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The first four days after Jason and Dick make their really stupid bet that Jason will go a full week only quoting Caliban, (“I bet you couldn’t make it a week, Little Wing!”) are incredibly easy, mostly because Jason doesn’t see or speak to anyone, holed up as he is in his favourite safehouse (He likes the gargoyles on the corner window, they’re so over the top, he had to take selfies with them. It’s also the last of his safehouses with no “family” surveillance installed) instead of his actual apartment. He putters about the place, fiddling with his tech to make minor improvements, ordering more ordinance from his favourite online seller (anonymous, reliable and gives a great discount if you happen to save their lives that one time in a small European principality. Not that Jason did that. Twice) and generally enjoying his down time. However, if he’s going to win that bet, it requires actually talking to people. Which is why it’s stupid. Really fucking stupid. He’s not even sure that Dick remembers agreeing to it, given how drunk he was...
The easiest way to find out if Dick remembers is asking him, which Jason is not going to do, because he might be an idiot, but he has some self-respect. So he’s going to have to actually talk to someone in front of Dick and wait for his reaction. Sighing, Jason pulls out his old battered, nearly falling apart copy of the Tempest and memorises all the relevant lines. Of which there are much fewer than he expected. Oh well, Jason did always like to make things harder for himself.
***
Jason starts with Alfred, partly because Alfred will appreciate it, but also more importantly, Alfred won’t make him feel like a total fool while he mangles Shakespeare. He knows this, because Alfred was the one who he spent countless hours with, helping him through his English Lit homework, and trying not to just write ‘Romeo was a dick and Juliet deserved better, and WHAT ABOUT ROSALINE, HUH, DIDN’T LOVE HER SO MUCH AFTER ALL, DIDYA?’ for his essay. While Jason maintains that it’s a valid reading of the play, he can with hindsight, see that his English Lit teacher would have just cried. Jason wouldn’t have wanted that, he actually liked Mrs. Meyers.
It’s late Friday morning when he parks his bike by the front steps of Wayne Manor, already knowing that Bruce is busy at Wayne Enterprises, Tim and Cass are out east with the Teen Titans, and Dick has been blowing up his phone with pictures of him and Damian at the Zoo, (whose idea was that, Damian will attempt to bring all the creatures back to the Manor, they won’t have space to breathe!). They’re all usually out when he comes to visit Alfred. Dick’s told him that Alfred ‘subtly encourages them to get the hell out of the Manor so he can have Jason all to himself’ Dick’s words, not Alfred’s obviously, but it still makes Jason smile.
Coming back to the Manor always makes Jason uneasy. In the year that he’s been dating Dick, visiting Stately Wayne Manor has not got any easier. Very little makes him feel more like a ghost that shouldn’t have returned, displaced and out of the right time, than standing in the entrance hall of his former home. He’s familiar with all the rooms and hallways, the nooks and crannies of the building, but he no longer has the emotional attachment to the place. It’s a weird sensation, walking into his boyfriend’s family home, with complete freedom, (He has a full set of keys. Which weirds him out more than it should) knowing that he used to consider it his home too, but no longer. It’s not something he feels he can tell anyone; the time that he could have mentioned it without really upsetting anyone is long gone by. He did tell Alfred once, during one of their twice a month brunches, referring to the Manor as ‘his boyfriend’s home’, but seeing the look on Alfred’s face, he straight away made it into a joke. Although sometimes during ‘family gatherings’ when Jason’s really feeling uncomfortably out of place, (everyone, except Damian, will tell him he’s family. Jason still can’t believe it, from anyone that isn’t Alfred. If he’s honest, he might not ever) he’ll catch Alfred giving him a considering look, as if he’s remembering Jason’s ‘joke’ and realising that Jason hadn’t been joking at all.
Jason makes it all the way into the kitchen, with time to sit at the table, before he sees Alfred, and is warmly welcomed with a plate of sandwiches and a cup of Jason’s preferred blend of tea before he can even get a word out.
“How does thy honour? I must eat my dinner.” Jason blurts out. He winces, feeling his face heat up slightly with embarrassment. Stupid fucking bet. He can only hope that Alfred figures out what he’s doing before he thinks Jason’s high on mind-altering drugs or brainwashed by the latest in the parade of gimmicky supervillains that seems to be Gotham’s main export. “These be fine things.” He adds nervously. He gets Alfred’s trade mark raised eyebrow in return. Alfred’s always been a grandfather to Jason, that hasn’t changed in the years since they met, and the only one Jason’s never blamed for the mess that became Jason’s life and death and return. He feels like he owes Alfred more than he could put into words, when he accepted him back ‘into the family’ without so much as a single lecture. Jason decides to go for broke. “When thou camest first, thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me water with berries in’t: and then I loved thee.”
OK, so he’s playing a bit fast and loose with the quotations, abridging lines, but Jason wants to thank Alfred properly, the way Alfred won’t really let any of them do, as he feels that his duties need no thanks, and will brush off if they try. The look of surprise on Alfred’s face simultaneously makes Jason wish he’d said it years ago and not said it all. Guilt and regret swirl about in Jason’s stomach, and the near overwhelming urge to run home and pretend this never happened has to be tamped down hard so he doesn’t bolt. Looking down at the plate in front of him, Jason picks up half of the sandwich and takes a large bite out of the it (it’s his favourite, of course it is) and chews a bit numbly hoping that stuffing his face with food will give him more time to plan out his next line. Then he feels a hand gently squeeze at his shoulder and he looks up at the old butler. Alfred has a warm smile on his face, and seems to be choosing his words carefully.
“The feeling was, and still is, much returned, my boy.” Alfred steps away to the sink, pausing to look out the window overlooking the manor gardens and Alfred’s prized roses. Jason waits for him to continue, but apparently that’s all Alfred has to say on the matter. Jason can’t help but feel relieved. He finishes the rest of his sandwich in a more relaxed manner. Alfred tells him all the weeks gossip that Dick hasn’t, Jason hmmming and ahhing at the right points to keep the conversation going without using quotes. As far as Jason’s concerned that’s not cheating at all. By the end of their brunch, Jason feels he’s achieved something he hadn’t set out to do, and managed to do what he had set out to do. If he can be this successful for the rest of the week, he might actually win.
***
It belatedly occurs to Jason on Saturday that he has no way to prove that he’s kept up to the bet so far, the one that Dick probably doesn’t even remember. He didn’t run into Nightwing at all last night on patrol, and he doubts Oracle bothered recording him yell the same five slightly paraphrased insults over and over. He’s pretty sure that if she had, he’d have heard from her by now, if only for her to mock his limited vocabulary. He’d only worked the street-level crime, because really, he had no way of interrogating douchebags or gathering intel with the quotes he’d set himself up with. So Jason will have to yet again head over to the Manor and will no doubt have the most awkward and uncomfortable conversation with Bruce. Fabulous. Just. Fabulous. (Can he get beaten by a crowbar again instead? No? Fucking figures.)
He parks in the same spot he did yesterday, only this time he plans to use it for as a quick getaway as possible. Jason steels himself, slowly walking up the steps, trying to shake off the irrational feeling that he’s going to his doom. He’s been through much worse, a confusing talk with Bruce, that might not even happen if Jason’s very lucky (Jason’s not that fucking lucky), he shouldn’t be this intimidated. But it’s not really Bruce he’s worried about, they’ve managed lately to have a mostly civil working relationship and while it’s more than Jason thought he’d get, Dick insists that it’s less than Bruce wants. Dick, for whatever reason, still seems to think that they can be a big happy family, Jason’s not sure that’s what he really wants. It’s weird, but the more his anger and grudge at Bruce has lessened so has the desperate need for approval and acceptance that hurt him so much. What Jason is sure of is that he wants to win this bet, and it’s more than anything he’s wanted in a while. So he quickly goes through what he’s half-planned to say if he sees Alfred, the couple of neutral things he might be able to say to Bruce without sounding like he’s ready for another stay in Arkham, and what he wants to say to Dick, as long as it’s in private.
He slips through the front door, half annoyed and half relieved that no-one’s in the entrance hall. He heads to the media room where Dick forces Damian to ‘enjoy’ the Saturday morning tradition of cartoon watching and general vegging out. But that luck that Jason doesn’t have, strikes again, and the first person he runs into is, of course, because it would be, Bruce. There’s a tense few seconds, neither of them reacting before the frown on Bruce’s face lightens, into something almost welcoming if you know to look for it (Jason knows, and while it’s been useful in the past for fighting against him, Jason’s messed up enough to no longer like knowing that he knows how to look for it) and the tension dissipates into something calmer.
Calmer, but still deep deep down, Jason will always have a thread of vitriol towards Bruce for not killing the Joker. It’s a feeling that’s purely his, not Pit-induced or Talia’s much slower and subtler manipulations, but a cornerstone of everything else Jason is, and has been, from the starving kid in Crime Alley, to fully-fledged independent vigilante. Nearly everything else Bruce has done, Jason can eventually forgive, because Jason’s been making the hard choices and surviving for pretty much all of both his lives, and can with some soul searching, if not justify then at least understand. It’s something that for Bruce, despite all his “I am Vengeance, I am the Night, I am Batman” is a complete anathema. Bruce can be cold and hard and sometimes has less give in him than a stone, but that kind of true lack of forgiveness is not in his character. It’s part of the reason why his rogue’s gallery (and Jason) has never truly gone all out to kill him, or at least really worked together to do.
It’s also why Jason doesn’t want Bruce to be his dad anymore. Jason’s gone and grown up while Jason wasn’t even paying attention, clawed his way out of the storm of cold rage and hatred he used to keep going after resurrecting and the Lazarus Pit. Most days Jason can admit that he does want Bruce in his life in some capacity. Damian, on the other hand needs his dad, and Jason can recognise that Bruce’s really only capable of so much parenting before he can’t cope and starts shutting down. It used to be Robin’s job to shore Batman up when Bruce reached that point, but Damian has Dick, Tim, Cass, Barbara, Stephanie, Alfred and to a much lesser extent, Jason, to step in, so that the kid gets to be an actual kid.
Jason’s pretty sure that Bruce hasn’t realised that he’s no longer his dad, instead some nebulous ‘other family member’. Jason’s not going to tell him, though. Maybe one day he’ll sit down and go through his reasons for keeping that last secret. (He won’t, he’s just being nice and really can’t let himself admit it.)
“Jason. I didn’t realise you ...were coming over today.” Bruce shuffles the stack of paperwork from one arm to the other, and it occurs to Jason that Bruce might actually be nervous too.
“How does thy honour?” Jason can’t help but feel amused at the confusion that flashes across Bruce’s face, it’s rare that Bruce is visibly flustered but Jason’s managed it. (Is it petty? Probably. Does Jason give a fuck? No, he will take all his petty victories where he can find them.)
“Ah, I’m fine? ...how are you?” Bruce says with a hint of a smile beginning on his face.
“You taught me language; and my profit on't is, I know how to curse.” Jason’s realising that what happened yesterday with Alfred doesn’t have to be a one-off. Maybe good old Will can help him with what he’s wants to tell Bruce, but can’t bring himself to. He should try it. He really should try it. He’s not going to. He almost misses what Bruce says next, lost in thought.
“Is that so? Well, I think Alfred’s in the kitchen if you want him?” Bruce is definitely smiling now, but it’s the smile of someone who doesn’t have a clue what’s going on, and is trying not to show it. (It’s his well practiced Brucie smile. Jason never liked it.)
“Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices that, if I then had waked after long sleep, will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, the clouds me thought would open and show riches ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.” Jason’s making the unflappable Batman, well, flap. (Jason badly wants to say ‘He is the terror that flaps in the night, he is DARKWING DUCK!’ but the bet. That stupid bet.)
“...I, ah, yes? ...I have a telephone conference to get to. Dick and Damian are in the media room. Let Alfred know if you’re staying for lunch.” The smile has frozen on Bruce’s face as he panics a little. Jason can barely keep from laughing. (He’s a terrible person sometimes. Ok, a lot of the time, it’s part of his charm.)
“Farewell master; farewell, farewell!” Jason calls out to Bruce’s retreating back. He’s probably going to regret freaking Bruce out later (No, no he’s not), but for now he’s actually enjoying himself. This stupid bet is working out for him the strangest ways.
***
Jason is ambling down the hallway to the media room, still smirking to himself when he hears Damian and Dick’s voices. He pushes open the door, revealing Dick sprawling out on the couch with an empty bowl of crocky crunch to the side of him and Damian sitting cross-legged on the floor, scoffing at whatever brightly coloured flash animated cartoon Dick thinks he should be watching, complaining at length over the characters lack of intelligence and situational awareness. Personally Jason would have picked Gravity Falls or even the Voltron reboot (well maybe not the Voltron reboot, he likes it too much to let Damian rip it to shreds in his presence), but then no one asked him, and he can hardly recommend them today, can he?
“Lo, now, lo! Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me for bringing wood in slowly.” Jason can’t be bothered to ease them into it. He’s in the zone now, they’ll just have to catch up. They are trained by the World’s Second greatest detective after all. (And just how much is Jason amused that Bruce is second to Detective Chimp? Let’s say it gives him unending bone-deep satisfaction and leave it at that.)
“Todd, why are you mangling Shakespeare?” Damian demands, in that imperious and pompous way of his, the one that he thinks makes him sound important, but Jason just finds privately hilarious. Of course the Demon Brat would be the first one to comment on it, but still that was a little faster than expected.
“Do that good mischief which may make this island thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban.” Jason says by way of an explanation that explains nothing. He’s gonna make the kid work for it, unless Dick’s told him about the bet. Jason hopes he hasn’t.
“Hmmm, I suppose Caliban is a good fit for you. If I had to pick a character for you, he would be third on my list.” Damian retorts, because of course he has a list. Jason would pay good money to read what list he’d come up with for Tim, but he guesses it’s short and consists of ‘character that dies in the first scene of the play’. Jason also doubts the kid’s read anything that was published after 1900. The League of Assassins wasn’t real big on literary education.
“O ho, O ho! Would't had been done! Thou didst prevent me; I had peopled else this isle with Calibans.” It’s as close as an agreement as Jason’s going to give Damian.
“Really, Jay?” Dick looks a little confused, clearly not really getting the character comparison. (Jason’s got it so bad, even that little furrow in Dick’s brow makes Jason want to kiss the confusion off his face.)
“Ha, ha, ha!” Jasons slowly says, not laughs. It’s a line, it counts! Dick has to remember the bet. He just has to.
“Did you actually want something Todd, or are you just here to annoy us?” Damian scoffs, the kid probably thinks he’s being subtle in getting out of watching the cartoon with Dick by talking to Jason. He must be seriously bored of it if Jason’s a preferable alternative.
“Lo, how he mocks me! Wilt thou let him, my lord?” Jason batts his eyelashes at Dick, smirking as he does. He can tell from the conspiratorial glance Dick gives Damian and the grin on his face, that he is, in fact, going to let Damian mock Jason.
“But it’s so nice that you two have something in common, Little Wing! I’m not going to stop a bonding moment! Even if it is because of our bet. And oh yeah, Alfred let me know that you’ve done all six days so far! Good going, Jay!” Dick says with evident pride in his voice. The little ball of anxiety in that’s been in Jason’s stomach for the last week dissolves with the proof that Dick remembers.
“Lo, lo, again! Bite him to death, I prithee.” Jason puts a little fake whinge into the request as he flops himself down on the couch. Automatically throwing his arm over Dick’s shoulders, and letting his fingers curl down to the neck of Dick’s t-shirt, like they belong there. (They sort of do now.) Dick leans into Jason casually, giving him that million dollar smile of his that charms everyone he meets.
“Well, if Todd is only going to quote Shakespeare, then I must show off my superior familiarity! Todd, a weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are toss’d with!” Damian looks so proud of himself, it’s a little ridiculous. Jason’d almost call it cute, if not for how obnoxious it also is, but it is a pretty solid insult from Henry IV to level at Jason, not to mention accurate.
“Yeah, go for it, Little D! I have no idea what you just said, but it was awesome.” Dick is shamelessly encouraging a Shakespeare-off. Yes, this is what Jason’s life has become. A verbal duelling match with an eleven year old. How did it come to this? Oh yeah, he carjacked the Batmobile that one time. Proof positive that crime never pays, folks.
“Thou are a loathsome as a toad.” Damian begins, smugly. Jason’s not surprised he’s quoting Titus Andronicus, the kid named his dog after it, it’s probably his favourite.
“Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash.” Jason throws out, lifting both of Dick legs over his for a more comfortable sprawl on the ridiculously plush and ludicrously expensive couch. Dick lets him with a fond smile and just the tinest bit of heat in his gaze.
“I hope you’re not referring to me there, Jay.” Dick teases fondly.
“You, minion, are too saucy.” Damian complains with a touch of disgust at the two of them, basically snuggling at this point. Ah, to be eleven and forced to see your older brother canoodling with his boyfriend! Poor kid. Jason feels for him. (No, no he doesn’t.)
“Beat him enough: after a little time I'll beat him too.” Jason grins. Shakespeare isn’t the only thing that Jason has in common with Damian, mocking is another.
“Away, you three inch fool!” Damian says, unnecessarily illustrating his order by pointing at the door Jason came in by.
“Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou!” Jason snaps back, that little piece of ...Damian. That was just rude and uncalled for! And more importantly, utterly untrue!
“Thou art as fat as butter!” Damian snorts. Henry IV part One again, really Damian? So many plays to choose from, and he’s being lazy, going for the insults about Jason’s looks. He’s all muscle, thank you very much! (and Dick loves it) If the brat tries anything about his hairline he’s going to start nuzzling Dick’s neck, right in front of him.
“What a pied ninny's this!” Jason doesn’t actually know what a pied ninny is, doesn’t really care either, but it makes Damian frown, so he considers it a win.
“Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat.” is Damian’s next try. Henry V, Jason recognises and grins as Dick outright laughs into his shoulder. (It kinda tickles, ok? It’s not the mental image Damian’s quote inspires at all.)
“Thou scurvy patch!” Jason lets his amusement colour his voice, realising only after he said it that it would have been funnier with a pirate accent, but oh well, too late now.
“I’ll beat thee, but I would infect my hands.” Damian tries for a threatening tone, but doesn’t quite manage it, with the rare smile pulling at his face. Oh look at that, they are actually bonding a little, aren’t they? Who would have thought that could happen?
If Jason wasn’t restricted to The Tempest, he’d pull out the mother of all Your Mum jokes and wind Damian up with the classic ‘Villain, I have done thy mother.’ It actual physically pains him that he can’t, but it’s no doubt for the best as Dick would scowl at him. ( --wait, has he told Dick about Talia? He must have, right? ...shit.)
All in all, Jason and Damian manage to keep up the stream of quotes for another ten minutes, Dick watching the two in fascination and amusement, before Damian tires of it, and declares that he is heading off in search of a snack, finally leaving Jason and Dick alone.
***
Bruce hurries into the kitchen after his meeting, looking for Alfred. Spotting him in the pantry brings only momentary relief, however.
“Alfred, I think something is wrong with Jason.” Bruce reminds himself to remain as calm and placid as a mountain lake, instead of gripping Alfred by the shoulders and shaking him like he wants to.
“Young Jason is fine, Master Bruce. There’s no cause for concern.” There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eye that means he knows more than he letting on. Bruce narrows his eyes at Alfred and waits him out. “Master Jason is endeavouring to win a wager with Master Richard. It’s nothing you need to worry about.” Alfred continues with the slightest of exasperated sighs. Bruce instantly decides he wants nothing to do with the shenanigans of his eldest two sons. He briefly wonders how Alfred knows, how Alfred always seems to know everything before he does, it’s really quite vexing. After all these years, he’s still hasn’t worked out Alfred’s secret.
“If you say so, Alfred.” With those parting words, Bruce makes a tactical retreat to the safe haven of the Cave where things make sense to him and don’t involve former-and-now-adult Robins in a romantic relationship with one another.
“Love, therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, in least speak most, to my capacity.” Alfred calls out after him, sounding amused.
***
Dick’s absently running his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Jason’s head, almost lazily petting him, while he watches a cookery show (he’s going to attempt to make whatever dish they’re preparing, and Jason’ll have to taste test it. He’s already preparing this month’s variation on “no really, it’s not that bad’ he’ll need to use. Dick is many things, but a good cook is not one of them.) Jason, however, is not watching the show, (if he wants to cook, he’ll use one of the recipe books Alfred’s bought him) he’s planning his next moves.
“I'll show thee the best springs; I'll pluck thee berries; I'll fish for thee and get thee wood enough.
A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I'll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, thou wondrous man.” Jason whispers into Dick’s ear.
“Huh? Did you say something, Jay?” Dick turns and blinks at him a little.
“There’s wood enough within.” Jason says, waggling his eyebrows in the kind of leer that usually makes Dick snort with laughter, because he loves over the top sexual innuendo (c’mon, he willingly goes by Dick, for Christ’s sake!). Making Dick laugh is one of the best feelings in the world, right up there with destroying drug cartels, breaking pimps’ kneecaps and sipping a well-deserved cup of tea while reading Pride and Prejudice on a rainy afternoon.
“...that was terrible,” Dick says “Do it again while I record you. I need to show everyone I know.” As if Jason is for a second going to let him record that. Playing around in private with Dick (ha!) is one thing, but Dick really will show it to everyone he knows if he records it.
“Do not torment me: Oh!” Jason groans. Yes, he did bring it on himself, and has no one else to blame. He should have known better. The things you do for the ones you love.
“Come on, Jay, do it for the vine!” Dick pleads, as if Vine didn’t die last year, and Dick ever had an account. (Tim had one, it was about 60% Dick parkouring, 35% Cass parkouring and 5% Damian threatening to murder people. Strangely, the Damian ones were the most popular, Jason suspects that Tim tagging them #murderkittenfromhell helped.)
“The spirit torments me; Oh!” Jason gives Dick a flat look. Jason will not ever be doing it for the vine, for fuck’s sake.
“I’m not tormenting you! I’m trying to bring you lasting internet fame. You should be thanking me, Little Wing.” Dick’s pouting just the tiniest bit. Jason wants to pin him down and kiss him until they both forget how to breathe.
“Do not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster.” Jason gives into the urge, kissing Dick as best he can given the somewhat awkward angle their bodies are at. Softly at first, then a bit deeper, shifting them around for a better angle until Dick pulls away.
“Right, so just to be clear, by wood, you mean penis, right?” Dick’s back to being amused again. Jason rolls his eyes, but nods all the same before leaning in for another kiss.
“I’ll swear upon that bottle to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly.” Jason murmurs against Dick’s lips, barely grazing them, he knows that it teases Dick in the best way, usually he ends up grabbing at Jason and sucking on his tongue until Jason gives in and kisses him fully. (Jason tries not to do it too much, just in case the novelty wears off for Dick. Jason enjoys the results too much to let that happen.)
“That makes no sense, but keep going, I like you like this.” Dick likes the corny, sappy romantic stuff? Colour Jason shocked. But ask and ye shall receive.
“I have seen thee in her and I do adore thee.” Jason continues, dropping little kisses to Dick’s jawline and throat, feeling Dick sigh and squirm a little under him. (God, he loves it when Dick does that. Makes Jason feel powerful.)
“Oh yeah?” Dick tugs gently on Jason’s hair. In retaliation, Jason starts nipping at Dick’s ear, soothing the tiny bites with tongue afterward.
“Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven?” Jason nuzzles Dick’s nose, grin pulling at his mouth. There’s only one reaction he’s gonna get from that line.
“That can’t be a real quote. It’s the start of too many bad pick up lines!” Dick complains, poking at Jason’s ribs with strong fingers. Yup, that was exactly what he expected Dick to say. Jason’s just glad he’s not ticklish.
“I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to hearken once again to the suit I made to thee?” There we go, Jason’s asked now. Dick’s gotta remember the prize for this bet. Right? Jason spares a second to send a plea to whatever fickle beings are in charge of the universe that Dick remembers.
“Suit? You made me a suit? I know you always complain about my clothes, but some of your uniforms have been awful too, y’know.” Dick says fondly. Well, fuck. Either he doesn’t or Jason’s been a bit too vague. With Jason’s luck, it’s probably both.
“Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I'll bring thee to shall hoodwink this: therefore speak softly. All's hush'd as midnight yet.” Jason says hopefully. He really can’t get much more clear than that without failing the bet. Damn it, why didn’t he text Dick during the week to make sure he knew the stakes. If he wasn’t busy groping his boyfriend, he smack himself in the face for his stupidity.
“Ok, I’m officially lost now. This bet was silly. I can’t even remember what you’ll win.” Dick says, pleasure slipping from his face and confusion taking over. Jason’s trying to play it cool, but he can feel the desperation he’s been keeping pushed right down all week, bubble to the surface.
“Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure: Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch you taught me but while-ere?” Jason pulls away, sits up, runs his hands through his hair, trying to will Dick into remembering.
“Really, not getting it, Sorry Jay. But you make me happy too.” Dick apologises. The worst part is he does look genuinely sorry as he sits up, abashedly pulling his t-shirt down from where Jason had rucked it up with his roaming hands.
“I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; and I with my long nails will dig thee pignuts; show thee a jay's nest and instruct thee how to snare the nimble marmoset; I'll bring thee to clustering filberts and sometimes I'll get thee young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me?” Jason’s aware he sounds as desperate as he feels now. On desperation’s heels follows embarrassment, and when Jason gets embarrassed he gets angry. The last thing he wants to do it take his anger on out Dick (even if the smallest little whisper of a voice in his head says maybe this once he deserves it, he’s been better at ignoring that voice in the last couple of years).
“You wanna go somewhere?” Dick sounds worried now, which in many ways is worse than sorry. It almost makes Jason wish for the confusion back.
“That’s not the tune!” Jason grinds out, forcing himself to stay as calm as he can. He stands up, hoping that pacing out the building frustration at failing to communicate will help (although he knows it won’t. Keeping moving just means that Dick is out of arm’s reach.)
“I’m sensing that is a No.” Dick says a little hesitantly. He’s not moved from the couch, but his eyes are fixed on Jason. His gaze is both comforting and irritating in equal measures. Jason clenches and unclenches his fists trying to visualise the frustration being squeezed out of them, but it’s not really working.
“Art thou afeard?” Jason’s really hoping the answer is no, but he can’t really blame Dick if the answer is yes. They’ve both got issues about relationships thanks to the lives they lead. Too many disappointments, or worse, deaths. They’ve also got other issues that affect them, Jason’s are just more obvious than Dick’s.
“Of course I’m not scared of you. You’ve come a long way since, well, attacking Bruce. Look, I know you want to win, but is winning more important than talking to me?” The confidence in Dick’s voice does more to calm him down that the actual words do. The nervous energy drains out of him and he perches on a nearby chair, trying to decide what to say next. There really isn’t any line that Jason can use. He’s going to have to admit defeat and use his own words from now on, and isn’t that just a kick in the teeth?
Jason sighs heavily. “No, I guess not, Goldie,” Jason sighs heavily “It was a dumb bet. I shouldn’t have let it get to me.” Jason tries to swallow down the disappointment, but he’s not as successful as he’d like to be. Seems to be the theme for this conversation.
“You were pretty into it, Jay.” Dick still looks a little concerned, not as much as before though. Jason’s gonna have to be more convincing, or Dick will keep digging, and then the whole embarrassing story will come out, and Jason just doesn’t have the energy for anymore emotional honesty today.
“Guess I just wanted to prove I could go the week? And hey, I beat Damian and he wasn’t even sticking to one play! That’s gotta count for something, right?” If in doubt, distract Dick with the Demon Brat or the Replacement, it’s usually a fool-proof method. He studies Dick’s face, watching as the very faintest of laughlines around his eyes smooth out as Dick’s face relaxes and then lets a small smile appear. Distraction taken, then.
“Yeah, you did, Little Wing. Congratulations on beating an eleven year old. I hope you’re proud of yourself.” Dick’s smirking, so Jason feels a little of his nerves slip away. He wants to leave, go home and nap for a while. Pretend he doesn’t feel like a failure for a few hours before patrol tonight.
“Always, Dickie. Ah, look, I gotta get going. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?” Ok so Jason’s cutting and running, and there’s no way Dick’s not going to notice that, but right now Jason doesn’t even care.
“Already? You’re not staying for lunch?” Dick asks him, but Jason’s already halfway through the door and doesn’t stop to answer him.
Jason makes it through the front door and to his bike, without having to talk to anyone else. He feels like such a fool. Ever since he reread the Tempest a couple of years ago, he couldn’t help but feel the parallels between Bruce, Dick and himself and Prospero, Ariel and Caliban. It’s not even a really accurate parallel, but Jason was at the height of his revenge mission, and while Jason was always shades of grey, it’s a pretty unkind reading of the three of them. Prospero, the powerful sorcerer, who keeps the spirits and creatures of his island bound in servitude with his magic. In charge, just like Bruce is as Batman, demanding obedience, and punishing when he doesn’t receive it. Ariel the airy spirit, constantly promised his freedom if he just obeys long enough, the same way that Dick yearns to be free of the shadow of the Bat, trying to be his own man, yet always finding himself back at Bruce’s side, and Caliban, resentful and villainous, trying and failing to free himself from Prospero and regain his island back, the same way that Jason tried to take Gotham away from the Bat, and so very nearly succeeded until it came time to actually confront Bruce and it all went wrong, for certain degrees of wrong. Years later and things are very different now, but the parallels are still there if you squint and tilt your head a bit.
Jason is not Caliban, Dick’s not Ariel and Bruce is not Prospero (Bruce is totally Prospero as far as Jason’s concerned.) Life didn’t work out like the play, for which they should all be grateful; Damian would have made a terrible Miranda. It makes Jason shudder just to think about it. As he mounts his motorbike, it turns out that Jason does after all have just one more quote left to say. It couldn’t be more fitting that it’s Caliban’s final line. With it he can hopefully put the final nail in the coffin that was this bet, and forget about it. (At least for a while, he’s got no illusions that the others won’t remind him constantly of his and Damian’s somewhat nerdy quote-off.)
“Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter and seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass was I, to take this drunkard for a god and worship this dull fool!” Jason mutters bitterly as he kicks the stand back from his bike and begins the drive home.
***
Jason lets the door to his apartment slam behind him, shutting out the noise of two of his neighbours yelling at each other over their mail. He doesn’t have the energy or inclination to pay attention. He hangs up his jacket, kicks off his boots, not caring where they land and falls face first into his couch. He stares blankly at the darkened screen of his tv, before dredging up just enough energy to slap weakly at his remote, turning the tv on at some random channel that Jason doesn’t care about. It’s just white noise while his brain whirls with failure and self-recrimination. He’d known in his bones that it was only a matter of time before his relationship with Dick hit some major hurdle, but he’d always thought it’s be something he’d do, not that Dick... not that Dick is even at fault here. Jason’s the one that got his hopes up for nothing, even though he told himself he wouldn’t.
It’s a few hours later when he hears his window creak open, hears the whisper of body armour as someone slips inside, and then gently closing the window behind them. Jason hasn’t moved, not really paying attention to anything and blowing off patrol. The room’s darkened, lit only by the soft glow of the tv, but he doesn’t need light to know that it’s Dick, in his Nightwing uniform. Dick moves forward toward the couch, and Jason gets a sudden burst of energy, propelling him to his feet and into the kitchen, before Dick reaches him or says anything. Because Jason doesn’t want sympathy, or comfort right now. He reaches into the fridge to grab a beer and pops the top of the bottle off as Dick pads in silently after him. He hears Dick’s soft gasp as he reads the note on the fridge detailing that stupid fucking bet. Jason sucks down half the bottle, in an effort not to spit out the nasty comment he can feel sticking in his throat, automatic defensive reaction to feeling hurt.
“I can’t believe I forgot that.” Dick says quietly. He’s looking at Jason, waiting for some sort of response. Jason says nothing, just works his jaw, not willing to blame Dick for forgetting a drunken whim. It could so easily escalate into a shouting match, Jason lashing out with bruised feelings and Dick giving as good as he gets. They’ve had plenty of screaming matches since they met. He’s too tired to have one now.
“God, Jay, I’m sorry.” Dick draws in close, flipping up the lenses in his mask, and Jason looks away. Doesn’t want to see any guilt or sadness in Dick’s eyes. (After all this time together, seeing Dick hurt, hurts Jason.) “Yes. Yes.”
Jason’s eyes snap forward, staring at Dick with disbelief. Is he really? Really saying that? Even after today’s shitshow? Apparently he is. Jason’s been numb since he walked through his apartment door, but now all the emotions rush in a welter of relief and hope. They’re gonna have to have a long talk about this tomorrow, but right now Jason still doesn’t want to talk. He slides an arm around Dick’s waist, the other cupping his cheek tenderly as he leans in and kisses the hell out of Dick, deep and slow until Dick’s groaning into his mouth and gripping on to his t-shirt so tightly that Jason’s afraid it’s gonna rip. Jason breaks the kiss, dropping his head to rest it on Dick’s shoulder.
“Yeah?” Jason’s voice is husky, dropped about two octaves and quiet, because it’s almost painful to speak.
“Yeah.” Dick sounds so sure and confident, Jason can’t help but wonder how.
“OK. Good.” Jason’s just gonna trust Dick on this.
***
ONE WEEK EARLIER IN JASON’S APARTMENT:
“Man, I can’t believe you’re this drunk on two can of miller lite! You really are a lightweight, Dickie.” Jason teases, slipping his arm down from Dick’s shoulders to pull him back against him more, plans in the back of his mind to press Dick down fully on the couch, unfunny and clichéd romcom movie that they’re supposedly watching on the tv, forgotten and ignored.
“’M not drunk, Jay! ‘M tispy!” Dick protests, sitting up and twisting round so Jason can get the full effect of his pout.
“...Tispy. Tispy. Do you mean tipsy? I bet you couldn’t even spell tipsy right now.” Jason’s more amused than he should be, but then he’s a couple of (good, german) beers in himself.
“T-I-P-C! Anyway, I bet you couldn’t go a week saying only song quotes, Little Wing!” Dick says far too loudly, for someone sitting right next to him.
“OK, first of that is not how you spell tipsy, Goldie, and secondly that seems too easy.” Jason’s eye catches on the title of the first book he sees. “I could go a week saying only Caliban’s lines from the Tempest!”
“Oooooh, OK.” Dick jumps up from the couch and grabs a nearby pad of paper and starts writing.
“What are you writing?” Jason asks.
“I am writing this bet down.” Dick’s even sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration, clearly taking his time to avoid misspellings. (Jason will never tell him how damn cute he finds that.)
“Why?” Jason doesn’t really care why Dick wants to have a stupid bet in writing, but Dick loves it when he plays along with things like this.
“I. Am. Writing. This. Bet. Down. And we are putting it on the fridge!” Dick shoves the hastily scrawled note under Jason’s nose for him to read.
“Goldie, are you sure?” If Dick’s only joking around, he’ll tear this bit of paper up, no matter how much Dick pouts at him.
“Yes.” Dick nods hard, and for a second Jason thinks he’s gonna faceplant right into his lap. Sadly, he rights himself before that happens. Damn it.
“Well, ok, then. Fuck yeah, you’re on.” Jason can do this. Jason is gonna do this if it kills him.
Dick stumbles a little on the way to the kitchen, affixing the note to the fridge with four Nightwing magnets that Jason is sure he never bought, but somehow mysteriously have ended up there. (Right around the time that Dick started spending five out of seven nights at Jason’s apartment.) Dick waltzes back into the living room, unceremoniously throwing himself into Jason’s lap and shoving his nose into Jason’s neck. Jason sighs, and readjusts Dick on his lap, laying them both down on the couch. Dick snuffles and starts snoring gently. Jason slips one hand up into Dick’s hair and uses his other arm to pull him in just a little tighter.
“Oh yeah, you’re not drunk. Seriously, you’ve fallen asleep on me? At least I have the decency to wait until after we’ve had sex to do that to you.”
***
I, Dick Grayson, bet you, Jason Todd,
That if you can go a full week saying only Caliban’s lines from the Tempest, then we will get married.
Signed,
Dick Grayson. xoxo