Work Text:
It’s nearing five in the morning when Jason rolls into the Cave. Naturally, the lights are still on. He can make out the whirling of the computer before he’s even put his stand down.
It’s been a long night. Cold in a way that sticks, dragging in a way that sinks bone deep. The stretch of his shoulders, every old ache he’d rather forget. It’s all there under his skin and most of all, the insistent dreariness he feels standing under the high cavernous ceilings—that he’d rather be doing anything but facing Bruce.
It never completely leaves, but it’s not bad enough tonight to bother making his journey any longer. The manor, inconveniently, is his closest home-base at the moment.
So, he sucks it up. He ignores his surroundings even with the rustle of movement stepping on every one of his senses. And it’s not until he’s put his best dent in the manor’s hot water that he realizes it isn’t Bruce sitting up at the computer—it’s Dick.
Jason startles with the realization that might be worse.
It’s not a depth he can really explain; a dugout that’s always been there. Complicated. Absolute. A history half accounted for and wholly experienced.
But unlike with Bruce, when Jason gets that little itch in the back of his head, the instinct that he should leave it, it’s second nature to brush it aside.
So, wanting nothing more than to disappear as best he can a ghost in the manor’s walls, he walks straight up to Dick’s backlit silhouette and picks up the nearest confidential-looking file. “What’s this?” he asks, not bothering to read more than a skim.
Dick moves as if to turn and doesn’t follow through, gaze glued to the screen. Jason studies the way his eyes look sunken in the screen’s light. His hunched shoulders. There’s a half-finished coffee sitting to the side, black rings staining the inside of the cup like it’s been forgotten for hours at a time. “Jason, hey.”
He sounds so preoccupied Jason wonders if he even realizes he still hasn’t glanced sideways. Jason hums back. He turns to regard what’s holding his attention.
His eyes narrow. “Bowery?” He leaves a pause but if Dick notices, he doesn’t show it—doesn’t fill it. It gives Jason the time to curl his lip. “Isn’t that Bruce’s gig?”
Matching Jason’s earlier tone, Dick simply hums in answer and something sharp twists through Jason. Momentarily blinding in a way that gets him straight to, “Seriously, Dick? Don’t you have enough of your own problems?” without consciously deciding to go there.
Dick’s movements pause. He finally glances over, but it’s only to hold his gaze and raise an eyebrow back. As if he can see straight through to every indent of the dugout. Long-suffering and judgmental in equal measure, like he has every stone Jason doesn’t memorized and wants to see how far Jason’s throwing arm has gotten from 12.
The look sends a more familiar shade of anger curling through Jason, this time tinged with annoyance. You’re as bad as Tim. He bites it back, maybe for the look Dick’s aiming, maybe because even as he thinks it, he knows it isn’t true.
Dick’s been playing this game longer than any of them. And it’s that thought that has his insides steeling—not the file on screen, not Dick’s waiting gaze, not the shadows sitting under it. The fact Dick can have everything down pat without having a fucking clue to go with it.
Jason lets his scowl drop, dumping the files back to the desk with an eye-roll. He brushes past Dick, snatching his coffee as he goes. The cold porcelain shocks any residual heat of his shower away. Dick’s gaze turns but he doesn’t comment and the silence of the cave crashes down.
By the time Jason makes it to the staircase, the sound of his movements restart. He tightens his grip on the cup, rolling his eyes hard to himself. Uselessly fucking infuriated as he climbs, but even its uselessness doesn’t stop the way it clings.
It’s gotta be a fucking skill. How much fury Dick can provoke without really doing anything.
But as quick as always, the fury becomes a back-burn, smouldering somewhere Jason would rather leave unacknowledged. He tries.
He walks down to the kitchen, empty as the halls. He washes the first layer of stains from Dick’s cup and leaves it there to soak. Filches some of Alfred’s leftovers. Eats them. Checks his messages and manages a blank scroll through before he squeezes his eyes shut in annoyance. He ducks his chin with a muttered, heartfelt, “Fuck’s sake.”
He wishes he could leave it. He wishes he didn’t care so fucking much. It’s just Dick. He has an uncanny ability of getting under Jason’s skin in a way few others possess.
And especially—the way he can still be sat at the Batcomputer who knows how many fucking hours into doing Bruce’s work for him—he’s just. Fuck, Jason can’t stand it. He wishes he didn’t care. He wishes he could leave it.
But Jason knows, he knows, no matter what, Dick’s expression is going to be stuck in his head all night. That he won’t get any sleep rolling over his annoyance. He wishes it was as simple as Dick being a pushover. That he could let all this go, but it’s the way Jason knows how he was going to respond, play everything so calm in the face of Jason like he weren’t half asleep on a favour he'll probably never cash.
Jason puts his dishes in the sink and walks back down to the Cave.
Jason leans over, takes man of the keyboard and shuts the whole thing down with a few clicks. “What—Jason.” Dick shoves him sideways, but this time his gaze doesn’t get waylaid on the case. He glares as Jason straightens. “Why would you,” he starts to seethe through before repositioning himself. He turns marginally, as if it’s a struggle to even contain his glare that much, pinching the bridge of his nose with a long exhale.
It doesn’t drain any tension from his ire, but even the fact he’s trying to rein it in so obviously has Jason resisting an eye roll. “Seriously? Please just yell at me so we can both go to sleep.”
Dick leans further into his hand with a muffled grunt in response. Jason sighs. It’s a wonder why he thought it was Bruce at the Batcomputer. “Dick,” he mutters, nudging his foot with his own. “Dick.”
Dick sighs through, “What, Jason?” without actually moving. Jason considers him. Possibly, if he stands here in silence Dick might just fall asleep as is.
He looks to the casework surrounding Dick, and he’s a minute in before Dick seems to resign himself to moving. He drags himself upright like now he’s here, he’s regretting a great many things.
Good, Jason thinks vindictively, and nudges his foot again.
Dick’s expression smooths out as he watches, but nothing hides the exhaustion clinging to him. He considers Jason for a long moment before turning back to the screen and flicking the power button.
Jason briefly considers maiming him.
“For fuck sake,” he says, and grabs hold of Dick’s chair to drag it half way across the platform with Dick in it. “You can’t be serious,” he mutters, stepping back to the computer. This time he lets it start so he can meticulously go through closing each open window.
“Jason,” Dick snaps at his back.
“Tell me what time it is,” Jason says back, nearly through restoring the screen to a blank page, “And I’ll consider leaving you alone.”
There’s a scrap of the chair and a sigh. Jason closes the last tab and commands the screen black before Dick can step up to his side. He’s scowling lightly and the expression is slightly hilarious on him, like he’s been spending too much time around Damian. He looks young. Jason hates it. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Jason raises half an eyebrow. Another thing, Dick’s feign of obliviousness makes the list of Jason’s least favourite things about him. Dick holds it for a minute before relenting. Somewhat proving the point, he digs his phone out of his pocket and squints at it for several seconds before he seems to comprehend it. “Five-seventeen,” he answers finally, and shines his screen at Jason for good measure.
The numbers change over as he watches, and Jason slides his eyes back to Dick. “And how long have you been here?”
Dick doesn’t react this time, his expression stays unaffected. “Not long,” he claims. Jason presses his lips together.
He looks to the blank screen with a breath of a sigh. “You’re so full of it,” Jason says with the same amount of infliction, this light claim that doesn’t need emphasis to hold its weight. And fuck, it’s so infuriating, because when it comes down to it, that’s the big ugly difference between them.
Dick will always give past his limit, will always back himself to the wall helping. He acts like he doesn’t know where the line between selfless and self-destructive even is, but it’s so glaring, and Dick is anything but oblivious. It makes Jason want to throttle him half the time, an urge that is unfortunately counterproductive all of the time.
It makes him want to do worse than throttle everyone else. Jason refuses to examine his reasoning too closely, not when ignoring it has gotten him this far. It’s just Dick. Complicated and inherent. A ball of resent Jason can’t remember not being there.
He expects this is how everyone feels. Once you meet Dick Grayson, it’s hard to remember he wasn’t always there.
“Stop that,” Jason says without looking up. Dick lets out another slow sigh, and Jason peers over to his eyes closing. He stands there like that for a minute stretching two and Jason doesn’t—he’s not sure. It makes something in him twist towards embarrassment, because despite everything between them, he knows Dick wouldn’t let himself do this with most people.
The pretenses, the slip of. Acknowledging there’s an act is a different fucking story to dropping it. Why are you doing this? The question makes Jason feel young too, like voicing anything akin to it will transport him back a decade. A decade to when he wanted to know everything about Dick Grayson. He’s not sure how they got here, without any of those questions, knowing everything there is to know backwards. Instead, he says, “Stop that too,” and Dick’s lips twitch up.
He cracks his eyes open one at a time to look over and Jason crosses his arms with a grimace. He cuts his eyes to the screen before Dick’s gaze undoes his efforts for him. “Uh-huh. And what am I allowed to do?” His voice is light, and Jason’s shifting proves futile.
“Feeling forgetful?” Jason mutters, eyes still fixated on the keyboard. He can practically see Dick’s expression through the silence, the tiniest smirk he gets as if he’s humouring his current interaction for his own enjoyment.
“Sleeping?”
Jason looks over with a flat glare. Snips back, “Breathing’s a close second.” Dick’s smirk gets more pronounced. He doesn’t look less tired for it, but it makes it almost bearable.
“Uh-huh,” Dick says again, each syllable drawn out. Jason shouldn’t find him being an asshole comforting. “If you say so, Little Wing.”
Jason turns away, this time picking up one of Dick’s abandoned files. The silence regrows as he looks it over, invading his personal space, and he reaches a limit when he has to consciously keep his breathing relaxed under Dick’s gaze. His hand tightens on the file. He asks without looking, “Where is B?”
There’s a beat and another sigh, laced with exasperation this time. “Does it matter?” Dick continues before Jason can get a word in, “Let’s not tonight, Jay.”
His tone invokes zero sympathy from Jason. “Good thing tonight disappeared hours ago, Dick.”
Dick’s gaze slants over, brows furrowing. “Just go home,” Jason tells him. He starts shuffling the papers into piles. Jason doesn’t feel like hearing Bruce’s list of excuses, least of all from Dick’s mouth. Honestly, he hopes Bruce is getting the shit beat out of him somewhere.
“I can’t—” Dick sighs harshly. “I can’t just.” He cuts himself off again and Jason finishes his pile of files, placing them off to the side.
“Then at least go to sleep,” Jason mutters, a softness he didn’t intend leaking through. He stares at the pile of folders. That he can see the weight on Dick’s shoulders is the only warning anyone ever gets that he’s too close to the edge. Jason doesn’t think anyone’s ever managed to pull him back but it’s worth a try. Despite everything, Jason doesn’t want to see him go insane there.
“Fine.” Jason almost doesn’t catch the response. If they weren’t in the silence of the cave he wouldn’t have.
There’s movement behind him and Jason glances back before Dick’s hand can connect to his shoulder. Dick lets it drop, sends him a crooked smile instead. “Night, Jay.”
Jason rolls his eyes. “It’s morning,” he emphasizes. Dick’s smile gathers at his eyes, and it brightens his whole stance. Jason wonders at the duality of it, at which stage sincerity bends to trick.
But it is much too early, and Jason can admit to himself that he’s just as tired. “Piss off,” Jason tells him. Dick breathes through a laugh, turning to leave and Jason catches part of his eye-roll, watches exasperation drag at his shoulders.
“Go to sleep!” Jason calls. He tracks his trajectory to the stairs skeptically. Dick waves him off without pausing, two steps up, which is possibly the most convincing argument he could make.
Jason turns back to the files before he hits halfway. He lets out a slow sigh at the height of them, briefly contemplates burning them. He screws his eyes shut. Go to sleep.
The wire of his thoughts is wound tight, and Jason knows sleep is going to be hard to come by. The height of those files and every word of the manor’s walls ricocheting out like friendly fire. He’s tried to run this off before and it never works.
He should try harder, and never does. The thought keeps him company on his way back to his bike.