Hello! So, first news first, I'm going to slow down updates to twice a week for right now, Fridays and Mondays. I think I'm finally getting back into a writing groove, at least a little, but it's going to take me some time to actually finish any chapters or stories. But I finally got all my notes in order and condensed my documents, so that helps too. XD As for this chapter itself, this is mostly Dick's PoV but the very first scene is Jason's. Hope you'll enjoy it!

Warnings this chapter for: references to past child abuse.

I leap the gap between two buildings with a laugh, flying high with Selina at my heels and loving it.

As of today I'm fifteen, I've been with Selina a whole year, life is amazing and perfect and I don't know how it could get any better. There's the weight of tonight's take hanging at my hip and bouncing against my leg as I run; just a simple job to celebrate and let me be Stray for awhile. Selina let me do everything, only at my back for the two-person parts and to watch, and god it felt good.

No Batman or Robin, and that makes it even better even though I'd love the chance to see Robin. He's been showing up more often lately, sometimes even just to run alongside me or play fight. Selina always gets this knowing smirk when he shows up without Batman at his side, but she hasn't said anything. I'm not totally sure what it is that she thinks she knows. I think I might actually call Robin a friend — except in front of Batman — but that's it. That's not some big shocker or anything.

We're at the end of the summer months, but I'm looking forward to school starting back up. I've hung out with Dick a lot in the meantime, learned the rules to a lot of games and even beat him at a fair amount of them. It's been a blast. The monthly poker night with Gotham's criminals has been great too, even if the Joker's been at a couple of them and he's amazingly disturbing even at the best of times.

Even my actual fights with Robin haven't been much but fun. So I end up nursing bruises and the occasional sprain, so what? It's not that bad, and I'm learning so much. I know a lot of his patterns now; I can't do much to stop them, but I know them. I can at least minimize how hard he hits me, and sometimes even dodge completely. It's when I start trying to hit back that I really get into trouble, but that's just going to take a lot of practice. I'm getting that practice.

I leap another gap, closing my eyes for just a fraction of a second in the middle of the jump before I curl to roll and dispel the extra momentum. It feels amazing. Selina darts past me, her longer legs eating up the distance, and smiles back at me as she jerks her head up and over at the tall rise of our building. We veer that direction, and she falls back to run right at my side. It feels like just a few moments before we're making that last jump to the building next to ours, the one we'll climb from, and she rolls to a stop just a second before I do.

"Race you to the top?" I aim at her, already reaching for the grapnel on the opposite side of my waist from the bag with what I stole earlier.

She smiles, starts to answer, and then someone deliberately clears their throat. I whip around, heartbeat spiking and my claws coming out as I sink to a slight crouch. My gaze hits red, green, and yellow, and I stall instead of springing. Robin smiles, and his right hand comes out from underneath his cape, behind his back, with a small wrapped up box, a dark green bow sitting on the top of it. That gets me to relax, and I straighten back up with a matching smile.

Selina leans in next to me, snagging the bag from my hip and then murmuring, "Have fun, kitten," into my ear. I turn my head to watch her walk across the rooftop and then start the climb up our building, the bag now attached to her hip instead. I let myself grin before I turn back to Robin.

He's walking closer, and he looks up at her and then just says, "I don't want to know what's in the bag, do I?"

"Nope!" I answer, and he shakes his head but he's still smiling.

"This is the only day you get away with that." He tosses me the present, and I deactivate my claws as I reach up to catch it. I half expect it to blow up in my hand, into smoke or something, but I catch it anyway.

I turn it in my hands, studying the wrap. It's a pretty small box, only about three or four inches each in a square, and the wrapping paper is definitely not professional. It's a little sloppy, and the bow is a bit crooked. I'm pretty sure he did this himself. I shake it — no sound — and then undo the bow and let it fall. I could just tear the wrap with my fingers, but I decide to show off instead and activate my claws first. I slice the outside of it open, letting the shreds fall off the plain brown box before I put the claws away again. Robin snorts as I flip it open, and then I stare.

It's a… a squeaky mouse. Like, a pet store variety, catnip laced, tiny black fur mouse.

"Really?" is what comes out of my mouth, as I look up at him. I pluck the mouse out of the box, and when I squeeze it it gives a high-pitched squeak that sounds a bit like the screech of a wet shoe over a wood floor.

Robin's trying and failing not to smirk, and I really can't decide if this is lame, irritating, or kinda funny. Taking the cat thing a little far, isn't he? Though I guess Selina and I play it up pretty hard, so him making fun of it too isn't really that big a stretch. But just, a squeaky mouse? Really? What's up with that? It's totally ridiculous and okay, yeah, maybe it is just a little irritating. I'm not saying I was expecting something actually thoughtful from Robin, but maybe I was expecting something more than a two-buck mouse that's just making fun of who I am.

I squeeze it again, it gives another little shriek, and I can't stifle a snort. Alright, so it's funny too. It can be both, I guess?

"What's up with this?" I ask, tossing it into the air and then snatching it again before it falls. I let the box drop to the rooftop though, that's not important anymore.

"Just a thought. You know, after our last fight where I totally kicked your ass." Robin grins, shifting his weight forward onto his toes. "You could really use some practice pouncing, Stray."

I stare at him in disbelief for a second, and then I spit out a laugh and tuck the mouse away into my belt. "Oh yeah?" I jump at him, and the form's totally wrong and he's too prepared but this isn't a fight so it doesn't matter.

Robin slides into motion like he was born to it, ducking out of the way as he spins to the side. By the time I'm turning to face him his hands are braced on the ground, and one of his legs is smacking into my ankles and sweeping them out from under me. I hit the ground hard on my back, and a second later he's leaning down over me. Still grinning.

"Yeah, you really could." Then his hand is snapping out, smacking the center of my chest with just enough pressure for me to feel it. "Tag," he whispers, and then just like that he's up on his feet and backing off a few steps as he laughs.

I just stare for a second, but then I flip myself to my feet and head for him. "Oh, you're on, Robin!"

He shoots me a grin, a cocky salute, and then he's off and running. I give chase, even though I know there's no way I can catch him if he really doesn't want me to. He moves across the rooftops like he already knows every single step he has to take, and every single jump or flip is so perfect and graceful that the more impressive ones make my breath catch. What takes me three steps and a jump only takes him one handspring and a midair flip.

He's incredible.

He's also slowing down for me, which is pretty obvious but damn if I care. It lets me get close enough to dart ahead of him, cut him off with a skid of gravel or at least I think I have. Then he's leaping into the air like gravity doesn't have any effect on him, one of his hands bracing against my shoulder as he flips over me. He laughs as he does it, and I think that's the only thing that gives me enough time to whip around and fling out a wild arm, just barely grazing the edges of his ribs with my fingers.

"You're it," I breathe with a grin, and then I take off.

I'm not sure I've ever run quite so fast in my life, and I pull out every inch of the skill that Selina's taught me to make my leaps and rolls as seamless and quick as possible. I'm pretty sure it only works for the few minutes that it does because Robin lets me go, but soon enough he's suddenly in front of me, and as I duck to try and get past his hand catches the edge of my hood and pulls it down and off of my head. Before I'm even far enough away to be out of range the fingers of his other hand flick the back of my neck as I hurtle past

He doesn't say anything, just takes off again, and I have to skid to a stop on the gravel of the rooftop and flail a bit to try and get going the other direction. I find him paused on the next building over, and he sticks his tongue out at me, gives a clear, ringing laugh as he tosses his head back and then darts off. At least the yellow cape makes him an easy target to follow.

I'm breathing hard the next time I manage to catch up to him, and I make a wild grab at his cape to try and pull him to a stop. It backfires spectacularly, and a second later Robin's spun around and leaned back in the same motion, letting my momentum carry me over and past him as he leans backwards and underneath the arc of my hand. I catch the edge of his grin in the corner of my eye, but nothing in my actual hands. I skid to another halt, almost falling over, and then somehow he's in my face and his hands are closing around my arm, pulling me towards the ground.

It's hard to say whether I fall because he's good at this or because I'm just totally not expecting to be pulled down, but either way it happens. My side hits the ground, and he's pushing me down and circling his hands around my wrists, pinning them down to the ground. Instinct and training takes over before my brain can catch up, and I push up and twist myself at the same time. It's not a great escape, and I can tell just by the weight he's got on me that it probably wouldn't actually do anything in a real fight, but all the same suddenly Robin is on his back and I'm on top of him. I freeze for a second, staring down at him, and then almost triumphantly grab his wrists and shove them down against the gravel. I grin, he grins back, and then I'm laughing and so is he.

I sound a lot more breathless than he does, and he's relaxed and easy underneath me even though I'm holding him down. Not that I'm really holding him down. Sure I'm leaning my weight onto his wrists, and I'm straddling his waist, but that's not enough. I'm lighter than he is and he's strong, if he wanted to he could fling me right off of him. I could never pin Robin without actually getting him in some kind of a lock, one that didn't depend on me being stronger or heavy enough to actually stop him from fighting.

So I let his wrists go and just brace my hands against the ground instead, trying to calm myself down and get my breath back. The grin he's got aimed up at me is almost soft, and he leaves his wrists right where they were.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs, and then reaches up and taps over my heart with his right hand. "How's it feel?" is the question he asks.

My grin melts into a smile, and I just feel so good I can't help saying it. "Amazing," I answer. "This is everything I ever wanted."

"Being fifteen?" The counter is instant, teasing, and I snort and swipe one of my hands at his head. He surges up against me, flips me onto my back instead, and then we're grappling. Of course he's winning — he could have won in an instant if he wanted to — but it still feels good. Even when I end up flat on my back with my wrists pinned to either side of my head.

I take another second to catch my breath again, and then give a laugh and a grin. "It feels good. I've got— I've got everything I want." Almost everything, but then what's life without wanting something? Definitely not telling Robin that the one thing I really want, that I don't have, is him. Not going there tonight, not even while I feel like I'm on top of the world and nothing could go wrong. Some secrets I'll keep between Selina and me.

Robin smiles, and then lets go of me and sits up. Still pinning me just by the virtue of his weight over my hips, but not actively holding me down anymore. "Congratulations, kid," he says, and then laughs again. "Alright, so I don't approve of what you're doing with your life, but still. You deserve it, Stray. I can say that much and be totally honest."

I snort. "Oh, relax your morals, Robin." It's just teasing. "I do good with what I make, or did you miss that part?"

"I noticed," he says quietly, and then swings one leg up and over to get off of me. I push myself up, turning towards him, as he shifts to sit cross legged on the ground. "You're a sweet kid, Stray."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "I don't think anyone's ever described me as sweet."

"Kind then," Robin says instantly, and then reaches out and hooks his arm around my shoulders, dragging me in against his side. I give a startled sound, but I don't really fight him. For one, I really like being under his arm and up against him.

"Or maybe I just care about the people that get overlooked," I counter, and Robin smiles again. Even softer.

"That's good enough for me."

I smile up at him, and he squeezes me into the half of a hug. I close my eyes and lean into it, letting myself slow down and finally get the last of my breath back. The night is warm, and even with the slight wind it isn't cool enough to really be chilly, but that definitely doesn't stop me from burrowing into Robin's side and enjoying the warmth that he's giving off. Besides, Robin always seems to get as much or more out of close contact than I do, so any guilt over basically using him without him knowing I can just let go of. Whatever's going on with him, Robin definitely enjoys a good hug.

Eventually he shifts, and I draw myself away and look up at him. He's smiling, and it looks like it's one of his real ones, not just the normal one that seems to be his default expression as Robin. I'm pretty sure that one's just part of the persona.

"So, how does hanging out for a few hours sound?"

I draw in a sharp breath, and then smile right back. "That sounds great."

He gives a small laugh, and then squeezes my shoulder. "I've got until dawn. What do you want to do, Stray?"

Things are really only getting worse. It feels like Bruce and I can barely even talk anymore without fighting, and he won't stop treating me like I'm just some sidekick. I know I used to be, and maybe he just can't see that, but I'm not nine years old anymore. I'm seventeen, and it's a little ridiculous to still be getting treated like I'm not anything but the junior member of the team. I'm his partner, not his sidekick, and wasn't that always the point?

He always hated calling me his sidekick; he preferred protege and that was the point. The point was that I was supposed to be the next generation, training at his right hand and learning until I could be my own man and knew enough to really fight at his side. That time passed a long time ago, so what the hell changed and why didn't I notice?

It's just me, too. Selina treats Jason like a partner, even if he's clearly still learning and she's still his teacher. Bruce treats Barbara like a real partner, most days. Some days he snaps at her, but she hasn't been doing this nearly as long as either of us so that makes sense. Yes, he still treats her like a soldier most of the time, but he doesn't treat her like he treats me and every time I see the difference I hate it. Just because he can expect me to snap to and obey any order he gives in the field doesn't mean that I have to do the same out of costume, and it damn well doesn't mean that he can ignore my advice, or my questions, or deliberately keep me out of the loop and only give me the bare bones of the facts.

It sounds childish — and I hate that even more — but it's not fair. I'm his partner.

What's the difference between me, Barbara, and Jason? What sets me apart that would justify treating me like a sidekick when they're partners? It can't be my attitude — Jason's sweet and likes to make bad puns — and it can't be my skill — both Barbara and Jason are so far beneath my level it's ridiculous — so what's the difference? Why is it just me?

I lean my head back against the steel behind me, and then twist my head to look down into the rest of the cave. Bruce doesn't generally approve of me being up on the supports for the roof, but damn him anyway. They're stable, and I feel better up high. Up in the air is where I'm safest; almost no one can follow me up here and I'd never fall. Flying is in my blood.

He's gone anyway; out on patrol I assume since the car is gone too, but he didn't bother to tell me where he was going. If he's not going to cooperate with me why should I cooperate with him?

I let my gaze roam across the cave, and my gaze settles on the cases towards the back of it. Older versions of the Batman suit, and older versions of mine as well. I look at my costume for a few long moments, glance over at the newest suit — the Batgirl suit — and then at least one difference clicks in my head. Stray and Batgirl, they don't look like sidekicks. Batgirl's symbol is different than Batman's, and it might be eye-catching but she's noticeably different than he is while sticking close to his scheme. Stray's costume isn't far from Selina's, but a little more noticeably armored and with that hood. Maybe part of the problem is the costume.

Mine doesn't look anything like Batman's, and Robin is known as Batman's sidekick no matter how much I wish that weren't true. It might not be fair, but it's just a fact. Maybe I need to change up the costume, make it closer to his, or… No. I don't want to be like him. But maybe being different will help. Maybe if I just change things up a bit; try some stuff out until I find a costume that feels better. Robin is… I hate that something from my past has been so badly corrupted, but it just has. I don't think I can be that person anymore, and maybe the time for being the eye-catching distraction has passed.

It's worth a try at least. Anything is worth a try at this point.

I can redesign the costume; I made the first one after all. It'll take some work, because I know that Bruce won't help me, but I can make it work. I know how Bruce gets the suits made, I know how it all works and I can put together my own suit. Something different, something to make it mine again and not just a persona I put on for him. I guess that just leaves the actual designing to do.

This could take some work.

It doesn't really go well.

The first time I go out with a different costume I run into Jason, and when he sees me he just stares and then snorts. Between blows — he's getting better; I don't beat him quite as thoroughly these days — he asks me what I'm wearing, what's happening, and finally what the hell I thought I was doing matching colors like that. I beat him pretty soundly, but that's probably helped by the fact that he keeps snickering every time he really looks at me.

The second time it's a chase across Gotham rooftops, and when I get him pinned down, but before Selina's looped around to save him, he gasps in a breath that turns into a laugh. Spitting his words through that laugh, he tells me that the matching red looks even dorkier than my original costume. His words, and they sting a little bit but I shake them off before I have to let him go; I usually can't go toe to toe with Selina, especially when she's protecting Jason.

Then it's a raised eyebrow, but he doesn't get the chance to talk to me that time.

Bruce never comments on the changes, but I can see his jaw get tighter every time and he gets even shorter with me than usual. Not that it's all that much change, really. We barely talk as it is, why would him being even more disappointed and upset with me really matter? If he wants me to stop he's just going to have to open his damn mouth and tell me to. Or ask; wouldn't that be a nice change of pace?

The media is not so nice.

I'm used to them running all kinds of ridiculous stories about both me and Robin, and I'm used to them being alternately sickeningly nice or cruel depending on who's in charge of writing that day. But the headlines of, 'Robin Having Identity Crisis?!' and so on hurt a little more than they really should. They're not wrong, exactly. That stings too, but it's not enough to stop me from continuing to work on the new versions of my costume. Not enough to stop me from chasing what I already know, which is that things are changing, and I can't go on being this version of myself.

Finally I end up alone in Gotham one night, with Bruce at the opposite end of the city. I'm mostly just wasting time; the night's slow and what I have been able to stop hasn't been much more than a couple muggings and one amateur drug dealer. Nothing to keep me invested.

I'm out of the areas where any real action happens anyway; Bruce is down towards the Crime Alley neighborhood, and I'm up closer to downtown and the skyscrapers. Not the prime place to be looking for minor crime, really, but that's alright. I'd rather be wasting my night up here than trying to get along with Bruce to bust whatever he's found down there.

I see the shape heading towards me from a ways away, heading towards the mid-range building I'm crouched on top of where I can watch some of the busier streets below. Black, small, and I watch it just long enough to confirm that it's Stray before I turn away again. I consider leaving before he can get up here — he'd never catch me — but ultimately decide that I have the energy to talk to Stray. It might even be a good thing.

Jason… Talking to Jason almost always makes me feel better, at least a little bit. Maybe it will do the trick this time too, even if he does just laugh at me again.

I don't turn to look at him again until he gets onto my rooftop, and he approaches me just a little cautiously. I shift to sit a little more comfortably on the ledge, and Jason sits down next to me. Not quite close enough to touch, but he's tilted towards me so that hood of his doesn't obscure any of his face, his legs dangling over the edge without the slightest trace of nervousness for the drop.

I flash him as much of a smile as I can manage; it's probably enough to keep him from thinking anything is too bad. "Selina not around?" I ask, twisting to glance back across the rest of this rooftop. There's no other movement.

"Nah," Jason answers easily. "She's got some kind of charity event that I really didn't want to go to, so I said I'd scope out security for our next job." I shoot him a sharp glance, and he grins back at me. "Oh relax, Robin. Can't exactly stop me; I already did it."

I sigh. "Stray…" I let the lecture die on my tongue, and just shake my head instead. "Nevermind. So what are you doing over here? Why didn't you head back home?"

"Well…" He draws the word out, then leans over and nudges my shoulder with his. I let it rock me to the side a bit. "We don't have whatever insane security systems you've got, but we've got some surveillance spread out over the city. I did go home, and then I saw you over here while I was keeping myself entertained." His legs kick out into thin air, and he gives me a small smirk. "Bat's not around either, huh?"

I shake my head again. "Just me."

There's silence for a moment, and then he lifts his hand and touches the outside of my leg. "So, what's up with this? I mean, you were kind of an eyesore to start with but from what I remember of the news you haven't changed your costume since you upgraded to pants." Another light shove of his shoulder to mine. "Nice choice there, by the way. Just the underwear might have looked weird by now."

I snort — can't help it — and then crack a grin. "You're an ass."

"You're a fashion disaster," he counters without even a beat of hesitation. Then he's echoing my snort and edging closer to me, pressing up against my arm. "Look, Robin, I know that we're technically enemies and all that, but uh…" His head dips a bit, hood obscuring his face. "Are you alright? Cause at first I thought this whole costume thing was just funny, but now I'm kinda worried. Are you okay? Really?"

He's looking up at me again, and I push away the seriousness of the question and nudge him back. "You've been reading too many tabloids," I joke. "Just trying something a little different; change is good and all that, right?"

"Your change looks like you threw together four costumes and didn't think about how they'd look together." His tone is back to teasing, and I can feel my jaw tighten a little bit as I try and push away the little pang of hurt at his words. "Maybe you should ask somebody else or something because wow do you look bad right now; not as silly as that feather pattern from last time though. Unless you meant to look like some kind of giant flightless bird in bright colors. Not judging; everybody's got their interests."

"Alright," I snap, pulling away from him and swinging my legs back over onto the rooftop so I can get up. "I get it; I've got no sense of what looks good. Leave it alone." The anger's an ugly little ball in my chest, and I try and push it down but it doesn't want to go, doesn't want to be contained like I've been containing it for months.

I can hear him get to his feet before he starts to say, "Robin—"

I turn on him, unable to help the curl of my hands to fists or the twist of my mouth in a little sneer. "Back off, Stray!" He looks taken aback, and I try and stop myself but the gate's open and I can't totally cut off the hurt anger in my throat or the venom in my voice. "I couldn't talk about this with you even if I wanted to, and I don't. We're not friends, kid. You're a criminal and a thief and if I could lock you in a prison I would, so you keep your damn comments to yourself and go home before I take you down to the police station myself."

Jason looks stricken, and slowly I realize what I've said. Just in time for the guilt to hit me as he takes half a step back, head twisting away from me and his arms wrapping around his own chest. All the body language of someone who's been hurt, and is doing a poor job of trying to hide it.

"I'm sorry," I tell him, my voice much quieter than it was. "I didn't mean that, Stray. I— It's not you I'm angry with, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you like that."

"I'm pretty sure you did mean it," he counters, but he does look up at me.

"Some of it, but I still shouldn't have said it." I offer him my hand as a peace offering, along with what I can manage of a smile. It isn't much. "I really do like you, Stray, and the only reason I'd put you in a prison is to teach you that this life has consequences, because I don't want you to figure that out at the hand of someone a lot nastier than me. I just—" I sigh, and let my hand lower when he doesn't make any move to take it. "No," I admit, "I'm not alright, but it's not something I can talk about with you. Even if it was, I prefer to deal with my problems on my own and I don't like being pressured into talking about them. I'm sorry I snapped at you; I don't take teasing well either and my temper's…" I give a small laugh, a crooked grin. "A little out of control these days. Sorry."

Jason hesitates another couple of seconds, and then shrugs. "It's fine," he mutters. "Taken worse; I'll live."

Which does not make me feel better. Not even a little.

"No, Jason—" I cut myself off, make myself correct it as, "Stray. It's not fine, and I should know better. I didn't mean to snap at you like that." I brace my hands on my hips just so I have something to do with them, trying to figure out if the way Jason is looking at me is any less like I sucker punched him. Maybe a little bit.

I almost breathe a sigh of relief when his arms uncross from his chest, though his shoulders stay drawn down. He looks every inch the abused street kid I know he is — wary, ready to run, expecting to be hurt again — and it pains me to see it. I didn't know Jason when Selina first picked him up, but I've seen the category enough, and I remember how standoffish he was when I first met him. I didn't need the arrest record for his father or the coroner's report on his mother to paint the picture of his home life, and I hate that I've reduced him back down to that core.

"It's fine," he repeats. "Just finding the boundaries. I pushed too hard; I get it. I'll keep my mouth shut next time."

"Stray—"

"I'll head home," he interrupts, half turning away from me as he steps back. "It's late anyway."

He heads for the edge of the building and I chase him, my longer legs giving me the speed advantage as I reach out and catch his arm to stop him. "Stray, wait, I—" He yanks away from me, spinning to face me and almost leaping back a step. The expression on his face is somewhere between fear and anger, and it stuns me long enough that I almost don't notice that he's put his claws out as well. "I didn't mean to hurt you," I tell him softly, trying not to visibly react to his cornered aggression. "What's happened to you— Nevermind. I do consider you a friend, Stray, and I'm sorry I said any of that. Will you let me follow you home, make sure you get there safely?"

The claws get put away again at least, even though it takes him about half a minute of silence before he eases a little bit out of looking like he's ready to run or shred me at a second's notice. But, "No," is his answer, and I get as far as opening my mouth to argue before he's continuing. "Look, I just… I get it, Robin, alright? I won't tease next time; won't laugh. My bad. I'm sure you've got important things to do that definitely don't involve me so just… Go do them." He hesitates a second, and then adds, "Whatever's going on with you; good luck. I hope it gets better."

"Thanks," I manage.

Jason dips his head, and then turns and takes those last few steps to the edge of the building. I look away as he jumps over the ledge, resisting the urge to make sure that he catches himself right. Jason's got the experience now; he'll be fine.

"No." Jason's voice is just a bit disgusted, as he reaches out and smacks my hand away from the shirt I'm reaching for. "Oh my god, no. That is the kind of pattern that middle aged guys having midlife crises wear." He pushes me away from the rack, farther towards the back of the store.

"But it looked fun," I almost whine, but don't resist the shove of a hand at the back of my shoulder.

"Okay, but fun and looking like someone vomited color on you is a different thing, Dick." I pout a bit — this is not helping my self esteem any — and Jason grips my shoulder and pulls me to a halt in front of a completely different looking rack. "How about you just look at the awful colors and don't touch, hm?"

I sigh, looking at the clothes around us as Jason rifles through the rack in front of us. "You know, I do manage to get dressed every morning all by myself, Jason. Promise."

"School uniforms don't count," he teases, flashing me a small grin. I manage a small one back, and apparently it's not convincing enough because Jason turns all the way around and steps closer to me. "Bad fight?" he asks. "You're a little darker than usual."

I force a small laugh. "Well, should fix that before the paparazzi find us, shouldn't I?" Jason doesn't look convinced this time either — probably a bad thing that he's figured out how to see past some of my fake smiles — and I take a glance around to make sure we're alone in this corner of the store before shrugging and offering a crooked smile. "It's par for the course; no worse than usual."

Jason gives a small wince at that. "So that why we're out here? Hiding out?"

No, we're here because one thing Jason said to me while we were both our alter egos stuck out to me. That I should ask someone else about the clothes. Jason always seems to look nice whenever he's at one of the public events with Selina, and he's not Alfred so there's a step up right there. I don't think Alfred really approves of this whole mess of a situation I've got going on, or his looks might just be because he doesn't like seeing Bruce and me fight. It's a toss up.

I'm sure Alfred could come up with something good, but I don't want to ask him; I want to figure it out myself. Jason looks good enough most of the time, he doesn't know why I'm really asking, and he doesn't have that parental judgment thing going on. Plus, it doesn't look weird if I'm hanging out with a good friend in public, and a few shots from the paparazzi might be a good thing right now. Honestly, mostly I just wanted to make sure that Jason was alright after our rooftop meeting a couple weeks ago (couldn't move on his suggestion too fast; it would look weird).

He seems to have bounced back from what I said, though I guess I won't really know until I see him again as Robin. Hopefully with something on that he doesn't laugh at this time. Though if he's comfortable enough to laugh even after saying he wouldn't, I'll count that as a good thing. I can take a little pain to make sure that I don't accidentally scare Jason into thinking I could be an abuser too. I'm not sure if I could handle that without feeling like pretty much the worst piece of shit in the world.

"No," I answer belatedly. "I need an outfit for a date." Jason's eyes widen as I click my mouth shut, reaching up to cover it as I suck in a sharp breath. Oh, I did not mean to say that. "Don't tell anyone," I almost beg. "This just started, it's a really bad time for anyone to know, and she's kind of over eighteen." Jason's mouth is curling into a wickedly amused smirk, and I drop my hand and wince as I roll my head back. "And her dad's the police chief."

Jason snorts out a laugh. "Wow are you in trouble, Dickie. How old is she?"

I wince again, curl my shoulders down a bit, and whisper, "Twenty. Look, my dad doesn't know, hers doesn't know, and if the tabloids found out it could be—"

"Bad," Jason finishes. "Alright, you got it. No problem, I won't say anything to anyone." He's still smirking, but at least he sounds honest. "So why do you need new clothes, Dick? I mean, haven't you got like, at least two closets full or something?"

"Or something. I just uh… Well nothing was really—"

"You're nervous," Jason pinpoints, and I stall out. "Seriously, Dick. You are so doomed. Really like this girl, huh?"

Despite the too-accurate guess, I still can't help but smile a little sheepishly. "Yeah. Her name's Barbara. She's…" Batgirl, and freaking amazing. "She's really cool. I just want to impress her, you know?"

Jason's smirk softens just a little bit, and his gaze flicks to the floor for a fraction of a second before he answers, "Yeah, I know."

I honestly don't know if he's talking about Robin or me, but it's gotta be one of the two. I'm not blind to Jason's minor obsession with me as Robin, though I think he did at least mostly get over the crush he had on me. I guess my continued efforts to shove the idea that I was straight into his face — including getting 'accidentally' seen with a woman at my birthday a while back — were successful, as much as it hurt to see. Alfred gave me a pretty pointed lecture after that on the appropriate uses of my time and how I should treat friends, and it never included Jason's name but I didn't need that to understand who he was talking about.

He pulls in a breath that's a bit deeper, and then he reaches over and pushes my shoulder with one hand. "Alright, you dork. You want to impress? Listen up." He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to the rack, and I let him. "First of all, no patterns. You're handsome enough, you don't need anything for people to look at but you. Go plain and form fitting."

"You pick these things up from Selina?" I tease, as he looks between me and the rack in front of us. It looks like it's just full of normal looking button down shirts in varying colors.

"Mostly, yeah." He grabs a couple shirts from the rack, turning to hold them up against my chest with slightly narrowed eyes. I stay still for him as he eyes me, making small thoughtful noises as he swaps shirts around. "Stay away from the brighter colors. Darker colors are mostly alright, but as a general rule for your eyes don't wear yellow or pink. You going to remember any of this?"

"Sure," I say with a grin, and he snorts. I am listening, actually.

Jason rolls his eyes, and then apparently makes his mind up and snags a couple shirts from the rack. "Dark red, green, rich orange, purple, and blue are your friends. You can wear lighter blue too, to match your eyes, and white or black should be good as well. Here." He shoves the armful of clothes at me with a smirk. "Changing rooms are over there; go try one of these on and then open the door so I can tell you what I think, alright?"

I let him push me towards the changing rooms, even as I eye the pile of different colored shirts in my arms. "You want me to try all of these on one by one? Didn't you already say that they were good colors? I thought that was the point of the whole holding them up against me thing."

"I'm double checking," he says without even a hint of sympathy. "Hey, you wanted my help so you've got it. Too late now; go swap shirts, Dick. Besides, gotta check the style and the size too. It's not all about color, and if it doesn't fit right it's not gonna look good no matter how nice the color is on you. Go on."

I pout at him for another second, but his only reaction is a raised eyebrow and a pointed flick of his gaze towards the booth behind me. So I sigh and turn around, opening the door and slipping inside the narrow room. I hang up the shirts — the red one ends up in front — and then take a glance to make sure Jason can't see in before I pull the shirt I'm wearing up and over my head. A healing bruise on my right shoulder blade aches at the movement, and I bite my tongue and grimace as the other bruises sing counterpoint as I tense. It's nothing too bad, but I've been walking around with Jason for a while and the painkillers I grabbed before leaving aren't doing much.

It was just a few lucky hits from random gang members, and then that one over my shoulder blade which was Poison Ivy throwing me into a wall. That fight was lots of fun, but we did get her in the end. She's back in Arkham for now.

I toss my shirt onto the useless little stool in the corner, taking a glance at myself in the mirror before I reach for the red shirt. I'm going to have to make sure and stay careful that Jason doesn't see me without any clothes; at the least the scars and bruises would freak him out, at the worst it could reveal me as Robin. I still have the faint lines across the back of my right shoulder from Selina's claws, back when she sliced me open to get me off of Jason. I haven't gotten anything scarring from her since, and Jason's never managed to score any real hits on me with his claws.

I pull the shirt on, making sure the collar is flipped down before I start to button it up. When it's done I turn back to the door, opening it as Jason requested. He steps forward almost immediately, tugging me a bit out of the doorway by my arms as he looks. I almost snort as he smooths down the fabric on my side, tugging here and there to pull all of it out, and then I can't hold it back as he grabs both sides of my waist and manhandles me into turning around so my back's to him.

"Hm," he hums, sounding both thoughtful and noncommittal. "Size is good; not my favorite color but it's still pretty good." I watch in the mirror I'm now facing as he edges enough to the side that his head peeks out from behind me. "You can wear this color, but others will be better, basically. It's a good style though; here, see these lines?"

I lift my arms a bit so I can follow the brush of his hands on either side of my waist, fingers tracing the line of my lower ribcage down to my hips. "Yes?" I say as a definite question.

His mouth curls into a smirk as he rolls his eyes. "Disaster," he mutters. "The point is that this shirt comes in a little bit at the waist, which for you is a good thing because so do you. To look good, you want to wear something that actually follows the lines of your body and doesn't just hang straight down. You're in good shape, moron. Show it off."

Which won't matter so much with more skintight things, but I won't tell Jason that's where his advice is going.

"Next one?" I ask, looking down at him. The small shove of his hand to the small of my back is really answer enough, and I flash him a grin as I slip back inside of the changing room.

"You know," Jason comments from the other side of the door, as I start to strip out of my current shirt, "usually you've got pretty decent outfits on when you're not in our school uniform. How do you manage that?"

I tug the second shirt on — green — and take another glance in the mirror as I button it up. It's a darker green than what's on the regular Robin suit; I think I like it better. "Alfred," I admit. "Usually by the time I'm up he's laid something out if I'm actually going somewhere; paparazzi and all that." Plus I'm usually still half asleep from the night before, and just shrugging into whatever Alfred's decided is a better idea than trying to function enough before breakfast to pick something myself. It's the same for parties, really.

I can hear the muffled snort of laughter, and manage to get the buttons done up in time that I can open the door again and give Jason — leaning to the left side of it — a playful shove in retaliation. He rocks sideways with the push, grinning, and then looks down as I step out and give a little spin to show off the shirt. The first thing his hands do are flip one side of the collar down, and then he tilts his head against the wall and lets the grin slide into a smile.

"There, that's a better color on you." He reaches out, straightening one side, and then meets my eyes again as he speaks with a teasing edge. "It's called turquoise, by the way. A darker shade of turquoise, though you could probably pull off lighter ones too. Next color."

I roll my eyes, but let him herd me back into the room. "This is so ridiculously complex," I complain, as I reach for the blue version of the shirt.

"Welcome to shopping for clothes that actually fit," is his answer. "I will break you of just grabbing things off of the rack and assuming they're the right size. It's gonna happen."

"I'm just going to grow out of these," I point out, "and you're just going to grow out of your clothing too. Does it really matter?"

"Jesus." I barely catch the muttered, exasperated word before his voice rises again. "What would you even wear if no one was there to manage you?" he wonders, and I wince since he can't see me.

Apparently, I wear things that everyone else thinks look ridiculous. Not exactly a point in my favor.

I push the door open again, and Jason's head turns to face me as I step out. I do another cursory spin, aiming a crooked grin at him. "I like patterns," I try and defend, as he looks at me. "Can't I figure something out when I stop growing and I'm actually stuck with the clothes I get? Do I have to figure this out right now?"

"Can't start too early," he teases, and then mimics my grin. "See? Now that's the color you should be wearing. Goes with your eyes, and it makes them look brighter because the shirt is darker." He tilts his head back towards the changing room. "Take a look."

I turn to look, finding my reflection in the mirror at the back. "Huh," is all I can manage. I can see what he's talking about, sort of. "So, it's that simple?"

"More or less, yeah." Jason steps up next to me, meeting my gaze in the mirror with a crooked smile, and then reaching forward and grabbing my arm. "One little trick Selina told me about," he murmurs, as he starts folding my sleeve back. "Semi-formal shirts are good enough on their own, but they all get just a little better when you roll the sleeves up to just under the elbow. Don't know why; it's just a thing." He finishes the one sleeve, and then lowers my arm back down and nudges me. I take the hint and move to roll up the other sleeve on my own.

"It's more practical anyway," I comment, and Jason snorts.

"Like you care about what's practical, rich kid." It's teasing, and I look back up to meet his grin with my own. "Now if we could just get you a pair of pants that actually fit your ass we might be getting somewhere."

I find myself laughing without even thinking about it, and a second later Jason joins me. I sling an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug as I close my eyes. He hugs me back, grip slightly painful against my bruises but I ignore it; the contact is more than enough reward to make up for it. I hold him until I can calm down the laughter, and then squeeze him once before letting go.

"Thanks, Jay," I say softly, with a smile.

He smiles back, equally soft and obviously happy. "No problem. It's a public service keeping you looking good, Dick." There's no hint of his former crush in his eyes, and I relax a touch at that realization. Maybe at least that part of my life has become simpler. "Go on," he prompts. "Next color, rich kid."