Chapter Text
“Get off of me, get away, get away!” Something in Jason’s heart finally cracked when the car door opened and Jason could pass a writhing Nightwing to Cass and Steph. “Go to hell!”
Jason had to take a moment, leaning against the Batmobile. His hands were shaking. Fuck. His ears still rang with Nightwing’s vicious protests.
His vision was blocked by black. “It’s okay,” Batman said, removing the cowl to reveal pinched blue-gray eyes but a soft expression, “It’s just the fear toxin, Jay, you know he doesn’t mean it.”
“Right,” Jason said, the mechanized voice dull, “Just the fear toxin.”
Bruce frowned, which meant that Jason’s voice hadn’t even touched convincing. Jason straightened up, and couldn’t keep from wobbling. Bruce’s frown grew worse.
“I’m fine,” Jason said to forestall Bruce’s comments.
“Are you sure? The fear toxin—”
“Didn’t hit me,” Jason said tiredly. Nightwing had gotten in the way, his stupid savior complex rearing its head, and Jason had maybe had a very small meltdown and broken several bones—Crane certainly wasn’t going to be mixing anything with fractured wrists—before hovering over Nightwing. “I’m fine. Go check on Dick.”
Jason wanted to take the helmet off and collapse in peace, and forget his brother screaming at him that he wished Jason was dead.
He didn’t. Jason logically knew that he didn’t, knew that Dick had been watching his back, knew that Dick deliberately put himself between him and the fear toxin, but it was hard to hear the vitriol with the churning fear that Dick wanted him dead and gone.
“You’re staying in the Manor tonight,” Bruce said, brooking no dissent, “Contaminant protocol.” Jason didn’t get tagged, but Bruce’s expression was not conducive to arguing, and Jason was exhausted.
“Fine,” Jason gave in with ill grace, “Guess I’ll go use up all the hot water before anyone else gets a turn.”
He didn’t look at the medbay on his way to the showers.
The bad news was that this was a new batch of fear toxin, and the old antidotes didn’t work. The bad news was that the synthesizer would only finish creating a new antidote after the toxin left Dick’s bloodstream.
The good news was that the toxin had no permanent effects. If you ignored the screaming.
Jason punched the bag harder, desperate for something, anything to make the roiling inside of him stop. The Pit demanded a target, but there was no target, Jason couldn’t fight Dick’s nightmares, so it simply swallowed him whole as he fought the training equipment like they were all wearing clown masks.
The toxin was cycling through fears, and Jason had deliberately stopped listening to the garbled words amidst the terrified shrieks. Bruce was with Dick, and so were the kids. Alfred and Cass had headed up after it became apparent that there was nothing they could do but make sure Dick didn’t hurt himself, but Jason stayed where he was, unable to leave.
This was his fault, after all.
He hadn’t seen the gun, he’d been too caught up in the Pit, he should’ve just told Bruce that he wouldn’t be able to patrol with Nightwing, he—
He’d failed again at keeping his family safe.
There were splatters of red on the punching bag, and Jason stared at the tape around his hand in distant surprise. He’d split his knuckles.
Unwinding the tape was a slow process, he half-felt like he was moving through molasses as he headed to the bathroom to wash the blood off. When he stepped back into the Cave proper, the desperate, wretched sobs hit him like a crowbar, and Jason had to stop in place and take deep breaths.
Footsteps headed his way. Jason lifted his gaze to see Tim approaching him, expression exhausted. “He’s calling for you,” Tim said quietly.
Jason focused on the noise—yes, that was his name. “He doesn’t want to see me,” Jason replied, dropping his gaze to the scrapes. With or without fear toxin, Jason wasn’t welcome.
“I know you guys are fighting, but please?” Tim asked pleadingly, “He’s hurt and terrified and he—he keeps thinking you’re dead.”
Jason highly doubted he’d be of comfort to Dick right now, but Tim looked a half-step away from bursting into tears, so Jason followed him. Dick was strapped down to a cot in the medbay, struggling against the bonds, with Steph holding one of his hands and Bruce smoothing his hair back away from his face.
“It’s okay,” Bruce said quietly, “It’s okay, Dick, he’s fine, he—”
“It’s not okay,” Dick’s voice cracked and broke, and fuck, Jason was not prepared for his older brother to sound like that. Jason stepped all the way in instead of hovering on the threshold, and Steph automatically moved to make space for him. “He’s dead, he’s dead and it’s all my fault—I should’ve been there, he called me, no, Little Wing—”
“I’m here,” Jason said softly, unable to stand the anguish in his brother’s voice. Dick’s gaze snapped to him, wide-eyed. “Hey, Dickiebird, I’m right here, it’s okay.”
“Jason?” Dick asked tremulously, “Jaybird?”
Jason took a seat next to Steph and curled his fingers into Dick’s. “I’m here, Dickie. I’m alive.” Not that you seemed to care, added the bitter voice in Jason’s head, but that wasn’t fair, not when Dick was looking at him like someone seeing the sun after a long winter.
“Jay,” Dick’s voice cracked on a wail, his fingers gripping Jason’s crushingly tight, and nearly flinging himself against the bonds to get closer to Jason. “Jay, I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to leave you—I’m sorry, please, please Jaybird, I miss you so much—”
“It’s okay,” Jason was having difficulty keeping his own voice level, because fuck, this was what he’d wanted to hear from Dick the whole fucking time, and he was only getting it because Dick was twisted up from the toxin. “I’m here, I came back, it’s okay.”
Enjoy it while it lasts, the too practical side of him said. The toxin would wear off, and Dick would go back to the way he was, but—but at least this proved he did care. Dick was angry, but one day he’d get over it, and then—then maybe Jason could have his older brother back.
“I’m right here,” Jason said over the sound of Dick’s sobs.
Bruce sent Jason up to bed when Dick dropped into an exhausted stupor and probably nightmare-filled sleep, but by that point, Jason could barely keep his eyes open, much less protest. He didn’t want to leave Dick when Dick seemed to still give a fuck about Jason, but he was also falling asleep where he was sitting.
True to form, Dick ignored Jason at breakfast. Jason was too tired to care. No one was awake enough for conversation. Jason made the executive decision that he needed several more hours of sleep before he went back to his safehouse—getting on his bike like this was a fast track to road rash—and didn’t flee the Manor.
Instead, he followed the gaggle of drooping birdies to the Cave after Dick and Bruce, who wanted to make sure Dick’s bloodwork was clean. Steph and Cass got to the elevator before them, and Jason folded in the face of Tim’s puppy-dog eyes to give him a piggyback ride downstairs.
The kid was too good at trotting those out. Jason was slightly concerned for the world if the baby bird ever decided he had greater ambitions than being Bruce’s emotional support Robin.
“Onward, noble steed!” Tim cried out when they finally reached the Batcave.
“Don’t test your luck, baby bird,” Jason mock-growled, “I can still finish you off.” Bruce was at the Batcomputer, watching them with a smile, and Dick was leaning on the back of his chair. Steph and Cass were sparring on the mats, so Jason headed for Bruce.
Tim laughed, and tightened his grip to rest his chin on top of Jason’s head. “You would never,” the kid teased, “You looove us, Jason.”
“Lies and slander,” Jason retorted.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you—” the rest of Tim’s sentence was cut off with a loud thud, and everyone swiveled to see Dick sprawled on the floor, eyes blown wide.
“Dick?” Bruce said uncertainly as Jason moved closer, his heart stuck in his throat. Tim slid off without a word and horrible scenarios rushed through Jason’s head—he’d missed Dick getting shot a second time, the toxin hadn’t disappeared, something was seriously wrong—as he knelt in front of his big brother.
“Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason kept his voice low and soft, “What happened?”
Dick was staring at him like Jason had two heads. “Jay?” his voice went so high-pitched it nearly cracked into hysterical.
“Yeah?” Jason raised an eyebrow, “You okay? Are you feeling dizzy?”
Dick didn’t answer his question, just stretched out a wavering hand. Jason reluctantly suppressed the instinct to jerk back, and let Dick’s fingertips brush his face, at which point the older boy yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.
“Dick?” Bruce was crouching down on Dick’s other side, “Chum, what happened? Are you still seeing things?”
“I thought his bloodwork came back clean?” Tim said, worried, but Dick nodded, pressing further against Bruce. He was still staring at Jason, and Jason resisted the urge to feel his own face.
“What are you seeing, Dick?” Bruce asked gently, and Dick’s whole face crumpled.
“Jason,” he choked out in a sob.
Bruce blinked, and stared at Jason. Jason raised his shoulders and spread his arms in an ‘I don’t know either’ gesture.
“Sweetheart, Jason is there,” Bruce said slowly, “What are you—”
“Jason,” Dick reiterated incredulously, scrambling away from Bruce, “Jason Todd.”
“In the flesh, Dickiebird,” Jason drawled, trying to keep his concern out of his tone. Had Dick hit his head? Amnesia? Jason remembered reading something about some disorder where people couldn’t recognize faces—
“Jason,” Dick repeated, stretching an arm out again. This time, he didn’t yank his fingers back when he touched Jason’s face, his hands settling on Jason’s cheeks. “Jason.” His voice was half disbelief, half wonder, and Jason stared blankly as Dick’s gaze dropped, his hands smoothing over Jason’s shirt.
“Uh…what are you doing?”
“You’re not bleeding,” Dick said in surprise. Jason’s eyebrows raised higher. “You’re—” the blue eyes snapped up to Jason’s face, “You’re not dead.”
“No?” Jason was extremely confused, but he didn’t get the chance to keep talking because he was being tackled.
Godfuckingdammit, Dick’s octopus hugs were just as good as he remembered.
Jason wrapped his arms around Dick’s back before Dick returned back to reality and let go, but something was still seriously wrong, no matter how nice it felt to have his older brother wrapped around him and squeezing tight. “Are we sure his bloodwork’s clean?” Jason asked a bewildered Bruce over Dick’s shoulder.
Dick made a wet sounding laugh against Jason’s hair. “I think that’s my line, Little Wing,” he murmured, “What—how—when did—what—when did you come back?”
Jason was beginning to wonder if he’d hit his head. “To Gotham?” Jason clarified, “Like, months ago, Dickie, are you sure you’re okay?”
Dick’s grip tightened, and Jason had never felt dread drop so quickly in his stomach. “Months?” Oh, Dick was pissed. Jason clung harder and pretended like he didn’t hear the thread of rage. “Months, and no one let me know?!”
What.
Wait a minute.
“What the fuck, Dickhead?” Jason couldn’t stop himself, “We’ve talked a bunch of times. Did you hit your head or something?”
Dick pushed free of the hug—Jason felt its absence like a gaping hole—but only retreated far enough to look Jason in the face. He stared intently, raising a hand to tug at the single lock of white in Jason’s hair.
“…I thought you were a hallucination,” Dick said, slow and soft and sad, and before Jason could process that, Dick was hugging him again.
It—fuck, it made sense. Why Dick ignored him most of the time, why he only acknowledged Jason if there was no one else in the room, why he’d never hugged him, why he’d never touched him despite Dick being the most tactile person Jason knew. It made a lot of sense.
Except for—
“Dick, you’ve worked together with Jason,” Tim pointed out, half incredulous, “You saved him from a fear toxin dart! Don’t tell me you thought that was a hallucination too.”
“What?” Dick said, confused, raising his head, “I didn’t save Jason, I saved—” Dick abruptly yanked back again, staring at Jason. “You’re the Red Hood,” he said blankly.
Oh.
Jason was getting light-headed trying to track these revelations, and he sat there, frozen to the spot, as wildly ranging emotions crossed Dick’s face. Surprise and bewilderment, shock and slowly settling realizations, confusion and irritation. And rage.
Oh fuck no. He couldn’t breathe. Jason could feel his heart beginning to crack—like a glass heated up and thrust into freezing ice. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t—he couldn’t face Dick’s fury again, and know that this time Dick knew full well who he was talking to. He couldn’t go from the hugs back to the disdain, no, please no—
“We’re definitely going to talk about that later,” Dick exhaled, slumping back against Jason and holding tight, “But I’m so happy you’re here, Jaybird.” His voice cracked, and the tears Jason had been trying to hold at bay burst through the dam. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” Jason murmured wetly, burying his head against his older brother’s shoulder. If this was a dream, Jason was going to murder someone.
But Jason didn’t wake up, and Dick didn’t let go. He heard someone—Tim?—murmuring something, and Bruce’s voice shushing him and sending him away. The footsteps completed a circuit, and Jason felt Bruce crouch behind him.
“Dick,” Bruce said, soft and firm, “How long have you been having hallucinations?”
Dick’s grip tightened. “I don’t know,” he bit back, “How long did you fail to tell me that my little brother was actually alive?”
Bruce exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “You were in space when we first found out, and I didn’t realize that I hadn’t updated you.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Some part of Jason twisted at the sound of Dick’s anger, but Dick didn’t stop hugging him. “It’s been months, Bruce! When I was in space, fine, but what about when I got back home?”
There was a stretching silence.
“Chum, are you asking me why I didn’t tell you that your brother was real and not a figment of your imagination?”
Dick made a grumbling noise and ducked his head back against Jason.
“We’re not done talking about this,” Bruce said firmly, and Dick moved until he was firmly settled in Jason’s lap, clinging to him like a koala. “Dick.”
“Shh,” Dick muttered, “I’m catching up on all the hugs that I missed while you lied to me.” Bruce sighed, but conceded defeat in the form of a hug around both of them and a kiss to each of their foreheads before he got up.
Jason breathed slowly, in and out, listening to Dick’s heartbeat pressed against him, feeling the soft breaths whistling against his ear.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” Dick whispered, low and hoarse, “I—fuck, Little Wing, thank you for coming back.”
“I, uh,” Jason had to clear out his throat, “I’m not sure how much of a role I played in the matter, but you’re welcome.”
“You came home,” Dick murmured, “Nothing else matters.”
Jason was not sniffling.
“I’m sorry for the shit I said to—to you,” Dick said quietly, “I didn’t—I didn’t know it was you. You are and will always be part of this family, Jaybird.”
Jason couldn’t speak, he could only press his face against Dick’s shoulder and struggle to draw in breath.
They didn’t get to enjoy their solitude for very long, though, because footsteps pattered closer. “Oh, look,” Steph said, “We can finally have cuddle piles!”
Before Jason could protest, they’d been encircled by at least two different people, and he suspected one of them was Cass judging by the inescapable grip. Dick made a watery chuckle as Jason cursed, and more footsteps echoed as the others joined the hug.
He continued hiding his face against Dick, but this time it was to conceal his painfully raw smile.
Home. Family. He—he finally had it all again.
This was where he belonged.
“Alright, when are you all getting off? My legs are falling asleep.”
“Did you think I was joking when I said I’m making up for all the hugs I’ve missed, Jaybird?”
“…I changed my mind, I am a hallucination.”