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“It’s not like I missed you or anything,” Damian says, from where he’s leaning out Jason’s apartment window, trying to coax the neighbor’s cat to come visit. “While you were gone. I didn’t miss you.”
“You didn’t, huh?” Jason says, using the mirror he’s shaving with to glance Damian behind him.
“Assuredly not,” Damian says, clipped. His back is still to Jason’s back, and quiet falls between them–there’s only the sounds of Jason’s razor dipping in and out of the water and Damian clicking his tongue at the cat.
After a moment, Jason opens his mouth, ready to tease him about being in his apartment, when Damian says, “It’s just that Batman gets nervous when you leave for too long and don’t tell him.”
Jason freezes. He doesn’t say anything for a long while, only splashes water on his face to wash away the excess shaving cream. He’s mostly done, and he doesn’t think this conversation should involve a razor so close to his neck.
“Batman doesn’t get nervous,” he says at last. “And leave that damn cat alone.”
Damian slams the window shut and spins on heel to face Jason. His face is carefully blank, and Jason knows he’s fuming.
“It’s entirely food motivated,” he offers, peeved. “And wholly attached to its owner, who is a little old lady you shouldn’t be petnapping from anyway.”
“Grayson told me before you allowed The Joker to murder you,” Damian says, meeting Jason’s gaze with a cool look of his own, “that you had run away from Gotham.”
“Grayson,” Jason says, mockingly, fists clenching, “should keep his fat mouth shut about shit he doesn’t know.”
Damian folds his arms, calmly, not even bothering to defend Dick; it makes Jason angrier.
“And,” Jason snarls, “you can tell Batman on your way outta here that his concern is noted, not needed, not wanted.”
Damian sighs and lets his arms drop. He clasps his hands behind him and stands straight, his gaze shifting away from Jason to the ceiling. He doesn’t comment on the leak off to the corner when he says, “He does it to me, too.”
Jason blinks, startled out of his own anger. “What?”
“Batman. Father–he does it to me too,” Damian says, giving Jason an annoyed look for not understanding immediately. “But he’s my father so I guess that makes sense.”
“He’s my dad too,” Jason snaps, then flushes, angry again, this time at himself for giving Damian and even Bruce that much, angry at Bruce for…everything, angry at Damian for bringing it up.
“Then call next time,” Damian commands imperiously, and he brushes past Jason and out the door before Jason can even chafe at the order.
Jason fumes about the brat all day, going as far as typing out a text to Dick (and deleting so he won’t have to talk to Dick) about keeping the kid in line. He isn’t planning to give anyone any type of satisfaction, but he can’t get any peace, so cursing Damian, he goes to the Manor for dinner that night and pretends to ignore that Bruce’s startled, scrutinizing gaze looks just a touched relieved, though his mouth presses thin when he sees Jason, and the entirely too smug smile Damian wears until Jason throws a roll at him.