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Bruce wanted to talk to Jason. About his parents, about his emotions. Jason didn’t want to talk to Bruce. That’s why Dick is here. He said he was just swinging by for the weekend because he was in town, but Jason’s not stupid.
Bruce obviously wants Jason to be molded into the perfect Dick Grayson 2.0. Well, fat chance. He would’ve already done that if he could. Doesn’t Bruce think he tried?
He can’t stand to be in the manor with them, having dinner together like a family, so before Alfred calls them down, he tries to sneak down the hall to take a walk. Maybe he could try stopping by his old town again. It’s been a while.
As he approaches Bruce’s study, he lightens his steps as much as possible, avoiding every creaky floorboard. The door is cracked open, a faded beam of light shining into the dim hallway. Jason can hear two voices in there, and he almost makes it past the door when the sound of his own name holds him in place.
He risks a peak through the small crack. It’s not like eavesdropping is a crime, especially if he doesn’t get caught.
He sees Dick’s back, covered by a white button-up tucked into his jeans, rolled up his forearms. His shoulder blades shift under the fabric as he tosses Bruce’s decorative metal globe from hand to hand.
Bruce is looking up at him from his chair, pushed far back from the desk to avoid Dick’s dangling feet. He has his head rested on his fist, his face pensive. If he shifts his eyes the slightest bit, he’ll be looking right at Jason.
Jason pulls his head away from the doorway, electing to sit next to it instead. Out of sight, but well within earshot.
“He’s fifteen. Fifteen year olds are gonna be moody about their dead parents.” Dick responds to whatever Bruce had just said. “It’ll pass. I mean just look at you!”
“Was that a stone?” Bruce asks, and Jason can practically hear the eyebrow raise in his voice.
“In this glass house?” Dick responds, scandalized.
Since when were they so chummy? As far as Jason was aware, they hadn’t spoken in months. The Titans do their thing and Batman and Robin do theirs. The last thing he heard about them was Bruce bitching about how Dick didn’t tell him he was going off planet. Now they're joking in between serious conversations about Jason, like he’s their kid or something.
Bruce sighs, apparently done with Dick’s jokes. “I think some time away from Robin may be good for him.”
Jason’s pulse skyrockets, and he has to stop himself from barging into the office, his face heating up with anger. Bruce can’t be suggesting what he thinks he is… He has to take deep breaths to calm the roaring in his ears to listen to the rest of the conversation.
“He’ll just pull away more.”
“He’s becoming a danger to himself.”
A danger? That’s bullshit! Sure, maybe he jumped the gun a little bit on that last case, but that doesn’t mean he deserves this. Bruce can’t do that to him.
“Remember when you benched me? When I was fifteen?”
Bruce is silent.
“Did that accomplish what you wanted it to?” he asks like he already knows the answer.
Bruce clicks his tongue. “Different circumstances.”
Jason’s going to have to remember to ask Dick about that when he’s eventually forced to talk to him.
“I say if you already tried talking to him, just give it time,” Dick declares. “Maybe just keep a closer eye on Robin in the meantime.”
Bruce doesn’t respond, and several seconds go by with just the sound of the metal ball slapping into Dick’s hand echoing around the room. Eventually, he stops, placing it back onto the desk with a soft knock.
“So Roy has a kid now.”
The officer chair squeaks. “Roy as in Speedy?”
“I know, right?” Dick chuckles. “Just found out about her. She’s already one, I think.”
“The mother...?”
“Uninvolved. Hopefully for good.”
Bruce lets out a disbelieving scoff. He doesn’t have to be rude; Roy seems like a pretty nice guy.
“And how are the Titans?”
“She’s fine,” Dick responds, something coy in his voice. “No bundles of joy on our front.”
Several seconds of silence pass before Bruce says, “Well. I’m happy for you.”
…
Jeez, this is getting awkward.
“Well,” Dick mirrors Bruce. “Not quite. We… broke up. While we were on Tamaran.” The other man doesn’t respond, but whatever expression he wore led Dick to say, “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I still heard it.” A beat passes. “It doesn’t mean you were right.”
“I still haven’t said anything.”
“We were dealing with impossible circumstances. That’s all.”
“And now?”
“Now what?” Dick asks suspiciously.
“Now you’re home.”
“Now I’m…” he considers it for a second before settling on, “Here.”
“Yes.” Bruce takes the hit quietly. “Thank you for coming.”
“You called,” Dick responds, like it’s that simple.
More silence. Batgirl wasn’t kidding about their telepathy, specifically how annoying it is.
Eventually, after a quiet so tense it feels like it’s wafting out of the room, Dick answers, “Maybe I just don’t trust you to deal with traumatized orphans alone,” as if they hadn't just had a whole conversation between the two spoken statements. Some of the tension seems to have bled out of the room, the teasing tone returning to Dick’s voice.
“Is that so?” The desk chair squeaks with movement. Now even Bruce’s tone is edging on something playful. It sounds foreign to Jason’s ears.
Dick hums in consideration before settling on, “Yeah, I have some complaints.”
“Really?”
“Yeah…” Dick responds, but there’s something… off about it. Something quiet and breathy. The sound of shuffling movement almost masks it.
“I’ll have to hear them sometime.”
Then Dick says, “Bruce—” and it’s too hard to rationalize away the distinct sound of lips on lips.
Jason feels the creeping sense of mortification spreading down his body, to his toes. He almost feels frozen to the wall until the clink of a belt buckle snaps him out of it and he scampers off as quietly as he can.
Fuck that. Dick is going to talk to him about how dead his parents are when he’s— Jason doesn’t want to know.
Maybe he’ll take that walk to his old place after all.
-
Jason has quite a few gaps in his memory from his time before the grave. Probably all the head trauma. It’s not something that’s really affected him much. How could he miss something that he doesn’t know is missing? But sometimes something will hit him; usually when he can’t sleep, when he’s up, staring at his wall.
Those days leading up to his death were chaotic, but he remembers every detail. He remembers the birth certificate, running into Bruce in Lebanon, hugging his mother, and the crowbar most of all. It never occurred to him that he was missing what happened just before all of that.
He was young and stupid and had his skull cracked open shortly after. It’s not like he can really trust a random thought that popped into his head while he was on the verge of falling asleep.
But now he’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling, and going through a mental recap of everything he knows about Bruce and Dick’s relationship.
Sure, they’ve known each other longer than anyone, and they bicker like an old married couple, but Dick became Robin when he was little. It just— it can’t possibly be like that. Bruce adopted him when Jason was dead, for fuck’s sake. There’s been no sign of anything— no sign of anyone even suspecting anything in all this time.
He just has some wires crossed in his memories.
He rolls over and closes his eyes.
He can’t manage to forget the sound of Bruce’s belt buckle being yanked open between kisses.
He opens his eyes.
This is stupid. He swings his arm out and grabs his phone. While it rings, he thinks about how he never questioned why he went off without asking for Bruce’s help in finding his mother. What could have happened that deterred him from reaching out to the man that he trusted with his life, his guardian and mentor, who had just been trying to talk about Jason's parents the day before? Finding out he’d been fucking his predecessor might’ve been a good reason, but no, that’s—
“‘lo?” Dick answers groggily after the fourth ring. It is four in the morning.
“Hey.”
“…What’s up?” He sounds a little more awake, if not slightly annoyed.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Talk.” Okay, very annoyed.
“In person.”
He hears a heavy exhale and the slight ruffling of sheets through the phone. “I have work first thing—”
“Where are you?”
“…in bed.”
“Your apartment?”
“Yes…?”
“Kay.”
“Wait, no—” he tries to say as Jason ends the call.
-
Jason is knocking on Dick’s door only forty minutes later, the traffic to Bludhaven being almost nonexistent so early in the morning.
Dick answers the door wearing a t-shirt, boxers, and heavy bags under his eyes. “That took longer than I was expecting. Down to three possible hours of sleep.”
“Came from the manor,” Jason explains as Dick leads them to the small kitchen.
Everything is still dark, only the slim rays of the street lights peaking through the window above the sink. Dick goes for the coffee pot, refilling the mug already sitting on the table.
“The manor?” he questions once they’re both seated. “Please don’t tell me this is about Bruce.”
“It’s about Bruce.”
“Of course it is,” he sighs, dropping his hands to the table, his tone flat. “What. What did you do.”
“Hey!” Jason defends. “It’s not about me. I—” He cuts himself off, taking a second to think. He thought about how to ask this for forty minutes on his way over here, but never came to a solid conclusion.
Looking at Dick now, it just seems ridiculous. He’s a full-grown man with an independent life, a job, a girlfriend. Jason's always seen him like that— so put together, even when he was twenty-one, when this supposed memory takes place. It’s hard to see him as some kid being taken advantage of by his mentor. He has to be wrong about this, right? Maybe he just needs to hear that— let Dick get mad at him and call him crazy.
“I’ve been remembering some things that I think I lost after… y’know…”
“Okay,” Dick nods, the slightest bit softer in tone, if a bit reluctant.
“Do you remember when I first ran away? To Lebanon?”
Dick let’s out a little scoff-laugh. “Yeah, Bruce lost his mind.”
“So you were there!” Jason points out, maybe a little too accusingly.
“Yeah…” Dick says carefully, eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t remember that? He called me over for my sagacious advice as a fellow orphan.”
I don’t trust you to deal with traumatized orphans alone.
Is that so?
Jesus Christ, was that flirting? Jason represses a disgusted shiver.
“Do you remember talking to him? You said that he shouldn’t bench me?”
“You knew about that?” Dick asks, taking a sip from the mug.
“Yeah, I… was eavesdropping…” He stares at Dick for any kind of reaction, but only gets a confused nod.
When he doesn’t continue, Dick says, “Okay? Do you want me to be mad? I forgive you for being a nosey teenager eight years ago.”
“Look, I just need you to… clarify something for me. Something I remember.”
Dick makes a go ahead gesture, and suddenly Jason feels like he’s under the spotlight.
“It— well… Did you and Bruce… uh…”
Dick raises an eyebrow. “Did Bruce and I…?” He urges, showing no sign of anxiety. Surely if what Jason heard had actually happened, Dick would be getting distressed at this point, right?
This is a ridiculous question to be asking, isn’t it?
“…Nevermind.”
Dick shakes his head, closing his eyes. “Nevermind? You woke me up for nevermind?”
He’s even pushing for more. If he was hiding something, he would take the out, wouldn’t he?
“Yeah, sorry for trying to be a good person, dick.”
Dick groans and rubs his eyes. “God, whatever.”
He places his hand back on the mug, his fingers gripped around the rim, and stands up, headed to the sink.
As soon as the porcelain leaves the stability of the table, it gives into a tremor going down Dick’s hand, a drop of dark liquid sloshing onto the wood as the mug jostles. He doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to the sink to rinse the mug.
Jason’s eyes narrow in on the spill.
“Are you lying to me?”
Dick turns a head over his shoulder, utter confusion painting his face. “I… didn’t say anything.”
“You’re hand twitched.”
Dick glances from his hand to the spot in the table, seemingly putting together what happened. A flash of distress crosses his face as he shakes his head. “Oh, I—” He cuts himself off with an annoyed sigh. “New medication. Causes shakes.”
“You don’t take any meds— you are lying!”
“Do you wanna see the script? You haven’t asked me anything!”
“Because you keep doing this!”
Dick throws his hands in the air. “Doing what!?”
“Acting all—” Jason gestures his hands around, making frustrated noises, trying to find the words. “Normal! It’s making me feel crazy.”
Dick blinks at him for several seconds. “Do you hear yourself?”
“You’re still doing it!”
“Dude—” He walks the short distance back to the table, pulling out his chair. “Just ask. I’m tired.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Okay.”
…
“Did you and Bruce have a… sexual relationship?” His voice embarrassingly squeaks over his words like he’s in middle school asking a question in sex ed.
As he feared and hoped, Dick looks at him with enough sheer judgment to make him hide in his collar.
With his eyes wide and his mouth stuck half open, he lets out a shocked bark of a laugh. “Is this— are you joking?” Jason doesn’t say anything, and any ounce of confusion drains from Dick’s face, something angrier taking over. “That’s not— he’s— I don’t have to explain to you why that’s not funny, Jason.”
Because Jason apparently has a deep-seated desire to destroy all his relationships, he says, “You didn’t say no.”
Suddenly, Dick drops the anger to laugh again, a little deranged this time. “Jesus, Jason. Is this a genuine question?”
“Well— yeah…”
“What could possibly make you think that?”
He shrugs. “I heard something.”
Now Dick’s giggling at him, and it makes him feel stupid. Fuck anyone who says Dick is the nice one.
“Yeah, I’ve been there. Probably Selina.”
That does make a lot more sense— but no, he saw him so clearly, sitting on the desk with the metal globe in hand. “No, it was definitely you— I saw you, and then I heard—”
“Heard what?”
What did he hear? Dick saying, “Yeah” in a weird way, and then quiet noises that could maybe be interpreted as kissing?
“So that’s a no?”
“That’s a no,” Dick confirms. He waits a second to see if Jason is going to try another last Hail Mary argument.
When silence falls, he stands up, making his way out of the kitchen. “Okay. Well. Glad we could… clear that up. I guess,” Dick says awkwardly as he herds Jason out the door. “See ya ‘round.”
“Yeah— wait!” Jason spins around as the door is half closed on him.
It looks like it physically pains Dick to open it back up. “Yeah?”
“Why did Bruce bench you when you were fifteen?”
He looks taken aback for a second, but quickly recovers. “Failed chemistry,” he shrugs.