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Admittedly, Jason Todd’s new apartment is not much.
It's a bright, airy, two bedroomed apartment, currently filled with soggy cardboard boxes and lousy, cheap furniture. Unidentifiable stains marked the beige carpet, and the rusty fire escape outside the window had most certainly seen better days. Regardless of the poor condition, Jason thought it was a bargain; it was close enough for his nightly patrols, distanced enough from Wayne Manor to prevent any frequent visitors.
Well, almost distanced enough.
“Grayson, please explain why you thought bringing all of us to help Todd move apartment would be a good idea,” Damian said from the corner of the room, indignantly rifling through the box on the counter in front of him. He retrieved a magic eight ball, looking at the sphere with curiosity. “He only has like, five belongings. He’d be able to move these boxes himself.”
“That’s what I said,” Jason inputted through the kitchen hatch, gathering his cutlery and placing them in a drawer. “Dick wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know how he is.”
“Unfortunately.”
A grunt sounded from the other room, followed by a; “ Hey - I thought Jason could use the help.” A ruffled Dick Grayson entered the room, a box stacked with worn paperback novels in his arms. The shoulders of his grey jersey sweater were darkened with rainwater, and his hair was slick against his forehead. “Plus, there’s nothing like some good ol’ family bonding over moving apartments.”
“There is nothing good about heaving boxes filled with Jason’s damn books up three flights of stairs.” Tim complained, plopping down on the maroon couch. A cloud of dust promptly rose into the air, earning a scoff from Damian.
“You moved one box, Tim.” Jason reminded him.
“And I put my all into that one box,”
Rain lashed down outside the wide windows, slapping against the metal fire escape and relentlessly thrashing against the windows. It was a dull, dreary day in Gotham City, and it seemed all of the residents were feeling dull and dreary, too.
“Is this all of them?” Dick asked as he placed the box of books he was carrying on the cup-stained coffee table (Jason promises all of the stains were from Roy, because he isn’t a barbarian who doesn’t use coasters, obviously) and sat on the dirty carpet.
“I think so,” Jason answered, scanning the number of boxes scattered around the room, but he really had no fucking idea. In fact, many of the items these boxes contained were a mystery to him. Dick gave out a breath of relief.
Jason had been surprised at all of his possessions he’d found while packing; like several packs of cigarettes stuffed under his bed, unused bullets which really would’ve been useful on many occasions in the past, a series of different novels shoved in the strangest of places (again, he blames Roy), and, oddly, an old picture of him, Dick and Bruce.
He’d really wanted to burn that picture - really wanted to just flick on his lighter while he was having a cigarette and set the damn thing on fire. He didn’t - he couldn’t, and Jason doesn’t know whether that’s a good sign or not. Jason shook his head, shook away the memory, and moved forward to kneel beside the table near Dick. He began to unpack all the items in silence, with only the patter of the rain on the windows and the rustle of the brothers digging into the boxes and emptying them.
Surprisingly, Jason was in a good spot with his brothers. He hadn't tried to kill either one of them recently, and he'd been teaming up with Red Robin and Nightwing a lot more often nowadays, which he considered was progress. Progression to where - he had no idea. It was comforting, he supposed - the presence of his three brothers surrounding him. It was a warm, yet strange feeling. It wasn’t a well-known sensation, Jason knew. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved by that fact. Did Jason even deserve that feeling after everything he’d done to them all? They’d all been so fucking forgiving, and all Jason ever did w-
In the corner of Jason’s eye, he noticed Damian forcefully yanking a blue fabric from beneath a pile of junk, holding the piece of clothing out in front of him with an odd expression. Jason held his breath as watched in a series of emotions, as a sense of fear, panic and familiarity hit him.
Damian spotted Jason watching him, and retorted: “Don’t you think this is a bit small for you, Todd?”
Jason opened his mouth to speak; but the words got lost in his throat.
“Is that my sweater?” Dick asked, catching the fabric as Damian threw it to him.
It’d been winter; one of the worst ones Gotham had ever faced. Snow coated the grounds, and the manor was colder than usual.
Truthfully, Dick and Jason hadn’t been that close back then, due to Dick usually being busy with the Titans, but Dick was visiting for longer than usual this time. Dick remembered Jason being bored out of his mind, when he had suggested they'd go through all his old stuff - from before he moved out of the manor.
"Jesus, how old is all of this stuff?" Jason had choked out with squinted eyes, coughing and spurting as Dick swat away the dust.
"It's only been here for a few months now," Dick answered, dragging the box closer from his closet. Dick trailed his finger along the surface of the box, raising it to his face to expect the dust he'd collected. "Clearly Bruce is paying Alfred too much."
Jason laughed, waddling forward on his knees to peer into the box. An assortment of Dick's items looked back at him; a few trading cards scattered on the top, three nickels and two dollars (which Dick promptly swiped up and stuffed into his pocket), a rolled up orange poster from a circus, a battered baseball glove, a snow globe and several items of clothing.
"Cool!" Jason exclaimed, immediately diving in for the trading cards. They displayed multiple baseball players, and Jason read all the names carefully. "I have no idea who these people are, but they're awesome," he said eagerly.
Dick put aside the snow globe he was shaking, frowning at the younger boy. "You never collected these?" He asked, plucking two from Jason's hand and running his finger along the edges. Dick had adored baseball, and cherished every game that Bruce had brought him to when he was younger. The thrill of the game, the roar of the crowd and the crack of the bat - he remembered it all. Dick made a mental note to bring Jason to a game one day.
"Nah - me and my mom only had enough money for the important things. Like food and stuff," Jason said quietly, quickly looking for more items to change the subject. Dick looked at the boy with pity before he joined the search.
Before they found the next item of interest, Dick noticed that Jason was shaking, his teeth faintly chattering together. "Jeez, little wing," Dick said, reaching out to grab Jason's bare wrist, "you're freezing."
"Well, yeah," Jason retorted, pulling his arm away sheepishly. "S'cold."
"You should've said somethin'," Dick said, rifling through the box before he pulled out an old blue sweater. There were a few holes cut into the collar and the cuffs, and several loose threads hung below into the box, but Dick still presented it to Jason with earnest. "Looks about your size. Try it on."
"I'm fine ." Jason reassured, clearly attempting to stop his teeth from clashing together. "I'm not even that cold."
Dick raised his eyebrows at Jason, as if to say, really? "You're becoming a freakin ' snowman!" Dick exclaimed, laughing, as he threw the sweater at his brother.
Jason made a noise of protest, before reluctantly slipping the sweater on. It was a little too big, with the sleeves too long and the hood engulfing his entire face. "It's a perfect fit," Jason reflected, flailing his arms theatrically as the sleeves flapped. Dick laughed, rustling his the boy's hair.
On more than one occasion, Dick had found Jason wearing that sweater around the manor, even when it wasn't mildly cold.
“Blue, huh? What a surprise.” Tim remarked, resting his elbows on his knees with a smile.
Dick laughed, looking at the label with ‘Richard’ scrawled onto it in messy writing. “God, I haven’t seen this since - “ He stopped short, his smile fading.
Jason swallowed. “Yeah - since I died.” He finished for him, reaching into the closest box and retrieving a dusty snow globe for a distraction. “It’s okay - you can say it. It’s not some fucking taboo topic.”
“Jay. . .” Dick began, before Jason shook his head.
“C’mon." Jason said abruptly. "These boxes aren’t gonna unpack themselves.”
God, he always did this. Always made things negative. This was why he distanced himself - he always ended up fucking things up anyways, so it’s better to just prevent it from happening at all.
What was once a comfortable silence was now an awkward, undeniable presence. The four wordlessly removed Jason's belongings from the cardboard, setting each of the items aside carefully. This was a mutual procedure, until Tim reached across the table and grabbed a brown object from the box Jason was unpacking. Frowning, Jason watched in confusion.
“Hey, Damian. Throw me that magic eight ball.” Tim said, spinning around on the couch, wearing a baseball glove on his hand.
Dick immediately shook his head. “That’s a bad idea. Tim, you’re gonna break something,” Dick warned, despite the faint smile that crept on his face as Damian hesitantly picked up the ball to his left.
Tim spun around to cast a quizzical look at Dick. “No I won’t,” he reassured, looking back to ready himself - just as the magic eight ball thudded into his face.
Jason let out a choked laugh, while Damian defended himself with: “You did tell me to throw it, Drake,” which only fueled Jason’s laughter. Dick covered his snorts with his hand.
Soon enough, Tim was laughing along too, cradling his bruised face, with a rather smug-looking Damian smirking on the counter. Jason’s once silent apartment erupted in laughter between four chortling boys, and Jason could only hope he wouldn’t receive a noise complaint on his first day.
“That was the funniest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Jason managed out between spurts of laughter, his palm tapping on the coffee table in front of him.
“It actually did hurt, though,” Tim said, rubbing the side of his face.
Jason wanted to hate how comfortable he felt with the rest of them, how he felt like he belonged, but he couldn’t.
He wasn’t ready to admit that to himself, though.
One stack of books left.
Jason was almost regretting his love for literature.
Almost.
The living room of his apartment was looking a lot more homely with all the boxes gone and everything unpacked. His two bookshelves were filled to the brim with a wide selection of books, ranging from bird identifying charts to romance novels to brazilian literature.
“I had no idea you've read these many books,” Dick said from his slouched position on the couch. “I mean, I thought I read a lot. You’re on a whole ‘nother level.”
“Wait, you can read?” Jason asked dryly as he slid a red book into a slot in the shelf.
“Ha ha.”
The low volume of the television and the regular munch of Tim’s popcorn played together in a mundane choir, along with the traffic of the cars outside Jason’s window. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm, orange glow on the four boys lounging lazily amongst the furniture.
Jason had several more books to stack on top, which were resting on the coffee table in the centre. He picked up the last of them, but a white piece of paper slipped from between one, floating to Tim’s feet as if in slow motion. Jason watched with a horrified expression as Tim bent down to pick the photograph up, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Woah,” Tim said, lifting the polaroid photograph up to his face. Jason felt a pang in his heart; because he had a feeling he knew what that picture was.
Dick sat up in his seat, his eyes fixed on the Polaroid photograph. “Is that us?”
His expression only confirmed his beliefs. Jason scratched the back of his neck, mustering a reluctant, “uh, yeah.”
“I can't believe you've still got this,” Dick said carefully, easily plucking the photograph from Tim’s fingers.
Jason stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jumper, watching his feet. “I thought we already established that I tend to keep a lot of things,” Jason said, glancing at the blue sweater peeking out from behind the couch.
Damian nodded in agreement. “Yes, you're quite an impressive hoarder,” he commented, rattling an ancient box of marbles for effect.
Silence seeped its way into the living room. Jason’s eyes drifted to the streetlamps outside the window, and how their pools of light were blurred by the blobs of rainwater on the glass. He would’ve preferred to be outside with the cold rain plummeting against his hot skin, rather than standing in his living room with the silence that had seemed to make itself at home. Jason breathed.
Dick stood from the couch and made his way to Jason, still clutching the photograph firmly.
“Here,” Dick offered, holding the image between them.
Jason remained eye contact with his older brother. “Keep it,” Jason insisted. Dick looked hurt, his eyes gradually falling to the floor, so Jason quickly blurted out: “I'd probably end up losing it, or something. It's safer with you. Wouldn't want it gettin’ ruined or anything, cause it's, it’s. . . a good picture."
Dick swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he agreed, nodding. “It is.” Jason could sense a hug coming. His chest tightened and he exhaled, quickly moving away to place the remaining books on the bookshelf.
Dick must admit, the picture was in extremely good condition, save for the slightly burnt bottom right corner. The black singed material only ate into a slight portion of the actual image.
A light rainfall had replaced the thunderous downfall of the early morning, and now Dick’s gloomy surroundings were illuminated by the scarce light cast by the nearby street lamps.
Dick leaned against the wall to Jason’s apartment building, examining the picture. Rain droplets trickled down his cheeks and his dark hair was flat against his head with wetness.
It displayed Bruce in the centre, his arms around both Dick and Jason, each one wearing equally ridiculous Christmas sweaters.
In the background, Dick can easily recognize the large living room of Wayne Manor; the impressive Christmas tree in the corner of the room, the twinkling lights along the wall, tinsel twirling across the fireplace. Christmas at Wayne Manor was always a joy, courtesy of Alfred.
Bruce is smiling, which is a rare expression to be caught on camera, with a bright red ball propped on his nose and a Santa hat on his head. Dick wondered how Bruce would react to the picture today. He’d probably try to frame it.
A piece of silver tinsel was draped around Dick’s neck, adorned as if it were a scarf. He was beaming delightfully at the camera, torn wrapping paper laying in his lap from previously opened presents.
Jason had a pair of antlers perched on his head, his tongue sticking out comically. Alfred had been livid, immediately requesting another one with Jason smiling. They'd taken several before he finally complied. Jason had gotten a lot that year (after all, it was his first Christmas at the manor, so the kid deserved everything he got) but the picture only depicted a red box of marbles in his hands. It’d been a gift from Alfred.
A warm feeling settled in Dick’s chest as he looked at his little brother’s face.
Dick had thought that that kid who was his little brother died all those years ago along with the second Robin. However, the fact that Jason had kept all of this old stuff, he knew this wasn't true.