#jason hasn't gotten upset or pissy or anything with dick so long as he hasn't tried to control jason's drinking

[thecrimsonhelmet]

@dramatisperscnae continued from here

Those seconds of silence are enough to have his gut churning with anxiety. Regret. The desperate desire to take the words back and shove them deep down where they’ll never see the light of day. But he can’t take it back, now that the question is out there, so he forces himself to stand there, still and waiting and watching Dick, his grip on the book the only thing keeping his hands from fidgeting.

Then, Dick is grinning, bright and elated, looking like Jason’s just offered him everything he’s ever wanted, plus a trip to Disneyland, on a silver platter. Like Jason’s worth a smile like that. Again, the thought makes him ache. Again, Dick’s words filter through his mind.

You’re a better man than you think you are. Give yourself a chance.

Rather than trying to dissect any of that, any of his current feelings, he focuses on this moment, and this moment alone. Nods once, sets the book down, and grabs his jacket off the back of the couch. “Great. Let’s go.” He pauses just long enough to point a finger at Dick. “Not a word of this to Dean. I don’t need the lecture.”

And then they’re off. Jason takes Dick to a little hole in the wall dive bar in a slightly sketchy part of town. The kind of place where no one will look twice at Jason, obviously underage, drinking. Where the bartender cards him because he has to, but barely even looks at the fake ID, and clearly doesn’t give a shit whether it’s real or not, so long as Jason’s got money.

Which he does.

He maybe drinks a little too much bourbon too quickly, used to needing quite a bit to even feel tipsy, with the Pit. Normally, when he’s been drinking since Dean brought him back, he just has a beer or two. But he’s got a lot of conflicting and confusing emotions swirling around inside his brain right now, and a simple beer just wasn’t going to cut it.

“He’s such an asshole,” he laments to Dick, sitting next to him at the bar, gesturing with his glass and somehow managing not to lose a drop of his current drink. “Goddamn Pepsi, like I’m fuckin’ twelve, or somethin’. Fuck him. I fuckin’ died, Dickie.” Just in case he didn’t remember. “Twice. I think I’m allowed to have a damn beer every once in a while.”