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JASON PULLED A DUFFEL BAG OUT OF THE TRUNK OF THE CAR, following John and Roy across the parking lot, to the motel. The neon sign above the building flickered as Roy enters the building first. It was the worst of places, considering they were on the way to Gotham, and even had a miniscule pools, tinted a shade too blue. John lagged behind, grumbling under his breath as he fumbled around his coat pockets for his lighter, a cigarette between his lips.
Jason sighed and stopped, pulling out his own lighter, and lighting John's cigarette.
"I hope you're paying me top dollar for staying in this Hollywood cliche," smoke swirled into the air as John exhaled, "This place is giving me some major heebie-jeebies."
"M-my folks are loaded," Jason scratched the back of his head, "You'll be properly compensated."
"Doubt that the Batman would be willing to pay me off considering he's been hunting you for the past few months."
Jason's eyes locked with John's.
"You know."
"Everyone knows," John shrugged, "Ain't everyday the Batman goes off his rocker."
Jason chewed on his lower lip. The crowbar. The note. Damian. Cass.
In the midst of the undead crisis, he almost forgot. Almost — as in, it almost didn't keep him up at night, almost worrying for his brother and sister, blood almost boiling at the thought of someone hurting them and pinning the blame on him.
Roy reappeared, Jason's head immediately snapping up to attention. Roy weakly swung a single key, his expression somber.
John tilted his head. "Why the sour face?"
"Because," Roy chucked the key at Jason's head, hitting him on the forehead. ( "Hey!" Jason rubbed at the offended spot, casting Roy a dirty look. ) "I could only afford one room."
"Okay," John dropped his cigarette, stamping it out, "I'm going to find a shitty bar and get myself piss drunk. See you lads in six hours." And with that, John stalked away, both Jason and Roy staring stupendously at his retreating form, slowly realizing the predicament John just put them in.
Jason and Roy were gonna share a room together. Alone.
"So," Jason cleared his throat, not quite looking at Roy in the eye, "you still suck at cards?"
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Roy groaned, shoving his second last pack of snacks to Jason, who accepted it humbly ( with an evil grin ).
"I forfeit, Todd," Roy threw his hands up in defeat, "and you are not getting my fucking butter shortbread."
Jason chewed obnoxiously as he dug into his newly owned bag of nachos. "Don't worry — I wouldn't dream of taking your nasty ass crumbly cookies."
