Duke & Jason Being Hood Kids - Part 13
Duke Thomas is not a crash out. He would just like that to be known.
“I don’t need a good reason. I just need a reason.”
He’s—no, listen. Duke is not a crash out.
“You seem to think I’m playing with you.”
Jesus tap dancing Christ. Duke Toussaint Thomas is not a goddamn crash out.
“I’ll knock all this shit over. No hesitation. No fucks given. Please try me.”
Duke is not a fucking crash out, but he is dangerously close to becoming one. Respectfully. With poise and grace. In the calmest way possible. In a manner most appropriate and absolutely not disproportionate to the circumstances. Because one of these assholes ate his food and that warrants a full-scale nuclear response.
Not a crash-out. Just…as close to one as someone who is decidedly not a crash out can get because who the fuck ate his food?
He tips his empty takeout container over, making a show of shaking it to demonstrate how light it is. Bare. Not even grease left. Completely devoid of fried rice and egg foo young.
“I’ll ask one more time,” he says, voice steady and tone deceptively calm. “No reasons or excuses necessary. I just want an answer. Who ate my food?”
Dick continues chewing his cereal and says nothing. He grins like this is entertaining. Fucker. Duke makes a mental note to put Lego in his shoes later.
Damian looks utterly disinterested, but at least does him the courtesy of shaking his head. Duke knows it’s not him for two reasons. First, the leftovers had meat in them. Second, most importantly, Damian would never eat food someone else had already touched. Not even to be a gremlin.
Bruce says nothing from behind his newspaper. Not abnormal, but also not a response. Duke’s going to shift all the furniture in his office and bedroom by 3 inches, just to be an asshole.
Tim looks directly at Duke and says “nope.” He gives a small smile over the rim of his mug as he drinks his tea and—
“Bitch,” Duke snaps. “Since when do you drink tea?”
“Language,” Bruce grumbles from behind his newspaper.
“Bitch,” Duke repeats, side-eyeing the fuck out of Bruce and his fuck ass Gotham Gazette. “Since when. Do you. Drink. Tea.”
Tim takes another sip. “Since always. Just because I live on Cheeto dust and caffeine doesn’t mean I can’t change it up sometimes for my own good.”
…Yeah, that tracks. Duke reminds himself that Tim is, above all else, a mystery wrapped in an enigma and dipped in a coating of lovable weirdo with at least some survival instincts. His blood must be 75% caffeine, but he does change shit up with salad over a microwave gas station burrito or a smoothie instead of coffee. Particularly if Alfred is giving him disapproving looks. The tea isn’t inherently suspicious.
(Duke later confirms that Tim actually has an entire collection of caffeinated and decaffeinated teas, with an assortment of mugs and pots for brewing particular types. They have a tea party. It becomes a weekly thing.)
He turns his attention back to Dick, who has the culinary taste and eating habits of a trash panda, and Bruce, who routinely drags himself out of the Cave at odd hours to scarf down the first calorie-dense thing he can get his hands on. Between the two of them, some—
Wait a minute. Nope. Hold up.
“Where’s Jason?”
As if on cue, the tallest of them waltzes in. Not actually waltzing, but definitely walking with a pep in his step that makes Duke want to slap him.
“Morning,” Jason sing-songs as he grabs orange juice from the fridge. “Hope we’re all having a great day.”
“Excuse the whole, entire fuck out of me?” Duke snaps. It’s far more aggressive than he means it to be but his box of leftovers is still woefully, infuriatingly fucking empty. “What are you chirping like an overgrown bird for?”
Tim pauses mid-sip, eyebrows raised in surprise. Damian narrows his eyes and subtly reaches into his pocket, likely for a weapon in case this obvious imposter makes a move. Dick makes a “hmm?” sound around a mouthful of obnoxiously colorful cereal. And Bruce—
…by God, Bruce finally lowers his newspaper. It clicks immediately that this is very serious and very abnormal and goddamnit, it’s proof that Jason ate the leftovers.
Just to reiterate, Duke is not a crash out. He’s not. No, seriously, you’re not—you have to believe him, he’s not.
“You big bitch,” Duke growls. “You greedy, yuck mouth bum. How could you?”
Duke Thomas is not a crash out. On his mama, he’s not.
Jason’s face remains calm as he wipes his mouth and oooh, that’s the wrong move. The nerve of this asshole to look so calm when he’s a fucking thief and a nasty bastard who drinks from the juice carton!
The lights buzz and blink as Duke really gears up to cuss his brother out like he’s never been cussed out before and likely never will be again. And, just to make it clear, he’s absolutely not crashing out. Not even a little bit.
“Jay, baby, did you want—“
Jason’s face finally contorts into something other than cluelessness. Duke really wants it to be remorse, but he’ll settle for the…embarrassment? Blushing?
Roy laughs awkwardly as he pops his head into the kitchen over Jason’s shoulder. “This…is probably why you wanted me to sneak out the window.”
Bruce’s face manages to overcome decades of training and at least three Botox appointments as his right eye twitches. Dick hacks as a spoonful of milk goes down the wrong pipe. Both Tim and Damian wrinkle their noses in disgust—Damian at the interloper in their home, and Tim upon realizing why Jason’s probably in such a good mood.
It dawns on Duke where Jason’s mouth probably was before he drank from the juice carton. Then, he suddenly remembers that Jason hates egg foo young.
“You big bitch,” he repeats. “Really? You let your man eat my food?”
Roy has the decency to look shocked, then apologetic.
“Duke,” he gasps, genuinely remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Jay thought it was his! We were a little tipsy and things kinda—“
Jason’s face goes a darker shade of red as he slaps a hand over Roy’s mouth. “The reason is…not important. It’s my fault and I’ll buy you lunch today. I’m sorry.”
Unfortunately for Jason, stretching his arm to shut Roy up shifts the collar of his shirt and exposes a hickey. Dick gags dramatically and Bruce shields himself behind his newspaper again.
“Oh, ewww,” Tim groans. “Did you—we eat in here!”
Damian shakes his head in disappointment. “Degenerates.”
“I can’t believe this!” Duke knows he’s shouting now and doesn’t give a single, solitary shit. “You stole my food for…for booty call fuel?”
Duke thinks he can hear Bruce wheeze from behind his newspaper—in shock and horror, not amusement. Dick pushes his bowl away and stares off into space, hoping that dissociating will save him from this.
“First of all,” Jason shoots back, “I’m not a booty call. Your food was sacrificed in the name of a healthy sex life in a committed relationship.”
“Dear God,” Dick groans. “Why must I be cursed with ears?”
Jason flips him off before continuing. “Second, I’m sorry. Really, genuinely sorry, Duke. This isn’t like those fake ass apologies I give Damian when I ‘accidentally’ trip him.”
The youngest among them doesn’t look up from his food. “I will shave your head while you sleep.”
“I heard that.”
“I wanted you to.”
Duke lets the two of them glare at each other while he thinks up a counterdemand for his food. Just buying him lunch isn’t enough - not after being put through this shitshow.
“Fine,” he says. “Lunch, but I want to punch you in the face too.”
Has Duke mentioned that he’s not a crash out?
“Lunch, dinner, and a slap,” Jason counters. “I taught you how to put power behind those punches, and I’m not getting my nose broken today.”
“Lunch, dinner, a slap, and a favor of my choosing.”
“Lunch, dinner, a slap, and a favor of your choosing limited to homework or patrol.”
“Done.”
Duke crosses the kitchen to shake hands with his brother, then deliver the most bombastic slap he can muster. Roy’s the only one who flinches - once when Duke’s hand connects with Jason’s cheek, and again when Duke rounds on him.
“Don’t think you escaped,” he whispers. “You have to deal with Bruce.”
And sure enough, Bruce is clutching his newspaper so hard that the edges are ripping. Duke walks away whistling.
Once again, Duke Thomas is not a crash out. He’s a force to be reckoned with. Put some respeck on his name, please and thank you very fucking much.
