Archive of Our Own

Jason did not give Steph the address to one of his safehouses so that she could be an asshole about it. In case of emergency, he'd said, face flushed and weirdly sincere. Steph had teased him about it until he'd worked himself out of the funk he always gets into when he's too earnest about something, but she hadn't forgotten what he'd said after: Don't fuck this up, he'd told her. Don't invite any— and then he stopped, conspicuously, and she had to move the conversation along without poking at what he meant.

What he meant was don't invade. Don't misuse my trust. But Jason's still flighty on a good day and his trust, if it can even be called that, is an extraordinarily delicate thing. It's taken months to get to this point, months of poking and prodding leading to tentative team-ups and swapped cases. At first, Steph had only prodded him out of idle curiosity and a characteristic lack of self-preservation. Then, it had become a habit. And now she just kind of likes him. He's mean and weird and outright rude, but he never gives Steph those pitying, sideways looks or assumes there's something she can't do. She's hoping they can be friends, with starts with not taking advantage of what Jason's so cautiously handed her.

She is currently gored through the side, though, so. Probably one of those emergencies.

It takes an incredible amount of focus to punch the entry code into the window so whatever traps Jason has set up don't incinerate her as she carefully works her way inside, but she manages it because she has an indomitable will. Getting in without getting blood on the windowsill or carpet is trickier. She is a guest here, and also she's positive Jason is the kind of guy to get bitchy about carpet stains. It sort of is a lost cause, because man oh man is she losing a lot of blood.

"Whoops," she mutters, and then to Jason, wherever he may be. "I'll Venmo you. Just take it easy on me, alright?"

Now. If she were Jason's first aid kit, where the hell would she be? Steph's first aid kit is assorted bits and bobs scattered across her apartment, but Jason probably has a dedicated med set along with a dedicated place for it to go. Because he's a freak like that. Kitchen, maybe?

She's limping towards the pantry when the bedroom door swings open. Steph whirls around, nearly unbalancing entirely. The click of a disengaged safety echoes through the room. Jason Todd stares at her down the barrel of a gun.

Steph blinks. Jason blinks back. He lowers the gun. "What the fuck, Steph?"

"Heyyyyy," Steph says slowly. "Thought you would be. I don't know. Out." After all, it's only just barely morning, sky hazy with the oncoming sun. Steph would still have a good few hours left on the streets if she weren't hemorrhaging intensely out of her side.

He shifts slightly in the doorway. "Yeah. Well. Wrapped up early. What are you—"

"J'son?" A voice slurs from behind Jason's back. He stiffens, ramrod straight. "What'sit?"

Holy shit. Holy shit! Steph's grin splits across her face immediately. Jason Todd has somebody in his bedroom. In his bed, even! No wonder he wrapped up early. Somebody was wrapping up, alright. Jason Todd. Getting laid. Wow. Wonders never cease.

Jason takes one look at whatever shit-eating expression she's wearing and shuts the door.

"Come on, man," Steph says. Nothing. A voice rises up, but it's not Jason's, and Steph's head is too fuzzy to make out what's being said. Steph shuffles over and bangs one palm against the door. Oh. That's the bloodied one. "Whoops. I just need your first aid kit, okay?"

Silence. Another muffled piece of conversation. This time, Steph strains hard enough to hear Jason saying, "Stop making that face."

"You can't even see my face," Steph says, baffled. "I'll be—ow, son of a bitch—out of your hair in a bit. Just as soon as I slap something over this stupid fucking—"

The door opens again. "—Not making any faces," the guy is saying, and it is indeed a guy—another fun new fact about Jason Todd; although maybe not a particularly surprising one. "Shut up. I'm doing shit." He turns back to Steph and pushes an absolutely wild mess of sleep-mussed curls away from his head with a huge, exasperated sigh. "Hey."

"Hey," Steph says, baffled. He's short enough that Steph has to blink down at him, but he holds her gaze steadily, even as he rubs at the bruising circles hollowing out his eye sockets.

"Happy day off to me," he sing-songs. Jason, hanging around in the background, drags a tired hand down his own face. "How bad is it?"

"Uh," Steph says. "You're being really nonchalant about this."

He jerks a thumb back. "Well, I've met him, haven't I?"

"Fuck you," Jason says, and without looking, the guy shoots off a middle finger.

"How bad," he asks again. "Scale of one to ten. Are we talking paper cut or will reading?"

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Steph mutters.

"That's the first thing I always say about him," Jason deadpans. "Ray of sunshine."

"Go to hell," the guy says. Jason coughs into his fist. "Are you dying or what?"

"Probably depends on the next thirty minutes," Steph says honestly. She peels a hand back from the wound and—yep! That's a lot of blood!

The guy hisses sharply, and until Steph learns his name she's just going to have to call him Jason's boytoy. That's just how things are going to have to be. Anyway. Jason's boytoy is now putting a firm hand on her shoulder and pushing her towards the couch.

"Let me get a better look at that," he mutters as he sits her down. Steph has no choice but to roll with it. He's surprisingly authoritative for a three A.M. vigilante encounter. Maybe that's why Jason likes him. Speaking of—

"She's gonna get blood on my couch," Jason says, stalking past them both and into the kitchen.

"That's a lost cause," Boytoy says, carefully peeling back a layer of Steph's uniform. Steph bites down hard on her lower lip, but the tiniest pained hiccup still slips out. He glances up at her once, then takes it slower. "That was always going to be a lost cause. That's why I told you to get—"

"The black one, I know." Jason's rummaging around in some drawer. "You only said it a million fucking times."

"But no," Boytoy says, drawing out the vowel. "You had to go for shitstain brown."

"Hey," Jason says. "The saleslady said it had a homey aura."

Boytoy scoffs. "Homey aura." He clicks his tongue as he squints at Steph's side, which has been gaping the entire time they've been bickering. "Jay, do you have a—" Something whacks him upside the head. "Jesus Christ—

"It's the penlight," Jason's hissing. "You were going to ask for your stupid fucking asshole penlight—"

"Would it kill you again to say incoming?" Boytoy snaps. Steph blinks. Again, he says. Like he knows. Like Jason's told him. "Or, God forbid, to walk over and hand it to me—"

"You're the one who called my couch a shitstain," Jason snaps back.

"Why have one injury to deal with one you could have two?" Boytoy continues, throwing one hand out towards the kitchen. He rolls his eyes at something Jason's doing that Steph can't see because she is potentially mortally injured on Jason's stupid shitstain couch. "Oh, very mature."

"Hey, this is super charming and all," Steph says. "But I am still losing a lot of blood. So. If you guys have any ideas."

Boytoy sighs, still aggrieved, before he clicks the penlight on. "Yeah, yeah. I hear you. You wanna tell me how this happened?"

"I don't know if I do," Steph says. She sucks in a sharp breath as Boytoy gently prods around the edges of the wound. "Kind of getting the impression you might be a judgy person."

Boytoy's expression contorts in offense. From the kitchen, Jason says, "He is."

"You are the biggest hypocrite alive," Boytoy says, flashing the penlight Jason's way.

"Besides," Steph continues. "I met you, like, five minutes ago. I don't know if I want you anywhere near my insides. What are your credentials, even?"

Boytoy opens his mouth, but Jason says, like Steph is ridiculous for even daring to ask: "He's NREMT certified."

"Okay, so I don't know what that means when I'm not gushing blood," Steph says.

"I'm a paramedic," Boytoy says, giving Jason a narrow-eyed look before he twists back to Steph. "And I also have extensive experience in vigilante bullshit."

Well, yeah. He's wearing this metal band hoodie that's way too big on him, but it would fit perfectly on Jason. He helped Jason pick out the couch, apparently. He knows that Jason's died, he knows about Jason's nightlife. He was in Jason's bed. Just a handful of random, cute little details Steph is noticing.

"Oh," she says. "I bet you do."

"Pretty clean, I'm not seeing any residue or shrapnel," Boytoy mutters, peering into the mess of blood and flesh. "You got pierced or stabbed with something?"

"Mugger got lucky," Steph admits. "Little shit."

"You got lucky," Boytoy says. "It didn't perforate any organs. Thank God, because I don't think Jason has any kidneys on hand."

"If I weren't in unspeakable pain, I would have laughed at that," Steph tells him.

Boytoy's lips twitch upwards. "Thanks. I'm about to ruin your burgeoning good will, though. You absolutely need stitches."

"Yeah, well." Steph blows out a breath. "Figures."

"So I need disinfectant, gauze, a needle, gloves," Boytoy says. "Jason, do you—"

"Disinfectant." Jason has apparently emerged from the kitchen—yay for Steph being right about Jason's first aid kid situation—and is now tossing medical items in Boytoy's general direction, ignoring his sputters. "Gauze. Needle. Gloves. Localized painkiller, too. You're welcome, Steph."

Steph gives him a thumbs-up. Boytoy holds a syringe up to the light. "Pretty sure you're not supposed to have hospital-grade lidocaine just laying around in your house."

"Well, it comes in handy, doesn't it?" Jason says.

Boytoy tilts his head to one side in concession as he neatly snaps on a pair of nitrile gloves. "Whatever. Hold this."

He shoves the penlight Jason's way. Jason lets out a long-suffering sigh, but he takes it without another word, crouching down by Boytoy's shoulder and casting the light towards Steph's midriff.

"You're going to feel a slight pinprick," Boytoy says to Steph as he tears the sterile plastic off the syringe. "Three, two—"

He slides it in easily. The numbness spreads almost immediately, turning the throbbing, raging pain into a manageable ache. Steph sighs in relief. "Ah, yeah. That's the good stuff."

Boytoy turns to Jason and says, "How come I don't get the hospital-grade lidocaine?"

Jason makes some hopeless, exasperated gesture with the penlight. "Percy. What the fuck would you do with hospital-grade lidocaine?"

So his name's Percy, apparently. Cute. Steph bids a tender farewell to the boytoy nickname, which wasn't really that fitting to begin with because it's becoming increasingly clear the only boytoy around here is the mass murderer placidly shining a flashlight over capital-B Boytoy—Percy's—shoulder.

Percy's scoffing as he takes up a bottle of disinfectant and a clump of gauze. "Cleaning up your messes. What else?" To Steph, he says: "This is gonna hurt like a bitch, but it's the quickest way out. You ready?"

Steph grits her teeth together. "Fuck me up, baby."

He does. "Three, two—"

Well, he didn't lie! It certainly hurts like a bitch. Steph hisses out a long, shaking breath, letting the pain crash over her and fade out. She barely even notices Percy wiping away at the surrounding skin through the burn.

"Okay," he says. "That'll have to do." Now he's threading up an intimidatingly large needle. "Ideally you'd be doing this in an actual hospital—"

Steph waves a lazy hand dismissively. "Pshaw. Hospital's for losers."

"So exactly where you all belong," Percy says, faux-sweet.

"Ouch," Steph says.

"And I haven't even stuck you yet," Percy says, but he's clearly gearing up to do just that. "Going in. Three, two—"

He slips the needle into Steph's flesh. The lidocaine plus peroxide combo have rendered the wound pretty numb, but the pressure of metal through skin isn't something Steph's ever gotten used to. She breathes in, and then out.

"You never count me in," Jason observes into the silence.

"You fucking deserve it," Percy says, and then he reaches up to yank at Jason's wrist. Jason just lets himself be jerked around by some small, shitty off-duty paramedic. "I need the light over here, Christ."

"You are completely impossible," Jason says. He can't see the small, quickly suppressed grin that flits across Percy's face, but Percy can't see the essentially fond smile that's settling over Jason's. He catches Steph looking. He scowls.

Interesting. Very interesting.

"So," Steph says, heroically upbeat despite the suture pulling at her side. "This is a very fascinating pairing here. Wow. I mean, you—Percy, was it?"

"That's me," Percy says flatly. "The one and only."

Jason coughs into his fist. "I'll say."

Steph can see an oncoming derailment in the reactionary twitch in Percy's eyebrow. She plunges forward. "So. Percy. There are a lot of questions I could ask here, don't get me wrong."

What the fuck is your deal is one of them. Another good one is, How do you get to the point where you're comfortable bitching with the fucking Red Hood about upholstery choices? A related one is, Why do you know who the fucking Red Hood is? If Steph is tired of living, she can also try, Why are you fucking the Red Hood, with the clear implication that it's Percy doing the fucking and not the other way around, because. Well. It is. At this point, Jason will deservedly kill her and he and Percy will go back to yelling about couches or something.

But Steph's decided she wants to make it through the night, so instead she settles on the significantly simpler, "How did you guys even meet, anyway?"

"Ha," Percy says. "Haha."

Jason puts his face into his elbow. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Percy's pulling and cutting and tying, moving through the stitches with impressive speed for a guy who got woken up in the early hours of the morning and elected to patch up a maniac he doesn't know. "This is a great story," he says, with a slightly discomfiting grin for somebody who's got a needle digging around in Steph's innards. "I never get to tell this story."

"We did technically meet at work," Jason mutters.

"That's an understatement and you know it," Percy says, and then, "Jason, my light's drifting—"

"Christ alive," Jason says, but he adjusts.

"So picture this," Percy says to Steph. "It's my first shift in a new part of town. It's hour eight of twelve. I'm strung out studying for my PMD certification. There are a million other things I could list, you get the gist."

"Sure, sure," Steph says. "Bad time for, you know." A significant look towards Jason. "Vigilante bullshit."

"Okay," Jason says. "He's setting this up like it was my fault, but I'm not the one who saw the notorious crime lord get shot and—"

"My job," Percy says, like he's said it a million and one times before, jabbing towards Jason with the hand not holding the needle. "I was doing my fucking job. How the hell was I supposed to know about your stupid—Easter reenactment?"

"Easter reenactment," Steph echoes, with a snort. "That's pretty good."

Jason scoffs. "It's reductionist, is what it is."

"It's reductionist," Percy says, in a pretty spot on impersonation of Jason's baritone. "God, you are a parody of yourself. Anyway. He broke my fucking nose."

"Holy shit!" Steph says, with a gleeful grin she can't quite help. Percy nods solemnly. Jason cranes his head up towards the ceiling for a savior that isn't coming.

"Here I was," Percy continues, weighted and meaningful; although it's betrayed by the smug little smile he can't seem to shake. "Trying to help a hopeless case. And he comes right back up into my face and completely shatters my nasal bone."

"Jason," Steph says, reprimandingly. Percy shakes his head as if in shame.

"I don't like that you guys met," Jason says. "I don't like that you guys are getting along."

"Tough," Percy says.

"I set it for you," Jason says. "That very same night!"

"You grabbed my face and wrenched it back into place!"

"Yeah," Jason says, and Steph swears his voice is taking on a fonder, almost wistful cast. "That was the first time you called me a cunt."

"Aw," Steph says. Cute. They're very cute. "All that, and you still ended up having sex with him."

The room goes terribly, conspicuously quiet.

Jason is suddenly absorbed with a healing bruise on his bicep. Percy is squinting at the last stitch along Steph's gash, like he's been this focused this entire time.

"What?" Steph says. "Am I not supposed to talk about the fact that you guys were really obviously in bed together earlier?"

"Almost done," Percy says, ignoring her entirely. "Just going to bandage this up a bit, but the worst of it is over."

Jason is still very studiously not meeting Steph's pointed gaze, no matter how hard she waggles her eyebrows. Sue her for being curious. Unfortunately for him, he's never met an emotion he couldn't project into space. He won't stop looking at Percy, who's completely honed in on plastering gauze to Steph's side with his bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth. Jason will look at him and then away and then back again. His face is bright fucking red. Completely thransparent.

"Okay," Percy says finally, as Jason continues to refuse to acknowledge Steph's waggling eyebrows. "Think we're done here." He looks up at Steph with a bright, crooked grin. "Congratulations. You won't die tonight."

"Yay." Steph makes a disinterested attempt at jazz hands. "Seeing as how I am not capable of Easter reenactments." Jason just huffs and rolls his eyes.

"However," Percy says, shooting a glare Jason's way. "If somebody sends her rocketing back into the streets—"

"I'm not kicking her out!" Jason says, tossing one hand up towards the heavens. "Christ, Perce, what do you think I am—"

"An asshole," Percy says flatly. "A misanthrope to boot."

"Oh, like you're an exemplar," Jason says. Percy smiles angelically. Jason looks up at the ceiling. "Man, come on. Fuck off."

"Okay, but—" Steph pushes herself up on her elbows, ignoring the pain that immediately lances through her side. "I'm not going to put you guys out. I'm gonna get out of your hair—"

"Shut up," Percy and Jason say, in exact unison.

Steph flops back down on the couch with a huff. "Getting the impression you guys make each other worse."

"He fucking wishes," Percy says.

"What does that even mean?" Jason asks.

Percy doesn't answer him as he peels off one of the bloody gloves with his teeth. Personally, Steph finds this super gross, but Jason has to swallow and look away again, which is just. So incredibly embarrassing for him.

"What a fucking night," Percy says, leveraging himself up with a hand braced on Jason's shoulder. "Jay, the one time we're at your place, I swear to God."

"You're the one who said it was closer," Jason mutters, not quite low enough for Steph not to catch.

"I can't always be right," Percy says.

"Can I get that in writing?" Jason says.

Percy grins toothily. "No." He raps a knuckle against the crown of Jason's forehead. "Quit asking, dipshit." And now they're both grinning at each other, silly and messy and careless, like they're the only people in the room. Steph gets a front row seat to this for another second or so before Percy says, "Okay! Gonna go clean up. Get our guest some bedding, so she's not thugging it out on your stupid shitstain couch."

"Stop disparaging my couch," Jason says, but Percy only gives him an over-the-back middle finger before he disappears back into the bedroom. Jason sighs softly. Steph whistles and Jason turns back to her, already exasperated. "Fuck off, Brown."

Of course, Steph ignores him. "He's nice."

"No, he's not," Jason says instantly, almost defensive.

"Well, no," Steph says. "But that's why you like him."

Jason tucks his chin into his shoulder and stays tellingly silent.

"Ah," Steph says. "It's pretty bad, huh?"

"It's not—" Jason exhales harshly, frustrated, still not looking her in the eye. "It's, you know. Casual."

It takes Steph a second to process this. "Casual," she says at last. "You? You of all people are doing the friends with benefits thing?"

"That's what he said," Jason snaps, sudden and revealing. "That's what he—" He cuts himself off, puts his face into his hands and then looks back up to say, "It's not like I've ever done this before, alright?"

Steph nods sympathetically. "Right, yeah," she says. "Red Hood the turbo virgin."

"Oh my fucking God." Jason tilts his head back towards the ceiling. "I should have let you bleed out on the fire escape."

"Did he take your virginity?" Steph wonders aloud. Jason's face reaches a new, alarming shade of crimson. "Oh my God, he did. He did take your virginity."

"That's not—" Jason starts and then he sighs again, sharp and short. "Whatever. That's not the point. Shut up. It's not like you can even talk."

Wuh-oh. Now Steph is the one who can't make eye contact. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Everybody fucking knows about you and Cass," Jason says. Steph groans, throwing her arm over her eyes. "Even I know about you and Cass. You don't get to waltz into my house and tell me about how I need to handle my—" He pauses, takes a bracing breath. "My relationships. Not when you've got some wacko sapphic situationship going on in the background."

"Next time you die, I hope you stay dead," Steph blurts, on some terrible instinct. Jason blinks at her. Shit. She's fucked up. Fucked it all over before it got the chance to start."Um. I mean—"

Before she can even hope to take it back, Jason's busting out into absolutely racous laughter. "Fuck, Steph," he says, in-between laughs. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Man," Steph says. "I wish I fucking knew."

Somehow, this sets Jason off again, and Steph helplessly wheezes along with him. It's two shitty, shitty people losing their minds at the end of a long fucking day. It's almost like they're friends.

Percy wanders out of the bedroom, blankets in hand. "You have a surprisingly robust bedding section for a twenty-something who lives alone," he says to Jason, before he tosses said bedding Steph's way. "This guy would make a killing on HGTV."

Steph snorts. "Yeah, no kidding. This place is pretty well put-together for some random safehouse."

Jason's giving her a really weird look. "Safehouse?"

"Do I have to explain to you the concept of a safehouse?" Steph says dryly. "A random fucking apartment you rent under a fake name so you have somewhere to hole up when there's a lot of heat on you and-slash-or holes in your body. Any of that sound familiar?"

"Well, yeah," Jason says, still with that mystified expression. "But this isn't—"

"This isn't one of his dank little hidey-holes," Percy explains.

"Hey." Jason is immediately distracted, looking up to Percy with a scowl. "Some of those places are really nice."

"And some of them have rats," Percy says, like he's said it before. "You could could get the Black Plague, Jay."

Jason scoffs. "That's not even a thing anymore."

Percy opens his mouth again, but Steph says, "Wait. Hold on." Her brain has to sluggishly pull itself from one thought to the next. "So what, you gave me the address to, like. Your actual house?"

Handing your tenuous coworker the address to one of your many safehouses is one thing. There's nothing particularly personal about it. But Jason, as intensely private as he is, had given Steph—of all people—the location of his actual house, where he hangs out with his actual boyfriend or whatever the fuck it is they call themselves. To Steph.

Jason just shrugs. Percy gives out the actually relevant information in his stead. "Home base," he says, sweeping the medical detritus back into the kit. "The real deal. Convenient for me, because my place is only, what? Four blocks down?"

"Three," Jason says.

That's cute and all, but Steph has more pressing concerns, namely— "Does anybody…else know where you live?"

By else she means, of course, the Bats. Jason's reaction is immediate, shoulders winding up tight. Percy is watching him from the corner of his eye.

"Fuck if I know," Jason says, tone turning sharp. "Probably. Got to keep an eye on me, right?"

"Okay," Steph says, slowly. "But...you told me."

Jason's shoulders twitch in place. "I don't know," he says. "You're not so bad. I would feel kind of shitty if you bled out in a ditch somewhere." Steph grins. Like he likes her. Like he wants to keep her around. Miraculously, Jason smiles back.

"Yeah," Percy says into the beat of silence, snapping the med kit shut. "Instead you just get to bleed out on this stupid fucking couch."

"What did my couch ever do to you," Jason says, even as he lets Percy pull him off of the ground. "Seriously. You have this completely unwarranted vendetta—"

"It's fucking ugly," Percy says, wandering into the kitchen. Jason is, of course, right behind him. Steph settles herself in on Jason's very brown but admittedly cozy couch and shamelessly eavesdrops on the quiet conversation going on behind her. "Listen. I was thinking—"

"That's never good," Jason says.

Percy snorts, and then Steph has to strain to hear what he's saying next. "—just head home. I mean, you've already got—"

"What are you talking about," Jason says. "You have work tomorrow. By the time you get home you would have, what? Five hours worth of sleep?

"Well," Percy says. "Yeah. But—"

"Perce," Jason says, and then he says something so quietly that Steph doesn't catch it all. She hears Percy inhale softly, and then say: "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," Jason says, sounding relieved.

Already, Steph's falling into sleep. Turns out, being stabbed and then stitched-up your sort-of friend and his bitchy sort-of boyfriend takes a lot out of you. Jason comes out of the kitchen and says something along the lines of, "Good night, Brown," to which Steph responds with some noise that could technically be called a standard unit of speech. Percy says something like, "Softie." Jason says, "Shut up," and then the bedroom door clicks shut and Steph drops off into nothingness.

Jason wakes up fifteen minutes before his alarm. Initially, he means to stay in bed, with Percy pressed against his back. But then he remembers that he's got three people who need feeding, thanks to Steph's early morning intrusion, and it's probably better to get started on that sooner rather than later.

Percy grips reflexively at Jason's hips when Jason moves away, but he'll be dead to the world for at least another thirty minutes. His hair is completely stupid this early in the day, mussed up around the back of his head in a way that almost defies physics. It shifts and falls over his slack, sleeping face as he presses back into the pillow, making some totally nonsensical noise.

Jason pushes a curl away from his open mouth, rests his knuckles on his cheek. Stares at him for one beat, then two, and then moves on.

Surprisingly, Steph is awake when he walks out, sitting up straight on the couch and casting these weird glances towards the window.

"If you're thinking of going the normal way," Jason says. "Percy will find out and he will fucking end you." Steph still looks like she's considering it, completely oblivious to the very real gravity of the threat. "Also, you won't get any breakfast."

"Oh shit, breakfast," Steph says, and she does not, thankfully, take a jump out the window.

Percy comes out exactly thirty minutes later, just like Jason predicted. He stands in the middle of the room for a very long time, looking at Steph with sightless, bleary eyes.

"Uh," Steph says. "Is he—"

"You just gotta give him a minute," Jason says. "He's not exactly a morning person. For a given definition of morning."

Percy wakes up just enough to give Jason a middle finger and a slurred, "Fuck you," before he's retreating back into the bedroom. When he comes out fifteen minutes later, he's significantly closer to awake and put together. He's brushed his hair and everything. He's put on the bottom half of his paramedic uniform, but up top he's only wearing this thin white tank top that is sort of starting to haunt Jason's every waking moment. He's got these incredible arms and shoulders, is the thing. If Jason thinks about it too hard, he has to sit down.

Before Jason knows it, Steph is standing in the doorway wearing one of Jason's too-big outfits over her Spoiler uniform. If she's anything like Percy, Jason will literally never see any of those clothes again. Jason hadn't even remembered he'd ever owned that band hoodie until Percy had inserted himself into Jason's patrol and said—because he's a piece of shit—well, hello there stranger. Fancy seeing you here. Jason hadn't noticed the pilfered hoodie at the time. He'd been too distracted by the sight of Percy, catcalling the Red Hood from a street corner like an idiot, when he was supposed to be at home in bed on his one night off this week.

I mean, Percy had said, when Jason had very reasonably brought this up. I know a pretty reliable way to wear ourselves out.

Jason had caved pretty much instantly. Cut off patrol early to follow Percy into the apartment, let Percy push him back against the bed and suck bruises into his collarbone, let himself pretend this wasn't just because Percy was restless from insomnia and Jason was the nearest warm body. Like maybe it was because Percy had missed him over the two entire days they hadn't seen each other. Like maybe it was because Percy wanted him—

Anyway. Jason blinks himself back to the present. Percy stands in the doorway right in front of Steph, counting off instructions on his fingers.

"—keep that as dry as you can," he's saying. "No strenuous activity. Yes, that you means you keep the night work down to a minimum. I'm not stupid enough to think I could get any of you to stop for actual recuperation. God forbid." He hasn't pulled his hair back this morning, and Jason watches as he runs one hand up through his curls to push them back, brow twisted up in thought. "Let's see. What else?"

He's very beautiful. It's not like this is new to Jason, but it manages to knock him on his ass every time he remembers it. Percy's curling split ends—desperately in need of a trim—brush against the top of his shoulder blades. Somehow, this squeezes the breath out of Jason's lungs worse than any kick to the chest ever has.

"Well, gee," Steph says, and Jason is alarmed to notice that she's grinning directly at him, too knowing by half. "Sort of sounds like the gist of this is do the opposite of whatever Jason would do."

Percy points at her. "Yes. That. That's a good instinct."

"I let you into my home," Jason says. "And this is how you repay me?"

Steph just shrugs. Percy, for his part, gives Jason a brilliant grin over his shoulder. Jason blows out a breath and takes a dish into the kitchen. "Fuck the both of you."

There's another few seconds of quieter chatter Jason can't quite make out, and then Steph's shouting, "—gonna head out. Thank you, Jason."

"Watch yourself around the knives next time," Jason says.

"Whatever," Steph says. "See you around, Perce."

"Yeah, yeah," Percy says. "You too, Steph."

The door shuts. It's just Jason and Percy again. Percy sighs to himself, still in the doorway. Jason turns on the sink.

"You know," Percy says finally, and when Jason looks up he's in the entryway to the kitchen, hands in hips. "I think I kind of like her."

Jason raises an eyebrow Percy's way. "Really?"

"Now why in the hell would you say it like that," Percy says.

"Perce, I can count on one hand the number of people you actually like," Jason says, putting a plate into the dishwasher.

"Not true." Percy slides a mug across the counter to Jason. Jason catches it, rinses out the coffee. "Categorically not true." A beat. "I like my mom."

Jason snorts. "Shannon doesn't count because she's your mom." Percy opens his mouth furiously. "Becca doesn't count either, because she's your sister and you only like her sometimes."

"She's fourteen," Percy says defensively. "It's not my fault she's an asshole by trade."

"Bassett you respect. She wouldn't have lasted this long as your boss otherwise. But that doesn't necessarily mean you like her," Jason continues. Percy scoffs. "Not all the time."

"Well." Percy picks at a stain on the countertop. "She's very naggy."

"Okay, well," Jason says. "You're also an idiot, to be fair."

"Is this any way to talk to your house guest?" Percy asks.

Jason ignores him because he is, as per usual, being patently ridiculous. "And then there are your coworkers."

"Oh God," Percy groans.

"I mean, sure, you get along with some of them okay," Jason continues. "But those aren't the ones you bitch about enough that I know them by name."

"Fuck Tobias Lovell," Percy says, suddenly heated.

"Exactly," Jason says. "Thank you for proving my point." In his peripheral vision, he sees Percy roll his eyes. "So that's two people, if I decide to count your mom and Becca. Three, if I'm feeling extra generous and count Bassett as well. And now four, because apparently we've added Steph to the roster."

Percy says, "Five."

When Jason looks up, Percy is right at his shoulder. Jason's had years and years of carefully honed training and lived experience building up his situational awareness, and yet Percy manages to slip in through the cracks. What does that say?

"Five," Jason echoes, running back through Percy's social circle. "Who would be five?"

Percy tilts his head like Jason is a charming but particularly stupid dog. "What do you think, Jay?"

He's swaying just a few degrees closer, his chest almost braced against Jason's side. Close enough that Jason could just—lean over and kiss him. Not to start anything. Just for the sake of kissing him.

But that's not what they're doing here. Percy asked for casual, and Jason gives him what he asks for. It's better than not having him at all. He turns off the sink, looks down to Percy, and says, "I think it kind of sounds like you're angling for something."

Percy blinks, before grins that awful, shithead grin, the one with the crooked canine that leaves Jason embarrassingly stupefied every time. "Well, you know," Percy says, and now he's bracketing Jason against the counter, all 5'6" of him crowding Jason's bulk up over the sink, bracing his arms on either side. Jason, of course, lets him. "If you insist."

"Very selfless of you," Jason mutters. He's hooking one finger through Percy's belt loop, careful like sliding his finger over the trigger. He never knows which unnecessary touch is going to be the thing that makes Percy pull back and go, hey, wait, wasn't this supposed to be easy?

It isn't this time, thank God. Instead, Percy says, "Uh-huh," and then, "You do pretty okay."

"Hm?" Jason says, distracted by the way Percy's biceps brush up against his.

"Five," Percy says again, which is a non-sequitur until he follows it up with, "You do alright."

Jason grins, helpless and stupid. There's something so very warming about slipping into the rare, treasured auspices of Percy's affection, no matter how it's packaged. He says, "Five is still all one hand—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Percy says, and then he cuts Jason off mid-sentence by pushing up to kiss him. Sweet and almost lazy. Jason slides the hand on Percy's waist around and up his back, just to have him that tiniest bit closer. It never becomes routine. Never stops feeling like the half-second of freefall before the grapple line goes taut, like he's over-oxygenated and breathless all at once. Percy presses up against him and Jason is wholly, helplessly alive.

"Hey," Jason says, after what could be seconds or minutes and years. "Don't you have work?"

He is so fucking selfless, to remind Percy of that in this moment. Percy doesn't seem to think so, biting a reprimand down into Jason's lower lip.

"Who gives a shit about work," Percy says. He sounds like he's been running a marathon which is—heady, to say the least.

"You do," Jason reminds him. The only thing Percy loves more than making Jason's life more difficult is the work he does as Gotham's scrappiest and most dedicated paramedic. Percy sighs. "But hey. We'd get ten, maybe fifteen extra minutes if we took my bike—"

"Oh, hell no," Percy says, pulling back. "That thing is a fucking death trap, are you kidding me?"

"I've never died on it," Jason says. "For whatever that's worth."

Not much, judging by Percy's flat, doubtful glare. "I only get one shot," he says. "And I want to go out in a more dignified way than crashing out on your stupid shithead bike—"

"Hey, come on." Jason's half-laughing, knocking a knuckle underneath Percy's chin. "Like I would let anything happen to you."

It's truer than Percy knows. When he had woken up last night, he hadn't known it was just Steph banging around in the living room. All he had known was that there was somebody in his house, and Jason wasn't thinking about Red Hood or Sofia or anything else they could have been there for. All that mattered was Percy, draped over his spine, breathing muzzily and unbothered into the nape of Jason's neck. He was thinking about it this morning when he woke up and he's still thinking about it now, as Percy blinks up at him with wide brown eyes.

"Yeah," Percy says finally. Jason drops his hand a beat too late. Percy clears his throat. "You're—a stubborn shit like that."

"Takes one to know one," Jason says.

Percy smiles, a little softer. Stupidly, Jason smiles back. Percy lets out a long, theatrical sigh and says, "Fucking fine. We'll do the bike, but if you kill me, I reserve the right to be pissed about it."

Jason pinches at his hip. "You're not going to die, you absolute drama queen."

"Takes one to know one," Percy chirps. Asshole. He's pushing himself up again, hanging just an inch away from Jason's lips. "Fifteen extra minutes. What do we even do with—"

Of course, Jason kisses him. Percy's laughing into his mouth as Jason slides a hand up his shirt, settling it against his warm, flexing shoulder blades. He's beautiful and almost impossibly perfect, and for at least fifteen more minutes, Jason has him. It can't last forever but, well.

Jason will take what he can get.