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This is how Jason knows Damian is trying to kill him. One of the ways, at least.
Jason isn't what anyone would call a morning person, something about getting up before the sun does rubs him the wrong way. He's not a morning person, but he has to get up a few hours before Dick does just to make it to the shop in time to get everything set up. Check parts orders, make sure things are on track for the day and make sure there's a pot of coffee brewing for when Kory shows up dragging Roy in by the scuff of his neck like a recalcitrant puppy.
He tries to let Dick get as much sleep as he can because Dick runs himself ragged every way possible, and this is one of the few Jason can do something about. He's willing to sacrifice a little sleep because this is easy and costs him so little in comparison. (He can't help himself from pressing a light kiss on Dick's temple, though, or whispering, "Don't get yourself killed today, asshole. I'm not cut out for the single parent life.")
And in all of this, Damian is nowhere to be seen.
Tim and Steph are curled up at the foot of the bed watching him through sleepy eyes, Tim giving a tired little tail-thump when Jason scratches his ears in passing. Steph taps his hand with a paw, like she's saying, "Good morning," and "Turn the lights on and I'll make you sorry."
He finds Cass perched on top of the refrigerator, smiles a little when she bats lazily at his head when he puts the coffee pot on and sets about making lunch for Dick and himself.
Jason doesn't give much thought to how domestic it all is because Dick will sometimes forget to eat if he doesn't, and then Jason gets calls from Dick about how mean Gannon is for not sharing his food and how Dick's going to waste away. That will go on until either Gannon gets fed up enough to share or Jason hangs up and stews about Dick and his idiocy for the rest of the day. (That, and it gives Jason a prime opportunity to leave embarrassing notes for Gannon and the others at the station to tease Dick over.)
"Watch it," Jason growls, when Cass launches herself off the fridge knowing he'll catch her even though she doesn't need him to. (He always catches her, though, more because she doesn't need him to, but obviously likes it when he does.)
Cass bumps her head on his shoulder, pressing up to catch the bottom of his chin, and then makes a break for the counter where she snags a slice of smoked turkey with a triumphant meow, quiet out of deference for the others, and vanishes down the hall with a flick of her tail.
And still, no Damian.
Jason scribbles a note to Dick not to forget his lunch or Jason will make him regret it - he has his ways - and sticks it to the coffee pot. Puts Dick's lunch in the fridge and rinses his coffee cup out before setting it on the drying rack. Step-by-step, comfortable routine he's come to appreciate.
Jason grabs his lunch and heads for the hallway, reaches for his helmet and this, now, is one of the many ways Damian is trying to kill him.
"Son of a bitch," Jason hisses, dropping his lunch on the table and grabbing at the helmet. At his hand that has four sets of tiny kitten claws in it, digging deep. Gritting his teeth he looks down and sees a pair of tiny demon kitten eyes glaring up at him. Damian's tucked into the bowl of his helmet where he was deep asleep until Jason came along and upended his world, stuck his giant grubby, stinky human hand inside and got everything he deserved for it.
Damian hisses, lips peeling back over his sharp little teeth.
"Jason?"
"Go back to sleep, idiot!"
Dick grumbles something unintelligible, a sure sign he's rolling over to go back to sleep.
Jason sighs, looks down at Damian, eyes narrowed. Damian's glare becomes a little less certain and when Jason bares his own teeth, Damian retracts his claws, slowly releasing Jason's hand, his wrist, and stares at him. Waiting.
And maybe if this was one of Steph's other kittens, one of the ones note quite so fond of wanton bloodshed, Jason could think he has the metaphorical upper hand here. After all, Damian's the one curled up in a motorcycle helmet several feet off the ground with Jason between him and freedom.
Except this is Damian, and he's proven to be disturbingly free with clawing the shit out of people. (And by people, Jason means himself.)
"Look murder kitten, we need to set come boundaries." And no, this is not crazy at all. Jason's had to negotiate with their other so-called pets to make peace. He's a little surprised it's taken Damian this long to set his conditions.
Damian blinks at him like Jason's beneath his consideration, and does a complicated little twist and curl, and “Look, puny human, I have no bones!” move and jumps out of the helmet. He uses Jason's chest as a springboard and does another little twist before landing on the floor, wobbling a little because he's still a kitten, no matter how murderous.
He casts a look back at Jason, chin high, and trots off toward the kitchen leaving Jason bleeding and annoyed.
"I hate everything." He doesn't though. Just mornings and attempts on his life from a ball of fluff that fits in the palm of his hand and thinks he has every right to claim Jason's motorcycle helmet as his sleeping place.
Jason's checking out the scratches on his hand, debating whether or not they need bandaging when strong arms wrap around him from behind, Dick nuzzling his neck. "Dami loves you."
"The hell he does."
Dick laughs, still half asleep. "He shows it differently."
Looking at the scratches, Jason has to agree. Shies away from wondering what Damian would do to someone he didn't like.
"Come on, let me have a look at those." Dick slides around to face Jason, leaning up to peck him on the cheek as he takes Jason's uninjured hand in his and leads him towards the bathroom.
"This is all your fault, you know."
Jason tries to pull his hand free, but Dick's crafty, and tangles his fingers with Jason's. He stops in front of the bathroom door, smile lighting up his face like, "Sure, okay. I'm fine with taking the blame because it got us here, didn't it?"
"I hate you and your damn murder kitten."
Dick laughs because he has no idea. Damian fucking loves him. Not in the, "I'm not even going to pretend I don't want to kill you," kind of way, but in the emotionally functional kind of love.
"Me and my murder kitten, his inter-species parents, their adopted sister, and you."
What can he say to that? They have the most unconventional family out there considering how many of them are animals, but it works, and it's theirs and. "You're such an idiot, Dick."
Dick hmms, smiling happily. "Yeah, I'm okay with that though."
The really sad thing is, Dick means it, that he doesn't mind the crazy in their lives when it means they get this.
Family and home and everything that entails, even the damned murder kitten. It has to be something like Stockholm Syndrome talking, but Jason can't help but agree, even if he'd be perfectly fine without the constant murder attempts.