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Dick hadn't always been the best brother.
It wasn't his fault! He'd spent 18 years as an only child – even when he switched parents, he'd never had to learn how to live with a sibling. Sharing was something he did with his feelings, not his clothes or his space or his dad.
So when Dick was 18 and suddenly had a twelve year old in his colors calling Dick's dad "Dad", he maybe wasn't the most mature about it.
But he'd learned quickly. He'd decided he'd rather have Jason on his side so they could team up against Bruce than be the weird grown child who fights with dad and storms out every other month without getting to know the younger sibling.
Jason didn't replace him. Dick grew up. Little brothers were supposed to get hand-me-downs, right? That's all this was.
(If Dick repeated this enough he knew he would believe it.)
So Dick was a brother. Had a brother. And that meant he had a new carry-on to take with him when he was going out.
He remembered swinging by the manor and kidnapping Jason when he wasn't in school or when Bruce was doing stuff with Wayne Enterprises. He would take him on days out with the Titans as his little shadow: showing him off to his friends and showing off as the cooler older brother to Jason.
Jason would roll his eyes and make sarcastic comments but he always came when Dick asked. He always had a bag ready for sleepovers in Bludhaven or his suit ready for investigations with the Titans (where he was kept in the tower on comms only – Dick and Bruce disagreed on a lot but he wasn't about to throw Jason into unnecessary danger).
And he always let Dick pet his hair. Jason was small for his age so he was only tall enough to reach Dick's ribcage by the time he was 13. Dick needed to keep track of him but knew Jason would never agree to holding his hand so when they were walking, Dick would reach over and scrub his hand through Jason's curly hair. He would run a palm over his forehead or twist his fingers in his curls to steer Jason in the right direction. He didn't have to look at Jason to do it – just reach over to the height Jason's head should be and feel his hair. It became such an unconscious gesture – a reassurance that Jason was still with him – he found himself reaching for Jason even when he wasn't there. Dick would be out on patrol as Nightwing and he would reach out to feel Jason there, only remembering he was with Bruce back in Gotham.
He did this so much, it became a nonverbal signal to Jason. Dick literally just had to put his hand out and Jason would run over, ducking his head under Dick's outstretched hand. Where's Jason? Put your hand out and he'll materialize to duck under it. Dick didn't have to break conversations, he could just hold his hand out and be assured his brother was safe under his palm.
And then, of course, Jason died.
He'd been in space, at the time. On a mission. Couldn't bring his carry-on because it was too dangerous. And Jason would be fine for a bit anyway.
Dick would absolutely never forgive himself for it. He'd reach his hand out and be hit with the panic when he didn't feel Jason's hair and then he'd be knocked out with the memory that his little brother wasn't there anymore and he'd never feel him duck under his hand again.
That wasn't something you lived with. That wasn't something you walked away from.
When Tim joined the family, he was about as tall as Jason, but Dick couldn't do it. Dick would cup Tim's neck or squeeze his shoulders but he couldn't touch his hair. It was the wrong texture. The wrong thickness. Just wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
And he wouldn't do that to Tim. He didn't deserve hand me down gestures from the brother Dick had failed to be for Jason. No, for Tim, Dick would do better. He'd be better.
And then Jason came back and Dick decided he had to be better for him, too. Both the Robin Jason was who Dick had failed and the Red Hood he was now who Dick refused to fail.
But that didn't mean old habits didn't stick.
"Flash, start sweeping for survivors," Dick started, doling out orders. "Arsenal, bring the jet around, Starfire, please start clearing the streets so we can start getting some help in here."
He surveyed the surroundings, taking full stock of the aftermath. Having a street-level fight with space-level invaders is never fun or easy. Dick was happy he got away with the reenforcements who were already on the scene. He would have hated calling the justice league.
"Cy, if you could patch Oracle in with the police, thank you so much. Wondergirl and Raven, please help Star with major debris, just so we can resume normal traffic as soon as possible. Beast Boy, can you–"
Dick cut himself off as he looked over where someone had gripped his wrist and brought his hand to the top of their 6'4" head.
His hand met the curly hair it was used to. The texture was a little different – what with the coarser white patch at the front – but his fingers knew it the same. Even if he'd never felt it this far up.
And the fact that he was feeling it at all. Last he'd seen Jason in the fight, he'd been wearing his helmet.
"Hood?" Dick asked, questioningly.
"There was no way I was fitting under your hand where it was," Jason told him, keeping his grip on Dick's wrist. "We're gonna need to come up with a new signal or something – I'm like two feet taller than I used to be."
Dick choked, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.
"Was I signaling you?"
Jason nodded, his eyes hidden behind the white lenses of his domino mask but his smile a little too understanding.
"Yeah, Dickwing," Jason said, gently. "I figured there wasn't some other 4 foot gremlin's attention you were trying to get."
"No, I have a different signal for Robin."
Jason laughed. "So I'm the only one who got my hair pulled?"
"I never pulled your hair."
"My poor follicles would beg to fucking differ."
"I pet you! lovingly!"
"You can't just pet people. I'm not a dog!"
"You were, you were my little purse dog."
"So what I'm hearing is I have full license to bite you."
"Are you fucking five?"
"Hey, Rob," Beast Boy interrupted. "This is adorable but you never finished telling me what I'm supposed to do?"
Dick sighed. "Go help Flash, take care of any survivors he gives you."
Beast Boy gave him a thumbs up, turning into an ostrich to catch up with the speedster. Dick turned back to Jason.
He flexed his fingers where Jason was still holding his hand in his hair. "Give me my hand back so I can get back to work."
Jason frowned and then tilted his head back and forth under Dick's hand.
Dick laughed. "What are you doing?"
"It's in my contract," Jason told him. "You hold your hand out and I run up so you pet me. You haven't pet me yet."
"You said you didn't want me to pet you."
"No, I said I wasn't a dog. Everything likes to be pet."
Dick rolled his eyes, scratching his fingers through his brother's hair. Jason hummed.
"There, you mutt, you got your scritchies, now give me my hand back."
Jason released his wrist, reaching up to pet Dick back.
Dick smacked him away and Jason laughed.
"Red hood, go get the jet ready to receive everyone with Arsenal. We'll want to take it to the Watchtower after this to give our report."
Jason grinned, giving a sarcastic salute before jogging off.
Dick watched him go, missing the yellow cape and the pixie boots but satisfied to see his little brother safe after a mission once again.
He'd have to find a reason for Jason to pet him again. He really wanted to know what he was missing.