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2 months.
It had been 2 months since Tim took the fall for something he didn’t do; 2 months where Jason remained silent and never told Dick the truth.
It was something that Jason had been avoiding, though he knew he ought not to. The tugging in his stomach, the nudging in his mind, and the way his thoughts had been muddled were clear signs of distress—but he could push those away.
Well, he could... right up until the moment he couldn’t.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, but Jason knew what the night held as soon as he saw Dick climb in through the window.
It had been two months since Tim took the fall for something he didn’t do—two months where Jason stopped staring and started looking. Everything started to make sense, yet Jason’s world felt crooked and wrong.
Observing Tim was hard—harder than Jason would have ever thought. He slipped in and out with a cloud of silence, his presence was hardly noticeable—he was like smoke, stinging Jason’s eyes and escaping his grasp.
It was a challenge, but Jason had died once—he knew how to follow a ghost. He could observe without being noticed, so he did.
Some things, like Tim’s intelligence, had been noted from the beginning, other things, however, only became clear after intense observation.
Tim grabbed onto words and sharpened them into weapons, he defined himself by his usefulness, and he did not see himself as a member of Bruce’s family.
He hid in the shadows and observed others—waiting to help but never interfering without permission.
He cared too little about himself.
He cared too much about others.
Jason watched as Dick threw himself onto the couch across from him. The older man was exhausted, dressed down in sweats and a long sleeve back t-shirt that was too big for him. He was probably just looking for a place to crash, but Jason knew if the conversation didn’t happen tonight, it never would. Jason opened his mouth to speak—
“Shut up,” Dick said before Jason had uttered a word, throwing a pillow in his direction. Jason caught it with ease. “I don’t want to hear your annoying voice right now.”
Jason rolled his eyes at the theatrics and threw the pillow back, hitting Dick in the face.
“It’s too nice of a night to be moping around on my couch,” Jason said, wishing he had another pillow to throw at Dick.
Dick groaned and flipped him off.
A rock would do just fine as well, Jason thought, staring at the lump that was his brother. A pillow would be too kind.
“Seriously, what’s got you in a mood?”
“Nothing-”
“Nothing,” Jason repeated, mocking Dick’s voice as he did. “Cut the bullshit, golden boy, and tell me the truth.”
“It’s nothing—just this stupid case I’ve been working on.”
Dick was laying on his back, forearm covering his eyes, he looked like a corpse on Jason’s couch. He wasn’t moving, he was barely breathing it seemed, and he was no longer talking.
“Oh?” Jason prompted after Dick continued to remain silent.
“Yeah.” He turned to face Jason, forearm falling yet his eyes remained closed. “Deathstroke’s involved somehow—I know he, but I…I don’t know.”
It was Jason’s turn to be silent—he let the stillness of the air come over them as the words Dick spoke seeped in. There wasn't much he could do to help Dick, seeing as he was still morally ambiguous voiding any advice he could offer, but he could listen.
“I need to access some files,” Dick said, clogging up the empty air, “but…” he trailed off.
There was no need for him to complete the sentence, Jason understood what was implied. Dick needed Tim’s help, but that bridge had been burnt and Dick didn’t want to walk on ash. Jason looked up at the ceiling, his head resting on the cushioned recliner, it was now or never.
Jason looked at Dick’s relaxed form and spoke.
“Hey—do you” Jason trailed off for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to get into the rather unpleasant conversation that was about to take place. “Do you remember the Davis case?”
Dick tensed in an instant, his posture was tight, and his brows creased.
“Yeah, Jason. I do.” The words were laced with unaired anger.
It was a stupid question; Jason knew that it had only been two months since the case, but he wasn’t sure how else to bring the topic up. Tact was never his strong suit, and rapid topic changes always seemed like a surefire way to get the conversation going.
“Why?” Dick asked after Jason’s measured silence. Dick didn’t ask how he knew about the case, he only asked why Jason brought it up. It was as if Dick, not even for a moment, thought that Jason was the one who fucked it up.
Jason’s words rolled around on his tongue. He didn’t want to tell Dick, he didn’t want to ruin the sturdy trust that had been tossed his way—but Tim deserved better, even if Tim didn’t believe he deserved better.
“You know how Tim said he messed it up?”
Jason watched as the words registered in Dick’s mind. His already tense body somehow managed to appear even more tense as he slowly sat up, turning to face Jason. Jason looked away the moment Dick caught his eye.
“How do you know about that?”
Jason paused for a brief moment. “I was there when he called you.”
“Why?”
“That’s-” Jason let out a pathetic and weak chuckle. He wasn’t sure why he went to Tim in the first place. “That’s not important-”
Dick’s eyes narrowed. “Why were you there, Jason?”
Even still, as it was made clear that Jason was hiding something, Dick’s tone was not accusatory, just inquiring.
“I’m the one who fucked up the case, Dick, not Tim.”
“What?”
“I fucked up your case… and Tim took the blame,” Jason reiterated.
“What- why-” Dick shook his head. “Jason, why didn’t you just tell me?”
Jason scoffed. “How?”
The room was deathly still; Jason’s question was hanging between them, suspended in the air.
“You’re lying,” Dick said with complete certainty.
“What?”
“You’re lying.” The cold words left Dick’s mouth with little notice. Jason’s skin prickled as he saw the gears turning in his brother’s head, landing on the wrong answer to the problem in front of them. “Did Tim finally call in one of those favors you owe him?”
Jason just stared, confused by Dick’s words. Why was he so certain Tim was the one who messed up?
“Why did you think it was Tim, Dick?”
“I don’t think anything, Jason, I know it was Tim who-”
“How?”
“What?”
“How do you know it was Tim?”
“Because-” Dick cut himself off. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“You don’t have to, or you can’t?”
Dick was silent, staring at Jason with narrowed eyes, his hands were clenched into fists. Jason hardly recognized the man in front of him.
“What’s your problem with Tim, Dick? Why do you want him to be in the wrong?”
Dick’s jaw clenched; he didn’t reply.
“Tim didn’t do anything wrong-”
“Of course he didn’t,” Dick snapped. “Tim never does anything wrong, does he?”
The words were like venom, poisoning Dick’s mind.
“Tim’s perfect and always right. He was right about Bruce when you died, and he was right about Bruce being alive. Wouldn’t the world be better if we were all as smart as fucking Tim?”
“This is about Bruce’s death?” Jason asked calmly, ignoring Dick’s outburst.
“No.”
“It is.” Jason could see beneath the lie Dick put out. “You're mad he was right.”
“No,” Dick said, shaking his head “I’m not.”
Jason watched the little head movement and took in Dick’s posture one more time.
“No,” Jason agreed. “You’re not.”
Dick sighed, some of the tension bleeding from his body as he did.
“You’re not mad that he was right,” Jason continued, watching Dick closely, “You’re mad that you were wrong.”
“Why does it matter?” Dick sounded defeated.
“Why can’t you accept that you were wrong?”
Dick stilled, silent tears running down his cheeks.
It was strange, Jason reflected as he watched his older brother crumble into himself, how the night had gone. He had expected Dick to be yelling at him for messing up the Davis case, not crying on his couch after briefly talking about Tim and Bruce.
Jason wasn't sure what to do or how to proceed. It was clear that he misstepped, but what was new? Jason was constantly misstepping.
“Dick?”
Dick shook his head, curling further into himself. His head was facing towards the ground, his hands were covering his face, and Jason wasn’t sure if he needed to give Dick space or a hug.
He went with the latter, moving from the armchair to the couch—pulling his brother close when he finally sat down. Dick fell into him, his arms wrapped around Jason in a crushing manner, and his head dug into Jason’s chest. Jason didn’t move despite the discomfort.
Dick was lighter than Jason remembered. The thought bounced around in Jason’s mind as he took in Dick’s appearance.
Dick was skinnier than he had been three weeks ago when they ran into each other on the rooftop near this safehouse.
Dick had dark under-eye circles that rivaled Bruce’s during a bad case.
Dick’s teeth were chattering, and his fingers were digging into Jason’s side.
Dick was shaking in Jason’s lap, in a crappy safe house, and Jason didn’t know what to do.
“Dick-”
“Just… don’t let go,” Dick whispered, barely audible. “Just give me a second.”
Jason nodded and gripped Dick tighter.
Jason’s eyes darted around the room, taking in every inch of the crappy safehouse. The wallpaper was peeling, the television cord had been nimbled on by mice, and the windows were leaky. He looked at Dick.
He needed to do something. He needed a plan.
His eyes shot back up, taking in the room once more when they landed on something. His phone was on the wobbly coffee table in front of them.
This plan would either work out or blow up in his face.
It was a good thing Jason felt like a gambling man.
-----------------------------------------
12 minutes.
That was all it took before the answer to Jason’s problem came tumbling in through the window with hasty grace.
12 minutes of Jason holding Dick tight and never letting go. Dick was still shaking but he was no longer crying. Small things, Jason mused.
Jason dragged his eyes away from Dick, who didn’t even respond to the noise of someone else entering the safe house, and up to where the shadowed mass stood—far away from all the light in the apartment.
“Were you busy?” Jason asked though he doubted the answer was yes. It only took 12 minutes for them to arrive, but then again, maybe they feared for Jason’s life—Jason had sent out an ambiguous message.
“No,” came the soft reply. The mass moved closer, no longer hidden in the dark and instead highlighted by the dim yellow lights of the lamp beside Jason.
Dick’s eyes moved from the spot on the wall he had been staring at to the figure in front of them.
“Tim,” he muttered, shifting in Jason’s lap.
Tim moved closer, still wearing his Red Robin uniform but his staff was put up against the chair Jason had previously been sitting on, the black domino mask was being crushed in Tim’s right hand.
Jason took in Tim’s face. He never understood, when he was younger, stories where the author relied on the eyes as a way of telling emotion, but now, here in this room with Dick and Tim, Jason finally understood. Tim’s eyes were swimming with infinite sadness, they looked haunted, accentuated by the purple rings beneath his eyes.
“What’s going on?” Tim finally asked, voice still hushed, as he took one final step towards them. Jason watched as Tim made the movement, silently urging Tim to come closer. The boy never did and something about where he stood stuck in Jason’s mind—but Jason didn't know why.
Jason shrugged in response, unsure how to tell Tim all that had happened—Jason still wasn’t sure what happened—it wasn’t like Dick was going to be doing much talking either. Exhaustion had worn the eldest boy down; Jason wasn’t sure Dick would be able to hold a conversation even if he wanted to.
“Is he hurt?” Tim asked, staring down at Dick. He squatted before Jason had the chance to answer, looking directly at Dick—chasing eye contact the older boy was trying not to make. “Are you hurt?”
Dick didn’t answer. Tim’s eyes darted up to Jason before landing on Dick again. “Dick, did something happen tonight?”
Dick still didn’t respond. Jason watched as Tim went from a squatting position onto his knees. He inched forward before realizing what he did and moved back with haste before standing up.
That’s when it clicked.
The distance Tim kept and why it bothered Jason so much. His eyes stayed on Tim’s standing form.
The distance between them and Tim wasn’t too much—it was just over an arm’s length away.
Tim was out of striking distance.
Tim was making sure he was out of striking distance.
Jason clenched his teeth, eyes narrowing, and a question on the tip of his tongue. Dick curled in tighter to Jason’s chest, and the words were swallowed. This wasn’t the time to ask any more questions, lest he causes Tim to break down.
Maybe if Jason wasn’t there, Tim would move closer. Maybe not. Jason wasn’t sure, but he knew that any quick movement he made would put Tim on high alert. He wished it wasn’t that way, but there were consequences to his actions.
If he didn’t want Tim wary of him, then he shouldn't have attacked him in the tower. His anger was always meant for Bruce, not someone brave enough to take up the name of Robin during his absence. He couldn’t blame the kid for the small act of self-preservation.
Dick unclenched his fingers from Jason’s shirt, slowly outstretching his arm but never making a sound. The long-sleeved black shirt slid down Dick’s arm and tiny red swollen patches of skin were noticeable.
Hives.
Stress hives.
Jason tightened his grip on Dick and looked to see if Tim noticed them as well. He had.
Tim grabbed onto Dick’s outstretched arm, muttering a quiet “You’re okay,” as he did. That was all it took for Dick to act. He pulled Tim towards them, fast and unforgiving, and latched onto the kid once he was closer—pulling Tim halfway onto Jason’s lap and halfway on the unoccupied side of the couch next to Jason
Jason let out a small grunt at the impact—Tim wasn’t heavy, but he was bony.
Tim was tense, his body was rigid, but his breathing was even and steady. Dick didn’t let go, but he didn’t try to pull Tim any closer—not that Tim could get any closer. Jason stared at the wall until he felt Tim physically untense and relax—he still seemed uneasy, but he leaned into Dick’s touch, inadvertently leaning back against Jason’s chest as he did.
It only took a moment for Tim to notice, and he made to move further away from Jason but Dick held on tighter when Tim began to pull away.
Dick started to mutter something, and Tim leaned in, trying to catch the silent words.
“Dick?”
“I’m sorry,” Dick spoke softly, the words barely registered in Jason’s mind. Dick was repeating them like a mantra. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay-”
Jason shot the back of Tim’s head a look—it was anything but okay. There was nothing okay about this situation or the one from two months ago. There was nothing okay about Dick and there was nothing okay about Tim. Somehow, Jason was caught in the middle of it all because of one stupid mistake he made on a case he didn’t know Dick was involved in until it was too late.
Tim awkwardly ran his free hand through Dick’s hair. The movement was disjointed and disconnected like he didn’t know what to do, but it silenced Dick’s continuous mutterings of sorrys—briefly.
“I’m sorry,” Dick said once more, breaking the short period of silence they had.
Tim’s hand stilled in Dick’s hair and he twisted his body to look at Jason, a silent plea in his eyes. Jason wasn’t sure what to do or why Tim was looking at him.
Tim bit his lip before dragging his eyes back to Dick.
“What are you sorry for?” Tim asked, prompting Dick to keep speaking.
Dick shook his head and for a moment Jason expected another “I’m sorry”, but that wasn’t what he got.
“I’m a bad brother,” Dick said, “I’m a bad person.”
“No, Dick, hey—you’re a great brother—”
Dick shook his head rapidly, cutting off Tim's next words. “I hurt you. I didn’t listen to you—I was wrong…again” Dick trailed off for a moment, a broken sob erupting from his throat as he tried to swallow it back down. “I’m so stupid…” he continued after catching his breath. “Worthless.”
The last bit was muttered to himself, but Jason and Tim, both caught it. Tim resumed combing his fingers through Dick’s hair.
“Dick-” Tim started to speak with the same soothing tone he had all night.
“I’ll do better, Tim… I swear… I’ll be a better brother to you.”
Tim’s body tensed again, his fingers stilled for a brief moment before continuing, and he gave a jerky nod.
“Okay, Dick.”
“No. It’s not.”
Jason would have to agree, but there was no point in dragging the conversation out anymore. Dick was exhausted, he’d been exhausted when he arrived and that was before the draining breakdown occurred.
“Dick,” Jason said, trying to squirm away from his older brother, accidentally invading Tim’s space as he did. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Comfortable here,” Dick muttered, closing his eyes as he spoke. Jason rolled his eyes.
“Not an option, Dickiebird,” Jason said even as his heart wasn’t into it. Dick noticed and curled closer to Jason, pulling Tim in as he did. Dick had refused to let go of Tim’s arm, holding onto it like it was a lifeline.
Jason watched as Tim bit back a sigh and carefully rearranged himself, as much as he could with one arm trapped, trying to get comfortable. He slowly put his head on Jason’s shoulder.
Jason forced himself to relax completely, not wanting to disturb the rocky peace that had been established in the safehouse.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, sinking further into the couch as he did. He wasn’t sure what all happened tonight, he was still confused and had too many questions, but for now some sense of calm was established.
Jason slowly wrapped his arm around Tim, waiting and watching to see if any discomfort crossed Tim’s face, it didn’t. Tim was either too tired to notice or too tired to care.
“Brothers,” he heard Tim mutter to himself.
Jason smiled and tightened his grip on both of them.
Maybe it was a fucked-up family, but it was Jason's family.