âWant to tell me what youâre doing in my kitchen at 3 in the morning?â Jason & Damian
This got surprisingly angsty.Â
Jason drops his helmet on the couch and shucks his jacket to toss beside it. He stands, arms crossed, in the middle of his apartment and asks, âWant to tell me what youâre doing in my kitchen at three in the morning?â
The light above the stove is on, bathing half the kitchen in yellow light. The other half is shrouded in shadow, and it is from here that Robin turns on a stool to give Jason an unimpressed frown. âI assure you, Todd, I would not be here if I had a choice in the matter.â
âCool,â Jason says. He shifts his weight so itâs off his right leg. âSo leave.â
The kid has helped himself to Jasonâs kitchen, filling a mug with something warm, steam curling into the air. Itâs probably that really nice Earl Grey blend Jason practically had to smuggle into the country. Damian sips it like itâs his tea and his kitchen and Jason is the one who shouldnât be here at this hour.
âPennyworth put out an APB for you,â the kid says. âFor leaving against medical orders.â
âSo youâre here to tell me to lay low and watch out for overbearing family members until they forget they care?â
âTt. I was sent to retrieve you.â Damian sets the mug down with a clink. When he stands, he loses height instead of gaining it. Hardly imposing, but the calculating look on his face makes trepidation curl at the base of Jasonâs spine. If his muscles werenât already tense from pain, theyâd be coiling in anticipation of a fight.
âAnd how are you going to do that, pipsqueak?â he asks. âUnless youâve developed super strength I donât know about, you couldnât drag me back to the manor even if you could knock me out.â
âI donât need to.â Damian smiles. Itâs victorious and unsettling. âI am only the distraction.â
The- Oh fuck. Jason spins around, trying not to curse when he puts weight on his busted leg, and comes face-to-face with Alfred, a stern frown on his face and a syringe in his hand.
âAm I going to have to use this?â Alfred asks. His tone is mild but it is not an idle threat.
Jason sighs, shoulders slumping. Damn. âNo,â he says. âNo, Iâll go back with you.â
Alfred nods. Right answer. âExcellent work, Master Damian,â he says. âIf you could please escort Master Jason to the car, I will lock up and follow.â
Jason spies a duffle bag by the couch that Alfred has surely packed with his belongings, which means heâs probably going to be stuck at the manor for a while. He sighs again.
âCheer up, Todd,â Damian says, preceding him out the door. âIt could be worse.â
A startled laugh escapes Jason. He rubs his knuckles through Damianâs hair, mussing it into wild spikes. âWatch it, kid, Iâm the one who makes the death jokes around here.â
Damian ducks away from him with a scowl. âTt. Like youâre the only one around here whoâs died.â
Jason doesnât like to think about that. So he just rolls his eyes and pushes Damianâs shoulder. âI was first though.â
They descend the stairs to the parking garage bickering. It would almost be⌠nice, maybe, if Jasonâs knee wasnât throbbing in protest. And if he wasnât so acutely aware of using humour as a coping mechanism. He is just as aware of the emotions swimming beneath Damianâs barbed insults.
âHey,â he says, catching Damianâs arm before he can climb into the back seat. âYou know you can always-â
Alfredâs dress shoes click against the concrete as he approaches. Damian is looking up at Jason curiously, young face creased with a frown. Itâs like a moment suspended in time, the first wobble of a spinning top when youâre not sure if itâs going to keep spinning or fall over. Alfredâs footsteps draw closer; heâs looking down at his phone, typing a response to a message.
âAlways what?â Damian asks.
Alfred puts the phone in his pocket and pops the boot to put Jasonâs bag in.
Jason shakes his head. âNothing.â
He slides into the front seat and slams the door. The sound seems to echo in Jasonâs chest. He clenches his fist on his knee. Drops his head back against the leather headrest. This is why he doesnât like spending too much time around the family. Heâs not good at it.
Damianâs door closes and his seatbelt clicks into place. They sit in silence while they wait for Alfred to get in and start the car.
Jason closes his eyes. He can feel Damianâs gaze like static electricity prickling his skin, feel when it drops away to focus on a game on the kidâs phone. He bites his lips. Pushes away that impulse from earlier, the one that made him reach out to the kid. Jason has enough issues of his own to deal with, he doesnât need to take on anyone elseâs.
Besides, Damian probably wouldnât want to talk to him anyway.
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