( he can feel his body getting heavier--which is both annoying and concerning. passing out like this wasn't on his game plan, and he doesn't like how it gets more and more clear by the moment that dick's going to win, here. is it winning? it feels like dick winning. the needle breaks through skin, and jason winces--because he hadn't been paying attention, because it'd been particularly sensitive.
pulls him back up out of that near-tired state though, which is nice. so thanks for that. jason gives a little half laugh, putting in the passcode for his phone to get into it (his deathday, because it's funny, and this isn't the phone he feels the need to hide from other bats), and pulls up a text conversation with alan. a string of numbers was the last received text, which dick'll know well enough to translate into a location.
jason copies the string, forwards it on to dick's phone. helpfully. because he's pissed someone got the drop on him, because they're working on a time limit that jason's not going to be able to meet now that he's all beat up.
not because he's happy handing it over to dick. )
Candy crush is so last decade. Stop being old, Dick.
Sorry. Can't. It's part of my thing, now. I'm considering adding a cane to my get-up; what do you think?
[ His phone chimes; good boy, Jason. Just for that, Dick will be a little nicer when he has to roll him over to get at the exit wound on the back. ] Though it's kind of looking like you'll need it more than me.
[ The sutures stem the bleeding, though his fingers and Jason's skin are still slippery and red. But what blood Jason has left will stay inside him; that's about the best they can hope for. Dick casts his memory back, trying to recall if he still has a few shots left of antibiotics.
His instinct is to call Alfred. Still. Even after all this time – not that it's been long enough, not that it will ever be long enough – it's still his first thought when one of them is hurt and needs care. Dick can make a pot of tea, stitch up a wound, fluff pillows, but it's not the same. There's a familiar ache behind his breastbone as he finishes stitching Jason up; pats his brother on the thigh. ]
Come on, Jason. Turn over and let me finish sewing you up, and then you can crash on my couch as long as you want. Haley'll love it.
Oh fuck off. ( harsh words, but they don't match the airy teasing lilt to his tone. ) Just 'cause I've been shot to hell and back doesn't mean I'll need to hobble. 's not like they got me in the knee. Again.
( if getting shot was enough to keep him down he'd have retired years ago. there's enough holes and gashes in him that it would have taken out most people, but they're not most people. none of them are. and jason's fine, fuck you very much. or he will be, after he stops bleeding and gets in a good nap. dick tells him to turn over and with a grunt he's dropping his phone down and twisting to rest a palm against the table, turning over onto his side so he can then flop over flat onto his stomach on the table.
it hurts, every twitch that causes his abdomen stings, but he'll live. )
'll babysit Haley for you if you'll babysit my mobsters.
That's a terrible deal. I go convince your mobsters to lead a more wholesome life while you stay here to be a bad influence on my dog?
[ He cleans up Jason's back as he talks, each motion familiar and gentle. The alcohol will sting, he knows, but if Jason hasn't passed out yet, he probably won't from that, either. And the finish line is in sight; they're almost there. Dick can carry him over that just like he carried him into the apartment. Soon, these will be just another couple of Jason's scars, the ones Dick can feel on his own body every time he sees them.
A few more stitches. The exit wound is larger, messier, requires more focus. Dick's no surgeon, but they've all gotten pretty good at this part, and he thinks it should heal okay, provided Jason actually takes it easy for a little while. ]
But I guess there's no way around it. Don't stay up too late, and no ice cream after midnight.
( dick's good enough for what jason needs here. he's no longer leaking so much blood it's trailing behind him. the adrenaline has run it's course, but it's fine because he's in one piece, and he doesn't need the heavy thrum of his heart beating faster than a jackrabbit to keep him up anymore. he hisses between teeth at the sting of alcohol, but that's all just normal, very day pain. jason's used to this part. he's done this part for himself more often than not.
and jason's letting himself go lax, trusting dick not to fuck him up. )
'd never be a bad influence on my only niece. Be a real shit example to pull while we're all still looking for Lian.
( he's always a terrible example. it's fine, jason's not fucking over the dog. haley's a good girl, he can feed her spoonfuls of ice cream after midnight and she won't tell. )
And you can't tell me when to go to bed. You're not my real mom.
Watch it, buster. Keep up that attitude and you won't get any cookies or juice. I'll send you straight to your room.
[ Which is a goddamn lie, because Jason not only needs sugar, he probably needs a pint or two of blood. The former Dick has on hand; the latter, not so much.
He finishes with the stitching – thank God, his hand was starting to cramp up – and pats Jason on the shoulder. ]
Come on. One last stumble across the apartment and then you can stay on my couch as long as you need.
[ Haley is ready. She has her favorite toy – an enormous white plush rat with a squeaker that won't quit – in her mouth and she's sitting by the couch, staring expectantly at them, her tail going a mile a minute as it sweeps over the floor. ]
And then you and Haley can have some girl talk while I go take care of business.
i'm tagging this back months later bc i just found it and i can
( the whine is less at the threat of no cookies or juice and more at the thought of having to get up after he's just settled back down. but jason - does start to roll himself off the table, catching himself on the foot closest to the floor and making sure that leg can hold his weight up before he moves the other one down, too, and
gets up.
see, he's up. even if he's woozy enough he almost, almost falls. )
I'm gonna get her to spill all the gossip on what you've been up to. ( not that he needs it. he's filling space with idle conversation, using it to keep himself focused. grounded. ) 'ley loves me, she'll do it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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pulls him back up out of that near-tired state though, which is nice. so thanks for that. jason gives a little half laugh, putting in the passcode for his phone to get into it (his deathday, because it's funny, and this isn't the phone he feels the need to hide from other bats), and pulls up a text conversation with alan. a string of numbers was the last received text, which dick'll know well enough to translate into a location.
jason copies the string, forwards it on to dick's phone. helpfully. because he's pissed someone got the drop on him, because they're working on a time limit that jason's not going to be able to meet now that he's all beat up.
not because he's happy handing it over to dick. )
Candy crush is so last decade. Stop being old, Dick.
no subject
[ His phone chimes; good boy, Jason. Just for that, Dick will be a little nicer when he has to roll him over to get at the exit wound on the back. ] Though it's kind of looking like you'll need it more than me.
[ The sutures stem the bleeding, though his fingers and Jason's skin are still slippery and red. But what blood Jason has left will stay inside him; that's about the best they can hope for. Dick casts his memory back, trying to recall if he still has a few shots left of antibiotics.
His instinct is to call Alfred. Still. Even after all this time – not that it's been long enough, not that it will ever be long enough – it's still his first thought when one of them is hurt and needs care. Dick can make a pot of tea, stitch up a wound, fluff pillows, but it's not the same. There's a familiar ache behind his breastbone as he finishes stitching Jason up; pats his brother on the thigh. ]
Come on, Jason. Turn over and let me finish sewing you up, and then you can crash on my couch as long as you want. Haley'll love it.
no subject
( if getting shot was enough to keep him down he'd have retired years ago. there's enough holes and gashes in him that it would have taken out most people, but they're not most people. none of them are. and jason's fine, fuck you very much. or he will be, after he stops bleeding and gets in a good nap. dick tells him to turn over and with a grunt he's dropping his phone down and twisting to rest a palm against the table, turning over onto his side so he can then flop over flat onto his stomach on the table.
it hurts, every twitch that causes his abdomen stings, but he'll live. )
'll babysit Haley for you if you'll babysit my mobsters.
( that's a fair exchange, right? )
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[ He cleans up Jason's back as he talks, each motion familiar and gentle. The alcohol will sting, he knows, but if Jason hasn't passed out yet, he probably won't from that, either. And the finish line is in sight; they're almost there. Dick can carry him over that just like he carried him into the apartment. Soon, these will be just another couple of Jason's scars, the ones Dick can feel on his own body every time he sees them.
A few more stitches. The exit wound is larger, messier, requires more focus. Dick's no surgeon, but they've all gotten pretty good at this part, and he thinks it should heal okay, provided Jason actually takes it easy for a little while. ]
But I guess there's no way around it. Don't stay up too late, and no ice cream after midnight.
no subject
and jason's letting himself go lax, trusting dick not to fuck him up. )
'd never be a bad influence on my only niece. Be a real shit example to pull while we're all still looking for Lian.
( he's always a terrible example. it's fine, jason's not fucking over the dog. haley's a good girl, he can feed her spoonfuls of ice cream after midnight and she won't tell. )
And you can't tell me when to go to bed. You're not my real mom.
no subject
[ Which is a goddamn lie, because Jason not only needs sugar, he probably needs a pint or two of blood. The former Dick has on hand; the latter, not so much.
He finishes with the stitching – thank God, his hand was starting to cramp up – and pats Jason on the shoulder. ]
Come on. One last stumble across the apartment and then you can stay on my couch as long as you need.
[ Haley is ready. She has her favorite toy – an enormous white plush rat with a squeaker that won't quit – in her mouth and she's sitting by the couch, staring expectantly at them, her tail going a mile a minute as it sweeps over the floor. ]
And then you and Haley can have some girl talk while I go take care of business.
i'm tagging this back months later bc i just found it and i can
gets up.
see, he's up. even if he's woozy enough he almost, almost falls. )
I'm gonna get her to spill all the gossip on what you've been up to. ( not that he needs it. he's filling space with idle conversation, using it to keep himself focused. grounded. ) 'ley loves me, she'll do it.