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Burnley, Gotham City. 22 February. 0232 hrs.
The cranes are dotted with garish red and white lights that barely manage to cut through the smog beyond the very point beneath them. Most of the colour seeps into the coagulated, frigid air, making it glow.
Red Hood is perched on the lip of the rooftop of a sturdy building situated across the construction site, still and at ease. The sparse number of workers and guards skitter about like ants in the distance.
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and gets a cigarette out. An absentminded click of his lighter and nicotine curls into his mouth.
It’s different from the menagerie of sounds of the other districts; here the noises are monotone and insistent, clinking away at empty space with singleminded determination. The drone of machinery and yawning spaces between the skeletal architecture are easy to watch as he winds down from running around, trying to put things back in their rightful places.
A splash of blue appears in the corner of his vision, he is well aware of a gloved hand reaching for the cigarette barely pressed against his lips with careless fingers. The urge to tighten his hold to make Dick wrestle it away presents itself before Jason slackens his grip further.
Just to see what he's going to do, he tells himself.
He doesn't think it's going to be a lecture. They rarely have anything to say to each other if it's not to fight and Jason doesn't think Dick is going to start wasting his breath now.
But Dick has a penchant for surprising him while also being predictable in ways that disappoint Jason. The situation at hand isn't about Bruce though so Jason doesn't have any patterns to go off of. No dead body either. Those are familiar problems, familiar haunts of 'conversation'.
Will this even be a problem at all? A conversation?
The cigarette is tugged away. Jason lets it go. Dick puts it to his lips and Jason has to turn away to smile.
The smile slides off as Dick blows smoke his way but it's only to tamp down a laugh. Oh.
The rooftop’s concrete had been cold under his thighs, sudden gusts of wind carrying the smoke as soon as he breathed out but now, he inhales the second hand smoke, telling himself the warmth of Dick’s proximity is imagined.
"Nightwing," he greets, tilting his head, struggling to keep the amused lilt of his tongue hidden.
"Hood."
"I didn't know you smoked," he inquires, immediately kicking himself mentally. So much for being aloof.
"I didn't know you did either," comes the reply, accompanied by a small smile.
Jason's about to ruin it. "Funny. B-man saw me smoking the very day he met me. Matter of fact I never outgrew the habit." And yet, you didn't know goes unsaid but hangs crystal clear like the sharp edge of broken glass. Dick goes still.
Jason plucks the cigarette out of his fingers. "It's bad manners to steal."
Lips part around a response before Dick stops. Then, he says, "As if you'd let me have it if you didn't want me to."
"It's bad manners to not ask before you take," Jason amends, making a slight tutting sound.
"And it's bad manners to kill."
Jason grins. "Ah, brotherly bickering. Is this how it's supposed to go? Seems like a disproportionate response but I'll allow it. And anyways is it not bad manners to let people get murdered and raped?"
"Jason," Dick starts, having the gall to act like he can chastise him about this, "that's –,"
He waves a hand and cuts him off. "Let's save it. To what does Burnley owe the pleasure of your presence?"
Dick sighs. "Nothing."
"Listen, if it's another attempt to put a tracker on me..."
"Jesus,” he starts, in a clear tone of righteous disbelief, as if he was above it if he deemed Jason a target, “I just saw you and came over. Take up your Bruce Problems with Bruce."
"I would if you didn't so often make those problems yours too."
Dick sighs. Jason expects him to throw another retort or simply get up and leave. He still gears up for a fight. That it was an inevitability when it came to them was no secret. Maybe they would use their fists today or just leave with hoarse throats.
He feels like a drop of oil catching fire at the mere implication of a spark but then Dick scoots closer, long fingers hovering above the cigarette. "Do you mind?"
Jason uncoils and wordlessly hands it over.
They hand it back and forth a couple of times before it is ash and grey wisps curling in the stilted air and Jason tries not to shiver at the press of a warm thigh against his.
“Will be on my way now,” Dick says, the squint of his eyes barely discernible with the mask on his face as he looks at the hazy skyline, “See you around.” Jason loves the fact that it sounds like a promise, sounds casual like they do this all the time. He wishes they would.
“See you.”
Cherry Hill, Gotham City. 17 March. 0043 hrs.
A cigarette fresh enough to share dangles from Jason’s mouth. He is in civilian clothes absentmindedly pocketing the lighter in his sweatpants, looking for all the world a young, lonely man loitering about late at night.
Dick weighs his options wondering if he wants to test his luck and patience today.
It's raining worse than Bludhaven, which is saying something. His brother is standing in front of a closed shop, shielded by the outcropping of its threshold. The smudged, crumbling signboard reads ‘Antique Finds’.
Dick's pretense breaks soon enough as he slides down a streetlight, abandoning his roof-bound route.
His suit keeps the dampness of the shop's shutters at arm's length but he can practically smell it as he leans against it beside him.
Dick remembers to ask. "Mind sharing?"
Jason is quick, he always is, "Mind telling me why you're in Gotham, Mr. Nightwing? Talking to a civilian no less?"
"Just asking if he would be generous enough to bum me a smoke. As for Gotham, she seems to be a trouble magnet and all blood-soaked roads lead to her eventually. So."
"Oooh, an investigation!" comes the reply with apparent delight and the cigarette is handed to him. Dick could never know what roles they were playing whenever they met. Today, he supposes, they are strangers.
"Mhmm." He inhales, internally cringes at the taste, returns it and clings to the smoke because it's easier than looking at Jason. His eyes spark dark grey amidst the low lights bouncing off on the crumbly asphalt, his smile more reserved that he remembers.
Dick still isn't used to his dimples.
The cigarette is offered back again and he tells himself it won't be a habit.
"Why aren't you home? It's late and cold." The black oversized tee and grey sweatpants aren't nearly enough cover for this kind of weather and Dick knows for a fact that Jason gets cold easily– why else would he wear a jacket even over his armour?
Jason bats his eyelashes. "Is that an offer, Mr. Nightwing?"
Dick snorts and passes the cigarette back. "Maybe. Only if you want to take me up on it, though. Feel free to forget about it otherwise."
"Please, it's too good to pass up on. Imagine the headlines! Nightwing found frolicking—,"
"Frolicking."
"Yes, frolicking through alleys and doing various other salacious—,"
"Salacious..."
"—things with a civilian man. Oracle would have to do weeks of PR damage control."
"And what salacious things are you imagining?"
"Holding hands while I commit a murder."
Dick groans. "Jason."
"What were you expecting, man?"
"Not this!"
"Oh so you want to do other salacious things to your little brother—," Jason grins with a waggle of his eyebrows.
"What?! No!” Dick’s sputters aren’t helping his case but, “I want nothing to do with my– I want to do nothing of the sort."
Jason smiles around the cigarette now situated between his lips and lets smoke come out of his nose. Takes it out and points at Dick with it. "Good recovery there, almost disappointed you didn't give me the opening to call you a deadbeat older brother."
And here's the thing that makes it difficult for them to talk. They misconstrue and imagine and jump to conclusions. And sometimes, most times really, the worst part is that Dick stumbles his way into being predictable when it comes to him and he hates it. Jason doesn't let anything slide and doesn't let him lie.
His fingers twitch to reach for the cigarette but he holds back. He chooses to not deny the truth. "What can I say? I'm good at sticking a landing."
"Mhmm. It's late and cold, Nightwing," Jason says softly, "I think you should head home."
"Yeah," Dick murmurs, feeling the budding sense of warmth being snipped abruptly. "I should."
He doesn’t leave till they finish the cigarette and Jason lights up another. This one, they don’t share.
Tail’s End, Bludhaven. 25 March. 0402 hrs.
Jason huffs a laugh at the way every sinewy muscle on Dick tenses when he drops down to sit beside him. Their vantage point is precarious at best —the edge of the rooftop of a crumbling building— but he swings his feet back and forth, unwrapping a lollipop.
He pauses to frown under his helmet then sighs as he relents, fumbling with the latches of his helmet with one hand. Once it’s set aside and his curls have been shaken free, he continues unwrapping it and pops into his mouth.
Bludhaven’s skyline stretches in front of them, smoky and much more rigid, cut square at the edges as opposed to the way Gotham sprawls but it manages to look alright.
“Whyph the lonf fath.”
Dick presses his lips together, unreadable and wound tight. “No cigarettes today?”
Jason takes the candy out with a ‘pop’ rotating it this way and that between his fingers. “Irrelevant,” an all encompassing motion as he draws a circle in the air with his lollipop, “Are you not getting any of your precious beauty sleep? You’re all jumpy and look like shit.”
Almost on cue, Dick’s mouth opens into a jawbreaking yawn and it takes a second for him to settle and say, “Nah, all good. Just a little tired,” his voice is a little more awake when he adds, “I didn’t know you would be in Bludhaven.”
Jason shrugs. “No, you wouldn’t.”
The slump is gone from his posture and Jason shakes a half-smoked cigarette out his pants’ pockets to light up again to ignore the way his hair stands on end at that.
“Anything I can help with?” is intoned with forced calmness.
Jason blows smoke at his face. “Yes, actually.”
Dick obviously isn’t expecting it and tilts his head askance. Jason blows another puff of smoke out dramatically before motioning to his lollipop. “I was being all good and swearing off nicotine for the night but look at you! Get the stick out of your ass, you’re stressing me out.”
Black and blue striped fingers reach up to rub his face. “I’m serious, Jay.”
“How sweet but no, thanks, big bro. I’m allll good.”
“Why are you here?”
“Hmm? Oh, just saw you sulking on my way back and thought I would come see what all this despondence is about. Bludhaven is pretty ugly, my sincerest condolences.”
Dick’s jaw works and Jason waits to see if he will play along with the obvious non-answer or if he will rear his head and bite it.
“Whereas Gotham is just gorgeous, isn’t it? Wonder why you would torture yourself with this detour.”
Overachieving asshole.
“Oh you know, places to go, people to annoy. You should check the news.”
Dick goes still. “Jay,” so measured, so close to snapping, “what did you do?”
“Took a little test,” Jason gets up, flicking the emberless butt at Dick, finding the weight of his mistrust suffocating, “results are pretty conclusive. Rest up, Nightwing, you’re in no condition to pick the fight you want to.”
He can see Dick frown in his peripheral vision before he turns to walk away only to be stopped by fingers around his ankle. “Your conclusions might be robust but mine aren’t. Can we redo this?”
He doesn’t want to turn around but it’s Dick so of course he does. His eyebrows are scrunched in thought as his eyes search Jason.
Jason stares back blankly, taking his time as he sucks on the artificial cherry flavour. “What incentive do I have?” he asks, completely sidestepping the fact that he had wanted Dick to pass this test. That he felt miserable that he had failed.
Dick’s wets his lips absentmindedly and takes a moment to think before he says, “Maybe none. I’m asking for a chance.”
Jason shakes his ankle free, biting the candy off the stick and chewing as puts the helmet on back again. He laughs, disbelieving and bitter. “Oh, look at that. Some days he wants me to bum him a smoke and today he wants a chance,” maybe next he would ask for his still beating heart on a platter, not knowing it’s his too; he squats in front of him, “Dick, be honest, would the person you believe me to be give anyone a chance? What does it say that you’re asking for it now?”
“Maybe I just don’t like being wrong.”
Jason’s heart picks up like it’s trying to beat out his ribs but he forces himself to stay bound to reality instead of giving in to something as repugnant as hope. “Maybe?”
Dick purses his lips. “I know I don’t like being wrong.”
“You should check the news, Nightwing.”
“What will I find, Hood?”
“Five blocked shipments of smuggled arms at West Docks.”
Dick gets up but before he gets the grapple gun out he asks, “What incentive did you have?”
“They were headed for Gotham,” he does a thumbs-down gesture, “Yucky.”
The way his lips quirk up at that is all amused warmth and Jason thinks something is wrong with them both.
Iceberg Lounge, Coventry, Gotham City. 4 April. 2215 hrs. An overheard conversation.
“— ard, what a pleasant surprise.”
“You couldn’t sound any less excited if you tried, Peter.”
A genuine sounding laugh. “What brings you here?”
“Everyone’s raving about this place. Wanted to see what all this fuss was about. West Port’s club got a huge raid last week, so bar hopping in Bludhaven is a bit tough at the moment.”
“Sounds awful but I hope we meet your expectations. I have heard dreadful things about Bludhaven’s hospitality so I breathe easier knowing the bar is low.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too.”
This seems to prompt a wide curl of the lips.
Smiles are usually lost between throbbing lights and all the distractions. This is one brazen, delighted and has eyes on it like irises harbour a camera strong enough to burn into retinas.
“Aw, come on. You know what? Drinks are on us.”
“I will settle for a cigarette.”
“That what the raid was for?”
“Amongst other things.”
“Mhmm, we have a permit here, don’t worry. Get yourself a seat—,”
A broad palm lands on Peter’s bicep. “Hey, it’s pretty loud in here. I wanted to talk.”
The music pounds painfully loud between the pause.
“Of course.”
Old Gotham District, Gotham City. 20 April. 0429 hrs. After a gruelling night of finally closing the weapon smuggling case Jason had first started dealing with back in March.
Jason’s safehouse is sparse, neat [to the point that Dick takes a mental note to spend a day cleaning his own apartment] and best of all, has hot water.
“I could kiss you right now,” Dick says with feeling, hastily stripping away his uniform and armour.
Jason laughs under his breath, sitting adorably on the ground, beside the sole bed in the apartment, slowly working his way through his holsters and straps of his boots. “Not before you’ve showered.”
Dick peels his boxers off, waddling towards the shower cubicle, naked and sore. “You say that like you don’t stink too.”
“You stink and you’re a nudist. I’m winning this round.”
Dick replies but he’s a little too focused on the warm stream of water melting every bit of tension from him for him to be intelligible.
“Stop garbling at me,” his little brother chastises, smiling, “I can’t believe you left the door open just so you could argue.”
“Who carreessss. It’s like the showers in the Cave or the Titans Tower. I didn’t take you for a prude.”
“Well, I was the only one using the cave showers because Bruce always went straight to the computers.”
A little bit of Dick’s sleepiness subsides when Jason steps into the bathroom in his boxers, absentmindedly reaching for the cabinet above the sink. The number of bruises on him are par for the course for their profession but the glaring cut across the back of his hand is what gets Dick’s attention.
“Little wing?”
“Mhmm?”
“You had your gloves on, didn’t you?”
“Oh yeah, I did, got this when I was out of suit. There was a mugging, the fucker was fast.”
“And?”
Jason looks up at that. Dick forces his eyes away from the curl hanging loosely over his forehead. “What?”
“The ‘fucker’ may have been fast but so are you. What exactly happened?”
“Maybe I just fucked up. That’s what you think, right?”
“Don’t get defensive,” Dick glares at him, blowing a raspberry to dispel the water pooling into his mouth, “Why do you think I’m asking you?”
“Really generous of you, Dickolas. Why does it matter?”
“If it’s so inconsequential you can just say it.” Dick scrubs the last remaining bits of soap off of himself before stepping out and standing there as the water tipped down from his fingertips. “Uh. Towel? Then maybe you can sit down and I can patch that up for you. Properly.”
Jason rolls his eyes and reopens the cabinet. “I have it handled.” A towel is thrown at him. “There was a kid, he got spooked when he saw the knife. I got distracted.”
“And you just couldn’t have just said that for some reason.”
“Only for you to tell me that’s a dumb mistake given how often we have to handle sensitive situ—,”
“Jay. Did I say anything like that?”
“Whatever. I don’t really have clothes stashed here since this is a relatively newer place, you will have to make do with the sheets until you need to leave.”
“Fine by me,” Dick shrugs, meaning it because the only thing on his to-do list was to sleep. “I’m not driving back to Bludhaven tonight anyway.” He wraps the towel around his waist, reaches for the ball of cotton in Jason’s hands, gently clasping his wrist to turn his hand this way and that to examine the cut. “Hmm, pretty shallow. Just needs cleaning and ointment.”
A deadpan look. “I know. I told you I have it handled.”
“Easier when I do it, it’s awkward doing it with one hand,” a little wriggle of his fingers, “I can use both and you can relax.”
Jason makes a ‘by all means’ gesture and stays still as he works to clean it. The skin is pale and paperthin, swollen at edges of the cut, an angry shade of red. There are hints of his veins starkly visible and he can’t help brush a thumb before he lets go.
“There we go. You can put the ointment after—,”
“Yeah, yeah, stop fussing,” Jason mutters, half-hearted at best. “And close the door, please.”
Cotton swabs disposed and kit carefully placed back in its place Dick closes the door behind him. It’s quiet for a moment before he can hear the shower turn on. Seconds slide by as he stares at all the knives and guns neatly placed near big, black boots. He wants to count and catalogue. He wonders if any of those blades are poisoned and Jason is waiting for him to make a mistake.
Dick takes an elongated breath. After that night in Tail's End, he knew better than to make assumptions when it came to Jason.
His phone vibrates on the bed with a cheerful ping and he leans over it to tap at the screen and check.
Tim: hey u free?
He weighs his options, patting Jason's pants till his hands hit the rectangular shape of a cigarette pack. Couple of more pats later, he finds the lighter too.
After a minor scuffle with the window latch, the night air flowing in, he lights up.
Me: yea whats up
Tim: dami’s been a little down
Tim: we were hoping you would come around this weekend
Me: just for dami?
Me: i will be there to pick him up
Tim: ok FINE you better get your ass here
Me: so demanding
Tim: you know it.
Tim: its just
Tim: been a while you know?
Me: yeah
Me: im busy saturday
Me: will come visit sunday ok?
Me: you back from san fran?
Tim: yea sounds good
Tim: will be back tomorrow evening!
Tim: how r u btw? everything going good? u were working a case across blud & gotham right??
Me: yeah, just got done with it
Tim: hell yea
Tim: get some rest, one track mind wonder
Tim: that sounded better in my head
Me: LMAO
Tim: but im serious u should rest up
Me: dw im tucked in real tight. No bed bugs either
Tim: 🖕
Tim: i worry abt u & u tease me….
Tim: hate crime
Me: lol
Tim: i still cannot believe how quickly we wrapped this up btw
Tim: thank fuck
Me: something to be glad for
Tim: yeah :]
Tim: how did you manage both locations tho? Last time you talked abt it, it sounded stressful
Me: i have been doing this for two decades
Tim: [image] [image description: image of a dinosaur]
Tim: did u know him
Me: you call me old and yet never fetch me a glass of water when i ask. im gonna leak it to the press that you bully old ppl & kick puppies
Tim: IM JUST ASKING IF YOURE FINE
Tim: idk man even bruce would have contacted you had it been something that spanned both our cities
Tim: you don’t have to handle everything yourself
Tim and Jason held mutual, unmoving distrust of each other, so it would be a gamble admitting that he had partnered with Jason for the case but it was something Tim would have to get used to, just as Jason would have to get used to Tim being around.
Dick Grayson had plenty of secrets but he didn’t see the point in making Jason one.
Me: im fine
Me: and i did have help. no worries
Tim: last time u told me that u had 2 broken ribs u were hiding
Tim: oh you did have the titans involved? because i mean i ran into helena here & everyone else is occupied in gotham last i checked something to do with calender man & a magician??
Alright. Here we go, Dick thought.
Me: i don’t even want to know
Me: and no not titans
Tim: dick
Me: yes
Tim: dont tell me you owe slade a favour
Me: I DO NOT WTF!!!!!
Me: it was friend :] not crusty fossil
Tim: says the crusty fossil
Me: fuck you
Me: jason helped
Tim: oh
The bathroom’s door opens, wisps of steam escaping as Jason stepped out. His skin was rubbed pink in some places, droplets rolling down his curls to his face and back.
The room is small, as is the case for most of their safehouses, and it doesn’t take more than two steps for him to hover over Dick and peer at his phone. “Everything alright? You seem tense.”
“Nah, just tired. Those assholes hit really hard.”
The answering laugh is small and tired but warm and Dick wants to lean into it. “Yeah, they did.”
Ping.
Jason extends his palm and Dick places the cigarette between his fingers. When Dick asks for it again, Jason bats his hand aside and places it against his lips. “Just take it the next time.”
“I thought I was supposed to ask.”
Jason blinks languidly and says, “Consider this blanket permission.”
Dick looks around the room like he was not about to choke on the smoke. “We can set up a mattress or extra blankets on the ground—,”
“Dude? There’s a bed,” Jason appraises it with a careful air, “Small but we could both fit.”
Ping.
“Yeah, we could manage but, you know….”
“What?” Grey eyes light up as his dimples appear. “Dickie, I can’t believe you called me a prude.”
Dick levels a flat look at him. “Where’s the blanket.”
Ping.
“Pick the mattress up.”
He gets to his feet and finds the handle under the mattress, hefting up the wooden panel under which there was a big, heavy blanket… and more weapons. “Tracks that you don’t have clothes here but guns.”
“Okay, B-man, it’s bedtime.”
Dick shoves him lightly. “It’s not about the guns—,”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Not every safehouse can be a penthouse but you know what’s rad? Not dying. So. Weapons.”
“And what? MREs?”
“Of course.”
“This is jarring to see after your apartment,” Dick points out, thinking back to the wall bejeweled with swords and the fine china tea cups and kettles he had caught glimpses of in the few haphazard minutes he had spent on his balcony.
“As I said, it’s a safehouse.”
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
“Oh my God, can you fucking mute the thing? Or just reply.”
Breath wooshes out of him and he has to admit, “I miscalculated. I don’t have the energy to deal with it right now.”
The merciless shrug isn’t surprising. “What I’m getting here is that you started a conversation you don’t want to handle….?” At Dick’s nod, Jason shakes his head with mocking pity. “Just as expected.”
“I’m going to toss you out of the window.”
“Please do. I’ve always fantasised about dying hot and naked.”
“And you had the gall to judge me, let’s examine this exhibitionist streak first, yeah?”
“After I’ve slept for at least five hours.”
Ping.
Ping.
His little wing makes a pained expression. “If it will be possible.” Ping. Jason keeps a hand on his shoulder. “Dude, be honest, who did you piss off?”
“I’m praying it’s excitement,” he sighs but it sounds unconvincing to his own ears.
“With the way you’re avoiding it I don’t think that’s going to be the case but I can pray for you.”
“Didn’t take you for a believer.”
“I’m not.”
Ping.
Dick pulls a face. Jason honest to God giggles.
“Why don’t you just call this mystery person?” Jason suggests, spreading the blanket out, before getting under it as quickly as possible.
Dick has to bite a smile.
“It’s Tim—,”
“Ew.”
“Jay,” Jason pokes his tongue out, “are you five?”
“No, I’m sleepy. Never make that cretin my problem again. Good night.”
Ping.
“Cretin. I think you and Dami made your judgments too quick. You could get along.”
“Whatever. Don’t come back till you’ve dealt with it.”
By the time Dick is done ‘talking’ [read: convinced Tim of his safety] Jason is asleep. He gets under the blanket as gingerly as possible, taking care not to touch. Jason, unsurprisingly, stirs awake and blinks a sleepy eye at him, the other hidden against the pillow under his curls and smushed cheek.
“Convinced him you’re alive?” His smoker’s rasp has worsened with sleep.
Dick cringes. “It’s not like that. Tim’s just—,”
“Worried,” the smooth roll of his shoulder makes his collarbones peek out, “right? Good. He’s still got his brains intact.”
“This act isn’t super convincing when I’m here without armour and still alive, you know?”
“The night’s still young.”
“It’s six a.m.”
“The morning is ripe for murder,” Jason smoothly corrects, then plants a hand on his chest till Dick is laying down properly. The place where the skin of their shoulders don’t meet prickles but he keeps the miniscule distance. Jason had a lot of boundaries and yeses and nos and Dick barely understands them. He could still feel the ashy taste of ‘blanket permission’ on his tongue.
“Scary.”
The hand swats at him before retreating under the blanket. “Sleep.”
“Will I wake up?”
“Only if you promise me breakfast. Already got me naked in bed.”
“We are doing things backwards. I don’t even have your actual number.”
“You don’t really need or want it.”
“I don’t remember asking you to decide for me. And what? Am I supposed to sniff out the smell of cigarettes every time I wanna talk?”
“What would we even talk about?” The sudden deep, hardened turn in his voice, Dick supposes is mimicking him. “Hey, Jason? You kill any dudes recently?” His normal voice. “Why, no, good sir.” The deep voice again. “Stop lying, B-man said—,”
“Shut up, oh my God.”
“Shutting up. I want pancakes.”
“Fine. Pancakes.”
“And chicken tenders.”
“And chicken tenders, got it.”
“You’re the best, Dickie.”
“If free food is all it takes, I’m feeding you daily.”
Jason laughs. Dick, one day, might start to get used to the sight of it but today was not that day.
Wayne Manor. 23 April. 1132 hrs.
Dick’s limbs are stretched taffy against the sheets, sore and sinking into the mattress. Blinking heavily at the too-fancy fan, clones of which are adorned on the ceiling of each of the Manor’s bedrooms, he brings his knee to his chest before laying it flat against the mattress again and rotating his ankle. He repeats the motion with his other leg before stretching his arms out.
He sighs as he reaches for his phone, contracting the muscles around his knees as he does to bring some relief to the way his thighs feel like ground meat, relaxes them and contracts again before letting it relax once more. Right under the timestamp are two notifications that stand out.
B: Care to join me for a run?
B: Alfred has a smoothie ready for you, by the way.
He hadn’t wanted to stay over but he had made Tim and Damian a promise.
Jason had disappeared into the wind a couple of days ago, after their very late breakfast and it was stupid to think he actually missed the smell of cigarette smoke but Gotham had instilled that itch in him. Being here was a reminder that Dick could still possibly be too far from Jason to be there when he needed him.
Worst of all, though, was the injury to his hipbone he had sustained on the patrol last night
Me: see you in ten
It was time to go. But he could join him for a run.
He dragged himself out of the sheets and did some perfunctory stretches before grabbing the lightest jacket he could and a pair of shorts. Each step down the stairs hurt less than the other but his muscles made it clear they were sore still.
By the time he was out, walking a warm-up lap to reach Bruce, he felt like he could manage a lap.
The perimeter trail of the Manor’s ground was scenic, if a tad too empty for Dick’s tastes. Sure it was pretty and serene with the carefully curated and maintained flora but something in the air felt hollow. He pushed it out of his mind as he matched strides with Bruce, greeting him with a chin-up gesture.
They spent some time silently making their way through the trail, keeping a steady pace. Dick focused on breathing and ignoring the twinge in his injury, pushing through the pain and letting his mind meander.
They had done this often when Dick was young and hyper-energetic with no way to regulate himself. Chilly evenings spent talking in different languages as they ran laps around the Manor. He had learned Portuguese solely during those hours.
Bruce breaks the silence and Dick acts like he isn’t startled. “Damian would like it if you were around a little more.”
“Mhmm.”
Bruce raises an eyebrow in question.
“Nothing. Damian did talk about it with me yesterday. I will be taking him to Bludhaven with me this weekend, by the by. Just wondering if you were asking for Damian’s sake,” he replies with a comical bat of his eyelashes.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Bruce says, obviously biting a smile back.
“Would it kill you to smile?”
“Pulled a muscle just the other day,” comes the breezy reply and Dick can’t help but laugh.
“Would you look at that? Bruce Wayne has jokes now!”
“It has been known to happen.”
Dick shakes his head with a smile.
They catch up and it’s an easy rhythm to fall into. He didn’t know what to think of the fact that it was still too easy to miss Bruce.
The first sign that his body is at its limit comes halfway through the trail, as a shaky exhale wracks through him. There was only distraction from the pain but no real reprieve.
The muscles around his hipbone lock up as he stalls and he has to kneel to draw in ragged breaths.
“Too many cigarettes?” It’s not an observation.
Dick whips his head up. He doesn’t know what his face looks like then but it’s an obviously unwelcome expression if the way Bruce’s face falls into blankness is anything to go by.
Well. He shouldn’t have started with an accusation.
“Excuse me?”
Bruce crouches in front of him and eyes him head to toe before he slowly muses, "You have been around Jason quite a bit recently. Maybe it’s taken its toll. I didn’t think I would have to tell you that a nicotine addiction is unhealthy.”
The gall on him to act as if it was the nicotine he was talking about.
“And I didn’t think the self-proclaimed greatest detective would jump to conclusions.”
“You’re even starting to sound like him,” Bruce points out, unfazed, because of course he doesn’t even want to think about the fact that he can be wrong.
“Funny you would say that. Didn’t you tell me that he was just like me, Bruce? Maybe he talks like me.”
“All the same, being around him is obviously detrimental to you—,”
When Dick laughs at that, he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Really?” He gets to his feet with a hand resting on his hipbone, “Cut the bullshit and say what you really want to, and just so we’re clear, the only thing detrimental to me right now is the injury I got saving your ass.”
Bruce stands up with his hands on his knees and crosses his arms. “Fighting me does nothing to help the fact that your trust and time are wasted—,”
Dick smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. To be lectured about trust from Bruce… he was starting to remember why this wasn’t home anymore.
“What are you so scared of, Bruce? You almost sound…. guilty?” It’s a confusing notion but one that Dick could pick up on. This vehement insistence that he stay away with nothing but bare moments Bruce must have caught between them is as perplexing as it was discomforting. It doesn’t help that fabricated calmness at Dick’s question is his first reaction. “What are you afraid I will find?”
“That’s an absurd question. Why do you think there’s anything about me that you can find from Jason?”
“And why do you think it is something about you that I might find from Jason? I just meant to ask what it is that you’re afraid that I might find about Jason. That I like him? And that I wouldn’t care what you thought about it? Newsflash, Bruce, I don’t. I have had my doubts—,”
“You barely talk to me these days—,”
“And why is that? Huh? And as I was saying, I have had my doubts but I’m starting to think you really don’t care about him.”
“That’s not true but we must remember he’s dangerous.”
“And? So are you. So am I.”
“He’s done terrible things. He’s killed.”
“And so have many of the criminals we save. Why is Jason so different, so undeserving? Are you even trying? Forget talking to me, I have never seen you talk to him and you live in the same damn city.”
“As if he would let me talk.”
“As if you ever just want to talk,” Dick throws back, regrets it and fuck it, “Did you want to just jog together today?”
“Of course.”
“Good job, Bruce, you almost sound like you believe it.”
“I have no reason to lie. This mistrust is unproductive.”
“And what? You jumping to conclusions is? Tell me why you couldn’t ask why I had to stop before you decided for yourself.”
“Stop whining.”
“Nice try but consider: if you need to belittle me to win an argument you might have already lost it. Maybe I’m whining, maybe I will stop if you stop bitching at every slight perceived inconvenience.”
Bruce makes that expression he does whenever he wants a conversation to be over. “Have a good day, Dick.”
Dick turns around before Bruce does and throws a, “Likewise,” over his shoulder.
Narrows, Gotham City. 28 May. 0148 hrs.
A month later, Jason reappears.
Dick knows the urge to demand answers is irrational but he boils with it, curiosity simmering as he shakes with the frustration of tolerating Bruce and the wait and worry for Jason has left him with.
Tentatively, he reaches for the cigarette, waiting for the day he truly understood Jason.
Something he learns when Jason only tips his head nearer to let him have it is that his little wing never backs down on his words. Dick wordlessly hands it back, not even having taken a drag of it.
It’s impossible for Jason to not notice but he doesn’t comment on it.
Dick pushes his luck and patience— staying around Jason is both something he wants and something he is endlessly wary of. He wants it to stop feeling that way. He definitely no longer wants the excuse of a cigarette tied to it.
So Dick pushes his luck and patience and stays as Jason works his way through two cigarettes. They discuss the bygone month and it’s obvious Jason deliberately skirts around things he knows Dick can’t stomach.
As much as Dick hates it, there’s barely anything they can do about it.
When he reaches his apartment, getting into his bed he feels both content and restless. What was the point of talking without excuses if they never really talked?
Robbinsville, Gotham City. 7 July. 1956 hrs.
Dick’s blood pounds in his ears, breaths laboured as he struggles to keep Jason pinned to the training mats.
He waits for Jason to try and flip them, to buck his hips and throw him off the way he has many times before, ready to intercept with a shin to his back to press him down face-first but Jason goes slack and grins at him.
“Got it out of your system?”
“Don’t tell me you just conceded.”
Wide eyes blink in faux-confusion. “What is this talk about concession? When did this become a match? Here I thought I was just being helpful but well,” an aborted headbutt as Dick moves away to dodge is all the distraction Jason needs to free his hands and wrench Dick’s hands behind his back, “if that’s the case, you’re not winning.”
Dick laughs as he is shoved to the ground, aching all over, shoulder blades digging into the ground, sweaty but satisfied. Jason sits on him with a triumphant smile, keeping Dick’s hands between his back and the ground. It is uncomfortable but he’s far more distracted at the boyish smile blooming on Jason’s face.
“Fine, fine, you win. Happy?”
“Uh-huh,” Jason sing-songs, “I won fair and square, don’t go sounding like this is a favour.”
“Alright,” Dick drawls, “You win.”
“Say ‘Jason you’re so cool and smart and the beeeeest’.”
“I didn’t know I would be punished for losing.”
“Wow, that’s totally not hurtful.”
“You want me to lie?”
“If you’re being a bitch again then it really must be out of your system.”
“I stopped thinking about him before you even kicked me in the face.”
“Hey, you asked for it.”
Dick shrugs the best he can. “Yeah. Let me go?”
Jason pushes his lips in what he couldn’t say was a pout [but totally was one] before he let go of his hands and slumped face-first on Dick.
Then went absolutely still.
Dick heart gave one single hard thump before he realised Jason was… was he panicking too? Or was this just awkward? Did he smell bad?
He snakes his hands out of where being crushed and gingerly moves to place them on Jason’s back. The bones of Jason’s spine brush against his palm when he gently makes a swipe; he can feel the way the rigidness of his frame thaws slowly but he’s still silent.
“Jay?”
An answering hum.
“You good?” he asks, brushing a palm in slow motions, the other one embedded in his curls.
“Wasn’t thinking, I’m just tired.”
“That’s okay.”
Jason shoves himself up and the sudden absence of warm breath against his neck leaves Dick cold but he keeps his palms pressed against the mats.
Jason’s basement, while not as cavernous as the Batcave, is still huge and every little sound echoes. He breathes in with his eyes closed, listening to the way Jason rummages through the duffle bag dumped on the sofa on the other end of the training area.
When he opens his eyes, Jason has drawn nearer with a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He holds the pack out to him but everything inside Dick rejects it. He shakes his head and Jason retracts his hand but asks, “Not in the mood?”
“You know I don’t smoke, Jay.”
“You do with me.”
‘Yeah, with you’, he doesn’t say, can’t say, so he settles on a shrugged out, “Not a habit I can afford.”
Jason accepts that answer without question and pockets the pack before sitting down across him. “Gonna tell me why you came in like a tornado with muscles today?”
Dick sighs. “Nothing really. Bruce can be just—,” he cuts himself off, feeling uncomfortable confiding in Jason, especially about Bruce of all people. Their relationship was strained as it was, they didn’t need Dick making things worse.
“What’s he bothering you about?”
“Just being a hypocrite.”
“So, just the usual.”
“Well,” Dick starts, “he isn’t usually—,”
Jason holds a hand up. “I keep forgetting you’re, like,” the hand makes a vague gesture before slumping down with an air of defeat and Dick can’t understand what exactly is upsetting him, “his most fervent believer or whatever.”
“He isn’t a god.”
“Go tell him that. He seems to believe it, and seems to act like it.”
Dick can feel his face fall flat as he sits up. “And what? I’m his pet? Is that what—,”
Jason blinks back, unhurried and detached. “Never said so. I’m just saying you treat his word like gospel. Am I wrong?”
He laughs, air slicing through his throat at the sharpness of it. “Really? You want to go there? Did you forget why you were Robin?” It should feel satisfying but all Dick feels is scared. Scared that he’s gone and ruined it.
Jason however, inhales and exhales and Dick gets a whiff of secondhand smoke before he hums, “Aha, touche, but you both moved past that little spat.”
“You guys can too—,”
“This isn’t about me and Bruce.”
“Just hear me out—,”
Jason cuts him off with a, “No, thanks.”
Dick clenches his jaw. “Let’s change the topic.”
“Fine by me but how long will we avoid it?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk.”
Jason scoffs. “You say that you like you do?” A lazy finger points at him as Jason pulls another cigarette out, “Don’t act like you didn’t deliberately divert the conversation.”
“There’s nothing to say. You know how he is. That’s all.”
Jason spreadeagles on the mat and lets his head fall aside to stare at him before he grins. “Do I know?”
Dick opens his mouth and shuts it. He hadn’t expected the earnestness in his voice.
“What?”
“How would I fucking know, man? I don’t recognize that man. Maybe it’s because the three years I spent with him was because he had a fight with a certain someone and he needed someone to keep him entertained so whatever version I got of him—,”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Calling yourself a liar? I can show you the footage. I got both audio and video here, Dickiebird.”
“I never called you entertainment— No, no, let me finish. That was not the fucking point. I meant to say that things between us have not always been easy. We have had our disagreements and he can be difficult at times but. That doesn’t mean he’s any less,” important, “... anything lesser to me.”
“Okay, good for you,” he breathes in deep, finally sounding to start even the tiniest bit affected and Dick shouldn’t feel the pinprick of warmth in his chest then but he does— he hated seeing Jason guarded, the monotone didn’t suit him, “but why then do you feel the need to get so defensive on his behalf then? Are you the only one who can disagree with him? Is that, what? A privilege handed solely to you? Newsflash, Dick, that’s not how it works.”
“That’s not what I’m saying—,”
“No, that’s exactly what you act like, Dick. You get mad when I call you his good little soldier but the very second anyone criticises him you act as if the very notion of it is blasphemous.”
“That’s—,”
“No, listen, you don’t get to do this not knowing how it sounds. You’re his son, you get to disagree and fight and come back home. You know what I was to him? Tell me,” his voice pitches dangerously low and Dick isn’t scared but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t breathless, “did you see the case he had up in the Cave? Huh? I was his good little soldier and now that I don’t listen to him, he wants to collar me and—”
We must remember he’s dangerous.
“That’s not how it is—,” Dick tries saying but the feeling of it being a lie sitting sour on his tongue.
“Oh, really? What is it then?
“He would love to have you back but it’s just that—,”
“That he doesn’t want me back. He wants the murdered kid. He liked my corpse so much more.”
Dick shoves him and Jason doesn’t hold back, swiping at his legs and elbowing his ribs as he ducks, then kicking him between the shoulder blades. They struggle for a minute before he has his chest pressed to the ground, hands wrenched back but they smart with genuine pain this time.
“How dare you—,” Dick snarls.
“Yes, how dare I die, make him so sad. How dare I be upset that nothing changed—,”
“He tried—,”
“Um. No? He just endangered another child. He let that murderer walk around. He—,”
“Do you hear yourself? First you say he isn’t a God and then you talk like everything was under his control.”
“Do I fucking hear myself? Yes, I fucking do, you asshole. Could he not control who became Robin, knowing what had happened to the last—,” at this he lets go of Dick and steps way out of arrange, suddenly smacking his forehead with a palm —hard enough enough to make Dick wince— as if a realisation just hit him, “Ah, no, sorry. It is of course my fault I died. Right? Fuck,” a shuddering breath, face red and eyes glassy, “How could I forget? It is obviously all the fault of the person who gets raped or murdered or hurt. How dare I. Plus the rich kid knew how to behave himself and! Oh and, the best part, he got this real handy Nightwing guy to guide him. I barely met the dude though maybe I was too filthy to be around, smelling of all that cocaine my mother overdosed on. Man, shit, my bad.”
Dick’s mouth works before he can think and he regrets the words even as he speaks, “Jay, I never blamed you—,”
Jason outright laughs. “Fuck that. Fuck me, it’s not the fucking blame. I was just some random kid that got killed, right? —
“Jason—,”
“But tell me, how many times has that fuckass clown managed to escape and continue, exactly? Hmmmmm. Four? Five? Seven? And while you coddle your precious justice system that you so ardently believe in, there’s people dying. Are they collateral to you?”
“So what? We just kill everyone who—,”
“Shut the fuck up, man. You’re literally just like him, I wonder why I let you inside. I’m asking why he let another kid put themselves in the same position. Are you fucking blind? Or do you think sacrificial lambs for his tirades are justified? You disgust me.”
Dick closes his eyes. He doesn’t have the answers to what Jason was asking and probably never would. “Five minutes ago I didn’t.”
“A lapse in judgement. I know better now.”
Dick opens his eyes again just in time to see Jason turn with a hand wiping his cheeks. “Jay—,”
“Please leave.”
“I just want you both happy,” he pleads but the hollow, nearly manic look Jason levels on him makes his mouth click shut.
Shaky fingers awkwardly hover near his shoulder before they drop and the sardonic grin that splits Jason’s face is too wide, too forced. “I’m happiest when I’m away from him.”
“That can’t be true,” Dick counters.
Jason’s face smooths into placid curiosity and he tilts his head, asks, “Why? Because it’s not true for you?”
“This isn’t about me.”
“And it’s not about me either because your conclusion seem to be drawn on some guy that’s in your head instead of, you know, me,” the laugh is tired, a hand coming up to massage his eyelids, “it’s not about you, it’s not about me, it’s about him. All the damn time,” the hand falls and Jason really looks at him, “Why? What about us?”
“You know I will never agree with what you do.”
Jason motions to the basement and Dick jacket on the cushion on the far end, his bike near the computer wall. “You know that and you’re here. I will never be satisfied with your methods, matter of fact, I don’t trust them at all. I know that and I let you be here.”
Dick can’t help but smile. “You might not trust them but I always keep a promise.” He felt sick that it had come down to this for him to make a promise but better late than never.
He loves the subtle clench of his jaw and the muted challenge in his eyes, it was so much better than the hollowness. “Think you’re better than him?”
“I know I am.”
“Guess we will see.”
“Guess we will.”
An abandoned church, Coventry, Gotham. 11 August. 0508hrs.
Jason holds the cigarette away when Dick reaches for it.
“I thought you didn’t smoke.”
“Just in the mood for it today.”
“Careful, it’s not a habit you can afford, remember?”
“Well,” Dick slides down beside him on the frontmost pew, looking at the crumbling altar, “you remembered for me so I will settle for secondhand smoke, I guess.”
“Poor Dickie.”
“Poor me,” Dick agrees, a smile bubbling up from his chest, “How have you been?”
“Places to see, people to annoy, pest control assignments to run.”
“I will pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Ooooh,” the slow smile on his face is like too much good perfume, magnetic but hard to handle, “plausible deniability. Smart.”
“I am, thank you.”
“Never knew you were so generous either.”
“Well, in this case, it’s just for you,” Dick admits… pushes.
“For how long?” Jason pushes back.
Dick brushes past that, choosing to show instead of giving into patterns they have seemingly sworn themselves to without knowing. They didn't have time for these what ifs when so much of their actual time has been wasted.
When Dick had realised that the time lost mattered to him, he hadn’t noticed but it mattered.
He counters with, “Why are you here? Very atmospheric but… ah, musty, let’s just say.”
“Musty,” Jason laughs, “yes, but it’s quiet.”
“And who’s the plushie for?”
Another quiet laugh around a puff of smoke. “Some kids got wind that this place is abandoned and wanted to,” lazy curl of two fingers to form quotation marks, “‘explore’. One of the boys begged his brother to tag along and of course, the little shits banded together to scare him. Poor thing got spooked and ran off, leaving it here. He got home but was inconsolable.”
“Ahh, on the way to return it now or will you head home?”
“His mom works in a bakery two streets over, they open in about twenty minutes. Gonna hand it over before I head back. What about you? Spending the night in Gotham?”
“Depends, do you have space to spare?”
“A whole separate room, actually, but it depends on whether you can get me some coffee.”
“Deal.”
“Deal,” Jason grins.
He watches the tip of Jason’s boot tap the cigarette butt to ashes. He might never get used to the sight of his dimples.