Work Text:
The rain is finally starting to slow down when Batman and Robin swing onto the roof of a building near the harbor, and Jason manages to make the landing pretty gracefully despite the slippery rooftop. He glances over at Bruce, a little proud of himself, but Bruce is staring across at the shock of yellow and blue standing out amongst the hazy darkness of the November night.
“Nightwing,” Bruce says stiffly as the figure approaches. He’s tense – Jason can feel it oozing off him.
And they were having a nice night, before this. Their coms had been on the fritz for the last few days, limiting them to short-range communication and the phone Bruce had hardwired into the batmobile, so it had been kind of… quiet. Nice, though. The two of them had talked a little more than they usually do, which Jason had kind of liked.
“Batman,” Dick says, his tone just as cold. He glances down, then flashes Jason a smile, his posture relaxing a bit. “Hey kid,” he says. “Nice dismount on the roof by the way.”
Jason feels a warm glow in his chest at the compliment. “Thanks,” he says, suddenly feeling a bit shy. He still isn’t used to it – a couple of months of training with Bruce nearly constantly comparing him to the previous Robin, and he just… isn’t what Jason had expected, sometimes.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Bruce says, his gaze especially steely. “We talked about this.”
Right. Jason could do without the fighting if he was being honest. He still doesn’t fully understand what it is the two of them have to argue about so much, but it all feels a little unnecessary to him. Bruce always gets all quiet and mopey afterwards, and Jason has seen Dick leave the cave in tears more than once. He understands the broad strokes of why they aren’t getting along, but a part of him doesn’t get why Dick keeps coming back to Gotham if he hates Bruce so much. Or why he seems to have taken an interest in being a “big brother” to Jason, as he put it a couple weeks ago when he took Jason out for ice cream. It doesn’t seem worth the hassle to Jason, if he and Bruce are just gonna fight that much.
“Oh, I’ve been doing great, thanks for asking,” Dick says. “The Titans are doing great too, they all say hi –”
“Nightwing,” Bruce snaps. Jason half-expects Dick to flinch at the tone he’s using, but he just crosses his arms and sighs, almost like he’s bored.
“I’m helping out on a case, alright?” Dick says. “I’ve been tracking down intel on an arms dealer for a friend for a couple of weeks now. I’m not patrolling, and I’ll be out of your city in a few hours, I promise.”
“Hn.” Bruce’s mouth is set in a thin line.
“And by the way, we didn’t talk about it,” Dick adds, scowling. “You yelled at me. That’s not the same.”
“I didn’t –”
“You did,” Dick retorts. “The cave has cameras, in case you feel like refreshing your memory.”
Jason suppresses a sigh. The two of them had gotten into a particularly nasty argument about a week ago, and apparently it’s still fresh in both of their minds.
“Who is the lead for?” Bruce asks, ignoring Dick’s comment.
Dick laughs. “Oh, that is so none of your business,” he says.
“If I’m going to allow you to be in –”
“You’re not allowing me to do anything,” Dick interrupts, his tone sharp. “You lost that right a long time ago, and you’ve made it very clear you don’t think I’m an adequate partner. Besides, I’d hate to – what did you say I do again? ‘Waste more of your time’?” he adds, accentuating the statement with air quotes.
Yikes.
“Nightwing,” Bruce tries again, but Dick puts his hand up.
“We aren’t talking about this more, actually,” he says, walking to the edge of the building. He glances back at Jason, his expression softening. “Good to see ya, kid,” he adds, sounding almost sad. “I’ll come by and we can train sometime soon.”
Ignoring Bruce, he turns and leaps off the building in one graceful motion.
“Come on,” Bruce grunts, and Jason knows that means they won’t be talking about it any more, either.
Except, then they accidentally walk into a trap. Like, a literal booby trap.
They’re following a tip from Commissioner Gordon about a bunch of drugs being stored in a warehouse by the docks. The building had been suspiciously empty, and when Bruce picked the lock to the room supposedly holding the drugs, it triggered an alarm, and a small explosive went off in their faces.
They were fast, thankfully, Jason falling back on his training and dropping down while Bruce covers them both in the fabric of his cape, but the explosion is pretty big. Jason doesn’t fully pass out, he’s pretty sure, but one moment he’s ducking behind Bruce and the next he’s flat on the ground, his ears ringing. Thankfully though, he seems to be otherwise unharmed. He groans, sitting back and surveying the remains of the door.
“Robin,” Bruce is saying. “Are you okay?” His voice is a bit gravelly, and Jason glances over, but his vision is still a little fuzzy.
“Mm. Yeah, sorry,” he says slowly. “A little rattled, but in one piece,” he adds cheerfully. “You okay?”
Bruce gives a sort of half-groan, and that’s when Jason can see more clearly that he had gotten the brunt of the damage. The explosion had torn through the kevlar of his cape and suit, and Jason can see cuts littering his torso and legs.
Oh no.
Bruce is bleeding in several spots, but there’s a dark pool forming under his left leg that raises alarms in Jason’s head.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters as he crawls over to Bruce’s side, frantically pulling out several pads of hemostatic gauze from his belt.
“Robin,” Bruce says again, trying to prop himself up on one elbow.
“No, no, lie back down,” Jason says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”
Because you were shielding me, a small voice in the back of his head adds. Jason shakes his head, trying to physically banish the thought from his mind. Freak out about that later, he decides. He pushes on Bruce’s chest, trying not to read too much alarm into how little effort it takes to get him to comply.
He turns back to the cut on Bruce’s leg, which is… bad. Definitely the worst out of all of them. He can’t tell for sure if the artery was hit, but he really doesn’t like how big the pool of blood under Bruce’s leg is, and how quickly it’s getting bigger.
“I need to tourniquet this,” Jason says, reaching for his utility belt again. Bruce gives a half-groan that Jason decides means go ahead. So he pulls out the tourniquet and works it under Bruce’s leg, then winces as he tightens it above the wound. Bruce grunts, his face scrunched tight with pain.
“Sorry,” Jason mutters, lifting Bruce’s knee and scooting his foot back so the wound is elevated. Elevate it above the heart, Bruce’s training echoes in his head. And however tight you think the tourniquet needs to be, make sure it’s tighter. Jason swallows, then follows the advice, grimacing when Bruce actually cries out in pain.
“Sorry,” he repeats, placing one of the gauze pads over the wound and securing it in place with a wrap. He moves on to the gashes in Bruce’s abdomen, which thankfully aren’t as deep, pressing the gauze to his side and guiding Bruce’s hand to help keep pressure on them.
“Can you walk?” he asks. Bruce is deathly pale under the mask, but he nods, his eyes still shut.
“Okay,” Jason says. He stands, and immediately regrets it as his vision suddenly tunnels and dark spots dance in front of his eyes. “Uh oh,” he mutters. His legs give out, and then he’s on the floor again.
“... Jay?” Bruce’s voice is weak.
“‘M okay,” Jason promises. “I uh… it’s okay,” he promises. He fumbles with his comm before remembering that they’re out of range of the cave.
Fuck.
He’s… he’s on his own. Alfred can’t hear him. He’s gonna need to get to the batmobile on his own, maybe find Commissioner Gordan or someone else –
Wait. Jason hits the scanner on his gauntlet, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees another signal still in range.
“Nightwing,” he calls, hoping Dick was actually wearing his earpiece. “I need your help, I’m – Batman was injured, I don’t think I can –”
“Robin?” Dick sounds worried. “Where are you?”
“The warehouse on 8th,” Jason says, his shoulders sagging with relief. “I think this whole thing was a setup.”
“I’m two blocks away,” Dick promises. “Just sit tight, okay? Is Batman breathing?”
Dick eventually gets too out of breath to keep talking, and it’s a couple minutes that feel like an eternity before he’s running into the building where Jason and Bruce are.
There’s a look of genuine fear on his face when he first lays eyes on the two of them, but it’s only there for a split-second before it’s quickly smoothed over into something more professional. Jason, meanwhile, feels hysterical. Bruce had stopped talking, and he’s gone even whiter since Jason first called Dick.
“How close is the batmobile?” Dick asks, dropping to a crouch next to Jason and checking Bruce’s pulse.
“Um, a block in the other direction,” Jason says.
Dick nods, leaning over and tapping Bruce’s cheek. “Come on B,” he says, his voice sharp. Bruce gives another groan, and Jason exhales with relief.
“Can you walk okay?” Dick asks, glancing back at Jason.
“Yeah – I mean, I think so,” Jason says, stumbling over his words.
“Are you sure?” Dick asks, eyeing him critically.
“Yeah,” Jason says, deciding that he will not pass out again this time. Especially not in front of Dick. He grits his teeth and gets his legs under him, and the world tilts for a moment, then rights itself. “See? Told ya.”
“Nice job,” Dick says with a small smile, and Jason isn’t used to that, either. Bruce gets so tightly wound when someone is injured; it’s weird to see Dick being complimentary in the same situation. “Okay, now for the real magic trick…”
He leans down, pausing to unclasp Batman’s cape before grabbing Bruce’s arm and hauling the man over his shoulder. For a second Jason just stares – that’s definitely not how he was taught to do a fireman’s carry – but Dick barely grunts as he situates the older man on his shoulders, bracing his injured leg with his arm.
“Ready?” he asks, giving Jason a strained smile. Jason nods quickly, grabbing the shredded cape and the remaining gauze before leading Dick out and towards the car. He opens the back door and Dick deposits Bruce into the seat, both of them groaning as he does.
“Can you sit back there with him?” Dick asks. It’s an order phrased like a question, and Jason complies, cramming himself in the back with Bruce as Dick takes the driver’s seat and throws the car into gear.
“Bruce?” Jason asks as he leans over the man, tugging off his cowl. Bruce’s eyes open slowly, turning towards Jason.
“Mm,” Bruce tries, his eyes closing again.
“Dick,” Jason starts.
“We’re five minutes out,” Dick says, his tone even. “Put some pressure on his torso, and keep his leg elevated.”
“‘Kay,” Jason says, and he tries to focus on his job, not on how Bruce has bled through the gauze on his abdomen, or how his skin is paler than Jason has ever seen it. Dick is talking to someone on the car’s phone – Alfred, he realizes – but he can’t really latch on to any of the words. The minutes seem to stretch into hours, then they’re pulling into the cave. Jason scrambles out of the backseat so Dick and Alfred can pull Bruce out, then he’s hovering as he’s transported to a gurney and into the medbay. Dick is pulling off Bruce’s armor and dressing the wounds on his torso while Alfred starts an IV and says something about concerns for hypovolemic shock and Jason should be helping, but he feels frozen, staring at them without actually really seeing it.
It’s bright inside the medbay, Jason realizes. It’s not until they’re under the fluorescent lighting that the sheer amount of blood everywhere is put more sharply into focus. On the floor, seeping through the gauze and onto the sheets, marring the bright yellows and blues of Dick’s suit. Jason looks down to see matching stains on his own suit, and suddenly his knees feel weak and his stomach clenches, and a strong pair of arms catch him before the floor can get any closer.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dick is saying, and then he’s being carried over to one of the empty cots. Dick sits him up, keeping his hand flat on Jason’s back. “Take a nice deep breath for me, yeah?”
Jason complies, swallowing as he tries to steady his breathing. Dick is gone for a second, then he’s back, pushing a cold bottle of water into Jason’s hands.
“Should be helping Bruce,” Jason grinds out after taking a sip.
“Alfred’s got it for now,” Dick says gently. There’s a crackling sound. “Here,” Dick adds, and then something cold is being pressed to the back of his neck. An ice pack, Jason is pretty sure. He takes another sip of water, his stomach starting to calm down and his head clearing up a little more.
“You did really good,” Dick continues after a moment. “We’ve got it from here, okay?”
Jason shakes his head. “I can help,” he argues.
“I know you can,” Dick says easily. “But we’ve got it. Why don’t you go get cleaned up, yeah?”
Jason wants to argue, but the blood is starting to feel sticky against his skin, and a shower suddenly sounds like the best thing on earth. He stands cautiously, but this time his vision doesn’t tunnel.
Jason showers quickly, washing his hair twice to get the scent of blood out of it, before drying off and tugging on a pair of sweatpants, slippers, and a long sleeve shirt.
For a couple of minutes he sits on the bench near the shower, pressing the ice pack Dick had given him to his forehead. He feels sort of hollowed out, and he’s still not quite sure what to make of Dick. One minute he’s arguing with Bruce on a rooftop, the next he’s dropping everything to come save the guy. Jason feels like he’s missing something.
His footsteps are silent as he eventually makes his way back to the medbay, and as he approaches, he can hear an argument ensuing.
“–only have A neg, we don’t have a choice,” Dick is saying. Jason watches from the shadows as Dick crosses his arms. Alfred is standing across from him, looking down as he sutures one of the gashes in Bruce’s side.
“We’ve already given Master Bruce fluids,” Alfred says calmly, “now we must –”
“You weren’t there!” Dick argues. “He lost too much blood at the scene, and he’s already got a liter of fluid in him. His pressure and O2 sat should be trending upward, and they’re not.”
“Master Richard,” Alfred starts with a sigh, “I do not wish to be the one to have to explain to Master Bruce why I allowed you to –”
“Well it’s that or risk him dying,” Dick snaps. “I don’t care if –”
“Wait, what?” Jason can’t help himself, stepping out of the shadows and into the medbay. “What do you mean, Bruce is dying?”
Alfred gives Dick a pointed look, which he ignores.
“He isn’t,” Dick says firmly. “He needs a blood transfusion, and we’re out of his type, so I’m going to give to him.”
“He is most certainly not,” Alfred argues, giving them both a stern look as he sets down his suturing tools.
“Why don’t you just use the O- blood we have in storage?” Jason asks. Bruce has shown him the refrigerator before, stacked with several neatly labelled bags of blood, and he remembers the lesson on blood type compatibility that had gone along with it.
“We’re out of that too,” Dick says grimly. “But it’s not an issue, since that happens to be my type.”
Jason stares at him. Helping them stabilize Bruce is one thing. Dick is Nightwing after all. He saves people, including people he doesn’t like. But this is way more, and Jason still doesn’t understand. He can’t stand Bruce – the two of them bicker constantly, and Jason has overheard some of the mean things Bruce has said to Dick. He gets that they used to be a team at one point, but this just doesn’t make sense.
He wants someone to explain this to him, but then he glances at Bruce, looking so pale and vulnerable on the gurney, and he decides that at least for right now, he cares more about making sure Bruce doesn’t die.
“You should do it,” he says quietly.
Dick gives Alfred a triumphant look, and the butler sighs. “You will be the one explaining this to Master Bruce, then,” he says, sounding resigned.
“I don’t have to explain shit,” Dick shoots back, already pulling up his sleeve as he walks over to one of the supply cabinets.
“Language,” Alfred admonishes, and Dick rolls his eyes as he roots around and pulls out a few wrapped packets. Jason glances as Alfred starts helping him set up the transfusion, then he looks back at Bruce, now lying alone on the gurney. Someone has wrapped a blanket around him, and Jason hesitates for a moment before tugging out one of the edges to reveal Bruce’s hand, which he slips into his own. His fingers are freezing cold, and so Jason wraps them in his own hands, trying to transfer the warmth over a little.
“Hey Jay, we gotta get in there,” Dick says gently, gesturing to an unconnected IV line in the crook of his elbow. Jason steps back, not wanting to watch as the line gets hooked up. He looks down, nudging a stray piece of gauze on the floor with the toe of his slipper.
“You can come back, if you want,” Dick is saying. Jason looks up, and he’s sitting on a chair near Bruce, a thick line of red now connecting their two arms. Dick puts his other arm out, but Jason suddenly feels sick to his stomach again, and he shakes his head no before he can stop himself.
Dick gives a sort of concerned frown, but he still nods. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “This’ll take a little bit anyways. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some sleep?”
“Okay,” Jason says, jumping on the chance to get out of there. He escapes into the study, then wanders into the kitchen on the first floor, snagging the container of Oreos that Alfred keeps in the top cabinet before sitting down on the couch in the main family room.
He’s too wired to sleep. Too confused. And far too worried about Bruce. His mind turns back to the explosion, and he remembers the detail that he had tried to push out of his mind: that Bruce had gotten so injured because he was protecting Jason.
He can’t stop his eyes from welling with tears at that point, so he curls up on his side and cries, his shoulders shaking as he tries to wedge himself into the corner of the couch. A part of him wants to just disappear entirely, to sink into the couch and never be seen from again.
He’s not sure how long he sits there. Eventually he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and turns, watching through the big windows as the rain starts up again.
“Jason? You in there?” Dick’s voice is calling from the kitchen, and Jason feels tears spring into his eyes again. This time he swallows hard, banishing them away as he sits up.
“Yeah,” he mumbles.
A few moments later and Dick appears in the doorway. His hair is wet, like he’s just taken a shower, and he’s wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt with the Superman logo on it, and Jason wonders for a moment if that’s actually just Clark’s sweatshirt that Dick stole. He’s leaning against the doorframe with one hand, and in his other he has a carton of orange juice.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
Jason gives a noncommittal shrug, which Dick seems to take as a yes. He walks slowly over to the couch, his outstretched hand skimming the side of the wall as he goes.
“Are you supposed to be up and walking?” Jason asks, suspicious that Alfred would have let him go like that.
“Mm, probably not,” Dick says, collapsing in a heap on the couch next to Jason. He closes his eyes for a moment, almost like he’s dizzy. “But it was only two pints. Besides, I got some orange juice. I’m fine.”
Jason scowls, and Dick raises an eyebrow in response. “You okay?” he asks. “I know it was a lot, seeing Bruce like that, but he’s gonna be okay.”
Jason looks away, unsure of how to respond. As if that’s the thing that had been bothering him, not the fact that Dick is risking life and limb for a guy he hates. Jason feels a little like he’s going crazy.
“Hey,” Dick says, pulling him from his thoughts. “I mean it. He’s gonna be fine. You did a really good job stabilizing him before I got there.”
“Why do you care?” Jason bursts out before he can think.
Dick sits up a little. “Because I know it can be scary,” he says. “I’ve been there before, been the only one in the field when he gets hurt. It isn’t easy.”
Jason’s frown deepens. “No, not that,” he says. “Why do you care about what happens to Bruce? Why did you give him your blood?”
“Because… he needed it?” Dick asks slowly. “I’m a universal donor, it’s what I do.”
Jason shakes his head, frustration growing. “You hate Bruce,” he says. “And I know it can hurt you to give him blood like that. I don’t get why –”
“Woah, wait,” Dick says, setting the orange juice on the coffee table in front of them as he puts his hands up. “I don’t hate Bruce. Who told you that?”
Jason blinks. “You fight with him all the time,” he says slowly. “That’s all you guys do. And you constantly argue about how he doesn’t trust you, and – and I know he’s said some mean stuff to you too,” Jason says, looking away. “I’ve… heard some of it. So I don’t get why you wouldn’t just go wherever you get all the rest of your blood instead of –” he cuts himself off, his throat getting hot. Embarrassed, he looks away, biting down on his cheek.
It’s quiet for a long moment.
“Jay,” Dick says quietly. Jason crosses his arms. He knows he’s being childish, but he’s worried if he starts looking at Dick he’ll start crying again.
“Jason,” Dick tries again. “Listen to me: I don’t hate Bruce. We just… aren’t getting along super well, right now. But I don’t hate him.”
Cautiously, Jason turns back, letting his arms drop. “Well you yell a lot at each other.”
Dick sighs. “Yeah, we do,” he admits. “He’s not very good at listening, and I… I guess I get emotional sometimes, about things. But Bruce…” he trails off, running his finger along the hem of his sweatshirt. “He was there for me when nobody else was, in a way that nobody else could be.”
And, well, Jason understands that. He thinks about all the times Bruce has been patient with him when he’s gotten defensive or angry. How he stays up with Jason on nights when he isn’t on patrol and reads with him when he’s too jumpy to sleep, too used to spending nights in places he could never quite feel safe.
“He’s… I think he’s trying,” Dick says, “in his own way. And that doesn’t mean I have to stay here and let him keep trying to control my life, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love him. And I certainly don’t hate him,” he adds, glancing back at Jason. “I’m sorry you ever thought I did.”
Jason shrugs, still not sure how to feel. “You could have just gotten more blood from… wherever the other stuff came from,” he mumbles, picking at his fingernail.
Dick raises his eyebrows. “Where do you think that is, exactly?”
“What?” Jason doesn’t understand.
“Jay, all that O- in the fridge was mine,” Dick explains. “We draw some and store it in case we’re injured. Bruce and Babs make sure they’ve got a couple pints of their own, but I’m the only one of us that’s a universal donor, so I give an extra pint every once and a while so we have some on ice.”
“Oh,” Jason says quietly. “Why don’t I –”
“Because you’re too little,” Dick says with a teasing smile, nudging him. “It’s not safe for kids, that’s why we keep extra O-.”
Jason’s blood runs cold. “So back last month when I needed that transfusion…”
“Yep,” Dick says, flashing him another smile. “So for three months your blood will be like, what? One sixth mine?”
He means it as a joke, but Jason’s stomach turns. He stands up, suddenly wanting to run out of the room.
“What is it?” Dick asks, frowning.
Jason shakes his head, not able to explain what he’s feeling. It’s just… wrong. He never should have done that, should have given that. Jason doesn’t deserve something like that. He had never really put a lot of thought one way or the other into where the blood came from, but… then another awful thought strikes him.
“You shouldn’t have,” Jason says finally, almost angry. “I don’t – I mean, you only had to give that blood to Bruce tonight because of me, right? Because I took the rest of it, and I didn’t –” He huffs, glancing at the doorway, and Dick follows his gaze.
“Hey, no running out on me,” Dick says, a little pleadingly. “I can’t follow you if you do, I’ll just pass out.”
Jason tucks his arms to his chest, and Dick lifts his arms up. “Would you come sit with me for a bit?” he asks. “Please?” He looks kind of pathetic, honestly. Jason can see from where he’s standing that Dick’s shivering even in his massive sweatshirt. So he sighs and relents, sitting on the couch and letting Dick wrap his arms around him. Eventually he returns the hug, tucking his head under Dick’s chin, and it’s… kind of nice, actually. Dick stops shivering after a minute and starts running his hands through Jason’s hair. Bruce does that too, sometimes, when Jason is having trouble falling asleep, and the thought makes something warm and soft settle in his chest.
“You aren’t the reason why we ran out of O-, for the record,” Dick says finally, pulling away so he can look Jason in the eye. “I pulled a pretty stupid stunt last week and needed a couple pints. It’s why Alfred didn’t want me giving any more, and it’s also why Bruce was so pissed to see me out tonight. He had told me not to be on patrol.”
“Oh,” Jason says, processing what he’s saying. “Then why did you?”
Dick shrugs. “Because he isn’t my boss.”
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in Jason’s chest.
“What?” Dick asks, smiling despite himself. “It’s true.”
“You’re kind of dumb. That’s a dumb reason to do something,” Jason observes, and this time Dick laughs too.
“Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “You think you can get some sleep now?”
Jason nods, and, as if on cue, a yawn escapes him.
Dick laughs again. “Okay, help me upstairs, and we can both get some shut-eye. Deal?”
Jason smiles. “Deal.”
Dick’s old bedroom is empty when Jason wakes up that morning, and when he creeps downstairs he’s met with an interesting scene: Bruce laid out on the couch with his leg propped up, and Dick curled up on one of the armchairs that he’s dragged over next to the couch.
Bruce looks up when he hears Jason approach. He looks tired – he’s still very pale, and Jason can see the dark circles under his eyes.
“Are you supposed to be up here?” Jason asks, since apparently that’s something he needs to ask now.
Bruce chuckles. “Yes,” he promises. “Alfred helped me up here. He thought a little daylight might do me good.” Jason glances out the windows – it’s still raining, but it’s still better than the cave, he supposes.
“Okay…” Jason says slowly, still not really believing him. Bruce goes to sit up as Jason walks over to him, and Jason holds out his arm, helping to prop Bruce up against a couple of pillows and maneuver his leg to be resting on the coffee table. Cautiously, he takes a seat on the couch next to Bruce.
“Is Dick okay?” he ventures, and Bruce nods.
“He’s just tired,” Bruce promises. “And very stupid, for doing what he did last night.”
“I’d do it again,” Dick says suddenly, popping his head up from the mound of blankets he’s under, his wavy hair unkempt. “For you too, Jay,” he adds. “It’s what I do.”
“Go back to sleep,” Bruce orders, “We’ll talk about this later.” But his voice has none of the usual venom that Jason has come to expect from talking with Dick. They seemed to have reached some sort of uneasy truce, at least for the moment.
Dick sticks his tongue out at Bruce, but he drops his head and curls back up under the blankets.
Jason bites his cheek, then leans into Bruce’s side. Bruce makes a noise of surprise, but he gingerly lifts his arm and wraps it around Jason’s shoulder. For a long while, neither of them speak. After a few minutes, Jason can hear Dick’s heavy breathing, meaning he actually is asleep.
“You did well, last night,” Bruce says finally, his voice a murmur. Jason hums, not sure of how to answer.
“Dick says you guys were fighting because he got hurt,” Jason says instead of answering.
He looks up to see Bruce’s jaw clench. “That’s… partially true,” he says. “Dick takes unnecessary risks, sometimes. He feels like he has to prove himself, and I’m trying to persuade him that he doesn’t.”
“Is that what you said?” Jason asks.
Bruce clears his throat. “It’s complicated,” he says, but Jason has already guessed the truth, remembering Dick’s comment on the rooftop the night before. “I might have… misspoken. Told him that it was wasting my time having to deal with his injuries.”
“That’s mean,” Jason observes.
Bruce shifts in his place, not answering for a moment. “I misspoke,” he repeats, sounding uncomfortable. “And I apologized. I just… want him to be more careful.”
Then tell him that, not the other thing, Jason wants to say. But he also kind of doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
“It’s been handled,” Bruce promises, seeming almost to read his mind. “Don’t worry about it.”
Jason hums again, settling closer into Bruce’s side. “I’m sorry you got hurt yesterday,” he says finally. “You were protecting me.”
“That’s my job,” Bruce says without hesitation. “And I’d do it again,” he adds, using the same tone Dick had.
Jason looks up at him. “Promise?” he asks, suddenly not caring how childish it sounds.
Bruce gives him a small smile before kissing the top of his head. “I promise.”