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Dick sits in bed and thinks about Jason. He didn’t like Jason, but he lived with him.
I tolerated Jason, He thinks, then hums. That’s not quite right, because late at night, Jason would bumble into his bedroom after patrol and tell him everything while walking on his bed frame.
That was possibly the worst thing he would do, especially because Dick would have to work the next day. And Jason wouldn’t stop talking and pacing.
“It was so fun today Dick!” Jason grinned from the edge of the bed, already balanced and pacing.
“I have work tomorrow Jason.” Dick groans from his bed.
“Okay but you have to hear about this mugger I beat today with a new skill Bruce taught me-”
“I really don’t.”
“-I was cornered, Bruce was occupied, and I had to escape. So I went Pow! And Wham!” He illustrates by kicking and punching.
“If you fall and crack your head, I’m leaving you to die.”
“Uh huh, sure- anyways! He went down like a sack of bricks, but obviously there were all his buddies-” Jason starts pacing again.
“For the love of-”
(Would he have paced and told Dick his plan if he had been there?)
Lying in bed is not doing me any favours I’m just…
Grieving?
Richard Grayson, grieving, for Jason Todd. What a concept.
He lies there for few moments longer before sighing and standing up.
“What was so nice about pacing on my bed frame anyways?” He grumbles as he balances. His palm hits the roof in an attempt to stop him from falling flat. There’s indents where his fingers land.
Oh.
Jason left fingerprints on his ceiling.
“I knew he wasn’t washing his hands properly.”
His fingers dwarf Jason’s prints. But resting his palm there is… comforting. He has support from the roof.
For a moment, Dick lets himself stand in Jason’s place, breathing in his grief, love, tolerance, sorrow- Breathing in his brother’s loss.
(He never once called Jason is brother.)
Then he steps forward towards the other end of the bed frame.