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Bruce's eyes flicker once again to the vacant seat where Jason should be, that stupid tense twitch pulling at the corner of his mouth before he settles his gaze back on the stage. Two seconds tick by where Cass still isn't on, so he blinks right back to the seat.
Dick rolls his eyes, mouth already open, and barely stops a dramatic sigh from escaping. Private box though they are seated in, the typical person who attends the ballet doesn't like to hear that sort of thing in the middle of the first act. Sometimes Dick really hates that he knows Bruce so well.
Jason's late returning from a job with Roy, and Bruce is irritable. Making it everyone's problem. Dick knows Jason thinks Bruce hates the Outlaws because of who they are and what they're willing to do. And, yeah, the killing thing will always be an issue—even though the reduced application of lethal force on Jason's part is appreciated. But it isn't that which gets Bruce so constipated every time Jason skips town with his team. It's hard for any of them in the family, Dick included, to be mad when Jason is always happier and more relaxed when he comes home.
But it isn't hard for Bruce to be mad about the fact that Jason always comes back banged up and injured just about every time. Dick has been audience to many of Bruce's rants about how much more likely Jason is to take risks when he's running with the Outlaws—which can be scary since Jason's baseline tendency toward risky behaviour in the field can already be pretty high.
"They encourage him to be reckless," is one of Bruce's most frequent refrains.
Tim once jabbed one of his pointy little elbows into Dick's ribs when they'd both been cornered and forced to listen to Bruce's endless complaints born from worry. "Isn't that his line about you and the Titans?"
Dick had been wise enough not to say his usual line about half of Jason's Outlaw teammates also being Dick's Titans teammates once upon time. He tries not to think too hard about it these days. Hell knows that Bruce does the same.
Now, in the theatre, Bruce doesn't sigh, but Dick knows what that distinctive breathing pattern he's directing at that particular empty seat in their box means.
Jason's late.
Bruce isn't supposed to wallow about this mission—hell, Dick was just happy that Jason gave him a heads up that he was leaving town before he actually did it. And he gave them all a return date. But that's the problem. He gave a date, and he's missing it. He has already missed it. No wallowing was allowed on the condition that Jason be where he said he'd be when he said he'd be there. He's supposed to be back in time to see Cass perform in the opening night of the winter season.
He's not.
And Bruce is worried.
Dick is absolutely not worried even a little bit. None at all. Jason's just running a little bit late; it always happens, especially when travelling with Roy. He's not exactly an on time sort of person if he doesn't feel like the stakes are high enough. It's probably just a delay in extraction setting them back, something going wrong with a spur-of-the-moment idea Roy got to "improve" the engine on a jet. Lord knows that Dick has spent more than his fair share of time in exactly that situation, not to mention that he's not exactly an on time sort of person either. He and Roy were late to a lot of things together back in the day.
Music swells from the orchestra pit, and Dick nudges Bruce's dress shoe with his own as Cass floats out on to the stage, the epitome of grace and control. Perhaps more than most, Dick appreciates those skills, especially when paired with performance.
By the time the coda's over and the clapping dies down, they're some of the last to stand up and leave the box for first intermission. Bruce gives the vacant seat more longing looks before they troop down the bathrooms and stretch out. As much as Dick loves his sister and values performance, sitting through them as a spectator has never been his speciality, not even when he pretended that they were stake outs and he had to be on point. It's so much more engaging to be a participant. At least when they arrange to attend Gotham Knight games, there is enough other stuff going on at the stadium for Dick to not get bored.
There's enough time for slugging a few drinks and shaking out their shoulders and hips before the lobby lights are flashing. Damian leads their group back up to the box. Just outside their section, Dick takes half a step out to the side so that he's not following Bruce single file. It's more than enough, and Bruce pauses, turns. Dick gives him a pointed look to let him know that he knows Bruce is preoccupied with worry for Jason—and that he needs to relax.
Damian's voice drifts from around the corner, "That's my seat."
"I don't see your name on it."
Tim's voice, irritated, cuts in, "Just sit over there. It's about to start again."
The nature of Dick and Bruce's eye contact changes, and they take quick steps into the box.
The vacant seat Bruce has been making pathetic eyes at is filled—by Damian, who is huffing and crossing his arms, looking determinedly at the curtains closed over the stage. In perfect sync, Dick and Bruce's heads turn to see that what was formerly Damian's seat (by the wall, easiest to defend) has been taken over by Jason. In the seat next to him is Roy, and that is a surprise, though not an unwelcome one in Dick's opinion.
Both Jason and Roy look tired beyond belief.
Jason's holding a massive bouquet of flowers, noticeably bigger than the one already in their box that Bruce had picked out for Cass. It would not be at all surprising if part of the reason Jason's late is because he caught a glimpse of Bruce's and went out to find something bigger and better. They also are an excellent distraction from that fact that Jason and Roy are severely under-dressed for the ballet, are positioned in a way that just screams "injured and sore", and are suffering from the requisite post-op exhaustion. Dick can read the discomfort in every line of their postures and the tension visible in their necks.
Roy raises a hand, giving Dick and Bruce a jaunty little wave. Dick returns it.
Whatever's wrong with them isn't urgent, but there will more than likely be some patching up to do before the night's over. Perfectly on par for their lifestyles.
Duke and Steph are in the seats nearest the late arrivals, so Dick doesn't have an in to sit with them. Which is annoying, because Roy is Dick's friend. Was his friend first. He's forced to return to his original seat near Bruce as the curtain begins to rise on the next act.
Bruce doesn't stop shifting to shoot glaces back at Jason. Dick's annoyed at himself for doing the same thing. Of course, Jason notices, and he shifts the bouquet in his lap to obscure their line of sight.
At second intermission, Dick fully turns in his seat to stare at them. Roy's head is on Jason's shoulder; he's dead asleep. Jason's rigid and stiff in his seat, but his grip on the flowers is loose. He meets Dick's eyes with a challenge in his own. And, really, he expects nothing less of Jason, even on a good day. Standing, Dick shoves Bruce toward the others who are streaming out the door to have a stretch. Tim's lingering there, too, probably disappointed that Jason's not getting up and joining him for one of their super secret disappearing acts where they indulge their nicotine habits.
Another shove at Bruce and they're both gone.
Dick finally can approach. Grinning, he whispers, "All good?"
Jason's jaw is clenched. He nods. "Peachy."
"Did you already text Alfred to ask him to prep the ice and heat packs?" Dick wonders if Roy still lets himself take muscle relaxers for the pain that always plagues his upper back and shoulders. Probably not, but one could never be too prepared. Dick knows Alfred keeps those well-stocked, but he can be real stingy with them—unless somebody happens to be persistent about getting up from bed after an injury before Alfred feels they should be up and about. Then those muscle relaxers come out with a vengeance, and it's best to just enjoy the hours spent in timeout, body barely responsive and feeling as limp as overcooked spaghetti.
"No," Jason says in a short, low voice.
Dick reaches toward his pocket. "I can do it. You guys look spent—"
"Shut up," he grinds out through his tense jaw. "We're tired and hungry, but we're fine. Go away before you wake him up."
Post-op crankiness out in full force already: Jason is definitely nursing an injury. The only thing for it is to give him Dick's biggest, most annoying smile and pinch his cheek, which he allows only because the alternative is jerking his head away and smacking it into Roy's. Dick joins the rest of the family in the lobby for intermission.
He gets swarmed as soon as they lay eyes on him. Holding up his hands, Dick shrugs. "Seems fine. A meal, something to take the edge off the soreness, a long sleep, and they'll be fine by tomorrow."
As expected, Bruce isn't satisfied, but it's as good as it's going to get for now. They have the last of the ballet to get through and then their dinner reservation. When the curtain opens for the last act, Jason's head is stacked on top of Roy's, but his eyes remain stubbornly open. He watches the whole show, even the bits that Cass isn't in, with rapt attention. The little dweeb always appreciated what Dick never could about theatre. Naturally, the whole family keeps sneaking sidelong looks at him.
Final applause is enough to wake Roy at last. He lifts his head off Jason's shoulder before Jason properly moves from the top of the pile, but their curses are lost in the din of the audience as the dancers take their bows.
Once the house lights come up, Dick picks up the flowers Bruce got for Cass and shoves them into Damian's arms as an excuse to get around him and closer to Roy and Jason.
Roy's already up and stretching his arms above his head. The pop of his shoulders echoes a bit. "I feel great," Roy says by way of greeting to Dick.
"Yeah? You look like you could use another ten hours of sleep."
"Doesn't mean I don't feel great."
The family is gathering. Jason's not making any moves to stand up yet. Just stretching his head and neck to the side.
"Pull something?" Duke asks.
Jason blinks at him. Shrugs the shoulder Roy was sleeping on. "Long op."
He's always had a soft spot for Duke. Dick's made sure that Duke if fully aware of the fact and helps him exploit it at every opportunity.
"You're coming to dinner, right?" Dick asks Roy.
He expects an easy agreement, but he watches Roy slide a glance at Jason. If Dick didn't know any better, he'd think it was hesitance, and he only ever knew Roy to hesitate when he thought he was putting one of his people at risk.
"Kinda tired."
"Are you kidding?" Steph cuts in. "You have to come. You have all the time in the world for sleeping but only this one opportunity to cut to the head of a years-long waiting list at the most popular, world-renowned restaurant on the east coast—"
"I was taken in for a while by a rich guy, too, you know."
"Everyone knows that you sleep better with a full stomach."
Fatigue makes Roy's amusement even more apparent than it usually is. "Everyone knows that, huh?"
"You would not believe the amount of gossip that goes around this family." Dick mirrors Roy's amusement.
He barks a laugh, eyes sparkling. "What else does everyone know about me?"
"That you're a riot!" Steph says. "We'll tell you all about it over dinner."
Damian shoves his way between Dick and Roy to very casually and inconspicuously stand next to Jason; the two of them with their bouquets look like the picture of springtime. "You must not have heard of the concept of a reservation, Brown, seeing as you're—"
"Bruce!" Steph calls.
Bruce and Tim are huddled around Tim's phone. They look up at the same time.
Steph points at Roy. "He's joining us for dinner. Is there going to be a problem with the reservation?"
Bruce squints a little, eyes shifting from Steph to Roy to Jason to Dick and back to Steph. It's so annoying how in just that one glance, Dick might as well have had an entire conversation with him. He's never been a particular fan of Roy, not even when he was still kicking around Ollie's side and the Titans as Speedy. At best, Bruce tolerated Roy because he was Dick's friend and he didn't want to risk driving another wedge between them. But it was never a secret to Dick how much Bruce thought "Oliver Queen's kid" was bad news. Bit hypocritical coming from the guy who got a lot of the same shit when he scraped Jason Todd off the street and then was pissed off when high society balked at the sight of him at their parties.
(Dick remembers when it was him the vultures talked about. For some reason, it had always felt worse knowing it was happening to Jason than being the target himself. No one ever planted drugs in Dick's locker at that private school.)
Bruce resents the Outlaws for the state Jason comes back in from their jobs, but Dick's pretty sure than, if Bruce had to pick a teammate he hated the least, he would choose Roy.
Bruce is wary of Bizarro in the way he is about all metas except Duke. He doesn't like what he perceives to be unreliable people with powers around his reckless, impressionable kids, even the grown-up ones. He's been frosty toward Kori since…well, since Dick called him in full hysterics one morning years ago, still drunk from the night before, blubbering about the, uh, thing with the shapeshifter. Then there's Artemis, whom Bruce feels encourages Jason to fall back on old habits and use lethal force. Dick's pretty sure that excuse is bullshit, and he's really just annoyed about Jason's obvious interest in her. What does Bruce expect though? Wonder Woman has been Jason's favourite hero since day one, and he had a crush on Donna the second he laid eyes on her. He's got a type, and Artemis is it.
But no one will ever be good enough for Bruce Wayne's prodigal baby boy.
So that left infallibly human Roy Harper. They know Roy. He's a wild card, sure, but one that they know is in the deck. It can be accounted for. What's familiar is safe, and Roy's as connected to their family as anyone who's not actually in it can get. If bringing him to dinner means that Jason will stay where Bruce can see him after freaking out for hours over Jason being late, then duh.
"Why would it be a problem?"
Accurate guest count isn't an issue when the reservation is for Wayne. Whatever it takes to accommodate the party will be done.
"See?" Steph pokes her finger against Damian's forehead, and he lets the force of it rock him back on his heels. "No problem." Leaning toward Jason, who's been uncharacteristically quiet this entire time if a person didn't know what he's like when he's pretending to be fine, she says, "He's missed you a lot."
"Tt."
Barbara spares Damian from having to spew denials that no one believes. "We should head down to meet Cass."
There are murmurs of assent and the shuffling of people collecting programs and bags. Neither Jason nor Roy moves much until the others are filing out of the box. Kind of funny how Dick suddenly finds all the patience he didn't have when watching the performance. He makes no effort to hide the fact that he's watching Roy drop a hand on the back of Jason's shoulder and guiding him forward and up to his feet. Jason uses both hands to hold the bouquet. It's off-centre and awkward.
Dick levels both of them an unimpressed look.
The fact that Jason's face is flat and expressionless rather than scowling is evidence enough.
Still, Roy's beaming. "Miss me?"
That's how they're going to play this, huh?
Lifting his face into his own smile, Dick slings an arm around Roy and peels him away from Jason's side. "Of course. It's been ages since we hung out."
Despite his best efforts, by the time they make it down the ground floor and are reunited with the rest of the group waiting from Cass, Roy's next to Jason again. The guy always was slippery like that. It's not that easy to get away with the things Roy did when he was staying in a tower full of heroes. Maybe maintaining his addictions could have been considered a type of performance—and not the kind that Dick could appreciate, like Cass's dancing. Man, Roy used to lie like one of the antique rugs in Wayne Manor's formal sitting room, and Dick knows that he still could—hopefully not about cravings or relapses though.
Dick's persistent: he sticks with Roy and, by extension, Jason, while they wait for Cass. It's easy, practically muscle memory, to prompt Roy into chatting about a benefit for the Star City Ballet he attended with Oliver as a kid.
"It's like those people hated food," Roy says. "Everything they had was awful. It's not like all those people needed to be as skinny as the dancers. But the drinks were great, so maybe they were just trying to get drunk as fast as possible after sitting through that performance that lasted for-fucking-ever." Throwing a grin at Dick, he adds, "Kind of like what happened to you when Ollie brought me to whatever it was here in Gotham? I don't remember what it was for; those things were all the same. The one where you didn't make it through three glasses before you were sloshed."
"You made me drink them back-to-back and they hadn't even served the appetizers yet."
"I'm not complaining! You were a great dance partner that night."
"You just wanted to give the press something to write about."
"It's funny! Everything I knew about maintaining my reputation I learned from dear old Ollie. He couldn't say shit."
"That sort of thing does not fly with B."
Roy snorts, shifting at the same time toward Jason in a way that anyone except for Dick probably wouldn't have noticed. "Rest in peace Brucie Wayne. You were fun while you lasted, but parenthood does that to people."
Cass finally emerges from backstage, and the whole group converges on her with compliments, congratulations, and two massive and impractical bouquets. Bruce is in public persona mode—Brucie Wayne has changed a lot since the days before he took in Dick, but he's still undeniably the same dunce—and he asks the family members of other performers that have been hanging around and eyeing the Wayne clan this whole time to take pictures of them with Cass in the middle.
Roy cuts off the strangers before they can answer and offers to play photographer instead. He can't have taken less than five hundred shots with how long he stands before them spamming the shutter, flipping between landscape and portrait, and calling out things like, "OK, now a really serious one like you're in the Civil War! Get rid of the flowers. Bring the flowers back. Now pretend like you've never seen each other before in your life. Now kiss the person next to you!"
The photos will definitely end up printed and framed somewhere in Bruce's office or even on the collection of family photos on the dresser in his bedroom.
After the group photos, Tim is in charge of taking pictures of just about every combination of them with Cass until Steph rips the camera from his hands and makes him go stand in. Dick's endlessly amused at Roy's formal introduction to Cass where he can see his sister reading the flattery in Roy's praise for her dancing before he even gets the words out. Things would have been a lot different if Cass had been with the Titans.
The restaurant isn't far from the theatre, but people as wealthy and vulnerable as the Wayne family don't simply walk the streets of Gotham at night. Instead, they break up into a caravan of vehicles, and, in the chaos of it all, Dick is once again prevented from sitting next to Roy. He doesn't even make it into the same car. Half of him thinks that Roy and Jason will somehow manage to give them all the slip, but the two of them are still there when the group reassembles at the restaurant.
There's havoc when they're brought to their table and seats are claimed. Roy won't be separated from Jason; Dick finally wants his spot next to Roy; Bruce wants to be next to Jason; Jason emphatically does not want to be next to Bruce and is trying to use Tim as a human shield on the side Roy isn't already defending; Steph also wants to be near Roy so that she can gossip with him, but she doesn't want to be far from Cass, Babs, and Tim. Physics won't be broken so that everyone can get what they want.
In the end, Roy's between Jason and Bruce with Steph directly across from him. It leaves Dick's kitty-corner from him, directly across from Bruce, and pouting about it. At least Bruce is close enough for Dick to kick him in annoyance under the table, which he does. Bruce doesn't react much beyond a vague frown since he's too busy trying not to cast his own annoyance at Tim on Jason's other side. Based on the smell, Tim and Jason had ridden in the same car from the theatre and managed to squeeze in one of their nicotine sessions.
There are about four conversations going on at once throughout the meal, but the loudest by far is the one Steph's hosting with Roy. Their energies are unfairly compatible, playing off of each other and getting bigger, even with Roy's wilting posture and ten-pound eye bags. They keep the conversation on things that the friends and family of the Waynes and Queens could plausibly talk about since there are a lot of other people in the restaurant. Bruce has already had to tell two jackasses who made a show of saying hello to him that he isn't interested in talking since he's here with his family celebrating his daughter's performance.
It's a valiant effort on Roy's part, but it isn't enough to distract Bruce from watching Jason eat his entire meal with one hand. The other arm, on the side that had faced the wall at the theatre and that Roy has been guarding ever since they left, stays motionless, hand hidden in his lap beneath the table. One of the things everyone at this table knows about Roy Harper is that he isn't the idiot he pretends to be in order to keep others' expectations of him low, so Dick knows that Roy knows that Bruce knows Jason's definitely injured from their mission. Again.
And that Bruce is pissed-worried about it. Again.
If things had just gone Dick's way, he could be the one next to Roy right now, a buffer between one of his oldest and best friends and Bruce Wayne actively taking a hard left into Dad Mode—and make no mistake, that absolutely is the parent in Bruce leaking out past the façade. Not Brucie Wayne and not Batman, either. Dad Mode is worse than either of them. Bruce wields it with a lot more precision now than he did when it first became available in his repertoire. It was a blunt-force object in Dick's youth, devastating entire classrooms and everyone in them during parent-teacher conferences. But now the only time it's not locked on Roy is when it's checking for changes in Jason's condition (he's fine, by the way).
The arrival of dessert presents an excellent opportunity for Dick to snap his foot out under the table again, nailing Bruce's tibia dead on. It's enough to break his focus.
Stop it, Dick says with a minute shift in one of his eyebrows.
Bruce's blink means, My precious darling delicate baby boy has been hurt with these people for the last time.
Tonight is about your daughter. Jason won't thank you for ruining this because of him.
Dick fills in Bruce's "hn" in his head since he can't do it himself in the packed restaurant.
"You're coming back to the manor," Steph tells Roy as plates are being cleared.
He looks up, grinning at her, but Dick recognises the tension in the corners of his eyes. "I've really got to get going back to—"
Bruce finishes signing the bill and says, "Come. We'll get you back to wherever you need to go first thing tomorrow."
Dick's not alone in glaring flaming daggers at Bruce. Jason was practically asleep through dessert, slumped awkwardly in his seat so that the arm he hasn't moved stayed arranged just so, but now his eyes are wide open and angry. Blood starts to colour his face.
"He said he's got to go," Jason says.
"It's a long journey, and you boys said you're tired."
The scowl intensifies. "Then he can stay at mine. It's closer."
But Roy's lived through some serious, scary shit. Dick knows: he's seen it up close, firsthand. He's helped where he could, when Roy would allow it. Point is this: Roy Harper is not afraid of Bruce Wayne.
He looks Bruce dead in the eye and smiles. "You know what? Thanks, I'd love to." One of his hands drops onto Jason's immobile shoulder. It looks casual, but Dick can tell the placement is careful and precise. "I know Jaybird's been itching to see Alfred anyway."
The Jaybird is a shot across the bow, and Bruce knows it.
"I gotta piss," Jason grumbles, pushing back with his heels from the table.
"Good idea."
Dick's on his feet in one motion so smooth his chair doesn't even make a sound scraping across the floor. "Me, too."
"Aw, they're going together," Babs says.
"We'll see you guys at the manor," Dick calls, moving as quickly as is polite in a place like this.
"You don't have a car—" Tim starts to complain.
"The tower's around the block. We'll grab one there."
In the bathroom, Roy's wetting a towel under the faucet. He hands it over to Jason, who's leaning against the wall. He takes it with the one hand he's been using all night and presses it to his face.
Roy joins him leaning against the wall. "Almost over, man. You gonna make it?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Dick holds his arms out. "Well?"
"You heard the man. He's doing fine."
He pins Roy with a flat, unimpressed look. Turns to Jason. Is quick enough to get a hand on his forehead and cheek before Jason pulls his head away (throwing a betrayed look at Roy for not intervening for him). The cool of the damp towel isn't enough to erase evidence of sweat on Jason's skin.
"Alfred is going to be pissed if you turn up like this without giving him a warning."
"That's not fucking fair."
"What do you need? If you get ahead of it with Alfred, he can help keep Bruce off your back. And Roy's."
Roy rolls his eyes. "I can handle it."
Jason thunks his head back against the walls and speaks to the ceiling, "Tell Alfie to have antibiotics ready. Puncture wound protocol."
Dick already has his phone out, typing the message to Alfred. He adds an additional request that painkillers be ready, too, but that Roy was coming, so don't make a big deal about it if Jason starts to resist. His eyebrows draw down as he looks up from the phone. From Jason to Roy to Jason. "You get shot?"
Jason hums something vaguely confirmatory.
"Infection?"
Another hum, different pitch. "Just protocol."
"Cleaned it in the field," Roy volunteers helpfully. "But still. You know. We were in a pinch and couldn't exactly get a prescription. Can't be too careful."
Dick nods. Alfred sends confirmation that the message has been received and everything will be prepared. Eyes on Jason's bad side, Dick asks, "Should that be in a sling?"
Jason shrugs his good shoulder.
"You good?" Dick asks Roy.
He nods. "Mhm. Just tired from making sure Jaybird takes it easy."
"No easy task." Dick grins and then motions for them to get off the wall. "We're taking one of the penthouse cars back to the manor." He has to add, "I am driving," when he sees the mischievous glow starting in Roy's eye. "You'll fall asleep at the wheel and then Bruce will be really pissed."
"You can tell him—"
"I am not telling him you're a vegetarian—he won't get it."
It's like that all the way around the corner to the entrance to the Wayne Tower underground parking structure and down to the fleet of vehicles kept there. Now that their secret's out, Roy doesn't have any qualms about separating from Jason, letting him collapse across the backseat with his arm laid carefully across his abdomen. Roy joins Dick in the front.
The two of them are too tired—and now full—to provide much engaging conversation. Jason doesn't even try. He says, "There was some bullshit on the bridge when we were coming in. Don't take that way," and then goes quiet, opting to float on that line between waking and sleep. Everything about the operation and dinner is enough to wear him down to semi-consciousness. It's obvious that he's too uncomfortable to truly sleep. Grew too big for the backseat of a sedan to ever be adequate space. But knowing Jason feels safe and relieved enough that he would sleep if he could has Dick trying not to let himself think too much, lest he get himself choked up.
Roy makes a better effort at conversation, though Dick still does most of the talking as they take the long way back to Bristol. Which, it turns out, isn't the long way at all, because they beat the rest of the family back to the manor.
"Civilian entrance," Roy says as the gates close behind them. "Cool. So normal. For rich people."
"Traffic on the bridge," Jason mutters while he lets Roy peel him out of the car. "Headache."
"Don't I know it, buddy, but look. Your grandpa's here."
Alfred meets them at the door and doesn't waste time as he fixes Jason with one of his subtle disapproving expressions.
"You remember Roy," Dick tells Alfred while they're being led to the living room in which the family had planned to watch a movie to cap off Cass's night.
"Of course. How could I forget the memorable occasion during which you invited Mister Harper and Mister West over while Master Bruce and I were away, and I cleaned up what looked like an entire bar in my kitchen the next morning?"
"Man, I don't even remember that," Roy laughs.
Jason exhales heavily through his nose in amusement and complies with Alfred's unspoken command to sit on the sofa. "I do. And the aftermath. Heard the yelling all the way up in my room."
Dick rolls his eyes. "I just wanted to relax and be normal with my friends."
Roy's cracking up. "You and Wally stopped at a liquor store on the way home from busting me out of rehab. You guys were the bad influences."
"We didn't know that's where we were picking you up from! You said emergency evac, so that's what we did."
Alfred tsks at them but is too busy getting the little cup of pills that are ready and waiting on the coffee table into Jason's hand to say anything more. Without asking what any of pills are, Jason throws them back in one go, swallowing dry.
Dropping down beside Jason, Roy laughs and offers him the glass of what is probably Pedialyte. Jason takes two long pulls on that before leaning forward with a groan—the weight of his upper body shifts onto the arm held loosely to his stomach—to put the glass back on the table.
Roy pushes Jason upright again and grumbles, "I would have done it for you."
There's no grief or fussing as Alfred puts his hand against Jason's forehead, cheek, neck before retrieving Jason's uninjured arm and pressing at his radial pulse for several seconds. Alfred tsks again.
"You'll let me see the wound."
"It's fine. Roy cleaned it and put new bandages on it before we got into the city."
"Pfft, you know he wasn't asking, Jay."
It's hell getting the hoodie and t-shirt he's wearing underneath off. Dick wonders if it would have been wiser to simply cut them off. Bruce and Alfred would have loved the excuse to give Jason new clothes. Maybe something with buttons down the front and a crisp collar. The kind of thing Jason loathes to wear. When they get him shirtless on the sofa, Dick cringes a bit at the swelling and bruising visible far beyond the edges of the dressing on Jason's shoulder. Looks like it hurts a whole hell of a lot.
What the hell kind of bullet was his little brother shot with?
Dick leans over as Alfred begins to peel back one corner of the bandage, but he can't see anything before Alfred's laying it back down and giving Jason a firm look.
"This needs to be looked at downstairs. Come. Up you get."
Dick is drawn closer, hovering.
Jason whines, "It's cold down there. Can't we do it later? I'm fine."
"No, we will not do it later." Alfred is all business as he positions Jason's arm across his chest and tells Roy to hold it there while they get Jason standing.
Dick drags the throw blanket off the back of the sofa and drops it around Jason's shoulders, extra gentle around the mangled one, then follows Alfred out of the room and down the hallway.
"This is really embarrassing," Jason mutters at one point. "Why didn't I just go home?"
"This is your home."
Dick sets the hands of the clock in position.
Roy fails to stifle his laugh. "That's too funny. The fucking Batman."
"Keep his arm elevated, please, Mister Harper."
"Oh, shit, yeah. Sorry, Jay."
Alfred's pissed, Dick thinks as he goes down the steps first. He figures that, if Jason's going to eat shit on the stairs, it'll probably be because he overbalances forward rather than back. But they make it down without any slips. One of those quick-dissolving mild sedatives must have been in the mix of pills Jason took, because he hardly gives them any grief about being steered into the infirmary and plonked down in one of the clinical recliners. Dick's always been of the opinion that they allow for a little more dignity than the cot that looked like it belonged in a full blown hospital, and Alfred's pretty much the most tactful person Dick's ever met. Chair is less complaining than bed, of course he thought of that.
"Pulse oximeter and the blood pressure monitor, if you would please," Alfred says to Dick.
"On it."
Calm as anything, Roy sits on the arm of the recliner, on Jason's good side. It only takes a little bit of persistent cajoling to convince Jason to lean into him.
Dick hovers even harder than he had upstairs after passing off the monitors to Alfred. He doesn't like it. This is pretty standard behaviour from Roy. He's tactile. Likes to comfort and make people feel better. Dick's the same way. But Jason isn't like this.
"Dang, Alfred, what'd you give him?" Dick half-jokes. Even under the influence of Alfred's freaky drug cocktails, this is unusual.
"Puncture wound protocol," he answers while reading the feedback on the blood pressure monitor and then removing it. Alfred slides over the little wheelie stool beside the recliner and sits. There's no resistance from Jason when the blanket is pulled back from his wounded shoulder and Alfred begins to remove the bandage again.
And then the wound is bared in all its glory, and Dick's saying things he usually never does in front of Alfred.
"How long ago did you get this?" Alfred's asking all the right questions in that calm and professional tone of his. His gloved hands are gently examining the wounds—because there are two of them: entry wound on the front of Jason's shoulder and an uglier, bigger exit wound in the back.
"You said you were shot, Jay." Dick turns wide eyes on to his brother's face. "This looks like you were clawed by an animal."
Tired, unimpressed eyes stare at Dick, still leaning into Roy's side—it occurs to Dick that…could Jason be in shock? Well, not in shock. It obviously wasn't that bad. But maybe he was…shock-y. Shrugging his good shoulder and flopping the back of his hand against Roy's side, Jason says, "Tell 'em."
Finally, Roy flinches. He actually balks. "What? No, the deal was that I tell Batman what happened. You didn't say anything about telling Dick or your grandpa."
"What's the difference?"
"What do you mean?" Roy looks from Jason to Dick, and that's definitely some guilt and apprehension. "Batman has always hated my guts, but he doesn't kill. Man, I've seen Dick—and I'm pretty sure Alfred here has a kill count higher than both of us combined."
Alfred sits back on the stool. "We need to take some images and get them over to Doctor Thompkins. Master Jason, I'm not convinced that you won't need some ligament repair."
Jason swallows hard. "Fuck, I hope not."
Turning on his stool, Alfred rises to go collect the equipment needed for imaging.
Dick pins Roy with a look. "What happened?"
At least he has the decency to look sheepish for all of two seconds before he wipes it away and replaces it with something that could be pride. Like he's about to tell a riveting story that Dick ought to be feel honoured to get to hear.
"OK, fine," Roy says, "it's nothing. We were on our way out, Jaybird got in a spot of trouble, yada yada yada, he started to fall, and I caught him."
"Roy."
"What?"
"Do not yada yada yada me when my brother's shoulder is mangled."
Jason rolls his eyes. "It's one shot."
Roy laughs.
Dick persists, "On your way out of what?"
Roy answers, "Out of a building."
"Jason fell out of a building."
"Yeah, but I caught him."
"And you didn't get squashed into a puddle on the ground?"
"Of course not. I caught him from above and then pulled him up to the roof."
"Caught him with what."
"…grapple arrow."
There's a very heavy and tense lull that only breaks when Jason rubs his good hand over his eyes.
"Roy," Dick nearly growls, feeling annoyingly like Bruce.
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Roy, you shot my little brother with a grapple arrow and dragged him up the side of the building."
The gall of him to be smiling. "Dick, I prefer to think of it like I saved your brother's life."
"I'm going to kill you."
"You're welcome."