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Sometimes Jason thinks he's his own worst saboteur. There's no other explanation for how he gets himself into these situations. Needing to be cared for - it's too much for him. Especially when it's Dick who looks out for him.
Getting patched up is something Jason has begrudgingly gotten used to over time. It's just another part of the vigilante job; another facet to being Robin and maintaining that mantle.
This, though? This crosses a line. There's no Nightwing and Robin; no costumes, no masks. For all intents and purposes they're stripped bare and left vulnerable. More specifically: Jason is left exposed.
It doesn't matter how much Jason might like Dick - Jason doesn't like feeling like his heart is about to beat right out of his chest!
Hence: this stupid, baffling situation they've found themselves in.
"I can wash my own hair," Jason protests, pushing back against the hold Dick has on the base of his head, bandaged hands gripped tight around the counter as Dick tries to shove Jason under the faucet.
"With what hands?" Dick counters, pulling at Jason's arm to get him to stop putting pressure on his hands. They're swollen, bruised. They hurt and Dick knows it. He just tended to them, after all. Dick knows as well as Jason that Jason isn't doing fuck all.
Because he's a menace, Jason raises one of his hands to flip Dick off, regardless. Baring his teeth at Dick in a smirk from over his shoulder as he cackles, "This hand."
The exasperated eye roll Dick offers in response does nothing to hide his fondness. There's a familiar light in his eye, full of mirth. Though Dick tries, there's no biting back the crooked smile that pulls at his lips.
"It's fine, come on." Dick tells him, nudging Jason back towards the running faucet. "You're the one that wanted to get cleaned up—"
Because Jason is objectively gross after their last patrol. He was fucked up six ways from Sunday, for fuck's sake. There's no escaping the aches and pains of the night, but at the very least being clean would be a comfort. Jason has spent enough nights filthy to last a lifetime, thanks. The whore's bath was something to tide him over, but his hair is all dirt and grime and gravel and Jason hates it.
“You don’t have to—“ Jason groans, stubborn as he continues to push back against Dick's hand - that gentle insistence and quiet demand of, 'let me take care of you, punkass.'
A part of him wonders if this is how Dick felt when Jason first started looking after him. Past the genuine care that Jason knows is there, he has to wonder if this is some twisted form of retaliation to Jason's own adamant, stubborn compassion from before. Damn.
"I want to."
The look of helpless alarm that crosses Jason's face seems to catch Dick by surprise. It makes his grip go lax, but then he persists. Shoving Jason's head under the sink without further protest because it's all Jason can do to hold the counter for purchase and breathe. His heart still hammers against his chest, louder still than even the water that runs through his hair.
The water comes away dark with soot and dirt, gravel and dried blood. Warm, but nowhere near as soothing as Dick's hand gently scrubbing through his hair. Despite their initial fight, Jason slumps over the counter, head dipping into the sink. There's no way Dick doesn't notice how the back of Jason's neck burns with a blush. Undoubtedly, the jerk is smiling to himself. The affection in being cared for is too much. Jason feels unsteady because of it and holds fast to the ledge for purchase.
Again, he wonders if Dick ever felt so overwhelmed because of Jason's coddling. If so, he definitely minded himself better. Jason hopes the dick enjoys his moment of turning all this around on Jason; it won't last much longer than this.
His heart can't handle anything otherwise.
Though maybe it wouldn't be the worst if it did. As Dick continues to wash Jason's hair, Jason gets more and more boneless. His blush spreads up to his ears, burning a bit brighter whenever Dick brushes against them. It's a mercy Jason is face down in the sink. Relaxed as he unwittingly feels beneath Dick's ministrations, he couldn't bear Dick seeing just how badly Jason blushes.
"Back with the circus, there was a summer where I refused to shower." Dick tells him, unprompted and Jason waits on every word. Eager to hear more because he loves when Dick shares anecdotes like this. Loves the fondness in his voice, the wistful softness.
"Gross." That doesn't stop Jason from being a twerp though.
"Shower in the trailer broke," Dick tells him, pinching Jason's ear and snickering over how it burns beneath his touch before he carries on feeling for any more debris, massaging Jason's scalp while rinsing out lingering suds.
Sometimes Jason forgets that for Dick, it wasn't always lavish mansions and swanky penthouses. It was endlessly more humble, more cozy. A caravan on the move, never settling for long because home was never a place, just the people that came and went.
"Could've showered in any other trailer, but I was set on bathing with the elephant." Dick says around a soft laugh, reaching past Jason to turn off the tap.
It's such an endearing thing to imagine. Jason titters, water dripping from his curls and along his skin when he stands upright, leaning back against the counter as Dick pulls a towel over his head.
"Zitka?"
"Zitka, yeah." Jason can hear the smile in Dick's voice. Happy because Jason remembered. As if Jason would have forgotten.
Almost timidly, Jason smiles. Taking a chance to peek up at Dick as Dick unhurriedly scrunches Jason's curls dry. There's a moment where their gazes catch and Dick smiles, too. Small, crooked and boyish. Delighted because Jason can't fight back the blush that stains the high points of his face. Dick's gaze softens when he uses the towel to gently catch a stray bead of water that trails from Jason's hairline down his cheek and Jason, traitorously, shivers at the tenderness.
"How'd your parents feel about it?" Jason asks, just for something to say to break the tension.
"Not great, I imagine." Dick snickers. "They had their work cut out for them. I was so willful back then."
"'Was'?" Jason taunts.
The towel drops from Jason's head to rest over his shoulders, but even still Dick doesn't let go of the ends of it. He goes so far as to dry Jason's ears. Toweling away any lingering moisture, brushing over them and marveling at how they flush with color and heat.
Dick looks smitten.
"You think I'm still willful?" Dick challenges, catching Jason's gaze and holding it. Smirking at him, warm and wild and wicked and wonderful and -
It might take Jason's breath away, "I know it."
Maybe it's a challenge of his own. Jason isn't sure. His heart is about ready to tear itself from his ribs though. It beats so hard that it makes him feel lightheaded.
Before Jason can get overwhelmed by him, Dick relents with a small smile and a parting ruffle to Jason's hair. "You might be right." He says, nudging Jason to shove over. Jason goes easily, hopping up onto the counter beside him. Content to watch as Dick washes his own hair until he inevitably fixates on where he knows Dick's ribs are bruised. His gaze trails to the swelling in Dick's knuckles, a split in his skin and the telling red of oncoming bruises.
It's because he was protecting Jason. Taking care of him. Just like he promised to do.
As if sensing Jason's staring, Dick turns his head to glance up at him. Water dripping from his hair, beads of water catching at his lashes as they stare at one another. Quiet, inquiring up until Jason purses his lips and takes his towel to drop over Dick's head and scruff him dry. Rough at first, then soft.
Jason makes way for Dick to stand between his legs, holding loose to the ends of the towel. Head dipped with his gaze averted. Attention stolen by drops of water that stain Dick's shirt dark. When Dick's roughened hands come to rest on either side of Jason, propped on the counter, Jason's gaze follows.
Just from the heat of him, Jason knows they're too close. Crowded in that way they've both come to like. Jason drops his hands to rest beside Dick's, tentatively brushing their fingers before hooking his pinky over Dick's thumb while the other hand curls away - like taking any more than this would be too much.
Jason doesn't have any soft stories to share. Only this, now.
It still feels like his heart will beat out of his chest. That's not made any better when Dick, so terribly willful, squeezes Jason's pinky with his thumb, holding him steady. Smile warm and tender, so devastating it feels damning.
And because Jason can't breathe when Dick looks at him like that, he bumps his leg to Dick's rib. It makes Dick flinch, the pain from bruised ribs a tender irritant. Jason prods it once more, cheeky when he says, "Let me take care of that."
Fair is fair, so Dick relents with a sheepish smile and a sigh. "Okay," He agrees, but not before dragging Jason forward to the edge of the counter, his hand behind Jason's knee. It makes Jason startle, a renewed heat spreading from his face down his chest as he flusters, as Dick smiles at him, wicked and willful as he takes Jason's weight and carries him.
It's all Jason can do to hold on, protesting because they're back to square one. He's exposed again and Jason knows Dick can hear it, feel it - the stutter skip of his heart where their chests press together.