Chapter Text
It’s not that Dick is ignoring the footsteps. That would be rude, and Cat already has to deal with a lot of shit from him.
It’s closer to not acknowledging them. Dick is interest-neutral on all footstep matters.
Plus, if Cat wants something, she’ll just tell him.
Hopefully. Dick doesn’t have the energy to deal with passive aggressive subtext right now. There’s a bump in the mattress that he’s been running his hand back and forth over for the last however-long she’s been gone that’s got his attention (as much as he can spare, right now). It’s easier than thinking.
The footsteps stop, not that Dick is paying much attention. There’s silence, broken only by the soft shh of his hand across fabric. Then, vibrations across the mattress as something tap-taps on the bed. “Dick?”
That’s not Cat’s voice.
If he had the energy to care, he’d startle into readiness. He’d send out a tendril of emotion to approximate their intentions, and he’d have a quip ready.
Of course, he would have probably been aware and ready as soon as they entered the room. Before.
It’s different now, somehow. Dick isn’t quite sure how that happened, but it did.
“Well, somethin’s wrong here,” that voice murmurs. “You’re never this quiet unless you’re dyin’ or schemin’.” Another soft taptap, this one closer to Dick but not touching. “You there, big bird?”
Oh.
Dick closes his eyes. Not that it matters much. There isn’t anyone in the room. It’s Jason.
He hasn’t been around much recently. Maybe today will be a good day.
“I’m here,” Dick says, almost grateful for the sting in his throat after being silent for so long. It’s waking him up a bit.
Slowly, the mattress dips, as if under the weight of a person. “Good to know you’re still in the land of the livin’. Mind if I de-cocoon you, or is that illegal?”
Dick shrugs. “You can try.” It’s resigned, not challenging. Jason literally can’t.
“What, it weigh a million pounds or somethin’?” Light and humorous, with a hint of the challenge that wasn’t present in Dick’s voice. “Lights on, Wing,” comes next, fabric rustling as the weight of the blanket is…removed?
This is a weird dream, then? Dick would say something like, ‘it feels too real to be a dream,’ but nothing feels completely real anymore anyway. He tilts his head to the side so he can see whoever (Jason?) lifted the covers.
It’s not Cat, that’s for sure. Too tall and broad, for one. For half a second Dick thinks it might be Bruce just on frame alone, but Bruce hasn’t reached out once before this, so there’s absolutely no reason he’d be here in person. Whoever this is, they’re tall and broad (he already said that, didn’t he?), muscled under their leather jacket. Dick sometimes has a hard time imagining Jason as anything other than the broken body from the warehouse, but maybe this person has some of the features Jason was starting to gain from puberty.
They–he–has the scars, though. Burns up the left side of the face, skin half-melted to cover the carved ‘J’ in the cheek. His left eye is a cloudy green, while the right is a brighter shade of green-blue. Short dark hair, shaved on the sides, flops on his head, punctuated by a shock of white bangs over his forehead.
“Shit, birdie,” the man says lowly. “You look terrible.”
Dick is far beyond the energy for a sarcastic ‘thanks.’
“You look good, though,” Dick says, managing a small smile. “All grown up.” He wishes Jason had actually had the time to grow up.
“Yeah, that sure happened,” the man says in a perfect drawl of Jason’s sarcastic tone. “Ignore the horrible scarrin’ and the color changes and I’m a looker on the same level as you.”
Dick shudders. He’s a little surprised that he has the energy to, but maybe some things will always get to him. Not that he’d usually shudder at something like this. He used to be better with that sort of thing.
The figure frowns. “Huh,” he says thoughtfully, looking at Dick like he’s a puzzle to solve. “That’s new. Somethin’s real wrong, ain’t it?”
Dick almost laughs. “You haven’t noticed? Still seeing you isn’t the only thing wrong with me, y’know.”
Quiet. Green eyes watch him carefully. Then, “Y’know, this is probably the last thing I expected when I came to find you.” A frown, eyebrows scrunching in concern. “You’re hurtin’. Which, I guess makes sense, considerin’ what happened to Blud, but this is different. Isn’t it?”
Closing his eyes, Dick sighs. It feels like energy is leaking out of him with every breath, slowly dripping off the bed and onto the floor. “Sure is, little wing.”
Dick thinks he might be dying. It’s not a scary thought, though. He doesn’t think it’s going to hurt. He might even sleep through it.
“You still call me that?” Incredulous. Dick doesn’t open his eyes to see if the expression matches the voice. “After what I’ve done, really?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dick mumbles. “It was never your fault. We messed up, B and I. Should’ve tried harder, should’ve told you we loved you more. That we’d keep you safe.” They didn’t, in the end. Not even close. Even his hallucination still bears the marks of torture.
“...I don’t think we’re havin’ the same conversation, you and I. But, shit.” A quiet exhale, weight shifting on the bed. “I really fucked up, didn’t I.” It’s not phrased like a question.
“Wasn’t your fault,” Dick repeats. “You were scared.” A choked noise from the figure. “We should’ve been there, I should have been there–” the words come out in a sudden wheeze, Dick not having enough air to give them the force they deserve.
“It’s fine,” comes quickly, “it’s fine. I forgave you for that a while ago, breathe, Dick, please.” Gentle weight presses down on his back, moving up and down in a rhythm that matches the audible deep breaths that start above him.
“Oh.” Dick doesn’t have the energy for tears. His breathing is still raspy, and he lets out a short cough before adding, “Th–thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Christ, Dick, you were in space, how the hell would it be your fa–y’know what, that’s a later problem. Right now I’m thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ you outta here, how does that sound?”
“You’re taking me with you?” Dick hopes Jason can hear the smile in his voice, even through its crackling. “Awfully nice of you, Jay. Wasn’t sure I was headed where you went, y’know.” He still isn’t. This is most likely just his brain telling him what he wants to hear. It does that a lot.
The hand stops, just for a second, before it picks up the rhythm again. “That’s…another problem for later, I think. Yeah, you’re comin’ with me. Can you walk or am I carryin’ you, princess?”
“You carrying me?” Dick shifts, turning his head so his smile might be visible. “Didn’t think I’d see the day. You were always so small. So small…” Too small, given his past, the malnourishment that no number of retroactive meals could fully fix.
That gets him a snort. “These muscles ain’t just for show, y’know. I went to the gym and took a dip in their pool, gave me a hell of a growth spurt. Now, c’mon, princess, up you get.” Hands slip under him, lifting him up until he’s held in a princess carry against the figure’s chest. “Fuck, you’re light,” he whispers, shifting Dick in his arms.
Dick hums in acknowledgment. Being picked up was a little dizzying, and he’s still trying to recover, to slowly pull away from the swirling fuzziness in his head.
“Whatever this is, whatever’s goin’ on, we’ll fix it, Dick. I’ll fix it–an’ maybe kill whoever did it to you while I do.” The last part is muttered quiet enough that if Dick wasn’t practically next to the figure’s head he wouldn’t have heard it. They start moving, the motion surprisingly smooth, barely jostling Dick with each step. “What a way to fuck up all’a my plans, goddammit, Dickface.”