Chapter Text
“Red Hood — Provide a full report on the make-up of your ammunition,” Batman’s gravelly voice demanded over the comms and into Jason’s helmet.
“What?!” Jason snapped back as he whipped his head towards the looming figure on the other end of the roof. The two shared the roof with Nightwing, Red Robin, and both Batgirls who had all joined forces to take down a major drug operation in the docks and were now debriefing along with Oracle over the comms.
“Those were not rubber bullets you used to gain entry to the rear door,” entoned the patronizing bat.
“No shit!” Jason shouted back in frustration. The anger rushed in like the tide to wipe out any semblance of satisfaction that had tried to take root. Fuck. He should have known tonight was too good. “Rubber bullets wouldn’t have worked — the fuck are you on about?”
“You are only to use rubber bullets if you’re working with us.”
Us. The word turned up the pulse of anger throbbing in his body. He could no longer stand straight. His arms began to jerk slightly and he felt himself shift weight from his left to right and back again.
“So this notarized contact says only gimmicky bat crap can shoot explosive projectiles?” It took every ounce of will power to spit out the retort without revealing that he could barely breathe. The whiplash of going from somewhat satisfied to full on rage was too much. He yanked his uncooperative body towards the nearest building and shot his grappling gun. “Fuck off,” he mumbled as he swung away.
After killing the comms, he focused on getting the fuck out of there as quickly as possible. But soon he had to slow down and switch arms. He had injured his shoulder a couple of nights ago taking down a stupid mugger. He was beginning to realize that the residual Lazarus effect was wearing out and uncovering some pretty shitty habits he’d gotten into. But no way was he going to tell them about it and had instead plowed through the night. And for what? To be questioned in front of the whole group like a not-so-good soldier?
His shoulder ached. He was thirsty. And the wave of rage had sucked his energy. He just wanted to be in one of his nicer safe houses — ideally one with something edible. Fuck. That was asking a lot.
He stumbled slightly and was glad no one could see him. Except, just as that thought was forming — Jason’s senses picked up on something.
It was coming from the rooftop only a narrow alley away. It was coming from a small figure hunched on the edge. It was coming from a head bowed over a scrap of something. It was…
“Demon Brat?”
Jason swore he heard an aborted sniffle. And then, to confirm everything, a very miffed response of “Ttt.”
But neither of them moved a muscle as they stared across the narrow alleyway.
Finally, Jason’s poor, disabused brain restarted. “Whatcha got there, Damie?” He motioned towards the scrap of what he now realized was a piece of paper.
Damian stood up quickly, “What are you doing here, Red Hood?” His chin shifted higher, “Did you bail on the others? If so, I will need to go and rescue them. I told Father you were unreliable.”
“I didn’t bail on anyone!” Wait, was he taking this obvious bait from a baby teen?
He backed up and then ran to leap onto Damian’s roof. Before the boy could defend himself — and that’s a sure sign something was up — Jason was able to grab the paper.
“Stop that this instant, Todd!” seethed Damian. But he seemed frozen in place as Jason scanned the document.
“What the fuck?” Jason had read the note quickly, but comprehension came much slower.
“It’s nothing!” Damian declared before crossing his arms, “Just a presumptuous teacher who should be reprimanded for her insolence!”
Jason finally looked up from the letter a teacher had sent to Bruce, although it probably never arrived. He gave a small nod at Damian. “You’re right, Damian. She literally calls you a brat in this! That’s not cool.”
Damian made what could have been called a shrug — or just a muscle spasm — and looked away. “Yes, well. She’s not the only one.”
Oof. Jason remembered his use of “Demon Brat” for tonight’s greeting. But, for a well-paid private school teacher — you’d think she could refrain from name-calling when reporting on behavioral issues. And there were definitely behavioral issues! Jason wasn’t dense. But he was also a brother. At least, in some sense. If he got to name-call and tease due to his shakey claim to brotherhood, then he should probably at least try to fulfill the kinder parts of the role as well.
“Fuck that!” Great start. “It’s a fucking honor when I say it!”
Damian turned back to him with a single, well-shaped eyebrow raised halfway up his forehead. Yeah. Pretty weak. But Jason could make this work.
“Come on!” Jason playfully chided Damian “I may not be the first Robin, but I’m definitely the first Brat of the Family!” A smile splashed over Jaosn’s face and he even pretended to preen, which thankfully lowered the baby teen’s eyebrow and perhaps caused a ghost of a smile.
“I mean, I only lost the title after the dip in the Green Lagoon caused a growth spurt! Now I’m just an asshole!” Wait, how was this helping? “So, you just have to grow up!” Ouch. Jason kind of heard what he was saying, but Damian heard it all.
“Tt” Damian sputtered and turned away angrily. “Alfred says I’m growing at the appropriate rate, Todd.”
Jason stared at the kid’s back. Where was Dick?
Finally, he reached up and took off his helmet to say softly, “Sorry, Damian.”
The baby teen looked halfway over his shoulder, “What for?”
For being shitty at conversations? At life? “For not having any good advice on how to stop people from calling us that.”
Damian slowly pivoted around towards Jason. “Dick does still call you a brat.”
He what now!? Jason bottled up the knee-jerk rage and instead nodded. “See? I still have a lot to learn!” Like how he was going to get back at Dicky! Nair in shampoo is a classic for a reason.
“So why don’t you?” asked Damian in perhaps the softest tone Jason had ever heard him use.
Running his hand through his hair, Jason struggled to think much less answer. But finally, he remembered the teacher’s recommendation.
“Because I haven’t made the effort.” Oh, God. What was he saying? What was he getting himself into? “Because I haven’t gotten…help.”
Damian’s green eyes locked with Jason’s. They both knew what they’re tiptoeing around and now it’s almost like a game of chicken. Who will break first? Will they break and run? Or will they actually break and … choose not to run?
Jason cleared his throat and tried to stand taller, but really he was just stalling. Perhaps there’s a joke he could make to get out of this. Could he start singing the Beatles song? And gawd, he’s so close to going that route. The quip was bubbling up his throat.
But he cleared it again.
“Because I need therapy.”
Whoa. Damian started blinking rapidly, but his eyes never left Jason’s. It’s not hard for Jason to read the incredulousness on his face. But, maybe there was something else there? A little spark of hope? What for? Was he hoping Jason would actually be able to help? How could he do that? He’s not a role model! His scarred mug couldn’t model anything good for this baby teen!
Could it?
“Yeah, therapy.” Oh, he’s doubling down. “You know, psychotherapy where a professional helps people figure…shit…out. And…be…happy?” And now he’s losing it. “Lay on the couch, talk about…moms.” Really, really losing it. “Uh, therapy!”
Damian’s eyebrow got back on that damn elevator and started rising. Jason’s losing him.
“Look,” Jason said forcefully as he put out his hand as if serving up some of Alfred’s cookies. The two looked at his hand before returning to stare at each other. “I need therapy and I think you might benefit from it as well,” Jason said at a rapidly increasing rate. “So, let’s challenge each other to it!”
“Challenge?”
Ah, that’s right. He was dealing with a baby assassin. Of course he’d respond to a challenge.
“Yes,” Jason affirmed in the clearest voice he’s ever used. “I challenge us to attend five therapy sessions each. You think you could handle that?” Now his eyebrow was on the elevator and it wouldn’t stop until it was in the forehead’s penthouse.
Damian’s stare turned into a full-on glare and boy, did Jason forget the power of that glare! He almost stepped back, but stood firm. This was important. “Five?”
“Don’t think you can handle it?”
Damian tt’ed like his life depended on it. “Of course, I could handle it! I am only concerned whether your weakened mental facilities could.”
Oh, Boy Wonder did that hurt! Jason snapped his mouth shut so hard there was a literal cracking sound. Not trusting himself, he didn’t unclench his jaw, but still forced out “Well, we’ll just have to see.”
The baby teen glared, but also raised his chin in what some might called agreement. “Very well.”