Archive of Our Own

Gleaming, twinkling, lights like a million diamonds strewn across the ripples in the water; blinding, beckoning, the late afternoon sun bathing the sea in hues of gold. A soft breeze rustles the leaves of invisible trees around him, and the old, wooden planks beneath his bare feet creak with every step he takes towards the water. His fingertips start to tingle in the crisp, autumn air that smells of endings and tastes of new beginnings.

Jason doesn’t know where he is, and somewhere, in the distant reality of rational thought, he thinks that that should scare him, but it doesn’t. He’s standing on a pier, looking out to sea, the edges of his vision too bright for him to make out the harbour. It’s like some kind of mist descended upon what lies behind him, obscuring all but the silhouettes of people walking along the beach and the sounds of the waves coming into shore to wash away their footprints.

Still, there’s a strange familiarity about it all— Jason’s been here before, he’s certain of it. Memory has softened the edges of his last visit, has left him with nothing but a faint sensation of loss and longing, of drowning in hopefulness that he doesn’t allow himself to feel these days; and beneath it all, inexplicably, contentment. He remembers fighting it like life taught him to, remembers a hand ruffling his hair, disarming him; and the bittersweetness of it months later, when the fight left him for good.

He walks to the end of the pier, chasing the laughter in the wind, loud and carefree, towards flashes of a dimpled smile on the horizon, too bright to be meant for Jason, too kind for him to be deserving of it— the right amount of teasing to get under his skin. Warm fingers wrap around his, pulling him closer to the water’s edge. His hand feels small, all of a sudden, like that of the little kid he never got to be, and he feels powerless to resist the lure of a youth lost too soon, the rush of an adventure he wasn’t meant to embark upon.

Gold makes room for the deepest of blues as he stares down, past his feet, into the water, and there’s that sense of familiarity again; of safety, of home. It’s like the sea is calling to him, daring him to abandon all reason and let the waves wash him away. It would take but one step, it whispers, for him to sink into the treacherous embrace of a past that never was and a future that never will be. He knows where it leads, this road not taken, knows that what awaits him at its end isn’t worth a fleeting brush with happiness, the contact high of almost having it all— only the water’s so blue, so inviting, Jason almost—

He jumps awake at the touch of a hand on his shoulder. He feels the mattress dip beside him as the warmth of another body settles next to his and a voice, cheerful and all too familiar, breaks through the haze of his dream, “Rise and shine— you know what they say, the early Jaybird catches the worm!”

Jason groans. He swats at the intruder’s hand, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated with the heaviness of sleep still clinging to them. It earns him a bark of laughter that wafts over the scent of peppermint toothpaste, but the touch of calloused fingers on Jason’s skin lingers. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and blinks his eyes open to glare at Dick’s grinning face; his chapped lips a little too close, crinkly eyes a little too—

Blue.

“Christ— the fuck are you doin’ here, Dickface?” Jason grumbles, ignoring the swooping sensation of his dream mingling with the cold, hard light of day. It’s way too fuckin’ early to deal with his feelings.

“Don’t tell me you forgot!” Dick frowns at him, pouting in a way that should look out of place on a grown man but somehow doesn’t.

Of course Jason didn’t forget— fuck knows he tried, but the stupid, self-destructive part of his brain wouldn’t let him. It’s been over a week and he hasn’t been able to think about much of anything other than Dick, their last conversation, all the oh-so-casual touches leading up to it; which, if Jason’s honest with himself, isn’t that unusual but he’d rather cut off his own tongue than tell the other man as much.

“How’d you even get in here?” he asks instead, gesturing vaguely at his bare bedroom walls. He’d given up his routine of burning down one safe house and moving to another every time Dick showed up unannounced, a triumphant grin on his face and a bag of cheap takeout in hand, when those visits had turned from a monthly to a weekly occurrence— but he sure as shit never stopped barricading his doors and arming his state-of the-art alarm system.

“I have my ways,” Dick winks at him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes that could sink fuckin’ ships.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Jason rolls his eyes and out of bed, away from Dick, all too aware of the other man’s eyes on the pale skin of his back as he stretches; still covered in a dusting of freckles from the dwindling summer sun. It does nothing to hide the flush of red that is starting to creep up his neck.

He opens the rickety, wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room, careful not to let Dick see the pressed button-down hanging from the door that he had bought just for today, just in case. A quick glance over his shoulder at Dick, at his tousled hair, at the stains on the right sleeve of his jacket and the loose threads of his chequered scarf leaves him with a familiar feeling of disappointment settling in his chest. He grabs for his favourite Eagles t-shirt and an old, faded pair of jeans instead.

Without another word, he shuffles into his sad excuse for an en-suite and does his best to avoid his own reflection in the water-spotted mirror.

“C’mon, I got bagels and coffee in the car,” Dick says with a smile when Jason re-emerges, leaning against the door and twirling his keys around his finger, “And bring a coat, it’s gonna be a bit chilly by the water.”

---

‘Great, it’s a date then.’

Dick’s words echo in Jason’s mind as he steals furtive glances to the driver’s side of the car. Dick is humming along to the nondescript pop song blaring from the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives the familiar route across Westward Bridge to Bludhaven Pier. Jason quietly sips his coffee and watches as the steel cables of the bridge rush past them, blurred shapes casting a veil over the murky waters of Gotham Harbour.

It’s a date— that’s what Dick had said to him, just over a week ago, at Wayne Enterprises’ third fundraising gala of the year. Steph had bullied him into attending, really, and he wasn’t sure how to feel when he found out that Bruce had put his name on the fuckin’ guest list and everything. Wayne Manor had been decked out in gold and silver; the ballroom brimming with the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and hushed laughter. Even in his tailored three-piece — a remnant from his brief stint as manager of the Iceberg Lounge — Jason had felt out of place in a way that Bruce, for all his contempt for pomp and pageantry, never would.

It’s why he hadn’t put up a fight when Dick had found him that night, had wrapped a hand around his wrist and whisked him away onto one of the Manor’s too many balconies—

Or at least that’s what Jason likes to tell himself.

It’s easier than admitting that he’s never forgotten the first time he’d followed the other man out onto the balcony, with a flute of champagne Dick had stolen just to piss off Bruce; and it’s so much easier than admitting that he misses the days in which following Dick had been a choice rather than a compulsion.

‘Bludhaven Fair’s in town, you know,’ Dick had told him, resting his arms on the ornate, sandstone balustrade. He had stared up into the starless night sky, shadows of the trees dancing across his cheeks in the orange glow of Jason’s lighter as he’d lit a cigarette.

‘What, d’you mean the one you ‘n I went to,’ Jason had raised a curious eyebrow at Dick, ‘When I was still in the scaly panties and you dressed up as the long-lost fifth member of ABBA?’

‘That’s the one,’ Dick had replied, shooting him a shrewd sideways glance, ‘I’m surprised you’d even remember— didn’t realise Bludhaven made such an impression on you, Jay.’

It had been one of those nights; with Batman away in space or in a parallel dimension, somewhere he hadn’t trusted Robin— no, somewhere he hadn’t trusted Jason to follow. Nightwing hadn’t been thrilled about having to babysit the new kid, but it had been a slow night that ended up taking them to a run-down fair by Bludhaven Pier. Not all of Jason’s memories survived the pit, but he could still taste the chili cheese dogs he’d eaten on a rooftop overlooking the fair that night; could still smell the artificial sweetness of the cotton candy Dick had stuffed his face with, and see the bright lights of the merry-go-round reflected in the water.

‘Trust me,’ Jason had snorted, in spite of the warmth the memory brought with it, ‘It didn’t.’

‘Oh,’ Dick had said, lips curling into a lopsided smile as he turned towards the horizon again, ‘Must have been me then.’

Dick had been flirting with Jason for months now; lingering touches and meaningful smiles, like there was a secret he had let no one but Jason in on. He wasn’t subtle about it, and Jason wasn’t as oblivious as he pretended to be. Half of him was sure that the other man was just messing with him; the other, quieter half dared to hope that he wasn’t. So Jason hadn’t said anything, had let Dick draw his own conclusions about what that meant. Still, he’d shuffled a little closer, until their shoulders almost touched.

‘Bludhaven’s changed, Jay. It really has,’ Dick had continued, more somber now than before.

‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ Jason had huffed, with all the cynicism of a true Gothamite. He’d punctuated his disbelief with a long drag of his cigarette, the cold edge of the balustrade digging into the small of his back.

Dick had turned to look at him, considering him, his face unreadable in the pale moonlight, ‘How’s next Sunday work for you?’

‘What?’

Dick had leaned over then, had put one hand on Jason’s shoulder, clouds of cigarette smoke swirling around them in the crisp autumn air; his voice a conspiratorial whisper in Jason’s ear, ‘Great, it’s a date then.’

---

It smells of funnel cake and popcorn when Jason gets out of the car; a sugary sweet layer over the earthy scent of fallen leaves, crunching beneath their feet as they walk towards the pier. Carnival music fills the air, striking Jason with a hollow nostalgia for something he never had. Beside him, Dick’s eyes are wide with excitement, the broad smile on his face telling the story of a childhood that had nothing in common with Jason’s, except for its ending.

“So, what do you want to do first?”

“Uh,” Jason says with an awkward shrug, “I dunno— you’re the one who dragged us here, Dickface.”

Dick’s smile falters a little, or maybe Jason just imagined it. He takes a look around, lips pursed in thought; and it’s only when Jason’s gaze follows his that he realises how much Bludhaven Pier has changed in the years that have passed since his last visit. Wooden huts line the seafront, painted in bright shades of blue and yellow and orange, with flashing neon signs advertising everything from surf ‘n’ turf to soft serve. Beyond them, the fishing boats docked along the narrow landing stages gleam and glisten, and the beach is pristine save for a few forgotten sand moulds and the remnants of a kite that had gotten stuck in the lifeguard tower.

Jason wonders how much of it is down to Dick’s inexhaustible efforts to clean up Bludhaven; Nightwing by night, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne by day. He’s poured months of his life and most of what Alfred had left him in his will into what everyone insisted was but a pipe dream— ‘cept Dick Grayson doesn’t believe in lost causes, he never has. Jason’s gut twists uncomfortably at the thought that maybe that’s all this is, all that he is to the other man; someone Dick refuses to give up on even when the rest of the world had done so a long time ago, one of his projects, another fuckin’ charity case for Gotham’s golden boy.

“I have an idea,” Dick’s words pull Jason from his thoughts, halting the anger that starts to rise in him and that he no longer has the determination to hold on to. Next thing he knows, Dick’s burning touch on the small of his back is guiding him through a sea of laughing children towards a Whac-A-Mole booth behind the ferris wheel. When Dick turns around to grin at him, the sunlight paints his skin golden and his eyes a warm shade of blue that invites in memories of Jason’s dream, of a childhood crush that he never grew out of, “For old time’s sake?”

Dick’s just so goddamn beautiful, in his stained jacket and the mismatched, tattered scarf, dark shadows under his eyes that belie his carefree demeanour, and that irritating, maddening, intoxicating crooked smile of his. Jason wants nothing more than to kiss it off his face.

“Old time’s sake, huh,” he lets out a dry chuckle instead, remembering the stuffed elephant he’d won for Dick all those years ago. Dick had challenged him to a game of Whac-A-Mole then, and Jason had beat him by a fuckin’ mile. He’d teased Dick about his age, his slowing reflexes ‘n all that, but he’d still awkwardly handed him his prize afterwards: a small, stuffed elephant in a poor semblance of a Robin suit. Far as he knows, it’s still sitting on one of the dusty bookshelves in Dick’s old room at the Manor.

“Didn’t know my Whac-A-Mole prowess made such an impression on you, Dickie,” he says, echoing Dick’s words from that night at the gala.

“Trust me,” Dick plays along, but his face is serious when he adds, “It did. You did.”

Jason blushes, in spite of himself. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and he doesn’t know what to say; doesn’t know if Dick means it or if, to him, this is all just a cruel game of chicken. He swallows, hard, and dares to meet the other man’s eyes knowing that his own must shine with the hopefulness and vulnerability he tries so fuckin’ hard to hide, always, and replies, “Guess I better make sure I don’t disappoint then.”

Dick’s face lights up, and there’s an unbearable softness to his voice when he assures him, “You could never.”

Jason beats Dick again, but this time he gives his prize to the wide-eyed little boy who’d been watching them, peeking out from behind his mother’s skirt. Dick coos and calls him a big softie, earning himself a half-hearted punch in the arm from Jason. Under his breath, Jason mumbles something about pots and kettles, but he lets the rest of the day pass with Dick dragging him from one rigged carnival game to the next. When the sun’s beginning to set, Dick gets himself accused of cheating at ring toss — ‘cause that’s what fuckin’ happens if you throw batarangs and escrima sticks at moving targets for a living — and Jason ends up having to clasp a hand over Dick’s mouth before the guy manning the stall decks him for being an incorrigible smartass.

Dick’s unbridled laughter when Jason steers him away and onto the pier makes a warmth bloom inside his chest that almost lets him forget how freely the other man hands out his smiles and his laughter, his flirtations and all his little touches; how insignificant, how inconsequential all of this might be. It almost blinds him to the starstruck looks, almost deafens him to the excited giggles that follow Dick around wherever he goes; it almost makes up for the red, hot flush of embarrassment for ever thinking that this could be more than—

Jason’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice that, beside him, Dick has stopped walking; not until he’s a few feet ahead of him, in the middle of the pier, where the wind blows a spray of cold sea water onto his cheeks. It’s the sound of Dick’s voice amidst that of the waves crashing into shore that makes him turn around.

“Hey, Jay?” Dick starts, looking at his feet, “Was this a stupid idea?”

“Was what— what’re you talkin’ about?”

“It’s just, you don’t look like you’re having fun,” Dick shrugs, giving Jason a sheepish smile, “I guess I was hoping that— I really wanted you to have a good time with… with me.”

Dick’s words trail off into a mumble, his brows knitted together in a rare show of nervousness and what Jason recognises too late to be guilt. He curses himself ‘cause whatever the fuck else he’s going through right now, whatever this thing between them is, could be, whatever Jason wishes it were— the last thing he wants is for Dick to feel like he’s the one who messed it all up. Much as he loves to call Dick out on his self-righteous bullshit every now ‘n then, it ain’t his fault Jason’s all tangled up in his feelings for him.

With a long sigh, he closes the distance between them and takes Dick’s hands into his own, trembling ones, “Dick, no, c’mon— I always have a good time with you, you know that.”

Dick looks up at him through his lashes, uncertainty mingling with hope and something else that has Jason’s heart hammering in his chest, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jason whispers back. It’s just the one word, but he knows that it’ll give it all away. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to care. So, with a strangled laugh and a shake of his head, Jason says it once more, “Yeah, Dickie.”

“Good,” Dick licks his lips and Jason catches himself wondering if he would be able to taste the saltwater on them, if he dared to lean in and steal a kiss, “Because I was thinking maybe— maybe you could pick where we go for our second date?”

Jason looks at Dick. He looks at the small, jagged scar on his left temple, at the crow’s feet adorning the corners of his eyes, and at the single strand of silver amidst his shock of black hair, glistening in the sun that is sinking lower and lower in the sky. He looks at his full, pink cheeks and the sincerity in his too blue eyes, thinks about how he wears his heart on his sleeve and carries the weight of the world on his shoulders— and just like that, the dominoes fall into place.

Dick bites his lip and gives Jason’s hands a squeeze, “Deal?”

“Deal,” Jason breathes without hesitation. He interlaces their fingers and holds on tight; all the way to the end of the pier, and for a long time after.