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Y’know, when Dick isn't being a… dick, he can be fun sometimes. When he isn't screaming at Bruce for the nth time and is in a good mood for once, he’d bring Jason along on a Titans mission, eat pizza or just simply hang out with him.
And when he’s in a great mood— which is sort of rare, since Dick tends to start a fight with Bruce as soon as he locks eyes on him— he’d even teach Jason acrobatics.
Today's one of those days— and Jason would be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to it. He’s been meaning to brush up on his skills, and who better to learn from than a seasoned acrobat.
“Excited for training with Master Dick, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, setting a plate of fresh, warm pancakes in front of him.
Jason scoffs lightly, grabbing his utensils. “Anyone who gets the chance to train with Dick Grayson, the Flying Grayson, would feel the same, Alf.”
“You’re training with Dick?” A new voice rasps from the doorway, and Jason snaps his eyes to his adopted father's… disheveled figure. Boy, he sure had a rough night.
“Mhm,” he confirms, around a mouthful of pancakes. “After breakfast.” He narrows his eyes and points his fork threateningly at Bruce. “Which means no arguing. Not unless you want Dick dragging me to New York for the weekend.”
“I’ll make sure Master Bruce doesn't interrupt your bonding time with your brother, Master Jason,” Alfred reassures as he places Bruce’s daily newspaper and coffee in front of the man, who drops ungraciously into his chair with a grunt. “Rough night, sir?”
Bruce freezes, his mug halfway to his lips, looking like a deer caught in headlights. He presses his lips together, and finally takes a sip of his disgusting black water of death, muttering, “It was fine.”
Jason snickers quietly behind his orange juice. Because it's so totally normal to have suspicious bruises on your neck after a long patrol.
Alfred arches a perfect eyebrow. “And should I expect the reason for your appearance to be down this morning?”
“No,” Bruce says quickly, and Jason has a hard time keeping in his laughter. “No. He— they left earlier. There's no need to expect anything. Or anyone.”
“...Left through the window, I assume?”
Jason nearly chokes at that.
Bruce coughs and redirects his attention to Jason, clearly trying to stray away from the topic. “Is, uh, Dick going to stay for dinner tonight?”
Jason shrugs, still grinning as he stuffs his face with more of Alfred’s pancakes. He makes sure to swallow before answering Bruce. “Dunno. You gotta ask him.”
Bruce immediately makes a face at that, like asking his eldest son to stay for dinner is somehow more terrifying than fighting Bane.
“Can't you just ask him?”
Jason rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “Don't be a wuss,” he says, and Alfred tsks him. Jason smiles apologetically. “Ask him yourself, old man.”
The man only grunts in response, and Jason could swear Bruce is sulking. Pouting even. The Dark Knight of Gotham, everyone.
“Stop pouting, B—”
“I’m not pouting.”
“—I’ll try to ask him, but no promises that he’ll actually stay,” Jason finishes, ignoring Bruce’s comment as he washes his pancakes down with orange juice. “Only if you promise not to spoil Dick’s mood.”
Bruce squints his eyes at him before opening the newspaper with a snap, and Jason decides to count that as a yes before Bruce can change his mind.
“Finish your breakfast and get out of here.”
Jason gives him a mock salute. “Sir yes sir!”
A little later after breakfast, Jason wanders into the gym— Dick’s gym, really— to find his older brother already setting up the net below the trapeze.
Jason blinks, lingering in the doorway. “When did you get here?”
Dick shrugs noncommittally, making an eh noise in his throat without looking back as he secures the net tightly. “About ten minutes ago.”
Jason frowns— because he’d been lounging in the library that is closer to the front door just so he can hear Dick’s arrival. He hadn't heard anything.
“Alfred didn't tell me.”
“Because Alfred doesn't know I’m here yet,” Dick says, straightening up to stretch his arms above his head, and finally turns to look at Jason. “Came through the zeta tubes.”
Oh. Makes sense.
Dick tends to use the zeta tubes during the daytime, especially since Bruce has been banned from going down to the Cave when the sun is still up.
Anything to avoid their adopted father.
“So.” Dick claps his hands together like a zumba instructor would and exhales sharply. “Let’s start with some stretches first.”
Jason nods and gets into position on the yoga mat, following Dick’s every move. Thankfully, he doesn't force Jason into anything too complicated like last time. He’s pretty sure he pulled something during their last stretching session.
“So…” Jason starts keeping his tone casual as he continues warming up. “Are ya gonna stay for dinner tonight or…?”
“Can’t,” Dick answers immediately, getting into a complicated split— which Jason doesn't attempt to follow. “Sorry, kid. I promised the Titans that I’d be back for movie night.”
“Oh,” he says, trying not to sound disappointed. Because when has Dick ever really stayed for dinner except when Bruce isn't around? “Cool. Just, y’know. Wondering.”
Dick hums. If he notices the disappointment, he doesn't mention it. Bruce will probably be brooding somewhere in the Manor when he finds out.
One last stretch, and Dick finally gets up, shaking out his limbs. Jason is on his feet immediately. “Ready for training, Jay?”
“Yup!” Jason chirps and Dick nods towards the trapeze ladder.
“Climb up first. I’ll be right behind you.”
Getting to the top of the trapeze isn't as scary as it was before. It’s still alarmingly high, sure, but there's a net to catch him and Dick. That’s all he needs.
“Have you been practicing?” Dick asks upon reaching the platform as Jason covers his hands with chalk powder. The more, the better.
“Uh, not really,” Jason admits sheepishly.
Dick stares at him, one unimpressed eyebrow raised, looking too much like Alfred when Bruce gets in trouble.
“I’ve been busy, okay!” He defends himself with a pout, eyes avoiding Dick’s. “Robin duties don't go well with school or homework.”
“Right,” Dick deadpans, shaking his head. He ties his long hair back into a low ponytail and rolls his shoulders. “Well. I guess we should start with the basics again.”
“What?” Jason whines, throwing his hands up. “But the basics are soooo boring. There’s no flipping or fancy swinging involved.”
“You haven't practiced since our last session,” Dick points out, dusting his hands with chalk. “So it’s your own fault for putting yourself in this position.”
“Ugh, you’re such a party pooper.”
“And you're apparently too busy to practice.”
Jason sticks his tongue out in retaliation.
Dick snorts, rolling his eyes. “Real mature, Jay.” He moves to stand at the edge of the platform, steadying the trapeze bar. “Here. Start with small swings.”
Jason groans, but he still grabs the bar and adjusts his grip, beginning to swing just a metre out from the platform.
“Good,” Dick praises from behind him, and Jason has to pretend that doesn't fill his chest with something warm. “Keep your head forward and your legs straight.”
Jason does as Dick says, because the faster he gets over the basics, the faster they’ll be able to do cool tricks like flips and spins.
He straightens his legs, adjusts his grip, and lets the bar swing him back to the platform. Only when his feet touch it, he swings forward again.
And misses his footing when the bar swings back toward the platform.
Jason yelps as he loses his balance, arms flailing around to regain control of his body before ultimately falling off the platform.
“JASON!”
Jason has never heard Dick sound like that before. He sounds… kinda panicked. Scared maybe? But that's what nets are for, right? To catch people when they fall. Why is Dick reacting like that, he doesn't know.
A small oof escapes him as his back hits the net. Jason stares up at the ceiling with wide eyes, his chest heaving from the rush of it all.
Well, he's never fallen off the trapeze before until now.
“Holy shit,” he whispers to himself with a breathless laugh. “Holy shit!”
Jason struggles to push himself on his elbows, but eventually manages it, and looks up to where Dick is kneeling on the platform, both hands locked around the edge for some reason.
Huh.
“That was cool!” He yells, waving one arm wildly to let Dick know he’s okay.
Dick doesn't wave back.
Weird.
Jason frowns.
“Dick?”
No response.
Dick is still gripping the edge of the platform.
“Hello? Earth to Dickiebird?” Jason waves his hand exaggeratedly, his frown deepening. “You're being weird.”
That seems to break Dick out of his head. Jason watches from the net as his brother climbs down the trapeze ladder with hurried steps, his usual acrobatic grace almost non-existent.
That’s… new. He’s never seen Dick like this— not after a screaming match with Bruce. Not even after a failed mission. This is something else. Different.
Something in Jason’s stomach twists.
“Jason—” Dick’s voice cracks, almost a sob, as he clumsily climbs over the edge of the net.
Up close, Jason can hear his breathing, too fast for someone who’d done this a million times. He looks pale too— really pale, like he’d seen a ghost.
“Are you okay?” Dick’s pulling him upright and pressing his hands over him frantically, as if trying to find where he’s hurt— but nothing does. Because the net caught him. “Where are you hurt, Jay?!”
“Wha— Dick, I’m fine,” Jason tries, raising his hands in a placating manner. He squirms under Dick’s frantic search— something’s wrong here. “I’m not hurt, Dick. You’re being weird.”
“No, no, no.” Dick shakes his head, almost hysterical. “I watched— I watched you fall. You’re hurt— you’re hurt because I didn't catch you— I promised—”
“Dick,” Jason tries again, trying to wriggle off Dick’s hands. “I’m fine! The net caught me. I’m not even hurt— not even a damn scratch!”
“Please, please, please, not again,” Dick sobs, and suddenly he’s on his knees, clutching Jason’s wrists like a lifeline. “I can't— I can't—”
Oh.
Oh.
Dick’s hyperventilating.
“Dick?” Jason whispers, suddenly feeling helpless. Robin knew how to calm people down during panic attacks. He’d done it before. But never like this. Never with Dick. His brother. “Hey— hey. I’m fine, really. Look at me!”
It doesn't work. Dick’s breathing is way too fast, too uneven, and Jason’s worried he’s going to pass out.
So, he pulls his wrists away from Dick just to wrap his arms around his brother’s shoulders, trying to give him some sort of comfort through touch.
And… that didn't work either.
“Fuck,” Jason mutters to himself, rubbing a gentle hand over Dick’s shaking back, eyes flicking back and forth between his brother and the door, wondering if he should try to carry Dick out of the gym. “Dickie, c’mon. You gotta breathe.”
Dick’s not listening— can’t, really— and it's sort of starting to freak Jason out. He doesn't know what to do, he feels useless because his brother is panicking about something and Jason is doing nothing—
“Bruce!” He yells instead, hoping that their adopted father can somehow hear him from wherever he is.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear, Bruce walks into the gym, his brows furrowed in worry. “Jason? What’s going—”
As soon as his gaze locks onto the both of them, Bruce immediately runs over to them, tugging down the edge of the net just enough for Jason to push Dick into his arms— who looks completely out of it.
“I don't know what happened— I just fell in the net and suddenly he— he panicked and thought I was hurt but I wasn't! I tried to calm him down but it obviously didn't work and— and I didn't know what else to do—”
“Hey, hey,” Bruce shushes him softly, somehow managing to pull Jason along with his hands full of his brother’s trembling body. “You did good, lad.”
“But I—”
“None of that, Jay,” Bruce interrupts before Jason can finish his sentence. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You stayed with him. You tried to help. Then you called me. That was the right call.”
The knot in Jason’s stomach doesn't loosen, but he gives Bruce a jerky nod anyway. His dad shoots him a reassuring smile before tilting his head toward the door— a silent order to follow.
Jason wastes no time rushing after Bruce, making their way to Dick’s bedroom. It’s rarely used these days, but Alfred always makes sure that it's spotless, occupied or not.
He pushes the door open for Bruce, and the man settles his eldest son carefully on his bed without ever letting go of him. Bruce places one of Dick’s hands on his chest, trying to make him follow Bruce’s breathing.
“Jaylad, can you take the plush elephant from the shelf for me, please?”
Jason blinks and immediately spins around, hurrying over to the bookshelf. The elephant is old and a little worn around the ears, a sign of being loved for years.
He's never seen it before. Then again, he never really saw much of Dick’s childhood bedroom, either.
Not exactly the time to start looking around now.
Jason holds the plush carefully, as if delicate, and passes it to Bruce.
“Dick?” Bruce calls softly, taking the elephant plushie from Jason’s hands and places it on Dick’s lap. “Chum, can you hold Zitka for me?”
Dick’s fingers curl around the elephant plush, just barely, before gasping out, “Jason—”
“I’m here Dickie,” Jason reassures, settling next to Dick and linking their arms together, his head resting on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m okay.”
“Jason fell—”
“I’m okay,” Jason repeats helplessly, his thumb drawing comforting circles on Dick’s arm. “I’m okay, Dickiebird. I’m okay.”
Dick shakes his head sharply, a sob escaping him. “Jason fell.”
Jason bites down hard on his lip as he listens to his brother’s sobs. He doesn't realise he’s crying until a tear slides down his cheek.
He scrubs angrily at his eyes. Stupid— he’s not the one having a panic attack!
Bruce’s gaze flicks to him for a brief moment. His free hand comes up to brush the tears from Jason’s cheek before returning to Dick.
“Chum,” Bruce murmurs softly. “I need you to follow my breathing, yeah?” He presses Dick’s hand firmer against his chest. “Just like that.”
Bruce has done this before, Jason realises— not as Batman, but as a father. He knew what to do. He knew what Dick needed.
Dick’s chest stutters, his whole body jerking under Jason’s cheek. Jason lets go of Dick’s arm and wraps both of his own around his brother’s waist. The hold is loose— he doesn't want to have Dick feel more trapped than he already is.
Eventually, Dick’s breathing starts to slow down— not too much to be considered normal, but less terrifying than before.
“Jason?” Dick croaks out, voice raspy from all the crying.
“I’m here,” he whispers, his arms tightening slightly around Dick’s waist.
“You’re— you’re okay?”
Jason nods, pulling away just enough so Dick can see his face clearly. “I’m okay. I’m not hurt, Dick.”
Dick studies him for a moment before he accepts it with a jerky nod, and turns to look at Bruce, who is still holding Dick’s hand to his chest.
Jason holds his breath. Before, calling Bruce had been obvious— the only thing Jason could think to do. But now, watching Dick turn his head toward him, Jason realises he didn't think about what it would be like for Dick to come out of it with Bruce holding him like that.
“Thank you, B,” Dick rasps, and it catches Jason off guard for a second.
Bruce nods quietly, squeezing Dick’s hand on his chest once, before letting go. Softly, he asks, “Are you doing better now?”
Dick nods once. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” Bruce hums, and gently squeezes Dick’s shoulder, then Jason’s, before standing up. “I’ll have Alfred make some hot chocolate.”
And then there were two.
“Dickie?” Jason murmurs after a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” A beat. “I’m sorry. If I scared you, Little Wing.”
“‘s fine,” Jason says quietly, shrugging a little, still clinging to Dick. Then, he hesitates. “But… what was that?”
“I—” Dick sighs, scrubbing his face, his other hand hugging his elephant plush— Zitka, as Bruce calls it— close to him. “My parents.”
Jason doesn't say anything for a moment.
Oh.
Everyone in Gotham knew about the tragic circus accident that happened nearly a decade ago. The kind of story that never really stopped being told.
Jason had heard it. Of course he had.
But hearing it like this— right here, with Dick still shaking beside him— feels different.
Dick wraps his arm around Jason’s shoulders, and presses his cheek against his hair. He’s grounding himself, Jason realises a beat too late.
“Sorry,” Dick murmurs again, barely audible.
Jason shakes his head quickly. “Don’t.”
That seems to be enough.
Dick exhales slowly against his hair, like he’s trying to remember how to be inside his own body again.
Jason doesn't move.
He just stays there, breathing with him.