run.

He takes a slow step back. “Well, I gotta get to school. It was nice to meet you, Di- Richie.  Hope you’re both, uh, okay.”

And then he’s gone, scampering up the slick metal stairs as quickly as his slippery soled school shoes will let him.

That doesn’t stop him from hearing the ensuing shouting match, unfortunately.

“He’s going to be Robin. I was going to tell you-”

"What do you mean he’s going to be Robin? I’m Robin!”

“I distinctly remember you telling me that you’re Nightwing now.”

“Just because I’m Nightwing now doesn’t mean I’m not still Robin!”

“Oh yeah? Just like you’re Dick and Richie and Richard and Robbie and-”

“Oh, fuck you, Bruce! And fuck this! I’m not-”

Jason slams the door shut behind him, thankful for Bruce’s paranoid sound proof tech when it immediately goes quiet.

He hates fighting. He hates it. The apartment building he grew up in was full of nothing but fighting. Not just his parents -though they definitely pulled their weight- but the whole damn building. He’s as familiar with the sounds of backhands as he is of shouting and he had to get out of there before- God, Bruce wouldn’t really- But he sounded so angry-

“Deep breaths, Master Jason.”

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder, leading him farther out of the study. Jason goes with it. Alfred is safe. Alfred is the embodiment of safe. He’s calm and steady and he always says exactly what Jason needs to hear, even before Jason knows what that is.

They’re halfway to school before he pulls himself out of his dark thoughts. “So. That went well.”

“Indeed.” Alfred is still wearing last night’s suit. There’s a little blood on his collar from when he stitched Bruce up. “I apologize for any stress such a scene caused you, my boy.”

Jason shrugs. “I’ve seen worse,” he mumbles.

“Be that as it may, I wish it had been different. Master Bruce should have told Master Dick about your presence sooner. Master Dick shouldn’t have taken his anger out with Master Bruce while you were in the room. It was entirely unfair to you.”

He fidgets with his tie while he thinks of what to say. “I… He told me to call him Richie.”

Alfred hums. “Yes. He… struggles with his identity. He feels it's easier to adjust himself to his environment as opposed to being viewed as 'other'. There are few people he feels comfortable enough with to be himself."

“So what? He spends his whole life pretending to be someone else?” Jason is a little disgusted by the idea. “I can’t imagine Bruce putting up with that type of lying.”

The butler somehow manages to give Jason a look without taking his eyes off the road. “You must understand, Master Jason, that he doesn’t view it as lying. It’s simply a part of who he is. For better or worse, Richard Grayson is a very adaptable young man. Please don’t take his inclination towards misdirection as a personal slight,” he says, voice softening.

"Not like it matters anyway. He obviously isn't interested in being bro- friends." Jason shifts his attention back to the sliding landscape, the Bristol suburbs sliding by just another reminder that he doesn't belong here. “And it doesn’t seem like him and Bruce are exactly buddy buddy right now either. Do they always fight like that?”

At that, Alfred makes an amused sort of huffing noise. “Would you believe me if I said that horrible row just now is progress?”

“What? How?”

“When Master Dick first moved in with us, he never yelled. He never expressed any genuine emotion at all.” Alfred’s smile has the sort of sad fondness that old people wear so often. “And Master Bruce used to barely be able to get out a dozen sentences a day. The fact that they’re communicating like that is leagues beyond where they started. It isn’t ideal, I’ll admit, but it’s something.”

Jason slouches a little more in his seat. “That’s stupid. How can you be happy that they’re fighting?” He hates fighting.

"Give it time, Master Jason. You'll see."

"Sure," Jason says because it's easier than arguing. "Whatever you say, Alfred."

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MEETING: Richie

Jason doesn't expect to see Richie again anytime soon so, when he pads into the kitchen for their regular Sunday brunch that weekend, he's surprised to see the teenager lounging against the counter.

"It was crazy, Alfred, you should've- Oh. Hey, Jason!"

He freezes in the doorway. "Um. Hi?"

"Have a seat, Master Jason." Alfred looks… happy, he thinks. "Breakfast is almost ready."

Jason goes because he’s physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of turning down food.

He knows better, after all.

Richie pushes away from the counter and falls into step with Jason easily enough. They’re practically the same height, even though Jason is seven years younger. (Or five years younger? Jason remembers Richie’s age being one of the points from their argument a few days ago.) Either way, Richie is short and slender and his skinny jeans and bright green graphic tee don’t help him look any bigger.

Which is dumb. Jason is already big for his age and he likes to make himself even bigger with baggy jeans and large hoodies. He learned pretty quickly that the bigger you are, the safer you are.

“So, you got any big plans this weekend?” Richie asks, as casual as can be.

Jason side eyes him. “Uh. No, not really. Just finishing up some homework and then working with Bruce in the cave.”

“Cool.” Richie gestures towards the table as if to say ‘you first’. “I was thinking we could hang out.”

He drops into his normal chair and stares as Richie drops into the seat across from him. “Um… why?” He asks, caught off guard.

Richie’s smile is a little bashful. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “I feel really bad about the other day. I didn’t mean to blow up like that. It’s not your fault that me and Bruce are- well, you know.”

“Right…” Jason looks around, hoping either Bruce or Alfred will save him from this conversation. When nobody shows, he takes in a fortifying breath and plows forward. “Uh. Yeah, I don’t care. What do you want to do?”

The teenager’s grin splits open, so wide that it looks like it hurts. His eyes are practically sparkling. “Awesome! I was thinking we could go walk around downtown. There’s some cool shops and stuff. Alfred said you like reading, have you ever been to Bent Spine Books? On 5th Ave?” He doesn’t stop to let Jason answer. “It’s so cool, they have lots of weird books and the attic is a coffee shop and- Well, yeah. It’s cool. So, what do you think?”

“Sure,” Jason agrees, if only to get Richie to maybe stop talking so much.

That’s apparently not something he does, though, because he spends the entire brunch just- Talking. Talking about school (he’s majoring in criminal justice) and work (he’s a trainer at a gym in Bludhaven) and every single other thing on the planet. He asks Jason a lot of questions, too, but after Jason just shrugs and says, “dunno,” for the fifth time, he gives up.

He talks all the way up until-

“Dick?” Bruce says, poking his head into the casual dining room and looking just as confused as Jason had felt earlier.

The teenager’s smile freezes a little. “Richie, please.”

“You promised.” Bruce stands in the doorway, his confusion shifting to an expression of hurt. Like, actual, honest to god hurt. “Not at home.”

Richie’s head tilts to the side just a notch. “This isn’t my home anymore. I live in Blud now.” His expression doesn’t really change but Jason can sense the shift in mood like an oncoming thunderstorm.

“Boys.”

All three of them jump a little and Alfred materializes from the kitchen with another plate. “I will not tolerate another scene and I’m sure Master Jason feels quite the same. Master Bruce, come eat your breakfast.”

“Yes, Alfred,” the grown man mumbles and shuffles forward. “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Richie echoes and uses his fork to drag around the leftover syrup on his plate. 

Jason looks between the three of them nervously. He feels like such an outsider. They’re a family and Jason is just a street rat that Bruce felt bad for and now he’s stuck with him because he’s too good of a guy to turn his back on a kid in need even though it’s obvious that none of them even want Jason here-

“May Jason and I be excused?” Richie asks suddenly. His tone is perfectly cheerful, no hint of the passive aggression that had infected it a moment ago, and Jason looks up in shock at the mention of his name.

Bruce squints in something close to suspicion. “Why?”

“Because I want to take my brother out book shopping!” Richie pops up to his feet and starts collecting his dishes. “And then ice cream. You like ice cream, right, Jason?”

He blinks. “It’s November.”

Richie grins. “They sell ice cream in November. Book shopping, ice cream, and maybe we can come back and spar or something if we have time. Bruce said you’re getting really good at the parkour course, I’d love to watch.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, cool.” Jason flushes a little. Did Bruce really say that?

Alfred takes the stack from Richie. “That sounds like a wonderful plan. I’ll tidy up, lad, you two are excused,” the butler says, shooing at them.

“I’m just gonna go get dressed,” he mumbles, shoving away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He changes and brushes his teeth quickly, jogging back down the steps in less than five minutes.

Bruce is still at the table, reading the news on his tablet and picking at his omelet. He looks up as Jason passes through and smiles his awkward smile he always gives when trying to ‘connect’ to Jason. “Have fun, Jay. Don’t let Dick boss you around, okay?”

“I can handle myself,” Jason says, a little defensive. “We’re just hanging out.”

His foster dad nods. “Yeah, I know. He’s just- used to getting his way,” he finishes, a little uncertainly.

“It’s not my fault I grew up the only child of a billionaire. If anything, it’s surprising that I’m not more spoiled.”

He starts and looks over his shoulder. Richie is in the hallway, grinning easily as if he hadn’t just caught Bruce talking about him. In each hand, he’s holding a motorcycle helmet.

Jason feels a jolt of excitement. “Are we taking your bike?”

“As long as that’s okay with you.” Richie tosses him one and Jason catches it easily.

Bruce grunts and looks back at his tablet. “Please be careful. Your shoulder-”

“My shoulder is fine, you big worry wart.” Richie rolls his eyes and shoots Jason a look as if to say ‘can you believe this guy?’ that is filled with exasperated fondness. “Besides, it’ll be easier to find parking.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“Because it’s true.”

Bruce glances back up, his face softening. “Fine. Jay, have fun. Di-” He coughs, looks back down. “Chum, be nice.”

“Always,” Richie agrees, something odd fluttering across his features. But his big grin is back easily enough, all perfect dimples and eye crinkles. “Come on, baby brother! Adventure awaits!”

Jason glares. “I’m not a baby. I’m almost as tall as you.”

“A glare and a height joke?” Richie gasps in mock offense and holds a hand over his heart. “Bruce has already infected you! It’s too late, there’s no hope!” He wails, dramatically collapsing against the doorframe.

Behind them, Bruce snorts into his coffee. “Just go before Jason decides that you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” the man instructs, finally losing the last of the tension in his shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ready?”

“Ready.”

So, they go. 

They do everything Richie said they would and it’s… fun. Easy, even. Richie drives his motorcycle faster than he probably should but Jason has good balance and they both laugh and whoop with glee the entire time. The book store is as cool as he said it’d be and the ice cream is delicious. Once they’re alone, Richie even loosens up a little bit. By the time they’re climbing off his bike back in the manor garage, he isn’t so… on , Jason wants to say.

It feels like he’s talking to an actual human instead of a life sized Ken doll.

“I hope you had fun,” he says when Jason hands him back the helmet. “I’ve always wanted a brother.”

Jason hopes he’s not blushing. How embarrassing would it be to blush in front of Nightwing? “Yeah, uh, me, too. Thanks.”

“Anytime. Or…” He frowns a little and checks his watch. “Not really any time. I’ve kinda got a packed schedule right now. But I’ll start coming home more often now that I know I’ll have someone cool to hang out with and not just Mister Vengeance.” He does a gravelly, half decent Bruce impression as he says it, furrowing his eyebrows and hunching over.

He can’t help but laugh. “Cool.” And then, because they’ve had a good time and he’s feeling bold, he adds, “you still owe me a spar session, Richie.”

“Deal,” Richie says with one of his wide grins. It droops a little after a beat, though, and he tucks his chin to his chest and sighs. “And I just wanted to say… I’m sorry for how I acted. About the whole… Robin thing. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m- I’m happy someone else is taking up the suit. And I’m happy it’s you, Jason. You seem like a good kid. I can see why Bruce is so fond of you.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that but Richie must not expect him to say anything because he climbs back on his bike without another word. Jason watches him drive away, losing him quickly to the large trees that line the manor’s drive.

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MEETING: Dick

After that, Richie becomes a semi-regular presence in the manor.

He usually comes around for dinner about every two weeks or so and spends the night about half the time. Jason likes it when he comes on the weekends best because it means they can actually do fun stuff instead of just eating and watching a movie before Jason has to get to bed for school.

He also starts spending a lot of time with Jason in the cave, just as he’d had hoped. Sparring with him is a lot more fun than sparring with Bruce, especially since Richie lets him pick the music and never does Bruce’s grunt-and-growl routine when Jason struggles to pick up something new.

The absolute best part, though, is watching them spar. It’s lightning fast, their shapes only distinguishable because of their vastly different sizes. And their different color schemes, since Bruce wears black, black, and black while Jason is starting to think that the Nightwing costume is Richie’s only not brightly colored article of clothing. He’s like a one man rave.

He laughs when Jason tells him as much. “You’re just jealous that you can’t pull it off.”

“The only thing I’m jealous of is how flexible you are,” Jason grunts, trying to mimic the stretch that the older boy is making look effortless.

Bruce calls from where he’s working on the Batmobile a couple dozen yards away. “It’s because he started so young. Trying to keep up with him in yoga is just asking for a pulled muscle, Jay.”

“Ten isn’t much younger than twelve,” Jason grumbles. “How do you do that?”

Richie easily flips out of the splits he’s doing into a handstand, his shaggy hair fanning out below him. “I started training with Bruce when I was ten. I’ve been doing this since I was in diapers, Little Wing,” he says as he starts walking on his hands around the training mat.

“Diapers?” He repeats, giving up and collapsing in a heap. “And what crimes were you stopping then? The case of the missing binky?” He asks sarcastically as he tries to catch his breath.

He can hear the sound of bare feet hitting the cave floor. “My parents were professional acrobats. I joined their act when I was about eighteen months old.”

“Oh,” Jason says because he didn’t know that at all. He never really thought about how Richie ended up in Bruce’s custody, to be honest.

He’s jerked from his thoughts on the topic by a bottle of water landing on his stomach. “Come on. Hydrate and tape your hands, I’ll run you through some exercises on the rafters.”

“Can’t we just spar?” He most certainly doesn’t whine, because he’s twelve and twelve year olds don’t whine. “I hate the rafters.”

Richie leans over him where he’s still sprawled out, eyebrow arched up and lips twisted to try and hide a smile. “Which is why you need the practice. Bruce?” He calls, raising his voice a little.

“Yeah, chum?” He calls back, voice muffled through his welding helmet.

“Tell Jay he’s gotta practice his rafter drills.”

Bruce sounds amused. “Listen to your big brother, Jason. Don’t be such a bully, chum.”

Chum, chum, chum. Because Bruce refuses to call him Richie and Richie refuses to be called Dick in the manor. It’s a weird point of contention and no matter how many times Alfred insists that it’s not because of Jason, he can’t help but feel guilty about it.

“Ugh!” Jason sighs and heaves himself to his feet. “That’s not fair! You’re ganging up on me.”

Richie reaches out to ruffle his hair and nimbly dodges Jason’s half hearted swipe. “We do it out of love.” 

…love?

“I’ve gotta run upstairs real fast, Alfred asked me to switch the roast to low heat.”

“Okay.”

“Drink your water. Tape your hands. We’ll run the rafters together after that.”

………love???

It was a joke. Right? People say things like that all the time. It was totally a joke. Which is fine! Jason hasn’t had anyone say ‘I love you’ to him since his mom died and he’s been fine. So there’s no reason to, like, freak out about this. Especially not when Richie is already a super cool foster brother and Jason doesn’t need to put any more expectations on their relationship.

Right?

It’s fine.

Jason goes through the motions of taping up without focusing. He can’t- He can’t think about this. No way. He’s gonna start freaking out and then super observant, never misses anything Richie will ask him what’s wrong and-

Nope.

To banish those thoughts, Jason decides to get a head start on the rafter drills. Maybe if he’s mid workout when Richie gets back, he won’t even notice how thrown Jason is.

The rafter course is in one of the side caverns of the cave, mixed in with a bunch of other parkour equipment. It’s about ten feet off of the ground, far enough to be able to mimic what it’s actually like crawling through warehouse rafters without being able to fall forty feet to the ground. And it’s one of Jason’s least favorite drills.

Because he’s bad at it.

“Come on, Todd,” he grunts at himself and climbs up the ladder. “You got this.”

He starts slowly, swinging from rafter to rafter like a kid on the monkey bars. Once he makes it to the other side, he swings back up so that he’s standing and carefully balances on the balls of his feet. He crouches, ready to jump-

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Jason startles and loses his balance. He just barely manages to control his momentum so that he goes back instead of forwards, thankfully, and falls flat on his ass on the platform instead of tumbling forward ten feet to the padded floor.

Looking up, he sees Richie stomping towards him, face a mask of anger. “What the hell are you thinking?!” He screeches, pointing violently at the ground.

“I’m running your stupid drill,” Jason snarls back, instinctively going on the defensive.

Richie looks up at him and crosses his arms. “I told you to wait! You need a spotter!”

“I won’t have a spotter in the field.” He hates being yelled at. “What’s your problem?”

The older teen sputters. “My problem? My problem? You need a spotter,” he repeats. “Get down here now,” he orders, pointing furiously again.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Like hell I can’t!” Richie spins on his heels and screams. “Bruce! Get in here!”

Based off of the proximity of his voice, Bruce was already on his way. “What is it? Dick? Jason? Is everyone okay?”

“No!” Richie yells at the same time that Jason yells, “yes!”

Bruce bursts into the cavern with wild eyes. “What happened?” He asks, clearly in a panic.

“He was running the course without a spotter,” Richie explains immediately.

Jason glares. “Snitch!”

“You need a spotter!” Richie yells again. Jason hates it, hates it, hates it. “You can’t do this type of shit without a spotter!”

Stepping between them, Bruce throws his hands up. “Woah. Easy, boys. Jason, climb down. Dick, yelling isn’t helping things,” he says, voice calming down now that he can see they’re both unharmed.

“But he needs a spotter!”

Even though Bruce just called him Dick. To his face.

Jason freezes halfway down the ladder. Richie never lets Bruce call him Dick.

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll explain once he’s on the ground.”

“He… he needs a spotter.” It’s weaker this time, a little breathless. And also… accented. A little Russian, maybe? Jason isn’t really sure but it’s definitely Eastern European. Similar to what Jason remembers from the first time they met, when he’d been fighting with Bruce.

Jason lets himself drop gently and approaches. “I was fine.”

“What if you’d gotten hurt?” Richie looks… scared? “Come on, Little Wing, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Oh. Jason had scared him.

Bruce ruffles Richie’s hair a little, hand gentle. “It’s scary watching a kid you care about do something dangerous, hm?”

“Very funny,” Richie sniffs. “Payback’s a bitch, huh?”

Jason approaches slowly. “Uh. Sorry, Richie. I didn’t mean to…” He trails off and shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting.

“You could have gotten hurt,” the older teen admonishes.

He looks serious in a way he never does. Between his squished up expression, his accent, his yelling- it’s like a totally other person. Except not, because it’s still him, just… different? More real?

Either way, Jason is uncomfortable with the serious stare. “I can handle some bumps and bruises,” he says as casually as he can, hoping that they can drop it.

“There’s a difference between constructive pain and destructive pain.” Richie is apparently not very interested in ‘dropping it’. “What would happen if Bruce and I were careless in training and got an injury that impacted us in the field? How do you think I’d feel if someone got killed because I was too slow? Just because I thought I was tough enough to not need a spotter?”

Jason looks to Bruce for backup but the man only gestures in a ‘what he said’ kind of way.

“Alright, I get it,” Jason mumbles, looking down at the ground. “Gees, Richie.”

A heavy sigh. A shuffling of bare feet on the mats. “You… You can call me Dick. If you want.”

Jason’s head snaps up so fast, his sweaty fringe flops into his eyes.

Across from him, Richie- Dick is smiling awkwardly and Bruce is smiling fondly.

“But… you don’t like it…” Jason says, hesitant but somewhat hopeful.

Dick has a light blush on his cheeks. “Well. It’s kind of something for family, ya know?”

Family?

“You-” Jason’s eyes sting. “You’re a big dumb softie, you know that?”

Bruce and Dick laugh and Jason growls and then they’re hugging and-

Family.

Jason can work with this.

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Chapter Text

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MEETING: Richard

Jason stares at the suit hanging on his bathroom door and wonders what the probability of miraculously developing laser vision is.

“Hey, Jay-Bird, do you need- What are you doing?”

He looks up to find an immaculately dressed Dick Grayson leaning against his bedroom room, hair styled to perfection and eyes concerned.

“Trying to light my suit on fire with laser vision,” he grumbles, not moving from his slumped position on his bed.

Dick laughs. “First of all, it’s a tux, not a suit. Second, the fabric is flame retardant anyways.”

“Stupid.” Jason buries his face in his pillow.

He feels the mattress shift as Dick sits down next to him. “What’s stupid?” He asks, sounding genuine.

“Stupid suit.” He shifts until he can squint at Dick with one eye. “Stupid Bruce making me go to a stupid party. Stupid you and your stupid perfect hair.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Rude. Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’ve done dozens of these. We’ll go for a few hours, let some old ladies pinch our cheeks, make fun of Bruce for pretending to be drunk on two glasses of champagne, and be home in time for patrol.”

“Easy for you to say.” Jason pushes himself up onto his elbows to glare more efficiently. “You like having old ladies pinch your cheeks. Plus you’re…” He trails off and gestures with a sweeping arm.

His brother quirks an eyebrow. “I’m what? Handsome? Charming?” He makes a dumb face before he cracks and lets his natural smile show.

Jason doesn’t play along. “You’re good at pretending. And I’m not. The first rich old white dude who makes a comment about how lucky I am that Bruce took me in is going to set me off and I’m going to cause a scene and you’re going to have to cover for me and then everyone is going to talk about how Bruce’s street rat isn’t as well trained as his circus freak and-”

“What?!” Dick’s voice kicks up a notch, shrill in a way Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard.

He mentally rewinds and- “Oh. Shit, Uh, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Did someone say that to you?” Dick’s eyes are alight with a hot, burning anger. “Was it one of those shit stains at Gotham Prep? Because I’ll kick their ass, I swear I will.”

Jason blinks. “They- It’s fine. I can handle the kids at school,” he tries to say as calmly as he can.

He forgets, sometimes, that Dick has such a temper. He keeps it so far below the surface most of the time that it’s shocking when he finally lets it out.

“No, tell me who it was!” Dick jerks to his feet and starts pacing. “Are they from an old Gotham family? Will they be at the gala tonight?” He asks, eyes flickering around as if tracking invisible thoughts.

Jason sits up fully. “Uh. I dunno. Tyler Renlock.”

“Renlock?” Dick pulls out his phone and starts typing rapid fire. Jason tries to see what he’s doing but he’s pacing too fast. “Yeah, I know them. Get dressed, Jay, I’m gonna need your help.”

“...help?”

Dick looks up, a wicked grin on his face that doesn’t make him look nearly as handsome as his fake, dimpled smile usually does. It’s a little creepy, to be honest, and Jason loves him all the more for it.

“Yeah. You’re going to have to distract this little shit stain’s dad while I dance with his mom,” he explains, as if that makes any sense at all.

Jason stares. “What?”

“Me, Renlock’s mom, the tango. Keep up. What do you think would be a better picture? Me dipping her or kissing her hand?” Dick doesn’t give Jason time to answer. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll pay Julio to get both and we can decide later.”

He pinches himself just to check that this isn’t a dream. “Who’s Julio?”

“My favorite paparazzi. He’s kind of a turd but he doesn’t take pictures of minors so he’s better than the rest.” He finally looks up from his phone and frowns. “You have to get dressed. We need to get there early or I won’t have time to bribe the orchestra to play something romantic.” He makes an impatient gesture towards Jason’s tux.

“Right. Uh. Okay.”

Jason doesn’t know what’s happening but at least tonight won’t be boring.

~_~

The next morning, Jason stumbles downstairs and is greeted with the unmistakable smell of pancakes and coffee. He is just about to enter the kitchen when he sees Bruce at the family table. 

He's reading a wide open newspaper like a dad out of an old sitcom and Jason stumbles to a halt at the sight. Bruce never does that. He preaches often about his distaste for the Gotham Gazette. He thinks they're 'immoral opponents of the freedom of speech', apparently.

Then Jason notices the picture on the front page.

“Holy shit!”

It’s of Dick -of Richard - bending low to kiss the hand of Tyler Renlock’s blushing mother with the headline ‘Renlocks Pledge One Million to Park Row Community Center’.

Jason can’t see Bruce’s mouth behind the newspaper but his eyebrows look distinctly amused. "I told you that Dick is used to getting his way."

"I’m glad he’s on our side," Jason mumbles, still half asleep. "I thought Alfred was off today. Why do I smell pancakes?"

Bruce lowers the newspaper to glare. "I can cook pancakes," he defends, though it seems more out of reflex than any genuine offense.

"Did you?" Jason asks skeptically.

The newspaper goes back up. "No. I DoorDashed Waffle House."

Jason grins and lets himself into the kitchen, pouring a glass of orange juice and making himself a plate from the half dozen styrofoam containers on the counter. By the time he's settled into his spot at the table, Bruce has exchanged his newspaper gag in favor of his usual tablet.

They sit like that for a while, both scrolling through preferred news apps and eating their breakfast in silence. Showing a surprising amount of decency (and self control), Bruce doesn't bring it up until Jason is chewing his last bite of food. 

"I knew Dick would be a good big brother," he says, as quiet as the rustle of his cape.

Jason almost snorts. Of course the only way that Bruce can talk about his feelings is through sentences that start with ‘I told you’ and 'I knew'. How typical. “He’s not really my brother.”

“Maybe not biologically or legally,” Bruce allows, a strange expression on his face. “But he trusts you. And Dick Grayson doesn’t trust easily. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of people that he trusts.”

There’s a warm feeling in his chest that Jason is trying very hard to ignore. “You have to trust your spotter implicitly,” he quotes in his best ‘Dick’ voice.

Bruce smiles and Jason smiles back.

It feels good to have a home.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Nightwing

Jason has his homework done by six and his Robin uniform on by seven. They don't normally leave so early but he can't help but prod Bruce along. Because tonight is special.

Tonight, Robin is patrolling in Bludhaven with Nightwing.

He spends the entire drive patting his hands on his thighs and gazing out of the tinted Batmobile windows, eyes tracking their progress over the bridge. He hums along in absent agreement as Bruce repeats the same protocols over and over again. He even makes Jason recite their body snatcher code weird.

Which is just stupid. As if Jason would ever forget the body snatcher protocols.

“Stay close,” Bruce reminds him as he pulls up to the halfway meet point.

Jason rolls his eyes, knowing the gesture is hidden safely behind his domino mask. “Yeah, B. You said that. Like, fifty times.”

“I’m serious.” Under the cowl, his expressions are even more muted than usual. “Listen to Nightwing.”

His hand flexes on the door handle. “I will. I promise. Can I go now?” He asks, maybe whining just the tiniest bit.

He’s excited. So what?

Outside, Dick leans over the side of his bike to rap against Bruce's window. “What? You don’t trust me with our baby bird?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Bruce grunts but finally unlocks the door.

Jason basically falls out of the car. “Cool, thanks, bye!”

“Easy, Little Wing,” Dick says with a laugh. To Bruce, he adds, “teenagers, am I right?”

Bruce grunts again but there’s the slightest smile on his lips as he gives a final, “be safe. Have… fun.”

And then he’s gone in a squeal of tires. Jason very maturely sticks his tongue out and is gratified when Dick laughs again. It’s a loud and carefree cackle, something Jason (and every other Gotham street rat) remembers hearing out their windows late at night during his run as Robin.

“So, what’re we doing?” He asks as he climbs onto the back of the bike.

Dick revs the engine playfully and waits as Jason straps on his helmet. “There’s a new art smuggling ring operating out of a warehouse on the docks. I’ve been tapping their phones for a few weeks now and it sounds like the majority of their gang is running a protection racket in DC this weekend. I could probably have handled the couple of goons they left behind to guard the warehouse myself, but…” He shrugs and bumps his elbow playfully into Jason’s stomach.

But you need a spotter , Jason thinks, something warm in his chest at the thought that the spotter is him .

“Alright,” he says once he has his arms wrapped around his brother’s waist. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

~_~

The kicking ass turns out to be easy.

Opening up the shipping container to find a bunch of scared children instead of stolen art? Not so much.

“It’s okay,” he says for the dozenth time. “You can come out now. You’re safe.”

He’s crouched low on his heels about ten feet away from the entrance. A girl about his age is standing like a shield in front of a dozen younger children. They’re all wearing large t-shirts and nothing else, all the way down to their bare feet and, while they look fairly well fed, they’re absolutely filthy.

The oldest girl doesn’t move from her protective stance. Her wide eyes flicker with the sort of hypervigilance that Jason recognizes far too well. “You keep saying that.”

Jason blinks. It’s the first thing she’s said and he’s shocked to hear her Crime Alley accent. It’s stronger than his, even, and made more pronounced by the raspiness of her voice.

“Because it’s true. You’re safe,” he repeats.

She shifts her weight a little, still trying to cover the kids but letting her arms lower a little. “Where… where are the- the men?” She asks, tentative and slow.

“In various states of unconsciousness,” Jason tells her, hoping his bluntness will come across as trustworthy and not intimidating. “They can’t hurt you now. Will you tell me your name?”

She licks her lips. “It’s… Trish.”

He keeps his hands visible but slowly stands. “It’s nice to meet you, Trish. I’m Robin and over there,” Jason jerks a thumb over his shoulder, “is Nightwing. You’re from Gotham, right?”

She nods once.

“That means you know all about Batman and Robin. You can trust us.” He gestures at the group huddled behind her. “You’ve done a good job taking care of the kids. Let me take care of you now, huh?”

Trish falters. “You… you sound like you’re from Park Row,” is what she finally says.

“Well, that’s ‘cause I am. You too, right? You ever get chili dogs from Mister Hernandez?” He makes an over the top lip smacking noise and grins.

It earns him a slightly hysterical giggle. “Uh, yeah, a couple of times. Are… are the police coming?”

“The FBI, actually.” He gestures to where Dick is on the phone in the corner, talking too low to hear from here. “My partner is calling them now.”

Her eyes widen. “The FBI? But-” She cuts herself off at the faint sound of sirens.

Jason almost sighs in relief. “That’ll be the ambulances. Is anyone injured?”

A little boy pokes his head out from behind the older girl. “Trish’s wrist is broken!”

“Shut up,” the older girl hisses, angling her chin towards the boy but not taking her eyes off of Jason.

Or- over Jason’s shoulder, actually. He shifts and sees Dick approaching, tucking his burner phone into his pocket. “All good, Nightwing?” He confirms.

“All good. Hey, there,” he calls gently as he approaches, stopping a few feet behind Jason. “How is everybody? Any triage level injuries?”

Jason shakes his head but doesn’t answer because- because Dick is doing that thing where he’s himself but not. Except this time, he sounds like Jason. His Crime Alley accent is perfect, from his dropped consonants and lazy vowels to his pitch and cadence. It’s uncanny to the point of being a little creepy, now that Jason is used to hearing the young man be himself.

Trish doesn’t know any better, though, and her arms drop a little more. “We’re- good. Just me and Nick have been here for more than a few days. They haven’t really had time to- to…”

“Easy, it’s okay,” Dick soothes. “We’re here now. You’re okay. I heard something about a broken wrist. Is that you?” He asks, voice as gentle as Jason has ever heard it.

The little boy who’d spoken earlier -Nick?- pushes forward a little so that he’s side by side with the older girl. “One of the mean guys squeezed her arm yesterday. I heard it make a bad noise and she hasn’t been able to use her hand since then,” he reports, something almost defiant in his tone.

“Well, that’s no good.” Dick pulls a flashlight from his belt. “Can I come and look at your wrist, Trish? I won’t get any closer if you say no.”

He waits until Trish nods hesitantly and then approaches slowly. As he passes Jason, he jerks his head towards the warehouse entrance. “Can you go flag down the ambulance, Robin? Give them a head count and a rundown on the perps.”

Jason nods and retreats wordlessly, still thrown by Dick’s accent.

He spends the rest of their patrol thinking about it. It’s not that Jason about Dick’s weird penchant for whatever the fuck it is that he does. It’s just that they mostly hang out in the manor so he’s gotten used to Dick.   He only has to hear Richie’s annoying Bristol accent when they go out for ice cream and stuff.

It isn’t until they’re back at Dick’s apartment, reports written and pizza ordered, that he decides to ask about it.

“Why’d you do that?” He blurts out.

Dick blinks, a piece of pizza halfway to his mouth. “Uh?”

“At the warehouse.” Jason sucks in a deep breath. “You didn’t do your normal Nightwing voice with the kids. You sounded like…”

When he can’t figure out how to finish, Dick does it for him. “You. I sounded like you. That’s what you mean, right?”

Jason nods mutely.

“I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” the older teen says, lowering his pizza back to his paper plate.

He scowls. “I didn’t say that,” he mutters, turning away to grab his own slice.

“Then I’m sorry if I offended you,” Dick corrects, eyebrows bunched up the way they do when he’s thinking. “It wasn’t… on purpose, really. I just saw that the kids were responding to you and kinda went with it.”

Jason snorts and it sounds like an accusation even to his own ears. “So you lied to manipulate them.”

“It’s not lying ,” Dick snaps back immediately. “God, you sound just like Bruce. What’s so wrong with trying to make kids feel safe?” He asks, the question completely genuine.

That throws him off. “It’s- It’s just not fair. That you can switch into a different person like that. How do you expect people to trust you when you’re not even honest about who you are?”

Dick’s face shifts into something hurt. “I’m still me,” he protests weakly, looking away.

“Aw, gees.” Jason slumps back into the couch cushions. “I didn’t mean it like that, Dick.”

The older teen sighs. “No, I know. It’s…” He twists his lips to the side and shifts in his seat, hands jittering at his sides. “It’s really not something I do on purpose, Jay. Like Bruce getting all grunty and pouty or Alfred pretending he’s just a butler when things get tense or you losing your temper because you’d rather be angry than sad-”

“I don’t do that!”

“Yes, you do.” Dick’s tone brokers no room for argument. “Because we’re not perfect people. Nobody is. And it’s easier for me to be someone else than it is for me to be wrong . Does that… make sense?”

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s true. He knows it’s true. But he’s not like Dick. He can’t just open his mouth and talk and be sure the right words will come out and not something hurtful or angry-

Ring, ring, ring!

He’s saved by Dick’s phone ringing.

When he sees who’s calling, he flashes Jason a ‘one minute’ motion and answers it.

“Kory, is everything- What?! Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay, just breathe. I’ll zeta right over. Yeah, for sure. Love you, too.”

Hanging up the phone, Dick takes a long breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Jay, but you’re gonna have to get yourself back to Gotham. I’ve gotta go,” he says, tone apologetic as he starts strapping his gear back on.

“Go where?” Jason asks before shoving the last of his pizza in his mouth and reaching for his boots.

Dick grins, strained but real. “Space.”

“Space?!” Jason repeats, jaw dropping. “Can I come?!”

He gets an incredulous stare. “No, you can not come with me and my super hot princess girlfriend to fight an alien insurrection in space. Can you imagine what Bruce would say?” Then a small smirk pulls at Dick’s lips. “But I will let you take my bike back to Gotham,” he offers, holding up his keys and jingling them playfully.

“God, you’re the coolest big brother ever!” Jason cries and reaches out to snatch the keys before Dick can change his mind.

Dick releases them without a fight. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just be careful, okay? I’m trusting you to stay safe while I’m gone.”

“Promise!”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: No One

A week later, Jason dies.

His last thought before a warehouse crumbles down on top of him is that he should have brought a spotter.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Batman

"Come with me."

The tire iron is heavy in his hands

"I can give you food. A warm bed."

His grip falters, palms clammy against the rusty metal.

"Safety."

He lets go.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Red Hood

Something else wakes up.

There are thoughts in his head, about homes and families and trust-

He knows better than to make that mistake again.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Bruce Wayne

"You're - you're…?!" Jason stumbles back in shock. "Batman is Bruce Wayne?!"

His foot catches the edge of the platform but before he can even react, a large, black gloved hand reaches out to snag the front of his hoodie. "Careful."

"Wow. That was fast," Jason comments, feeling a little dazed, both from the new information and the close call.

Batman- Bruce Wayne makes an odd expression. "Yes. Well. I have a lot of practice being a spotter."

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Tim Drake

Red Hood's plan is simple; make Bruce Wayne pay.

He doesn't care how or where or why or when but he wants to see him hurt. He wants to see him suffer.

And the perfect chance comes along in the form of one Timothy Jackson Drake.

It isn't hard to get his replacement alone. It just takes a key card swiped off of the little green brat, a hair plucked from the head of the little moody brat, and some patience. 'Some' patience meaning weeks, of course. Weeks that Jason has spent getting angrier and angrier and angrier-

By the time he is creeping into the replacement's room, he's had more than enough of the patience. Now he's ready for a fight.

But when the kid wakes up with a strange, masked man in his bedroom? He hardly reacts.

(Impressively so, actually.)

He just stiffens, blinks, and waits.

It's not exactly what Jason was expecting but he's nothing if not adaptable. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey," he chants, stomping forward on heavy boots.

"Yes, I'm awake," he hisses, tone vicious despite his almost blank features. "Who are you?"

Jason stops at the foot of the bed. "It doesn't matter who I am. It matters who you're not."

"I don't-?" 

"You're not Robin!" Jason shouts, yanking his gun from thigh holster. "You shouldn't be Robin-"

The replacement's eyes are blue and his dark hair is shaggy. The shadowed lighting hides his pale skin. It causes an odd sort of double vision when his mouth drops open in shock and gasps, "Jason?! But I thought-"

"You thought I died? Yeah, didn't stick. And imagine my surprise when I come back to some little brat in my spot."

The replacement pushes up until he's sitting on the bed, one leg bent at the knee and one foot planted firmly on the floor. "But! But we have to call Bruce-"

"No!" 

No Bruce. No Bruce, anything but Bruce-

"But- but you're alive! God, Alfred is going to-"

Jason raises the gun until he's aiming right between the teenager's eyes. "No Bruce! No Alfred! Just you and me and-" 

"Dick!" Those almost familiar eyes go wide. "You have no idea- Shit! We have to call Dick, he-"

The gun feels heavy. Something in Jason's heart twinges. "Don't call him that!" He hears himself yell.

I'm the only one who calls him that, he manages to keep to himself.

With slow motions, the replacement raises his hands up. "Okay. I'm sorry. But he needs to know. He talks about you every day. Like he does with his parents. Do you… remember? You know, 'mama always said'-"

"Mama always said a good idea starts over a bad meal."

His head hurts.

"It makes Bruce sad but he does it all the time. Jason would have loved this movie. Jason would have loved this book. Jason would have loved this diner."

His head hurts.

"Jason would have loved being a big brother." 

His head hurts.

"Please, Jason. Please just let me call Dick-"

It hurts it hurts it hurts hurts hurtshurtshurts-

The blow to the back of his head is a mercy and he welcomes the ensuing blackness.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

MEETING: Dickhead

"Hey, old man. What's wrong? You look like you’ve- oof!"

Jason isn't even able to finish his 'seen a ghost' quip before he's tackled by five and a half feet of bright colors and pure muscle.

"Uh. Hi?"

Dick just squeezes tighter 

"Oh. Oh, my darling boy." Alfred's weathered hand half reaches for him, fingers trembling. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you again."

His lip twitches up. "You too, Alf," he whispers and lets his arms slowly tighten around his- his…

"I missed you, Little Wing," Dick says, face pressed into Jason's shoulder. "Speriat atat de mult. Seni özledim. Just- don't do that again," he breathes out wetly.

Jason fights to keep his hold gentle, pushing back a sudden wave of green that tells him to squeeze. "Yeah, well, it's not like I did it on purpose, Dickhead."

Against his side, Dick stiffens. Tim flinches beside him and Alfred's eyes widen. Distantly, Jason feels bad. Making fun of Dick's name is one of his only hangups, one of his few lines in the sand, and Jason just went straight for his underbelly. He knows that he should apologize. But…

But a quick flick of the eyes tells him that Bruce is still staring like a bit dumb idiot. Not doing anything. Not saying anything. Just staring.

And it pisses him off.

He's so angry. He wants to hurt someone so bad, he wants to push and pull and hit and tear until something gives, until-

"Oh, fuck off, Gandalf," Dick snarks. He pulls away just to glare but his eyes crinkle, betraying his amusement.

Just like they used to, Jason thinks, caught off guard. Or just like they always have, he amends silently.

He's the one who has changed, after all 

Out loud, he repeats, "Gandalf?"

"Gandalf." A lip twitch. "A nerd who came back from the dead with white hair. Difficult. Dramatic." Dick's expression softens into something that could almost have been considered a smile, if it wasn't so sad. "Honorable."

There's a wet noise coming from Jason's throat and he tries to clear it away with a scoff. "You went soft while I was dead.”

“And you came back even uglier," Dick retorts before they're interrupted by an outraged Alfred.

"Boys! I will not have you spoil this reunion with your bickering! We've all missed you so dearly-"

Jason snorts in clear disbelief.

Alfred looks wounded. "Surely you don't doubt me, my boy?"

"Not you, Alf." Jason carefully doesn't look at Bruce. "Never you."

That doesn't ease the butler's dismay. "Master Jason, I cannot even begin to describe the depths which Matter Bruce grieved you. Don't say such things," he scolds softly.

"You always defend him," Time cuts in suddenly, still a half step behind Jason in the doorway.

Alfred doesn't budge. "Because I know him."

"If it's not true…" Jason can't make himself look at his- at him. "If it's not true, then why is he just standing there?"

The silence is telling.

Jason growls and tries to peel Dick off of him. "I knew it, this was a stupid idea-"

"I was supposed to be your spotter."

Bruce's quiet voice brings the chaos of the parlor to a dead stop.

"I was supposed to be your spotter," Bruce repeats. "And I let you fall."

There’s a lot of things that Jason could say to that.

Before he can make up his mind on how vicious to be, though, his big brother’s arms tighten around him once more. “We can’t be good spotters if you don’t trust us, Jay.”

Well, shit.

“I’m the one who died, how are you making me feel bad?”

That lopsided, slightly manic grin and unplaceable accent should be off putting but Jason has never felt more at home.

“I’ve been told I have a way with words. Welcome home, Little Wing.”

“Good to be home, Dickhead.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~