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There is only so much a person can take before they break. Only so much torture and brainwashing and gaslighting, before their core beliefs break, and the lies that they are being fed become the only fundamental truth they know.
Jason had held on for far longer than most highly trained soldiers would have. He had survived being imprisoned under Arkham Asylum, isolated, mocked, humiliated, and tortured for over a year, and yet, he had not lost hope in Bruce finding him. Throughout the year, he was constantly told that Batman had abandoned him, had given up on him, that he wasn't even looking for him anymore, that he was not special; he refused to believe it—until he was shown pictures and newspaper clippings of the new Robin. From then on, Jason became easy pickings. Joker's manipulation went as far as to make Jason wholeheartedly believe that Bruce did not care about him. And so Jason's psychological torture continued. Eventually, Jason stopped fighting it.
Maybe that's why the Joker got rid of him, because he was no longer entertaining to torture, or maybe it was because even the Joker realized that Batman had moved on, and that Jason was no longer useful anymore. The truth of the matter is that Jason had lost the will to live. He felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Bruce had abandoned him, replaced him with a newer, shinier model, and he was left behind, broken and useless. The Joker had let him go, released his bindings, and opened the doors. But he had nowhere else to go; he was still trapped. He had no home, no family, no friends— Jason Todd was dead, still beneath Arkham Asylum, as if he had never left. He was a ghost. And so he lived like one.
Lost and purposeless, he spent his days living like he was dead. Sleeping in dirty back alleys, scavenging food from dumpsters— things went on like that for a while, until finally, he decided that he would no longer continue like this. He would get revenge. He would break Batman psychologically, expose him publicly as the failure that he was, and make him feel the same rejection and abandonment that he had been subjected to.
He would become the Arkham Knight.
Jason's mistake, however, was thinking he could just jump right back into it without any preparation. It had been a year since he last trained, and he was malnourished and weak.
All this to say that the arms deal had gotten south, and things were not looking good—
There were some reports of a disturbance in a warehouse near the docks, because, of course, it was a warehouse near the docks, so he decides to investigate.
He was in Gotham already due to some Richie Wayne responsibilities, but he felt no desire to patrol anywhere near Batman or his new Robin. They still hadn't even found Jason's body, to give him a proper burial and help him rest, and yet, Bruce had already gotten another preteen to give him the yellow cape, with even less training than he had given Jason, and yet again without Dick's consent. He didn't want to make the same mistakes with Tim that he had made with Jason, yet he could not in good conscience accept him as Robin. He knew that eventually he would have to get involved with him, train him, and offer him support, because God knew that Bruce was incapable of doing it himself, and someone had to make sure there were no more dead Robins, but it didn't have to be today.
Today, Nightwing was still going solo.
Shooting and yelling are coming out of the warehouse when he arrives. He gains access through the roof and hides in the rafters. It seems to be a group of around 8 armed men against a slim young man. He is unarmed, but judging by the bodies writhing on the ground, he is well-trained. Still, the other men have guns. Dick is about to make his presence known when one of the thugs hits the young man in the head from behind, and he falls on his knees, hands on his head, before slumping on the ground.
He snaps out of it and quickly gets to work. He was so amazed at the young man's speed and agility, at his fighting style, so uncannily familiar to him, that he failed to consider that this was still an unarmed young man against multiple thugs, and therefore, he was still in danger. He makes quick work of it. Guns or not, they pose no challenge to Nightwing's speed and his escrima sticks. He zip ties them and secures them, then goes to the young man; he is still slumped on the ground but seems to be breathing. He turns him around and stills— there's blood on his temple, his eyes are closed, and he looks thinner than he remembers, but there is no doubt about it. This is his Little Wing. Somehow, miraculously, he has Jason Todd in his arms, once more.
The idea that this could be Clayface, or a clone, or even plastic surgery, does not cross his mind even once. Later, a quick review of his lens feed shows him Jason's fighting style, so difficult to imitate, that there is no other option. Dick had trained him himself. He recognizes Batman's moves, but more than that, he recognizes Robin's. No one else fights like Robin, not even Tim, only Dick and Jason.
He takes Jason to Bludhaven with him. Doesn't warn anyone of his existence; on the contrary, he goes to great lengths to hide his steps and any possible traces of Jason's involvement with the warehouse disturbance, and then goes dark. He knows he shouldn't. He should tell Bruce, make sure he is healthy and safe, and officially bring him back to life, but Bruce will not accept this miracle for what it is. He will question Jason, distrust him, may even hurt him— no, Dick will take care of him. He can always come clean later, if Jason wants.
He has a miracle on his hands, and he is not about to risk it.
He deposits Jason on the bed of his most secure safehouse, the one he is sure not even Babs knows about, and inspects him. He seems malnourished and has multiple cuts and bruises at different stages of healing; his skin is dirty, and his clothes are tattered. He undresses him carefully, trying not to jostle him awake, then goes to the bathroom— he considers the cleaning rag to be too rough for his skin, so he wets his softest towel, and comes back to wipe him down. He is in the middle of redressing him when he wakes up. He expects surprise, annoyance, even aggression— they did not leave each other in the best of terms, before Jason's disappearance. Instead, he is faced with fear and confusion.
Jason doesn't know who Dick is—
He doesn't remember much, really. Just bits and pieces. He remembers his mom, and that he was born and raised in Crime Alley; he also, kind of, sort of, remembers he has an older brother, but doesn't remember his name or what he looks like. The handsome man in front of him looks surprised at this last admission. He introduces himself as Dick Grayson, says he is his older brother, and that Jason had been missing for over a year. He smiles brightly as he hugs him and calls him his Little Wing, tells him he is so happy that Jason is back— he should be hesitant to receive such warm embrace form a stranger, but the name Dick Grayson rings bells inside his head and fills him with a feeling of safety and warmth in his belly, so he decides to trust his instincts and lean into it. He still tells him that Dick is a stupid name, and his heart soars when Dick laughs at that.
Dick calls him his Little Wing often. Jason doesn't remember him, really, but he does feel elated every time he hears the nickname. It feels nice.
He is so weak from malnourishment and whatever else happened to him while he was missing that even standing up for long periods of time is a struggle; his legs tremble like a newborn fawn, and he is even struggling to hold a fork or a spoon. Dick takes it upon himself to carry him from the bedroom to the living room or kitchen, and even to the bathroom. He lets Jason try to feed himself, but always makes sure to help him after a while, when it's obvious that he is tiring. Jason finds it embarrassing to be babied so much, especially because he knows that if he puts any effort into it, he will be able to move around almost normally. But the truth is that, despite being embarrassed, he likes all the attention Dick is giving him. Still, he tries to tell him not to bother too much, but Dick hears none of it, says Jason is still healing, and that Dick can take care of all these other things while he does. That there is no need to rush.
He doesn't seem to be in a rush for Jason to recover his memories either, but still answers Jason's questions and indulges him when he asks for stories of their lives. There aren't that many, he noticed, or maybe not many that Dick wants to share. He wonders about that, but again judges Dick to be safe, so he doesn't question him.
Two weeks pass by like this before Jason gets a nightmare. He opens his eyes wide in the middle of the night and panics in complete silence. He turns his head and sees Dick sleeping right beside him, the same way he had the last two weeks, and cries. He remembers now. He knows who he is and where he was, and what happened to him. He remembers Batman, Robin, and the Joker. He remembers Nightwing and how upset Dick was at Jason's own existence.
He is terrified that once Dick realizes that he remembers, he will want nothing more to do with him. That he will send him to Bruce or back to Arkham, or somewhere far away where he will not get in the way— that he will go back to being cold and uncaring towards Jason, and that he will be left, once more, abandoned and alone. He knows it's irrational, unreasonable, and unfounded, and that if Dick had any intention of doing any of that, he would have done it from the moment he recognized Jason, and not wait until he recovered, but still, he was afraid.
Dick wakes up and catches him crying. He quickly rises and starts looking for injuries, asking him over and over if he was okay, if he was hurt or in pain— he looked so genuinely concerned, that Jason simply shook his head, and lied, "I had a nightmare," he said. "Just a nightmare. I don't even remember what it was about. I'm sorry." Dick wraps his arms around him, tells him there is nothing to be sorry about, and doesn't pry anymore. He cuddles him, covers him with the blankets, and whispers sweet nothings to him all night, kissing the top of his head, his temple, and his forehead— Jason knows he should tell him the truth, but he can't. He has his big brother's love, and he is not about to risk it.
During the whole month Dick had done nothing more than baby Jason and give him the Prince treatment, buying him pretty and comfortable clothes online, buying him books and cooking utensils "Who doesn't have more than one cooking Pan, Dickie? That's not normal" and often going out to buy groceries for him; they had been living a pretty sweet and domestic life, if Jason thought about it. As long as he didn't think too much of the fact that Jason was basically locked in the apartment, and he couldn't go out.
"It's not safe, Little Wing. The world outside is mean, and you don't have all of your memories." Dick would say while drying Jason's hair with a towel, "There is nothing interesting outside, either way," and brushing him gently on the sofa, "If you are a little more patient with me, I'll take you on a vacation. We can go anywhere in the world you want, to Japan, or Greece— Oh! How about we go to France, and we can visit the Louvre?" He is honestly not sure when Dick is doing his patrol as Nightwing or if he is doing it at all, because he feels like he spends all his time with Jason. "Just wait a little more, okay?" He nods and turns towards Dick to get a hug. It's not like he actually wants to go out or anything. He didn't want to live before, and now that he has Dick, he feels happy and content as things are. No need to rock the boat.
It all comes to an end one month after he recovered his memories.
It was a slip of the tongue.
He had been on a baking mood, and had just finished a batch of almond cookies, and Dick had been ecstatic, almost burning the roof of his mouth due to his impatience, "These taste divine, Little Wing! The best I've ever had!" he moaned, and Jason laughed at his antics, playing with the bottom of his apron, and without thinking he had said,
"Really? Even better than Alfie's?" Dick had gone quite immediately and turned to look at Jason, intelligent eyes laser-focused on him; it had all happened so fast that he hadn't even realized what had happened, why Dick had gotten so serious all of a sudden. When he realizes his mistake, he panics and tries to run away, he quickly gets up and backs away from Dick, tries to run to the door, even though he knows it will most likely be locked, but he rather run away himself than be abandoned, than face Dick's hatred or disappointment— he is quickly caught by Dick, who wraps his arms around Jason's middle and carries him back towards the living room.
Jason ragdolls again like a puppet without strings, and sobs. He is scared, deeply terrified, and above all else, he doesn't want Dick to hate him. Instead, he is sitting on Dick's lap, arms still tightly wound around his waist, and his face is being peppered with kisses. "Shh, it's okay, Jace. Take a deep breath. That's it, you're doing so good, baby, match my breathing. It's okay, Little Wing, you're almost there." He follows his instructions to the best of his abilities, and after a while, his sobbing calms down to just trembling hiccups here and there.
Dick holds his face, looks him in the eyes, and asks him, "What do you remember?" He is still too afraid to say, but he feels his eyes water once more, and his hands start to tremble, "Do you remember everything, then?" Jason shakily nods his head once and opens his mouth to beg for forgiveness, "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," but it's not his voice that is doing the begging, it's Dick's: "I failed you, Little Wing." He is crying and holding his hands and resting his forehead on Jason's shoulders and—
It feels surreal. Why is Dick apologizing when it's Jason that fucked up? He was a bad kid and a bad Robin, a shame to the mantle; he was useless, and that's why Batman got rid of him. Dick had been right from the beginning, Jason did not deserve anything that he had ever gotten— "Stop! Please, stop. That's not true, Jason." He hadn't realized he had spoken out loud, "You were a great Robin, and I was a fucking asshole, and Bruce is a fucking idiot either way who does not deserve you— I'll take care of you. I'll show you how good and perfect you are. I will never abandon you." Jason has tears running down his face when Dick first kisses him.
Dick leans in, the first kiss light and barely there. Just a soft press of the lips, testing, afraid to spook Jason, of having him leave or recoil in disgust. He lingers for a moment, then parts. He watches Jason's face, eyes still closed, eyelashes wet, cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted— he goes in for another kiss, still soft and gentle, he feels Jason fist the front of his shirt, grounding himself; their breaths begin to mingle, uneven at first, then syncing as the space between them disappears completely, unconsciously calming Jason down.
He moves one hand behind Jason's head, not pulling, just holding him there, threads his fingers in his soft hair, and tilts his head slightly, adjusting him to a better position— the next kiss comes easier, warmer, deeper. He grabs at him and urges him to move until he is sitting fully on top of Dick, chest to chest, his arms tightly around Dick's neck, and legs spread on each side of his thighs, lips never parting— so close, they can feel the rise and fall of their chest as they breathe.
Jason's hesitation softens into something more, something deeper, heavier— their kisses grow slower, more deliberate. It’s almost unbearable, the closeness after so much absence, the way something fragile and long-buried hums back to life between them. He might have been Bruce's son and second Robin, but he had been Dick's first sidekick, his little brother, and his legacy. Jason had always been more Dick's than Bruce's.
His Little Wing exhales, shaky, like he’s been holding that breath for years, and Dick pauses and lets their foreheads touch—soft, grounding, real. He cannot stay away for long, and soon enough, he is kissing him again. When their lips part again, it’s only by a fraction—just enough for a quiet inhale, just enough to feel each other's warmth. The next kiss carries more intent. He parts their lips, licks at Jason's lips, asking for permission— his Little Wing opens his mouth hesitantly, and Dick deepens the kiss, licks inside his mouth, sucks at his tongue, bites his lips— Jason gasps, breathless, his face ruddy and his eyes glazed—
Their mouths meet again, this time it's Jason who takes the initiative. The kiss opens just slightly, tentative at first, then with a growing certainty. It isn’t hurried or forceful—just a quiet, aching need that’s been waiting far too long. The kind that doesn’t demand, but yearns— Dick had almost gone too far too quickly, had forgotten that Jason is still young and inexperienced. Dick slides a hand along Jason's jaw, thumb brushing lightly as if memorizing the shape of him. There’s a quiet sound—barely there, more breath than moan—as the kiss deepens once more, unsteady in the way that comes from feeling too much, too quickly.
They don’t break apart.
Not really.
Even when they pause, it’s only to breathe, lips still grazing, foreheads brushing again, as neither of them can quite let go now that they’ve found each other. Jason is here, alive, present in his arms. Every movement is unhurried, deliberate—like time has finally loosened its grip, giving them space to feel everything they were denied. Dick will never let go.
"You are mine, Little Wing." A soft press to his lips. "You will never be alone again." A shudder and a whine. "I will keep you safe." Then a sigh, and the softest, sweetest voice calling his name—
"Okay, Dickie."