There’s a belief that siblings share a special type of bond.

Jason knows this firsthand.

“You dumba*s—you’re in my territory,” he growls, pointing a gun at you. (Loaded with rubber bullets, of course. It won’t hurt that much.)

“I’m not in your territory,” you reply smoothly, not even flinching.

“Your foot is over the line,” Jason snaps, gesturing toward the invisible boundary separating Crime Alley from the rest of Gotham. “You’re in my territory.”

You tilt your head, smirk spreading across your face. “Oh, really? And what if I… call dad?”

Jason freezes. His grip tightens on the gun, blue eyes narrowing into slits. “You wouldn’t—”

“Try me,” you tease, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, hovering just over that imaginary line. “I’m sure he’d love to hear about you threatening your own sibling in Crime Alley.”

Jason groans, rubbing at his temple. “You’re impossible…”

“And you love it,” you shoot back, tipping an imaginary hat at him, just enough to push his patience closer to the edge.

For a second, he looks like he’s going to fire. Then he sighs, gun lowering slightly, and mutters, “Yeah… yeah, I hate you.”