Chapter Eleven: Something in His Eyes
Jason had always been good at noticing changes in people. Years of navigating alleyways and shifting between lives-Robin, Red Hood, Wayward Son of Gotham-taught him to read between the lines, to spot the subtle stuff others missed.
And lately, there was something different about Dick.
It wasn't loud or obvious. Dick still cracked stupid jokes at breakfast. Still insisted on his morning stretches like a hyper golden retriever. Still playfully argued with Tim over who got the last protein bar.
But Jason saw it.
It was in the way Dick walked these days-lighter. Less like someone holding the world on his shoulders and more like someone who'd remembered how to breathe.
Jason didn't say anything about it. Not right away. He just watched.
Watched Dick disappear early in the mornings, reappear smelling like baked sugar and soft perfume. Watched the way he slipped into rooms with a dazed grin and hummed under his breath without realizing it.
Watched him drift toward the east wing of the manor like it had gravity now. Like someone was waiting.
And she was.
Jason had only seen her twice-Marinette. Once during that infamous dinner, where she'd held her own against Damian like it was a chess match and called Alfred Monsieur Pennyworth in a way that nearly made the man blush. And again the next day, curled up beside Dick on the back porch with a sketchpad in her lap and her head resting on his shoulder.
She didn't try. That was the weird part. She wasn't playing the "meet the family" game. She wasn't sucking up or retreating or trying to prove herself. She was just there.
Comfortable.
Like she belonged.
And Dick-Jason had never seen him that still.
So yeah. Jason noticed. And it stuck with him.
One night, he caught Dick alone in the garage, leaning back against his bike with his arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling like it held secrets he hadn't decided whether to chase.
"You look like you're about to write a love song," Jason said, hands in his pockets.
Dick glanced down. "Funny. I was thinking about doing something dramatic like dying my hair."
"Too late. Tim stole your brooding slot." Jason leaned against the workbench. "So. How long you gonna keep pretending she's just 'visiting?'"
Dick gave him a look. "She is."
Jason snorted. "Right. Sure. Because 'visiting' usually involves leaving clothes in your dresser and stealing half your hoodies."
"She only took one," Dick muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.
Jason just raised an eyebrow.
After a beat of silence, Dick sighed. "I didn't mean for it to feel like this. It's not... planned. But when she's here, I don't feel like I have to be anything else. Not the oldest, not Nightwing, not perfect. Just... me."
Jason didn't respond right away. He looked down at his gloves. Picked at a seam.
"You deserve that," he said finally. "More than anyone."
Dick blinked. "You okay?"
Jason shrugged. "Just weird seeing you happy."
There was no venom in it. Just honesty.
"I'm trying to be," Dick said quietly. "For real this time."
Jason nodded once, then pushed off the bench.
"Good. Because if you screw this up, I'll have to take her side."
Dick grinned. "I expect nothing less."
And as Jason walked away, back toward the part of the manor that always felt too big and too old, he realized something-
The circus kid wasn't flying solo anymore.
And for the first time, Jason didn't feel like he had to catch him.