Archive of Our Own ^beta

Despite what people can think, Jason Todd is a planner. He doesn’t blaze all guns out with no idea of how to get out of the situation he got himself into; he plans and watches and acts according to what he observes first.

Even as a kid, he was a planner. He would watch out for when his father would come back home, for how much he could spend on groceries, how much time he had left for homework after helping his mother out. On the streets, he planned day by day his meals, where to sleep, how to gain money in less than savory ways but the only ones he could manage to get.

It’s only when Bruce adopted him that he truly started to plan his future. Going to college. Getting a degree, maybe two if he felt like it. Learning how to drive. Getting a motorbike. Joining the Teen Titans. Adopting a dog or maybe a cat or why not both. Going on another trip with Dick, this time to the beach.

Maybe, way down the line, convincing Bruce to adopt them a new little sibling. A boy or a girl, Jason didn’t mind — he always dreamed of being a big brother. He spent nights in bed imagining a new kid running around the Manor, Jason helping them out with homeworks, Dick and him fake-fighting over who’s the best big brother around, spoiling the kid with ice-cream and forbidden treats.

Of course, all of his plans and dreams burned to ash with him; and unlike him, they stayed lying in a coffin and forgotten while the world moved on past them.

Still. Jason is a planner, and so when he decides to come back in Gotham and enact vengeance on the big bad Bat and a certain clown, he has plans to put a war strategist to shame and ready to be fired.

Now, months down the line, Crime Alley his, Jason can almost feel like it’s a victory.

(Except it isn’t, because Batman refused to kill the Joker and attacked him instead, and the clown is still alive, and Bruce didn’t even try to bring him home—)

Jason is making a quick patrol around his territory, just to be sure that his rules are enforced and respected.

(Just to forget the sound and the sigh of Blüdhaven disappearing in a cloud of smoke and the knot in his stomach at the fear he refuses to think about.)

So far, everything seems alright; but it’s Gotham, and Jason was born here, grew up here — he knows better than to think it will stay that calm. And thus he’s not surprised when loud laughs echo in an alley below the rooftop he’s crouched in.

“I told you, I don’t have money,” comes an annoyed voice, and Jason can picture the mugging turning wrong from here. Also, the lack of self-preservation of any good Gothamite.

“Well, if you don’t have money, you’ll have to pay us in another way,” sneers someone, the intent clear in his voice. Jason is already standing and getting in the right position to drop on these guys before things turn even more sour.

“Pretty boy sure have a pretty ass,” says another one, and laughs follow the comment.

Jason grits his teeth as he lands soundly behind them. The guy they’re trying to rob — or extort, probably, since they look like a low-level gang — doesn’t notice either, his face hidden by the darkness of the alley but annoyance clear in the line of his body. He seems ready to jump and fight, but from where he is he probably doesn't see the guns and knives Jason can spot. He acts before Jason can react, though, his fist meeting the closest gang member right in the face, his nose breaking on impact. Before the others can jump in the fight, Jason takes it as his clue to join.

It’s fast and easy — they’re not good at fighting someone with a minimum of training, and the sigh of the Red Hood is enough for most of them to run away like bats out of hell (ha) in the first place. Jason can’t help the curl of satisfaction at this — but first, he has to take care of the victim and make sure the gang members are all gone.

“I could have taken care of them alone,” says the guy he just saved, finally coming out in the light to watch the last of the gang scramble away as fast as he could. “But thanks.”

Jason turns, a quip ready on his lips, but his breath gets taken away by the unexpected sigh.

Because, right here in front of him and none the wiser, is Dick Grayson himself — Nightwing, leader of the Titans, former Robin, favored son of Batman.

His big brother.

Jason’s heart misses a beat as his gaze takes in the form of the man. He looks older than the last time he saw him, years ago. Dick’s hair is way, way shorter, too, so much that it’s jarring. He seems tired, eyes drowning in his dark bags. He looks thinner, too — not healthy like he has always been.

Jason can’t really blame him. His city did blow up not so long ago, after all.

(And Jason decides to ignore the relief shaking up his body at the confirmation that his brother is still alive.)

Dick tilts his head on the side, gaze sliding on Jason — Red Hood right now — being at the same time wary and curious. “Everything’s okay?” he asks, like he wasn’t the one being mugged minutes ago.

Jason shakes himself up — he’s surprised, but it’s alright. He’s probably persona no grata now, so he’ll have to plan a escapade route right about now, but—

But. But Dick isn’t reacting. Or, at least, he isn’t reacting like his dead little brother who came back wrong and started killing is right before his eyes.

The realization freezes Jason’s blood, and he isn’t even sure why. There’s murmurs of green in his mind and static in his ears, but all Jason can think is He doesn’t know.

Dick doesn’t know who Jason is. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t know who Red Hood is, outside of what all of Gotham probably knows. Bruce didn’t tell him, then, and it’s more than a possibility that the rest of the family isn’t aware of his come-back to life either.

Jason… isn’t sure how to feel about this particular fact. He doesn’t have time to think about it either; Dick is already worried and suspicious, it would be best to not add more to the pile.

“I’m fine, but I wasn’t the one mugged here,” Jason answers with a detachment he wishes he could really feel. “How are you feeling?”

Dick blinks, like he’s surprised someone would even take the time to ask him about his feelings. Typical of him, really. At least some things never change.

“I’m fine,” he says, slowly, like it’s supposed to be obvious — he used the same tone to gently mock Jason about his homeworks, once upon a time, but here he’s surprised and not teasing.

“You sure?” Jason can’t help himself but demands again; there’s no way in hell for Dick to confide himself in a stranger, even less a stranger who also happens to be a known crime lord, but he can still hope.

Dick sends him a weird glance, and Jason sighs. He’s more than happy for his helmet and voice modulator right now.

Jason isn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want Dick to know who he is, now. It would be best, more honest, sure, but— But Dick is not on the defensive. Weirded out? Definitely. But he’s not aggressive or closed off like Bruce had been, and—

—And Jason wants to have that, just for this one time. To have one person of his family interact with him openly and without bad thoughts in mind.

(Jason misses being part of a family. He will never allow himself to think about it.)

“Alright,” Jason relents finally. “Just be careful next time, okay?”

His brother shrugs, and something cold he can’t describe is back in Jason’s blood. “I could have fought them without a problem, but sure.”

Jason grits his teeth — of course Dick would be cocky about something like that. The thoughts left him as soon as it hit him — Dick is not someone cocky. He would probably be described as modest by a lot of people, but Jason in particular is aware that Dick knows perfectly well all of his strengths and weaknesses and acts accordingly, nothing more, nothing less. It’s what makes him a good leader, among — well, a lot of things.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling awkward at the weird tension in the air, “have a good night. Get back home safe,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, because he still has a hard time reconciling the fact that he literally had to save his big brother, Nightwing, from a mugging. Uh.

“Yup. No problem,” answers Dick.

They look at each other, and Jason doesn’t leave yet. He can’t help but linger, something he still can’t name spiking up his blood pressure and making him jittery.

Dick watches him, observes him, and it’s like this time Jason sneaked out to go see old friends of his when Dick was supposed to babysit him. He had been uncomfortable then, like his brother could read all of his secrets written over him; it isn’t better now, even despite the fact Dick doesn’t even know he’s Jason.

“Would accompanying me home help you feel less anxious?” Dick asks finally.

Jason is almost startled. He’s not anxious, but sure, seeing Dick go back to his apartment in one piece would help him sleep better tonight. It’s stupid, too, because Dick isn’t supposed to be someone important for the Red Hood, and here he is, blowing of all his chances for Dick to believe he’s like, mysterious and dangerous. Jason feels like a kid again.

(He rudely shuts down the voice telling him that at barely nineteen, he is still a kid. He hadn’t been a kid anymore when Bruce adopted him; he isn’t more of a kid now.)

“Yeah, sure, why not. I finished patrolling, anyway,” he responds, keeping his cool with maestro.

Dick simply nods, before starting walking in a direction. Jason stays on his spot a whole second before he realizes he has to move, too, and immediately follows him up. They’re standing next to each other now, and there’s silence between them, still a little weird but also, somehow, comfortable.

Jason looks over his brother once more, and the next realization hitting him nearly makes his heart stop.

He’s taller. He’s taller than Dick. He’s taller than his big brother.

And it seems so, so wrong. Sure, Dick has never been a big guy, but Jason has years of malnutrition stunting his growth behind him. He had resolved himself to be small forever a long time ago, when Leslie first announced it to him, and this despite his genes who should have allowed him to grow tall. And now—

And now, the Lazarus Pit apparently healed even that. And now, Jason is taller than his big brother, and it’s all kind of wrong.

It’s like a punch in the face, like when he learned about the new Robin, like when he saw Bruce with a huge smile adopting a new kid. It’s proof that time has passed and people moved on and Jason missed so much of it.

Dick looks almost fragile, from there.

This sudden revelation doesn’t sit well with Jason.

(Dick is supposed to be untouchable, bigger than life itself.)

He resolves himself to only look in front of him from now on, his heart still beating too fast, and stupid, annoying tears pickling at his eyes.

(Jason wants to be a kid again and feel protected and safe with his big brother. He wants to bury himself in his arms and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

But he can’t anymore, now, can’t he?)

In what happens to not be a surprise at all, Dick lives near Crime Alley, in an apartment probably cheap and half-destroyed inside. Dick lived in an apartment with Kori when Jason had died, and it was a nice one; but when he did his research before coming back, he had noticed how different Dick’s living status is now.

Jason thinks he’s the only one who can really understand him, in the sense that despite being adopted by Bruce and having money from Talia now, he can’t imagine himself living in something luxurious. It’s why he took an apartment in Crime Alley too, and that most of his safehouses are here as well. Besides, it feels more familiar.

Dick is made of the same wood. He’s not comfortable with being rich, despite the number of years he lived with Bruce. Jason had seen it right away, when they first met — it was evident to him who was just the same.

Dick hasn’t really changed.

It’s reassuring, somehow. Small mercies, like the saying says.

“So. We’re here,” starts Dick, looking at him, and Jason feels himself flush under his helmet. Thanks to all the gods that Dick can’t see it.

“Uh, yeah. Good. I’m glad you’re home safe.”

Dick smiles, and it’s a little, almost fond one, but it warms Jason’s heart and it shouldn’t, Jason is angry and doesn’t want to have anything to do with his family—

He can’t help but to love it. He totally chooses to curse Dick in his head, though.

“I’ll see you around,” his big brother says, and it’s almost teasing and Jason could picture a nineteen-year-old Dick dropping him at the Manor with eyes sparkling and a good weekend behind them, and him with his bag on his shoulders and a smile ready to defy the sun, and the happiness and easiness between them that he wishes would still exist.

But Jason can’t regret this. Because if he starts now, he’ll never stop, and he’ll start having second thoughts about all of his plans and he really doesn’t want that.

Jason can’t let himself be lured into a fake sense of safety. He knows what betrayal feels like, and he’s too afraid he doesn’t want to feel it again.

“Stay safe,” he says quickly before taking his grapple gun, shooting it, and pulling himself out of reach, on the safety of a roof, hidden by the darkness.

Dick is watching where he disappeared, face contemplative; then, he turns around and enters the building, the door closing behind him.

Jason takes a deep breath. He can’t allow himself to get close to Dick again; it would be too dangerous. Besides, now he’s sure he’s alright after Blüdhaven’s explosion, so there’s no reason to be worried anymore.

His brother is Dick Grayson (-Wayne, now), after all. He always manages to be okay.

Jason lingers for a couple more minutes before leaving in the shadows. He can still feel the warmth at his brother’s smile directed at him, and he locks the feeling inside his heart, where the nostalgia can’t reach him.

.

.

.

In the following days, Jason is careful. He doesn’t approach the neighborhood Dick lives in, not even by accident. He plans his patrol routes so they won’t even come near it. It’s weirdly easy, but to be honest, Jason prefers it. He isn’t sure how he would react if he finds himself in front of Dick again.

He gets an answer to this specific question in the second week after he had helped Dick.

He’s patrolling again, the night calm and cold. The stars aren’t visible in Gotham, and it’s a sight Jason misses; the moon, though, manages to pierce the deep clouds to illuminate the sky. Not a lot, but it’s enough to provide an eerie glow on the city. Gotham looks like she’s coming right out of a Fairy Tale, or a gothic novel, maybe.

It’s fitting, thinks Jason distantly. Beneath him, some sort of groan resonates — annoyance, maybe, probably a little pain as well. Jason moves, his eyes racking up the alley; here, against a wall, is a man, several bags around him. Groceries bags, notes distantly Jason, because the rest of his brain is caught up on the fact that he knows this jacket. He can’t remember it well, though.

(It’s like a cold winter and his body is engulfed in warmth, a faint smell of leather and fire and salt surrounding him. But it’s familiar and grounding and there’s a light laugh, an arm around his shoulders, a kiss pressed into his hair, and Jason feels safe.)

He judges the guy for a short instant before realizing that he knows him. Before he realizes that it’s Dick.

Jason is standing up on the ground before he knows it. He hesitates an instant, but Dick is already tensing — he definitely heard him.

“Need help?” asks Jason, thankful once again for his helmet and the mechanized voice that comes with it.

Surprisingly, Dick relaxes, and a small smile is clinging to his lips when he turns toward Jason. “Hey. How are you, Hood?”

Jason rolls his eyes as the deflection. “I’m fine. Seems like you could use a hand,” he tries again, this time gesturing to the bags still on the ground.

Dick seems to ponder the idea a short instant, before sighing. “I wouldn’t mind, actually. I hurt my shoulder recently and — well, you can see the rest.”

Jason has to fight the urge to ask why he’s outside and lifting weight if he’s hurt, but he spent three years around Dick and knows better. His brother wouldn’t take the remark well, and, well, he has never been one to sit patiently and wait for an injury to disappear. Jason could still hear Leslie’s lectures and see Alfred’s stern looks.

“No problem,” simply says Jason before bending over and taking the majority of the bags. Dick rolls his eyes but lets him. “Led the way,” continues Jason, head tilted, waiting for Dick to start walking again.

He knows where Dick lives, sure, but he doesn’t want him to think he’s some kind of weird guy who noted down his address or something. It wasn’t like it mattered.

Dick takes the last bag and soon they’re out of the alley, walking side by side in a comfortable silence. Despite his supposed hurt shoulder, Dick stands straight and looks right in front of him, once again not bothered by the criminal beside him.

It’s jarring. The Dick he used to know — well, he was trusting, sure, but he was cautious, too. Jason wonders if it changed, or if Dick just becomes even better at pretending.

Maybe he’s trying to gain his trust to get information out of him. That one wouldn’t be surprising.

Jason glances at Dick. His brother is still acting like everything is alright, silent but apparently relaxed.

Something is weird, though, but Jason can’t put a finger on it.

“So,” he starts, with no idea how to continue, “groceries shopping?”

Dick snorts, and, yeah, Jason gets it. It was terrible. Thankfully for his helmet, Dick can’t see the way his cheeks turn red.

“Yup,” answers Dick, popping the p at the end, like he always did. It’s… reassuring. (It shouldn’t be.) “Didn’t have anything left in my fridge, so it was pretty urgent.”

Jason hums. He sends a glance at the bags in his arms, and speaks without thinking. “Since you’re hurt and all, why didn’t you ask for a friend to come with you?”

He realizes it was the wrong thing to say when Dick stiffens. It’s not a huge change in his posture, but Jason grew up admiring and trying to imitate Dick. He can tell he’s not at ease with the topic, but Jason can’t understand why.

Jason had always known Dick with the Titans — his friends, team, and second family. The bonds between them were tight and seemingly indestructible. Jason can’t imagine a world where they wouldn’t come running for each other, or where they would leave Dick alone when he’s hurt. Sure, Dick would probably not tell them, but they know him too well to not see it.

One time, when Jason was fourteen, Dick got hurt on patrol when they were both out as Nightwing and Robin; when they were resting the day after, Dick left for an emergency with the Titans. Donna brought him back while scolding him, and even got Wally out of his retirement to make sure Dick wasn’t following them. It had been funny then, and even just the memory makes Jason smile; but thinking about it just highlights how weird it is that Dick didn’t ask anyone to help him. It’s not like he’s short on friends who would die for him (or just help him grocery shop).

“My friends…” slowly starts Dick, and Jason reports all his attention on him. “We grew up together, and, you know, with time and all… We kind of drifted away from each other.”

It sounds like a valid explanation.

It doesn’t sound like the Titans Jason used to know.

But before he can make any kind of remarks, ask for more details maybe, Dick continues. “And, well… I used to live in Blüdhaven before it… you know.”

Jason winces, his mouth already forming Sorry, when he realizes that’s definitely what Dick intended to do. Worse, it definitely works, because Jason doesn’t feel like keeping up on this topic.

Urg.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and suddenly Jason isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for.

For losing his friends? For Blüdhaven? For being there and not doing anything? For gloating at Bruce when he only wanted to jump in and run to him and make sure he was okay?

Jason swallows, uneasy, and Dick is looking at him now. His eyes are fixed on him, and it’s like he’s reading his soul and heart, and Jason wants to go away but he’s frozen in place, held there by his big brother’s gaze.

“Thank you,” finally murmurs Dick, and then louder, “We’re here.”

Jason shakes himself and, sure, they are in front of Dick’s building. He hesitates an instant, but Dick makes a quick motion for him to follow, and so Jason enters behind Dick. Going to his apartment from then doesn’t take a lot of time; Dick is opening the door soon, stepping inside and letting it open as a silent invitation.

Jason takes a deep breath before following his brother, closing the door behind him. There’s a faint light illuminating the room. The walls are plain, of a dirty white color, and the floor has seen better days. There’s not a lot of personal possession inside, Jason can see as much. No personalization either. There’s a counter delimiting the open kitchen from the living room, and Jason puts the bags on it, watching around him in curiosity. There’s a couch and a table, and two doors as well — probably the bathroom and the bedroom. It’s small, and empty in a way that doesn’t sit well on Jason’s stomach.

Dick is not someone who keeps a lot of stuff with him; he once told Jason he was too used to always being on the moves for it. But still, where he lived before — he had pictures on his walls, some plants near the window, more furniture as well. It looked… more lived-in in general.

This apartment is just sad, and leaves a feeling of solitude Jason would never have associated with his brother before.

“Here,” says Dick, startling Jason out of his thoughts. There’s a thermos in his hand, and a bag of cookies in the other. Jason blinks, and Dick seems to understand the motion despite the helmet hiding it. “As a thank you for helping me.”

Dick is smiling, and Jason has the food in his hands without planning to. He makes an uncomfortable gesture toward the thermos. “I’ll bring it back to you,” he says, but Dick only smiles further. There’s a shine in his eyes, and it somehow makes Jason feel lighter.

“No need, I have another one.”

Still, Jason will probably come back for it. It’s only the polite thing to do. Before he can argue further, though, Dick is bringing him back to the door.

“Get back home safe,” he instructs before closing the door before Jason has the time to realize he had been kicked out.

“Uh,” mumbles Jason after the few seconds it takes for his brain to catch up with the recent events. Without a sound, he turns on his heels and makes his way outside, the thermos and the bag of cookies pressed against him. His mind is full of thoughts and worries and Jason doesn’t know how to deal with it. He’s not sure he wants to. It’s too much, too sudden, and he’s almost scared of what he could find.

So instead, he goes back to his own apartment. The difference with Dick’s is startling — Jason took the time to install a whole library, putting books on display, a plant is quietly growing in a corner, there’s a blanket over his couch and clothes in need to be folded over the table. It’s not home yet, but it’s becoming it, and Jason feels a pang thinking about his brother alone in his dim apartment.

It’s only after taking a shower and putting on more comfy clothes that Jason takes the time to look at his brother’s gifts. There’s tea in the thermos, the kind Alfred used to make for them after patrol, to help them sleep. The cookies are cooked just perfectly, the taste different than the one Alfred used to bake, but still good. There’s probably a spice or something like it in the recipe — Alfred always had a hard time with using it.

Jason curls up under his blanket, munching at the cookies and drinking the tea, thinking about his brother and the past, about an invisible weight on strong shoulders and eyes shattering in sharps of pain.

Jason has never felt so alone and so at peace since he came back.

.

.

.

Jason has been planning on giving back his thermos to Dick, but life keeps getting in the way. First with the beginning of a gang war he had to break down, then with Talia checking up on him for three days straight until he cracks and asks her to stop, to end the whole package with Batman on a warpath against him that does nothing to help his nerves.

All in all, it’s been almost one month since his last encounter with Dick. Jason… kind of misses him, if he has to be honest — back then, when he was with the League, when he was drowning in anger and the Lazarus Pit, Jason was already missing his brother; now, after seeing him, talking with him in a more amicable way than whatever he could have hoped for…

Jason has to resist the urge to go to him and to blurt out the truth right away. If Bruce hasn’t said anything, Dick probably has other things to do than worrying about a criminal who helped him twice.

A part of Jason can’t shake his worry away, though. Dick didn’t look good, these last two times he had seen him. Besides the obvious lack of sleep, it’s the striking loneliness clinging to him that scares Jason the most, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. For as long as Jason had known Dick, he has always been easily surrounded by friends and friendly faces. And he has always been a hard-worker, not always taking the time for the sleep he needed — but his friends, justly, were always there to reason him.

Jason knows, deep down, that Dick’s tiredness doesn’t have everything to do with a lack of sleep. It’s probably the most terrifying, though — because what can one do when a Titan falls?

(What can a kid do when his big brother falls?)

When Jason packs the thermos and makes his way by rooftop toward Dick’s building, his heart is pounding — he’s not sure why, but some sort of anxiety is twisting his stomach and he doesn’t manage to get rid of it. Seeing that his brother is alright would probably help soothing it.

For once, the night is clear, clouds almost non-existent, and moon three-quarter full. It’s what makes Jason realize there’s a strange shape at the top of the building, cutting the sky with edges just a little too off.

The twist is in Jason’s heart, now.

The shape doesn’t move. It’s still clear that it’s a person — from where he is, Jason can see locks of short hair pushed away by the wind, the edge of a t-shirt flapping in the air. Jason is way too conscious of the void below, of the feet of the person right at the edge, tiptoes maybe already without support—

Jason has a knot in his throat by the time he lands softly on the roof.

There’s a complete silence around them. Jason isn’t sure if it’s because his ears are ringing and he’s so focused he can’t hear the city around, or if for once they’re all holding their breath.

Jason can’t shake. Jason can’t lose it right now. Jason—

Jason knows this t-shirt, and this hair, and the way the person holds himself—

It’s Dick.

Jason freezes. His heart stops beating an instant, maybe a short one, maybe an eternity — but Dick is already turning himself toward him, looking at him with calm, red eyes.

“Hood,” he says, voice even but tone surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to give you back your thermos,” blurts out Jason without thinking, his gaze still on his brother toying with the fine line between the ground and the void, life and death—

Dick is supposed to be an acrobat, not a tightrope-walker.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, forcing himself to stay calm, to not rush over, to not panic and break down on the spot.

Dick hums, tilts his head like he’s truly considering the question right now. “I like the height,” he finally answers, not batting an eye at the sheer what-the-fuck he just said.

“You like the—” Jason stays dumbfounded a few seconds before shaking himself, a startled laugh leaving his mouth. “And you’re not afraid of falling?”

Dick glances at the edge, at the alley below, and Jason fights the instinct to jump at him. “Not really,” his brother answers with a shrug.

Jason shouldn’t be here. Jason shouldn’t be the one to — take care of that? Make sure Dick is alright?

Scratch that, Dick is definitely not alright.

Jason takes a deep breath. Then another. Then keep going until he’s not on the verge of an anxiety attack at the sigh of his big brother almost dangling from a roof.

(He remembers a man, a long time ago, with a smirk and devious eyes and the way his body got swallowed by the void.)

“Dick, please,” he says, but it’s more of a plea. “Can you… Come back here?”

Something in what Jason said shakes him up, because next thing coming, Dick’s gaze is more focused, his expression more serious — and his feet not at the edge of the roof anymore but entirely on the solid ground.

Jason lets out a relieved sigh before impulse kicks back in; and then he reaches out and grabs Dick and hugs him fiercely, appeased to feel his heart beating against him.

Dick stays frozen a second — and shit, Jason has been an idiot, of course it would be weird, he’s just a random criminal Dick meets twice, not his little brother — before hugging him back, more soft in the way he holds Jason but still firm.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs quietly. “I’m fine.”

It’s a lie. They both know it.

Jason carefully let go. Dick doesn’t look as curious as he should have — his face is almost blank, actually.

“Sorry,” croaks out Jason. He hopes the helmet managed to hide it. “You looked like you needed a hug.”

Dick doesn’t call it out, which is nice of him. But he still looks tired, and his eyes are still red, and there’s a weight on his whole body Jason has never seen him bear before.

So Jason pushes back his need to curl against his brother and feel safe and protected from the pictures pushing at his eyelids, and instead he straightens and takes over at the reassuring one.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dick blinks, closes himself up, before letting out a heavy sigh — it’s like he has kept it in his chest all these years.

Slowly, Dick goes toward the door giving on the roof, and slides alongside the wall to sit on the ground. Jason follows him, does the same, his focus on his brother, waiting for when he’ll be ready and nothing else.

“I’m grieving,” finally says Dick.

Jason’s first reflex is to blurt out I’m sorry, before even asking himself who died in the almost-month he wasn’t paying attention. He tries to recall if he saw any news about a recent death in the superhero community, but comes short.

Dick laughs quietly, wetly too — it feels like he’s crying again. “It’s the anniversary of my little brother’s death.”

Jason freezes.

Again.

Because—

No.

“He was just fifteen,” continues Dick. “Never had the chance to be sixteen.”

The knot is back in Jason’s throat, but bigger and bigger and bigger and it keeps growing, pushing inside his whole body and nearly destroying his heart.

“His name was Jason,” murmurs his big brother, face turned toward the sky and the stars and tears on his cheeks and expression haunted—

Jason feels like he’s drowning.

It’s not—

It’s—

“I just,” Dick’s voice shakes as he takes another breath, “I just miss him so much.”

Jason’s head is pounding. His heart, too. He’s not sure if he’s breathing, but—

But. His brother. His big brother. Dick—

Jason suddenly has the urge to throw his helmet away and to fall into his brother’s arms and to tell him again and again and again how he’s alive now—

He resists it at the last second, his fingers already on the handle. He can’t. Jason can’t. Because—

(Because he’s a criminal, now, and Bruce has reacted so badly, and he knows deep down that Dick would be happy to see him but—

But Jason is scared, and wants to keep in mind the idea that Dick is his brother though and through, and—

Jason doesn’t want to face a rejection.)

Because Dick is all the family he has left.

Carefully, Jason slides an arm around Dick’s shoulders. He’s still silently crying, but his head is against his legs now.

None of them talk for a long, long time.

Dick is the first one to break the silence, not moving away from his spot but still hiding his face, curled up on himself.

“He was murdered. By— an asshole. I just— I hate this guy so much.”

Jason represses a shudder — but even without mentioning him, the shadow of the Joker is over them, grinning and sneering at them.

Dick takes another hard, long breath. And then—

“I killed him.”

Jason stills.

Jason can’t have heard this correctly.

Jason’s mind is blank.

(He can only hear the thrumming of his heart and Dick’s soft voice and the wind, so loud around them—)

“He was. It was. Complicated. But. He was… gloating. About how he killed Jason. My little brother.” Dick’s voice breaks, then, and Jason wishes he could do the same. “I was— so angry.”

It’s just a murmur. Jason has a hard time imagining the scene — and at the same time, not at all.

The Joker, laughing. Dick, shaking with anger. And—

And?

“I beat him up ‘til he was dead.” Dick’s voice is so, so tired, now.

And red everywhere.

Jason squeezes quietly his brother’s shoulders.

It sounds too good to be true. Just like what he had always wanted, since he came back, but—

(But the Joker is still alive.)

Dick laughs, but it’s a shredded one, almost hysterical. His face is turned toward the sky once again, and he’s crying again.

Jason notices it distantly. It’s like his head is stuffed with cotton.

“Someone— They brought him back,” continued Dick, and—

And—

It does make sense. That Dick killed the Joker, and then someone brought him back—

“CPR,” mumbles Dick, and the underlings of his tone are angry.

CPR.

No one in Gotham would bring back the Joker like that, when he’s dead and can stay dead—

No one except Batman, realizes Jason, and it’s like a punch in the face — another one.

He suddenly feels tired, too. And ready to cry. He can’t even get angry — he doesn’t have the energy to.

(He thought he was something, someone for Bruce, but—

He saved his murderer from him.

He brought his murderer back to life.)

“I wish he was still dead,” stated Dick, his big brother, his family — the only one who truly cared about him, in the end.

Jason should have seen it coming.

“I get it,” finally murmurs Jason. And, because he doesn’t know what to say more, and the thought of the Joker upset him, and he doesn’t want to leave Dick crying, and probably because he’s a dumbass with no self-preservation— “Tell me about him. Your little brother.”

Dick looks at him for the first time since they sat here together. His expression softens, and he wipes away his tears. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Tis a day to remember, right?” says Jason again, and this time Dick allows himself to smile.

It’s a little, tiny, almost invisible smile — but it’s a beginning.

“He loved school,” starts Dick, and there’s a new sparkle in his eyes now.

Jason prefers it. He looks more like the brother he used to know — and, selfishly, it’s more comforting.

“And he loved reading. He was so, so smart. And passionate! He was all about helping people and defending those who couldn’t defend themselves. And he loved kids — wherever we were going and whatever we were doing, there was always a kid to come to him and follow him around. It was so cute. And he wanted to go to college — he would have aced it. He was good like that.”

It’s weird to hear someone — his big brother — talk about him like that. Weird, but strangely agreeable, too — like an ice-pack put on an injury, and a mother giving it a magic kiss to make it disappear. The fondness, the love, the pride in Dick’s words — it swallows Jason whole and warms him up from the inside. It makes his heart beat fast and nice just like it should, after all these fears and panics. It makes his lips quirks on a smile and his eyes shine in these soft feelings of belonging.

So Jason keeps his mouth closed and the storm of anger-betrayal-love-whywhywhy at bay for now. Later. Later, he’ll take the time to cry and yell and wish he had killed Bruce and be relieved he hadn’t and tear his heart and throat out.

But for now—

For now, Jason is content in the bubble of love and nostalgia and comfort around himself and his brother, the moon shining quietly above them.

.

.

.

After this night, Jason somehow finds himself going over at Dick’s apartment every Thursday. The first time was to give him back his thermos for real, but somehow he ended up leaving with it in the end, this time filled with hot chocolate. It then never stopped.

It’s a reassuring routine — one when he can check on his brother and spend time with another human being and discuss silly things like TV series or the latest book he read, or even some real celebrities drama. It’s always funny to make fun of rich people.

(Obviously, they both blatantly ignore the fact that they’ve been adopted by the same billionaire. Not like Dick cares, and not like Dick knows that Jason is Jason.)

Jason never takes off his helmet, of course. He’s not stupid — he’s pretty sure Dick would recognize him if he was to appear in front of him without it, mask over his eyes or not. And right now — well, Jason doesn’t want him to know.

He’s not sure why. At first, it was mostly because of anger and vague abandonment issues and a way-too-real fear of rejection; but now, with everything Dick told him, especially concerning his death — well, it puts everything in a whole new light and Jason isn’t sure what to make of it. He feels like it’s too late — like coming out and telling the truth now would be cheating the system and breaking his brother’s trust.

Jason feels stuck between a rock and a hard place, but damn him, it won’t keep him away from making sure his brother is okay.

He usually comes by the window, and today is not an exception. Dick has already turned off the alarms as he does every time, and all Jason has to do is to open the window and enter the apartment. The floor is neat as usual, and this time there’s a carpet between the couch and the TV. It looks soft, in a blue and gold pattern that reminds Jason of the first Nightwing suit.

There are also two kids who look at him with big, curious eyes.

The one on the couch is a boy, with dark hair, pale skin and what look like blue or gray eyes. He wears an old sweat Jason bought for Dick years ago and leggings with long, fluffy pink socks. He kind of looks like a gremlin or a raccoon, with his dark eyebags, the locks of hair around his face, or his bewildered expression. He definitely looks like he should sleep more.

The kid on the armchair is a girl. This one has short, blond, curly hair, only out of her face thanks to a headband. Her eyes seem brown from afar, but he can spot some blue and green mixed into it. Her skin is tanner, too, but littered with little scars running around her temples, her jaw, and all the way to her neck. She looks tired, too, but more like sick-tired than existentially-tired like Dick is, or i-don’t-know-what-sleep-is-tired like the other kid. She wears a big red hoodie for Hudson University, and the rest of her body is covered by a blanket.

They both have their gaze on him, and Jason isn’t sure what to say or how to react. He quickly shoves away the jealous voice in his head telling him that Thursday nights are supposed to be for him and that the kids have nothing to do there, and settles upon crossing his arms on his chest with nonchalance.

“Kids,” he greets. Raccoon-boy blinks, and Blondie simply tilts her head.

The silence stretches. The TV gets tired of waiting for a program to be decided on and starts showing random nature pictures instead. Dick suddenly pops up from seemingly nowhere.

“Oh, hey Hood. I see you have already met Tim and Steph!” Dick smiles, ruffling the kid — Tim —’s hair with affection. Instead of batting his hand away, Tim leans into it.

There’s an edge in Steph’s gaze that seems too old for a girl her age — she’s what, fifteen? Sixteen maybe? — and Jason doesn’t like it.

“Yup. They’re…” Jason squints his eyes a little — he’s pretty sure he heard Dick mentioning the names before. “Your siblings, right?”

Dick hums before checking on Steph. She lets him do, her gaze still on Jason, neither her or Tim commenting on the actual conversation. Jason feels wrong-footed.

The girl, Jason is pretty sure, used to go by Spoiler before disappearing a few months ago. No idea why, since she’s here, but she does seem sick - maybe some long-term stuff that keeps her away from the field. The other kid, though…

Tim Drake. Robin.

Jason feels a familiar anger at the kid’s presence, but it has largely toned down with time. His first plans — the plans he still had before the whole night on the roof with Dick — still included a little visit to the kid at Titans Tower, a fight, a dramatic reveal.

He… doesn’t want to do it as much, now. Especially not when Tim is right in front of him, looking at him with big eyes and looking all the bits of the child he is.

Just in case, he shifts away from him, and accidentally closer to Steph. She probably deemed him not a threat — which is kind of rude — since she’s looking at Dick, now, looking over what he’s doing. Curious, Jason takes a quick look — and then has to look again because—

Steph doesn’t wear a t-shirt under her hoodie, and Dick is looking at her middle. It would be really concerning if she hasn’t so many scars, and a bandage still draped over her torso.

Dick is frowning. (Jason is panicking, because these injuries aren’t normal.)

“How’s your strength?” suddenly asks Dick.

Steph grimaces. “It’s okay. But I still can’t walk or hold anything for very long.”

Jason makes a noise — halfway from worried, but angry all around. Steph is looking at him again, as well as Dick and Tim.

That’s why she’s out of the field — a long term injury, maybe even a permanent one just like Babs, and Jason shuts off this part of his mind immediately.

Instead, he lets anger peers out of his voice. “What happened?”

Dick pursues his lips but doesn’t answer, focusing all his attention on Steph again. He’s tense, though, and Jason can tell he’s alert and ready to jump in to protect whoever would need protecting. Tim is shying away on the couch, his eyes drooping on his hand, curling up on himself. Steph, though, is looking right at him, with these big eyes too old and tired for her, looking right inside his soul not unlike Dick himself does.

Then, slowly, she speaks. “Black Mask tortured me.” Her tone is even, almost soft, but something bright and red flashes inside of Jason.

(He has worked with Black Mask, and—

He knew the man was terrible, but—

He hurts her. He hurts Steph. He hurts the girl who was probably — definitely — his sister.)

“I’m sorry,” he chokes up, and Steph still looks placidly at him. It’s scary.

“Thanks.” She’s still judging him; then, Dick helps her shift so she would be more comfortable, and she relaxes in her seat.

Dick lingers a few more seconds over her, and Jason can see it all — the worry, the fear, the love, the protectiveness, the I’ll-always-be-there he doesn’t often say but always thinks.

(It’s not the first time Jason sees it. When he was a kid, and then a new Robin, Dick had the same look on his face when he was looking at him — it’s the big brother inside of him.)

Dick quietly puts a hand on Steph’s shoulder, and something happens between them that Jason can’t quite understand, and then — Steph smiles. It’s bright and soft and light in the corners, and Jason blinks because it’s a total turn-around from how she was just seconds before. Dick seems to relax, though, and Tim, still silent, smiles as well — more shy and discreet but happy nonetheless.

“We were about to watch a cartoon. Join us?” asks Dick, looking right at him, and Jason can only nod.

He’s not sure what to make of the kids’ presence, but he doesn’t outright dislike it either. Tim makes place for both him and Dick on the couch, and Dick ends up sitting between them  — a smart choice. Steph chooses the cartoon, and Jason gets sucked into the story without meaning too.

Hours later, Jason is arguing with Tim about the moral stance of the principal character, Steph laughing and adding her two pennies from time to time just to start the fire all over again, and Dick watches over them with a fond look.

It feels nice. Light. Warm.

Jason doesn’t want to think about the implication of it, but — he does have a good time.

And Dick is way more relaxed than any of the other times Jason saw him. It’s a win, for him — he just wants his big brother to be happy.

.

.

.

Despite actually liking the time he spent with Tim and Steph here, Jason is relieved when the next Thursday, he’s alone with Dick again. They fall back into their routine easily, and the kids only appear from time to time to watch silly cartoons or complain about school or parents. Jason helps Tim out on a literature essay, and the kid is proud when the time after that he shows him the A he received. Steph talks about her complicated relationship with her mother despite the love between them, and Jason gives her advice as much as he can.

Before he knows it, the kids have grown on him and he starts calling them his siblings in his head. Jason wants to be pissed at it, but he can find it in himself.

He’s determined to complain about it to Dick tonight when he enters his apartment, with hopefully no kid in sigh. Red Hood isn’t supposed to do into feelings, especially not for the kids who could have been his family if he hadn't, like, died.

(Jason wants to think it’s too late to have a family, especially after the mind-blowing revelation that he cares about Tim and Steph.

But Jason doesn’t have it inside himself to actually believe it.)

He finds Dick sitting on the carpet, pictures sprawled on the table in front of him.

“Watcha doing?” demands Jason, carefully walking toward his brother. He makes sure to not step on anything before dropping on his knees beside him.

Dick hums before putting one of the pictures in a pile. “I’m trying to think of which one to put on my walls.”

Jason perks up at that. He can’t help it — he has been worried since he stepped for the first time in Dick’s apartment over the lack of personality of it. If he starts changing it, now, it’s proof that he’s starting to — not get better, but maybe working toward it. It’s a good sign.

Jason is enthusiastic when he answers. “Can I help?”

Dick has a short, soft laugh. “Sure.”

Jason bends over the table, looking over at the pictures — there’s a lot of them, all of Dick’s family and friends. He can recognize Bruce, Alfred, the kids, Babs, the Titans, and more people he doesn’t know, too. He’s curious, but focused on his task — it's something normal to do, like every Thursday he spends with Dick, and it’s always something he looks out for. Besides, it’s helping Dick, and he just has to make sure he doesn’t stupid stuff on his walls, right?

He takes off his jackets, his boots, and his gloves, putting them away and settling in a more comfortable position.

“Alright,” he starts. “Let’s look for group pictures first, we can make individual ones after.”

Jason vaguely notices Dick’s amused smile, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he takes the pictures, sorting them out to only select the best of them. Dick gives him pointers, and soon they start going through his pictures with the Titans.

“Ah!” Jason finally says, taking a picture of five teenagers. He can recognize Dick easily, all smiles and sitting on a low wall. There’s a redhead standing beside him, and Jason is pretty sure it’s Roy. The other redhead in the picture is Wally, then, sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. Donna is against Dick, a huge smile at her lips too, her hair tied on a ponytail. Garth is sitting as well, his gaze more soft maybe, but something mischievous in his smile. They’re all in civilian clothes, looking like a normal group of friends.

He passes it to Dick, who smiles fondly at it. “Yeah,” he breathes out after a few seconds. “It’s a good one.”

Jason smiles, too, even if Dick can’t see it, and then goes back to work. He retrieves another group picture, this time of what was probably a huge Titans picnic. There’s so many people in the picture that Jason only knows half of them at best, but it’s well taken, almost artistically, with a nice angle and a pretty light. Dick immediately accepts it.

Jason finds by accident a picture of kids. There’s five of them on it, with an age range from probably one to five or six.

“Who are they?” he asks, tilting the picture toward Dick.

The look on his brother’s face… It’s nostalgia, and love, and some sort of pain, too. He caresses the picture with a finger, and Jason lets him take it.

“It’s my niblings,” finally responds Dick, but his gaze is still on the children. It’s longing, now — he probably misses them, if Jason has to guess.

“Yeah?”

Dick understands his silent questions and answers it almost immediately. “Yeah. The one here, the oldest — it’s Lian. Roy’s daughter. She’s fierce, just like him, and so full of life. The twins, the youngest, are Irey and Jai. They’re Wally’s. They’re still very little, so, we can’t know for sure their personalities, but they’re always smiling, it’s a delight. This one here is Bobby, Donna’s son. He’s very curious, always trailing after us, and a bit overprotective, too, I think. And the last one, here, is Cerdian, Garth’s child. He’s adorable. He always knows what he wants, too.”

Dick’s fond expression never faltered once when he started talking about them. It’s evident that he loves them like they were his, and Jason suddenly wonders why Dick doesn’t have his own kid. After all, all of his friends, who are roughly the same age as him, are parents — so why not him? Especially when he used to have such a strong romantic relationship, before.

But Jason doesn’t ask. It’s probably where the hurt comes from, he thinks, and there’s no need to twist the knife further in.

“They look cute,” he says instead.

Dick doesn’t speak further, but he takes the picture and puts it with the other chosen ones.

The last group picture they decide upon is one with Dick, Tim, Steph, Babs, and another girl that Dick presents as Cassandra on it. It’s a candid shot, taken when no one was looking, and they all look happy and relaxed on it. A shadow passes over Dick’s face when he sees it, but he puts it with the others without a word.

“Next, the individual ones.” Dick takes another box of pictures and soon they fall on the table, spreading all around.

Jason immediately goes for a picture he has noticed — a portrait of Leslie where she’s not looking at the camera, not in her doctor attire for once and seeming more relaxed than usual, a soft expression on her face. He holds it out for Dick to see.

“I think I have your grandma,” jokingly says Jason.

Dick is amused when he snatches the picture from Jason and puts it with the selected ones.

Finding one of Alfred is way harder, but finally with both of them looking for it, they finally agree on a shot of him, one eyebrow raised in British sarcasm, standing straight and hands behind his back. Dick finds one for Bruce but doesn’t show it to Jason, only putting it with the others — Jason is grateful for it. He’s still not sure how to feel about his father, and he doesn’t want to unpack that now.

Dick hums. He’s frowning again, like the pictures personally offended him. Jason is hesitating between two pictures of Tim — in one, he’s clearly a raccoon kid and it’s funny, but on the other he’s carefree and laughing, and it’s nice and good to see him like this.

“I don’t have enough pictures of Jason.”

“There’s still the ski trip one,” he answers, still pondering between the two pictures. In the end, he opts for the carefree one — he’s sure Dick would appreciate it more.

He turns toward Dick to show it to him, but he’s doing something else; Jason realizes that he’s taking his wallet out. When he opens it, there’s — well, there’s the usual money and cards, but in the part with a little transparent film, there’s the picture they took when they were on their ski trip, Dick’s arm around Jason and Jason himself smiling like he had his life before him. There’s also a bookmark with a crooked I love you on it, the wrapping paper of a candy carefully folded in a corner, and a dried flower.

Jason feels something twists inside his heart. His breath is taken away a short instant — where his mind yells he kept it on himself this whole time — before he takes the time to answer.

“I’m sure we can find another one.”

“I hope,” only says Dick, closing his wallet and putting it away.

He’s the one who finds the picture, this time — Jason was probably fourteen or just turned fifteen on this one. He’s on his stomach and elbows, balancing in the air in a big net. He wears a gymnastic outfit, his hands white with powder. He looks like he’s halfway through a laugh, grin wide but eyes closed, his dark curls wild around his face.

He looks like a happy kid.

Jason swallows. He feels tears pickles at the corner of his eyes, but it’s dumb — it shouldn’t be there.

His heart aches for something that was and would never be again.

(Being happy and carefree like life was all sunshines and positives things, like things wouldn’t turn out for the worse in months, like he wouldn’t—

This Jason had all the reasons for being happy.

Jason, now… he doesn’t know how he feels. Doesn’t know if he can be happy again, doesn’t know if he should — doesn’t know if somehow, after everything, it’s not some sort of forbidden dream he will never reach.

He’s too afraid to ask for an answer.)

He nods at Dick and forces himself to talk. “See, I told you we could find one.”

He leaves not long after that, pretexting an emergency, and Dick lets him lie without calling him out. Jason doesn’t have an illusion — he knows that somehow, Dick sees right through him.

(But Dick still doesn’t know that Jason is Red Hood, and he probably thinks they’re making friends or something, and—

Jason doesn’t want to think about it.)

His apartment feels lonely. There’s pictures of landscapes on his walls, but nothing personal. He doesn’t have one of the kids, or of Dick, not even of himself.

There’s still an ache in his heart, a pain that refuses to go away, a growing longing for something, someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

Jason feels like crying. Jason cries.

He was a child, once upon a time, with a life he carefully planned in front of him.

And now, he’s only the shattered pieces of this kid, plans all thrown in the trash and with no idea where to go from there. He can’t look at his future, since he doesn’t even know what to do with his present.

Jason… isn’t sure who he is anymore.

He’s the Red Hood, but it doesn’t mean a lot anymore. He’s Jason Todd-Wayne, but he died over five years ago. He’s Bruce’s son, but Bruce abandoned him — maybe not — Jason isn’t sure anymore.

He’s Dick’s little brother. That — it’s a truth he’s not afraid to embrace fully.

.

.

.

Jason is going through existential crisis after existential crisis after saving Dick this one time, and now he’s getting pretty annoyed at having done so in the first place.

He should have spared himself the pain.

He’s still not sure where he stands in his life, but the next Thursday, he still decides to go over at Dick’s place. He doesn’t want him to think Jason is angry or something.

At least, that was the plan.

Except that Dick isn’t here.

The asian girl from the pictures — Cassandra — is here, though.

She’s judging him from where she’s standing, arms crossed on her chest, brows furrowed, looking ready to doom him for eternity. She’s small but terrifying, and Jason is getting worried of breathing wrong.

After a whole minute under her scrutiny — which started the moment Jason stepped inside — she finally speaks.

“Take your helmet off.”

Jason chokes, ready to protest and answer with one of his You’re not the boss of me he’s so fond of, but Cassandra narrows her eyes and she somehow becomes even more terrifying. With a scowl, Jason does as he’s told.

She finally softens a little. Jason feels weird without his helmet — it’s almost like he’s naked, in this context. He doesn’t dare speak first, though.

Cassandra seems to choose her words carefully, and gestures at him to sit on the couch. He obeys again, but only because he knows she’s Batgirl and that she can kick his ass any day of the week. It’s strategic, that’s all.

She sits beside him and folds her hands on her lap. Her gaze is still on him, though. It feels like she’s reading him on an intimate level, and Jason doesn’t know how to feel about it.

“You kill people,” she finally says.

Jason rolls his eyes. “They deserve it.”

It seems like the wrong thing to say, because she suddenly has a scowl on her own. “You don’t understand what it is to kill someone,” she protests, almost louder, and there’s a pain in her eyes that remind him of Steph’s, of Dick’s, of Tim’s, of the one he meets every time he looks at himself in a mirror.

Jason — understands that look. That pain.

“Then explain it to me,” he says.

Cassandra is taken aback, but in a blink of the eyes the expression is already gone. She seems thoughtful, now, biting at her bottom lip.

“I need the right words,” she murmurs, and Jason — patiently waits.

He doesn’t know much about her, except that she’s Batgirl and that Bruce adopted her recently. Cassandra Barbara Wayne is a mystery Jason wasn’t interested in — until she appears before him, all judgment and old pains he only asks to help with.

… Curse his tender heart.

Cassandra nods — probably to herself — before starting her speech. “I read body language. Everything.” Well, it does explain some things. “I… I killed, before. Once. And…”

Cassandra struggles with her next words, but the meaning isn’t lost to Jason. If she reads body language, and she had killed in the past— it paints something probably not very pretty.

“It’s terrifying,” she settles on. “To see someone dying. The life… Drained out of them. It’s… haunting.”

Jason can imagine. He can’t know — but he can imagine.

“I understand,” he says quietly, and she looks at him with piercing eyes — it’s not surprising that she can read every line of his body. “I mean, I don’t get it all the way, but I can imagine what it does, you know?” She nods, and he continues. “And, I can understand that you’re concerned for the person who dies and all — I don’t want innocent people to die either. But,” Jason stops for an instant, thinks about his words — what drives him, when he’s Red Hood, when he was Robin back in the day? “I want to help. Mostly, I want to help the victim. And, sometimes, a victim only feels safer when the abuser is dead. Sometimes, the abuser will keep on going and hurting others no matter why. These people — they deserve to die, because they have no remorse for what they’re doing and it’s the only way for their victims to feel safer.”

Cassandra tilts her head. She seems to consider his words, but she doesn’t seem to like them either — she looks like she’s eaten a sour lemon.

“I understand, too,” she finally mumbles, apparently not happy with it. It’s — amusing, actually. “But — I’m not… I still don’t think that it shouldn’t be… There’s another way, right?”

“Maybe,” admits Jason, even if he honestly doubts so. “And if you find one, I will listen gladly. But until then… I don’t think I’ll change my way of doing.”

She’s frowning again, lips pursued. “It’s a deal,” she says, stern, and Jason can’t help but smile.

“Pinky promise,” he can’t help but tease. Cassandra suddenly brightens and holds out her little finger with a smile. Jason chokes on his saliva at the gesture, taken aback, before laughing and holding out his.

They knot them together, and Cassandra’s smile is maybe more playful, then. Jason felt like talking again — maybe teasing her further — but they’re interrupted by the flash of a picture being taken.

They both turn toward the entry of the living room. Dick is here, phone in hand, an amused smile on his lips. Cass jumps on her feet immediately, something guilty into her posture, and Jason realizes suddenly that he doesn’t have his helmet on.

A burst of panic shakes his heart as he scrambles to take his helmet and put it back.

He raises on his feet, only managing to catch a glance of Dick’s kissing Cassandra’s hair.

“I have to go,” says Jason, trying to bury the panic clawing at his throat.

“You don’t have to. You can stay.” Dick sounds almost pleading, but all Jason can think of is — Dick saw my face, Dick may know who I am now, he’s going to hate me so bad—

“Sorry, Dickiebird,” he blurts out, immediately jumping off the window.

He almost runs until reaching his place, and only then he lets himself break on the floor. Jason curls up on himself, tears flowing out of his eyes, panic in his heart and mind and whole body, and tries to breathe through it.

He’s not sure if he can.

Dick...  will not hate him, right?

.

.

.

Jason only comes back two weeks later.

He was not — he wasn’t really avoiding Dick. He’s just—

He doesn’t know. He keeps telling himself that everything will be fine, that Dick will never judge him, that maybe even he doesn’t know who he is—

He can’t keep the anxiety at bay, but Jason has never been someone who runs away in front of danger.

The alarms are off when Jason arrives, and he slips through the window easily. Dick is here — only glances at him quickly before going back to what he’s doing in the kitchen.

Jason isn’t sure what to do or how to act, and so he stays here without moving, feeling as awkward as on his first day of school at Gotham Academy.

“You can drop the helmet, you know,” says Dick quietly, cutting through the silence. He’s not looking directly at him, but Jason knows he’s still watching him somehow, taking note of each of his movements and changes of emotions.

Jason shrugs a little — and then takes a deep breath, before taking out his helmet. Dick doesn’t seem to react, not really, outside of nodding. He could be also nodding to himself and an internal thought — Jason wouldn’t bet on it.

“There’s clothes for you in the bedroom.”

It’s not an order, but it’s one all the same. Alfred used the same tone to make him obey — he probably still uses it with the kids, now. It’s the “it’s a suggestion but you better be following it or else ” that Jason learned to apprehend — and apprehension is definitely the thing knotting his stomach tight right now.

Slowly, Jason goes toward the door to the bedroom. He opens, glancing at Dick — and catching him looking right at him.

“And,” carefully says Dick, “you can take the mask off too, Little Wing.”

Jason doesn’t comment. He simply closes the door behind him. And. Breathes.

Dick knows.

Dick knows, and there’s nothing he can do against it now.

Slowly, carefully, almost mechanically, Jason strips down of his uniform and puts on the clothes Dick left for him. There’s big enough for him — not Dick’s, then — and simple, in plain colors. There’s a t-shirt and pants, nothing more.

With a last deep breath, Jason takes off his mask and puts it on the top of his uniform, neatly folded on the bed.

Then, he steps out of the bedroom, entering the living room again — ready to face whatever his brother will throw at him.

Dick is standing in the middle of the room. He raises his head to look at him, and immediately his whole face softens.

“Jase,” he breathes out, and—

He holds his arms open.

Jason doesn’t think—

—he rushes into his big brother’s embrace.

He’s bigger, taller than Dick, so Jason has to bend to put his arms around him. But once Dick’s arms are closed around him — Jason can feel all the tension he had accumulated since coming back to life fading out of his body. He’s safe, here.

Dick has one hand drawing circles on his back. The other is a careful weight on his neck.

(It’s so easy to break a neck.

Dick would never do that.

Dick would never hurt him.)

They don't move for a long time, but when they do, it’s still too early. Dick has tears in his eyes, and Jason thinks he’s just the same.

“Come on,” finally says Dick, wiping the tears away. “We need to talk.”

On the table in front of the couch, there’s a whole plate of cookies and two mugs of hot chocolate. Jason can’t help but smile a little — it’s definitely Alfred’s influence. They sit, and Jason sighs.

“Since when do you know?” he asks, ready to learn that Dick knew since the beginning, maybe, or that Bruce told him along the way.

Dick hums. “When we were on the rooftop.” Jason freezes, because it’s not a moment he likes to think about — not really, not fully. “You called me by my name, but I had never told you what it was. I knew that whatever it was between Batman and Red Hood, it was personal, but I had other stuff to do than to look into it.”

“Rude,” can’t help but mumble Jason. Dick snorts.

“I realized that you probably knew our identities, but you weren’t acting on it and you actually seemed nice enough. So, I waited to see if we would see each other again and if you would give me some clues then.”

Of course, it’s after that that their weekly evenings started. “Alright,” admits Jason. “But how did you know it was me?”

There’s a sparkle in Dick’s eyes — the one he had when he took Jason on weekend without telling Bruce. “A lot of little things, actually. You knew some stuff about my personal life without a problem — that Leslie is my grandmother, or who are my friends without needing to be told first.” Oh, the freaking pictures. “You started telling me your mother’s name, Cat—, before stopping and saying Kate instead. A lot of things that you mentioned liking or not.” There’s a real smirk on Dick’s face, now. “And, of course, the whole rant about which adaptation of Pride and Prejudice is the best one didn’t help your case either.”

Jason groans and flops against his brother. Dick laughs a little, his hand falling into Jason’s hair and starting carding it. “I can’t believe I’ve been betrayed by my favorite movie.”

Dick is still smiling. He seems less tense, too.

“You’re also the only one who ever called me Dickiebird.”

Oh. True. Jason has started using it not even one year before dying, and somehow — it stuck.

The idea that he has always been the only one to use it does something warm inside of him — pride, maybe, that it’s something only him and Dick will share.

Jason settles himself better. He has his head on Dick’s lap, now, his eyes not looking away from his brother’s face. Dick’s hand is still in his hair, massaging his scalp, and Jason feels the tension bleeds away from his muscles.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to say.

Dick looks confused an instant, searching his face for an answer. “For what?”

“I didn’t tell you who I was, and— You told me things—”

Dick soothes him. “Hey, it’s okay, Little Wing. I’m not angry at you. I didn’t tell you either that I knew.”

“Yeah but— You shouldn’t have had to keep it a secret at all.”

His brother is still looking at him, with this gaze that gives the impression of reading your whole soul. It’s still weird, even more without his mask and helmet in the way. But it’s something soft, too, not prying or demanding. It’s reassuring and tender and trusting, and it gives the want of confessing your whole life to him.

“I understand,” murmurs Dick. “Why you didn't say anything. And I’m not mad at you. It was your choice, and you needed time. It was only fair that I gave it to you.”

Jason feels tears pickling at his eyes again. It’s unfair — that Dick can be so understanding, or that Dick’s trust in him makes him this weak. He feels like a child.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he says without meaning to, and Jason closes his eyes, cheeks reddening.

“Oh, Jason,” softly whispers Dick. “You didn’t. You really didn’t. Look at yourself — you came back and fought and found your way to us again, all by yourself. If anything, I’m proud of you. So, so proud of you, Jase.”

It’s what breaks Jason. He starts crying, and then he can’t stop, head buried against his brother’s chest and refusing to move. Everything from these past years comes back with a force and leaves in a torrent — the traumas, the nightmares, the new life he didn’t choose and the path he decided to engage in, the secrets and the loneliness, the longing and the deep betrayal; the love he never stopped feeling.

Dick keeps his arms around him and drops kisses into his hair. He doesn’t move and lets him cry, and Jason is pretty sure he cries, too.

They’ll both be exhausted tonight.

Jason has a knot in his throat — not a horrible one, but one born from too many feelings at once. He can’t deal with more, can’t deal right now with telling Dick how he has thrown his plans away after meeting him, how he has wanted to hurt Tim, how he was supposed to reign on Crime Alley. One day, he’ll tell Dick that if he’s here, right now, it’s thanks to him, too.

Because Dick never stopped believing in him, and loving him, and trusting him — and that’s what Jason needed. That’s what he still needs today.

A new silence surrounds them, now, but neither of them break it. It’s comfortable, like that, and Jason doesn’t want to move, even if the position is not as comfortable as he would have hoped. Dick doesn’t move either, and he probably doesn’t want to let go of him either.

“The hot chocolate is getting cold,” he remarks.

“I don’t care,” mumbles Jason, and he can feel his brother’s smile more than see it.

“Uh-huh. And the cookies?”

Jason ponders, before letting out an annoyed grumble and making a show of sitting again on the couch the slowest he can. “But only because it’s food,” he says before taking one of the biscuits and giving another to his brother. Dick grabs it with a quiet thanks.

“Talking about food,” starts Dick once they finish eating.

Jason already feels better. He’s not all the way there yet, but he can feel he’s on the right path, and he wants to soak in this feeling forever.

“I made a bet with Babs. I’m supposed to get you to the Manor for family dinner tomorrow.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, but his lips twitch on a smile. “Oh, really?”

“Uh-uh,” confirms Dick, and he’s smiling too.

“We split in two?”

“Of course,” gracefully accepts Dick, like it’s not a banter they used to have because the only way to win a bet against Barbara is to form an alliance behind her back—

“And—”

Dick seems to know what he’s going to ask, because his smile is more quiet, more fond, now. His hand is on Jason’s cheek, and Jason doesn’t move, almost doesn’t breathe, heart still raw.

“And you can stay here in the meantime. Or for however long you want.”

Jason feels lighter, suddenly, relaxing under his brother’s gaze and protection.

He holds out his hand, his eyes sparkling—

“Deal.”

Dick laughs, and grabs his hand, shaking it seriously, the same mischief in his gaze and smile and—

“Deal.”

(It feels like coming home.)

.

.

.

The Manor was awfully full today. Jason — doesn’t outright hate it, but it’s a lot to take on, and he’s never sure how to manage it.

He saw Alfred cry. Bruce, too.

It’s been… A lot of emotions. Lots of hugs, too. But — Jason is home, at least.

(He’s home, and he has been missed, and he has three new siblings to further bond with, and so many new things to get acquainted with.)

The family room is calm now. It’s deep in the night; stars are more visible here, but not by much. Everyone is sleeping — except Jason, of course — so the Manor is peaceful for the first time of the day.

There’s a careful step beside him. Jason doesn’t bother to turn, but he’s not surprised when Dick appears with two mugs of hot chocolate. Wordlessly, he gives one to Jason before sitting beside him.

Jason immediately changes position to lean against his big brother. Dick doesn’t comment, but he puts his arms on Jason’s shoulder, and — Jason feels safe and calm and protected, like he always had in Dick’s embrace.

“I’m glad you’re back,” murmurs his brother into his hair.

There’s peace and warmth and love — everything Jason has ever wanted, when he was a little kid living on the street, when he was an assassin with the League, when he was a criminal trying to find a purpose in his new life.

“Me too,” Jason murmurs back, and his heart settles in this quiet truth.