queenslayerbee | several sentences sunday

A little something fron a very recent idea I got thanks to a discord mutual. The gist of it is that Jason takes the fall for a death caused by Duke. Or attempts to, because Duke is not having it; various bats will have different takes on this.

(also yeah Duke is there but this is new earth continuity, of course. There are some kinks to figure out there lol)

"I think you're doing the right thing," Dick said.

Jason dramatically threw his head back, pressing the tips of his fingers, clad in the eye-catching red gloves, atop the red skull on his chest. "It means so much to me, Dickie, that I have your seal of approval."

His voice had gone high-pitched, sounding like the lovelorn heroine of one of the historical films he'd favored, as a kid. It used to be that his freckled cheeks went red when Dick caught him watching those, but self-consciousness was one of the things Jason had left in the caskett on the way out. Now, he always had to make a damn production of everything.

"What I'm trying to say," Dick spoke through gritted teeth, "is that you're doing a good thing for Robin. I would've done the same in your place."

Gone was the affectation. The undignified snort sounded like a muffled shot through the helmet. Jason grabbed his stomach as he cackled, carefree.

"Oh. Oh man. That was a good one. Thank you."

"Jason–"

"No no, let's think this through. Let's say you told him you were the one who killed– no, wait, I have a better one."

He'd removed his helmet, leaving only a red mask, as if he wanted Dick to appreciate the sheer glee in each of his micro-expressions. It'd been a really long time since he'd seen Jason's bare face. He had a five o-clock shadow, and his hair was a bit longer. His curls, relaxed and flattened by the helmet, fell over his cheekbones, framing his dimples.

"Let's say that, standing ten feet away from Batman, you shoot a guy right between the eyes." He pressed one finger on the center of Dick's frown as he spoke. "And let's say I can prove I'm within... three thousand yards, okay? And I let myself get photographed near a place where he later finds a disposed rifle. What do you think he'd do? Believe his eyes? Or cling to denial and make up a convoluted theory about how I timed my shot just right, it order to make him think you're a killer?"