Work Text:
All in all it was a bland patrol, Jason would like to think. It was Damian, him and Dick. Originally just Jason, doing his usual route through the dredges of crime alley, stepping into areas where the baby birds were hesitant to acknowledge, let alone defend .
Red hood was on the edge of his territory, a clip from his pistol already well spent and his knuckles bruised from an awfully hard punch into high cheekbones. Nightwing had waved him over to the bats side, and spent a solid 5 minutes trying to cajole Red hood into Bats territory. Batman was off planet, Nightwing had finished his lap around Bludhaven, and Robin needed the big birds company in absence of the bat. Red hood could commend that crime alley was quiet, clean after that night's sweep, and agreed to One (1) splitway patrol. With Him, Nightwing, and Replacements-Replacement.
Damian scoffed when he joined the two taller, towering brothers on the rooftops. He had been listening in to the exchange from a fire escape, his boots kicking up roof grit. Jason crossed his arms and watched Robin scowl from Nightwings side, simmering even though half his face was swathed by his hood.
The kid continued to Scowl at Jason, hours later. Dick placed a butterfly bandaid over Damian's split scraped cheek, fingers gossamer light. He was going to get a wrinkle if he kept up that pinched scowl at this rate.
Jason's knuckles bled now, raw, and his ribs hurt from being tossed over a building. He could feel the slight dribble of blood running from his knuckles under his gloves, to his finger tips. He brushed it off bluntly on his pants.
They were all roughed up from the patrol, and were currently taking a breather, as Nightwing had put it. They deserved it.
Dick limped slightly when he stood to his full height, leaving Damian on the park bench with his little gauntlet clad arms crossed. He pouted and scowled, being literally benched for the time being. The Robin cape swallowed Damian up.
There was a nearby food truck, something foreign and flavorful. The whole courtyard smelled of spices and Jason sighed. Nightwing had swayed up to his side now, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder and staring at the convenient food service a dead sprint away.
Dick hummed conversationally, and Jason nodded, patting down a pocket on his jacket that was sewn from the inside, rather than the outside. It was small, sewn over his heart. Jason stitched it himself.
"I left my wallet at home, I don't usually make pit stops during patrols." Dick threw out, crossing his arms across his chest. Dicks eyes followed the others nimble fingers that tucked inside of his jacket and withdrew three crisp Benjamin Franklins.
Dick whistled slightly at the sight, smiling honestly now despite the purpling bruise on his jaw. Jason rolled his eyes and crushed the bills in his hand into a vice.
The money was meant more for kids in need, who turned to muggings or pedaling drugs and unfavorables. Red hood would pilfer their knives and ziploc sandwich baggies, and shove a founding father into their hand. Scold them, remind them of their mothers at home, or disappointed fathers, and watch as they scrambled out of Red hoods shadow.
It also helped when Red Hood only paid in cash and unavoidably didn't have a wallet. Or credit card. Plus, worst to worst, Cremations in Gotham for John Does averaged the GCPD roughly 275 per person.
"300 dollars worth of personal burial money." Jason elaborated, he already started to walk towards the offending food truck.
Dick strayed next to Robin, where the kid sat cross legged on the bench. His face was skewed into Thinking Hard mode and he uncrossed his arms. He let out a small gasp, the neurons in his brain firing to make a connection. Jason flinched when Dick caught up to Jason's longer strides and clapped his hand over the others shoulder.
Dick was bouncing after him, Jason tried to shrug his hand off his shoulder but was chiefly ignored. A smile lit Dicks face and Jason winced.
"That was from Fight Club. The space monkeys thing, right?" he babbled, his hand still firm on Jason's shoulder. Said hand now certified to be warming Jason through his jacket. Didn't Grayson run cold?
Jason purposefully stopped in place and felt Dick bump into his back, doing a human version of a brake check. He smiled when Dick sputtered behind him. Jason widened his gait, walked faster.
Dick scoffed in surprise and both his hands found their way onto grabbing Jason, one tucked into the crook of his elbow and the other still on his shoulder. Curse Dick Grayson and his stupid Drunk Octopus level of Grabby-ness.
"What can I say, it's a good movie. Classic." Jason murmured, voice modulated through the helmet. Dick grinned wider, shaking his head in amusement. Distantly, Jason noted the tiny set of footsteps winding behind Dick, and rolled his shoulder.
"It was your bisexual awakening wasn't it? Tyler durden in all his bare chested glory? Cmon, everyone felt Something for 90's Pitt."
Dick really hammed into it, leaning closer to Jason's helmet and receiving a palm nudging his face away forcefully instead. Jason couldn't understand how the man could smile any bigger. His mouth Had to of hurt. His poor cheeks.
Jason groaned and tried to walk faster towards the parked truck. Dick dragged him down. Damian's fist finding its way to the hem of Jason's jacket, holding on to help himself keep pace, slowed him down more.
Jason eventually steeled to a stop infront of the truck and Damian released his hold on Jasons jacket to peer at the menu. Pictures were glued to the side of the truck, some of their laminated film peeling due to the elements. Damian wrinkled his nose and Jason scoffed, crossing his arms. He was just going to order the blandest thing available for Damian instead of letting him choose.
The truck's window was closed, but Red hood knocked politely and it slid open with a scuff.
Red hood ordered their food, his native tongue forcing his way through when he noticed the man in the food truck was Honduran . The blue and white flag hung from the trucks ceiling, tinted yellow from its time above the grills. Nightwing let go of Red hood to point out something from the printed photos on the side of the truck, and Red hood elaborated with ease.
He slid the large founding father across the metal countertop. The man inside the truck stared unblinkingly before scooping up the offending bill and popping open the register. Jason threw the 287 dollars worth of change into the searingly empty tip jar.
Jason had sat down, hands full of a foil wrapped paper plate worth of tostadas, on the crowded little park bench. Sandwiched between the demon brat and Dick. Damian shoveled a sizable amount of rice and beans into his mouth, careful not to spill a grain. Dick held his current pupusa carefully, mouth already full of cheese and pork. Jason spread his legs and his knee knocked into Dicks.
"Actually it was more the scene of the twink beating the Snot out of Jared leto." Jason continued, before peeling back the metal foil and taking off a red facial plate from the helmet. Jason meant it more jokingly, the scene itself was an all around beatdown. Seeing Jared Leto get his shit rocked was worth it though.
In the corner of his eye he saw Dicks shoulders shaking in silent laughter, a smear of cheese stuck on his cheek. His eyes scrunched up. He looked like he was trying not to choke.
From Jason's other side, Damian smirked before gathering another large spoonful and smothering the smile.
Dick swallowed, still laughing to himself.
" The Twink on Twink violence? That was your bisexual awakening? Oh why am I not surprised."
"Shut up."