Work Text:
Jason’s second bedroom is empty.
He’s the only one to have two bedrooms. The first was for a child lost in time, a memorial that no one—not even Jason himself—touches.
Dick stands in the doorway, looking in at the leather jacket draped neatly over the desk chair and the fluffy comforter folded messily over itself on the bed. They’re the only signs of Jason’s presence in an otherwise impersonally furnished room.
He has a horrible, horrible thought: At least I’m on the right planet this time.
Dick sniffs, swiping irritably at the tears he can feel welling up. Ugh, he’s always on the verge of breaking down crying around this time of year.
He’ll have to look for his prickly little brother, because Dick knows he won’t be able to sleep until he properly sees that Jason’s okay. At least that particular mission will be relatively easy since Jason had agreed to stay at the manor overnight.
But Dick finds himself in front of Bruce’s bedroom door. He feels like a child again, pattering down the hall on bare feet to Bruce’s room whenever he had a nightmare, seeking comfort in strong, warm arms.
He’s long since outgrown such a thing, but Dick’s already here, so he might as well check. It’ll be quick. Just to make sure nothing’s wrong.
Then he’ll look for Jason. First the library, since it’s Jason’s favourite, then the top two hits for Bats when they can’t sleep: kitchen or cave. Because food is a necessity, and taking frustrations out on a punching bag is a constant.
Dick silently opens the door, peeking into the room.
Bruce is actually asleep—a rare enough occurrence to be startling by itself—but there’s another lump in the massive bed, tucked up against Bruce’s side.
Dick squints and risks poking his head through the doorway. By the meager light spilling into the room from behind him, Dick only manages to identify a head of dark hair. Such a frustrating scrap of information only rules out Ace.
A familiar grumbling sigh comes from the bed. “Go back to sleep, ‘Wing,” Jason’s voice rings out in a hushed, tired growl.
Oh.
“Jay? What—”
Jason huffs. Dick can hear the eye roll in his voice when he gripes, “Old man kept waking me up, looming like a goddamn creep.”
Oh.
So Dick isn’t the only one. He shouldn’t be, but he can’t help being relieved by such a discovery. At least someone understands his feelings.
Humming noncommittally, Dick carefully shuts the door behind him. His eyes are immediately useless, thanks to Bruce’s preference for sleeping in near absolute darkness. But Dick isn’t worried; he simply shuts his eyes and confidently moves to the plush armchair he remembers seeing.
“I told you,” Jason hisses, “to go back to your room.”
“You said to go back to sleep,” Dick corrects in a whisper. He tucks his toes against the armrest, curling himself into a corner. Maybe he should’ve grabbed a blanket first. “Don’t mind me.”
Jason doesn’t grace him with a reaction.
It’s exactly the reaction Dick was hoping for. He tilts his head against the armchair, indescribably content as he slows his breathing to match Jason’s. Specifically not Bruce’s, because the weirdo has a slower heart rate in general.
Dick’s teetering on the very edge of sleep when he hears a voice. Unsure if he’s only imagining it, Dick scrapes together enough energy to make a faintly questioning sound.
“Get over here. Dickie.”
He’s up and moving before his brain derives any real meaning from the words. His little wing is calling.
Dick drowsily makes his way toward the bed, following the siren call of deliberately shifting fabric. He stops when his toes brush the bed frame. “Mm?”
“Up,” Jason rumbles.
And how is Dick supposed to deny him?
He isn’t, and won’t, so Dick climbs onto the bed. Climbs, because it’s not just ridiculously large but high as well. It’s as comfortable as he remembers. Even smells the same, because Bruce still favours the same body wash and Alfred still uses the same laundry detergent.
“B, hey,” Jason murmurs, Robin soft. “Just Dick, s’okay.”
Bruce must be really out of it, because he only breathes a small sigh and squeezes Jason closer, if Jason’s resulting grunt is any indication.
“Ugh,” Jason grumbles, “my ribs.”
But he doesn’t struggle or sound angry, so Dick takes his chances and quietly wiggles closer.
Jason huffs a disgruntled noise, freeing the corner of the comforter trapped under Dick with a sharp yank before tucking it around Dick’s shoulders. “Your toes are fucking freezing,” he growls, shifting his leg to pin Dick’s feet beneath a thick, warm thigh.
Dick can’t help the giddy laughter bubbling up his throat like carbonation as he curls closer to Jason’s warmth.
“What’s so funny.”
I love you, Dick doesn’t say. Little brother, I love you so much I don’t think I’d survive losing you again.
“Nothing,” Dick says, stretching his upper body to curve over Jason, who makes himself smaller to fit into Dick’s arms without protest. His shoulders are so broad now. Dick can’t remember not loving him. “Little wing.”
“What.”
Dick cradles Jason’s head to his chest, nuzzling his hair and breathing in the soft scent of vanilla clinging to his curls. Bruce’s arm, still wrapped around Jason’s middle, rests against Dick’s stomach. “Little wing,” he murmurs.
Jason’s exhales are warm through the thin fabric of Dick’s t-shirt. He’s loose-limbed like a big cat dozing in a sunbeam, despite being sandwiched between two well trained vigilantes of the night.
“Jay,” Dick whispers, petting Jason’s hair with no small amount of wonder. His heart might burst, being allowed something so lovely. “...Are you asleep?”
It takes several heartbeats, but eventually Jason does mumble, “Mn.”
Unable to resist, Dick presses a kiss to the top of his head. Jason breathes in—for a heartrending second, Dick thinks he’ll protest—and blearily says, “Sleep, Dickhead.”
Dick smiles, ridiculously endeared by Jason’s grumbling brand of affection. “Okay. Good night, little wing.”
“G’night.”
With his little brother alive and breathing evenly at his side, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Dick to fall asleep.