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Dick is beautiful. He’s a lot of other things, too: funny, secretive, kind, passionate, stubborn, an excellent fighter, and a bit of a slob. However, none of these things matter to the Narrative, Jason knows. Dick is beautiful; he’s a prince, and he’s charming, but he’s not a Prince Charming.
Yet.
There’s no way the Narrative will stay away from Dick, so Jason watches. When Dick goes out one day and comes back covered in gold, telling a wild story about falling into a well and helping a tree, some bread, and a kind old woman, Jason is torn.
On the one hand… this is an excellent opportunity to let the story play itself out. Dick’s involvement in it is already over, and he has come to no harm. On the other hand, though, it will involve someone being tarred. Jason’s a huge fan of appropriate punishment, but being horrifically injured for life just because you were rude? Not his thing. Also, Dick doesn’t want to be part of any story—has told Jason so when they were twelve and fifteen, hiding in the stables to wait out yet another magic battle in the courtyard.
(“I want to make my own choice,” Dick whispered, face determined. “I choose my ending, not some kind of fate.”
Jason nodded. “Yeah. Me too.” It felt like a pact.)
In the end, Jason camps out in front of the well for days to make sure no one follows Dick.
That’s how the fight against the Narrative starts.
A Tale of Golden Hair and Promises Never Made
Dick looks beautiful by the firelight. It makes him look soft and warm; there’s no sign of the warrior that took down a whole gang of bandits with no one but Jason by his side.
Then again, ‘Jason by his side’ means a whole lot more these days. Now, he’s a knight of the realm, a member of the king’s personal guard. It was easy to be permanently assigned to Dick’s personal guard, seeing how it consists of the grand number of one person. All Jason had to do was ask Dick the day after he was knighted.
“Of course, Jay,” Dick replied, looking surprised and delighted, “you know I’d not have anyone else by my side.”
“I will protect you,” was Jason’s only reply and his mantra ever since. Jason takes these vows very seriously. That’s why he’s the first to notice the man approaching their little campsite and the first to draw his sword. “Show yourself.”
Behind him, Dick has already drawn his daggers. It’s probably an overreaction, but you never know, not this close to the woods.
A peasant steps into the light of the fire.
“My name is Arthur Brown.” The man gives off the distinct impression that he’d like to be taller than he is, which is quite a bit shorter than Jason and about the same height as Dick. Unlike Jason’s prince, though, Brown feels the need to square his shoulders and lift his chin before he speaks. “I have an offer to make, your majesty.”
Dick raises an eyebrow, and Jason doesn’t relax one iota. “An offer?”
“My daughter is a great beauty.”
Dick steps forward. “If you consider me to be this kind of man—“
“No, no, of course not, your majesty!” Brown raises his hands with a quick, placating smile. Jason doesn’t buy it for one second. “If you were this kind of man, I would not be approaching you, but you are well known across the land as kind and good, and since my daughter has a peculiar talent…”
He pauses. Neither Dick nor Jason offers him a cue to continue. Finally, he does anyway: “She can spin hay into gold.”
That’s wild enough that it gets Dick to react. “Into gold?”
Brown nods. “Yes. Just leave her in the barn overnight, and she will impress you with her talents.” That still sounds very wrong to Jason. “You should go see for yourself, your majesty. And if she—pleases you, then you should—“
Jason clears his throat. It’s threatening enough that even Brown shuts up immediately.
There’s too much greed in his eyes. If this man’s daughter actually could spin hay into gold, he’d already be living up in some city, gambling or drinking the results away. This is either a trap or…
“Of course we’ll come,” Dick says and nudges Jason with his elbow. “If she’s amazing as you say, we have to meet her, right, Jase?”
“Sure,” Jason presses out through gritted teeth. He doesn’t lower his sword until Brown turns around and walks ahead.
It doesn’t take them long to reach Brown’s dwellings.
“She’s—“he starts saying, but Jason shakes his head, and he stops.
“We wish to inspect her abilities alone,” Dick says in his best lofty prince voice. “Please come back in the morning.”
Brown grits his teeth, but he nods. “She’s in front of the barn. I’ll be inside the house, your majesty.”
Sure enough, there’s a girl working there. She looks to be about seventeen, with golden hair and bright eyes. Her name is Stephanie (“Just Steph, please,”), and she immediately asks what two leaders of the realm are doing in her barn.
“Your father,” Dick suggests carefully, “invited us to see how you can spin hay into gold.”
“I can do what now?”
Jason relaxes. “Yes, that’s about what I thought.”
Steph laughs. “You can lower that glower now, Sir. I’m not out to trick or anything. Dad’s probably just hard up again.” She pauses. “No, he definitely is hard up again. What am I saying.”
Jason looks around: the simple barn, the tiny house, the mill that seems too moist to have produced any flour recently. He grew up in worse conditions, but not by much. “Slim harvest?”
“That’s one way of putting it.” She shrugs, defiant in a way Jason knows too well. “You probably don’t notice in your fancy castle, but the latest dragon raids really fucked up this year’s yield.”
Jason doesn’t correct her.
“Anyway,” Steph switches topic, “what exactly did he say I could do? I mean, what did you promise him in exchange?”
“Fairly vague terms.” Dick shrugs in turn. “Pretty sure he thinks I’ll marry you if you impress me with your gold, but I was careful not to actually promise.”
“I was careful, you mean,” Jason mutters, and Dick chuckles. “Anyway,” Jason continues because he knows a thing or two about growing up like this, “what will your father do if you fail to turn up with a pile of gold in the morning?”
Steph makes a throwaway motion. “Eh, he’ll be fine. Eventually.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“I could just go along with it,” Dick suggests. “Pretend to be so amazed by your abilities that I just have to kidnap you.”
“No.”
“Jason—“
“No.” Jason shakes his head. In the field, he trusts Dick implicitly and is more or less happy to follow his orders. (Even if Dick tends to not see it that way.) In this, though, he has the better nose for trouble slash well-funded paranoia. This whole deal reeks of deals made in the night, which shouldn’t be.
Jason dislikes deals. Firstborns are an overvalued currency.
On the other hand, Dick has a point. They can’t just leave Steph here. She’s in the middle of a story—if her prince rejects her, the Narrative will either find another or reject her.
“Hey, Dick,” Jason says slowly, staring at Steph’s long, golden hair, “remember the incident with that visiting princess and the tower?”
Dick catches on immediately, and he does one better: “I’ll go fetch Tim.”
Steph, who has been cool as a cucumber this whole time, makes a noise suspiciously like a mouse who has just been told to fashion a dress for a chambermaid-turned-princess. “Tim? The prince?”
As if she hasn’t been talking to a prince this entire time. Jason rolls his eyes. Maiden these days.
Not that the other prince in question is much better. Tim almost falls off his horse when he sees Steph, who’s leaning out of the window in the tower. Okay, that’s probably because she gives the kind of wolf whistle that would send anything but a well-trained horse running, but technicalities. She makes quite the impression on Tim, is what Jason is saying.
Steph’s hair isn’t actually long enough to pull Tim up, but that’s fine; Dick brought a sturdy rope, too. Tim pulls himself up and, probably aware that his brothers are watching, manages to give Steph a quick kiss on the cheek and then promptly blushes bright red.
“Aww, you’re adorable,” Steph says. “Now rescue me, please. I heard you have a castle, which means food, and I’m dying for breakfast.”
“You know,” Dick whispers to Jason, “I thought we’d just let them pretend to date for a year or so, and then they can go whatever way they want, but…”
“… they’re weirdly cute?” Jason finishes. Steph is lecturing Tim about the proper way to share a horse now.
“Yeah.” Dick’s gaze is all fond amusement. “Glad I didn’t marry her.”
“That would have been awkward,” Jason agrees, and he’s really only thinking about Tim when he says it (‘love at first sight with your brother’s pity fiancée’ is too soap opera even for them), but Dick’s gaze goes assessing for a moment.
“Yes,” he finally says, nudging Jason’s shoulder again, “it would’ve been.”
A Tale of Good Intentions and Near Misses
The problem is that Dick has so many people in his life who technically qualify as either step-siblings or step-parent. Not to call King Bruce a slut, but. Well. The man is both prone to adopt children and to have Complicated Relationships.
All of which means that Dick, who is beautiful and kind enough to qualify for the role of the person everyone is jealous about, lives in constant danger. Step-siblings, especially, are bad for one’s health.
(It never occurs to Jason that technically, he is one of these step-siblings. That’s not the role he plays, and everyone but Dick knows it.)
Jason knows that none of them mean to do it. Sometimes, the Narrative just gets like that; they can’t help themselves. He’s seen it before: Parents who beg their spouses to restrain them because they’re suddenly plagued with thoughts of harming their prettiest children; siblings who love each other except these five minutes when they’re actually killing the other; warriors battling for the affection of someone they’ve never met because they just have to have them.
So he knows that Tim, of all people, doesn’t mean it when he helps Dick dress in ceremonial garb. Tim loves Dick; Dick is his hero and idol and the guy he teases about his terrible fashion choices. Also, Tim would haaaate to be king. There’s no way he intends for Dick to start choking as soon as Tim ties a knot behind his back.
“Corset—too tight—“Dick gasps out, and then he faints.
Corset? Since when does the dress uniform contain a corset? Jason curses himself as he jumps forward. How could he have overlooked that—Tim has been lacing Dick in for minutes, now, he should have noticed—
Tim makes a small, horrified noise, but he doesn’t move. Cannot move, likely, and Jason will feel very sorry for him the moment his thoughts are filled with anything but Dick Dick no Dick don’t—
The color is leeching out of Dick’s face.
Jason’s right hand finds his dagger, and then he’s cutting through the laces on Dick’s corset, dropping the blade as soon as the strings fall loose and prying the damn thing open with his bare hands. Still, even free, the ribcage underneath isn’t moving.
Why isn’t it moving?
Jason moves without thinking. His hands start pressing down on Dick’s chest—anything to keep that beloved heart going—and he’s just about ready to lower his mouth to Dick’s, try to give him air when his prince gasps.
Oh, thank you, Jason thinks, and he doesn’t even know who he’s speaking to.
Dick’s eyes, when they open to stare at him, are clear and blue. For a moment, they blink at each other, faces so close that Jason can feel Dick’s (blessed, blessed) breath fan across his cheeks.
Then Dick starts coughing. Eww.
Jason helps his prince sit up, and finally, Tim seems to be able to move, for he comes rushing to Dick’s side. “Dick! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“I know,” Dick says immediately and holds out his arms. “Tim, I know.”
Jason obligingly steps aside and lets Tim take his place. The poor kid looks like he can’t believe the forgiveness he’s being offered even as Dick pulls him close.
Jason makes a mental note to talk to him about that—Tim is the type to carry this shit around, and there’s really no need to; that corset that shouldn’t have been there would’ve tightened under anyone’s hands. No, this is all on Jason, and Jason will tell him so as soon as his own heart stops racing.
Sadly, they don’t have time for all these feelings. There is still a ball happening and waiting to be opened. By the time they make it downstairs, Lady Selina is already waiting by the door, tapping her fan against her wrist impatiently.
Selina is, in all honesty, probably Jason’s favorite of all of King Bruce’s flames. (Shhh. Don’t tell Talia.) Might just be because she’s also the only one who never tried to kill Jason but details schmetails. He appreciates her sense of humor, her excellent dress sense, and the way she occasionally just robs visiting nobles blind.
Dick gets along great with her, too. When Bruce isn’t home, it falls to the eldest son to open balls, and Selina is his first choice of a dance partner. Jason spends these moments on the edges of the dancefloor, looking for any unexpected threat. Dancing makes you vulnerable, after all. Still, he manages to have a glass of wine ready for Dick when he’s discharged from his duty.
“Thanks, Jay.” Dick grins at him and downs half the glass in one go. “Ah, that hits the spot.” He brushes his sweaty hair up and out of his face. Dancing with Selina is quite the athletic feat.
“You look a mess.” Selina smiles. It’s a little mocking, but that’s to be expected of her. “Here.” Her hand slides into her dress, and she pulls out a pretty, dainty comb and hands it to Dick. “Fix your hair.”
Huh. That’s unexpectedly motherly of her—“Wait!”
Both Selina and Dick stare at him. Jason uses the confusion to snatch the comb and gingerly place it in the small pouch he keeps on his belt for just these occasions. “Let’s… maybe stay away from combs for a while, okay, Dick?”
Selina immediately looks horrified. “I wouldn’t—“Then she catches herself. “Thank you, Jason,” she says, poised once again. “I prefer not to lose a dance partner so quickly.”
Dick chuckles and slides a hand into Jason’s arm. “Well, you’re about to lose him anyway. I’m starving. Knight, escort me to the buffet, please.”
It’s hard to bow with royalty clinging to your elbow, but Jason manages. “Yes, your majesty.”
To any observers, Dick looks like he does at any other ball: charming, slightly bored, probably hungry. Only the way he clutches Jason’s arm shows how shaken he is. Jason, after a moment’s consideration, slides his own hand down to Dick’s, give it a gentle squeeze.
You’re safe.
There’s a slight tremble, and then Dick nudges his shoulder, smiling. I know.
These attempts come in threes, Jason knows, so he sticks close to Dick for days. (And if he also wants to be close because he can’t get the image of Dick, lifeless on the ground, not breathing, out of his head—no need to talk about that.) It ends up being a good thing.
Two days after the incident with the comb, an old woman passes by where the two men are grazing their horses and offers Dick a basked: “Oh, my prince! You should try these apples. I just plucked them from the tree myself. Look how red and juicy they are. Aren’t they beautiful?”
“They are.” Dick glances at the apple for a long, long time. Jason’s not sure what’s happening in his head—the trap is an obvious one. Apples are bad news; everyone knows that. Why does Dick look like he’s deliberating biting into one, anyway?
Then Dick glances at Jason and smiles ruefully. “No, I’m good, thank you.”
Jason exhales.
A Tale of Dragons and Witches and the Most Dangerous One of Them All
“I’m fine.”
Jason’s not fine. They slew a dragon, which worked out beautifully except for the part where Jason got himself burned.
“Shut up and let me work.”
There’s a moment of silence as Dick bandages the worst of Jason’s wounds. It’s technically not what you’re supposed to with burns, but leaving them exposed and bleeding isn’t an option right now, and there are no healers in this village.
Jason stares ahead and tries not to flinch at every gentle touch of Dick’s hands, at the way his prince is so close, at how much the cloth on his burns hurts.
“That was a brave and noble thing to do,” Dick says softly, “and I am so fucking mad at you right now.”
“Hey, what’s the bait supposed to do?”
“Not shout ‘I’m here, eat me,’ for one thing.” Dick’s voice is dry.
“Eh, it worked.” The dragon charged after Jason instead of the few kids left in the village, so Jason considers it a win. Dick probably knows that and is just kind enough to not point it out. “That was a very nice throw, by the way.”
“Thank you. It was made in utter panic because the dragon was frying you.”
Jason musters a grin. “Think I would’ve been tasty, at least? Plenty of meat on these bones.”
Dick sighs and stands up. “Yes, Jason, you’re a snack. Now, up with you.”
Jason manages to get up and into the saddle of his horse on his own, which feels like a great victory. When he turns Red toward the road, though, Dick shakes his head. “No. Let’s take the forest path.”
Jason frowns. “We took the path through the mountain pass on our way here for a reason. The woods are no good.”
“I’d rather take the quick route.” Dick smiles. It’s probably meant to be reassuring, though it just comes out shaky. “I memorized the trail. It’ll be fine.”
Later, Jason will remember: This is the third time they’ve taken this path. They should not have entered the forest. Right now, though, he’s tired and hurting and happy to follow Dick’s lead for once.
Even if it’s a shortcut, the ride through the woods is taking too long. Jason’s injuries are more severe than either of them wants to acknowledge, and the pain is getting worse with every step his horse takes.
Everything around him is starting to become slightly fuzzy. Usually, that would alarm Jason—witchery, maybe, or a good old illusion spell cast by sleeping giant—but he’s pretty sure it’s just that he’s so tired.
And cold. He’s so cold, he’s shaking in his uniform. That’s weird. Just a few minutes ago, he thought he’d sweat out of his skin.
“—son.” Something touches his arm. “Jay.”
Right. Dick. When did Jason close his eyes? That’s a stupid thing to do on a horse. It’s a good thing his Red is so used to following Nightwing, Dick’s mare, that she just trotted after her.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
“It’s fine. Just… try to stay awake, okay?” Dick leans down and takes the reins from him. Yeah. Good call. Jason needs both his hands to cling to the saddle. If only the world wasn’t so woozy.
“There’s a house nearby,” Dick says. “Maybe we can ask for help there. It could be a fairy’s cottage.”
They both know it’s a fifty-fifty chance between that and a witch’s house. Still, even witches can be helpful, and Jason feels weak enough that he doesn’t protest when Dick leads them there.
Something about the house is off. Jason squints. He’s pretty sure he has a fever; that doesn’t explain why it looks like it’s built of… candy? What? Why?
The door opens, and an elderly woman rushes out.
“Oh, you poor dears,” she exclaims, her voice as sweet as honey. “Come inside, and I’ll have a healing drink ready for your friend in no time. And maybe some food?”
“Thank you,” Dick says politely as he slides off Nightwing and then helps Jason down the saddle. They hobble inside, where the woman is already heating several things over her oven.
“Over there,” she says, gesturing to a table with two chairs. Jason slowly, painfully makes his way over to them, sighing in relief when he sits down. Shit. That dragon sure got him good. Dick hovers nearby.
The woman brings over a steaming mug of… something. A potion, Jason knows, but it doesn’t look like the healing drinks he’s downed before.
“You must’ve come for the dragon, with injuries like these,” she observers.
“Yes.”
“What a good thing you did.” She turns and stirs something in one of the pots. The sweet smell of stew wafts over. “Too many children have gone missing from these parts.”
It’s not right. Jason has met others like her; old folk with gentle smiles and hard eyes who offer children a meal, a home, a second chance.
“Don’t eat,” he grits out. Don’t drink, he wants to add, don’t let her take you unawares. Don’t trust her.
Dick presses their foreheads together and whispers: “I know. Don’t worry. Just focus on breathing for me, okay?”
“What was that?”
Dick straightens up and turns to their host, shielding Jason from her view with his body. His voice is casual when he speaks. “You know, I’ve been wondering about that.”
“About what, dearie?”
“Some of the children vanished from the middle of the town. Market day, harvest day, the spring celebrations… the times where it’s crowded and easy to lose sight of a child, but a dragon would be easy to notice.”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” she asks. “Your friend looks to be in a bad way. He should really drink that potion.”
Dick doesn’t move. “It wasn’t just the dragon, was it? You took them.”
“I’m just a poor, old woman—“
“Oh, drop it,” Dick tells her warily. “That’s how you get the kids to follow you. It won’t work on me.”
“Well, it got you inside, didn’t it?” She grins. Her teeth are entirely too sharp. “Same as it did for all those poor, lost children.”
“Is that your schtick, then?” Dick asks. He’s shifting his weight, ready to pounce, and Jason can see his profile now. “Prey on the vulnerable ones, lure them into safety…?”
“Yes. Kids with empty stomachs—the neglected ones—the ones who just want to be loved.” She chuckles. It’s a surprisingly pleasant sound. “I can see the same lost child in your friend. It’ll be a pleasure to taste him.”
Something in Dick’s face fractures, and Jason thinks: Uh-oh.
He’s pretty unconcerned about the threat to himself—has heard much worse when he was an actual child, not a six-foot-something knight armed to the teeth. That look in Dick’s eyes, though… it usually means that Jason ends up being the one doing damage control, for once.
He tries to sit up and falls back immediately.
The witch is clutching a meat cleaver, now. Dick is armed with nothing but his daggers—his sword is still lodged deeply in the throat of the dragon that caused this entire shitshow in the first place—and they look small in comparison.
Jason wants to help, and he can’t move. It’s so hard to stay conscious. The hut is warm, too warm, and there’s something in the air that makes it hard to think. That sweet smell… It’s not candy. There’s something else…
When Jason wakes up, he’s on a horse. He blearily blinks down at Nightwing’s mane between his fingers. How… how did he get up here?
“Hey, Jay.” Dick’s voice is soft. “You with me again?”
The noise Jason makes doesn’t quite convey ‘yes I’m perfectly fine, are you alright?’ in the way he’s been hoping for, but Dick seems satisfied, anyway.
“Good.” He swings up in front of Jason easily. Nightwing doesn’t complain at their weight, though Jason is sure two well-built men are more than she signed up for.
“Witch?” Jason finally manages.
In reply, Dick turns Nightwing so they’re facing the candy house. Which is burning. Right. Jason probably should’ve noticed that earlier. Some knight he is.
“Dead.”
“Probably,” Dick acknowledges. “If she didn’t die, she’s at least hurt enough to not be a danger to any more children for a good while. We’ll come back to check on her later.”
“Later?”
“After we get you help.” Dick reaches back and pulls up Jason’s hands, placing them on his hips. A nudge with his thighs, and then they’re off. “Hang on, okay? I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Jason has no idea what to do with that, so he just holds onto Dick and hangs on. He doesn’t let go; he clings tightly to Dick until they have reached the next village and Dick can press a small fortune’s worth of gold into a good fairy’s hand and everything finally, blessedly goes black.
A Tale of Love at First Sight
“Bruce. This is stupid.”
Thank you, Tim.
“We already know Dick is going to sigh in a love-lorn way for at least two more years. A ball isn’t going to help with that.”
Jason takes that back. What’s Tim even talking about? Dick doesn’t sigh, lovelorn-y or otherwise. Jason would’ve noticed.
“More importantly, I’m not cattle,” Dick points out, “and I’m not going to be auctioned off to the highest bidder because you… I don’t know… think I need to get married?”
However, Bruce looks determined. “It’s about time something happens. The country needs stability and a future.”
“That’s bullshit—“
“I am the king,” Bruce reminds Dick, clenching his jaw tight enough to look like a mule. “What I say happens. And I want a ball in your honor.”
And when he gets that look on his face, everyone knows that arguing is futile. Better to just give in. It’s just a ball, after all. What’s the worst that could happen?
…wait. Actually…
This time, Jason makes sure that he’s the one helping Dick dress. Nothing against Tim, but Balls to Find the Royal Heir a Spouse have a tendency to go wrong.
“What do I look like?” Dick finally asks, spinning around once. He’s wearing a powder blue shirt and tight black pants. It’s a much simpler outfit than what Dick usually goes for, and it’s devastating.
“You’re going to knock them dead,” Jason says honestly. Pauses. “Not literally. I hope.”
Dick is still laughing when he leaves the room.
Of course, Jason’s prediction comes true. Everyone flocks to Dick. Bruce hasn’t explicitly declared ‘Please someone marry my son’ when he wrote the invitations, but… a ball in the eldest, unattached prince’s honor… people can read between the lines.
Even if they couldn’t, Jason is convinced that just as many people would crowd around Dick. He’s just that attractive. Jason knows one of the crowd because she popped up on his radar as a potential threat before—Lady Illona of… hm… Somewhere or Other. Turned out to be fine; it was her aunt that tried to murder Bruce.
She’s wearing a charming backless dress. Jason tries not to have Feelings about the way Dick eyes her shoulders in it.
“Careful, you might scare them off,” a light voice interrupts his thoughts.
Talia has her hand on his shoulder—she is one of the few people in the world who can approach Jason without him noticing—and is looking at him with a twinkle in her eyes. They have a bit of a history. Jason doesn’t regret it; he also doesn’t ever mention it unless Damian is around to hear.
So he knows to return Talia’s bedroom eyes with his own because nothing will ever come of that ever again. “As long as I don’t scare you, my lady, I don’t mind.”
Talia laughs. “Very good. I see you’re still spending all your time with the princeling.”
“That is my job, you know.”
“Hmm. Here he comes, now. Tell me, Jason, will we ever get to converse for a few minutes without him joining us?”
Jason frowns at her in confusion, but before he can ask, Dick does, indeed, join them. Must’ve shaken off his crowd of admirers, then.
“Lady Talia,” Dick says, kissing her hand with a gallant bow. Ooops. Jason kinda forgot about that. “What brings you to our kingdom?”
She eyes the throne, where Bruce is chatting away with a few courtiers, looking indescribably bored. “I have… official business with King Bruce and Lady Selina.”
Yeah, Jason isn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. Dick, too, looks like he’s regretting ever having asked.
Talia grins. “Have a nice evening, boys.”
Dick watches her leave with a mixture of amusement and wariness on his face. “She’s quite something, huh? At least Dami will be happy.”
“If she’s still here in the morning.”
“…there is that.”
Over Dick’s shoulder, Jason catches a brief glance of one unusually beautiful woman walking past, hair a flaming red, dress sparkling silver, and her shoes… made of glass? That’s unusual enough to distract even him from Dick’s smile.
Of course, Roy makes a beeline for her. Jason snorts mentally—he’ll hear the story later, then—and turns back to Dick. Hopefully, the woman won’t be too disappointed to miss the prince for… another prince. Eh. She’ll be fine.
“Oh, Roy’s on the take.” Dick has apparently followed Jason’s line of sight, turning around slightly to keep an eye on the happenings behind them.
“I’m more surprised it’s working.”
They both chuckle.
“Well, I promised Bruce I’d do a few dances tonight…” Dick trails off.
Jason tries not to look disappointed. He likes it better when Dick spends the night hanging out with him and maybe their friends, swapping observations about the other guests and just shooting the shit. However, Dick is the prince, and he’s supposed to spend this night looking for his One True Love. He can’t spend all his time with Jason.
Then the expression on his face changes to horror when Dick holds out his hand in a clear request. “Nope.”
“Why not, Jay? Dance with me.”
“Dick, you know I can’t dance to save my life.”
“Aww, but then I’ll be alone in the crowd.” Dick bats his lashes in a shameless ploy. “C’mon, Jay, keep me safe.”
And, well. If he says it like that… “If you complain about me stomping on your feet even once, I will leave you on the dancefloor and go bury myself in the buffet.”
Dick’s grin is bright and sincere and gorgeous. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“So let me get this straight.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, and about 80% of the room visibly suppresses making the obvious joke. “You… didn’t dance with anyone.”
“I danced with Jay,” Dick points out.
“If you can call that dancing,” Damian mutters, which, when did that little gremlin even show up?
“Yes. You danced with Jason. Did you even meet any other eligible parti?”
Dick shrugs, supremely unconcerned. “I chatted to a few ladies, I guess, but I don’t even remember their names.” Hah. Take that, Ilona-with-the-backless-dress.
Bruce groans and leans back in his throne, summarily defeated. “It was all for nothing, then.”
“It’s pretty stupid to expect love at first sight, anyway,” Jason points out.
Bruce looks at him and sighs, which—what? What?
“I have found the love of my life,” Roy chimes in before Jason can ask about it.
For a moment, everyone is silent.
“…what are you doing here again?” Bruce asks.
“Moral support. Gotta make sure my friend doesn’t get sold to the first-best chick.” Roy flashes Dick a thumbs-up, and Dick returns it. Jason just tries not to grin. “But instead…”
“You fell in love.” Tim looks highly entertained.
“If you would but have seen her… she was a vision of loveliness and strength, graceful as a… as a…”
“Cat?” Jason supplies helpfully.
Roy points at him. “Yes! That. I have to find her.”
“And does this vision of loveliness have a name?” Tim asks. Jason thinks his level of sarcasm is rich for someone who thinks Steph is at her most attractive when punching bandits in the face.
(Then again… Jason might just be very partial to the sight of Dick covered in blood and bruises, himself. Yeah. He doesn’t really have a leg to stand on in this conversation, does he?)
“—so I never caught it,” Roy is saying. Well. Wailing.
“You don’t know her name?” Jason asks, disbelieving. How hard can it be? Isn’t that first-sentence information?
“I dooon’t. But!” Roy shifts from despondent to elated in the span of a breath. “I remember what she looks like, and I have her glass shoe. No way that fits anyone else; those heels are terrifying, and she was almost floating in them. That’s plenty of identifying information.”
“So you… plan to go around every noble household and just… try the shoe on? Or see their faces?” Tim asked skeptically.
Roy grins. “Yes.”
“We’ll help you,” Dick promises, “right, Jason?”
“Of course. If you give us the shoe, we can cover twice the ground in no time.”
Behind them, Bruce sighs.
A Tale of True Love’s Kiss
“Jason? Do you have a minute?”
Jason is instantly alert. “Yes, B?” If the king approaches this carefully, it must be bad news.
“I seem to have regained a memory.”
“Regained… what do you mean?”
Bruce looks distinctly unhappy. “I mean that I woke this morning and suddenly remembered with absolute clarity a fairy cursing me twenty years ago that one of my sons would prick his finger on a spindle before he reaches thirty and fall into a hundred-year sleep.”
“Huh.” Jason takes a moment to digest that. “Isn’t it usually ‘before he reaches his majority?’”
“Yes. I think the Narrative is becoming slightly desperate.” Bruce pinches the top of his nose. “Jaylad, I just want you to—“
Jason wants to listen; he really does. All he can think about is: Dick is twenty-nine, and he isn’t locked into a Happy Ever After yet.
“Bruce,” he interrupts, “I’m kinda like your son, right?”
Bruce rears back as if slapped. “Jay. You are my son. That’s why I’m talking to you right now—“
Which is very touching, and Jason will probably think about this later and cry a little, but right now, all he gets out is a brisk: “Cool!” as he pushes past Bruce and just about runs up the stairs to Dick’s room.
Dick doesn’t look up when Jason wrenches open the door. He’s staring, transfixed, at the spindle next to his bed.
Later, Jason will consider that Dick is probably just surprised because he very much does not engage in fabric arts, and there’s a fucking spindle in his room. Right now, all he thinks is no. I won’t let you.
So he throws himself in front of Dick. His hand is behind his back, far away from the needle, and still, he feels a little prick. The world goes dark.
Jason falls asleep so, so glad.
To his surprise, he wakes up. There’s a gentle pressure on his lips, and for a moment, he doesn’t want to open his eyes.
What if he does and years have passed—years he missed spending with Dick, which his family, with his friends? What if a hundred years have passed, if the castle around him is in ruins, and everyone he loves is dead?
What if there’s a stranger staring back at him?
Except that’s stupid. Jason believes in his heart that no one except one will be able to wake him. Maybe if things were different—if his path hadn’t been chosen for him when he was twelve—but in this reality, there is only one person Jason’s heart and soul and brain recognize as his One True Love.
And indeed, when he finally opens his eyes, there Dick is.
“Jay,” Dick whispers, and then he promptly starts crying.
“Oh, no, Dick, what…?” Jason awkwardly tries to sit up and pull Dick into him. It takes him a moment to realize that one really has to come after the other. When he does, he gets himself up and leaning against the wall, still a bit woozy from the sleeping spell, and then Jason pulls Dick into his arms. It feels natural, both because they’ve done this before—every night that Dick feels like he’s failed, every night that Jason just needed someone close, someone alive and warm—and because… he’s allowed now, right?
Dick woke him up with a kiss. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Dick goes easily, hands clutching Jason’s shirt as he stares up into the younger man’s face.
“I didn’t—why did you do something so stupid!” A ray of fury breaks the clouds. “You could’ve just pushed me away; there was no need to—and then everyone was saying that I should kiss you, and I wanted to!”
“That’s… good?” Jason kinda prefers it if Dick kisses him because he wants to, not just because he’s forced to. Like, he fails to see a problem here.
But still, those blue, blue eyes are wet with tears and clouded with shame.
“I’m sorry,” Dick says, “I’m so sorry, I’ve been trying to keep you out of the Narrative for so long, but it—you were—“
“Wait, stop, rewind—“Jason is losing his mind. He must be. “I’ve been trying to keep you out of the Narrative.”
At least the surprise gets Dick’s tears to stop. “What do you mean? I’ve stopped so many opportunities for you to be the Lover or the Saviour or—You said you never want to be part of the Narrative, and I’ve tried to honor that even when it hurt.”
“So you never even told me?” Jason’s starting to get worked up. “You’re apparently my One True Love, Dick, and I thought this was one-sided for years!”
“So did I!” Dick looks furious right back. “I’m a fucking Prince, Jason, there’s no way to—to court you that wouldn’t put you into a Narrative in some ways. And now it had me kiss you of all things—“
“What kind of fool do you think me, that I wouldn’t want to be kissed by you?” Jason demands. “I never want to force you into anything, Dick, but don’t presume to know what I want.”
Slowly, slowly, Dick’s hands in the folds of Jason’s shirt soften. He slides one of them up, cups Jason’s cheek, and at the smile unfolding on his prince’s face, Jason can feel every whisp of anger vanish.
“And what,” Dick asks, “do you want?”
Jason leans into the hand, turning so it brushes his lips when he speaks, little kisses for the one he loves. “Of course I want you, Dickiebird. In any way you’ll have me.”
“That’s all of them,” Dick says. “That’s forever.”
“Yes.”
Dick kisses him, and this time, Jason is awake to taste the salt on his lips, the sweetness underneath, the way Dick sighs when Jason slides a hand into his hair, how he’s soft and strong and—
There’s a polite knock on the door. It also somehow manages to sound sarcastic, which is how Jason knows it’s a family member.
“Go away,” he yells, the exact moment Dick calls out: “Come in.”
Good to see that nothing important will change.
Dick drops his hands, and Jason lets him turn around in his lap, but they don’t really move apart. If their family really spent—Jason throws a glance at the clock—two hours convincing Dick to kiss him, this isn’t much of a secret anymore.
He’s not surprised when about five of them tumble in at once. “Jason,” Steph exclaims, fake-surprised, “you’re not dead!”
“Sorry.”
Tim makes a beeline for Jason and pokes his arm. “You alright?”
“Yes.” Jason tries not to look too touched.
“Not that we were worried,” Damian immediately says. “Unless it was about the level of imbecility displayed by Richard here.”
“Excuse me?” Dick levels a glare at him. “You were the one insisting we check his breathing every ten minutes.”
Damian’s glare is deadlier than his daggers ever could be. “A reasonable precaution while you were blubbering about your terribly unrequited love.”
“He’s got a point,” Steph says. Tim looks like he’s drowning in self-disgust even as he’s nodding. “You have it sorted out now, though?”
Jason’s about to shoot back an incredibly sarcastic and potentially hurtful reply when Dick takes all the wind out of his sails by simply taking his hand and smiling at their family. “Yes. We have.”
“Finally,” Bruce says, looking incredibly tired. “A wedding to announce.”
And: A Prologue
“And don’t come back until you sold the last one!” The matron is almost spitting into Jason’s face, she’s so angry.
His dad would’ve beaten her for that—but that doesn’t matter, Jason reminds himself. His dad has fucked off to heaven-knows-where and isn’t coming back. His mother, his beautiful, kind, weak mother, is dead.
All Jason has is the orphanage, and as he watches the door close, he knows that won’t be enough.
That feeling—doors closing, cold settling into his bones, darkness creeping in at the edges and through the cracks—grows as he tries to sell his wares and gets rejected again and again. No one is buying his matchsticks. They’re nothing special, after all; they don’t grant wishes, except maybe the one Jason has about sleeping in a warm bed.
It’s starting to get dark. Jason wants to get back to the orphanage, but they won’t let him in, not without any money. He tries stealing, but people are on their guard today, and he looks too scruffy to get past their defenses. Finally, Jason drags himself into an alleyway. It’s the closest thing to shelter he can find.
At least he still has his matchsticks. Jason lights one of them and stares into the light, cupping it with his palms so the wind can’t extinguish the small flame.
Slowly, warmth returns. Jason closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s in a warm room.
It’s beautiful. The furnishings are new, the Christmas tree is covered in fairy lights, and there is food on the table. His mother is there, too, alive in the way she was before she talked to a frog and was sent Jason, before the beatings and the witch and the potions to keep her whole when all she wanted to do was shatter.
“Hello, Jason,” she says. “Have some food.”
Jason looks at her—looks at the food that promises nourishment, the lights that promise warmth, and his mother’s arms that promise love—and drops the matchstick.
Instantly, the illusion vanishes. Jason is back in a dark alley, and he’s dying.
Good. He’d rather have reality than any beautiful illusion. Jason breathes in the cold, fresh air, and if his teeth weren’t chattering so much, he’d smile.
“Hey!” someone calls.
Jason doesn’t give a shit. Street sellers like him occasionally get chased around by the king’s men. They’re not gonna make his night worse, and anyway, they’re too late. He can already feel his eyes closing, the trembling in his limbs subsiding…
“Don’t you dare,” a clear voice says. Then there are two hands on his shoulders, and before Jason knows it, he’s dragged along the alleyway. “Guards! Help me already, what’re you standing there for?”
Then, much softer, the voice tells him: “It’s okay. I’ll take you with me, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”
Jason has no reason to believe the person. No one has ever kept a promise like that before. And yet, he does.
Jason passes out.
He doesn’t know it yet, but this is the first time someone has shown genuine kindness to him, and Jason will repay it tenfold. He’ll be angry and distrustful, and it will take him weeks to stop barricading his room, but from that moment on, he belongs to Dick. With Dick.
And he won’t have it any other way.