Jason is messy. Also, what/who's purple and blonde?
Chapter 35 of What's Up, Danger?: Can't Shake the Devil Sitting on My Shoulder
Jason's eyes snapped open.
Snippets of the nightmare replayed in his mind like a macabre slideshow—Walls pressing in on all sides. Trapped in a box. No—worse, a coffin. Claustrophobic panic seeping into his bones, multiplying in his brain like bacteria with every passing second. Trying to wail, trying to scream, but only a choked gasp coming out of his bone-dry mouth. No air, his lungs burning with each panicked gulp. Fingers scraping and clawing against unyielding wood, his nails splintering and cracking. Broken shards of the coffin lid splintering into his hands, making them bleed…
And leaking through all that noise were flashes of a ghoulish man with a glowing white face under a shroud of acid green hair, blood-red lips pulled back into a fiendish smile, and the glint of a bloody rod of metal clutched in a white fist raised high in the air.
Jason's heartbeat thundered between his eardrums, threatening to split his head apart. Huddled underneath the covers, cold sweat slid down the back of his neck and back. His damp layers clung to him.
The world and his surroundings came back into focus around him gradually through his tear-blurred vision. Blinking heavily, he made out the familiar furniture and wall hangings. Everything was cast in muted shades of gray with dashes of neon and moonlight that crept in through the blinds.
A wisp of relief swirled inside him, his bedroom wasn't the all-consuming oblivion he feared in his nightmare.
His hand shot around restlessly, clutching the memory foam pillow under his head and parsing over the quilted texture of the weighted blanket, touching it. He focused on the sensations he could touch, a way to tether himself back to reality; the bed was soft, warm, and inviting, not cold and hard like the coffin.
He brought his hand close to his eyes, flipping it from front to back, checking it. There were no open, gushing wounds ripped across his flesh or fragments of wood buried deep in his fingers.
Unconsciously, he brushed over his torso and face, over the places he'd been hit the hardest. A dislocated jaw, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a fractured skull—
Exhaling heavily out of his nostrils, he forced himself to calm down more until his breaths no longer escaped him in harsh gasps.
Breathing steadily, he turned his head to look at the person sleeping next to him.
Jason's body went rigid when he realized Sabine wasn't asleep, she'd been rattled awake at the exact moment he had.
Her wide, fearful eyes met his. It was agonizing to see raw terror shining feverishly bright in her eyes, body coiled tight in fear, and trembling.
His heart threatened to throttle his throat at the harrowing realization that she'd seen it, felt it, experienced it—his whole world exploding into darkness and fear and pain.
A thousand awful thoughts pounded in Jason's skull as his eyes darted down to their intertwined fingers, still holding tight. He wrenched his hand away and curled it into a fist at his side. A hot flush of shame sparked in his chest and he lamented how his nightmare had leaked through their touch, perverting the sense of safety and comfort it provided.
He threw his weight upright, hunched over, and rocked his head forward into his palms. A horrible lump formed in his throat and guilt twisted his insides into hard knots. There was the stinging aftertaste of bile piling up in the back of his throat, bitter and sour.
Sabine let out a single guttural breath, counted down from five, and slowly sat up with him. Fueled by the ravenous need to comfort him, she gently reached for him, nestling into his side as she rubbed his back.
She tried to put on a brave, unaffected front but her mind was a jumbled mess, the jarring sensations of the nightmare still lingered in the dark corners of her mind.
Her hand twitched over his shoulder blade as if she could still feel the sharp splinters embedded in her skin, an odd movement that didn't go unnoticed by Jason.
Wordlessly, he tugged her to him, drawing her in as close as possible. Looping both of his arms around her, he pulled her between his legs and tucked her head against the warmth of his chest. He held her while riding out the residual dark eddies of the nightmare.
Sabine tried not to crumble when he pulled her into a hug because she didn't know which one of them needed it more.
They stayed like that for a long time, in a gentle and needy tangle of limbs, forgetting about everything else—Sabine's head resting below the crook of his neck and Jason holding onto her so tightly, like he didn't know his own strength. The air between them was silent, all that was audible was their heavy breaths.
Eventually, Jason pulled away a bit, leaning back on a palm while his other hand remained in a locked grip over her hip.
Sabine moved, sitting up on her knees between his thighs. "Feeling…better?"
Head turned left to avoid her gaze, Jason heaved out a burdened sigh. He wasn't worried about himself.
"Yeah," he said through a grimace, sounding more upset with himself than anything, "sort of."
Sabine slanted forward into his space, shadowing over him with her hands planted on his shoulders for balance. She tried to read his face, trying to gauge where his head was, but Jason was hugely stubborn. His controlled and stoic composure gave no indication of just how close he'd been to becoming a whimpering puddle only minutes ago.
Skimming her hands up and down his arms, Sabine whispered, "Jason, it's all right—"
His throat constricted and he swallowed, "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry," his voice wobbled a little around his words, emotions bursting through a dam, "I shouldn't have had a stupid nightmare—"
She heard the self-loathing that flooded his tone and saw the frustrated pinch between his dark brows. And, finally, she understood why he was so upset.
Pulling the cuff of the long-sleeved flannel over her hand to shield her skin, she smushed her palm against his cheek and nudged his face back to hers.
"Jay, you were asleep. We both were," Sabine breathed, keeping her voice soft. "It's not your fault, please—," she exhaled and paused, observing the small flicker of relief that came over his features, "—don't blame yourself like this."
The texture of the garment was warm and fuzzy against his cheekbone, and his eyes dragged over her as he considered her words. Anxiety thrummed under his skin as he tried to decipher his own feelings. Embarrassment, shame, and guilt all coiled and sank in his gut, heavy as a boulder, weighing him down. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.
A shitty thought plowed through his mind before he could stop it: What if he brought her down with him?
Jason gave her side a gentle squeeze in a nonverbal thank you.
The edges of her mouth curved up into a small smile. It took all of her iron will to not kiss the tiny, still visible furrow between his brows.
His chest unclenched a bit more, and he let his head fall back and thump against the headboard.
Maybe it was the feeling of vulnerability that stirred in late night hours, or maybe it was because he felt like an absolute fucking train wreck, or maybe it was because she didn't always look at him like he was a dead man walking, but Jason found himself sharing with her more than he felt he should—
His expression faltered. "I don't really remember," he managed, closing his eyes, "if I actually crawled out of my own grave or not. Death really fucks with your perception of reality."
Sabine didn't reply right away. What could she say to something like that? She studied him for several long moments, at a loss for words, until she carefully asked, "Jason, what's…the green watery stuff? It glows?"
The muscles in his shoulders tensed up again and she wondered if she struck a nerve, touching on something a little too painful. He stared at her and was quiet for such a long time that she wasn't sure he was going to, or even wanted to, answer the question.
Jason made a strange noise, something between a choke and a cough, before he murmured, "The Lazarus Pit."
Jaw tight, he offered no further explanation.
Sabine squinched her tired eyes, gaze drifting down to the space between their bodies and the crinkled bed sheets. Lazarus Pit. That…sounded familiar. But she couldn't place where she'd heard it before.
"Sorry, I… I didn't mean to push," she confessed in a small voice.
Jason rolled his shoulders, very clearly wanting to move on from this discussion. He let some boyish playfulness creep through his demeanor, choosing to diffuse the heavy and coiled tension that invaded the room.
"Dying sucks," he groaned dramatically, drawing out the words in a way that some of his nasally native Gotham accent leaked through. He scooted back down the bed before flopping back on the messy sea of blankets with his arms spread out. "Zero out of ten experience. Do not recommend."
For some reason that made Sabine huff out a short laugh, shaking her head. "You going to complain to the manager as well?"
He snorted. "Maybe I should, I've got a serious bone to pick with them. You think Death has a customer service support line?"
She tilted her head, pretending to give it some deep thought. "Dunno. Probably not?"
Distracted by the playful way Jason grinned up at her, he used her lapse in attention to wrap his fingers around her forearm and yank her down to the soft and cozy bed sheets with him.
She let out a whiny yelp as her world tilted at a ninety-degree angle and her head landed on his bicep.
He chuckled at her reaction, but it was a hollow sound.
After a minute or two, his grip on her loosened and his hand slipped away. His palm moved to rest on his sternum, thumb brushing over the spot where he remembered the impact of the crowbar had ripped a particularly mangled and broken scream out of him.
"Sorry, again," Jason muttered, eyes half-lidded and glazed over as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Sabine's gaze fixed on the faint outline of his profile; the white curls, almost glowing like silver light, that fell on his forehead, his slightly crooked nose, and the faded scars that marred his skin. Even in the dim lighting, she saw a sad resignation take over his features.
It was a strange feeling sometimes, being this close to Jason and knowing very little about him. It stung a little too, that Jason brimmed with so many secrets.
It must hurt, she supposed, to keep all of that locked inside.
Hesitant at first, Sabine snaked her arm around his middle, and nudged him with her knee to roll over onto his side and away from her.
Taken off guard, Jason resisted for a beat. His tired emerald eyes found hers and his face twisted in confusion.
Drowsily, she grumbled, "You—little spoon."
His throat bobbed, voice lost in the way her request stirred something sweet inside him before the corner of his mouth tugged upward. Another layer of vulnerability peeled back, another invisible barrier broken down, he relented and rolled over.
She shuffled forward until there wasn't any space between their bodies and he melted against her. Her fist twisted into the front of his sweater and she hiked her thigh up and around his hip, keeping him close. Her lips skimmed the back collar of his sweater, pressing several quick kisses just below the nape of his neck.
Jason's hand wandered low, fingertips tracing abstract constellations over the outer slope of her thigh.
Sabine tried to focus on pouring as much tenderness as she could into the contact, but the unexpected sensuality of his roaming hand was so distracting. A wave of molten heat blazed up her sternum, making her heart flutter.
Her body heat and weight pressed against his back was a comforting presence, allowing him to shove away some of his more disturbing memories for a short time.
In the end, they didn't get much sleep.
It was still dark out when they piled onto Jason's motorcycle. The road back to her apartment was blurry and long, she wondered if he was purposefully taking detours to prolong their time together. Sleet had melted into oily and sleek streetlight-catching puddles that dashed along the pock-marked streets. The helmet shoved on over her head did little to snub out the continuous rumble of the engine.
The chilly wind ran its frigid fingers across Sabine's exposed neck but with her arms and body nestled around Jason, the rest of her was ferociously warm.
Jason had fussed over the additional layers she wore before they left, rummaging through his drawers for a thick thermal undershirt and pants—that needed to be hiked and rolled up several times so they didn't drag on the floor with every step she took—and his least beat-up jacket to keep her from freezing her ass off. All of his clothes swallowed her frame, absurdly too gigantic on her.
After huffing that none of his shoes or boots would fit her because he couldn't let her go outside, much less ride on his bike, barefoot, Sabine crouched and tied up the laces. She laid her left hand flat in the air above her shins before folding her fingers into her palm.
"Minuis."
His eyes bulged slightly when he watched his scuffed boots shrink in size to fit her feet perfectly.
Sabine stood up and gave him a cheeky grin that made him roll his eyes. Because, oh, right—magic.
Jason then watched as she absentmindedly smoothed down the front of the long-sleeved thermal then fiddled with the hem that landed at her mid-thigh, trying to tuck the excess pool of fabric into the waistband.
"You could always leave some of your clothes here, in case this happens again," he offered, then spotted the way her fingers stiffened. He tried to play it off with, "Roy does it. I don't mind."
Smooth, real fucking smooth, he told himself. He almost hoped the earth beneath him would open up and swallow him whole.
Sabine toed the floor. "You'd be all right with that?" she asked, knowing he valued his privacy.
He nodded, even though the very idea made him wonder if that was moving too fast, too soon. Even though he liked seeing her in his clothes. He wanted her to feel comfortable.
The corners of Sabine's lips twitched. She gave him a tiny smile before he handed her the motorcycle helmet.
They stopped at a diner to fuel up on coffee and breakfast because cookies and tea, as delicious as they were, weren't a filling meal.
Nestled into a booth, Jason watched with both of his eyebrows lifted up to his hairline, impressed, as Sabine drenched her hash skillet in hot sauce. She teased him right back when he gulped down his third consecutive cup of black coffee. And for a while, they sipped coffee and ate together in that close and comfortable silence while stealing glances at each other, wrapped up in their own private bubble.
Sabine tried to convince herself that Jason's cheekbones were rosy from the weather and not from her shy, probing glances. Blushing seemed a very unlike Red Hood thing to do, she repeatedly had to remind herself that the man across the teal laminate table from her was a fearsome vigilante.
Before they got back on the bike, Jason yanked up straight the collar of the jacket she wore to shield her neck from the frosty weather. Heat rushed to her face from the simple act, from being so known.
The engine roared to life again as they rolled back onto the drowsy city streets lined with towering structures. By then, sunrise was obscured behind dark clouds that roiled overhead like angry steam trapped in a kettle, casting everything in rheumy gray lighting.
Jason turned down a familiar street lined with a mixture of apartment buildings and storefronts, each window reflecting the golden pink hues of diffused sunlight that dared to filter through the dark clouds prime to burst with rain.
He slowed his bike to a stop and Sabine slid off the seat.
She hopped up onto the sidewalk. Taking off the helmet, she shook out her fluffy hair. Staring at him, her pulse juddered in her eardrums and, somehow, she found herself blurting out, "I'll still see you later, right?—after I get out of class. We still need to catch up on what happened in London."
Jason removed his helmet too and let it hang on his hand. He ran a gloved hand through the white streak at the front of his hairline, pushing it back into his damp black mess of helmet hair.
He grinned back. "Yeah, you're still up for it?"
Sabine nodded with a little, shy smile. "I'll text you when I'm out."
"Sounds good."
She stilled for a second, contemplating before she reached out and squeezed his bicep in a fond goodbye. "See you later, Jay."
Sabine turned to climb up the steps.
At the top of the landing and with the key turned in the lock, she looked back over her shoulder and shot him another dimpled smile under her purple-bagged eyes.
Watching her disappear into her apartment building was like watching a piece of his heart vanish from his line of sight, and Jason wondered if he'd ever get used to this burgeoning feeling—that a fiercely bright and warm shard of him was drifting through this corrupted and grimy city, scattered among the millions of other troubled souls that called it home.
Gotham was a black hole, he only hoped its gravity wouldn't pull her in.
9:30 AM—Wayne Manor
The manor was rarely this quiet.
Jason liked quiet.
The holiday decorations had been packed away in boxes, probably stacked neatly in some large storage closet, leaving the manor oppressive, dark, and devoid of cheer. Haunted, as usual.
Beyond the foyer, was the library. The colossal shelves were crafted from polished dark wood and pushed up against the walls. When breathed in, the air was thick with the scent of aged paper and leather bindings. Plush armchairs and overstuffed sofas, upholstered in rich fabrics that complemented the dark hues of the bookshelves, beckoned visitors to linger.
It's where, even in adulthood, Jason sometimes came to think.
His eyes trawled across the room, drinking it all in like it was an old friend; the large walnut table where he'd help Duke, both hunched over the bright screen of a laptop, composing an essay, and the chaise where he'd catch Damian napping with his cat, Alfred.
Milling around with listless energy, Jason paused when his gaze landed on a familiar nook. Tucked away in a corner, the small alcove with the large bay window, dark curtains drawn shut, was where he sought sanctuary as a young teenager.
One of the last places he'd felt truly safe.
Years had passed and the cozy spot remained mostly unchanged, from the worn armchair with some of its stuffing coming out, loose hanging threads, and its deeply cushioned seat, to the stained glass lamp twinkling under the lights on the side table.
Another memorial, he thought bitterly, just like the mended Robin suit displayed in the glass case in the cave. Another box, another coffin, he felt resigned to.
How many nights had Bruce or Alfred found him curled up in that chair, contentedly snoring away with a book clutched in his hands and a mug of almost-finished tea or hot chocolate beside him?
Jason's hands tensed and untensed at the memory. He used to be so scrawny, tiny enough that Bruce could effortlessly lift him up in his arms and carry him to bed.
The armchair used to seem impossibly big, his whole curled-up body could fit in it with room to spare. Now he was a foot taller, over a hundred pounds heavier, and stood eye-to-eye with Bruce.
But reminiscing about bygone times wasn't why he was here.
Jason slumped down in the familiar chair and stretched out his long legs, thinking about all the stories he didn't know how to tell Sabine. Or, if he even should.
There was a time when Gotham's mortuaries were overflowing with bodies because of him.
Bruce's deep and detached timbre echoed in his head—how inappropriate it was to get involved with civilians. Specifically, how distracting it was, and how it interfered with objectivity. Bruce had drilled endless warnings, rules, expectations, and paranoia into all of his protégés. It stuck more than any of them liked to openly admit.
And, goddamn, did that make it hard as hell to open up. To anyone.
Bruce's words sounded in his head, louder. Jason couldn't shut it out this time.
No—it was Bruce's actual voice that sliced through his thoughts like a sharp knife. He caught the last bit of it.
"—morning, Jason."
Jason ducked his head.
Shit.
It was like being twelve years old again, caught red-handed stowing away in the library instead of studying the numerous maneuvers and procedures Bruce—Batman—wanted him to memorize.
The chill of the manor sank into Jason's skin and he looked up at Bruce, heavy silence stretching out between them.
The flicker of a wane smile appeared across Bruce's weathered face. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black slacks with a blazer draped over his arm, it occurred to Jason how much older Bruce looked these days. There was an image of him in his mind, frozen in time, of how he looked when he pulled back the cowl for the first time in front of Jason—face all hard planes and angles, piercing glacial eyes, and forehead creased with the intangible weight of the world. Now, there were tired crow's feet at the edges of Bruce's blue eyes, a gauntness to his cheeks, and gray strands streaked through his dark hair.
Jason was sure that when Bruce stared at him, the feeling was similar. Bruce saw a young boy—a malnourished street rat gripping a tire iron, reeking of cigarettes and Gotham's back alleys, and glaring up at him with cocksure defiance.
Thoughts muddied, Jason stood up. "G'morning," he eventually said in return, looking weary.
Bruce stepped forward and the floorboard creaked. Once. Twice. Closing some of the distance. He put his hand on the back of a chair and sighed.
Neither of them knew what to say beyond simple greetings.
The library was suffocating and the patter of raindrops tinkled off the arched window panes.
"Was just leaving," Jason eventually huffed out as soon as Bruce opened his mouth to speak again.
Passing a bookshelf, Jason spotted a hardback bound in cloth with foil-stamped designs. Title inlaid silver on the spine, Great Expectations.
Driven by pettiness and old habits that even death hadn't pounded out of him, his hand shot out and he took it, barely giving it a second once over. He tucked the book under his arm, letting the act of thievery right under Bruce's nose speak for itself.
"Toodles," Jason said with forced mirth and a mask of deflection secured in place. He left the room, letting the grand doors slam shut in his wake.
5:00 PM
It remained unforgivingly misty and gray all day, drizzling in sporadic bursts.
Jason waited under a puddle of yellow streetlight with a lit cigarette jammed between his lips.
He'd chosen a comfy, wrinkle-free button-up and one of his least abused jackets to wear because he wanted to look slightly more presentable than usual, and not like some hoodlum son of Gotham's most renowned billionaire.
Leaning casually with one shoulder against the streetlight post, the end of the stick glowed bright red when he inhaled. His eyes jumped back and forth from the crowd on the street to his phone screen, watching the minutes tick by.
Behind him was the little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, one of the many near Gotham University, where Sabine agreed to meet up. Its blinking luminescent signage of a carafe cast a colorful and blurry reflection on the wet pavement.
Exhaling a pale gray puff of smoke that ribboned in the air around him, Jason wondered how Sabine felt about dim sum or gyro. They certainly met up for coffee and diner food a lot, it might be nice to change things up.
Sabine arrived, a few minutes past five, waving a hand over her head to stand out amongst the seething crowd.
The little fragment of his heart returned, lodging itself back into place as if it never left. He smiled and waved, hoping the hungry ache of his heart wasn't too obvious in the gesture.
Jason's pulse thudded when she pushed through the sea of people wearing drab-colored trench coats and he noticed she was still wearing his jacket over a baggy striped sweater, jeans, and boots. Had she been wearing it all day? The sweet sentiment sank its teeth into him, tearing in with profane longing.
She craned her neck up to meet his eyes. "You smoke," she noted, and he heard the amusement in her voice.
Jittery, he dropped the smoldering stub to the sidewalk and crushed it under his heel. The short encounter with Bruce left an ache that made his whole chest feel badly bruised.
"Sometimes," he said, leaving it at that. He jammed his hands into his pockets and his fingers bumped against the carton of cigarettes, purchased only hours ago.
"I don't mind," Sabine said, eyeing him and hugging his jacket around her to fend off the cold. Then, as if to further soothe his addled nerves, she added, "Constantine smokes too."
Jason shoved a hand through his damp hair, the time he'd spent slicking it back had been entirely pointless. There wasn't any judgment in her eyes and he gave her a sheepish look. "Yeah?"
She nodded as she looped her arm around his and led him into the inviting warmth of the coffee shop. Slow, mellow beats of music and the thick scent of coffee drifted through the air around them, and there was the steady, rhythmic plop plop plop of a leak catching in a plastic bucket somewhere. It wasn't super busy or packed, there were a few other college-aged people with their noses buried in their laptops, phones, and books.
Sabine gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze and asked, "This okay?"
She felt a tad foolish, knowing she should've asked first.
Heat prickled at the back of his neck but he didn't pull away. They had to be careful about touch, but even through his jacket, he could feel how warm her hand was.
"Yeah," he said quietly as they got into the queue, then pivoted with, "How was class?"
She let out a sigh. "Mostly fine. One of my professors just walked in, dropped his bag on the lectern, and immediately started cold calling on people." She had silently prayed to any merciful deity that was listening to avoid the humiliating fate of being called on, unprepared. "Have about a hundred-and-fifty pages to read by Wednesday if I want to catch up."
"Geez," he grimaced, tone filled with empathy, "sounds rough."
Sabine's posture slumped, heavy with the toll of the day. She laughed weakly. "I spent most of my time reading at the House of Mystery, I don't know how much more I can stuff into my brain right now."
Jason nudged her shoulder with his and a smile worked its way across his face. "You've…been through a lot recently." That was putting it mildly. "But you always seem to push through. I think you have more grit than you give yourself credit for."
Her cheeks blazed hotly at the encouragement. "Yeah?"
"You surprised the hell out of me," he said softly.
They ordered coffee at the counter and waited off to the side for their drinks. Sabine let her head fall against Jason's shoulder. Again, the vague thought that maybe she should've asked if this was okay floated in and out of her mind but if the upward curve of his mouth was anything to go off, he enjoyed the closeness.
Mid-step towards an empty table with a white take-out cup of cafe mocha cradled in one hand, Sabine's attention tunneled in on a framed charcoal rendering on the wall.
"Oh my god," she gasped, face lighting up with baffled delight.
Curious, Jason's eyes slanted in the direction she looked.
Running along one of the walls was a small, curated gallery. A framed statement emphasized that the artists were from Gotham Academy and advertised an upcoming show where all donations would go to various charities around the city. Each piece carefully arranged and illuminated, it took him less than a second to clock what specifically caught her eye—
Sabine crowded closer to the piece in question, taking in the lovingly drawn illustration of a cat soaking in sunbeams on a shaggy carpet—the black and white cat was instantly recognizable from the markings under his chin that resembled a little black bow tie, clipped ear, and belly paunch.
She eyed the white square placard with finely printed black text next to it, reading:
Damian Wayne | Gotham Academy
Untitled
January 20XX
Charcoal on paper
18x24"
"Damian Wayne…" her head whipped back to Jason as she connected the dots. In her online snooping several weeks ago, she'd learned the names of most of the ever-growing Wayne clan. "He…"
A hellish look unfurled across his face, already mentally in the middle of composing a scathing text message to send to his goddamn idiot demon spawn of a younger brother.
"Why didn't you tell me that he watched CEO for me?" Sabine pressed, excitement thick in her voice. She bumped his elbow affectionately. "He's really talented."
Giddy, she dug her phone out of the jacket pocket and took a quick snapshot of the artwork, adding it to the photo album with hundreds of other pics and videos of her cat. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, she threw him a playful smile.
Jason grumbled, "A lot was going on at the time."
Chin sat on her shoulder, Sabine stared up at him, silently agreeing. Her cheery mood evaporated and the smile melted off her face, replaced with a contemplative purse of her lips. It probably was for the best that he didn't make family introductions when she was in such a sorry, pathetic state.
He turned to meet her eyes and sighed, chin dipping low. "He wants me to go to his art show."
"Are you?"
Jason shrugged and his eyes slid back to the artwork on the wall. "Dunno yet."
Sabine let out a low hum.
He glanced sideways at her. "What?"
She took a careful swig of coffee, trying to hide a grin, before answering, "I just think it's sweet that he asked you."
Jason's eyebrows scrunched. Sweet was not a word people associated with Damian. Ever.
"It's more like he expects it," he said, body and face drawn in tight with annoyance.
The singled syllable "oh" slipped out of her mouth. "Is he your—do you think of him as your brother?"
He scowled but it didn't reach his eyes, fatigued by the very thought. "Yes."
They plopped down in the empty seats in the corner by the glass frontage of the coffee shop smattered with raindrops, a cozy little cove just for them.
Jason shrugged off his jacket before throwing it over the back of the chair.
Sabine drew the borrowed jacket closer around her body, drowning in brown leather, and looking fucking adorable—Jason thought.
After taking a bolstering sip of coffee, she changed the topic from navigating the dangerous minefield that was his familial relationships, "So, London. A lot happened."
"I bet," Jason chuckled. He dropped his voice low when he saw the face she made. "I mean, you can do—," he undulated his fingers in a poor imitation of spellcasting, letting the playful gesture fill in the space of the word, "—now. And you learned all that in two weeks. Pretty cool."
Sabine registered the tone he used as impressed, maybe even proud. She felt her chest flare with a small sense of achievement.
Jason drank his coffee as Sabine launched into the whole tale in a hushed voice, telling him everything; finding Constantine, the bar in a pocket dimension, the House of Mystery, Orchid, the connection between her, her mother, and her late grandfather, and—
"Furcifer," she muttered bitterly, both hands gripping her cup of coffee so furiously hard in her grasp that she almost crumpled it, "that's the demon's name."
With a jagged exhale, she ran a hand through her rain-damp and slightly tangled hair, gently fingering the bits that had twisted and matted together.
Jason noted her anxious behavior. The cool leather of his gloved hand found her fingers and unwound them, one by one, from her hair.
"Hey," he said quietly, green eyes focused on her, "it'll be okay."
Doubt was written across her face but she let him bring her palm flat over the table and covered the back of her hand with his own. It was only then she realized her hand was trembling.
Back-of-the-neck-hair-raising dread slinked into her as Sabine remembered the sad story Constantine had revealed to her about his friend's family and the Camdever Curse. She couldn't imagine giving up her family and loved ones like that.
Great power demanded great sacrifice, a cost to be extracted.
She inhaled sharply and Jason wanted nothing more than to thread his hand into her hair and cradle her head.
"I should probably mention," he said, knowing it wasn't going to help her misfiring, worked-up nerves, "that the thing—Furcifer—paid me a short visit."
Sabine looked at him, eyes wide like a frightened animal. Terror quickly climbed up her throat. "W-what?"
"It—he?—doesn't show up on cameras or video," Jason went on, gloved fingers slotting between her knuckles and gripping down on her hand.
She tore her eyes away from him for a terrible, stressed beat. "Fuck."
The sound of Jason's baritone brought her out of her despairing thoughts. "Sab? It's okay. I'm okay."
Sabine dipped her head and she scoffed under her breath, "Fuck—no, it's not, Jason. You remember what happened to Storrison? Marie?" She didn't list Carla's name because it hurt most of all.
Of course, Jason remembered the state of their bodies with horrible clarity—corpses dark and twisted, eaten away by sinister magic. Husks, stripped bare.
For the second time that day, he wasn't worried about himself. His expression shifted, hardened features crumpling with softness.
His molars ground against each other as his brain strolled down a dark memory lane, recalling the sensation of twin fiery blades in his hands, unfathomable heat licking his skin. "I'm not completely defenseless—"
A happy shout cut into their conversation and Jason visibly shuddered.
"Jason, hey! Fancy running into you here!"
His head jerked up and any semblance of hope in having a peaceful day rest of his day vanished when he spotted Stephanie, clad in a purple rain jacket and black leggings with the strap of a heavy backpack hanging off her shoulder. Halfway to the counter to order, she cupped a hand near her mouth, "Don't go anywhere. I wanna talk!"
Stephanie's eyes trawled over Sabine briefly from a distance, sizing her up in a delightedly curious manner, and never losing a fraction of the sincere smile plastered on her face.
Jason bumped Sabine's knee with his and said, "Gonna have to postpone this chat for a bit."
His face remained mostly stoic but there was a slight quirk to his lips. Sabine took that as a sign that there wasn't any reason for her to feel apprehensive.
Sabine gave a slight nod, vigilant eyes trailing after the young blonde woman that Jason knew.
You know her? she mouthed to Jason, starting an inaudible exchange.
—Yeah.
All the purple and blonde was impossible for Sabine to forget.
I've run into her before.
A look of genuine surprise passed over his face.
—What? When?
Stephanie had a bounce to her walk like she had too much energy. Collecting her order off the pick-up counter when her name was called, she dragged a chair over—the metal legs screeched and the wet rubber soles of her dark purple high tops squeaked over the tiled floor—and plunked her blended iced coffee monstrosity down on the table, joining them at the small table.
"I'm Stephanie," she offered a hand to Sabine, assessing her with a good-natured glimmer in her eyes. "You look familiar."
It was almost imperceptible the way Sabine's brown eyes flitted over to Jason. "Sabine," she replied tentatively, lifting a hand to introduce herself. "I think…we met in the library once? Um, when the bathroom flooded. You pulled me out."
Stephanie grabbed her hand, gripping it firmly, and shook it once before letting go.
Recognition bright in Stephanie's eyes, she said, "Ohhh, right. That was weird. How does a bathroom just…" She made a small explosion sound as she twirled the straw in her drink.
Sabine tried not to flinch at the memory and steered the conversation away from a place she didn't want to discuss. She pointed back and forth between them, "So how do you know each other?"
"Family friend," Jason replied flatly, in the same beat Stephanie crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and revealed all too smugly, "Used to date his younger brother. Got broken up with. It's cool, though, we're still friends. Now I'm with his older sister."
Sabine nearly spat out her coffee, clapping her hand to her mouth just in time to catch some spillage. "I'm—I'm gonna get some napkins."
Jason watched as Sabine jumped up onto her feet and made a hasty beeline to the self-serve station at the other end of the room, where the extra straws, stirrers, and napkins were kept for customers.
He turned back to Stephanie, rubbing the side of his temple. "Couldn't just come over to say a simple 'hi', could you?"
"What? She asked," Stephanie said loftily with a carefree shrug. Fingers drumming against her plastic drink cup, she seized the opportunity to spring an unwelcome topic on him now that Sabine was out of earshot. Leaning into his space with her chin on her palm, she said, "But now that I have you in my clutches, speaking of exes, he does ask about you sometimes."
A murky expression spread over Jason's face, briefly unearthing something he kept hidden. Tim and him weren't close. Living their own lives, barely in each other's orbits. It was complicated was the defining understatement of the century.
She sighed, dismayed. "Look, I'm not saying you two need to hug it out, but everyone has to walk on eggshells whenever you're in the same room."
Blunt and to the point, he didn't expect anything less from a determined Stephanie Brown.
He sat back in his seat. The background noises around them sounded far away, muffled. "What brought this on?"
Stephanie shrugged and hedged her admission with a soft scoff, "I don't know, you seem to be in a better head space lately. Might be worth a shot? Meant to talk to you at the party but it was…a little crowded."
Jason blew out a loaded breath. He didn't say anything, but her suggestion lingered in the air.
"Sooo," Stephanie shifted and draped one arm over the back of her chair, position allowing her eyes to flick between Jason and Sabine—who was so clearly pretending to be busy at the counter, "someone's been making friends."
The amused tilt of her head was absolutely calculating, knowing, because Jason didn't just let other people borrow his clothes.
The circle of people 'in the know' was widening faster than Jason anticipated. Gotham City was impossibly big and so, infuriatingly small at the same time.
She threw her hands up when Jason met her with a stony face. "My lips are sealed. And I swear I wasn't following you or anything, just happened to be in the area because of classes."
Jason breathed out, "Figured. It's…," he spied the pouty way she pursed her lips and rolled his eyes, "Fine—you can tell Cass. And. No. One. Else."
Under the table, Stephanie gleefully kicked his shin. "You should come over again sometime soon, though. Cass wants to learn how to bake cookies like you do. We tried the other night and they all spread too much over the baking sheet."
Slouching down in his seat a bit, he raked through the extensive baking knowledge in his brain. "Could be several things; butter in the batter was too warm, oven temperature, might need to add more flour…"
Jason involuntarily jolted when he felt a hand tap his shoulder. Twisting around in his chair, he saw Sabine standing behind him.
Sabine blinked nervously at him. "Ready to go? We have that, uh, thing to get to." She was, obviously, an abysmal liar.
He didn't blink back but he rose to his feet all the same. An eagerness to leave overtook him as he felt that little private bubble around Sabine and him shrink uncomfortably, threatening to burst.
"Yeah," he said, pulling his jacket back on and chugging the final dregs of his coffee, specks of grounds at the bottom of the cup and all. There was a scuffle as he pushed his chair away from the table. "See ya, Steph. I'll come over and diagnose the cookie problem soon. Stay outta trouble, don't burn your apartment down."
Sabine shot Stephanie an apologetic look and tried not to stumble over her words, "It was nice to meet you. I hadn't met any of Jason's friends yet."
Roy's dead-to-the-world-snoring form burrowed in a thick throw blanket on the couch that one morning weeks ago did not count as any sort of official and proper introduction, as far as Sabine was concerned.
"Honored to be the first," Stephanie replied, voice upbeat. "And it's cool, I kind of just barged in on your date. My bad."
For a moment, Sabine and Jason shared both a fond and slightly frazzled look, one that Stephanie couldn't help but notice and inwardly gush that they were both so obnoxiously cute—
Pulling a heavy textbook on leadership and management roles and functions in nursing out of her backpack, Stephanie waved them off.
From the very corner of Sabine's eye, she swore she saw the illuminated glint of a phone screen in Stephanie's hand as well.
The glass cafe door swung shut behind them and Sabine spared Jason a sympathetic glance. She quickened her pace to catch up with his long strides.
"Sorry, should I have rescued you sooner?" she asked. She felt a swirl of regret in the pit of her gut and wondered if she misread the atmosphere. "It looked like she wanted to talk to you alone, so I tried to give you two some space. Maybe that was a bit too much?"
"Don't worry about it," he said, trudging over the shiny and wet sidewalk. "Steph can come off a bit strong but she means well."
Sabine didn't know if he was saying that to her, or telling it to himself.
Footsteps smacking loudly over the gum-smeared and litter-infested pavement, they walked over the sloshing puddles and under leaky eaves.
More curious than anything else, Sabine dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. "Did she really date two of your…?"
Jason clicked his tongue but seemed less moody. "Yeah. Didn't know she and Cass were a thing. But…makes sense. I'm happy for them."
He wondered how the hell he missed that development. Maybe he'd been too mired in his own bullshit and his inability to let shit go, yet again, to notice how everyone around him was carrying on.
Sabine noticed his vacant gaze and the way his brain was drifting further and further away from her.
The gray clouds above burst and icy rain pelted down from the sky. Sabine snatched Jason's wrist, pulling him under a bright yellow bodega awning with her. Her grasp grounded him, luring him back into the present.
Jason sounded utterly drained when he joked, "Weird first date, right?"
She rubbed her thumb over the spot where his glove covered his wrist bone in an understanding manner. "Not really. I think we both just have a lot on our minds." Her brows raised. "Didn't know this was our first date, though."
His face shut down and he regarded her for a moment. "What do you mean?" His other hand flopped from side to side, gesturing between them, and his eyebrows furrowed, "We're…"
Sabine smothered a laugh into her palm. "No, no—we are. Definitely. I'm just saying I didn't know that you thought this was the 'first'. But maybe…" she chewed on the inside of her cheek, considering her words, "…we can plan something a little more private next time?"
Heat rippled up his neck, liking the idea.
"We could do that," he agreed.
Forget ordering takeout from some shoddy restaurant, he'd cook her a lavish five-course meal if that's what she wanted.
He stretched an arm out and draped it over her shoulder, pulling her into the crook of his arm. "Can hardly take one step outside without tripping over one of Bruce's strays, anyhow," he gruffed out.
"Big family problems, huh," she teased, leaning into him.
At that, he snorted.
A part of Sabine reveled in all she learned today, about Jason and the people in his life. He wasn't an easy person to get to know but, here and there, pieces of his life slipped out.
Shielded from the downpour that fell down like a heavy watery curtain by the canvas awning, his thoughts finally quieted. It had just been…a lot in one day. He tried hard to keep the emotional hangover from bleeding into complete numbness.
Jason leaned down. Hovering by the shell of her ear, he said quietly, "Wanna head back to my place and,"-he swallowed so hard she heard it-, "talk?"
Her heart skipped when his breath tickled the side of her face. "Y-yeah."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Cannot emphasize enough how much I appreciate your kind comments!
Next up: plot related things…😈