dick grayson. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} blackandblue) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} chances_rpg,@ 2024-05-05 10:55:00 |
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Who. Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Quentin Coldwater, NPC!Deathstroke
When. March 30; late
Where. Batboys' Apartment (mostly)
What. Dick got mad. Dick went after Slade. Slade got mad. Things… happened.
Warnings. Physical Violence, mostly
Well, shit. Defenestration can't even get him.
When. March 30; late
Where. Batboys' Apartment (mostly)
What. Dick got mad. Dick went after Slade. Slade got mad. Things… happened.
Warnings. Physical Violence, mostly
Stiles offered to come get him and Dick took him up on it. He sat his ass down on a bench at a bus stop and answered replies on his post. Bare his soul just enough to Donna, make sure to not worry May… He couldn’t respond to Jason even if the other made a post. Jason would have likely waited anyway. Why put it in text when he could do it in person? That was what made Dick nervous. He had conflicting feelings about Jason Todd just then. What had been guilt and gratitude and solidifying the elder brother role for months now had gotten anger and disappointment shoved into cracks that had formed upon Dick’s return. And he needed to figure out how to deal with that.
Well, in the very Jason Todd fashion, Dick had figured it out very quickly. Jason had stormed in like a wrecking ball and yelled. Shouted. Because he’d been worried and emotions were easier dealt with when they were being yelled instead of being buried, never to be addressed. Dick hadn’t missed the post Jason had made. He hadn’t missed how Jason had referred to him as his brother. Everything fell away just long enough for Dick to push the anger and disappointment away to focus on his brother and the worry (the fear) that had been there when Dick had simply vanished.
And then it all came spilling out. Again, in a very Jason Todd fashion. About the assumption that Slade had been behind it, about Slade targeting Quentin Coldwater, about kidnapping the man who had made Jason squirm just a little when he didn’t realize Dick was watching, and Dick just took it all in. The next bit of information to slip out (a sign of Jason’s stress about what had happened and the absolute trust that Dick was safe) was how Jason had hated the way Quentin’s voice had gone soft and small and how dare Slade Wilson traumatize someone they considered a civilian in their building? By sheer proximity, Quentin was theirs to protect. Dick calmly built wall after wall in rapid time, between blinks, and he didn’t let on just how far the depth of his fury went.
So when Nightwing slipped out of the apartment days later without letting Jason know, he made himself known to Deathstroke. It was always easy to bait the other and this time, Nightwing didn’t hold back. He never quite pulled his punches with Slade anyway because the man could take them and would always give them in return regardless of purposely tamped-down skill from his opponent or not. Like all of their fights, it was fast and Dick seemed to suddenly have years’ worth of more training. He had been through events that could have ended the world. He had done things he had never thought himself capable of. And everything came spilling out in his attacks. For a second, he had Slade on the defensive.
And then the explosion of violence hit a new level and Dick realized his mistake. He was pissing off Slade Wilson… who knew where his weaknesses lived and were likely there at that very moment. Dick didn’t even know what he was talking about by that point, just running his mouth like he always did. Taunting. Distracting. Challenging. A new maneuver sent Slade to the ground, surprising them both, and Nightwing took the chance to take off. He needed to get to Jason. He had made a mistake and they needed to shore up their defenses because if Slade managed to knock him out, he’d beat Nightwing back. Dick needed Jason. He needed Jason off the leash because this was a whole new level and it was his fault. He should have held back, he shouldn’t have let the absolute fury come pouring out of him. It felt like the Joker all over again, that memory always fresh in his mind though he’d maybe forgiven himself for that since the sociopath had been resuscitated.
Nightwing knew the window he was aimed at was unlocked. It was always unlocked. Because who in their right mind would be entering their apartment through that route if it weren’t Nightwing or Red Hood? “Jason-!” Dick snapped as soon as his head was in the apartment, his body soon following. He realized Slade had gotten up way too fast. “Move! Move!”
Dick took the floor at a roll, nimble as ever, and realized his second mistake of the night: he had assumed Jason was alone. “Shit,” he managed to grind out, escrima sticks in hand, as he turned to face Deathstroke crashing through that very same window. Where Nightwing had gone through it as an opening, Slade just took the whole damned thing out and landed on his feet. (Show off.) Behind the mask, Deathstroke radiated anger and violence.
So, one minute Quentin Coldwater was rather happily exploring Jason Todd's mouth with his tongue while sitting astride the most amazing set of thighs he'd ever had the privilege of being wrapped around, and the next Dick Grayson was sliding into the room via the window—because this was something a person did, evidently—wearing something that very clearly looked like a costume, complete with a suspiciously familiar looking symbol in blue (as opposed to the red he'd seen Jason sporting not a few days earlier).
This was all well and good and more than enough to pull his attention from the amazing pair of lips he'd been concentrating on for… well, that probably wasn't important. Before he could start asking any kind of questions, however, the aforementioned window exploded and Q suddenly found himself gently, but very firmly, deposited on the floor.
It took a second for his brain to adjust to this newest in a string of bizarre factors, which is how he realized that Jason had actually put him there, and was now squaring up to the very bastard who had kidnapped him just days before. His emphatically muttered "Jesus fucking Christ" might as well have been shouted in the brief second of calm-before-the-storm that descended over the scene.
Jason could basically still feel Quentin's tongue in his mouth, and he definitely hadn't had time to cool down enough before he put himself between Deathstroke and the rest of the room. He was still sore from the last time the man had shot him, and he hadn't exactly been wearing his armor for making out on the couch with his... you know what, they hadn't talked labels yet, so he was just... gonna... not finish that thought. The point was, he was woefully unprepared for this fight, but he did have a gun holstered at the small of his back. He contemplated reaching for it, discarded the thought almost immediately as a last resort. He didn't want to have to explain a goddamn bullet hole in his apartment.
Not that it was looking like he'd have that much of a choice, if Deathstroke was there to play.
"Hey, rude. Only we get to break shit around here." Hands fisted, Jason looked around for any other stashed weapons, or anything that could be turned into an improvised weapon. When he couldn't find anything in immediate reach? He shrugged it off and stepped in to take a carefully guarded swing.
Nightwing appreciated Jason's reaction time and didn't protest when the man was then taking a front-guard position. The problem there was that Jason wasn't wearing body armor and Deathstroke was fond of weapons that fired and pierced. The second problem was the civilian in the room. The superhero ground his teeth together. If he yelled at Quentin to run, it made him a moving target and-or created another avenue for movement that would put Deathstroke within the hallway. The apartment had a little more room to maneuver and he and Jason could keep this contained. If they moved fast.
The guarded swing kicked movement off again. If Slade versus Jason had seemed fast only days prior, the trio might as well have been a Formula-1 race because the two younger men seemed to step into sync and get Deathstroke on the defensive as quickly as they could. It was the only way to keep Quentin safe. Attention on them--all of Slade's attention on them. Dick's movements were controlled and better. His thumb activated the taser in one of his escrima sticks and he jabbed at Slade but was already moving with the attempted redirect of the attack, sliding just past Jason to avoid shocking his brother while opening Slade up for attack. The stick came down hard against Deathstroke's knee as Nightwing followed the motion through to the end.
'What the fuck,' Jason mouthed to himself; Dick didn't move like this. Like, he moved like this, but not like this. There was...
Absolutely no time to think about it. Right. Because they were in the middle of a fight.
Jason was still able to anticipate Dick's movements, still able to move with him the same way he always had. If anything, fighting with Dick like this was just pushing him to be better, faster, too.
But the fact of the matter was, he was a guy without armor on in the middle of a fight with a deadly killer, and when he felt a gun pressed against his ribs he couldn't help but freeze, desperately looking for any way out of being shot.
When Jason and Dick engaged, Q took his opportunity to at least get into a crouch. He was well aware he wasn't built for any of this, but rolling around on the floor seemed really stupid. In any case, he'd made several emotion bottles since being kidnapped and had been carrying around at least one on his person at all times. Well, most of the time. Not when he was sleeping. The risk of the bottle breaking wasn't nil. He might not have made the smartest choices all the time, but he tried his best.
Like now, when he was definitely staying out of this fight in all the ways he possibly could, like not calling attention to himself. His hand drifted to where it sat; the urge to pull it out and use it was starting to outweigh the inevitable shambles his emotional state would be in when he chugged down the contents after all was said and done.
And that's when Slade did the one thing that cleared Quentin's mind completely, no bottle needed—this time.
A strange calm washed through him as he sprang to his feet, all of his attention caught on press of the muzzle against his undefined-relationship, but for sure friend's side.
"Hey, asshole," he called, almost casually as he raised his hands and called the magic in a quick, simple tut. The force wall spell hurled itself in the direction of Slade and Jason, but Slade took the brunt of it. He was lifted from his feet and shoved right back through the window he'd broken on his way in.
Dick knew he wasn't going to be fast enough to beat a bullet but he apparently didn't need to be. When the tide turned and he realized Slade was being forcibly moved backward, Nightwing grabbed hold of Jason just enough to ensure that he didn't go out the window with Deathstroke.
There was a beat of silence before he moved to the broken window and was halfway out when he realized the large man was simply gone. "Well. Shit," Nightwing sighed. Classic move, really. All the most bad of the asses had it. He had somehow managed to avoid the shards when he'd gone to the broken window and that movement, all instinct and no overthinking, was pure years of training and experience. The Bats tended to use windows instead of doors, after all. Skylights, too. So much broken glass. "Defenestration can't even get him."
Jason gaped out the window, and then back at Quentin... the window, then Quentin... "Holy shit, that was fucking awesome."
Yeah, okay, it sucked that Deathstroke had gotten away from them again, but the man knew what he was doing. Three against one, and one of those three with talents he knew nothing about? Of course he hadn't stuck around. But holy shit Quentin had just pushed Deathstroke out the window with magic like it was nothing and that was ridiculously hot. Jason had felt that push, had been helpless against it himself, and the look he gave Quentin was way more heated than it should have been, given the current circumstances.
"What the fuck, D—Ni—" What the hell was he supposed to call him right now? He'd basically already given their secret away to Quentin, sure, but now he'd seen Dick in full costume, going after Deathstroke who was also in full costume, and they kind of owed him an explanation at this point. "Fuck," he concluded, running a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out where to even start with that one.
A little giggle just kind of bubbled out of Quentin, fueled entirely by the crackle of adrenaline still rushing through his system and the satisfaction of seeing Slade Wilson tossed out the window like the trash he was. He honestly hadn't thought he'd killed the guy—there were spells for that, of course, but all he'd wanted was for him to be gone. Wilson kind of struck him as the murderous cockroach type anyway. He looked between Jason and Dick, raising his brow. "Is this where I pretend I don't know who you are and then act all surprised when you take off your mask? Because I have to admit: I'm a terrible actor."
Dick moved back into the room and felt the glass crunch under his light boots. He sighed and took off the mask anyway. "Let's just assume we all got the jokes out and move on to the question and answer portion of our evening," he said drily. He leveled a look at Quentin and folded his arms against his chest, his stance in a fighter's 'at rest' pose. "Are you okay? You were far enough back but..." His gaze slid to Jason. They were both going to protect the man, but Jason was more muscle than agility while Dick leaned the other way; the pair complimented each other well in that way. "I didn't know you had company," he said before looking back at Quentin again. "I'm sorry." He had realized he had bitten off more than he could chew in fully angering Slade Wilson and had gone for the first backup he could think of: Jason. Donna would have been the next option had Dick known ahead of time that Jason wasn't alone.
"No, it's, uh..." Jason grimaced. "I should have told you, but kinda glad I didn't now."
Because Dick probably would have died, like an idiot, instead of giving up their secret intentionally when Jason had already pretty much ruined it for them. There wasn't any good explanation for why he was wearing a logo on his chest, after all, even if he'd been able to think of one for the fact that he owned body armor to begin with.
"Yeah, just... any questions, we'll answer them. No holds barred," Jason promised, because if this thing was going to work out then he'd have to tell Q about them eventually anyway. He'd seen attempts at keeping secret identities secret when you were locking lips with someone on the regular. It never worked out well, and Jason liked to think he was smart enough to learn from others' mistakes on this one.
Q watched the exchange again; it gave him enough time to do a self-assessment at least. His hands were shaking, he realized, and he shoved them under his arms, which he then clamped down hard against his sides. Irritation at his own weakness made his answer a sharp, "I'm fine."
He took a breath. And another. "Questions can wait. Shouldn't you guys go after that asshole? Or is this one of those things where you're stuck in an eternal struggle of good versus evil or whatever? Oops, those are questions. Okay, okay, just one more." Q nodded in the direction of Dick's 'uniform' or whatever it was called. "What's the deal with the matching symbols or whatever they are? Is it a local sports team? Are you both members of the same gym? Some kind of Gotham superhero club?"
Dick didn't call out the way Quentin's hands were shaking; it was the sort of thing he tended to notice while taking in an entire field and the sharp answer just solidified the idea that he needed to leave it alone.
He lifted a hand to ruffle at his own hair and there was the barest of pauses as he bit back a grunt of pain. Dick didn't want to try and assess just how many bruised and/or broken ribs he had. "Slade isn't someone you follow if you've already lost track of him," he sighed. "Or else I would have already been back out the window." And then his grin appeared. "We are the Gotham superhero club. Well, okay, I was in Blüdhaven for a while there," Dick explained, managing to cut off any mention of Chicago or New York. Jason didn't need those bits of information before Dick was ready to talk about them. Still, he tapped two fingers against his chest--against the blue symbol. "Nightwing." And then a thumb at Jason. "Red Hood. We were trained by Batman, among others. We were both Robins under him before-" Here, Dick hesitated. "Before we got out from under his shadow." Well, it wasn't inaccurate.
"Sounds like something out of a comic book," Q muttered, mostly to himself.
Jason snorted. "You don't even know yet.
"I didn't wear the symbol for a long time. Getting back in good with Batman and the rest of his sidekicks and B-listers is a pretty recent development for me." Jason shrugged one shoulder, obviously uncomfortable. "I wasn't always the good guy."
Because, yeah, being supervillain adjacent for a while there was another of those things that was probably better to tell Quentin himself than let him find out from whoever showed up from their world next.
None of them were standing particularly close at this point, but something in the look that crossed Jason's face nearly set Quentin's feet in that direction. Really, the only thing keeping him back was all the broken glass and his lack of socks or shoes. He could repair it a little bit at a time, but not so much the soles of his feet. "If we're confessing things, then I guess I should point out that I'm apparently one shade away from my own supervillain arc if I ever lost it. Long story. Not the time. And I'm totally bolstering the ol' morale there, aren't I."
He frowned over at the window. "Do you already have a tarp, or should we order one?"
"Did you just refer to me as a B-lister?" Dick scoffed, removing his gloves and setting them on the counter along with his mask and escrima. They owned a broom, he knew that much, and Dick moved to get it as Quentin spoke. Again, he scoffed. "We're all easily one step away from a supervillain arc," he said dryly as he backed out of the pantry with the broom and dust pan.
He looked at the mess and then the window as Quentin pointed it out. "We can replace it," Dick said with a shrug. "I can get a tarp tomorrow and I'll sleep on the couch for now so we can hear if anyone's coming in that way again." It was said without any concern and that probably said way more about their lives than it should have. He got to sweeping up the glass. He went to bend and immediately hissed. "Ha. Nope. Jay, you're on clean-up," Dick said and had to press a hand against his side, high up on his ribcage. "I'm gonna need your help out of this, too." Which also said way too much about their lives since Dick was asking for help with his suit.
"Yeah, sure," Jason said absently, already moving to take the broom and dustpan from Dick. "Need me to help you wrap your ribs too?"
Yeah, Dick was perfectly capable of doing it himself, obviously, but it was always easier with a second pair of hands. Usually that was a luxury that Jason didn't have, but he was getting used to the idea that here, Dick would have his back.
"If we were smart," he said, surveying the glass on the floor, "we would've brought the trash can over, too." He looked over at the bin, then back to the dustpan, clearly weighing his options for transporting that much glass. "Gonna have to... Triple bag, think that's enough? Before you answer, we have four left."
After swallowing back an aggrieved sigh and about a dozen comments, he swiveled from one brother to the other. "You, triple bag. I've got plenty in my apartment if you need more. And maybe I can think of a spell that might help. You"—this to Dick—"tell me about the fiddly bits of your costume so you don't have to wait for Jason. And if you can walk me through binding shit, I can do that too. I can do minor mending but I don't think that extends to the human body. I've never tried, and I don't think any of us want me to now. Unfortunately, that also extends to your window and all this glass, but this way we can multitask or whatever. Sound good?"
He wasn't used to taking charge. Not really. Quentin could give orders until he was blue in the face, but he was far less accustomed to having them listened to, let alone carried out. Really, he was just waiting for the moment when the brothers decided he was just getting in the way. He'd just kind of fake the confidence until then.
Dick was already considering the merits of using the garbage bin; broken glass was heavy, especially when it was the layered glass that windows were made of. Quentin started speaking and his attention landed on the man. Amusement appeared in his expression and blue eyes shot toward Jason to catch his reaction--a quick, sharp grin as Jason focused entirely on Quentin. When Quentin focused on him, he managed to hide his expression beneath innocent neutrality. Dick was good at that one.
Then he grinned slowly and lifted two fingers to touch them to his temple, tapping off a sloppy salute. "Yessir," Dick agreed. "If you'll follow me into our infirmary? After you make sure he's got the bags. And remind him to wear his gloves." Jason was right there but Dick thought his brother needed to be bossed around by someone else. He headed toward the bathroom to wait, nudging open the bottom cabinet that contained a very well-stocked first aid selection. No one needed to know where some of the more interesting items had come from.
Jason waited, eyebrows quirked and still looking at Quentin. "Gonna tell me to wear my gloves?"
Yes, he'd obviously heard Dick for himself. And he knew it was a good idea. But he wanted Quentin to tell him to do it anyway. The bossy thing was kind of hot. And, honestly, Jason could definitely use someone telling him what to do once in a while.
If he wasn't holding a broom, Jason might have stepped over to grab Quentin by his belt loops to steal another kiss. He'd just have to do it after he was done cleaning up and Quentin was done taking care of his brother. So, yeah, it was probably good that he was holding a broom and couldn't do any of it. The look he was giving Quentin turned a little heated, though.
God, the urge to risk imminent danger to his feet was almost worth it, and Quentin really had to wrestle with the impulse sparked by the way Jason stared at him. He thinned his mouth for a second—the only outward sign of his inner turmoil—then he pointed at the grip Jason had on the broom. "Gloves for those hands, mister."
Wisely, he left out the part about wanting to have good use of them later. Dick was injured, and Q didn't feel the need to compound things by being, well, a dick about it. He turned on his heel and followed Jason's brother into the bathroom, greeting him with a whirling motion of his finger. "Turn around so I can get started on this… uniform? Costume? What are you calling this? And important follow up: is this going to be my new normal? Evil pricks using me to get to you two? Also, why does this Wilson guy have such a violent hard-on for you?"
Oops, there went the questions.
Jason stared at the door for a moment, a small stupid grin tugging at his lips. God, that man was amazing.
He headed for his room to get his gloves.
Dick turned obediently, hiding a grin as he did so. He managed to get a hand up just high enough to not make him want to vomit as the pain settled in. He was already bruising and it was simply the aftermath of a fight; Dick had been through so much worse. He explained the way to get the uniform off, referring to it as both because it was both, in a sense, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt his back exposed. "Okay," Dick said as he turned to face Quentin again, "just grab the other side and ease it down." Dick managed to pull down from the shoulder on his... well, he couldn't say uninjured. "Triple-weave kevlar, by the way. Absorbs some of the impact, can take a bullet and certain blades. Not all." But the one shoulder he was able to pull the material down and god was it already turning purple.
He had faint scars that had clearly been tended to as much as possible to keep them light so people wouldn't give them a second glance unless they were up-close or knew what they were looking at. Jason had a lot of the same, Dick knew, because that was just their line of work. Another vicious bruise was forming on his right forearm where he'd blocked something with a lot of weight behind it but the bone wasn't broken and only because of the way Dick had performed the block.
"Slade's always had interest in me, back when I was Robin. I wouldn't really be able to say why and that isn't me being coy. It just was and is and he's afforded me some professional courtesy before, when he was in town to kill someone on contract. They won't use you unless they know what to look for. My guess is that Slade was watching Jason, after I disappeared, and spotted you making an appearance. Since he wouldn't have been able to lure Jason without reason, he gave Jay a reason." Here, Dick went quiet and watched Quentin. "I'm sorry. He stepped over a line and this is why we don't let people in. I got pissed when Jay told me and I went after him. Not my best moment but-" But Dick had come back with a lot of memories that he hadn't had before and his stress levels had been through the roof. His own violence had been churning just below the surface though closer than it usually was though always hidden beneath the hapless boy next door exterior. "Are you sure you're okay?"
All while Dick directed him and answered his questions, Quentin remained silent. He took an inventory of the injuries and scars, and while he'd never exactly been a student of the human body—outside of the fun ways (not the time!)—all of it spoke volumes for the life he and Jason had left behind. This wasn't the first time he'd had this thought, but seeing it up close for the second time now really drove the reality of it home. He knew better than some:
Violence had a cost. Just like magic.
It made his heart ache, but his mind balked to think of the children Jason and Dick had to have been when they were thrust into this life. Or volunteered for it without really realizing what they were getting into. Bile rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. Instead, he concentrated on helping Dick with his binding, glaring him into staying still as he moved around with the bandages. "Keeping people out is just as bad, in my experience. 'Life is pain, highness. Anyone telling you differently is just trying to sell you something.'" His mouth quirked, and he pushed out a long sigh. "But what do I know about anything. Not your life, obviously. Or Jason's. Doesn't mean I don't want to. Frankly, it's the opposite. The more I learn, the more my heart breaks for you both, but I also don't want to not know. I'm getting to know you, and that's what's important."
He secured the binder with a couple of bandage clips, then took a step out of Dick's space. Even with a small half-shrug, he still managed to look at him evenly. "I've died at least forty-one times, if you don't count that time we used probability magic, and I have a wooden shoulder. 'Okay' tends to be a sliding scale, and right now I'm hovering at right about annoyed, but concerned about my… friends. Are you? You just got back, right? Have you tried to take even a second to breathe?"
Dick lifted his hand to automatically check the wrapping and made a dismissive noise without thinking. He hesitated because Quentin hadn't earned the casual brush-off that Dick was so used to giving in order to put people off his scent--and at ease. "Can I let you in on a little secret? Because you're going to need it with that one, too. We're stubborn assholes. We've been through a lot. This? This is kind of nothing comparatively. I don't take the seconds to breathe so, really, I'm fine. This is normal," Dick said. He smiled and it was bright and like nothing had happened at all. "I'll have so many questions for you later, though.
"And thanks for the assist," he said and then lowered his voice. "For what it's worth, I will kick your ass if you break his heart." That voice? With that smile? Dick winked and shooed Quentin out so he could start nudging things back into place without bending over too much to do so.
The glass was triple bagged and placed beside the door by the time Quentin stepped back out; Jason pulled his gloves off and tossed them on the kitchen counter, looking up as the bathroom door opened. A smile snuck onto his face unbidden when he saw Quentin there. "All done?"
If it wasn't for the glassless window, it would almost be like nothing had happened at all. It was already done and over with, relegated to the back of Jason's mind for the moment since there was nothing he could really do about any of it yet. If he'd been alone it would have been a different story. He would have turned into a dog with a bone.
Maybe having a... relationship?... was good for him.
The shovel talk was to be expected, and was sweet in the sense that it spoke to the level of Dick's closeness with his brother, even though they sniped at each other constantly. Even so, Q had nearly laughed in his face when it happened. Not that he doubted Dick's sincerity or ability to back it up, but after facing down the Beast and the Monster and so many, many other things that had wanted to or actively tried to kill him, the whole thing was the kind of novel that struck him as kind of hilarious. He bit the inside of his cheek instead, and gave Dick a solemn nod, but didn't actually trust himself to speak.
So many insights, but also a dozen more questions. And while Dick had given him a lot, the rest he wanted to hear from Jason.
The very person who was smiling at him in a way that made Quentin feel kind of melty inside when he finally exited the bathroom. A part of him wanted to insist on a trip to an urgent care place or possibly stopping by Rapunzel's place, but he didn't think either brother would listen to him. Stubborn. Stubborn and amazing. He nodded once, but couldn't quite hold back the quiet tired sigh as he moved over to where Jason stood and just sort of leaned against him, face all but mashed to his chest. "Can we go to your room? I suddenly find myself with the powerful need to make sure you're okay. At least physically. All over. Is that okay?"
Jason curled a hand over the back of Quentin's head, tips of his fingers buried in his hair. "I think I can handle that. Pretty inconvenient for me, you might owe me one."
Honestly, all Jason wanted in return was to be able to check Quentin over for himself, as well. Slade hadn't touched him this time but even being in the same room was enough for Jason to need to check one more time that no real damage had been done during the kidnapping bullshit. He couldn't complain about the results, but he'd like to think that they would have gotten there without all that anyway.
Fingers curling a little more into Quentin's hair, Jason tugged his head back gently to kiss him, lips gentle and searching against Quentin's. Nothing like the way he'd kissed him earlier, before Dick had come swinging through the window.
Highly aware of Dick still being in the bathroom not too far behind them, Q was pretty sure that was the only thing keeping him from making the kind of appreciative noise he wanted to. His knees threatened to turn to water. He smiled against Jason's mouth and patted his shoulder. "To be continued soon, but you should check on Dick first. I can't promise I did the best binding work, and I won't be able to give you my undivided attention if I'm worried about him too. And then I'll owe you two."
"He's got this," Jason grumbled, but he let go of Quentin anyway... then covered Q's ears with his hands so he could bellow, "You good? Take some fucking aspirin, don't be a martyr."
He took the muffled noise he got back through the door as an affirmative. He dropped his hands from Quentin's ears, grabbed one of his hands instead and laced their fingers together so he could start tugging him toward the bedroom. "See? He's fine. Now let's go play doctor."