Chapter Text
Patrol was going smoothly, as it normally did these days. Dick didn’t have a name like Bruce did, but he tagged along in a sleek black outfit that had a long red stripe that went from the middle and ring fingers of his left hand, up his arm and over his shoulder, down to his chest, then up the right shoulder and down his arm to the middle and ring fingers of his right hand. The criminals had taken to calling him Ghost, because they never heard him coming, caught mere glimpses out of their peripherals, and never heard him speak.
He found it funny.
To Dick’s right, Br—Batman, was talking to the Commissioner about something Dick wasn’t paying attention to. Batman would tell him later, if it was something important.
Dick wasn’t amused right now. The Commissioner wasn’t a fan of his, he wasn’t exactly the Commissioner’s number one fan either, and Batman was taking his sweet time talking to the other man. From where Dick stood in the shadows of the chimney, the conversation didn’t seem like it would be ending in the next five minutes.
With a quiet huff of mild irritation, Dick moved, making sure Batman caught a glimpse as he left the roof for the Batmobile, which was parked all the way in Crime Alley.
Rooftop tag was fun.
Flying solo was something Dick didn’t do much anymore, preferring to stick by Batman’s side so he made sure he didn’t kill anyone and for the company. Being alone reminded him of his time as Talon—the things he did as Talon. Dick didn’t like thinking about it. Heading back alone now made him feel equal parts refreshed and apprehensive. Batman wasn’t with him to keep him in check. What if he spotted a crime and had to intervene? What if he went too far?
Stomach rolling at the thought, Dick scowled to himself and landed on the rooftop of the building beside the spot where Batman had parked the Batmobile. He shook his head to banish his thoughts. It wouldn’t do him any good to think about that. What-if’s tended to make him anxious, and anxiety wasn’t something he needed on patrol. It would only serve to distract him, and that wouldn’t do at all.
Dick walked to the edge of the roof, about to put his foot on the edge, when he realized that he was hearing something. A something nearby. Something in the same alley he’d been about to drop into.
He froze and strained to make out what exactly he was hearing when he connected the sounds to something from the Batcave, and his mind reeled. He’d left Batman talking to Gordon, behind him, hadn’t he? Then how could he be working on the Batmobile here, now? Had Batman passed him without his noticing?
The ex-Talon snorted at just the thought. How Batman snuck up on any of the street thugs successfully, he’d never know. There was no way the older man had gotten past Ta—Dick. Dick. Not Talon, not anymore. Dick. Ghost. Not Talon.
If it wasn’t Batman down there, then, just who was it?
Now curious, Dick poked his head over the side of the roof to see.
He had to remind himself not to laugh and, even then, he had to take deep breaths, hold them, then exhale carefully to keep from making any noise.
When he’d collected himself, Dick looked back down at the scene playing out beneath him in the alley with extreme amusement.
A boy—no more than, what, nine years old?—was going at it taking off the Batmobile’s tires. Dick counted one already missing, hidden behind a dumpster a few feet away.
Crouching on the ledge, Dick made himself comfortable. He wanted to see how long it would take Batman to either arrive to catch the boy stealing his tires, or show up too late with all the tires missing. Dick wasn’t about to stop the kid; if he took all the tires, he’d earned them.
Fifteen minutes later the boy in the red hoodie had three tires off and “hidden away”, and Dick’s amusement was still humming. It spiked when he heard the flutter of Batman’s cape and he saw his guardian drop into the alley, right behind the boy.
He settled in more, now outwardly smiling. This confrontation would certainly be as amusing as the boy stealing the tires was. What child even thought to steal from Batman of all people?
The smile slowly slipped away as Dick began thinking about why the boy would need to steal the Batmobile’s tires. Where were his parents? Why were his clothes so riddled with holes? Why were his shoes so worn—was that a hole in the heel? Why were there so many rips in the sweater he was wearing? Were those the boy’s bones he could count.
A street child, Dick thought to himself, lips set in a grim line. Steals for his food. Fights for his life. Survives, doesn’t live.
Dick was deep in a brood session where he thought about just up and taking the boy with him back home, to the Manor. Bruce would agree with him. Whoever were the parents of this child didn’t deserve to have him if they couldn’t at least steal him shoes. Pick a pocket or two. No, they didn’t deserve to have him at all.
Suddenly, a prepubescent voice piped up, “Try and catch me you big boob!”
He choked, laugher bubbling past his lips.
Batman’s head whipped up at him, the lenses of his cowl wide, and Dick continued snickering as he dropped to the ground in the boy’s path to cut him off.
The boy jerked to a halt, every little muscle he had tensing.
Dick waved, smiling.
The boy cursed, eyeing him.
“Who’re you? That Ghost guy?”
Dick nodded.
“I thought you were just some stupid myth,” he muttered, clearly wary.
In response, Dick shrugged then gestured at himself.
Well, now I’m standing right in front of you. Proof enough.
The boy frowned.
At some point Batman snapped out of his stupor and took a few steps forward, the boy’s head whipping between Dick and Batman.
When he spoke, his voice was softer than the usual Batman growl.
“What is your name?”
The boy looked nervous, now, and his body radiated his apprehension.
Dick made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, relaxing his stance visibly and making an effort to seem nonchalant and calm. Which he was, so there was hardly much effort that he needed to put into it.
Moments of silence passed before the boy stuffed his hands in the holey pocket of his red hoodie and looked at the ground, kicking at it with a foot.
“Jason. Jason Todd.”
Batman nodded and Dick flashed a grin.
Again Batman spoke.
“Where are your parents, Jason?”
Jason snorted.
“Mom’s dead,” he drawled, kicking at a pebble harshly. “Overdosed in the bathtub.”
Lower, he murmured, “I wasn’t enough to keep her here,” and Dick’s heart began to ache in a sadness that he hadn’t felt before.
Batman faltered for a moment, but you only caught it if you knew how to find it, which Dick did. He itched to move and put a hand on his guardian’s shoulder. Comfort was something that came naturally to him, though he was hopeless if he tried to force it.
Jason continued with a shrug.
“D’nno where dad is. Probably ‘n jail again, best bet.”
Dick looked to Bruce—because Batman was gone, Dick could see it in his stance—then back at Jason.
Wordlessly he walked over, crouched, and pulled the boy into a hug.
Jason hadn’t been expecting it because he made a surprised noise and tried wriggling out of the embrace. Dick merely tightened his hold and tried crooning gently to calm him down.
Eyes flicking up to Bruce over Jason’s shoulder, there was an amused little twist to Batman’s lips.
The ex-Talon huffed a little, at the expression on his guardian’s face, pulling Jason closer.
“Uh… Batman? Wh-what’s he doing? Is this, like, him tryna kill me?”
Dick snorted and Batman actually chuckled. Now it was Dick’s turn to be surprised. Bruce never laughed, at least not as Batman.
Jason is special, is what he mentally settled on.
“He’s not trying to kill you, Jason.”
Dick frowned. Jason was way too skinny. He could feel the boy’s bones—could count them by poking them if he wanted to—and that was not good. He didn’t like it.
The next question was directed to Dick, he could tell.
“You’re not tryna kill me?”
He liked the boy’s accent. It was adorable.
Dick shook his head and released Jason, straightening and taking a step back, looking up to his guardian.
Bruce gazed back, cowl and everything still on, and Dick pointed at Jason, then simply said, “Home.”
Using his voice was still weird, Dick decided, and it always would be. But, it drove his point home. That would be the only reason he would ever use it.
Jason again made an alarmed noise, and whipped around to face Bruce.
“What does he mean home?”
Bruce stared at Dick a little longer, and Dick nodded sharply once, repeating himself.
“Home.”
“What does that mean?!”
“Jason,” Bruce answered slowly, looking to the boy and crouching to meet eye-to-eye, “what Ghost means is that he would like it very much if you would come to live with us, at least for a little while.”
Dick frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant—Dick wanted Jason to live with them forever, not for “a little while”. But he figured Bruce knew what he meant and was, as usual, making it more comfortable for whoever he was talking to.
To his delight it seemed to work. Jason’s body language switched from anxious to doubtful, and his face scrunched a little in the cutest way that made Dick want to pick him up and hug him close. He didn’t, though, because it might’ve made Jason reject the offer.
Bruce spoke again.
“Are you hungry?”
Jason’s stomach growled loudly in immediate response and the boy scowled a little at the betrayal.
“Yeah,” he muttered.
“Would you like some food?”
The boy eyed Batman warily as he answered.
“…I ain’t got money to pay.”
Dick scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. Jason looked over, nervous and offended all at once, and scowled deeper.
“Jason.” Bruce called the boy’s attention again and waited for him to meet the lenses of the cowl with his teal blue eyes. “You don’t have to pay.”
Jason hesitated, looking back to Dick, who nodded in encouragement, then back to Bruce again. He thought carefully then, finally, spoke.
“…fine.” Quickly, the boy tacked on, “But we start with jus’ food. Then we see if I go with you.”
Dick wanted to laugh, he was so happy, but he didn’t.
Instead, he smiled.