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Jason calls Dick “Goldie”, and he’s done so ever since he’s come back from the dead and stopped trying to kill everyone around him. It’s rarely “Dick” or “Nightwing” or even “Dickiebird”, it’s just Goldie. Sometimes he’d get a sneered “Golden Child”, but it all meant that same. It all sounded the same.
Dick remembered a time where Jason was small – scrawny, malnourished, young – staring up at him with awe and hope but guarded all the same. He remembered how, when Dick had really tried to be a good brother to him, Jason would call him “Dickiebird”, and he would smile as if Dick had hung the moon and the stars and the sun.
There had always been hope whenever Jason looked at him, even after years of Dick failing him. He always looked hopeful whenever Dick would stop by the manor; hopeful that Dick and Bruce wouldn’t fight, hopeful that Dick would show him that one move he just wanted to learn (the one move Dick had never taught him), always hopeful that Dick would be the brother he was supposed to be – the brother he had said he would be.
Dick remembered when he came back from space, a light feeling in his chest because he was going to see his little brother, was going to finally teach him that one move he’s always wanted to know.
He remembered how Wally had found Dick in his trashed apartment, glass from picture frames on the floor and the table knocked over and splintered in the face of Dick’s rage. Dick remembered how Wally had gathered him up in his arms, barely flinched when Dick had trashed and wailed and clawed at him because his brother was dead, and Bruce hadn’t even told him.
(Dick remembered how Wally had drawn a bath and laid them in the bathtub too small for them both to sit in together but held him all the same and covered his tear-stained face in kisses, mumbling how he was sorry, how he loved him, how he was here for Dick. Sometimes, Dick thought about how he wouldn’t have survived it without Wally there for him.)
When Tim joined the family, and Dick had gotten over the anger that lingered like a newly stitched scar, Dick had done everything he could to be a brother. A good brother. The kind of brother Jason had always hoped for but had never truly gotten because all Dick had felt was anger.
Once upon a time, Dick had been angry. Robin wasn’t born out of magic or happiness or joy, like all his brothers thought. Robin had been born out of anger and grief and an all-consuming hatred that gnawed at him until all that existed was fury. It had been an anger that had lit his eyes, that curved his lips, made him walk – made him fly.
Everyone who looked at him had known that, even behind that kind smile he tried to portray as Richie Grayson, all that existed for him was anger. The kind that made him lash out; the kind that made him uncontrollable. But Jason died and Tim joined their family and Dick realized he couldn’t be anger. He couldn’t just exist with anger in his veins and sharp words and harsh glares.
Then it was Nightwing who carried that anger. Nightwing who gave sharp smiles and punched just that much harder, used sharp words, and gave into violent tendencies. Nightwing could be angry, he could hurt whoever he wanted.
Dick Grayson couldn’t. Dick Grayson would be soft smiles and kind words. He would be hugs and smile lines would be constantly on his face because he was just a kind grandson-son-brother who wanted to do anything he could for everyone he loved. He would give hugs where he used to give fists, he would give sad, disappointed words where he used to spit out hate like one would throw knives.
Dick Grayson would never hurt anyone he loved again.
Jason calls Dick “Goldie”. He calls Dick the golden child of the family because Dick Grayson can do no wrong. He remembered a time where all Dick was, was uncontrollable anger, but then he came back to life and suddenly Dick was kind and soft and sweet.
He didn’t see how Nightwing was the one who brandished the pain Dick used to, didn’t see how Nightwing acted when in Bludhaven with all the Bats elsewhere. He didn’t see how Dick’s apartment floor still had grooves where glass had dug in from broken picture frames, didn’t see how the table was still clawed in under the pretty cloth he had over it, didn’t see how it was all a reminder that Dick had to be better.
All he saw was a man who became a good brother only after he had died.
And Dick was okay with that. Dick doesn’t plan on changing it, because Nightwing was the only one who could wield the anger that was hidden away from the world – but never Wally, he could never hide it from Wally. Wally saw the way Dick tore himself apart with his grief, saw how blood stained his gloved hands on bad nights and yet he stayed and kissed his knuckles. Wally saw all of Dick’s worst and loved him all the same.
Dick didn’t need reminders of how badly he had hurt everyone with it, didn’t need reminders of how badly he hurt his little brother with it.
But sometimes, things are out of everyone’s control.
It had started during a fight with Scarecrow. Nightwing had been called in to help, and Dick had happily headed to Gotham to assist his family. Wally had grinned and wished him goodbye with a kiss that still made Dick’s lips tingle even as he put his suit on and rushed out into Gotham’s humid summer night.
Whenever Scarecrow broke free of Arkham, the entire city was always on alert. The Bats were usually tense until he was back behind Arkham’s gates. The longer he was left out, the more anxious they became. So, when he was finally found and Dick got the call, he was more than happy to gear up and help his family.
Too bad Scarecrow managed to build himself a new type of toxin. It wasn’t unusual for him to create a new type of Fear – there were fear toxins for every type of the human senses, types that left you paralyzed, types that made you see your saddest fears rather than your worst nightmare. But this newest variant seemed different.
The people who were exposed seemed...angry.
“You all see that too, right?” Red Hood questioned, his voice crackling over the comm.
“Yeah. It looks like a new toxin that seemed to trigger aggression rather than fear.” Red Robin replied.
“Red Robin, get a sample and create an antidote.” Batman ordered, “Robin, Nightwing, Spoiler, do crowd control. Red Hood, Black Bat, with me.”
“Goodie, crowd control.” Spoiler muttered, but dutifully did as requested, knowing there was no time to argue.
Nightwing followed the others, rushing the lingering civilians away. Soon enough, the few people that hadn’t been exposed to the toxin were away, some with Nightwing’s extra gas masks, given to children and people with the tail-tell pin claiming their health was at risk. All that was left were the civilians exposed to the new line of Fear, who were lashing out amongst themselves and the Bats.
“We’re going to have to restrain them.” Robin said.
Nightwing grimaced when he realized his brother was right. There was no way they’d be able to protect everyone if they had several civilians attacking without thought. They’re a danger to not only the people around them, but themselves as well.
Nightwing leapt forward, pulling at the zip ties he kept in his utility belt. They all quickly started to detain the infected civilians, using as much force necessary and never leaving any injuries.
“I think that’s all of them.” Spoiler chimed. “You guys still fighting Scarecrow?”
“Bastard’s on the run,” Hood complained.
“At least the area is cleared.” Nightwing said hesitantly.
Spoiler and Robin turned to look at him when Red Hood cursed profanities over the line, Oracle hissing out her own curse before claiming that a child was in the area.
Nightwing muttered a curse under his breath before he took off in the direction Oracle told him. He couldn’t imagine what this new type of toxin felt like, and he couldn’t let a child have to deal with it. He swung across the buildings and dashed over rooftops, Robin and Spoiler just behind him.
The child in question was a little girl with light brown hair tied up in pig tails. She was crying, holding a stuffed animal close to her, and hiding in an alleyway. She screeched when something dropped by her and Nightwing dove forward, removing his gas mask without thinking and shoving it over her mouth and nose as the canister hissed and toxin flowed out of it.
The first breath was reluctant, and Nightwing tried to get away from the area as quickly as he could. But the toxin was bitter in his nose and tangy on his tongue, and with the first breath came a second, and by the time he was ushered out of the area, his head was already feeling fuzzy. The girl in his arms was quickly traded off to Robin’s as Spoiler tried to keep him steady.
“Wing’s been exposed!” Spoiler barked into the comm. “Should I give him a Fear antidote?”
“No!” Red Robin rushed out, “No, it won’t do any good. The line of chemicals is completely different in this toxin.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Spoiler muttered.
She said something else and Nightwing could see Robin reply, but it all drowned out to his ears. He could feel how his breath rattled through his lungs, could feel his mind growing hazy and soon enough his vision wavered, and colors clashed together. His ears rang and he could feel something on his face, could feel someone pulling him along, but that too was quickly lost.
In the blink of an eye, in front of him was a screen; Jason Todd: Deceased. Behind him, there was the distinct sound of Batman’s cape swooshing with movement.
“You weren’t at the funeral, people asked about you.”
Rage, boiling and unstoppable, flooded his veins in a rush. One second it was nowhere to be seen, the next it was there. He hadn’t been at the funeral because he hadn’t been on the planet. He hadn’t even heard of Jason’s death by his father – there hadn’t even been a voicemail or a letter. Bruce hadn’t said a damn thing.
Nightwing had found out his brother was dead by an offhanded comment.
Nightwing had gone to the cave, had gone to be there with someone who really understood the pain he had felt. It had ended with nothing but grief and rage and in the end, it had been Wally that held him together.
Batman reached forward. Suddenly all Nightwing could hear was, “Don’t you dare blame me for Jason’s death! Don’t you dare!”
Nightwing lunged at the man, teeth bared and pulled his fist back. A part of him screamed that something wasn’t right, a part of him tried to pull back, tried to get him to identify why he was angry, why he was going to attack his father so blindly.
Jason’s dead and he didn’t even think to tell me. Nightwing reasoned, No letter, no message. He didn’t even try to tell me a damn thing. I’ve been gone for months, and he didn’t even think to worry. He tried to blame me for my brother’s death. How could he, how could he, how could I–
Hands gripped his arms, arms wound around his center, and before Nightwing could even land a hit, he was detained.
“Scarecrow said that it forced anyone exposed to the toxin back to their angriest moment.” Jason said.
What he didn’t say was that he knew the moment Dick was trapped in – the day Jason had been adopted. Why else would Dick be so angry with Bruce? Jason had always been the cause of all Dick’s anger – none of the other’s that came after him dealt with it.
Tim had been treated like a brother – had admitted that Dick had been nothing but polite and then brotherly with him when Jason had reluctantly asked him. Damian was fucking coddled. Jason had never once heard Dick be anything but disappointed or irritated with the brat.
Jason had always been the problem.
It had taken ten minutes to wrangle Dick back into the cave once the Batmobile had arrived. The bastard had tried to attack Bruce for a good portion of the ride there before he started targeting anyone around him, even with his hands locked behind his back. He had been locked in one of the detainment chambers in the Cave – Steph had muttered that she couldn’t even remember the last time it had been used.
Now it was just Goldie pacing back in forth in the clear cage, limbs jerking and face one of rage. Jason watched, face blank but his heart threatened to jump down into his stomach. He was the cause of Dick’s angriest memory; he was the reason the golden child was clawing at whatever he could get his hands on.
It shouldn’t hurt. He already knew Dick hated him. It hurt anyways.
“You guys got a cure for him or what?” Jason turned his back to the cell. He crossed his arms and tried his best to seem like he couldn’t care less.
Dick hadn’t ever liked him. But Jason has always loved him. He had always thought of the man as his older brother, had loved him even though he knew Dick would never see him as anything more than the kid his father had taken in. If there was one thing Jason did, it was love. He cared with his entire being, even if he didn’t want to.
He really, really wished it didn’t hurt to know the day he had been adopted ended up being Dick’s angriest memory.
Tim shook his head. “I think I’ve gotten a cure made, but it’ll take at least two hours to synthesize. By then, the toxin would probably be worn off.”
Bruce’s face did that thing it always did when he was blocking off his emotions – practically falling blank except for the way he suddenly looked so tired. “Send the cure to the police.”
“Already did.” Tim replied. He hesitated visibly, “Is Dick going to be okay in there?”
“It’ll hold him.” Steph assured.
“Nothing in there can hurt him.” Damian said, nose scrunched up. “Even if he ends up trying it.”
“Big brother will be fine.” Cass answered quietly, nodding.
There was a rounding crash as Dick tried to break through the glass by ramming against it. Everyone winced as Dick held his shoulder, but the rage on his features didn’t lessen at all. If anything, he looked even more enraged.
Jason felt sick to his stomach. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hoping to hide the way they shook.
“Well, I’m out.” He said, turning towards his motorcycle.
“Jason,” Bruce said. Ugh, there was his almost hidden worry. “Alfred set up your room. I think you should stay.”
“What and watch Goldie foam at the mouth?” Jason scoffed, “No thanks.”
“He made your favorite after patrol snack.” Steph said absently.
“If Master Jason wishes to leave, then he may.” Alfred said, appearing out of nowhere. Jason jolted and turned, watching as his grandfather and Wally, oddly enough, walked into the cave.
“Where’s Dick?” Wally interrupted, eyes darting around before landing onto the cell Dick occupied. “What the fuck happened?”
“He was exposed to a new toxin that locks people into their angriest moment.” Tim rattled off, stepping forward.
Wally made a face before looking back over to Dick. “Can I get in there?”
“I don’t think you should, man.” Steph said. “He tried to pull B’s head off. Literally.”
Wally rolled his eyes and marched forward. He glared over to Bruce, determined. “Open the door. Let me in there.”
Bruce glared and for a moment they were all just standing there, awkwardly watching Wally of all people stare Bruce down. After a moment Bruce sighed and punched in the code, letting the door slip open long enough for Wally to flash in.
Dick let out a wordless yell, lunging forward. Wally dodged him easily, grabbing his wrists when Dick attempted to hit him again.
“Dick, Baby,” Wally murmured, sounding sad. Dick flinched as if he had been shocked. “It’s alright, I’m here.”
Dick’s face screwed up after a moment and he wavered before his legs seemingly gave out on him. Wally sunk onto the floor with him, pulling his fiancé closer and holding him close.
Dick wailed.
Jason wanted to turn and leave. Wanted to call Roy and tell him to just fucking talk, because Roy’s voice was the most soothing thing Jason had ever heard. He wanted to head upstairs and eat the snack Alfred had painstakingly made, and then crash into his room in the manor and pretend that none of this had even happened, but he couldn’t move. He felt like he could barely breathe.
He’s never seen Dick cry.
“Wally,” Dick clawed at Wally’s shoulder before hitting him. Wally held him tighter, buried a hand into dark, wavy hair, not even flinching as Dick continued to thrash and hit him. “He didn’t tell me! Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Dick,” Wally said, “It’s okay.”
“No, no, no, it’ll never be okay – please. I can’t - he can’t be–” Dick's breath hitched.
“I know,” Wally murmured, “I know, I’ve got you.”
“Why?” Dick said, and he sounded so lost. “Why? Why wasn’t it me?”
Why wasn’t he adopted, Jason thought bitterly.
Wally pressed a kiss to his hairline, and it just seemed to make Dick even more emotional.
“I should have been there. I should’ve.” He sobbed, but oddly enough he sounded furious. Then he just fell lax in Wally’s arms, as if all the fight in him was gone. Jason looked away, down to his scuffed boots. “I should’ve protected him.”
And, what? Jason’s eyes snapped at his brother, lips parting slightly. He heard Tim mutter under his breath, no doubt wondering what Dick was talking about too.
“It’s my fault.” Dick stammered, digging his fingertips into Wally’s shoulder blades. “I should’ve protected him, he’s my brother! Now he’s dead!”
What?
Wally gathered Dick into his arms and stood slowly. He mumbled words too quiet for anyone out of the cell to hear but whatever he said made Dick keen and clutch him tighter. He buried his face into Wally’s shoulder and just held onto him. Wally motioned for them to open the door and Alfred unlocked it after a long pause of everyone just staring at Dick in shock. Wally headed towards the stairway without pausing.
It was only after they heard the Cave’s entry way slide close that it sunk in.
Dick’s angriest memory was the day he found out Jason was dead. He was angry at Bruce – what did he mean by Bruce hadn’t told him? - and at himself.
Jason didn’t trust himself to drive back to one of his safe houses. He turned stiffly towards the stairway, already fumbling for the phone he kept in his belt. He dialed Roy’s number the moment his shaking fingers allowed him to.
Maybe I hadn’t been the cause of Dick’s anger, but the cause of its disappearance.
The thought left him dizzy. He didn’t know what to do with any of this.
“Roy,” he rasped the moment the call went through. He kicked the door to his room closed, locking the door clumsily. “Talk to me.”
Jason flopped onto his bed and listened desperately to Roy’s - albeit hesitant – retelling of how he created his newest invention. Sleep illuded him, but Roy kept him busy.
Dick woke up with the worst headache he’s hand in a while. He groaned into Wally’s chest, burrowing closer to escape the light attacking his eyes. The hand that had been rubbing his back lifted to massage his scalp, and Dick melted into the touch.
“Mor’ing,” He mumbled.
“Morning,” Wally said. Instead of the amusement that Dick had been expecting, all he got was worry.
“What’s wrong?” Dick asked softly, angling his head so he could squint up at his fiancé.
Wally raised an eyebrow. “Do you not remember?” At Dick’s blank stare, he sighed softly and massaged a bit more insistently at Dick’s forehead. “You got dosed with a new type of toxin. Tim’s calling it Anger Toxin.”
“Ah,” Dick said. He vaguely remembered giving his mask to a little girl and then not much else. A few flashes after that, but nothing that really told him anything.
“You were reliving the day you found out Jason died.” Wally told him after a moment.
“Sorry,” Dick said.
“Don’t apologize.” Wally kissed his forehead. “It’s not your fault. I love you.”
Dick leaned into him, letting himself relax. “I love you too.”
God did he love him.
“I hate seeing you like that.” Wally mumbled into his scalp after a long moment.
Dick just held him tighter, pressing a kiss against his collar bone. He remembered enough about the time he found out Jason was dead – he remembered how he directed all his anger at Bruce instead of himself. How he blamed Bruce because it had just been so much easier than admitting to himself that he had caused so much of it.
He knew it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, but the Joker’s, really. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that if he had just been a little nicer, a little closer to Jason, Jay would’ve gone to Bludhaven instead of chasing a woman he shared blood with.
“You feeling okay?” Wally asked.
“Nothing tylenol won’t fix.” Dick replied.
“Good, because your family has been pacing outside the door for like an hour.” Wally said, laughing slightly.
Dick shoved his face back into Wally’s chest. “They want to talk?”
“They all saw quite a bit last night.” Wally admitted softly. He absently worked his fingers through some of the knots in Dick’s hair. “Jason showed up a bit ago. Didn’t really say anything, kinda just stared, which is creepy, but I expect that stuff from you bats. He wants to talk to you.”
Dick bemoaned his luck, not even giving Wally’s joke a response. Tim, Cass, and Bruce were the only bats that stared into your soul, not Dick, thank you very much. Wally helped him sit up, pressing kisses across his cheeks, nose, forehead, eyes, before he pressed a lingering kiss against his lips. He smiled, an encouraging thing.
“You’ve been wanting to talk to him for a while, anyways. He said.
Dick huffed but kissed him again. “Jay’s gonna shoot me.”
“You got this, Babygirl.” Wally grinned, then slid out of the covers.
Dick wondered if he had enough time to sneak out the window before crossing it out. Bruce probably already had all the alarms set to keep him from escaping without seeing him. Damn him.
His arms and legs were sore when Wally helped pull him out of the bed. He rolled his shoulders, trying to get some of the tension to leave, but it didn’t do much. Fear Toxin always took it out of whomever was exposed to it; Dick’s not very surprised another of Scarecrow’s concoctions had the same effects.
“Alright, let’s do this.” Dick said, squeezing Wally’s hand. His fiancé smiled at him, a mixture of worry and fondness and love. Dick doesn’t think he’ll ever really get used to it – whenever Wally looked at him like that, Dick felt like he was melting.
The hallway was clear when Dick hesitantly pulled the door open, and he wasn’t sure if he was thankful for it or not. They made their way downstairs hand in hand, slower than they usually did thanks to Wally deciding Dick should walk slower. The dining room was full when they finally made it to the room, and the moment Dick shuffled through the doorway, he was attacked by everyone staring at him.
“Uh, morning.” Dick said awkwardly.
“How are you feeling, Chum?” Bruce asked, just as awkward.
Dick blinked at him. Bruce hadn’t called him Chum in years.
“Fine?” Dick shrugged his shoulders, suddenly defensive. “I’m a bit sore, but it doesn’t feel much different from Fear Toxin’s aftermath.”
Tim typed something onto his phone – no doubt adding what Dick said to the file he created on this new toxin – before practically inhaling his coffee. Steph nudged him in the ribs and snatched a piece of his bacon, and just like that, everyone relaxed and turned back to their meals.
Well, everyone but Jason, who took it upon himself to stare into Dick’s soul. So maybe Tim, Cass, and Bruce weren’t the only bats who did that.
Dick held his stare for a moment before he turned back to the plate Alfred placed in front of him. Despite what his family liked to think, Dick wasn’t as emotionally repressed as them. Sure, he did his fair share of shoving his emotions in a box and metaphorically sending them down into the ocean to never been seen again, but he did, generally, know emotions.
He knew that Bruce felt guilty, knew that Jason thought Dick hated him, knew that Tim felt uncertain around most of the family half the time. Dick wasn’t as good as Cass was at reading body language, but he knew his family.
“I’m sorry,” Dick blurted out after a few tense moments.
“You…have nothing to be sorry about.” Bruce started, albeit stiffly, “This new toxin–”
“It’s not about the toxin.” Dick said. He glanced over to meet Jason’s blank stare and tapped his fingertips anxiously. “I never wanted you guys to see that.”
“You were reliving the day you found out I died, weren’t you.” If it wasn’t for the certainty in Jason’s voice, Dick would say it was a question.
“I was.” Dick said quietly. “I’m sorry. That I never treated you like I should have. I was never a good brother to you, and suddenly you come back and I’m a somewhat decent brother. I know how it looks – I know you think I hate you.”
Jason inhaled sharply. Wally clamped his hand around Dick’s, steadying.
“I never hated you. I could never hate you, Jay.” Dick held his stare even though he wanted nothing more than to look away. “You’re my brother and I love you. I’m sorry I’ve let you think otherwise.”
Jason stared at his plate, and for a moment, no one at the table moved. Then Jason let out a short breath, shaking his head slightly as he put his fork down.
“Roy said you bashed some guy’s face in when he told you I was dead.” He said, looking up.
“Fired him from the Titans too,” Wally said cheerily. Dick glared at him slightly. “What? I would’ve fired him too. He was a asshole.”
“You don’t have to tell them that.” Dick grumbled, feeling oddly embarrassed.
Jason just grinned at him, and it was nothing like the awed smiles he used to give Dick, back when he wore Robin’s colors. But it was the happiest expression Dick had seen on his face since he had died.
“Whatever you say, Dickiebird.” Jason said, and Dick.
Dick grinned because it had been so long since Jason had ever addressed him as anything but Goldie. This felt like they were finally closing the gap between them, finally something closer to brothers.
Dick couldn’t be happier.
Bonus:
“Say,” Tim said absently as he and Dick looked over a case, “Why wasn’t your angriest moment the time you tried to beat the Joker to death?”
Jason, who was just walking into the room, was bamboozled.