Chapter Text
‘Dude, when was the last time you actually shut your eyes for more than five minutes?’ The memory of Wally's voice clanged like out-of-tune church bells in his head.
‘Specifically, he means ‘when was the last time you slept a full eight hours?’ Donna's voice screeched beside the other like nails scraping along the vibrating metal.
At the time, Dick told them to piss off.
Now, he blinked at the mirror and tried to conjure up the actual answer, but his brain trying to ram its way out of his skull made it very challenging.
He groaned and leaned further over the sink, arms shaking as he braced himself against the countertop. Stomach roiling, he swallowed hard. He turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face to give himself a jolt, but it didn’t help with the shivering. Squinting at his reflection, Dick took in his normally olive skin— washed out and sunken, and the bags under his eyes that had become comically big and dark enough to give Bruce’s a run for their money.
Not his greatest look.
He'd been kicked out of the Tower a few days ago for ‘pushing himself too hard.’ Or, in Donna's more precise terms, ‘that trying to prove himself to Bruce by juggling being both a team leader and a solo vigilante in his own crazyass city was killing him, so he’d better step back and take a breather.’
Traitors.
His body continued trembling against his wishes.
It was possible he might have caught something and a bit of rest would do him some good, but he couldn’t do that just yet. Even though his head was splitting open, his arms and legs were becoming more like limp noodles with the joints screwed on too tight, and his internal organs were debating on whether or not to do some extreme renovations through one great big upheaval… none of it mattered.
Dick had to go out tonight. He had to find that kid.
Andy Pierce. Seven-years-old. Missing for just over a week.
There were lots of kids that went missing every day, and maybe he was fixating on this one. After dropping off some thugs for the cops a few nights previously, he’d overheard Andy’s mother sobbing, begging for help to find him.
He was going to find Andy Pierce. The police were doing squat for the little boy; They were all a bunch of useless lumps. Dick was in the process of getting himself on the force to clear out the scumbags and kick the asses of everyone else into gear. He knew Bruce would be pissed about him joining, but he couldn’t stand how shit they all were, and since the whole vigilante thing had its limitations, maybe trying to change things from the inside would have a better shot.
Would it add more to his workload?… Technically, yes. He could handle it. This was just a rough week. After he got over whatever bug this was, he’d be right as rain. After he found Andy he’d rest. He would .
Dick balled his fists and pushed himself more upright.
This wasn’t about Bruce. This was about a terrified mother and an innocent little boy. This was about people who needed him.
Not the person who didn’t.
The tiny letters pulsed in and out of focus as Dick tried to make sense of them. He sat forward on his couch, going over the files spread across his coffee table for the dozenth time. Multiple disappearances in the past several weeks. Kids between the ages of five and ten, vanishing around similar times in the evening. Signs of a potential start-up trafficking ring that made the bile rise in his throat.
Dick’s eyes twitched as the pounding behind them increased. He ground his teeth and staggered to his kitchen cupboard to get the extra strong Excedrin. Twisting the cap, his fingers slipped and sent the pills scattering all over the floor. He cursed and dumped a few of the remaining ones into his palm and swallowed them dry. Not bothering to wait for them to kick in, he slid open his window and dove into the night.
He was glad to report that the hours upon hours spent pouring over those files he’d collected paid off...eventually.
It took several more hours, checking all the potential locations. Dick had thought he’d narrowed down the list. But when each one turned out to be a dud, he felt like he was shrinking while the city stretched taller and wider. It got louder and somehow painfully bright as though trying to blind him. As each minute ticked away, each swing and each jump jarred through him, sending his bones jangling like those overly tightened screws were coming loose. A few measly blocks felt like he’d raced across miles and miles without stopping.
But finally, his confirmation came when he snuck into a side room of a back-rented apartment. There, huddled up on the floor was a whole group of the missing kids. Mercifully, they seemed relatively unharmed.
Even better, Andy was among them.
The universe smiled down on him when he saw the boy’s wide brown eyes blinking at him. That was before he saw the dried blood caked to the side of his head and the damaged hearing aid. An ache struck through Dick at that, followed by a rattling pain shuddering through the rest of his body.
His meds were really wearing off now.
The kids burst into a buzz of quiet distressed noises, but Dick quickly lifted his head with a big grin. He whispered and simultaneously signed out, “Let’s get you guys out of here, shall we?”
Dealing with the creeps admittedly took its toll. By the time the cops showed up, sweat was rolling down the sides of his face and his muscles were screaming. He couldn't completely suppress his shaking, so he stepped back and oversaw the paramedics checking the kids from a safe distance until he could get a hold of himself.
While some kids were ushered off, other’s parents started to show up. Dick wasn’t sure when it happened. He just found himself blinking a little disorientedly, and then there were the fearful and relieved voices of mothers and fathers scrambling about. They dashed for their kids, scooped them up into their arms, and held them close, pressing kisses across their faces.
A different kind of ache than the ones that had been barraging him for the past few days bloomed deep in Dick’s chest. He rubbed at it absently as he watched them all.
Andy’s mother was among them. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she drew her fingers over the boy’s curls. Andy struggled back from his mother’s grip and signed animatedly.
‘Nightwing saved us! He can sign!’
His mother laughed and pulled him in again, and the tautness in Dick’s shoulders gave a brief reprieve. He stepped out from his shadowy corner, and Andy saw him. The boy waved with a huge grin and gave an eager ‘ thank you.’
Dick returned the grin and signed back. ‘ Anytime.’ Then he shot his grapple up and hooked it to the top of the building. With a tug that made his shoulders cry and sent a few dark spots spinning across his sight, he was wrenched up onto the lip of the roof.
He paused there, bracing himself, setting his feet, right when a streak of bright yellow sliced the dark of the night clean in half.
Dick veered back and almost toppled over the side again, but a hand caught his wrist and yanked him forward.
“The hell are you doing, dickhead?”
“No names in the field,” Dick mumbled automatically, pulling out of the grip.
“You accept ‘dickhead’ as your name, now?”
Dick frowned and blinked hard so that Robin would stop appearing in multiples. “You call me it enough.”
Not technically true. It had only happened a few times.
Jason crossed his arms and cocked his head, appraising Dick with a small judgy pout.
Dick straightened up with a crackling that traveled down the length of his spine. “And what are you doing here in Blϋd?” He stiffened as goosebumps trailed across his skin. If the little bird was here, the big bat wasn’t far off.
“He’s not here.” Jason read his mind.
Dick’s jaw clenched, sending an irritating jolt up to his head. “Too busy to come himself, but he couldn’t just leave well enough alone.” Trust me or cut me off, Bruce. You gotta commit.
“You haven't been in Jump City for the past several days.” Jason went on as if Dick hadn’t spoken. “Did you and the Titans have a fight?”
“Nope.” Dick spun on his heel and marched over to the opposite side of the building, focusing on keeping his steps aligned. “All’s well, just trying to take care of things here for a bit. No reason to get his pitch black panties in a twist.”
He swallowed hard as his stomach gave an eerily familiar twinge. He took a deep breath and aimed his grapple. His hand was clearly unsteady, so he quickly rolled his shoulder and muttered, “Go home, kid. Don’t do B’s dirty work for him.” Then he fired and shot up to the next rooftop.
Barely giving himself time to recover and experience the shrieking through his bones, he bolted to the other side and repeated the instinctual motions over and over, until he reached his own apartment again. The edges of his vision were foggy, and his breathing spasmed against his ribs. It only took two steps toward the rooftop entrance for his knees to give out. The stars above him blurred away as the darkness around the corners closed in.
There was a shout from what sounded like a ways off, quickly followed by rushed footsteps that cut through the cloudiness in his ears. Then the red, yellow, and green streaked back into view at his side. Jason’s mouth moved, but Dick couldn’t make sense of the words. However, he recognized the universal ‘scanning for injuries’ look.
“‘M fine.” Dick waved his hand to shoo Jason off and tried to get his feet back under him.
Jason grabbed his shoulder, effectively halting his attempt. “Clearly,” he muttered tersely. Keeping one hand on Dick, he bit the tip of the other and pulled off the green glove to press his bare skin to Dick’s forehead.
Dick cringed at the sweat on the kid’s palm, but maybe it was his own sweat. He’d had to wipe it away plenty of times that night to keep it from dripping into the holes of his domino.
Jason jerked back his hand with a hard expression. His mouth curled into a snarl. “What the hell were you thinking going out like this?”
Dick winced at the sharp tone, slicing through like another knife to his brain. “Okay, I’m a little sick.”
“A little—” Jason’s voice shook, though his entire body looked too still, brittle and about ready to snap. He threw back his head and gave a scoff. Dick thought he might have been going for cavalier or distantly annoyed, but it sounded like his throat had gotten too tight. Jason leaned forward again, his teeth grinding against each other. He cast another sweeping look over Dick. “I don’t know how bad this is, Nightwing, but you look like shit. I need to get Batman.”
“No.” Ice shot through Dick’s blood, and he knew it wasn’t just the fever that was making him shiver. “I don’t need him. I—” He shoved each word out with whatever strength was left in him to the point he tilted forward, his head spinning too fast.
Jason’s arms encircled him. His bare hand flattened against the v of the Nightwing suit, keeping him from face-planting into the concrete.
"Please," Dick whispered weakly, loathing the patheticness that oozed out. “Please don’t tell him.”
He could see Bruce’s disappointed steel gaze gouging into him, and Dick squeezed his own eyes shut as if he could drive the ever-present phantom from his throbbing head.
Jason murmured something that Dick didn’t catch, but the next thing he knew the kid was helping him back up. His arm was slung over thin shoulders, and everything got more fuzzy from there. They moved forward at a crawling pace. The wind stung his cheeks before it was gone, and there were stairs taking them down. The smell of his stale apartment greeted him, and that’s when it all faded out like the lights on the stage dimming to black.
He tossed and turned, ropes winding themselves around him, his limbs tangling in them as he tried to reach out his hands. But the familiar figures were falling, falling down until they slammed into the ground. The sound of their own snapped cords echoed out as Dick’s continued to constrict around him like a python.
“No! Please! NO!” Dick cried. “I’m sorry! Please, I just—”
The ropes tugged at him, pulling back, retreating. A voice from the end of a long tunnel echoed out. Was it Haly on his announcer? Why couldn’t he understand him? Something plush rested under his spine. His head turned toward a similar fabric. He mumbled and squirmed. Was it trying to smother him? The voice came again, and something cool and damp wiped at his face, across his forehead, and down his cheeks.
Dick gasped. His eyes fluttered. He was on a bed. And someone sat on the side of it, next to him.
“Mama?” His voice sounded like he’d been gargling rocks. He blinked at the figure, but she remained out of focus. The light in his room was low, and the outlines of everything around him were like watercolors, smearing into each other. But he could feel her hands— not soft as they were calloused from gripping the trapeze, but gentle as the cloth she held soothed the heat clawing up under his skin.
She’d paused when he’d spoken before and withdrew.
“Mama?” He croaked again.
She said something, and he realized she was the voice at the end of the tunnel. Quiet and muddled. It was like his ears had closed up and refused to let anything pass.
“What did you say?” He leaned upward from the pillows, but her hands were back, easing him down again. She repeated it, but it wasn’t just his ears. His whole head felt heavy and clogged up. He sniffled. “I can’t hear you.”
He could imagine she was saying something like, ‘It’s alright, little robin. This will pass. You just need to rest your wings. You’ll fly again soon.’
“Could you…” Dick swallowed hard, and a rim of a cup was pressed to his lips. He took a few sips of the water before he started to cough. He cleared his throat and tried to reach out his hand, but he could barely lift it from the blankets.
She probably didn’t see it, since she didn’t take it. Instead she was back to dabbing the rag along his face.
“Will you sing to me?”
She usually did when he was sick or after a bad dream. Her voice was magic. Tati always said so, and Dick knew it was true. It was the most beautiful sound in the world.
A silence sat in the stifling air. The movement of the cloth had paused before she withdrew it again. Dick’s chapped lips parted to ask if something was wrong, but then a voice warbled out. It was soft and almost sounded unsure. The words remained as fuzzy as everything else, but he could hear the tune. It was unfamiliar, one she’d never sang before. But of course it had been a while since he'd heard any of them.
As Dick’s mind sunk back down into the sheets beneath him, the oddness of that thought struck him. He scrunched his nose and wondered why it had been so long since he’d heard his mother sing.
He wasn’t sure when she left. All he knew was there was a different figure entering the room. “Tati?” He called out.
Tati let out a sigh and got closer. He muttered something soft, but Dick still couldn’t get the words to make sense. Then Tati sat on the bed, making it dip, holding something in his lap. He repeated whatever he’d said before, but Dick didn’t say anything back. The object, which seemed to be a bowl, was placed on the dresser next to the bed. Tati rose and put his hands behind Dick to help him sit up more.
Dick groaned. “It hurts.” Mama and Tati didn’t like when he whined, but he couldn’t help it. It did hurt. Every muscle screeched as if he’d been doing their routine non-stop for a week straight. But somehow it went even further than that. It ached all the way down to his bones, like they were scraping against each other to the point they might erode the edges.
Tati’s hands pulled away quickly, as if Dick had burned him. Dick blinked at the sudden loss of contact. Why was his tati letting him go? It hurt to move, but not to be touched. Not to be held. Tati had one of the best hugs, and that’s all Dick wanted.
Dick lifted his hand again, this time getting it further out, but Tati just stared at it. Why wasn’t he taking it? Why wasn’t he holding Dick close to him? Why wasn’t he telling Dick one of his stories to make him laugh?
The fuzziness coating over his eyes got thicker. The low light got dimmer and Tati was fading away. No!
Dick tried to hold on. Tried to stretch his fingers out as far as he could.
‘Catch me, Tati!’ He flew through the air as he released the bar.
Tati’s hands grasped his wrists. ‘Always, Dickie.’ He grinned with his big, toothy smile that Mama said could light up the world more than the sun.
The two of them glided forward in one fluid arc. Then their hands released, and Dick managed a double-flip before landing on the platform. He spun back around and threw his arms up in triumph. His tati had turned around on his bar to face him, but he was falling back in the other direction. That sunshine smile was just a blur on a blurry face getting further and further away. With every inch of distance, Dick felt his body temperature drop.
‘Always Dickie.’ That’s what he’d said, but something deep and dark told Dick that that wasn’t true. Tati couldn’t always be there to catch him. In fact, he knew the bitter reality whispering from that dark place.
Tati hadn’t been there to catch him in a very long time.
His breaths sounded like howling winds in a thunderstorm. They filled his head and his ears to the point he wanted to clamp his hands over them, but his arms were too heavy. Dick peeled his eyes open again. He blinked slowly at Bruce who sat at the end of the bed, a rag wrung so tight in his giant hands, Dick thought he might accidentally tear it in two.
“Bruce,” he rasped.
Bruce's sharp outline stiffened, and he turned toward him.
A pang shot through him as those dark eyes met his. They stared silently at each other. Bruce’s normally impassive face had several extra lines in it, but Dick didn’t want to try to interpret what it could mean in that moment.
“I’m really sick, aren’t I, B?”
Bruce nodded.
Dick swallowed down the desert that was his throat. “I saw my parents for a minute.” He bit his lip before it could tremble. He felt smaller than he had all night. “But really I only saw some fuzzy forms of them. Heard my mom’s voice like she was singing from the end of a tunnel, saw the blurry face of my dad like he was behind thick bubbled glass. They used to take care of me, but it’s just…it’s just been so long. But you’re here…I actually don’t know if you’re real either…” Dick’s fingers twisted into the sheets at his sides and took a few deep breaths, still sounding raucously loud. “In fact, I have a feeling you’re not. But you’re clear, B. You’re clear as day.”
His dried-out throat was closing in on itself. He should shut up now, but Bruce wasn’t really there. “I’ve known you longer. I know you better than I ever knew them.” Better than anyone.
He’d tried to pull away from Bruce, like Bruce just loved to do with him. He tried to make himself his own and yet, Dick knew he could never escape. His and Bruce’s ropes were braided together, interwoven so completely, since that night at the circus a good decade ago. Bruce saw himself in the crying boy and had reached out. Alone and desperate for anyone to see him, Dick had reached back. Then it was all over. They could never untangle the knots they’d tied. Some messed up part of Dick didn’t even want to, because then he’d have nothing but the frayed ends of his parents’ snapped ropes.
A choked sound shuddered out of him. “That’s not fair, Bruce. That’s not fair.”
Bruce got to his feet and swayed from one to the other. He took a step back from the bed, and a flash of irrational fear gripped Dick’s heart like a vice. “Wait!” His panic far too clear in his cry. “Don’t leave me! Please don’t leave me!” He forced himself up as a wave of pain assaulted him, but he ignored it as he clamored to throw the blankets off, one hand reaching out as it had so many times.
Bruce swept toward him and Dick fell back, closing his eyes as the tears slipped from his closed lids. The man’s all-encompassing hold that lifted the world from Dick’s shoulders didn’t surround him just as he feared.
He was alone.
…No.
There was someone there. Someone who was saying something to him. The voice that had been his mother’s and his father’s in his fevered state spoke again. An apology?
Their hand, a much smaller one than Bruce's, held Dick’s, rubbing a thumb across his knuckles and repeated their words over and over. As it went on, Dick thought it might have been a plea of some kind. He drifted off to the soft words. Even though it wasn’t one of his mom’s forgotten lullabies, or one of his dad’s hazy smiles, or the far too familiar hold of Bruce Wayne— it was something Dick didn’t want to let go of.
Everything still hurt, but it wasn’t so painfully acute anymore. General achiness and flickers of hot or cold rolled over his body, but he didn’t feel like he was drowning in it.
Dick opened his eyes and took in his dark bedroom. His gaze automatically went to the cracked door that gave off a fluorescent glow from the hallway. It shone a stripe of light over his laundry scattered all over the floor. He rolled his shoulders and pushed the blankets down that were tucked right under his chin and found himself wearing a ragged t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
How in the hell had he managed to get himself here?
He cast his mind back to retrace his steps. He’d been outside, the cold slipping under his suit, biting beneath his skin. The lights from the cop cars had been blaring in his eyes. Parents had been doting on their lost kids… He’d left them and then Robin had shown up. Dick had snapped at him, and left him too, but then… Dick had collapsed. Right out in the open.
He lurched upright and gasped as the pain sharpened again. His vision swam and dizziness whirled around his head. Hands suddenly pressed against his shoulders, practically shoving him back into the mattress.
“You idiot!” A cracked, pubescent voice shrieked in his ear.
Dick winced as the pitch caused another spike to his head.
The kid leapt back. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But you are.”
Dick rubbed at his temples. “Jason?”
Jason's tense frame went lax. Lines that should never be set so deep on someone so young smoothed away. Color filled his starkly pale face as his eyebrows lifted and his expression softened. “Yeah,” he said in a voice that matched his gentle features. “It’s me, Dickiebird.”
Dick’s eyes widened as something warm tickled inside his chest. He blinked fast and tore his gaze away. He cleared his throat. “I think I prefer that to ‘dickhead,’” he mumbled to the ceiling.
“Unfortunately, you’ve been too much of a ‘dickhead’ to be called much else.” Jason thumped down on something that Dick recognized the creak of. He glanced back over and saw one of his rickety chairs from his kitchen. Then he noticed something else.
“Are you wearing my Gryffindor hoodie?”
Jason crossed his arms, showing the rolled up sleeves to prevent them from swallowing his hands. “It was the only clean one I could find in this dump. And really? Gryffindor? Are you seriously that basic?”
Dick did a scan over him and saw his sweatpants on Jason too, the bottoms also cuffed. If he had to guess, the waist was also probably rolled a few times to match the rest.
He arched an eyebrow at Jason.
Jason blew out a breath. “I just wanted to get out of the suit. It can get itchy after a while.”
Dick adjusted his position in the bed and felt something pop. He ignored it. “How long have I been out?”
Jason’s hands tightened on the baggy jacket. “Too long.” He pulled his legs up onto the chair with him, curling his knees to his chin. “I should’ve called an ambulance with how high your fever was.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.” Dick remembered the embarrassing bout of begging he’d done before he’d gone down. “Thanks for not calling… anyone.”
Jason clenched his jaw. “What exactly were you planning on doing if I hadn’t shown up?”
“Gone to bed myself, I guess.”
His lip curled, and his eyes flashed. “How would you have managed to stand on your feet long enough to get there?”
Dick looked away again. “I might have just needed to take a quick power nap on the roof, and then I’d get there.”
That tight scoff of his returned in full force. “Fine. Then what, Dick?”
“What do you mean?”
The long silence gradually brought Dick’s eyes back to Jason. Surprisingly, there was no glare to meet him. There was something far worse. It was close to pity, mixed with too much understanding. But most of it was that same look he’d given him when Dick had first woken up.
It was too soft. It was too warm. It was just like…
Dick’s chest felt heavy, and he licked his lips. “I had to do it,” he said. “I had to. There was a kid. A little kid. There were a whole bunch of them. They needed help.”
Jason sighed, “But you didn’t think to call the Titans?”
“They’re busy.”
Dick waited for him to ask about calling in Batman. Instead a small, exasperated smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I guess Gryffindor does fit you. Reckless and stupid.”
Dick let out a breath as that far too tender look faded away. “I personally prefer brave and loyal.”
Jason shook his head and put his feet back on the ground. He stood, and a completely ridiculous trill of fear passed over Dick. He wanted to throw his hand out to stop him from going, but he twisted his fingers in the blankets instead.
Jason leaned over and grabbed a chipped bowl from the bedside dresser. “I gotta go reheat this. I’ll be right back,” he said and slipped out.
Dick threw his arm over his eyes and chuckled in dumb relief. Maybe Jason's ‘stupid’ observation of him wasn’t so off the mark.
Just like he said, the kid came back before long. He sat again and held the now steaming bowl, scooping up a spoonful of broth as though he were going to feed him like a toddler.
Dick pulled a face and eased himself up into a sitting position, propping his pillow against his back. Then he held out his hands to take the food.
Jason pulled the bowl closer to himself. “You’re going to spill it all over yourself.”
“You have so little faith in me.” Dick pouted.
“Yep.”
“I’m not a three-year-old.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Dick made to swoop forward and snatch the bowl, but had to bite back a gasp as his muscles seized with the pain rocketing through his body again.
“Hey!” Jason put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back. “Fine, I’ll let you feed yourself. Just sit still, for goodness sake.”
Jason put the bowl, wrapped in a dish towel as a makeshift hot-pad, in his lap.
Dick picked up the spoon and blew softly at the steaming chicken broth. His hand trembled, but only a little as he brought it to his lips. The spices danced over his tongue and his eyes widened. It had paprika. His mom put it on everything. He glanced up at Jason. “You put paprika in this.”
“Well, you put it on everything.” He shrugged without meeting Dick’s eye. “You put it in your spaghetti when you came to the manor that one time, and your casserole you made for me when Bruce and Alfred were out of town. I bet you even put it on your cereal when nobody’s watching.”
For the first time that night, Dick grinned genuinely. He almost chuckled when Jason looked away even harder. He kept his smile as he scooped up another spoonful, letting the warmth fill him. He’d been worried about eating at all, but it actually helped settle his queasy stomach a bit. Unfortunately, he was only able to get down half before setting it aside.
Jason grabbed a cup of water from the side dresser and butted it against Dick’s fingers. “Drink this too. Your fever got you real dehydrated.”
Dick sighed but took the glass. “Where’d you become such a good caretaker, Jay?” He took a few sips, but then realized Jason wasn’t speaking. He lowered the cup again and saw him staring at the opposite wall, face pale.
“My mom,” Jason said.
Dick’s eyes didn’t move from him. Jason was from the streets, but he’d had parents before that. Admittedly, Dick didn’t know the gory details, but he knew they were gone too. At least his mom had—
“She’d come home sick from all the shit she’d scored.” Jason’s voice came out as distant as his gaze. “She’d take so much some nights, and I had to get her to throw it up. Or I’d have to stay up and make sure she didn’t aspirate on it. She’d be so shaky and weak, I thought she might just… break.” His words came slow and almost robotic, and they didn’t stop. “There were times she’d yell or laugh so hard she fell over and I had to carry her to bed. Or when she was scared out of her mind, rambling on and on about things I didn’t understand, waking up screaming. But the worst times were when she’d say everything was going to be okay. It was a lie. A lie I believed over and over and—” Jason flinched when Dick’s fingers brushed against his wrist.
Dick jerked back at his reaction, more guilt adding to the vat churning what little soup he’d managed to swallow.
He remembered how Jason’s mother had died now, and that made Dick feel the worst over everything else that night.
A deep flush darkened over Jason’s spray of freckles. His eyes went shiny and he whipped his head away. The lines of his body were taut and wound, ready to bolt.
Dick worried at his lip, knowing there weren’t the right words in him at that moment, but needing to say something. “You did good, Little Wing,” is what came out. “You did good.”
Some of the tension slipped from Jason’s shoulders. He nodded and scrubbed hurriedly under his nose. Slowly he turned back again, though he still didn’t meet Dick’s eyes. His body curled into a ball on the old chair. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me, dickface. She was a good mom, alright. It wasn’t like that all the time.”
Dick nodded.
“During bad nights, something that would be good for both of us was when I’d get an old basin tub of ours and wash her hair with warm water.” His face smoothed out, and the distant look went from pained to wistful. “Her hair was soft. She’d calm down and I would too. Then, the next day she’d make my favorite breakfast and we’d go see a movie or something.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Yeah.” Jason rubbed at his eye. “It was.”
They sat quietly for several minutes.
“My mom used to sing to me,” Dick eventually said.
Jason gave a small smile. “Mine too.”
Again silence surrounded them, but it wasn’t quite as stifling. Dick didn’t even realize he’d drifted off in it until he felt a short buzzing vibration against his leg and had to peel his eyes open. His mouth was dry again, and he reached for the cup at the side table, only to find it empty.
A light snore brought Dick’s gaze over to Jason, curled up like a cat on his uneven kitchen chair. Eyes closed, limbs slack, drool beeding at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head, eyelids fluttering, and burrowed himself deeper into the Gryffindor jacket. The red hood of it slipped down to cover more than half his face.
Dick’s lips quirked up. He wished he knew where his camera was. It was an excellent blackmail opportunity. But that thought quickly faded as he caught sight of the shadows under his eyes.
He was just a kid, taking care of grown-ass adults. His mother. Bruce, of course. As Robin, it’s just what you did. You took care of Batman above anything else. And now… now here he was taking care of Dick.
How many hours had Jason stayed up with him in this sorry state?
Dick slammed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palms into them until it hurt to go further. He almost let out a groan but bit it back.
His throat cried out for water, and Dick carefully pushed himself into a sitting position again. He could get his own water and let Jason actually get some sleep (even though it couldn’t be comfortable on that dumb, old chair.)
He quietly removed the blankets, damp from his sweat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. He really needed a shower. He slid his legs over the side, ignoring his body’s aching protests.
A buzz sounded, and Dick felt it through the quilt beneath his hand. He moved the blanket back to see a phone— not his— lighting up as a text came in.
Without the quilt over top it, it buzzed louder as it lit up, now with an incoming call.
Dick grasped it and pressed the hang-up button quickly, but he saw who it was. Keeping the phone in his rigid grip, he pushed himself to his feet and actually managed to stay upright. He crept, not as gracefully as he’d like, from the room and out into the hall.
Once he was in the kitchen, he leaned heavily on the counter and scrolled shamelessly through the overly formal texts from Bruce.
12:36AM
Your signal has reached Bludhaven. Don’t engage with anyone unless you must.
1:03AM
You don’t have to speak to him if he doesn’t want it.
He may not even be there.
1:21AM
If he is in need of any assistance, report to me immediately.
These all had minorly annoyed responses to them, but then they stopped and Bruce’s texts changed too.
3:07AM
You’re at his apartment and have not left that location for two hours.
3:26AM
You haven’t responded. I need a response.
3:51AM
Do not go dark. This is important.
4:02AM
You said you wished to do this on your own, but I will come get you if I must.
4:08AM
I know you said you wanted to do this. You didn’t say it, but I know you did it for me. You are a kind boy, Jason, but I need you to talk to me. I need to know that you’re safe too.
4:13AM
Answer your phone.
4:16AM
You are to report back immediately. I’m not leaving room for debate. You will get no patrol for a month. It will be longer if you don’t answer your phone this instant.
There were 14 missed calls that had probably been sprinkled between all of these. But it was the unsent text from Jason, just sitting at the bottom of the screen that really speared through Dick.
He’s not ok. I need to call you. I want to call you. I don’t know what to do. I’m just sitting here, staring at him, and he’s a mess. He’s so sick. He keeps calling out for people that aren’t me. I know it’s not me he needs. It’s you, B. He needs you, but he keeps fighting it. You two are the same, and I’m damn sick of it. I
It was a vent text, one that Dick knew Jason had never intended to send from the beginning.
Dick hung his heavy head, placing the phone face down on the counter. He’d done this. He’d done all of this. He sighed through his sore, dry throat, feeling like the absolute worst human being alive. He’d asked Jason not to call Bruce, begged him not to. Dick had left no one for Jason to turn to. He’d left the kid stranded, scared, and all alone.
The phone buzzed again, probably with a long angry text from Bruce about being hung up on.
Dick didn’t take the time to confirm it. Instead, he took a long drink from the tap before he scooped the phone back up and took it out to the small grate on the fire escape outside his window. He leaned his spine against the blessedly cool metal railing and closed his eyes. With slightly shaking hands, he pressed call.
Immediately, it was answered. “Jason Peter Todd Wayne.” Dick winced at the full name drop, and it wasn’t even his. “This is unacceptable. I allowed you a quick check-in to make sure he was okay. You were to keep me informed. I allowed you to go on your own, but I will not be making that mistake again if this is how—”
Dick finally cut in. “So he’s not allowed to have a sleepover?”
Bruce’s voice juddered to an abrupt halt. A long, painful pause wriggled under Dick’s skin.
“Dick,” was all Bruce said.
“That’s my name…unless you’re just trying to insult me,” Dick said tiredly, his heart thumping like a damn jack-rabbit.
“Dick, are you—”
“Jason’s fine.” Dick stopped him, because he could hear the concern in those few words. Bruce rarely was so open like that, which either meant he was purposely using it to twist Dick up, or that there was such a genuine overflow of it that not even the stone-faced Batman could hide it. Dick wasn’t sure which was worse. “Safe and sound, but he’s exhausted. I figured he could just stay over here for the night...or morning.”
He peered out over the horizon that was graying with early dawnlight.
After another long riddling stretch of time Bruce replied simply, “I suppose that's fine.”
Then there was a third silence, but Dick realized that it wasn’t really. Bruce’s breathing sent a soft static through the small speaker of the phone. He listened to it go in and out, slow and steady, and wondered if Bruce was listening to his too.
There’s such a familiarity to it. After a long night of patrol sometimes they’d sit on the sofa, not talking, just breathing. Dick’s head would fall against Bruce’s side and his eyes would slip shut as those big, enveloping arms circled around his shoulders and brought him somehow closer to the sturdy heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest. Everything felt lighter, because he wasn’t carrying it right now. Someone else had him and it was okay. Everything was okay. There wasn’t any pain. There wasn’t any pressure. He just was.
Dick could almost feel those roughened hands, covered in calluses, brushing his hair back, massaging his scalp in a way he could never get enough of. Then there were lips pressing against the top of his head from the man who thought he was asleep— because Dick had purposely slowed his breathing, since B was so funny about being open with simple little affection.
But those hands weren't there. Those arms. That chest. That heartbeat. They weren't really there. All there was was the breathing. And it was through a phone, because the man himself was miles away. A whole city away.
A strained hitch caught in Dick’s throat, and a horrid sound slipped out into the bitter cold morning. The kind of sound an animal makes after being run over—not loud, their lungs already crushed. Just a small, pathetic noise, reaching out for anyone to hear it. To help it. To hold him.
The line on the other end went dead silent. But after only a few beats, Bruce took in a sharp inhale as he was about to speak.
Dick coughed loudly like it could cover that appalling noise that his body had betrayed him with. He spoke before Bruce could say a single word.
“Jay left his phone out in the other room, by the way, so don’t hound him about not getting back to you.” He paused, his throat still painfully tight, not sure if his voice came out even or not.
“Okay,” Bruce replied softly. Gently. And Dick had to fight not to throw the phone off the side of the fire escape.
Pushing himself to his feet, his knees screamed and his head spun. His fingers clasped on the metal rail, its iciness biting into his palm. “Night, B,” he said quickly and hung up the phone before anything more mortifying– like what he feared to be a mounting sob– could escape from his constricted chest.
He staggered back through the window and into his warm apartment. He’d just put his hand on the ledge to close it again when the sound of socked feet came dashing into the room, only to screech to a halt. Dick turned and blinked at a wide-eyed Jason, the too-big hoodie sleeves dangling far over his hands.
Such a small thirteen-year-old , Dick thought ruefully. He’d seen the way the kid gobbled food down like he didn’t know when his next meal would come.
When Jason just kept staring, Dick waved.
Jason’s comically round eyes scrunched up, and his gaping mouth curled into a hard frown. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Going outside when you’re like this!”
Dick shrugged and took a step forward, only to stumble. He reached out for the kitchen chair that was normally there, only to be reminded that it wasn’t.
For the second time that night. Small arms wrapped around him, catching him before he hit the ground. They looped around his waist and slung Dick’s arm over their shoulders.
Jason said a word that would have him paying a hefty sum to Alfred’s swear jar. “Seriously, dickhead.”
Dick hummed as his head pounded and the room tilted sideways. “I still like the ‘Dickiebird’ name better.”
“Then earn it,” Jason spat and guided them back to the bedroom.
Man, this kid is strong. Dick smiled. He always has been. “You need to sleep, Little Wing,” he said aloud.
Jason stiffened against him. “You are the biggest moron on the planet.”
“It’s a good thing we’re a relatively small part of the universe then.” Dick gave him a side-grin, and Jason just growled. “But really,” Dick continued. “You need your sleep too. My couch is a pull-out. I’d offer my bed, but you shouldn’t. I don’t know if I’m contagious.”
Jason arched his eyebrow. “Seriously, your brain is fried. You know I’ve been taking care of your ass all night. It’s too late for that.”
Dick blinked. “Oh, right.”
It was probably just stress and not sleeping with a pretty sporadic eating schedule that shorted out his immune system. At least then Jason wouldn’t have to deal with it.
They reached his room, and Jason helped him get settled back on the bed. He stood over Dick with his brows drawn together.
Dick almost told him to be careful or else it might stick that way, but before he could, Jason clambered onto the bed too. He pulled up the blankets and settled underneath them, but he ended up laying right at the edge, ramrod straight like he was laying in a coffin.
Dick raised his eyebrows.
“Gotta’ make sure you stay put somehow,” Jason mumbled, staring forcefully up at the ceiling.
Dick smiled and closed his eyes. He struggled to swallow down the guilt that kept running its course through him. How many times had he terrified Jason tonight? He had to stop doing that. It wasn’t fair for the kid to be so scared.
There was a rustle of the sheets with a small dip of the bed, and Dick didn’t have to see to know that Jason had turned toward him.
A few minutes ticked by, and Dick made his breaths slow. When they reached a convincingly sedate rhythm, small shifts on the mattress told him Jason was moving, probably carefully so as not to disturb him.
Dick deliberately did not react when he felt Jason nestle in against his chest, fingers catching loosely on the hem of his t-shirt as he whispered, “Goodnight, Dickiebird.”
It took quite a bit more time before Jason’s own breathing evened out, but Dick waited until the cutest baby snore he'd ever heard whistled from his nose. And it was that sound. Those small hands. This incredibly strong, kind kid that got the aching that had crawled up inside Dick’s ribs— deeper than any fever or cold— to ease.
Slowly, he curled forward, his chin tucking down into Jason’s soft, dark hair, and finally slipped into a long, dreamless sleep.