Work Text
"If you could have any kind of superpower," Jason had asked him once, "what would it be?"They'd been sitting on the carpeted floor in Dick's room then, with electronics spread in rings around them like the aftermath of an explosion. Dick had been running last-minute diagnostics on his systems before they would go out on patrol, something he liked doing but didn't always get around to between the Team, their local crime-fighting, and training his Robin replacement.He'd initially felt peeved that Bruce would pick up another stray the moment Dick was about to move on, as though their partnership of several years had meant nothing to him. But it wasn't that he cared about Dick less, it was that he needed someone by his side who kept him grounded. And Dick could no longer be that if he wanted to move out on his own. So the arrangement with the new Robin turned out to be for the better for all involved: Bruce would have the partner he needed and Dick could be free to find his own way, out of Bruce's shadow. It also had the added bonus of giving Dick the little brother he'd always wanted. All in all, a win-win situation once he allowed himself to see it that way, no longer blinded by his own jealousy and his need for autonomy.And once he'd really warmed up to the idea, he'd even insisted to chip in with training the new Robin. Couldn't have him not knowing all the tricks his predecessor possessed, right?Jason may have been a prickly pest in the beginning, but Alfred made sure to observe in that pointed way he has that Dick hadn't made it easier for Bruce when he'd first arrived. Always dangling off of chandeliers and running off when it suited him. Which translated to: Dick shouldn't be one to talk. So Dick didn't and decided to give the kid all the space he needed. Not that Jason wanted much space from him after he saw him stick a quadruple flip on a goon's back to stop him from fleeing the scene."Show me how you do that," he'd demanded the second they were out of earshot, trying so hard to suppress the eagerness and excitement quivering in every line of his body because it didn't mesh so well with the bad boy image he'd been curating on the streets."Give me one good reason, Little Wing," he'd teased and booped Jason's nose, not at all fazed by the airs he was putting up.Jason had swatted at Dick's hand, then rubbed his nose, as if feeling sheepish about not having been fast enough to stop Dick. "So I can be a better Robin, duh. I mean, I guess everyone already knows I'm not you," – here he rolled his eyes ostentatiously – "but I don't have to be obvious about it. Therefore, if there's anyone I can still fool, you gotta teach me that flippy shit you can do to keep it that way.""First rule of business: don't call it 'flippy shit'." Dick booped him again, this time on the forehead, and flicked one of his adorable curly bangs out of his face.Jason, once again too slow to swat Dick's hand away, patted his hair down and glared at Dick through his lenses. It was a puppy glare, entirely ineffectual, unless the effect he wanted was to make Dick ruffle his hair more. Which he did, with gusto."Stop that!" Jason tried to kick Dick's shin, but Dick had already leapt out of range."Gotta be faster than that, Little Wing.""Well?" Jason asked, shaking him a little as if he'd noticed Dick had zoned out and was pulling him back from his memories. "Too difficult to decide?""Huh? Oh," Dick said when he realized he'd been spoken to. His faculties had been taken up by monitoring his programs and lulled by the warmth seeping into his back. It was one of the things that endeared him to Jason: that he would forego the physical boundaries he'd set with everyone else if it meant learning a thing or two from Dick. He was always looking over Dick's shoulder, always taking an interest in the things Dick was doing, and asking questions about the things he saw but didn't understand yet.Perhaps he'd noticed that closeness was no big deal to Dick, that he didn't freeze up the way Bruce did when someone he knew hooked their chin over his shoulder to peer at the screen in front of him – Bruce had never known how to handle Dick when he wanted affection (and Dick had been a lot more outspoken and direct about it), so Dick doubted he'd figured it out in time for Jason, who was still awkwardly trying to experiment with reaching out without appearing to be doing so.In a way, Dick had been glad to be there for Jason, and to provide him with a bit of the familial warmth he might otherwise have been lacking. God knows how he had been starving those first few years until he learned to just take his chances with his friends and teammates, and give them a hug whenever he felt like it. They'd tell him if they weren't fond of his demonstrative friendship any day of the week, but when it came down to it, they never turned him down either.As his mind did a quick recap of the sounds he'd processed to reconstruct what he'd been asked (superpowers, right), he leaned his head back against Jason's shoulder and peered up at him."That's easy," he said with his best smile, absently running his thumb over Jason's elbow. "Flight, of course."It had been an easy answer back then, one Dick gladly elaborated: He could think of nothing better than the wind tossing his hair as he soared through the sky, climbing so high he'd risk suffocating from the thinness of the atmosphere, but feeling brighter than the sun. The mere thought of raking his fingertips through the clouds had him laughing in delight. Droplets of water would condense on his skin and the cold would be biting, but he wouldn't mind – although he sure hoped some sort of temperature resistance would be part of his superpower so he could withstand the extremes more easily.Jason must have seen the images in Dick's mind reflected in his lenses, because he was breathless with them, trembling against Dick in the cold of their now shared imagination and licking his lips as if to taste the wind kissing them. His cheeks were ruddy as if sun-kissed, too, and Dick patted them fondly, listening to the soft hiss of someone who's been caught by surprise, before returning to his maintenance programs."I knew it!" Jason had said then, hands tightening on Dick's shoulders, as if he were all but bounding out of his skin. Dick knew that pride only too well: as a detective, there is nothing more pleasing than being right, having figured out the players in your mystery, and combined the evidence presented in a way that makes it meaningful and able to paint a clear picture."I know," he said, a little sheepish, "I'm easy."Jason sucked in a breath and lightly punched Dick in the ribs. "It sounds wrong when you say it like that.""Guess you're right." Dick laughed. "Sorry to offend your prudish sensibilities.""I'm not a prude, dickhead." Jason always bristled when a subject took a prurient turn and Dick didn't know why, but it was the most adorable thing coming from a squirt who tried so hard to be grown-up and above it all. "I just don't like you talking that way about yourself.""Aww, is baby bird worried about my virtue?" Dick nudged him with his shoulder."Shut up, Dorkwing." Jason cuffed him again, more agitated than the whole thing was worth. "This has nothing to do with your so-called virtue and you know it. This is about self-respect. You're a hero, bro. Saying you're easy is like saying winning an Olympic gold medal is easy."Jason's high regard of him had almost blindsided Dick. Sure, he'd always known the kid had a bit of hero worship going on, but hearing it framed like this was... oddly touching. Not everyone would have passed up the opportunity to make salacious comments about him, yet Dick knew he could trust Jason not to make them. They were brothers. They had each other's backs.Not being leered at had been so refreshing to the point of being strange, and not for the first time, Dick had wondered if he would have been more comfortable with Jason objectifying him as well. It was something he was used to, after all.A darker part of Dick was thoroughly tempted to pull Jason into his lap and ruin him, just to show how very much Dick doesn't deserve to be put on a pedestal like that. It's enough that B is holding them both up to impossibly high standards, he doesn't need Jason doing the same. Dick may be a hero, but he is still human too, with flaws and needs and limitations."Now you're comparing me with a piece of metal you can own? Gee, thanks.""Fine, don't listen to me then." With a dramatic sigh, Jason rolled to the floor and spread his arms wide, staring up at the ceiling as if finding sympathy there. That Grayson, amirite?"You never told me what your superpower of choice would be," Dick asked and uncurled from his seated position to lie down, too, settling his head on Jason's stomach. It tightened underneath his weight, so Dick shifted around to find a position that would have been more comfortable for Jason, looking over to him expectantly.Jason arrested his movement with a hand to the back of Dick's skull. "You never asked."Just like that, just with the faintest of pressures against his head, Dick relaxed and once he did, Jason followed suit. "I'm asking now, Little Wing.""Hard to say, really," Jason mused. "There's a lot of cool and useful stuff. I mean, flying's cool, but you know what would be even cooler? Being able to teleport.""Pshh, teleportation is boring." Dick waved him off. "Lets you see nothing of the world.""Depends on how it works and how you use it. With powers that work like our zeta tubes, yeah, you can travel the world quickly but there's not much of a journey involved. But if you can do short-range teleportation, you could have the best of both worlds.""Granted, it's useful, but it's not as cool as flying." Dick's scalp was beginning to prickle as Jason's fingers played with the hairs at his nape. Dick vaguely thought it was a bad idea to get this comfortable before going out on patrol, but he couldn't stop himself from melting into the touch either. He was entirely weak to physical attention that was as soft as this."If cool is your only criterion, then heat vision beats that by a mile. Just imagine being able to fry anyone with a look.""You mean, imagine keeping yourself in check all day every day to ensure that it doesn't happen accidentally.""What if you could activate it whenever you wanted to?""What if you couldn't?""Then what if your power of flight glitched while you were using it and you fell from the sky?"Dick shrugged. They went back and forth like this until Dick could no longer remember if Jason had ever committed to a superpower of his own."Invulnerability," seemed to be his conclusion. "That's where it's at. Imagine a hail of bullets just bouncing off of you.""And hitting other people with the ricochet? No thanks."Jason clicked his tongue, as if annoyed by what a naysayer Dick had been that day. "The bullets would just rain down spent to the floor.""Spent," Dick snickered.Huffing, Jason tugged the hair he'd been playing with. "What are you, twelve?""Sometimes." With a wide grin, Dick rolled himself onto his elbows, which brought him closer to Jason's face. And Jason's mouth, which was slightly parted as he stared up at Dick, fingers still curled into his hair, cheeks sporting the same ruddy glow as they had moments before.Jason's tongue flicked over his lips. It was a nervous gesture, Dick knew, but it caught his attention anyway and he mirrored it – except more deliberately – before leaning in and chasing Jason's tongue with his own.For a brief moment, Jason went rigid with tension and Dick could tell even through his mask that his eyes were widened in shock. His fingers were clamping in his hair and around his elbow, as if holding onto Dick for dear life. It made Dick freeze too, just a little, so as not to spook him, lying in wait for Jason to relax, to signal that he wanted this, that Dick hadn't misread the cues.He was helpless to the moan that escaped him when Jason did ease up, when he stroked through Dick's hair, and slid his other hand, trembling, up Dick's arm. Every touch, to his cheek, his shoulder, the back of his neck, was electrifying, even though their suits were insulating them against the brunt of it. In effect, the naked slide of their lips against each other became that much more intimate, indecent, and irresistible.Blindly, Dick shifted closer, needing to feel – if not the warmth of Jason's skin, then at least the shape of his body against his own. Jason seemed to want the same, grasping and pulling at Dick, but hesitantly, as if afraid that if he demanded too much, Dick would up and leave."Jason," Dick moaned in between kisses, to encourage and to reassure that yes, Dick was fully aware of who he was with, that he wasn't using Jason as a stand-in for anyone else. That it was Jason and Jason alone whom he wanted.Jason answered in kind, breathing Dick's name as if it were an incantation, and the pleasure of hearing his own name like that shuddered through him as he slotted himself against Jason.Just as Dick was working up the nerve to grind against Jason in earnest and Jason's hands were sliding down to his hips, his computer program beeped, signaling its completion, and—And Dick starts awake, heart galloping in his throat, sweat drenching the sheets and drying on his skin.Shaky hands pat his face and neck, and it takes him a startled moment to realize they're his own.He often finds himself waking in the middle of the night, shaking and disoriented, sometimes in a mixture of horror and arousal before the nausea punches him in the stomach. He hates it when he's hard after dreams like this, hates it when he has these dreams at all, the ones that are like memories, so vividly real and yet, for the most part, a product of his feverish imagination.Perhaps what he hates most about this dream is that it didn't happen, not like that. Jason did ask him about what superpowers he would like, but they never kissed. Dick had never even considered kissing Jason before—His hands fall lifelessly back onto the mattress, and one of them lands on a wrinkled sheet of paper he keeps by his bed at all times, so he can read the lines printed on them over and over. He doesn't need to. He knows them all by heart. This one reads:
Asked him what his superpower of choice would be. The smile he gave me was out of this world. Seriously, if making someone weak in the knees is a superpower, that's his right there. I never wanted to kiss him as bad as I wanted to do then. Fuck. What is he doing to me?
Dick's stomach drops, as it does every time he goes over these notes.You should have kissed me, you idiot. He buries his face in his hands and stifles a sob. Maybe then I'd have realized sooner...No, it was wishful thinking. As if Dick would have believed that Jason's feelings for him were genuine. He'd been burned before and besides, he was used to people wanting him for his looks and not for who he was.Without getting inside Jason's head, how was Dick supposed to know what his true intentions were? It felt safer to just assume. Easier than dealing with that faint glimmer of hope that never failed to make him want to try, too.He feels sick. Of himself. Of the circumstances. Of wanting Jason back so bad he'd be willing to sell his soul.He can count himself lucky that no one who could grant him that wish is around to read his thoughts.Dick walks over to the bowl of water that Alfred had placed on the dresser for him. It's barely lukewarm anymore, but it suffices to wash away the cold sweat from his clammy skin.On days when his memories hit him with a force so violent he'd be retching for the rest of the night, Dick set up camp in the bathroom down the hall. He'd totter toward it on unsteady legs, vacant like a ghost, hoping all the while he'd make it before his stomach heaved again.Once there, he'd scrub his face and arms, turning the water as cold as it could get, because there's no other way for him to feel anywhere close to clean unless his skin his scoured raw. No matter how clear and transparent the water ran, he'd expect it to turn pink or for dark flakes to swirl down the drain along with it when he soaped up his arms to rid himself of the sticky film of sweat coating them.He'd turn off the faucet and dry his hands, feeling no cleaner than before, before gripping the edge of the basin as a new wave of nausea hit and he coughed up the water he'd used to rinse his mouth earlier. From the mirror, a pale-faced and broken version of himself would stare back at him, with rings underneath his bloodshot eyes so purple it reminded him of the time he fell flat onto his nose from a second-story window and one of Riddler's goons socked him right into it not too long after. It had taken weeks to heal, and in the meantime Dick's face had looked like a bunch of squeezed-out grapes.Then as now, the disconnect between the person in the mirror and the person in front of it had been more than just visual. Except that back then, Dick had suppressed the pain with pills from Bruce's medicine cabinet until his body felt amorphous and numb. Now, the pain is too sharp and searing to be dulled by conventional means, and yet there's a disconnect between what he feels and the body he inhabits, which is too intact for the pain that is rending him inside.It's like his parents' deaths all over again, except that this time, he is right to blame himself."It wasn't your fault," everyone tells him, not meaning a word of it. Or perhaps they do, not knowing the details of what went down that day. Bruce does, and although he doesn't say it, would never say it, he shares Dick's opinion: that he should have saved Jason. That Jason had been his responsibility as team leader, and that he'd failed Jason by being unable to keep him safely by his side.The only time Bruce spoke to him after Jason's death – or at him, rather – was to bench him for the time being. Dick didn't even have the energy to argue, not when he himself felt like he deserved worse punishment than that, and not when Bruce shocked him with how broken he looked. He had neither washed nor shaved since the incident and his voice had been rough as if he'd been crying himself hoarse. He'd been grieving the death of his son the only way he knew how, and Dick didn't know how to deal with a Bruce who wasn't as immaculately turned out as usual.A selfish, terrible part of Dick wishes he'd never befriended Jason, never wanted to chip in with his training, never encouraged his overconfidence. Maybe then he'd still be alive.An even more terrible part of him wishes Jason had never done the heroic thing and rescued the person who'd delayed their evacuation and whose rescue ultimately resulted in Jason's death. Dick, being the hypocrite that he is, would have done the same in the blink of an eye, but that knowledge doesn't stop him from resenting the civilian Jason had given his life for. That same terrible part of Dick makes him wants to stalk that person to ensure they're not wasting their second fucking chance at life. Because it would be an insult to Jason's memory if they were. But it's not his place to dictate how other people live their lives.Bruce doesn't share that reservation. He's always been about telling Dick how he should live his life, which was what had made Dick rebel in the first place. Without Jason between them to smooth over their old resentments (which Dick had frankly thought were buried), he's started doing so again. And not even in person.In order to monitor Dick and ensure his safety, they'd insisted Dick stay at the manor for a while. Dick knew it was because Bruce needed to know that he was safe, that he wasn't about to lose him too, but still, he bristled at the surveillance.It's a particular kind of torture to be walking the same halls as your younger brother did just days earlier. Every lampshade, every dust cover reminded him of Jason. To say nothing of the training area in the Batcave, where they'd spent many hours pushing each other's limits. Nothing, however, could have prepared him for the visceral pain that greeted him upon entering Jason's room. It was the same as Jason had left it before rushing to Happy Harbor that day. Someone who didn't know what a neat freak Jason could be would have thought Alfred had gone over the room and straightened it in the meantime, but the single sock that had fallen beneath the chair by the wall disturbed that immaculate image.Something pulled hard at Dick as the fresh scent of citrus cleaner and laundry detergent wafted over him, and a sob tried wrenching itself from his throat. He was brought down to his knees by the force of these associations, and the horrible knowledge that Jason would never return to this room to pick up that stupid sock, to sit at his desk to study, to graduate and to build a life of his own. He would never know how his own life positively impacted that of other people.Dick had knelt in the doorway for a time, unable to breathe. He thought he was going to suffocate right there on the spot and that he wouldn't even mind, that he deserved it for letting Jason die, and that he'd readily trade his own life for Jason's given half the chance. But in the midst of all that chaos in his head, he managed to remember Bruce's breathing exercises, how he used to sit and breathe with Dick until he calmed down from the panic attacks he used to have after his parents' deaths.These days, Dick wonders if he wouldn't have been better off not walking into Jason's room. He can barely remember what had compelled him to do so in the first place, other than wanting to feel close to Jason in whatever way possible. There were his shelves overflowing with books – some from Bruce's library (dusty tomes on Cicero next to the latest editions of criminology handbooks) and some undoubtedly Jason's own (Austen, Dumas, London) – and lined with his trophies. Behind those were the pictures of him grinning broadly and posing with his sprinting medals. A sense of overwhelming pride flashed through Dick just as they had the day Jason carried those medals home. ("Always knew you could do it, Little Wing." - "Don't patronize me, dickhead. There was never any doubt.")On his desk, schoolbooks were stacked on top of one another and next to it was a cabinet with color-coded folders for each subject, labeled according to grade. It made Dick smile for some reason, because he himself had always relied on being smart rather than being organized.His fingers brushed over the surface of the desk, and the book for Jason's AP Biology class that he must have been studying with. Cells and stuff. The thing that caught Dick's attention was the bookmark wedged between the pages. The color seemed vaguely familiar and when Dick opened up the book to have a look at it, he saw why: it was one of the pamphlets that used to turn up in his own room. They were the kind you'd find in a school counselor's office or handed out during special weeks that had sexual health as their subject.The subject of the ones he found on his dresser were invariably about consent. Perhaps he should be grateful they hadn't been about contraception or the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases, something Dick had known about long before they made it on his curriculum and embarrassed the teachers tasked with talking about them.He'd had his suspicions about the culprit sneaking these things into his room. There had been only two possible choices, and of the two, Dick had considered Alfred to be too polite for this kind of underhanded approach. If he had something to say he'd say it snidely to Dick's face. It's one of the many things Dick cherishes about him.Jason, on the other hand, may have thought it was not his place to lecture him about consent and thus chose to let a pamphlet do it for him. Especially considering the way Dick had reacted the first time the subject had come up between them.It had been during a fundraiser for the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation where perhaps too much champagne had made the rounds. Dick had been the recipient of more unwanted attention than usual, perhaps because he'd been more engaged in conversation than usual – Bruce had been running late and Dick tried to pick up the slack by being charming to the guests. (Some of them, however, misread his charm for something else.) – or perhaps because he lacked adult supervision that would tactfully let the vultures know how inappropriate it would be to flirt with a boy his age. Not that it would have stopped all of them. ("A little flirtation has never done any harm. And isn't it flattering for someone as handsome as he is? Certainly he must get it all the time.")By virtue of playing host, or the next best thing to it, Dick had been able to gracefully duck out of these situations by flitting to the next patron he hadn't had the opportunity to speak to yet. As the evening wore on, however, such excuses became increasingly more difficult to pull off.Dick had been beginning to run on fumes between entertaining the guests and keeping an eye on Jason, whose social grace extended to not glaring at the guests and who shouldn't have been out that late anyway but had insisted on staying to keep him company, even if that company mostly consisted of making himself scarce and skulking around the edges of the room.Perhaps Dick had been anxious about Jason's presence because he'd expected a scene, something like Jason spitting fire at someone for pinching his cheek and telling him how adorable he was. Dick had gotten that a lot during his youth and he had barely been able to rein in his temper. Jason was a lot more volatile and a lot less trained in social situations than Dick had been, which made for a particularly dangerous cocktail.Well, in the end, his expectations were met, although not quite in the way he would have imagined.All evening, Dick had been trying to politely evade a rather insistent socialite who had either been tone-deaf to his cues or deliberately ignoring them. Either way, she had managed to corner him with the intention of "getting to know him better," and Dick could find no way out of the situation without being impolite and calling attention to that fact. Of course, there was no way Dick was going to be impolite to a lady, no matter how uncomfortable she made him, so he resolved to endure her advances until he could find an opening to slip away. It was no big deal.Or it hadn't been, until she became too handsy for him to look the other way anymore, leaning against him as though intoxicated and reaching around to pinch his bottom. He was about to stammer his apologies and leave, when suddenly Jason popped up between them and the woman shrieked.Voices hushed and heads turned to see what was going on, but Jason didn't care about the attention."You don't touch people without their permission," he hissed into the resulting silence. "Did no one ever teach you that? Or do you think having money means you're above common decency?"Dick had to stop Jason from breaking the woman's wrist. Not that he believed Jason would actually go through with it, but at this point Dick was no longer taking chances. He apologized for Jason's behavior and dragged him away by the scruff of his neck, not meeting anyone's eyes on the way out because he was too busy wracking his brain about how he was going to explain any of that to Bruce."Why the fuck did you apologize to her?" Jason asked him the moment Dick closed the door behind them, not even giving him the chance to admonish him first. "She owes you an apology.""Because she's our guest, Jason. You don't go assaulting guests.""She's handed in her guest card the moment she touched you like that. You don't coddle people if they're assholes, or else they're never gonna learn.""Guess you have a lot of experience with that.""Hah-hah, now you're being a douche," Jason said and crossed his arms. "I'm trying to look out for you here, since you're clearly incapable of doing so yourself.""Oh God, what have I done to deserve this?" Dick implored the chandelier, as he paced back and forth. "I don't need you to look out for me, okay? That's not your job.""Well, someone has to, so it might as well be me.""Look, Jason. What you did was incredibly rude. It could have been handled with more tact, like if you'd moved in to tell me Bruce was on the phone and that it was urgent. Or anything like that. Anything that doesn't involve causing a shitstorm like the one just now.""Oh." Jason's face twisted and he looked away, twisting his fingers into his coat pockets. "Sorry for the mess then. You looked so fucking uncomfortable and I just. I guess I snapped. I hate it when people take liberties with others.""It's fine." Dick sighed. "I'm used to it. Just let it go.""What the fuck kind of brain damage did you sustain, bro? It's not fucking fine.—""Language, Jason.""—You shouldn't have to be used to that. Do you get that at all?"Dick had felt so tired then. He didn't want to fight anymore, especially not with Jason. "Believe it or not, but I do. It's just not... worth all the fuss, you know.""So you don't get it." Jason just stared at him blankly."Think what you will. I have to go talk to Bruce about this, see if we can keep this incident out of the papers somehow. And then I'll have to do some damage control with the guests. I'll have Alfred pick you up.""I'm not leaving you alone with these creeps.""And I'm done arguing.""Fuck, Dickie, you're not serious, are you? Well, I'm sorry for wanting to keep you safe." Jason threw up his hands in exasperation and was about to storm out of the room. "Have fun being molested next time when I'm not around to stop you from letting it happen."Dick stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "This upsets you a lot. I don't mean to pry, but... Did something like that happen to you? Is that why you don't want it to happen to others?""Jesus Christ," Jason said and spun around angrily. "Does something always have to happen before someone is allowed to stand up for something? I just can't sit idly by when there are assholes who take advantage of other people, that's fucking all."Dick didn't know why, but he hugged Jason then. Perhaps because he'd been so tired, perhaps because he really needed the comfort of a person who had his back and wasn't going to try anything funny. He felt like he could always rely on Jason.When Jason stiffened against him, however, Dick thought that maybe he'd gone a step too far, that hugging him probably wasn't the smartest choice given what they'd just been arguing about."Sorry," he said and held Jason an arm's length away from him again. "I just. Thank you. For looking out for me. You're a good kid, you know that?"That was how, a week or two later, the pamphlets had started arriving in his room. Dick wordlessly transferred them to his wastebasket, only to have them appear on his dresser again, no matter how often Dick demonstratively crumpled them into a ball or tore them to pieces.It was sweet of Jason to care about his safety, even if Dick didn't appreciate him trying to educate him on matters he himself had most likely only learned about through pamphlets like these. Dick agreed that consent was important, but it's also more complex than what a simple foldout is able to cover, because it fails to take context into account.What may have been even sweeter, was Jason's recap of that day:
He called me a kid today. Fuck. So that's all he thinks of me.
But that's not the worst of it. I worry about him sometimes. He lets people get away with too much shit, and I fear it's gonna cost him one day.
I mean, he has me, but I can't be around all the time, can I? Realistically. I'd want to, though. Can't leave that guy alone for a second. Sometimes I wonder how he even survived that long without me. B's deep pockets, most likely.
I feel a bit bad for having been this touchy-feely with him, but also not really? He obviously doesn't even notice that I'm doing it, unlike with that lady today, where he clearly didn't want the attention.
If I hadn't intervened, I wonder if he'd let her drag him to the nearest bathroom to have her way with him. It makes me sick to think it. I just want to protect him from all these sleazy people.
I've seen Deathstroke look at him like that as well. I think he's made advances. It makes me so fucking angry because I know I'm not strong enough to fight him off (yet!) if he were to try anything. And Dick? I don't know what Dick is thinking letting that guy flirt with him, if that's what he's doing. Being a creepy fuck, in any case. Dick is such a sucker for punishment. Can he not smell the intent rolling off of Deathstroke? Or does he feel drawn to him because he's a bad guy? Is that it? Oh, man.
I swear, one of these days I'm going to propose to Grayson just so I can keep him safe and all these predators away from him. Because he clearly can't handle them without me. I mean it's as good a reason as any. I know I'd make a good husband.
Dick still can't read these lines without breaking down, sometimes in surprised giggles, other times in big ugly tears. How could he have missed Jason's massive crush on him? Had he really been blind to it or did he not want to believe it was there?He goes over these confessions night after night, wounding himself anew, until he falls asleep exhausted from the unfathomable hurt he feels.Reading them is like listening to Jason confide in him. As if his ghost were now telling him all the things he kept to himself when he was alive.
I'm worshiping him too much, aren't I? I'm being too obvious about it. Damn. He's gonna be onto me soon. And then what? Do I deny it? Do I stand by it and take him out to dinner?
When he can't keep his eyes open anymore because they're raw from crying, when he can't see for the tears in his eyes, or when he's too exhausted to move but not enough to drift off to sleep, he'll listen to Jason's voice messages on repeat. They're mundane, little everyday things he's heard a million times, in a million different ways, no grand confessions that Dick hadn't been ready to stumble upon.They're soothing in their everyday quality, and Dick can pretend Jason has left them just hours earlier if he ignores what the timestamp says.
Uhh, hi, Dickie. It's Jason. Alfred wants to know if you'll be joining us for dinner tonight. Call me back. Or, you know, text is fine.
Dick, being the sociable animal that he is, prefers calls to texts, because they're a more direct mode of communication, and offers fewer chances of a joke being misunderstood. And they sassed each other a lot.Jason was bright and fun and quick on his feet, and could be a snarky little shit, but was ultimately lovable, ultimately a good kid if you managed to look past his rough edges. It's how he wants to remember him: laughing, exasperated or annoyed – anything but silent, anything but choking on his own blood, pink froth bubbling up from pale lips, blood oozing from a wound he couldn't close.The whistling... the whistling was the worst, air escaping from a hole that shouldn't have been there.Dick forced himself to remain calm, to push down the panic that was spiking, because Jason needed to see him together, needed to know that everything would be all right, even though Dick knew he couldn't promise that. They were all living on borrowed time, but they don't give up until it's too late.So he'd squeezed Jason's hand, the one that tried clutching at any part of Dick's uniform, but couldn't find anywhere to hook into."Don't speak, Little Wing. I got you. Everything's going to be all right. We'll get through this."And wasn't that the biggest lie of all? Nothing was ever going to be all right, and Dick hated himself for having promised him this, hated himself even more for not having stopped him from running into the fray in the first place. (He tells himself that he did, but perhaps his order wasn't firm enough – "Robin, stand down!" – or Jason too strong-willed to listen. "There's still someone out there. I can get them.")The voice messages Jason had left on his phone help Dick focus on an image of Jason that was whole and full of life.
Hey, bro. 'Sup? Are we on for training tonight, or are you afraid I'm gonna beat your ass this time? Don't be a chicken. I'm counting on you. Bye.
These calls also help him keep the cadence of his voice present in his mind, so that he's able to hear the letters as if Jason were reading them to him.Dick clutches the printed copies of these letters he surrounds himself with, as if he could reach through time to feel Jason filling these pages. And he still thinks of them as letters, like a one-sided correspondence from beyond. Postcards from a vacation that got lost in the mail. A glimpse of better, simpler times.What he'd found that day when he was rummaging through Jason's room wasn't letters at all, but something more akin to a journal, although it was hard to imagine Jason committing to keeping one. His reason, however, was logged right in the beginning:
Leslie thought it would be a good idea to express my anger in writing. Give it a name, so to speak. Whatever. Frankly, I think it's a dumb exercise and I have no idea what good it'll do – apart from making me even more angry, ugh – but if B says I should do it, that's what's gonna happen. I'm just gonna treat it as part of my training. I don't want him to regret taking me in.
An obsessed part of Dick is tempted to create a voice profile with Jason's recordings and to create audio files of his letters just so he can pretend that Jason is lying next to him at night and musing out loud.It would keep him occupied for a while, even if he were still occupied with Jason.This endeavour, though, would compile a robot version of him, going over past occurrences that grow more distant with each day. Dick wouldn't be able to roll over and touch him, to have him react to that touch or to anything that Dick says to him.It would hollow Dick out even more in the end, because it's Jason whom he wants, not an imitation, even if that imitation were Frankenstein'd together from his own thoughts and not sourced from cheap knockoffs. "Master Dick," Alfred says after a soft knock, and Dick notices for the first time that it's morning again, that he's been unable to go back to sleep for hours. "I've prepared breakfast, if you feel like taking it in your room today."Dick doesn't feel like it, hasn't felt like eating in an uncharacteristically long time. Everything tastes like cardboard and ashes, and he has to force it down for the calories and to take at least this one worry off of Alfred's mind.He gathers up the printouts, although they're written in a cypher he'd created together with Jason, so it's unlikely Alfred could make out what they said from a glance. If asked, Dick would call them casework for the Team."I will leave it out here," Alfred says when Dick doesn't answer. The china rattles on the tray as it's set on the floor.Dick can't take his eyes away from the lines sprawling across the pages, the writing so clear, despite the unfamiliar system, or perhaps because of it.
My anger officially has a name and it's Richard.
Dick never fails to laugh at that even through the tears, a sudden, startled laugh much like a sob, but tickling him with warmth inside. It was so undeniably Jason that Dick's heart ached all over.
He's so perfect with his disarming smile. No wonder everyone is falling over themselves when he comes to visit – even Alfred!
So yeah, I met him today, the former Robin. He goes by Nightwing now.
I can't believe he lets everyone call him Dick, when he has the name of a king. He definitely moves like he owns the place and Alfred treats him like royalty, like he can walk on fucking water. Urgh, I hate him so much.
Jason's letters are the only thing that breathes a little life into him these days, especially his first ones, Dick enjoys those the most. They're comfortably Jason in his initial dislike of Dick, and they don't overwhelm him with yearning for something that's forever out of his reach.If he wants to, Dick can trace the slow descent from denial into reluctant crush into full-blown puppy love. He's always known Jason to be adorable, but being able to read his thoughts about Dick in his own words is more touching than anything he's ever known before.
Dick fucking Grayson, ladies and gentlemen. I know I'm going on about him all the time, but God, I hate him. He has this overwhelmingly kind smile that I especially hate. The way it turns mischievous when he looks at you, as if he knows he's turning your insides to mush? Fucking irritating. I hate how it affects me too, you know. How it makes my knees weak. How it makes me want to wipe it off his face. With my lips.
The last sentence was struck out so harshly it tore through the page. (Dick can still read it.)
Ugh, he's so pretty I want to punch him.
The exasperation he expresses is especially (achingly) cute. When Dick had first found the journal and saw his name repeated on almost every page as he flipped through it, his breath had caught and he'd wondered what despicable thing he might have done to make Jason go through all the trouble of using a cypher to express his hatred of Dick.But once Dick took a closer look, he realized they weren't messages of hate after all.
I hate that he's still taller than me. That's grating. I'd have to stand on tiptoe if I wanted to kiss him. I like to pretend that's the only reason I haven't done it yet.
The moment the meaning became clear, Dick felt like the ground had given way beneath him. His mind was reeling through a barrage of memories, viewing every gesture, every word, every touch in a new light.His thoughtfulness when bringing Dick snacks, his cavalier attitude that Dick attributed to Jason looking up to him because he was older, the flowers he'd claimed hadn't been for Dick at all. (And Dick had been an ass about the flowers, hadn't he? "Aww, Little Wing gave me flowers, so cute." - "Shut up, I told you just to hold them for me." - "And then you didn't want them back. It's like this had been your plan all along. Mmh, they're nice. Thank you." - "Fucking God, whatever.")Jason had been wooing him all along.Perhaps Dick should have gotten a clue when Jason made clumsy marriage proposals, but really, who can blame Dick for not taking those seriously? He'd thought Jason must have been drunk, or had hit his head, or must have otherwise been pulling Dick's leg. What sixteen-year-old is contemplating matrimony just to be able to keep training with their brother? ("I'd marry you in a heartbeat if it means we get to train together all the time." - "You know that's not actually how marriages work, right?")And Dick, never backing down from a challenge, escalated the whole deal into what he'd thought of as running gag. ("Tell you what, Little Wing. If you beat me, I'll marry you.")Not that anything would come of the spring wedding Jason had envisioned, even if Dick hadn't turned the pin back on him.All that's left of those silly, adrenaline-fueled, and arguably better days, is fading memories and Jason's words trying to capture what little he can.
I think Dick agreed to marry me today. I mean, I know it was a joke, but just hearing him say "I'll marry you" had my chest tied up in knots.
I can't stop thinking about it now. If I had his last name I’d be Jason Grayson and I don't know how I feel about that. It sounds kinda stupid, but it's his name. Richard Todd, on the other hand. That sounds better, right? Dick Todd. Or perhaps he'll want to hyphenate. Richard Todd-Grayson. I think I like that. Dick Todd-Grayson.
Dick had scanned the entire journal to his computer for safekeeping, triple-access locked on an external data medium, and printed out the pages to read, to carry with him, to smooth over with his fingers to have something tactile to do.That way, he could seal away the original safely and never have to worry about it being damaged, like when his tears first fell onto a page and smudged a bit of ink. He hadn't felt like crying back then, too numb to the pain, and yet, Jason's handwriting had tugged at the burning grief inside him, sidestepped any intention the layer of numbness, and torn the tears straight from the root.
I think about kissing him all the damn time. How can I not when those stupid pretty lips are all but begging me to do it? What kind of gay shit is that?
I can just imagine it: his face splitting into a wide smile, maybe a teasing grin, when I finally gather up the courage to kiss him. Seems like a thing he'd do, to laugh into a kiss, whether it's out of surprise or delight.
I don't think a guy like Dick would ever delight in or even consider kissing me. Not when he has all these gorgeous teammates fawning over him, who are closer to him in age. He probably just thinks of me as his little brother, no one he'd want to kiss.
But you never know, right? I wonder if he'd kiss me if I asked for his advice on how to do it.
Fuck, I can't do that. He'd be having a ball about that with his friends. I'd never survive the humiliation.
Once he'd deciphered these pages, he knew for sure: he'd somehow made Jason fall in love with him, and he didn't know what to make of that knowledge.
The way he smiles at me just does me in, you know? I guess he smiles like that at everyone, but it still feels special. If I could only make him understand how he makes me feel. I want to take his hand and put it on my chest so he can feel my heart race the way it does whenever I'm around him.
That revelation was like a stab in the heart. He felt like bleeding out through a wound that was invisible but that didn't hurt any less.
Last night I couldn't sleep, because he was here, two doors down. I couldn't see him or hear him but I knew I could just get up and crawl into his bed, and maybe he'd let me stay, let me kiss him. It's so stupid, he doesn't want me to kiss him.
What if he does, though? Should I ask? Should I just kiss him? Fuck. I don't know.
Dick so wishes he could respond to Jason, wishes he could give him everything he never knew how to ask for.
I'm sorry I was so stupid, Little Wing. I'm sorry I didn't notice.
The day I kiss Grayson will be the happiest of my life. I can die peaceful after that, knowing I've achieved my one goal. And if he still likes me after that, I'm going to ask him to marry me.
I can't believe I'm already thinking about marrying him but it feels so right? I want him to be mine. I want him to wear my ring on his finger, and say I do.
This is the part where a cold shiver racks his spine. The words sound cute at first, until the images of Jason in his final moments push themselves to the forefront of Dick's mind: Jason had been grasping for him, and with his newfound knowledge it's not hard to guess that he'd been meaning to kiss Dick, but Dick had denied him even at the end. He'd squeezed Jason's grasping hand and cradled his head against his shoulder, instead of soothing him in the way he might have wanted.The memory drops him into another panic attack.Dick curls into a ball underneath his desk, pawing through the pages for a happier one to hold onto once he's got his breathing back under control.What he blinks at through tears is this:
Whenever I find myself dreamily doodling Dick's name into a notebook, I worry someone's going to see it and think I'm hungry for, you know, dick. When all I want is to just hold his hand and gaze into his stupidly pretty eyes. They're so intensely blue, I could contemplate them for the rest of my life, while I brush my thumb over his long lashes and down his cheeks before following that trail, softly, with my lips, a mere caress of skin.
My cheeks are burning even as I'm writing this, as if it were somehow more indecent than... wanting a certain part of his anatomy. Which I am most certainly not thinking about. Can't. That would be too gay, even for me. Never mind that I found the following slip of paper in my jacket pocket the other day. It's my handwriting, although I can't remember ever having penned anything this outright embarrassing:
My pen glides over the page in sensuous swirls, as if I were writing on his skin instead of paper, and I can just imagine myself filling every inch of it with a prayer, a poem, a panegyric to his beauty.
I mean, it doesn't get much gayer than that, right? Fuck, I'm so gay for Grayson, it's ridiculous.
Dick's heart shreds itself to pieces, reading this. The pain just rips him open and there's nothing he can do but laugh and cry in equal measures. If only he'd known sooner. If only he hadn't been this blind.All he has now are memories and his imagination that twists their encounters into something they could have had. Stolen kisses in the alcoves, in the camera's blind spots so Bruce wouldn't see, on the rooftops, with the wind caressing their faces.Jason has asked him once what his superpower of choice would be. It had been an easy answer back then. It no longer is. These days, he feels too leaden and heavy to fly. If he had wings, they'd be useless, because he lacks the strength to take to the air.It would be an insult to Jason's memory, too, if Dick would be allowed to keep soaring when Jason is bound to the earth forever.If he could choose his powers, Dick would want the ability to turn back time. To prevent Jason from ever coming to harm. And if he could take the knowledge of Jason's feelings with him to the past, the first thing he'd do is kiss Jason when he sees him.
If I had you back, Little Wing, I'd shower you with all the kisses you missed out on, all the kisses that I never gave you before, even if it took me years to deliver them all.
If only I could have you back.