Chapter Text
The rain never stopped in Gotham. Splatters crashed against the windows of his shady apartment. Their sound reverberated through his body; felt them -her- touching him. It was the sound of a ticking clock, a ticking bomb.
Clack. Crack. Tick.
Tick.
Tick
Pressing his palms against his eyes, Dick felt his headache coming back. He should be used to it by now. He wasn’t.
Jason tutted.
Dick was late, extremely late. Time never stopped. If only he was able to take his ADHD medication again. He was so late that Jason decided to break in and take his place on the couch with his feet and shoes on the coffee table, sighing loudly and passive-aggressive.
“If we're late, I'll tell Alfred that it's your fault.”
“I am trying, Jason,” answered Dick, stretching the last syllable.
He really was. Dick knew that Jason missed being at the manor, missed Alfred’s food. He never said it out loud, never showed it, but the loss of home radiated from him, so similar to his own growing pains. That’s why it was Dick’s duty to invite Jason to family dinners, to meet him beforehand, to look out for him, never leave him with Bruce alone in a room. And maybe - just maybe - he also didn’t want to be alone, alone with Bruce.
Bruce’s and Jason’s relationship was not as bad as it once was, but after everything, it was tense. At best, it was a fragile cease-fire. Something seemed forever broken, and even Dick wasn’t sure enough of himself to say that he could fix it.
Meanwhile, Jason’s and his was more of a stable truce, edging into negation territory. It seemed like not enough, and still like more than he deserved to have.
“You could try harder, Dick,” Jason said, mirroring Dick’s intonation.
Tick.
He should try harder.
“And you,” Dick pointed accusingly at his guest, “could try taking your dirty, wet shoes off at the front door.”
It was just friendly banter. A treacherous voice in his mind would even call it brotherly. After all the shit that happened in the last few years -between them and in their own lives- it felt nice. This was testing the waters, measuring the space between past and present, trying to understand where the lines were drawn now. Establishing a new relationship on old memories, missing memories and memories that never happened was hard.
Jason grinned at him, “Can’t.”
“And why is that? Don’t you have two hands?”
“Yes, but bothering you is more fun.”
Dick reached his hand to one of Jason’s boots.
“You creep, leave my feet alone!” Jason screeched, throwing a couch pillow at his head. The hit was hard for a pillow, but not as hard as it could be, coming from Jason.
With a dramatic groan, he let himself drop to the floor. “One civilian down,” he declared in his best police voice. “Requesting immediate medical assistance.”
In another universe, he would have ignored his problems with Bruce and tried to be a good brother from the start.
Jason just threw another pillow. "Get your ass up, or I will personally manhandle you into the mansion. Are you trying to be late on purpose?"
Tick.
Yes. No. Maybe. Seeing Bruce always filled him with dread. Maybe Jason manhandling him into the mansion was the only solution. He would never say it out loud, but he missed the feeling of human touch. His mind was never sure if Jason was there or just a hallucination. Only by his touch, by his punches, Dick could be sure that Jason was real.
His undead brother looked at his watch. “Alfred’s gonna kill us and the food will be cold.” After a glance at Dick, he joked. “Stop staring at me like a creepy uncle. Don’t you have to finish your makeup-up routine, Madonna? Or are we done here?”
“You know I can’t leave the house without my blush. What will my fans think?”
“Your fans? Don’t tell me you’ve become even more self-absorbed with age.”
This time it was Dick throwing back the pillow, gasping scandalized, mimicking the socialites they met at galas. “My age? Are my wrinkles showing?”
“Yes, and mine are starting too, after waiting for ages on your dirty couch.”
“It’s not dirty, it’s charming!”
“I know the looks of a couch that was found in a garbage dump. Now, hush, Golden Boy and start applying your bronzer.”
Tick.
An undignified sound escaped through his own lips. “I am not using bronzer. I just don’t want to look as if a herd of elephants ran me over.”
Jason threw a leveled glare at him. “We already can’t compete with you. You don’t have to outshine us with your looks, too.”
Tick.
Dick knew it wasn’t just a joke. His brother truly believed that he couldn’t compete with Dick. And it hurt, because nothing could be further from the truth. He wanted to tell him how proud he was of him, that Jason was the brightest star he knew, and that Dick himself had burned out long ago. Instead, he laughed. Jason wouldn’t believe him if he told him that.
“The only thing shining right now are my eye bags, don’t worry.”
“No, honestly Goldie, I don’t get it. Why do you bother? It’s a family dinner, not a press conference.”
Tick.
Nowadays, family dinners felt like press conferences, like an interrogation. Hell, he would prefer Viki Vale any day.
“Jason, some of us are legally alive and have their photos in every gossip magazine, as soon as they leave their door.”
Maybe it was the nickname or his lack of sleep or… A distance thunder stopped his train of thoughts. Maybe, just his own stupidity. As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. How could he use his brother’s death for his own excuses? Breathing seemed hard. How could he? The room felt cold and hot.
Jason fixated him with his gaze and sighed dramatically. “Jeeze! Dick calm down, don’t get your panties in a twist. I am not as sensitive as I look.”
“Sorry, what?” His brain blinked error signs at himself.
“It’s my death you’re hyperventilating about, don’t make such a fuss.”
“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just...”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. Firstly, get your own, real death to be sensitive about, don’t use mine.” Tick. “Secondly, seriously, why do you bother? No reporter is daring enough to visit your shit part of Blüdhaven with their expensive camera, that’s not the reason.”
Jason was right, it was his own death-sensitivity showing. He tried to relax his muscles, one fiber at a time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. Honestly, it’s probably just a habit. Y’know, from the time when the media was still interested in me.” Dick flashed his front cover smile. Somehow, this was also the wrong thing to say, because Jason started to look like a shark smelling blood.
“Ok, thirdly, stop apologizing all the time. Fourthly, I am not Bruce. If you don’t want to tell, then don’t, but don’t lie to me. I remember that time, what I don’t remember is you hiding how terrible you are feeling from family.”