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Talia tried to explain that Dick didn’t care, that he doesn’t care, that him missing Jason’s funeral was proof–
But, well. Jason likes to think he knows Dick better than that. He is also very much aware of how Talia and Dick lowkey hate each other, so her trying to influence Jason’s opinion of Dick because of her bias is annoying, but not surprising.
Sure, Jason’s still pissed at Bruce. Bruce is, after all, supposed to (technically) be better than Dick. That’s kind of what official adoption papers and the legal title of father all mean.
Didn’t stop Bruce from getting a new kid right away, though. Getting a new Robin, like it didn’t matter that Jason died in those colors. Bruce disregarded Jason entirely after their big fight, it feels, because Bruce is the kind of person to get a new kid to replace the old one. He did it after Dick went on his own way, with Jason. Then Jason left and Bruce moved onto the next one.
Dick is different. Jason knows Dick is different.
Which is why Jason is sitting next to a gargoyle, looking over Gotham’s smoggy streets and watching the people mill about their days, and flipping his phone in his hand. He’s considering, is all. Trying to figure out what to say. Should he open with a confirmation code? With a joke? With a simple ‘hey’?
There’s a chance that Dick won’t pick up at all, really. Jason’s burner is an entirely new number. It’s technically a New York area code, too, because no one likes to fly into Gotham on account of all the smog and Rogue attacks (not like Jason can blame them. Can you imagine how much of a fucking hassle it’d be to try and keep a whole commercial airline full of civillians safe? Not to mention that the Rogues would take ruthless advantage of a sealed location. Bleh.), so it’ll be extra unfamiliar. Dick might think he’s a spam caller.
He might pick up, though. Every time Jason’s called him in the past, he picked up when he could. Even if it woke him up, or he was distracted or mid patrol or one time even mid mission, he picked up. Sure, there’s been a few times where he didn’t, either because his phone wasn’t on him or he was in like, fucking, the middle of the Sahara with no cell service, but he always called back.
Jason still has his number memorized. It’s nestled in with all the other strings of codes and numbers in his head, but colored a little differently.
Yeah, okay. He can do this.
Jason types in the number and hits call.
It rings once, twice. Keeps going.
Jason almost hangs up, but right before the sixth ring, Dick picks up.
“Hi,” he says, “who is this?” He sounds a little out of breath, but not pained or worried.
Shit. Jason never decided on what he was going to say. Dick won’t recognize his voice, either; Jason’s vocal cords went through a huge change from the Pits, and it resonates through his chest differently (he’s like twice as broad, it was so weird), so obviously he’s not going to sound the same post-Pit and nineteen than he was fifteen and malnourished.
But he doesn’t want Dick to hang up if he waits too long to answer, so Jason blurts out the first thing that comes into his head: “Little Wing.”
There’s a pause, and then a laugh that Jason can tell is forced. “Who told you that name? Who is this, really?”
Jason licks his lips. The nervousness is turning into fear. What if Dick doesn’t believe him? What if Dick doesn’t care, and Talia was right and Jason’s whole family did forget him and–
“You did,” Jason answers, trying to keep his voice steady. “Uh. First time we went on a mission together. I tried to copy a move you did and was nowhere near flexible enough and you laughed and called me ‘little Nightwing’.”
Jason can hear a shaky breath through the phone line. ”Jay?”
There go the endorphins, holy shit. “Hey, Da–Dick. Nice to hear your voice again.”
”Jay,” Dick repeats, “what–where are you? I’ll come get you, I can go right now. Are you okay?” He sounds almost frantic, and the phone makes noises that Jason is familiar with–wind going through the speakers. Dick is grappling.
Taking a moment to actually register his surroundings, Jason lets out a little breathless laugh. Old habits and muscle memory sure are something, alright. “I’m, uh–well, I’m off of Louis and Newfront. The building across the street from the Batburger.” It’s where they’d sit for their post-patrol hangout, even if they didn’t get Batburger. Sometimes, they’d stop by a food truck and bring their snacks here anyways, because this is… this is their spot.
“Okay,” Dick says, breathless in a way that grappling doesn’t usually make him, “I’m on my way, I’ll grab my bike–do you want me to send someone else until I get there? I can call–”
“It’s okay,” Jason interrupts with a smile. Fuck, he’s missed Dick. “I can grab some food while you head over? Is your order still the Wingdings with absolutely way too much fuckin’ honey mustard on the side?” Technically, they’re called Night-wings, because Batburger loves puns just as much as Dick Grayson, but Dick would eat them with a Wingding and Jason would get so offended and it grew into their own little inside joke where Dick would eat Wingdings with a Wingding and…
Jason’s…really missed him. Especially if he’s getting this nostalgic. Like, seriously, the Pit doesn’t even have a fucking chance against all these sappy-ass feelings Jason’s experiencing right now. Like caltrops covered in a Princess and the Pea’s worth of rugs and pillows.
“You bet it is.” Dick’s breathing is still shaky. “Hey, can I ask you for a favor?”
“‘Course.” Jason’s in his gear, technically, but it’s easy enough to pull off the domino and leave his more obvious ‘I’m a vigilante’ accessories on the roof with his jacket. He keeps everything that’s already in his pockets, of course, as well as the gun on his hip and the grapple gun to get down, but it’s not like he’s the first person to open carry into a Batburger.
”Please be there when I get there,” Dick says, and Jason catches half of a sob into the mic. “Please be real.”
…Maybe Jason isn’t the only one to have desperately missed the other. Maybe leaving his stuff on the roof is more important for a different reason. “Yeah, Dickie. I mean, I dunno how far off you are, so I might still be waitin’ for the food to be made and all, but I’m leavin’ my jacket and some gear on the roof in my spot, so that’ll be there if I’m not.” All the more reason to get down and over quickly, though. Jason lands in an easy crouch and jogs across the street.
Technically, he’s jaywalking–
Jesus Christ. One conversation with Dick and his mind is already thinking of puns. Jaywalking. For fuck’s sake, Dickiebird. Jason can’t bring himself to be too annoyed with it, though.
Anyways. Jaywalking and all. It’s not like he doesn’t know how to cross a street, and road laws are the most common laws to be broken in Gotham, so everyone knows how to deal.
“I’m on my bike,” Dick says, “should be there in… twelve? Do you need me to make it less?”
Considering it takes twenty minutes to get to Gotham from Blud, twelve is impressive. That’s almost oh-shit-we-need-all-hands-on-deck fast. “Nah,” Jason says lightly, pushing open the door of the Batburger. “I still gotta get the food, y’know? Twelve is enough for them to make it, and it’ll still be hot when you get here–yeah, hi,” Jason says, tilting the phone away from his mouth and giving the cashier a Gothamite Smile, because the smile Jason was wearing two seconds ago was far too suspicious. “Can I get…”
After he’s done ordering, he waits for his food. Hopefully the ambient Batburger noise is coming through, so Dick doesn’t freak out even more.
Jason’s almost surprised that he isn’t freaking out, but, well. Dick picked up. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it? He picked up, and he recognized Jason, and he’s gonna be here soon.
Dick hasn’t said anything by the time Jason steps out, bag of unhealthy food in hand, so Jason asks, “Do you want me to wait on the ground or the roof?”
“Roof, maybe?” Dick asks, sounding a little sheepish, “I’m still in uniform.”
Jason smiles. He’s been doing a lot of that in the past fifteen minutes, but he’s just so happy. He’s home in Gotham, surrounded by familiarity, with food he’s missed in hand and Dick on the phone and coming to meet him. Things feel right for the first time in years.
He sets the bag on his jacket instead of the roof, because the chill of the city would sap the heat of the food far more quickly otherwise, and pulls out his burger. Nanda Parbat is great and all, but god has Jason missed greasy American food.
Two minutes later, there’s the sound of a grapple. Dick must have parked somewhere less conspicuous. Jason finishes chewing his bite and rewraps his burger at the soft thump of Nightwing shoes on stone rooftop. The sound makes him…surprisingly emotional.
Dick is here. Dick picked up his phone and called him Jay and drove over in twelve minutes and is here.
He turns as Dick takes a few hesitant steps forward, visibly taking in Jason’s appearance.
“Little Wing?” he asks, and Jason can see the tremble in his hands, the tears in his eyes.
Jason smiles. Dick looks the same, mostly. A little older, a lot more tired, but still familiar.
(He wonders what Dick sees, when he looks at Jason. When he sees how different Jason is.)
“Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason says softly. “You’re right on time. Food’s still hot.”
Dick takes another step forward, then reaches out with shaking fingers towards Jason’s shoulder, like he wants to rest his hand there. “You got tall.”
Indulging in the instinct to be a horrible little brother, Jason grabs Dick’s hand, using it to pull himself up so he can look down at him. It’s…weird. Jason doesn’t really know how he feels about it, but he buries the emotion for later in favor of smirking at Dick. “Told you I’d get taller than you. But you never believed me, huh? Look who’s got the higher ground now.” To top it off, he reaches out and puts a hand to the top of Dick’s head before pulling it, palm down, to hover against Jason’s neck. “A whole head shorter than me.”
“You’re alive,” Dick whispers, taking Jason’s hand and squeezing it in both of his, then fumbling for Jason’s pulse point with worrying desperation. “Right? Tell me you’re alive. Tell me you’re real.”
It’s…yeah. God. Sometimes Jason himself can’t believe he’s alive, on bad days where he wakes up choking on dirt or with a countdown beeping in his ears. Days where he’s more Lazarus Pit than person, or when his mind refuses to think.
“I’m real,” Jason tells him quietly, tugging Dick’s hand to rest against his chest. “I’m alive.”
Dick’s face crumples. ”Jay,” he sobs, pulling him into a hug, arms wrapping tight around him. “You’re–you’re back. You’re safe? Yes. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.”
Fuck. Jason’s nineteen years old. He’s six foot three and two hundred fifty pounds with more scar tissue than skin. He’s strong, and capable, and intimidating, and very much able to hold his own in a fight.
Jason also folds into Dick’s arms and bursts into tears.
You’re safe now. I’ve got you.
How long has Jason been waiting to hear those words?
He doesn’t know if–if Dick still thinks, if he still feels–if Jason’s about to embarrass himself or make Dick pull away he will actually throw himself off this building without a grapple but–
“Dad,” Jason whispers into Dick’s shoulder, because–because Bruce is (was) his dad, yeah, but so was–so was–
Dick sobs again, pulling Jason even closer, hand wrapping around the back of his head to pull Jason down enough to press a kiss to his hair. Jason chokes on his breaths. “You’re safe, kiddo. It’s okay.”
Jason chokes again, burying his face against Dick’s chest as his knees give out and they sink to the rooftop. There are tears streaming down his face, off his chin, seeping into the Nightwing symbol. The shade of blue is ingrained in his mind; part of him wondered if he'd ever see it again, but Dick is here and holding him like Jason's thirteen and freshly rescued from his first long-term capture, shaking and scared and so, so relieved to see Nightwing's domino and hear Dick's voice when he broke Jason's restraints.
Even after all these years, Dick’s hug still feels safe.
Dick reaches to cradle Jason’s face in his hands. He’s looking at Jason with tears streaming down his face, but they don’t cover the joy in his smile.
“You’re back,” he says.
“‘m back,” Jason repeats, because what else can he say? “I–missed you.” He doesn’t apologize for leaving, because that is stupid, but there are a lot of tumultuous emotions happening in his body right now that he doesn’t know how to deal with, so he just buries his face back against Dick’s shoulder and cries some more.
“I missed you too, kiddo,” Dick says, putting one arm around Jason and using his other hand to gently stroke through his hair, “so much. You can’t even imagine how much.” He sounds about as shaky as Jason feels.
Jason might cry harder feeling fingers in his hair, but he can’t tell. There are a million things he could say, a billion words locked up and bubbling, trying to make their way out, but Jason’s brain might as well be scrambled eggs for how useful it’s being right now. “You picked up,” he ends up gasping, arms wrapped probably way too tightly around Dick’s torso. He should loosen them a little. He should. The last thing he wants is to crack Dick’s ribs right now.
Dick tilts his head slightly to rest it against Jason’s. “I did,” he says, with a little laugh. “I- I made sure not to miss any more calls.” Then his laugh is definitely a sob.
“‘s not your fault,” Jason mumbles like he’s half his goddamn age. “You were literally in space, there isn’t even cell service out there. I know you would’a come for me if you could.”
Dick’s hand in his hair stops, pressing slightly instead, like he’s trying to make sure nobody can pull Jason away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, with a grief stronger than Jason has ever heard from him. “I’m so sorry, Jaybird.”
Jason forces himself to take a deep breath, blinking the last of his tears away. He might start crying again later, which he didn’t expect (he didn’t think he’d cry at all, honestly, because the fucking Pit likes to take any emotion and twist it into fury which is so fucking annoying–), but he’s done for now.
Probably.
“It’s okay, Dickie,” Jason whispers back. “You’re here now, ain’t’cha?”
Dick just shudders, full-body and worryingly strong, and clings tighter.
Okay. Okay. Jason takes another few deep breaths and gives Dick a squeeze. “We should…probably eat the food before it gets too cold,” he says, wet and wry and with humor that’s weak but not forced. “I paid good money for it.”
Slowly, Dick relaxes his hold. He’s still trembling, and the tears don’t stop, but he gives Jason a shaky smile anyway.
Jason doesn’t try to move much. He’s still got pockets of gear left, might as well be innovative, yeah? Plus, he doesn’t think he’s gonna escape a patented Grayson Octopus Hug(™) any time soon.
Great news, he’s got a collapsable staff and the Batburger bag is paper with handles. Does he look a little silly? Maybe. Does he care?
(Testingly, Jason tries to lean out of Dick’s space and feels Dick’s hands spasm like he’s trying to stop himself from gripping on.)
Nah, not really.
“Order up,” Jason announces once he’s got the food in hand, shifting slightly so they’re sitting side by side. “Did you pack your cutlery?”
Dick just sobs, hiding his face in his free hand. After a second, though, he nods.
Abruptly, Jason wonders if maybe he’s…moving on too fast? Pushing for normalcy faster than he should? It’s just–he wants this to be calm and comfortable. He doesn’t want to do something huge and flashy to announce his return (well, maybe to Bruce, but that’s a different story), he just wants–
He wants to hang out with Dick. With someone who wanted to adopt him, who he started jokingly calling “dad” before it grew into something more meaningful. Like, yeah, Dick’s his brother, but having a family inside the limits of the status quo was impossible in the first place, considering Batman and all.
Dick’s his brother, and sometimes his dad, and Jason’s happy with that.
He definitely fucked something up here, though. Slowly, he puts the bag down, checking their surroundings on instinct. It’s a secluded space, which is why it became theirs in the first place, so it’s not like anyone can see them. Small mercies for Dick, he guesses.
Jason doesn’t know what to do. Whatever instruction manual he might have had for ‘how to interact with Dick Grayson’ is four years out of date and Jason just did the metaphorical equivalent of hooking jumper cables up backwards.
Dick reaches out for his hand, and Jason can feel how strongly he’s shaking as Dick leans against his side. He’s staring out across the street, into the starless smog.
Of course, Jason takes his hand and braces him, because he’s big enough to do that now, but he also says, softly, “Sorry.”
“Don’t,” Dick chokes out, “don’t be sorry. You’re here.” Now that he’s pressed against Jason, his breathing seems to be calming a little again.
“Here and triggerin’ you into a panic attack,” Jason corrects. “Actin’ as if nothin’ changed an’ ignorin’ your obvious emotional distress an’–”
“No,” Dick says, somewhere between an attempt at reassurance and pleading, “no, no it’s not your fault, it’s–I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” His free hand balls into a fist on his knee, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Can I–” Jason cuts himself off, cuts his reaching motion short. He’s overwhelming Dick enough already. The right thing to do would be to leave him to recover on his own time.
Not actually leave, of course, but to shut the fuck up and give Dick a moment of peace for his emotional upheaval.
“You can eat,” Dick says, voice hoarse but more steady. “I just–can I keep holding you?”
“‘Course,” Jason says easily, because part of him desperately wishes he was small again so he could curl up in Dick’s lap and be held. Being a large guy is really nice and useful and all, but sometimes he misses the ability to fold up into tight spaces.
…Although, he was losing it already a bit once he was no longer malnourished and underweight, so.
A little hesitantly, Jason grabs his food and kind of just…holds it in his hands, staring at the wrapper.
“I’m sorry,” Dick tells him, leaning his head back against Jason’s shoulder. “I should have handled that better.”
Like Jason, his words getting clearer and more ‘correct’ is a sign he’s putting strong thought into them. On one hand, it’s good he has enough mental space for that. But also Jason’s the one who sent Dick into a spiral, so that makes him feel. Weird.
“I don’t know how me coming back from the dead could be handled any better, if I’m being honest,” Jason tells his wrapped burger. Jason sure as hell didn’t handle it well.
“I should’ve–” Dick cuts himself off, shaking his head a little. Whatever overthinking he’s doing, he’s trying to keep it in. “Nevermind. I, uh, I might need to eat the wings later.”
Jason clears his throat awkwardly. If Dick’s hiding his thoughts, it means they’re negative enough that he doesn’t want to ruin the moment or bring the mood down or whatever. Even though Jason might have already done that.
Emotions are bullshit.
“That’s fine,” Jason says, still not looking up because he’s scared of what expression he’s put on Dick’s face. “It’s your food anyways, so if it’s a little cold it’s not going to matter to me.”
Dick nudges Jason with his shoulder. “You know what does matter to me? You.”
Jason looks. Dick’s expression is fond, and the familiar kind of silly he gets when he’s purposefully doing an irritating pun.
Okay. Good. That’s–that’s safe. Jason didn’t fuck up too bad.
(It’s stupid, how his brain loves to look for patterns in things that don’t matter anymore. Or shouldn’t matter, at least. Just because Dick is a parental figure sometimes doesn’t mean that Jason needs to analyze his behavior and be prepared whenever it’s slightly off from the norm. Dick isn’t gonna hurt him. That’s not what he’s like.
Jason’s stupid brain and annoying trauma love to pretend otherwise, though.)
Taking another deep breath, Jason manages a smile. “Thanks. That’s–why I called you.”
“I’m glad you did,” Dick tells him, “I’m so glad.” He sounds like he means it, too.
Feeling awkward, Jason shrugs one shoulder, the one Dick isn’t on. He’s not really sure what to do, now. He could eat, because a side effect of the Pit is that he’s basically always hungry, but it feels wrong to do so when Dick isn’t, so Jason puts his food back in the bag.
“This isn’t really going how I planned,” Jason says, trying for a joke. “I mean, I didn’t really have much of a plan, if I’m being honest, but…” he shrugs again.
“What do you need?” Dick asks. “There’s not exactly a script to this, so just–just let me know, if you can.”
I need to not have fucked up, Jason doesn’t say. I made you upset and now I can’t relax because part of me will always expect retaliation, so I’m tense until the other shoe drops, because you were happy before I freaked you out. My brain is convinced I’ve done something wrong and wants me to run.
Saying any of that out loud is absolutely gonna make Dick feel worse, however, so Jason keeps his fucking mouth shut.
“Please.” Dick leans slightly so he can see Jason’s face better. “I’m sorry I freaked out. Let me–help me fix–no, that’s not right.” He takes a breath. “Give me a hint, if you have one?”
“I fucked up,” Jason says flatly. “You feel like shit. I ruined the reunion.” Took less than ten minutes to do so. New record.
“You didn’t fuck anything up.” Dick shifts to sit in front of Jason, taking both of his hands. “I’m just having a hard time believing this is real. I’m scared–” he shudders, then shakes his head again. “It wasn’t you. Isn’t. Nothing’s been fucked up.”
Shit, now he wants to cry again. How the fuck is Dick so kind?
Jason presses his eyes shut to stop the tears that are trying to form. Wow. The smallest bit of validation and he’s falling apart.
(Validation from his dad and brother that he’s been missing so much–)
He knows he won’t be able to say anything without choking up or sobbing, so he just squeezes Dick’s hands tightly and hopes he isn’t breaking any bones.
“You’re okay,” Dick tells him softly. “We’re okay.”
If Dick says so, what can Jason do but believe him?
With a quiet, shuddering inhale, Jason folds himself in half until his forehead is pressed to their joined hands. It’s, it’s just–
Jason came back. He’s back, and Dick picked up the phone and came to see him and called him ‘kiddo’ and Jason didn’t fuck up, he still has a place here, he’s still wanted here.
Somebody missed him. Somebody’s happy that he’s back.
“Dad,” Jason whispers, because he can’t shape his lips around the words I love you.
“I’m here, kiddo.” Dick presses a kiss to Jason’s hair. “I’ve got you.”