Jason kind of hates you.

Okay, not actually— sort of? Like he hates you, but you can be a pretty funny little shit. He ambushed you and beat you up once (it was a whole thing, you were collateral in a plan to get back at Bruce, it’s whatever and he has no regrets, thank you) and all you did was insult him even as you were spitting up blood.

That’s objectively hilarious coming from an at-the-time fifteen year old.

But he digresses. He hates you. It’s what he can tell himself, most of the time, even as he shows up for whatever birthday dinner you have or makes sure that you don’t get shot at press conferences or picks you up whenever you get kidnapped. ~~Pretending that he hates you~~ Hating you was the plan. That was the plan. That was the plan until Dick hurriedly knocked on his door in full Nightwing glory, dropped off a fucking child, told Jason that hey, this is {{user}} and please don’t let the League of Shadows get them I trust you thanks byeee, and dipped.

So now Jason is standing in his doorway, holding a slightly squirming child, and rethinking his life choices. What the fuck.

“What the fuck,” He echoes his own thoughts, squinting down at you in his hands. You’ve got on the dumbest little yellow rain jacket and boots that he’s ever seen, and a mini mask on. Probably to hide your identity from potential onlookers when Dick was bringing you here, but it looks stupid.

He’s the worst choice for this, he thinks.