❝ I’m not worth it. ❞ | @silencefought
“I wasn’t asking you for your opinions,” Jason drawls, exhaling a plume of smoke from where he’s propped up against the balcony railing, practically halfway to hanging off of it and tumbling into the hedge below. Wouldn’t be the first time, though Alfred’ll be pissed if he fucks up another hedge.
He didn’t hear Cass approach, but he doesn’t start when he hears her voice, drifting, disembodied from the shadows in the darkened hallway behind him. Honestly, he’s a little impressed that she took the time to find him after that spat with Bruce—another check mark on the list of things that never change, even if the arguments rotate. Bruce had to mention Cassandra, had to mention something about pulling her off a patrol, and Jason had to go and stick his fucking nose in it like he did with everything because he was allergic to leaving anything well enough alone.
“You know me, I’ll argue on anyone’s behalf. Mine. Dick’s. Tim’s. Damian’s, if I’m feeling extra-generous. The dog’s. Definitely the dog’s. If I don’t, I’ll probably die, or whatever.”















