that_goldenboy | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Jim Kirk and Dick Grayson
When: After Dick punched him in cold blood in Spain.
What: The wayward son comes home. Finally.

Jim had held out for about nine days before calling, and he didn't even call Bruce or Dick. Well, he knew that Dick wouldn't take his calls but Bruce probably would but he was kind of afraid that if he talked to Bruce, something would get said that would make him angry and then he'd change his mind again.

So he called Alfred. Put up with the small lecture the butler had for him for worrying them and when he asked Alfred to either book him a ticket or wire him the money to do it himself, what was left of the lecture dried up. And Alfred was there to pick him up, letting Jim hug him and promising that if Jim ever pulled this again, he was going to follow him and drag him back himself and don't even think of complaining to Master Bruce, he would support that course of action and they both know it.

"You didn't tell them though, right?" Jim asked, following Alfred back to the car.

"No sir, I did not but I wouldn't be surprised if Master Dick punches you again."

Jim laughed a little bit at that, even though the shiner Dick gave him the last time hadn't exactly healed yet. It didn't look as bad as it did a week ago. It wouldn't even be a matched set if Dick punched him again, so punching him again would just have to be skipped. He didn't really say much else, even after they got back to the manor and Alfred brought his one, tiny bag upstairs for him. It was still kind of early in Dick terms, there was a good chance he'd be asleep for another hour so Jim headed for the kitchen, to get coffee and wait for him.

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Dick had really kind of expected that to be it, because Bruce hadn't told him he'd given Jim a phone or even said if he'd talked to him at all, and he hadn't asked. Honestly, he was already trying to distance himself from all of it, because if he acted like everything was fine, he would eventually start feeling like things were normal again and everything was okay, even if it really, really wasn't.

So, he'd gone about life as usual, which meant that he had gotten in super late the night before and had basically been dead to the world since four in the morning. And plus side, he'd been tired enough that if he had nightmares, he couldn't remember them, and so he came back to consciousness fairly easily and after a few minutes of sitting around trying to acclimate to being awake again, he dragged himself out of bed, pulled on a sweatshirt and headed downstairs, trying to mentally prepare himself for pretending to be a normal, perfectly happy human being for the rest of the day.

Which kind of got shot to hell when he found Jim sitting in the kitchen, still with a pretty badly bruised eye, like nothing had ever happened. And Dick... really didn't know how to react to that. He couldn't tell if he was happy about him being back or if he wanted him to get the hell out and go back to Spain instead of acting like he actually gave a damn about them, and he really didn't want to actually figure it out.

So instead of doing or saying anything, he just stood stock still and stared at him. And maybe was considering turning right around and heading back upstairs.

Jim looked up when he heard him coming, almost bracing himself to be hit again without any warning but Dick seemed to be more content to stare at him instead. He could work with that. Maybe.

He stood up after a second, but kept his distance because provoking Dick might end up in another punch anyway.

"Hey."

Okay, not running, no hitting, but definitely confused glaring after his brain properly processed what he was seeing.

"What are you doing here?"

Because you had kind of made it sound like you weren't coming home ever again the last time they talked, and Tim was definitely still Robin.

Yeah, don't remind him about that.

"One part hoping you don't hit me and two parts sorry that I'm an ass?"

His shoulders slumped a little at that, because on some level, he did feel really guilty about that, but on another, Jim had really deserved it.

"I'm not going to hit you."

"And you forgive me for being an ass?" Jim asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice because he didn't want to sound like he was just taking advantage of this whole thing.

"Or at least can tolerate it enough to not make me leave?"

Damn it, Jim, it was really hard to stay mad at you when you sounded like that, even though he still really felt like he should be angry.

"I don't want you to leave."

No, that was not a sort of wobble in his voice, and his eyes were definitely not kind of stinging. You're imagining things.

That gave him a little hope, because Dick didn't want to hit him and he seemed like he wasn't going to kick him.

"Do you want to talk about it or something?"

Dick watched him suspiciously and looked away, sniffing a little, trying to be subtle about it but kind of failing.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you really think I hate you?"

Dick was quiet for a long moment, not really sure how best to answer that. "Do you?"

That wasn't really an answer. Jim shook his head lightly. "No, I don't hate you."

He snorted quietly, looking down at the floor. "You did a decent job acting like you did."

Jim didn't really have excuse for that because he kind of did make it seem like he hated all of them. But that was just how he got when he was defensive about stuff, it wasn't really Dick's fault.

"I got defensive. I'm not proud of it."

Dick nodded silently, running a hand across his face, cautiously glancing up at him for a moment.

"So, are you home for good?"

That wasn't really an apology that Jim had given him, but it would have to do. Unless Dick asked him for it because Jim didn't how to do phrase it differently on his own. He was an ass, he got defensive, and he was sorry for that.

"I was planning on it."

It was sort of an apology. And Dick kind of had a feeling that that was the best he was going to get, and while he was still really angry and hurt, he could handle this. The manor was plenty big enough for the two of them.

So he just nodded again. "Okay."

Dick, he didn't head back so that you could ignore him until you felt like you could hide it well enough again. "If I try to hug you, will you hit me then?"

He laughed a little shakily, which was really just him trying to pretend that he wasn't close to crying, because damn it, he really just wanted things to be normal again, and he had missed Jim like crazy. "No."

It would probably be a struggle to get things back to totally normal, but he was willing to try at least. It wasn't like he could run again, he really believed that Alfred would hunt him down and drag him back each time.

"Okay good, cause it's happening," Jim answered, approaching Dick like a wild animal and giving him a light hug.

Dick didn't really ever burst into tears. Or at least, he hadn't in a very long time, this whole thing had sort of meant he'd been a lot more weepy than usual, but generally, he went off in private to do it, or just stifled the urge.

Right now though, he was kind of a mess and so he hugged him back tightly, buried his face in his shoulder and just started crying. It was quiet, but definitely noticeable because his shoulders were hitching and Jim's shirt was probably going to get wet, and he felt sort of embarrassed, but he really wasn't letting go.

Way to just, make Kirk feel like even worse of a human being.

"Sorry again," Jim said, resting his head against the side of Dick's for a moment. "But just so you know, I haven't changed my shirt in like two days."

Like Dick really cared. There were various points over the last couple months where he'd really thought Jim was gone, and he really didn't handle loss well. Blame the whole seeing his parents die in front of him thing.

So, you really wouldn't be going anywhere until he was done feeling upset and vulnerable, and then you could go back to being an irresponsible older brother.

You really don't handle loss any better not watching your parents die. Turns out if they die in space, you end up the same way. Though dying in general was probably the real reason behind all of it.

"Okay cool," Jim answered himself. "Use me as a tissue all you want then."

"Shut up," he hiccuped, not pulling away even though that really kind of made him want to pull back and go hide somewhere. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm not. So... focus on that, I guess."

"My point being," he said through gritted teeth, trying to keep his voice even enough to be understandable. "I'm allowed... to be upset about it."

"I know. I just make jokes because I'm a bad person," Jim answered, messing up his hair a little bit. "Seriously do what you need to do."

Dick managed a little laugh at that, and after a while, he pulled back and wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffling a little and feeling like an idiot.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. I'm the dick here."

"I did just use you as a tissue," he said quietly, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.

"It's a gross dirty shirt anyway, so joke's on you remember?"

"Right." A beat. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"I deserved it," Jim answered, shrugging a little bit. He could be honest. He'd been an ass, and if the situation was reversed, he probably would've tried to hit Dick. Though tried was kind of the operative word since he could admit that Dick had speed and better skill on his side.

"... Do you need any help unpacking or anything?" he asked, feeling a little awkward because it had been six months. And most of his interaction with Jim had been a lot of yelling and hurt feelings all around.

"I didn't bring anything," Jim answered with a shrug. "Alfred probably threw my bag away."

"Was it really that gross?"

"It was that cheap. You think I made any money working as a bartender?"

"I don't know, I've never tried it," he said, managing a sort of cautious smile.

"Yeah, having a real job is too cool for you."

"You know it." Does joking like everything's okay mean we can start acting like we're friends again?

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