Random disclaimer!
Hey, don't do anything that I say in this fic, okay?
It's fucking fiction
If anything happens, don't fucking blame me

TW: extremely unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicide reference, depression

https://suicideprevention.ca/

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

https://www.inclusivetherapists.com/

Jason knew it was fucked up. He knew it was downright evil and he honestly didn't expect anyone to forgive him after he did it. 

See, he couldn't ask for validation as a normal person could. He had to take that extra step to ensure that it was sincere and wasn't just something to appease him for the time being. He wasn't a good person, he'd accepted that a long time ago, so he convinced himself his body didn't feel heavy with guilt as he looked through his contacts and settled on Dick's name. 

It was all by chance. It could've been Bruce or Tim or Roy but tonight it was Dick's name that his thumb hovered over. Jason told himself that his tongue felt like lead in his mouth because he'd had quite a lot to drink that night and not because he knew that this was objectively a bad decision. One that would permanently fuck up his relationship with the acrobat and likely send them to a place even below square one. 

As he tapped on the contact, watching his phone light up and the rings fill his quiet apartment, his brain decided to remind him that Dick had done more than Bruce had when he died. He'd gotten the job done even if it had been reversed by their mentor. He'd forgiven him for everything he'd done when he first came back and kept things friendly when he really didn't have to. He became a better brother because of Jason's death and apologised over and over for not being there in the beginning because he couldn't handle losing Robin.

"Hey Jay, you need me for something?" Dick greeted. His tone was terminally upbeat, almost annoyingly so. It was all a persona, Jason knew that, and it sometimes came off like a kid's entertainer who had been doing the job for a year too long. If he'd been a bit more sound of mind and not solely focused on getting the reaction he wanted, he would've picked up on the wording. 

When Dick picked up the phone, he'd greet the person and would always ask if they were okay. He didn't ask if he was needed because that would suggest he was already busy and only free if needed. On the rare occasion he didn't ask if they were okay, he'd ask if there was anything he could do. Need wasn't a word he often used and with a person like Dick, wording meant everything. 

"You hated me, didn't you?" Jason said, not mincing his words or bothering to lull the older into a false sense of security. 

There was silence on the other end and he allowed himself to imagine Dick standing there confused. Maybe he was in the middle of making a sandwich and now left the half-buttered bread abandoned thanks to the turn of the conversation. Perhaps he'd been doing some casework and then stopped typing mid-sentence to give him all the attention he required. Jason hated how he really liked that thought given that this was a fake scenario he was making and for all he knew, he could've called up in the middle of Dick's Subway Surfers' game. All he cared about was receiving all this attention now even if it would ruin everything later on.

"What're you talking about? Are you drunk? You're slurring your words," Dick accused. 

"You hated me as Robin and I bet you only like me now because it's what that stupid persona you made for yourself would do. You're a hack." 

Somewhere, the sober part of his mind was screaming at him to hang up now and in the morning put it all down to being too drunk. That would give him an excuse and forgiveness would still be on the table. Yet the louder more self-destructive part of him, the one that yearned to burn bridges whilst assuring himself he'd been loved throughout it urged him to continue. 

There's a sigh on the other end. Dick sounds exhausted by the accusation and deep down, he knows something is wrong with that. He knows that Dick wouldn't sigh at being accused of hating a sibling or being called a liar. He'd be offended by it and fight it.

"Jason, what do you want right now?"

"Someone to document my last thoughts."

"Those are some dark last thoughts," came the all too casual reply. 

This isn't what Jason wanted. He wanted more concern. He wanted the older to demand to know where he was, to hear a scuffle on the other end of the phone as he rushed to get here in time or anything other than the tone he used when making polite conversation with people he hardly knew at a party. For all Jason was risking, for all the bridges he would burn, he wanted more out of it than this.

"I don't think you ever liked me. I think you pretended to. I stole away your precious fucking Robin suit and then Bruce put the blame on you when I died and you weren't even man enough to make Joker stay dead." 

Jason's eyes linger on the gun sitting in front of him on the coffee table surrounded by empty bottles. There's one bullet in it and he has no intention of turning it on himself to end it all. That's what makes this so wrong. He knows that this is evil. He knows it's downright diabolical and he's already disgusted with himself but he just wanted to hear someone beg and plea for him to stick around.

"I did and do like you, Jason. You've been through a lot of shit but I wouldn't trade you for the world. I'm proud of you even after all we've done to each other." He won't be proud after this. "I know things can feel overwhelming, believe me, I do. I mean I'm sat here trying not to think about all those goodies I've got in the medicine cabinet." That was another sign Jason would look back on and realize was an out-of-the-ordinary thing for the older to say. "I'm here for you. Whatever is going on, whatever has you thinking we're still at odds with each other, you can tell me."

"Don't you get tired of pretending to be this best big brother character? I fucking knew you, Tim knew you too like the little stalker he is. We know you were a beast as Robin and you were deadly in your years as Nightwing yet you're acting like you're this stupid himbo dumbass who couldn't hurt a fly."

"I'm always tired," Dick admitted a little solemnly. "I want to be mad, I've got a lot to be mad about, but I know that it's better to be underestimated. It's better to be seen as an idiot than be known as a genius, you know? I doubt anyone even remembers the gadgets I made when Tim became Robin." 

Jason chews his bottom lip, the debate of whether he should do this getting louder and more heated inside his head. He never got the acrobat to open up like this. Never without a joke or without things being skipped over for the sake of saving face. How could he turn this back into a desperate and cruel attempt for attention?

"Sometimes I hate the character I made for myself but I made my bed so now I have to lay in it. Doesn't matter who else is in it or who decides they have a right to share it."

"So you admit it's all an act then?"

"I wouldn't say it's an act. I really do want to be your big brother, I care for you guys and I do see you as family. I would go and have gone, insane if something happened to any of you. We all have our dumb moments, I just make mine a little more often. I'm angry in private and on my own but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist." 

"If I died tonight, what would you do?" Jason desperately hoped that the answer would give him the satisfaction he was after and that he wouldn't have to reach for the gun on the table. 

"I know what you're doing Jason," Dick stated coldly. "I bet you're sitting there, ready to stage it, to make me feel terrible about everything I've done to you and who I am. Well, I can save you the effort since I already know all the evil I've done and I know what your goal is." Had he known that the whole time or only when he asked the question? "Here's a step-by-step if this is what you're after. Knowing you, it'd be a gunshot. Loud enough for me to hear but I wouldn't be able to tell if you died or not. You could go silent and leave it to me to hang up. I'd hear that gunshot, scream your name, beg for you to stop joking. You wouldn't stop though because you've convinced yourself you have to let me run the course of grief to make sure it's genuine. Then you'd want me to hate you when it's all revealed to be fake. Cuss you out, maybe tell the others about it too so then they're walking on eggshells around you." That's what he wanted. It sounded even worse coming from someone else.

"You sound awfully confident," he replied, trying to play coy. 

"Because you're not as unique as you think you are. You've been beaten to the punch far too many times. I've gotten a call like this from a lot of self-destructive friends because they're so desperate to hear they're cared for but so insecure in their relationships they've made peace with ruining what they have if it means control. Maybe they even like mourning it." He sounded spiteful and Jason had to wonder just how many people craved the exact thing he had. "You wanna know something, Jay? Something that won't fill that hole in you but it's what you were after?"

"What?" he asked quietly.

"If you died, I think that would be it for me. I can't lose anyone else and I'm so fucking tired of everyone I care about leaving. Of course, I've fucked up plenty of those relationships so I can't pull the victim act for every situation," Dick explained wistfully as though telling a story. "But what you're doing now, that's not gonna do shit and I'm not going to have a part in your act of self-harm. So go ahead, stage that suicide, and let's see how vindicated you feel when I follow suit only I might just be genuine and let me tell you now, I'm dying pretty for an open casket."

"Dick? What were you doing when I called you?"

"You wanna know what the difference is between a hero and a suicidal person?"

"What?"

"A sense of grandeur when they finally bite the dust."

"Dick-"

"You've got your reaction from me," the acrobat interrupted lazily. He sounded bored and not entirely himself. Like a distant memory rather than a voice that had once greeted him on the other side of the line. "Go to bed and sober up. I'll see you around." 

"Wait!" he shouted with much more intensity than he'd intended. He stood up, a little woozy from all the alcohol but his mind was sure of what he needed to do. Something was wrong and he may be a piece of shit but he couldn't let this go. The line didn't go dead judging by the soft breathing he heard on the other end so he took that as a sign he hadn't completely fucked up everything. "What were you doing before I called?"

"What do you care? Don't you have someone else to call? Try Bruce, he might give you what you're looking for. Might trigger his PTSD too so you'll have plenty of fun with that." Dick was no stranger so sounding sardonic or sarcastic but this was said with such plain disinterest in the consequences that it genuinely made Jason feel queasy to hear it. It felt plain wrong. 

"Just answer me." He licked his lips nervously. "Please." 

"Just in bed." That was at least some relief. He didn't know if he had it in him to go jumping over rooftops to find the right one before the pavement below had a big splatter of red on it.

"Have you been there all day?

"Dunno. Probably."

"Why?" There's an exasperated sigh on the other end and Jason cringed at how stupid he felt. He was out of his depths here but he also couldn't help but feel forced to do something. Especially when he'd called in the express interest in causing distress. 

"You've seen my pill cabinet."

"Do you...do you wanna talk about it?" In the silence that followed, he found his shoes and managed to shove them on ignoring how they were both too tight and too loose. 

"I'm tired of talking. Tired of a lot of things apparently."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"You're shitfaced, Jason." That wasn't a no so he pulled his phone away from his ear and put it on speaker, opening Uber to get a ride. He'd use Bruce's credit card that was still there from his last ride to some party or other. 

"Goldie, I'm serious."

"So am I. You'll just get yourself actually killed trying to get here."

"You didn't say no though."

"Fine, I'll say no. Happy?"

"Never," he replied, hoping the slight smirk on his face still read over the phone. "I'll be there soon. Need me to break in?"

"I don't need you to do anything."

"Can I trust you not to do anything drastic when I hang up?"

"Considering it took ten minutes to work myself up to take a piss, I'd say yeah." 

"Then I'll stay on in case it takes ten more to do something."

"Whatever." He could've called someone else and told them what Dick was acting like. He could've shoved this onto anyone else. He didn't. "I'm not in a chatty mood Jay."

"Don't have to be. Just stay with me."

Of course, it was when he was holding a high-stakes phone call that his Uber driver insisted on talking to him. They asked about his day, where he was headed, and what he did for a job to which he gave clipped replies in hopes of ending the conversation there with no such luck. He kept his phone pressed against his ear, listening for any slight change that might suggest bribing the driver to go over the speed limit. What was he thinking calling up like he did? 

On the one hand, he was glad he did it because there was no way he would've known about Dick otherwise. The acrobat always pushed for everyone to seek help when they needed to but it was an entirely different story for himself. It was frustrating watching him care more for villains who had just blown up a school than for himself as though he was somehow worse. Maybe he was horrible at being self-aware but Jason never thought so. It looked more like what Bruce did to himself but instead of hiding behind some frightening stoic demeanour, Dick chose sarcastic and cheerful only letting the mask slip every once in a while.

Then, on the other hand, Jason wished he'd never called. Not with the intention he had. Dick seemed to understand why he had called and what intentions he had but that was hardly fair. Understanding didn't mean deserving. It didn't mean there would be forgiveness either although there probably would be. Jason had fucked up enough times to know that even when Dick was mad at him, it was never forever. He sort of hated it whilst also caring for it a great deal. He didn't know how worse he would've been without that forgiveness. 

He anxiously watched the changing landscape as they got to Bludhaven in hopes of keeping himself out of his head. A whole city going about their lives not knowing their hero was stuck in bed thanks to doing the job for too long. Doing the job at all, maybe. 

Whilst Jason could've knocked on the door, he decided to use the window instead since he doubted that Dick would be jumping up to answer it. He hung up the call that had been going on since he made that fateful decision and would worry about the bill later. He chose the bedroom window and peeked inside before making himself known. He saw Dick in bed, facing away from him, but his room was telling enough. It was messy like he'd fought with his clothes and lost the battle. His Nightwing suit was bundled up on the floor, on the right side of the bed was an opened first aid kit and a few wrappers from chocolate bars. Jason guessed the chocolate was all he was living off whilst stuck in bed and he hoped they came from the first aid kit, being kept there for low blood sugar. Had he been there longer than a day?

Jason sighed and pulled up the window, slipping inside and stepping around the piles of clothes. Dick's eyes were trained on a spot on the wall but he seemed to acknowledge Jason in an unspoken way. His face was bruised but they were yellow so they were old. One large bruise stretched across his nose whilst the other gathered in clusters on his cheekbone and around his eye. His lip was split as was the bridge of his nose, both of them as old as the bruises. 

"I see you're living the bachelor lifestyle," Jason greeted.

"Something along those lines."

"What's with the face?"

"Needed to match the body," he mumbled. "Why are you here?"

"I was in the area."

"Seriously," Dick said sternly. "Why are you here?"

"You worried me." He took a seat on the bed and the older finally turned to look at him. His eyes looked dull but beginning to wet with unshed tears. "So, you gonna tell me what's up or will you make me play house first?" They watched each other for a moment and Jason realised he couldn't joke right now. Something was different. "Are you okay?"

"I can't get out of bed."

"Because you're hurt?"

"I don't know. It's like everywhere that isn't my bed isn't safe." He let out a long-suffering sigh that did nothing to soothe Jason's concerns. "It's stupid isn't it?"

"No, not really." That seemed to be the right thing to say as the acrobat continued.

"I felt like shit for days. Usually, I can ignore it until a case is over and then I just sort of zone out for a while." He glanced over to the first aid kit. "I had a panic attack in the middle of a fight like I was twelve. Dragged myself home, patched up as much as I could be bothered and slept." He looked at Jason defeatedly. "Now I can't get out of bed."

"Why didn't you call?"

"Why didn't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You called at your worst. You act out when you're near the bottom and burn bridges. Gives you control. Why didn't you call when you knew it was getting bad?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't want anyone to know. For one reason or another."

"We're fucked, aren't we?" Dick nodded with a half smile. "Did you patch yourself properly?"

"Just about."

"Then let's get some food in you."

"You don't need to."

"No, but... I think I'd like to try crossing bridges rather than burning them."