Chapter 6
Nightwing had made it all the way past the goons and into the kitchen when he dropped from the rafters. Not quite onto Jason’s head, no, but close enough to make it clear that he could have, if he wanted to.
“Hood.” Nightwing’s smile was completely devoid of all warmth and so sharp-edged Jason found himself reaching to check his armor catches before tapping the handle of one of his guns as cover.
“‘Wing.”
Jason had been expecting this visit. It was, in fact, a visit to Red Hood, not to Jason.
Unfortunately, Nightwing had decided to drop in while he was stress baking for himself, and so he was just about as far from the Red Hood’s headspace as it was possible for him to get.
Which was why Nightwing had decided to do it then. Nightwing was very purposefully catching Red Hood as offguard as possible, because he was refusing to take any chances with Damian’s safety. Jason should appreciate that.
Jason took the time to finish incorporating his dry ingredients into the mix before really looking up. He was only in a domino, because he was baking at four in the goddamn afternoon, but that didn’t mean he was entirely without his gear. His Hood was nearby, and his holsters and sheathes were full, with the exception of the three that made it difficult for him to carry or stir. Those were set nearby.
If Nightwing was going to interrupt his baking, then he could damn well start this conversation.
Jason contemplated his options. Was he going to put the dough in the fridge and let it chill so he could have a real conversation with Dickhead, or was he going to risk his kitchen and his baked goods to Nightwing’s rather formidable temper?
The idea of having a conversation with anyone without a task in between him and them was going to give him hives. Baking it was.
At least it was bread, and a rather fussy bread, at that, so it would keep his hands busy for the next few minutes while he shaped and kneaded it. By hand, because that was the point of all of this.
Nightwing was perched on the island, with his boots on the goddamn counter. Goddammit. He was going to have to resanitize that again, later.
“Say what you wanna say and then get out.” He could wait Nightwing out, maybe, but he wanted to finish with the conversation before the bread was done and his hands were empty.
“You trained Robin in the League.” And, yeah, he had.
“What about it.” Jason floured the countertop and threw the bread harder than he maybe had to. “Kid had a lot of trainers.” That even had the benefit of being true.
“None of the other trainers left the League,” and huh, yeah, probably not. But the League was real picky about who was allowed to master their techniques, learn their languages and procedures, and then escape alive with them.
“Yeah, well, they couldn’t all be winners.” And Jason really wished Dickwing would get to the point.
Silence for a bit longer. Nightwing was clearly unhappy about something in the way that dropped the temperature of the room a few degrees and made him wish he had his helmet on.
“You allowed them to send a three year old on missions.” And, well, that was a thing to be pissed about. Jason understood.
“Hypothetically.” Jason shrugged. He had asked for them to send the three year old on missions, and wasn’t that something to have on his conscience. “Did you ask him? Why we spent all that time dispatched instead of training?” And this bread was probably overkneaded, but he wanted something in his hand other than a knife or a gun, right now.
“He didn’t say.”
Jason scoffed and threw the loaf into a bowl before covering it with cheese cloth.
“Use that bird brain of yours,” and this was going to get Jason hurt, if he kept provoking Nightwing. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Hell, maybe he deserved it. “Why would it be bad for the untrained child heir to an assassin cult to be in the assassin compound? How could that possibly go wrong?”
Jason threw down his next loaf. Fuck. He hadn’t been a sufficient poison taster at that point, because with the Pit fresh in his veins, he wouldn’t be affected at all by poisons that would make Damian deathly ill.
Nightwing went that special kind of still. Jason ignored his urge to duck behind something and kept kneading.
“Peter,” and at least Nightwing didn’t know his actual name. “Were you in charge of guarding Robin?” And there was thick, thick wariness and suspicion in Nightwing’s voice, but Jason hoped it stayed. Damian needed to stay safe, and Jason wasn’t around to help with that any more.
“The Son of the Bat was dispatched with me for several years,” Jason allowed. He didn’t know what would happen if they learned what Talia had learned -- that Jason would do anything to be able to see Dames again, let alone keep him safe. “I was housed with him for most of that time in between assignments.” That was unheard of, but he didn’t know how much of the League of Assassins daily affairs had been shared with Dames in the house and B having trained with them.
“Did you leave the League because of Robin?” and that was getting far too close for comfort, there.
And that was one helluva question, too. Jason hadn’t technically ever left the League, but Talia was very well aware that she wouldn’t be able to pry him out of here except in one helluvan emergency and with the application of far more force than anyone would like.
“One does not leave the League.” Jason finally said, because it was true, and because it was complicated. He had been sent away because of his unwavering loyalty to Damian and only Damian, it was true.
Nightwing let out a barely audible breath. “How long have you been taking care of him?”
“How old is he?” Jason asked, and didn’t regret it. Even if it was far too much information to share.
“Would you like to come over for dinner?” and it was Dick, sitting on the counter now, even if he was wearing his Nightwing uniform. “I think he’d like to see you. He’s been weird about trying to sneak out.”
“He wouldn’t have to sneak out if you just let him out in stealth clothes,” Jason pointed out, thinking over the invitation. “Talia can only catch him one time out of every three, Ra’s one time of two. I catch him two of three. Lady Shiva is one of two.”
“He said his sneaking was ‘adequate, but could use work,’” and Dick held the bridge of his nose. “Would you be willing to give us an accurate assessment of his skills?”
“If you can’t figure it out, that’s your own problem,” and really, were they just not paying attention? Did they have him sneaking in the goddamn Robin costume? “But Robin and I will talk about sharing his past training competencies.”
Dick’s head snapped up, and goddamn, could he find an ounce of chill? “Why do you need to talk to Robin about it?”
“Cuz the kid hasn’t had privacy or autonomy and I’d like to give him a little bit?” and an eye roll, here, while he tried to breathe the Pit into submission. “Jesus.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to-”
“Irrelevant.” and Jason tossed this loaf into a bowl. He was gonna have to hope overkneading didn’t absolutely destroy this kind of bread. “His choice. If he was old enough to kill people with me, he’s old enough to decide if he wants to talk about it.”
“He was-” and Dick sounded like he was trying to decide whether to be deeply hurt or deeply angry. Jason could make this easier for him. “-killing people. With you?”
“What about ASSASSINS don’t you understand?” And Jason had finally turned to face him fully, hands empty but glaring. “They don’t mildly inconvenience people or just break fingers. It’s killing people. He learned to be damn good at it. I’m damn good at it. Batman was damn good at it. Assassins. Kill people. He. Killed people. It sucked. Leave him the fuck alone about it.”
The worst part was that Damian hated it. Had resisted his training for longer than had been at all reasonable for a kid his age to resist that kind of pressure and treatment. But eventually he’d had to give in, because of course he had. And he’d gotten used to it, because again, of course he had.
“So!” and it was Dick again, anger completely scrubbed from his voice except for a little leftover adrenaline. “You gonna come over for dinner?”
Jason contemplated it. He could wear his domino, true, but-- he didn’t know if he could handle being in the manor, not if Alfred was there. Not if everyone was in civvies.
But it was an olive branch. “Ask the kid what he wants.” Jason finally said. “But my domino stays on no matter what, and no one tries to identify me. Ask me anything you want to know.”
It wasn’t going to stop anyone except maybe Dick, but it might give him grounds to hole up for a week or two once they figured out who he was.
“Lil guy already said he wanted you to come over,” and Dick was standing on the fucking counter. For fuck’s sake. “B agreed to it. How does brunch on Sunday sound?”
It sounded suspiciously like there might be feelings happening.
“Above the Cave?” Jason asked, fingers pressing carefully around the outside of his domino to make sure it wasn’t coming loose.
“Yup. Civvies.” and Dick hopped down. “We’re looking forward to it.”