something something about Bruce being anti-gun and anti-killing but when Jason needs him in the middle of a firefight (aliens, or something else Bruce lets him shoot) he's there and bracing Jason's gun barrel with his shoulder when he needs to take a tricky shot. he takes out distractions in Jason's field of vision so he can use his scope without worrying about getting hit. he knows how to fight around guns, how to support a teammate who uses a gun. but he won't with Jason, normally.
"I can't get the shot."
Bruce didn't respond right away, busy dispatching an alien gunner off to the left of their perch. He was covered in thick green slime, his armor glowing softly in the darkness of the planet's night cycle.
Jason kept his eyes down range, even with the sting of disappointment in his throat. Through his scope, he could see the target, but it kept moving. Every time he thought he had a lock on it, it shifted a few feet to the right or left, jerking unpredictably right before he'd been about to fire.
He didn't need Bruce to tell him how important this shot was. One bullet was all it would take to free the planet -- and Superman -- and yet, when it was finally his time to shine, he'd fallen short. Finally, Bruce had reluctantly planned a mission around a firearm, and now Jason couldn't even fucking pull the trigger when asked.
There was another grunt, and then a pained moan from the alien as he went down for good this time. Jason watched Bruce approach from his peripheral vision, tensing slightly as the distance between them closed.
"You have the shot," Bruce said, matter-of-fact. Through the cowl's vocoder, it was even more final than normal.
"I'm telling you I can't get it," Jason bit back, teeth gritted. "You want me to be wrong and risk hitting one of the hostages?"
A hand descended upon his shoulder, bracing against him. Jason looked up from his scope as Bruce positioned himself in front of Jason's body, an arm's length of space between them.
Jason couldn't breathe as Bruce reached out, propping the barrel of the rifle between two armor plates on his own shoulder. He stood impossibly still, one hand braced against Jason's chest and the other on Jason's shooting arm in a vise grip.
"You have the shot," Bruce repeated, quieter this time. The white lenses of his cowl stared into Jason's face. "Take the shot, Jay."
Jason bit back a growl, looking back into the scope. He slowed his breathing, feeling Bruce's measured taps against his chest to indicate the tempo. He went back into that surreal, stretched-out place between him and the target, finger sliding off the trigger guard and onto the trigger itself.
One breath in. Bruce wasn't breathing at all. Hold. One breath out. Bruce was right there. Pull the trigger.
Jason took the shot. The gun kicked back, jarring both of them. Bruce held onto him even as Jason slumped in relief, flicking the safety back on at the very last second.
"You had it," Bruce said, tugging him upright. "Come on. We need to move."
Jason slung the rifle over one shoulder, trying to ignore the way Bruce's grip seemed to linger on his skin, burning through armor and Kevlar down to the skin beneath.
