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It should have been obvious.
Look, it wasn’t like Dick Grayson was the greatest detective in the world or anything--- He had long since given up all hope for that title to at least two different family members--- but he was good. Really, really good. Good enough to learn things about decades’ worth of teammates that they didn’t even know about themselves.
It was just… he hadn’t expected this. Because of course he hadn’t. He was so desperate for his little brother’s attention, so eager to be allowed--- Allowed to exist, to talk, to get close without the threat of bodily harm--- that he hadn’t noticed the signs.
The way Hood’s modulator turned his voice up into a sharper pitch whenever the Joker broke out. The way his words were clipped for days afterward. The way his hands moved, constantly on his guns, constantly thumbing hidden hilts or handles of weapons.
He did have a lot of weapons. Even more on those nights; more than Robin, than Batman. He acted as if every shadow was going to jump out. He acted like he was running out of time.
Time for what?
He kept showing up at Nightwing’s window.
So… anyway… Dick was a bit of an idiot. He had caught the individual cues, but he only really noticed after the fifth time, and then… finally… everything clicked into place.
He wasn’t often home when Jason invaded his apartment, but those were the times Hood neglected to show up for a Joker-adjacent confrontation. That was fine--- Dick was always more than happy to do the work himself; to claim the first privilege of smashing pasty white skin into gritty pavement. He never pulled his punches. Not now with baby siblings to protect. Not after everything.
The days of sharp grins and showy flips and ceaseless banter were far behind him.
No one else acted surprised when Joker started actively avoiding Nightwing during those fights. At least Batman punched for maximum efficiency. Nightwing punched to HURT.
He hadn’t noticed at first. He knew Jason was raiding his ramen stash, but he hadn’t realized when. Not until tonight. The fifth time.
Dick crept very quietly up the fire escape to his apartment window, exhausted, and snuck inside through the already disabled traps--- Who had stolen from him now? Cass? Tim? Wally? Whoever the thief, they were about to get a cuddle attack for their---
He was a few minutes too late. There was a washed mug dripping dry on the rack next to his sink, warm cookies on a covered plate, and freshly wiped countertops.
Jason.
Dick peeled his mask off, sighing as the pieces began to slot into place. Always… Always after a Joker attack. On the couch was a blanket nest, and the fabric was still warm with the sleepy closeness of human skin.
His jaw locked around emotions he was too tired to process right now. Jason was hiding the fact that he was still afraid, but not very well. He sought safety. Comfort. The next time he showed up… Dick would be ready.
He heard it before he saw it--- The soft telltale whisper of a window sliding open. The cozy atmosphere was invaded by something that froze, rigid at the edge of intrusion.
Dick glanced over his shoulder, brightening. He had to play this cool. He had already called in from tonight’s breakout, stocked Jason’s favorite tea, and acquired a batch of Alfred’s soft pumpkin cookies. He was ready. “Little Wing; right on time. The water’s about to boil. What kind of milk do you like? I’m lactose intolerant, but I still have it on hand.”
Jason hesitated in the act of scooting his butt right back out, perched precariously on the edge of the windowsill on the side of the building without a fire escape. His face was shrouded in shadow, but Dick could see the iron tension in his jaw, the defensive hunch of his shoulders. His gloved fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. He twitched for open air.
“Wait,” Dick hurried pleadingly, because dammit--- He couldn’t miss this chance. It was slipping through his fingers like a sibling’s blood, too fast, too much; it fluttered weakly under his palm like a heartbeat that just wasn’t strong enough.
He had lost too many. He had changed. He was here.
“Wait,” he repeated, quieter, when a miracle happened--- when Jason paused. “I won’t speak. Stay.”
Jason’s fingers flexed on the windowsill. Slowly… like a cat inching toward food but too scared to get closer to your grabbing hands… he stepped foot inside Dick’s apartment.
He looked wrecked.
Dick forced himself to ignore the circles under Jason’s eyes and the lack of verbal venom and the unsure shuffling that bespoke an urge to flee. He gestured silently at the teabags and kettle and mugs instead, then left for the closet without another word. This was already getting difficult, saying nothing, even just to fill the silence. He needed blankets. Blankets would give him something to do.
When he came back out, too anxious to loiter or procrastinate for the sake of space any longer, his little brother was standing in the kitchen. Not Hood--- Just Jason, cargo pants and tank top and only one weapon strapped to his thigh. His messy hair hung in his cautious green eyes, eyes that no longer glowed, and his hands moved to prepare tea with fingers that no longer shook.
He’d hung his jacket on the hook in Dick’s hallway. Dick was going to cry.
A skittish warning glare stopped him from shedding actual tears. Dick kept his eyes casually averted, serving up the cookies, settling on the couch, and fluffing a pile of blankets out. Jason sank into the other corner like he was trying not to take up any space.
He did eat the cookies, though.
Dick turned on a serial survival show, one he’d been meaning to try anyway, and hoped for the best. It got a little easier not to talk. The quiet companionship broken only by the occasional muffled snort from Jason or the easy chuckles from Dick was… peaceful. Comforting.
It felt like something that could have been right a long time ago.
Dick stubbornly ignored his buzzing phone. If they really needed him, an alarm would go off. Batman could protect them now. Most likely Dick was just getting updates from the news about the Joker’s apprehension.
They always won. Always. (Except for the few devastating times they didn’t.)
“Go,” Jason finally rasped, making Dick jump. When he glanced at his brother’s pale face--- Honestly, he’d almost forgotten Jason could speak--- Jason jerked his chin at the buzzing phone. He’d drawn a blanket over his shoulders; his eyelids were drifting shut. He looked almost… relaxed.
Dick checked his phone screen, making sure no one was dying before tossing it onto the armchair. Then he flopped back ever so gently into his brother’s space. Jason tensed when Dick leaned up against his side, but he said nothing.
The rest of the cookies disappeared. Their mugs cooled. They kept watching their show.
Dick’s fresh injury--- A few bruised ribs, the “official” reason he’d called out of patrol--- had worn him out a little more than he had previously expected. Dick didn’t realize he’d drifted off until he woke up, sunshine in his eyes an’ a brother-smelling blanket tucked around his waist.
Jason was gone.
Dick sat up, groaning, and swiped at the dampness in his eyes. It might have been a dream or hallucination if not for the washed dishes next to the sink. He tried not to think about how safe he must have felt in Jason’s personal space in order not to stir when Jason physically moved him, grabbing his phone.
The Joker was back in Arkham.
--- Dick almost selfishly wished he wasn’t.
The next time Jason showed up, Dick really was benched, and it wasn’t for a fun reason.
Not that any reason was fun, but some reasons just… sounded cooler on paper than others. “I just couldn’t resist insulting Ivy’s new outfit” was not a badass reason for getting cuddle-pollened, but here he was.
Alone.
It wasn’t that the others didn’t want to help him, he thought feverishly, trying not to pay attention to the hallucinations edging his sight. They just couldn’t. This had been a widespread breakout. Even Joker was working with a team, which was unusual at best. Reinforcements had been called in, allowing Nightwing the freedom to slink back to his apartment, shivering from agonizing cold, so that he wouldn’t get in their way.
The antidote wouldn’t finish bonding to his blood cells for six whole hours.
He forgot about the hallucinations until one of them brushed his shoulder. He choked back a sob, gritting his teeth. He was stronger than fake phantom warmth, heightened sensitivity be damned. He’d done this before. He could do it ag---
“Damn,” someone whispered, and Dick’s heart leaped. “Looks like I’m not the only one hiding out tonight.”
A huge palm cupped the back of his neck, finally coaxing a sob out of him. He twitched after the warmth, the wash of physical relief; it was too good to be true---
He crashed against a shoulder clothed in smoky leather.
“Easy,” the voice murmured, and gentle fingers threaded up into his sweaty hair, teasing it from his scalp to let the air in. The rumble was almost grumpy, but the touch that trailed blissful relief was so fucking warm--- “I gotchu.”
“Jay,” Dick whispered between his trembling, because it was, and he couldn’t keep the tearful smile out of his voice.
“Not a word,” the voice warned, edged now with the terror of being known.
Dick curled against that shoulder, snuggling into an iron grip too tight, and allowed this second miracle to kill his shivers. The cold unwound from his bones, inside out.
The shadow shifted. “You didn’t let yourself get hit just so you could extort cuddles, did you?”
Dick laughed softly, chattering, and his shivers gentled. “I’m not TH-THAT suicidal. Jus’… s-sensitive… intolerant…”
Jason’s hug tightened. “Not that suicidal, what the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing… nothing… d-don’t leave…”
A quiet grunt, then grudging silence. Jason didn’t say anything else. Not even when Dick pulled a blanket over his back. When Jason’s head was covered, though, Dick couldn’t help but notice the way his traps relaxed.
Once was coincidence. Twice was theory. Three times would be a theory confirmed.
Dick got the security alert while he was out to coffee across town. This one raised the hair on his arms. Because this time--- it was broad daylight.
“Something came up,” he mumbled. Then, before Barbara could look too disappointed in his commitment level, he held up his phone for her to read. “I think it’s Jason.”
Her eyebrows disappeared beneath red hair that shone gold in the rare sunlight. “At this time of day?”
Dick rubbed his thumb over the power button restlessly. “I think he’s looking for something safe.”
Babs’ striking eyebrows smoothed in understanding. The Joker had been missing for two weeks. Gotham was bracing for the worst. Batman had barely even slept. This coffee break had been Dick’s way of soothing his frazzled nerves. They would have to deal with shit when it hit the fan, not before.
It looked like his lunch plans were gonna have to wait.
Quietly, but not so quietly that a Bat wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, Dick hopped up the stairs to his apartment. When he unlocked the door, Jason was already waiting for him--- with a gun aimed right between his eyes.
Dick raised his empty hands, kicking the door shut behind him. He wouldn’t have been afraid if not for the wild gleam in those glowing emerald eyes. Jason looked at him like he didn’t even know him. “Hey… it’s just me.”
The quiet tone did it, snapping some recognition back into those frightened eyes. Jason took his gun apart with astonishing speed, frustration growling at the back of his throat. He held up his hands with an angry flick, now empty. His fingers twitched.
Dick slipped ever so carefully past Jason’s personal space, grabbing his hand on the way. He tugged his little brother (God, Jason was just a kid, just a scared fucking kid---) toward the bedroom. Jason followed with clipped movements; all prey disguised as someone on the hunt. He was just about ready to vibrate out of his skin. Those circles under his eyes… When was the last time he’d slept?
A new red weighted blanket applied to Jason’s shoulders made quick work of that.
Dick sat down, holding space as Jason sank onto his stomach--- stomach, not back--- with a strangled not-quite-sob. He kept his words to himself, resting his palm on the back of Jason’s clammy neck, and waited.
The blanket did the trick. Jason’s panic attack--- Which must have lasted a really long time to have him trembling like this--- slowly dissolved. Within five minutes of Dick minding his own business, stroking through the soft hairs at the base of Jason’s neck, watching… the kiddo was fast asleep.
Dick smoothed a fond touch through the white, coaxing it back from his little brother’s face. Not so little or kiddo anymore. Just… troubled. A little lost… a little lonely… and a whole lot afraid.
Dick could do something about that.
One week later, they finally caught the bastard. His attack had been widespread--- It took two nights just to round up all of the grinning, leering, cackling civilians for treatment, and by then, even Dick’s patient nerves were stretched to a snapping point.
That was why, when he slipped into his apartment a few hours later, exhausted and wet and cold, he wasn’t surprised to see a shivering bundle of misery curled up in the corner of his couch.
Dick draped the weighted blanket over Jason’s shoulders as he crept past, beelining for the bathroom. After a quick decontam--- and a hot shower--- he came out to the kettle boiling. Jason had taken over his kitchen, but he was still wearing the blanket. It brushed against the Wonder Woman socks on his feet.
Dick collapsed on the couch, giving Jason his space, and turned on Loony Tunes. Just the thing after a horror show like the past few weeks. He barely noticed Jason leaving a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of him, eyes already at half-mast. It was comfortable. Familiar in an unfamiliar kind of way. Like something he had imagined in a dream.
Jason’s croaky voice interrupted him mid-yawn. “You’ve been tellin’ stories about me.”
Dick rested his head back against the couch, eyes lidded, and tried to place the questioning inflection in an otherwise flat tone. “No.”
“I broke into Timmy’s place yesterday. There was a weighted blanket.”
“Tim has his own weighted blankets, Jason.”
“This one had my name pinned on it.”
“--- yeah?”
“Yeah. An’ a note. ‘Don’t touch the rest of my stuff.’”
“Only child syndrome.”
Jason snorted quietly; a grudging tell-me-about-it. “So?”
“I only mentioned these visits to Babs, Little Wing. She was worried about my security.” Dick rolled his eyes at the ceiling, fond. “O’course you could just ASK… I’d give you the code.”
“I know,” Jason responded a little too quickly, and that was the end of it. If they looked at it too closely, acknowledged it too readily, it would become something… companionable. Something a little bit safe. Like a spicy alley cat learning to be tame.
Dick wanted that, the safety. Jason… Jason didn’t like labels like “brother” and “partner” and “friend”. He probably wasn’t ready for that. The stark acknowledgement. As simple as that would be…
Dick didn’t want to chase the shivering kid next to him, so skittish, back out to the streets. So he pulled the blanket a little closer around Jason’s shoulders, saying nothing at all, and allowed himself to fall asleep.
“You’re dead wrong, y’know.”
Jason’s hand froze on the frying pan. He caught himself glancing up, looking down again; feigned disinterest. “I’m dead about a lot of things.”
Dick let the obligatory death joke land, grunting. His eyes were strained from so long staring at this damn screen. Casework was his least favorite part of the job, but at least--- for three hours now--- he’d had silent company.
“What am I wrong about?” Jason finally asked, biting.
Dick looked up after scrubbing at his face. “You’re not weak for hiding.”
Jason’s eyebrows lowered over his eyes like a thundercloud. He’d given up pretending to be disinterested. The scrambled eggs were burning. “I don’t remember saying that.”
“Oh, you didn’t… out loud.” Dick stifled a yawn behind his hand. “Jus’ your face said it.”
“… my face.”
“Your ugly only-a-mother-could-love-it face.”
“Is this a fever dream?”
Dick leaned on his elbows, feeling his expression soften. He could sense the line in the sand, the edge, the invisible boundary they’d both been too afraid to cross. He didn’t want to cross it, but he couldn’t say NOTHING. “You walk like you’re being heckled. It’s not a failure to run away from a fight.”
“Kch--- isn’t it?”
“Sometimes… Sometimes surviving is the victory.” Dick yawned again, resting his head on his folded arms. The cooking smelled really good. Jason was still walking around with that blanket over his shoulders. “Everything else is just a bonus, really.”
Jason finally turned his attention back to the burning eggs, voice rough. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
“… I’m gonna put regular milk in your coffee.”
It wasn’t the security disabling, oddly enough. It was the quiet thump of a toe hitting the island corner. Dick sat up, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. He knew that sound immediately. Habit, more than anything, made him call out “Jay?”
Glowing green eyes peered through the crack in his bedroom doorway.
“Hey,” Dick murmured quietly, reaching for his phone, but no--- the brightened screen revealed no alerts out of the ordinary. He put it away immediately. “C’mere.”
The door creeeeeeeeaked. The eyes slipped a little closer. The bed dipped with the weight of a heavy blanket.
Dick patted the mattress next to him. His throat felt a little funny. “Nightmare?”
The eyes hesitated like they were afraid of being seen. They winked out as their owner grappled with invisible impulses. To stay here… to flee.
Dick scooted over, shutting up. If it wasn’t too late…
It wasn’t. Jason slipped in, carefully crawling beneath three layers of warm blankets, and rolled onto his side. He curled up, shaking, and Dick didn’t dare move. This place had to be safe.
Jason’s forehead pressed gently against Dick’s shoulder. His breath caught. Then, between the grieving jump of Dick’s heartbeat an’ the flash of lightning outside, it caught again.
“Hey,” Dick whispered hoarsely, and he couldn’t help it any longer--- He turned over, wrapping Jason in his arms, holding him. Acknowledging. SEEING. “Hey. It’s okay… it’s okay.”
Jason shook his head fiercely, clinging, and Dick knew he would have bruises in the morning. He didn’t care. He squeezed as tightly as he could, threading his fingers into Jason’s hair. He let his brother cry.
It was safe. Here, with Dick, it would always be safe.