Chapter Text
Dick sends the kids back to the warehouse with Jason, and though there’s some whining about how unfair it is they don’t get to go with him, Dick promises to bring back the candy and baked goods he’s sure he’ll be sent back with, as he always is when he steps inside the market and café.
He could have brought them with him, if it were still early morning or evening, but with Roy’s shift already starting, he doesn’t want to risk the kids seeing him while on shift for they all have unfiltered, uncaring mouths on them, and he just knows they’d all be over the moon to see Roy.
So, he sends them back with Jason, and once the whining died down, they all willingly agreed, grabbing at Jason’s hands and chatting his ear off. Dick’s sure he’ll hear about it later, but he thinks that this may be good for Jason, mindless, child chatter to distract him from whatever it is that he’s holing up in a cracking bottle.
Dick watched them leave, and then he turned on his heel and made his way to Queen’s, and now he’s planted in front of the door, a hesitant hand resting atop the doorknob. He’s being silly, at least he tries to rationalize, but there’s something about the entire situation that’s bringing forth a small, nagging hint of reluctance.
“Everything alright, son?”
Dick jumps, a sheepish smile already tugging at his lips as he spins around, one hand instinctively finding the back of his neck. “Yes, sir. Sorry.” He pulls the door open and steps aside to let the man through first. “After you.”
The man mumbles a quiet thank you, and Dick steps in after him, watching as he ducks down an aisle and practically disappears behind a shelf.
“Dick Grayson!”
Dick eyes linger where the man was once standing for just a moment longer before he turns to Oliver with a wide smile. “Hey, Mr. Queen!”
“How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Oliver, Dick?”
“Not going to happen, Mr. Queen,” Dick teases, approaching the counter, a wide smile spread across his lips.
“No littles today?”
“I’m flying solo,” Dick answers, and Oliver pouts a little too dramatically, enough to pull a laugh from Dick’s lips. Damn, he thinks. He needed this.
“And here I was hoping to see my favorite kids today.”
“I thought I was your favorite,” Dick drags out, matching Oliver’s pout with his own, and Oliver barks out a hearty laugh, a warm sound that encompasses the whole store, and when it filters away naturally, Oliver’s smile drops slightly, and he leans toward Dick over the counter.
“How are you all doing, really? It’s getting colder out now. Are you all okay?”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” Dick starts, keeping a smile despite Oliver’s frown. He knows that Oliver Queen would do anything for him, and he also knows that Oliver would offer him a job in a heartbeat if he had an ID. Their bond’s grown over the four years they’ve known each other.
Oliver stumbled upon one of the kids, who wandered away from the warehouse and got lost. He escorted the kid back to the warehouse, and he was prepared, at the time, to contact GCPD and CPS on the spot, but then Dick appeared, and he must’ve looked downright terrible, a worried mess of a teenager, and the escapee had ran straight into his arms. It only took that small show for Oliver to pocket his cell phone, and since then, he’s been helping out as much as he can.
“Patch work?”
“Sort of,” Dick starts, sighing. “I’ve got this new one, Jason. He’s going to try for more permanent fixes.”
“Ah, you’ve got yourself a handyman?”
Dick wishes he could say yes, but then again, Jason cussed out a teenager because he didn’t know what DIY stood for, so… “Not quite, but we’ll see.”
“Well, you’re welcome to whatever you need in the back. I also snagged myself a new boy, Roy Harper. He’s a spitball, that’s for sure. But he’s got a good head on his shoulders; reminds me a lot of you, actually. Let me…”
Oliver pages for Roy over the comm above, and Dick keeps his face passively eager, a small, polite show of excitement, but when Roy comes from around the back, he pauses in his step, and Dick watches as Roy’s eyes grow wide with nerves.
Dick swallows thickly and steps toward Roy, extending a hand his way. “Hi, Roy. I’m Dick.” It hurts more than he expects, but Roy’s thriving, if he goes by appearances alone. He looks good, better than he ever looked at the warehouse. His cheeks have filled in a little more, and his eyes appear more lively and aware, albeit a little unfocused.
Roy takes his hand, and though he mutters through a neutral greeting, his eyes are screaming apologies that Dick can easily read. He offers a familiar smile, one he uses when Roy’s feeling as if he’s one step shy of ruining everything.
“Roy, Dick here has been helping take care of homeless kids. Whenever he swings by for supplies, help him out for me, okay? He’s a good guy.”
“Will do,” Roy says, and Dick can see how much respect Roy holds for Oliver, with his straightened posture and slightly puffed out chest.
“Let me take you to the supply room,” Roy starts, and Dick follows him to the back. Roy carries himself calmly until he’s sure it’s just the two of them, and then his face crumples, and Dick sighs.
“Roy—”
“No, shit, Dick. Don’t. I’m literally the worst person ever. Oliver respects you. There’s no reason he’d think any less of me if he found out I spent the better half of my youth there.”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“It does, though.” Roy stresses, and he starts pacing the length of the supply room, wringing his hands. “I’m lying to him. I’m acting like I’m embarrassed, like he’ll think I’m not worth much of anything if he finds out I spent 9 years living in a fucking warehouse, and that’s just not fair to anyone—”
Dick wrapping two, strong arms around Roy’s slightly trembling frame cuts Roy off, and Roy melts into the hug. Dick welcomes the familiar body flush against his. He’s still be finding his footing as the sole leader without Roy there to balance him out. He misses Roy, but dammit if he isn’t positively ecstatic to see Roy looking so healthy, so much like the 22-year-old he’s supposed to look like.
“Better?” Dick asks, and Roy only nods, sighing deeply as the two pull away. Dick keeps his hands on Roy’s shoulders for a moment, his eyes conversing wordlessly with Roy’s, and then Roy finally steps away and clear his throat.
“How do you always do that, man?”
Dick cocks his head to the side. “Do what?”
“Make my insides go all soft and mushy.”
Dick prods at Roy’s chest, a sharp smile pulled at his lips. “I’ve got the magic touch, baby.”
“I hate you so much.”
Dick only hums and starts thumbing through wooden panels of varying sizes. He’s not sure what Jason needs, so he figures he’ll grab as much as he can carry alone. “Help me carry this out back?”
Dick grabs a few, bouncing them in his arms to see if he can comfortably carry them back to the warehouse alone. He starts out the back exit, with Roy hot on his heels.
“Hey,” Roy starts, “what ever happened to—”
“—Jason?” Dick stops in his tracks, and Roy bumps into his back, his wood panels knocking into Dick’s.
Jason’s propped up against the back side of Queen’s, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and Roy curses quietly in Dick’s ear.
“Fuck. Think he still remembers that he wants to slit my throat?”
Dick ignores Roy in favor of dropping the wood panels onto the ground. He starts toward Jason, roughly ten questions hot on his lips.
“They’re fine,” Jason answers, holding one hand up as he tosses his cigarette with the other. “We bumped into the tall red head leaving the dollar store. He said he’ll walk them back.” He steps around Dick and starts inspecting the wood panels, showing zero regard to Roy, and Dick whips around with a sigh.
“Roy, this is Jason.”
Roy drags an index finger horizontally across his neck, his eyes wide with silent questions, and Dick just rolls his eyes. “Jay, how come you didn’t go back?” He leaves the rest unsaid, how he figures Jason’s probably exhausted after his panic attack, and Jason only grunts and snags a few wooden panels similar in length.
“These should work. Can we get about 10 of these?”
Jason, Dick notes, directs the question to Roy, and Roy wordlessly nods and disappears into the supply room, returning just moments later with many panels wobbling in his arms.
“I’ll take these up to the front of the shop.”
Dick follows Roy back inside, and Jason trails along beside him without prompt. He leads Jason through the supply room, quietly explaining how Oliver helps them out whenever he can, and when they approach the register, Oliver waves them over, a bag of candy and baked goods resting on the counter.
“You really don’t have to do all this, Mr. Queen,” Dick starts as he picks through the bag, already mentally rationing who will get what.
“Hush, Dick.” Oliver looks over Dick’s shoulder, and Dick can physically feel Jason tense behind him.
“You must be Jason.” Oliver cocks his head to the side, and Dick cranes his neck to see Jason bow his head to the floor.
“You look familiar, son. Have I seen you before?”
“I’ll be outside,” Jason mutters to Dick, and Dick frowns, watching, worried, as Jason slips out the door, his posture hunched forward, a defensive stance Dick’s seen worn by one too many kids and teens alike.
“He seems troubled.”
Dick jumps, and he whips around to see the same man he held the door for standing behind him, tall, but not much taller than Dick, and dark eyes that appear guarded, similar to Jason’s.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Stop sneaking up on people, B. Christ. Learn to walk a little louder, would ya?”
Dick smiles, a nervous laugh slipping past his lips. “It’s fine.” He grabs the bag off the counter and offers Oliver a nod of thanks. “See you soon, Mr. Queen.” He turns to the door, stopping to offer a polite nod to the other man as well. “Sir.”
The man nods back. “Richard.”
Dick whips around and shoves the door open. He can’t quite place it, but he really needs to get away from the pressing gaze burning a hole in his back. It feels intrusive, like it’s dissecting him, tearing skin away to his core, and he can only imagine Jason feels the same, hence his abrupt exit.
“Good news,” Roy starts when Dick stumbles over to the two. “He’s not actually going to slit my throat.” Roy claps a hand to Jason’s shoulder, a wide smile seeming out of place paired against the other two. “Isn’t that right, Jay?”
“It’s Jason,” Jason spits out, and Dick ignores both in favor of gathering as many wooden planks as he can.
“Let’s go, Jay.”
Wordlessly, Jason gathers the remaining wooden planks, and Dick guides the two across the street, only faintly aware of Roy’s sharp shouting of “how come I can’t call you ‘Jay?’ echoing around the cars whirring past.
Dick walks briskly forward, and though he tries to think of anything and everything else, he can’t shake the deep growl of “Richard” from his mind. He’s heard it before; it’s been years, but he’s definitely heard it before, that dark timbre that can make his single name have 8 different meanings. He tries to place it, but he keeps hitting a block, a mental, locked box that he willingly chooses not to open, to keep tucked far, far back in his mind. Still, he can hear the man’s voice so clearly, and he can see the word, see his full name written across his mind. It shifts and twists into the shape of a key, and before he can fully comprehend what’s happening, the box is opening, and he’s thrust back to the circus, young, vulnerable eyes watching his parents hit the ground.
The chaos that follows is deafening in his ears, muffled screaming that clashes with a piercing ring that’s growing louder, and louder. He can hear people shouting his name, but then he hears a deep, almost desperate, growl of “Richard,” and he whips around blindly, spotting the one man who’s still amongst the rushing crowds of people.
He doesn’t know the man, but the voice, the way the man’s lips curl around his name, are so familiar, an evident nod to his father, so he starts toward it, one hand reaching out toward the man. But then someone strong latches an arm around his waist, hoisting him up, blocking his view, and he crumbles, sobbing into a strong, broad chest.
“Dick!”
The circus melts away to cold wind, towering trees, grass bunched beneath his hands, and Jason’s crouched in front of him, looking positively freaked. Dick lifts a shaking hand to his face, feeling his cheeks damp with tears.
“Fuck,” Dick breathes out, voice shaking, and Jason nods slowly, face a mess of emotions that Dick can’t work through.
“Yeah,” Jason agrees. He drops down into a seated position across from Dick. “Fuck.”
“I don’t—” Dick swallows thickly, his throat tight. “That guy at Queen’s… He just… I think he was there the night my parents died.”
Jason stays silent before him, and Dick just starts talking. He tells Jason about Haley’s Circus, about his parents falling to their deaths, about the foster families that lined up to get their hands on the broken gymnast, and about how he ran from the first takers. He talked about he felt like he was trapped in this empty void, about how he wandered the streets for weeks, dodging the police, keeping his head low at the mere mention of CPS. He just… talked, his forte, as everyone likes to remind him, and Jason just listened. He didn’t interject; he hardly reacted. He just listened.
When he finishes, the air that expels from his lungs is loose and long, breath he’s been holding for quite a while now. “Sorry,” he mutters, and Jason cocks his head to the side.
“Do you always air out your baggage to people you barely know?”
“No,” Dick admits. He doesn’t share his troubles with anyone. He’s learned all too quickly that his story is just another black edge piece to the dark painting that is Gotham. He could dwell on it, share is burdens with everyone he meets, or he could try and grow from a dark past and bring bright colors to others who need it more than him.
“Well,” Jason draws out after a moment. “I was right.”
Dick’s ears take a moment to send Jason’s words to his head, but when they do, he blinks quickly, taken aback. “Excuse me?”
“Remember when I said I’d slit your heels?”
Frowning, Dick nods. It was only a couple of days ago, but with everything that’s happened since then, it feels more like a couple of years.
“You’re light on your feet. I figured you were a gymnast or something. Seemed like slitting your heels would be more effective.”
Dick laughs at this, his chest feeling warm, and he stands, wipes away a few stray tears with the back of his hand, and offers a hand to Jason. “You’re very astute.” Jason takes his hand, and he tugs the other up.
“You learn on the streets,” Jason says flatly, picking his share of the wood panels back up, “to read people. To survive.”
Dick hums in agreement, and when Jason lights a cigarette, Dick plucks it from Jason’s fingers before he can slip it between his mouth.
“What the fuck, Dick?”
Dick rolls the lit cigarette between his thumb and index finger for a moment before clips it between his lips and takes in a long inhale.
“You smoke?”
“No,” Dick coughs harshly, passing the cigarette back to Jason. His lungs burn, and this throat feels weird and wrong. He coughs again, his chest tight, but then Jason laughs beside him. Well, Dick thinks, it was more of a light huff under his breath, but Dick will take it.
“You’re so fucking weird, Dick.”
***
Dick’s loading his seventh box when his boss gets his third call of the night. He’s already on edge, so he answers the phone gruffly.
“What now? My guy’s working as fast as he can.”
He makes a motion to Dick, waving his hand about, and Dick nods and picks up his pace as much as he can under the heavy weight of each box.
“You’re calling me about this kid again?”
Dick drops a box a little too loudly, and he mouths ‘sorry’ at the sharp glare his boss shoots him.
“Look, he’s probably just some nosey brat with nothing better to do. Just ignore him and get back to work.”
Dick pushes himself a little harder and a little faster, testing the waters with two boxes at a time. His muscles tremble under the added weight, but he clenches his teeth and bears it.
“Look, fine. Since your lot’s so incompetent, I’ll swing by Iceberg when we’re done here and get the brat. Got it?” He ends the call, and Dick can feel his eyes on him. “You in a rush tonight?”
“I figured I’d go for double time since you’ve got more stuff to handle when I’m done.”
“Don’t eavesdrop on my phone calls, kid.”
Nodding, Dick pulls his focus back to his work. He finishes an hour and a half earlier than normal, and his boss grunts a meek “good work” as he hands Dick his daily pay.
He’s shaky as leaves the garage, his muscles trembling with each step, but once he’s out of sight, he forces his legs into a jog. His heart’s guiding his adrenaline. He’s got a sinking feeling deep in his stomach that if he doesn’t get to this kid before his boss does, then there will be yet another poor kid a victim of Gotham City.
By running, he shaves 5 minutes off his travel back to the warehouse. He slips in quickly but quietly, avoiding each creaky floorboard as he creeps up the steps to his room. He slips in silently, keeping his back to the door.
“Jason,” he whispers loudly, and Jason jerks awake instantly, gaze sharp and annoyed.
“I don’t know what time it is, Dick, but it’s definitely not time for you to come sneaking in here and waking me up.”
Jason’s voice is low, gravelly with sleep, but Dick ignores it in favor of snagging Jason’s boots from beside the door.
“I need your help.”
“No.”
“There’s this kid my boss is going after tonight, and I’m worried about what will happen to him if I don’t get there first.”
“No,” Jason repeats, sharper.
“He’s hanging around Iceberg Lounge for some reason—”
Jason’s on his feet in a flash, and he rips his boots from Dick’s hand. “What dumbass kid hangs around one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham?” He slips his socked feet into his boots and rakes rough fingers through his hair. “I can get us there in 20 by foot, but you aren’t going to like the way.”
For the first time since work, Dick pauses, really contemplating what he’s going into, what he’s asking Jason to go into, but there’s a fire in Jason’s eyes, different than the one from his fight over the cigarettes. It burns brighter, more determined, and Dick feeds off it. He nods and steps aside.
“Lead the way, Jay.”
They start down the steps, moving quiet yet deliberate, and they’re half out the door when a small voice calls out in a loud whisper from the stairs.
“Jason?”
They both freeze, and Dick’s slow to crane his neck to see Jenny standing on the landing and rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Did you have another nightmare?”
Dick considers stepping in, and on any other day, he would have already, as it comes naturally to him, but Jenny’s addressing Jason specifically, and Dick’s mutely curious to see how Jason addresses the situation.
“Uh, no,” Jason stammers slightly, whispering just loud enough for Jenny to hear. “Dick and I need to step out for a little bit.”
“Are you coming back?”
“What—of course I am. Now, go back to sleep, okay?”
Jenny turns to start back toward the second-floor room everyone shares, and Dick waits until she’s out of sight to slip out of the door, closing it behind Jason.
“She likes you,” he draws out, and Jason sighs loudly at his side.
“Shut the fuck up, Dick.”