Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned on this story. They are all property of DC Comics.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Jaybird!"

Jason starts awake and bangs his head against the nearby nightstand. He only reached dreamland a couple of hours ago, and his eyes are still refusing to open, even as he curses with enough violence to need an exorcism.

As he finally quiets down (he's still spewing expletives in his throbbing cranium), he feels the old mattress sag down under the weight of what has to be his obnoxious older brother, and his curses transform into an ongoing groan.

"Jay? Why are you just sitting there? It's Valentine's Day!"

Would it be wrong to repeat the Valentine's Day Massacre with his brother? Jason doesn't think so, and he prepares to ignore the migraine and bolt for his machete when his arms are clamped to his sides with sudden force. A coo, a fuckin' coo, issues forth from his captor, and a forehead rubs against his own with a tenderness that makes him gag with disgust.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?"

"Silly Jaybird! It's Valen-"

"I know it's Valentine's Day! I heard you the first fucking two times!"

The caressing ceases, and Dick's blank face comes into his line of vision. Jason eyes him back with a look that's equivalent to the middle finger. Just as he thinks he's in the clear, a slow, toothy grin forms on his brother's face, and he ruffles Jason's bedhead with all the affection in the world.

"Some little Jaybird sure is cranky." And just like that, the grin explodes into an ecstatic beam of a smile.

"We'll fix that!"

"Who the hell is w-" His words are cut off by a rush of air, and he turns just in time to see Dick flip across his tiny room with acrobatic grace. He lands by the entranceway and bends down to grab the duffel bag he's left by the door.

Jason again attempts to rise from his sitting position and halts as a throbbing pain takes hold of his leg. Last night had been more bothersome than usual, and now, along with the migraine, he suffers from a horrid burn in his left leg.

As he carefully moves his injury (a dislocated knee from the feel of it, damn), Dick returns to his side and rummages through the duffel, removing bandages and antiseptic. He rises again and jogs to the small cabinet, grabs painkillers and a plastic cup (how did he know where those were?) and walks back. "What are you doing?"

Dick rolls his eyes with a warm smile. "Taking care of you, Jay. Your body's obviously not happy with you." He taps his knee with a wink, and Jason looks down and winces to see an angry crimson blotch covering a large portion of his bare leg.

Wait.

"Where the hell are my pants?"

Dick appears too innocent as he blatantly ignores Jason's inquiry and gently grasps his knee.

"Since you didn't take care of this earlier, I'll have to do it. Just so you know, it's going to hurt a heck of a lot more than if you had done it earlier."

Jason snorts with nonchalance, even as he mentally prepares himself. "I'll keep that in mind, mom. Just do it."

Dick shrugs. "Okay."

SNAP!

"SHIT!"

Twenty minutes later, and Jason's knee is set and wrapped neatly in fresh bandages, and his migraine is gradually lessening to a dull pounding. He's still disoriented from the pain of having his knee snapped back into alignment, and Dick has been roaming around the apartment like a nosy child. Occasionally, he'll come back to the mattress and stuff something into the duffel bag. To Jason's eternal annoyance, he'll also lean over and pat Jason's head before bouncing away with a chuckle before the younger man can bite his hand off.

After the fifth trip, Jason loses patience. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Dick looks up from his bag stuffing. "Packing your stuff."

Jason's eyebrow disappears under his overgrown bangs, and he's suddenly too cautious to be angry. "…Why?"

Dick continues packing. "Because you're coming with me."

"…Where?"

A pause, and Dick slowly zips the bag shut. "…To the manor."

Silence. Somewhere, Jason swears he hears the chirping of crickets.

No surprise. This sucky apartment's probably infested with them.

Dick soon adopts a guilty pout, and Jason has to keep himself from almost smirking with amusement.

"I know. I wasn't exactly expecting you to accept right away. But since you're injured, I figured you might be more willing."

"What kind of screwy logic is that? Why would a fucked up leg make me want to go anywhere?"

Especially there.

"Because you're here, alone, with no one to take care of you while you're hurt."

"I don't need anyone to take care of me, moron! It's not like this is the first time I've gotten a boo-boo."

Dick pouts grows larger. "But I saw what happened to you last night. They got some solid hits on you, you know!"

"You- wait, what? You were there when those thugs ganged up on me? And you stood there and watched!"

"That's…not the point!"

"The hell it is!"

"The point is, you need someone around to watch over you. And Bruce has been asking about you."

"I told you, I don't need-"

Jason abruptly cuts himself off and rewinds the last line or two.

Bruce is asking about him.

Bruce is asking about him.

Bruce is asking about him.

"Jays? You okay?"

Jason blinks and stumbles to regain his cool.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" He fails to sound completely nonchalant, and he curses as Dick's face lights with empathy.

"You know, since he found out me and Timmy were seeing you, he's been really worried. Not out loud, of course, but in his own, Bruce-like way."

Dick makes eye contact and holds it.

"He hasn't forgotten about you, Jason. And he still wants to make sure you're safe."

He snorts with disdain, mentally counting the moments when he has called out to Batman, only to be greeted with mocking silence.

"I was a kid, then. It doesn't mean nothin' now."

"Of course, it does! A promise is a promise, no matter when it's made. And just because you've discarded it, doesn't mean Bruce has."

Jason's eyes are lowered when he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and he raises his head to regard his brother with a rare bout of solemnity.

"Look, both you and Bruce have made mistakes, but in order for things to change, one of you has to take the initiative, step up, and walk towards the other. Bruce has extended the invitation. Why don't you take it?"

For once, he's too tired to fire back with a stinging retort.

"What if you're wrong?"

Dick smiles sadly and squeezes his shoulder tenderly.

"I'm not. Trust me."