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Dick takes a deep breath, leaning against the stone facade of the building just to the side of the entrance. He's not sure if this is a good idea – actually, he's pretty sure it isn't – but the price of caring is sometimes high. He's still in his uniform, and he wills it to afford him as much confidence as his old Nightwing costume used to.
When he grasps the door handle, his palms are sweating. As he steps through the doorway, his heart rate kicks up several beats. Outwardly, though, he's pretty sure he's the picture of calm, cool, and collected.
He pointedly does not look at his reflection in the glass.
On the other side of the room sits his target, and he's not going to lie, a little piece of him had hoped that Jason would be out running errands or busy in the back with a delivery. But that's not the case, and Dick forces himself to fill his lungs once more before approaching the counter.
Jason's gaze flicks up as he nears, and Dick thinks his younger brother has never looked more haggard and worn down; a tail and some ears to go with the dark circles around his eyes, and Jason could practically be a raccoon. The other man's gaze sharpens, and Dick stops several steps away, palms out in early surrender.
"I really don't want to fight," the older man begins, voice low and hopefully soothing, "and if you want me to go, I will – no argument or anything. I just...." He shrugs a shoulder and runs his tongue over dry lips. "I just wanted to see how you are – if you're doing alright."
Jason regards Dick long enough and with an expression dark enough that the latter is ready to swear his pleas for nonviolence have fallen on deaf ears. When the younger man comes around the counter and stands before him, silent for several long moments, he braces himself for another right cross.
"Erin?"
Dick hesitantly cracks an eye open and rolls it in the direction of his brother. The other man is smirking, but it lacks any sort of bite. Dick's head shake is unimpressed – undermined by the fact he was cringing in fear not a second ago.
"Yeah, boss?" The reply echoes over the stacks behind the register almost immediately, as if the teen knew she'd be needed.
Which she probably did. Jason just sighs. He either hired a witch or a seer, but either way, she's kind of irreplaceable at this point; if he tried, he'd probably get cursed. "Can you watch the front?" he asks as the girl curves around the end of a bookcase. "I gotta...." He trails off, gesturing vaguely, possibly meaning anything from "go in back and kill my older brother" to "go in back and balance the books."
Sketching a salute, the rest of the teen's body follows her into the aisle. "Sure thing, Mr. Peters." For a moment she ponders adding something snarky, but her boss has looked like death warmed over for days, and his brother looks like he's ready to bolt at the smallest provocation, and she'd rather not be the spark that sets off that inferno. She thinks both men look gobsmacked when she instead simply slides in behind the register, rests her elbows on the counter, and stares at them expectantly.
Jason gives it a two-count before glancing at Dick, head inclined towards the cafe. Without comment, he makes his way with leaden steps over to the barista. He hears the older man following him cautiously. "Two hot chocolates, both with whipped cream." He ignores the raised eyebrow he knows Boy Wonder is directing at his backside, using the intervening minutes as the drinks are prepared to center himself.
He, too, has no desire for a screaming match. His life has been a screaming match for weeks. He's all screamed out. Hot chocolate isn't a screaming drink, it's a calming drink; fire places, fuzzy Pjs, maybe some s'mores, depending on whose family fantasy he's stealing. He doesn't think screaming goes with whipped cream, either – that's more for laughing.
Jason's hands shake as he takes the first mug and passes it off to Dick; god but he needs more sleep. He slides a five across the counter before carefully taking the second mug in two hands and flashing something approximating a smile at the barista. She doesn't recoil in fear at whatever she sees, so he counts it as good enough.
Wordlessly, he heads for his office in the back, hyper aware of the footfalls behind him – as well as the silence. It's unsettling; Dick is never silent. He also hasn't tried to hug Jason once, which is also unsettling, albeit welcome. Jason's brain is in no state to give the oddities further consideration as he drops heavily into his desk chair, numb to the steaming liquid that escapes the mug and lands on his skin.
Dick seats himself more carefully on the sofa opposite, steadfastly ignoring the tremors in his brother's hands that send more hot chocolate sloshing over the lip, or the weight in his gaze that keeps it fixed firmly downwards on his drink. He allows the seconds pass with tiny sips, letting the flavors rest on his tongue in appreciation; Alfred would be proud – although he doubts his brother would believe it.
Seconds turn to minutes, and the older man is about a third of the way through his drink, the whipped cream already gone with a last child-like sweep of his tongue over his lip, and Jason is still staring into the depths of his cocoa not having uttered a word. God, but Dick really wants to hug him.
"Bruce is a dick," he says instead. Across from him, Jason finally twitches. He hears something that might be a laugh – at the very least the mound of whipped cream topping his brother's drink quivers from the escaping air.
"I think that's an insult to dicks." Jason's voice sounds dead, but his eyes hold the barest spark of amusement as they meet Dick's.
Dick does laugh, letting some of the tension bleed from his back and shoulders. "Is there anything I can do?" he asks once he's settled and it's clear Jason isn't going to say more. He really wants to – needs to – do something; it's horrible seeing his little brother like this. Especially since it's his fault. But across from him, Jason is of course shaking his head "no."
"I could take him," the older man presses. He knows it's a lie, and Jason's flat look says they both know it.
"I'm sure that'll help things with Tiger."
"It'll at least give him something to do." Off the younger man's raised brow, Dick adds, "He's still lost on this whole 'retirement' thing. He can't find anything to do with himself – I mean, it's not like he planned for this. Or for a normal life, period." His shoulders sag as he feels that earlier moment of levity flee. Really, he doesn't think Tiger thought he'd live long enough to need a retirement plan.
"You should probably find a happy median between boredom and a firefight." Jason finally takes a sip of his cocoa, dragging his tongue through the whipped cream as a chaser. Across the room, he watches as Dick deflates, the hand scrubbed across the older man's face attempting to hide the lines of frustration around his eyes and mouth.
"Damian's not a bad kid," Dick protests, tangling his fingers his in hair, and tugging at the strands in frustration. "He was practically abandoned by his father on a stranger's doorstep without so much as a backwards glance – and barely a week later, his suitcases show up. That's gonna mess him up."
Jason nods sagely. "As much as getting beaten to within an inch of your life by said father, as we both know."
Dick tenses, startled gaze snapping to his brother. He knows what happened to Jason, but he hasn't shared what happened to him.
"Barry told me," the younger man supplies. One shoulder rises and falls resignedly. "Sorry if it was supposed to be a secret." He thinks it was, given how his brother's hands curl around his mug, followed by the rest of his body.
"S'alright," the older man replies shortly, "just not one of my better moments."
Jason's eyes roll at the obvious guilt, as if Dick was responsible for his own abuse. "Guess Bruce was the one who deserved that punch."
With owlish eyes, Dick blinks at his brother. "Jay, I...," he begins, not at all sure what to say. They haven't talked about that day – how much it hurt. Definitely not how Dick was sure he deserved it for his role in the deceit. He didn't even know he'd been missing an apology until that moment. He has to take a moment to collect himself, and even then, all he can offer is a quiet, "Thanks." He's not at all surprised when Jason waves it away, albeit not unkindly; his brother is still more than a little (adorably) emotionally awkward.
"Barry's afraid it'll happen to Damian. That Bruce'll...." Jason makes a weak fist, as if saying the words would jinx the situation. It's a crap change of subject, but it's better than getting touchy-freely with his big brother. He eyes said brother as the man's jaw drops and his skin pales.
"He wouldn't," Dick breathes, feeling his insides grow cold. "Damian is his son – he'd never...!"
Jason holds up a hand to halt the protest. "Look, I know I'm the black sheep, so my experience doesn't count for much, but you...you've done everything he ever asked of you, and Bruce still used his fists instead of his words. He didn't give a flying fuck if he hurt you as long as he got his way – and he certainly didn't care what joining Spyral and faking your death would do to you." He pauses, fortifying himself some cocoa before adding, "Damian idolizes his father, but he has none of your obedience. This was just his first strike. What do you think happens after strike two?"
Dick thinks he probably white as a sheet as he lets all that sink in. "Jason, Damian is his son! You really believe...?"
"I don't know!" the younger man exclaims, thankful he's holding a hot mug so he can't hit something (or someone) in his frustration. He takes a deep breath, willing back his prior calm; he's not entirely successful – his chest is tight and his voice higher than he'd like. "Honestly, I'd rather not believe it. But Barry certainly does, and experience backs him up. If Damian goes back...if he defies Bruce again...."
"Jesus."
Jason thinks he's never seen his older brother sound so broken; the older man is ghostly white, expression bleak. If he's honest with himself, although he might hide it better, he'd felt much the same way when he and Barry had had the same conversation. "Look," he says, gaze dropping, "the kid might be a demonic gremlin on his best day, but he doesn't deserve that we got."
"Let me talk to him then. I'll...."
The younger man shakes his head, cutting Dick off. "If Damian's going to stay with us, it has to be me or Barry who gets through to him."
"And you're okay with that? Damian staying with you?" Dick's eyebrows rise, managing to convey both his skepticism and his fear that his youngest brother will manage to do irreparable harm to Jason and his relationship with Barry.
Jason feels his insides twist, but swallows down the true answer. He's really not okay with it, and he really doesn't want this. He's more than a little afraid that with every jab and not-joke he's losing another piece of the person he's become. "He's just a kid," he finally whispers. "He doesn't deserve whatever Bruce might dish out. I just need him to back off a little bit." Jason's hands shake as the weariness once more settles over him like a lead blanket.
It's an effort for Dick not to launch himself off the sofa and envelop his little brother in a bear hug. Everything he is calls for him to comfort the other man. He tamps it down – wills his feet to remain firmly on the ground, his hands tight around his mug. It hurts. It hurts so much. "Jay...Jason," he says, voice wavering, "if you need me...if I can help...please...."
The younger man nods like it's an effort, pointedly not meeting Dick's eyes. Did he mention he's tired? Did he mention he doesn't want to deal with this? That he likes his life? That he was just starting to feel like everything was going to be okay once more? Of course it couldn't be that easy.
The phone on the desk rings, shattering the morose silence that had started to stretch between the two men. Jason eyes it with annoyance before answering. "Yeah?"
Dick can't hear the other side of the conversation, but his brother's gaze turns skyward, seemingly asking the heavens for patience – or freedom from the world of the stupid.
"It's alright, I'll handle it. Just tell him I'll be right there." Hanging up the phone, Jason hangs his head back and exhales loudly before levering himself out of the chair. "Got a cranky customer – gotta go play manager," he says, placing his mostly full mug on the desk."
The older brother shifts, making to stand as well, but a raised hand from Jason stops him.
"S'alright, sit. This won't take a minute. Finish your cocoa." At Dick's look of uncertainty, he just shrugs. "Shouldn't waste good cocoa." With that, he's headed across the room and into the shop.
"Jason," Dick says quietly, catching the other man in the doorway. He waits until his brother turns before adding, "Thank you." He lifts his mug in a poor attempt to obfuscate his true meaning.
It's Jason's turn to look uncertain, but eventually he nods, lips curling into a smile – tentative and small, but genuine.