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“You need to start preparing for your stakeouts better,” Dick said pointedly as they entered Jason’s apartment. “If I hadn’t been there, at least two of the potential buyers would have gotten away.”
“Because I planned on using the semi-automatic that you made me leave behind,” Jason growled. “I wasn’t planning on going for headshots and you know it. I was prepared, fuck you very much.”
“Just once, I’d like to team up with you without having to fight tooth and nail to get you to use non-lethal weaponry.” Dick was far too tired and exasperated to sugar-coat his words like he usually did.
“I’m sorry, I forgot I’ll never measure up to you,” Jason snarked as he took his helmet off and set it on his counter. “I forgot that I’ll never be good enough for Batman’s first and favourite son.”
“The bar for you is on the goddamn floor,” Dick snapped. “All you have to do is not kill people.”
He felt himself hit the floor before he registered the punch to his jaw. Jason was standing over him, eyes glowing unnaturally green.
“Fuck you,” Jason snarled softly. “That doesn’t mean shit when Bruce doesn’t trust me to be anything more than the worst period of my life. You say the bar for me is low. His opinion of me is lower. I don’t even think he loves me anymore.”
Dick didn’t bother getting up, just rubbed at his jaw and closed his eyes. Tried to compose himself. “Which is unfair of him, sure. I’m sorry, Jay, I really am. But I –“
“Save the platitudes.” Jason turned to leave. “You don’t actually care. You resented me when I was Robin. You just felt guilty when I died.”
“This is exactly what I’m talking about!” Dick flailed an arm to the side and punched the laminate floor. “The only expectation for you is to keep bullet holes in non-vital areas. Me? I have to ‘be there’ for people. I have to be cheerful. I have to be nice.”
Jason paused and pivoted back to face Dick. “Well, Golden Boy, I-“
“Shut up.” Dick shoved himself off the ground. “I was eighteen when Bruce fired me as Robin and took you in. The costume inspired by the aerial act my parents performed before they were murdered. The nickname my mother called me. Bruce took that away from me like it was his, like it wasn’t just as much a part of me as my lungs or my eyeballs, and gave it to you. I didn’t even hate you then, because my grievance was with Bruce.”
Jason opened his mouth and Dick slammed a fist against the wall, feeling the plaster crumble along with something popping in his hand. “I’m not done. I know you won’t take my word for it that I didn’t resent you, fine. But at least I never beat you unconscious like you did to Tim. At least I never shot you like you did to Damian. But who cares? I have to be perfect or else I’m this unforgiveable monster. You just have to not murder people.”
Jason moved his head slightly, expression unreadable. “I never said that.”
“You resent me for being perfect. You resent me when I’m not perfect.” Dick gingerly felt his hand and winced as the bones shifted. “I’ll never be human to you, just something to measure yourself against. I don’t know if it’s jealousy, or insecurity, or what, but stop taking it out on me.”
Jason looked unsure, and uncomfortable, in a way Dick had never seen him before.
“Y’gonna give me anything to go on?” Dick kicked aimlessly at a chunk that had fallen out of the wall. “Maybe an ‘I’m sorry?’ Or a new reason you’ve invented to be angry at me?”
“Maybe if you stop destroying my wall, asshole.”
“You’ve blown up entire buildings. Multiple times.” Dick rolled his eyes. “I think I’m entitled to hitting your wall a few times.”
“Not the same thing.” Jason grit his teeth. “About what you were saying –“
“I’m a little tired of the hypocrisy.” When was the last time he was this brutally honest with another human being? Trust Jason to bring out the worst in someone. “Why do we get to just gloss over your mistakes, again?”
“Because if you want to continue to have a conversation with me, you’re going to have to stop triggering my fight or flight response,” Jason snapped. “So stop fucking around with my wall like you’ve had too many beers and you’re about to go beat your wife and child.”
He felt the simultaneous clench of grief and despair clutch his heart. God, he felt awful, of course he did, but why was him reaching his breaking point always so destructive towards everyone around him? When would someone be able to handle him when he hadn’t tailored his personality to suit their needs?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – I –“ Dick rubbed at the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”
Jason shrugged.
He waited to see if his brother would say anything, but when nothing came, he sighed. “Look. You’ve been through a lot, Jason, and I’m so, so sorry you had to live through it. No one deserves half the stuff you’ve had to experience. But you’re an adult now, and you gotta start working through your own shit without taking it out on your family.”
“I’m a little too fucked up for that advice to be helpful,” Jason snorted. “There’s not much inner peace and healing to be found in Gotham, anyway.”
“We’re all a little broken, I think. I don’t think any of us would be doing this –“ Dick gestured at his Nightwing suit –“if we were well-balanced individuals.”
“Sure. But.” Jason hesitated, quiet for a moment. “Everything you went through made you stronger. Or better. Or nicer. I just came out… wrong.”
“Jay,” Dick said helplessly.
“I had parents, but I was raised wrong. Then I was a hero, but I did that wrong, too. Then I fucking died, not to sacrifice for some greater victory, but because I read the situation wrong. Hell, I came back from the dead wrong, too.” Jason’s eyes were bright, and Dick couldn’t tell if it was the magic glow of Lazarus green or if he was on the verge of tears.
Maybe both, as Dick noticed Jason’s fists curling tighter and looser, over and over, trying to hold himself together.
“What happened to you wasn’t your fault,” Dick said softly. He could still feel the curl of bitter hurt in the back of his mind, like wisps of smoke from a dying campfire. He ignored it. “And I’m sorry if I’ve ever said something to suggest it was. But I’m trying to be here for you now, and it’s… hard, when you keep attacking me for it.”
“How did you turn out so unbelievably good,” Jason said incredulously. “I insult you and you find a way to apologize for it. Every time I talk with you I feel like more of an ass.”
“Probably because my early childhood I had parents who were very open with their praise and love for me, and then my formative years I only had praise when I contorted myself into the exact shape Bruce wanted me to be,” Dick said breezily. “And so I learned how to adapt very quickly to what anyone needed from me.”
Jason blinked.
“I’ve always had charisma, but being raised to people-please with a zero margin for error helped me hone it into an honest-to-God weapon.” Dick shrugged with an easy grin. “Anyway, enough about me.”
“Jesus,” Jason barked a laugh. “Y’ever see a shrink about that?”
“You ever consider a therapist for those anger issues, Mr. I Solve All My Problems With Violence?” Dick smirked without malice.
“Talia hooked me up with a psychotherapist once, while I was training with the League,” Jason admitted. “But then I realized he was breaking confidentiality by sharing everything I told him, and she would take all that information to know how to better manipulate me. I put a bullet through his head a week later.”
“Everything I learn about you makes me a little more sad.” Dick ran his fingers through his hair. “Every time I think I’ve learned the worst you reveal more traumatic backstory.”
Jason looked equally amused and offended. “Well, you’re an onion. You’ve got all these layers of hidden trauma you never show anyone. And then when I try to cut back at you I just feel like crying. Because, you know. Onion.”
“An onion,” Dick said flatly. Eyes laughing despite the straight face he was attempting to keep. “I’ve been called many things before, but never an onion.”
“Well, get used to it.” Jason looked much too pleased with himself. “Ya hate the title Golden Boy so much, I gotta find a new nickname.”
“Onion isn’t even clever,” Dick groaned. “It’s lame. It’s lazy. You sound lame when you say it.”
“Onion Boy, then.”
“That’s not better!”