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"Someone is on their way to get you," Mrs. Cornwell says, a hint of disdain in her voice, sneering down at the paperwork in front of her as if it were Jason himself. She doesn't look at Jason, though. She never looks at Jason.
Jason chews on the inside of his cheek and counts the clock's ticks on the opposite wall as it inches closer to the oncoming storm. Bruce Wayne. And the thing is, Jason's never seen the man angry. But he's seen enough angry men over the years to know they're all the same.
Loud.
Aggressive.
Mean.
"Filth. Filth meant for the streets."
Kyle McCormick spits in Jason’s general direction, and Jason shifts his foot just in time to avoid the bloody mucus. It's taking willpower that would make his mother proud to keep from launching himself across the delicately adorned side table separating his chair from the other kids. He would love nothing more than to blacken the kid's other eye—a lovely complement to the mess of black and blue and a delightful shade of swollen purple.
Now, Jason's face is also a little fucked up and sporting its own splotches of purple and red. That's because Kyle Bloody McCormick has about a hundred and fifty pounds and an additional five inches on him. But Jason's no stranger to that. McCormick, however… Jason isn't sure he's ever been quite this bloodied. And what an honor it was to pop that cherry.
Obviously, it wasn't enough to keep his fat ugly mouth shut, though. The kid won't stop bitching about what his father will do when he shows up. Jason rolls his eyes. How very Draco Malfoy.
"Shut the fuck up, McCormick. Daddy isn't showing up. He's with his mistress in Cabo this week, remember?"
McCormick does not, in fact, remember. Because Jason isn't even sure the other kid's father has a mistress. What Jason does know, however, is the type. And The Type usually has a mistress tucked away somewhere. It's a gamble, but one that pays off. McCormick's face turns ten shades of blissfully angry red, and Jason swears he's about to burst that big ugly vein bulging in his big ugly forehead.
"I'm going to crush the life out of you," he growls like some anime villain. Which, of course, requires an anime response, yes?
Jason leans in a few inches closer and grins, taunting, voice dramatically gravel-like, "Lesser men have tried, and greater men have failed."
Just like that, they're at each other for round two. McCormick is an easy swing-and-miss as Jason dances out of the way. Which only seems to enrage him more. Jason knows guys like this. He grew up around them. And watching McCormick realize Jason is no longer in front of him? Well. It's damn almost cathartic, is what it is.
McCormick spins around just in time for Jason to return the favor. Only, Jason's aim is far greater than an Angry McCormick's, and the resounding, satisfying crack as his fist connects with the guy's nose will carry him through whatever punishment comes his way.
And then, just like that, it's over.
Strong arms roughly haul Jason away from where Mrs. Cornwell is gently pulling the pathetic heap of a mess up off the floor and into a chair, fretting over the kid's bloody nose like he hadn't been the one to strike first. Go figure.
"Let me go," Jason snaps, yanking free of the man's grip and spinning around, only to be met not even a little bit face-to-face with Gotham Academy's esteemed football coach. With McCormick's football coach. The way he towers over Jason is uncomfortably familiar. But he doesn't know this guy. He doesn't. Bruce ran an intensive background check on every faculty member before allowing Jason to set foot into the school.
Even so, the expression on Coach McMahon's face, overall demeanor, and body language make Jason's hands shake. He stumbles back a step only to be stopped by the coach lurching forward and catching Jason's upper arm in a vice-like grip. Shaking him is a little unnecessary.
"I think you'd better have a seat, son. If I were you, I'd stay there until directed otherwise."
How very diplomatic. Or, it would be if the man's meaty hand weren't on its way to adding another gnarly bruise to Jason's already battered skin. And the brute only tightens his grip when Jason tries to pull away. It's downright painful, and Jason hisses. But if McCormick's got 150 lbs and five inches on Jason, then McMahon's got a hundred pounds and another six inches on McCormick.
All that to say, Jason doesn't get far when he wraps his free hand around the guy's wrist and tries to pry himself free.
"Well, if you'd-"
An undignified noise escapes him when another hand grabs his wrist and rips him free from the coach's grip. He's promptly shoved behind the new person. Jason's damn well tired of getting yanked around, that's for sure. And rescued or not, Jason is about to lay into whoever dared to manhandle him this time.
When he catches his balance and looks up at the new figure, he instantly recognizes the back of Dick Grayson's head.
"Don't fucking touch my brother." Jason sucks in a breath. There's a biting venom to Dick's tone that Jason's never heard before.
Jason has also never heard Dick refer to him as anything close to Brother. And, when Jason peaks around Dick's arm and gets a proper look at his expression… Dick looks mad. Like, Mad mad.
The coach only smirks, sharp gaze bouncing between the two of them. "Guess Wayne never got over his thing for strays. And, looks like the ponce has a type now, doesn't he?"
Before Dick can retaliate - and trust, he would have - Jason reaches out and grabs his wrist, halting him beyond the single step forward he's taken. Dick swallows thickly, and Jason's jaw clenches as he gives the older boy's wrist a firm squeeze and a tug.
"Dick," he begins haltingly. Because what the hell is there to say?
He's not worth it.
He is worth it.
He's the football coach, be careful.
Kick him in the nuts until he cries.
Coach McMahon's smirk deepens. He takes a few lazy steps back before pivoting on his heel and walking out. Not without a casually tossed, "Give my best to your 'father'’ over his shoulder. Jason can hear the air quotes.
Something of a grunt escapes Dick, but he leaves it be, waiting until Coach McMahon is out of sight before turning towards Jason. He guides him to the nearest chair, which happens to be the furthest chair because McCormick's useless ass is occupying the closest. As distracted as he was with his nose, he'd been eyeing the lot of them closely and had the audacity to stick his foot out in front of him to… trip him? What were they, five? Jason pauses because he's going to kick the shit out of this kid's ankle. Or would have, had Dick not settled a heavy hand between his shoulder blades and urged him on further.
Jason drops into the chair heavily, wincing at how it jostles his abdomen. Dick takes a knee in front of Jason, reaching forward to gently grab his chin so he can tilt his face to the left to assess the damage's extent. It isn't pretty.
Dick winces. "That looks like it hurts."
"No shit," Jason snaps. Something akin to hurt flashes in Dick's eyes. It's there and gone in a second. Blink, and you miss it. But Jason hadn't blinked, and he hadn't missed it. Guilt settles heavily in his gut. He glances away and mumbles, "Sorry."
Dick graciously doesn't acknowledge the exchange. He merely reaches back to tilt Jason's face in the other direction. Neither of them speak this time, even when Dick sits up a little straighter and begins running a hand slowly through Jason's hair, trying to feel for any bumps or abrasions.
It should be weird. Bizarre. Jason's not sure the two have ever even had a proper hug. Maybe an awkward side-hug or two, with Dick ruffling his hair and laughing when Jason grumbles and bats his hand away. But this isn't that. It's… Nice. And Jason lets out a breath, tension bleeding from his muscles, and sags deeper into the seat.
"I didn't start it," Jason says, quiet, defeated. It's a losing battle. Why would they believe him? The coach was right about one thing. Jason is a stray. As in, he did come from the streets. They have no reason to believe-
"I know you didn't, Jay." Dick squeezes Jason's shoulder lightly, and Jason's lips part in surprise.
What?
Jason's head shoots up, and his gaze snaps to Dick. There's… He doesn't detect any deceit in the other boy's tone, which is a nice feeling but unsettling in a way that he can't quite put his finger on. He had just been so confident that Dick would think of him as the instigator. Jason isn't unaware of his reputation in this school. A reputation he seemed to have earned even prior to his first confrontation. It just seems natural that Dick would have come to the same conclusion. Especially given how little time they've spent together alone.
"You-"
"I'm going to have you arrested. It's assault." McCormick's nasally voice startles the both of them. He's still clutching his nose with the wad of tissues Mrs. Cornwell had pushed his way. Currently, she's nowhere to be found, and Jason can only assume that she's run off to get the kid something more sustainable for his nose. Preferably, a bucket. Who knew McCormick would be such a bleeder?
"You're Callum McCormick's little brother," Dick says, a hint of disbelief in his tone. Jason's brows furrow with confusion. Kyle reluctantly tears his gaze from Jason and over to Dick, where he gives him a calculating once-over.
Dick doesn't look very threatening in his oversized Bludhaven University hoodie and a black mess of hair that looks like it lost a fight with a brush. Or had yet to be introduced to one. He'd no doubt been sound asleep when the school called. Or had the school called? They should have called Bruce, or even Alfred, first. Maybe the school had called one of them, and they didn't want to pick him up, so they called Dick even though Dick lives a half-hour away. Maybe, Jason swallows thickly, Bruce was so angry when he got the call that he couldn't possibly pick Jason up in person. Bruce may need time to cool down. Maybe he thi-
"What's it to you, pretty boy?"
Jason's thoughts are pulled back to the present, and he finds himself immediately lost when Dick's only response is an amused snort. "It must be genetic. If I recall, your brother seems to have the same problem with keeping his hands to himself. He's got a parole hearing soon, doesn't he?"
McCormick's big ugly vein makes another appearance, and Jason can't help the amusement that bubbles inside him. Suddenly the kid is on his feet, and Dick turns to Jason and shoots him a "Can you believe this guy?" expression that makes Jason snort. Except McCormick starts to sway on his feet, and suddenly Mrs. Cornwell is back at his side, struggling to support his weight, and nearly collapses down on top of him when he loses his balance and drops back into his seat.
Dick's eyes glitter with mirth when he turns his gaze back to Jason. He's just about to speak when Principal Cornwell - Yes, her Mr. Cornwell, because nepotism in Gotham is very much alive and well - steps out of his office off behind Dick. It wipes Jason clean of anything he is about to say.
"Richard Grayson."
The way Dick stiffens suddenly is curious. The tension in his shoulders reads very clearly: he'd recognize that voice anywhere. Was Ol' Man Cornwell the principal when Dick had attended? Jason tries to do the math in his head but gives up when he realizes he doesn't know how old Dick is, just that he's attending university.
Regardless, Cornwell had to have been around somewhere. Dick seems to steel himself before standing to his full height and turning towards the man. His expression is unflinching, and the way Cornwell meets his gaze with a slimy grin makes Jason feel Super Uncomfortable.
The principal clears his throat of a distinct nothingness. His tone is deceptively light in contrast to his sharp gaze when he says, "Ah, yes. My apologies. Dick."
Oh. Cornwell was definitely at Gotham Academy when Dick was here. Who knows in what capacity, but definitely in a capacity.
"I see you continue to let that mouth of yours run away with you." He looks over to his wife, who is making her way back to McCormick with a second ice pack. She merely nods in agreement when he tacks on, "Some kids are just doomed to fail."
What the fuck?
Jason watches Dick clench and release his jaw several times. Not only has Jason never seen Bruce angry, he's never seen Dick angry either, and he can't help but wonder if it'll give him a glimpse into what to expect from Bruce.
Dick shoves his hands into the front pouch of his hoodie, and Jason can almost picture him balling them into fists. He swallows thickly and grinds out a disrespectful, "Anthony. I see you're still here. How's Mr. DeAngelo's ass doing? Are you still kissing it?"
Jason snorts, not caring about the discomfort it causes because Dick just became his number one hero. Batman and Robin had never called Jason's principal an ass-kisser to his face. So, sacrifices to the roster are a must. Cornwell doesn't seem to find the humor in Dick's comment because he takes a threatening step forward, and Dick pulls his hands from his pocket as he steps a few inches to his right, effectively placing himself between the principal and Jason.
"Tell your guardian - forgive me, your former guardian," he spits with derision to match his wife's, "that I expect him here next Wednesday, in my office, bright and early. You're not to set foot on school grounds until then."
Next Wednesday… Next Wednesday? It's only Monday. Surely he means two days from now. Not a whole week and a half. Right? Jason shoots to his feet, ready to say something. Anything. And when he steps forward to do just that, he bumps into Dick's arm, suddenly blocking his path.
"I'm not doing your job for you, Anthony." Jason has to admit; he loves seeing the man bristle under Dick's blatant disrespect. "If you want to set up a meeting with Bruce, then you can call him yourself. And perhaps a lawyer."
Jason's heart stops. A lawyer? Why?
It was a stupid fight! Granted, it was Jason's third fight this semester alone, but the other two were confined to the gym, and Bruce never found out. Jason had effortlessly explained away the bruising. He's had years of experience from grade school, dodging CPS like it was a sport. Besides, what is there Bruce can say? He isn't exactly the best example. Not when he graces the breakfast table periodically with bruising. And the man is a fool if he thinks that makeup is doing shit all to hide anything from Jason. Once upon a time, Catherine had taught him all her best tricks.
"You know what," Cornwell begins pleasantly, pulling Jason's attention back to the fucking pissing contest. "Why don't we just make that next Friday instead, hm?"
Fucking Friday? Jason tugs at Dick's sleeve, silently begging him to shut the fuck up before he gets him expelled. Sure, fuck this school, but expulsion?
"You know what," Dick mimics, voice equally light, "I think Bruce will see you first thing in the morning." And then he spins on his heel and grabs Jason's backpack, hoisting it over his shoulder and effectively frog-marching him out of the principal's office. Jason can still hear Cornwell trying to squeeze in one final snide remark. Jason is somewhat distracted, however, by the radiating anger that is Richard Grayson.
Like, is he going to blow? He's got a firm grip on Jason through the halls and doesn't release him until they're on the other side of the school doors. And he should feel more uncomfortable than he does. Dick looks like he's about to hit somebody or something, but Jason surprisingly feels safe.
They're nearly at Dick's car when Jason hesitantly turns towards him. "Hey man, are you good?"
Dick doesn't respond. Not right away. Not until after they make it to the car. Not until after he's tossed Jason's backpack into the backseat.
It's only after he's slammed the door shut harder than necessary that he spits out, "He's still the fucking principal. After all this time?"
Dick is pacing now, fists flexing as he begins what kind of looks like breathing exercises. It looks like what Dr. Hoff had guided Jason through at the end of their last few sessions. Finally, Dick huffs a laugh. "Not sure why I'm so surprised. Nothing changes in Gotham."
Jason isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything at all. He's a few feet from the car, watching Dick pace and pause and lean his ass back against the door. "Did he say anything to you before I got there?"
"Who, Cornwell?" Dick nods jerkily, crossing his arms over his chest. "He came out when we were hauled in, but he only talked to McCormick."
Dick's voice is tight when he says, "What did he say to him?"
"Not a lot. Asked him what had happened. If he was alright. Would he like to head home for the day. As if the decision were his choice." Jason shrugs, not sure why it matters all that much.
It must matter to Dick, though, because the guy is visibly shaking in an effort to relax. He does that thing again, inhales deeply, tips his head back, closes his eyes, and presumably counts to five before exhaling.
"So, Callum's McCormick's kid brother gets to control the narrative, and you aren't even addressed." It's not a question.
Jason glances around somewhat nervously as if the reason Dick is this worked up will somehow reveal itself. Sure, Jason got into a fistfight when he shouldn't have - yes, he should have, but whatever - but Dick isn't even harassing him about that part. He's caught up in every other stupid person that was involved— kind of exactly like the principal. The asshole had even pulled the teacher who had dragged them to the office aside and asked what had happened. For fuck’s sake, he'd even phoned security for an copy of the footage.
"What does it matter, Dick?" Irritated, Jason crosses his arms over his chest as well, wincing at the discomfort that shoots through his ribs. "You worried McCormick's gonna make a mess o' things, and it'll get poor Brucie Wayne bad press?"
Dick's lips part a bit in surprise, and his arms drop to his side as he steps closer to Jason. He looks stricken, and it makes Jason feel both wrong-footed and also more emboldened.
"You want to know what McCormick's story was. Cornwell wanted to know what his story was." Jason huffs, kicking a pebble at his feet. "Why don't we just wait til we're at the manor so when Bruce asks, I don't have to repeat myself for a second time."
"Jason," Dick says slowly, "this isn't about McCormick; this is about you."
"Yeah," Jason bites back. "I fucking know."
Dick sighs and runs a hand through his hair, a bit aggressively. "No, I don't think you do. It's always like this, Jay. Only certain kids matter."
Jason's huffs, and he's about to say, 'yeah, that's how the fucking world works, Dick, welcome to it’ when Dick carries on. "I'm not going to let this happen again. I'm not going to let this happen to you. They don't get to treat another child like they're fucking riff-raff off the streets." Dick isn't even looking at Jason. Instead, back, once again, to pacing. "We don't deserve that."
We?
"What, because we aren't blue-blooded like the rest, we don't deserve respect?" Dick comes to a sudden halt and holds up a finger towards Jason, looking him straight in the eye when he adds, "You do, Jason. You do deserve respect. You're as good- No, you're better than everyone in that building, do you hear me?"
Jason nods frantically, hoping it'll shift Dick's attention back off him. This tactic seems to work because Dick lets out another huff, settles his hands on his hips, and looks back up at the sky. "Don't ever let anyone put you down, Jase, okay? We deserve better."
Oh. This is about Dick. Well, both of them. And, when Jason thinks Dick has found his zen, Dick twists to the right and kicks the tire. Hard. If it hurts - and Jason knows it does - Dick masks it well. "And thank fuck for that, you know? Can you imagine what it must be like to walk around as an asshole with legs?" Jason nearly chokes.
"An asshole with legs?" he mutters to himself. To himself, only because he's reasonably sure Dick isn't even aware of his presence anymore.
"Callum McCormick was one of the worst offenders, you know? He set his sight on you, and that was it. Game over. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars." Dick kicks the tire again. "That whole family is fucking toxic. Radioactive."
Dick scrubs a hand down his face and inhales deeply, turning back towards Jason with sharp eyes. What he finds in Dick's gaze makes him take a step back, though he's not sure why. He can't quite pinpoint the emotion in Dick's expression. It doesn't quite make him uneasy, but he feels a little blindsided when Dick says, "That entire school is toxic, Jay. Do you hear me? B should never have enrolled you. I shouldn't have let him enroll you."
Jason… Jason doesn't know how to respond to this. Honestly, he's not sure how to react to the entire spectacle. Dick is a one-person show, and now he's polling the audience. And he looks so damn earnest. As if the most important thing to him right now, at this moment, is that Jason understands him. Jason must look almost as lost as he feels. The gears rapidly turn in his mind as he processes everything, which must read in his face because Dick lets out a sagging breath.
"Listen, Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
Jason rushes him. It cuts the man off mid-sentence when Jason’s whole body slams into Dick's midsection, arms wrapping around him tightly. The hug must catch Dick off guard nearly as much as the impulse decision had Jason. Dick, though— Dick recovers quickly. And, just like that, Jason is wrapped in one of the warmest hugs he can recall ever receiving. Bruce had tried to hug him once, but it was stiff and awkward, as if Bruce wasn't too sure of himself. His heart was in it, but his apprehension of Jason's reaction had read in his movements.
Dick, though.
No hesitation. He wraps one strong arm around Jason's back and buries his other hand in Jason's hair, cradling the back of his head and squeezing him tightly against his chest. And yes, his ribs are singing their discomfort, but Jason has zero intention of pulling away.
Dick seems to be on the same page because Jason can feel the man's warm cheek against the crown of his head. Jason lets himself burrow deeper, turns his face into the front of Dick's well-worn hoodie, and he swears he can hear the rapid pounding of Dick's heartbeat.
Dick cares. He really cares.
Dick stormed into the office already one hundred percent in Jason's corner without question or hesitation. He hadn't asked for Jason's story because it was unneeded. Dick always says he has Jason's back, even through all their fighting and bickering and Jason never knowing where he stands with the man. Jason has always thought it was just for show. An obligation of sorts. Something you have to say when your father-guardian-whatever suddenly takes in some Crime Alley kid that Batman drops off in the middle of the night.
There's safety in Dick's embrace. It's different from the physical security provided by the manor. The sad, pathetic truth is that whatever the flavor of protection this is, Jason's never experienced it. It feels… Unconditional. A completely foreign concept for Jason. Something you only get in fairytales.
Whatever it is, Jason hopes it never goes away. And yes, he knows he sounds like an absolute four-year-old right now, but he sinks further into Dick's embrace, and rather than pull away, Dick only tucks him in tighter.
"I'm sorry, Jason." Jason nearly misses it with the way Dick has his face buried in his mop of hair. "I'm sorry that you had to go through this today. You didn't deserve that."
The thing is, Jason knows he means it. That Dick is angry on Jason's behalf and that he's upset Jason was ever in the situation. But Jason also knows that Dick is talking to himself. Or another version of himself. A younger version. And that's okay, too. Dick needs this. They both need this. Jason squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself live in this moment.
Still, it's over too soon. Dick pulls away far enough that he can catch Jason's eye. He brushes a hand over the top of his hair before letting it settle on his shoulder.
"Let's head home. Something tells me B is already tracking the Camaro. And he's probably wondering why we've been sitting in the parking lot for-" Dick twists his wrist towards him to eye his watch but shrugs. Yeah. Jason isn't sure how long it's been either.
"He's going to know."
Dick winces sympathetically. "I'm sure he already does."
Jason heaves a sigh. "I don't suppose we can tell him I got into a fight with a doorknob, can we?"
This surprises a laugh out of Dick. "I know we like to treat Bruce like he's stupid but trust me; he is far from it."
"I don't know," Jason says lightly, "I saw that viral video compilation of him trying to pull all those push doors."
"Ah, yes." The pride in Dick's voice is damn near tangible. "Some of my best work."
Jason takes a half-step back, mouth parted in surprise. "No way. Are you 'ironmanroxx'?"
He laughs awkwardly and a little forced. "I was thirteen."
"So, all those 'Best of Brucie Wayne Fails' compilations…"
Dick preens. "Wait until you see all the clips that didn't make the cut.”
"There's more?"
"Jason, it's Bruce. There's always more." Dick is still grinning, but something in the way he says the man's name has Jason's matching grin melt right off his face.
"He's going to be mad," Jason says quietly. "He's my guardian, and I'm his responsibility. That means- That means my actions reflect on him." He'd heard his Dad say - read: shout - it a hundred times to his mother. Jason drops his head into his hands.
"Hey." Dick gently tugs at one of Jason's wrists. "Hey, look at me. He will not blame you if that's what you're thinking. Bruce doesn't care about any of that. He only cares that you're okay."
Jason lets Dick tug his hands down entirely from his face, but he doesn't let him catch his gaze. Instead, he stares resolutely at Dick's chest when he asks, "What did he do back then? When it was you, I mean."
Dick's silence is so loud, and when Jason finally glances up, it's Dick who avoids eye contact. Jason's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Dick. Why didn't you tell Bruce?"
"I don't know," Dick sighs, sounding defeated as he drops back against the vehicle with a grunt. "I didn't want to cause problems. I didn't want my Dad involved." He makes actual air quotes around Dad. "Which is what all the kids and most staff would have said. Which is fucked, because each of those kids would be the first to use their parents as a weapon and shield."
Jason's already nodding along, thinking back to McCormick's threats. Well, before the murder bit. "Would Bruce have-"
"Of course, he would have stood up for me," Dick cuts in resolutely. Jason's heard Dick and Bruce go at each other on occasion, but the way Dick says this with such certainty… "I didn't want it. I had a small group of friends I was tight with. And Ms. Lowe was the best teacher I ever had, and her room was the best hide-out."
"Well," Jason starts, dragging the word out, "I have Mrs. Milton, who adores me, so you see-"
"No, Jay." Dick's using the "my decision is final" tone that Jason has only ever heard from Bruce. It sounds wrong coming from Dick. "We need to tell Bruce."
"What?" Jason takes another step back. "No. You said you never went to him, so why should I? That doesn't make any sense."
"Because I should have," Dick starts, with less heat and finality in his voice than he had earlier. "I shouldn't have tried to manage all of that by myself. Not when I didn't have to. And I wish I'd had someone there to encourage me to tell Bruce about what I was going through."
"He's going to make the whole situation worse." Jason hates how small his voice sounds. Dick, though, is already shaking his head.
"That isn't going to happen, Jason. He's not going to do anything that you're uncomfortable with." Dick says it with so much confidence and conviction. Like he just has that much trust in the man. Jason wishes he could say the same, but he doesn't know Bruce well enough. He doesn't let himself know Bruce well enough. With how things are shaping up, that day may come sooner rather than later.
"What do you think he'll do?"
Dick takes a deep breath, looking over Jason's shoulder towards the school. "He'll pull all of his funding." He nods sharply to himself. "And then he's going to sit you down with a dozen brochures of schools in the area that are just as good and let you take your pick."
That- That doesn't sound so bad. It would be nice to have options. Jason's not used to options. But still… Telling Bruce about everything? Especially when Bruce knows what happened before they even walk in the door. What if he doesn't believe Jason? What if he thinks Jason spent the entire drive constructing some elaborate lie in his head?
He looks up to find Dick staring intently at him; brows crinkled like he's trying to puzzle out whatever Jason's thinking. And so Jason clears his throat, trying to find steady ground. "You'll be there with me? When I tell him?"
Dick's face softens considerably, and his smile is so warm and reassuring that it hurts. He grabs Jason by the front of his shirt and hauls him in for another hug. "Absolutely. And then I'll finally tell Bruce I'm the guy to whom one of his junior lawyers keeps sending those cease and desist letters."
No way.
"His lawyer took actual legal action against you?"
Dick laughs as he starts maneuvering Jason to the other side of the car. He looks entirely too proud of himself.
"Don't worry, Jay," Dick says, opening the door for him. "I made sure to reply as promptly as I could." He pushes Jason down onto the seat and shoos at him until he pulls his feet inside. "With a stunning photocopy of my ass."
"What the fu-"
The door slams shut, but Jason can still hear Dick's laughter through the window.
Yeah, Dick is definitely Jason's favorite superhero.