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Of all the nights to ride his motorcycle, Jason picked the worst. Thunder boomed overhead, cracks of lightning illuminating the highway. By the time he reached Dick’s Blüdhaven apartment, he was soaked to the bone from the lashing rain. Of course the damn elevator was broken, just his luck, so he was forced to climb the stairs one squishy waterlogged step at a time.
Taking a bracing breath, he raised his hand to knock on the front door. And hesitated. Why was he here? Well, he knew why, it’d been churning for weeks in his brain like it was a damn ice cream machine. But why—ah, to hell with it. He knocked loudly.
Shuffling bled through the door, a muffled “one moment!”, followed by more noise before Dick opened the door with a very polite, “Can I help you?” The chain was still latched and the acrobat was clutching a floor-length bathrobe around himself like he was a scandalized housewife.
Jason threw up lackluster jazz hands. “Surprise! Didn’t mean to catch you indecent. Got company?”
“Jay, it’s nearly one in the morning,” Peering into the empty hallway, Dick relaxed his grip on the robe. It fell open to reveal a glimpse of his Nightwing suit underneath, “You’re the only company I get at this hour.” He unlatched the door and swung it open. “Come in–ugh, why are you so wet?”
Jason looked down at the small puddle on the threadbare welcome mat. “Didn’t check the weather forecast.”
“You’ve got to get a car, man. Go to the bathroom, I’ll get you some dry clothes. Don’t drip on my furniture!”
“Yeah, yeah,” But Jason complied, stripping out of his soggy layers and dumping them in the tub.
“Here.” The bathroom door barely cracked open as Dick stuck his hand in to toss a bundle of clothes on the counter. “Pass me your wet stuff.”
Jason did, laughing under his breath as Dick made snarky comments about how many layers there were. The borrowed sweatpants with their faded Gotham Knights logo fit well, if a little short on the ankles, but the plain black cotton t-shirt was a snug across the shoulders and chest. Clearly anticipating that, Dick had included a second shirt for him. This one fit more comfortably, the Daily Planet logo printed on the chest starting to crack and peel.
It was odd, actually feeling how much bigger he was than his brother. Dick always felt larger than life. His presence alone commanded attention, for better or worse depending on the day. Plus, for a long time, his only memories of Dick were when Jason was shorter. Looking up to Nightwing as they soared across Gotham or bickered in the manor.
When Jason emerged from the bathroom, Dick was hanging his leather jacket in the laundry closet in the hallway above a humming dryer. “It's gonna have to drip dry.”
“Am I smelling fabric softener? Five star service. I like this hotel.”
“Make sure you leave a good review. Not that it would matter, my repeat customers don't give a shit. They all show up like you did. Your hair is still wet, here.” Dick tossed a towel over Jason's head and started scrubbing at his hair.
“Hey!” Jason swatted blindly at him, not really putting the effort in to chase Dick away. “Fuck, knock it off!”
“You'll catch a cold!”
“I'm not a damn baby! Dick, stop!”
The towel was snatched away to reveal Dick’s shit-eating grin, ever the annoying big brother. “There. Much better.”
“Ass,” Jason combed through his messed up hair with his fingers.
“When you're not hacking out your lungs and shaking with fever, you'll thank me,” Dick called over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen. “You hungry?”
He was starving. “Yeah, I could eat.”
“I've got pizza on the way. Hopefully you like the toppings.”
“Knowing you, that's unlikely, but I won't look a gift horse in the mouth.” The kitchen was spacious with exposed brick walls acting as the backsplash. This might be the nicest apartment he’d ever seen Dick live in. He caught the beer bottle being slid across the stone countertop to him.
“You better not be calling me a horse, Jay.”
His damp utility belt was slung over the back of a kitchen chair. Jason pulled a knife from it and popped the bottle cap off. “Have I looked in your mouth yet?”
Chuckling, Dick hopped up to sit on the counter and pried the cap off with his teeth. Probably a trick Wally or Roy taught him. The bathrobe was hanging fully open now, revealing the entire black and blue suit. A heavy duty, almost mechanical looking brace was strapped around his left knee. Vague memories surfaced: Batman and Nightwing chasing after Red Hood, still unaware it was Jason beneath the helmet, that same brace around Nightwing’s leg. His old gunshot injury must be hurting.
Jason tipped his chin in Dick's direction as he leaned against the island. “You heading out for the night or turning in?” Dick rarely drank, and never when there was even the slimmest chance of going on patrol. Which was—usually—always.
“Turning in,” Dick took a small sip of his beer, “Knee and shoulder were acting up too much to continue tonight.”
No doubt an understatement. It took serious pain to bench Nightwing. Like, actively-passing-out levels of pain. He eyed the beer in Dick's hand. “You're not taking any pain medicine are you?”
“No, Nurse Ratched."
“Good. For a second, you were almost acting rationally.”
“Hah! Trust me, I still pushed them further than I should have. But Bruce was scolding me like I was ten again and I didn't want to hear round two if I ended up in Leslie's office.” Dick twisted his face into an exaggerated scowl, puffing up his chest as he made his voice comically deep. “You better not be going out, Nightwing. Are you listening to me? Richard John Grayson, take that mask off!”
Out of all of them, Dick mimicked Bruce's mannerisms the best. A perk to having spent the most years dealing with his bull. Grinning, Jason took a drink. “Aw, the old man is finally voicing his feelings and you're mocking him.”
“My full name! Like I was back in pixie boots!”
“I got the old “Jason Peter” a few times but unlike you, I was actually a pleasant child and well behaved for the most part.”
“Ah! See?” Dick wagged his bottle at Jason, “You always add a caveat! We're calling attempted tire theft ‘well behaved’?”
Jason slapped a hand to his heart in mock offense. “Attempted? I had two tires stashed away before he came back, thank you very much. And that doesn't count because he didn't know my name then.”
Mischief twinkled in Dick's eyes, clearly enjoying their friendly sparring in place of all the physical fights he was missing out on. “I'll find some dirt on you, just wait.”
“You're certainly welcome to try, circus guy.”
Loud knocking on the front door interrupted them. Despite how entertaining it was to watch Dick rush to tie his robe, Jason graciously went to accept the pizzas. They moved to the living room and sprawled on opposite ends of the couch. Jason arranged the pizzas between them as Dick stacked pillows behind his right shoulder, casually complaining about what gangs they'd been dealing with lately.
Blüdhaven loved weird gangs and Dick was an entertaining storyteller, even with his mouth half full of andouille and pineapple pizza. Jason chuckled as he listened, plucking peppers off the other ham and olive pizza and idly flipping through TV channels.
When he landed on a cold case show, Dick perked up. The gangs were forgotten as Jason timed exactly how long it took his brother to solve each case, arguing in hissed whispers if the original time still counted if Dick solved more of the crime while he was on hold with the tip line.
After an impressive thirteen solves, a reality show rerun took over the channel. With one triumphant fist in the air, Dick sank back against his pile of pillows and finally took another sip of beer.
“Lightweight,” smirked Jason, “Two hours for half a beer?”
“I won’t apologize for wanting to savor my drinks, you cretin.”
“This isn’t even a beer worth savoring!” He chucked his empty bottle at Dick, “When was the last time you had a real drink?”
“You mean got drunk?”
“I mean the last time you finished a drink in under half an hour,” Jason kicked his legs out on the couch between them, discarded pizza boxes on the floor, and spread his hands, “I'm being really generous here.”
Dick tapped the mouth of the bottle on his chin. “Donna’s death,” he said thoughtfully, eyes fixed on a spot across the room, “Spent a whole day in the dark with a bottle of whatever liquor I had, listening to Roy fill my answering machine’s memory.”
“Must’ve been a hell of a hangover.”
“Mhmm. Worst part was it didn’t help at all. I just wanted…” he trailed off. But it didn’t need to be spoken aloud. He’d seen first hand how Dick punished himself for perceived failures. Dick blinked and was suddenly returned to himself. “You? Bet ten dollars I can guess.”
Jason snorted. “I was in London. Just offed one of the instructors Talia set me up with. Real piece of shit, traded in innocent blood and lives and would never see a second behind bars. But I wasn't drinking to celebrate. It was more like…the second kill felt more like the point of no return, y’know? One could be written off, but two…I couldn't handle processing that on top of everything else.” The ‘everything else' being plotting bloody revenge on the city of his birth and his family of choice.
There was that thoughtful look in Dick’s eyes again, only this time it was fixed on Jason. “Can I ask you something?” He said and Jason nodded, “Did you push Garzonas?”
The death that changed it all. Changed how Bruce looked at Jason, how they spoke, how they trusted each other. One sick fucker's fall off a balcony led to Jason digging out of his own grave.
The question was serious and tinged with curiosity as to why his body count was only two and not three. Yet…there was the unspoken offer for Jason to refuse. To take the truth with him to the grave a second time.
He met Dick's eyes, needing his sincerity to come across. “No. I didn't. But I also didn't try to catch him. And honestly, as much as I want to…I can't blame Bruce for doubting me. I wouldn't have believed me either.”
The lack of reaction wasn't surprising. What Bat didn't have a good poker face? Jason would've been concerned if Dick did have an outburst. But the understanding in Dick's nod, his softening eyes, and the way he squeezed Jason's ankle were surprising.
“You should've been,” His brother murmured, so low it might not have been intended for him to hear. There was something unspoken behind it all, he could read it in Dick's behavior like a neon sign. But he let it lie.
One day, maybe. When he'd earned it.
“You're telling me, you haven't gotten drunk since then?” Said Dick in a lighter tone.
Grateful for the escape, Jason leaned back more against the couch arm, flinging an arm over his head. “Sure, but not like that night.”
“I knew it, by the way. That it was after your resurrection. Pay up.”
“First of all, I never accepted that bet. Secondly, my entire adult life has been after my resurrection, moron.” He stabbed at Dick's armor-covered ribs with his foot. The suit must be providing extra stability and compression for his injuries. Because that shit was not comfortable for lounging. “God, that is so morbid to say out loud. This whole conversation is morbid. What's wrong with us?”
“Newsflash! Our whole family is morbid. That's what happens when you've all died at least once.” Dick grinned, slapping Jason's foot away before trapping it under his good leg, “Good news is that if I finish the other half of my beer, this can be my newest drunk moment.”
Jason couldn’t help but smile too. “Quick, take a sip so I can ask you a question while you're wasted. Whoa, not that much! You'll black out!” Dick flopped his upper body around in a ridiculous imitation of being drunk, “Why aren't you and Donna dating?”
That made Dick nearly spit out his beer. Actually, a little bit did spray from his lips, misting Jason's leg.
“Gross, dude!”
Dick forced himself to swallow before laughing in Jason's face. “Me and Donna?”
“You’re always waxing poetic about how much you love her! Feels like common sense.”
“God, I always forget you never got to know her.” Stifling more laughter, Dick ran a hand over his face, “Yeah, I love Donna. I always will. She’s my sister and best friend but she’s also…more. And whatever that is, it is strictly platonic. On both sides! Wouldn’t happen if we were the last two people on the planet,” That shit-eating grin returned to Dick’s face, “What about you? Anyone falling for your rugged bad boy persona and leather jacket?”
“Fuck no!” Jason barked a laugh, “I tried a few times and all signs point to it being a ‘me’ problem. But we’re talking about you, the person who could charm paint off a wall. Fine, you and Donna would rather die than kiss, but are you seeing anyone?”
Another sip of beer to hide his coy smile. “Maybe. I’m thinking about it.”
“Dick Grayson, you dog!” He punctuated each word with more toe jabs to the ribs, keeping Dick’s injuries in mind. “What the hell does that even mean?”
Dick knocked his bottle against Jason’s ankle bones in revenge, each tap smarting. “I’m afraid that information is confidential.”
“Screw you. I’ll just call Oracle.” It was meant as a joke but for a millisecond, Dick’s eyes widened. “Barbara?” Jason gasped, sitting upright, “You’re getting back with Barbara?”
Dick cringed. “I said I’m thinking about it. Not that she is.”
“I heard she dumped you after you tried to propose.”
“Gee, thanks for keeping rumors alive,” He muttered, “Listen, Jay, do not go blabbing about this. It’s complicated and all up to her in the end since she had very specific reasons why we wouldn't make it. I’ve been working on them but…” He spread his hands in a very ‘what can you do?’ way.
“I’m a vault,” Miming locking his lips, Jason reclined on the couch again, “I hope it works out for you, Dickie. Seriously.”
“Thanks, man. Hey, whatever happened to that flight attendant you were seeing?”
“Oh, the usual mask life colliding with civilian life. She told me to call when the mask was hung up for good.”
He raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Is she worth it?”
In certain crazy daydreams, yes, Isabel fit right in. But those were daydreams. Jason was who he was, as trapped in this life as Bruce. He shrugged nonchalantly, “I could count the number of normal dates we had on one hand so truthfully, no idea.”
When they finally got up from the couch, Dick winced as multiple joints cracked. Trying to maintain his reputation as a decent houseguest, Jason took it upon himself to clean up all their trash. “Don’t worry about putting out sheets or pillows,” He called from the kitchen as he folded the pizza boxes so they’d fit in the trashcan, “I just need a blanket.” There was no reply. “Dick?” Jason called, turning the light off as he went back to the living room. He better not find the moron passed out on the floor.
Dick was standing with a self-satisfied smile by a closed door. “Oh, you’re not sleeping on the couch tonight.”
“Mop closet then?”
“Nope.” The door swung open to reveal a bedroom, as sparsely decorated as the rest of the apartment. The exposed brick walls and abundant natural light were really doing the heavy lifting in making this place look styled. “I upgraded with this apartment. Welcome to the guest room.”
“Very domestic of you, Wing. You’re really embracing being thirty, huh?” Jason nodded appreciatively as he walked in. A stack of moving boxes were still in the far corner, flaps open to reveal the contents piled inside. There was that spark of Grayson décor.
“Twenty-nine, you ass.” Dick’s laugh drifted down the hall as he limped off to his bedroom.
The full-size bed was definitely more comfortable than the couch would have been. It was only seconds before Jason passed out cold. So it was odd that he was awake now. Only the slimmest edge of the horizon was a pale blue; sunrise was barely thinking about starting. In other words, it was too fucking early.
A clatter came from the kitchen. No doubt the noise that woke him. Cursing, Jason staggered out of the bedroom. “Dick?” No reply. “I’m warning you, I’m armed and trigger happy.”
“Alright, jeez, it’s me,” Dick was standing by the sink, wringing out a wet towel. He was in pajamas finally, a stretched out Gotham Knights shirt and faded navy shorts. “This your application to be building security?”
“You woke me up.”
“Oh. Sorry.” The microwave beeped as Dick punched in a time and chucked the towel in. They both stood there watching the towel spin in slow circles until the light shut off, the microwave beeped, and Dick slapped the steaming towel on his shoulder.
“Why aren’t you using a heating pad?” All of them had an assortment of differently shaped pads designed to fit any and all body parts they might possibly injure. Jason’s personal favorite was the one Bruce made to wrap around his ankle and foot after a nasty sprain.
Dick shrugged with his good shoulder. “Can’t find them.”
“Wha–Dickie, you’re ridiculous. They’re literally right in the guest room.” Rolling his eyes, Jason dragged his brother to the pile of boxes and pointed at a protruding tangle of wires and fabric. “Toss that rag in the bathroom sink and sit on the bed.” Surprisingly, Dick complied, obediently lifting his arm so Jason could wrap a heating pad snug around his shoulder and upper arm. Before he could ask if Dick wanted the leg wrap, the man was straightening out his knee in anticipation.
“Thank you, Little Wing.”
“Not to be a hypocrite, but you should take better care of yourself,” Jason fastened the last velcro strap and turned both heating elements to ‘high’, “You getting enough sleep? Cause these things were literally out in the open. You looked right at them earlier.”
“Four hours is too long to count as a nap, so yes.”
With a snort, Jason gave him a light shove. “Lay down. I’ll keep an eye on the heat so you don’t cook like a gas station hot dog.”
It was Dick’s turn to roll his eyes but he complied and stretched out on one side of the bed. It was a tight fit when Jason also laid down, their shoulders pressed together, but neither of them complained.
In fact, it made Jason smile. “Remember when I was Robin? And you passed out in my bed after patrol one night? I had to shove you over with my feet so I could get more space to sleep.”
“What?” Dick exclaimed, sounding both groggy and put out, “I didn’t–”
“No, you did! You were telling me how to better use my grapple in short bursts to gain momentum for longer swings and literally fell asleep in the middle of your sentence. Just shut down like an unplugged computer.”
Silence. Then Dick let out a groaning laugh and covered his face with the blanket. “Oh God, I do remember that.”
“I told you!”
“I hadn’t slept in like 33 hours or something. Did you really have to shove me with your feet?”
“Yes!” They were both laughing now, Dick looking mildly embarrassed as he peeked from under the cover, eyes crinkled with mirth. “You’re worse than a sack of bricks when you’re unconscious, it’s like your weight doubles! And Bruce was baffled when he came to check on me and saw you drooling in your Nightwing suit—”
“I had the worst kink in my neck afterwards,” Dick snorted, “I couldn’t look to the left for two whole days thanks to your lumpy pillows.”
“Lies!” Jason pushed himself up on one elbow and stabbed a finger at Dick’s smiling face. “No shot you got that from my bed! Look at the shape you’re in now!”
“Alright, alright, touché. I guess that’s the last time we hung out like this.”
“Nah, that was different, you were basically lecturing me like I was in class,” Jason flopped back on the bed, “We’ve never hung out like this before.”
“Then what made you drive all the way out here in the rain?” The implication that Jason not hadn't asked for or needed anything yet hung in the air. After all, that was his usual M.O. for ending up at someone's place.
“I…”
I wanted to see if I could. If you’d let me.
The words stuck in Jason’s throat. The truth felt too exposing. And embarrassing. Saying it out loud made him sound like a petulant child. But the truth was all of those things. He came here precisely because he and Dick never hung out for the sake of just hanging out. And for some bizarre reason he needed to see if there was space in Dick’s life for him to be only Jason, his brother, and not Red Hood.
Maybe, in a world where Jason never died, those advice sessions would’ve turned into something fun and lighthearted like this sooner. He might’ve spent the weekend at Dick’s apartment the way Tim did and still does. Maybe he wouldn’t feel pathetic for a week of stressing over whether or not he should visit his brother without the pretense of a case.
All of that had been spinning through his mind like an endless merry-go-round until at last he’d caved and driven thirty minutes in a thunderstorm on a motorcycle. Spurred on by the welcoming kindness his brother kept showing him, harboring an insane dream that maybe…those other lives could be within his reach. That there could still be a space in Dick’s life for Jason Todd.
And that Dick would want him in it.
“I missed you,” Jason finished lamely, still too uncomfortably close to the truth.
Dick hummed in reply, the happy notes dragging with sleepiness. The blankets rustled as his hand searched for Jason’s and squeezed it. “Then I really hope this isn’t the last time we do this. Because I missed you too.”