It was bound to happen sooner or later, Jason laments to himself as he drags Nightwing home his apartment. The man is half-conscious, most likely concussed from the blow to the head from one of those mobsters he was fighting all by himself before Jason showed up. And it was a good thing he decided to go check on him, not that he was too worried or anything. Back before the whole time travel thing, Nightwing was doing the whole solo thing and turned out fine.
Nightwing let out a soft breath when Jason stumbles, the older vigilante’s weight heavy and burdensome on Jason’s smaller frame. He isn’t used to being the smaller one. He hasn’t been small in years. He winces when his brother takes another small breath. It almost sounds like a hiccup. He’s in much more pain than he’s letting on, Jason knows. Especially if he’s letting little tells like that out.
The sun will be rising in another hour, hour and a half, and that’s probably why the streets are so empty of criminals or wanna-be trouble makers that might want to take advantage of Nightwing’s state. The only people out and about were on their way to work, and the most they did was stare.
Vague memories let Jason navigate into alleys and side streets that were devoid of people and cameras, and they manage to sneak to the window NIghtwing likes to use to enter and exit the apartment when going on patrol. They tumble to the floor, cushioned by a fuzzy pink rug Dick thrifted just for that purpose.
Jason left Nightwing to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. It’s been obviously souped up, with Alfred’s special healing salves and the good antibiotics. He lugs it over, plopping it on the ground besides Nightwing, who managed to sit up against the wall in the meantime.
“I’m fine,” Dick protests, wincing as Jason abruptly peels his domino off and shines a light at his face.
“You have a concussion,” Jason informs him.
“You have a concussion,” is the petulant reply. Jason rolls his eyes.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he orders and disappears grab a change of clothes. He helps Dick change, pausing only to bandage or examine an injury. Dick lets him, bemused. Eventually, when Jason is sure no one was going to bleed out or anything, they collapse on the couch.
“Not your first time patching someone up, huh?” Dick asks.
“Usually it’s just me,” Jason says, memories flickering through his mind. “My mom too, before she kicked the bucket.”
Dick hums thoughtfully. “It’s not your job to take care of me, you know.”
“And it’s not your job to take care of me,” Jason snaps back, because as far as he is concerned he should still be in Crime Alley dumpster diving behind Sal’s Bistro. Sal always had the best leftovers on Friday nights.
“It… kind of is,” Dick points out smugly, “I signed the paperwork for it and everything.”
Fucking nepobaby, Jason thinks both fondly and with great exasparation. The only reason someone as young as Dick being allowed to take Jason in is because of Bruce’s influence and they both know it.
“Against my will,” Jason mutters.
“You didn’t protest when you talked to the judge,” Dick says. “Why did you go after me tonight?”
Jason scowls, turning red. “You’re usually back by four.”
“You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“I would be,” he grudgingly admits, because being young again means he also needs a lot more sleep than what he’s used to, “but you always check in on me when you get back and it wakes me up.” And when he isn’t there to check on Jason, he wakes up anyway because now he went and got used to it. Just like when he was adopted by Bruce.
The two of them can be so much alike it’s scary at times.
“Ah,” Dick’s eyebrows rise. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s fine,” Jason grumbles.
“Well, thanks for the save,” Dick says, “but please don’t go out like that ever again. It isn’t safe.”
“I’ve been living on the streets,” Jason points out. “I think I know more about that than you.”
“…Still.” Dick gives him a side-glance. “Nice swing, by the way. Bruce was right- you really know how to use a tire iron.”
“Yeah, well, why’d you think he wanted to kidnap me and make me Robin?”
“Jason,” Dick mildly says, “Bruce wasn’t going to try and make you Robin.”
“Yeah? Then why was he stalking me?”
“He was trying to make sure you were all right,” Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “And, if you weren’t, he wanted to offer his help. No mention of Robin.”
“Right. Sure,” Jason snorts. “Did he tell you that in between one of your yelling matches?”
“Believe it or not, yes,” Dick laughs, then winces. “Ow. Anyway, he’s still perturbed that you knew his identity, even it is my fault.”
“It wasn’t just your fault,” Jason informs him. “Yeah, you sure like to show off a lot, but also? I was getting stalked by Batman and Bruce Wayne. One during the day, the other at night. It was really really dumb. I still don’t understand why he was doing all that.” Even before he got sent back in time, he never understood it. There are plenty of kids that would have made better sons. Better Robins. Tim, Steph, even Damian. They all proved that. “I’m not that special.”
“Has it ever occured to you,” Dick slowly asks, “that we like you for you?” Jason makes a disbelieving sound because, yeah, that can’t be true. He’s the violent one, the unstable one. The one that needs to be kept on a leash to make sure he behaved. They made that clear, back when he was trying to make nice with the bats again. One toe out of line and they would’ve cut him off.
He tries not to hold that against them now, considering he’s well into making this an alternate reality sort of situation instead of a time travel one. They haven’t had the chance to see the real him yet. It’s a matter of time, and then he’ll be free again.
“Oh, Little Wing,” Dick sighs. Jason nearly jolts in surprise when he’s drawn into a hug. It isn’t the first time he’s been hugged by Dick in this timeline, but… He hasn’t called him Little Wing before. That was a nickname between Nightwing and Robin, not Jason and Dick.
It’s way too easy to settle into the hug, his smaller body curling against Dick’s in a way he hasn’t felt in years.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he warns, jabbing him in the ribs.
“Then entertain me,” Dick counters, squeezing him tighter. Like a freaking octopus, he swears. “If I can't fall asleep, then you need to tell me a story.”
“What are you, a toddler?” Jason asks. Dick just sways them in a gentle rocking motion and nuzzles against the top of his head like a weirdo. He ignores the fact that he’s soaking up the affection like a sun-starved houseplant. “Okay, fine. Don’t blame me if you get bored.”
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