Chapter Text
Dick gets home late. He pulls into the driveway in his civvies, parks neatly beside the house. The valet stand is still outside the house, although a quick check confirms that all the keys are gone and the guests have left.
He’d hoped as much, had timed his entrance perfectly for this. He even has the excuses ready — the traffic from Bludhaven had been a mess, he’d been busy with work and time had slipped away — not that they’d work on Alfred, but it’s at least polite to try.
He hauls his duffel bag out of the trunk and makes his way up the drive, the gravel crunching beneath his feet before giving way to stone. He fumbles for his key in the outer pocket of his bag and lets himself into the house.
It’s quiet, as the house typically is at this time of night. This evening’s night-shifters are out and about, and those at home are either asleep or, in Tim’s case, pretending to be. Alfred and the temporary gala staff have already tidied up and mopped. Dick carefully toes his boots off by the door.
He doesn’t dare drop his stuff down in the foyer. He’s already immensely lucky that Alfred wasn’t there to immediately catch him in the act of sneaking in after skipping a family event. Any loud noise would just be testing that luck.
Instead, he tip-toes upstairs, towards the family wing. Damian had been texting him on-and-off all week, and Dick suspected that he was, perhaps, a little lonely. Maybe he was feeling ignored by Bruce or his siblings were teasing him too much. Either way, he wanted to make sure Dami didn’t feel abandoned.
Besides, maybe Dick wanted to see him a little as well.
Dick is walking— still carefully— down the plush carpet of the family wing when he sees a crack of light underneath the bathroom door.
And then hears the familiar noise of vomiting.
Dick sighs and places his bag down.
He always finds, when he returns home, that he is called to the duty of big-brothering almost immediately. There are fights to break up, emotions to soothe, and of course, there’s hair to hold back.
The door is already ajar, and Dick toes it open a bit more.
Of all his siblings, Dick is perhaps least surprised to see Jason curled around the toilet. What he is surprised to see is Roy, lounging against the side of the tub, cooly watching Jason vomit. They’re both still dressed in tuxedoes, although Jason’s bowtie has been abandoned by the tub.
“Uh, hi.” Dick says.
Roy’s eyes flick up. “Hey, Dick.” He says, a fake smile on his face. He nudges at Jason with his socked foot. “Jaybird, say hi to your brother.”
Jason moans incoherently. Roy gives Dick another smile.
Dick has known Roy long enough to know that he is fucking furious.
“Everything okay here?” He asks cautiously.
“Oh, it’s hunky-fucking-dory.” Roy says. “Ain’t that right?”
“Fuck off.” Jason slurs. He lifts his head a bit from the bowl, and Dick can see tear tracks on his cheeks. Not surprising. Jason usually cries when he throws up.
“Jaybird,” Roy says crisply, “Thought that it would be cool to drink a fucking shitload tonight. Because we’re still fifteen fucking years old, I guess.”
“Do you need me to take over?” Dick asks, eyeing Roy. Roy is clearly still sober, and perhaps more angry for it.
“Don’t bother.” Roy says sharply. “He says doesn’t he need any help.”
“M’fine.” Jason mutters from the toilet.
“Fuck you.” Roy says, almost immediately. “Asshole.”
Dick steps over Roy’s legs, and goes to kneel down beside Jason. “Hey.” He says. He runs a hand through Jason’s sweat-damp hair, pushing it off of his forehead.
Jason closes his eyes and takes a deep, shaky inhale.
Dick reaches past him and hits the flush on the toilet. He might not be done, but it’ll help with the smell. “Did you have any water?” He asks.
“He doesn’t want any.” Roy snarks.
“Fuck off, Roy, Christ. Jay?”
“I’m fine.” Jason repeats.
Dick rolls his eyes. “Roy, can you get him a glass?”
Roy gets up in a huff and leaves the bathroom, probably to get a water glass from Jason’s nightstand.
Dick refocuses his attention. “What the hell did you do to him?”
“Didn’t do shit.”
“Jason.”
Jason swallows. “He’s mad that I drank.”
That much was obvious. “That’s all?”
“I can’t read his fucking mind.” Jason mutters. He won’t look at Dick. Fine.
Roy returns with the glass, and fills it at the sink. He passes it down to Dick, gently so it doesn’t spill. He returns to his corner at the tub and glowers at Jason.
“Small sips.” Dick says quietly. He helps Jason take a few sips, and then suddenly Jason whines and turns back to the toilet to retch again.
“He had way too much.” Roy mumbles.
“Yeah.” Dick says quietly. He reaches out and slowly rubs a hand on Jason’s back, up and down. He looks over at Roy.
The rage has melted into naked concern. The fear in Roy’s eyes is clear.
The reason Roy was so angry is suddenly obvious, and Dick can’t believe he hadn’t figured it out the moment he saw the two of them.
“Jay.” Dick says. “Did something happen earlier?”
“Yeah, I drank a bunch.” Jason slurs. “Jesus, Bruce really taught you that detective shit, huh?”
“No, I mean before the Gala.” Dick glances at Roy. “Before you started drinking.”
The bathroom gets quiet. The only sound is Jason’s panting into the bowl. “G’me the water.”
Dick obediently gives Jason the water. He manages a few small sips. He even seems to manage to keep them down.
“Jay?”
“Don’t— I don’t. Don’t ask me.” Jason’s pulling at his tuxedo jacket. “Fuck, get this shit off me.”
Dick helps him out of the jacket, and earns a light smack to the chest from Jason’s useless flailing.
“Why don’t you want me to ask you?”
“Fuck you.” Jason says automatically. “God, didn’t Bruce give you—“ he hiccups— “A talk about this shit?”
Bruce did, indeed, give Dick a talk about this shit. It was years ago, when Jason turned up at the mansion, and Bruce told Dick in no uncertain terms that he had to leave Jason alone. If Jason said ‘no’ to something, there was no pushing allowed. No prodding, no coaxing, no convincing.
Bruce had stressed that Jason was sensitive.
As far as Dick had seen it at the time, Jason was just an asshole.
Still, he didn’t know Jason had known about that talk. Maybe something Bruce told him when he came back. The rule was somewhat looser now— Dick and Jason are no longer children, and Dick knows Jason’s limits a lot more innately now. He knows Jason isn’t upset right now, not the way Jason gets when someone pushes too far and he gets scared.
Still, he withdraws. “Fine.” Dick says. “Fine, I won’t push. Are you done?”
“I think I’m done.” Jason says. He takes another sip of water, and then a more ambitious one. He breathes deeply. He keeps it down. “Yeah.”
“Alright.” He says lightly. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“Don’t worry.” Roy chirps, doing his fake-cheerful-enraged thing again, “I put your usual trash can on your side.”
Between the two of them they wrestle Jason to his feet, and help him down the hall. Dick is immensely grateful for the thick carpeting now, muffling the worst of Jason’s heavy, stumbling footsteps from their family.
He toes Jason’s door open, and indeed, the trash bin is positioned beside Jason’s side of the bed in a way that almost feels like an insult.
“Gotta sleep on your side.” Roy says as they deposit Jason onto the bed. “But I guess you know the drill by now.”
“Fuck off!” Jason smacks away one of Roy’s hands, harder than he needs to.
Roy is on him in a flash, eyes blazing. One arm is planted on the bed next to Jason, the other one grabbing onto the collar of his wrinkled tuxedo shirt. “Don’t you dare fucking hit me.”
Jason stares up at Roy. His previously half-lidded eyes are suddenly huge, his body tensed like he’s stuck in a flinch.
Dick realizes that he’s holding his breath.
“Fuck.” Jason suddenly shudders. “Sorry.”
Roy holds him there for another moment, glaring at him, his fist tight in his shirt, until he slowly exhales and releases him. He eases off of Jason. He glances at Dick.
“Sorry about that.” Roy says to Dick, straightening his own shirt. “I guess we’re working on bad habits tonight.”
Jason doesn’t respond to that. He seems cowed by the whole thing. He’s obediently curled onto his side, his back turned to Dick.
Dick doesn’t feel like he should them alone right now. He swallows. “I can stay with him tonight.” He says.
Roy glances up at Dick. He’s started unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket, undoing his tie. “It’s fine.” He says.
“I don’t—“ Dick’s eyes dart between Roy casually undoing his shirt, and then Jason quiet on the bed. “Roy, that’s my brother.”
Roy pauses in working at his buttons, staring down at them and chewing his lip like he’s solving a problem. He closes his eyes. He rubs at his face. “Shit.” He says quietly, sounding exhausted and scared and too old.
He sits down carefully on the bed. He gently rests a hand on Jason’s bare ankle, where his slacks have ridden up and exposed a line of pale skin.
“Baby.” Roy says softly. “Did I scare you?” His voice breaks like he already knows the answer.
Even with Jason’s back turned to him, Dick can see Jason nod.
Roy looks like he’s going to be sick. He turns his face away from Dick, but Dick knows by the familiar movement of his jaw that he’s fighting back tears.
Jesus.
Something happened earlier today. Something happened that upset Jason, or scared him, or any number of things that meant that Jason wanted to feel things less. So he drank, and drank, and drank.
And Roy watched, and saw something familiar and all the more terrifying for it.
Dick doesn’t want to know how long this has been going on. He doesn’t want to know how many times Roy has told Jason to stop, or how close they are to Roy writing him off and walking away for good.
Because based on what he’s seen tonight, it’s too fucking close.
“Roy.” Dick asks, his mouth dry. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Roy’s face twists. “How am I the only one that’s noticed?”
It’s not fair. Dick’s the big brother, but he’s allowed to have his own life. He can’t be here all the time, attending to his siblings feelings and illnesses and needs. They have a father, they have each other. Why didn’t Bruce notice? Why didn’t Steph, or Cass, or Tim?
Or worse, what if they had noticed, and just not done a single damn thing about it?
How the hell had Dick not noticed? Why hadn’t be done anything about it?
Roy does another slow inhale, and then exhale. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.” He says. “I’m not any good right now.”
“Okay.” Dick says.
“I won’t hurt him.” Roy says quietly.
“I know.” Dick has no room to judge, anyways. He’s scared the shit out of Jason too many times to count. Roy’s no worse a boyfriend than Dick is a brother.
“I’m gonna…” Dick gestures vaguely towards the door.
“Yeah.” Roy says. “Goodnight.”
“‘Night.”
Dick glances back as he closes the door behind him. Roy is gently unbuttoning Jason’s shirt. Jason’s eyes are closed.
He lets the door click shut behind him.
Dick goes back to the bathroom. He takes Jason’s abandoned necktie and pours out the glass of water. He turns off the light and picks up his duffel bag from where he left it by the door.
He dumps it all on his bed in his room and then goes back out into the hall.
Damian stirs when Dick eases his door open.
“Father?” He mumbles, peering into the dark. Dick remembers how Damian used to jerk awake if he were even slightly disturbed. It’s nice to see him sleepy.
“It’s just me.” Dick whispers.
“Mm.” Damian breathes out sleepily, his eyes sliding shut. “Don’t steal all the blankets.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dick doesn’t bother getting under the covers. He knows he’ll be awake all night. The guilt over abandoning Jason has already crawled up his throat and curled around his chest.
He tucks Damian against his chest, like the warmth of him will somehow ease the ache.