Chapter Text
“An hour after, the vehicle was at the door; it was a hack conveyance which was elevated to the rank of a private carriage in honor of the occasion; but, in spite of its humble exterior, the young men would have thought themselves happy to-”
Dick snaps his head up from the book in his hand at the sound of approaching footsteps.
He’d been in the manor for scarcely more than an hour, and had spent most of that time picking out a book from the precarious pile at the side of Jason’s bed.
Even then, he had only picked the one he did out of convenience, plucking it from where it sat near the top of the stack. A tasseled bookmark had stuck out from roughly a fourth of the way through, and the pages so far were so full of Jason’s annotations, it was almost impossible to read the text of the book itself.
Dick had stumbled his way through a couple of pages, his voice shaky and uncertain, and the characters’ names catching on his tongue.
But every time he had to sound through a word, he’d squeeze Jason’s hand. Every time he trailed off, he’d glance up at Jason’s face. Every time the story lost him and he regretted picking this book, he’d glance back at Jason’s highlighting and notes and analysis, excitement radiating off the page.
And he’d take a sip of his water, think of the articles he read about all the good hearing a familiar voice could do a coma patient, and continue.
But if Bruce came through that door right now…
He’d been somewhat-consistently dropping by the Manor once or twice a week, but despite the many times he’d run into Bruce during his visits, they’d exchanged no more than twenty words, and even then managed to skate dangerously close to another argument. Plus, just seeing Bruce’s face managed to consistently piss Dick off enough that he’d usually leave minutes after running into him, whether he’d actually seen Jason yet or not.
Today, though. Today, he refused to let Bruce chase him off. No matter what inane bullshit he decided to start picking a fight with him over.
Still…
He’d rather if Jason didn’t have to hear it.
The footsteps vanish into the study and down the Cave stairs. All of the air in Dick’s body rushes out in a sigh of relief.
He carefully flips the book closed regardless, half-convinced that Bruce will materialize in through the window behind him if he continues to make so much noise reading aloud.
(Also, Jason will kill him if he wakes up to find the pages of his books crumpled and torn. Especially one of his hardbacks.)
A gentle breeze leaks through the aforementioned window, ruffling the back of Dick’s hair. Jason’s isn’t quite yet long enough again for that to be a problem.
His curls have started to take shape again, but only just, laying flat against his head in tiny ringlets. His bangs barely reach over the crest of his forehead, and his two curls right at the front had come in oddly around a scar even Alfred’s stitching couldn’t make heal right, and were growing in bone white.
Jason will think it looks cool, Dick tells himself.
He’ll call it awesome and badass and metal until he’s ready to go back out in the field and Bruce decides it’s too recognizable of a feature and has him dye it black. And then Jason will call it ugly and stupid looking and make Dick entertain him for however long it takes the color to set.
Dick should already be writing a list of conversation topics. Jason’s inability to sit still when he got bored would only lead to him dropping the foils out of his hair and onto the carpet and then he’d run to Bruce to blame Dick for the whole thing.
Dick sets the book down on the bedside table, wrapping both his hands around Jason’s newly freed right one.
The casts had vanished one at a time between his visits, replaced with splints, then simple bandages, and now, nothing. The bandages around his neck and face had similarly disappeared, along with several IVs and pumps. The ventilator had been swapped out for a breathing tube through his nose.
At a glance, it almost looks as though he’s just sleeping off a particularly grueling patrol.
At a second glance, though, the burns along his neck stood out too much; his skin was too pale, and his cheeks were sunken in. His arms rested still at his sides, his whole body swallowed up by the water mattress below him.
Dick exhales shakily and squeezes Jason’s hand again.
“Your motorcycle’s in the garage,” he tells him. “It’s under a tarp, though, so Bruce won’t touch it.”
Jason breaths evenly, his face perfectly relaxed. His freckles are slowly lightening.
“There’s a lot of mail on the table with your name on it. I see a new one every week. From Eddie? Alfred’s keeping them in chronological order for you.”
Jason’s fingers are cold against his palm. Dick gently rubs them between his hands to warm them up.
“Your library books aren’t overdue yet. They take them in every month to check them out for you again. Just in case you still wanna finish them.”
Sunlight filters through a tree out the window, casting dappled shadows across Jason’s face. Dick tugs the curtains a little more shut to make sure he doesn’t sunburn.
“Your report card came too. But Bruce threw that one away. I think he got it taken off your record too. So your GPA should still be as pristine as ever. Colleges won’t even have to know.”
The footsteps return, but only vanish towards the main hall. Dick almost wonders if Bruce even remembers what date it is. His teeth grind together.
“He won’t tell me what happened.”
Dick’s hands squeeze around Jason’s with entirely too much force. He has to manually detach them before he can shatter anything.
“Alfred won’t either, because Bruce told him not to. The only thing I know is that you were in Africa when it happened. And that’s just ‘cause someone got some pictures of you landing there.”
Jason’s nails are getting long. He’ll need to cut them so they don’t catch on the Robin gloves, or break into his palm when he punches.
“But you’re my brother. Someone did this to you, and I deserve to know who. They deserve to-”
Dick bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. His voice, which had been rising with each word, cuts out, left to ring in the air unfinished.
He reaches over and grabs his cup of water.
He takes a sip.
He picks back up Jason’s book, clearing his throat as he flips it open.
“An hour after,” he starts again, “the vehicle was at the door.”