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Dick is coming off a double shift and a crazy busy patrol when there's a knock on his door.
He almost doesn't even bother to get up to answer it, staring up at the ceiling and not finding any effort inside of himself. He collapsed on the couch as soon as he got back from patrol, not having the energy to make it to the bedroom. He knows the Nightwing suit is going to start getting uncomfortable soon, and his mask is already itching just a tad, but the idea of just passing out right here is far more appealing.
But the knock comes again, urgent and fast.
Dick groans, rubbing his hands over his face and then forcing himself into an upright, seated position. His ribs twinge, an injury from the other night that still hasn't completely healed yet, and before he can allow himself to collapse right back down he pushes himself to his feet.
On the way to the door he kicks off his boots and removes his gloves and mask, tossing them all behind the couch to hide them and fetch them later. He has a pair of sweatpants hanging off the coffee table—no idea why, really, but he stopped questioning the mess of his apartment ages ago—and he yanks them on to cover the bottom half of his suit. Once he's finished off the ensemble with a jacket hanging on a hook by the door, he wrenches the door open.
And then blinks in surprise at the small person in front of him.
"Hey," Jason Todd, Bruce's new son, says tersely. His eyes flick up and down Dick's form, and that little furrow between his brows deepens. "What are you wearing?"
Dick blinks at him, at a loss for what to say. He's only met this kid once, back when Robin first started appearing in Gotham again, and hasn't really had much contact with him since other than the occasional text.
His messages are typically checking in on the kid, feeling something of an obligation to do so, and Jason's are usually memes that Dick only half gets. They're not close, in any way, and Dick's been just fine with the thread of communication they have. Jason's...not a bad kid, far as Dick can tell, but it's—somewhat challenging to interact with him. Everything Bruce has done is in no way Jason's fault, but he's still wrapped up in it and sometimes it's hard for Dick to separate the two.
He does his best, even offered his number to talk if Jason ever needed it. But their conversations have been so...surface level that he honestly never expected the kid to reach out to him in any real capacity. And actually visiting him? Especially with no warning? No, Dick can't say he would have predicted this.
Damn, what a day to be running on empty. He doesn't have the brain capacity to handle whatever this is right now.
"Are you gonna let me in?" Jason asks after what are probably a few moments of awkward silence, shifting his weight back and forth. His tone is rough, near defensive, but Dick's always put more stock into body language than tone and it's clear that Jason is uncomfortable, hesitant, maybe even worried.
And he came here, all the way to Bludhaven. Alone.
Dick steps silently to the side, allowing the boy to enter.
Jason does so immediately, shoulders slumping a little in what looks like relief. He glances around Dick's apartment, and there's something like surprise when he sees the mess; Dick doesn't mind the reaction, he's used to it. Everything in his life is so orderly, his approach to events so structured—he needs a place where chaos rules. He doesn't mind if people turn up their noses at it.
"I'm gonna get changed," Dick says, when Jason doesn't say anything, not even really looking at him. He pulls the jacket back off, and kicks off the sweatpants, feeling too warm. The action makes Jason glance at him, and he blinks at the Nightwing suit, examining it almost curiously. "Be right back."
He heads down the hall to his bedroom, reaching for his suit's zipper as he goes. He changes quickly, feeling strange about having someone new in his apartment without him actually in sight. He could probably do with a shower—he's a little sweaty after patrol and the double shift before that—but it'll have to wait, along with the sleep he'd been wanting so desperately.
When he gets back to the living room, now dressed in a pair of relatively clean gym shorts and a t-shirt, Jason is standing just where he left him. He has one arm wrapped defensively around his middle, and the other is raised towards his face as he gnaws on a fingernail.
He looks nervous, and Dick doesn't know him well enough to know how to help. But hey, he's relatively good with people, and definitely has practice pushing his own shit to the background to help others. Plus, he promised Jason back when they met that he's a good listener. He can manage this.
"So," Dick says with a smile, and Jason whips around to face him, clearly not aware that he'd returned. Strangely unobservant, for the partner of Batman. Dick's pretty sure that has far more to do with emotional state rather than subpar training, but it's still odd. "What can I do for you?"
"You said I could come to you," Jason mutters after a moment, squinting at the ground rather than meeting Dick's gaze any longer. "If I needed to talk to someone."
Well, technically, Dick said to call if he needed to talk to someone, but he supposes the semantics aren't really important if Jason's in trouble.
"Are you okay?" he asks. He does what he should've done when he first saw the kid, and glances him over for any sign of injury. In pants and a sweater he's pretty covered up, so Dick can't see if there are any bruises or wounds, but he isn't holding himself carefully like he's in any pain. No, whatever's going on isn't likely to be a physical ailment.
Jason grimaces. He wraps his arms tightly around himself, and Dick's heart pangs at how lost he looks. What happened? Where is Bruce, why isn't he taking care of his—his son?
"I...something happened," Jason says haltingly. "It—there was this case, and it..."
Dick waits, giving Jason a chance to continue, but the kid doesn't say anything else. But he gets the general gist, now—a bad case. Dick's had his fair share of those over the years, having been in this business for nearly a decade. He knows how deeply they can cut you.
Maybe Jason just didn't want to go to Bruce with this, since Bruce always seems so unaffected, so perfectly fine no matter what they see or experience. Dick might not've talked to his old mentor in a long time, but he highly doubts much has changed.
"You hungry?" Dick asks, instead of pressing. If Jason doesn't want to talk about it yet, Dick won't make him. The fact that he's here is enough; he'll open up eventually. For the time being, Dick just has to make him comfortable. "I've got a few things in the fridge, we can whip something up. Or order take-out if you prefer; there're some really great places around here."
Jason's eyes snap up to meet his, and there's that relief again. Dick's heart goes out to him; maybe he doesn't really know this kid, maybe it feels awkward as hell to have him here, but Dick understands all too well how draining being a child hero can be, especially with Bruce. He's been where Jason is—if he can help, then he should.
"Yeah, that...sounds good." A pause, and then, "Thanks."
Dick nods with a smile. "Of course. Pizza okay?"
Once he has confirmation, he grabs his phone and dials, tucking it between his shoulder and ear as he heads into the kitchen. He's going to need coffee if he's going to be in any way helpful or even aware; as he is, he's definitely heading for a crash, and he can't do that now. Not with a kid under his care.
He sets it to brew as he orders, not bothering with anything other than a simple K-cup. He takes the time it's pouring to just breathe and try to center himself. He can do this. He helps other heroes all the time, Jason doesn't have to be any different. So what if he's carrying the mantle of Robin that Bruce just gave away, so what if Jason got adopted immediately and Bruce never wanted Dick that way, so what if Jason has everything Dick had taken from him? He's just a kid. He's just a kid, seeking out Dick's help. Turning him away isn't an option.
When the coffee is ready, he takes his mug and a bottle of water from the fridge and heads back out into the living room. Jason's sitting on the couch now, but perched tensely on the edge like he's ready to bolt. Dick doesn't acknowledge it, instead collapsing onto the opposite side of the couch and offering Jason the water bottle.
The boy takes it hesitantly, muttering out a 'thank you' before breaking the seal and taking a small sip. Dick's coffee is still too hot, but he drinks it anyway, wanting the caffeine in his system pronto.
"Pizza should be here in maybe half an hour," he says. "Want to watch some TV in the meantime?"
Jason's eyes cut subtly over to him, looking at him almost warily. Dick keeps his expression easygoing and open, and Jason slowly shifts backwards, settling more fully onto the couch.
"Yeah, sure," Jason says, fingers pulling absently at the water bottle's wrapper. "Anything's fine."
Dick flicks on the TV and settles on some mindless, amusing sit-com that doesn't take too much brain power to follow. A girl is having relationship drama, and her roommates are causing hijinks in an attempt to help. It's funny enough, and helps Dick relax after a long day.
Seems to work well enough with Jason, too. By the time they reach halfway through the episode, the kid has slumped back completely, curled up on the couch and eyes fixed on the TV. He's still picking at the label, but he isn't wound so tightly anymore. He's also toed off his shoes and removed his sweater, and Dick quirks a private smile when he sees the Wonder Woman t-shirt that was apparently underneath.
There are only a couple minutes left in the episode when Jason suddenly blurts out, "Bruce thinks I killed someone."
Dick stares at him, lips parting but no idea what to say. What the hell do you say to something like that? Why the fuck would Bruce think that? What—what could've possibly happened to put that idea in the man's head?
Jason's eyes are fixed resolutely on the coffee table, body once again tense. He looks like he's bracing—for a blow or for yelling Dick doesn't know, but it's that reaction that makes Dick force himself to stay relaxed, to not outwardly freak out in response to that insane statement.
"Um. Okay," Dick says evenly. "Why does he think that?"
Jason's shoulders hunch. He doesn't look away from the table. Then, in slow, stilted sentences, Jason explains the case that led them here.
Filipe Garzonas, the son of a diplomat who raped a woman and wasn't going to get charged because of his diplomatic immunity. How Jason and Bruce tried to get him for drug charges instead, which would at least get the man deported even if not facing justice for what he did to Gloria Stanson. How Garzonas kept threatening Gloria, and how the poor woman ended up killing herself.
And then the confrontation.
"I went to his apartment. I just wanted—I was so angry," Jason says. His tone is almost desperate, with a hint of old rage tinging the corners. "She was such a nice woman and because of him she was dead. I wanted to make him pay."
His eyes dart up, locking onto Dick's. They're wide and wild, that desperation in his voice reflected in them. Desperate for Dick to believe him, to understand. It makes Dick's chest tight; he wants—he wants to pull the kid into his arms, hug him tight. But he doubts that would be appreciated at the moment.
"I didn't kill him," Jason says urgently. "He fell, I swear. He was backing away and he just—he fell. Dick, you gotta believe me, he fell, he fell he—"
Screw it, he's not going to just watch this kid break down in front of him and not do anything about it.
Dick scoots across the couch and wraps his arms around Jason, hugging him tightly against his chest. The boy is trembling, but his hands lift to grip at Dick's shirt, tightly enough to pull it across Dick's back.
"I believe you," Dick says firmly, because he does. The panic, the fear, the desperation—this isn't a boy who just took a life. And, more than that, this is Jason. He's a good kid, has been a...been a good Robin, as far as Dick can tell. He wouldn't just murder somebody because he was angry. Beat someone up? Sure, but it's not like Bruce has any room to talk in that regard, nor does Dick.
"It's okay," Dick continues. He lifts a hand, gently petting it over Jason's hair, letting his fingers slide through the strands in a soothing gesture Dick used to love when he was younger. "It's gonna be okay, Jason. I believe you, alright? It's gonna be okay."
There's a wet patch forming on Dick's shirt, and he squeezes his own eyes shut, feeling a little choked up himself. Jason is so small, so young. Only thirteen years old, and still struggling under the aftereffects of spending so long on the streets. How on Earth could Bruce believe this kid would ever do something like that? This kid, who reads classical fiction and loves to help Alfred in the kitchen—this good kid, a little rough around the edges but with an undeniably good heart.
It nearly makes Dick angry; he thought he was past the point of being disappointed in Bruce, past hoping for his—mentor to step up in the way he's supposed to, but apparently not. Nothing really has changed. He thought it would be different with someone Bruce actually chose as his son.
"What did B say?" Dick asks quietly, wanting to know exactly what words to throw back in the man's face when he confronts him.
"Nothing," Jason says, voice muffled against Dick's chest. "He didn't—he let it go. He didn't press it."
Dick frowns, above Jason's head where the kid can't see. But he keeps his voice gentle when he says, "Okay. So how do you know he doesn't believe you?"
A moment of silence, then a sniffle, then, "He hasn't looked at me the same since. He hasn't—he's been acting so different with me. Looking at me like—like he keeps expecting me to snap and kill someone."
Dick sighs softly. Ah, so Bruce is being his emotionally incompetent self and hasn't actually tried talking to Jason about what happened. Dick wishes he could say he's surprised, but he is really not. Dick could probably count on less than two hands how many times Bruce was effectively open with him, and Dick lived in the Manor for years. Apparently too much to hope that Bruce would manage it with his do-over.
"Have you tried talking to Bruce about it?" Dick asks hesitantly. It isn't fair to put this on Jason since he's the kid in this situation, and shouldn't be responsible for the emotional maturity in the relationship, but still, Dick has to ask.
"I told him Garzonas fell," Jason says shortly. "I said he slipped. And still he doesn't believe me. I did my part."
"You did," Dick agrees softly. "I—"
He goes tense when there's a knock on the door, having completely forgotten about the pizza. He reluctantly pulls back from Jason, and the boy lets him go, swiping at his face to brush away the likely tears.
Dick gives him a moment to breathe and pull himself together, walking to the door and grabbing his wallet. He doesn't bother asking for change, just shoves a twenty in the delivery guy's hand and shuts the door. He grabs a couple plates from the kitchen, and brings everything back out into the living room. He doesn't much have a stomach for eating anymore, but better to have it in reach for Jason than not.
"Alright," Dick says, trying to sound far more confident than he actually feels. "I'm assuming you ran away, yeah?"
Jason nods, once again staring at the ground. Dick sits closer to him than he did before, gently squeezing the boy's shoulder to offer some comfort, if he wants to take it. Jason doesn't lean into him, but he doesn't pull away, either.
"Then I think first step is calling—"
"No!" Jason shouts, head snapping up to look at Dick. "No, don't call Bruce."
Dick lifts his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy. That's not what I was going to say. I was gonna suggest calling Alfred—I'm sure he's worried sick; it's the middle of the night and you just vanished."
Jason grimaces, guilt flashing across his face. Whatever his anxiety around Bruce right now, Alfred is and always will be a separate entity. Case in point, Dick still talks to him regularly while it's been about eight months since he last spoke a word to Bruce.
"Yeah, okay," Jason mutters, shoulders slumping.
Dick doesn't wait for the possibility of the boy changing his mind, pulling out his cellphone and dialing the number by heart. It rings five times before picking up with a click and Alfred's familiar voice saying, "Wayne residence."
Dick can't help the way one corner of his mouth quirks up, always happy to talk to his pseudo-grandfather. Whatever Dick's issues with Bruce, Alfred's always tried his best to be there for him.
"Hey, Alf, it's me."
"Master Dick," Alfred greets. His voice is warm, but there's something tense about it that probably has something to do with his missing charge. "What on Earth are you doing up at this hour, young man?"
Dick's smile widens, but then he catches sight of Jason and the expression fades. "I thought I'd let you know that I have a young visitor."
A moment of silence, and then a relieved breath down the line. "Thank Heavens. Is he alright?"
"Yeah," Dick says softly, though he supposes that's debatable. "Not feeling too hot right now, though. I just figured I'd let you know that he's safe, and he's gonna be staying with me for a little while."
Jason looks at him in surprise, but it doesn't seem like a bad surprise. In fact, he ducks his head almost immediately, something shy about the smile Dick can see peeking out. It makes Dick smile in turn.
"Alright," Alfred says easily, and that immediate trust—not even questioning leaving Jason in Dick's care—makes Dick's chest feel tight. "Stay safe, the pair of you."
"We will," Dick says, and his tone is light but he means it as a promise. "And I know you'll probably tell Bruce, but if you could keep him from coming out here that would really be great."
Dick doesn't know if Bruce would come—he never came after Dick—but he'd rather not risk it. Better to ensure that the man stays away to allow Jason the time to process all of this, and maybe calm down a little.
And, if Dick is being honest...he doesn't know if he's ready to see Bruce. He doesn't know how that meeting would go, and he—he doesn't want to risk Bruce looking at him like he doesn't matter. He doesn't want to have proof of how little their bond must've meant. The longer he can push off that reunion, the better.
Alfred hums an amused noise. "I shall endeavor to keep him contained. I'm sure that once he knows the young master is alright, he'll allow you both some space."
Dick snorts, because he isn't sure of that at all, actually, but if anyone's capable of commanding Bruce it's Alfred.
"Thanks, Alfred. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"
"See that you do," Alfred replies primly. "Goodnight, Master Dick."
"Night, Alf," Dick says softly, feeling far more relaxed than he did five minutes ago. He hangs up, and sets a reminder in his phone to call Alfred tomorrow to check in just in case it slips his mind.
Then he turns back to Jason, offering the boy a tired smile. "Feeling up to eating anything, Jay?"
Jason seems to consider the question seriously, and then reaches for the pizza box, grabbing a slice and bringing his plate onto his lap. He glances at Dick hesitantly, and Dick's heart pangs; it makes him force himself to grab a slice as well, even if he really doesn't want to eat at the moment. He can stomach it, if it'll make Jason feel more comfortable.
As soon as Dick begins to eat, Jason does too. His first bite is barely more than a nibble, but it must make his stomach wake up because then he's scarfing the slice down, reaching for a second as soon as he's done.
It makes Dick smile, amused and fond and a million other emotions Dick can barely even identify. This boy is—his brother, in a way. No matter the fact that Bruce never...They still grew up/are growing up in the same household under the care of the same man; what is that, if not a brother? And having him here, doing something as normal as watching TV and eating some pizza—it's...nice. Dick never thought it would be, but it really is.
Neither of them tries to pick the conversation from before back up, taking a breather. It was intense, especially for Jason, so Dick is content to turn his attention back to the TV and eat his own slice of pizza, ignoring the exhaustion that still clings to his bones.
They sit in companionable silence and watch a couple more episodes of the sit-com Dick put on earlier. But it isn't long before Jason's eyelids are drooping, his body slowly going lax, head tipping against the back of the couch. Dick carefully takes the plate from his hands, not wanting it to clatter to the ground and wake the boy up, and then collapses back down into his own spot with a sigh.
Dick is up for a while longer, his head spinning. He barely hears the words on the TV, too focused on everything that was just revealed, on Jason's presence, on his own concern. He wants to help, wants to fix this problem for the boy. But he just...doesn't see how to do that. At least, any way to do that that doesn't involve talking to Bruce.
He rubs a hand over his face tiredly. He can...he can do this. He's eighteen now, an adult. He's Nightwing—leader of the Titans, hero of Bludhaven, one of the best there is. He—he isn't that little boy anymore, desperately seeking Bruce's approval. He's his own man, and whatever Bruce's reaction to him might be, it...it doesn't matter.
It doesn't.
Eventually, he must nod off, because he wakes up sometime later to an unsettling feeling, a prickle on the back of his neck like he's being watched. He blinks around his apartment, brow furrowed as he searches for whatever set him off. Jason is still asleep beside him, but at some point he apparently shifted because now he's curled up on his side with his head on Dick's thigh.
Dick's expression softens, and he brushes his hand gently once over Jason's hair before his head snaps to the side, finally identifying the presence of another person in his apartment.
And his breath catches, because it's Bruce.
The man is standing by Dick's armchair, surprisingly not dressed in the batsuit but instead in a regular pair of slacks, black turtleneck, and a peacoat. His expression is perfectly blank, and Dick just—has no idea what to do.
The pair of them stare at each other for what feels like ages, and then Bruce carefully lowers himself to perch on the plush arm of the chair. "Is he alright?" he asks, voice pitched low as to not wake Jason.
Dick's stomach twists, and he works to keep his expression just as blank as Bruce's. He's fine. This is—it's fine. "He thinks you think he murdered a man," Dick says. "So no, not really."
Bruce's face spasms. His gaze shifts down to Jason, and there's something soft in his eyes that is nearly unbearable to witness. They haven't even—nothing has even happened yet and Dick feels so raw. He wants this to be over. He wants Bruce to leave. He can't—he doesn't want to have to handle this.
"I don't know what happened," Bruce says, not looking away from Jason's face.
"You do," Dick refutes, but he looks away from Bruce, unable to see that look on his face anymore. Not when it's completely directed at someone else, even if Jason deserves all the love he can get. "He told you. You just have to decide whether you're gonna be all Batman about this, and think the worst of everyone, or if you're going to be Jason's dad like you decided to be."
Bruce's gaze snaps back up; Dick can feel his eyes on him, but he doesn't look at him. He can't. He doesn't—he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to see if that softness directed at Jason has faded now that Dick is the object of his focus. Doesn't want to see that blankness again, that distance. The proof that Dick doesn't mean anything to him. How different Bruce views the two boys he's raised. One as his son, the other just—just a partner.
"You believe him," Bruce says, in that way of his that means it's a question but he phrases it as a statement.
And that question makes anger spark in Dick's chest, forces him to look back at Bruce with narrowed eyes. He can't quite interpret the look on Bruce's face right now, but he doesn't particularly want to.
"Yes," Dick says, as forcefully as he can manage while still keeping his voice lowered. "You know why? Because he told me he didn't do it."
Bruce rubs a hand over his face with a sigh. He looks tired, weighed down; Dick understands the feeling.
"Okay," Bruce says. "Okay."
He sounds almost...relieved, and it makes Dick's chest feel tight. If Bruce wanted to believe Jason but just needed an outside perspective to agree, then why didn't he just talk to someone? Why didn't he call Clark or Diana? They would've set him straight without hesitation. He didn't have to lurk around, making Jason feel isolated and like he wasn't believed. He didn't have to let it get to the point where Jason was desperate enough that he ran to Dick.
"He's going to stay here for a few days," Dick says, his tone brokering no room for argument. Bruce might have gotten past all his conflicting emotions, but Dick told Jason he could stay and he isn't going to go back on it. Plus Dick kind of...wants the kid to stay.
Bruce looks back up at him and nods. "Alright."
His acceptance is immediate, much like Alfred's had been, and it hits a thousand times harder this time than before. Bruce just—Bruce is placing his son in Dick's hands without hesitation. He's a control freak, but he didn't even need to consider letting Jason stay in a strange city with someone he hasn't even talked to in more than half a year.
It affects Dick far more than he wishes it did, and tomorrow he'll chalk his reaction up to how exhausted he is, how badly he needs to sleep and eat. How run down he is. Because tears prick his eyes, and though he refuses to let them fall, they exist nonetheless.
Bruce's gaze softens. And he's not looking at Jason, he's looking at—he's looking at Dick like that, like he—like he cares, like Dick matters, and Dick honestly never thought—
"Thank you for taking care of him," Bruce says. It is far too heartfelt for Dick to handle, and he rips his gaze away, staring down at Jason's small form instead. "I'm glad he had you to turn to."
Dick swallows, offers a nod. "Yeah, 'course."
There are a few moments of silence, and then Dick hears Bruce stand, the man walking near-silently towards the door. Dick doesn't try to stop him, almost grateful for the breathing room. He has far more to handle now than he did before, and it'll be easier without Bruce around watching him.
Bruce pauses when he reaches the door and says, "I'll call you tomorrow?"
The inflection at the end, actually making it a question. Dick hates the impact that has on him as well. "...Yeah. Yeah, that—sounds good."
"Good," Bruce says softly, warmly, and then he's gone, slipping out the door.
Dick brushes his hand over Jason's hair again, feeling protective of the boy who trusted him enough to come here, to fall asleep beside him. He knows he'll never do anything to break that trust, nor the trust Alfred and Bruce both put in him.
He's in this kid's corner now, and maybe that means seeing more of Bruce, but—but Dick finds that now, that doesn't seem like as much of a bad thing.