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bearly-writing · 3 years

Note

Hello! I absolutely loved "Bite the Bullet!" If you are still taking requests for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, could you possibly fill CPR with Dick Grayson/Nightwing receiving CPR from someone in the Bat family - preferably Bruce/Batman or Jason/Red Hood? Keep up the great work :D

Thank you so much for the lovely request! I’m really glad you enjoyed Bite the Bullet! I can only apologise for how long this fill has taken 😅

All of my prompts have been requested! I know it’s been a very long time since I last filled one of these, and I’m not sure if any of the prompters are still interested in these (or even remember that I was supposed to fill one for them 😂) but I am definitely going to finish these, including the Voltron ones!

Pale Reflections

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: CPR

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake

Warnings: Near death experiences, Drowning, Past character death, blood and injury

Summary: Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Read it on AO3 here!

Bruce doesn’t actually see Dick go into the water. There’s a shout - Jason, Bruce thinks - the confused sounds of a struggle, the splash of something heavy disappearing into the river. Bruce doesn’t have time to worry about it, not with the horde of Joker’s goons he’s trying to keep from overwhelming him.

So he doesn’t see his son hit the murky water. Doesn’t see his muscles seize at the shock of icy cold. Doesn’t see the dark gape of his mouth or the flash of black hair as Dick struggles to stay at the surface, his arms rigid and useless at his sides, his face tipped up to the dark Gotham sky and then, abruptly, not.

By the time Bruce has dropped his final opponent and turned around, Jason has already pulled him out. They’re both soaked, filthy water running in rivulets over Jason’s leather jacket, dripping off the curly ends of his hair. There’s a small puddle of it under Dick, who’s lying motionless against the concrete of the docks.

For a moment, Bruce doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. There’s Jason, kneeling on the ground, his helmet gone, face tight with fear. There’s Tim, standing over them, mouth wide, eyes gleaming in the dim light. There’s Dick, lying still underneath them, so still, the lenses of his domino flipped up, his eyes shut, wet strands of hair plastered to his pale forehead.

Bruce’s heart seizes in his chest. Thuds to a stop behind his ribs. Around him, the night is cool and dark but Bruce feels suddenly too warm, flushed with phantom heat. He blinks, lashes rasping against the lenses of the cowl and it’s somehow still there - that morbid plateau, his children blocky shadows in the darkness.

Bruce blinks again. A chill breeze brushes against him, searching for a way through his uniform. Concrete, Bruce tells himself, it’s concrete, not sand. It’s water, not blood. It’s Dick.

And yet, he’s as still as Jason was then, as lifeless. Bruce moves without thinking. He isn’t thinking. His mind is utterly blank, a void in his head.

Jason glances up when Bruce reaches them and his eyes are wide and white and he snarls as Bruce reaches out towards Dick, hunching over his brother, getting in the way. Bruce ignores him. Kneels. Close up, Dick looks even worse: pale and shining damply like some water-logged corpse.

Bruce has to swallow against a surge of acrid bile. He yanks off his gauntlet, tosses it across the dock. Presses fat, nerveless fingers against the crease beneath his son’s jaw. For an aching moment, he feels nothing. No thrum of blood beneath his skin. No sign of life. The sun is hot against his back. Sand shifts beneath his knees - or maybe it’s ash, thrown up by the smouldering debris. The smell of blood is heavy in the air.

Then, weak and thready, but there - a struggling pulse.

There’s a ringing in Bruce’s head so loud that he almost misses Tim crouching beside him, the three of them lined up on their knees like men at prayer. Bruce tilts Dick’s head back and his face is like a mask, waxy and unnaturally blank and it looks so wrong. Bruce drops his own head and stares intently at his son’s chest instead. No puff of air against his cheek. No steady rise and fall of Dick’s ribs. Bruce yanks his cowl back with a shaking hand and presses his face right against Dick’s lips. Still nothing.

The world drops out from underneath Bruce.

“Is he breathing?” Tim asks. He sounds very far away, as if he’s the one who’s underwater. The air is thick as jello and just as hard to breathe,

Bruce’s throat is too tight to speak, the words sealed inside his chest. All he can do is shake his head.

He’s not breathing. Dick isn’t breathing. Bruce’s son isn’t breathing.

Remember his training: CPR, one of the first things he had learned. Clear the airways - Bruce has already tilted Dick’s head back the way you’re supposed to. So: rescue breaths. Bruce gently presses Dick’s mouth open, using his other hand to keep Dick’s head tilted back. Then he seals his mouth over his son’s.

One. Two. Three.

Check for breath. Nothing. Time for compressions, then. One palm flat on his sternum, the other curled around his own splayed fingers. Arms straight to keep the force behind the movement. Don’t worry about breaking ribs, right now, it’s more important to get his chest moving.

There’s a rhythm to the whole thing. A song: Nelly the Elephant packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus.

Dick - Dick has a little stuffed toy elephant. Zitka, she’s called rather than Nelly, after the actual elephant he had known, back when he’d been part of the circus. Bruce has seen it a hundred times. Dick used to cart the thing everywhere - out on family walks on the grounds, cuddled in his arms during movie nights, tucked under his chin when he’d snuggled against Bruce after sneaking into his room at night, seeking comfort after nightmares.

Does he still have it? Bruce doesn’t know. Maybe it’s back at the manor, safely tucked away in a closet in his old room. Maybe it’s in Bludhaven, sitting proudly in the middle of a messy bed. It’s not like Dick is ashamed of that sort of thing - of needing comfort, of his fond nostalgia for his childhood.

Bruce should find it for him. Bruce - he needs to find his little boy’s elephant, he needs to make this better, because Dick is hurt and Bruce needs him not to be.

How many compressions has that been? Dick is still and silent under Bruce’s hands. When Bruce pulls back, he half expects Dick to be watching him, eyes bright, but his lids are still closed, pale and waxy in the dim light. The only eyes on him are Tim’s and Jason’s, burning heavy against the side of his face.

More rescue breaths. Dick’s chest rises a little beneath Bruce’s palm, but it’s only his own air forcing his child’s chest to move. More compressions. Tim is saying something, sounding like he’s speaking from the other end of a very long tunnel, and Bruce can’t hear him over the thundering of his own pulse in his ears. Something about an ambulance, maybe? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Dick to breathe again.

Something cracks under his palm. Bruce falters. His ribs. His little boy’s ribs are cracked and broken under his fingers. A jut of jagged bone, slick with blood and viscera presses against him. Bruce snatches his hands back like they’ve been burnt. Stares at them blankly in the dim light. There’s - they should be soaked in blood, gloves torn by debris, but there’s only the slight shine of water against the black.

There’s a roaring like distant thunder. Like desert wind. The air is so dry. Bruce can’t breathe. His chest is so tight. Like iron. Like his own ribs are caved in. His vision blurs like the whole world is spinning around him.

Someone pushes Bruce out of the way. He tries to plant himself in front of his son, his little boy. No one deserves to touch him. No one should have a chance to hurt him. But Bruce’s muscles don’t seem to be responding to him and he’s too weak to fight against the forceful shove.

Broad shoulders block his view of his son, brown leather stretched between them. Bruce stares blankly at the man’s back as he takes over compressions. Muscles ripple beneath his jacket. The thud of each push echoes in Bruce’s ears.

It’s Jason, Bruce realises, as slowly as if he’s swimming through treacle. It’s Jason pressing down on his son’s chest with measured, forceful thrusts. But that isn’t right, because it’s Jason on the floor, his body broken and ruined, his chest still.

Or - no - it’s not Jason. It’s not Jason lying shattered on the desert sand. It’s Dick. This isn’t a memory of the past. A painful ghost of a horror that Bruce couldn’t stop. This is real and this is happening. To Dick. To Bruce’s eldest son.

And Bruce is sitting helplessly at the side as his son dies.

No. No. This isn’t - this isn’t happening. Not to Dick. This isn’t possible.

There’s a strange disconnect in Bruce’s mind. It keeps him frozen as Jason bends down and forces Dick’s shattered chest to rise. As Tim shuffles closer, pale hands fluttering, brushing damp locks of hair from Dick’s still face.

In the distance, a siren wails. Bruce hears it as though it’s coming from another planet. How many times has Dick been on another planet? How many times has Bruce worried himself sick over the danger his boy might be in, where Bruce can’t protect him. And now Dick is dying right under Bruce’s nose and he hadn’t even noticed.

The breath feels caught in Bruce’s throat. If Dick isn’t breathing, then Bruce doesn’t see why he should. Please, he begs, please let him take Dick’s place. Bruce can’t bury another son. He can’t.

He barely notices the ambulance arrive. It only registers when Jason pulls away, making space for the paramedics to take over saving Dick’s life. A desperate possessiveness rises in Bruce’s chest then. These people don’t know Dick. They don’t remember when he messed up sliding down the bannister and skinned his knee. They’ve never tucked him into bed with them after a nightmare, feeling tears soak through their cotton shirt. They’ve never held him in their arms after he took a bad tumble on patrol and felt how small he is, how fragile.

When he lunges for his son, not even entirely sure what he’s planning to do, strong arms catch him. Bruce fights against them without any finesse. Snarling. Desperate. But the grip holds firm. Someone is murmuring low in his ear but Bruce can’t hear them over the pounding of his heart and his own frantic noises.

“B,” the voice growls. “Stop. They’re trying to help him. You need to let them.”

Bruce hears the words, but doesn’t register them. All he can think is that Dick is hurt and someone is keeping Bruce from him. Someone is stopping him from getting to his son.

“B!” A different voice. Less growly but no less desperate. “Listen to Hood. Calm down.”

It’s Jason’s vigilante name that finally breaks through the static in Bruce’s head. It’s Jason’s arms around him, his voice in his ear. It’s Tim standing in front of them both, face pale beneath his domino.

Bruce slumps. Jason takes his weight with surprising ease. When did his boy get so strong? So big? Bruce had missed it. Missed Jason growing from the skinny little teenager he’d been to the vigilante he is now.

Tim closes the distance between them, blocking Bruce’s view of the ambulance and whatever the paramedics are doing with Dick. His face is so pale he’s almost glowing. His dark eyebrows are pulled low over his eyes in concern.

“He’ll be okay, B,” he says, shakily.

Bruce shuts his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the fear on his face or the ambulance as it pulls away, taking his son with it.

***

Dick is fine, Bruce tells himself. The heart monitor is beeping softly and steadily in the background. Dick’s hand is warm in his own, fingers limp but soft and dry. They’re only keeping him in the hospital to monitor for dry drowning and to let his ribs heal up a little. The worst danger has passed.

Jason is fine too. And Tim. They’ve gone to get coffee and snacks from the vending machine down the hall. They were in here just a few moments ago. Jason is here. Tim is here. Dick is here.

Bruce hasn’t lost anyone today.

As if spurred by the thought, Dick’s fingers twitch in Bruce’s grip. Bruce squeezes them in his own almost automatically. Then he shifts to lean over the bed, brushing Dick’s hair back from his pale face. Dick blinks, dark eyelashes fluttering. He groans.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, lowly. He hadn’t meant the name to come out so tentative, so broken, but his throat feels like it’s been torn to shreds.

Dick’s head lolls against the pillow. Bruce shifts to cup his cheek and hold him steady. Blue eyes peek out at him from beneath heavy, waxy lids. Bruce’s mouth feels so dry. Like a desert.

“B?” Dick murmurs. And if Bruce had sounded bad, Dick sounds as though he’s been gargling glass.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. “I’m here, Dick. You’re okay.”

Dick frowns. He blinks but his eyes are still glazed and unfocused. “What,” he manages, “what happened? Where am I?”

Bruce strokes a trembling hand over Dick’s cheek. Why is he shaking? Batman’s hands are supposed to be steady. And Dick is fine. He’s here. He’s talking, even. Perfectly okay.

“You’re at the hospital, sweetheart. You were thrown into the harbour during patrol.”

Dick swallows dryly. His throat clicks. It sounds like it hurts and Bruce can’t stop himself from wincing.

“The hospital?” Dick whispers.

“Gotham General.”

“Why?” Dick asks, dark brows low over shiny eyes. “Why not…the cave?”

Bruce’s throat is thick, his words unwieldy. “You nearly died,” Bruce croaks. “You were…you weren’t breathing. We needed an ambulance. Otherwise…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. Stupidly, Bruce feels quick heat rising behind his eyes, the threat of tears. Suddenly, he can’t breathe. His hands are shaking so badly. To try to stem the trembling, Bruce clasps them close to his chest. Then he bends over them, pressing his face to Dick’s sternum. His son’s heart thuds beneath his ribs.

“B?” Dick asks, again, voice small and unsure. A hand touches Bruce’s head, nimble fingers threading through his sweaty hair.

“You nearly died,” is all Bruce can manage, muffled against the hospital sheets.

Dick makes a soft sound. He pets at Bruce and a swell of painful affection crashes through Bruce’s chest.

“I’m here,” Dick whispers, voice rough. “I’m still here, B. I’m fine.”

“I know,” Bruce whispers back, but he can’t bring himself to lift his head. The thud of Dick’s heart is too reassuring. He remembers it weak and thready against his fingers. He remembers pressing his face to a shattered chest and hearing nothing but hollow silence.

Dick doesn’t reply, but his hand continues to move against Bruce’s hair. Bruce appreciates the reassurance - the way Dick implicitly understands that Bruce needs to know he’s awake. He’s alive.

They sit like that for long enough that Bruce is surprised Dick doesn’t fall back asleep. Eventually, Jason and Tim return. If they’re surprised by the scene they stumble on - Dick awake but not fully aware, Bruce bent over him like a man at prayer - they make no comment.

“Glad to see you’re awake,” Jason says, gruffly. “You nearly gave the old man a heart attack.”

Dick hums. Bruce wants to defend himself, but he can’t seem to dredge up the words.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Dick says, softly. “All of you.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Jason says, dismissively.

Bruce remembers the wide, wild look in Jason’s eyes. The way he had snarled at Bruce when he’d first reached Dick’s side.

He doesn’t remind Jason of that.

“Still,” Dick says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Bruce says, finally lifting his head. He cups Dick’s cheek again, fondly. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

Dick swallows again. Bruce will have to ask Tim or Jason to get some ice.

“Me too,” Dick says. “I’m not going anywhere, B.”

#badthingshappenbingo #bthb #dc #batman #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #my writing #fanfiction #drowning tw #blood tw #injury tw #prompt: cpr

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ao3feed-jaydick · 2 years

Text

An Ordinary Night

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41027406 by morimaitar As he looks at Dick, it occurs to Jason that for all their conversations, they’ve never really spoken that much about their lives before Bruce. There was the bare minimum, of course, a handful of stories here-and-there about circus elephants and home-cooked meals, good and bad. But that was it, as if their stories didn’t begin until Zucco cut that rope and Jason stole those tires. *** It's August 16th, and Jason is on patrol. Dick has questions. Words: 2239, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Jason Todd Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Gotham City vibes, Light Angst, Childhood Memories, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Healthy Relationships, Late Night Conversations, Banter, Mostly Gen, Happy Birthday Jason Todd read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/41027406

#IFTTT #AO3feed #Jaydick #DC

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schweeeppess · 5 years

Text

a/n: the au I was very excited to write! Pacific Rim au! I hope you guys enjoy! I had a TON of fun writing it, and there will definitely be more installments to this au :D

----

“Three months, twelve days, and eight hours, Bruce.”

“What?”

Dick gives Bruce a bland look, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, and continues staring.

Slowly, he repeats himself. “Three months. Twelve days. And eight hours. You’ve had me sitting on the sidelines because you couldn’t approve anyone Drift Compatible with me. For three months.” Raising a brow, he says, “ can I meet my new co-pilot, and when are we going to try the neural handshake?”

Bruce gives Dick the most unimpressed look he’s seen in a long time.

Dick cracks a smile.

“You’ll meet him—”

The door opens, then, and a teen’s head pokes through. He’s got long hair—long enough to put in a very small man-bun, Dick thinks—and pale skin. His eyes are a sky blue color that Dick vaguely remembers, and he narrows his eyes as he tries to place this kid.

“—right now, apparently.” Bruce raises an eyebrow at the teen who flushes a little in embarrassment as he closes the door behind him. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

The teen fidgets a little, then speaks. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were in the middle of a meeting…”

Dick snorts, eyeing the kid, then looks at Bruce.

“This is my Drift Compatible co-pilot?” he asks. “Seriously?”

Bruce nods as the teen tenses.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, this is Richard John Grayson, your new co-pilot.”

Timothy Drake. I know that name.

Frowning as he tries to remember just where he knows that name from, Tim sticks his hand out to him.

Glancing at the hand, then to Tim, Dick smiles and shakes his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Tim,” he says. “My name’s Richard but you can call me Dick. I prefer it, actually.”

Tim nods.

Clearing his throat, Bruce says, “You’re scheduled to attempt a neural handshake in thirty minutes, so I suggest you spend some time getting to know each other.”

“Aye-aye, captain,” Dick replies sarcastically, letting Tim’s hand go to salute mockingly before opening the door.

“Yes, sir,” is what Tim’s response is, but he doesn’t move to follow Dick, instead awkwardly shifting once.

Dick blinks, then laughs.

“Bruce,” he says, still laughing. “He wants you to dismiss us.”

Bruce seems surprised as he says, “You’re dismissed.”

As Dick and his new co-pilot leave the room, Dick keeps laughing, throwing an arm over Tim’s shoulders.

“You’re great, kid,” he says, still smiling hard as they walk to Dick’s room. “I like you.”

Tim nods once.

“I’d hope so,” is his response as he loses all nervous and fidgety-ness. He collects himself, looking disinterested yet invested, calculating yet alive, serious but loose.

Dick’s grin widens.

—

“So, how you wanna play this?”

“What?”

“Twenty questions style?”

“Wh—”

“Twenty questions style it is!”

Tim gives his new co-pilot an exasperated look from where they sit on Dick’s bottom bunk. Dick just flashes him that grin again, and Tim rolls his eyes, relenting.

“Fine,” he says. “Twenty questions style. What’s your first question?”

Dick hums, drumming his fingers on his cheek.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

This, for some reason, makes Dick laugh. Tim raises a brow and asks him the same question.

“I’m twenty-eight,” Dick answers. Moving on from the question, he asks, “Your parents. Are they alive?”

“No.”

“Neither are mine. How old were you when they died?”

“Twelve.”

“I was nine. Kaiju?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Nah. Mobster in Gotham.”

“Sorry.”

“Me too. How’d Bruce find you?”

“Black market. You?”

“He was there when my parents died.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Where’re you from?”

“Me? Gotham. My parents? My mom was from somewhere in Asia, and my dad was American.”

“Cool.”

“You?”

“Roma, not to be confused with Romanian.”

“Neat.”

They went like that, back and forth, for about twenty minutes. When there was only ten minutes before their scheduled attempt at a neural handshake, Tim got up to crawl on his bunk—the one directly atop Dick’s—and drag his piloting uniform out of his bag.

Dick reaches under his bed for his duffel with his uniform, then rolls off his bed and stands up.

“You know,” Dick says, stripping his shirt off, “we should probably hang these somewhere.”

Tim makes a noise of agreement, dropping off the bunk to the ground, and starts to change too.

“I am, like, ninety percent sure I have a closet here,” Dick continues.

Snorting, Tim asks, “Haven’t you been here for three months?”

“Yep.”

Tim just shakes his head and finishes stripping down to his boxers, revealing his lithe muscles.

Dick wolf-whistles jokingly, and Tim rolls his eyes as he steps into his black compression suit, Dick doing the same with his own.

“These are uncomfortable,” Dick complains just for the sake of conversation. “So tight.”

Tim shrugs. “They’re not that bad,” he says. “And, either way, shouldn’t you be used to skin-tight stuff, mister ex-trapeze artist?”

Chuckling, Dick replies, “You got me there.”

Tim smiles a little and they both start pulling on the other, heavier, layers to their uniforms.

Once they’re all dressed, there's only two minutes before their neural handshake, and Dick slaps Tim on the back, saying, “Race you!”

He leaves his new co-pilot spluttering as he runs ahead and laughs. It’s barely much more effort to run, since their uniforms are designed to be as lightweight as possible.

“You cheater!” Tim yells after him.

Dick just laughs again in response.

They reached their Jaeger three minutes late, neither having broken much of a sweat and still completely energized.

Tim whistles at the sight of their Jaeger, and Wally walks over in his red and white boiler suit, flashing the two a smile.

“Hey, guys,” Wally greets. “I’m gonna be the technician monitoring your Drift.”

“Nice seeing you, Walls,” Dick says as he and Tim follow Wally to the cockpit.

Wally grins. “You too, Dick.”

Stepping into the Jaeger, Dick hums and looks around. He’s never been inside.

“Welcome aboard Tacit Tact,” Wally says, pocketing his hands. “We call it Tic Tac.”

“Tacit Tact,” Tim repeats, trying the name on his tongue. “I like it.”

Dick nods his agreement.

“Right, well, whenever you guys are ready, you know the drill.”

Wally leaves them after connecting them to the Jaeger, presumably to head into the monitoring station.

Approaching the right docking station, Dick glances over at Tim who's to the left.

“Ready?” he asks with a smile.

“Hell yeah,” Tim answers.

They both step in at the same time.

—

There’s… nothing, nothing at all, to prepare someone for something as intimate as Drifting. Nothing can compare to it.

All at once Tim goes from being inside the machine to being thrust into Dick’s mind. His memories and Dick’s collide like waves crashing against each other, every emotion, every experience, and every impression like raindrops drizzling in Tim’s consciousness.

It’s painful for about a minute before the memories easily and fluidly start to blend and mix. Tim knows everything—everything—there is to know about Dick, his co-pilot—but, now, something much more intimate than just the title of co-pilot, because that can’t quite accurately grasp the depth there is to sharing everything about yourself with someone else—and Dick knows everything there is to know about him.

Their thoughts, their memories, and their souls easily fuse.

The co-pilots open their eyes, and they hear the computer announce, “Pilot to pilot connection: engaged. Two pilots drifting in neural bridge.”

As if to confirm what the computer had said, Dick and Tim raise their fists into a ready stance.

“How do you guys feel?” Wally’s voice asks, crackling into their speakers.

In response Dick and Tim laugh.

—

Walking back to their room is peaceful, Tim thinks. He and Dick have reached a certain level of comfort with each other—a normally unattainable range of absolute and complete trust—that they didn’t have before, and might never have had if they hadn’t drifted together. Now they’re thicker than blood.

“Your parents weren’t around,” Dick hums, and Tim nods.

“You have a stuffed elephant named Zitka,” Tim says.

Dick nods. “I do.”

Stopping outside their room, Dick holds his hand out to Tim, who shakes it.

“It’s nice meeting you, little brother.”

Little brother.

Tim can get used to that.

Abruptly there’s a very dramatic gasp and Tim turns to look over his shoulder.

Dick rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Dick!” Some guy Tim’s never seen before gasps, clutching a hand over his heart dramatically. He’s built—reminds Tim of Bruce, but not quite there—and has a white patch of hair in his otherwise ink-colored hair. His eyes are green, he’s about Bruce’s height, and there’s a scar on his neck, but Tim still doesn’t recognize him.

“Hey, Jason,” Dick greets with a smile, slipping his hand out of Tim’s as he moves to hug Jason. “I was wondering when you were gonna pop up.”

Jason makes a noise at the hug, but pats Dick twice on the back.

“You know me,” he says with a slight shrug. “I’ll be around eventually.” Green eyes flicking over Tim’s way, he asks, “Who’s the kid?”

Tim raises a hand and waves.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Jason answers.

Stepping back, Dick turns to Tim.

“Tim, meet Jason, the first little brother I ever had. Jason, meet Tim, my new little brother and yours too,” he introduces.

Tim quirks an eyebrow at Jason and holds a hand out. “Nice to meet you, Jason.”

Jason nods and shakes his hand. “You too, Tim…?”

“Drake.”

Jason nods again. “Todd.” Glancing over at Dick once the handshake’s over, Jason gestures to Tim with a thumb and asks, “Co-pilot?”

“Yup,” Dick answers, popping the ‘p’ happily.

“Fresh.” Jason looks to Tim, asks, “How’d the Drift go?”

Tim shrugs. “Good.”

“Great,” Dick amends. “Easier than breathing.”

“Fucking finally, Grayson,” Jason teases, elbowing Dick. “Thought you’d never get a co-pilot.”

Dick snorts, and Tim turns to walk away, as Dick’s saying, “Look who’s talking. You still don’t have one, do you?”

“Oh, fuck off. All the guys they tried matching my head with were soft.”

Tim misses what Dick says next, disappearing into their room and climbing up to his bunk.

Flopping down on his back, Tim breathes a long sigh and closes his eyes, feeling drained to the marrow in his bones now that the adrenaline has faded. He hears Dick and Jason walk into the room and assumes Jason occupies one of the other bunk beds in their large room, but he doesn’t move and promptly dozes off.

When he dreams, he walks through memories that aren’t his own.

He’s standing on a platform several feet above the ground in a large tent, three people standing in front of him. Tim turns and looks around, noting the cheering crowds and banners hanging, and realizes where he is as he returns his attention to the little boy standing between his parents.

The little boy is Dick, and this was the night his parents died.

Tim remembers this. He remembers watching the flying Graysons fall victim to gravity and cut cables. He remembers the scream, above all the others, that rattled him to his very core. The scream of a boy who lost it all.

He remembers it.

Just not from this perspective.

As the older two Graysons take to the trapeze and leave their excited son standing on the platform, Tim walks forward and sits down next to where the boy stands, letting his feet dangle off over the edge.

“You’re going to miss them,” Tim says, watching Mary and John Grayson fly together, doing feats no human should be able to do.

The little boy looks at him questioningly, and Tim adds, “Soon.”

The crowd roars with cheers, and Tim remembers hearing the very sound before two birds had their wings clipped mid-flight.

He grabs Dick and hugs him close to his chest, hiding the boy’s face on his chest, and watches as the wire snaps and Mary falls with her husband, her hand outstretched to her son.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says.

Dick cries against his chest.

—

When Dick dreams, he walks through memories that aren’t his own.

He’s standing in a house too big to be so lifeless, the lights out and the air too warm for comfort, the room he stands in like something out of a horror book with all it’s neglected-looking pictures.

Dick walks out of the room, looks around, then heads upstairs. He passes several doors, turns down into a hallway, and walks past more doors, observing everything as he goes.

Dick stops outside a door like all the other ones he’d passed before it.

Then he opens it, and steps into the room.

Sitting there, on his bed and looking out the window, is a small boy in a room too big and empty to be his alone.

“Hi,” Dick says, walking over and sitting with him.

The boy peels his eyes off the window and turns them to Dick.

He recognizes that blue.

“Hi,” Tim answers, looking back at the window.

As he sits down beside Tim on the bed, Dick says, “You’re Tim.”

“M-hm.”

“Why are all the lights off?”

Tim shrugs. “Mom and Dad forgot to pay the bills.”

Raising a brow, Dick asks, “Plural?”

Tim nods. “Plural. They do it a lot, but that’s okay. They always pay them before they get back.”

Humming, Dick looks around the room.

“This is your room?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

It’s hard to believe, the room is so plain, but Dick nods anyways.

Quiet falls over them for a little while, Tim still looking out the window, Dick now with his eyes closed and lying back on Tim’s bed.

“I don’t think they love me,” Tim eventually says. “They say they do whenever we go to Mr. Wayne’s galas, but I don’t think they really love me.”

“Why not?” Dick asks without opening his eyes.

“Because they leave. Moms and Dads don’t leave their kids, right? That’s not what they do?”

Dick opens his eyes to see Tim looking at him with nothing but sadness and grief in his eyes no child should know.

“No,” he says, sorrow heavy in his tone. “It’s not what they do.”

Tim looks for something in Dick’s eyes then nods and looks back out the window.

“Okay. That’s okay.”

Heart heavy with pain for the boy who was deprived of love, Dick reaches out to pull him close and hug him.

Tim offers no protest as he curls up as small as he can against Dick’s side, and Dick in turn wraps around Tim as much as he comfortably can, his face in Tim’s hair as the boy trembles in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers.

When Tim starts to cry, Dick just keeps holding him.

—

Tim wakes up twice, once to change out of his uniform, and the second time because his internal clock still set to the timer he had for himself when he was scavenging on the streets after the Kaiju attacks. The second time he wakes up, Tim sits up with his back to the wall and waits for his brain to load.

In the bed beneath him, Dick snores softly.

Relaxing a little at knowing his co-pilot is nearby, Tim starts to look around the room with four other bunk beds. Their bed is in the back of the room, tucked into the leftmost corner, and there’s a bunk bed across from them, and one also pressed to the same wall Dick and Tim’s is, to their right.

In the one immediately across from theirs, the top bunk is bare, nothing on it, and Tim assumes whoever has the bottom bunk still doesn’t have a co-pilot. Glancing at the bottom bed, Tim sees Jason. The older boy is also asleep, chest rising and falling evenly, and Tim snorts at the knowledge that Jason sleeps with his mouth open.

Turning his attention to the bunk to Tim’s right, he sees some Hispanic kid asleep on the top bunk, and can’t get a good look at whoever’s on the bed beneath him, if there’s someone on the bottom bunk.

On the bed across from Hispanic kid’s is a black kid, and he’s awake too. Tim decides to talk to him after glancing at the brown kid in the bunk, asleep, under the black one’s.

Finally, there’s a boy with an air mattress between Jason’s bunk and kid-Tim-still-needs-to-talk-to’s.

Survey of the area complete, Tim’s eyes flick over to meet the other kid’s.

“Hey,” Tim greets quietly.

“Hi,” the other boy replies just as quiet.

“Who are you?”

“Duke Thomas.” Duke narrows his eyes, inspecting Tim. “Who are you?”

Tim gestures to the bed beneath his. “Dick’s co-pilot. Tim Drake.”

Duke hums and nods. “Cool. He’s been waiting to get into the action.”

Snorting, Tim says, “Me too.” Eyes turning to the boy in the bed under Duke’s, Tim asks, “Who’s he?”

“Who?”

Tim nods at who he means, and Duke says, “Oh, that’s Damian. Cassandra Cain’s co-pilot.”

Surprise flits through Tim.

“Damian Wayne?” he asks, and Duke nods.

Gesturing to the Hispanic kid across from him, Duke introduces him as Kyle Rayner, and the boy that’s apparently in the bed under his Conner Kent. Then he tells Tim the kid in the air mattress is named Jon Kent.

Frowning, Tim says, “Conner and Jon co-pilots?”

Duke shakes his head.

“Nah, Conner is Kyle’s co-pilot. Jon’s co-pilot is Maya Ducard.”

“If they’re brothers, why aren’t they co-pilots?”

“Adopted brothers.”

“Oh.” Tim nods once, then hops off his bed. Duke jumps down too.

Tim asks if there’s a closet, and Duke gives him a Look.

“What?” Tim asks indignantly.

“Dude, our closet is fucking huge. You could fit, like, two bunk beds in there. Or maybe just one and Jon’s bed.” Duke waved a dismissive hand as he led Tim to the closet. “You see my point.”

Pointing to the door as it slid open, Duke says, “Right there. Our little spaces have our names.”

Duke leaves, then, and Tim walks into the closet that resembles a sports team locker room.

Tim snorts, walking deeper into the room, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and glances at the other occupied nooks as he goes.

Kyle! is written across the top of one in green paint, Kon in bright red on another, Jon then a smiley face in blue, Dames in black, Jaybird in crimson, then there are three blank and empty spaces near the back. Two empty ones on the left, next to Dames, and one empty one next to Jaybird.

On the floor is a closed can of golden, blue, and orange paint.

Tim stares at them for a few seconds, then puts his duffle on the bench behind him and starts to take clothes out of the bag.

—

Dick wakes up after Duke, Damian, and Jason, like always.

But he feels… weird. Like a piece of him is missing.

He makes a face as he cracks his eyes open, rolling over to face Jason’s bunk, and squints when he sees his little brothers all huddled on Jason’s bed.

Yawning, Dick decides it’s too early for him to really care about whatever they’re talking about. He moves his blanket and throws his legs off the bed, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes as he does.

“Where’s Tim?” is the first thing he says, which surprises himself as much as it does his roommates.

Jason snickers a little, but Duke and Damian—both with co-pilots of their own—seem to understand, and Dick thinks that this is how they must feel every time they wake up separate from their co-pilots—like a piece of them is missing.

“The closet,” Duke answers.

Dick blinks. “Oh,” he says.

Digging around under his bed for his shoes and duffle bag, Dick stands and Duke points him in the general direction of the closet.

“That’s what that room is,” Dick says to himself as he walks over to it.

Jason, Duke, and Damian quietly laugh behind him.

Stepping into the closet, Dick calls, “Tim?”

He sees him a second later, and Tim looks over, nodding when he sees him.

“Morning,” Tim greets, returning to his prior task of hanging his clothes and putting them in the cabinets.

Dick smiles as he walks over. “Good morning, little brother.”

A small smile touches Tim’s lips as Dick sets his duffle down on the bench and starts taking his clothes out to organize them.

It’s peacefully quiet between them as they do their tasks, Dick humming a song to himself as his hands move, Tim folding and hanging clothes beside him, and the feeling of disconnect is gone now that he’s with his co-pilot.

They’re two halves of a whole now.

“How’d you sleep?” Tim suddenly asks.

Easily responding, Dick replies, “I had a weird dream-thing. I don’t know what to call it.”

“One of my memories?”

Dick glances over at Tim and studies him. The guess was good and on the money. Tim probably had one of those dreams too, and Dick is surprised when he realizes he’s not disturbed by it in the least bit.

”Yeah,” he hears himself say. “We spoke in your room.”

Tim nods, turning to hang his compression suit.

“We spoke too, kinda,” Tim says, tone betraying nothing.

Nodding once, Dick puts his shoes away.

It’s only quiet until Dick remembers something.

“You were there,” he breathes, freezing. “When my parents died.”

Tim doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then, “Yes.”

Turning to look at Tim, Dick squints. “I’d met you and your dad, before the show, right? We took a picture.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Raising a brow and turning to face Dick, Tim answers, “Because I didn’t see the point? What did you want me to say, ‘Oh, hey, by the way, remember that really traumatic and horrible time your parents died? Yeah? Cool well I saw that too so trauma buddies!’” Tim rolls his eyes, putting his duffle bag away. “For some reason, that doesn’t sound like an appropriate thing to say to someone you’ve just officially met.”

Dick stares at Tim and it goes quiet as Tim meets his gaze.

Then Dick laughs.

Tim rolls his eyes again, smiling faintly, and comments, “You’re fucking mental.”

“Ah, damn fucking straight,” Dick replies, smiling brightly as he claps Tim on the shoulder. “But we’re fucking mental, oh co-pilot of mine.”

Shrugging, Tim says, “I can live with that.”

Laughing again, Dick shakes his head and turns to finish putting his stuff away.

“Hey, losers!”

Dick and Tim look over at the door, where Jason’s leaned halfway in, and Jason laughs a little to himself before saying, “Breakfast’s in ten, so I’d recommend you hurry your asses up if you want to have something to eat that isn’t grits.”

Then he’s gone, and Dick makes a face.

“I like grits,” Tim says, raising a brow when Dick shakes his head. “What?”

“Not these grits you don’t. Believe me.” Finishing up, Dick adds, “They’re called Cat 4’s for a reason.”

Confused, Tim doesn’t say anything, and Dick decides to help explain.

“Category 4-grade shits, little bro.”

Tim opens his mouth, then a disgusted look twists his face and he’s shoving Dick toward the door.

“I am not eating something nicknamed after Kaiju shit,” he says vehemently. “Move it, Grayson.”

Dick laughs, saying, “Calm down, Tim. Jason was going to save us some food if we were late.”

“Move it, Grayson.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick shakes Tim’s hands off his back and starts jogging out the door to the closet, then directly out the door of their room. He doesn’t wait up for Tim, knowing the younger boy is right behind him, and picks up the pace a little as he runs for the cafeteria. They pass Garth, from the research division, and Cassie, from Diana Prince’s Jaeger division, both holding their own breakfast trays.

Dick waves as he passes, and they call greetings.

When they reach the cafeteria, Dick shoves the double-doors open and smiles, turning to look at Tim briefly.

“Welcome to our Division, Tim.”

Tim ignores him and practically runs to the breakfast line.

Huffing in exasperation, Dick follows him.

“You ruined my moment!” he yells.

“Moment later, food now!”

#my work #my writing #my fanfiction #Pacific Rim au #AU #Batfam au #Dick Grayson #Bruce Wayne #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Wally West #Jaeger Pilots au #i really loved writing this #and so look forward to writing more #we're getting a story going :D

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camsthisky · 7 years

Text

Masterlist of Cam’s DC fics

aka the only fics of mine that really matter to me rn

One Shots

Here lies Jason Todd Words: 607 Summary: From a prompt meme on tumblr #17: "Oh, just digging myself a nice grave, you?” with Dick and Jason.

Irrational Words: 1,035 Summary: Tim’s too curious for his own good, because he’s behind Dick now, reading the text over Dick’s shoulder while he sips his coffee. Dick watches as Tim’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Wow,” Tim says when he finishes. “That sounds like loads of fun. Good luck.” Dick groans. “This is the worst.”

Tim gives him an incredulous look. “Right. Because getting asked to babysit as a last resort is definitely worse than everything we’ve been through in the past year.”

the unshakable mountains we blew to pieces Words: 3,284 Summary: "What had happened tonight had shaken them all to the core. It was a blow straight to the heart. It worked so well. They hadn’t seen it coming. Even Dick hadn’t seen it coming, and Tim knew from experience that Dick prepared for the worst."Missing scenes from S2 ep 9: Darkest

I’m Here for a Pick Up Words: 2,948 Summary: Tim has the unfortunate task of picking Dick Grayson up from the police station while Damian tags along when Bruce is out of town. It doesn't turn out exactly as he thought it would, and honestly, he might just be okay with that.

Not My Fault You Didn’t Check the Calendar Words: 896 Summary: It's Mandatory Family Day and Dick just wants everyone to pick something to do. It'd be nice if Jason didn't try to run away, too. Day 1 of batfam week

Jason-Level Ridiculous Words: 694 Summary: 27. “The washing machine broke, I almost lost my keys, the car got dented, and a wasp got into the house and hijacked the bedroom for four day! Four. Days.” With Jason and Tim

Good Siblings are Hard to Come by Words: 1,146 Summary: In which Cass and Damian are good siblings, even when they're wasting valuable time that could be spent saving Bruce's life. Day 3 of batfam week

I Want Us to be Batman and Robin Forever Words: 1,511 Summary: While cleaning the attic, Bruce finds a letter written by a ten-year-old Dick, and Dick ends up thinking about the consequences of becoming Robin all those years ago. Day 5 of batfam week

Bad Nights Words: 3,169 Summary: When a rough night gets to be too much, and he doesn't want to go home, Dick decides to crash at the nearest safe house in order to treat his injuries and get his head on straight. Of course it's just his luck that there's already a little brother there. And it looks like his bad night is about to get worse. Day 4 of batfam week

There is No One Stronger Words: 825 Summary: 58. “I’ve been in love with you my entire life. Ever since the day I first met you.” Dick and Babs!! Takes place the morning after Bad Nights.

Dare to Jump Words: 1,990 Summary: "Tim and Dick had gotten caught unawares (drugged) in that alleyway three hours ago, and it was only about two in the morning now. As they were brought in from a few underground tunnels, Bruce wouldn’t be looking for them anytime soon, and since Oracle wasn’t on comms tonight, he probably wouldn’t know they were gone until someone else reported them missing. Just make it to the roof, Dick thought to himself. Make it to the roof and Bruce would know that they were there." or "Do you think I can make that jump?" with Dick and Tim

Aliens Words: 502 Summary: From a prompt on tumblr. "Do you think somewhere out there, there are aliens?" with Tim and Conner

Splash of Pink Words: 674 Summary: Dick wakes up to chaos, which is normal. What isn't normal is that Damian is sleeping in his bed and his other siblings are Up To Something.

Break Me Down and Build Me Up Words: 7,104 Summary: What if Robin: Year One took place in the Young Justice world? A story how Robin and Kid Flash first meet.

A Couple of Bullets Won’t Get Me Down Words: 1,414 Summary: While answering Tim's distress call, Dick gets hurt, and Damian freaks out a little.

(But You Just Might) Words: 826 Summary: Damian's POV of A Couple of Bullets Won't Get Me Down

Step Out of the Dark Words: 1,020 Summary: “Sometimes I talk to him, and it’s like I’m talking to a wall,” Dick admits. “I don’t know what happened. I used to be good at understanding him, but now it’s like he’s pushing me away. He barely even looks at me.” In which Dick Grayson isn't Robin anymore and Wally West is a good friend.

To Be Better Words: 1,201 Summary: In which Damian has to choose between Dick and Talia and finds that it really isn't a choice.

Looking for a Laugh Words: 959 Summary: Dick was laughing so hard he was crying. Literal tears were streaming down his face. “I think this is the best day of my life,” he choked.

Tim shook his head and moaned, “Just make it stop.”

“Never,” Steph said. “I want to savor every single second.”

In which Tim was an awkward teenager who made video diaries and the batfamily gets a laugh.

Home to You Words: 922 Summary: “He almost doesn’t make it in time.

Or maybe he doesn’t make it in time. Because when he drops through the skylight and takes out the two thugs standing over his son, Dick doesn’t move. And when Bruce finishes with the men, he’s crashing down on his knees next to Dick, praying, wishing, hoping that everything’s okay. That Dick’s not—

He’s not. He’s not. Dick’s chest is expanding and deflating, if only ever so slightly, and when Bruce checks, there’s a pulse. The odd thing, though, is that Dick’s eyes are wide open, staring sightlessly into the middle-distance, and Bruce realizes that wherever Dick is right now, it isn’t here."

Or: Bruce just wants Dick to come back to him.

Judge and Juror Words: 6,617 Summary: Anonymous asked: I was just wondering if you would like to write a story set during bvs and how Nightwing could be involved there?

Without a Mask Words: 2,376 Summary: In which Dick is kidnapped for the very first time and Bruce swears he’s going to have a heart attack.

Maybe This Time Will Be Different Words: 1,722 (2/2) Summary: Dick has his hands planted against the tiles in front of him, his head hanging low as th water runs over him. The Nightwing suit is unzipped down to his waist, and Dick’s panting for breath, his chest heaving. Bruce is at his side in an instant.

Where’s Grayson? Words: 638 Summary: isi7140 asked “Where’s Grayson?” (after Damian’s resurrection) or Damian comes back to life only to find that Richard Grayson has died.

I’ve Already Come Undone Words: 7,118 Summary: He doesn’t notice it at first. He’s too happy. He’s back. For good, now. Damian’s alive, and talking to him. Jason and Tim are mad at him for a little while, but they both start talking to him soon enough, too. Cass gives him smiles and hugs, and she lets him kiss her cheek occasionally. So, yeah. He’s too caught up in his family to notice what’s happening at first. In which Dick's trauma catches up to him before he's ready.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep Words: 1,367 Summary: Dick's just had brain surgery and Bruce is alive. It’s everything that Dick had hoped for.

Up High Words: 641 Summary: “Grayson, what are you doing up here?”

Dick shrugs, a sad smile pulling at his lips. He’d stopped asking that when his feet first started to take him up here years ago. “I like the view.”

Damian hesitates, obviously uncertain how to continue. “Father’s looking for you,” Damian says after a quiet minute or two. “He sent me to find you.”

We Were Built to Fall Apart Words: 1,213 (2/2) Summary: Dick is hurt, tired, and ready to let go. Bruce doesn't seem to be ready to let him.

Not Too Late Words: 438 Summary: AU where Bruce actually makes it on time to save Jason

Ice Packs and Big Brothers Words: 1,355 Summary: In which Jason is actually a good big brother, even if he doesn't care for his siblings in the most conventional way.

A War Inside My Head Words: 4,642 Summary: Dick is tired and sick and his family takes care of him.

Survival Words: 548 Summary: Where Bruce and Dick don't physically fight about Dick faking his death, but Bruce still makes Dick go undercover anyways.

There is No Trust Words: 649 Summary: “It's been a long time since Dick's had a reaction to fear toxin like this. Where his hands shake and his breaths come in pants, and he just can't seem to focus. Bruce had administered the antidote on patrol, Dick thinks. At least, he remembers Bruce giving it to him, but he's not sure how much he can trust those memories right now.

The main thing, the thing Dick knows for sure, is that this is fear toxin that's coursing through his veins, and it's making him see things straight from his nightmares.”

Hope Rises Like a Phoenix Words: 1,939 Summary: “Bruce doesn’t say anything when the tears prick at his eyes and he has to bury his face into his father figure’s chest. The day his parents fell. The day that had changed everything. Even so many years later, he can’t figure out why it still hurts so much. And why it’s always really only today that’s the worst?”

Everything and Nothing Words: 922 Summary: Damian has a hard time dealing with Dick's death. Luckily, Tim's there to help him through it.

No Response Words: 1,765 Summary: Dick won't answer the door, so Jason improvises.

It Only Takes Two Fingers if We Lift Together Words: 3,338 Summary: Tim wishes that he'd realized Dick was so stressed out sooner. Maybe he could have helped more.

Displaced Words: 2,051 Summary: “Bruce’s vision wavers, and only once he steadies himself does he look up to find—Dick. But not Dick. Because Dick is eleven years old, and this man is clearly only a few years younger than Bruce himself is. If that. But no. Bruce would know those bright blue eyes anywhere. This is Dick. This is his son.” or Bruce accidentally time travels

Elephants Words: 1,401 Summary: "He remembered coming here with Bruce when he was a kid. He’d ached for the circus, for Zitka, and the zoo elephants had been the closest he could get. It had been nice, something he and Bruce liked doing together, and they’d made it a tradition to go once a month. At least, up until they’d starting majorly fighting. Then he and Bruce had gone their separate ways, and Dick had ached for months."

Grip, Strength, and Focus Words: 661 Summary: Dick is the only one in the way between Bruce living or falling to his death. He's not going to let someone he loves fall. Not again.

How Happy the Home Words: 927 Summary: "When Jason climbs in through the window to his apartment, the one thing he does not expect to see is Dick lying on his couch." or Dick is a mess and Jason helps his brother out.

Man Dies of Cold, Not Darkness Words: 1,411 Summary: "Dick’s been coming home from school to an almost empty manor for four days and they’ve been leaving later and later for patrol because Bruce has been absorbed in some case he won’t let Dick take a look at. Dick’s been eating alone while Alfred watches him with sad eyes, and Dick hates it."

What Have We Become? Words: 879 Summary: "He feels cursed. At moments like this, when he’s at his lowest, when he’s mourning the people that keep falling around him again and again, Dick feels like maybe the world should just leave him alone. Leave him to suffer alone and away from people he can hurt.And who can hurt him."

Of Quiet Birds in Circled Flight Words: 1,093 Summary: Richard Grayson may have just been shot in the back of the head, but Damian refuses to believe that Batman will die. He doesn't care what his father thinks. Richard will make it.

Keep the Lights On Words: 752 Summary: Missing Scene mentioned in Nightwing #29 that was not written. I was disappointed and emotional so I wrote it instead.

Glitter Words: 503 Summary: In which Dick does Barbara's makeup for the school dance

The Sun is Warm (and Bruce is Happy) Words: 328 Summary: In which my followers don't believe I can write fluff and dare me to write at least three sentences

Involve Me and I Learn Words: 1,160 Summary: Damian finds an abandoned litter of kittens and Dick hates that he can't tell Damian yes.

Breathe Disaster Words: 1,561 Summary: Dick's been shot, Wally feels guilty, and Cassandra sheds some insight on why Dick fights.

Never, Forever Words: 898 Summary: Tim finds Damian in front of the Nightwing memorial, crying. He does what he thinks Dick would do: be a brother.

An Old and Faded Wish Words: 507 Summary: “Dick?” Bruce groans, and Tim lifts his head to look at him.

“No,” Tim says, his voice soft. “No, it’s Tim, remember?”

Bruce stares up at him blankly from the cot. “Where’s Dick?”

Tim swallows. This is not what he’d been expecting when Clark had called for someone to pick Bruce up from the watchtower. “He’s not here.”

From Far Across a Yellow Field Words: 2,028 Summary: “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Dick says, and Wally notices that he hasn’t quite met Wally’s gaze this entire time. Not a good sign, all things considering. “I just don’t want to go home tonight.”

“Well,” Wally says, a small grin pulling his own lips up, “how about we grab that ice cream and then we hit that field. You know, the one we camped in that one time?”

“Yeah.” Dick lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

That’s How This Works Words: 1,119 Summary: Damian's made a mistake. A fatal mistake. or Damian's hit by fear toxin, and Cass and Dick are there for him.

Let Us Be Brave Words: 399 Summary: Dick feels the weight of the world on his shoulders with Bruce gone.

Beat the Impossible Words: 771 Summary: Dick and Tim talk after Dick comes home from Spyral.

Fair and Square Words: 1,674 Summary: In which Wally is bored, Artemis is savage, Clark is exasperated, and Dick just wants to kick some ass.

Maximum Fun Words: 954 Summary: Dick teaches Bruce the finer points of leaf jumping.

Let Us Be Brave Words: 399 Summary: Dick feels the weight of the world on his shoulders with Bruce gone.

Beat the Impossible Words: 771 Summary: Dick and Tim talk after Dick comes home from Spyral.

Fair and Square Words: 1,674 Summary: In which Wally is bored, Artemis is savage, Clark is exasperated, and Dick just wants to kick some ass.

Life’s But a Walking Shadow Words: 1,902 Summary: The puzzle pieces aren’t fitting. Dick doesn’t know what’s happening. But one thing that he does know is that he has to get to Bruce. He has to.

Never Completely At Home Again Words: 895 Summary: The shower’s been running for thirty minutes, and the longer it stays on, the more Bruce thinks that maybe something’s wrong.

Shuddering Darkness Words: 7,586 Summary: Jason hadn't meant to let any of this happen. It happened anyways.

Big Brothering the Big Brother Words: 1,899 Summary: In which Jason and Damian both have feelings and Dick is a bigger idiot than Jason thought.

Shoes Far Too Big Words: 547 Summary: Damian has a panic attack and Dick doesn't really know what he's doing.

A Patch Job Words: 459 Summary: Things between Tim and Dick are never going to be the same, Tim thinks.

Visions of Sugarplums Words: 3,751 Summary: See, it happens like this. Everything’s normal for them all—or, well. As normal as a family full of vigilantes can get. But things are running smoothly. He keeps his head up and his ears open, though, because he may be able to move forward, but he isn’t stupid enough to think that he’s not going to hit a bump in the road. He always hits a bump in the road. He just hadn’t expected this.

A Constant State Words: 520 Summary: Tim talks to Dick's grave.

Break Your Fall Words: 1,095 Summary: Dick's drunk and Wally takes care of him.

The Good Life Words: 1,062 Summary: Turns out, Dick has a surprise up his sleeve. A surprise that can get even Tim to let loose and have fun, apparently.

give me a ghost of a smile Words: 2,188 Summary: Dick meets with a photographer for a photo shoot, Tim has a bad feeling, and Bruce is overprotective.

The Pain of Today Words: 1,560 Summary: Dick wants to hit something. Or scream. Or cry. Or a million other things that are impossible in this moment, because he’s barely holding himself together enough to exist right now, even though all he wants to do is to just. Not.

Breakfast in Bed Words: 1,529 Summary: Dick gets woken up very early in the morning, but if it's to help his little brother, then he doesn't think he minds at all.

Too Many Walls and Not Enough Bridges Words: 3,727 Summary: There's something bothering Damian. Dick's determined to help Damian feel comfortable enough to share it.

i want to wake up (i hate this dream) Words: 2,366 Summary: Sometimes, Dick feels like a zombie. Like he’s the walking dead. Like nothing will ever be good again. Sometimes, he takes too much weight onto his shoulders, and he never puts it down. There’s a point where he crumbles to dust underneath all that weight, and there’s nothing for him to do but ride the breakdown and wait until he can bear the weight and start the whole process over again.

lost in the inbetween Words: 2,521 Summary: Dick is mind controlled. Jason tries to his best to snap him out of it.

i’m half asleep (we’re incomplete) Words: 1,141 Summary: Dick can't find his hoodie.

Multi-Chapter Fics (kind of)

Lighting Up a Roomful of Possibilities Words: 16,041 (8/25) Summary: A series of missing scenes in Young Justice between Bruce and Dick.

Life is a Journey (I have not finished this challenge yet, whoops) Words: 6,263 (16/?) Summary: A 30 Day Writing Challenge for the month of July, using only DC characters (mostly batfam). Every day will be a new prompt.

Teach Me to Dream Words: 27,778 (8/?) Summary: Dick’s eleven. Not thirteen and eager to prove himself. Not seventeen and mourning a brother. Not nineteen and wishing his best friend wasn’t dead and Bruce would look him in the eyes. He’s only eleven. So why does he remember all of that?

Let Them In Before They Go Words: 11,932 (34/34) Summary: A collection of prompts from my sleepover saturday on tumblr

Theory of Relativity Words: 2,293 (1/?) Summary: In which Dick Grayson gets de-aged and everybody freaks out

And We Watched You Unravel Words: 740 (1/?) Summary: An alternate POV fic for I've Already Come Undone

Determined Ghosts Words: 7,388 (3/?) Summary: A gala, supposed to be spent by eating cakes and wearing a pretty dress, goes wrong. But honestly? What doesn't in Steph's life? Still, they better figure this out before it's more than just Dick that's hurt.

The Ache for Home Words: 5,761 (1/2) Summary: Dick goes missing, and Jason looks for him. He wonders, though, why he's the only one looking.

The Gravity of Tempered Grace Words: 10,004 (8/?) Summary: He’s sick, he finally catches on, and at that moment, a cough builds up in his chest, and he barely has enough energy to sit up enough to let his lungs work properly. A coughing fit later, and Dick’s breaths are making a horrible wheezing sound that makes him sound like one of Titus’ chew toys.That’s bad. He’s pretty sure that’s bad.

A Place We Don’t Have to Feel Unknown Words: 32,083 (33/?) Summary: Collection of batfam prompts from tumblr

Five Times Dick Danced With His Family Words: 1,467 (2/?) Summary: ...and one time they all dance with him.

There in the Sudden Blackness Words: 1,783 (2/2) Summary: Tim and Dick argue, and at the end, Tim's not actually sure if either of them actually won.

paper crowns of silver and gold Words: 2,521 (2/7) Summary: collection for batfamweek 2018

YJ Series

The Tact Series – A series that follows Dick Grayson trying his best to be okay again after trying to shoulder the weight of the world and his best friend’s death. It’s a good thing Tim’s there to help him through it

Why is Tim the Only One With Any Tact? Words: 4,819 Summary: "Hiding? Tim wasn’t hiding anything. It was more like not telling. Best not to get anyone else involved in Dick’s business if it wasn’t going to help, and telling Wally, with whatever problems he and Dick were having, was probably the definition of not helping.

“Nothing,” Tim said in the most convincing voice he had. Which, if this was Dick, wouldn’t have worked even a little bit. But this was Wally, and while Wally may have been Dick’s best friend once upon a time, he didn’t know anything about Tim.

“It’s just been a rough couple of nights in Gotham.”

In which Tim tries to mediate an argument between Dick and Wally. Things don't go so well.

I Know You’re Not Okay Words: 3,043 Summary: Bruce is home, Tim is panicking, and Dick is missing. That is, until Bruce finds Dick crying his eyes out in the cave. Sequel to "Why is Tim the Only One With Any Tact?"

Holding the Universe Together Words: 3,844 Summary: After months of the cape and cowl wearing Dick down, Bruce is finally back, relieving Dick of Batman. He finally feels like himself again. Maybe even enough to visit the Watchtower and catch up with an old friend.

Finally Coming Home Words: 3,678 Summary: "It was all coming out now. Everything that he’d kept tucked deep into his very being, his insecurities, his nightmares, he was laying them all down for Wally to see, and he felt so bare. Like he was being stripped and stared at, and he hated it. But he couldn’t make himself stop." Dick and Wally finally talk, but only after Dick almost gets himself killed.

You Are My Home Words: 1,565 Summary: Wally's POV of Finally Coming Home

No Amount of Time or Space Words: 4,378 (3/9) Summary: So Dick isn't okay as he'd like people to think, but what's new? Well, communication, apparently or Tim reminds Dick that communication is an important aspect of friendship, so Dick talks to and tries to reconnect with the friends he'd lost in the face of the Reach's invasion. Unsurprisingly, it's hard.

#masterlist #camryn writes #dc

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dickie-gayson · 8 years

Text

Mori Shej; Litost pt.1

After a month of hiding out, Jason thinks he might be able to sneak away without getting caught. Naturally, he was proven wrong. There must be some sort of cosmic laugh track for whenever Dick shows up to mess with his plans. How exactly did he go from trying to kill Dick to comforting him? He really needs to look over his priorities.

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Warning: Mentions of rape

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst? Hurt/Comfort?

Words: 9,301 (e n d m e)

Other Parts: one

ALSO: I take prompts and requests -finger guns-

Notes: I am not pleased with this. It is garbage, but hard-worked garbage. Maybe you’ll enjoy it lol There will be another part to further explore their issues and really discuss them. This was just dragging on and I didn’t only want it shoehorned in, you know?

After his assault on Dick, Jason had to lay low to avoid being found. So low, he was almost surprised he didn't run into Brendan Fraser at the center of the damn Earth. Sure, he may have gone a bit overboard in his subterfuge, but one could never be too careful when it came to running from the Bats. It took every trick in his arsenal to keep the steadily growing clan off his back. His paranoia had reached its peak. For weeks, he monitored the hero community and tracked their movements. Jason wouldn't even leave his hideout without watching the security feed and, hell, even the nearby traffic cameras first. Even still, he had a few close calls.

Funnily enough, he was nearly caught by those outside the family. He had been so focused on evading their techniques and methods that he forgot to account for the other heroes he managed to piss off. When he hurt Dick, nearly killed him, Jason brought himself under the hero community's scrutiny with laser-like intensity. He honest to God debated on plating his temporary hideout with lead to keep the Supers from finding him. Then, he realized that'd probably be a little obvious and they'd just figure it out anyway. At least, if he gets caught by them now, he'll have saved himself the trouble and money.

What a shitshow his life has become. Damn near every single one of his plans had to be scrapped. All because he couldn't go through with the first step. Now, he was forced to hide in a fucking bunker, eating canned food and staring at monitors until the heat was off him. Still, he wouldn't change his actions. Well, okay, he'd change the fact that he beat the shit out of Dick. He'd go about everything differently. There didn't have to be blood.

God, there had been so much blood.

He still saw it when he closed his eyes. Saw the broken form on the floor, begging and pleading. Saw him leaning on the door frame, barely breathing. Saw the red on the pacifier, staining the clothes. In his dreams, the red spread and spread and spread. In his dreams, he didn't stop kicking. Sometimes, it changed. They would be in a warehouse. He would hit the downed man over and over. There would be a crowbar in his hands and in the background there would be laughter, high and shrill and so grating. There would be a baby shrieking somewhere in the darkness. And there would be a song, softly coming from the broken man. It wouldn't end. He'd hit and hit, screaming for silence but the song wouldn't end. It wouldn't end until he did. Until there was no more sound. No more swinging, no more laughter or screaming. Nothing but blood. So much blood.

Those dreams left him coated in a cold sweat, heaving with nothing to come up. He'd shake in his bed and press the heel of his palms to his eyes to try and erase the lingering memories. If only things had gone differently. If only he hadn't lost his mind, been dunked in the Pit, gone to Ethiopia. If only, if only.

From there, he'd rise and check his security before watching the monitors. Depending on his stock, he might test his luck and traverse the city in civilian gear. Sure, he should be perfectly fine walking unmasked around the city without anyone catching on to who he was, but still. These were heroes, Bats, and if there's one thing they excelled at, it was doing the fucking impossible. He wasn't keen to be caught just yet.

Except, there was a tiny part of him that did want to be caught. Wanted to face what he'd done. He also wanted to see their expressions when they realized who he was. Sure, Jason regretted what he'd done to Dick, but that didn't mean he suddenly felt love for Bruce and the replacement. They still made his stomach churn and the haze creep to the edge of his mind. He might not hate Dick as much as he thought he did, but he sure as shit still hated the others.

Since he was being honest with himself, he also wanted to see Jaye again. He wanted to get to know the little girl carrying his name; wanted to be a good uncle. But, he destroyed that chance, just as he ruined everything else he touched. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't need to know the fuck up that was 'Uncle Jason'. Let her live and be raised with the glorified version of himself she'd no doubt be told. At least, then, she'd hold a little pride in her name. What right did he have to ruin it for her, especially after what he'd done?

He sighed to himself at the thought. Really, he would have loved to play the role of Unce Jay. It may surprise some, but Jason got along with children better than he did most adults. Did he want kids? Yeah, he honestly did. But, that wouldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen. If he couldn't control himself when he got too emotional, then how the hell could he ever hope to raise a child? Even more of a reason to stay away from Jaye. He couldn't risk her safety like that.

Shit, he made it sound like he even had the chance to be around her. After what he did? There was no fucking way he'd be allowed within a hundred-foot radius of the little girl. That stung a little more than he'd like it to. It made the little plush elephant in his inner pocket seem to weigh a million pounds. The stuffed animal was an impulse purchase. He seen the little patchwork toy and immediately thought of the baby with the acrobat dad. Too bad she'd never get to play with it. But, he did this to himself and he'd live with the consequences.

A startled noise got caught in his throat as something made heavy impact with his helmet. Immediately, he flung himself backward, shook the sluggishness from his mind, and pulled out his pistols. 'Who the-'

Dick.

Of course. Because Jason's life wasn't fucking ridiculous enough. It was one disaster after another, wasn't it? He raised his pistols to keep the costumed vigilante at bay. Jason couldn't help the almost queasy feeling he got from aiming the weapons at the hero. In his mind, all he seen was the steady spread of red. Dick outstretched one hand and caught the ricocheting escrima stick without so much as turning to look at the weapon. His attention was undividedly on Jason. That...was not good.

What was he going to do now? This was the first night he came out in his Red Hood gear since that night. He figured over a damn month would be enough time hiding to be able to sneak away. Clearly, he was wrong. Jason didn't want to fight Dick. He really didn't. But, if push came to shove, he would. He couldn't let Dick get him. That would mean being thrown in Blackgate or, and this gave him nightmares, Arkham. Or, even worse, Bruce would show up. He...he couldn't handle that. Not right now. He needed time. Needed to recuperate and revise his plans. He needed to escape.

"Now -'

Jason didn't let him finish his statement. He made a wayward shot at Dick's feet as a distraction. While the black and blue clad hero was busy avoiding the clumsy attack, Jason ran. Okay, so, maybe running hadn't been his best plan, he'll admit it. Being up high, in the air, was Dick's forte. Not to mention he was fast; faster than Jason was. There was also the fact that this was Nightwing's territory. Jason may have been hiding here for a while, but that's nothing on the years Dick had to memorize the city, top to bottom.

He made it an admirable four buildings down before something, presumably Dick, sent him to the ground. Jason immediately started to struggle and buck against the weight that pinned him down. Being constrained like this only made Jason want to flee more. The panic was starting to set in. His chest heaved and, was it just him, or was someone laughing? No, no, he had to keep his head straight. There was no laughter. That was only in his mind. There was no reason to panic. It's only Dick, he won't hurt Jason. He won't do that.

...But what if he did? What if wanted retribution for what Jason did to him, in his own home, no less? It's what Jason would do. He needed to get out of here. It was hard to focus on his training when his own brain kept trying to drag him back to bound chairs and closed caskets. There was a sudden pressure on the underside of his jaw. It forced his head back and he had to look at the cold face that stared at him. Dick was using his escrima in the same manner Jason had used his gun to control him. Ordinarily, a stick wouldn't scare him, but he was very well aware of the high-voltage taser they doubled as. That was something he wasn't keen on experiencing.

So, he laid there and stared in silence. Mentally, he counted and tried to keep his breathing even. The anxiety and fear was still there, but he couldn't let himself focus on that. Instead, he focused on the quiet vigilante that held him captive. 'It's just Dick. He won't hurt me. It's just Dick.' He repeated that mantra in his head in time with his breathing. It helped a little, but couldn't stop the slight shaking that took over his hands. Jason curled them into fists in an effort to try and hide the tell. Before Dick had a chance to begin his interrogation, Jason spoke.

"I'm sorry."

The words seemed to spill from his lips without his permission. The tone of his voice, even modified, was downright pathetic. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. That wasn't what he intended to say. Hell, he hadn't planned on speaking, period. But, apparently, his guilty conscience got the better of him. Dick had gone almost frighteningly still above him, and Jason was almost afraid to look. When he did open his eyes, he was greeted with a carefully blank expression. The pressure on his jaw did not lessen. Dick's voice was just as pointedly neutral as his face.

"Why?"

Shit, there were a million and one answers to that question. It was like a grab bag of fucked up. Rather than pick and choose which interpretation of the question to answer, he decided to ask for clarification.

"Ya gotta be a little more specific than that. Why what?"

The weapon was pressed just a bit harder into his flesh. It forced his head to tilt at an even more awkward angle. 'Ow, okay, this is getting uncomfortable.' Dick opened his mouth, as if to answer, but no words came out. He seemed to flounder for a bit. Maybe he was struggling with the situation as much as Jason was. Strangely, there wasn't much comfort to be found in that. Who would have thought.

"Why did you come after me? Why do you want to kill me? Why didn't you kill me? Why call for help? Why...why comfort my daughter? Why?"

The more he spoke, the worse his voice became. He looked borderline broken, worse than the night he actually did get broken. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be losing his composure so quickly over this. Jason knew Dick was better at keeping it under control. Yeah, he knew the older vigilante had some anger issues, which of them didn't? But this...this fragile state, this breaking apart, it wasn't right. There's no way Jason was the only cause. He couldn't be. Bats were better than this. Dick was better than this. He was the perfect fucking Golden Boy. It didn't make sense. And damn, it sent a feeling of unease slithering around his gut. He went to shift, but a firm press of the escrima ended that. Talking was getting a little difficult with the angle his head was at, but he'd endure. If Dick could do it, so could he.

"Well, damn, start with the hard questions, why don't ya? You sure you wanna hear the answers on a rooftop in the middle of 'Haven? Who knows who might be listenin'."

It was only partially a joke. One that fell rather flat, at that. There could be a whole list of people skulking around to hear this and Jason really didn't want that. Especially since Dick was notorious for having morally ambiguous people after him for one reason or another. Jason did not want to get caught up in that weird web. No thank you, check please. Hell, he's been laying low and he's still hearing gossip from the criminal underground about 'Nightwing's ass' this and 'Nightwing's skin tight suit' that. Jason would have lost his shit ages ago.

Dick didn't seem to find his joke very funny, not that Jason could blame him. From the way the older hero tensed minutely, he probably assumed that was a vague threat. Jason really wasn't good at picking his words, it seemed. Maybe he should just start speaking in Shakespearean quotes. That could be his gimmick. It'd probably work out better for him in the end, honestly. No, wait, Shakespeare was just as much a cocky shit as he was. An irritated sound coming from Dick brought him out of his musings. Damn, he was really not in the right state of mind for this. He blamed it on being alone for so long and not the copious amounts of trauma he was wrapped up in. Jason just made a little gesture with his hands to show he hadn't meant it as a threat. Was Dick's finger creeping toward the taser? Oh God, he did not want to taste 50,000 volts right now, or, you know, ever.

"Alright, alright, jeez. Sorry if this isn't exactly something I want getting around."

Just like the joke-that-wasn't-a-joke, his words fell flat. He wanted to diffuse the situation, get that damn fractured glass look off Dick. This entire fucking situation set his teeth on edge. He noticed it before, that something was decidedly wrong with Dick. But right now, with the look and tone of his voice, the way he was being way too serious with his threats, Jason knew he was right. How the fuck did it go from him trying to kill Dick to trying to comfort him? Was he really that starved for affection he'd latch onto the first person that might give it to him? ...That was a question he decided he didn't want to think about and simply ignored the blatantly obvious answer. Instead, he wet his lips and spoke. He hated how unsure he sounded.

"I...Shit...I meant to kill you. Had these plans and ideas. I was gonna send him a message. But I...I couldn't do it. If you didn't have that baby, I wouldn't have hesitated and...I'm...kind of glad I did. Don't get me wrong, I still want to punch you in the fuckin' face at least fourteen times but I-I don't want you dead. Fuck, this is all fucked."

For his part, Dick was quiet. It was actually getting very unnerving how quiet he was being. Dick was a chatterbox, this was a known fact. But the way he was just staring, blank and cold, was almost frightening. He wasn't supposed to look like a statue. Scratch that, he wasn't supposed to look like him. Bruce was the cold, quiet, unforgiving one. Not Dick. Dick was supposed to be his opposite; his foil. What happened? When he spoke, Dick's voice was low and, man, Jason couldn't even pinpoint the exact tone. It was like thin ice; cold but fractured.

"Who are you?"

At that, Jason was the one to go eerily still. Then, he began to squirm. Nope, nope, he was not answering that. Fuck it, he'll take the tasing if he got out of here with his anonymity. Suddenly, he felt the unmistakably sharp edge of a Wing-Ding (God, that was such a stupid fucking name. Of course, Dick came up with it) pressing against his neck. Great, make that a taser AND a borderline-knife to his throat. He stilled once more. The shaking increased to full body and he felt himself getting ready to really panic. The part of him that was keeping calm made note that this was also something Dick should definitely not be doing. Threatening people at Wing-Ding point (seriously, he needed to come up with a different name, this is just ridiculous) wasn't usually his style. Maybe he really did change since Jason's been gone.

"I can't...Please, don't make me answer that. I can't. Dick, I...I can't."

If he wasn't on the verge of a panic attack, Jason would have been mortified at the absolutely pitiful tone his voice took and the fact that he actually used Dick's name in the field. The sheer terror that took over his being seemed to catch Dick off-guard. The hero actually backed off a bit while surprise colored his previously frigid expression. Almost on instinct, Jason took advantage of the opportunity. He hit Dick in his midsection in an attempt to wind and distract the older man. Apparently, the wounds weren't as healed as Jason was led to believe. If they were, Dick wouldn't have yelped in pain.

As quickly as he could, Jason scrambled away from the momentarily stunned hero. Maybe he could get away this time. Dick was still injured and the previous chase had to have taxed him at least a little bit. It wasn't until he hit the edge of the building that he hesitated. Guilt chewed him up again. That was getting real old, real fast. Still, this might be his only opportunity and he had to take it. He turned and reached into his jacket. Dick was already on his feet and looked a little worse for the wear, if his slightly shaking shoulders were anything to go by. Fuck, why was he patrolling at all in his current state? Did he want to die?

Before he could think better of it, Jason tossed the small stuffed elephant to the hero who caught it effortlessly. He looked at the toy in both surprise and confusion before he turned his attention back to his apparent adversary.

"For her. You could let her know Uncle Jay misses her or something."

That was a decidedly stupid move on his part. Beyond stupid, really. Way, way, WAY beyond stupid. Something he was going to completely and thoroughly beat himself up over later. He took Dick's momentary surprise as a getaway. It wasn't even one full building over before he was knocked over again. 'Note to self: Running from Dick is a Bad Idea.' This time, however, it wasn't an escrima or tackle that brought him down. It was a small, explosive pellet thrown at his feet that did him in. Okay, so he should have been prepared for that. He knew Dick had those on him. However, he was way too distracted by what he just did and the fallout he'd have to deal with. Not to mention the creeping hysteria that flooded his veins. A sick feeling twisted in his gut. 'This is bad. This is bad. This is BAD.'

Before he could fully stand, a foot swung into his view and he only had a brief moment to try and block it. It still felt like getting kicked by a fucking horse. Honestly, Dick probably hit harder with his feet than his hands. Jason went sailing back to the ground with incredible force. Wow, if this is what it felt like when he was kicking Dick, then he felt significantly more sorry than before. Rather than pin his whole body, Dick chose to put a foot on Jason's throat and press down threateningly. There were several ways to get out of this position, but Dick was aware of every single one of them and Jason knew it. It was like he was waiting for Jason to try; waiting for him to give Dick a reason to stomp. This wasn't right.

"Now, you're going to answer my questions. This isn't up for negotiation. Did you or did you not just threaten my daughter?"

His voice, if Jason was being completely truthful, was fucking terrifying. There was something almost...unhinged about the way his voice dipped. Jason always wanted to see the Golden Boy lose it. He wanted to see Dick brought down to his level. Now that he's seen it? He isn't so sure he wanted it anymore. It was so unnatural. He could almost see Dick as a killer and that thought was horrifying. Trying to wrangle in a murderous Grayson would be a nightmare.

Jason felt an intense flare of indignation at Dick's accusation. Why the fuck did he think Jason was threatening Jaye? Nothing inherently malicious was mentioned. All he said was...Oh. Oh. That would make sense. Yeah, Jason was really not good at picking his words as of late. Then again, this would have been entirely avoidable if Dick knew who he was. But then that would mean he would find out because Dick was his fucking lapdog. Jason was not ready for that confrontation. Fuck, he thought he was ready for this confrontation but, obviously, he was wrong. If he couldn't handle speaking to Dick, then there was absolutely no way he could speak to Bruce. Not yet.

He debated for a moment the pros and cons of letting Dick just crush his throat. That would certainly save him some trouble, wouldn't it? As if he read Jason's mind, Dick applied a discomforting amount of pressure on his neck. Yeah, no, Jason was not feeling the whole 'crushed trachea' thing. He let out a frustrated sound before he spoke. It was clear he was not at all pleased with either his position or the accusation.

"No, that wasn't a threat, Dickhead. I was being nice. I'd never hurt a child."

Dick just stared at him with that wrong look.

"Take off the helmet."

Again, as if those were the magic words, Jason started to struggle. No no no no.

"Take it off or I break it off."

Jason's heart was speeding like a jackrabbit's as he stared up at Dick. There was no trace of the man he used to know. This one was entirely serious about his threat. Jason knew Dick could be brutal, downright vicious, but this was like staring at a stranger. Why that hurt as much as it did, Jason didn't want to think about. All he did know was something had happened when he was gone.

"...What happened to you?"

He felt like that little fucking fifteen-year-old again with the vulnerable tone. No, he couldn't get caught up in this. He had his own problems. Hell, he had a fucking mountain of issues to deal with. There was no way adding whatever baggage Dick was carrying with him to his own pile was a good idea. Still, seeing the way Dick seemed to seize at the words, didn't sit right with him. Whatever occurred really fucked up the seemingly untouchable hero. No, he had people he could turn to. Everybody loved him and he was a fucking blabbermouth. He could get his own help.

Shit, Jason already knew this was over for him. Dick was a Bat. That basically guaranteed emotional constipation and a tendency to self-destruct. Given Dick's penchant to blame himself for everything and that stupid hero-complex, Jason just knew he was stewing in this in total silence. Why did his compassion have to rear it's head now? Oh, who was he kidding? He was a fucking bleeding heart and he knew it. Jason would never admit it, though. He had some dignity left; not much, but some.

With shaking hands he didn't even try to hide anymore, he pulled off his helmet. His breath came to him short and sharp as he tried to keep himself calm. 'It's okay. Maybe he won't recognize me. He's not them. I'm fine. It'll be fine.' Dick just stared at him for a minute. It had to be the longest minute of his life. Well, his current life.

Jason could pinpoint the exact moment recognition hit Dick. The way he inhaled was so sharp and sudden that Jason almost felt bad for his ribs. He let his escrima drop to the ground as he all but jumped away from the downed man like he was a leper. Jason sat up against his forearms and watched as the older vigilante paled dramatically.

"No. No, not again. You're...you're not real."

Teal eyes widened as he watched Dick press his hands to his eyes, as if that could erase the situation they were in. Jesus, has Dick hallucinated about him before? Was it nightmares? Had his death really gotten to Dick that much? Sure, he named his daughter after Jason, but this? This was a whole new level of trauma. Dick continued to speak and Jason wasn't sure if it was to himself or not.

"Who...Clayface? Spinebender? Mirage? Damn it, WHO?!"

Alright, so Dick thought he was an imposter. Really, Jason shouldn't be surprised. He'd probably think the same thing, were he in Dick's position. This should probably get cleared up before Dick kicks his head clean off his shoulders. It looked like that was only about two seconds away from happening. God, he was an absolute wreck.

"Di- 'Wing, it's...it's really me. I swear."

Later, he'd really have to reflect on how everything kept getting turned around on him. First, he went to kill Dick only to save him. Then, he wanted to run away and keep his identity a secret, only to actually try and convince Dick it was really him. What even were his priorities anymore? His decision only felt a little more right when he saw the almost feral way Dick shook his head. Jason might want to stay hidden, but Dick was clearly falling apart at the damn seams and nobody else seemed to notice. Motherfucking bleeding heart.

"You're lying!"

Yep, that was definitely an angry and threatening walk. Dick approached him with quick, irate steps. Jason had to subdue the urge to skitter backward from the hero. No, he could do this. Fuck his fears. They won't control him. He won't allow it. Not anymore. That didn't stop his heart from jackhammering in his chest. His throat felt so dry all of a sudden.

"I'm not. I can prove it! You remember the cocaine lab? The first time we met? I nearly fucked up the whole thing. When we were done, you told me I needed to work on my sidekick. You...you gave me your Robin suit that day."

That stopped Dick dead in his tracks. If Jason were feeling funny, he would say that Dick looked like he seen a ghost, but he wasn't really feeling the humor right now.

"J-Jason?"

He sounded so hopeful. So broken. It made Jason's heart clench. There was no way he affected Dick that much. No, he couldn't have. He couldn't. Because...because if he did, then that meant Jason was wrong. At least, wrong up until a point. But that still meant he was wrong. God, he nearly killed Dick. And here he was, looking like the world was simultaneously handed to him and torn away. Dick had no reason to look at him that way. Not after what happened.

He was suddenly in front of Jason. His hands hovered like he wanted to touch but was unsure if he could. Maybe he was afraid Jason would disappear the moment they made contact. Is that what he dreamt about? Jason tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he stared at Dick.

"Hey, Big Bird."

The air was almost strangled out of his lungs from the tight hug he found himself in. Dick was holding Jason like he was the only thing keeping the older vigilante together. His whole body shuddered from the sobs he tried to keep inside him. Just like that, Jason lost it himself. He wrapped his hands around his brother's torso and held on like his life depended on it. It was only a vague memory of what he did that kept him from squeezing Dick as hard as he wanted to. Enough damage was wrought by his hands. He didn't need to exacerbate the old wounds. Tremors racked his body. It felt like his heart was going to burst from the way it was beating and twisting with pain. Tears pricked his eyes as he trembled against the warm embrace. Fuck, he missed this, the affection, so much. He didn't deserve it.

That thought was almost enough to get him to pull away, but the tight grip Dick had him in left him without a choice. Beyond the guilt, he was perfectly content to endure the hug. Jason would deny all claims that he was affection-starved, even if it was true. Little gasps and sobs came from the two as they sat on the rooftop. Quiet 'I'm sorry's passed back and forth until it was uncertain who was saying it anymore. They sat like that until the trembling calmed its tempo but their grips never loosened. Finally, finally, Dick pulled back just enough to look at Jason's face again. Wonderment filled the anguished face once more.

"How...What happened? They..they said you died. Where have you been? Why...Why..?"

It seemed like he couldn't finish the question, but the pain twisting his features was enough of an indicator as to what he was asking. 'Why attack me? Why hurt me?' That sent a fresh wave of guilt surging through Jason. He let out a shaky breath before finding the strength in himself to speak.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Dick nodded rapidly but seemed unwilling to let go of his almost-death grip on Jason. After another moment, he backed off and stood up. Jason grabbed his helmet and followed suit with unsteady feet. There was a good deal of uncertainty in the look he gave Dick. Where would they go from here? He'd leave it to the black and blue clad hero. Dick ran a shaky hand through his hair before he seemed to remember something. He turned unexpectedly on his heel and jogged to the further edge of the building. When he returned, the small elephant was in his hands. He looked at it with a small, frail smile.

"Couldn't leave her first present from her Uncle behind, could I?"

The words wobbled slightly with unbidden emotions. If it's that hard to hide it all, then the sheer volume of emotions he must be feeling is staggering. Jason let out a breath of laughter, just as unsteady in tone as Dick.

"Yeah, can't have that."

They were both complete and total wrecks. This wasn't how Jason planned things. It's not how he wanted everything to go down. But, well, maybe this was how it should go down. He felt jittery and the anxiety still lingered in his nerves. It was going to be a long, long night. Still, maybe...maybe he could salvage this. Maybe this can end on good terms. God, did he hope it would end on good terms. But, something nagged at Jason. The ever-lingering fear that Bruce would find out. That Dick would tell him. It made the panic and haze want to creep in. To quell his own worries, he spoke up.

"Dick, you can't tell anyone. Not yet. Just, promise me you won't. Especially B-Bruce."

Saying the name out loud was so much more difficult than saying it in his head. It left a funny taste in his mouth. The man in question gave him a long, sad look before he nodded. Jason was willing to bet he'd agree to jump off the Empire State Building right now if Jason asked it of him.

"I won't tell. Promise."

As if to seal the promise, he took the comm from his ear and tossed it aside. Jason raised his eyebrows at that. It seemed a bit much, but he appreciated the sentiment. Plus, he knew how Bruce could be. It wasn't beyond the man to hack the others comms if he suspected something was up.

The trip was a silent one with Jason shadowing Dick's moves. The acrobat wasn't being nearly as, well, acrobatic as he usually was. There were no flashy moves or unnecessary flips. It was probably from his still injured ribs. Every so often, Dick would look back, as if to make sure Jason was still there and not a figment of his imagination. It made Jason a little queasy. Just how bad has Dick's mental state become?

Eventually, they got to an apartment just off The Spine. Jason politely ignored how long it took Dick to undo his own defenses. He knew from experience how frustrating it could be to undo such a thing with shaking hands. Dick slid the window open before suddenly going still. It made a spike of fear shoot up Jason's spine. Was something wrong? Did someone break in? Oh, God, don't say someone hurt Jaye. Dick just gave him a side-glance.

"Forgot about the babysitter. Wait a minute and I'll send them away."

Jason let out a breath of air he didn't even realize he was holding. He had to stifle the sudden urge to punch Dick for worrying him like that. Instead, he just gave a slight nod and watched the hero slip through the window. The solitude gave Jason a minute to reflect on the really bad decisions that led him to this moment. He was still weighing in on whether or not revealing his identity to Dick was one of those decisions when said hero stuck his head through the window and waved him in.

He swallowed down his anxiety and entered the sparse apartment. It only took a glance around to realize this was Dick's new apartment. The babysitter (and just who was babysitting for the hero, anyway?) should have tipped him off, but it really sunk in standing here. He didn't quite know how to feel about Dick bringing him back to where he lived after what happened in his last home. It almost felt wrong to be here. But the way Dick was looking at him, no mask to hide his eyes this time, squashed that feeling. The look he was getting almost made the tears return. Jason didn't deserve that look. He took off his own domino; the last thing between Red Hood and Jason Todd.

Dick stepped closer and stared at him with such sincere intensity, it nearly burned. He watched the mild confusion take over the other man's face. Jason knew why. Since his death and resurrection, he's changed. The Pit took some scars and tinged his eyes. They were greener than they used to be. It seemed Dick realized where the shade came from by the way the confusion morphed into shock and, this hurt a bit, horror. Jason just stepped back and lowered his eyes. He couldn't look at that expression any longer. His emotions were already scrubbed raw enough as is. That would do nothing but worsen the situation, he knew it.

Instead of the accusations he was expecting for someone dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he got a firm hand on his shoulder. Still, he didn't look up. Then, he was yanked into yet another fierce hug. Dick shoved his face into the crease of Jason's neck and shoulder as he trembled. Jason returned the hug again with as much intensity as he could without worsening the others injuries. When Dick spoke, it was muffled against his leather jacket, but Jason could still understand him.

"I'm sorry. Whatever happened, I'm sorry. I should have been there. I gave you the suit, I...I should have been there. God, I'm so sorry. I failed you."

Jason choked back a sob at the words. That's what he's been telling himself since his resurrection. Over and over, like a mantra, he'd tell himself that they failed him. They weren't there for him. It was their fault. But hearing it now? He wanted nothing more than to shake Dick and tell him he was wrong.

"Shut up, you masochistic fuck. It wasn't your fault...It, shit, it wasn't. Joker did this. And I put the suit on without your help. I blamed you for a long time. I did, but I was wrong. Dick, I was wrong."

That just caused the other man to cry harder and tighten his death grip. Saying it all was almost cathartic, but it still hurt. It left an aching, hollowed out feeling in his chest. His own tears slid down the black and blue suit as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder.

"I...I didn't even get to go to your funeral, Jason. He didn't even tell me."

Those words caused Jason to go stone-still. The absolute pain and betrayal that washed through him hurt. Jason backed up a bit, effectively putting an end to their embrace. Dick's face was splotchy and his eyes completely bloodshot. Jason doubted he looked any better.

"What?"

He really, really, really hoped he heard Dick wrong or misinterpreted him. Something. Because that...what he was saying was just ridiculous. There's no way...

"Bruce didn't even tell me you died! I was off-world for a mission when you...when it happened. He never told me. I found out when I returned and seen it in the database. I missed your funeral. I wasn't there again. I'm so sorry."

Dick seemed to hold himself as if that could keep him together while he shook apart. Jason's breathing started coming up short and fast. 'Bruce didn't even tell him. He didn't even tell Dick. I didn't even matter enough for my own brother to know.' He didn't even realize just how badly he was shaking until Dick tried to calm him down. Jason shoved him backward and looked around wildly. His eyes landed back on Dick. He looked hurt from the rejection. It made Jason close his eyes and try to calm his frazzled nerves before he blacked out again. This wasn't Bruce. Dick didn't deserve his anger. He had to remind himself over and over. It was Bruce, not Dick, who should get his wrath. Thoughts of the baby in the next room helped him strangle down the beast in him. He could do this.

When he looked back up, he noticed Dick open his mouth, probably to apologize again. Jason didn't think he could handle that anymore. Instead, he just held up a hand to ask for a moment. He sucked in deep breath after deep breath. Finally, when he felt stable enough, he lowered his hand.

"The Pit, it...messed me up. I can't- I can't control myself anymore. Too many emotions and I just lose it."

Admitting his weakness was hard, but he had to get it out there. Dick looked like he wanted to engulf him in yet another bone-crushing hug but refrained. Instead, he just nodded with a look of agony on his face. Was he still feeling guilty? Then again, they were both mentored by the same man and self-blame seemed to be a sort of a staple in their lessons. The two of them alone could probably hold entire seminars about it. They'd be a therapist's dream.

"It'll be okay, Jay. We..we can work on it."

We. Even after everything, Dick still said 'we'. Said it like Jason hadn't explicitly stated he wanted to murder him. Like Jason didn't almost kick him to death. What is with that man?

"How can you say that? After what I did to you?"

The questions hurt to say and his voice only further illustrated that fact. He was terrified that Dick would suddenly come to his senses. He didn't deserve this kindness, but he didn't want to lose it either. He didn't want to lose his brother again. He didn't want to be alone.

Dick, for his part, looked equally scared. Why? He took a careful step closer to his newly rediscovered brother like he was a skittish animal. Honestly, Jason almost felt like a skittish animal. Everything in him was screaming to 'run' but he ignored all of it. He was going to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.

"I don't know why you did it, but you didn't let me die. You called Donna. You comforted Jaye. That says a lot."

Jason just shook his head in denial.

"Why are you trying to erase what I did? I was the reason Donna needed to be called. I was the reason Jaye needed comfort. I left you in a pool of your own blood. I almost killed you!"

It took real effort to keep from screaming at Dick. Why was he trying to make excuses for Jason? Why was Jason trying to sabotage this for himself? God, he just wanted the acceptance. He wanted to take the forgiveness and smother himself with it. So why, why was he fighting it? His hands found their way to his hair and he pulled as he fought to keep himself in control. It wouldn't be surprising if Dick could hear his teeth grinding from over there.

Suddenly, there were hands over his. They tried to gently ease his fingers of their death grip. Dick's voice was soft. He could feel the hands on top his shaking.

"I'm not trying to erase it. I'm trying to figure out what happened to my baby brother and help him. I'm trying not to lose you again. I don't want to lose you again."

Dick's voice cracked at the end from the torrent of emotions that bubbled within him. Jason was nearly gasping for air at this point. Hearing that...Jason hadn't even realized it's what he wanted, no, what he needed. Slowly, as if he was afraid Jason would push him away again, Dick pulled him back into his arms. His grip was softer but no less warm. Jason couldn't hold back the sob as he buried his face once more against Dick's shoulder. The tears came harder and the shaking more violent. He could feel Dick's own silent trembling.

"I don't want to lose you either. I need...I need help. Dick, I need you. I can't do this on my own. I can't."

His voice was hoarse and any pretense of control he had was so far gone, he doubted it'd ever come back. At the moment, he didn't care. It was like once the floodgates opened, they couldn't be shut. All the hurt and pain that built up over the years just came tumbling out. And Dick took it all with soft strokes against his hair and warm whispers. He could hear the hitching in Dick's breath as he tried to comfort Jason.

"I'm not going anywhere, Little Wing. I'll be right here with you. I promise. We'll figure this out. It'll be okay. You're strong, Jay. We can do this."

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Jason. Still, it helped calm the distressed man somewhat. It didn't stop the pain completely. It didn't still the tears, but it helped. They stood there for a while and soaked up the comfort the other exuded. After he calmed a bit more, Jason pulled back just enough to look Dick in the eye.

"I'm not the only one who needs help."

His tone left no room for doubt. Jason knew something was wrong with Dick. From the almost frightened look that took over his bright blue eyes, Jason was downright positive about it.

"Jason, I-'

He cut Dick off before he could try and deny it all.

"I know something's wrong. You wouldn't threaten me the way you had, even with what I did. And...you're just not right. You look like you're a breath away from literally shattering. You want to help me? Well, I want to help you too."

Dick's lips trembled from the obvious effort it took him to hold back his emotions. Jason didn't know why he bothered at this point. They already crossed that uncomfortable bridge. It looked like he wanted to protest further, but he also knew Jason was equally as stubborn as he was. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted the help as much as Jason did.

"Jay, so much has happened. I don't even know where to start. Everything's just...it's all fallen apart. I don't know what to do anymore."

That brought a frown to Jason's lips. Sure, he had monitored the family and such, but he didn't exactly delve into everything they've done. Okay, so maybe he did track Bruce that closely. But Dick wasn't his main concern, so he didn't think to follow the going-ons of his life. He made a slight gesture to the seating off to his right. If they were really going to hash all this out right now, then they should probably get comfortable. Dick moved without hesitation or resistance and took a seat on the couch while Jason sat diagonal to him in an armchair.

He waited patiently for Dick to find his tongue. The acrobat ran a hand through his hair; a nervous habit. His leg bounced up and down rapidly in his distress. Speaking about their emotions was never a strong suite in their 'family'. Really, it was only moments like this, where they can't hold it back anymore and just explode, that they get anything resolved. Dick let out a heavy sigh and stared at his hands as he started to speak.

"Shouldn't we be talking about you? You're the one that came back from the dead. My issues aren't as pressing."

Jason didn't know whether to be amused or irritated at Dick's very transparent attempt at a changing the conversation. He let out a scoff and an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

"Please, I've had years to think about it. Whatever you've got going on is fucking you up and you're the one with a kid to take care of. We can focus on my mountain of issues later."

His effort to water down his own trauma was just as obvious as Dick's poor change of subject. For his attempts, he got a slight glare but there was no real heat behind it. Then, Dick dropped his gaze and his shoulders sagged.

"Alright, yeah, you're right. Jaye's more important than, well, everything. Guess I gotta suck it up, huh?"

It was a solid, but ultimately futile, attempt to lighten the mood. Jason doubted even God himself could achieve that at this point. Still, he flashed Dick a crooked grin to let him know he caught the effort. But in the returning silence, the smiles fell back to frowns and tremors returned to once calmed hands.

"I'm only gonna...I just..I don't want to get into it all. Not right now. I can explain some. The worst. But just not all. Okay?"

Despite the fact that he knew bottling it all up would only make it worse, Jason nodded. Really, he felt for Dick. Telling others the fucked up shit that hurt you was never easy. He hated it. It was partially why he suggested talking about Dick's problems instead. Cowardly? Yes, but he didn't care. He just wasn't ready. What he shared was already too much and, still, not enough. He remained silent to allow Dick time to put his thoughts into words and get them out. This was always the worst part for them. It took time and patience; things Jason was surprised but grateful he had right now.

"Blockbuster, you heard of him?"

The name rang a few bells. He was a major crime lord working in 'Haven. At least, up until his death. Jason heard more than a few tales about that freak. Tall, ugly, and could twist someone's head around in a full one-eighty. There had been ridiculous rumors that Nightwing shot him. Those rumors made Jason laugh out loud when he heard them. What idiots. At his affirmative nod, Dick continued on.

"He was mad at me for screwing with his business. For...for his mother's death. Real mad. He found out who I was. Found out I was Dick Grayson."

That was not good. At all. He was only a few sentences in, and Jason already knew this was going to get very, very ugly. It caused an uneasy feeling to curl up inside him.

"To get back at me, prove I was powerless, to punish me, he went after everyone I knew. He blew up my apartment building. Shot a reporter, Maxine Michaels, just because she was talking to me. He wanted to kill everyone I came in contact with. Any clerk who rings me up. Any kid who smiles at me. All because he could. Because it'd hurt me. He was going to kill them all because of me."

Dick was shaking harder now with the memories. Hearing it made Jason feel sick. This, this is why Bruce's way could never work. Look what happened when a criminal of Blockbuster's caliber was left alive. Innocent people died and innocent people suffered. No matter how right he was, his feelings just couldn't match it. Not right now. There was no smugness to be felt while Dick looked so close to completely coming apart. Jesus, to think he actually wanted this at one point. That made him sound like Blockbuster and the thought absolutely ripped at him. He wanted to make Dick suffer just like that monster had. It made him want to vomit. Any rebuke against Dick's self-blaming he had was cut silent as Dick continued speaking.

"He...he had Haly's burnt down around me. God, Jason, he burned it all down! There were so many people. I tried to save them all. I couldn't. I couldn't. It was all I had left. That was all I had left of my family and he took it from me!"

The air seemed to get caught in his lungs at those words. He couldn't imagine the toll that sort of personal attack took on the man. Jason's own mother betrayed him to the Joker and that left it's own special brand of trauma on him. But to have what little actually good memories of his family he had left torched around him? Fuck. Blockbuster was beyond lucky he was dead at this point because Jason was really not feeling charitable. What he would have done to that thing would have been downright sadistic. The shaking in his hands was for an entirely different reason this time. Dick must not have noticed the stiffening of his posture or the way his eyes seemed greener than they were just moments before because he continued spilling that which he had kept pent up for so long.

"-Tarantula appeared. I shouldn't have let her. But his words just kept ringing in my head. All those people. He wouldn't stop. Not ever. I..I let her shoot him. I let him die. How could I do that? His blood is on my hands. His blood and all the others. I told her no. She just told me to be quiet. I said no."

At this point, Dick's breathing had really picked up. There was a look in his eyes. Jason recognized it. He was caught in the past, reliving the events that hurt him so. Jason moved to try and bring him back to reality. Nobody should be caught in that sort of personal hell. Well, maybe some deserved it, but not Dick, no matter what he thought. However, as soon as his hand came close to contact, Dick all but froze. He even stopped breathing. A look of near-terror took over his face. Jason immediately yanked back his hand and mirrored Dick's expression. The trembling evolved into full-blown shakes for the panic-stricken hero. He was hyperventilating now.

Fuck, fuck. What was he supposed to do about this? Jason skimmed over the implication of Dick's sudden panic attack. He really couldn't afford to go down that path right now. No doubt, he'd absolutely lose it to the haze. Right now, he had to focus on calming Dick down. That was going to be a feat when he could hardly keep himself calm. When he spoke, his voice was just loud enough to get through to Dick without being overbearing. He kept his distance from the shaking man.

"Dick, listen to me. You need to breathe. Come on, do the count. Three in, four hold, five out. It's only me here."

He could see Dick try to maintain the meditative technique. Jason repeated the mantra over and over until it seemed like his brother was coming back to himself. Then, Dick blinked away the tears before he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. He seemed to close in on himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm over here crying about my problems and you died."

The strangled laugh that came from his throat was almost hysteric. Jason frowned before he edged closer. He looked for cues to see if the advance was unwanted, but Dick seemed fine now. Well, 'fine', given the situation. This time, it was his turn to wrap his brother in a hug. Dick clung to him like a lifeline. How did it come to this? Jason closed his eyes and willed away the venomous green. Later. He can worry about this later. One thing was for certain, though. He was, without a doubt, paying a certain spider a long overdue visit after he leaves.

"Dick, our suffering isn't a competition. We've both been hurt. Bad. The best we can do is help each other. If we make it a contest of who deserves to cry or heal, neither of us will ever get better."

Saying it felt good, he'd admit it. Before coming to 'Haven, Jason was so hellbent on retribution and easing his own suffering that he didn't even think about what pain the others may have gone through. He wouldn't think about Bruce right now. That was a box of vipers he needed to tame on his own. Dick let out another choked laugh, but it was certainly more sane than the last one.

"Jeez, Jay, when did you get so wise?"

At that, he let out his own little chuckle. The haze still lingered like an ill-omen in the back of his mind. For the moment, however, he'd be okay. They'd be okay.

"Hey, last I checked, I was the bookworm here. I've always been wise. I've just been hiding it. No need for you to get jealous, now."

The trembling of Dick's shoulders seemed to stem more heavily from his amusement than his sadness this time. Jason would count that as a win in his book. There was still slight hitching in their breaths and the awkwardness might set in soon. The pain was still there. Their shaking hadn't fully subsided just yet. But for now, things were...better. Jason would take that.

"Yeah, I almost forgot you were a nerd. Thanks for reminding me, Little Wing."

Jason gave a snort and a playful nudge but didn't move from his position.

"Anytime, Big Bird."

-sad party horn noises- tada. Anyway, Jason will definitely be paying Tarantula a visit. I have so much salt about that ENTIRE thing and how it was handled. Lord help Mirage if ever finds out about her raping Dick too and how he got victim-blamed/slut-shamed for it. And how Bruce didn’t tell him about Jay. (that will also be more thoroughly gone through) My poor baby, someone needs to fucking help him. DC, you suck.

This was going to be more in depth and feely but this was reaaally dragging on and I figured I could continue on to the next part. After all, they can't solve all their problems in one night, that's just not gonna happen. -bangs fists on table- MORE BONDING MORE BONDING (also more Papa Dick and Tío Jay)

Yeah, Dick was acting weird here, but that's because he's really reeling from recent events. The baby being dropped on him unexpectedly didn't help that. He’s really teetering on the edge here. Jason also could have gotten out of those holds if he really tried but 1) he was borderline panicking and 2) he was also getting increasingly worried about Dick's mental state. No matter how much of a tough guy Jay acts, he's a fucking sap.

And Jason referencing to how they first met really did happen in-comic. Along with the Robin suit, that's when Dick gave Jason his number and is like 'Bro, call me whenever u want.' (im paraphrasing but w/e) There's such untapped potential between the two for bonding. I just want to shake DC.

#my writing #fic #Mori Shej verse #Jason Todd #Dick Grayson #Rape #Dad!Dick #uguhhh #this is so sucky sorry #the next part should be better #i hope lmao

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