Two weeks had passed in a blur of pain and confused guilt. And Jason had to admit he was a fucking mess.

Again.

Physically he was healing, his lower right leg was in a cast, but he was able to move under his own power – albeit in a pathetic shuffling sort of way. His arm was a mess and held together with pins, but the doctor had assured him with the proper care he would have at least most of his movement back. His head and facial injuries had mostly healed, although he was still missing two molars – something he was hoping to get fixed in the next week. He'd had worse, much worse.

It was inside his head that was the real problem.

He couldn't sleep, and when he did, he was besieged by nightmares. Every time he woke, he thought he had just watched Dick die. Sometimes though torture, sometimes a gunshot. Sometimes it's the Joker that kills him. Sometimes it's Anderson, and sometimes he rapes him first.

Sometimes it's Jason, not Dick, who is the victim.

Jason was an old hat at this shit, dissociative episodes and sense memory flashbacks. He had suffered from what he recognized as PTSD for years. But he had it under control, had worked long and hard to overcome it without help from anything but books and the odd skype with a specialist to give him some pointers. And yet here it was again, with a whole fresh bunch of crap to make his life miserable and difficult.

Maybe he should have stayed in the hospital. He had discharged himself the moment he could walk – the fussing from the family had been weird, but not wholly unpleasant. Cassandra had been a calming presence when he woke if she was there, he was safe. She had updated him on all the developments and Dick's condition practically and without too much emotion. She was kind, and he had slept easier with her by his side.

Bruce had only checked on him the one time that he could remember, but it had left a lasting feeling of something. He wasn't sure quite what exactly, but it hadn't made him angry, which was a nice change.

He had awoken with a feeling of vague comfort and a smell like home, so the large gloved hand resting gently on his forehead didn't startle him. It barely even surprised him, and both he and Bruce had pretended that he was still asleep, as Bruce had gently petted his hair. Like back when Jason had been a boy, and not a damaged, angry man.

The rest of the family was one thing, but Dick was quite another. He couldn't face seeing him, and so he had left. He wasn't sure if Dick had even wanted to see him, but he hadn't given him the chance, either way. Now he wondered if that had been a mistake. It was his feelings about what had happened to Dick, and his guilt at his own unwitting part in it that was driving him slowly insane.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, couldn't help worrying about the stupid moron. He didn't want to see him damaged physically or emotionally. He didn't want to know if the effects of what had happened were still haunting him like they were haunting Jason. But he couldn't stop thinking about it.

So now, two weeks later, he had turned to the bottle. Jason had never really been one to drown his sorrows or use substances to quiet the clamor in his mind. But he just didn't have the emotional fortitude to actually deal with the extra stress – and the bottle of scotch had looked all friendly and inviting.

His mind felt fragmented and his stomach sick with guilt and an abstract fear. It was driving him crazy.

But Jason had always been a man of action. Got a problem? Deal with it, change the parameters and the circumstances, don't hide from it, and don't wallow in it.

So really there was only one thing he could do – go see Dick.

With some not so subtle questioning of Tim, Jason had ascertained that Dick had returned to his apartment rather than giving into the intense pressure to recuperate at the manor. Something Jason was very glad of, he didn't think he could handle Bruce and Dick in one visit.

He was reassessing that an hour later, having taken a nip or two of whisky for Dutch courage, and caught a cab to Dick's apartment block – predictably in the worst part of town. The problem was that Dick lived on the top floor, and the elevator was busted. Walking six flights of stairs with a broken leg was no fucking joke, and he was glad he had brought a hip flask to have a drink on the long climb.

When he finally reached Dick's apartment he had to stop and catch his breath. Even with the whisky his leg was aching something fierce. He realized that although he had been to Dick's place many times, he had never attempted to enter via the front door, never mind actually knocking to be let in.

It took Dick a few long moments to open the door and Jason wondered if he was still moving slow due to his injuries. The thought made horrible images to flash in front of his eyes and the phantom smell of burnt flesh assault him.

"Jason?"

He fought himself back from the brink and blinked a few times to clear his vision. Dick was looking at him in concern. Jason couldn't help give him a quick once over. He was unshaven and dressed in ratty sweat-pants and an oversized sweater that had clearly once belonged to someone else.

"Hey," Jason said stupidly.

"Are you ok? You're all red."

"Yeah, thanks, Dick. Your elevator is broken and so is my leg."

Dick looked at his cast and made an unhappy face. "Sorry, I would have asked the super to fix it for you if I'd known you were coming over."

Jason suddenly didn't know what to say, and just stood there like a moron, staring at Dick's face. There was a long moment before Dick seemed to shake himself out of his own awkward stupor.

"Come in and sit down," he said, as he turned and shuffled ed back into the apartment. He was walking with a slight limp and an odd gait. Jason worried about which injury had caused it.

Dick's living room looked as chaotic as Jason felt – it was a tip. Although there was nothing overtly gross like moldy food, almost all possible surfaces were covered in stuff; clothes, mugs of half-drunk coffee and papers. He had clearly been working rather than resting. Jason could relate.

Dick took an armful of crap off the couch and looked for a place to put it, failing to find a spot that was not already buried in debris he shrugged and dumped it on the floor behind the sofa. He gestured for Jason to sit, and he did so somewhat dubiously. The couch had seen better days.

"Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Something stronger?"

"What you got?" Jason asked, more alcohol might help take the edge off the hideous awkwardness. This had never been an issue between them before; tension, yeah, anger, bitterness and plenty of verbal sniping, but never this weirdly polite distance and discomfort.

"Beer, or maybe some bourbon?"

"Beer. I'm more of a scotch man, myself."

Dick nodded and shuffled through to the kitchen for their drinks. Jason glanced around the room again and tried to gather his thoughts. The mess was not actually that unusual, Dick had a tendency to discard whatever he was doing and leave it where it lay when his attention was taken by something else, which resulted in a trail of mess that used to drive Alfred to very stoic despair. The scruffy stubble Dick was wearing was slightly more concerning as it was usually a sign he was feeling out of sorts when he neglected personal grooming. Dick's beard grew like a thing possessed when left to its own devices. Jason had been extremely envious of it when he had been a kid and first experimenting with a patchy, fluffy mustache (years later he had hunted down and burnt the pictures that Dick had taken while Jason primped and posed like the little fool he'd been at that age.)

Dick came back in, handed him a beer and sat on the other end of the couch with somewhat more care than he would have done previously. In the huge sweeter he looked small and more frail than he actually was. He worried at a loose thread on one of the too long sleeves and Jason couldn't help wondering who the ugly thing had belonged to. Harper? Bruce? Knowing Dick it might even belong to Superman. Only Dick would wear one of the man-of-steels cast offs as a comfort blanket.

"What you smiling at, Jay?" Dick asked, giving him a lopsided smile in turn.

"Your shaggy face."

Dick touched his chin and seemed surprised to find stubble there, he looked slightly sheepish. "I guess if forgot to shave the past day or so. I've been working on this case." He waved at the stack of hand-written notes on the table.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" Jason said, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you been?" Dick shot back.

"Touché."

Dick shrugged again and went back to picking at the fraying sleeve of his shirt. "So what can I do for you, Jay? Come to deliver that ass kicking you promised over the McGowan thing?"

"Nah. I figured I would let you off on that one, considering, you know." He gestured vaguely.

"Oh gee, thanks, Jay."

Dick sounded sarcastic and bitchy and more like himself than he had since Jason arrived, it made him smile and relax a little.

"I just came to see how you were doing."

Dick chewed his lip for a moment, considering. "I'm ok. Healing alright. Still caring for some of the burns." He gave a small snort of a laugh. "It's a good thing I'm flexible, talk about injuries in hard to reach places."

Jason winced and took a fortifying pull on his beer. Although he generally preferred not to talk about his feelings, he wasn't afraid to if it came down to it, and he was always honest. Dick was actually far more reticent and occasionally downright deceitful about the way he felt, preferring to put on a brave face and soldier on. Unless the emotion he was feeling was anger – in which case it spilled out all over the place. Anger was one place they could definitely meet in the middle, it was their usual way of sharing their feelings with one another, and often resulted in bloodshed.

"You're smiling again, it's creeping me out," Dick said.

"I'm not sleeping so good, it's making me dopey."

Dick considered that for a moment, "I haven't been sleeping too well either."

"Nightmares?"

Dick didn't answer and sipped at his beer.

"Tim said you haven't been to see them at the manor," Jason tried, he just needed to open up a good line of communication, but it was difficult to find something he was fully comfortable actually broaching.

"Tim is a tattle tale."

"Yup. But I think he's worried. You speak to Bruce?"

Dick shuddered. "No. It keeps me up at night thinking about it. About him watching."

Jason stayed quiet, but he nodded his head to show he was listening.

"I don't get it." Dick looked forlorn. The faded bruises were yellow behind the black fuzz on his face.

"Don't get what?"

Dick shrugged and tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling with distant eyes. "Doesn't matter."

Jason slammed his bear down on the table, making Dick jump and draw into himself defensively, like a startled cat. "It does matter, Dickie. I can't stop thinking about it either. I came to see you because I needed to know if you were ok. And, if I'm honest, because you might understand how I'm feeling."

Well, he hadn't meant to be that straightforward, but it seemed to do the trick. Dick was looking at him with concern.

"What are you feeling?"

"You first, Dickie. What don't you get?"

Dick looked at his bare toes and shifted uncomfortably. "I've had worse. I've been beat up worse, threatened worse. Even my fear for you and that stupid boy is nothing really new. Why is it fucking me up this bad?"

Jason shifted, uncomfortable. "Maybe the sexual aspect?"

"No, had that worse too."

Jason had to take a moment to try to absorb that, realized he couldn't and forced himself to push it aside. Dick was avoiding eye contact, and Jason let him, leaning his head back to rest on the back of the sofa. "I have a theory, if you wanna hear it? It's not professional or anything, mind."

"Something that came to you just now?"

"No. I've done some research, over the years." He didn't have to look at Dick to know he was giving him soulful sad-face. Sentimental fool. "I figure it's sort of a cumulative effect. Like, any empathetic person faces enough trauma in their lives, fights enough battles, there has to be a point there mind just nopes right out of there."

"You have such a way with words, Jay."

"Shut up and listen."

"Yes sir!" Jason could hear the slight smile in Dick's voice as his spoke, although despite his words he didn't shut up, "I've had times when I have been traumatized, times when things have been bad and I've lost loved ones. But generally I like what I do, I enjoy it." He gave Jason a wry look that all but said; and so do you.

Jason ignored it. "Yeah, you're an adrenaline junkie, and let's be honest - you get off on righteous violence." He expected Dick to protest, but he didn't, so he continued, warming to his subject. "Thing is, the constant danger, the fighting and the fear of loss we all go though, that's still a bunch of chemical reactions happening in your body. Your body doesn't know you're having the time of your life, it thinks you're living in terror. And that combined with the actual trauma, the things we've suffered, the things we've seen and the people we've lost? There has to come a time you tip over the edge. And this was it for you."

Dick was silent for a moment, and Jason gave him his space.

"What about you, Jay? When was your tipping point?"

"Mine happened a long-ass time ago. This is just a refresher – a repeat of my greatest hits, this time starring you."

"I'm sorry, Jay"

"Stop fucking apologizing for getting fucked up! It wasn't your fault. My fault more than yours."

"Not your fault either,"

Jason took another long drink. Not enough booze in the world for this shit. "Got another beer?"

Dick rolled his eyes. "Fridge is that way, if you want to drink yourself unconscious."

Sometimes Jason forgot what a sanctimonious prick Dick was. He had kind of missed it.

Jason woke with his face pushed into Dick's side. He didn't smell particularly fresh and he wasn't especially comfortable, but somehow it seemed having Dick for a pillow had allowed Jason to sleep the night away. At least seven hours judging from the amount of light beaming through the window.

Dick was asleep too, his face relaxed and his mouth hanging slightly open. Even after Jason had extracted himself and hobbled to the kitchen for a glass of water and a Tylenol, Dick remained dead to the world, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. Jason watched him for a bit, feeling his emotions slip and slide about in the pit of his stomach. He decided not to wake him before he left, and Dick only scrunched his nose and wrinkled his brow a little when Jason drew a picture of a penis on his forehead with a sharpie he found by the fridge - just to give them something to talk about to ease the awkwardness next time. He was pretty sure there was going to be a next time.

Two nights later Dick turned up at his door. Jason had almost been expecting him. Partly because he expected retaliation over the penis drawing, and partly because he himself hadn't slept more than an hour at a time since he had left Dick's apartment, and he had been wondering if Dick was dealing with something similar. He had been thinking about what sort of excuse he could make to go back and have another long peaceful sleep before he completely lost his marbles and started beating up on his furniture and drinking himself to death.

"Jay!" Dick greeted him with dark shadows under his eyes and a fake looking grin.

"Dick," Jason held the door open for him to enter. Dick had shaved and hopefully showered. He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans.

Unlike Dick's catastrophe of a living space, Jason's open plan apartment was neat and sparse, with only a few personal touches. He didn't want to have to leave anything here he was attached to if he had to leave in a hurry – everything meaningful he owned was in storage, under the name Wayne Peters.

Dick sat on the sofa and offered Jason the large carrier bag he had been carrying. "I brought beer."

Jason held up a hand. No way was he drinking anything Dick bought – apart from his poor taste in beer, there was a chance he had done something to it as revenge. "I'm on the scotch," he said, watching Dick's face for any sign of disappointment. Instead Dick shrugged good-naturedly and opened himself a bottle with his teeth. Jason shuddered.

"So what can I do for you, Dick-face?"

"I was at a loose end and thought I'd drop by to see how you were doing."

It was a weak, but plausible excuse, and Jason didn't call him on it. Instead he picked up a bunch of takeout menus and the TV remote and sat on the sofa beside him. "What you fancy for dinner then?" he asked, and Dick grinned and took the menus.

They couldn't agree on what to eat. Or what to watch on TV, they squabbled and acted like a couple of kids. Ever the sore loser, Dick did an amusing (although Jason would never admit it) voice-over for the French movie Jason had wanted to watch, and Jason 'accidently' ordered coconut rice instead of plain, making Dick sulk and moan over his curry.

It sort of felt like they were friends.

And they both slept the night away, sharing the couch and lost to the world. In the morning Dick was gone, and all of Jason's helmets had smiley faces drawn on them in permanent marker. Bastard.

Over the next few weeks they spent at least four out of seven nights together – they never mentioned it, or called ahead. And they always slept on the couch. Jason was aware they were heading towards codependent territory, but he really couldn't make himself care.

Of course other matters were progressing too, as the police began to make their case and prepare for trial. The majority of the gang had opted to plead out for a lighter sentence, but a few of the higher ups were holding out while they threw money at lawyers and made vague threats towards the eye witnesses. Commissioner Gordon had been hunting Jason to take a statement, but had yet to catch up with him – although there had been a close shave when Jason had been at Dick's place and Gordon had arrived to go over a few things. Jason had been forced to hide under the bed with what looked like the world's largest collection of missing socks and an ancient, fossilized chocolate croissant. Gordon asked awkward questions and Dick lied through his teeth. Jason owed him for that one. Eventually he might have to talk to them, if it looked like his absence would impact the case. But he preferred to stay under the radar if he could.

He wasn't sure at what point Dick's toothbrush moved into his bathroom, and his apartment got steadily messier, but it was probably around the same time, haunted by the images of the mummified croissant and the possibility of more ancient discarded pastries, Jason had snapped and cleaned Dick's whole apartment. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared, but still way beyond his comfort level. And if his spare toothbrush had made its way into Dick's (now clean) bathroom, then that was only fair.

Of course trauma wasn't that easy to fix – they gained comfort from one another, but the nightmares didn't stay gone for long. But there was something reassuring about waking from fear and pain to soft breathing and a warm body. Dick never pressed him about his dreams and Jason returned the favor, instead they offered a wordless, easy comfort, like gentling a small child or wild animal.

Jason's fear and horror were lessening, reducing back to manageable levels, but Dick's were not.

Jason had faced his demons; he had confronted Dick, comforted him and received comfort in turn.

Dick had not faced his.

In Jason's opinion, Dick's demon was Bruce. Or to be more exact, his shame over the things Bruce had seen, his feelings of failure, his feelings of abandonment and his anxiety over having abandoned Bruce in turn. Jason was kind of an expert in Bruce related angst. And although he knew he had some - for want of a better word - daddy issues, he had nothing on Dick. Dick's feelings of self were so wrapped up in his relationship with Bruce, and his love was so vast and obsessive it was mildly frightening at times. Bruce was a fucking fool to let that kind of dedication slip away from him, but then Jason thought Dick was just as much of an idiot for devoting so much of himself to other people. Especially Bruce.

Jason often wondered if he was the only person with any reasonable intelligence in their family. Well, him and Alfred. And Tim, sometimes (Oracle was smarter than the lot of them put together, so she didn't count.)

He had to make the two morons talk to one another, or Dick wouldn't be able to move forward. He considered calling Alfred, but couldn't face the possibility of seeing his hurt – Dick was avoiding him too. Instead he called Tim, no doubt Tim was full of angst and pain and woe over his big brother's absence in his life, but Jason could deal with that. And the nasty bitter part of him that still harbored some resentment for the replacement might even enjoy it.

He called, and Tim answered with "Jason, everything ok?" And Jason damn well knew he hadn't given the little shit his number.

"Hello? Is this the society for annoying creepy stalkers?"

"What do you want, Jason? I assume this isn't a social call. Or are you so bored you're having to engage in prank calls to entertain yourself?"

"Can you repeat that? I don't speak moron."

Tim gave a long suffering sigh, and Jason was surprised to realize he quite liked having a little brother to harass. But that wasn't why he was calling (although he was already planning the call after this one, when everything was back to normal).

"Jason, can you please tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah, alright," Jason said easily, leaving a long and no doubt annoying pause. "It's time Dick got his shit together and talked to Bruce."

"Oh thank god, I thought he would never come round and put the rest of us out of our misery. You know how Bruce gets when he's upset."

"He hasn't exactly come round to the idea – more like I think we need to force the issue."

Tim was quiet for a moment and Jason thought for a moment he was going to get all holier than thou about it. Then, thankfully, that didn't seem to be the case.

"Ok, what's the plan?"

"That's why I was calling, dipshit. Two heads are better than one and all that. And you have access to B."

"Insulting me is not the best way to get my help, Jason."

"Seems to be working thus far, don't it?" Jason was pleased to hear a sound that might have been Tim's teeth grinding together. Kid should stop that before he wore out his perfect pearly whites.

"Fine, pick a place – neutral ground, you get Dick there and I'll bring Bruce."

"My west side safe house? Respectable enough for Bruce Wayne to visit. This needs to be done sans masks."

"Perfect. Tomorrow at eight." Tim hung up.

Getting Dick there was easy enough, their current relationship was such there weren't really any questions asked. Jason didn't envy Tim his side – there were probably a great many questions asked, and their answers carefully analyzed and dissected.

Tim met him in his secondary safe house, one floor below the first. He was dressed casually for once, in a goofy t-shirt of some band Jason had never heard of. It was a nice change – most times when Jason saw Tim, he was either dressed for the night job, or his day job, working for Bruce. Jason felt kind of pissed on his behalf – the kid should have been preparing to go to college and learning how to get drunk and sleep through class, not working the daily grind for daddy.

Tim sat on the sofa and looked at Jason expectantly. Jason looked back, unsure of what he wanted.

"I assume you have surveillance of your other apartment?" Tim prompted, at last.

"Yeah, but I wasn't planning on using it. Even if they flip out at one another they aren't going to do any damage. Probably anyway."

"Not the point, Jason. We should know what's happening, so if there is some fallout, we can be ready to deal with it."

Jason mulled that over for a moment. On one hand, Tim was right, it would be useful know what wounds might need a Band-Aid, metaphorically speaking. But on the other hand, it would be a breach of trust for Dick, even if he never found out.

There was also a part of Jason that didn't want to hear things go well and didn't want to watch them hug and be close. After some brief introspection, he was surprised to find he was happy to disregard his own feelings in the matter in order to do right by Dick. And doing right by Dick meant not invading his privacy.

"No," he said, looming in front of Tim, who failed to look intimidated. "Dick's been through enough non-consensual surveillance to last a life time. And it's bad enough we tricked him into coming here in the first place. We give him his space."

Tim looked like he was going to argue, but then reluctantly nodded his head. "Okay."

"So, wanna play Xbox while we wait?"

"I'll whip your ass, Jase."

Jason ignored the nickname, and the warm feeling hearing it caused in his chest. "You don't even know what games I got, squirt."

"Doesn't make a damn bit of difference."

"Bring it on, boy wonderless."

It was close to 1am when Jason got a text from Dick: Get your sorry butt here ASAP

Jason replied: on way, just tucking in a tuckered out babybat.

Tim had crashed an hour ago, teenage vigilantes needed their rest, after all. Jason covered his sprawled form with a blanket, and considered attempting a repeat of his forehead art. But he didn't really have the heart for it, he was too anxious about what Dick was going to say.

He checked his messages: Tell Tim he's a dead man walking

Jason winced, yeah they were both going to be in the doghouse for this one.

Jason gave it fifteen minutes, just to give the illusion of distance, before heading up to the top floor. Dick was sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest defensively. This was going to suck.

"Hey, Dickie."

"You had no right to do that, Jason." Dick sounded tired, emotionally exhausted.

Jason perched on the edge of the sofa. "I know I didn't, but it was a thing that needed to be done."

"You don't get to decide that!" Dick snapped.

There wasn't really a good argument against that, and to be honest, despite Dick being absolutely right and completely justified in his anger, Jason wasn't actually sorry, so he didn't insult him with an apology, instead he cut right to the chase. "So how'd it go, did you clear the air?"

Dick let out an aggrieved sigh, his posture becoming slightly more relaxed. "You're an ass, Jason Peter Todd."

"Yup."

Dick rubbed at his face and Jason noticed his eyes looked a little red. "Yeah, we 'cleared the air' as you put it. It was fucking horrible, and I just want to forget about it for tonight, okay?"

"Do you feel any better for it?"

"Looking to justify your actions?"

Jason shrugged and leaned back against the soft cushions on the sofa. "I'm just concerned about you, Dickie. I don't like seeing you so messed up. You're supposed to be the confident and annoying one, not all sad and twitchy."

Dick snorted. "You just don't know me very well, Jay."

"I know you plenty well, Dickie, and I know you needed to talk it out with B before you could move forward."

Dick gave him a long, sour look. "You ever take your own advice, Jay?"

"Never. My advice sucks."

Dick laughed, a slightly wild sound. "Come here," he said, pointing at the cushion beside him.

"Are you going to hit me?"

"Maybe. You deserve it."

"Yeah, probably." Jason slid across the couch and into Dick's arms, which wrapped around his back like a vice. As hugs went it was kind of an aggressive one – Dick's anger was very well conveyed in the creaking of Jason's ribs as they were squeezed.

"We gonna stay here tonight?" Dick asked eventually, his voice muffled against Jason's chest.

"Yeah, if you want to."

Dick shoved away from him and stood, he seemed to shake his distress away from him and instead just looked determined. He grabbed Jason by one ear and tugged him off the couch. Jason cussed and stumbled, but Dick was relentless, and dragged him towards the bedroom.

Jason went with it – he really didn't fancy being at the end of Dick's fists tonight, a bit of ear torture was about all he could take. In the bedroom Dick finally released him, sent him a challenging look and said, "Don't know about you, but I'm sleeping in a bed tonight." And with that he pulled off his t-shirt, shucked his pants and flopped down on the bed.

Jason pointedly ignored the new shiny red scars and faded mottled bruising on Dick's body, dwelling on it wouldn't help him sleep. Instead he shrugged out of his own clothes and slid into the bed beside him. Dick shuffled up and slung an arm over Jason's bare chest. The feel of skin on skin was strange, electric. Jason's heart beat hard and he struggled to find some equilibrium. Eventually he decided it was probably best if he said something, anything to break the strange pulsing tension.

"Dickie?" he whispered.

Dick started snoring lightly.

Just him with the tension then, clearly. But he couldn't help but grin in the dim light – there would definitely be time to explore their friendship further. For now he allowed Dick's comforting presence calm his tingling nerves and lull him to sleep.

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- One more chapter to go!