Work Text:
"So are we on speaking terms, now?"
He didn't look over at the man who dropped down into the barstool next to him. He'd heard him coming, recognized the sound of his boots, the cadence of his steps.
He nudged his shot glass forward and the bartender reached over and tipped more tequila into it, a trickle sloshing over the side as it was filled to the brim.
He tossed it back before taking a breath and shifting his attention to his brother. "Hi, Jay."
"Dickie. It is Dick now, isn't it? Not the other guy?"
He sighed. "Yes." Another nudge of the glass, another slosh of gold. Jason raised a finger to the bartender and soon there was a tumbler of dark whiskey in his hand.
"Don't remember you being a big drinker," Jason commented.
"Ah, you didn't see me with the Titans much."
Jason hummed in concession and took a sip of his own drink, wincing at the burn.
Dick's lips almost twitched into a smirk. "Thought you'd be more of one."
Jason touched his glass back down onto the bartop. "Never really had the chance to get started. Not a great idea when you're an emotionally volatile pit-mad teenager, really. By the time that was over I was hanging around Roy, so." He shrugged. "Not really going to push my friend's sobriety."
Dick tossed the shot back and set the glass down, rim side to the bartop. He waved the bartender over and handed her a wad of bills before pushing his stool back. He was too practiced to teeter when he stood. "I got your drink covered. Wanna go somewhere?"
Jason drained the rest of his drink with a grimace and followed. "Sure, but we're walking."
— —
They walked. It was aimless, neither of them really leading.
It was weird, seeing Dick drink. Sure, Jason had seen him with champagne flutes at the scant few galas where they'd both been in attendance, but this was drinking drinking. A shot while Jason watched him from afar and two more when they were side by side. And those weren't the only three—he smelled.
Jason's own head was spinning. Artemis made fun of him for being a lightweight, but dammit it wasn't his fault. He was technically barely legal, anyway, give him a break. He'd always meant to build a tolerance. Came in handy for undercover ops and shady deals in smoky back rooms. Maybe Dick could give him a few pointers. Jesus.
It was the Ric thing. Ric drank—Jason had been spying. Ricky didn't want anyone around, but someone had to make sure he didn't get himself killed. Nightwing had a lot of enemies and a few of them knew his real identity. Connect Ric to Dick or Dick to Ric and you've got a defenseless amnesiac in your crosshairs. So Jason spied, but back to the drinking—Ric drank. A lot, Jason had seen the flash of a flask in Ric's hand from his shadowed rooftop perches more than a few times. He didn't like it, it made him uncomfortable. Dick was supposed to be the steady one, he wasn't allowed to fall apart like a normal person.
Ric got a pass—he wasn't really Dick and he had problems. Angry and lost—Jason knew what that was like, only bullets and bloody knuckles had been his coping mechanisms.
Still, Ric was gone, so Dick was supposed to be okay now. Which meant no bars and no more flask, but Jason thought he could see the bulge of it in his coat.
Dick wasn't okay, of course he wasn't. And he was "on speaking terms" with his people again, sure, but that didn't mean he was actively speaking with them. He was broody and elusive and Jason, goddammit for some reason Jason, had taken it upon himself to be the responsible sibling and put himself in Dick's space instead of hiding behind phones and nervous words like a pansy.
But Dick was drunk and now Jason was doubting himself. He hadn't accounted for this. Dick had a hair trigger when it came to personal stuff as it was, and drunk Dick? Hm.
"So—"
"Jay." Oh it was going to be that kind of conversation. Not even two words. God, family was work.
"Dick."
"Look. I know. Okay? You didn't have to come all the way here to knock sense into me. I'm here. I'm back. I don't have to—just let me hide, okay? For a while. I—I'm… embarrassed. I acted like—"
"You acted like nothing, it wasn't you're—Well—okay, you acted like a giant douchebag, but it wasn't your fault. No one thinks any less of you. Bruce lost his memory once too, remember? That wasn't a fun time for anyone either, but no one's pointing any fingers at him. Whatever you do now is on you. Damian misses you. And Tim and Cass, and—You gotta go home, Dickie. Just for a visit. Dinner, whatever."
"You're a hypocrite, you know." His tone was resigned—harmless, no venom. "When do you ever come home?"
"You know it's not the same."
"Jason."
"Come on. You're the prodigal son, Dickie. 'And he arose and came to his father.' It's written in stone."
"You don't drink, you quote the Bible. Who are you?"
"I'm well-read and I'm twenty-two, get fucked."
Dick scrubbed at his face. Those last few shots were settling in now, a blush spreading. "I said a lot of nasty things, Jay."
"I literally stabbed Tim and we had brunch yesterday."
Dick sighed. He wasn't going to win this argument and he was starting to get the picture. Slow on the uptake, but Jason would let it slide on account of the tequila.
"I'm tired."
"I know. It's a lot."
"It's always a lot."
"It's always a lot. Which means it's always going to be a lot. Can't let it get to you now, still got a ways to go."
"I'm tired."
"So rest. You wanna do it in piss-stained dive bars or with a stomach full of Alfred's lasagna?"
Dick didn't look at him. "How'd you draw the short straw, anyway?"
"There were no straws! I'm a good brother, fuck you very much. No one knows I'm here."
That got him Dick's full attention. "Really?"
He rolled his eyes to cover his discomfort. "You'd think I'd never even shot anyone for you or nothin'," he mumbled.
"No, I—sorry. You are a good brother, Jay. With the—protective violence and everything."
"We commit assault for those we love." And oh, he used the L word. Sap. Blame the whiskey, his head really was spinning.
That put a dopey drunken grin on Dick's face and he slung an arm around Jason's shoulders.
"You love me."
"Shut up."