Jason refused to believe it.
It's been.. What? Over ten fucking years of looking?
A decade of Bruce chasing ghosts all over, and suddenly here he was.
The child. No -boy. No…man. The embodiment of Batman's greatest failure.
And Demon child was the one to find him? Here in Gotham? Just living life?
It didn't fucking add up.
Regardless of his reservations, at least now he could finally put a face to the source of all his issues.
..Well, alright, notallhis issues. Only the ones that (hurt the most) have messed him up the longest, thanks Bruce.
Here he is, little mister perfect, Batman'schosenone, the Robin that never was and yet started it all.. for whom the nest wasbuiltfor; his hand curled into a fist as he watched him approach his table.
"Hi! Sorry for the long wait, know what you want to order yet?" Richard Grayson smiled down at him.
No one at the manor ever smiled like that. Like they swallowed the fucking sun.
It was surreal, Dick Grayson had always been a ghost. He'd spent most of his life being measured against someone that wasn't there, that hadneverbeen there. Yet his shadow had been so large that it had always taken more space than Jason ever could.
What did this man have to smile like that in this shitty diner with sticky floors?
How could a shadow shine this bright?
There was a pause as Jason considered the man before him, not even registering the question he'd been asked. "Oh- Kay.. maybe you need another minute, I'll come back in a-" Grayson started saying after the silence stretched a beat too long.
"Pancakes, special deluxe. Coffee" Jason muttered as he continued pointedly staring at him. He knew he was good at getting under people's skins, he wanted a reaction.
Jason refused to be the only one feeling vulnerable.
"Sugar?"
"Four" he nodded.
The pen on Richard Grayson's hand paused "Uh… four? …packets?"
Jason glared at him, chin raised "and a half"
"'Aight, can't judge, I do have two bowls of frosted flakes every morning" he laughed and resumed his scribbling.
Who the fuck cares?!Jason wanted to yell, but it felt like something had lodged in his throat. Somewhere in a dark corner of his brain, he filed that information away; like that would make the guy make sense.Whatmade him so special?
So far? Thelegendwas bland as hell.
Jason didn't know whether to be relieved, or furious. (Furious. Always.)
Isthiswhat he's supposed to be, to be treated as more than an annoying piece of surprisingly sentient furniture?
"I hear they're grr-eat" Jason deadpanned.
Dick snorted, and his eyes actuallytwinkled.For fucks sake. Jason didn't even know that was a thing people did.
"Alright, just so we're clear, the pancake special deluxe comes with whipped cream, maple syrup, caramelized bacon, banana slicesanda mix of sugar and cinnamon over strawberry pancakes. A scoop of vanilla ice cream and sprinkles on top -if you dare. Do you still want those four packets of sugar in your coffee?"
"And a half. I feel like youarejudging me" he frowned.
"I would never," Dick said with a grin. "You are an important paying customer, after all"
Jason huffed but there was no real heat behind it "I will ask to speak to the manager if a single sprinkle is missing" He pointedly looked at Dick's name tag, like his name wasn't almost gospel back at the manor. "Dick"he smirked.
Dick rolled his eyes, a smile never leaving his face "Ah, nice one. You're not the first person beingsowitty this morning though. No extra bacon for you, better luck next time!" he tutted doing a very poor job of concealing the laughter in his voice before walking away.
Jason heard him calling out his order to someone on the other side of the counter before moving on to other booths, like Jason was just another customer, like his life didn't revolve around Jason's the way his had revolved around Richard's for so many years.
The utter asshole.
Jason felt like he hated him. Or that heshould -just on principle.
He drank his coffee, he ate his breakfast.
He lingered.
Longer than intended -longer than welcomed? No. Dick kept refilling his cup every time he passed by as he flitted among the other tables.
Jason was well aware that he could be doing more important things than pretending to read a book as he tried to solve the puzzle of this pancake-slinging ghost with abs.
One of his refills had come with a bandage and a pointed look towards his bruised knuckles. He didn't know what to think ofthat. And now his cup was full again, and the coffee was piping hot. But it was Dick's absolutely obnoxious sunshine smile that kept him warm. And so he stayed.
He doesn't think about the recent murders in Robinson Park, or the increase in drug pushing in the Narrows, he doesn't even think about all the chaos he could becausing.Instead he kept an eye on Dick.
He watched him speak to every person that entered the diner, greeting the regulars like they were old friends -he knew them byname. He asked, 'How are you?' And he meant it.
Maybe Bruce hadn't been clinging to Richard Grayson as a person, or even a symbol.
Maybe it was the light. The stupid, effortless, maddening fucking light he radiated, free for all to see, free for all to feel. Like Gotham wasn'tknownfor suffocating the light of its people.
Jason sipped his drink slowly, letting it burn down his throat. Fair enough, he thought
Let Bruce have his light.
It seemed bright enough to be shared anyway.
