Work Text:
Dick wasn’t dumb; while he may not be considered the sharpest tool in the shed when next to Tim, he most definitely knew that his brother was keeping something from him. Tim had always been good at shying away from his feelings, especially if he wasn’t in a good head space - but actively avoiding the Manor was a red flag; slinking off to Crime Alley during the day was an even bigger red banner waved over his head.
Except Tim didn’t have a reason to visit Crime Alley outside of his costume, right?
Dick shook his head, he could feel guilty about tailing Tim later. The mere fact that he could even tail his brother, who seemingly remained unaware, was also another big cause for concern. They’d been trained to be hyper-aware at all times.
With the upmost care Dick situated himself across the street and hunkered down on an empty fire escape; a lone stranger lounging around, hood drawn, was not an unusual site in the area.
Tim however had all but jumped into a rickety chair outside of a sad looking café and tapped away at his phone. He looked at ease and Dick frowned harder. Was he pretending that he didn’t feel Dick’s presence, or was there something that mattered more to him than being prepared for fight or flight at a moment’s notice?
Within a few minutes two figures joined Tim, the shorter of the pair stiffly allowing Tim to hug them before taking a seat. Tim quickly retook his seat and crossed his arms, settling in with ease.
Without meaning to, Dick found his hands gripping the railings tighter. What about these men had Tim sneaking off, so secretive and so self-assured all at once?
The taller of the pair, also seated at the table, briefly took their cap off to run a hand through their hair. Dick leaned further over the railing at the flash of bright orange locks. However, the cap was soon replaced and the trio began to chat quietly.
Although he trusted Tim wholeheartedly, despite having felt the need to tail him, Dick knew that Tim didn’t have the same proclivity to redheads as his brothers before him did. He hadn’t even realised Tim had been so fluent in sign language, and that was definitely a full conversation Tim was holding with his hands alone. Dick chewed his bottom lip. It appeared that the man in the too large hoodie was also holding his own, hands signs flashing confidently despite their hunched over form.
Dick forced himself to stop chewing and rolled his shoulders instead, mentally spurring himself on.
What have you got yourself into? Dick thought, too far away to accurately decipher what the trio were discussing in apparent silence.
Curiosity won out and Dick silently tumbled over the railings and into the alleyway below. He landed easily. On quiet steps he crossed the street and lingered outside the neighbouring building he had skulked on. He made a show of checking his phone for good measure, eyes tracking every movement Tim’s back and shoulders made.
A heavy laugh sent a shiver down Dick’s spine – he knew that laugh, or had once. It sounded just like Roy.
It was Roy.
He couldn’t help but snap his head up and stare, he needed to know if he was going mad or not. As though drawn in by Dick's sharp inhale, sharp teal eyes blinked owlishly back.
Tim turned quickly in his seat, lips curled in disgust. Dick had rarely seen Tim express such anger, and towards himself. Without a second thought Dick crossed the road, desperate to apologise and appease Tim.
The man with the baseball cap – Roy, Dick corrected as he drew closer – was on his feet instantly, and pulling his companion from their seat with whispered words.
The man in the hoodie appeared weightless as Roy easily manhandled them to their feet. Their head ducked low, hiding away from Dick. They couldn't hide the heavy shake that began to travel across their body however. They appeared to also lean their weight more steadily into Roy - as Dick stopped steps away from Tim - one very flushed Roy Harper whom most definitely looked ready to fight Dick where he stood. Dick contained his own bristle at Roy's pointed glare.
‘Tim?’ Dick asked and moved to close the distance. Now he was closer he could see Roy tense further, the man in the hoodie shrink and Tim raise an accusatory brow. ‘Roy? What the hell’s going on?’
‘You followed me!’ Tim hissed. ‘Does B know?’
The man in the hoodie flinched away and Dick turned his attention to them; the reaction was too severe to go unoriced. Their clothing hung a little too loosely on their frame. Dick could feel the air grow colder around them.
‘Dick,’ Roy said, deft fingers openly toying with the edge of a blade up his sleeve. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
Irritation prickled quickly beneath Dick’s skin – how could Roy be in Gotham, meeting Tim in secret, and act as though Dick was in the wrong? How dare he threaten Dick of all people, one of his first friends?
Fuck, he hadn’t seen Roy since Jason suddenly disappeared off the radar and the Justice League had grilled Bruce – shit the Justice League had torn into Bruce after what he had done to Jason. Shit, even he had screamed himself bloody until Alfred had to pull him off Bruce.
Did Roy come to report on Jason's location? Did the stranger have information?
No, no, how could he have forgotten? He could never forget the bloody footage Bruce had tried to hide; the stark evidence of Jason being beat to a bloody pulp by their father, his fingers scrambling to keep his throat closed around the wound – Roy wouldn't return to Gotham without Jason. Would he?
Dick had been the first to challenge Bruce, to push him away from seeking Roy out, to bite back at his arguments - had he really given up, after all, on finding Jason, his Little Wing?
No, Dick had looked. He had scoured Gotham from top to bottom, spent sleepless nights scanning satellites and cameras with Barbara. Even as the years had creeped by, with no sign of Jason anywhere, he had still held hope. Sure, he had allowed Jason to slip from his mind occasionally but he hadn’t really stopped believing.
He had never forgiven Bruce either.
Had, Dick mentally checked himself. When had he quietly accepted defeat?
Why had Roy returned to Gotham after all these years?
‘Jason,’ Dick breathed, chest clenching tightly as the figure in the hoodie steppes back, no, his younger brother moved away from him. He hadn’t seen Jason look so small in years, since Jason had been a child, rescued from the streets with wild eyes and starving. ‘Fuck. You’re really alive. Jay.’
The man raised his head, the hood shifting slightly, and a white tuft of hair stole the breath from Dick’s lungs. It really was Jason stood before him after so many years, tired and gaunt but alive.
Jason. Jason, his mind buzzed with his brother's name.
‘Dick,’ Tim snapped, refocusing the conversation with a quick flick of his hand. ‘Does B know you’re here?’
Dick shook his head quickly – he hadn’t meant to find Jason, he hadn't entertained that Jason would go to Tim. He hadn't known Tim never stopped looking.
Oh Jason. I'm so sorry.
With a firmer shake of his head and jaw set, Dick implored with his eyes that Bruce would never know. He wouldn’t be sharing this with Bruce. Their father didn't deserve to know then or now.
‘No,’ he repeated and looked at Jason as he did. ‘And I won’t tell him.’
His brother looked defeated in the moments it took for him to respond.
Jason nodded stiffly, in lieu of replying, Roy already slipping their arm into the crook of Jason’s.
Dick would have pulled the pair into a stupidly long congratulatory hug if everything were different. But nothing was as it should be, so Dick remained at a distance.
‘If you do,’ Roy warned, voice startling low. ‘You’ll never see Jason again.’
Dick bristled again.
Tim sighed, visibly deflating. ‘You best come with us, Dick. We’ve got some things to talk about.’
Jason gripped the too hot mug between his hands, lest he launch it at Dick and escape through the apartment window.
If this went sour, however, Roy would most definitely be calling on Waylon, once again, to smuggle them out of the city. The damn reptile was on speed dial. Even Poison Ivy sent the occasional text - usually something sarcastic - as though she actually gave a damn about Jason. Roy had kept in touch regardless, assuring Jason that the pair were unlikely allies, with connections.
With a tight sigh Jason pushed the mug away and sunk against the kitchen counter. It didn't serve ant purpose to look a gift horse in the mouth, not these days.
He leaned further in the counter, having positioned himself in the furthest corner of the kitchen that ensured a full view of the apartment before him, and also of one Dick Grayson who, annoyingly, refused to look anywhere else but at him.
Jason wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Dick hadn’t clocked the warped scar wrapped around his throat as soon as he had lowered his hood.
‘Boy Blunder,’ Jason forced himself to croak out. It was a good day on his throat, as good as it could be; he felt strong enough to talk without needing to berate himself.
He licked his lips regardless, still twitchy under Dick's scrutinising stare.
Dick appeared to refocus his gaze to Jason’s eyes, carefully avoiding the scar that had marked the change of everything they’d known.
‘You look good,' Dick said with a too bright smile.
Jason scoffed. Of course Dick would attempt to pander to his ego – he wasn’t fooling anyone, Jason was very aware of how much muscle mass he’d lost, how despite the amount he cooked and ate he still looked haunted.
‘Not all of us can be models.’
He refused to smile as Dick self-consciously mussed his own hair, looking sheepish and awkward in the kitchen. Instead Jason waved away another attempt at Dick thanking him for allowing him to come back with both Roy and Tim, as though he wouldn’t have mysteriously found ways to run into Jason otherwise.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were back?’ Dick asked instead, looking more sheepish still.
Carefully ignoring Roy having not so discreetly turned the TV down, Jason shrugged and gestured to himself and his scar.
‘Came back a little more...fucked up this time.’
Dick winced and Jason rolled his eyes; it wasn’t his fault that he was now technically immortal. Shit, he wouldn’t have minded staying dead if it meant not having to address this with his estranged family. And dying had sucked enough the first time.
‘When you say – came back?’
‘I mean, Dick. I died, again.'
Dick audibly swallowed. Jason continued on.
'No Pit this time. Just woke up on the table to some back-alley Doctor nearly shitting themselves.’
They said I died twice, officially, flatlined, and my injuries alone should have made sure of that, he added introspectively.
‘I - we. We never knew. I found the footage. But I never knew you’d died.’ Dick choked the words out, as though it were him spitting sludge from his mouth and picking wood from his fingers; the word died dripped with visceral disgust, pooling into something cold in Dick's eyes.
‘Technically,’ Jason amended. ‘He killed me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Dick sobbed, reaching hands shaking. ‘Only The League knew what really happened. We just saw the tail end of the...I didn’t think he’d do that.'
Jason didn't meet Dick halfway.
The last thing Jason wanted, or needed, was an inconsolable Dick Grayson crying in his kitchen. Not only would he never be able to get the man out of his home, he’d set Jason off and Jason was damned if he were about to cry on Dick’s shoulder. He didn't need his brother's comfort or love, he told himself as Dick's arms fell.
‘Did - did you really stand up for me?’
Dick hastily scrubbed at his eyes. ‘Of course!' Dick snapped back, more earnest than annoyed. 'Even Alfred had to stop me. I lost it. Alfred...shit, Alfred had to take over. He made sure Bruce was held accountable.’
Jason nodded, his resolve wavering.
While he could fault the butler on his clear over-sight in how he had raised Bruce, he was grateful that the old man was still boxing in his corner.
Jason pushed the thoughts of Alfred away.
‘I can’t forgive B.’
‘I know. And I’m not asking you to.’
‘Good,’ Jason grunted, throat beginning to feel scratchy. ‘Imagine it’s only a matter of time before the whole brood find me?’
He phrased it like a question, already knowing that Damian and Cass would be hot on his heels if they found out, because they could read Dick like an open fucking book.
Bruce found Dick the hardest to read.
‘Maybe. But Bruce won’t come near you, I promise. We’ll never let him hurt you again.’
Jason gingerly ran a finger across the raised scar on his throat. ‘Dickie. Every day Bruce hurts me.’
Every scar that came after could heal, would heal beautifully; except the scar his father had dealt, seemingly with ease. Nothing in this universe could heal what Bruce had done to Jason's heart.
Despite the fact that he could still fight Dick off - as Roy would ensure that he made up for the lack in Jason’s strength - Jason didn’t fight the strong arms that enveloped him.
Jason conceded to the hug easily; Dick smelt like warmth and laughter, a brief wisp of bitter nostalgia; back to when Dick would rarely touch Jason, believing himself to be replaced – but when he would, Dick would scoop Jason up into his arms, and spin him around giggling. Dick would share stories and ruffle Jason's hair.
Jason hugged back harder, desperate. Despite it all, Dick would always be his brother.
‘I missed you,’ Dick whispered and leaned into Jason’s collarbone, a gentle touch ghosting across the scar. ‘Thank you for coming back. I’m going to a better brother.’
‘Dickie,’ Jason squeezed himself further into the embrace. ‘I didn’t give you enough credit. You did fine and - you’re here now.’
‘Please, please, don’t leave me.’
Jason closed his eyes; it would be everyone he ever knew and loved that would leave him first. He shut down that line of thought. Of all the people to have immortality thrust upon.
‘I’m back for good,’ Jason whispered instead. He caught the small creak of Roy now lingering at a safe distance, having given up the pretence of privacy.
'I hope so.'
‘He’ll have to try harder than that next time.’
Dick shivered. Roy audibly coughed, warning Jason that they would, most definitely, be discussing this later and his uncanny choice of words.
‘Jay, just let me have this moment,’ Dick sniffled.
Jason caught Tim's searching eyes, his younger brother peeking around Roy's frame in the doorway
‘Whatever,’ Jason relented and allowed Tim’s lithe frame to join the pair. ‘Look, you’ve got Timbo all shook up now.’
‘Shut up, Jason,’ Tim hissed with an impressive scowl. ‘Dick doesn’t get a monopoly on hugs.’
‘But I do!’ Roy interrupted shortly after and carefully pried the Bats away.
Jason rearranged himself to duck into Roy’s side, fixing his brothers with a look that begged them to comment on his visible affection, lest they have their hugging rights revoked.
In truth Jason had enjoyed hugging Dick more than he would have liked. Had felt grateful when Tim joined.
But overall Jason felt relieved that the hugging had ended, that Roy instinctively knew when Jason needed an out.
‘You alright, Jaybird?’ Roy murmurs, too low for anyone else aside from Jason to hear.
‘No. But maybe one day I will be.’