The Real Life Love
Jason's P.O.V
When I think of a love-hate relationship, I think of many things. Pretty much all of my relationships are love-hate relationships. How sad is that? I think of Gotham, my home that is also my prison. There is not much I want more than to escape her clutches, yet I can just never bring myself to leave. I think of Bruce Wayne, the Batman, my father, and while I want to send a bullet between his eyes, to see his brains splattered on the wall, I can never pull the trigger. It would be so easy. Pulling triggers is easy for me, now. But as angry, as hurt and betrayed, as I feel because of him, he is still my father. At least, more than Willis Todd ever was.
I love-hate my job. And no, I'm not talking about temping at the cheap diner down the road (not that I have ever done that). It's my purpose, that I love-hate. Since coming back from the dead, at first not much more than a zombie - sans the brain eating and rotting flesh - before taking a little dip in a Lazarus Pit to regain what's left of my mind, I've made it my purpose to clean up Gotham. And not the Throw-The-Villains-Back-Into-Arkham-That'll-Teach-Them band aid that the bats keep insisting works. I'm talking permanently. With guns and bullets and killing. Lots of it. And while I'll admit, I do get an immense amount of satisfaction from my job, there are days that I wish I could be normal. That I could put away my guns and take up that temp job at that shitty diner. Because contrary to the popular belief held by my so-called family, I don't enjoy killing. The satisfaction doesn't come from ending someone's life; it comes from knowing that even though I blacken my own soul, at least that evil someone can never hurt anybody else again.
Now my two younger brothers, I both love and hate. Replacement and Demon Spawn (I've always been good at nicknames) are annoying as all hell. Trust me, I've been there. But even when they're trying their damnedest to rearrange my face, I can't help but feel a little proud of them. I mean, they have to put up with Bruce on the regular and they haven't shot themselves in the head yet. That's something to be proud of. Even Alfred, I can love-hate at times; I know he means well, but if he could stop sneaking into my safe houses to do my laundry and take away my expensive, imported beer, I'd appreciate it. I have been on better terms with the bat family recently. At least, I haven't tried any attempts on their lives for a very long time. I quite enjoy chatting to my brothers, occasionally. As long as they don't mess up whatever case I'm working at the time, interactions between us have been rather good.
There are a few exceptions to my love-hate rule that I can think of. One, I just straight up hate bad alcohol. If there's one habit that I've picked up from dear old Brucie (though people tell me there are a few), it's my insistence on decent liquor. I died when I was fifteen, but I was a street rat for most of my childhood. Of course I sneaked some of Bruce's brandy. As a side-effect, I developed a taste for the finer things in life. No watered down horse piss for this street rat, thank you very much.
Two, I hate people that take advantage of the helpless. Hence, my cleaning of the slums of Gotham. There are plenty of low-lives using others for their own sick gain in need of my personal form of justice. Also, my firm rule of no dealing to children. There's no faster way to get on my shit-list than abusing and using defenceless children.
The third is pretty obvious, to anyone who knows of my tragic story. There's nothing, nothing on this earth that I loathe more than the Joker. The way I see it, he is in no way deserving of oxygen, let alone any other essentials of life. Him, him I would gladly kill.
This last one, well, it's complicated. For once, this exception is something that I can never bring myself to hate. This is the only exception to the love-hate rule of mine that isn't about hate. It's about, dare I say it, love. It hurts to admit it, but I'm in love. Don't laugh too hard. Believe me, it surprises me more than it does you. It started out as a crush; the star-struck puppy love of an adolescent. But it never left me, even following my death. It grew, as I saw how he's grown into his own, how even stronger, even more confident he's become. As I saw the pain in his eyes as he saw the mess I'd become. Poor me, with my unrequited love for none other Richard Grayson, the first Robin and the vigilante known as Nightwing. The one that others call my brother. Of course, I've never seen him as my brother; people don't fall in love with their brothers unless they have a few screws loose. And we're not actually related. Not even legally related, seeing as I'm legally dead. That doesn't make it hurt any less.
It's also extremely hard to get over, and trust me, I'm trying to get over it. But it's difficult to convince myself that he'll never love me when he's the only one of the bat family that still seeks me out to do nothing but spend time with me. When he smiles that smile. When he doesn't treat me like nothing more than a criminal and that he wishes I never returned from the grave. It would be easier if he did treat me that way. I could get over him if he did. Maybe.
"Hey, Little Wing."
Yet, here he is, even now, tormenting me with another thing that I want but will never have.
Swallowing my sigh, I lower my binoculars. I was staking out a supposedly abandoned warehouse, but I had suspicions that Black Mask was using it as storage for his new drug supply. Not turning to face Nightwing, I barely audibly grumble "what the fuck is it, Goldie?"
"Do I really need an excuse to see my little brother?" He replies, that ever-present laughter bright in his voice. There's that word again. Brother. Internally, I'm cringing. But Bats trained me better than to show any visible sign of my discomfit.
"If I were the Replacement or the Demon Spawn, probably not. Remember, Goldie, I'm the black sheep. Your keeper won't like you talking to me." I don't need to see him to know that his smile has fallen from his face. He still just has to surprise me, however, and he lays a hand on my shoulder. The heat sinks through the Kevlar and leather of my uniform, making me have to forcibly hold back my shudder.
"We just want you home, Jaybird."
Here we go again, the same broken record.
"But I have to change, first, right? Have to go back, be the fifteen year old boy again, yeah? Well, Dickie, that boy's dead. He died. You're stuck with me. And I'm not him, Dick. I'm not your 'Jaybird,' I'm not your 'Little Wing.' The family doesn't want me back. You don't want me back."
Okay, so maybe not the exact same record. I'd usually say something as cutting, true, but with a lot more swearing. And a lot more crazy. Because it makes it easier for them to just ignore me if they believe I'm crazy. There's an awful amount of truth in what I said, truth that I prefer to avoid in favour of my bullshit. Maybe I'm just tired of the games.
Even Nightwing sounds a little shocked, as he croaks out "You're a little broken, Jay. But you're still the same person, the same boy that loved the colour green and always ate too much Neapolitan ice cream. You've done your best to convince me that you're irredeemable, but you can't fool me. I see you, Jason."
Sometimes I really am grateful that I decided to make this red helmet part of my uniform.
As I try to find words to respond, Dick's hand leaves my shoulder, and I can hear a tiny click as he presses a button on his comm.
"Nightwing… really? Now? No rest for the wicked, I guess… roger that, O," he mutters in his comm. before turning back to me. "Sorry, Jaybird, duty calls. Good chat!" And with that, a graceful flip over the edge of the roof, he's gone.
Grumbling under my breath miscellaneous curses, I turn back to the warehouse. Funnily enough, my own comm., built into the helmet, does its own little beep.
"Should I even ask how you hacked into this feed?"
"Oh please, Hood; your security is good, but it's not that good." Oracle, Bruce's eye in the sky. I knew her as Batgirl, or Barbie. "B wants to talk to you. I'm switching you over to him now."
"Oh, so you're a phone operator now." I'm only midway through that sentence before she switches me over to B. Rude.
"Hood."
"Bats."
"There's been a mass breakout of Arkham. We could use your help."
"Why didn't Oracle tell me this? Did you have to ask me personally?"
"Yes, because if she had asked you, you would have asked her why I didn't ask you, and use it as an excuse to not help." Man had a point.
"Oh, so you think I'm more inclined to help if you ask?"
"Ja- Hood." And there it is, that tone that clearly says 'You're being a brat right now, Jason Peter Todd, and I suggest you stop.' But only if you know Bruce as well as I do. To others, he would sound perfectly calm. It's the truth, though. I am being a brat. There seems to be an uncomfortable amount of truth being thrown about tonight. I'm going to need to put an end to that before I lose my reputation as an unrepentant liar.
"Fine, fine, B. Where do you want me?" I ask, allowing my voice to take on an admittedly sexy tenor. Not that I find Bruce attractive. He is, but he's still my father. However, I have a talent for unsettling people, and one of the easiest ways to do that is to flirt when I really shouldn't be flirting. Another reason is simply because I enjoy flirting.
Bruce, on the hand… well, let's just say that if he didn't decide to make is civilian persona a playboy, he'd be about as flirty as an old shoe. Even considering the fact that it's impossible to not find the bat suit sexy, the man shuts down anyone attempting to flirt with him unless you're a sexy hero (or thief/assassin) with dark hair (and breasts).
So it doesn't exactly surprise me when he chooses to completely ignore my tone. "You and Red Robin take Upper East End. Stay in contact." And with that, he's gone. Not even a 'goodbye,' or a 'be careful', or an 'I'm sorry, Jason, you're right, I should've killed the Joker.' Terrible father, am I right?
Grumbling under my breath the entire way the East End, I haven't improved my mood in the least when I meet up with Red Robin. Younger brother number one, my replacement, and probably the smartest kid I've ever met. That doesn't make him any less annoying. He greats me with a small smile, probably the best he could do, as the only one that doesn't suffer from emotional constipation in our messed up family is Dick. And Steph, though I've only met her once or twice.
With a grunt in greeting (I'm fluent in man-grunt, as well as several other languages), we set to work. Falling into a familiar rhythm, Replacement and I work in tandem, not really speaking unless we're checking in with O or B. Working through most of the night, we round up a fair few escaped criminals, if I do say so myself. During a lull in action, we're sitting of the ledge of an apartment building's roof, Replacement checking in with O to see if there is anywhere else we are needed. Nightwing, with snot-faced Robin in tow, is heading to our location before we all go to the batcave together for debrief. Not that I am actually planning on going there. In fact, I was just getting ready to slip away quietly, when three thugs decided to rough up some kid in the alley below us. And that, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, was when my night went to shit.
I guess it shouldn't have surprised me. I knew from an early age that someone up there - God, Buddha, Morgan Freeman, whatever - really didn't like me. They were like, "You know that guy? Yeah, fuck that guy," giving me the worst luck in the history of luck. But you know, after the big fiasco that was my first death (I literally went out with a bang), I sort of expected my second to be just as much, if not more, of a fanfare. Should've known I was dead wrong.
It shouldn't have been a big deal; I'd handled situations like this, situations bigger than this, since I was twelve and Robin. Same for Replacement. Yet, here I am, bleeding out in a dirty alleyway. The bullet didn't even have my name on it; that's the kicker. I'd just taken down one thug, Red Robin taking down another, when I saw the third lift a gun we hadn't noticed. It wasn't pointing me. With a speed not many realised a big man like me had, I knocked Replacement out of the way, unfortunately taking his bullet into my abdomen. A very, very unlucky shot, in one of the few weak spots of my Kevlar, which I had been meaning to get around to fixing. Hello, irony.
I know, I know, totally clichéd, right? I mean, could it get anymore unoriginal? I saved someone's life by taking the bullet for them. I should really just be shot in head right now. Surprisingly though, it hurt. Yeah, bullets are supposed to hurt. But I've been shot before, many, many times and usually I just swear a little, then carry on. This wound, it hurt. I'd died once, so I already knew that feeling peaceful as you died was complete bullshit. But I didn't think dying from a bullet wound would hurt so much.
Already feeling rather dazed from blood loss, I can see Red Robin shouting into his comm. while trying to keep pressure on the gaping bullet hole, more than I can hear him. Then my vision is filled with Dick (ha-ha, no) as he appears beside me, gripping my hand and eyes filling with tears. His perfect lips are moving, but again, I can't really hear it. Weird that my hearing is the first sense to go. Or maybe I'm just really out of it. I think I can see him saying my name, but it's hard for me to focus on lip reading. Dick searches my helmet, finding the hidden button and pulling it from my face. Over his shoulder, Robin is staring at me, trying not to look worried and failing. Naww, I knew he cared. I can't see the thugs or the kid we attempted to rescue anywhere; they must've gotten the hell out of dodge. Typical.
Then Bruce is there. Or rather, Batman. Not too gently, he pushes Replacement out of the way, taking my other hand. Red Robin manages to keep pressure on my wound, but I know I'm losing too much blood. I know I'm dying. All of a sudden, all my anger at these people seems stupid. They're my family, and I never should've doubted that they cared about me. Look at them; even Bruce is here, losing it because I'm dying.
Forcing my brain to focus, because dammit, I have things to say, I stare up at my father. He's pulled back his cowl, so I can see how worried his eyes are, though his face, as always, remains calm as he tries to figure out how to move me without hurting me. I need to tell him it's no good. That it's okay. I'm not scared.
"I'm… sorry," I force out. Stupid, uncooperative lips. His eyes widen, before his hand lifts to cup my face. He speaks, and I force myself to hear the words.
"It's okay, Jason. You're going to be okay," he says though clenched teeth. "We're going to get you to the batcave, and you'll be up and about in no time."
"It is okay, dad. You can let me go. Let me… die. Like I should've." Now he starts to look panicked. Dammit, I meant to calm him, not freak him out. Let's try again. "I'm not scared. It's okay."
"No, Jason. No. I'm not going to fail you again. I can't fail you again."
"Bruce," Dick sounds desperate, his voice all choked up, "if we are going to save him, we have to get him to the cave, now." Bruce nods, still looking into my eyes. Man, not to be selfish, but I'm kind of glad I won't be here to see the aftermath of all this.
"Everyone, we need to get him into the car as gently as possible…" the rest is just mumbles to me, but I can seem them nod and move into some sort of position. I guess they're not just going to let me die here. Alright, doesn't matter to me where exactly I die; I can ruin this bat mobile if that's what they want.
"Now!" Bruce barks and they start to lift me. Mother fucking of fuck does this hurt. To save myself the pain, I guess, I pass out. Dammit, I thought I was supposed to follow a light. Last time, the only light was the explosion. I was kind of hoping for a nice, little light to follow into hell. It was not to be, only blackness as the pain fades away.
…
Dick's P.O.V
For one of the worst days of my life, it started out fairly normal. Nothing to tip me off of how painful the day was going to get. It's rather unfair, actually. I would've appreciated a little warning. Honestly, there have been quite a few worst days. They didn't give me any warning either, so I guess this was to be expected.
I had breakfast (cereal, of course), went to work (police officer for the GCPD, livin' the dream) and at night, started patrol. Nothing out of the ordinary. While on patrol, I ran into Jason. I say 'ran into,' like it was just a coincidence. Not so much 'coincidence' as much as 'actively seeking him out like a freaky stalker.' I can't help it, I have a need to make sure he's okay, okay? Because he's Jason, with his reckless ways that leave the family sure he has a death wish, and no, the irony of that is not lost on me. And because I'm absolutely smitten with him.
It's something I struggle with. Not because we're both men (I'm bi, and I'm fairly sure he is too, given that the man literally flirts with everyone), but because I'm supposed to see him as my brother. I've never seen him as my brother. When I first met him, I was furious at Bruce, and at him by default, for replacing me as Robin. I was an immature prick, I see now, and I wasn't always the kindest to him. Then, when I grudgingly got over myself, I didn't have all that much time to get to know him before I had that mission off world, and by the time I came back he was… gone.
And I'll always feel guilty for not being there for him when I should've been.
Then, with his grand comeback, he was a man. Not the snarky little kid he was when he died, but the fierce, stubborn, determined, yet hurt and misguided man he is today. In some ways, I really admire him. So many things, terrible things, happened to him, yet he's still standing. I probably would've collapsed under the burden he carries.
I hate that he was so against us when he came back. I wish he had trusted us, that he came to us as soon as he was somewhat healed by the Pit, instead of his years of assassin training. Thankfully, he's more or less a part of the family again (at least, he's not trying to kill us anymore). Because really, he's an amazing man, and he deserves so much more than the hand he's been dealt. Jason has a 'mean streak' as Bruce puts it, that's true. But he's so much more than that. He's probably the most compassionate of us; he doesn't save people from the bad guys for the rush, or because he feels it's his duty, or really for justice. He does it because he actually cares about everyday people.
I'm helplessly in love with the sexy, infuriating man, but I try not to be. Try to fall in love with someone else, anybody else. It hasn't worked.
Which brings me here, staring at his back, as he stares at a warehouse and ignores my presence. Brat. I know he knows I'm here; spatial awareness was one of the first things you have to master to be a Robin.
"Hey, Little Wing," I say, breaking the silence. Jason doesn't visibly react; he could give Bruce a run for his money when it comes to controlling reactions. Except anger. Anger does, and always has, rule Jason.
"What the fuck is it, Goldie?" Blunt as always.
"Do I really need an excuse to see my little brother?" the word almost makes me gag; people shouldn't feel this way for their brothers, dammit!
"If I were the Replacement or the Demon Spawn, probably not. Remember, Goldie, I'm the black sheep. Your keeper won't like you talking to me." Grayson, he's just trying to wind you up. I know that. But I still want to hug him and love him and tell him he doesn't have to always be alone. He doesn't have to be the black sheep. Doing that would certainly grant me a one way ticket to the grave, so I settle for putting my hand on his shoulder. I'm very much a physical being; I need contact, especially from him. And I feel he probably needs it too.
"We just want you home, Jaybird."
"But I have to change, first, right? Have to go back, be the fifteen year old boy again, yeah? Well, Dickie, that boy's dead. He died. You're stuck with me. And I'm not him, Dick. I'm not your 'Jaybird,' I'm not your 'Little Wing.' The family doesn't want me back. You don't want me back."
Oh, Jason.
Mostly, I'm shocked; he doesn't usually open up like this. But I'm also sad. He really believes it, doesn't he? It's so not true, but there's a cold, miserable kind of certainty in his voice. I can feel tears welling up. I'm emotional, sue me.
Swallowing the frog in my throat, I manage to speak. "You're a little broken, Jay. But you're still the same person, the same boy that loved fast cars and always ate too much Neapolitan ice cream. You've done your best to convince me that you're irredeemable, but you can't fool me. I see you, Jason."
Then my bloody comm. went off. Just when I was getting through to him! Typical. Thus started my night of beating up bad guys with Dami, kicking ass and not taking names, since we already knew them. Our busy night was ending, and we were heading to meet up with Timmers and Jay. I knew I would be lucky if Jason would still be there. He always helps when we need him, but he doesn't like to stick around. I think he fears getting too close to people.
Dami and I were almost at their location when Tim's voice screeches over the feed, and my heart sinks.
"Hood's down! Bullet to the abdomen. It's… it's bad."
No. No, no, no. Not my Jason, not again.
Running faster than I ever have, Damian hot on my heels, I find them in the alley below where we were supposed to meet. I fall to my knees beside Jason, taking his hand and not even trying to stop my tears. Oh, God. Tim's on his other side, face panicked. His hands are crimson with Jason's blood. Crimson like Jason's hood, obstructing his face. I need to see his face.
"Jason, please, please stay with me," I whisper to him, as I try find the latch on his helmet. Fingers tug, and then it's free. Jason's eyes, bright, stunning eyes that are never truly blue or green, but a delightful teal, are squinting at me, studying my face. His is, surprisingly, free from the domino mask that he sometimes wears under the hood. I guess he was expecting a quiet night. The thought almost makes me laugh, if it weren't for my sobs. And for his usually pale face that is now completely bleached of all colour, except for a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and high cheek bones. He always hated his freckles, complaining when he was younger about how childlike they made him look. Secretly, I found them charming. They've faded, now that he's a man, but I'm glad that they're still there. I adore the freckles.
Bruce appears from the darkness, as always, startling me out of my thoughts. He doesn't spare me a glance, his eyes locked on Jason. I can hear Jason's forced words, but for the life of me, I don't know what he said. But I can see Bruce's panicked reaction. Clearly, whatever Jason said, I wouldn't want to hear it. Anything that could make Bruce freak out like that would drive me around the bend.
To be honest, the rest is a blur to me. I'm faintly aware of speaking, of Bruce agreeing with me before barking orders. Lifting Jason and seeing his beautiful eyes sink closed. I feel like screaming, but I don't. He wouldn't appreciate it. 'Dammit, Goldie, would ya stop with the caterwauling?' I can almost hear him say. Caterwauling would definitely be a word he'd use, too. He's a bit odd that way.
Even getting to the batcave is a haze of shouts and gloomy colours. Before I know it, I'm pacing the cave, the door between me and Jason firmly closed to me. Alfred and Leslie are on the other side of the door, with him. Doing everything in their power to save his life. I'd be useless in there, I know that, but the desire to throw open that door and be with him is almost all-consuming. And if I didn't have three pairs of stern blue eyes locked on me, I probably would have. So I continue to pace.
An eternity passes, not a single word spoken between the four of us, before the door cracks open and Alfred enters. His face looks drawn and tired, but not broken-hearted. I begin to feel hope again. Instantly, Bruce and I are in his face, demanding answers.
"How is he?"
"Is he alive? Is he okay?"
"Master Jason is alive, sirs. He lost a significant amount of blood and there was extensive internal damage, but he's stable now, through the work of Dr Leslie."
Jason is alive. The words ring in my head like a bell. He's alive, he's okay. My knees give out, but luckily, Bruce catches me with an arm around my back.
"Can we see him?" I ask, almost frantically.
"Yes, but don't try to wake him. His body has undergone great shock and needs time to recover." Alfred hasn't finished the sentence before Bruce and I push past him and into the room. The sight that greets me almost has me in tears again. Jason looks so weak and fragile. It doesn't make sense; Jason's usually so vibrant. I know that's what people often say about me, but it's equally true for him, just in a different way. Jason is angry energy barely leashed back. Dangerous, lethal, powerful. He wasn't always this way. They call him the 'angry' Robin, but that isn't right. The truth is, Jason has always been passionate; he was as quick to laugh as he was to yell. That changed, following his resurrection. Now, his rage consumes him. I haven't seen him truly laugh in a very long time.
It's strange, to see him looking so small. He's always just been larger than life. Not just physically, though he does have several inches and about 50 pounds of muscle on me – the man is built – but his everything.
I slowly approach him, Bruce a few steps behind. We settle on either side of him, each gently gripping one of his hands. I think it was more for our benefit than his, trying to reassure ourselves that he is here and alive. I don't know how long we sat there, in silence, but it must have been a while because when Bruce does speak, it's cracked and rough.
"What is he to you, Dick?"
I wasn't expecting this line of questioning. A 'why weren't you there' maybe. Perhaps an 'it's my fault.' No one can do self-guilt trips quite like Bruce can. His question stumps me. What is Jason to me? Not a brother, that's for sure. Not a friend. Only recently an ally. A love interest? Certainly, but I don't think I can admit that to the man that raised both of us. Though, watching Bruce's face, I don't think I have a choice. They don't call him the World's Greatest Detective for nothing.
"I don't know, Bruce," I answer as honestly as I can. "I'm, well, I've fallen in love with him. And I know that's wrong and I know that I shouldn't, but I really do love him." I can't meet his eyes. But I can practically feel that raised eyebrow.
"Why is it wrong?" I wasn't expecting that.
"It's just that he's supposed to be my brother, you know," I say, my voice starting to get shrill in a strange form of panic.
"You're not actually related, you know that, right?"
"Of course I know that, Bruce! But, well…" I finally lift my eyes. Yep, knew it, there's that eyebrow. Jeez, Bruce, just lower that damn eyebrow! I get it, I'm dumb! That hint of a smirk isn't helping either.
"He doesn't even feel the same about me." Impossibly, the eyebrow reaches even higher. I'm worried that it's about to disappear into his hairline.
"Whether the two of you call me your father, you're both still my sons, and I'll always see you that way. And I know my sons well enough to notice when they're in love, believe it or not."
Wait.
"Are you suggesting that he's in love with me, too?"
"I'm saying that you two will need to have a chat after he's woken up." Classic Bruce; there's never a straight answer from him unless you really push him, and I'm too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to deal with that right now. "And then I'm going to talk to him. It's amazing how many things you find that you have to say to someone when you've almost lost the opportunity to do so." With that, he says all he's going to say, and sits in silence once more.
I'm left with an unconscious Jason and my thoughts. Not actually that fantastic a combination. I'd much prefer a conscious Jason and my actions. Actions like pulling him into the kind of kiss that would even embarrass the famous playboy Bruce Wayne.
Time seems to stop existing again. But eventually, through several Alfred check-ins and little sibling visits (even Cass; she's been back in Gotham for about a month now), Jason's eyelids start to flicker. My grip on his hand tightens, and I search his face desperately, begging him to wake up fully. Slowly, his eyes open, squinting and confused.
"What the…? This isn't hell," he rasps, before his face floods with pain. "On second thought."
"Jason! You're okay!" I can't contain how happy my voice is, but inside, I'm a teensy bit embarrassed. I must sound like a damn puppy. Bruce moves to fiddle with the IV drips, and Jason starts to relax again.
"Oh, yeah, that's the good stuff," he says with a rough chuckle. "I don't know about 'okay,' Goldie, but I'm breathing."
I lightly swat his shoulder. "Do you have any idea how close a thing it was to you not breathing? Don't ever do anything like that again!"
"Yeah, yeah," Jay rolls his eyes.
"I'll let you two talk," Bruce says quietly, reminding me that he was still in the room. "I'll let everyone know you're awake." He brushes his hand through Jay's hair softly, before striding out of the room.
We're left staring at each other a little awkwardly, before Jay clears his throat. "Uh, so what do you want to talk about? If you want to uncover all my secrets, now's the time. With this many drugs in my system, I'm pretty free and breezy with my words," he jokes.
There's only one thing I really want to say.
"I'm in love with you." Nice, Grayson. Just freak him out, straight off the bat. Good one. His eyes widen comically, and he makes a little choking sound.
"Wh-what?"
"I'm in love with you." You've started this now, you might as well finish it, you big goof.
"Since when?!" Now, I look away, running my hand through my hair. A blush rises on my cheeks.
"Uh, for, for a while."
"Whoa." Jason seems shocked and unable to process this new information. The awkwardness seems to grow with every second. Remember a time when you used to be charming and eloquent, Dick? Yeah, apparently those days are gone. Okay, I can't deal with this silence. So, in an effort to make an awkward situation even worse, I bend over and kiss him. His lips, surprised and still beneath mine, are firm and a little dry, but damn if his lips didn't feel good. But then, hallelujah, he responds. Before I know it, my hand is digging into his thick hair and he's clutching at the small of my back. Gently breaking the kiss, I lean my forehead against his.
It's so quiet, that I almost didn't hear it.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I love you, too," he repeats, his eyes large and vulnerable. His whole heart is in his beautiful eyes right now. I couldn't control my grin even if I tried. I also couldn't stop myself from pulling him into another kiss, this one passionate, but still sweet. Before I let myself get carried away, I lean back.
"Sorry, Jaybird. The family will be down soon, they'll want to see you, and I'm sure they'd want to see us making out when they do come," I say, feeling lighter than I have for so long. "And Bruce wants to talk to you, too."
Jason groans. "Fine, but once they're gone, we're going back to making out."
I grin. "Deal."
…
Things get settled surprisingly quickly. Bruce and Jason do talk, in fact, they're shut in with each other for a couple of hours, talking. Jason agreed to stop killing unless he believed it to be absolutely necessary and Bruce agreed to stop judging him. They both agreed to let everything that happened go and start fresh. They even admitted to loving one another, which is such a massive thing for the pair of them. Bruce wanted him to move back into the Manor, but Jason hated the idea ("One day, I might be able to spend any length of time in the Manor without seeing my own kid ghost running around, but I can't do it now"). Bruce couldn't let him go back to his safe houses, especially in his state, and so they compromised. That compromise lead to Jason moving in with me.
So here we are. We're living together, with me looking after him while he recovers, and we're also dating, if you can call it that. Things in Gotham brighter than ever. But I feel like our adventures are just beginning.
…
Author's Note: Hi! Just want to get my intentions out about this new story of mine. Basically, I'm planning on writing a bunch of oneshots of Jason and Dick's life together, as they date, get married, have kids and all the other fun stuff. This first chapter is probably as angsty as it's going to get, so expect heaps of fluff and good times. I don't know how well I got the characterisation; I know Jason's actually a lot more stubborn than this, but I just wanted him to be happy, dammit. Please, review and tell me how I did. Also, feel free to prompt me, but there's no guarantee that I will write your prompt.
Title is from Aquaman, by Walk the Moon, which is probably my favourite song at the moment. Hope you enjoyed, thanks!
Katy.