[At some point in the night, he'd twisted himself around to lay on his front and in doing so, his head had ended up under his pillow. The tight confines, the feeling of his satin pillowcase, the darkness. It was a perfect storm for a hell of a nightmare. He'd been having it for a while, it would seem, his legs tangled hopelessly in his sheets. One hand was trapped under him and had gone numb, but the other?
The other was scratching at his headboard. He was clawing so hard that his nails were leaving furrows in the soft wood. Judging by the damage to the headboard as a whole, this certainly wasn't the first time this had happened.
Perhaps Dick was learning exactly why Jason slept with a nightlight.
The door slammed open and Jason muffled another cry into his mattress before he scrambled harder to try and free himself from his nightmare's death grip.]
[the first thing he sees upon busting in is Jason sitting up, pillow sliding from his head (okay??), and his gaze then finds the fingermarks on the headboard--
heart racing in his throat, then down to his spleen, he takes in the empty room. the soft nightlight. Jason's heaving breaths. deciding there's no outward threat, he yanks the blanket off his own waist, and shoots over to Jason's side of the bed, knees digging painfully into the floor]
Hey, Jay. What's going on? What happened? [voice soft, eyes still roving over his body for any hurts he didn't notice]
[He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. He was in too tight of a space, confined and everything was heavy in the way that nothing should be heavy because he was underground. He was underground because he was in a coffin because he was dead and his body was shattered into a million different pieces and he could feel his chest straining against the staples that had closed his torso back up after he'd been opened up and taken apart because he'd been DEAD-
The crack of Dick's knees hitting his floor broke through his terror and he sucked in the breath that he'd been refusing to take. His eyes were open and he was looking around, chest heaving and tears streaming down his face...and slowly, blink by blink, he started to really wake up.]
I- Dickie? [His voice was still so small, so broken...but then he blinked and cleared his throat and when he tried again, it was a little better.] F-fuck. Fuck!. I...I'm sorry.
[He drew into himself, shaking a little as the adrenaline of the nightmare started to wane from his system. He hissed a little when he brought his hand up to cover his face, jerking his hand back like the touch had hurt. His fingers were bleeding.]
[oh, this is-- this is the little boy Bruce brought home all those years ago. under all the anger and the hurt, the resentment and the cloying fear-- there he is. Dick's eyes widen, slowly moving closer to Jason, but not touching yet, softly, softly asking:]
Jason, is it okay if I touch you? You have nothing to be sorry for. But I wanna...
[his heart lurches where it beats wildly--tightening-- he just wants to hold him. he'll worry about the blood in a second. but to get closer, to feel with his own hands that he's real, and here, and not just a dream]
[There he was. The boy who'd ran away because Bruce refused to believe that he hadn't pushed Garzonas off that balcony. The boy who'd crossed the ocean to find just a single person who might possibly love him. The boy who'd been betrayed.
Dick moved closer and that boy in too big of a body leaned over so that his brother could hug him as he tried to calm down from his panic.
In the wash of the soft nightlight, the scar that bisected his torso looked garish and gnarled. It was the first time that Dick had seen that scar. The first time any one in his would be family had seen that scar. He'd been careful, oh so careful to always keep it covered. He hated that scar. Not quite as much as the one on his throat from Bruce, but that one was harder to hide.]
[Dick immediately wraps his arms tightly around Jason, tucking him against his heart, throat bobbing with unshed tears as he gently, gently curls his shaking fingers into Jason's hair.
he saw the scar. he knows there are things Jason hasn't told them, shown them, and while he's devastated-- bolt hot anger in the backs of his eyes, in the curve of his ribs-- he just holds his brother, gently rocking him, nonsense words and noises, and--]
It's alright, sweetheart. It's over. The sun will shine again. I'm here.
[How long had it been since he'd been held like that? How long had he gone without a comforting touch of someone who he knew wouldn't follow it up with a backhand or a sharp word? Talia didn't believe in this kind of softness. Bruce was too gone over a dead boy for Jason to be willing to forgive him. He didn't let any of the strangers he was supposed to call siblings anywhere near him, unwilling -or perhaps unable- to process what they meant just yet.
Alfred.
Alfred had hugged him the morning before he'd quietly ran away. He'd been fifteen and Alfred had pulled him into a hug, tried to reassure him that 'Master Bruce will come around'. Jason had burrowed into the hug for as long as his grandfather had let him, and then he'd faked a smile and left. He'd been dead not long after.
He melted into Dick's arms, too big hands gripping his brother's shirt as he sought the comfort of family. Of his family. Of someone he loved him.]
-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... it was so dark, please don't leave me there again. Please don't...
[those words, spoken in that tone, the echoes of a little boy who couldn't put them into words-- and if he did, was anyone listening to him? besides Alfred. Dick's heart aches for Jason, deep to the marrow and bone, cutting right to the soul.
all he can do is rock his brother, gently brushing his fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head]
I won't. No one's leaving you again, not ever. You're stuck up here in the light with me, baby bird.
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The other was scratching at his headboard. He was clawing so hard that his nails were leaving furrows in the soft wood. Judging by the damage to the headboard as a whole, this certainly wasn't the first time this had happened.
Perhaps Dick was learning exactly why Jason slept with a nightlight.
The door slammed open and Jason muffled another cry into his mattress before he scrambled harder to try and free himself from his nightmare's death grip.]
no subject
heart racing in his throat, then down to his spleen, he takes in the empty room. the soft nightlight. Jason's heaving breaths. deciding there's no outward threat, he yanks the blanket off his own waist, and shoots over to Jason's side of the bed, knees digging painfully into the floor]
Hey, Jay. What's going on? What happened? [voice soft, eyes still roving over his body for any hurts he didn't notice]
no subject
The crack of Dick's knees hitting his floor broke through his terror and he sucked in the breath that he'd been refusing to take. His eyes were open and he was looking around, chest heaving and tears streaming down his face...and slowly, blink by blink, he started to really wake up.]
I- Dickie? [His voice was still so small, so broken...but then he blinked and cleared his throat and when he tried again, it was a little better.] F-fuck. Fuck!. I...I'm sorry.
[He drew into himself, shaking a little as the adrenaline of the nightmare started to wane from his system. He hissed a little when he brought his hand up to cover his face, jerking his hand back like the touch had hurt. His fingers were bleeding.]
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Jason, is it okay if I touch you? You have nothing to be sorry for. But I wanna...
[his heart lurches where it beats wildly--tightening-- he just wants to hold him. he'll worry about the blood in a second. but to get closer, to feel with his own hands that he's real, and here, and not just a dream]
no subject
Dick moved closer and that boy in too big of a body leaned over so that his brother could hug him as he tried to calm down from his panic.
In the wash of the soft nightlight, the scar that bisected his torso looked garish and gnarled. It was the first time that Dick had seen that scar. The first time any one in his would be family had seen that scar. He'd been careful, oh so careful to always keep it covered. He hated that scar. Not quite as much as the one on his throat from Bruce, but that one was harder to hide.]
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he saw the scar. he knows there are things Jason hasn't told them, shown them, and while he's devastated-- bolt hot anger in the backs of his eyes, in the curve of his ribs-- he just holds his brother, gently rocking him, nonsense words and noises, and--]
It's alright, sweetheart. It's over. The sun will shine again. I'm here.
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Alfred.
Alfred had hugged him the morning before he'd quietly ran away. He'd been fifteen and Alfred had pulled him into a hug, tried to reassure him that 'Master Bruce will come around'. Jason had burrowed into the hug for as long as his grandfather had let him, and then he'd faked a smile and left. He'd been dead not long after.
He melted into Dick's arms, too big hands gripping his brother's shirt as he sought the comfort of family. Of his family. Of someone he loved him.]
-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... it was so dark, please don't leave me there again. Please don't...
no subject
all he can do is rock his brother, gently brushing his fingers through his hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head]
I won't. No one's leaving you again, not ever. You're stuck up here in the light with me, baby bird.