Chapter Text
In the world of espionage, Dick is a singular black sheep. Spyral has never seen an agent so woefully incompetent.
It’s not that he’s incapable, and it’s not that he’s can’t fight, and it’s not that he’s the stupid little himbo Dick Grayson used to play before his identity was exposed. It’s that when he goes on missions, he forgets to leave his heart behind. Spyral didn’t hire him for his heart. He’d be much more effective without it. In fact, the more Dick thinks about it, that same principle would benefit the rest of his life if he could ever learn how to apply it. Leave the heart at home, and do what must be done unencumbered by emotion. That’s the Bruce technique.
Agent thirty-seven: Dick isn’t even granted an even number. Thirty-seven is as odd as can be. It can’t be factored by anything but itself.
And being by himself is something Dick should be used to by now. As a rule, people are loyal primarily to themselves and consequently unreliable. He knows that. He’s reminded every time he closes his eyes and flashes back to the batcave, and then he’s just a kid again. He’s a teenager whose father has struck him. A teenager who isn’t welcome in his home anymore.
Batman will always be a hero. There used to also be a time when Bruce was a hero to his son.
Finally noticing Bruce’s flaws felt like reaching the end of a staircase in the dark: Dick hadn’t known it was over until he’d already attempted the next step and found himself hitting the ground instead. The day Bruce stopped being Dick’s hero was like realizing halfway through a trust fall that his partner wasn’t going to catch him. A heartstopping flash of fear swooping low in his stomach followed by a desperate struggle to save himself, all alone, before he hit the dirt.
Their relationship can never be the same. Dick will never trust Bruce again. His innocence is as far in the past as the Robin uniform he used to wear.
Dick feels like he’s becoming the new Bruce. Faking his own death and lying to everyone who loves him for the sake of a mission is so Bruce, Dick is surprised Bruce didn’t want to try it himself.
“Thirty-seven.”
In his angriest moments, Dick thinks Bruce deserves to take his place in this hell.
“Thirty-seven.”
When he’s at his lowest, he knows that no one could possibly deserve to be alienated so thoroughly from the ones they love.
“Grayson!”
Dick snaps to attention. The room comes into focus around him: wide, white walls and smooth wooden floors, dented and smudged from years of use. A high metal ceiling interspersed with giant fluorescent lights hanging at regular intervals.
“Sorry. What?”
“I was just asking how your first class went.”
Saint Hadrian’s gym is probably it’s nicest building, and that includes the giant hidden spy base that the students—and probably the budget coordinators—are unaware of. Since so many of the girls in attendance are athletically inclined, most of the school's grants go to maintaining the sporting facilities. Except the pool—the weather is way too cold for swimming and even the water polo enthusiasts know it.
Here, Dick has a cover on top of a cover: he’s the gay, French gym teacher. That's so the students don't figure out he's actually a spy. He’s in character so often, playing one role or the other, that sometimes he’s terrified he’ll lose track of the real him. What if he finally gets to go home, and doesn’t remember how to be Dick Grayson anymore? He already lost his family—he can’t lose himself too.
While Dick’s self respect is hanging on by a thread, Helena’s respect for him is clearly already a lost cause. She stands in front of him, arms crossed, foot tapping the floor. Her delicately raised eyebrow conveys more disapproval than most people’s angriest glares.
“Got it totally locked down,” Dick says. “Class was fun. Kids kept hitting on me, though.”
Helena wrinkles her nose. “I’ll talk to them about that.”
“No need.” Dick shrugs. “They’re nice kids.”
Helena eyes him warily, like she’s not quite sure what to make of him. She ends up electing to walk away. “Eleven-thirty tonight,” she calls over her shoulder.
“I know,” Dick calls back. He takes a step towards her, hesitant, inexplicably anxious to keep the conversation going. Helena is a rare familiar face from his old life. Then the door closes behind her, and he’s alone.
*
Dick’s bedroom is plain and gray. There’s a twin sized bed in the corner next to a chest of drawers that’s almost completely empty except for Dick’s bare essentials. Beneath the single window, there’s a wooden desk with an alarm clock that also functions as a secret radio for communication. There’s a bar for pull ups in the remaining space. This is the set on which Dick’s life now takes place.
He checks the alarm clock—there’s still a good forty five minutes before he’s expected to report to the headquarters for his next mission assignment. God, he hates the missions. But he hates the time in between them more. When he’s alone, he’s thinking. And when he’s thinking, he’s missing Jason.
So he’s got to stay busy. Dick pulls the dusty curtains shut over the window and pulls a tiny screwdriver out of his pocket. He has to disassemble and reassemble the alarm clock every time—he can’t be careless and leave his secret comm line exposed.
It takes a minute or two to carefully screw off the panel that reveals the little radio. The clock reads ten forty-eight exactly.
“Mr. Malone, this is Birdwatcher,” murmurs Dick. “Do you read?”
Silence on the other end. Dick holds his breath, wary of the slightest sound, but nothing comes.
Dick presses onward regardless. “I’m uh, I’m worried about Jason. He’s probably not doing too good right now, and maybe if I could just talk to him? Or come home and visit for, um, a day or two? They won’t miss me here, trust me. You know I’m Agent thirty-seven? Guess how many agents there are. I bet you can’t guess. Bet you can’t…”
He waits another four or five minutes for a response. Maybe Bruce is busy, or the connection is bad, or he’s taking a minute or two to consider Dick’s request. But the reply never comes, and Dick reassembles his clock. He’s never felt so stupid, never gone so numb, never been so small and alone.
*
“Your mission,” Helena says at eleven-thirty on the dot. In the main headquarters, Dick stands at attention next to Agent One, hands clasped nervously behind his back. The room is dim. Tiger won’t meet his eyes—he stares ahead like a soldier carved flawlessly from stone.
“The God Garden is an orbital space station run by the Gardener. It is home to the Gardener’s dangerous experiments, creatures, and technology. We have reason to believe the Gardener is working on a new experiment. We believe it is malicious. Probably a weapon, potentially a creature of some sort.”
Dick has been to the God Garden before. It’s a weird space—completely disconnected from Earth, from people, from society. The God Garden is its own little world.
“Agent One, you will be working with Agent Thirty-Seven.”
“More like babysitting,” grumbles Tiger, crossing his arms.
Helena’s lip twitches.
“Your mission begins tonight.”
*
The God Garden is accessible only via magic portal. Luckily, Dick knows a guy. Although Tiger has little luck convincing him, Midnighter becomes surprisingly agreeable when he discovers just who else is on the mission. Dick only hears one end of the conversation.
“Thirty-seven,” mutters Tiger. He listens to whatever Midnighter says before turning his head to regard Dick with an unnerving side-eye. “Maybe.”
Another moment goes by. “Are you going to help us or not?” growls Tiger.
Thirty seconds later, a bright orange portal opens up, and a man dressed head to toe in black steps through.
“Agent One,” says Midnighter with a cool nod. He turns to Dick, and his grin becomes hungry. “Thirty-seven.”
“Midnighter!” exclaims Dick with a wide smile. “Great to see you!”
It's fun to joke around with Midnighter. Their banter the closest substitute Dick can find to the friendships he lost when he agreed to fake his death. Midnighter is the closest thing to a friend Dick has here in this foreign world of spies.
It's not enough. But it's better than nothing.
Tiger rolls his eyes. Midnighter’s grin grows bigger, and he muscles his way past Tiger to get to Dick. He throws one huge arm over Dick’s shoulders, and for a moment he looks and feels so much like Bruce that Dick can’t breathe.
“You too, buddy,” says Midnighter. “You can’t imagine how excited I was to get your invitation.”
“Oh, please,” says Dick. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Midnighter’s arm slips lower, down Dick’s back, until he is verifiably groping Dick’s ass. Dick stays still. They need his help on the mission, and Midnighter doesn’t mean any harm. He would be off Dick in a second if he asked, and that’s what matters.
Dick’s throat tightens regardless. He wants to see Jason again. He wants Jason so badly he can’t breathe, wants him so badly Dick thinks he might die from it.
“So,” says Dick. “Do we have a portal to catch, or what?”
“After you,” replies Midnighter suavely, bowing down to beckon Dick with one hand and a sultry wink. Dick giggles, thinks of something funny to tell Jason, and he turns around somehow expecting to see his second half by his side and the negative space he encounters instead is enough to take the breath from his lungs.
Dick misses Jason like he misses being alive.
He steps through the portal with a meta and a spy instead.
*
The God Garden is like a vast, shadowy hedge maze made of sheet metal. The light that floods into the orbital station through the ceiling’s huge windows is tinted sickly green. Every inch of floor space is covered in metal and wires and tubing, forming dozens of unknowable contraptions.
The portal disappears behind them in an instant. It occurs to Dick very suddenly that this could have been a trap. If Midnighter doesn’t want to let them go home, then their only alternative would be to jump out a window and float endlessly through space like extra squishy asteroids.
The same must occur to Tiger, who suddenly becomes even tenser than usual. “Will you leave the portal open?” he asks.
Midnighter tilts his head and makes a Broadway production of mulling over the request. Dick’s heart pounds nervously.
“Eh, alright,” he finally agrees. With a snap of his fingers, the glowing orange portal returns, looking utterly out of place in the ocean of green.
Midnighter’s consideration is inconsistent with the character Dick is used to. There’s an ulterior motive somewhere. Objective number one: discover what the Gardener is up to. Objective number two: what is up with Midnighter?
Objective number three: go home.
*
Dick and Tiger split up to cover more ground, and Midnighter, in a move that shocks no one, elects to accompany Dick.
“Keep your radio on,” growls Tiger, leaning in close to Dick. “I don’t trust him.”
“Got it,” says Dick.
“I can hear you,” says Midnighter.
The hallways are long and disorienting. Dick wishes he knew exactly what to look for—his assignment had been vague. Helena had ordered them to scout out suspicious activity, but she may as well have ordered them to search for one specific needle in… well, a stack of needles. This entire place is crawling with experiments and contraptions that reek of criminal motivations.
“Is the Gardener here?” Dick asks warily as he almost trips over a metal tube.
“She’s around,” Midnighter says vaguely. “Probably won’t bother us, though.”
“Doesn’t she care that we’re snooping through her things?”
“She would if she considered you a threat. She’ll be after your friend. She knows I have you covered.”
Dick’s mouth twists unhappily. What is he even doing here?
He wants to go home.
At the end of one labyrinthine tunnel, there is a metal door. Midnighter reaches for it, but Dick stops him and pulls out his own lockpick. It takes him thirty seconds to pop the lock open. Midnighter could have done it in a heartbeat.
The door creaks shut behind them.
Midnighter and Dick are locked into what looks like a dilapidated aquarium. From floor to ceiling, the walls are lined with decrepit tanks in all different sizes. Some are full of murky water, mold furring the sides, algae scumming the top. Others are dry, dust at the bottom, smudges of something disgusting all over the sides.
“What is this place?” asks Dick, quietly appalled.
“This is where she breeds her creatures,” replies Midnighter.
In terms of suspicious activity, it seems like they’ve hit the jackpot. Dick pulls out his radio to contact Tiger, but Midnighter stops him with a hand on his wrist.
“There are no creatures here anymore,” says Midnighter. “This project is suspended.”
“Why?”
“Because she made me. She doesn’t need to experiment anymore.”
The silence in the wretched room is deafening. Dick feels as tense as a bowstring, ready to snap at any sound.
“I still need to report,” Dick says. He turns on his radio and ignores his partner’s eyeroll. Midnighter is so much like Bruce in appearance, but their behavior could not be more different. His sarcastic wit is so much like Jason's that it hurts to listen to.
Tiger replies to Dick’s report with a curt “Roger” before falling silent again. Dick feels unbearably lonely. Jason would have had something funny to say. Jason would be here with him, holding his hand, cracking soft grins at Dick’s stupid jokes and showing his dimples when he thought no one was looking. He would—
He isn’t.
A croak catches Dick’s attention. He’s so startled he almost falls over. Midnighter laughs meanly.
“What was that?” hisses Dick. He pivots on his feet, searching for the source, and finds himself face-to-face with the tiniest tank of all. In the corner, there’s a dish of sickly green water. Flies buzz weakly around the top. In the middle of the tank, all alone, there sits a frog the size of a quarter.
Dick stares at the two bulbous, slow-blinking eyes, and as if to communicate, the frog croaks again. Its slimy throat bubbles out like a balloon.
“There’s a frog,” Dick says, surprised.
“Oh yeah,” says Midnighter. “Forgot about him.”
“What?” asks Dick, confused. He tears his eyes off the frog to look at Midnighter and is beseeched by a baleful ribbit. “Why is there a frog?”
“Gardener did some experiments with them a while back. This is the only one left, though. Can’t exactly release a meta-frog into the wild. So it lives here.”
Dick returns his gaze to the frog. Those beady eyes boggle back at him, bulging, blinking filmy lenses. In the dirty glass of the tank, Dick can see his own reflection. Behind it, a larger, darker form creeps up, and then he feels the weight of Midnighter’s arm across his back.
“Don’t feel bad for ol’ Froggy,” says Midnighter. “He’s got it pretty good. Free food, no predators, everything a little frog could want.”
“He’s all alone in there,” whispers Dick. He doesn’t know why but the sight of the lonely little creature is tugging at all the unraveling strings in his heart, pressing at the delicate, hidden parts of him that bruise so easily.
It lives in this tank and it’s going to die in this tank, all alone, not a froggy friend in sight to ease the way. It’ll never escape. It’ll never be happy.
Did it have a family once, before it was abducted for experimentation? Or has it always lived here? Has it always been so solitary?
“It’s just a frog.” Midnighter looks perplexed by the intensity of Dick’s empathy. Who even cares about a stupid little frog?
“You’re right,” Dick says. For a moment, exhaustion washes over him from head to toe, and he has to close his eyes against it. He leans into Midnighter’s side. He hasn’t had a hug in months. He’s been a solitary soldier since he died.
Midnighter grips Dick tighter, jostling him with one reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be okay, kid,” he says.
Dick pulls back just slightly, turning to look at the man who reminds him so much of the family he lost.
Midnighter nearly bowls him over with a gaze of equal intensity. The hand that isn’t still lingering on Dick’s shoulder creeps up to his chin. It all hits Dick just a moment before it happens, and before Midnighter can get the chance to kiss him he’s jerking away, skidding backwards across the grimy floor, heart pounding up his throat.
“Jesus, sorry,” says Midnighter, holding up two hands. “Guess I misinterpreted.”
Dick does his best to get a reply out. It’s not Midnighter’s fault. Dick had been sending mixed signals, manipulating him to try to secure his help on the mission, leaning too close because he had no one else to depend on. But all he can think of is what he’s lost—Jason, Jason, Jason.
“I’m sorry,” manages Dick. He stumbles away until his back hits the wall and then he’s sinking down to his knees, falling further and further down til his ass hits the ground. He’s shaking, he’s trying to breathe, he’s so embarrassed and he hates himself so much and all he wants is Jason.
Midnighter crouches down beside Dick a couple inches away. “I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice. He sounds almost exactly like Bruce—quiet and gruff and somehow comforting nonetheless. “What’s going on, kid?”
“I just—”
But the words won’t come out. He wants Jason. He wants Jason more than anything else in the world, he wants Jason even more than he wants air, which at the moment is difficult for Dick’s heaving lungs to come by.
“I’m overreacting,” Dick manages, laughing darkly, feeling desperately alone, terrified of driving his only friend away. “I’m overreacting, this is so dumb—”
“Come on, Grayson,” hazards Midnighter, mouth quirking up in a tiny little grin. He nudges Dick by the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a homophobe. Freaking out over a little kiss? Embarrassing!”
“So homophobic of me,” Dick agrees in a shaky voice he can’t quite cover up. He’s taken back to those days at the grocery store with Jason, where Dick got jealous of the flirty cashier and tried to ward her off with excessive gayness. He remembers Jason telling him that this is why homophobes exist. He remembers retorting that if the cashier was a homophobe, then she’d be in for a real surprise if she actually got to know Jason.
He remembers walking home with Jason. How they’d cook together, eat together, sleep together, breathe together all through the long nights. How Jason would read to him—and he never told Jason about his dyslexia but he’s pretty sure Jason knew—and how Jason would stroke his hair, how Jason’s voice rumbled strong in his chest, how one of Jason’s eyes is greener than the other but it’s only really visible in sunlight.
There are horrible embarrassing tears all down his cheeks, and he wipes them away with a trembling hand. “I’m just so emotional,” he jokes weakly. “Ol’ Froggy really got to me.”
“Better get you away from him, then,” Midnighter agrees. He helps Dick off the floor with a hand that doesn’t wander, and politely looks away as Dick swipes at his face with his palms. He misses how Jason used to kiss his tears away. Jason would laugh at him, would call him emotional, would say he cried too much—and then he’d hold Dick close all the same, stroke his hands up his back, tell him he was going to be okay.
How are they going to be okay?
They regroup with Tiger soon after, who takes one disdainful look at Dick’s red eyes and complains to Midnighter, “You made him cry?” To Dick, he adds, “So unprofessional.”
Dick cracks a grin. They step back through the portal to Saint Hadrian’s. Dick goes back to his tiny gray bedroom and curls up on the little bed. He tries to contact Bruce and fails. He asks to go home and is ignored. He falls asleep hugging his pillow to his chest, trying to pretend it’s Jason.
*
The horrible, endless days go by, and still Bruce doesn’t reply to Dick’s calls. Every day his loneliness peaks. Every day he thinks his desperation can’t grow, and it manages to defy expectations anyways. Every day he thinks he’s hit rock bottom, and every day he discovers that there’s still so much farther to fall.
He hangs out with Midnighter in his spare time. Dick doesn’t like to be unoccupied, because then he starts thinking. He hates being alone for the same reason. Midnighter is steady and sarcastic, and that’s the best Dick has right now.
They visit the frog at the God Garden. Dick brings it some tasty insects, and the offering feels too small. The frog seems to appreciate his attempt nonetheless.
*
“I read your file, Wonder Boy,” says Midnighter one time. They’re playing cards in the God Garden. Dick is so bored and so listless and so angry at Bruce. He’s having a bad day. He keeps flashing back to his last moments in the cave. He keeps trying to blink away the memory of those great, beloved hands raised in fists against him. He keeps trying to speak and finding his throat locked up.
Dick raises his eyebrows in interest.
“So. The Red Hood, huh?” Midnighter leans closer and wiggles his eyebrows. “Not bad. If you guys are ever feeling a threesome, you have my number.”
Dick rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the way his throat goes tight. He can’t talk about Jason. Because even when Dick gets to finally go home—
How could Jason ever forgive him?
Midnighter doesn’t seem overly bothered by Dick’s silence. They settle into their card game, quiet but for the shuffling of the cards and the croaks of the forsaken frog.
It takes a long time and a whole round of gin rummy before Dick feels like he can talk again. He thinks his ribcage might start cracking if he keeps everything locked up any longer. Focusing his eyes on his cards, Dick says, “We’re not together anymore.”
“Why not? You’re not telling me you let go of a smokeshow like that?”
Dick swallows.
“Remember how I was killed, and my identity was exposed to the world?”
Midnighter nods. “I might recall a little detail like that.”
“He doesn’t know I’m alive.”
For once, he’s managed to stun Midnighter into silence, and the shame of the achievement weighs heavy on Dick’s slouched shoulders. He hunches into himself. Tries to become as small as possible.
“What the fuck? That’s messed up, man.”
“I know,” whispers Dick. “I didn’t want to.”
“Then why the hell’d you do it?”
“I didn’t have a choice,” snaps Dick. His heart is racing again, overwhelmed by the intensity of his memories. He wants Jason to hold him. He wants Jason to kiss his forehead and hide him from the world. He wants to tell Jason how horribly, unbearably sorry he is.
“That’s bullshit,” rumbles Midnighter. “Of course you had a choice.”
“I was killed,” snaps Dick. “And my dad beat me into the ground until I agreed to stay dead.”
Silence pervades the wretched room, and not even the frog dares to interrupt.
“Sorry,” sighs Dick. He pushes his cards across the floor and begins to stand on numb legs. “I didn’t mean to snap.”
He goes back to Saint Hadrians through the portal and lies in bed for the rest of his day off and all through the night as well. He lies in the same place until his muscles start to ache. He hugs his pillow and pretends it's Jason. He tries to pretend he’s not so unbearably alone. He’s not a frog in a grimy little tank, and he’s not a kid whose father doesn’t want him. He is nothing at all.
*
When the window slides open, Dick is dragged from his fitful sleep into a state of bleary semi-wakefulness. There’s only one person who comes in through Dick’s window, so he doesn’t stir, only cracks open his eyes to tired slits.
“Jay?” he mumbles.
Dick’s heart comes crashing down when he remembers why it can’t possibly be the only person he wants to see. Sudden fear beats through his veins as he realizes there’s an intruder in his bedroom, and his eyes burst wide open.
The intruder is bulky and tall. He wears a deep brown leather jacket and a pair of practical tac pants and this can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real.
Dick bursts to his feet on two legs wobbly from sleep. He has to be dreaming. Because there’s no way that Jason is right here before Dick’s very eyes, staring like he’s never seen Dick before, like he’s never seen something so precious.
“ Jason.”
And in an instant, Dick is crushed in those strong arms, held so close to Jason’s warm body that he wants to dissolve into it, wants to become a part of Jason so they can never separate again. Jason’s chest is heaving as he chokes out wracking sobs into Dick’s shoulder, and Dick can barely breathe with how tight he’s being held but he wants to be held tighter anyways.
“How did you find me?” Dick sobs breathlessly.
“You fucking—” Jason manages. His voice is wet and hoarse. It occurs to Dick that he’s rarely ever seen Jason cry. He wants to be by Jason’s side every time, wants to wipe those tears away. He doesn’t ever want to be torn away from Jason ever again. He wants to melt into Jason so no one can ever rip them apart. “I’d find you anywhere.”
Everything crashes over Dick like a tidal wave, a hundred-foot tsunami, and he almost stumbles, would fall if it weren’t for Jason’s supportive clutch. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, terrified of the answer. If he loses Jason now he won’t survive it. He’ll die, his heart will break, he’ll have nothing left to carry on for.
“Baby, how could I be mad at you?” Jason peels an inch away from Dick so they can meet eyes, and it’s impossible to tell who’s the bigger mess. Jason looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept for weeks and hasn’t changed his clothes in longer. His whole face is fucked up by the crying, blotchy and red and raw in a way Dick has never seen him.
“You’ve suffered so much,” Jason murmurs, voice trembling. He brings his hand up to cup Dick’s cheek, and Dick feels so vulnerable, so delicate, like Jason is reaching into his chest and peeling his ribcage away to reveal his fragile, tender heart. “And you’ve been so strong.”
Jason’s sympathy is like a warm hug around the most broken parts of himself—as desperately as he needs it, it burns like an open wound, like a broken bone left untreated. Dick can’t control the way his eyes well up, or the sobs and gasping breaths that break free of his cracking ribcage. Jason eases them down onto the bed. Dick falls into his warm, steady body, and Jason grips him back just as hard.
Finally, finally, Dick is able to breathe again, and he takes the chance to grab Jason’s chin in trembling fingers. He doesn’t care that they’re falling apart in each other’s arms. He doesn’t care that neither of them have ever looked less attractive. Finally kissing Jason feels like being alive again.
*
They spend the night on Dick’s tiny cardboard bed. Jason’s feet don’t fit on the end, and they dangle off like a kid who’s outgrown his bed. Dick curls up as close to him as possible and hangs on like a koala. Jason doesn’t complain.
In the morning, Jason takes him home.
The apartment is just how they left it, and Dick feels emotion rising in his chest anew as he takes in the sight. His mug is at home in the cabinet. His jackets and keys still hang on their hooks by the door. All of their books are still marked where they left off.
Bruce calls about a hundred times. Dick doesn’t answer. Jason offers to, but there’s something viciously protective in his expression, and Dick isn’t ready to handle any of the fallout yet.
“I don’t want to fight my dad again,” he whispers into Jason’s shoulder.
“I’ll do it for you,” offers Jason darkly. He rubs one hand up and down Dick’s back in the way that always makes him feel boneless.
“Just ignore him,” Dick says. "We'll deal with him later."
Dick turns the phone on silent and sets it facedown on the bedside table. Then he crawls on top of Jason, feeling on top of the world in their little bedroom. Everything is exactly how Dick remembers it. The messy closet, the unmade bed, the hideous painting leaning up against the wall. He peels off Jason's shirt and throws it on the floor, and that feels natural too. He stares down at Jason's chest. He'd forgotten how beautiful Jason is. He never wants to forget again.
Jason stares just as urgently up at Dick. He peels Dick's shirt off and throws it aside, running his big, warm hands up Dick's arms, down his back, through his hair. Dick leans down to kiss him, and for a while they don't speak. The only sounds are of their lips against each other. The whimpers Dick can't keep back. The groans that rumble low in Jason's chest.
Jason's hand runs over a pink scar on Dick's ribcage, and he pulls away. "What's this one from?" he asks.
"Bruce," Dick mumbles. He grabs Jason's hand away from the scar, too fresh to fully recover from. He kisses Jason's fingers.
Jason's face goes dark, and his hand tightens into a fist before it pulls away from Dick's grip.
"I'll kill him for you," he hisses.
"I know you would," Dick agrees. He feels wound up as tense as a guitar string, trembling with the tension, ready to snap. His heart is fluttering high in his chest, a mixture of nerves and arousal and disbelief that he's really home again and Jason really still loves him.
Jason's hand slides down over Dick's ribcage. The whole thing is a mess of those pink, fresh scars: slash marks from when Bruce had thrown him into a sea of broken glass. Dick shivers as Jason brushes his hand over each one. A fresh surge of emotion is welling up in his chest, making his throat tight, making his voice hard to find.
So he doesn't use his voice. He presses Jason down into the pillows with his body, kissing him hard and deep and desperate, and Jason groans low in his throat. The sound sets Dick's mind on fire.
"I need you," he whimpers. He's never needed anything more.
Jason reaches down to undo Dick's pants, and Dick tears at Jason's own with rapidly growing urgency. It's like visiting a home he never meant to leave behind. It's like finding the rest of his life in this moment, knowing that Jason is all he needs to be happy. And as he reacquaints himself with the delicious, burning-hot touch of Jason’s body against his—it's like being alive.