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“Where are all the flippy things?!”
Steph huffs, standing up from the twelfth draw she’s checked in this stupidly draw-filled kitchen. There is a time and a place for a vast wealth of storage options, and it is not when she is trying not to burn her hash browns.
Across the counter, Jason raises an eyebrow. Steph can already hear the tone he uses before he opens his mouth. As such, she is conveniently already glaring at him when he says, “Flippy things?” Making it pretty clear if he could get his eyebrow up any higher it would be.
Steph swallows down an angry retort, internally criticising, his Alfred-esque bitch face could use some fucking work. Steph does not voice this because she is a mature young adult.
Steph takes a breath. Steph looks at the ceiling. Steph growls in frustration so she doesn’t scream.
Cutting Jason a harsh glance when he does a poor job at hiding his snort. Steph says through her teeth, “Don’t even start. I know you know what I mean.” Continuing around the kitchen before he can pull a sarcastic face and say something patronizing.
Steph spends a second, in the middle of the kitchen she’s a little in love with despite knowing how to successfully cook exactly five things, and considers leaving her hash browns to burn the entire thing down.
She doesn’t, actually, because she really, really wants the hash browns not to burn so she can eat them in all their golden-brown glory. Steph huffs, spinning on her feet to begin the slow circle around every cupboard.
Eventually, when Jason can’t hold back on that prominent urge he gets to be an asshole—Steph hopes it keeps him up at night—he says, “Have you tried, y’know, the draw they’ve been kept in for the last twenty years?”
“No, Jason,” Steph says, turning from the high cupboard she’s currently looking through that’s full entirely of bowls.
She’s leaving each cupboard door open out of spite. She hopes one of these tall bastard walks in and gets a nice concussion. “I did not do that. In fact, I’ve just been running around checking every other draw in this fucking place. Thank you so much for that suggestion.”
Jason’s lips twitch, eyebrows going up and eyes going wide. Raising both hands in a hey, calm down, I’m being helpful gesture as he says, “You’re welcome.” He's using his best earnest tone, the one that's hilariously good at tricking people into thinking he's being sincere, but she has a cheat code of not being people.
It usually doesn't last through the look on his face and a quick replay of his words, anyway. Comparatively, it usually does last through the urge to punch him.
Jason says in that same honest voice, “Oh, hey, I think your food's burning.” And, look, the urge to hit him back in full force.
Steph turns on her feet with another distressed huff. Looking down at the frypan through the tight, stressed creases closing in on her eyes. She just wanted food, okay? Why does the universe keep doing this?
Finally, with a certain amount of certainty, Steph decides she’s just going to have to wing it. The desire for food wins out on the voice in her head that tries to keep her from doing stupid things, like placing her fingers close enough to boiling oil to burn all ten of them off.
She walks over to the cutlery drawer, muttering as she peers at the knives and forks and spoons all exactly where they should be, “This is such bullshit. You people own like ten flippy things.” Sullen, and when she looks up at Jason directly across from her, he’s not even hiding the amused quirk of his lips.
He says around it, “A spatula?” His voice warming with amusement, a tone that signifies he might actually be trying to be helpful this time.
Steph just looks to the ceiling, two forks held in hand, and screams, “Yes! A freaking spatula.” Glaring at him one last time before sighing and turning on her feet.
She stares at the wonderful goodness in the frying pan with a large amount of foreboding and stands by letting it crawl all over her gut.
This is about the time Jason heaves out a sigh behind her. Chair already screeching back when Steph turns to grin at him. That’s her favourite Jason sigh. That’s his God, I can’t actually pretend I don’t care about you idiots because you're about to do something stupid and life-endangering sigh.
Steph is so glad he thinks she’s incompetent enough to burn both her hands irrevocably if he doesn’t step in.
“Shut up,” Jason huffs at her, catching her grin. He rolls his eyes as he goes and checks the draw Steph’s only checked thirty-four times.
He opens it, hinges rolling out. Leaning over with a furrowed brow to peer between items. He’s at it a second before he looks back to Steph, both eyebrows raised in wry doubt. Leaning further to reach for a pair of tongs. He straights, half holding them out for Steph’s viewing. Starts with a heavy sigh, “Steph—”
Steph scowls and cuts him off, “I can’t use them, okay!” Jason’s expression grows more incredulous. Steph glares. “They’re annoying.” Grumbling, “I always burn myself.” She huffs, crossing her arms because she’s at least 70% sure tongs aren’t meant for flipping things anyway. That’s what spatulas are for.
Jason just mutters, “Oh my God,” more to himself than Steph. His eyes flick skyward in exasperation and Steph can hear the unbelievable he doesn’t voice.
He shakes his head as he uses one arm to nudge passed Steph. Steph’s lips purse, but she doesn’t protest because Jason’s pretty much the only thing standing in the way of a fresh set of burn scars, the regular do-gooder he is.
Jason flips her hashbrowns, and the pan sizzles. They consider it in silence for a moment, golden-brown a little too close to chare grilled but Steph has definitely done worse.
“Does this mean I get half?” Jason asks, smirking slightly.
Steph glares, elbowing him out of the way and he shuffles over minimally, still largely taking over her food preparation efforts. Her herding is similarly a dead end, and she thuds her head sideways into his ill-placed shoulder a couple times.
“Jason,” she says as the hashbrowns sizzle, eyes squeezed shut. “If you take my food I am going to cry.”
“Uh-huh,” he sounds out.
“I’m going to cry and I’m going to make it your problem.”
“Hm.” A pause Steph uses to nudge her head into him insistently. He doesn’t budge. Steph’s serious about the crying. “Honestly, I think I could take it.”
She peeks her eyes open to glare, leaning back. Jason smirks still in place and he reaches out without glancing over to start placing the hash browns over. The victory is notably hollow.
Jason turns off the gas as Steph comes to terms with the loss. He glances over, huffing. “You really aren’t kidding about the tears, huh?”
Steph glares. “Your. Problem,” she threatens. Grabbing the plate he puts her hash browns on and crowds it carefully to her chest. She steps back and says from the careful distance between them, “I have had a terrible week, okay!”
She huffs, spinning with her hoard and sitting down at the bench, placing the plate with finality. She glares over at Jason, who’s still holding the tongs, still largely amused. “I need you to know I am considering several ways to make your life a living hell, Jay.”
Jason smirks, straightening from his lean and discarding the tongs to the sink. He starts wandering over and Steph feels venom rise in her throat along with her frustration. He holds both hands up, approach still casual. “Hey, I’m just sitting. I was sitting there first.”
He continues around her, taking the seat next to her again as she twists to keep him in sight, plate drawn close. He doesn’t glance over as he picks up his book, opening it part-way. Steph glances down at her hashbrowns, they’re still radiating heat from the oil and she sniffs quietly.
“Wanna talk about it?” Jason offers.
Steph sniffs again, pushing the plate over slightly and slumming down the rest of the way, chin digging into her folded arms. The hashbrowns look so good, she thinks. “No,” she mutters sourly.
He hums and they sit in silence. Steph has mostly reined her emotions in watching the potato-y goodness cool. Which is of course when Tim walks in.
He draws up short, eyes flicking around the kitchen then them. “Why’re all the cupboards open?” he wonders, mostly to himself. Which is smart, proactive, because Steph and Jason make no move to answer.
He walks the rest of the way in, attention mostly shifting to them. He perks up. “Oh, can I have some?” he asks, peering over at Steph’s admittedly gorgeous hash browns and Steph wordlessly buries her head in her arms.
Unfortunately, she was not joking about the tears, and it all builds up in her throat at the thought of having to word another refute. “Now you’ve stepped in it,” Jason mutters. Steph sniffles, shoulders shaking slightly, but otherwise remains silent.
Goddamnit, she should’ve just gone home to have her mental breakdown in private, this is so embarrassing, but she doesn’t think she even has potatoes at home and—
“Oh, no,” Tim murmurs, apparently catching on to Steph’s genuine distress. “What’s wrong?” he asks softly, and Steph can practically feel him hovering at her shoulder in a big ball of concern. It makes her laugh slightly through tears, he’s so bad at it.
“She doesn’t want to share her food, genius,” Jason says when Steph does respond, and Tim lets out a hum.
“I’ll get you a fork,” Tim decides easily, shifting from her side, and Steph lets out another near-silent sniffle.
Her tears are quelling, and she appreciates how seriously they're taking the admittedly ridiculous situation. Although, with the number of times she’s caught Tim crying over spilling his coffee—
Cutlery clinks down next to her and Tim asks, audibly moving around, “Want a smoothie? I’m making Dick one.” Steph listens to him close the cupboards, then the drawers, and part of her settles in place as the last rolls closed with a thud.
“Nah,” Jason says, still unmoving at her side. “Definitely don’t want it if you plan to get Dick to choke it down.”
“Suit yourself,” Tim says, huffing.
Jason snorts. “What’re you lacing it with? Gummy-bears?”
“What a great idea! Thanks, Jay, I think I will do that.”
Steph huffs slightly, peeking up enough to dig her chin into her arms once again. She peers sideways at Jay, who's watching his book with a sour expression.
The sour expression becomes extremely clear when Tim walks out of the pantry holding a packet of gummy bears. He looks directly across at Jason, hefting the blender over, to tear the bag and dump the contents in.
Steph huffs a laugh, she's honestly seen Jason look less annoyed after an injury has put him out of commission. He glares at his book like he can block out the extremely audible process of Tim adding fruit to the blender. Steph watches on, shoulders relaxing, and finally reaches for her fork as Tim blends it all with some juice.
She breaks off a piece of her hash brown, chewing it carefully, it is perhaps not life-changing levels of satisfaction but it makes her feel a little better. Wiping her under-eyes with one hand as she breaks off another section with her other. Jason mutters under his breath as Tim turns to grab some cups, “I fucking hate this place.”
Steph rolls her eyes slightly, eating her next mouthful before muttering back, “Every room in the house, Jason, and you chose the fucking kitchen to read? Nice try, big guy.”
Jason makes a face at his book and Steph snorts another laugh, lips stretching up. Tim turns back with two and a half cups full of his smoothie sacrilege. “Last chance,” he sing-songs, shaking the glass in front of them as if to entice.
Steph reaches out wordlessly, smirking as she side-eyes Jason. She takes a sip. “Huh, pretty good. Think I might make all my smoothies like this.”
Jason slams his book shut, bringing it to his nose like a prayer as he takes a deep breath, eyes closed. “Where the fuck does demon keep his poison supply?”
Steph laughs into the drink before putting it down and taking another bite of her hashbrowns, still laughing. Tim surveys them. “You mean, besides our drinks?”
“You know what?" Jason asks as if Tim hadn't spoken, regarding them. “New plan, who wants to help me sue Talia for dumping me in the Lazarus pit?”
Steph buries her head in her arms, snickering slightly. Tim says, “If I knew a couple gummies were all it took to push you over the edge I would've done this years ago.” Then, as if attempting to make Jason feel better, “Bets on Dick noticing?”
Jason sighs and Steph looks up to Tim's curling amusement, he's still holding both cups with zero remorse. Steph gingerly grabs part of her harsh brown from her plate, biting into it as Jason sighs again. “Are you kidding me? Fifty says he doesn't.”
“Deal," Tim smirks through, eyes flicking over to hers. "Steph?”
“I'm good,” she replies dryly.
Tim's eyes are creased with his laugh. “Suit yourself,” he says, and finally makes a move to leave the kitchen. “I'll be back!" he calls over his shoulder and then he's gone, dirty blender the only remnant of his short-lived appearance.
Steph hums, still eating her way through her dish. The mass in her chest hasn't quite dissipated, but she is feeling significantly less close to tears. She peers at the smoothie Tim left her, and then at Jason, who's back to reading. “You're about to be out of fifty bucks, dude.”
Jason sighs, eyeing the drink with disgust. “That bad, huh?" Steph's lips twitch up. It's definitely not subtle. Jason mutters, eyes shifting back, “Doesn't matter if Dick notices, I just need him not to say anything.”
Hm, Steph cocks her head. Perhaps his fifty dollars is safer than she thought. She considers her plate. “...I'll give you a hash brown if you give me twenty—”
Jason scoffs. “Nice try. Definitely didn't cry hard enough for that to work, Blondie.”
Steph pouts. She thinks she made a pretty good effort.