A/N: A story that spun from my imagination as I stared at a picture I drew of Jason and Dick. First time writing for the Batman universe and though this is bet'd, she knows nothing about the characters, so it'd be great to know how that went.
Bullet to the Heart
"Jason! I thought I told you to put those away!" Is the scream said teen's ears are welcomed to that late evening. Jason glances up from the sitting position on his bed, knees bent and boots firmly on the ground as he peers briefly through the white lock of hair draped over the right of his forehead before his teal-green eyes fall from the man standing at his doorway. He hadn't needed to look to know the owner of the voice, and he's sort of wishing he hadn't because the older is wearing a disapproving scowl that doesn't fail at rubbing Jason the wrong way.
"Don't tell me what to do, dickhead," he replies curtly as he continues to fiddle with the pistol in his hand. "Get out."
Taking the order as an invitation, Dick ensues forward, stopping in the middle of the carpet just a few feet in front of Jason. Jason tosses him a narrow-eyed look, then puts his attention closely back on his gun, resisting the rising urge to literally kick the unwelcome guest out of his room and shut the door, maybe even barricade it for some fucking privacy.
Dick gestures widely with his hands."There are kids in the house."
"Kids?" Jason scoffs - laughing at that - in which he would normally agree with or even use to belittle the younger Wayne Manor residents, but the term is being used against him in this case, so he'd take it as an insult. "What is Tim? 16? And Damian 10. I think they're old enough to know better."
"Precautions still need to be taken."
Black brows furrow further at the mocking repeat of his words. Jason says nothing after that, still not looking at him, which tells Dick that he's pretty much done with this conversation. Of course Jason is going to do what Jason wants to do. Dick should know that better than anyone.
He exhales loudly, running a hand through his mid-neck length tresses as the other rests on one hip. "I told you already, I don't mind you having…a collection, but at least put them away."
"They are away."
"In a clothes drawer in which Tim or Damian can easily open. You don't exactly have a lock on it." Dick reaches his arm out and slides the designated dresser shelf open and close with a thud for emphasis.
A jaw muscle jumps in Jason's visible irritation as his teeth clench behind closed lips. He considers ignoring Dick long enough for the ex-boy wonder to leave in his own exasperation over Jason's difficulty, but Jason isn't one to hold his tongue for long, if at all. "Ya know what else I don't have a lock on?" His voice rises a tad. "My bedroom door. In which I should invest in. To keep you out. 'Cause you're annoying."
Dick rolls his eyes, yet Jason interrupts whatever retaliation he has when he raises the pistol with a languid motion of his wrist. "Ya think I'm not careful?" he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side. There's a playful, joking air underling the gravity of his tone and Dick knows this isn't going to turn out well. It never did with Jason.
He pauses, as if choosing the word carefully. "…You're reckless," he declares. "And could you not point that at me?"
"Why? Does it make you nervous?" A smirk pulls at the corner of the boy's lips. "Think I'll shoot you?"
"Jason. I'm serious. Put it down."
His index finger begins to curl around the trigger as the devious smile only widens, slowly revealing pearly whites, but the grin vanishes in an instant when Jason's hand is kicked sharply.
"AH!" he yelps. The gun had fallen to the floor and Jason with it when his face roughly meets the carpet below and before he knew it; his arms are held tightly behind his back, all in one fluid motion. "Get off me, dickface!" he barks, gritting his teeth together.
"Sorry. Officer reaction." Dick smiles. He digs his knee into Jason's backside to seize his thrashing, earning another "ow" and a string of curse words, before he chuckles, then stands up. Dick offers his hand only to have Jason slap it away as he proceeds to get up on his own.
"It's not even loaded, retard. I outta punch you in the face for that stunt," he hisses as he rubs at his wrist absently before shooting a heated glare.
Dick's brows arch. He glances down to the side for a second before he looks back at Jason, appearing as if he wants to say something else, but refrains from doing so. "…Well, what about the others?"
"The others?" Jason's glower gradually softens into a more indifferent frown. "Can't say the same about the others."
"Jason! Now we're back to the whole point of this conversati-"
"Will you shutup already?" Jason puts a palm up to silence him, in which Dick reflexively obeys. "What good is a gun if it's not loaded? I could still bash someone's face in, sure. But a bullet is much more effective and youknow it."
"That doesn't make it necessary." Dick throws a hand. "We can still get the job down without such weapons."
"So what do you suggest? I get some stupid shocking sticks? 'Cause that's totally safe, right? That won't kill anybody, huh?"
"You know I don't have the voltage high enough on my escrimas to kill, Jason, only immobilize. We don't have to murder our enemies to stop them."
"Well, they sure as hell don't care if they murder us. And I thought this was about keeping the house "safe" for Tim and Damian. Not our conflicting sense of morality."
"It's not. I mean, it wasn't." Dick lets out a heavy sigh, falling back on Jason's bed. His dark bangs flop forward, then drift back to frame his face flawlessly, as was the word that described everything on the perfect son. The golden child.
Jason scowls, a familiar rage boiling his blood and his words come out low and rigid. "I don't know why you're sitting down 'cause you got about two seconds to get out before I make you get out."
The room is silent now, hushed until Jason hears Dick mutter something incoherent to his ears.
"What?" he asks sharply. "What did you say?"
"I said why does it always have to be this way with us…?" At the same time Dick's voice had risen, it falls just as swiftly in a dejected whisper.
"…Wha-?"
"The arguments…the fighting…" He's speaking so quietly Jason wonders if he's really talking to him or himself, though, he can hear every word. And he wishes he didn't. He stares at the elder in an expression of honest bewilderment. Dick looks genuinely sad, disconsolate, and Jason doesn't…he can't grasp why.
Teal hues remain glued on the acrobat and the longer he stares at Dick the more heart-clenching the strange feeling rising in his chest becomes, enough to choke him. Jason isn't sure what it is or where it came from, but he knows he doesn't like it. At all. And in his natural defense mechanism, he quickly, hurriedly, masks it with something he is all too familiar with: explosive, raw anger.
"You have this stupid expectation that we're supposed to be this happy, close-knit family, but guess what, Dickie? We're not. Yeah, Tim might've been your biggest fanboy at one point of time, but ever since your guy's little fallout over who gets to be your robin, well, I don't think I need to remind you how that relationship is going. Damian sure as hell doesn't love his "precious big brothers". My and Tim's affiliation is nothing to brag about. Damian and Tim hate each other. I can't stand you. And I think it's safe to say we all have our issues with Bruce. Fuck, Alfred might be the only mutually likable person we have under this roof and even then we've been known to pop off at him on a rainy day. So what part of all this screams anything but arguments and fighting to you?"
Dick doesn't say anything for a moment, only stares at the floor in a way that makes Jason want to yank him upwards by the collar of his shirt and slam him against the wall.
"It is that way, isn't it?" he murmurs. "But, Jason, I…I don't want it to be."
"Well, we can't always get what we want," he spits coldly, each word a piercing shard of ice and the reply came a little quicker than he had meant. Jason bends down to pick up the dropped pistol, placing it on top of his dresser, then rests his back against the breakfront. "Like this, for example. I'm telling you right now that my guns are staying right in here whether you like it or not."
Dick turns his head slightly, to fixate his baby blues down on nothing in particular. "…I guess I should put more faith in Tim and Damian. I mean, Tim is a good kid. He's smart. He knows what guns can do and that they're not a toy. And Damian too. I'm sure they won't mess with 'em… Jason, it's just…I worry about you."
His eyes widen a bit, but he promptly narrows his green hues once more. He won't, he can't allow himself to be moved by such pitying words. Jason puts on a fraudulent smile. "Why? Ya think I'm gonna hurt myself? Think I'm on the path of destruction, damnation, and I won't be able to find my way back home? For someone who has his obvious problems with Bruce, you sure are just like him."
"And you're not?" Dick counters indignantly. "You are so fucking hardheaded. You never listen to anything I-"
"Don't compare me to him," he growls and shoves Dick so hard the wind momentarily is knocked out of him as he falls back, bouncing up ever so slightly from the mattress springs. Jason is above him now, his grip so firm against Dick's shoulders he can feel the nails digging into his skin. "You're the one that rather put someone in a straight-jacket for 6 months at a time only to have them break out and do the same shit all over again. You think ya'll would get tired of the same song and dance. That's your problem. You don't know when to end it. What to do with 'em. I do. And they. Must.Die." The last word like venom on his tongue.
"Jay…" he whispers, staring up at him. Dick wants to ask what happened to him - when he started believing in so strongly to this way of thinking – though, deep down, he already knows. The madman who robbed Jason of life is still alive. He was still allowed to live and breathe when Jason was not. To him, it looks as if no one cares enough to avenge his death - no one cares enough about him - but that isn't the case at all.
Dick reaches up and drags his fingers gently up Jason's cheek, watching the green pools enlarge.
Dick knows Jason has been through a lot of terrible things, awful things, ever since he was a child. And it was this accumulation of dark moments defining his past that led to his darker path of heroism. Dick doesn't doubt that Jason's heart is in the right place, not even for a moment, not even when he returned to Gotham City a murderous vigilante to clean up crime and keep the city safe. Killing just isn't the way to do it. He wants to get that through his head – to tell him that for the millionth time, but that isn't going to work. It never worked. Not with Jason.
For a moment, they didn't speak, only gazed at one another. Dick, not wishing to say anything and Jason, for once, not knowing what to say. Contact seems to draw a different reaction, in a way Dick's words can't and he catches the vulnerability that flickers in the teal hues as they glance away.
"D-Don't touch me," Jason murmurs softly, in an octave foreign to his voice.
Dick's hand moves to rest in the soft bed of hair, Jason's dark brown locks curling around his fingers. "Jay, I need you to understand, I'm really not trying to boss you around. I'm trying to protect you."
Jason looks back at him at that, his eyes wide, alert, and Dick, now, holding his full attention. The acrobat could swear what he sees reflected in the other's eyes is apprehension and Dick's heart clenches when Jason asks the question, almost automatically, "…From what?"
He falters. "From…"
Jason removes Dick's hand from its entanglement, still holding on to his wrist and the expression of vulnerability washes away as the sardonic smirk stretches over his face. "Me?"
"…"
"Thought so," he says, the weight of his words like boulders on Dick's chest, suffocating, and Jason drops Dick's arm. "You want me to change so badly, don't you, Dickie?"
"Jason. Don't say it like that. I love you. You're my brother. I'll always love you for who you are. I'm only saying all this to you because…because I'm worried you'll lose who you are in the end."
Jason's smile dissolves completely. Dick expected him to respond with some snarky, livid remark, but he doesn't. His body merely tenses and Dick realizes then…that Jason is really trying, isn't he? The anger, the sadness, the deep emotions that have clung to him for so long made him stumble off the right path, but he does try to stay on it. Maybe not how Batman, or him, would like, but he still tries. Dick thought that he tries his very best, actually, to master the emotions that have defined who he is for so long, but who he is, he doesn't think Jason himself is even sure.
Dick lifts his back up off the mattress to wrap his arms around Jason's neck, pulling the other down towards him in an affectionate hug. His cheek lies pressed against Jason's and his mouth close to his ear. "I'm here for you, Jaybird."
"I- I said don't touch me." Jason pushes him away, but it isn't violent. It's docile.
Dick smiles warmly and it takes a bit of willpower not to smother the teen again. "Fine. I'll leave you alone now," he says as he makes the motion to stand up, prompting Jason to get off him. "I came here to tell you dinner was ready. But it might be a little colder than you would like by now. Sorry."
Jason just nods his head and watches as Dick walks over to the door, though he tries to make it look like he isn't. Opening it, the acrobat looks back to give a little wave of his fingertips before the door clicks shut behind him. It was a second before Jason's eyes tear from the spot Dick was just in when he turns away. He steps towards his dresser, picking up the gun and gazes down at it before sliding it in his drawer, and closes it.
A/n: How was it? Good? Bad?
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