A/N:

WARNING Chapter Contains: Aftermath of a Suicide Attempt

~*~

Over the next few weeks, although he was still keeping Jay at arms length and having his morning breakdowns, Jason started to notice that Dick was...more upbeat.

He felt himself start to hope as he noticed Dick's real smile replacing the fake one more and more often these days, and Dick had hardly been cold and blank with him at all. Jason had no idea what was causing it, but every time a sincere smile bloomed across Dick's face, he felt his heart swell a little more. Maybe Dick was finally, finally starting to heal.

~*~

"I love you," Dick murmured, early one morning, just after they'd gotten into bed.

He still wasn't letting Jason in or talking about anything important with him, but he'd become much more liberal with his 'I love you's, and Jason felt that was at least a step.

"Love you too," he said sleepily. "Anythin' on your mind?"

"Hm?" Dick asked. "Oh. Yeah. Gonna get on that drug smuggling case up in Maine — this week, I think."

"Really?" Jason was more awake now. "Maine?"

"Yeah. Have you seen the report on the case?"

"Yeah...it's barely a case. Real small fish to fry, you sure you need to go all the way up there for that?"

Dick sighed. "Yes. A case is a case is a case. And the prospect of a trip out of Gotham for a few days doesn't hurt."

Jason tried not to feel hurt about that.

"Okay, if you're sure."

When Jason awoke the next day, he was almost convinced their conversation had just been a weird dream, but sure enough, Dick started packing up to go on the trip.

Jason didn't really understand why he seemed so insistent on going away on that silly little case, but Dick seemed excited about it, so he didn't want to question it too much.

Still, he found himself over at Barbara's in the early morning a good many hours after Dick had left(with a rather emphatic, "I love you all to bits and I'm gonna miss your faces, masked or not. But I'll be home soon!" over the comms before he shut his off and headed out of the city).

"I don't know, I'm probably just being overprotective or clingy or something. It's just the whole thing feels weird to me and I don't know why. I mean, I'm glad he seems excited about something, and he's been seeming a lot more upbeat than usual lately — I definitely don't wanna fuck with that — I just...don't get it.

"Because he's happier I guess, but the breakdowns don't seem to have lessened, and he's still not really letting me in at all — it still feels like there's this massive distance between us that I have no idea how to bridge. I don't wanna sound like I'm not happy he's happy, I am, I just don't get why."

Barbara shrugged, and let out a yawn. "I don't know, but you're probably right not to question it. He's healing at his own pace, and I think feeling better in general is a good step. Maybe you can try to talk with him again after he comes back, though, if you're really worried."

"Yeah…" Jason said, deflating. "Yeah, I guess. You're right."

But Jason found himself brooding over the issue all that evening. The longer it sat, the worse the weird feeling about the case got.

By ten thirty, instead of heading out on patrol, he found himself heading toward the highway.

He didn't tell anyone — he really didn't want to hear how crazy he was being from someone else — just headed out on his motorcycle. Hopefully, if all went well, Dick wouldn't even have to know he'd come up after him like a fucking helicopter parent.

~*~

Sitting on a motorcycle for nearly eight hours was not a particularly enjoyable experience, as Jason discovered for unfortunately not the first time in his life. He'd made pretty good time, though. The advantages of driving over night, he supposed: the roads were empty, and speeding was pretty much free reign.

It was nearing seven in the morning by the time he rolled into the right town and parked at the only motel. He wasn't feeling great, despite his several stops for food and to stretch his legs, but he plastered a friendly smile onto his face regardless, adjusting his backpack straps and heading into the motel.

"Hello!" he greeted the attendant behind the desk cheerily.

"Good morning, sir. How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to surprise my friend for his birthday, but I don't know which room he's in, and I was hoping you could help me out?"

"Oh. I...suppose," the attendant said, and Jason thanked the universe for small towns and their lack of security. "What was his name?"

Jason gave Dick's favorite alias, and crossed his fingers under the counter as they typed it into the computer, long nails clacking against the keys.

"That's room 110," they said. "Out around the right side of the building."

"Thanks so much!" Jason said, and headed back out.

It should be fairly easy to unobtrusively check in the window and then tail Dick whenever he got going for the day. He could probably find some sort of diner or coffee shop to hang out in for a few hours until Dick woke up.

He yawned. Or maybe he could get a room here too, and catch a few hours of sleep.

He headed up the outside stairs to the second level and double-checked the number on the door before peering through the crack where the curtains didn't quite meet. His heart dropped, and he was swinging his backpack off before he'd even processed what he was seeing.

Dick was sprawled face-down on the floor in a pool of blood and vomit, and Jason's hands were shaking as he pulled his lockpicks out of his bag and made quick work of the lock. He thanked the universe once again for small towns using actual locks with keys rather than keycards on the doors.

"Jesus. Jesus christ, oh my god," he distantly heard himself saying as he burst into the room, immediately checking for a pulse. It was weak, but there, and Jason was already dialing 911 on his cellphone.

He kept his hand on Dick's cold, limp, sluggishly bleeding wrist, feeling his pulse until the ambulance arrived.

He wasn't allowed in, and he sat there on his bike, staring after the ambulance. Everything felt distant and unreal — had felt that way since he'd seen Dick through the window.

Jason could feel himself wheezing as he numbly kick-started his bike and headed out onto the road. Could feel his throat closing up, making odd, painful noises as he tried to breathe, but he couldn't control it. He couldn't control anything — he couldn't do anything.

Everything was wrong, and Jason's mind had started to go on lockdown now that he was out of the emergency action phase. There was really only one thought running through his head right now, repeating itself at high speed.

I just want my dad. I want my dad, I want my dad.

~*~

Bruce eyed the unknown number being rerouted through the Batcomputer. Possibly a burner phone that Dick had gotten on his most recent mission, or perhaps Tim.

It was lucky he was even down here — he had gotten ready to go into work early for an international meeting, and had decided to come down to the Cave briefly to check a few things over first.

He picked up the call. "Hello?"

"Dad?" A shaky voice choked out.

The world stood still for a moment. It couldn't possibly be— but who else?

"Jason?"

"Dad, I'm—" His voice hitched. "I'm—" His voice broke off again.

"Jay? Are you okay? Where are you?" He hastily typed an urgent message to Barbara requesting Jason's location as he spoke.

"Dickie— he— I'm in Maine. Can you come get me? Please, it's Dick," he managed to get out, albeit a bit strangled.

"I'm on my way. What happened? Is he okay?"

"I don't know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I don't know." A few sobs slipped out, and it took a few moments before he regained himself enough to explain further. "I knew there was something weird about this mission," he continued, as Bruce grabbed his keys and ran to the elevator. The Batplane would be faster, but he couldn't take it up and land it somewhere in Maine in broad daylight, so he'd have to go to Wayne Enterprises and take the company jet.

"He's been acting funny lately, but it was good, he seemed happier. I figured I shouldn't jinx it or whatever, since he's been struggling so much since...all that shit, you know."

Bruce didn't like where this was headed at all. "Where is he?"

"Blue Hill Memorial Hospital." Bruce immediately messaged Barbara for the location. "I'm outside." His voice hitched again, and when he spoke up next he sounded so small. "Dad, I don't know if he's gonna wake up. I don't know, I'm so scared. There was— it looked like he had tried— tried to k-kill himself last night too. There was—" he cut off, breathing heavily, trying to collect himself.

"Jay, champ, breathe. It's okay, I'm on my way. It's gonna be alright," Bruce tried, but Jason couldn't seem to stop his hysterical rambling.

"It's not, though! It's not okay! Nothing's okay! It— He was— It was really fucked up. When I got there he was completely passed out, unresponsive, covered in blood and vomit; I thought— I thought he was already dead. And then when I got to him, his pulse was so weak; I called 911 immediately, but it took so long for them to get there, I thought he was just gonna slip away and I wouldn't be able to stop it."

There was another muffled sob before Jason continued.

"He— I— God I wish I wasn't a fucking detective. He wanted to die so fucking bad, Bruce, and I wish I hadn't been able to see how much just from being in the fucking room. He mixed so much shit together, and— and there was an older-looking puddle of vomit a few feet away, I think— it looked like— fuck— like he woke up, and when he figured out he was alive, he just rolled over and tried again." There was a sniffle. "And he cut himself up pretty bad— I didn't know...I don't think he was doing that before. I would have noticed— well, I think I would, but I don't know, I don't know anything. I didn't notice he was gonna do this." He sounded wretched.

"Nobody did, Jay, you can't expect to have known if he didn't want you to. Dick is good at hiding things when he wants to," Bruce said, trying to keep his voice gentle despite how tense he was.

"What if he wanted me to notice? All the blood in the hotel was fairly fresh, so it might've been a last minute thing, but maybe he was doing it before too. Or maybe he wasn't, it doesn't matter, maybe he wanted me to push more about why he was so happy suddenly. Maybe I made it worse. What if he thinks I don't care because I didn't even notice?

"Or what if— what if I was making him feel guilty? We haven't been doing anything really...you know...since… But I told him that was okay, but what if he felt like I was pressuring him or something? What if he thought I was lying? I—"

"Jay. You're overthinking it. Stressing about this isn't going to help Dick, and it's only going to make you feel worse."

"But...if it's my fault, then I deserve it. I can't kick my own ass, it's the least I can do."

That surprised a sharp laugh out of Bruce, and Jason gave a small, watery chuckle in return.

"It's not your fault, Jay. I'm certain. There are always things all of us could do better, I'm not saying none of us did anything that might have made things worse, but I am certain that it is not your fault."

"Okay," Jason said quietly.

"You don't believe me still."

"No."

"Okay."

There was quiet for a moment.

"Stay on the phone with me? I don't wanna be alone."

"Of course, Jay." Bruce was just relieved that he was asking for help, rather than pushing him away...so far, at least. "I'll be there in two hours."

Jason 'hmm'-ed in reply, and Bruce stayed quiet after that, not wanting to push his luck.

He finally got to the company jet, and plugged the coordinates Barbara had sent him for the hospital into it, before preparing for take off.

As soon as he was in the air, he searched the map ahead for viable landing areas and sent a message to Barbara to order a cab to an address nearby. After a moment, he added in another short message. Perhaps now would be a good time to practice being a little more...appreciative sometimes.

Thank you. I wouldn't be using you as a secretary if it weren't an emergency.

Now to contact Lucius and explain why he wouldn't be showing up for that meeting. Or work at all until further notice.

~*~

He was still listening to Jason slowly, consciously breathing, when he approached the hospital.

"Okay, Jay?"

"Nn."

"I'm about to land the jet in a park a few streets away from the hospital, and I'm going to get a cab to the hospital as Brucie, okay? I'm gonna stay on the phone with you. It'll be 10 minutes."

Jason cleared his throat, but still all he seemed to be able to get out was a small 'Mm'.

Bruce landed the jet in the empty park. This was all much too conspicuous for his taste, but what was he supposed to do? One of his sons could be dying — had nearly died, in any case — and the other had been in hysterics, and now seemed to have succumbed to shock for the better part of two hours.

He hightailed it across the park to the road where the cab was waiting and slid in.

"Wayne. Blue Hill Memorial." The taxi driver nodded, and began to pull out onto the road.

Bruce reached into his pocket and pulled a wad of bills from his billfold, holding them toward the driver through the grating between them.

The driver glanced in the mirror. "Sir?"

"Please get me to the hospital as fast as humanly possible. This is yours."

They glanced back uncertainly once again, before hesitantly taking the cash and pressing the gas pedal further.

"We're turning into the drive right now, Jay," he said lowly.

Jason managed a short, choked sound.

Before the car had fully stopped, Bruce had thanked the driver and was out the door, sprinting toward the front.

Jason was leaned back against the brick, holding his phone painfully tightly against his ear, and Bruce was beside him in an instant.

"Jay."

Jason managed to wrench his hand away from his phone, letting it clatter to the pavement, and pitched himself forward, wrapping his arms around Bruce like a vise.

Bruce hugged him back, laying a cheek against his hair. He could feel tears running down his neck and wetting the shoulder of his shirt, and Jason was shaking like a leaf. Bruce attempted to murmur some soothing noises — suddenly, painfully reminded of comforting an eight-year-old Dick when he had been woken by nightmares of his parents falling to their deaths again.

"I just need him to live, Dad. He can't...I can't handle him dying."

Bruce held him tighter. "I know, Jay, I know son."

Maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour passed, but eventually Jason seemed to cry himself out.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and shifted away — just enough to swipe the tears off of his face. "Can we go see if you being all Bruce Wayne will get us in to see Dickie?" he mumbled, still huddled up against Bruce's chest, and Bruce felt his heart break for the hundredth time that day.

Because Jason was still the fragile little snot-nosed kid he'd taken in off the street, who hid behind his anger and biting humor; and when he let that go, he was so vulnerable it ached to see. Even as physically intimidating as he had grown up to be, Bruce thought he still looked so unbearably young and small and scared.

"Yeah." He patted Jason's back, and they both finally let go. "Let's go, champ."

~*~

It didn't actually take a whole lot to get them let up to see Dick. The staff were a bit more trusting of billionaire Bruce Wayne in a pressed suit than some sketchy looking, semi-hysterical dude with no proof of relation, it turned out.

Dick was still unconscious, but a nurse informed them that it was just because of the pills he had taken, and that he would likely wake up in the next few hours.

While it was good to know Dick didn't seem to be in danger of going into a coma, it was still nerve-wracking to sit there not knowing when he might wake up.

The nurses had cleaned him up a bit, thankfully, and he was in a clean hospital gown, but he still definitely looked worse for wear. He was pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair slightly sticking to his forehead with sweat, although his skin was frigid to the touch and he was shivering slightly in his sleep even with the blankets over him. He was hooked up to a remote heart monitor that transmitted straight to the nurse's station, and a small clamp on his finger monitored his blood oxygen level — both just precautions, the nurse assured them. There was also an IV in each arm, administering various antidotes and a saline drip, and thick bandages wrapping from his wrists all the way up to his elbows.

And sure, Jason knew that all the monitors and everything were routine, and the nurse had assured them that things looked very good, but he still couldn't completely tamp down the fear and worry sitting heavily in his chest.

So he and Bruce sat silently on opposite sides of the bed, watching and waiting.

After about three hours (and two nurses coming in to check vitals), Bruce stood up.

"I'm going to go get some coffee. You want me to get you one?"

Jason nodded absently, and continued to sit quietly, listening to the quiet tick of the clock and the automated whirr-click of the pump on the IV.

Perhaps a quarter of an hour passed in relative silence, before Dick blinked his eyes open, and stared up at the white ceiling, slowly taking in his surroundings.

Oh god. Fuck. He was in a hospital. He was still alive.

He felt tears begin to spill out of the corners of his eyes.

Why did I wake up? Why did I wake up?

After a minute he realized he was saying that aloud, but he couldn't stop repeating himself.

Jason didn't know he could hurt any more than he already did, but watching Dick's face crumple in what could only be described as profound grief when he opened his eyes and realized he was still alive...fuck that hurt so much worse than he could have imagined.

"Dick? Dickie?"

Dick continued to cry quietly, mumbling something to himself like a mantra.

Jason gently squeezed his hand. "Dick, sweetheart, hey."

He finally turned his head toward Jason, and his face crumpled again.

"Please don't hate me. I'm sorry." He clutched Jason's hand in a death grip, and his throat caught on a sob. "I don't know why it didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

"Sweetheart…" Jason hesitantly picked his free hand up. "Can I touch your hair?"

Dick nodded, and Jason began running his fingers through it.

"I'm so, so sorry," he finally said. "I'm so sorry you're hurting so bad, but—" he swallowed hard, squeezing Dick's hand even harder. "I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am it didn't work."

He swiped at his eyes, and quickly returned his hand to Dick's hair, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice, I'm sorry you couldn't tell me...I'm sorry I don't know how to make it better," he said quietly.

"There was nothing to notice — I didn't want anyone to notice," Dick said. "It's never going to get better. Nothing and no-one can make it better, and that's why I just— I just…I'm so tired. I'm so tired of just having to keep going, and more shit keeps happening, and it all keeps getting worse, and it never stops. And I'm just supposed to keep going anyway."

His breath hitched. "And I just want to stop, Jay. It hurts and I'm tired, and why can't I just let something be too hard for once? I feel guilty, but I don't understand why I haven't earned being able to give up, just once. I just came up here to do it because I didn't wanna make it worse for everybody else when I finally got to stop, that's all."

Jason ducked his head down further so Dick couldn't see his face, and clenched his hand lightly in Dick's hair.

"I don't know, sweetie. It isn't fair." He couldn't rightly tell Dick his logic was wrong — he'd had plenty of the same thoughts about himself over the years.

He leaned forward to rest his forehead on the side of Dick's stomach. "This okay?"

"Yeah."

Jason stared at the blanket less than an inch away from his eyes, and watched as his first few tears sat there for a moment after they landed, before sinking in, wetting the fabric.

"I love you so much, Dickiebird," he mumbled, blindly twirling a lock of Dick's hair around his fingers. "There's absolutely nothing I wouldn't do to keep you alive. And I'm sorry that that hurts you, I really am, but I gotta be selfish, Dickie. I can't let you die."

He turned his face to the side, away from Dick's face, and pulled their hands over to press a kiss to the back of his hand.

"It's okay," Dick said softly, wiping his eyes with his free hand. "I knew that already."

"I'm sorry," Jason repeated, burying his face back in Dick's side. "I'm sorry. I love you."

He let his hand wander from Dick's hair to caress his cheek, swiping a thumb over the curve of his jaw. Jason's hand came to rest on the side of his neck, thumbing slowly over his pulse.

"Jay…I'm sorry — it's just…" Dick paused. "It's really you, yeah?" he asked, almost inaudibly, as if he wasn't sure he wanted Jason to hear him.

Jason picked his head up. "Yeah, sweet pea," he brusquely swiped away his tears with the back of his hand, "it's me." He dropped another quick kiss on Dick's knuckles. "You never gotta apologize. Quiz me, pumpkin."

"It's just so shitty, that even here, no matter what, I can't ignore the need to check. You're just trying to be supportive, and all I can do is keep being distrusting. It's shitty. It makes me feel shitty."

"I'm sorry Dickie," Jason said. "You're not being shitty, okay? I don't mind. You know I just want to make sure you feel safe, and I'm more than happy to answer a few little questions if it helps. If you asked me to fill out a forty page government form every time I wanted to so much as lay a finger on you, I'd do it, okay?"

Dick nodded and bit his lip, before finally asking him a couple of questions that presumably only he and Jason would know the answers to. Jason answered them correctly and gave his hand a small squeeze.

"Alright, sugar pie?"

"'Sugar pie?'" he questioned, dubiously.

"You've let 'pumpkin' slide now. I'm testing my limits."

Dick laughed. "Horrible."

"I dunno, I think it's cute. Almost as cute as you thinking the names won't just keep getting worse." Jason winked at him. "I'm building up slow so you don't notice."

Dick shook his head, hiding a grin.

The door opened, and they both looked over.

"Dick," Bruce breathed out. He was standing stock-still, carrying a coffee in each hand. "You're awake," he said, startling into movement and walking around to the other side of the bed quickly, setting down the coffees on the side table.

"Can I hug you?"

Dick nodded, and Bruce wrapped his arms around his shoulders tightly, almost crushing. "Dick," he murmured, "I'm so glad you're okay. I'm so, so glad you're okay. Please, please never do that to me again."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"I love you so much, Dickiebird. I need you here, okay?"

"Okay," he mumbled into Bruce's shoulder. "Love you too."

"So...anyone else here I should know about?" Dick asked, when Bruce finally let go of him.

Jason shook his head. "No. I was the one who...found you, and I sort of freaked out and called Bruce...sorry. I don't think anyone else knows yet, though." He looked to Bruce, who shook his head as well.

"I didn't tell anyone." He frowned. "Although...it's probably not very long until Damian, at the very least, starts looking into where I went, and I'm sure Barbara's pieced quite a bit together, since I contacted her for your location and to get a cab here."

Dick sighed. "I'll...call everyone. Just not right now."

Oh he was not looking forward to this. How do you tell everyone you love that you tried to kill yourself? How was he supposed to ever look Damian in the eyes, knowing he'd tried to leave him — that he still wanted to?

Why did he have to fucking survive?