⠀
out to him —— a strangely shaped device.

jason gave the offering a glance. “don’t need it,” he said, but he didn’t walk away either.
⠀

⠀
he knew people. knew how they acted when they wanted something. and this one —— this polished, well clean-cut hero —— had been no different. maybe worse.

when he stood, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans, the guy was holding something ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
he slid the tire back into place and tightened the lug nuts. the whole time, he felt that damn stare on him —— watching, waiting.

jason hadn’t needed to look to know the guy in the suit hadn’t moved far.
⠀

⠀
he ever had something to lose.

he started to walk and slipped his helmet back on. he tossed the next line over his shoulder.

“come on, I’ll make you a milkshake.”
⠀

⠀
“It’s late. patrol’s over.”

he didn’t say what he was thinking —— that he remembered being that age, hating everyone for deciding who he was before he even had the chance. that it had taken dying and clawing his way back to realize ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
that was all league polish.

no, it was the anger. the bite behind the words. the need to be something, to define yourself before the world did it for you.

jason had known that fight too well.

“put the glare away, kid,” he said. ᴛʙᴄ

⠀

⠀
he snorted, not mocking this time —— more impressed than he’d care to admit. “yeah, I can see that,” he said as he stepped away from the ledge.

for a second, damian reminded him of himself. not the bravado or the training —— ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
damn if it didn’t leave a bad taste every time.

"yeah, I’ll put 'em back," he said. "but I don't want your charity."

he started working, putting the tires back on.
⠀

⠀
jason had seen enough of that to know: capes and suits didn’t mean a damn thing unless there was something to be gained.

it wasn’t the first time he’d been offered something he wasn’t sure he wanted, but ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
but the person he’d become didn’t trust anything that wasn’t earned, especially if it came too easy.

his gaze flicked back to nightwing —— the spandex suit, the easy smile, the whole "hero" act. ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
part of him, the kid he used to be, wanted to accept. for once, he could have something simple, something comforting: a meal, a milkshake —— hell, even just the chance to feel like a normal person again. ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀
jason looked at him, brows furrowed. he had a decision to make.

he glanced down at the tires, still lying on the ground, knowing damn well that once they were back on, he’d either have to walk away or accept the offer. ᴛʙᴄ
⠀

⠀

⠀
still, kindness always came with strings —— and jason had learned a long time ago to tug hard before trusting any of them.

“…what kind of diner?” he asked, quieter this time.
⠀

⠀
“what, you some kind of creep in spandex tryin’ to feed strays?”

the truth was, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a hot meal that hadn’t come from a vending machine or the bottom of a half-empty dumpster.
⠀

⠀
jason blinked. that wasn’t the response he had expected. no threats, no shouting, no swinging fists. just... food?

his grip on the wrench loosened slightly.

“you serious?” he asked as he turned more fully, his eyes narrowing.
⠀