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Jason was just contemplating getting off his couch to start gearing up for the night—a routine patrol for a Saturday evening, no special sense of urgency for once—when his phone pinged with an incoming text. He fished it out of his pocket.
Huh. Dick.
He unlocked it to find the message was uncharacteristically terse. Pls come now, and a location pin. That was all.
He pushed up off the couch, frowning down at the phone as he stood. Little early in the night for Dick to already be in some kind of—
No, he wouldn’t even be on patrol at all tonight. He’d still be on that undercover thing for one of Bruce’s cases for the next week. He was being extra cautious on this one to make sure no one watching him saw anything they shouldn’t. It was a touchy one.
Omw. What’s up? Jason texted back.
No reply, no bubble popping up to indicate Dick was typing, even in the time it took Jason to get his boots on and grab his jacket.
He double-checked the location of the pin. Yeah, that was the apartment Dick was staying at for the duration of the case.
No saying what was going on. It was worrying that Dick hadn’t replied yet. That he’d been so brief.
But if everything was blown, Dick had distress signals he could activate to grab Bruce’s attention at a moment’s notice and have backup there, fast. If he was texting Jason instead, it must be something more delicate than that kind of emergency. Something he didn't necessarily want Bat involvement for, not yet.
So he couldn’t just come blasting in as Red Hood. He’d have to start out low-key and scope out the situation first.
He shoved a domino and earpiece into his jacket pocket, holstered a gun at the small of his back, where it would be hidden until he needed it, and grabbed the keys to his motorcycle.
Just a guy checking in on his brother, until proven otherwise.
A very worried guy who was only heeding the bare minimum of traffic laws to avoid the unnecessary delay of dealing with any cops. But you know how it is with siblings. Especially—especially with Dick.
Field calls for backup aside, Dick did not just ask for help. Or at least… he didn’t ask Jason for help. Maybe he asked Bruce more, but Jason certainly hadn’t gotten the impression it was a lot more. Not unless he really needed it. He liked to handle things himself.
There were no obvious signs of a disturbance as Jason pulled up near the apartment building. Not that he was particularly expecting it, but still. Good to know Dick wasn’t, say, in the middle of a shootout when he texted.
He still hadn’t gotten a reply, though. Not in the entire time it took him to get over here.
Jason briefly debated a normal entrance via the door versus fire escape, but in the end it wasn’t much of a question. Checking at the window first would give him the lay of the land before he stepped into whatever was going on.
He made it up the fire escape with practiced ease, keeping noise to the barest minimum as he settled outside the window. It was not as dark as he would have liked yet for this kind of thing. He had to angle his body carefully to minimize not only movement visible to the inside but any potential for betraying shadows.
He might have saved himself the trouble.
There was absolutely no one visible inside. Not in the bedroom, not in the main living area and kitchen.
There were shoes kicked off haphazardly beside the door. A jacket on the hook on the wall. A ring of keys sitting on the kitchen counter. Several lights on around the apartment. All the subtle indications that someone should be home. No signs of trouble, and no sign of Dick or anyone else.
And still no response to his initial text, or any of the several follow-ups since.
Jason hit the call button and listened as it rang through and dumped him to voicemail. He didn’t bother leaving a message.
Time for a little light breaking and entering.
It really was light work, too. Dick’s security here was minimal, less than their average safehouse. Enough to give him a heads up for any more ham-handed attempts to gain entry, but a setup Jason could disable in his sleep.
The place was quiet inside. Neater than Dick’s real apartment—he hadn’t been here long and wasn’t planning to be. Not a trace of anything that pointed to foul play, even to Jason’s well-trained eye. And Dick would definitely have tried to leave signs if anyone had taken him away by force.
Light spilled into the hallway between living room and bedroom, coming from the open bathroom door. A faintly sour smell made his face twist in reflexive disgust as he stepped closer.
Dick was lying half-curled on his side on the tile floor.
“Dick!”
Jason dropped to his knees beside him, feeling for a pulse. There, yes, quick but steady enough. He was breathing, but not conscious.
Jason’s first instinct screamed overdose, pointed frantically to memories of finding Catherine in the midst of scenes all too similar to this. But this was Dick, and there was no visible evidence of anything of the kind. No signs of a struggle, either.
There was vomit in the toilet bowl, and more spilled onto the floor beside it. Dick’s phone lay on the floor near his feet.
Jason brushed the hair back from his face—sweat-dampened and limp—and Dick stirred slowly under his hands.
“That’s it. Hey, you with me? I’m here, I came.”
Dick’s eyelids fluttered, then squeezed shut more tightly as a low moan escaped him.
“Dick? You gotta wake up now. Open your eyes. C’mon, tell me what we’re dealing with.”
Suddenly, Dick went rigid under his hands. His eyes flew open as he shoved against the floor, trying to prop himself up on one elbow. He didn’t quite make it, collapsing back to the tiles as he started to heave.
Jason grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him up, getting him to the toilet just as he choked up a thin stream of vomit.
Good thing he wasn’t a sympathetic puker anymore.
When the muscle contractions finally eased and it seemed like Dick wasn’t immediately likely to bring up anything more, Jason flushed the toilet then settled back on his heels, arms still wrapped around Dick as he supported him. Dick’s head lolled back against his shoulder, his breaths coming in whining pants through clenched teeth.
“Dick? Talk to me. I’m about five seconds from calling an ambulance, here.”
“Jay?” Dick croaked.
“Yeah, it’s me. What happened?” Jason asked him. “Have you been exposed to something?”
Dick shook his head slightly. A couple more breaths, then he managed, “Food poisoning.”
“Food—” Jason frowned. “How long have you been sick?”
“After lunch.”
“Food poisoning doesn’t usually leave people passed out on the floor, Dick. Not after, what, a few hours? If there’s something else going on here, you need to tell me, now.”
“Noth—nothing.”
“You didn’t hit your head, anything else?”
Dick shook his head again. “Ribs. Broken.”
“You broke a rib throwing up?”
“No.” Dick swallowed hard, shutting his eyes briefly. “Were—already. Before.”
“Oh.” Yeah, that did make more sense. “Well, that’s some timing you've got.”
That huff of air might have been a laugh, if it wasn’t so helplessly miserable.
Dick started to tense and Jason got ready to help him move. But after several precarious seconds Dick unwound a bit again, heaving a deep breath that was almost a sob.
“Sorry,” Dick mumbled. “Sorry. Just—” He broke off, panting a few breaths. “Hurts. Can't stop. Blacked out, and…”
“Before you messaged me? Or after, just now?”
“Both.”
Yeah, that would've scared him, too. Miserable enough just dealing with a stomach bug alone, never mind that much pain into the bargain. Jason could feel him shivering.
“I’m gonna call Bruce.”
“N-no.” Then, sounding more steady than he had yet, “No. M’okay. Don’t call him.”
“Dick—”
“Please.”
Jason took stock for a moment.
Dick was conscious now, and seemed coherent enough. Hard to say whether he was thinking clearly. Jason got not wanting to bring Bruce into things, obviously, he just didn't think there'd been anything between the two of them lately to prompt the aversion.
Food poisoning was something Jason could handle himself, though, if that was all it was. If Dick stayed coherent. If he didn’t puncture a lung or something, repeatedly throwing up with broken ribs.
It was actually a weird kind of touching, to realize that Dick saw him now as someone he could lean on for help when he was scared and hurting. No longer a kid brother who needed to be shielded from the worst of things, in case realizing his big brother was a fallible human being freaked him out too much.
He’d probably appreciate that thought a lot more later, when he wasn’t so freaked out.
It wasn’t like he’d never seen Dick hurt or sick before. He was just… usually the backup moral support with Bruce or Alfred taking the lead, back then. And if Dick Grayson, Deflector Extraordinaire, didn't have it in him to chat and smile and convince everyone around him that things were fine, actually, even if he was in the process of bleeding out—or to ham up minor illness in a blatant bid for attention that had always made Bruce smile—then things were bad.
But. Jason was here already. He didn’t actually need anyone else, even if he wanted someone to hand this off to. And Dick had asked for his help.
“Okay,” Jason said, and felt Dick sag a bit in relief. “How sure are you that this really is food poisoning?”
“Sure,” Dick said. “Knew the sandwich tasted off, but—” A sharp, wincing inhale. “Ate worse before and I was fine. Stupid.”
Jason hummed. “Getting older, I guess. They say the cast iron stomach is the first to go.”
Dick snorted, then gasped, curling inward, one arm cradling his ribs.
Jason grimaced. “How’d you break your ribs anyway?”
Dick gave a vague, dismissive grumble in answer—then lurched forward abruptly. Jason just managed to keep him from overbalancing as he vomited into the toilet again.
When he finally slumped forward as the bout passed, Jason let him breathe for a few seconds before asking, “Think you can sit on your own for a second?”
Dick nodded but made no effort to move to support himself. Jason shifted him to lean back against the bathtub, then stepped over to the sink to wet a washcloth and half-fill the cup sitting there.
He snagged the trash bin as he turned back, holding it up for Dick to spit in after rinsing out his mouth so he wouldn’t have to move again. Then, taking the cup back, he offered Dick the washcloth to wipe away the general feeling of grime—and the fresh damp tracks where the latest bout had drawn a few involuntary tears.
“Thanks,” Dick said, hoarsely, when he was finished and Jason reclaimed the washcloth as well.
Dick’s shirt was damp with half-dried sweat and his pants had sick smeared on one knee where it'd dragged through the mess on the floor in that last scramble to reach the toilet. He looked like an all-around wreck.
“We should get you changed into something clean,” Jason said. “And then we’re gonna need some supplies. I’m guessing you don’t have a whole lot stocked here.”
He could visibly see Dick push down a panicky impulse to ask him not to go before he came out with a resigned, “Okay.”
“I’ll get it delivered,” Jason told him. “I’m not leaving you alone like this long enough to go to a store.”
Dick just nodded, but a little of that tension eased into relief. It said more about how rattled he’d been than he was ever likely to get verbally. Jason put a hand on his knee—the clean one—in a moment of silent sympathy before pushing himself to his feet.
“Don’t try to move. Just use the trash if you need to throw up while I’m in the other room,” Jason told him.
He got a weak thumbs up in return before Dick let his arm drop heavily again. His breathing was still shallow and uneven.
Jason was already typing on his phone as he headed into the bedroom in search of clean clothes.
When he got back, Dick’s head was drooping and he looked so limp Jason thought for a second he might have passed out again. Then he picked up his head and his eyes blinked into hazy focus. Jason held up the bundle of clothes in his hand.
“Ready to be marginally less gross?”
Dick managed a weak half smile. “Very.”
It took some maneuvering. Jason might’ve almost said it would’ve been easier without Dick’s uncoordinated, flinching attempts to help, except he had actual experience there and it was its own kind of challenge to do this with someone who was totally limp dead weight. He’d take his brother conscious enough to hiss out curses every time he moved wrong, thank you very much.
With the new clothes on—the softest T-shirt and sweats he’d found—and the dirty ones kicked to the side in a heap to be dealt with later, Jason picked up the zip-up hoodie he’d found in a drawer. Easier to maneuver in and out of, especially if Dick was swinging between fever and chills. His skin had felt pretty cool, but that might’ve just been from the time spent lying on the cold tile.
“Cold or no?” he asked Dick.
“Yeah.”
Jason helped him maneuver his arms into the sleeves. That done, he looked… well, not much better. Clammy and pale and his face tight with pain and nausea. But he was marginally less gross, so goal accomplished there, at least.
“Bed or couch?” Jason prompted.
“Hmm?”
Dick was awake still, just a bit zoned out, like his brain was giving up now that there was someone else here to make decisions.
“Do you want to move to your bed or the couch?” Jason clarified. “Bed might be more comfortable, but couch has the TV if you want to watch something later for distraction.”
“Mmm. Couch.”
“Gotcha.” Jason ducked to pull Dick’s arm over his shoulders. “Going up.”
Dick belatedly straightened his legs to help with the effort. They got him halfway to his feet before he made an alarmed choking sound and Jason hastily lowered him to curl miserably around the trash bin again. Finally, his shallow, panting breaths slowed a bit.
“S’rry,” he mumbled. “Think… m’good.”
“Okay. Let’s have another go.”
This time, they made it all the way up. Dick held on to the trash bin while Jason held on to him. He didn’t even need it again during the short trip to the living room, which might’ve felt more like a victory if he didn’t also have his eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched so hard Jason could swear he heard them creaking as he lowered Dick onto the couch.
Dick swayed a bit, then steadied under Jason’s supporting hands. Finally, he opened his eyes.
“Hang on here for a second,” Jason told him. “I want you to try drinking a bit before you lay down.”
A moment later, he was back with a glass from the kitchen. He helped support it as Dick took a few tentative swallows before pulling back, shaking his head.
“Okay,” Jason said, setting the glass aside on the coffee table. “That’s fine, that’s good for now.”
He helped Dick lie down—slow and wincing with no way to completely avoid tensing his abdominal muscles. Got a pillow comfortably situated under his head. Blanket off the back of the couch draped over him. Extra throw pillow from a nearby chair for him to curl around, give some support to his much-abused ribs if he needed it.
Jason was starting to feel pretty pleased with his progress so far. He was no Alfred, but this he could manage. Then Dick rolled onto his side and promptly gagged up all the water he’d just swallowed. He clutched the pillow tightly to his ribs, but the movement still forced out a choked whimper before his head dropped back onto the pillow.
Well. At least Jason’s positioning of the trash bin on the floor beside him had been spot-on.
Dick was very still for a while after that, eyes closed. Definitely not asleep, judging by the tension in his body and the irregular hitches to his breathing. Jason was reluctant to disturb whatever level of delicate balance he’d managed to achieve to not be actively retching with any further attempts to help or distract him.
When the knock came at the door, they both jumped. Dick’s eyes flew open in alarm and he started to lift his head, then froze with a ragged inhale.
“Just the delivery guy,” Jason told him. “We’re fine, don’t move.”
Jason exchanged a generous tip for the bags the man was carrying and sent him on his way. The second the door was shut and locked again, he was digging through bags for the box of meds he needed. He dropped the rest on the counter to deal with later and headed back to Dick’s side, popping one of the pills from the blister pack as he went.
Sitting on the coffee table, he poked Dick’s arm to get his attention.
“Hey, take this. It’ll help.”
Dick opened his eyes and Jason put the pill into his hand.
“Whassit?” Dick slurred, blinking slowly at it. Maybe he had been half dozing after all.
“Zofran.” Then, before Dick could worry, he added, “Not from the Cave, I didn’t call B. Just put it in your mouth and let it dissolve.”
“From a dealer?” Dick’s eyes were barely focusing, but he still managed to be suspicious.
“Yes, Dick, I tapped into my underworld connections to get you black market Zofran. What are you gonna do, arrest me?”
“Already ate a bad sandwich,” Dick mumbled. “Now y'want me to…”
The words trailed off like he’d run out of steam, but he was still frowning distantly. Jason rolled his eyes.
“No, now I want you to take the perfectly legit medicine that Leslie called in to the pharmacy under your cover ID’s information so even if anyone waylays the delivery guy or whatever it won't raise any red flags. There's nothing weird in it, promise.”
“Oh.” Dick blinked a couple times, then put the tablet in his mouth.
Jason was tempted to just sit there a while and watch for any signs it was working. Not like Dick was likely to notice or care—he seemed to be doing his best to tune out the world in general in some approximation of a meditative state, with one arm thrown across his eyes and the other wrapped tight around the pillow over his ribs. Then he remembered that there were popsicles melting in one of those bags, so he got up to sort through what he’d ordered and put it all in some kind of order instead. After that, he poked around in Dick's cabinets and fridge, just to confirm what else he might have.
That done, he decided it had been long enough for another attempt. He grabbed a Gatorade and a straw and headed back to the living room.
“Hey,” he told Dick. “Got you a straw so you don’t have to sit up, but I need you to try drinking some of this.”
Dick groaned and Jason grimaced in sympathy.
“Yeah, I know, but you’ve got to be super dehydrated at this point and it’s just gonna get worse if you manage to fall asleep here. If you don’t want to end up needing to go somewhere to get an IV you need to try to keep something down.”
Dick reluctantly dragged his arm off his face. The Gatorade might as well have been straight poison the way he eyed it. Probably felt about like it at this point.
Jason didn’t even bother pretending Dick might be able to support the bottle on his own, the way his hand was shaking as he reached for it. Dick maybe managed to get a bit more down than he had with the water, but he still stopped much faster than Jason would’ve liked.
Jason gave him a few seconds to breathe before urging, “Try a bit more.”
Dick shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Gimme minute.”
“Headache?” Jason asked.
“Mmm.” Then, only able to muster a faint shadow of irritation, “Don’t say it’s probably dehydration.”
Well, that probably wasn’t helping, but they both knew that.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you thought you could keep some Tylenol down. Might take the edge off the ribs, too.”
Dick made a dubious noise, though whether that was regarding his chances of not vomiting in the near future or the likelihood that Tylenol would make a noticeable difference was hard to say. Both, maybe.
“Take a few more sips and then you can let it settle while I get you the Tylenol and some saltines.”
Pretty poor incentive from Dick’s point of view, but he really was trying to cooperate with Jason’s attempts to help and dutifully swallowed down a few more mouthfuls of the Gatorade.
Jason might’ve laughed at the disgusted face Dick pulled when he came back with the promised items, but honestly, he looked so miserable and wrung out it was hard not to feel bad pushing him to do anything, even if it was for his own good.
Settling back on the coffee table again, Jason held out the open sleeve of saltines.
“Not gonna insist if you don’t think it’s a good idea, but it’ll probably help things settle better if you can try a few. And it’s more electrolytes.”
“Yeah,” Dick sighed, reaching for the crackers.
In the end he managed two plus the dose of Tylenol, washing things down with more Gatorade at each step. It was a near thing on actually keeping them down, and Jason held the trash bin at the ready for several tense minutes before Dick finally settled back in something approximating relief when it wasn’t needed.
When it seemed like the moment’s equilibrium was going to last, Jason stood to move from the coffee table to an actual chair.
“You want quiet or TV on for background noise?”
Dick made a vague sound and gestured at the TV. “Jus’ not cooking.”
Jason chuckled. “Fair enough.”
Dick had no streaming services set up in what was meant to be a short-term place, so actual television like Neanderthals it was. He turned the volume down low, then flipped through channels. He thought he might see what weirdness was on the History Channel now just for the laughs, except it turned out that at the moment it was some kind of knifemaking competition, which was—not lame, actually.
He divided his attention between the show and Dick, who seemed to twitch and inhale sharply every minute or two, like he’d startled awake from a half doze. Could’ve been pain or nausea or both. But finally, slowly, he fell asleep for real, leaving only faint lines of tension remaining in his face.
The program moved on to a wilderness survival competition marathon. Which, who knows what that was supposed to have to do with history, but he didn’t bother changing the channel. It was interesting in a way that ranged from “huh, that worked better than expected” to “absolute trainwreck,” for someone who’d had the benefit of both Bat and League training plus a dash of real-life experience without extraction teams ready to swoop in at a moment’s notice when things went wrong.
At some point a few episodes in he glanced over to see Dick’s eyes open again, though he still looked kind of bleary, only half awake.
“Too bad they can’t get B on one of these things, huh?” he remarked, more to gauge Dick’s level of alertness than anything. “Not like he needs the prize money, but it'd be hilarious to watch. Probably have a hard time convincing him to actually come back and deal with people again at the end.”
Dick hummed in acknowledgment, but otherwise didn’t move or look away from the TV. With a mental shrug, Jason let him be for the time being. At least he seemed comfortable enough.
The contestants, meanwhile, were busy making bad life choices. Jason knew how much hunger and exhaustion and cold could mess with your ability to think clearly. He very much knew. But also, in some of these cases—seriously?
“Gonna give himself giardia like that,” Jason muttered.
Sure enough, seconds later the scene cut to empty forest and the off-screen sound of retching.
Dick made a faintly strangled sound and Jason jumped and scrambled at the remote. He hit the power button before finding the mute, and the screen snapped off.
“Sorry,” he told Dick. “Wasn’t thinking about that.”
Dick waved a dismissive hand and shifted himself gingerly to a more comfortable position. He still looked exhausted and washed out, but a bit less wretched than he had before the nap.
“What time's it?” he asked Jason.
“Bit after one. You’ve been out for a few hours. How’s the nausea?”
Dick shrugged one shoulder. “Little better.”
“You want to try eating anything? I’ve got Jello, popsicles, broth, all the usuals. Ginger ale, too, if you’d rather.”
“Maybe in a bit.”
“‘Kay. Keep drinking, though.”
Dick mumbled something Jason only caught the tail end of and declined to acknowledge because his brother was sick and he was magnanimous like that. Also because Dick actually did reach for the Gatorade bottle before Jason could move to get up and help, and took a good drink without dropping it, even. Baby steps, but progress.
When he’d set the bottle back down safely, Dick tilted his head to look at Jason.
“Thanks for coming. Seriously. It’s—I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
The corner of Dick’s mouth tipped up, and Jason shrugged in acknowledgment. Not so long ago there would’ve been no of course about it from Jason, not when it came to this kind of help. And not that long before that even field assistance would’ve been dubious.
It was like Dick had said before. People change, but not all of it has to be for the worse.
“Why did you text me, though? Why not B or Alfred?”
He’d have suspected a mistake, just blindly hitting the first contact he found, given the shape Dick was in, if it wasn’t for his specific insistence on not involving Bruce.
“Sorry.” Guilt clouded Dick’s expression. “I was kind of—”
“No, I’m not mad about it. It’s fine. It’s—good. Whatever. I’m glad you asked. I just didn’t think I’d be your first choice, that’s all.
Dick wasn’t meeting his eyes, an unhappy twist to his mouth. Realization dawned.
“You think Bruce would pull you out if he saw you like this.”
Dick sighed and rubbed at his eyes. It was answer enough.
“Yeah, well, maybe he’d be right to.” Jason folded his arms, studying him.
Dick shook his head. “I’m close, Jay. Just a few more days and I can get everything we need. If I can just—I need to be okay by Monday. They’re not expecting to see me again until then.”
Jason blew out a long breath. What was it, maybe 30 hours from now, bit more, before he’d need to be ready to go? Not ideal, but if it was just food poisoning and if it ran the usual course, yeah, not impossible he could be back on his feet and more or less okay by then. “More or less okay” was definitely not a state he liked for delicate undercover work, but—
“You know we’ve all done harder stuff in worse shape,” Dick pointed out.
“Fine. We’ll see how you’re doing by Monday morning. But if you’re not well enough by then I’m calling Bruce myself to pull the plug on things.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He was well aware that Dick only agreed so easily because he was confident that if he wasn’t okay by then he could act it well enough to fool Jason, but it’d do for now.
Then Dick frowned slightly, as if the full implication of what he’d said had just registered.
“You don’t have to stay the rest of the weekend, though. I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, no, you invited me to this party, no takebacks.”
“I’ll be fine now. Seriously. I’ve got what I need and I can just call you if—”
“Dick. You literally threw up until you passed out. You could’ve choked on it and died.”
“That was just because—”
“Because you were in so much pain you couldn’t make it to the toilet that was right there so you were just puking on the floor where you were laying?”
Dick winced at the reminder, shoulders hunched a bit in embarrassment, as if the panicked, helpless desperation that had convinced him to call for help already felt far away, an overreaction now. It hadn’t been.
“Sorry. Don’t—I’ll get it cleaned up, soon as I can—”
Jason sighed deeply. “Not the point. I’m not going anywhere until you’re better. Now quit worrying. And quit apologizing.” He slumped a bit further in his chair for emphasis before grumbling, “Anyone would think you didn’t want me here.”
“No, I—“ Dick faltered a bit, then said, more quietly, “I want you here. Thanks.”
“Okay, then. That’s settled.”
The long pause settled into almost comfortable silence when Dick broke it, his voice tentative.
“If Bruce asks where you are…”
Jason shrugged. “I’ll just tell him you asked me to look in on some time-sensitive stuff while you were busy undercover.”
“Almost true, even.” Dick gave him a tired smile.
“Best kind of misdirection,” Jason agreed. “I don’t tell him that much of my business anyway. It’ll be fine. Probably won’t even ask if I just tell him I’m busy.”
Instead of looking relieved, Dick frowned, just a little. “You two are okay, though? I mean, you’re still… nothing’s wrong?”
“We’re fine, Dick. I’m not the one who didn’t want to call him, remember? For once in your life will you quit checking on everyone else and just worry about yourself?”
And instead of getting annoyed, now Dick looked actually relieved. His mouth curved into a genuine smile.
“Can’t do that, Jay. Always gotta worry about my little brother.”
“‘Little brother.’” Jason rolled his eyes. “You do realize I’m bigger than you, now. Like, significantly bigger.”
“Just a baby,” Dick insisted, smile growing. “I remember when I could just pick you up and carry you.”
“I could pick you up right now and drop you in the bathtub. Wouldn’t even be hard. You could do with a nice, cold shower.”
“You wouldn’t, though.”
Dick’s attempt at a comically wounded expression was undercut a bit by the fact that he still looked pretty genuinely pathetic, like he’d crumple up at a single careless touch. His hair was sticking up at all angles in limp tufts. Looked kinda like a half-drowned cat begging to be let in out of the rain, actually.
“Nah, I wouldn’t.” Jason paused, considering. “Not yet, anyway.”
Dick tossed the pillow he’d been holding at him. “At him” in this case meaning “very loosely in his general direction” because the pillow barely made it across the coffee table and the careless movement left Dick breathless in pain. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face.
Jason scrambled closer to hold the trash bin in front of him as Dick swallowed convulsively. In the end, he managed to keep it to a single dry heave before dropping into an exhausted slump. Jason bent to snag the pillow and handed it back for him to curl around again.
“Hate this,” Dick mumbled.
“I know.” Jason dropped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry it sucks.”
“Really glad you’re here, though.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
He should probably go clean that bathroom, though, before everything dried too badly. Ugh.
The things you do for family.