Chapter Text
Jason wakes up three more times in a violent panic before anyone even considers that there might be a connection between their suits and Jason’s obvious terror. It’s nobody’s fault they don’t figure it out sooner, not really, they’ve all been… distracted. Bruce always says that distractions make you stupid. Well– he never says ‘stupid’, but that’s what he means. Not that Bruce has actually been practicing what he preaches, he’s too busy hating himself. So is Dick, Tim thinks. Maybe not hating himself in the same way that Bruce does, but he’s definitely getting stuck in that self-blaming hamster wheel in his head. Alfred actually has a good excuse – not that Tim or anyone else would even consider blaming him. He’s a bit busy caring for Jason’s physical health and calming him down enough to sedate him every time he wakes up to worry about much of anything else. He’s barely even been keeping up with cooking, cleaning, and coercing them to eat and sleep.
Maybe somebody might’ve figured it out sooner if Bruce hadn’t banned everyone that wasn’t himself or Alfred from going anywhere near Jason. Not that Bruce has done much else other than lurk outside the medbay and try (and fail) to kick Dick out of the cave. Damian probably wouldn’t be much help, but maybe if Cassandra could see Jason’s body language she’d figure it out, or if Barbara were allowed to come over she’d figure it out. Steph doesn’t really try to do the whole detective thing when the other bats are around, but it’d be nice to have her here. She’d at least know how to make Tim feel better about how useless he feels.
Tim definitely should’ve made the connection sooner, but he wants to throw up every time he looks at Jason, and it’s hard to think about much of anything when he screams. Being banned from going near Jason honestly felt like more of a relief than anything else, as much as he hates to say it.
Tim was there when Bruce watched the video Joker sent them; Tim was there for every piece of evidence they ever found on Jason’s location; Tim was there for every heartbreaking moment of disappointment when that evidence ended up leading them nowhere– hell, he became Robin to help look for Jason. He remembers every single moment of their search, and every single detail Joker dropped about Jason’s torture. He’s Red Robin. He’s Robin. He shouldn’t feel squeamish because of some screaming and blood. He never even flinched before, because Bruce needed him to power through and keep searching, but now? It’s just… in the face of everything he’s faced as Robin, seeing Jason Todd, his childhood idol screaming and begging shouldn’t be what makes him turn his head away like a coward, but it is. It’s just all too real now that he’s seen Jason in person.
Maybe Tim’s mind is a little clouded by grief and guilt, too. It takes him way too long to figure out why Jason screams and cries and begs for mercy every time he wakes up with Batman and Robin hovering over his prone body like ghosts over a child’s gravestone. Under normal circumstances, Tim would probably figure it out after the first or second time it happens, but, clearly, nothing about this is normal.
He finally makes the connection after Jason’s fourth time waking up and immediately freaking the fuck out at them. He’s sitting at the batcomputer after patrol, when Jason starts screaming again. It’s the same routine every time: Jason wakes up, sees one of them, starts begging, then Batman or Nightwing do something that makes him start screaming, until Alfred runs in and manages to soothe Jason enough to sedate him.
“He’s scared of the suits,” Tim says absently. Honestly, he was saying it more to himself than to anyone else– he’s not sure when exactly it happened, maybe from spending too much time with Dick, maybe just from growing up in a big, empty house, but he has a habit of thinking out loud a little too much. Either way, it makes everyone’s eyes snap up to him, like bloodhounds catching a whiff of a fresh body. It’s only now that he realizes he’s not sitting at the Batcomputer anymore, but somehow made his way closer to Jason’s cot.
Tim keeps his eyes on Jason even if he feels a bit like throwing up for doing it, it’s better than needing to look Bruce in the eyes right now, still pondering his honestly super obvious realization. Mentally, he kicks himself again for not figuring it out sooner.
Bruce, for his part, doesn’t look away from Jason’s mutilated face either. He just grunts softly in what Tim has learned is Bruce for ‘elaborate, please’. That stupid caveman grunt is what finally allows Tim to force himself to look away from Jason, and only because Tim doesn’t think he’s ever heard Bruce sound so… sad before. Like the concept of Jason being afraid of the Batman suit is too much for Bruce Wayne of all people to bear. A tiny side-long glance at him confirms it– he has that look that he gets when he looks too long at the oil painting of Martha and Thomas Wayne that he keeps in his study. And once again, Tim has to look away. It’s getting really hard to find places to look, and closing his eyes just gives his stupid fucking brain the opportunity to show him images of Jason being tortured. He decides to just look at a point in the distance, slightly above where Jason is lying.
“Tim?” Dick prompts gently from next to Jason’s head.
“Remember how he reacted when we found him?” he asks, immediately cringing at himself. Of course they remember. It was pretty hard to forget. Tim swallows nervously, trying to quell the confusing feelings of guilt and horror that are roaring in his gut. “He’s calm when he sees Alfred.”
“Jason is well trained, he can tell that Alfred is not a physical threat,” Bruce grumbles, not even looking up from Jason when Alfred lightly swats him on the shoulder.
“No, it’s not that,” Tim interrupts, letting the irritation at Bruce’s stupidity swell up in his chest just a little bit. “He calms down the moment he sees Alfred, because he’s safe to Jason.”
“So is Batman–”
“What if Batman isn’t safe for him anymore? What if Nightwing and Robin aren’t either?”
“What are you implying, Robin?” Tim can practically hear Bruce’s teeth grinding together from how hard he’s clenching his teeth and he can feel Dick staring at him, but he still refuses to look at either of them. If he sees their faces, he’ll feel the need to soften the blow for them, and one look at Jason is proof enough that nobody’s softened any blows for him in a long time, so powering through is the only way.
“When we found him– do you remember what he said? He said that he knew what we were there to do. He said that we were just there, and to give him a break– remember?” he can feel Dick nodding in confirmation, but he still refuses to look. “What I’m implying is that maybe the Joker used Batman against Jason, somehow. We already know he used pictures of me as Robin to make him think you abandoned him, so what if he used Batman himself to physically torture Jason?”
“Batman is the number one most sold Halloween costume in Gotham–” Dick pipes up shakily.
“Robin’s third, after Harley,” Tim adds quickly.
“Those costumes are cheap and look nothing like the real suits. Jason would never fall–”
“Bruce, for Gotham’s sake, stop being so obtuse,” Tim interrupts, just barely managing to keep the world’s greatest detective, my ass, to himself. “You’ve seen his blood tests, you know that there were traces of fear toxin and various hallucinogens, including LSD, in his blood. He wasn’t experiencing any of the come-down symptoms of fear toxin or LSD, which both take up to 24 hours to leave your system. He could have only had that much in his system if there was prolonged exposure. Now, Jason may be strong as hell, but even he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between you and a cheap costume while in the… conditions… that he was in, while also hopped up on LSD and fear toxin.”
Tim is breathless and panting by the end of his rant, and the silence in the cave is heavy. It feels like it’s weighing down on Tim’s chest, making it even harder to catch his breath. Every silence has been unbearably heavy lately.
Finally, Tim manages to look at them all. Dick’s backed away from Jason’s cot and seems to have fallen into a low crouch. He clearly started running his hands through his hair – a nervous habit – but got caught up by gripping his hair in fists at the roots. Alfred is gripping onto the bars of Jason’s cot for dear life, holding a hand to his mouth like he’s going to be sick. Bruce hasn’t moved. He’s still staring down at Jason with his tensed jaw, but his cowl’s been removed now, and Tim can clearly see the storm of emotions in his eyes, and Tim finally gets Bruce for just a second.
It feels like Joker wins a little more with every waking moment; letting them re-traumatize Jason a little more every time he drags himself back into the land of the living. The greatest detectives in the world couldn’t even figure out why Jason was scared of them. Because he’s not just scared or disoriented. No, he’s scared of them. He’s scared of Batman.
Only the bad guys are supposed to be scared of Batman, not his own son.
“We should… we should move him upstairs,” Dick practically forces out, not moving from his spot on the ground.
“I shall prepare his bedroom, then. Some familiarity might do him some good.” Alfred says softly, steadying himself against Jason’s cot just a little bit more in preparation to leave the cave, and Jason again.
“That sounds great, Al,” Dick hums weakly, “d’you, uh, need any help?”
Alfred just smiles down at Dick and puts a gentle, supporting hand on his back as they walk out of the cave together.
Alone, Tim looks at Bruce again. He hasn’t moved at all, aside from the hand cupping Jason’s cheek with so much tenderness that, for a second, Tim almost forgets that Bruce never held any of his kids as babies at all. Above his head, Tim can hear the flapping of bats wings.
“Batman is supposed to be a comfort to children, not… Batman isn’t meant to be a part of the nightmares of the innocent. I never wanted…”
“I know, B,” Tim whispers, “but Jason doesn’t need Batman right now, he needs his family.”
***
Things get a bit easier once Jason is upstairs. For some reason, Tim being the first to come to the realization that Jason is scared of the suits means that he’s the one they defer to for advice on how to best not re-traumatize Jason by accident.
It kind of feels like an honour, in a way, to be the one they ask about what’s best for Jason. It also sucks, considering Tim can’t quite get over the guilt and sickness he feels when he spends any amount of time around Jason. That’s pretty easily remedied by Tim’s decision to adapt Bruce’s completely ineffective ‘no one, but me and Alfred around Jason’ rule into ‘let’s limit who spends time around Jason to just the people he knew before’, which handily leaves Tim out most of the time.
Only Alfred and Dick really sit with him. Barbara hasn’t been able to get to the Manor for Jason yet and Bruce hasn’t gone anywhere near Jason since the last time he woke up. Tim has spotted him lurking outside Jason’s door every once in a while, but his guilt complex won’t let him get any closer, apparently.
It’s been a week since Jason was moved up into the Manor and he’s woken up a handful of times. He never wakes up for longer than a couple minutes at a time, but according to Dick and Tim’s ears, it’s a lot less explosive now. Tim’s never seen it, but apparently Jason just opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, or at the wall, or at the face of whoever is in the room with him. He doesn’t respond to his name being called, he doesn’t respond to physical stimulation, he just stares. It’s creepy, honestly, but still better than screaming and crying.
Alfred was keeping him company the first time he woke up in his old bedroom. According to Alfred, all Jason did was look around blankly, barely even awake, just dreamily taking in the familiar room, before laying his eyes on Alfred sitting next to him, hemming a pair of Damian’s pants. Alfred cut himself off, unable to speak another word through his own heartbreak, before he was able to tell Tim what happened next.
Jason is in there, at least. Jason’s heart and soul are still there, even if he’s not really there right now. If he were completely gone, like they all silently feared, Alfred would have said something. Alfred would know and Alfred wouldn’t keep that from the rest of them. Jason just needs time to heal. That’s what Tim tells himself. Honestly, that’s what everyone is telling themselves.
***
Dick is with Jason the first time he talks. Well– the first time Jason says anything longer than a single word that actually makes sense. Up until now, Jason’s mostly just said a word or two before passing out. Mostly, it’s just Dick’s name that Jason mutters like he’s trying to remember a word in a language neither of them can understand. Other times he just stares at the ceiling, or the wall, or at whoever’s sitting next to him before he passes out again.
Dick tries not to think about the time Jason woke up, looked around the room for a minute before looking Dick dead in the eyes and, with the weight of 18 months of pain and torture, and the relief of it being over, said the word home. Jay passed out before Dick was finished processing the sudden stab of pain through his chest.
He hasn’t really been awake, though. Sure, his eyes opened, he spoke, and he took in his surroundings, but that’s about it. If his mind is even nearly as hurt and exhausted as his body is, Dick can’t imagine his little brother has been ready to be fully conscious yet. His brain needs to recalibrate and process being safe again first. Not being hurt anymore. Being around his family. As much as Dick has been dying to have Jason back, he knows it’s important for Jason’s brain to heal itself enough so that he can wake up and be Jason again and not some discarded broken bird.
Because Bruce is a coward and Alfred is busy, Dick’s spent the most time guarding Jason’s bedside, so he’s gotten pretty good at paying attention to and reading the patterns of Jason’s breathing. That’s why he notices the shift in the air so quickly. Jason barely even moves, Dick just feels it and his eyes lock onto Jason’s slowly waking body with way too much intensity.
It’s different this time. Jason’s breathing is too close to how it used to be before. Dick jumps to attention, completely forgetting about the case files he’d been going over just seconds ago. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest as Jason’s still swollen eyes crack open. He has to manually slow his breathing down when Jason lets out a tiny wincing groan when his sensitive eyes meet the bright light of the rare Gotham sun pouring in through Jay’s massive bedroom windows.
“Hey, Jason. I’m here,” Dick says as softly as he can. He’s literally holding himself back from reaching out to grab Jason’s bandaged hand.
Through the mottled purple and the puffy skin, Dick can see Jason’s greenish-blue eyes looking up at him. He’s awake. Like, actually awake.
“D’ck?” he calls out weakly, but so much more present than he’s sounded since the last time he woke up in the Cave.
“In the flesh, Little Wing.” Dick tries to sound casual and soothing, but it’s a bit difficult when his eyes are filling up with poorly timed tears of relief and hope. Jason recognized his voice, how can he not cry? His little brother is coming back. “You’re in the Manor, Jay. You’re home.”
“Roy…”
Dick’s brain short circuits a little.
“What?” he asks helpfully.
“Where’s Roy?”
Oh. Oh God. Dick splutters silently as yet another godawful revelation hits him like a truck: he… he’d forgotten about Roy. How could he have forgotten about Roy? Jason loved Roy. They were– what, a couple before Jason disappeared. Dick doesn’t know the specifics of that relationship other than the fact that they loved each other more than Dick ever remembers loving someone at that age. Of course Jason would want Roy with him right now when he’s finally home. Of course he’d want the extra layer of warmth and love and protection that Roy would provide him.
When Jason disappeared, Roy was a complete wreck. Roy’d always had… problems that none of them were well equipped to deal with, but he always managed to keep them under control, or at least manageable for Jason’s sake. That all went out the window when Jason was kidnapped.
He remembers the kid coming around to Dick’s apartment a handful of times in the early days after Jason ‘died’. The way he used to slink around like his body couldn’t keep up with itself. The way he used to flop onto Dick’s couch and not move for hours, then suddenly jump awake and disappear for days at a time. Dick knew he was on drugs, he knew that Ollie’d kicked him out. Dick knew and he didn’t do anything to help him. Sure, he never gave in to Roy when he came around begging for money, but he didn’t try to help his little brother’s heartbroken boyfriend either. He didn’t try to help his teammate. He didn’t try to help his friend. And to top off Dick’s absolutely criminal negligence, he didn’t go looking for him when he finally stopped showing up. It doesn’t matter that he’d been drowning in his own grief, he should’ve done something. Jason would’ve.
Jason whines a bit in pain when he shifts the wrong way and it snaps Dick out of his mental spiral enough to reach a shaky hand out to stroke Jason’s hair in an attempt to soothe him.
“I want Roy,” Jason says helplessly as he leans desperately into Dick’s hand.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. We’ll find him.” Dick gently strokes Jason’s matted hair– it felt disrespectful to detangle Jason’s hair while he was asleep, and it felt even more disrespectful to cut it all off. Jason has had too many things done to his body without his permission, Dick felt like it was important to at least give him the dignity of choosing what to do with his hair. So, Dick carefully runs his fingers through the matted mess of once beautiful curls while he whispers reassurances and promises he has no right to make.
I don’t even know if Roy is still alive–
“I want–” Jason’s words are cut off by a pained whine as tears sprout in his eyes.
“I know, it’s okay,” Dick says, his eyes welling up so much that he can’t see Jason clearly anymore, “We’ll find him, I promise.”
Dick coos and shushes Jason, making promises he’s not sure he’s able to keep, and running his fingers through his ratty, dull curls, careful not to pull on any hair and cause his little brother even an ounce of pain or discomfort. He doesn’t stop until Jason falls back into sleep’s, hopefully, gentle arms again.
Once Dick is sure that Jason is completely asleep, he moves his hand to cup the back of Jason’s head and leans down, resting their foreheads together. “I’ll find him, Little Wing, I promise,” he whispers painfully like a prayer, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back his guilty tears.
Anything at all that Jason wants, Dick will do for him, anything. If his little brother wants his boyfriend, then he’ll find him and drag him back to the Manor kicking and screaming if he has to. He doesn’t care if Roy has a whole new life, a whole new partner, or is completely riddled with dope sickness– he’ll bring Roy to Jason. All he needs to do is figure out where Roy is.
Dick’s thoughts are interrupted by Tim barging in, tablet in hand, like a concerned asshole, only to pause when he sees a glossy eyed Dick resting his forehead against an unconscious Jason’s.
“Uhh, is everything okay? Jason’s vitals just spiked, like, a lot,” Tim asks in that tone he gets whenever he walks in on someone having feelings he didn’t mentally prepare himself to deal with.
Dick sits up and quickly wipes his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, he woke up for a minute.” Dick explains, sounding calm and casual as he stands up from the bed. Tim doesn’t need to see Dick’s little breakdown, the kid has enough to worry about. He turns to look down at Jason for a second longer, though, not quite ready to leave Jason behind.
“He talked to me,” he adds on belatedly. It just sort of slips out before Dick can filter it into a better tone.
“Like, talked, talked?” Tim asks in disbelief, a little excited, “I didn’t know he could do that. Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. Just, you know–”
“Tim, I get it. Shut up.” Dick looks over his shoulder for a second before turning back to look at Jason again, not really in the mood to spend more time than that calming down a rambling, apologetic Tim Drake. They really need to work on Tim’s filter when at home. He never has a problem playing the perfectly PR trained Tim Drake when he’s in public, but he’s always struggled a bit with it when he’s in the safety of his own home. It’s charming when Dick isn’t caught up in the almost constant weight of guilt that comes with having Jason back.
“So, what did he say?” Tim asks carefully, tiptoeing over to stand next to Dick.
“He asked where Roy was.”
“Harper? He’s been in Star City for a while.”
Dick snaps his head up and stares at Tim like he’s a god. Dick takes it back, Tim’s tendency to blurt things out and be a creepy little stalker is absolutely amazing and he should never try to change. He tilts his head off to the right in a silent, birdlike question.
“Bruce keeps tabs on him. I think he’s still holding out hope that Ollie’ll try to help him,” Tim, oh wonderful Tim, explains casually, perfectly content to insult both Bruce and Oliver’s skills as parents and adults.
“Can you watch Jason for a bit?” Dick asks abruptly, staring intensely at Tim.
“I’m not familiar to him though. What if he wakes up again–?” Tim asks, but Dick is already headed towards the door.
“Just do what I do. Stroke his hair and be nice to him!” Dick calls from the other end of the room, trying to get out and get to Roy as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, that means dealing with Bruce first.
“Thank you, Tim,” he adds before closing the door behind him and running off to Bruce’s study, gasping for air now that he’s alone again with his guilty conscience.
On the way to Bruce, his mind plays him a lovely slideshow of every single thought and memory of Roy over the past several months, overlaid with the images of Jason’s broken body, and his ‘conversation’ with Dick. It feels like he can't stop failing to help every single person he's ever loved. He won’t fail this time, though. Jason’s been failed enough by his family, and Dick refuses to fail his little brother ever again.
He bursts through the door to Bruce’s study prepared for war. His guilt is hardening into fierce resolve that doesn’t break when the heavy mahogany door bangs into the wall from the force of him barrelling through it.
Bruce startles to attention, and Dick can see in real time the way he quickly calculates how this conversation is going to go based on the look on his eldest son’s face. He’s sitting behind his massive desk, a manilla file folder open in front of him, and his wire frame reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone to interrupt him or else he would’ve taken the glasses off and hidden them away before anyone had the chance to call him old for needing them.
“Dick,” he greets calmly, “you’re supposed to be with Jason. Why are you—”
“Jason woke up.” Dick announces loudly.
Bruce pauses for a second and Dick can feel a heavy sheet of careful uncertainty fall over the room.
“...is he still…”
“No.” Dick interrupts. He doesn’t have time for careful lines of questioning right now. Roy and Jason don’t either. “But I need to talk to you about something.”
Bruce nods gravely and way too slowly, and Dick is sitting down in the plush chair across from Bruce’s desk before his adoptive father can even finish gesturing towards it. He leans forward, intently resting his elbows on his knees and looking Bruce directly in the eyes.
“We need to find Roy,” Dick announces, getting right down to business once he knows that he has Bruce’s full attention.
“Why?” Bruce raises a single eyebrow in question as he takes his reading glasses off. He leans back in his well loved leather desk chair and crosses his arms over his chest. Dick grits his teeth, already on edge from Bruce’s stupid skepticism.
“For Jason. He needs Roy.”
Bruce sighs deeply, like he’s already sick of explaining his stupid line of reasoning before he’s even started. “Roy isn't family. Jason needs his family.”
“Yes he— what the hell, Bruce?” Dick was expecting rejection from Bruce, but not like this. That’s just– what? God, Bruce is good at pushing his buttons. For someone who’s so good at comforting victims when he’s wearing the cowl, it’s like he loses all ability to even have empathy when he’s dealing with his own children. All of Dick’s anger at himself for being selfish and failing Jason is very quickly transferring into white hot fury directed at Bruce. “Even if what you said weren't true, Roy needs help. You know that he needs help. Why the hell wouldn't you help him?”
“He’s not my son, Dick. It's not my responsibility.”
God, Bruce makes Dicks blood boil with rage sometimes. He feels like he’s 17 again, back when all he and Bruce did was fight. It’s clear that since Dick moved out and Jason ‘died’ Bruce hasn’t had enough of his kids argue with him over his twisted logic, because the bastard is just sitting there with this presumptive look on his face. Like he’s made his fucking point and he thinks the conversation is over.
“Not your— Bruce, I wasn't your son when you took me in, Jason wasn't your son when you took him in, Tim wasn't your son when you adopted him. Since when does a kid not being yours mean you won't help them? You’re Batman. What good are you if you don't help people – kids – who need help?”
“He’s Oliver’s son, Chum.” Bruce says so calmly, like that’s enough of an excuse to avoid doing anything.
“Do you see Oliver helping him?” Dick throws his arms up, just barely holding back from full out yelling at Bruce for his sheer self important ignorance.
“He told me he would find him.” The dismissiveness in his voice actually makes Dick laugh out of frustrated anger.
“Since when does Batman just trust people at their word?” Dick spits out with a ferocious, mocking sneer on his face. He can feel the sweat collecting in the hairs on the back of his neck from the adrenaline of his anger and guilt. It sends a chill down his spine that contrasts so harshly with the feeling of his blood boiling in his veins.
“Since Oliver Queen, a trusted friend, a reliable vigilante, and a fellow father told me that he would.” Bruce’s voice is way too calm for this conversation, but Dick can hear the sharpness in his voice that indicates Bruce wants this conversation to be over. He only ever sounds like that when he knows he’s screwed up and just doesn’t want to admit it.
“Oh, you mean the Oliver Queen who kicked his son out of the house when he found out his kid was an addict?” Dick rises from the chair and leans across the desk, hovering over Bruce as he speaks in a cold, self assured voice. “The Oliver Queen who neglected his grieving son enough to make heroin the best option?”
Dick pushes off the desk with a bitter, angry chuckle and runs a fidgeting hand through his sweaty hair. He could punch Bruce right now. If he were still 17 he probably would. Bruce probably wouldn't even hit back. The bastard knows he’s in the wrong.
“Fuck you, Bruce.”
“Dick, please, just sit down.” he sighs, and for a second Dick can see through his anger enough to notice how tired and defeated Bruce looks. The moment of clarity doesn’t last long though, not with the storm of emotions raging in Dick’s heart.
“No, Jason needed you and you didn't do shit. All you did was get him when it was too damn late. Jason still needs you and you can't even handle being in the same room as him.”
“Chum—”
“Don't ‘chum’ me! Jason asked for Roy. Jason needs Roy. Roy needs help. Having him here will help Jason, and you’re saying no because you can't face another person you failed?”
Bruce finally raises his voice to meet Dick’s frantic yelling. At the same time, he rises a bit from his seat, leaning with flat palms on his desk. “Oliver said—”
“You know for a fact Oliver didn't do shit.” Dick interrupts before Bruce has the chance to stand to his full height or try to intimidate his way out of this. “Ollie is more of a coward than you are, and considering the fact that you won’t even step foot in Jason’s room, I’d say you’re pretty friggin’ spineless. Jason needs someone that Joker hasn't ruined for him. Someone that Joker didn't know about. Someone Jason can lean on and trust without thinking about what that monster did to him. Alfred isn’t enough. Roy needs help, too– he needs Jason. They need each other, Bruce.”
Dick’s voice sounds more and more desperate the longer he talks. He can feel the guilt rising up in his chest again, fighting to overcome the anger, at the mention of what Joker did to his brother. It’s too much. He feels like a rapidly deflating hot air balloon. By the time he’s done talking, he just doesn’t have enough air left to keep talking and he cuts himself off with a sharp, pained gasp that has tears threatening to form in his eyes again.
Bruce is silent for a long time as they figure out where to go from here. Their fights don’t usually go like this. They usually turn into one of them throwing a punch and then storming off, unresolved and bitter. This one can’t do that though. If they can’t come to an agreement, then Dick will be breaking a promise to Jason after the very first time since they’ve gotten him back that Dick’s actually been able to comfort Jay.
Bruce runs a tired hand over his face and leans heavily on his desk.
“Having an addict around Jason could make things worse. We are already at a disadvantage of not knowing all of Jason’s triggers. With Jason's history with addiction, I don't want to risk harming him more,” he says with his hand still covering his eyes, like he has a headache that he’s trying to nurse.
“Roy isn't just an addict. He was on my team, he's… I don't even know exactly what he is to Jason– his boyfriend, I guess. Roy can get clean.” The last bit of anger in Dick’s chest is completely gone, and the guilt is going to drown him soon if he can’t fix this.
“Jason asked for Roy. The moment he was sure he was home, he specifically asked for someone that he knows will bring him comfort that none of us can provide right now. He basically asked for proof that he’s safe with us. I can’t ignore that, B.” Dick sighs wearily. “I… please, Bruce. I know you know where he is.”
The silence over the room is heavy as Dick lets the last of the fight out of him. He feels completely deflated. He can hear Bruce heavily sitting back down in his desk chair, but still, he refuses to look up at Bruce. He knows that whatever he sees in Bruce’s eyes won’t make either of them feel any better.
After what feels like hours, Bruce finally says, “He’s in a trap house in Jackson Park, Star City.”