Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jason shouldn’t have come here.

That had been his first thought when Dick had opened the door with a half-surprised, half-knowing look on his face. The same look he wore whenever Jason showed up on his doorstep unannounced, like he’d expected this eventually even if he hadn’t expected it tonight. Jason had almost turned around on the spot, almost handed over the armful of groceries he’d bought on the way and told some lie that would keep him from having to talk. But Dick had stepped aside and nodded him in, and Jason had walked in because that was what he always did when he didn’t know what else to do.

Now Jason could feel Dick’s eyes on him as he moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, a familiar weight between his shoulder blades. Some nature documentary played softly on the TV, blue-white light washing over the living room as the narrator droned on about migratory birds and distant coastlines.

“You want help?” Dick asked.

Jason didn’t look up from the counter. Partly because he was peeling potatoes, mostly because he wasn’t convinced his expression was under control.

“No,” he said.

“You sure? I can chop something.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, the counter. Or your fingers. Pass.”

Dick leaned a hip against the counter anyway, arms loosely folded. Close, but not crowding.

“Hey,” he protested. “I can cook.”

“And raccoons can open trash cans. Doesn’t mean they should.”

Dick threw a pine nut at the back of his head. It bounced off Jason’s hair and skittered across the floor.

Jason flicked his eyes over his shoulder. “Real mature,” he said dryly.

“You are the worst,” Dick said, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I let you into my home. I feed you. I—”

“You feed me?” Jason cocked his head toward the food processor on the counter, filled with fresh-made pesto. “What exactly do you think is happening here?”

“It’s my kitchen,” Dick insisted.

“And I’m the one who can actually cook—”

“I’m a perfectly adequate cook!”

“You can microwave and use a can opener. Doesn’t count.”

Dick a made sound of protest, somewhere between offended and fond. “I can cook.”

Jason rolled his eyes, suppressing a smirk.

“Unbelievable,” Dick muttered. “You cook one decent meal and suddenly you think you’re Gordon Ramsay—”

“I’ve cooked dozens of decent meals, asshat.”

They went on like that, lobbing insults back and forth while Jason worked and Dick pretended not to hover. This—this easy banter, this familiar rhythm—was why Jason had come. Dick didn’t push or pry or do that thing Bruce had been doing lately, where every conversation felt like they were skirting around landmines. Instead, Dick let Jason cook and make fun of his mismatched furniture, distracting Jason enough to breathe through the weight pressing down on his chest.

When the food was done—gnocchi made from scratch, tossed with pesto sauce and tomatoes—they dropped onto the couch, steam curling up between them as they ate. The TV was still on, volume low, playing sweeping shots of cliffs and seabirds gliding effortlessly through open sky.

“Good, right?” Jason said.

Dick grinned. “You know it’s good. Don’t fish for praise.”

Then he propped his feet on the rickety coffee table, forking pasta into his mouth, attention seemingly fixed on the screen, like he’d settled in to actually watch.

But Jason knew better. He had known this part was coming: that eventual, deliberate silence Dick used like an open door. It was why Jason hadn’t wanted to come, why he’d spent weeks finding reasons not to make the drive.

There had been a time, not too long ago, when Jason wouldn’t have come here. When the thought of it wouldn’t have even occurred to him. If it had, he didn’t think Dick would have let him in, let alone allow him to linger for so long without an explanation. Dick probably would have sooner kicked him out and tattled to Alfred than let Jason get comfortable enough to poke fun at his shitty spice rack.

But things were different now. They were different. Jason knew Dick well enough by now to know that Dick would never press, would never corner him, but he’d wait—quietly, steadily—until Jason filled the silence himself.

And for all that Jason might have liked to pretend that he didn’t want to talk, that he just wanted dinner and noise and nothing else, it would’ve been a lie. He wouldn’t have come all this way if there wasn’t something sitting heavy in his chest, waiting for the quiet to give it room to breathe.

Outside the window, Blüdhaven was easing into dusk, the sky a bruised purple, streetlights flickering on one by one. Traffic hummed faintly through the glass, the city settling into its nighttime rhythm.

Finally, Jason said, “Hey. You ever miss college?”

Dick looked away from the screen. “Miss it?” he said with a surprised huff of laughter. “I was there for five minutes.”

“Still. Do you ever think about Hudson?”

“I think about the pizza place across campus sometimes. That’s about it.”

Jason picked at his bowl. “You only went for a semester, right?”

“Barely.”

“What was it like?”

“Hudson was . . . fine,” Dick said, like he was pulling the memory off of a dusty bookshelf. “The classes were okay, I guess. Nice campus, nice people. Maybe one or two not-so-nice professors. It was . . .”

His voice trailed away. It was quiet for so long that Jason chanced a glance up to find that Dick had been waiting, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

“Why are you asking?” Dick said.

Jason lifted a shoulder in what he hoped passed as a casual shrug. The same shrug he’d practiced the night before. “Just curious. You never talk about it.”

It was true—he was curious. Dick’s brief stint at college had been over by the time Jason had come to live at the manor. He’d never heard much about it beyond Dick went and Dick didn’t stay. Dick didn’t talk about it, and Bruce didn’t bring it up either. Not around Jason, anyway.

All Jason knew was what came after. The slow fracture between Dick and Bruce. How Robin had ended for him long before the name had been taken away. The years when Dick had been . . . not gone, but not here, not part of Jason’s orbit.

“Because there isn’t much to talk about,” Dick said. “It was . . . to be honest, Jay, it wasn’t what I thought it’d be.”

“How did you make it work?” Jason asked. “Robin and classes and everything.”

Dick snorted. “Poorly. I missed more lectures than I attended. I was . . . pulled in too many directions. I wanted to be everywhere at once and couldn’t really commit to any of it. I kept thinking if I just tried harder, it’d click.”

“And it didn’t.”

Dick shook his head, looking a little rueful. “Nope.”

Jason looked down at his bowl again, trying not to look crestfallen. He tried not to be crestfallen. That was the answer he had expected, but hearing it out loud still felt as if a bowling ball had been dropped in his stomach.

“Did you ever think,” Jason said lightly, like this was all just general curiosity, “that maybe you quit too soon? Like, if you’d stuck it out a little longer. If maybe you had . . .”

“Had what?”

“Stayed in Gotham. Like Babs. Maybe you could have balanced it better. School and . . . all the other stuff.”

Stuff. As if Robin wasn’t the axis his entire life spun around.

Dick made a noncommittal sound. “Maybe I could have. I don’t know. But I was already pretty busy with the Titans by then, and Bruce and I were—well.” His lip curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I was commuting back to Gotham whenever he snapped his fingers. And the Titans needed me just as much. Something had to give.”

“And it was school?”

“And it was school.”

“So when you moved out,” Jason said carefully, “when you were gone all the time, that didn’t really have anything to do with college?”

“No. It didn’t.” Dick tilted his head, frowning. “Why the sudden interest in my disaster-semester?”

Jason looked away, stabbing at a tomato. His pulse thudded in his ears. “I just wanted to know how it all worked for you.”

“And it didn’t, but you knew that already. Which is why I’m confused that you’re asking.”

Jason wished he could shrink into the couch. He wanted to deflect. He wanted to make a joke, to change the subject. But the words were burning a hole in his chest and needed out. Had been burning since his English teacher had told him he could go anywhere he wanted.

If he couldn’t say it to Dick now, he couldn’t say it to anyone else.

“I heard back from Princeton,” he said.

Dick perked up immediately. “Did they finally seal the deal?”

“Got the last of my acceptance letters last week,” Jason said, as if the news hadn’t been sitting on his tongue for just as long.

Dick let out a low whistle. “Look at you, overachiever. I mean, sure, Gotham U is—Gotham U, but Princeton—”

“Princeton’s whatever.”

His head tipped back on a bright laugh. “You can’t just whatever an Ivy League.”

“Yeah, well.” Jason gave a dismissive wave. He didn’t look at Dick; instead, he turned his gaze to the birds wheeling and diving across the TV screen. “I didn’t really think it was on the table.”

“You said ‘letters’,” Dick said. Jason could hear the grin in his voice. “As in plural. I know you got your letter from Gotham U months ago, and I didn’t know you were looking at other schools, so . . .”

Jason hesitated. This had always been the part he imagined would be fun to say. The big surprise reveal. The dramatic, smug guess what school wants me? moment. Months ago, before everything with Bruce had gone sideways, he’d imagined telling Dick first, watching his brother’s eyes go cartoon-wide, basking in the moment.

Now his heart thundered so loudly against his ribs it was a wonder Dick couldn’t hear it. His mouth seemed filled with ash, his throat desert-dry.

“Okay, so—” Jason began, rather hoarsely; he cleared his throat and tried again. “If someone wanted to—hypothetically speaking—”

“Hypothetically?” Dick said, sounding far too pleased.

“—if someone wanted to go to a school that wasn’t in New Jersey—”

Dick straightened so fast the cushion squeaked. “Since when were you applying to schools out of state?”

“Hypothetically,” Jason said, wincing. His voice sounded embarrassingly meek.

“Where?” Dick nudged Jason’s shoulder lightly with his own. “Is this your roundabout way of telling me you got into Hudson?”

“Try farther.”

“How much farther?” Dick said, his tone still light and teasing. Then, suddenly aghast, “Oh god, it’s not Metropolis, is it?”

Jason grimaced. “California.”

Dick blinked and stared. “California?”

Jason let out a breath. He could do this. He could say it casually, like it was no big deal. Like it was a normal thing. Like the very thought of it didn’t send his insides seesawing, excitement lifting him weightless one second, dread slamming him hard the next.

“Stanford,” he said at last.

Dick gaped. “Stanford?”

“Yes, Stanford,” Jason said impatiently. “Do you need your ears checked?”

“But that’s—holy shit, are you—”

Suddenly, Dick reached over and plucked Jason’s bowl out of his hands, placing it on the coffee table.

“Hey—” Jason started to say, but Dick was already hauling him to his feet, pulling him into a hug tight enough that he staggered half a step, his breath leaving him in a rush.

“Jay! That’s incredible! Congratulations!”

Jason grunted, his heart still beating too loud in his chest. As he returned the hug, he had to remind himself to tilt his head down, not crane his neck up. It still startled him—he was taller than his brother now. Tall enough that Dick could tuck his head under Jason’s chin, the way Jason used to do when he was younger.

Dick gave him one last squeeze before pulling back, face alight, hands settling on Jason’s shoulders. “Does Bruce know?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” Jason said. “I haven’t told anyone.”

“Seriously? Not even your mom?”

Jason shook his head and sat back down on the couch, his stomach lurching. God, his mother . . .

Dick was still grinning, too bright for the dimly lit room. “This is good news. Great news.”

“It’s just a school,” Jason muttered.

“You know it’s not,” Dick said, plopping back into his seat. “I thought you wanted to stay local. What made you change your mind?”

“They’ve got a good English Lit program.”

Dick scoffed. “’Good’ is underselling it.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed. “They’ve got a great English Lit program. Top tier and all that. And the libraries there are . . . dude, it’s insane. I looked it up and the biggest one is four times as big as the manor. Can you imagine that? And there’s this class—for the track I’m looking at, I mean—with this lecturer whose work I’ve been following and—”

He cut himself off, realizing he was talking too fast. Dick was watching him with a soft smile, proud and a little amused, and it made Jason feel stupidly warm.

Jason cleared his throat. “Anyway. Stuff like that.”

“No, man,” Dick said encouragingly. “That’s awesome. You’re excited.”

“I’m not—” Jason scratched the back of his neck. “I just figured—San Francisco’s right there. Titans Tower is right there. I thought—I could work with them more. Maybe. If they wanted.”

Dick chuckled. “Of course they will. Definitely.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile back. It was ridiculous, how good that warmth felt. He could feel it blooming painfully behind his sternum: excitement, raw and bright, the way it had the night he’d gotten the acceptance letter. He hadn’t let himself feel it since.

For a moment, he could picture it. Stanford’s campus and its tree-lined pathways, shining and golden under the sun. The massive library he’d stared at online until he knew every brick. He imagined sitting under a palm tree with a stack of books and no police sirens in the background. He imagined working with the Titans more, without needing two days of schedule finagling and flying cross-country each time. He imagined the view from Titans Tower, the glittering ocean and the endless horizon. The waves rolling in long, patient breaths, like the world exhaling. He imagined—

His mother.

His mother waiting for him. His mother sitting across an empty seat.

Jason felt his heart clench. How was he going to tell her? He already didn’t see her as much as he should. As much as he promised himself he would. Every visit had to be carefully planned, long drives for conversations that always ended too soon. Guards hovering around them, watching the clock, dragging her away before he was ready to say goodbye. Phone calls that never lasted long enough, squeezed between patrols and classes and mission after mission after mission.

If he went to Stanford, if he left her behind . . .

It would put another layer of glass between them.

What would Sheila say? What would she think? Would she be happy for him? Would she be worried that he’d be so far away for months on end? Would she be angry with him for leaving her—abandoning her?

Would she be relieved?

Jason shoved the thought away before it could take root.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, quieter than he meant to. “It’s not like I’m going.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Maybe I do need to get my ears checked,” Dick said, his grin fading. “Because I could have sworn you just said you’re not going to Stanford.”

“I’m not,” Jason said, willing his voice to sound normal, to stay level. He had practiced this part too. “It’s just not practical. Stanford is—it’s great and all, obviously, but it’s too far. Gotham U is—”

“You’re giving up Stanford for Gotham U?” Dick said, a look akin to horror on his face.

Jason felt his shoulders stiffen. “It’s a good school,” he said, bristling.

“I’m not saying it isn’t—”

“Gotham U was always the plan. You know that. I never wanted to study out of state—”

Dick gave a disbelieving scoff. “You were just nerding out about Stanford two minutes ago—”

“I wasn’t—”

“—and now you’re telling me you’re not going? If it was because of Princeton, I’d understand, but Gotham U—”

“It’s not a bad school!” Jason said, voice rising now. “It’s close by, it’s way cheaper than Stanford—”

“Are you serious?” Dick let out a bark of laughter. “Jason, Bruce isn’t going to care about the money.”

Heat crept up Jason’s neck. “I know that,” he said and quickly shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth to keep from scowling.

Bruce wouldn’t care about the money—Jason knew that. Of course he knew that. He wasn’t an idiot. Bruce could buy the entire college if he wanted to.

But Jason didn’t like thinking too much about Bruce’s money. He didn’t like thinking about Bruce’s money, period. It wasn’t that Bruce was ever stingy with it or anything—far from it—but if Jason let himself think about it, he’d start counting. And if he started counting, everything would start to look like numbers on a ledger of what-ifs and could-have-beens. Every dollar Bruce spent on him, all those zeroes in his trust fund and his bank account and whatever else Bruce had set up for him . . . if his parents had had even a fraction of it back then, if maybe he’d met Bruce sooner . . .

No. No, Jason didn’t want to think about that at all.

Some of it must have shown on his face anyway, because Dick said, warily, “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

“No,” Jason said.

Dick frowned, but he nodded. “Okay.”

Jason glared at him. “Don’t give me that voice.”

“I didn’t give you a voice.”

“You did.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I gave you a tone.”

“Look, can you just—can we drop it?” Jason choked.

For a long moment, Dick didn’t say anything. He just looked at Jason like he was trying to assemble a puzzle without the box image. Finally, he sighed and held up his hands in surrender.

“Dropped,” he said.

He gathered their bowls and headed to the kitchen. Jason found himself trailing after him, almost without meaning to, watching as Dick put away the dishes, loading the dirty ones into the dishwasher, his back to Jason, as if to say the matter was well and truly dropped.

There it was again: that deliberate silence. That open door, waiting.

Dick was too good at this. Too good at letting Jason keep things tucked close to the chest until he was ready to pry his own ribcage apart.

It hadn’t always been like this. Back when Jason had been twelve and had idolized him in the same breath he’d envied him, Dick had been around-but-not-around. Too busy with the Titans to visit the manor and too busy fighting with Bruce when he did.

Jason had tried not to mind, but he had been convinced that it had to have been his fault somehow. That it had been because of him that Dick had stayed away from the manor. Never mind that Dick had given Jason his blessing and his old costume—Dick wasn’t home, Dick didn’t want to come home, and it had to have been Jason’s fault, because what other reason was there? Why else would Dick stay away? Why else would Dick leave the manor, where he would never have to want for anything more?

Why would anyone?

But then Jason had gone on that mission with the Titans, and for the first time, he had understood.

Bruce hadn’t wanted him to go—it was like pulling teeth, getting his permission to go on missions away from Batman’s watchful eyes—but the Titans had needed an extra set of hands with half their roster, Dick among them, away on a trip to Tamaran. It had been just after midterms, and with the existential dread of senior year starting to kick in, Jason had been looking for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of the city. The mission itself hadn’t been anything special—some budding cult with alien tech they didn’t understand well enough to use—but after it was over, Jason had stepped out onto the balcony of Titans Tower, sweat cooling under his uniform, the wind whipping at his cape.

And then he’d seen the ocean.

Really seen it.

The waters had turned molten gold, stretching farther than he could see, into a horizon so wide that it looked like the world had been ironed flat. The sun had been hanging low in the sky, holding on for a few more breaths, and for a fraction of a second, it had felt like if he’d reached far enough, he could have caught the edge of it.

Jason kept seeing it behind his eyelids. Kept feeling that moment of terrifying clarity, when he’d watched a plane stitch a white seam overhead, a tiny silver dot headed toward somewhere else entirely. People had been on that plane—hundreds of them, probably—moving toward new cities, new countries, new lives, and it had struck him suddenly, sharply, how small Gotham was.

Gotham had always been home. His whole life was mapped on its dark rooftops and shadowed alleys and the gravel in Bruce’s voice when the comm clicked on. Gotham was the center of everything he did, everything he fought for. Gotham was . . .

Just one corner of a world he’d barely touched.

He had come so close to never seeing anything else. If Bruce had been a minute slower in Ethiopia, if he had failed to pry open that warehouse door before the timer had run out . . .

All Jason would have known, all he ever would have lived, was Gotham.

“Bruce won’t go for it,” he heard himself say.

Dick cast a bemused look over at Jason. “What do you mean?”

Jason could feel the words rushing up his throat, and then they were splatting out between them. “He wasn’t . . . Bruce wasn’t happy. About Princeton.”

Dick straightened up, brows knitting together. “He wasn’t happy that you got into Princeton,” he said skeptically.

“That I applied. He wasn’t—he didn’t like it.”

“Did he actually say—”

“No,” Jason said. The admission tasted bitter. “He didn’t say anything. He just . . . went quiet. The way he does when he thinks I’m being stupid or reckless or about to fuck something up—”

“Jay—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason cut in. His heart was starting to beat too fast again. “I can’t go. He’s made it clear.”

“Maybe he was just surprised,” Dick suggested. “You’ve always talked about Gotham U. Maybe he was—I don’t know, maybe he just didn’t know how to react. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you to—”

Jason scoffed. “If he doesn’t want me going to Princeton, then he’s not going to say yes to a school across the damn country.”

“Jason, come on,” Dick sighed. “You haven’t told him yet. Does Bruce even know you applied to Stanford?”

“Of course not! I couldn’t—” Jason’s voice almost cracked, and that humiliated him enough to steel it again. “You didn’t see his face, Dick. I’m not making it up. He doesn’t—I’m not asking for excuses for him.”

Another beat of silence. Dick was looking at him, lips pressed into a thin line. Jason fought the urge to duck his head away and shuffle his feet.

“All right,” Dick said, leaning against the counter. “Okay. Then tell me what you want.”

Too much. Jason had always wanted too much.

Gotham University should have been enough. It was better than enough. It was a miracle.

Growing up, college had been something other kids talked about. Kids who didn’t grow up with nothing, whose dads hadn’t ended up in a ditch somewhere for trying to make ends meet. Kids whose moms hadn’t disappeared into their own grief, who weren’t taught early that wanting more meant losing what little you had.

He had wanted Gotham U. He had been excited about Gotham U. Bruce had smiled—really smiled—when Jason had gotten his early acceptance letter, and Bruce had looked so pleased, like Jason being happy had made him happy.

But Bruce hadn’t smiled when Jason mentioned applying to Princeton months ago. Hadn’t offered suggestions, hadn’t teased him or asked questions, like he’d had when they talked about Gotham U. He’d gone quiet, practically stone-like, disappointment threaded through every line of his body.

Jason didn’t need to be trained by the world’s greatest detective to know what that silence meant. He’d wanted something—something good, something for him—and Bruce had changed. Which meant Jason had been wrong to want it. Clearly, obviously, he should have known better. He should have always known better.

It wasn’t that he wanted to go to Princeton, exactly. Because he didn’t. He’d only sent in his application because it had seemed like the thing to do. His classmates were applying to just about every school they could think of, and his teachers had been going on and on about seizing opportunities and finding the right fit. He’d told Bruce as much.

And it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t untrue. Maybe there had been that fleeting, half-formed thought—barely a thought, really, just some idle what-if—when he’d wondered what it would be like to go to school outside Gotham. That maybe it would be cool to have his own apartment and not have to be chauffeured around all the time—but so what? It didn’t mean anything. He hadn’t seriously thought he had a shot at Princeton. Not when Gotham U was already too much. Not when Gotham U had felt so impossibly out of reach for the longest time. He had never imagined wanting more.

Until he’d seen that view. That ocean, that horizon . . .

His stomach did that seesaw thing again, and the words were out before Jason could catch them.

“What if he fires me?”

Dick went very still. His jaw actually dropped open. “Fire you? From Robin?”

“No, from waiting tables at the manor,” Jason snapped, then grimaced. Too harsh. Dick didn’t deserve that.

“But Bruce wouldn’t—Jay, why would he do that?” Dick said, looking bewildered.

Jason pushed on before he could lose his nerve. “Because Robin’s supposed to be there. In Gotham. And Stanford is—god, it’s so far, Dick. I can’t be Robin if I’m all the way out there.”

“Did he say that?” Dick said. For the first time, his tone held the trace of an edge.

Jason shook his head. “No, but—”

“Then why can’t you? So what if you’re not in Gotham? You said it yourself, you can work with the Titans more—”

“But Robin’s supposed to be with Batman. That’s the job. That’s—”

Suddenly, Jason felt his eyes sting, heat rushing up the back of his nose. He looked away, fixing his gaze on the counter so he wouldn’t crack.

“That’s how it works,” he said.

That’s how we’re us, he didn’t say.

“Jase . . .” Dick let out a long, slow sigh. “You’re not going to lose Robin by crossing state lines.”

“You don’t know that,” Jason said, frustration thickening his voice.

“I do know that,” Dick retorted, sharply enough that Jason looked back up at him. Dick was watching him closely, a divot etched between his brows. “Just like I know Bruce doesn’t want you to throw away opportunities. Not for Robin. Not for anything.”

“You don’t get it.” Jason shook his head again, a lump rising through his throat. “I don’t want to stop being Robin.”

Dick took a breath, then closed his mouth, like he’d just decided against saying something.

“I don’t,” Jason insisted. “I don’t want to quit. Being Robin is—it’s everything. It’s—” He swallowed hard. “I help people. That matters. Way more than some lit degree that probably won’t get me a job. So if I go, if I leave—what if that’s it? What if I ruin everything?”

“You’re not leaving Gotham,” Dick said. The frown creasing his forehead deepened. “You’d be going to school. That’s different.”

Was it? Dick had left home to go to school, and he didn’t come back even after he’d decided college wasn’t for him. There had been visits, sure, but they had been so few and far between until . . .

Until Ethiopia.

“You thought he wouldn’t take Robin from you either,” Jason said quietly.

Dick didn’t flinch, but the corners of his mouth tensed, a vague look of hurt around his eyes.

Jason felt a pang of guilt, but he pressed on, holding Dick’s gaze, trying to keep his voice steady as he continued, “When he did, it wasn’t because of school. I know that. I’m not saying it’s the same. I just—he’s already pissed at me. This would just give him an excuse.”

“Jay, he won’t—” Dick started to say. He took a deep breath, tried again. “Look, I can’t tell you what he’s thinking—I really can’t—but you and Bruce, you’re not where we were back then. He’s not going to fire you over Stanford—”

“But just say—”

“And even if he did, that wouldn’t be the end of you being a hero. You can still do this work if you want. Make your own thing, choose your own name.” Dick offered a small, wry smile. “Nightwing worked out okay for me.”

“I’m not you,” Jason said, forcing the words past the knot in his throat.

“I know,” Dick said gently. “I’m not saying you should do it. I’m saying you could. If it mattered that much.”

Jason didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure he could imagine himself in anything but Robin’s colors. Wasn’t sure he could imagine himself doing this work without knowing Bruce was right there behind him, if he even existed outside of that partnership.

Dick must’ve mistaken Jason’s long silence for confusion, because his expression softened.

“It’s okay to grow out of things, you know,” he said. “Robin was right for me for a while, and then it wasn’t. That doesn’t make it wrong. Robin is a part of you, not the whole of you. And it’s not a leash.”

“I know, I just . . .” Jason swallowed. The lump in his throat didn’t budge. “I don’t want him to fire me.”

Dick hesitated, then put a hand on his shoulder, the touch light, like he knew Jason could spook if he pressed too hard.

“Bruce wants you to have a life outside of all this,” he said, his voice still unbearably gentle. “You know that, don’t you?”

Jason’s stomach twisted painfully—because yeah, he knew. Bruce had said that once, long ago, back when Jason had been new to the cape and the patrols and the never-clock-out life.

But that had been before Ethiopia.

Before Gloria Stanson.

Before Bruce had found him standing on the edge of that balcony, watching as Felipe Garzonas fell to the ground.

Did Felipe fall or was he pushed? Bruce had asked. Something in his face had gone empty then, like an eraser had wiped it clean. That it was even a question, that he’d asked at all . . .

“Yeah, I hear you,” Jason muttered, for lack of anything better. Because what else could he say?

Dick didn’t get it. Dick would never get it. How could he? It had been Bruce who had met him that fateful night at the circus. It had been Bruce who had taken him in and given him a home.

But it had been Batman who had caught Jason stealing his tires on Crime Alley. It had been Batman who had found Jason and brought him into this world, who called him Robin before Bruce Wayne ever called him son.

Dick was right: Robin wasn’t just a part of Jason. It was the best part of him. The only part that ever mattered. It was a lifeline—proof that he belonged somewhere, to someone.

He didn’t want his own identity. He didn’t want to walk away from Robin. He didn’t want to unravel the thread stitching him to the closest thing to a family he’d had since his mom died. He didn’t want a future where he didn’t come home to Alfred’s afternoon tea and Bruce’s gruff affection and the manor’s creaking hallways.

Jason had almost lost it once. While he couldn’t regret that it had brought Sheila into his life, the thought that he could lose Robin again—lose Robin for good and all that came with it—terrified him in ways he didn’t know how to voice.

But Dick was still looking at him closely, waiting, so Jason carefully shrugged off Dick’s hand on his shoulder and said, “Mind if I crash on your couch?”

The corner of Dick’s mouth twisted. “You have school in the morning.”

“I’ll head out early,” Jason said, summoning every bit of nonchalance he could muster. “Beats driving back half-asleep and wrapping myself around a lamppost.”

For a second, it looked like Dick was going to protest. Jason could see it forming on Dick’s lips, but then Dick shook his head, apparently deciding to let it go.

“You want me to tell Alfred?” he asked. “It’s the least I can do for the personal chef treatment.”

Jason shrugged again. His mind felt too loud, buzzing like a kicked hornet’s nest, so he reached for the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and started wiping down the counter.

“Thanks,” he said. Then, before Dick could press, he added quickly, “How’s Kory doing? Didn’t you say she was off-world for some diplomatic thing?”

Not exactly the most subtle subject change, but Dick heaved a sigh and humored him anyway. “She called this morning. Apparently some delegation tried to poison each other at a formal dinner.”

Jason snorted. “Bet she’s thrilled.”

Dick smiled faintly. “She’ll be back in a few days. Assuming she doesn’t start a war first.”

The conversation steered into safer territory after that. Dick talked about work, rambling about the kids he coached at the gym and their endless supply of energy. Jason listened, offering the occasional comment, the occasional jab, letting the normalcy of it settle over him like a blanket. Neither of them mentioned Stanford again as they put away the leftovers and tidied the kitchen.

In the living room, the documentary was still playing, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Jason could see the TV from the corner of his eye: a seabird dipped into the churning water, then rose and vanished over the horizon.