Chapter Text
It takes time, but things get better. Dick gets a raise, Bruce grunts in greeting when they team up (emotionally-constipated-rich-guy speak for “I’m sorry”), Barbara is amicable when they’re in the same room, and Tim is significantly more tolerable after Dick started taking him on “educational field trips” to do normal people things, in normal people ways. He even got Tim to wear a pair of rented bowling shoes!
Dick sometimes brings Cass along to the field trips. She’s just as in-need of them, for very different reasons. Eventually, they drop the façade and just call it “hanging out”. Tim brings Steph, and Steph brings Duke, and suddenly Dick has been assigned as group mom of a gaggle of teenagers. When Cass mentions it’s her 18th birthday, they have an impromptu birthday party. Dick lets her pick out an alcoholic drink- because everyone’s first drink should be with someone they can trust. Cass isn’t a fan, but the experience was good. She learned a lot.
Dick brings Cass to an adult reading class at the library. It’s frustrating, but she enjoys it. She’s better at reading signs. She likes knowing where she is, and soon, she has a mental map of all of Gotham in her head. She first follows Dick out on patrol, but soon, she’s teaming up with Steph and Tim just as much.
Bruce comes to warn Dick that Cass is Cassandra Cain, and Dick just rolls his eyes. He’s known for a while. It’s the only reason he doesn’t object to her joining the vigilante business.
She never gives herself a name, and she wears all-black. That, combined with not speaking a word when she’s out on the town, and there’s a rumor that she’s Gotham itself, personified. It makes her grin to be called Lady Gotham. The grinning only intensifies the rumors.
Steph complains about it, often. Why does Cass, someone not even from here, get to be Gotham?
After a long patrol together, Cass kisses her on a rooftop, and someone snags a blurry picture that ends up on the front page of the paper – Gotham is a lesbian! Steph complains significantly less afterwards. The only thing cooler than being Gotham itself is dating Gotham itself – it’s a teenage fantasy romance novel come to life!
It's been four years since Jason died, and it’s been one year after Catalina when the Red Hood makes his appearance. Dick tries to avoid him, mostly for secret identity purposes. Dick lives and works in Park Row – the Red Hood’s self-proclaimed territory. And the people of Park Row seem to like him? Dick doesn’t agree with all of his methods, but the guy is better for the neighborhood.
The guy has some kind of pissing contest with Batman, and Dick keeps himself far, far away from it all.
So overall, things are okay.
“I thought I was fucking clear. No bats on my turf. That includes undercover.”
This would be a normal thing for Nightwing to hear except Dick is on his way home from work, and he is, notably, not Nightwing. Dick Grayson, assistant librarian at the Park Row Library, was on his way home from a long shift at work when the fucking Red Hood dropped down off a building to block his path.
Dick blinks a few times, and his brain lands on his go-to plan for most things. Play dumb.
“I’m… a human?” he says questionable. That’s what a normal person would say
“Stupid doesn’t look good on you, Dickwing,” the Red Hood growls. And ouch. Reveal that he knows Dick by both of his identities and remind him of Jason? The audacity.
Dick just sighs. There’s nothing he can do about that, but he’s not going to give the asshole the satisfaction of a confirmation.
“Look, I’m just trying to walk home from work, and there’s no route that doesn’t cross through here. And I just resigned my lease, so unless you’re going to buy me out of it, tough luck. Also, not a bat. Always thought of myself more as a bird person.”
Okay, so he failed at not confirming his identity, but it was a good line! Dick’s fat mouth gets him in trouble too often.
The hooded man pauses.
“Where do you work?” he asks, modulated voice not hiding his skepticism.
“The library. I’m just a librarian, dude. An assistant librarian. I read books to kids, so I’m a little outside of your usual targets.”
“… the Park Row Library?”
“The very one,” Dick says, and he tugs at the lanyard around his neck. Hood’s gaze falls to it.
DICK GRAYSON
Assistant Librarian
Jason Todd Readers Foundation
“Huh.”
They stare at each other for a moment, and Dick watches the tension ease from Hood’s shoulders slowly.
“So we good? Because I gotta be up early tomorrow since it’s Saturday. We don’t open until 9, but the working parents drop their kids off starting at 7, and I don’t like them hanging around all alone.”
“Yeah,” Hood says quietly, all traces of hostility and posturing gone. He seems… confused? Dick wishes Cass was here – she’s scarily good at reading body language. “We’re good.” That sounds more significant than it should be. The man does have a personal grudge with all things associated with Batman, so maybe being a librarian cancels that out. “Sorry to bother you. Have a good night.”
Before Dick can even reply, Hood shoots a grapple and flings himself back on the building he jumped down from.
Okay then. Weirdo.
Four days later, Nightwing is onhis way home from Patrol when he hears someone land behind him. He freezes, tilting an ear up as if to listen better.
“In my defense, officer, I am on my way home,” he says with a quirk to his lips, hand hovering just over his eskrima sticks.
“Didn’t think you needed one, since you’re a bird, not a bat. Also, who’s the pig here?”
Dick turns around, and he drops his stance, seeing how relaxed Hood seems to be. No fight then.
“Ex pig. And hey, some people get mistaken. Always good to be prepared.”
“Yeah, I heard. Why’d you quit?”
Dick shrugs. “Thought I could change it from the inside. Turns out, it doesn't work like that. Also, I had a bit of a mental breakdown and got fired.”
“…Oh.”
“Yeah. So if you’re not here to fight, you need anything? Or is this a social call?”
“… You can patrol in Crime Alley. I won’t bother you as long as you stay out of my way.”
Dick winces. “Noted, and thanks for that, but maybe don’t call it crime alley. These people are more than just crime. Nobody who lives here calls it that.”
It's something Jason once told him, but Dick has also seen how true it is. Something about this amuses Hood, and he laughs – actually laughs!
“You know what? Fair enough, Nightwing. Guess I’m just used to Bristol boys treating the neighborhood like it’s cursed.”
“I am not from Bristol,” Dick snaps, feeling a raw nerve he didn’t know he had, “And if you know I lived there, you know I lived there when I was in foster care until I was kicked out. I hate that fucking place.”
Hood raises his hands. “Alright, alright. Fair en- foster care? Weren’t you adopted?”
“No,” Dick says pointedly. He really doesn’t want to get involved in the Hood case, but how does the guy know so much, but yet so little, about him? “All my family is chosen. Can I help you with something? Because as much as I’m loving our chitchat, I’m really not.”
Hood pauses, and Dick is about to turn and continue home, but Hood reaches into a pocket and pulls something out, handing it to Dick.
It’s an earpiece.
“If we have the same neighborhood, we might as well communicate to not step on each other’s toes. As long as you don’t stop me from what I’m doing, we’re cool. Okay?”
Dick shrugs. He’s going to have to check it for any tracking capabilities, but it’s not the worst idea. Besides, the man already knows way too much about him. Better to keep him close.
He could be a decent ally, Dick reasons to himself.
“… You don’t have any issues with me killing?”
“Kind of, but not like. That kind of issue. It's not like you’re just randomly murdering innocent people. I’ve killed before too. I’m not proud of it, but I get where you’re coming from.”
“Huh. Yeah. Okay.”
They stare at each other for a few moments.
“I’m just gonna-“
“Right, yeah, I have a thing to get to, so-“
They continue staring. After three beats, both turn and leave.
Hood is… a weird guy.
“Underaged drug deal going down at 8th and Central,” Dick says over the new comm line a week later, because he’s heard Hood’s rules about drug dealing, and he respects it. “Buyer is prepubescent boy, white, haven’t seen him before. Not a street kid I've seen before, but attire and backpack suggest he is.”
“Not underaged. She’s undercover. Don’t engage,” Hood responds almost instantly.
“Copy. If you let me know whenever you have someone gathering intel, I’ll avoid.”
Hood is silent for a few moments. “Noted… Hey, how do you feel about a team-up at the docks? There’s a shipment coming in that’s either human trafficking or a really poorly managed lampshade company.”
Dick grins. “I think I could use a new lampshade. ETA 15 minutes.”
It’s human trafficking and lampshades. After escorting the three victims to the hospital, Hood returns to find Nightwing ziptying the last guard and pulling out his cell to call for police. Hood tosses a beige lampshade to the man, and Nightwing manages to catch it with one hand.
“It’ll match your drapes.”
Hood is bluffing, and the only reason Nightwing knows this is because he has no drapes. He laughs freely.
“Good try, but mental breakdown, remember? I just taped a sheet over the window and called it good.”
If Hood’s mask could emote, Nightwing knows he would feel so judged by now.
“...Damn. Didn’t expect your apartment to be more like a safe house than most actual safe houses.”
They grapple up to a nearby roof to wait for the cops to show up.
Dick shrugs in response, dangling his feet off the ledge.
“I don’t feel ashamed about it. Well, maybe a little, but that’s internalized shame. All I gotta do right now is survive, and that’s what I’m doing.”
“Your therapist tell you that?” Hood quips.
“Yup,” Dick pops the p, “I can stick around if you got other places to be. Make sure these guys are actually picked up. Who knows if charges will stick, but they're low-level grunts anyway. Don't think any are capable or wanting to run their own operation.”
Hood is silent for a moment, and Dick looks over when he hears a click. Hood slides his red helmet off and shakes out his short black hair. Sweat drips off of him – he’s drenched.
“I don’t. Have anywhere else to be, I mean," Hood's voice rungs out, unmodulated for the first time. He sounds gravely without the modulator, a man’s voice that comes from is chest, but he looks younger than Dick.
There’s a domino around his eyes, oddly reminiscent of the same kind Dick wears. If he wasn’t sure Hood’s connection Batman wasn’t personal, he is now. Someone B's worked with, and worked with closely, if the rest of Dick's assumptions are true.
“Don’t bother running a face ID on me,” Hood snorts when Dick has stared a bit too long, “I don’t have a civilian identity for you to find.”
“Huh. Yeah, fair enough. But how would I- oh, yeah, no, I don’t have a camera on me anymore. I wasn't lying about flying solo these days.”
“Good for you,” Hood hums, and he sounds genuinely impressed. It makes Dick want to puff up his feathers in pride. It has been good for him.
It could be Jason, an insane part of him whispers. Dick very carefully tucks that voice away to discuss with his therapist.
They watch Gotham PD pick up their gift-wrapped presents, but neither man makes an effort to move. It’s close to the time Dick usually calls it a night, but he doesn’t work in the morning, so he can keep sitting here watching the Gotham skyline.
It's nice, in a way. He’s always wearing some kind of mask, but he doesn’t have a responsibility to Hood like he does everybody else. And they’ve been getting along oddly well. Dick almost feels like he made a friend.
He shudders when he thinks about the last vigilante friend he made. (Cass doesn’t count. She didn’t don the metaphorical cape until after she knew Dick)
Hopefully, Hood doesn’t swing that way. Even if he does, he hasn’t imposed himself on Dick the way she had. Hood is notably really, really against sexual predators. Him being male makes things easi-
Fuck.
“I use he/they pronouns, by the way. You?”
Dick is glad he asked after Hood the mask off because the man turns to look at him, mouth agape.
“What.”
“Pronouns. I use he or they. You probably know that because you know my civilian ID, but you don’t have one, so I can’t figure out what you prefer even if I did know your name.”
“You’re asking me for my pronouns.”
Dick frowns. “And I get the picture that it’s not something you’ve ever had to worry about, but not everyone has that privilege. Don’t be an asshole.”
This makes the Red Hood laugh, and his laugh feels so much more human without the modulator. “Yeah, you know what, you’re right. He/him. Thanks for keeping me on my toes, Boy Wonder.”
It’s Jason, a voice screams at him. Dick knows he’s beyond compromised at this point. Bruce would be horrified, but a vindictive part of him thinks, good.
“They matter, you know. Words. I’m not saying you have to ask a goons their preferred pronouns before you slug ‘em, but you never know when you’ll run across a kid who’s been kicked out cuz they’re trans. You wanna support the alley kids, you gotta support all the alley kids.”
It’s something else Jason used to say. Dick feels almost obsessive. All he can think about is Jason. Hood painfully reminds him of an older, jaded version of Jason that went through hell and back. Maybe a relative of Jason’s, a sibling or a cousin, now that Dick thinks about it. It would explain the odd information he knows – old information told through Jason’s eyes. It would explain the personal vendetta.
“Used to believe that. Dunno when I got so… mean. Thanks. I needed the reminder.”
“Anytime.”
Dick should research who Hood could be, but he believed him about not having a civilian ID, and he’s not Bruce-levels of control freak. He’ll let Hood explain when he’s ready.
“I need you to stay out of the alley tonight. I know you bounce between here and Blud, so spend some time across the river.”
That request itself isn’t odd, but the way it’s phrased is. Hood has taken him up on the offer of informing him when to stay out for ops, but he usually gives more detail as informal chatter. He’s never told him to stay out of the entire alley. And he hasn’t even given a reason! Which isn’t necessary, but Dick has been happy to find that Hood likes talking to him. He usually includes a little context about the op, what specifically to avoid.
“Heard. Let me know if you need backup,” is Dick’s only response. He notably does not agree to stay out of Park Row. Especially all the way in Bludhaven. If Hood is getting into something dangerous, like fuck is Dick going to stay away. He kinda likes the guy, as much of an asshole as Hood can be on a good day.
The next 12 hours don’t feel real.
First, Batman turns off his comms and disappears. Oracle sends him a distress signal.
Then, Bludhaven explodes. It’s still burning. It will be burning for the foreseeable future. Dick wants to go in, but he…. Doesn’t have anything to protect him from the heat and flames. His exposure to air particles just from across the river is already going to be too high. He's desperately needed in Gotham, and the Justice League was called in to help the survivors in Haven. Last Dick was updated, the cause of the explosion was yeeted into the sun by Superman. #That’sMyHero
Bludhaven, at least, doesn’t feel connected to Hood, as suspicious as it would be for Hood to request Nightwing to be there tonight.
Dick hopes it’s a coincidence. It’s definitely not Hood’s MO to blow up a city of mostly innocent people. It is, however, Hood’s MO to lure Batman and potentially kill him. Dick doesn’t know how to emotionally approach that possibility, but he luckily doesn’t have to. An hour after the fire starts, Batman returns to the cave, apparently unharmed beyond usual scraps and bruises but suspiciously dirty. Or at least, according to Oracle. Bruce doesn’t contact him to tell Dick he’s alright himself because why would he. Of course. Dick doesn't contact him to tell Bruce that he's alright either. Tit for tat. Oracle probably tells him. In some ways, she's a vicious enabler for Bruce.
Truthfully, Dick isn’t convinced that he’s not dreaming, but he hasn’t had much time to stop and think about it since Gotham decided the explosion across the bay is a great pull of resources from law enforcement and medics. Dick spends most of the night and early morning performing first-aid and then second-aid, when emergency responders are too swamped to handle it. As the night goes on, their biggest problem they’re facing is smoke inhalation, so distributing partial masks becomes the priority.
Dick works until he’s exhausted. He called off today, citing his grief for Bludhaven (true), but the library is luckily still open, one of the few safe places for those unhoused to find shelter from the smoke.
It's around 3pm the next day that Dick finally let’s himself call it quits. He’s spent the last four hours in a triage tent, in uniform, and he’s exhausted. He’ll come back as Dick Grayson after he’s gotten some sleep and taken something for his aching body. He’s reached his limit of performing at “super” levels, but he can still be a civilian hero among many after some sleep. First-responders are catching up to urgent cases, but there's still a lot of ailments he can help with that are less urgent. Hell, maybe he should just go to Leslie's when he wakes up.
He grapples to the roof of his apartment building and slides down the fire escape. His body aches, and he’s looking forward to a hot shower, takeout (is anyone even open right now, in this chaos and smoke? Maybe it’s a frozen pizza day). He hasn’t even thought about Hood in the past couple hours until he slides through his window and-
Dick pauses as he sees the Red Hood, sans the helmet, sitting at his kitchen table. He’s turned away from the window to stare listlessly in front of him, a glass of something amber in his hand. There’s blood splatter on the floor, but none of it looks that fresh.
“Hello?” he asks utterly baffled by the turn of events. “If you expected to find Batman here again, like I said, I’m not a bat. I don’t know what happened tonight. Was kinda busy with-“
Hood’s face snaps over to him, and Dick freezes.
He inhales slowly. Exhales. Inhales. Exhales.
He reaches over to the wall to flicker the overhead a few times. The light reactions to Jason Todd as it would any other person. Dick can even see the refraction in the glass on the table, bouncing off Jason’s leather jacket.
Dick grabs a pillow from his couch and tosses it at the man. It hits him, bouncing to the ground.
There is definitely a person sitting in his kitchen. He’s definitely drinking something out of a glass. Dick is pretty sure it’s even the Red Hood, and the context clues add up.
He’s never hallucinated Jason’s face onto someone else before, but Dick can’t rule out the possibility. It’s also possible that it’s someone who just looks a lot like a slightly older version of his dead brother. He doesn’t trust his judgment.
But why isn’t he saying anything?
“So. Not a hallucination,” Dick’s voice cracks.
“I thought I killed you,” Hood’s voice rasps. It’s different, thick and laced with emotion, from the last time Dick heard his unmodulated voice, and Jason Todd’s face reframes the familiar alley drawl. It reframes a lot of things, actually.
“Bludhaven? Oh… I was hoping it was a coincidence that you wanted me there tonight.”
“It was,” Hood (Jason?) says, his tone close to a beg, “I swear. I swear. I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything was going to happen. I still don’t know what the fuck happened, but I. I thought I got you killed.”
“I believe you,” Dick assures, and it’s only then that he sees the red rims of Hood’s eyes. He…. cried for him? Or cried in general.
Definitely, definitely not a hallucination. Super real person in his kitchen right now. Possibilities: this is Jason Todd, this is a very unfortunate coincidence of a look-alike, magic fuckery, or there’s been a development in Dick’s psyche that warrants contacting his psychiatrist. He feels so exhausted, he wants to drop onto the floor, fuck a shower or food. Making the least amount of assumptions, Dick should probably make that call to his psychiatrist.
“Hey,” Dick says, voice as unsteady as his feet, “Do a guy a favor and tell me your name. Because right now, I think you’re my dead little brother, and I need to know if I need to call my psychiatrist.”
Instead of answering, Hood (Jason) throws himself against Dick, gripping on tighter than anyone’s ever hugged Dick before. Dick stumbles back, but Hood (JASON) stabilizes them, supporting all of his weight and burying his face into Dick’s soot-covered neck. Jesus, he’s almost as big as Bruce.
Dick is still in shock when Hood (JASON) let’s out a sob from his chest. Slowly, Dick raises his hands to place onto Hood’s back.
“Jason?” he whispers, afraid his own brain is betraying him. That there’s another explanation for what’s going on right now.
“Dick,” Hood sobs, a deep baritone that vibrates in his chest, and Dick’s grip suddenly matches his own. Matches Jason’s.
“Jason,” Dick exhales, and he hasn’t shut his eyes. He’s afraid of he does, all of this goes away. “Jason.”
There’s still smoke coming in through the window, and Dick hasn’t even noticed, but Jason must. He pulls back just enough to reach over and slam it shut before he’s gripping onto Dick for dear life once again.
“I don’t….” Dick starts, pulling back enough to look at Jason’s face up close. He holds Jason’s face in his hands, inspecting every pore. He has the same scar he had when Dick first met him, interrupting his left eyebrow. He has a raised scar on his cheek, a wound Dick only knows from an autopsy report he regrets reading. He has a faint, pink scar on his lower lip. Dick doesn’t recognize that one.
It's proof of the life Jason lived. It’s proof of the death he very much experienced. It’s proof of, some-fucking-how, a life after.
Jason’s eyes are bloodshot and wild, looking at Dick with the same disbelief. In the height of emotion, it makes Dick giggle.
Jason’s expression turns confused, and that makes Dick giggle harder. His giggle turns to laughing until his chest hurts, and at some point, it turns to sobs. Roles reversed, Jason lightens up his hold of Dick and rubs his back.
“So I guess we both thought the other was dead,” Dick manages to say between sobbing laughter.
“I- yeah. Jesus christ, Dickie. I’ve never been so glad you’re a piece of shit who never follows instructions.”
“With how cagey you were being? Of course not. I don’t know what I expected to happen, but I guess I don’t really know what happened at all anyway. I got a little distracted.”
Jason gives him another look and then hugs him to his chest again. Fuck he so tall.
“Should I call you big wing now?” Dick mumbles against his chest, only for Jason to make a wounded whine in complaint. Dick smiles. “It’s okay. You’re still my little wing.”
“I’m so sorry. Fuck. Dick, I am so sorry. I almost killed you. Oh my god. I thought you were dead.”
Dick shakes his head. “Wouldn’t have been your fault, if I’d have been there.”
“I hate your martyr complex so fucking much,” Jason growls, but he doesn’t let Dick escape his form hold. All at once, Dick’s exhausted rears its head again, and he sags into Jason’s arms.
“I don’t want this to end, but I am so tired, I don’t think I can stand. You can probably keep me awake, but Jason, I am so close to hitting the floor.”
To this, Jason doesn’t reply verbally. Instead he shifts Dick in his arms and picks him up, walking him towards the bathroom.
“This is so weird,” Dick mumbles into Jason’s neck as he limply allows himself to be carried. “When did you get so big?”
“I think I’m still growing,” Jason admits as he sets Dick down on the counter. He immediately running the tub to hot water. “Are you injured anywhere? Anything hurt?”
“Just sore. And I think my particle mask stopped working as well. Hurts a bit to breathe… I don’t think I can stand for a shower, Jay. I can shower after I sleep. And eat. Fuck, I’m exhausted.”
“No, I’m running you a bath. Non-negotiable. Your hair is disgusting.”
Dick blinks, and he reaches up to feel his hair. Touching it leaves black residue on his hands. Soot.
“You don’t look too hot yourself,” Dick comments, finally looking him over. He has a similar layer of soot on him as everyone outside in Gotham, but it’s clear that’s not the only reason. He’s covered in dirty and littered with scrapes and small injuries.
“Shower first,” Dick requests, “You’re just as gross as I am.” He leans back, closing his eyes and not caring that he’s getting his mirror dirty. His thighs burn, and his lower back burns just from having to sit up himself.
Dick doesn’t hear Jason respond, but he hears the shower turn on instead. There should be at least a fraction of awkward as Dick hears Jason undressing right there next to him, but Dick can’t find a bone to care about it. He hears Jason scrubbing himself aggressively, hears the water splashing off of him, and Dick floats in his head for a moment. He’s distantly aware of Jason’s every movement, keeping track to make sure his brother doesn’t disappear on him.
The shower shuts off for a moment, and Dick hears Jason turn the tub back on and grab a towel.
Jason leaves the room for a moment, but the door stays open, and Dick can hear him down the hall opening drawers. Clothes? Possibly.
Dick cracks an eye open when he hears Jason returning, towel still around his waist. Jesus Christ, he has an autopsy scar. It’s raised, clearly stitched up poorly. Of course it would be. Nobody expected that to ever heal.
Dick shivers, closing his eyes again to give the illusion of privacy. He floats again, listening to Jason’s movements as he dresses until he feels Jason tug him to sit up.
Dick does with a groan, begrudgingly, and it pulls on his stiff muscles.
“Yeah, yeah, you big baby. Next time, don’t work yourself so hard. What if you were cornered? You’re basically injured at this point.”
“Not true,” Dick whines. Jason peels his mask off before starting to help him out of his suit. It peels off of his skin, disgusting damp with sweat. “Adrenaline would have kept me up. Was gonna keep me up until I could eat and get to bed, until you decided to come back to life at the worst time. Asshole.”
Jason snorts. “There’s definitely worse times.”
Dick hums in disagreement, even though he definitely agrees. His chest is warm. He’s arguing with his baby brother again. His baby brother is taking care of him. He’s useless right now, but Jason doesn’t care. Jason is undressing him to get him clean.
Ice shoots through his veins as Jason finishes with the top part of his suit and puts a hand on his waist. He reaches out to snatch Jason’s hand, adrenaline giving him the strength he knew he still had in him. Jason’s hand freezes, not trying to fight him at all.
His eyes are wide open now, breath catching in his chest that they both know is more than the smoke in his lungs.
“…Dick? You okay there? I’m undressing you to have a bath.”
“Give me,” Dick pants, and he swallow thickly. “A second.”
Jason’s hand, the one touching him, falls limp. It takes a few moments for Dick to shove thoughts of the last time someone bathed him away.
He releases Jason’s hand, but there’s still a tension in his body.
“Help me get the legs off, but don’t grab me,” Dick instructs with a distant clarity in his eyes. Jason nods slowly, moving his hands carefully but confidently to only grab the fabric. Dick lefts his thighs one at a time, and they peel the suit off of him. When Dick is left in just boxers, Dick starts to slide off the counter to avoid Jason attempting to help him out of those as well.
Jason hurries to catch Dick, taking some of his weight and letting Dick lean on him. It takes considerable effort, but Dick slides his briefs off his legs himself. Jason doesn’t even offer to help, Dick reminds himself. Fuck, it’s his brother. There’s so many more important things going on, and Dick has had so many strangers undress him sexually since Cat, and Dick feels a familiar self-loathing in his chest at his reactions. Why now? If Jason didn’t already think he’s a nutcase, he certainly does now.
Jason doesn’t comment as he helps Dick into the bath. He keeps his hands to Dick’s upper body, letting Dick use him as a support despite how much longer it takes.
Dick groans as he finally relaxes into the water.
“Okay, maybe I overdid it,” he admits, and Jason snorts, passing him a wash rag. The water is quickly turning gray. “I’m not going out as Nightwing for a little bit. The world will have to get by with just Dick Grayson giving first aid when I wake up.”
“I,” Jason starts, bafflement clear in his voice, “You’re not going out at all.”
Dick wants to argue, as he scrubs the soot from his face. It takes a few passes to get all the black off.
“Yeah,” he sighs, “Maybe not. Fuck, I haven’t been this sore in ages.”
Even when he was getting back into shape to be Nightwing again, he didn’t push himself this hard, this long. Usually, he can end the emergency and go home, but the lack of first responders…
Jason is quiet as Dick washes off, sitting on the floor close by just watching him. Dick would find it weird, but he keeps looking up to make sure Jason is still there. They’re both equally fucked up about the other being alive, apparently.
Dick scrubs most of the sweat and grime off of himself, but when he tries to bend down to wry his hair, he winces. He looks at at Jason, about to ask for help, but Jason has already shifted over. Wordlessly, Jason places a hand on his upper back to help lower his head into the water. Dick slumps his shoulders, letting Jason take over.
Jason washed the soot out of his hair efficiently, though it still takes two rinses of shampoo. Even then, it’ll need more attention and time than Dick had patience for to feel truly clean, but at least it won’t stain his sheets now. Jason starts to drain the tub, and he turns back for a towel.
Dick leans against the edge of the tub, trying to resist the instincts disarming him. Now he wants to drop off into sleep now because Jason is here, and Jason will protect him, but there’s so much to talk about and do, and once Dick has a few more neurons online, he’s going to be embarrassed at the level of assistance Jason is giving him.
Jason helps Dick stand up and dry off with near complete assistance. Leaning against the shower wall, Dick lets Jason dress him in boxers, an old tee shirt, and a soft pair of shorts. Once dressed, he slumps against the taller man. Jason picks him up carefully and Dick’s face finds Jason’s neck again. Dick floats as he’s carried down the hall to his bedroom.
Jason pulls back the comforter and slides Dick into bed. Jason turns to step away, but Dick reaches out to snatch Jason’s wrist before he can move to far.
“Stay,” he states firmly. Jason has gone silent again, but he nods in agreement and slides into the other side of the bed. Dick lays on his side, watching Jason.
Dick relaxes his grip on Jason’s wrist to slide down to his hand, and Jason pets his hand like he’s soothing an injured dog.
“I’m still pretty sure this isn’t real,” Dick mumbles.
“Yeah,” Jason replies quietly. He’s sitting up like he doesn’t plan to sleep. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine?”
“What…” Dick starts, throat dry,” What happened? How are you here? Did you actually die?”
“I don’t know, Dickie,” he sighs, “I know I died. But it… didn’t stick. I'd say I was buried alive, but you saw the autopsy scar, so... doesn't seem very likely. I was dead, and then I wasn't. Talia says she found me on the streets of Gotham with brain damage. I don’t have any memory of that time.”
“When? How old are you?”
Jason whines with faux obnoxiousness. “My turn now. Why didn’t you go to my funeral?”
Dick blinks a few times, surprised by his first question.
“I didn’t know you were dead. I was in space when you died, and then I only learned when I showed up at the manor to harass you for ignoring my texts and calls when I got back. I was pissed at Bruce over that for a long time, but looking back, he just kind of shut down. Alfred too. I'm pissed at both of them for a lot of things, but that one I get. How old are you? Like how long were you dead for?”
“Oh. Huh. I’m uh. Like 18? I don’t know exactly how long I was in the ground for. I really hope I’ve been alive for 18 of the last 19 years because there’s– reasons. That’s off-topic. Let’s say 18.”
“My baby brother is an adult, ” Dick can’t help the near-giddy smile from stretching across his face. He pulls Jason to lie down with him, pulling the larger man to his chest as though he were just a little kid. “Very big baby brother. What the fuck did Talia feed you?”
“Magic pit water-” okay they’re coming back to that- “Did you… always call us brother? I know I have holes in my memory, but I don’t…”
Dick shakes his head. “No, I didn’t, and it was the first realization I had when I learned you were gone. Took you for granted… took my brother for granted. 's why I tried to do better with Tim. Magic pit water?”
“Lazarus pit,” Jason whispers distantly, eyes wide open against Dick’s collarbone. He mouths the word brother. “Talia threw me in when I wasn’t making progress.”
That bitch.
Jason is silent for a moment, but Dick can hear the gears going in his mind, so he waits.
“If… if I asked you to kill the Joker, would you?”
“Already did,” Dick sighs, “Bruce brought him back. Kind of regret it. Kind of don’t. If you asked me to again, I probably would, but I would hate it. I lost a piece of me these past couple of years. The part of me that knows how to feel angry. Killing the Joker wouldn't let me feel anything at all, but if it mattered to you, I would. Are you asking me to?”
Jason shakes his head, and then he pauses. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe. Would you hate me if I did?”
“No, Jay. I wouldn’t hate you. I… I understand. I didn’t get revenge on the guy who killed my parents, but I do sleep a lot better at night knowing he’s dead. So just… yeah. I don’t agree with all the murder, but fuck, if I don’t understand… My turn: what happened tonight?”
“Tried to get Bruce to kill the Joker. Then Bludhaven blew up, and I… kind of lost it. My memory gets fuzzy after that, and then I came here to drink myself into oblivion before I decided what to do next. I’m so angry all of the time. I know it’s the pit, but I’m still so angry. It’s a virus inside of me that never goes away. I can't even tell if I deserve to be this angry, this angry at Bruce, at Joker, at the world.”
Dick pets Jason’s hair gently, and he scratches his scalp lightly. He never thought he’d get to have this. “I won’t pretend you haven’t changed at all, but you’ve always been angry, Jay. It’s okay to be angry. That’s… you’re using your anger right now to clean up the alley, aren’t you? Your anger is righteous, not a disease. It’s a tool. Even if the pit makes it overwhelming, that doesn't mean it's bad to exist in the first place.”
Jason nods, but he stays quiet.
“Your anger is protective. Maybe you can feel anger for the both of us."
Jason exhales, and his voice is shaky. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe, and that… what happened to you? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Why are you here, in Park Row? Why aren’t you a bat? Why are you… why do you act like a trauma victim?”
Dick closes his eyes and pulls Jason closer as the wave of shame runs over and through him. Immediately, he flickers through the morality of sharing to his little brother. Said little brother is an adult, and he did already agree he could share with Tim, when Tim was older. And this isn't someone new. He's already shared a lot with Jason, as Hood, and he doesn't want to regret that. How much detail should he say? He won’t lie, but…
When the shame settles enough, he responds with a calculated answer.
“I got into a bad… relationship. She hurt me. Isolated me. Ended up in a really bad way about a year ago. In response, Bruce was typical Bruce, and I can’t forgive him because he doesn’t even get what he did wrong.”
Jason’s arms tighten around him for a moment, almost painfully, and then relax to a firm hold.
“The bathroom. Your reaction was related to that relationship.”
“Yeah. I don’t… can we talk about something else?”
“Is she dead?”
“No.”
“Do you want her to be?”
Dick can feel his heart in his chest. It hurts. It’s comforting.
“Can we really about something else?” Dick asks again, and his voice wavers with desperation. It’s too much right now. There’s too much going on.
Jason moves up on the bed and pulls Dick against his chest this time. One of them is definitely shaking. Both of them might be. Dick counts his breaths carefully, pushing the thoughts of her away.
“Can I stay here?” Jason’s voice breaks through the haze.
“What? Of course, I- Of course. Fuck, Jason. I missed you. God, you’re back. You’re alive. It killed me that I never got to see you become an adult, and what you’d be like. And you’re a lot like I thought you’d be. Different in some ways. And better in other ways.”
Jason is quiet for a few beats, and Dick is worried he fucked up. He goes to pull back to look at Jason’s face, but Jason’s arms tighten around him.
“You mean that? You don’t think I you don’t think I came back wrong?” Jason’s voice cracks, and he doesn’t even try to mask his crying. Dick tries again to pull back to look his baby brother in the face, but Jason doesn’t let him, burying his face into Dick’s hair to hide his tears.
“You came back,” Dick says, and he can feel the thickness of his own voice. He rubs Jason’s back like his mom used to rub his when he cried, which he is quite skilled at; he cried a lot as a kid. “How can any of that be wrong?”
Jason doesn’t have an answer to that, and he has so many more questions, but he can’t stop crying. Unlike the crashing waves of his rage, he feels his pain as a trickling stream, gentle but no less unstoppable.
Dick holds on for the ride, letting exhaustion take him over knowing that his little brother came back.