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dick grayson. (blackandblue) wrote in chances_rpg,
@ 2024-11-26 17:34:00

Entry tags:

dc: dick grayson (comics), dc: jason todd (comics), ~!game plot: dreamwalking

LOG: DICK & JASON

Who. Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
When. November 25; early-early
Where. Dick Grayson's head and then his bedroom
What. Dreamwalking in a place Jason didn't actually want to be.
Warnings. all mentions of violence, canon villain deaths, allusion to dubcon

"Is it like that every night?"

The thing about being in San Francisco and not having to save the world on a near-nightly basis was that the Bat-clan was actually attempting what amounted to normal lives. Dick was encouraging it, in fact, and proclaiming nights off. Sure, if something happened then they could all spring into action but they weren’t patrolling like they would have in whatever cities they were in back home.

What ‘normal’ meant for Dick Grayson still didn’t quite mean a social life. Sure, he managed the occasional normal-person thing because it fell into the appearances category; Dick needed to appear normal and like nothing could touch him. It was his armor in his civilian form and the mask he wore behind the domino he donned as Nightwing.

Dick actually went to sleep at a decent hour. Shock and awe, everyone. He hadn’t even been so exhausted that he’d dragged himself through the apartment to get there, just retired before midnight.

Something that most people didn’t know or understand about him was just how much anger and trauma sat beneath the surface. The waters appeared calm from above, a placid (if playful) lake, while the depths were dark and dangerous. But he was used to the nightmares. They never went away. His parents falling to their deaths was the frequent one but everyone expected that; it was the first real trauma in Dick’s life and it had shaped him.

But there were so many others and it always depended on what his brain was trying to revisit to solve for something. Anger? That seemed to be on the menu. The absolute fear over Tim being in danger and by the Joker’s hand and plans, the utter rage at knowing that another Robin’s death was at the psychopath’s hands… Dick saw red. He had walked into the church without a backward glance at the law enforcement gathered beyond the barrier and everything had gone to shit. There was a haze over the moment because Dick didn’t actively remember just how or when he’d gotten the Joker beneath him but his gloved hands were punching, repeatedly, red smearing everywhere. Tim made an appearance but Dick had already done what Batman would not: he had killed the Joker. Dick sat back on his heels and stared as the scene around him froze in place.

He had killed. He had stepped over that line. And he wasn’t even sorry. Not really.

Jason had seen the whole thing, but every time he'd tried to step closer he found himself blocked by some kind of invisible barrier, completely unable to pass through and get to Dick, to... to stop him somehow. This was why Jason was supposed to exist. This was his job, to keep the rest of them from getting their hands dirty. Why couldn't he do his job?

He kicked at the barrier, cursed, waved his arms and shouted for Dick's attention, but nothing had seemed to have any impact at all on Dick. On what was happening in front of Jason's now-silent observation.

He tried again, in that frozen moment, thinking that maybe now that it was over whatever strange logic was at play here would let Jason go to Dick.

"Dick--" but the barrier still stopped Jason, a firm sort of stretchy and a bit like a static shock to the touch. "Fuck."

Dick stood, oblivious to someone being on the outskirts of his frequent nightmares. Nightly, if he even slept at all. He ran his hands back over his head as though to calm himself and the blood didn't smear. It was gone and the scene shifted. His greatest hits. The sound of his parents hitting the dirt floor of the circus because they worked without a net. That scene had already played out, as it always did, and instead he found himself face to face with Blockbuster. The crimelord who had pulled at threads until he'd deduced Nightwing's civilian identity: Richard "Dick" Grayson. Ward of Bruce Wayne. From there, the dominoes were going to fall and his family would be in danger. His friends.

Catalina was talking, telling him that all he had to do was step aside. He did. Nightwing took only one step and Catalina--the Tarantula--took the shot. Blockbuster died where he stood and Dick's unmasked secrets died with him. The rest of it all passed in a blur of scenes as he and Catalina left the East Coast entirely and went on the run. Catalina using him (in all ways, dubious consent at best). As it had felt as he lived it, Dick was detached from the scenes... watching them through an out of body experience. This was all trauma that he had buried and had never told Bruce. When Dick had returned to Gotham and the 'Haven, he had admitted to Bruce--to Batman--what he had done. Or, more accurately, what he hadn't done. He hadn't stopped Catalina from killing their mutual enemy. Bruce?

In reality, Bruce had told Dick that Dick needed to forgive himself. Instead, his nightmares just put on Dick's Greatest Hits of all the times he had disappointed Bruce and Batman both. All the times they'd butted heads and Dick had lost. Little by little, Dick's shoulders lowered and stooped. Beaten down but never letting anyone know. He would never let anyone know. They'd think less of him. Look at him with pity and less respect.

Jason had followed along for it all; even though he didn't understand the entire context, didn't understand Dick's private thoughts in the moment, he understood enough.

If he could have stopped it... but he hadn't been there in real life, and a do-over in Dick's dreams didn't look like it was forthcoming. He sighed, rubbing at his forehead with the heels of his palms. "Damn it, Dick, look at me."

Maybe that was what worked. Dick turned on his heel just enough to look at Jason from over his shoulder and there was a frown on his face. He was dressed as Nightwing though without the mask and no visible weapons on his person. Where Bruce had once admitted that he never called himself Bruce Wayne in his dreams, Dick seemed to be a mix of hero and civilian.

His lips were dry, even in this state, but they parted just a little in surprise and his face lit up in relief. It was short-lived and Dick quickly looked around them. "You aren't supposed to be here," he said in an urgent tone and his panic slammed against whatever barrier had been keeping Jason separated and unable to interact. "Go," Dick ordered but there was a thread of fear in his tone and that fear pushed hard. Something had changed for once and Dick didn't trust it. He didn't want to add more Jason Todd to his nightmares. What he already had was bad enough.

Jason gasped awake, sitting bolt upright in bed (albeit with a wince as he pulled at the large bruise spreading over his ribs from patrol a few nights before). It didn't take long before he was in motion, grabbing the shirt from beside his bed and pulling it on before he stumbled out of his bedroom. He should have been more careful, probably, considering they had a werewolf and a tiny assassin living with them and either one of them was likely to have woken up hearing that door open, but Jason couldn't stop to be concerned about that quite yet.

There was no knocking before he swung Dick's door open, expecting to find him thrashing in a nightmare. Instead, Dick looked as peaceful as a baby, like he'd never had a bad dream before in his life. Like everything was perfectly normal.

Since Jason knew better, he stepped into the room. Knowing that Dick wouldn't want Damian or Enid to overhear the conversation that they would definitely be having, he closed it behind him.

And since he had no desire to be tossed across the room like a ragdoll, instead of reaching for Dick's peacefully sleeping shoulder Jason kicked at the frame of the bed to jostle it.

Dick snapped awake and rolled onto his back to quickly take in his bedroom in one look; he jolted at seeing the hulking shadow of his brother. "Jesus, Jay," he muttered, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. "Don't stand there like a creeper. What are you doing?" His voice was thick with sleep rather than any sort of stress beyond the quick kick to his heart rate at being so rudely awakened and then seeing the shadow of Jason basically standing over him.

"What the fuck, Dick?" Jason hissed, moving in a little closer now that Dick knew it was him and wouldn't try to murder him for intruding in his room. Probably. His breathing was ragged, as if it had been him that had the nightmare, not Dick.

And now he was starting to question himself because what if it had just been some fucked up dream of his own? What if... "Is it like that every night?"

Something had gotten to Jason and Dick slowly eased himself up onto his elbows. It wasn't the most defensive of positions but he didn't want to move too quickly and potentially set the man off. The ragged breathing was concerning. And Dick didn't know what he'd done to put Jason in this state as the other man was clearly placing blame.

But Dick blinked, startled and confused. "Is... what... like that every night?" he asked slowly, eyebrows knitting together as his worry grew. He shifted his weight on the bed and scooted away from Jason but held his arm out in invitation rather than create distance. He didn't know what was wrong but his instinct was to fix it. And if he couldn't fix it, he could offer comfort.

Now Jason was starting to question himself, but... no. Those hadn't been his nightmares. Jason knew his nightmares, knew them well, and there was no reason for him to dream about Dick... like that. "Your dreams, Dick. I think I was in your dreams."

Okay. Yeah. It didn't sound like the most ridiculous thing that had happened since they had gotten here, in Jason's defense. "I saw... you..." his voice lowered to whisper in case either of their charges had woken and were spying, "...you killed him?"

He shouldn't have sounded incredulous. It should have been a simple statement of fact.

Even startled awake as he was, Dick was used to getting those gears in his head moving when he needed to. This was one of those times. His eyes widened and the fingers of his outstretched hand curled into a light fist as he pushed himself up. His blanket pooled around his legs and definitely hadn't been tangled up like he'd been thrashing about. And given the teenage girl living with them, Dick went to bed in pajama pants and a shirt these days.

"I told you I did," Dick replied weakly, matching Jason's whisper. In his defense, he had been hiding a lot of things from Jason at the time and the key notes had come tumbling out in that desperate bid that they kept trusting each other when Jason demanded information. And in Jason's defense... well. Dick hadn't exactly described any of it in detail. But if he had somehow seen the dreams? Dick scooted back a little more on the bed and even he wasn't sure if it was to give Jason more room to join him or if Dick was putting just that much more space between them. He swallowed and looked to the side. "Every night, Jay," Dick whispered. "All of it." The chuckle that escaped him was mirthless and he spoke again. "I mean, when I do sleep."

Yeah, he'd told Jason, but telling was different than seeing. He'd known that Dick had killed him on an intellectual level. He hadn't seen how visceral it had been. How close. When Jason had imagined killing him it was at the other end of a smoking gun. It hadn't been so intimate.

"Dick..." Jason's voice wasn't just a whisper now. It was faint. Strained. "I didn't... you never act like..."

Dick never acted like it weighed on him, like it was as heavy on him as it always felt on Jason's shoulders, the things that had been done in the name of the greater good. Like he was healthy somehow in spite of it all, not as fucked up as Jason.

"I didn't know." It sounded pathetic, really. He should have known. He lived it too.

Dick had more control than to let the hysterical laugh escape him and take flight. "I know," he said, instead, and a humorless flicker of a smile appeared though it disappeared just as quickly. "No one does. Not really. Raven, maybe," Dick went on and looked at Jason again. His eyes had adjusted to the low light of the room, the way the windows offered just enough light through the curtains he'd put up.

"Come'ere," he added after a moment and lifted his hand again. This time, it was with his palm up and asking Jason to take it. "You weren't supposed to see any of it." He swallowed again, nervous suddenly, because he wasn't certain what all Jason had seen. They were all memories and heavily skewed toward fact, rather than fiction. It was how his mind worked. Facts. Information. He waited, eyes glued to Jason's face... praying he didn't see disgust there.

There was no disgust, just sorrow. Jason took Dick's hand, easing himself forward until he was fully on the bed. He wanted to... he knew these were memories, and he knew that most of the damage that Dick had taken from them was mental, emotional, spiritual if you believed in that kind of thing. He still wanted to check Dick over and make sure he was in one piece after that.

"Dick, you don't have to... carry it alone anymore," Jason said. "Sure, I didn't react well, but... fuck, who would? You can--talk to me about it, you know?"

Jason wasn't Tim, or Damian. There was no need for Dick to protect him.

"I know," Dick said again and offered up a smile that at least held. But it was a shadow of the one he usually gave people and it was sad. "I won't talk to you about it, but I know." At least he was being honest.

His free hand came up to ruffle Jason's already bed-head styled hair. "I'm afraid to ask what all you saw, Jay. Because I'm sorry you saw any of it." Dick frowned as his mind started working on something other than Jason having slipped into his bedroom to wake him. "How did you...?" He considered moving to grab his phone but that would dislodge Jason and he was sure his brother had left his phone back in his own bedroom. Dick sighed and went with a different tactic. "Can you grab my phone? You're closer," he asked; it would make Jason return to him in order to hand over the device and didn't give him the chance to flee out the door.

"Yeah, sure," Jason agreed, not even questioning why Dick needed it or had asked Jason to get it instead of moving to grab it himself. He just... trusted that Dick had a reason.

He got the phone and returned, just as Dick had planned, settling back down on the bed easily as he handed the phone over and getting comfortable again. "I don't know. How, I mean. I'm guessing it's another one of the weird things that happen and we don't get a choice about it."

Dick took the moments Jason's back was turned to compose himself, a relaxed tilt of his shoulders by the time Jason had returned to his place on the bed. "Thanks, L'il wing," he murmured and unlocked the device to look over the network. "There's... nothing yet," he sighed. "I don't know if this is a meta-powers thing and you suddenly got telepathy or something."

One thing Dick was certain of, however, was that he was not going to sleep until they were in the clear. No one else needed to see any of that. He couldn't stop the stressed motion of running his fingers back through his own hair and pulling at the inky-colored strands. "We wait. We see what other people say," Dick muttered and looked up at Jason. "I'm not volunteering any of this and I would appreciate it if you didn't, either."

Jason nodded, not even stopping to consider it. No one else needed to know what he'd seen in Dick's dreams, and if he talked about it at all...

There would be questions.

Jason grabbed at Dick's hand and pulled it away from his hair. "You wouldn't look good bald," he said. Now that the adrenaline had faded, the fog of sleepiness was returning. Jason could work through it though. He had before. "Dick..."

Maybe Quentin had been right. Maybe they did all need therapy.

He chuckled but didn't fight Jason pulling his hand away. "I'd look good grey or bald," he teased, putting the casual cockiness into his tone like nothing could touch him. Jason wouldn’t volunteer the information and that was what mattered. People would have questions–too many of them.

Dick watched his brother and his expression softened. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch," he said quietly and reached out to fondly brush his thumb over Jason's brow. "I'll wake you if something happens."

Jason eyed Dick; he didn't trust that reasoning at all, but he also couldn't blame Dick for not wanting to go back to sleep right then. Not if people were going to start wandering through dreams without permission.

"A couple hours," Jason agreed. "Then it's your turn and I'll keep watch."

He didn't trust Dick to wake him up either, but... he would let him have this out. This time. If it became a problem, he'd figure it out.

"Sure," Dick lied and shifted so he could sit against his headboard and flipped his covers back to invite Jason under them. He was sure that Jason understood why he wasn't about to go to sleep, just as he was sure that Jason would be watching him closely as the hours of refusing to sleep turned into days. He would cross each of those bridges as he came to them.

Jason slid under the covers, turning onto his side so he could watch his brother as he drifted off. "Night, Dickiebird."

They'd get through this one too. They always did. And this time, he had backup.