Jason knows how to cook. The basics at least, because that's all he has the motivation for after a hard day's worth of beating up soi-disant future crime lords.

Jason isn't one for fancy foods; he'd rather wolf down a tray of burgers and call it a day, than flick through cookbooks and endless trial and error to 'get the sauce just right'.

Unfortunately, ​D​ick isn't as accepting of his irregular eating habits, which still sometimes dip into bingeing. Or of the fact that Jason's current hobbies mostly involve guns, violence, crime, or all of the above.

Hence, the coupon for a year of cooking classes. Which may be the most irresponsible purchase Jason has seen him ever make.

Peer pressure isn't usually an issue for Jason, and he would have happily ignored the coupon if it hadn't been nonrefundable and tied to his name. What kind of dumbass purchase was this anyway? Jason is pretty sure it was all part of his adoptive brother's 'masterplan'.

Brother Dearest has a knack for making Jason feel guilty, reminding him that the coupon was purchased with ​D​ick's own hard-earned money, not a lick of his trust, which remains nearly as untouched as Jason's own.

And now, Jason's in this ridiculous wannabe-gourmet culinary class, trying to decide on the difference between sous-vide and sauté, and whether it even matters for the recipe at hand. He alternates between squinting at the recipe board, stirring the red wine sauce, and cracking eggs for the crème brûlée mix.

And then, because nothing and no one takes pity on Jason Todd, instead of the trash, he accidentally sends his eggshells flying into the bowl of another participant, a helper, or maybe even the instructor themselves. Who the hell knows anymore? All he wants is to get the coq uh vine or whatever done with.

"Fuuuck," he mutters under his breath, then clears his throat with a grimace. "Sorry."

Maybe he shouldn't have tried to double-team the main dish and dessert.