Trust. It was a strange concept in this particular context and Jason sucked in a sharp breath when the word was voice so casually. He didn't trust people. Not anymore. He'd been used too many times, then discarded or traded away for something more appealing. The word triggered an automatic curl to his lip and a stiffening in his spine that warned of how close Tim was treading to a dangerous topic.
But as much as he wanted to lash out and snap his teeth at the idea that Tim could trust him...he didn't. Because he'd stalked the boy enough to know that Tim Drake didn't trust anyone, either. Not after Dick had pulled the Robin suit out from under his feet and handed it to Damian, anyway. At the time, he'd gotten a sick sort of kick out of watching the two younger boys fight over the position, a little bit of the bitterness from his own replacement rearing it's ugly head, but even he thought Dick had pushed it too far when Tim had disappeared out of the country. It had been almost familiar enough to make him follow. He hadn't, because Tim had always been a better Robin than him, but he'd used his connections left in the League to make sure the boy wasn't dead.
And now, on their rooftop, Jason made himself relax as he leaned against an air conditioning unit because he knew exactly how hard it was to open up to someone like that after having been burned that badly.
Reaching up, he thumbed open his helmet and eased it off, shaking out his curls as he set the heavy piece of equipment next to him. His eyes were still covered, his paranoia apparently an everyday habit, but he flipped up his lenses so that Tim could see the pale slate of his eyes.
"You're fucked in the head if you think I'm going to sit back and let you throw magic around for the first time when you haven't eaten or slept in the last- what? Forty-eight hours? I'm pretty fucking durable, but that doesn't mean I want to be hit by whatever wild shot your sleep deprivation sends at me. Magic fucking stings and it heals almost human slow. But, if you take the night to eat and sleep, I'll see if I can find us somewhere tucked away enough to not raise any red flags for ol' tall, dark, and insane."
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But as much as he wanted to lash out and snap his teeth at the idea that Tim could trust him...he didn't. Because he'd stalked the boy enough to know that Tim Drake didn't trust anyone, either. Not after Dick had pulled the Robin suit out from under his feet and handed it to Damian, anyway. At the time, he'd gotten a sick sort of kick out of watching the two younger boys fight over the position, a little bit of the bitterness from his own replacement rearing it's ugly head, but even he thought Dick had pushed it too far when Tim had disappeared out of the country. It had been almost familiar enough to make him follow. He hadn't, because Tim had always been a better Robin than him, but he'd used his connections left in the League to make sure the boy wasn't dead.
And now, on their rooftop, Jason made himself relax as he leaned against an air conditioning unit because he knew exactly how hard it was to open up to someone like that after having been burned that badly.
Reaching up, he thumbed open his helmet and eased it off, shaking out his curls as he set the heavy piece of equipment next to him. His eyes were still covered, his paranoia apparently an everyday habit, but he flipped up his lenses so that Tim could see the pale slate of his eyes.
"You're fucked in the head if you think I'm going to sit back and let you throw magic around for the first time when you haven't eaten or slept in the last- what? Forty-eight hours? I'm pretty fucking durable, but that doesn't mean I want to be hit by whatever wild shot your sleep deprivation sends at me. Magic fucking stings and it heals almost human slow. But, if you take the night to eat and sleep, I'll see if I can find us somewhere tucked away enough to not raise any red flags for ol' tall, dark, and insane."