Archive of Our Own

“How much longer?” Dick whined.

“Well if you would stop squirming, I could treat your wounds more quickly, Richard.”

“But you’re going so slow.”

“I am going slowly,” Damian said scornfully, “because I want to make sure the wound is properly cleaned so we don’t have to do this again later. Now stop squirming.”

“Damiiii it’s just a little scrape,” Dick insisted. He was laying on his stomach on a cot in the medbay with his suit pulled down to his waist. Damian stood on a stool to the side, painstakingly working on his back. Emphasis on the pain. Dick was sure that this level of attention to detail was completely unnecessary.

“It’s called road rash and there’s still gravel in it.”

Sort of unnecessary.

Dick pillowed his forehead on his hands and grumbled into the mattress as Damian kept working.

If he wasn’t in pain or forced to lie still, Dick would’ve been enjoying this rest. It had been a long, brutal patrol that had kept them out much later than normal. The Arkham breakout was only a few days ago, yet Scarecrow had somehow managed to have just enough of a plan to send them on a wild goose chase while he disappeared into the night.

For now his body could rest, sure, but Dick knew he’d need some time alone before he could recenter himself. Damian picking meticulously at the stinging wounds on his back and muttering in annoyance certainly wasn’t helping to create a centering environment, nor was it helping his patience or his sanity.

The jarring noise of his ringtone echoing around the Batcave from right next to his ear caused him to jump, aggravating his back and prepping his last nerve to fray. That was, until he recognized that it was the angry bird tweets he’d set as Jason’s ringtone as a joke after he’d sat through a particularly heated rant about a book.

It had become increasingly common for Jason to call them for non-emergencies, but Dick always snapped to attention when his brother called anyway. Memories of months of silence broken only by reports of Rogue plots or potentially fatal injuries evoked a pavlovian trepidation to Jason’s voice over the line, so he snatched up his phone with an even faster “Jay?”

Some of the tension left him when Jason’s voice came across flatly, “You got Tim?”

Dick ignored Damian’s huff of protest as he raised himself onto his elbows to sneak a glance at where Tim was working at the Batcomputer.

“Yeah,” Dick said, “he's home safe.”

Dick let his elbows slide to the sides, lowering his chest back to the bed and uncomfortably stretching the tender skin of his shoulders where the road rash started. His face scrunched in pain where neither Damian nor Jason could see it, but his attention was still focused on the phone when Jason gave a soft scoff which Dick couldn’t track the reason for. Maybe on another night he would’ve asked, but tonight neither brother said anything more for a stretching silence.

When Jason spoke again, his voice was hoarse. Dick frowned. He really needed to stop smoking.

“Can I see him?”

Damian protested more loudly this time as Dick pushed himself up fully in order to get a better look at Tim. He was slouched in the Batcomputer's chair while he typed rapidly despite his clear exhaustion. Dark shadows from fatigue decorated the delicate skin under his eyes, and he yawned twice in the time Dick was watching him. He was blinking hard every few seconds, but his hands didn’t slow. Dick narrowed his eyes. He’d better just be filing his report of the evening. After tonight, they all needed a break and Dick wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

Half of his mind occupied on the argument it would take to get Tim to go to bed, Dick huffed out, “I don't think that's a good idea, Jay. I'll let him know you—”

“No,” Jason cut him off. He sounded tired. “I'll just… give it some time. You guys are probably busy over there anyway. I'm… sorry to bother you.”

“Jas—?” Dick started before he heard the telltale click of the line going dead.

“What did Todd want?” Damian asked as he apparently gave up on getting Dick to lay down and simply resumed cleaning his back. “Was leaving in the middle of the mission not enough for him? I cannot imagine how he was ever Robin when it's clear that he cannot work as a team.” Damian punctuated his harsh words with a sharp jerk of the tweezers against a lodged piece of gravel.

Dick’s nerves lit up at the extra pain, feeding into his growing frustration at the night. He squeezed his hands around the phone he was clutching and forced himself to take a deep breath instead of snapping at Damian about taking his anger out in the wrong places. “Damian,” Dick started with forced calm, “I get that tonight wasn't perfect, but can we please not denigrate our teammates? I'm tired. You're tired. Let's just finish up and go to bed, yeah?”

Dick leaned until he was laying on the cot once more, arm tucked under his head, watching his fingers tap on the back of his phone to get his mind away from his aggravated (aggravating) siblings.

“Tt.”

Dick would never—could never— admit it, but fleeting thoughts sometimes crossed his mind where he wished that he was still an only child. Or at least that he wasn’t the oldest. Those moments were brief and uncommon, but with his body exhausted and hurting, and his mind tired and annoyed, he wanted someone else to correct Damian, someone else to convince Tim to sleep, and someone else to worry about whatever was up with Jason.

Turning his head to hide his face in his bent elbow, Dick sighed. Tomorrow he’d go back to being a dutiful older brother. For tonight, he’d deal with what he could. Jason would keep.

Jason ended the call with numb fingers, phone slipping from his hand in the vague direction of his coffee table. He didn't bother to look where it ended up.

Instead, he forced his trembling legs to carry him to his bedroom before collapsing knees-first onto the mattress on the floor. He slumped sideways, pain sparking across his body from various untreated wounds.

He… he should take stock of those. Figure out if any of the injuries needed treatment. But—

—Desperate cries. Fingers digging into his forearm, tugging, getting weaker and weaker. Watery blue eyes filled with betrayal, just like when it happened before—

He couldn’t. He couldn’t look at the evidence of—

Jason squeezed his eyes shut, hand clenching in the thin blanket underneath him. His legs drew up without conscious thought until he was curled enough to press his throbbing head hard into his knees.

It wasn’t enough.

His mind had been crying out for what felt like hours now—no. NO. We can’t. We promised. He trusts us! STOP!—and he just. He needed it to be quiet.

His other hand found its trembling way to the scratches on his arms—deep, defensive things that hadn’t even registered with him in the moment because he was so much stronger, far too dangerous—grip tightening until the shock of pain grew louder than the frantic screaming of his mind.

It needed to all go away. For the universe to stop spinning in silent judgement around him. He drew on its void and let it fill him.

Jason blinked open wet eyes, pain shooting through his head from the light he’d been blocking out. He gazed slowly past the dark red dripping down his arm and out the open doorway to the living room where he’d left the light on. But out there was—

He couldn’t—

He had to. Jason blinked hard and pushed himself painfully upright. A plan, to salvage things, that’s what he needed. But his head still felt too full—of noise, or silence, or cotton he couldn’t tell—for him to work out what to do. To work out where he stood.

“Dick's not mad,” he said aloud, just to put something real in the room to anchor himself. The words sounded fake as they pushed from his numb lips, his voice rough and uncertain even to himself. His hand was stiff but he clenched it into a fist anyway and gritted out more forcefully between his teeth, “It's fine. He gets it. He's not mad. He won't blame us.”

He’s not the one that matters.

Jason jolted like he’d been electrocuted, heart jumping in his throat. It hadn’t—it had been months. Months and he’d thought it had finally left him alone.

For a moment, every muscle in his body was frozen stiff, staring blindly towards the light in the other room, shadows at his back like the words whispered quietly in his mind. As if it would forget about him if he didn’t move. As if it would retreat back into the dark corners of his head and leave him alone if he didn’t acknowledge it further. As if he could hide from—from himself just by not jostling more of that acidic darkness free.

All he could do for a long, long moment was sit in mute horror, staring blindly ahead while he tangibly felt the months of progress he’d made dissolve like they were never there.

As if that was anything but made up. It’s pathetic. Weak.

He didn’t flinch this time. It was right.

He should’ve known better. Should’ve been ready with plans and contingencies to neutralize the danger he posed before the poison in him could destroy everything he loved. He had been so stupid. Pretending that he had it under control when all it had taken was green gas filling his vision for the green within to roar forward.

His jaw trembled and everything within him felt so jagged that he couldn’t even tell if he was going to cry or throw up.

It didn’t help that his breaths were coming shorter, and he fit a hand over his mouth hard, trying to keep it together, to make his mind focus on his attempt to fix things. Dick’s voice on the phone, annoyed. The perfect golden boy couldn’t even hide how much he hates you. Blames you.

He'd tried to get away. But when he'd turned and saw that Tim had followed him…

And now, though his brother wasn’t there, he needed someone, anyone, the very universe itself to hear him. To believe him and not the green snarling away inside of his head when he choked out, “It was the fear toxin. I didn't mean to do it again. I didn't.” His last word cracked on a sob and once he started he couldn't stop.

The green laughed at him. Who are you trying to convince?

A rabid dog didn't deserve forgiveness. Why should he be any different? He'd gotten far more from them than he’d ever earned, and this time he wouldn't ask.

You never deserved it.

It would be better for everyone if he stayed away.

The universe remained silent.

“Tim?”

Tim lowered his bo staff, sweat dripping from his forehead. He didn’t turn towards Dick. He didn’t want to hear it.

Muscle memory carried him through his next exercise, trying to draw his broken attention away from his distracting brother. Maybe if he ignored him, he would go away.

His hoping was in vain as Dick fluidly caught the staff on a backswing and jerked it out of Tim’s hands. “Ti—”

“What?” Tim snarled, spinning to face him and glare.

“Everything’s gonna be fi—”

“You don’t know that, Dick! You don’t know why he called, or what he wanted to talk to me about, and you took the choice of talking to him out of my hands, and now he won’t return calls!”

My calls. “Jason always picks up unless it’s me he’s upset at, and now I’ll never know what I did wrong.”

“Oh baby bird…” Dick’s arms snaked around Tim’s shoulders, and for just a moment, the tension eased from his chest, and he wanted to sigh and give in. Dick, of course, had to ruin it with his motor mouth. “He won’t pick up anyone’s calls, it’s not your fault.”

Tim forced himself to pull away from Dick. “I know.” Dick gave him a small smile, but Tim was too upset to stop there. “It’s yours. So leave me alone.”

Dick made a point of keeping his crappy moods to himself whenever possible. However, this was starting to get old, and now Dick was pissed because Tim was pissed, and he no longer cared that Jason was probably also pissed because they were stuck in the limbo of pissiness until Jay used his words.

Resolutely ignoring the number of unanswered outgoing calls to Jason that he'd made over the last week, Dick dialed the number again. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and willed for this to be the time Jason picked up the damn phone.

If Dick could just talk to him, maybe he'd accept an apology. In his defense, he hadn’t understood that talking to Tim after patrol the other night had been so important.

There was actually also that thing that had happened before patrol when everyone finished off Alfred's babka before Jason could have some. 

Or maybe it was about how no one had chased him down after he'd vanished on them during patrol. Jason was always throwing around how Bruce cared more about The Mission than his kids, and Dick had done the same thing by prioritizing tracking Scarecrow. With Bruce away, it fell to Dick to make those calls, and he hated it.

Jason's relationship with them was… difficult to navigate. Jason tended to be quick to anger and somehow even quicker to spook now that the Pit was under control. That made him generally finicky and unpredictable. Which meant that Dick couldn't fix what was wrong if Jason refused to talk.

The call rang through without interruption, cementing Dick’s frustration with his probably upset little brother. Was this level of frustration misplaced and unjustified? Maybe. Was it still happening? Absolutely.

The beep of the voicemail tone drew Dick's attention back to his phone after the robotic recitation of Jason's number in his ear, and he scraped together some semblance of positivity into his tone. Maybe starting with an easy topic would be his foot-in-the-door.

“Hey, Jay. We're narrowing down Scarecrow's hideout and we need all the help we can get right now.” The Justice League had claimed Bruce for the foreseeable future, Cass was off doing recon for Babs in Metropolis, and Damian was out of town for a “mission” (read: sleepover) with Jon, so they were already shorthanded even without Jason’s disappearing act.

Dick cringed and ran a hand through his hair as he realized that he’d resorted to focusing on their work instead of any of those apologies. Always The Mission.

Maybe Dick was just as bad as Bruce.

“I know—” Dick squeezed his eyes shut and took a shot at what Jason was most likely upset about. "The thing with Tim wasn't great, but we can work that out later. Will you please help us out tonight? We could really use your help while so shorthanded.

“If you want, you and I could spearhead the mission if you want to yell at me first. Or if it would make things better, you and Tim can be paired up. That should give you a chance to talk about whatever you needed to the other day. Which, um, I’m sorry for getting in the way of.”

Dick felt like he was grasping at straws, but hopefully something would get through to Jason.

“I hope to see you there. Bye, Jay.”

“We could really use your help while so shorthanded.” Guilt chained Jason’s arm, dragging it down to rest in his lap, taking the phone with it and cutting off his obviously frustrated older brother’s obligatory attempt at reaching out. If you could consider requesting help on a mission that he had caused to be shorthanded as “reaching out.”

Jason turned sideways on his couch, an old, orange and black plaid monstrosity with surprisingly squishy cushions. His chin neatly tucked into the crease of his elbow where he rested it on the back of the couch, allowing him to stare down his helmet from across the room. The offending item had since gotten a system overhaul so that it wouldn’t freeze and need to be discarded again. Now it sat dormant on his shelf across the room as it had for the past week and a half.

The hiatus had started reasonably while he made sure the fear toxin had cleared his system, but then he’d just… kept waiting. Waiting for what, even he wasn’t sure.

Waiting for Tim to heal so that when he saw him next it didn’t feel like he was choking on his guilt? (Already happening and not likely to stop.)

Waiting for Bruce to come back from his mission with the Justice League and carry out one of his contingency plans against Jason? (Much deserved; should’ve happened sooner, honestly.)

Waiting For Godot maybe, and the surrealist insanity that accompanied it. (Insanity was much less amusing in real life, Jason had found.)

He turned back to his phone, screen having gone dark at some point while he was lost in thought, Dick’s message ending in the interim.

If he was being honest, he’s really just waiting on himself, until he felt more steady, more sure that he wouldn’t fuck up that badly again. And that’s why he continued to wait, because he knew that could never be guaranteed.

| Jason: Different mission, can’t go this time.

His phone vibrated with a response almost immediately, though the voicemail had come through nearly an hour ago.

| Dick: B careful out there. Dont forget u wont have backup available

Wow, ouch. Jason scowled at his phone, a stinging sensation pinching at his sinuses that he forced himself to cover with indignation.

Well, that answers that. He could goddamn say it to my face—but no, he couldn’t have, because Jason had refused to talk. Turns out he could’ve had his answer a week ago if he’d grasped the nettle and let himself be chewed out.

At least he now knew where he stood.

Jason dug the corner of his phone into his forehead while he closed himself off to how much it all stung. He… he didn’t want to write off the bats. They’d spent more than a year building and rebuilding their trust after what felt like a lifetime of fuck-ups that Jason was trying to make up for. But it really wasn’t his call to make. The scratches on his arm were proof enough of that.

The thought briefly crossed Jason’s mind to try a patrol of his own in case they did try calling him in as a last resort. If he got summoned and wasn’t even geared up, they’d probably think he wanted them all dead like T— like last week “proved.”

He turned away from his helmet sharply, tossing his phone on the table like he had the last time he’d talked to Dick. He shouldn’t bother. They wouldn’t expect him to come for them.

(The difference between practicality and cowardice was a surprisingly fine line.)

“I am not asking Selina to stalk Jason, Dick.”

Dick’s phone sat on the bench in the locker room while he pulled on his Nightwing suit, zipping it up over his pounding heart. It had started hammering when he’d replied to Jason, and it had sunk in just how dangerous having no backup could be. Having all available Bats in one place left no one in range to respond quickly if Jason called for help. That definitely didn’t bring up a host of traumatic memories, no siree.

“Babs, we’ll be on the exact opposite side of the city from the Alley. It would take way too long for any of us to be there if he needs us, so I need someone to be available in the area. Please, just… even just ask her to suit up.”

Barbara let out a long sigh over the comms and the sounds of her typing stopped. Dick’s focus narrowed down further and further on the sounds he could hear from her end while he ignored the feeling of his heart beating too hard against his ribs. “... Okay, how’s this: I’m not going to ask Selina,” an image of a missed call on his phone when he returned from that fateful mission in space flashed through his mind, but Barbara’s voice stopped him from spiralling further, “but I will personally keep close tabs on him the whole time. Is that fair?”

She was using her calming-victim voice with him. He’d normally be annoyed, but he was so keyed up that he clung to it instead. “Promise me.”

“I promise that I’ll listen to him even more closely than I listen to your side of things.”

A sigh in victory. A report as such.

A pop. A hiss.

A crack.

A whimper.

A name. “Jay?”

The slamming of car doors and shouted orders was overpowered in the terrified cacophony of Tim's screams, echoing all the louder as they were uninhibited across the expanse of the Cave.

“Dick! Dick please, you have to get him. You can’t let him leave. It’s my fault,” Tim sobbed. “You have to make him come back.”

Dick breathed through the feel of his heart that had upgraded from beating against his ribs to pounding in his ears as he half-dumped Tim on a medbay bed and pinned his shoulders with one arm when he immediately tried to buck and flip off the other side. “Tim,” Dick started in vain. He clamped his own mouth shut, pushing his teeth together, and focused on getting Tim’s limbs into the padded restraints installed on the sides.

Steph slid in beside him and caught the unseen hand sailing towards Dick’s face while his focus was on securing the arm he held. Dick looked wide-eyed at the hand for just a second, then shook himself and resumed his wrangling. He managed to slide Tim’s lanky but strong arm into the restraint and tighten it, watching the muscles in Tim’s arm flex and pull as he tried to work his way out, his hands opening and closing but grabbing nothing.

Tim’s words faltered as he whined in frustration and fear. Dick winced, but ignored it. Before she stepped away, though, Steph put her hand softly on Tim’s head, though the comfort went unnoticed.

“What can I do to help?” Duke called as he rushed in behind them. He was wearing a well-worn t-shirt and sweatpants, and his feet were bare; he’d likely been asleep until he got the alert that they were on their way to medical. Dick couldn’t spare a second to feel bad for waking him.

Steph’s hand dropped away from Tim’s head and she snapped into motion, directing Duke through the steps of fear toxin exposure as the three of them went through them. Duke hadn’t had such an active role in any previous encounters with Scarecrow, but he’d had the steps drilled into him in case it ever fell to him to lead the fallout. Though knowing the procedure and dealing with a patient who was sobbing and flailing in front of you couldn’t compare, Dick knew.

At that moment, Tim found his voice again and let out a full-throated scream. His cry reverberated off of the distant walls and ceiling, echoing his fear around them like the toxic gas that had taken him. Their clipped exchanges cut off as they all flinched back.

They stuttered back into motion. Dick looked at each of them as they worked. Steph’s jaw was tight, her eyes sad. Duke’s breathing was forcibly slow, but his limbs were still trembling with what must be excess adrenaline.

He kept his eyes off of Tim unless he had to. He’d be fine later. He knew he’d be fine later. But watching his brother cry and beg and scream was not an image he wanted to add to his extensive rolodex of nightmare material. So he resolutely ignored the cries of their patient as they worked, until said cries started to drop off into a noticeable rasp.

“Yeah, that one should be fine,” Steph confirmed from the analyzer, passing Dick a cocktail sedative that they’d had luck with in the past for fear toxin exposure.

That it’ll work this time is about the only lucky thing of the night, Dick thought.

His eyes were focused on Tim’s upper arm where he stuck the needle, but Dick’s stupid brain somehow tuned back into his little brother’s words at the worst possible moment.

“It’s all my fault. He has to know it’s my fault.” Tim’s grasping fingers found Steph’s where she’d walked back to hand the results to Duke across the bed. She was as frozen as Dick was. “I’d rather die than for Jason to leave again. Kill me if it’ll bring him back.”

The used needle in Dick’s hand went tumbling to the floor. He made an aborted swipe trying to catch it, but Steph firmly grabbed his elbow before he could manage to stab himself.

Neither made a move to pick it up right away. They watched Tim’s cries get quieter and his eyes flicker shut.

“Yikes,” Duke’s voice broke the silence. 

Stephanie’s pained laugh was next.

On Dick’s turn to break the tension, he turned and left the medbay.

Dial. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Click.

Dial. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ri— Click.

Dial. Ring. Ri— Click.

Dial. Ri—

“Dick, please, I can’t—”

“Jason. I need you here, and I need you here now. It’s Tim.” Let Jason interpret that as he will. Let him hear whatever tone Dick’s voice was making right now. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. As long as Jason came for Tim, he didn’t care.

Click.

His injuries were too much. He couldn’t fight an infection. He got worse.

Jason was driving purely on instinct. If you asked him where he was, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.

He just couldn’t get better. He fought hard. He’s gone.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat as he took a corner too fast, tires slipping too close to the guard rail, nothing but darkness below. He huffed out a breathless bark of laughter. It wouldn’t matter soon.

You’re too late. It’s your fault. It’s. Your. Fault.

It always came back to that, didn’t it?

“Where is he?”

Dick jumped in his seat at the Batcomputer and spun to face the stairs. Jason was stopped at the bottom, gloved hand tight around the rail. Dick hadn’t heard him come down.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his messy hair proved that he’d not bothered to fix it after taking off his helmet. He probably didn’t plan to stay long. Jason’s eyes bore into his, jaw set, eyes hard. Instead of angry, it looked a little forced.

“You came from the manor?” Dick asked lightly, turning back to the computer and continuing to pretend that he was actually doing something. Avoid them for nearly two weeks and see how helpful Dick would be.

Jason ignored the bait. “Tim.”

Dick’s own jaw tightened. Instantly giving up the ruse, he whirled on Jason. “You don’t get to ignore us for weeks and then demand things without so much as a ‘how do you do,’ Jason. That’s not how it works. Do you want to bother asking how he’s been until now? How any of us have been?”

Jason didn’t explode back like Dick thought he would. He was briefly disappointed when Jason’s face fell. After a long pause, Jason said flatly, “You made it pretty clear in your voicemail how that would have gone.” Jason cast his eyes downward and said softly, “But I guess that wasn’t very fair.”

Dick barely avoided making a very Damian-like scoff. “So your phone does work outside of an emergency. Good to know. Also,” Dick continued, weeks of anxiety boiling-over into anger, “I’m calling bullshit with what’s fair. Why does everything have to be about what’s fair in this family? If there’s an issue, have a conversation about it! Don’t just avoid it through some— some sense of self-righteousness!”

Jason winced like Dick had hit him.

“You,” he started, barely above a whisper, “you think I feel… righteous about all this? About what happened?”

“Well how were we supposed to know?”

There was no reply as Jason reeled from Dick’s comment and it somehow made Dick all the angrier. His stupid younger brother didn’t even bring his a-game to this fight.

Dick burst to his feet, stalking forward. “A conversation, Jason. Last time we spoke, you asked to talk to Tim and then poof, that’s all she wrote. You’ve been an ass to us all without giving any explanation. You’ve just made us guess! So now I’m pretty sure it’s my fault, but Tim thinks it’s his fault, yet—”

“Tim—Tim thinks it’s his fault?!”

“What else was he supposed to think?”

Jason’s eyes had drifted away from Dick and were staring into the empty cave behind him. “I need to talk to him.”

“Yeah, you do. Except now he can’t.”

The color drained from Jason’s face so quickly that Dick nearly darted forward to catch him. “Okay, bad phrasing. Tim will be fine, he just had a short run-in with Scarecrow on patrol.”

A little line formed between Jason’s brows. “Patrol.”

Despite Jason’s pallor, Dick wasn’t quite ready to give up his anger. “Yes, Jason, patrol. That thing we go on? The one that we asked for your help with?”

“Tim was on patrol?”

“Yes, Jason, jeez!”

“What. Were you thinking?!” Jason’s voice rose so quickly that it made Dick startle.

Never let it be said that Dick Grayson wasn’t one to fight fire with fire. Especially with his stupid, infuriating siblings. “Oh, now you’re gonna get mad? I was thinking that we needed the extra set of hands because you were too busy to help!”

The look on Jason’s face pushed straight past incredulity and was leaning towards panic as he opened and closed his mouth, speechless. “You— I couldn’t be here so you threw a wounded bird to the wolves?”

“What does that even mean?!” Dick shouted, but Jason was already stepping around Dick on his way to the medbay.

Dick stalked after him, not really worried about waking Tim if they continued fighting, but his anger shriveled up and died when Dick rounded the other side of the bed and got a look at Jason’s face.

“He’s… he’s not hurt?”

Dick felt wrong-footed as he tried to parse what was happening. “No…? It was just the gas. Scarecrow didn’t even touch him.”

Jason was already shaking his head, carefully picking up Tim’s arm, the confusion creasing the… anguish on his face deeper and deeper.

If he was doing an injury check, Dick thought, he was doing a poor job of following procedure. As Dick watched, Jason jumped from examining Tim’s arm to his neck to lifting the weighted blanket off of the sleeping boy to see his body. And then his younger brother kind of just… stopped. There was too much pain in his expression to say it was truly closed off, but like a wind-up car, he’d stuttered to a stop. Dick couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was when his hand, still holding the blanket, started to shake that Dick was released from whatever had him silently bearing witness to his brother falling apart and allowed him to intervene.

“Jason? Hey, what’s—?”

When Dick’s hand landed on his, Jason also unfroze, only to jerk away, trying to tug up the sleeve of his leather jacket. Dick’s eyes flicked to the flurry of movement, but he was still caught on the distraught focus on his face. The tighter cuff quickly stopped his progress, and before Dick could step forward to offer help, Jason was throwing the jacket from his shoulders and nearly frantically ripping his arms out of the sleeves. The frenzy of motion was over as quickly as it had started, and the jacket thumped to the floor, sleeves inside out and discarded without a second thought, drawing Dick up short.

The sudden stillness in the room felt fragile. Eyes flicking between Jason’s favorite jacket in a heap, the shaking of his hands, and the now haunted look on his brother’s face as he stared down at them, Dick’s mouth twisted in a grimace. He didn’t like his conclusion. “Jay, while you were out tonight, did you maybe get dosed…” Dick cut himself off, knowing if it was true, he’d get no answer anyway. “One sec, I had a question for Alfred.”

Dick was reaching for the panel of buttons on the side of Tim’s bed to call the others back, when Jason replied, “I didn’t go out.”

He looked up.

Jason wasn’t wearing any of his layers of kevlar or body armor, just a t-shirt. Dark shadows sat under his eyes, leaving his face looking sunken and ill. Bandages encircled Jason’s arm from wrist to elbow, sloppy and clearly days old. And Dick suddenly didn’t know what to do.

Haltingly, Jason wrapped a hand around his bandages. His lips moved in a mumble, and Dick had to strain to hear. “This is real, though…”

Dick’s stomach flipped. He felt like he was missing something huge, like he was falling and hadn’t noticed the ground yet. “What was that, Jay?”

Teal eyes met his, startlingly clear and analytical on top of everything else as Jason addressed him, “How did this happen if he’s not hurt?”

“Little Wing, why would Tim be hurt? What happened to you?”

The anxiety on Jason’s face was being replaced by frustration. “Dick, can you stop being a bleeding heart for two seconds? Last week, did I hurt Tim?”

It all clicked.

The phone call. You got Tim? Can I see him?

“And don’t give me any of that ‘it wasn’t really you’ bullshit.”

The radio silence. He won’t pick up anyone’s calls, it’s not your fault. I know. It’s yours.

“Because I’ve worked my ass off to get my shit together, and that was me, so this is too.”

The fear. You threw a wounded bird to the wolves?

“... Dick?”

“You got hit with fear toxin.”

Jason’s face fell. “So I did—”

Dick wanted to throw up. “No. Jason. You got hit with fear toxin. Tim never crossed paths with you on patrol last week.”

“But… I saw him. He fought back, Dick.” Jason’s grip tightened around the bandages and Dick cringed for him. “There was fear toxin, and the Pit fed off the fear, and Tim was there and… I hurt him. I—,” Jason’s voice was so small, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Jay, that didn’t— he’s not hurt. Look at him. He’s not hurt. You didn’t hurt him.”

“It was so real,” Jason whispered.

“I know,” Dick whispered back. He gently took Jason by the arm and led him to the chair next to Tim’s bed. Jason’s eyes didn’t leave Tim’s slack face. It seemed that he was trying to capture the sight, and Dick didn’t want to know what images it was replacing.

One of his knees cracked loudly as he dropped into a crouch, and Jason’s eyes finally snapped to him. The smile he tried to conjure fell off of his face before it could fully form. His brother had suffered and he couldn’t fix it. He’d yelled at him about it, in fact. He slid his hand into Jason’s anyway, running his thumb across the scarred skin comfortingly. “That’s what it does, Jay. It was just a hallucination. Everyone’s okay.”

Jason nodded, face finally falling expressionless, and his eyes moved back to Tim.

Dick lowered one of the medical tables to as low as it would go, dropping supplies onto its surface and dropping himself onto a stool in front of his first little brother.

His hand settled at Jason’s elbow above where the bandages stopped. “Can I help with this?”

The flat voice he replied in made Dick suppress a shiver. “Yeah.”

In cleaning the grisly sight of his mostly untreated arm, Dick found remnants of blood under the fingernails of Jason’s opposite hand. He didn’t comment on it.

“Are… you okay?”

Dick’s eyes flicked up from securing the last of the new wrappings around his arm to see that Jason looked a little less like he was about to turn to stone.

The familiar motions with the medical supplies had calmed Dick enough that he was finally able to get his face to cooperate into a smile. “Yeah, Jase, I’m okay.” Dick’s knee cracked again as he stood. He couldn’t help himself wrapping an arm around Jason in the chair, but surprisingly, Jason didn’t resist being leaned into his older brother’s chest. “I think we somehow managed it that we’re all okay, or at least we will be.”

Jason nodded against his chest, eyes once more fixed on Tim.

Deep exhaustion greeted Tim as he surfaced into consciousness. It felt like he had been sleeping for too long and had an aching hip to show for it, but it also felt like he hadn’t slept nearly enough as his brain felt murky. He was laying on his side and turned his head to bury his face in the softness of the pillow at his cheek.

“Don’t suffocate yourself, Timbit.”

A smile pulled at Tim’s lips. Jason was always such a worrywart about his sleeping habits.

Jason.

Jason here.

Tim popped up in the bed like it was spring-loaded.

“Jason,” Tim gasped. Tim’s head ached sharply now that he was upright, but he pushed through his slightly pulsing vision to find his brother.

Exhaustion was the first thing Tim noticed, radiating through Jason’s whole frame. His hair was messy, his face looked pale, and Tim knew from experience that the dark circles under his eyes took time to build up like that. None of that mattered to Tim, though, as his hand shot out and fisted in Jason’s t-shirt shirt. His voice was too desperate as he asked, “What did you need to talk to me about?”

His older brother brought his own hand up and only hesitated for a second before he set it over Tim’s against his chest. “It’s a moot thing, now. Dick and I worked it out.”

Tim’s sigh of relief was slightly shaky, and he couldn’t entirely blame it on the fear toxin working its way out of his system.

“You… gonna let go?”

Tim massaged his aching temples with one hand. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He didn’t quite remember everything that had happened, but he knew he had been more desperate than ever to see Jason, and here he was. He squinted open his eyes to look at Jason and was just in time to see his exhausted look pinching with worry.

“Toxin still affecting you? I can go get—”

“Not enough to be anything but bothersome. I’m just not ready to give you the opportunity to leave again.” Tim smirked with the tease, but his face fell when Jason’s did.

“I’m—” Jason swallowed audibly. “I’m really sorry, Tim.”

His older brother looked so bedraggled that Tim nearly forgave him on the spot. But the truth of the matter was that Tim didn’t know what had Jason so obviously upset. Instead, he forced himself to ask, “What are you sorry for?”

“I hurt you.”

It wasn’t what Tim was expecting him to say. His brows scrunched. “Yeah, I didn’t like that you wouldn’t talk to any of us, but I wouldn’t exactly say it hurt me.” Hurt feelings, sure, but this was the family that regularly had screaming matches with each other. It had never been treated so seriously before. Tim frowned sharply, suddenly wary. “Did Dick give you shit about it? Because you’re here now and you stayed so in my books we’re square.” Dick better not have yelled at Jason to the point where he looked like he could cry. Psychology made it very clear that shame did not help to increase positive behaviors, like spending time with people. If Dick was going to drive Jason away because he refused to look at the research Tim sent—

“No, Tim. I—I’m sorry about that too, but I’m not talking about that. I—” Tim’s grip on Jason’s shirt increased when his voice cracked and his eyes actually did get shiny. Tim was going to murder Dick. “I’m sorry about… before. Before I knew that you were a great little brother and a great Robin. I was aw—awful to you.” His breathing hitched and Tim’s heart cracked at the sound.

Tim had never seen Jason cry. It was freaking him out, a little bit. For lack of anything better to respond with, Tim said the first thing that came to his mind. “Déjà vu!”

“Wha—”

“We had this same conversation two months ago.” Sure, at the time Jason had seemed gruff and kind of mad, but Tim eventually realized that he was just feeling awkward. Just like Tim was feeling now.

Jason swallowed but his voice was no steadier when he continued, “I know we did. But I promised you it would never happen again, and… and it nearly did.” His grip dropped away from Tim’s wrist like he was ready for Tim to pull away from him. “I’m a danger to you.”

Tim’s own grip tightened further, his knuckles turning white. “Is that why you were gone? You think it’s not safe for you to be around us?”

The last time Jason had done anything close to hurting him had been that past winter. The Bats had all been meeting on a rooftop to share information mid-patrol, and Tim had nearly gone over the edge upon landing when he’d hit an icy patch hidden under the snow. Jason was the only one who had seen it coming. Faster than any of the others could even twitch, his iron-grip had wrapped around Tim’s arm. It had just barely bruised.

The last time Jason had been anything close to forceful with him had been Jason shoving his legs away from where he’d been “accidentally” kicking Damian in the head at their last movie night. He’d made an empty threat, ordering them to get along.

Tim looked at his brother, mystified. How could he not see it? He’d once been determined to hurt every single one of them, and now every action and instinct he had was to keep them safe.

Jason’s face twisted.

In a blink, he was standing over Tim with a snarl on his face. His teal eyes bore into Tim’s. “Does this look sa—ow!”

Tim’s free hand lowered from where he’d smacked Jason upside the head. Hard. Tim raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t retaliate.”

“Tim, what the hell.” All aggression had vanished from Jason’s face as he unhappily rubbed the side of his head. “I was just trying to tell you that I lost control the other day. Do you have a death wish?”

“When did that happen?” Tim asked.

Shame took over Jason’s expression again and Tim had to resist the urge to smack him a second time. “It was right after the Arkham breakout, last time we all patrolled together,” Jason started. He lowered himself back into the chair, scooting it forward a little so that he could sit back without breaking Tim’s grip on his shirt. “We were scoping out the block near the stadium when I found Scarecrow in that photo lab on Atlantic. Helmet took a hard knock and froze so I had to take it off. The instant he threw that canister of fear gas, I knew I had to run.

“I only made it a couple blocks before I… I guess I thought you’d caught up.” Jason’s eyes were distant, no longer watery but it was like the life had left them. “Everything was so green.” He paused, a shudder going through him.

Tim didn’t know what was the right thing to say, but Jason continued before he had to decide.

Clearing his throat, Jason’s eyes refocused and looked down at his bandaged arm. “I didn’t have any reason to believe that what happened wasn’t real because of this.”

“What is it?”

“Scratches. I thought you made them while the Pit was… doing what it does. I guess something else caused them, but—when I thought you were there, it—I didn’t hesitate a second before—” He stopped and didn’t continue, eyes downcast.

The floor was cold under Tim’s feet as he slid off the bed. He rested his knee on the edge of Jason’s chair so he could lean forward without flopping on top of him when he wrapped his arms tightly around his older brother.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“No, Tim, you don’t understand, it nearly happened to you.”

“You were hallucinating. You think the Pit was ‘doing what it does?’ That was the fear gas doing what it does.”

Tim felt Jason trying to shake his head so he just held on tighter.

“If you were hallucinating hurting me, then the Pit was also part of the hallucination, Jay. It’s definitely not back.” His lips quirked into a smile, “I’ll be as annoying as I can be to prove it to you, if you want.”

“You’re not annoying.”

“Thanks. Not the point.”

With no other defense to argue, Jason’s arms wrapped around Tim in return.