A decade has passed since Jason and Dick lost their third lover, Slade. They always knew to expect it, knew the older man would die sooner than either of them. Grief has passed but sometimes returns like a wave, coming and going.
A mission ends terribly, Dick is shot in the face, Jason carrying him out and getting him medical aid as soon as he can, hoping, praying he isn't about to lose his second lover. He hadn't prepared for this possibility.
It takes many operations and a long recovery, but Dick is fine. But he lost an eye and has heavy scarring on his face.
The first time Jason sees him with a black eye patch, it feels like he didn't get one of his lovers back, but both of them. Relief and grief bring him down to his knees.
They kept Slade's eye patch of course, among with other belongings. Dick is standing over their drawer, holding that eye patch and wondering if this would be ok, knowing Slade would be leaning in the doorway and patiently waiting for Dick to do it already. When Dick looks up he finds Jason in that spot instead.
"Go ahead," He says softly.
Dick takes a shaky breath, then slips on the eyepatch. It's intimate, the closeness of it, the vulnerability of laying it across the scarred and empty socket that marks his narrow miss with death.
Dick observes himself in the mirror when Jason comes up from behind, resting his head on his shoulder.
"I miss him. I wonder what he'd say," Dick admits.
It's a hard thing to get used to, crying with only half of his face, when he misses Slade with the entirety of his being.
