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Gotham isn’t exactly known for sunshine and rainbows, but it’s been four days, and the pouring rain is starting to feel a bit excessive. It makes no sense to be out and about when you can’t see more than three feet in front of you, and the rain feels as sharp as needles.
For Jason, it’s hell.
He’d been debriefing the cave after a particularly rough patrol when the rain really picked up, and he’d taken one look outside and begrudgingly agreed to stay until it let up. Riding his motorcycle in this weather would have practically been suicide, and no way in hell was he borrowing a car from Bruce. That was four days ago , and it’s still raining as hard as ever. Jason is going to claw his own skin off soon if nothing changes.
“Would you quit pacing ?” Tim says irritably from the couch. Buried as he is under six blankets and a heated vest, with his laptop perched precariously in his lap, it’s not very intimidating.
The dumbass had been down with some mystery variant of respiratory nastiness after falling into the harbor two days ago, and had yet to recover. He’s only just been allowed off the oxygen tank they keep in the cave, and he’s particularly crabby about it. Jason thinks that if Tim didn’t want to be fussed over, he should have told them that he lost his spleen instead of sneaking meds and pretending he’s perfectly whole and functional.
“You’re making me dizzy,” Tim continued, pausing briefly to sneeze about six times in quick succession. Across the room, Damian snorted mean-spiritedly from where he was sprawled on his stomach, drawing. Alfred the cat was perched in the small of his back, arching slightly to lean closer to the roaring fire she and Damian were directly in front of. Tim whipped around to glare at him, then groaned miserably and buried his face in his blanket as the headache he’d been bitching about for the better part of the day presumably flared.
“Shut the fuck up and mind your own, Replacement,” Jason said shortly. “You wouldn’t feel like shit if you hadn’t been a dumbass.” Tim pouted, and Jason pointedly went back to glaring out the hazy window. Without looking at him, Jason said to Damian “And you quit trying to start shit. I don’t want to listen to you two fight for the next six hours.”
Damian made an indignant noise, but Jason had already lost interest in the conversation. He considered hunting down someone else to bother, but his options were… limited. Bruce was probably lurking in his office, Alfred was having tea and reading in one of the manor’s many sitting rooms (and God knows he could use the break).
Cass is who-knows-where, probably with Duke. Conspiring, maybe, or reading, or doing whatever it is the two of them get up to when they’re unsupervised. Jason should probably worry about that, but he doesn’t think he’s done anything to piss either of them off, so he’s probably safe.
That leaves Dick. Jason hasn’t seen him in a while, and he’s always been fun to pester.
“Where’s Dickhead?” he asked, finally turning away from the window. Tim glowered at him mutinously, probably considering whether it was worth mouthing off or telling Jason just to make him go away. Damian opened his mouth to answer, then frowned when he realized he had no clue. Jason huffed in exasperation and stomped out of the room.
He took a second to stand in the chilly hall of the manor and just breathe. Despite Alfred’s best efforts, the manor was just too big for all areas to be kept warm at all times, and areas like the hallways or the spare bedrooms tend to get a bit cold. Especially when it's been raining for four billion years .
With another irritable huff that misted the air in front of him ever so slightly, Jason started walking. He’s pretty sure Dick is in his room. He’s hoping Dick is in his room. He doesn’t think bothering his older brother is worth the effort of searching two dozen freezing bedrooms.
He passes Titus and Ace on his way up the stairs, and makes sure to give them both an aggressive head rub on his way by. Ace leaned into the touch with a low, pleased grumble. Titus immediately started licking Jason’s hand, tail flailing wildly behind him. Jason grimaced slightly, rubbing the sticky drool on his pants before giving the big dog a few friendly thumps on the back. He leaves them standing in the hall (most likely on their way to find Damian – that boy has a way with animals that honestly mystifies Jason) and continues on his hunt for a brother to bother.
He can see the light through the crack under Dick’s door, which usually means Dick is there. He’s pretty good at remembering to shut the lights off on his way out. Unlike Tim, who can fall asleep anywhere and everywhere - lights on or not - and frequently leaves them on because he forgets they’re there in the first place. He knocks twice, and at the lack of an answer, pushes the door open.
Dick’s room is a disaster. It’s never the cleanest – Dick is kind of a hoarder and he’s not great at remembering to put things where they actually belong – but this feels… off. The blanket nest that usually covers Dick’s bed is tangled across the floor, and the small pile of stuffed animals he’s had since he was a kid are scattered all over. Dick treats those stuffed animals better than he treats himself – he’d never normally leave them all over the place like this.
Jason steps further into the room, scanning it for any sign of trouble. No blood, which is good. The closet door is cracked open, and Jason carefully picks his way through a toppled stack of books to get closer. He can hear ragged breathing from inside, and his brow furrows.
“Dickhead?” he calls, his voice just a tad rougher than he meant it to be. He cringes at himself, then leans closer to the closet door. “Hey. Unless you tell me not to, I’m coming in, ‘kay?” He waits a couple of seconds for Dick to say something in protest, and when it doesn’t come, he pulls open the door just enough to slip inside.
It takes his eyes a second to adjust, and when they do, he almost wishes they hadn’t. Dick is crammed in the furthest corner of the closet, knees to his chest and face streaked with tears. Seeing it is like a punch to the gut – Dick is usually so happy (or at least, he pretends to be. Jason doesn’t always buy it). It’s so jarring, actually, that his first thought is that Dick has somehow been exposed to Fear Gas. Maybe a new strain with a delay between exposure and symptoms?
But no, Jason has seen Dick all whacked out on Fear Gas before, and it was different then. He’d been loud , and he’d fought so viciously that it had taken both Bruce and Jason to hold him still long enough for Tim to dose him with the antidote. This is… quieter. Dick is curled into himself, shaking and rocking ever so slightly. Aside from the faintest hiccup to his breath, you wouldn’t know he was crying at all.
Jason eased himself down slowly, groaning internally at the stiffness in his knees (perks of being a vigilante for the majority of your life, he supposes). He waited for Dick to say something. When Dick didn’t even look his way, he leaned forward slightly, opening his mouth to say something vaguely comforting.
The reaction was instantaneous. Dick flinched back hard enough that his back hit the wall with a thud that made Jason wince. His tan skin went ashen, and he let out a guttural noise that had Jason flinching back as well.
“ No ,” Dick groaned, “No, no, no, no -” His hands were up now, shielding his face and his entire body was wracked with violent tremors. Jason immediately put his hands up and pushed himself away with his feet until he was as far from Dick as he could get without actually leaving the closet.
“Okay,” he said. “Yup, I hear you. I’m over here now. Not gonna touch you. That was a stupid move, huh? Look, I don’t really know what’s going on, but uh- I’m here, I guess? I don’t really know how that’s supposed to be comforting, but… yeah. I’m here.”
He shifted, uncomfortable, and Dick immediately jerked back again with a trembling whine. Jason winced. “Sorry, sorry.” He said. Dick’s eyes were glassy and he wasn’t quite focusing on Jason. Dissociation, maybe, or a flashback. Something had triggered him, and while Jason was no stranger to panic attacks, helping a random civilian through one or dealing with one yourself is way different than helping your older brother through one.
Jason was just thinking of something to say – maybe tell Dick to breathe or try to ground him somehow – when the door behind him banged open. Jason let out an impressive string of curses, whipping around to glare furiously at Tim, who was standing in the doorway wrapped in his blankets and looking very much like a deer in the headlights.
“Um-” he said, wide eyes darting from Jason to the darkness of the closet. He scrubbed a hand under his nose – Jason winced internally, but kept his mouth shut – and coughed wetly. “Sorry? I-I just thought- is everything okay?” Behind him, Damian was wobbling on his toes to peer over Tim’s shoulder and into the room. Jason didn’t think they could see Dick from the angle they were at, but there’s only so many reasons Jason would be sitting in the doorway of Dick’s closet, and they’re smart enough to figure it out. It didn’t help that Dick was openly sobbing.
“No, everything is not alright, dumbass!” Jason hissed. “Fuck off, you’re freaking him out!”
Dick had slid down the wall and was curled on his side, wheezing. He kept gasping out don’t, don’t, don’t , and one of his hands was curled now around the opposite bicep. Jason grimaced at the sight of Dick’s fingers, going white from how hard he was digging his nails into his skin. Turning his back on the other two, he leaned in slightly.
“Hey, Dick? Do you think you can let go? You’re hurting yourself.” A second later, he begrudgingly turned to Tim and Damian and said “Dami, go get Bruce. Tell him it’s an emergency. Timmy, either get in and sit down or get out and sit down. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
He turned back to Dick but listened for the quick padding of Damian’s feet as he scampered off down the hall to find
their
his father. Tim shuffled to stand over Jason’s shoulder, peering in. “Is that-” He started, but cut himself off when Dick let out another choked noise. “Shit,” he breathed, and slumped to sit. He leaned forward so his chin was resting on Jason’s shoulder.
Jason felt a flash of irritation, followed immediately by the very annoying urge to scoop Tim into his lap. Gross. Instead of shrugging him off or something, he turned back to Dick.
“Hey, breathe,” he said, eyeing the pallor of his brother’s lips. “C’mon dumbass, I know you know how. You’re safe. You’re in the closet of your bedroom in the manor. It’s really cold in here, maybe later you could come down to the sitting room? We’ve got a fire going, and Tim and Damian dragged in just about every blanket Bruce owns. We could get Cass and Duke to come too, and hang out in there for the rest of the night. I won’t even pick a fight.”
Tim huffed a laugh. Well, more of a congested wheeze, but it got the point across. To Jason’s relief, Dick’s rapid breathing had started to slow to something a little more manageable. His fingers twitched where they were buried in the skin of his upper arm, then twisted into the sleeve of his shirt instead. Jason relaxed slightly.
“Okay, cool, thank you.” He said. He was well aware that he was rambling, stalling until Bruce got there, but at the very least it seemed to be working. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s- everything’s alright now.”
The moment the words left his lips, Dick jerked back with a wail.
“ No! ” he shrieked. “ No, no, stop it, stop, don’t- ” Both Tim and Jason jerked back in surprise. Jason muttered a curse as Tim’s painfully sharp elbow dug directly into his ribs.
Much to both of their relief, Damian arrived a second later, one hand wrapped around Zitka (Dick’s old stuffed elephant he’d given to Damian when he moved to the manor) and the other pulling along a very confused Bruce. Bruce’s eyes went wide when he saw Jason and Tim, and heard Dick crying.
“Move,” he said gruffly, and Jason was quick to jump to his feet, pulling Tim up and stabilizing him when he swayed dangerously. He shuffled the two of them across the room until he could dump Tim in Dick’s bean bag chair and then busied himself arranging blankets and checking Tim’s pulse, just to have something to do other than lurking over Bruce’s shoulder.
Behind him, he could hear the low rumble of Bruce’s voice, saying something to Dick. Jason hated the instinctive wave of calm that rushed over him at the tone. It was the same tone Bruce used in the field when a Robin was hurt. It made Jason feel a little bit better to see that Tim relaxed as well, eyes half-closing as he let his head drop back against the bean bag. Jason was going to go grab the pulse ox from the sitting room, but he stopped when he saw Damian hovering in the doorway.
The boy looked uncharacteristically unsure, standing just outside the room and peering almost anxiously at the closet where Bruce was still speaking to Dick. His little fingers twisted in the faded fabric of the stuffed elephant he held close to his chest. Jason sighed.
“C’mere little man,” he said. He wanted to sound reluctant, but he couldn’t find the energy. In a move that proved just how unsettled Damian was, he crossed the room quickly and buried his face in Jason’s side. Jason patted his shoulder a little stiffly. They stood for a moment, not saying a word.
Jason looked again at where Bruce was crouched. He’d moved deeper into the closet, and though Jason couldn’t see Dick, he suspected Bruce had taken Dick’s hands to keep him from scratching again. He was still murmuring to him quietly.
“Hey,” Jason said lowly to Damian. “Why don’t you an’ Timbo head down to the sitting room. Find Alfred and ask him to make hot cocoa, yeah? And figure out where Cass and Duke are, if you can.” Damian nodded sharply, turning and hauling Tim to his feet. Tim made a garbled noise of protest, but didn’t fight as Damian pulled him out the door.
Once they were gone, Jason turned back to Dick and Bruce. He approached slowly, ready to back off if Dick made any indication that he was uncomfortable. To his relief, Dick was sitting up now, one hand reaching out and squeezing Bruce’s. His eyes were still slightly glassy and little shivers kept running through his body. He seemed a little less pale, but his brow was beaded with sweat and his breath kept hitching.
“Dick,” Bruce said calmly. “Do you know where you are?”
Dick let out a shuddering breath and after a brief pause, he nodded. Bruce smiled slightly, and squeezed Dick’s hand for a second. “That’s good,” he said. “That’s really good, chum.”
Jason was tempted to ask what the hell happened, but he kept his mouth shut for once. Now wasn’t the time for one of his quips or snide comments. Instead, he stood by and waited for Bruce’s cue.
“Can I help you up?” Bruce asked. He waited for Dick to nod before he shifted his weight, grasping Dick’s forearm more securely and pulling him to his feet. Dick staggered, leaning heavily on Bruce’s shoulder and letting his eyes drop shut as Bruce guided him through the trashed room and over to the bed. Dick collapsed into a ball, and pulled a pillow to his chest, covering his face. He stayed like that for several seconds.
“Breathe, Dick.” Bruce said softly. He hesitated briefly, hands fluttering uncertainly over Dick’s prone form. That, more than anything, scared Jason. If Bruce didn’t know what to do, then who did? Finally, he settled for perching on the edge of the bed, far enough from Dick that he wouldn’t get upset again.
It was a long time before any of them moved. Finally, Dick sat up, scrubbing his eyes with a low noise of discomfort. He squeezed the pillow in his lap, sniffled, then plastered on a crooked, rueful grin and said “Well, that sucked.”
Jason snorted. The comment was so out of the blue, and so entirely Dick, that Jason could do nothing but laugh, because what the hell else was he supposed to do? Dick was just flipping his shit in a closet five minutes ago, and now he’s cracking jokes like nothing happened.
For a long time, the only sounds in the room were the rain still beating an endless pattern on the windows and Dick’s strained breathing. Just when Jason was about to awkwardly excuse himself, Dick said “It was the- it was the rain.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed, and Jason blinked. They exchanged a look. It wasn’t like Dick to just openly talk about what was upsetting him. Dick shifted, folding his arms around his knees and lowering his head to rest his forehead on his arms.
“I was maybe 19? 20? I don’t remember.” Dick said. “And there was this– um, you remember Blockbuster?” Bruce nodded. Jason didn’t. He’d heard the name thrown around a few times, but he never really got the details on the guy.
“His mom died, and he thought– he blamed me?” Dick continued. “And he was hurting people – a lot of people. And he wasn’t going to stop , and I just… I couldn’t… and she pointed the gun and I didn’t– I didn’t–” he choked, fingers clenching as he seemed to shrink in on himself. “I didn’t stop her . And she killed him, and I just watched, and–”
“Breathe,” Bruce reminded. He reached a hand out to brush along Dick’s shoulder, but Dick shuddered, and Bruce quickly pulled away.
“I, um,” Dick continued, voice wavering. Jason wanted to say something, to tell Dick that he didn’t have to keep talking, but Dick plowed on. It was like he needed to get it out before he couldn’t anymore. “I went up to the roof and it was raining. She followed me and she… I was… I was on the ground and I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t think , and she– I didn’t–” Jason’s heart plummeted into his chest, and he saw Bruce’s eyes go wide in realization as he came to the same conclusion Jason had.
“ Fuck ,” Jason breathed, taking a step back. He felt sick, and dizzy, and he wanted to hunt this woman down and kill her but Dick was shaking and Jason decided it could wait.
“ I’m so sorry ,” Dick sobbed, and he abruptly lurched forward and buried his face in Bruce’s chest. “I’m sorry Dad, I’m sorry, please, I’m sorry–”
Bruce’s arms came up to wrap around Dick, and he just held him and rocked him slowly from side to side. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “Dick, listen to me. It’s not your fault. It was never– you did what you had to in the moment. I don’t blame you for that. And what she did–” Bruce choked on his words, a bit of his fury leaking through into his words. “What she did to you was not your fault .” He pulled away, hands cupping Dick’s tear-streaked face.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He said again, and Dick broke . He burrowed back into Bruce’s arms with a keening noise almost closer to a scream, and Jason felt something in his own chest snap. He felt like an intruder, and with three quick steps he was out of Dick’s room. He closed the door as quietly as he could, muffling Dick’s cries, and set off at a quick pace down the hall.
He moved like a man possessed. His vision flickered and sputtered like a dying candle, tunneling until it was just Jason and the hall. He needed to punch something. Now. Preferably the face of the sick bitch who had done that to his big brother. To Dick , one of the kindest, funniest, most selfless people Jason had ever met. One of the first people who had loved Jason purely and unconditionally.
He was so caught up in his rage, in fact, that he didn’t see Cass until she stepped directly into his path, arms crossed. She regarded him silently.
“ Move ,” he snarled, barely able to hear himself over the rushing in his ears. She didn’t – just kept standing there and watching him with knowing eyes. His fists clenched involuntarily, and he roared “Fucking move, Cass! ” as he twisted to swing his fist into the wall beside him. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she waited until his head dropped forward and then she stepped forward, slipping her arms around his waist.
He twisted into her hold, letting his burning eyes fall closed and feeling a tear slide down his cheek. She barely came up to his shoulder, but her hold somehow made him feel like he was 10 years old again. Small, but not necessarily in a bad way.
“‘t’s not fair .” He said shakily, fighting against the sudden grief. He didn’t even know what for. “He was– Cass, he was a kid . Timmy is about the same age now, and he– Dick never said anything! Why didn’t he say anything?” The last word cracked as a sob finally burst through, and suddenly Jason was sobbing into Cass’s shoulder. He hadn’t cried like this in… years, probably. He can’t remember. He feels kind of shitty about crying over something that didn’t even happen to him, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. Cass said nothing. She just held him until he finally straightened, swiping at his face and sniffling.
“‘m fine,” he said, scowling when she raised an eyebrow. She reached up to brush a thumb across his cheek, smearing away the last of the tears.
“Okay to cry,” she whispered. “Not weak to feel. Makes you human.” She patted his cheek, then stepped away, allowing him space to straighten his jacket and scrub at his eyes until he felt mostly put together again.
“Not mine to cry over,” he groused, but she just clicked her tongue at him and took his hand. They passed Duke, who looked bewildered but followed them anyway. He looked like he was considering asking what happened, but he didn’t. Cass pulled them into the same sitting room he started the night in, not letting go until she’d dragged him over to the couch and pushed him to sit. She curled up under his arm, snuggled against him.
On one couch, Tim was sprawled, finally asleep with a tissue stuffed up one nostril and a pulse ox clamped to his finger. Next to him, Damian perched wearily, still tightly gripping Zitka as he stared fiercely in the direction of the stairs.
Duke sat on Jason’s other side a moment later. He didn’t snuggle up like Cass, but he did lean his head on Jason’s shoulder and ask “You alright, man?” Jason shrugged. He didn’t really know what he was feeling at this very moment. Tired, for one. Furious. Devastated.
They sat together in comfortable silence until Alfred came in a few minutes later, carrying a tray with mugs of hot chocolate. Tim finally roused himself from his slumber, and Alfred carefully handed out the steaming drinks. He left a single blue cup on the coffee table, with a pointed eyebrow raised at Jason. He didn’t even have time to register what that look was supposed to mean before Dick came bouncing in, eyes still rimmed red and voice hoarse but with his usual energy back.
“Oooo! Hot chocolate!” He said, immediately going for Jason’s drink. Jason squawked indignantly, planting both feet on Dick’s chest and shoving to keep him away.
“Yours is on the table, Dickhead!” He yelled. It felt good to fall back into their normal banter. He caught the flash of relief in Dick’s eyes, and it told him he’d made the right call. Dick clearly wasn’t ready to talk yet, and that was… fine. It took a lot out of him to even admit he was hurt at all. Sure, Jason would like to know who the woman was, but they can talk later.
Dick whooped and grabbed his mug off the table, prancing around it to flop down next to Damian. The boy hesitated, then handed over Zitka wordlessly. His cheeks went slightly pink when Dick cooed and pressed a light kiss to his hair.
Jason looked up and saw Bruce lingering in the doorway. His smile was fond, but his eyes were sad when they lingered a little too long on Dick. Jason scoffed just loud enough to get his attention, then jerked his head to invite him into the room. Bruce could brood later. Right now, Dick wanted normal, so normal he was going to get.
Outside, the rain continued its relentless assault on Gotham and her people. Tomorrow, there would be work to get done and questions to ask and very likely many more tears. But for now, they drowned out the sound of the rain with their laughter, and for a little while, things felt okay.