Chapter Text
Dick was running late. That itself wasn’t unusual, because time seemed to be an invention Dick was only loosely acquainted with. Like gravity.
He did have a healthy appetite though (like every vigilante burning through approximately 5000 calories each night) and he usually knew when food was waiting for him. Also - and this was even more important - it was Family Night. (Yes. Capital letters. Shut up.) A stupid-as-fuck invention that Jason had not signed off on and still was dragged into every month.
But Dick? Dick treated Family Night as if it were Christmas.
Jason looked at the clock again, frowned.
“Hey.” He threw a screw towards Damian, who was doing Pilates with a sword (or whatever that was) in another corner of the cave.
The little demon spawn caught it one-handed and threw him a look of pure disgust. “Your pathetic attempt at assassination has failed embarrassingly, Todd.”
“Yeah, yeah whatever. Didn’t Dickhead say he would be back by nine?”
Damian shrugged and returned to his posing. “Grayson’s understanding of time is vague at best. Like a toddler’s.”
True. And still.
Jason finished cleaning the chain, checked the tension.
Looked at the clock again. Half past.
He wasn’t worried. That would have been stupid, because Dick was fucking Nightwing and you really did not need to worry about fucking Nightwing. But he wanted food. And Alfred had the stupid rule that dinner would only be served after everybody had sat down. And everybody very well could not sit down when Dick wasn’t back from patrol yet.
So that weird feeling in his stomach? Hunger. Definitely.
Also… Bruce had not appeared impatiently down here, so obviously Batman himself was still willing to wait for one missing Nightwing.
Golden boy would probably not even get a stern look for being tardy.
Life was unfair.
“You done making out with your bike?” asked a dry voice behind him. “Because I have the timestamps you wanted, but if you need more privacy…”
“Shut up.” Jason threw a dirty rag towards Tim’s head.
Without looking up from his tablet, Tim tilted his head and let it fly right past him. “Charming.”
“What do you have?”
Jason reached for the tablet, but Tim withdrew it hastily. “Clean your oily hands first, you animal.”
Jason rolled his eyes, but complied.
Tim’s eyes wandered, almost automatically, to the clock. And Jason stilled.
There was a tiny frown that Tim smoothed over in a heartbeat. Jason had seen it though.
Someone else, he thought, was starting to get very, very… hungry.
“Gimme that,” he said, reaching for the tablet again. He did have a case after all.
He went over the timestamps, Tim pointing out patterns, Damian insulting their combined cognitive abilities.
All of it normal.
None of them really into it.
The clock ticking in the background.
Fuck that damn clock.
When the cave entry alert pinged, Jason got up so fast it almost gave him whiplash.
Finally.
What an asshole move, to have everybody waiting for their food. He would definitely give Dick a piece of his mind about that.
Damian was already halfway to the entry, sword-Pilates all but forgotten about.
"You are late," Damian informed Dick. "Your contempt for timeliness is a disgrace. Also… Why are you limping!"
Jason stilled. Next to him Tim had looked up from his tablet.
No. Limping was good, Jason reminded himself.
Limping implied a lot of good things. Conscious. Ambulatory. Alert. Not secretly bleeding in a great capacity somewhere.
Except… no. Damnit. Dick had been dumb enough in the past to be upright while ACTIVELY BLEEDING A LOT SOMEWHERE.
But conscious and upright were still good.
"I'm fine." A breathless laugh. Too breathless.
They shared a look. Tim moved at the same time Jason did.
"You are not!"
"I am. I am." Dick appeared in the bluish entry light. One arm slung around Damian's shoulders. "Looks worse than it is, really."
Damian clearly thought he was supporting his brother’s entire weight and did so with all the gravity one applied to brain surgery.
That might or might not be necessary - hard to tell - because Dick looked way too delighted at that. He was tousling Damian’s hair.
Okay.
Not bleeding in a great capacity somewhere. Jason felt his shoulders relax a little.
"You're late, dickhead," was what he said.
"Aw, missed me already?" Dick threw him a shit-eating grin that looked pretty painful considering the massive bruise already blooming across his right cheekbone.
“Yeah, you wish.”
No blood. Suit looked fine. Meant nothing, though. Bruce had probably reinforced the material to an inch of its life. “I’m starving and your tardy ass prevented me from getting food.”
“Love you, too.”
Then Dick stood before him, moving unfairly quickly even while incapacitated. And before Jason could brace himself, Dick was already hugging him, quick and hard and almost desperate.
What the...?
Dick let go as if nothing had happened and as if that hadn't been a clear sign of massive brain damage.
Jason stared after him.
"Someone got you?" Tim asked, head tilted.
"Nah." Dick removed the escrima sticks and put them somewhere they didn’t belong. Somewhere he would probably forget about in ten seconds. "Just... took a tumble. Was nothing. Anybody hungry?"
There was an audible beat of silence after this absolute bullshit sentence.
Tim looked at Jason. Jason kept his face blank.
“You… fell,” Damian said, clearly not wanting to accuse his favorite person in the world of being a dirty liar but just as clearly failing to make this sentence make any sense.
Dick shrugged. Winced immediately afterwards. “I did.”
"You fell," Jason repeated flatly. "You. Fell." Separating them clearly, because these two things did not go together at all.
Dick limped past him, flicked his forehead. "Happens sometimes."
No. No, it did not.
"It's Family Night," Dick continued. "I'm fine. I’m really fine. Stop worrying." He put an arm around Tim’s shoulder and kissed him on the head.
That was… very affectionate, even for Dick. Not in itself concerning. But might be a distraction.
Dick was a sneaky bastard who weaponized affection like nobody’s business. And it bugged Jason that it felt wrong and he couldn’t tell why.
"You reek," Tim said while actively leaning closer.
"I'll take a shower," Dick reassured him. "Actually. Good plan. Tell Alfred he can start with dinner – I’ll just hit the showers real quick and..."
"Not without a trip to the medbay first," said a calm voice that made everybody shut up at once.
Bruce stood at the top of the stairs. He wore an immaculately cut three-piece suit, because “Family Night” obviously did not read casual enough to release one from having standards.
Jason immediately felt underdressed.
Jason aggressively did not care and wished he cared even less.
Next to him Dick stiffened. “It’s unnecessary.” His voice cooler now. Firmer. “I said I’m fine.”
Bruce came down the stairs. “You are clearly not,” he said, just as coolly.
And Dick - tender, affectionate Dick who had tousled Damian’s hair and kissed Tim’s head - dropped the wall into place. “It is none of your business.”
Jason and Tim shared a look.
Uh oh, said that look.
It was a look they had shared before. Many, many times. Like veterans who had survived “We Have Clearly Missed An Entire Previous Argument And Are Now Walking Into Act Three Unprepared” more than once.
Bruce hadn’t hurried - he never did - but he arrived like an unstoppable force. One second over there, the next right in front of them.
He was taller than all of them, still. Even taller than Jason. (But not much. Jason would like to put that down in writing. Not THAT much.)
He was definitely taller than Nightwing.
Damian had somehow migrated to Dick’s side. Not really leaning, but then again, very much leaning. He probably thought he looked fierce and protective and not at all like an anxious cat.
And Jason looked at Dick’s face – cool and closed off – and thought damn.
Dick might look almost petite next to Batman.
Not much of a challenge, really, if it came down to it. But Jason also knew this face. And there was no way in hell Dick would yield.
Trying to force Nightwing was a terrible decision and Jason would know.
If Bruce turned this into command versus defiance, Dick would plant his feet until the sun burned out.
Bruce must have reached the same conclusion at roughly the same speed. He let his shoulders drop a little and sighed. “It’s Family Night,” he said, more gently this time. “Is it unreasonable of me to want to ensure that nobody hides a severe injury before we sit down for dinner?”
Dick opened his mouth. Closed it again. He swallowed. Clearly he hadn’t expected Family Night of all things to be weaponized against him. “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “Hide a severe injury.”
“Yes, you would!” Jason and Tim chorused.
Dick looked slightly betrayed.
“You would and you have,” said Damian primly. “There is precedent. You are not to be trusted in that regard.”
Damian Wayne, attorney for the prosecution.
“Alright,” said Dick, clearly not happy with that at all. “Dami, Tim – can you please tell Alfred it won’t take long.”
“I wish to remain,” Damian informed him.
“Go upstairs,” ordered Bruce.
Damian looked as if he wanted to yell ‘Objection, Your Honor!’. “But… Father!”
“Come on, demon spawn.” Tim - who had definitely read the room and rightfully decided that leaving was, in fact, the best option - grabbed his arm. “Make yourself useful.”
“Unhand me at once or you will regret it.”
“Sure.”
“I know where you sleep, Drake!”
Jason could hear them bickering until they reached the elevator. A bing. A swoosh. Gone. The silence they left was almost oppressive.
Dick hadn’t sent him away with the kids. Thanks for that?
Jason wasn’t sure what to make of that. He felt invisible and unnecessary while Bruce and Dick were staring each other down. Part of him wondered if there was a way to melt into the shadows and vanish.
But he remembered the hug. The desperation of it.
How Dick had kept touching them. Almost urgently. As if he needed… something. Some proof of life, maybe. Or something else.
He didn’t want to leave Dick to fight his battles alone. Especially not when he looked that bruised and exhausted.
So, he stayed. Like an awkward fifth wheel.
Fucking great.
“You get your neurological check,” said Dick to Bruce. “One. And that’s it.”
“I want a GCS of 15,” Bruce said immediately.
And Jason heard the underlying If you are anything less than completely neurologically intact, this negotiation is fucking over loud and clear. “Additionally, pupils, blood pressure and resting heart rate.”
Dick scoffed and crossed his arms.
Bruce’s eyes were dark. “And I want to like them.”
“Because everything has to go the way you like it,” Dick said bitterly.
Jason saw Bruce’s jaw move and felt himself brace.
Wow, that escalated quickly.
Please no, thought a distant part of him that remembered being fourteen and small, hearing Batman and Nightwing tear into each other in the other room.
No.
They wouldn’t… Would they?
There would be no prisoners when Batman and Nightwing really went at each other. He knew. That was a nuclear option with no survivors.
"Fuck this shit!" It burst out of him, smaller sounding than he liked. "Get a fucking grip, both of you! Al even made the stupid Thai curry you love."
Immediately he wanted to slap himself.
Sure. Curry. That would help.
Both of them looked at him now and he wanted to die.
Dick’s eyes were a little shiny. "Jay..." he said, voice unbearably tender.
Jason hissed at him. Then he rubbed a hand across his face. “Shut it, Dick.”
“Jason makes a valid point. A syncope in front of Alfred’s curry cannot be what you desire,” said Bruce calmly. “Consider Damian.”
What a bastard move. Clever, too. Jason had to hand it to him. But then again, Bruce had never been above using emotional manipulation to get what he wanted.
“Don’t you dare,” said Dick, but there was less heat behind it now. As if all his energy had gone into comforting Jason, Tim and Damian and now there was only as much left as he needed to keep himself upright. “Do not bring Damian into this.”
And Bruce could have. Could have brought Damian into it all the way.
Jason knew. Dick probably knew, too.
Is that really the Family Night you want, Dick? Internally bleeding until you keel over in front of Damian, who adores you with the ferocity of a tiny pit bull and who has no protection against losing you? Want to scare him for a lifetime, Dick?
He didn’t.
Jason was glad. He would have punched Bruce, if he’d gone that far.
“Go to hell,” whispered Dick, but he sounded terrifyingly close to tears now.
Jason stepped closer, almost involuntarily.
Adrenaline had clearly left the building. There was only exhaustion left. Exhaustion and something achingly vulnerable.
Bruce saw it too. Something painfully similar to regret crossed his features and he exhaled audibly.
“It won’t take longer than five minutes,” he said. “That is all.” And then: “Please.”
That did it.
The please must have hit Dick right in the chest. He looked at Bruce. Looked away. His throat bobbed once. “Fine.”