Archive of Our Own

Dick is worried about Jason, which is a really disconcerting turn of events.

Ever since Tim had started talking about his… integrated disease… thing… Jason had gotten progressively more and more on edge, and Dick can't figure out why.

Because now? They left Tim and Dami in the parking lot five minutes ago, and Jason is still on edge. He looks like Dick feels when Bruce has them play bait in a trap, and it's making Dick antsy.

And sure, Jason said it was the idea of the press finding them, and being out in public as the 'Four Wayne Boys', but they've been out as just Dick and Jay for a month now, and Jason has never been like this.

They've still got about ten minutes left on their walk back to the house, and Dick knows himself well enough to know he can't keep going like this; that him and Jason will just keep feeding off each other, until some random cat jumps out of a garbage can, and Jason shoots the garbage can to shit, while Dick drop kicks a poor cat into a street light.

So he waits until they're on the main road back to the house, before asking, "So. What's up?"

Jay actually startles a bit, looking surprised like he's just remembering Dick's walking beside him. "Huh?"

Dick resists the urge to shove his hands in his pockets. Because he knows whatever is up with Jason is something to do with Dick; whether Jason's trying to make plans for the Beauty and the Beast thing, or he's upset about something Dick did or didn't do… whatever it is, it's about Dick.

Which means Dick doesn't get to just pretend everything's fine. It's his mess, so it's his responsibility to figure out how to make it better. So he takes a deep breath.

"What's going on? You're nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers," he says, nudging Jason's side with his elbow, trying to make it sound playful. "Mad I got the chicken pot pie?"

It takes him about three seconds to realize that Jason has come to a full on stop, and Dick actually walks a good two foot away in that three seconds.

"Jay?"

Jason… isn't quite glaring at him. Quite. It's close though, and Dick feels a pang of something that tastes like terror shoot through him, straight from his toes to nose.

Is it something Dick did? Has he finally pushed so far, panicked and whined and bitched so much that Jason is finally just… just done? Dick takes the few steps back until he's next to Jason again.

"Jason, I -"

"You don't have to do that, Dick," Jason cuts him off. "Not with me."

Dick blinks a few times. Because that is… remarkably unhelpful; he's not sure what he's doing to Jason that Jason doesn't want him to do. They're literally just walking home; they haven't even really said anything to each other.

"Uh… Sorry, Little Wing, I'm not…" Dick flounders a bit. "I don't know what I did, but -"

"This," Jason says, waving a hand in Dick's general direction. "You don't… You don't have to laugh and make jokes if you don't want to; I'm not Tim and Damian, Dick, we talked about this. I don't need you to protect me, or put on an act for me. I just…"

Jason stops, exhaling as he runs a hand through his hair. "I don't… I'm not tryin' to… I just want you to be okay, Dick. Not… You don't have to pretend for me, you know? That's… that's all I'm tryin' to say, man. I don't… I don't need you to pretend to be happy, or quippy or whatever it is that you think we're all lookin' for."

Dick feels every single part of him freeze at Jason's words, and he can't find the ability to speak. The longer the silence stretches on, the more panicked Jason looks.

"I… shit, Dick, I didn't mean… You know what, just fuckin' ignore me. Don't… I'm just bein' a fuckin' idiot, I didn't mean that. Whatever you… Whatever you're doin', whatever you wanna do, it ain't… It ain't my business, I shouldn't have said anything, just… fuckin' ignore me, alright?" Jason says, shaking his head quickly. "I shouldn't have said nothin', it's not my fuckin' business, just -"

"No," Dick interrupts, not nearly as loud as he'd like, considering the fact that Jason looks three seconds away from bolting like a scared horse. But he can't listen to Jason tear himself down more, especially not now knowing that Jason's been on edge this whole time because he was worried about Dick. "I… I appreciate that, Little Wing. I think…"

Dick stops, as he actually thinks about it. How does he feel? Seeing Tim and Damian was great, he knows that, making sure they were okay, it was… nice.

However… he isn't sure how he actually feels. Mostly because when he tries, he just feels… empty. Tired, even if the word isn't nearly enough to encompass the general ache of done he feels everywhere.

An ache, honestly, that suddenly feels heavy, the moment he realizes it. Because, he's startled to realize, he hasn't been feeling it as much. It's not a part of him, like his heartbeat, after a month of just… not being everything. Of calm, and quiet, and knowing Jason's there, right next door. That he isn't alone.

"I think… I think you're right. Or, I know you're right," Dick corrects himself quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I… hadn't really thought about it. It's just… I wanted them to know I was okay, you know? Even if I'm… even if I'm not," he admits.

It's Jason's turn to sigh. "Yeah. I know, man, I just… I'm worried about you," he says, and by unspoken agreement, the two of them start to walk again. They're not far from the house, and this definitely is a conversation Dick would rather have at home.

"Tim said Bruce wants us to go to the place he's got in the Maldives," Jason continues, after a minute of silent walking. "Told Tim I'd talk to you about it."

"Oh." Dick can't really think of anything else to say. It's… a nice offer. He sort of feels bad for wondering what the catch to it is; if Bruce wants to go with them, or if he's going to fill the whole place with cameras and bio scanners to monitor them the entire time. Not to mention, the Maldives? While Dick can appreciate the offer… Jason doesn't like water, and Dick burns like a lobster after almost two decades of being primarily nocturnal.

Plus, while neither of them have been out as Nightwing and Red Hood… Dick's not about to fly halfway around the world, and not be there if they're needed. If there's an Arkham breakout, or something happens to Tim or Damian… Dick doesn't want to be literally nine thousand miles away.

"That's uh… Did you want to go?" he asks, looking over at Jason.

Jason just shrugs, although he looks uncomfortable about it. "If you want to, we can. But I'm not gonna lie, Dick, I don't… After tonight? I don't think it'd be a great idea. I don't… right now, man, I don't think you're gonna get better if Tim and Damian are around. Not that it's their fault or whatever, but just… If they're there, you're gonna keep trying to pretend you're okay. And I don't think that's gonna help you at all."

Dick has to keep himself from jolting at that; he hadn't considered Tim and Damian going with them. That would change things.

Because the chance to have all three of his brothers in the same place? Where he could keep an eye on them, no worries about what might happen to them while he's not right there? That actually sounds pretty goddamn amazing. All of them in one area, a safe area, where they can just relax, and not be running around getting shot at, or blown up, or worse? That takes care of at least sixty percent of Dick's anxiety in one shot.

But. As much as Dick wants to say Jason is wrong, as much as he wants to say 'yes, let's pack up the boys and go on a tropical vacation'… He can't. Because Jason isn't wrong. This… whatever it is, that Jason and Dick have been doing for a month? Dick can't do that if Tim and Damian are there; maybe it makes him a bad person for being willing to dump all of his shit on Jason, but not the younger two, but it is what it is.

"I… don't uh… I don't think I want to," Dick says slowly. "I don't… I think I uh… I think I'm doing… better, but… I don't think I'm ready for that."

Jason just nods. "Alright. I'll shoot Tim a message later; let him know thanks, but we're good."

""You think he's gonna be upset?" Dick can't help but ask. "I don't want him to think -"

"Not that it matters what he thinks about us not going to Bruce's vacation pad, but no," Jason interrupts. "I think he'll understand; he wants you to be happy just as much as I do. If it's not good for you, if you think it won't help you, or make things worse… he wouldn't want you to do it."

The silence is… not comfortable, but it's not awkward either, as they make their way down the streets that are steadily growing more and more empty as the small mom-and-pop stores that line Little Italy close for the night.

It's… normal, in a way Dick still struggles to grasp. This is still a pretty close-knit neighborhood, filled with small townhouses and single family homes, independent gas stations, and corner grocery stores. Places where kids play basketball in tiny driveways, and everybody says 'hello'.

Sometimes, he wonders what it'd be like to have that. He knows it's not reasonable, or even logical; even if his parents hadn't died, he wouldn't have had that kind of life. He would've been an acrobat like his parents, maybe married a nice girl they'd meet in the places where the circuses and carnivals settled down for the winter. Maybe he'd have a kid or two by now, raising the next generation of the Flying Graysons.

But it would've been nice to have something like this. Something where he worked a normal, safe job, where he came home after work, to a wife and kids, maybe a dog or a cat, and enjoyed board games with the family, or cuddling on the couch while watching Disney movies. Something where he could've played played basketball in the yard with his kids and their friends, or enjoyed a beer on the back porch with the neighbors.

"You ever wonder what it'd be like to be one of them?" The question comes out before Dick can stop himself, and he immediately wishes he hadn't. It's a child's pipe dream; hell, it wasn't even his dream as a child. It's silly, and -

"No," Jason says, but he slows a bit, looking towards the house Dick nodded to, and the children playing in the yard. "I… It wasn't something I could… Your parents loved you, Dick; they gave you a good idea of what family should be, of what it could be. I never had that," Jay admits quietly. "I mean… do I think about not doing this sometimes? Sure; think we all do. But.. What I think about isn't… isn't this. I don't know what I'd do with this. It's… I can't picture it. It's like asking me if I wonder what it's like to be a Kryptonian."

"What… can I ask what you do think about? If we weren't doing this?" Dick asks tentatively.

Jason shrugs. "I dunno; sometimes I think about if I'd gotten the chance to go to college. Become a teacher maybe. A mechanic; I like working on my bike when I have time, so that's an option, I guess. Live in a little house in the Village, maybe turn a spare bedroom into a library room or something. Stupid, I guess, but I think… I think I could be happy with that. If I hadn't had this."

Dick tries not to let it show how much that makes him ache a bit inside; the idea of Jason's happy place being living alone in a house somewhere, with nothing but his job. But clearly he doesn't hide it well enough, because Jason gives him a small smile, and a shrug.

"I told you, Dick: the rest of us? We wouldn't have had a shot at anything if we hadn't followed you. We wouldn't have gotten any happy endings, if we'd even survived that long. So to me, it's… This is what I know; hard to think of big dreams, of a partner and a house and kids and the yard and the barbeques when I never had that," Jason says quietly.

The silence that follows isn't… uncomfortable, but it is heavy, as they trudge their way to their house.

"Hey, boys!" Mrs. Callahan calls out, giving them a little wave from her garden. Dick and Jason both wave back, and Jason calls out a 'hello' in return, but neither of them stop. A few seconds later, and Jason's got the code keyed into the door, and then…

They're inside. Dick feels like an air pressure valve that's been uncapped, letting all the pressure out, pressure he hadn't even realized he was feeling. And he hadn't realized just how much this little house had come to feel like home, come to feel like safety until he's staring at it from the little hallway. How comforting it is to have a place where he can just… be.

"Dick? You good?"

Dick startles a little bit, before he pulls himself together. He gives Jason a smile -a real smile, even if it's small -and says, "Yeah. Yeah, actually… You're right, Little Wing. This is… Going to Bruce's place, even with Tim and Damian would… It wouldn't go well, I don't think. But this is um… It feels…"

He struggles for a minute, trying to find the words to make Jason understand what Dick is trying to stammer out. Everything seems too simplistic, too not enough to describe what he's feeling right now, especially on the heels of their talk of families and what-could've-been.

"Thank you. For… this," Dick finally manages, waving his hand vaguely around the house to try and encompass what he's talking about. "It's… It feels like…"

Comfort. Home. Peace. Safety. A place where he can just… be, be whatever it is that he's feeling. Or not feeling.

He can't quite make his mouth say all that though. Luckily, Jason either understands, or at least thinks he understands, because he just nods.

"Of course, man. I just… I want you to feel better. That's all. And you've been…" It's Jason turns to struggle apparently, as his brows furrow a little bit. "I know it may not seem like it, but… You've been workin' real hard at gettin' better. You haven't bitched about me mother-hennin' you to death, or whatever, and it's… I know you're tryin'. And I see it. And I'm proud of you. I know I… I can be an ass about it, and I'm not good at tellin' you shit, but… I'm proud of you, man."

Which seems to be about the extent of the emotional conversation Jason can have for the night; he readjusts his shoulders, shifting them around a bit as he moves into the kitchen. "M'gonna go work out for a bit; wanna join me, or you gonna sit out here and watch more shitty reality TV?"

Dick shrugs, trailing behind Jason as they move towards the extra bedroom that Jason converted into an at-home-gym. "I can work out with you for a bit. Although… Not gonna lie, Little Wing, I'd kill for a good spar right about now. Maybe… Maybe later this week, we can find a gym or something? Do some actual working out, instead of just lifting weights and running?"

"I know a few places we could go," Jason says casually. "Probably not up to your delicate sensibilities, but at least we won't be puttin' each other through drywall. Can probably go tonight if you want; I wanna burn off some energy, honestly."

Dick can't help but raise an eyebrow at that. "You know a place open this late with a ring?"

"I mean… it'd be a bit of a hike," Jason says with a shrug. "But yeah, I know a place. 'Bout a thirty minute drive from here."

"You up for that?" Because Dick doesn't want to put Jason out, doesn't want to make him leave the house and drive if he isn't feeling it. Even if the idea of getting to actually spar, to do something more than just lift weights, is something Dick would kill for.

Jason shrugs again, but he also doesn't move further into the house, and he glances down at his shoes before looking back up at Dick. "Yeah. I mean, if you are. I'm also good just workin' out here if you want. Absolutely up to you, man."

And suddenly, Dick realizes that he's feeling not anxious, but antsy. He remembers this feeling from when he was Robin, when Bruce was taking too long getting ready for patrol, when Dick wanted nothing more than to run all the way into Gotham. Anything to burn off the energy that almost seemed like a compulsion. Something he needs.

Something he hasn't felt in months. The urge to get up, and move, to get rid of all that pent-up energy. It's not quite excitement, not quite an urge, but something more intrinsic. A part of him that he hasn't even realized was missing before right this very second.

"If you don't mind?" he says, trying to keep the want from his voice. "I'd… that sounds good. Like… really good, actually."

He knows, almost immediately, that he's failed to sound anything remotely close to 'normal', because Jason's eyes do that calculating thing they do when he's trying to put puzzle pieces together. But finally, he grins, an almost lazy grin that's the most Jason thing Dick's seen from his brother in weeks.

"Hell yeah. I'm always down to kick your ass around a mat, Dick, you know that. Go pack a bag; I can give you some sweats and shit if you don't have anything. Might even have something that we don't have to tie around your waist with a belt," Jason says, smirking a bit as he starts towards the stairs.

"I've got my own shorts, Little Wing," Dick calls behind him, as he moves down the little hall to his own bedroom. He dug his backpack out of the closet where he'd stored it, and set it on the bed before moving over to the dresser, grabbing out shorts and a light weight shirt to throw in the bag. Then a pair of sweats and a hoodie for the trip back home.

He slings the backpack up on his shoulder, and heads back out to the kitchen, where he digs around in the pantry until he grabs four bottles of water, and four bottles of Gatorade -two orange for Jason, two blue for Dick -and sets them on the counter.

And now it's exactly like when Dick was a kid. He can hear Jason upstairs, doing whatever it is he's doing, and Dick is practically squirming with impatience as he waits.

And waits.

It seems like forever until Jason comes clomping back down the stairs. And 'clomping' is definitely the right word, because while Jay isn't in the full Red Hood get up, he's definitely wearing his Red Hood boots. He looks… rougher, like he's getting ready to go find a bar fight somewhere, in his black hoodie and brown leather jacket.

Dick blinks. "Are we… planning on starting a fight with other people at this gym? 'Cause I gotta say, I'm not sure Bruce's heart will survive another surprise newspaper article, especially if he's gotta bail us outta jail."

Jason snorts, hiking a duffle bag a bit higher on his shoulder. "No, but we're headin' into East End, and I'd rather people think twice 'bout tryin' shit."

That's… fair. Dick thinks somebody would have to be pretty damn stupid -or desperate -to try anything with Jason even dressed in his normal civies with sneakers, but Dick's been around long enough to know that most criminals are either stupid or desperate.

"Here," he says, standing up, and pushing the orange Gatorade and two of the water bottles towards Jason. "If you're bringing a whole ass duffle, you can carry your own drinks."

"Yeah, okay, Princess," Jason says, rolling his eyes even as he grabs the bottles, and shoves them in the bag. "Like you don't have enough bathroom products to start your own grocery store."

"Not when I'm going to the gym," Dick throws back, following Jason towards the front door. "I've got gym clothes, and something to change into when we're done. That's it."

Jason stops so quick, Dick nearly runs into him.

"What? What'd you forget?"

Jason turns to give him a skeptical look. "I didn't forget shit, Dick. You tellin' me you don't got a towel at least?"

"Uh… Do they not… have towels there?" Dick asks, floundering a little bit, then wilting under Jason's stare.

"No, Dickhead; we're goin' to East End. They don't have concierge service. They don't have soap either, so you might wanna go grab it," Jason says, scoffing a bit. "Friggin' towels there. Jesus. Rich boy."

Dick rolls his eyes, but only after he's turned around to head back to the bathroom he's using. Because Jason can get caught up on the weirdest shit, and he's had more than one rant at Bruce and Tim for 'entitled rich bastards', and while normally, Dick thinks it's almost cute, right now, he just wants to get to the gym.

So he rushes through the bathroom, grabbing one of Jay's big blue towels, and Dick's shampoo, shoving them in his backpack, before he practically runs back out to the hallway, where Jason is waiting. When Dick shows up, Jason tucks his phone back in his pocket, giving him a quick up and down.

"You good now? Got all the hair products and hand sanitizer?"

This time, Dick lets Jay see the eye roll. "Why, they need it to clean up all the blood stains?" he teases, as they head out to the driveway, and then climb in Jason's car.

"Har har," Jason retorts, as he throws the car in reverse, and backs out onto the street. "Yuck it up, and I'll tell 'em you're the new janitor."

"Is there an old janitor? Did he get murdered? Or is he -"

"I'm gonna bodily throw you out of this car, Richie Rich," Jason growls, but Dick can hear the humor in his brother's voice. And this… this bantering back in forth, it feels… right. Dick doesn't know why now, after weeks, that he's finally able to find the willpower to actually joke, to make his brother laugh, but he also doesn't really care. Because right now, this feels the most right that Dick's felt in months.

Maybe it's the idea of a good spar; Dick's been sitting on his ass for weeks now, no patrolling, no training, and maybe this is just his body's natural adrenaline kicking in at the idea of getting a good work out in. Not just half-heartedly playing with Jason's dumbbells, or running on the treadmill for a few hours.

Either way? Dick will take it. Because Jason -who looked like he was about to explode from worry an hour ago -looks just as excited as Dick feels. Not that Jason's bouncing or happy or whatever; that's not Jason. But Dick can see the difference in the smirk on Jason's face, can see the way his shoulders are loosened up, can see the casualness to his driving.

Or… at least as casual as Jason ever gets driving.

"Is throwing me out of the car still an option, Little Wing?" Dick says, grabbing the 'oh shit' bar as Jason weaves in-between a tractor trailer and a goddamn dump truck. "Because it might be the safer option."

"Shut up. I've never had an accident I've caused," Jason says, rolling his eyes.

"Is that because you've never had an accident you've caused, or because you're driving too fast to see whatever carnage and mayhem you leave in your smoke trail?" Dick's voice climbs a bit against his will as Jason jumps over four lanes to take the I-72 interchange that'll bring them down to Sprang Bridge, narrowly avoiding a minivan, and an F-350 with duallies.

"You do realize I've literally got more driver certifications than you, right? Technically, I've got CDL-H, and my OSHA certs for heavy equipment. Also, technically I've got all the qualifications to drive a tank," Jason says carelessly, this time zipping around some sort of small SUV thing, and nearly colliding with another truck, before darting over yet another lane.

"We're not in a goddamn tank! We're in your shitty Honda Accord, Jason!" Dick snaps. He can't help the way his leg comes up, and he plants his foot on the dash. "Jesus, who the hell taught you to drive?"

Jason looks away from the road, frowning at him. "Put your fuckin' leg down, moron; if we do get into an accident, you're gonna drive your shinbone straight through your goddamn knee. And Talia taught me to drive when I was with the League."

"Jason, if we get into an accident in your Honda Accord at ninety miles an hour, my shin is the least of my worries. And that makes so much sense," Dick says pointedly. "People get out of Talia's way because she'll kill them if they don't."

"You whine an awful lot for a guy who rides a motorcycle in fuckin' spandex," Jason retorts with a loud snort. But he does slow down; ninety to seventy-five, to be sure, but Dick will take what he can get at the moment.

"Sorry we aren't all dying of heatstroke for the aesthetic, Little Wing," Dick throws back.

"It's not aesthetic, it's protection."

"Uh huh."

"Once again, not taking advice from a guy who wears spandex on a regular basis. Now sit there, and hush. If you're good, maybe I'll buy you a slushy from Bat Burger when we head home."

"Uh huh. Sure. Whatever you say, Jay. This is presuming, obviously, that you don't get us killed on the way there, or we don't get stabbed in your gym."

"Oh, shut up."

The rest of the trip passes in easy, back and forth banter that Dick doesn't have to work for. He finds himself making quips, and throwing insults with ease that he hasn't felt in months. Maybe even years. And Jason's throwing them right back, and it's honestly almost light feeling. Like a weight he hasn't even realized he's been lugging around is suddenly gone, and he doesn't know how to keep moving forward without it.

He wishes he knew why, but not enough to really think on it too hard; he doesn't want to ruin it by overthinking. So they banter, and Jason drives, until they pull onto one of the hundreds of little side roads of East End. And Jason over exaggerated a bit, it's definitely a rougher neighborhood, nothing like the quiet, family neighborhood of Little Italy, but Dick's also not worried about getting stabbed either.

There's a couple of teenagers, maybe Tim's age or a bit younger, hanging around outside the front door, but all of them just give Jason a nod, and one of them -a kid wearing a ratty black hoodie -reaches out to do some sort of complicated fist-bump-bro-hug type thing.

"Hey, Jay. Long time, no see," the boy says, and despite them being at least fifteen blocks from Park Row, the boy's accent is almost thicker than Jason's gets when he's stressed. "Heard you were out for a while, man; takin' a vacation or shit. What's your dumbass doin' back here?"

"Don't be a smart ass, Chris, or I'll beat it outta ya," Jason throws back, although he grins at the kid. "Showin' my buddy here the wonder that is Mike's."

"Why, you hate him that much? Want him to get tetanus?" one of the boys towards the back throws out, and a scattering of chuckles runs through the group. "'Cause I promise there's easier ways."

"Haha, yuck it up. Don't you boys have things to do? Places to be? Or you gonna sit here and bother me all night?"

"Nah," 'Chris' says, shaking his head. "We're just keepin' an eye on things. Passin' through, stopped for a smoke with Mike. Hey, you get back, gimme a call, yeah? Got some shit I wanna run by you."

Jason nodded as he motioned Dick inside the door. "Will do. Take care of yourself, alright?"

The kids grumble good-naturedly, and then the door closes behind them, and the low thrum of some sort of 80s hairband takes over. It's not loud enough for Dick to be able to clearly make out what it is, just background noise, set against the coolness of an air conditioner running somewhere.

And it's… nice. Not great, by any means, nothing like the ultra clean, practically sterile environment of most modern gyms. But the heavy wooden counter in what could graciously be called the lobby looks clean, if more than a little worn, and the arms of the office chair behind are cracked from where somebody's set their arms one too many times, but the old leather looks well taken care of.

It looks like the type of place that some grizzled old man named 'Rocky' or 'Big Jim' has been running since Muhammad Ali was a star, sitting in the same chair for the last fifty years.

"Do we… sign in, or…?" Dick asks, as Jason starts leading them back around the wooden counter.

"Nah. Not that kinda place," Jason says dismissively, as he pulls out his key ring and… unlocks the door behind the desk?

"You got keys?" Dick can't help but ask. "You get special treatment or something?"

"Huh? No, Mike gives a lot of people keys. If he trusts you, and you don't like comin' in durin' the day, he gives you a key. He's got cameras up on the entrances, so he's not really worried 'bout too much, you know? Might be one or two people here, but on a Wednesday night, this late? I wouldn't count on much more'n that," Jason says, ushering Dick through the door and locking it again behind him.

"Ah." Dick's too invested in looking around to say much else, taking in the small gym. Like the office, it's clearly old, but maintained with love, but what really catches Dick's attention is the large boxing ring in the center.

"Do we gotta like… sign up for it or something?" Dick asks, nodding towards the ring. "Or is it just first come first serve?"

Jason snorts a bit, as he heads over towards another door. "Does it look like there's sign up sheets? 'Sides, think we're the only ones here, unless someone's hiding in the locker room. C'mon; let's get changed."

Again, Dick dutifully follows, and Jason leads them through the unmarked door and into what turns out to be a locker room. Jason heads into one of the shower cubicles, and a moment later, Dick hears the sound of his duffle bag hitting the floor.

"Closest you're gonna get to a locked door, Dick," Jason calls when Dick just stands there unsurely. "Just us in here, and it ain't like I haven't seen your ass more times than either of wants to think about. Remember that time that you crashed through somebody's window, and their huskie bi-"

"No, and neither do you," Dick interrupts forcefully, stepping into a stall a few down from Jason. "Otherwise I'll have to remember that time you fell off a ladder, and tore your ass up on a window sill on the way down."

Jason scoffs, but lets it lie. They've both had experience getting in and out of the Robin suit, so switching from civies to gym clothes takes them maybe a minute, and most of that is taking clothes out, and then putting their civies back in the bag.

Dick's out first, and Jason isn't too far behind. It takes Dick a second to realize Jason's throwing something at him, and he fumbles the boxer's tape, scrambling to grab it before it hits the ground.

"Figure we don't want gloves, but we're gonna want somethin'," Jason says with a shrug, and Dick's glad that his brother is choosing to ignore the clumsy display.

"Yeah, last thing we need is Bruce showing up and seeing us with bloody knuckles," Dick says, giving Jason a small smile. He doesn't miss how Jason's face twists up in a grimace, but he's not going to ruin their night by focusing on Bruce. "Besides, it'll keep me from messing up your ugly mug more."

"Sure thing, pretty boy," Jason says, rolling his eyes, but he's smirking, and Dick considers that mission accomplished. "Wrap your delicate little bones, then we'll see who messes up who."

Again, years of practice means that Dick has his knuckles wrapped up in minimal time, and then he follows Jason back out into the gym. And Jason strolls up to the ring like he owns the place, pulling himself up onto the raised platform, and under the ropes with an ease that seems at odds with his bulky frame.

Dick's not nearly as graceful; he doesn't embarrass himself, sure, but it's not nearly as smooth or easy as Jason either. Which is… kind of the story of his life lately, if he's being honest.

No. No, he's not getting pulled into that right now. Not when Jason's driven all the way to East End just for this, so that Dick can burn off some energy. He's going to have fun and -

"What're we doin'?"

Jason's words yank Dick from his thoughts, and he looks over at his brother. Jason's bouncing lightly the balls of his feet, stretching his arms out, as he looks right back at Dick.

"Uh… sparring?" Dick says stupidly.

Again, Jason rolls his eyes. "We gonna do tap out? Three-count-down? Head-shot?"

"Jason, I wouldn't do tap out with you if my life depended on it," Dick says, only exaggerating a little. "You wouldn't tap out until I broke something."

Jason lifts an eyebrow at him. "Really? You think that's how this is gonna go? Alright, fine, we'll do three-count-down then; I was just tryin' to be nice, give you the advantage, but we can do it the fun way. You ready?"

"I'm always ready to kick your ass, Little Wing," Dick says, giving Jason a smile that's only a little fake.

Everything after that is sort of a blur. Jason launches himself at Dick, trying to grab him around the middle. Dick squirms out of it, and then things get a bit heated.

It feels like forever before Dick finally manages to pin Jason to the mat for three seconds, mostly through sheer luck. The second round drags on even longer, and Jason wins that one by flipping Dick up and over his back, and bodily throwing him onto the ground on his stomach. It knocks the wind out of Dick, and by the time he's trying to squirm out, Jason's grabbing one of his legs, and dragging him backwards long enough to get the three count.

And Dick is having a blast, honestly. It's the most like himself he's felt in longer than he can remember. Jason's matching him hit for hit, throw for throw, and while neither of them is actively trying to hurt each other, they're not holding back either.

Truthfully? Dick's kind of forgotten what it's like to spar or fight with somebody on his level, without having to worry about things. Most of the people he fights are either woefully under his weight class, or so far into the stratosphere he's just trying to survive and get lucky half the time.

And sparring? His options are Bruce, who feels the need to critique and complain about every decision in-between hits, or Tim and Damian, who are both incredibly gifted and competent… but the two of them combined probably weigh at least thirty pounds less than Dick does. And both of them are used to fighting with weapons to make up for their age and size, meaning Dick doesn't get the chance to just… spar, for fun, with someone who presents a challenge.

They go into round three without asking, or talking about it; Jason just lets go of Dick's leg, and Dick pulls himself to his feet, and moves to the opposite side of the ring. Once he's there, he looks over and sees Jason's cocky, shit-eating grin, and then that's it. Dick's throwing himself back into the controlled chaos like a kid in a candy store with only five dollars.

The fight goes on a bit longer this time; they've felt each other out, they've gotten the cobwebs out of their systems, and they're both being a bit more tactical. Dick isn't even sure how much time passes as they trade hits, dodge kicks, and move around the ring.

Dick goes to grab Jason around the back, in a move the Titans used to call the 'Koala'. Despite how cute it sounds, Dick's had pretty good luck with it, since he can lock a person's hips and shoulders down with it, and then get a good strangle hold.

But Jason's seen Dick do it enough that he doesn't wait to let Dick get a good grip. Instead, he throws himself backwards, dropping both of them onto the ground. Once again, Dick ends up with the wind knocked out of him -except this time with Jason's brick shithouse build smashing him into the floor -and before he can react, Jason worms around, and then…

Dick's on his back. He's on his back, and there's blood sticking to the back of his suit, on the cold concrete of the rooftop, and rain coming down on his face. There's a body -Christ, a goddamn body -a few feet away, and there's hips pressing against his. He doesn't want this, he doesn't, and he tries to weakly bat away the hands undoing his suit..

But he can't. He can't, he's too hurt , too weak, too late, and he can't get her off. She won't get off , she won't stop touching .

"-ck! Hey! Hey, relax, man, it's me! It's just me!"

Jason's voice sounds distant, more distant than they've been since Dick fucked up, and did something really fucking stupid. It's like it's coming at him from the end of a cave, but there's still hands touching him, still something pinning him down on his back, and…

There's not. Dick forces his eyes open, and realizes he's curled up on his side, and Jason is…

Jason's on the other side of the ring. And although his voice is soft, almost cooing, Dick can hear the undercurrent of worry and concern there.

It's… it's fine. Nobody's touching him; it's just Dick and Jason at the ring, just the two of them, and Dick's safer with his brother than he is anyone else in the world. It's fine, he's safe, and there's no reason to panic. No reason to shake, no reason to fight down the bile rising in the back of his throat, no reason to feel like someone's dumped oil over his skin.

He's fine.

"Dick, you're alright, man. You're okay. It's just you and me, alright? I'm gonna stay right over here unless you tell me otherwise. I don't… I don't know what happened, but I'm sorry, and I won't do it again, okay?" Jason's voice is calm, no hint of anger or guilt, disgust or recrimination. It's Jason's 'talking to victims' voice, a voice that Bruce has made all of them practice, over and over again until they can do it while they're dying of blood loss.

It's Jason's victim voice. Which means… Jason's putting two and two together, and working his way towards four, even if he hasn't quite gotten there yet.

Dick needs to get up. He needs to… It's fine, he's fine, there's no reason for him to still be choking down big gasps of air. No reason to feel like his skin is burning.

"Dick. Hey, Dick, it's alright, man. It's okay. I just… I need you to stop scratchin' yourself for me; can you do that for me, Dick? If you just… If you can stop hurtin' yourself, I'll stay right here until you tell me I can come closer, okay?"

Dick tries to say… something. Anything. But all that comes out is more gasps and wheezes. And he can't… He just needs to calm the hell down before Jason realizes just how broken Dick is, just how fucked up Dick is, or Jason's going to know everything. Dick can feel his nails digging into his skin, but he can't… He just can't.

"Shhh. You're okay. You're fine, Dick, nobody's touchin' you, okay? I'll kill 'em if anybody tries, but it's just you and me in here right now. I just… Dick, I need you to breathe for me, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Dick is… he's trying. He's trying to breathe, trying to stop the tears he can feel pooling under his cheek, trying to stop being such a goddamn disaster.

He's just failing. Like he does everything else in his life.