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Jason can tell there is something wrong before he even steps into Dick’s apartment.
It’s hard to place, but everything just feels off-kilter, two inches to the left than its normal position. He takes the key from his pocket, unlocking the door. The security system is offline, he notes, and his wrist aches a little when he tucks it into his jacket sleeve, twisting to grab the knife.
But when he steps in through the doorway, everything is still in place. The lights are on. No signs of any fight.
“Dick?” he calls out, cautiously putting it back into the holster. “I’m home.”
He doesn’t get a reply.
Jason tilts his head, straining to hear any type of noise, but it’s just the people outside that filter through very quietly. He doesn’t bring the knife back out but…
“Dick?”
There’s a mound of pillows and blankets on the couch, and Jason nearly walks by it before he sees the greasy mop of hair at one end. All the tension leaves his limbs at once. Just napping.
Standing there, he takes him in for a second.
But the bad feeling still hasn’t left, so Jason circles the edges to kneel at Dick’s sleeping face. Dick looks gaunt. The hair that flops is stringy, and there’s a little frown like he’s being troubled even in his sleep.
Jason taps his cheek gently. “Dick.”
Red-rimmed eyes—although, that could just be the lighting—blink up at him lazily, and Dick’s lips crease into a smile.
“Hey,” Jason murmurs.
“Hey,” Dick croaks back. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.” Jason moves away as Dick sits up abruptly, pulling him down into a chaste kiss. His lips are chapped. But it sends the same thrill down Jason’s spine.
“Hi.” They’re even more startlingly sky-blue, like the ocean. He’d appreciate how pretty Dick is more if he wasn’t worried.
“Hi.” He clears his throat, straightening. His back pops several times, sending twinges down his spine, and he holds back the grimace at the pain in his ribcage. “You mind if I take a bath?” He asks, nodding to the bathroom. It’d be good on his joints. Maybe give him some time to think about what to do about Dick’s unusual mood.
“Of course!” It’s a little too enthusiastic, but Dick rushes to his feet, stumbling where his feet tangle in his couch-nest. “I’ll run one for you.”
Okay, something is definitely wrong.
It’s the little things. Dick doesn’t stumble, doesn’t look pained while he smiles, doesn’t wake up red-eyed and looking sort-of sad. At least, he’s never seen Dick this way so far.
Jason shucks off his boots to the sound of the water running, then his jacket, then his shirt. He walks to the bathroom door, letting it creak open so he can lean on the doorframe, and watches Dick watch the tub fill up.
Jason notes that he put the bubbles in, lavender and vanilla. The bathbomb on the counter is also vanilla, and Jason knows Dick has other flavors tucked in his cabinets, but he also knows that vanilla is comforting to him. He’s so not okay.
Dick inhales the smell deeply after he shuts the tap off. He turns to Jason with a wan smile. “Ready.”
There’s only the slightest flicker of interest as Jason strips the rest of his clothes slowly, peeling the underwear off his body and tossing it into the laundry basket. He stretches under Dick’s listless gaze.
“I’ll leave you be.” Dick says, walking by Jason, and some instinct in Jason catches his arm before he’s fully out the door.
“Why don’t you join me?” He asks abruptly. Dick stares at him, uncomprehending, and Jason averts his eyes. Being under Dick’s attention—distracted as he seems—is always something that flusters the crap out of him. “Just to relax. Together.”
“I don’t know…” but the look in his eyes is longing.
“Yes, you do. C’mon, Dickie, chill time.”
Jason helps him out of his clothes, layer by layer until his body is as naked as he looks. Dick sighs, and it's thrilling to see him already a little more awake. Jason sits first, ass plastered to the curve of the tub. It’s not particularly large—it fits Jason’s frame perfectly with just a bit more space between his legs for Dick. The bubbles are several inches thick, too much for Jason’s tastes, but he won’t deny that it smells good.
“C’mere.” He opens his arms.
Dick sinks down into him and the water like an anchor onto the sea floor.
The silence is comfortable. Mostly because Jason uses this time to think. What does he say? Is it socially acceptable to ask ‘Hey, dude, are you fucking okay?’?
He watches Dick’s muscles unknit from the tension instead, soothed by the Hell-water temperature that they both prefer.
What does he say?
“So, this weather, huh?” Jason asks finally and then feels fucking stupid. What is he: Minnesotan?
Dick shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“Have you had any dinner yet?”
“No.” He sifts the foam with his hand. “Took a nap instead.”
Jason tilts his head until it bumps into Dick’s neck and he rests it there.
“How was your day?”
A pause. “It was fine.” His voice is too rough for such a neutral word. He clears his throat, and tries again. “It was eventful.”
Be gentle, he reminds himself. “How about,” Jason whispers, “I make you something to eat, and you can tell me about it?”
Dick tenses. “I don’t want to put this on you.”
“Dick,” it comes out sounding like pleading and chastisement. The first word that feels like instinct rather than Jason juggling in the dark. “You’re always taking care of everyone else, but do you ever let anyone look after you?”
“Do you?”
He doesn’t know what to say to that.
God, he really isn’t built for talking. A conversation about emotions would be hard enough if it was with a normal person, but Dick? A man raised by Bruce?
Two men raised by Bruce?
It’s a miracle that they managed to get this far into a relationship— it’s a miracle that they even managed to show that they were interested in each other. Jason knows he is not faultless in this. He knows he would have hid everything he felt until the end of time: this true-aimed loyalty; this urge to kiss, and hold, and love Dick; this thing that makes him want to cut out his frail, fleshy bits and place it at Dick’s lips, one by one; to feel the sting of saltwater against his bare wounds.
It truly is a miracle that they got this far.
It’s going to take more than a miracle to get them further, he realizes.
It’s going to take Jason and Dick, and it’s going to take effort, and it’s going to take Jason showing Dick the tender parts of him rather than offering up what meat is left of him.
Jason sighs, watching the warm water ripple at the force of his breath. “Dick?”
“Hm?”
“I-” he runs his tongue over the edge of his teeth. “I had an okay day. It was, um-” What does he say? “I think it’s going to storm tonight. My—this is going to sound weird—bones ache. Usually, it’s a sign that there’s a big storm coming, because the barometric pressure and some other science-y shit. It was why I wanted to take this bath.” He takes in a breath. “The heat—any sort of heat—helps. A lot. And I wanted you in here because I’m-” He hesitates, testing the words out in his head, testing out Dick’s reaction.
It comes to this: either Dick snaps at Jason, or he doesn’t say anything, and Jason can handle both of those. So he goes all in: “I’m worried about you.”
There is only silence.
“Dick?” Jason tries. His response is a sharp intake of breath. Jason tilts against the edge of the tub, trying to catch Dick’s eye over his hunched shoulders, and he sees Dick’s wet face instead, contorted sharply, eyes squeezed together so tightly that he can barely make out Dick’s eyelashes. Dick is crying. Jason’s voice softens. “Hey.”
Dick sniffles, scooting back into him.
He doesn’t know what to do, so he just tightens his arms around him, folding over him like he can shield him from whatever is making him cry.
Dick is crying.
Jason just holds him, smooths his clumsy hand over Dick’s hair, holds him, shushes him gently, and Dick’s body just wracks harder with sobs.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, eyes pinched, over and over again: “It’s okay, Dickiebird, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Hiccuping breaths are his only reply. Just Dick trembling and bawling.
“It’s okay, shh—” The way Dick spasms with the force of his crying is worrying, and Jason thinks, is it something he said? “Is it something I said? I’m sorry, baby, whatever it is-”
Suddenly, Dick moves, yanking around to face Jason. He flinches away, purely reflex, but Dick catches him, because of course, he does, and he buries his face in the crook of Jason’s muscles. Jason’s hands hover uselessly in the air. “Fuck, I love you,” Dick chokes out.
Oh. Oh. It’s melting and fracturing and healing all at once.
He hugs him back, one hand bracing the back of Dick’s neck, the other pulling him that much closer to him until their bath-slicked bodies are pressed so firmly together. I love you, Jason mouths against his skin. I love you so very fucking much.
He feels the wet salt of Dick’s tears run down his shoulder blades into the bathtub, feels the vibrations as Dick’s waning sobs racket up again, and he does what he’s been doing. He tries. He tries because sometimes, the little things are what helps. He tries something, running his hand down the curve of Dick’s spine, ‘til the weeping quiets, ‘til Dick’s breathing steadies out.
Jason almost thinks he’s fallen asleep until he speaks.
“Today has been…” He feels Dick swallow. “Not good. This whole week has been not good.” Jason hums and runs his hand down Dick’s naked back. “I-” The water under them has far surpassed lukewarm, matching the cold of the bathroom air, and Jason’s hands are wrinkled, and his knee hurts just a little bit, but they’ll stay as long as Dick needs. “I think I just needed you here.”
Jason’s cheeks feel hot at that statement. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Dick is silent for long, and then he melts further into Jason. “How about I tell you about it when you make me something to eat?” His voice is husky. “Just- After some time together.”
He smiles and tucks his face into Dick’s cold, wet skin. “Okay.”