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Despite the fact that Damian had been living with his new ‘family’ for just over the better half of a year, their idiocy never ceased to amaze him.
Though he loathed to admit it, Damian was still a child — everyone in the household often reminded him as much — but a dignified one at that. The people he’d been condemned to suffer were disappointing at best and entirely ignoble at worst. They acted with no regard for their image or status as Wayne children — though he supposed that none of them shared the same true, undeniable blood the way he did.
Father was competent, and Grayson seemed generally intelligent whenever he stopped by, but the rest of them? Positively deplorable.
Drake and Todd were simply…obnoxious, perhaps. Cain had moved out a few months ago, having completed her high school career, and she was respectable enough, but the other two fools in the house were dim.
That much was clear to Damian, and though they were older, and theoretically more experienced, they proved time and time again to be just barely deserving of respect.
He knew for certain that Mother never would have left him in such dismal company had she been aware of just how dense they truly were.
Drake tested Damian’s patience quite often, though Todd drove him just as crazy, on occasion.
In particular: the occasion such as an average Tuesday night, at the perfectly unreasonable hour of two forty-seven in the morning.
Damian had simply gotten out of bed to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchen after an inability to sleep, only to be greeted by a dark, slumped-over figure propped against the kitchen counter. He reacted immediately by turning towards the shadow and certainly did not do so with a yelp or any other undignified sound and put up a defensive posture despite his small stature.
Having come from the League, Damian prided himself on his ability to detect stealth and presence before it became an issue, but he hadn’t even woken to the sound of this person entering the house. He supposed it could be attributed to the torrential storm raging outside the kitchen window — courtesy of the dark clouds that had rolled in earlier that evening — but the point still stood that he had missed it.
It would be concerning if it were not so dishonorable.
The child had to squint to make out any features of the figure in the kitchen, and for a moment he worried thought that he would have to enact the self-defense methods Mother had drilled into him, but a closer look swiftly stripped him of apprehension.
Upon closer inspection, the shadow leaning against the counter was familiar. Their stature wasn’t particularly tall, but they were sure in their stance and what Damian could make of their face was a strong, recognizable jawline, topped with a scruffy head of hair that was unmistakable, even in its current state of disorder.
Against the kitchen counter, dripping puddles onto the linoleum floor, looking for all the world like a soaked roll of toilet paper, was one Jason Todd.
Damian scoffed, standing straighter as he flicked on the light above the stove.
“Todd. What brings you to the kitchen in such a sorry state, at such an hour?” he asked evenly, perturbed but not particularly surprised by the state he had found the older boy in.
“Nun ‘a your business, shortstack,” replied a sopping wet teen, accent slipping through under the pretense of annoyance that was (very poorly) concealing an emotion Damian couldn’t quite place. It was typical of Todd to hide behind masks of irritation, but it was unlike the older boy to let it slip so easily, especially in his presence.
“Tt. I am a perfectly acceptable height for my age — but that is not the point. Why are you leaving a mess all over the kitchen? Have you no decency?” It was awfully unbecoming of the third-eldest Wayne child to be so careless of cleanliness or mess, especially considering Todd’s affinity for Pennyworth.
“Well, ‘m not sure if ya noticed, but it’s kinda fuckin’ pouring out there, genius. Not exactly my fault.”
Todd’s responses were often sharp, but it seemed that tonight in particular was yielding even sharper ones, if the edge in Todd’s voice was any indication. Of course, individuals sharing a home were bound to get into conflicts — Damian was well aware — but usually Todd kept the ire in his attitude directed at abstract things rather than others in the household.
It seemed that tonight, however, everything was subject to the older boy’s irritation. It was curious, seeing as Todd tended to brush things off when he was not in the mood to tease. The other boy was fond of antagonizing his family, but very rarely did things truly agitate him. The only things Damian was aware of that genuinely irked Todd were the other children at school, and Father, on occasion.
The point was, it was a touch unusual to see Todd so thoroughly upset by something. It wasn’t an act, either. Damian could tell by the extra tension in the taller boy’s shoulders and the way his jaw tightened with the effort of keeping an illusion of nonchalance.
Quite frankly, it was unnerving.
Fortunately, Damian was plenty proficient in getting the answers he wanted from people in little time. He just had to figure out the source of Todd's annoyance, and it would be over with, and they could both go back to resting. It was obvious to him that Todd required many more hours of sleep than he had been getting lately.
“Yes, well, if you cannot control the weather, you could at least control where you drip, no?”
“...Are you serious? You sound like Alfred. It’s water, it’ll evaporate,” was Todd’s answer, accompanied graciously by a scoff and a deepened scowl. Damian found the response to be childish, but Todd was clearly not thinking as he usually did. Something was bothering him, and quite badly at that, to have him dismiss his mess.
Despite it being least expected of Todd, he was the one who always fussed most about making sure he left no mess. Shoes were left by the door, dishes were rinsed and placed neatly in the dishwasher, and his room was almost neater than Father’s. Damian was fairly certain it was part of a complex sustained from Todd’s time on the streets, but he knew better than to bring it up. Snapping at the heels of an agitated tiger was a fool’s game, and Damian certainly was no fool.
“...What’re you doin’ up anyway, kid? I didn’t wake ya, did I?” Todd looked nearly remorseful at the thought, his glower lightening into a milder pinch of irritation that creased between his brows.
“No. Annoyingly, you are quite adequate in stealth when you so desire.” It was true, and it was eerie how someone as loud-mouthed and crude as Todd could be so quiet. Of course, he had the advantage of the heavy thunderstorm outside, but it was still something of note (much as Damian loathed to admit it).
“Soooo…then?” Todd urged, raising an inquisitive brow to emphasize his antagonizing. Damian found it interesting how expressive Todd’s face could be when it wasn’t fixed in a permanent scowl. Most of the time, the older boy’s lips were settled in a frown, and the only times Damian could recall seeing a smile on that sour face were the times Alfred visited. Those days, Todd helped to prepare dinner whilst they chatted. It was curious, Todd’s fixation with domestic tasks such as cooking.
“So, I simply could not sleep. I came to retrieve a glass of water. Instead, I find a scoundrel dirtying the kitchen, seemingly after a night out, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Ya got me, kid. I was out. Good luck blabbin’ to Bruce, though. If ya do, you’ll hafta explain why you were up, too.” Well. That was one way to ensure Damian’s silence. On the other hand, it was obnoxious that Todd assumed Damian was entitled enough to tattle.
He was far more mature than that, and — for Todd’s information — he was more curious about the reason for the older boy’s absence than interested in any kind of repercussions. He had assumed Todd knew that Damian’s favorite to rile up was Drake.
“Yes, well, unfortunately the explanation for my lucidity does not incriminate me. You have no good reason to have been out, Todd. I suggest you begin filling me in.” Damian was going to figure out what Todd had been doing. If it was worthy blackmail material, he would store it to use for a later date. If it was uninteresting, Damian would leave Todd to dirty the floor, fill a glass with water, and return to his room to continue his attempts at sleeping uninterrupted.
Todd let out a particularly dramatic groan, rolling his eyes along with half his head as he shifted. He slid off his mud-caked shoes and hopped onto the counter, leaning his head on a hand with an elbow on his knee, as if he were some damsel in distress.
“Really, Damian? You’re gonna interrogate me about this? Can’t ‘cha jus’ get your damn water and go back t’ bed?”
“Seeing as Father is not up to fuss over you, I supposed the duty falls to his only blood son. So, yes, consider this an interrogation.”
“...Jesus Christ, you’re so weird.” Todd avoided Damian’s eyes, instead taking to glancing around the kitchen. Looking for something.
“As are you, Todd.”
“...Whatever. I’m fuckin’ hungry. I’ll fill ya in or whatever, but then ya gotta go back t‘ bed, m’kay?” He mumbled, absently rubbing at his eye as he slid off the countertop, sauntering sluggishly to the fridge.
“I…suppose that seems reasonable,” Damian reluctantly agreed. He tried his hardest to avoid obeying direct orders from others in the household when he could help it, but he had to admit that something about Todd was less intimidating more interesting to interact with. His aloof, callous demeanor was something infinitely more familiar to Damian than the overbearing care and softness that individuals like Father and Grayson exerted.
Yet, somehow, Todd managed to weave small hints of gentleness and attention into his crass words and intonation.
In direct contradiction to the ever-present discontent on his scarred face, he maintained a careful balance between ire, care, and a glimmer of mischief that held Damian’s attention — all without fretting or smothering. Todd was simply there, and he said things plainly as they were (when not pertaining to himself).
Most often, it was a breath of fresh air amongst the weeping, bumbling idiots Damian was subjected to being around every day. Of course, Todd could be as egregiously dense as the rest of the house’s occupants, but somehow he grated on Damian’s nerves the least outside of Father and occasionally Grayson.
“So,” came the muffled, separated pieces of Todd’s explanation. He had been rummaging in the fridge, and now clearly possessed something he deemed worthy, if the loud, wet smack of chewing was evidence enough, “Y’know how ‘m, like. Seventeen now, or whatever?”
What little good Damian had ever said about Todd could immediately be revoked. He was just as irritating as everyone else in the cursed house he called home.
“Yes. I am aware of your age, Todd. You’re on the brink of fossilization.”
“Okay, well, first of all fuck you,” he mumbled between bites and chewing, continuing only after swallowing to make room for another ridiculously large bite, “— and second of all, I was invited to a party. Some guy mentioned it, ‘n I figured, eh, whatever, I’ve never been t’ a party. Might as well go, since ‘m a senior this year.”
So Todd had been at a gathering. The clock now read two fifty-six, and there was no particularly good reason Damian could think of that would cause a function comprised of highschoolers to run so late.
Todd seemed to relinquish the information easily enough, so it was likely not untrue, but it was clear that there were more components to several of the present variables. It hadn’t escaped Damian’s notice that Todd had been purposely avoiding the house for an unnamed reason as of late. For the last week, Todd had been doing his best to be absent whenever Bruce was home from Wayne Industries. Damian knew how to tell when someone was lying, and he himself had a sufficient amount of experience lying by omission. If one tells smaller half-truths that do not incriminate, it is much easier to create a convincing facade.
Either way, Damian was not wholly satisfied with the answer.
“A ‘party,’ Todd? You never seemed one for festivities, let alone ones that require socialization with your peers at school.”
The older boy huffed, clearly aware of Damian’s dissatisfaction with his initial answer. Oddly enough, Todd just blew loose strands of hair out of his eyes, and gave an answer, still chewing louder than Titus as he huffed.
“Better late ‘n never, kid. That, ‘n I didn’t feel much like bein’ home t’night.”
Damian blinked, uncertain how to respond. Todd had just willingly given a deeper answer when prompted, and though it left Damian with even more inquiries, he was — quite frankly — surprised. And pleased, of course, that whatever mood Todd seemed to be in would make gathering information less difficult.
“...Right. I must say, Todd, that is an idiodic reason to be out this late for an event that you do not even enjoy.”
“Yeah, well, I said I didn’t wanna be here, didn’t I? That was a good ‘nuff excuse. What’s wrong with jus’ trynin’ somethin’ new, huh? ‘M only late ‘cause I got caught in the rain, s’all.”
“The storm started at nine o’clock, Todd. You were stalling that long to avoid the rain, only to return drenched head-to-toe?” It was hardly a convincing lie. It was far below the standard of what Todd’s lies typically were.
Though, Damian supposed that with Todd’s attitude off-kilter, it sort of fit. He was still trying to decipher what was gnawing so strongly at his older brother’s the other boy’s thoughts to have him so apparently disoriented. Even his alley drawl had slipped further from its shell.
“God. You really are Bruce’s. Y’sound jus’ like ‘im when he gets on my ass about random shit,” he said, tone stuck somewhere between fascinated and mildly disgusted. It made Damian bristle slightly, but he forced himself to refrain from aiming insults. He knew that if he did, he would not get the answers he wanted from Todd.
Still, the mixture of emotions in Todd’s voice made it unidentifiable by any one descriptor, and it irked Damian. He liked when he could pinpoint emotions and what elicited them. With Todd, it almost always seemed impossible.
“And what of it? I am the blood son. You are the one leaving at unreasonable hours to socialize, and are seemingly doing so just to avoid having to socialize in your own home, with your own family, no less.”
“When ya live here long ‘nuff, you’ll understand why. Just drop it ‘n go back to bed, kid. I gave ya your answer, didn’t I?”
“Don’t patronize me, Todd. I simply wish to know, at the very least, why you returned in a torrential thunder storm instead of staying the night.”
Damian needed to know. It had to be the one detail that was causing Todd to fumble and crack, and if it was a separate issue from the reason Todd wished to be away from home, then it was perfectly reasonable for Damian to be investigating.
“I ain’t patronizin’ you, jesus, you even know what that means? Who ‘m I kiddin’, of course ya do. You’re Brucie’s kid,” he muttered, letting out a sigh as he set his scavenged food on the counter and wiped his hands over his knees in lieu of a napkin.
The bitter, sharp edge on the tailend of Todd’s statement was glaringly obvious, especially when accompanied by the way he ran a calloused hand over his face. Damian burned where he stood, infuriated by the words being said like something shameful, as well as oddly hurt offended by what the implications of it being shameful were.
“I was plannin’ t’ stay, but I changed my mind. Simple as that.”
Damian sniffed indignantly, crossing his arms as he lifted his head. He and Todd both were perfectly aware of how much that was not an answer. Todd knew he wasn’t stupid, so the way he was avoiding the subject so pointedly was simply insulting.
“It is not ‘simple as that’ if you are avoiding Father and the house altogether by doing something that everyone is perfectly aware you despise. Your aversion to small-talk and general socialization with your peers is very nearly all you talk about throughout the week.”
Todd took a deep breath, glancing at his food on the counter as if considering just ignoring the probing in favor of picking it back up. Instead, Damian was again surprised by an increasingly out-of-character willingness to talk.
“Look, Damian, if I tell ya why I left the party, will ya jus’ go the fuck back to bed? I won’t tell B.”
Damian blinked. Contemplated.
On one hand, it was an answer he wanted. On the other, it might not be fleshed out with the details he required to provide himself with a reasoning for Todd’s recent habit of odd, unsteady behavior.
“...Fine. I suppose that is a fair trade.”
“Alright. Cool. I’ll warn ya though, it ain’t nothin’ interestin’. Just…” Todd trailed off for a moment, running his tongue over his top row of teeth. He seemed to be thinking of what to say — or perhaps how to say it. It sort of worried intrigued Damian how something as abstract as a thought could make someone as consistent as Todd waver in his demeanor.
“I jus’…there were people there doin’...stupid shit,” he swallowed, “there were people shootin’ stuff up, ‘n I just. I didn’t wanna be there ‘nymore. Didn’t feel like I needed t’ be around that shit, ‘n I prefer a few hours in an awkward house than watchin’ kids get peer pressured into life-ruinin’ shit they don’ wanna do.”
Well. That was certainly…not quite what Damian had expected. He supposed it checked out, though.
“...I see.”
Todd’s life and general background was no secret to anyone in the family, but Damian was still learning what pieces of that life before still lingered with the older boy. He was aware by now that Todd had a strong aversion to needles and the idea of substances or their abuse, but he occasionally forgot just how deeply Todd could be affected by the subject. It only made sense that the sight of such items in use would trigger some kind of discomfort.
“It’s fine, Damian. Will ya get your water ‘n go t’ bed now?” Todd asked, picking his food back off the counter and leaning in for a bite. Of course, the presence of food in his teeth didn’t stop him from continuing on, “Wouldn’ want ‘cha to be even more cranky in th’ mornin’, hnm?”
Damian noted that, despite Todd being unusually open with answers and queries about himself, he was still quick to wrap up the conversation once he fulfilled his part of their ‘deal.’ Either way, Damian was ruffled by the implication that he could be ‘cranky’ in the morning, as if he were some kind of toddler.
“By that logic, you should have been in bed hours ago, Todd. You are by far the most dramatic and irritable person in the entire house on mornings that you don’t receive your ‘beauty sleep,’ if last week was any indication.” Damian could recall just how agitated Todd had been. His anger had caused more than one shouting match in the hours before he had left for school, simply because he had gotten a smaller amount of rest thanks to something that had gone unmentioned.
It was typical of Todd to blame outside variables for his behavior, only to avoid explaining what the variables were when asked. Damian had initially assumed it was due to the fact that Todd disliked being held accountable for his attitude, but with recent developments, it started to seem more and more that it was simply a topic he did not enjoy discussing.
It was an odd thought, to think that Todd of all people could be afraid of his own potential emotions.
“Shut up ‘n do your homework, why don’t ‘cha?” came Todd’s dry response, though lacking any real heat. It had never escaped Damian’s notice that Todd always seemed to soften slightly in his presence, despite what their commonly exchanged insults might suggest.
That was another odd thing.
Todd seemed displeased by Damian’s glaring similarities to Father, but was never directly harsh with him. At most, he teased, but it was clear that Jason’s Todd’s irritation was solely with Father. Perhaps Grayson, too.
“Tt. You’re awfully immature for someone who so often claims not to be a child,” Damian shot back, nose scrunching up as he crossed his arms again in a pose he was aware looked eerily similar to Father’s expression of disappointment. “It should also be noted that it’s much too late to be doing homework, especially considering I’ve finished it all for the week.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re smart, we get it,” Todd huffed, stuffing another chunk of food into his maw.
"And for the sake of your dignity, Todd, do not speak with food in your mouth,” it would have been nearly comical if it weren’t so disgusting, or if Todd hadn’t been sitting on the kitchen counter, clearly miserable and still drenched head to toe in mud and rainwater, chewing on the leftovers of a sandwich that certainly wasn't his.
In fact, Damian was quite sure it was Drake’s.
The next few minutes were spent in relative silence. The only sounds were the lasts of Todd’s incessantly obnoxious chewing, the storm still raging outside, and their breathing. It was oddly placid, despite the previous discomfort that had accompanied Todd’s inconsistent manner.
The only thing to break the tranquility was, of course, the low, simmering need to dig deeper for answers that sat in Damian’s chest. He couldn’t help it. Todd was a complex person despite how simple he acted, and Damian had inherited Father’s pressing itch to dissect people and their reasons for making the decisions that they did.
Or — as Grayson had once put it — he liked knowing what made people ‘tick.’
“Todd.”
“...Yeah?”
“What is the actual reason you get so irritated with Father? Why is it just him that seems to drive you from the house so often?”
Todd only blinked. He paused his chewing of Drake’s sandwich, too, seemingly taken aback by the sudden and blunt question. It was worth noting, however, that he did not seem upset by the question. Instead, his shoulders sagged after a breath, and he appeared more tired than anything.
Like the subject weighed on him.
“...Go to bed, Damian. It’s not your problem.”
“It may as well be, with how the two of you shout at one another. You surely must know that it doesn’t solve anything to yell that way, yes?”
It was both annoying and confusing how Father and Todd seemed to care for one another so deeply, yet choose to hurt each other so sharply again and again and again.
Damian had heard from Drake and Grayson that it was unfortunately quite a complicated situation, but that it was also something none of them could solve with intervention. Trying to be a mediator between two of the most bullheaded people in existence was futile, from what Grayson had said.
“I– I just. Fuck. If the yelling bothers you, I…’m not tryin’ to cause trouble or nothin., alright? I’m not tryin’ t’ scare you, Dames.”
Todd looked the most guilty Damian had ever seen him, and for a moment, his expression bordered on haunted. By what, Damian had no idea, but it was clearly enough to deflate his spirit. Todd’s shoulders sank in on themselves, and if his general demeanor wasn’t already solidified in his mind as tough, Damian would have described the other boy as pitiful. He looked as if he were trying to make himself small. As if he were hiding from something.
Someone.
It was as if he was frightened, almost.
“Todd, you are being entirely unreasonable. I am not scared, I simply wish to know why you and Father insist on acting so barbaric instead of being civil the way I am fully aware both of you are capable of.”
Todd exhaled shakily, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his fingers. He seemed to be suffering a mix of irritation and something more complicated, but Damian was hardly in the mood to beat around the bush.
“What on earth bothers you enough that you went to a party, where you and everyone else are aware you suffer? What about this household warrants you exposing yourself to things that you are aware are detrimental to you?”
“Bruce is mad at me, alright?”
Damian paused. He slowly let his mouth fall closed and he nodded, waiting for Todd to continue.
“He’s fuckin’ pissed at me. I did somethin’ stupid, ‘n he found out, ‘n now he’s all– I dunno, he’s just different, now, ‘n I–” Todd paused, expression twisting as if the words pained him to even say. “–I don’t think he’s gonna let it slide this time.”
Whatever Todd was implying, Damian did not like it. He tensed, ready to defend Father once the other boy started spewing whatever he apparently thought their guardian had decided.
“Elaborate.”
“Jesus, why d’ya gotta sound so much like him? This ain’t your business, Damian. It’s between me and Bruce.”
“If it’s between you and Father, then why make it everyone else’s problem? The two of you hardly do anything but fight these last two weeks,” Damian scoffed, squaring his shoulders.
Todd very nearly winced at those words, and something akin to devastation flickered across his sharp features. He seemed incredibly disturbed by whatever he took the statement to mean, and immediately he devolved into a persona that Damian had never seen on the usually stoic boy.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I– that it’s– shit. I’m sorry about the yelling, Damian. Even if it doesn’t bother you, I’m sorry. You…shouldn’t have t’…hear it, or whatever. It shouldn’t be anyone else’s problem but mine ‘n Bruce’s.”
Damian very rarely heard Todd apologize, let alone for something he had done or initiated. It was almost…weird, to hear it so plainly, and more than once at that. Whatever Father and Todd were fighting about, it must have been important. Neither of them were so easily provoked by things. It seemed that they were the only exceptions to their own limits.
Todd was easily angered by Father, and Father was often irritated by Todd, even if he regularly got away with things without repercussions. Father seemed to harbor some sort of guilt-triggered feeling of obligation not to hold Todd accountable, and it was something Todd occasionally abused, but also seemed to be something that bothered him.
For a moment, Todd was quiet, and so was Damian.
They sat for a solid minute before Damian spoke.
“I simply wish to know what the issue is, Todd.”
“I told you, Dames, it’s nothin’ you need t’ be involved in. I fucked up, ‘n Bruce is mad. It’s my own bullshit that I need to deal with.”
Damian sighed lightly. This was going absolutely nowhere, and Damian wanted answers — but he was not so blind as to not let it go. He itched to know the details of the situation, but he was cognizant of the fact that Todd would never share unless he thought it might help.
“How are you so certain Father is ‘mad’ at you? We are all perfectly aware of how socially inept he can be.”
Todd tensed slightly, and there was a look in his eyes that indicated some kind of internal conflict. A moment later, he seemed to win the battle.
His alley drawl had been retreating back behind his carefully practiced Bristol dialect for the last few minutes, but there were still traces of it that indicated his nerves.
“Look, I…I really shouldn’t be tellin’ you this shit, but he– he told me that I…that he–” Todd took a deep, even breath, “–he essentially told me that I wasn’t his son, ‘n that he doesn’t need t’ deal with my bullshit, because he’s not my father.”
Damian’s eyes widened a fraction, and whatever pre-formed response had been resting under his tongue vanished. His mind went blank, and for a moment he stood, completely dumbfounded.
“Oh.”
“...Yeah. Oh.”
Todd was staring at the puddle on the kitchen tile. His shoulders were practically in his ears, and he looked as if he wanted to curl up on himself and weep.
“I…do not know what to say to you.”
“It’s whatever. I shouldn’t have told you anyways. It’s my own shit to deal with, not yours.” Todd sounded so certain, but so exhausted, and so borderline defeated that it was simply…disturbing, to Damian.
“You still want that water, kid? You should go to bed.”
Damian shifted slightly, glancing at the digital stove clock. It was three twenty-one.
“No.”
“...What about tea?” Todd asked quietly, sliding once more off the counter as he quietly retrieved two mugs from the cabinet. Damian considered it for a moment, and found that he didn’t mind the offer. Logistically, it would help him get back to sleep better than the iced water he had originally come downstairs for.
“Sure,” Damian agreed. “Chamomile.”
“Hm. ‘Course, you little old man,” Jason mused quietly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders as he filled both cups with water to microwave.
It didn’t take long for both cups to be full of steaming, honey-colored liquid, and it was soothing in a way that Damian didn’t mind. The warmth of the mug felt nice in his hands, and as he watched Jason take the first sip, he knew that he was soaking it up just as much.
It didn’t escape Damian’s notice that Jason often dressed in multiple layers, drowned his bed in blankets, and sat by the fire like a cat in a sunspot whenever it was cold. Drake had told him once that the third-eldest tended to run cold, despite the fire that seemed to consume his entire being.
He was a soul that burned bright, like a dying star. It was interesting to Damian, much as he tried to remain separated from the members of the household outside of Father.
“...Todd?”
“Yeah…?”
“Thank you for the tea.”
Jason huffed lightly in what could have been a laugh, and the slightest of smiles turned his lips upward just a hair.
“...Y’know, you’re a good kid, Damian.”
“Don’t get too emotional, Todd.”
“Right, my mistake.”
Jason just sipped his tea, sighing gently into the darkness.
"...You aren't terrible yourself, when you aren't being unnecessarily dramatic."
"My, my, what the compliment!"
"Don't push your luck," Damian scoffed.