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Bruce had been wiping his counter down absentmindedly the first time he spotted them; two black haired little boys sitting on a bench, outside the shop. They were fairly young; too young to be sitting there, without parental vision safely. One of them was slightly taller, and always had a school bag overflowing with heavily organized folders, binders, papers, and text-books no one under the age of at-least seventeen should be reading. The one next to him was small, not even in double digest when regarding age; and his skin was a light olive tan, a stark contrast to the boy next to him, who was so pale it looked almost sickly.
The one Bruce suspected to be an elder brother would pull out some sort of snack from his bag and hand it to the younger, along with a small paperback book; they only ever brought three different ones, all well read and falling apart. The younger one would snack and read his book while the older one would smash his face into his papers and frantically scribble words and numbers down onto the parchment's with a ruthlessness no young child should hold for schoolwork.
They would always leave a few hours after they arrived; either by receiving some sort of text or email from a small, hand-me-down phone the older one carried with him, or by a call the elder answered for just a few short seconds. Never having been approached by someone who could be a mother, father; guardian. Nothing. They seemed pretty independent, the elder and younger sharing a bottle of water, snacks, working or reading, holding each-others hands as they crossed the street. Bruce would always try and keep an eye on them while they worked, ensuring no one trying to run up and snatch them in plain day-light; it is Gotham, and worse things have definitely happened.
They kept to themselves, never stepped a foot past his threshold. They managed to keep this up for almost three months, down until the air got too chilly to stay safely outside in the cold Gotham air with their threadbare clothes and torn jackets. The time they would spend sitting out there dragged on, going from two or three hours all the way up to seven or eight, stretching late into the night. They walked inside one day, the elder making his way to the counter while he directed the younger to go up and sit himself on a love-seat next to the window quietly, opening up one of his well-worn paperback and stuffing his rosy-cheeked face into the pages.
The elder before him smiled up blandly -the lift of his cheeks not quite reaching his eyes- and asked rather quietly and politely "May I have a bottle of water please?" Handing Bruce a crumpled up dollar bill upon receiving the bottle. He made his way to the love-seat next to what Bruce has now personally dubbed his younger brother, and pulled a giant text-book out from his bag; following it was a thick packet of papers. The kid opened his text-book and began scribbling answers down, stopping every half hour or so to stretch, crack his neck or huff out a lungful of air whenever he was met with a difficult question.
This, also, continued for months. Bruce grew to enjoy their company and small arguments shared between the two. One day, the elder didn't seem to have any work at all to do, and instead sat his bag down at the foot of the love-seat and slouched heavily, exhaustion clear in every angle of his tiny body. His younger brother didn't seem to care; crawling onto his lap and started arguing over some sort of book Bruce had never heard of.
Instead of shoving him off and turning over to sleep, like what Bruce had been expecting, the boy returned every argument with one of his own. While he didn't seem to hold the same amount of excitement as his counterpart, he still had enough energy in his sentences to get his point's and opinion's across. While Bruce still paid attention to all his other customers with a charming smile and kind eyes, he still managed to watch how these two children interacted with each-other.
It took another two months of them spending hours in his shop for one of them to approach him with a question. It had been the younger one, who had walked up to his counter, his tiny, chubby features condensed with a heavily furrowed brow and cupid-bow lips turned down into a sort of grimace. Not exactly the most comforting look to get from a young child. He held a five dollar bill in one chubby hand, and pointed the other to the display casing Bruce was positioned behind. Bruce looked down at what he was pointing at and laughed; it was a small chocolate cookie, shaped into a bat and drizzled with melted chocolate.
"How much?" His voice was so squeaky and tiny, Bruce's heart melted the moment he opened his mouth. Bruce knew he sold them, traditionally, for two fifty a piece, but Jesus; this kid looked like he could use a few sweets in his life. And with a quick look over to his brother, who was slaving away at a pile of papers with his younger counterpart's going's ending up un-noticed in his haste to fill something in, he decided the other boy could use a small reprieve as-well.
"Fifty-scents per cookie. How many do you want?" Bruce could feel the look from his manager; Alfred, while he was a wonderful father-figure, did not take kindly to his cookies being sold like they were some dollar-store rip-off. The boy looked down at the five in his hand, furrowed his eye-brows even more furiously for a moment as he thought, then looked up and stated, in a squeak, "Four."
Bruce raised his own brow.
"Only four?" The kid nodded, handed his five spot over to Bruce on his tippy-toes and waited as Bruce knelt down and gently placed four bat's into a small white bag, handing it and the kids change over into small, grabby, chubby hands. Bruce smiled while the child only nodded solemnly, turning to make his way over to his brother, plopping down onto the cushion next to him. The elder startled upon impact, jerking is head over to the boy.
"Damian," The elder chided semi-harshly, grabbing the boy's shoulders, "When did you leave?" He looked at the bag the boy -Damian- was holding and questioned, even quieter, "Where did you get those?"
Damian pointed a finger over to Bruce, and the elder followed his direction, tipping his head down meekly when Bruce met his eyes, shy. Damian held up the three dollar bills he still had and put them in his elder brothers hands, whispering -quite loudly-, "Jason gave it to me, said ta buy somethin' nice for 'D's birthday. I got cookies."
He held up the bag with a small smile, almost timid; as if he might get in trouble for this one act of kindness. The elders eyes soften and he too smiles something slightly broken, bringing the smaller into a hug.
"Timmy?" Damian had whispered.
"Let's go see what other treats they have here, yeah?" He plucks the three dollars out of his younger brothers hands, and together they walk over to another display case, showing off Bruce's more intricate works. They browse for half an hour, pointing and gasping at his better, more stylish cakes, cookies, cup-cakes, muffins. Anything that looked interesting to them had them in a state of awe.
They were both so small, the elder -Timmy- barely reached Bruce's knees. God he had wanted so badly to offer them some hot chocolate and a blanket; already wanted to make them smile. They were just so adorable and heartfelt in their amazement of something as simple as a carrot cake.
"Bruce," Alfred's voice sounded out from behind him. He turned, expecting a scolding for giving food away for practically nothing, but was met with the kind eyes not of -a harsh, money-making manager- but of the man who had raised a young orphan boy from nothing. "Why don't you offer them some left-overs? It's nearing closing time, and I don't suspect anyone will be coming in to order some hot-chocolate and a few muffins."
Bruce smiled his thanks and turned towards the two, who were now right in-front of the main display case, looking at a large, triple layer, raspberry cake that had a very detailed Robin perched in a tree painted onto the icing. They stared for so long Bruce felt mild concern there was something wrong, before Damian had tugged on Timmy's shirt sleeve and pointed, asking "Can we get it for three?"
Timmy glanced up at Bruce through his bangs and lowered his head to Damian's ear, "We can't afford the cake with just three dollars, Dami. Look at the numbers there, see?" Timmy points to the price tag set up before the Robin cake, "It says that for one piece, it's fifteen dollars. For the entire cake? It'd probably be way more than we'll ever afford."
Bruce silently prepared himself for some sort of tantrum; because that's what really little kids do when they don't get what they want, right? They cry, or lay down on the floor, or argue, or scream; something. That's just what little kids do.
All this little boy did was nod, so serious and solemn it broke Bruce's heart into little slivers.
"You're right on that; I don't think you'd be able to buy the cake for three dollars." Bruce started, watching as Timmy wrapped a protective arm around his little brother's shoulders, and Damian's arm went around Tim's waist in a side-hug. "But," he continued, pulling the large glass mugs from the side, steam rising from the sweet, home-made hot chocolate from within, "We do have a few extra drinks and muffins we made earlier today that didn't sell. And, seeing as we're closing in another hour, I don't think we'll be getting any customers coming in looking for a few muffins."
He placed the drinks on the counter, watching as the bright blue, too-aware eyes track his every move. Bruce keeps himself slow, patient as he brings out the last few muffins, kept warm in their display case, placing all four in a small box and setting that next to the drinks. Timmy, with narrowed eyes, asks "Why are you offering us free food and drinks?"
Bruce startled internally, wondering what exactly this kid had seen to cause such paranoia and mistrust towards everyone, before he was answering "Because I'd rather let someone eat them for free than throw them out to rot."
Timmy seemed to take this as a reasonable enough answer and reached for the mug closest, handing it down to his brother as he grabbed his own mug. He brought the rim up to his lips and sipped slowly, eyes gradually widening as he swallowed. Timmy brought the mug down and gaped.
"This isn't the powdered stuff, from the bag's." Bruce laughed and shook his head, "No it's not. This is all home-made, by myself and my Manager Alfred."
Timmy wasn't listening; he took another sip of his drink before looking over to his brother. He still hasn't taken a sip, was looking up at Timmy; like he was waiting for something. Timmy smiled something strained and placed a hand on fluffy black hair, commenting "You don't need to wait anymore."
That seemed to be all Damian needed, because he immediately took a large gulp of the hot-chocolate, not caring to slow down or savor it. His brother, on the other hand, took one more small sip before placing his mug back down on the counter and lifting the box of muffins into his hands, looking over it and grinning at Bruce.
"Thank you so much for the muffins! We really appreciate it, don't we Damian?"
Said boy was already half-finished with his drink, pulling it back to reveal a small mustache. Some how, he still looked too serious for someone his age, even as he gave his thanks in a small squeak. Damian stepped up and tried to grab the mug from the counter, but even on his tippy-toes, he couldn't reach it. Bruce slowly slid it across the counter and into the searching hand gliding across the glass. Damian's hand snatched the handle and brought the cup down and to himself, giving Bruce one final nod before following his brother over to their little corner.
Bruce continued to switch between cleaning the shop up and watching as the two children took small nibbles from their muffins. The each only had one, and Bruce frowned; he had given them enough for two each. The four cookies in Damian's white bag remained untouched, and for a moment Bruce had thought that, maybe, they didn't like his and Alfred's baking. But watching as Timmy repeatedly told Damian to slow down his drink, and reminded him to 'take smaller bites, you know they fill you up quicker' reminded Bruce. They were probably just good children in a bad situation, like he had been before Alfred found him.
As Bruce flipped the last stool onto the table, he hesitated; he was supposed to be closed five minutes ago, and the two children were still there. They, to, looked slightly nervous as they packed the schoolbag full of completed papers that were definitely not Timmy's, the two remaining muffins and four cookies held in tiny arms as they sat there, curled up onto the sofa in tense patience.
Before he could make any move -offer to call someone, a ride home, a place to stay the night- two young men stepped into the shop; Bruce hadn't yet flipped the 'closed' sign over. He turned his head over to the two customers as they entered, their heads swiveling around on their necks before they stopped on the two boys on the seat.
The one that had entered first was the tallest among them -though he was still barely up to Bruce's chin- in a white button-up and black dress slacks. The one behind him was dressed in a ratty short sleeve and ripped jeans, heavy boots tucked under the fabric covering his legs. The beds of his nails were dirty; in fact, all the way up to his forearms was covered in oil. It struck him how odd the two men seemed; they both looked so very young, and yet so much older than they actually were at the same time.
The first man who had entered smiled upon spotting the two boys, who had hopped off of the couch with a cry of "D!" They ran over to him and attacked his legs in what Bruce assumed was supposed to be a hug, but seemed more like a death grip than anything. The man lent down to pick them up in his arms laughing, the young boy behind him crossing his arms with a smile and the three before him giggled.
It struck Bruce, then, how similar they all looked to each-other; each had thick black hair in varying styles and length's, bright blue-green eyes, blinding white teeth. The young boy still standing in the door-way glanced at Bruce, turning his entire body to greet him.
"Sorry to have 'em stay here so late. Dickie and I both got caught up at work and only just got off. We're normally of sooner than this."
Bruce nods his understanding and smiles, "Of course. These two have been coming over here almost every day for hours and I've never got trouble from them. They mostly stay to themselves. Very kind, quiet boys. They've been raised well." Bruce complimented, watching as the taller man brought the two boys up into his arms and leth them both wrap their arms around his neck, talking his ears off.
The boy before him looked at Bruce with slightly narrowed eyes for a moment, before introducing himself.
"My name's Jason. That guy over there's Dick. Timmy's the tiny one, and Damian's the tinier one."
Upon hearing his name, Damian perked up and rushed to the box sitting on the cushion they had been camping out on, bringing it over to Dick and setting it down on the floor before him.
"Appy 'Irhtday!" The tiny child exclaimed, raising his chubby arms in the air above his head. Dick and Jason chuckled, and Bruce made his way to the back room to get his coat and keys, turning lights off as he went.
"Thank you so much for not kicking them out. I don't know what I'd do if they had to wait for us in this weather." Dick had thanked him as Jason gathered the kids stuff, both arms filled with tiny children now trying to chatter his ears off. Bruce chuckled and waved the thanks off, "It's no sweat off my back. They're sweet kids, keep quiet and do their reading with no trouble. I'm always happy to have them in the store"
Jason had Timmy's backpack slung over one shoulder, the bag of cookies and box of muffins in a hand as the other ran through Damian's hair. "C'mon Dick, we need'ta get home and celebrate 'fore these two keel over."
Timmy grumbled unhappily at Jason, swatting his hand away when it rose up to pinch his ear.
"Oh?" Bruce questioned, "What exactly are you celebrating? If you don't mind me asking, of course." Bruce hastened to add, remembering the skepticism Timmy seemed to approach everything with, and thinking he must have gotten that wary sense from someone. Dick's cheeks split into a grin as he stated, "I'm turning nineteen tomorrow, so we're all taking a day off to have a little party."
And that was that; Bruce didn't see the two children the following day, nor the two days after seeing as it was the weekend and the shop was closed on Saturday's and Sunday's. On Monday's arrival, Bruce opened shop as he usually did. Arriving at five A.M to get everything for the day in order. He received the bi-weekly supplies, steeped his cold-brew coffee's and teas, started the muffins and coffee-cakes. A very basic, routine morning.
It wasn't until barely an hour after opening that the morning turned a little to the weirder side.
The taller man from last Friday, Richard, opened the door; he had a large bag over his shoulder stuffed with hastily organized papers, and in his other arm he held a bulky lap-top that seemed to be held together with more duct-tape and spite than wires and plastic framing. His eyes were lined with exhaustion, his longer black hair was tied in a knot at the base of his neck. Bruce felt a jab of sympathy at the sight; he remembered spending hours pushing papers and working his ass of late into the night and early through the morning.
The sun hasn't even properly risen yet, and the seven or eight patrons in his shop seemed like they were either college students wanting to finish a final paper in a quiet, comfortable environment, or they were just people trying to escape a hellish house-hold for a few moments.
"Ah, Richard, right?" Bruce greeted him with a smile once the man managed to find his way to the front counter. Richard startled at his name, but grinned a bright, childlike smile that somehow looked like it fit his face perfectly and brought a hand up to shake Bruce's.
"Ah, yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. We've never both ended up working that late at the same time; a bit embarrassing honestly. Most of the time we're a lot more organized than that, I swear."
Bruce waved the apology off with a brush of his hand through the air. "No need to be apologizing, I remember trying to keep my head afloat in this hellish arena of a city. I recall hearing that you recently turned nineteen; congratulations."
Richard seemed more sheepish now, a hand rubbing the back of his neck and a blush spreading across his tan cheeks and nose.
"About that; those muffins you gave us? To die for. That's actually why I stopped by this morning; I've got work in about an hour and wanted to see what all the fuss is about."
Bruce beamed and gestured to the giant chalk-board hanging above him, stating "We're the only coffee shop in the city that has coffee beans from all over the world, and we're the only place in the city that does hot-and-cold brews for both our coffee's and tea's. We also have one of the largest variety of sweets and baked goods in the northern area of Gotham"
Richard seemed overwhelmed by the vast menu hanging above him, so Bruce intervened his nervous glances over the variety with "Do you prefer tea or coffee?"
"Oh coffee, definitely; what with Jason having to leave so early, helping Timmy get ready for school and dropping Damian off at daycare I can't seem to get enough of the stuff."
Bruce hummed and turned to the beans behind him, throwing over his shoulder, "Do you like sweater, more savory coffee's or are you leaning more towards the bitter side?"
"Sweet as I can get them without wasting too much sugar."
Bruce pulled out the Cookies 'N Dreams scoop and added some to his hand-grinder, swiftly crushing the beans and adding them to his hot-drip machine.
"I'll let you try the chocolate and cream coffee, see how you like it. Would you like something to go with it? We have some muffins, cake-pops, croissants, bagels; anything you'd like."
As Bruce mingled behind the counter steaming cream and adding his frozen whipped cream to the final product, Richard was having a difficult time choosing something. Bruce placed the large coffee-cup before Richard and offered, "We have a test bagel in the back; would you try it for us, tell us what you think?"
Right as Richard mouthed 'us?' Alfred had come in from the back kitchens, a small cookie sheet holding six small, steaming bagel's across it's surface. They smelled like blueberry's and a wet dream, in Richard's opinion.
"We've recently been trying our hand at more fruit-based recipes for some of our older products," Bruce said as Alfred dropped the cookie sheet before Richard with a kind smile, "And it would really help if you gave us your thoughts."
"Oh gosh," Richard looked slightly taken aback, "No I'm not gonna be a very good judge; honestly the one's we always buy at the dollar-store are like heaven at this point."
Alfred frowned, grabbing a napkin and placing one of the bagels on it before handing it to Richard, stating "Then please, try it not as a favor to us, but a favor to yourself." Then, muttering to himself as he made his way back to the kitchens, "Honestly, dollar-store bagels? They scrape the mold from the surface, I've seen it."
Richard's total came to seven dollars, and Bruce watched as he pulled out a five and two crumpled bills, handing it over and smiling. "I can see why Timmy and Dami don't want another rendevu; this is a very nice place."
Bruce took a moment to look around; dark blue and purple walls, black tile, calm music in the background. Paintings of the stars and of purple sunsets made by none other than Alfred himself. Clean floors, tables, chairs, and the entire front of the shop was windows and glass doors. To the left, his entire wall was made up of a bookshelf with more books than Bruce's has probably read in his life.
"Ya know," Bruce said right before Richard seemed to want to take off, "If you're boy's ever want, they can stop by and read a few of our books. I've noticed the older one, Timmy, always hands Damian the same of one of three books. You can tell him he's free to look at all the other's we have here."
Bruce made sure to gesture to the large collection of what had to be at least two hundred books, if not more. Richard nodded, grinned, "I'll be sure to pass the message to Timmy. Boy's probably smartest in the house at this point." Richard waved with the paper coffee cup as he made his way out the door, taking a sip as he turned to head for work and stopped, looking at the cup in wonder for a moment. He took another, heavier, sip as he continued, his gait wider and faster.
'It seems that each and every one of those boy's had no clue what good food tastes like', Bruce mused, watching as the smell of the test-bagels caught the attention of a few other customers; shifting his face into a dazzling grin, he offered a free sample to the few who managed to drudge themselves up to the counter.
It wasn't until Richards next uncountable visit to The Cave that he managed to bring the younger of the two -Jason- with him. Richard was free of the stiff white button up and black slack, and was dressed in a blue and white stripped long-sleeved sweater that seemed to swallow him whole -the only thing Bruce has seen him wear that manages to chase the chill of Gotham Away- and a pair of well worn jeans. Jason, on the other hand, was once more in just a short sleeved shirt and his own pair of jeans, his boots without caked on mud and grime from a days work, given that it was just turning over to six AM.
Bruce had gotten to know them both throughout the months; well enough to know that Richard enjoyed anything with sugar in it- specifically the chilled creme-brulee's Alfred always makes every Monday and Thursday night. He know's that Tim is very paranoid and withdrawn form most social interactions, while Damian refuses to be silenced when explaining his preference of one book over another to anyone willing to lend him their ears.
He knows that Jason, while he acts tough, is the one most willing to let Damian talk his ear off while also being willing to mess with Tim, bringing him out of his shell of indifference, ensuring he knows how to act like a ten year old every once in a while. He also knows that Richard and Jason are working hours that would be illegal for anyone under eighteen to work; he's seen Richard walk in two or three minutes after opening -five AM, and then come back and pick the boys up with Jason on his heels at 10 PM. He know's they're both working themselves to the bone; and are still keeping two young boys happy and healthy as they can with the paychecks they get.
Richard was a young man who could sit on the bench placed in-front of the counter and talk about how hard Jason works, how smart Tim in, or how quickly Damian is growing. "He'll end up taller than me soon enough!"
Bruce had gotten into the habit of feeding them anything he thought he could get away with; free samples, test-treats, slices of cake, a larger portion of coffee or tea than what is strictly necessary. Bruce had gotten to know these boys; had come to care about them. They were such kind kids, and he enjoyed the moment where they almost seemed to forget that they never interacted outside of his shop. Thinking about it now, he frowns; he needs to invite them over for dinner one day, offer to cook and have a nice night. He hoped he would be able to ask without seeming pushy or threatening.
"Richard, great to see you some-what relaxed and well rested. A cookie 'N Cream for you, then?" Bruce greeted, watching as Richard lead Jason to the counter, pointing at a few things on the chalk board above them. Jason's face was relaxed, a slight upturn on his lips ad Richard beamed at Bruce.
"I've been bragging about this place's stuff to Jason for what feels like years," Richard whined, "And he's only just now decided to try it out." Here he turns to Jason, who's eyes have moved from Richard's head to Bruce; eyes locked on him as he went about the motions of pulling Richard's drink together.
"I can't believe you call 'em Richard," the boy's heavy accent drawled, deep voice mocking the mans' name.
"Am I supposed to call him anything different?"
Yeah," Jason says as he watches Richard order Jason's drink for him -a hot cinnamon and chai tea with cream- Richard's coffee already made and sitting on the counter, "Call 'em Dick. Richard's what his ma 'n pops used to use."
'Used to?' Bruce thought, pouring Jason's tea into another large paper cup and placing it onto the counter. "We've another test-treat in the back," Bruce offered, "Would you two mind trying a bite, and offering us some critique's?"
Richard-Dick- nodded his head furiously with a large, beaming smile; Bruce could feel Jason's eyes on him as he moved to the cupboard behind him and pulling out two of the mini salted-caramel cheese-cake slices, placing them both on a paper-plate and handing them over with a smile.
"The slices are free samples, but the coffee and the tea will amount up to ten dollars." Jason's eye-brows rose slightly; scrunched up between his forehead and watched Bruce with a contemplating stare. Dick brought a ten spot from his pocket and handed it over to Bruce, before placing Jason's drink in his hand and beaming down at him; Dick turned and started off to the bookshelf and began browsing through the alphabetized titles. Jason leaned closer, so close Bruce could smell stale cigarette and wondered, briefly, just how old this kid is.
"Listen," his voice was even lower now, trying to keep quiet as he kept his eyes on Dick, "I know you're keepin' it cheap for Dickie and I, so I'mma thank you for that now." Bruce nodded his understanding.
"I'mma also ask somethin' of ya." He leaned even closer now, and Bruce could see the lining of faint, tiny scars along his pale cheeks and down his throat, over his lips and the bridge of his nose, "We can't afford nothin' like a baby sitter for the other two. An' with our work schedules bein' shifted to longer hours we ain't gonna get off any earlier than ten at night mos'a week. Imma ask ya, as one workin' man to another, if they can stay here for as long as your comfortable. Until we can come over to pick 'em up."
Jason's entire tone was casual, as was his body language; but Bruce could see trepidation and worry in his bright eyes, a pleading kind of look in them that Bruce was certain that, if he pointed it out, would be thoroughly denied.
"I wouldn't mind at all. If you ever need someone to watch them later in the night I can give you my cell; you can call us up any time they need to stay somewhere." Bruce offered, "We live only two block down in the three-story. Entire building's ours, and I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind having children in the house again, even if it's just for a few hours."
Bruce made sure to keep his voice light, calm; approaching a subject like this was comparable to trying to calm down a scared, semi-feral dog. It needs to be done with patience and precautions. But by the look of instant relief on the boy's face, he wasn't over-stepping like he believed he might have.
"Oh thank god; you really are a blessin' sir." Jason brought an old brick of a phone from his back pocket and let Bruce punch his number in before letting a small smile grace his too-young, too-old face and leaving; sliding back up to Dick as he pulled a book from the shelf and held it down for Jason to look at the tittle. Bruce smiled to himself as he got to placing more items in his display-cases.
By the time he looked up the two were gone, the books they pulled out placed back into their spots in the shelf.
It was later in the day that Bruce encountered Timmy and Damian; right on time, at two-thirty, the two brothers walked into the store. Timmy didn't have any work with him, it seemed; he just sat himself down on the love seat and watched as Damian walked over to the display case showing off the large three-tier cake Bruce made only hours before.
The cake was a large peach cake, with three layers, each one smaller than the one beneath it. It was covered in fondant-peaches, painted to look like they had a natural blush of a real peach. The icing was a simple butter-cream with pureed peaches mixed into both the cake batter and the icing. Damian seemed fascinated by it; it was the one thing he kept looking back on.
Timmy, who has always looked and acted so much older than he probably was, seemed exhausted. He seemed so small now, even smaller with the large red sweater and jeans. He looked like he was gonna keep over and die right then and there if Bruce didn't do something.
"Timmy, Damian." Bruce called out, watching as Timmy's head snapped up and looked to his younger brother. Bruce smiled as Timmy automatically jerked himself up and grabbed Damian gently, tucking him under his arm. Bruce laughed, "No no, don't worry. Dick and Jason stopped by earlier today and asked if you two could stay here later on nights where they can't pick you up. I was just gonna offer up some hot chocolate, maybe a small slice of cake if you were hungry."
Timmy, as usual, looked skeptical and refused to remove his arm from Damian; who had began to try and make his way over to Bruce. Bruce offered the paranoid boy a small smile, and that must have been enough to placate him. He released the grip on Damian's arm and instead grabbed his hand, leading him over to the counter where Bruce was leaning down to cut two slightly-larger-than-normal slices from the Peach Cake Damian had been eyeing so furiously.
Bruce heard Alfred behind him shuffling around, bringing a pot of milk up to temperature as he brought chocolate bars and spices down from their supply racks. Bruce placed the two slices onto plates and slid them down the counter, over to the bench. Bruce watched as Timmy lifted Damian onto a seat with swift movements, even though he himself had to use the edge of the bench to heft his body high enough to seat himself.
He pulled two forks out from the drawer and set them before the boys, following the motion with the two slices as Alfred managed to sneak up behind him and set the two steaming ceramic mugs along side the plates. At the appearance of a new person, Timmy tensed; he's so paranoid it almost worried Bruce. No child is that self-aware of things around them. Damian sure as hell isn't, seeing as he's decided waiting wasn't worth it and began to dig into the cake. For the first time since Bruce first spoke to the boy, he smiled.
Not a small thing, or something he plastered to ease Bruce. A genuine, six-year-old-boy smile; stuffed full of cake and icing. Alfred smiled kindly down at Timmy, his smile-worn cheeks and eyes more prominent as he raises in age.
"Hello young man," he greets, "My name is Alfred Pennyworth." Timmy slowly rose his eyes to meet Alfred's, offering up a tiny greeting of his own as his nerves seem to dissipate and bring him back to a young, shy boy. "My name's Timothy. Timothy Drake."
And with that he dropped his eyes, hand reaching for a fork and bringing a tiny, kitten sized bite of cake to his lips; eyes widening once he takes his first bite. He glances over to Damian and gawk's at him, half of Damian's cake already shoved down his throat.
"Damian!" Timmy starts, shocking the younger and freezing him in his place. Automatically back-tracking, Timmy calms him with his next words, "You've got to slow down, Dami. No one's going to take it from you anymore."
The last bit was whispered quietly, but not exactly quiet enough for Bruce to not have heard him. Freezing up, Bruce glances back and see's that Timmy-Timothy?- Tim smiled reassuringly, encouraging Damian to take a small sip of hot chocolate as they talked quietly to each-other.
Bruce had to wonder, as he goes through the motions of customer service, who exactly would take a meal -more than one, from the way Damian eats everything- from a child? Especially someone with those bright green eyes and chubby, rosy cheeks? Bruce glanced back and his heart melted slightly when he noticed the two were arguing slightly, Tim's hands flying through the air, watching as Damian crossed his arms and frowned up at Tim, arguing over the accuracy of some Sherlock book.
"Damian no, a body goes into rigor-mortis hours after death, not a few minutes! If the body still has heat in it, then the joints and muscles are still loose enough to be moved and stuff. "
Tim explained carefully, and the morbid sentence made Bruce pause in removing the frozen whipped-cream to top off their second serving of hot-chocolate. Damian frowned, little eyes glaring up at his brother as he made his own argument.
"But if it's cold an wet in't it gonna start to cool down fasther? I don' think it's gonna take dat long for it to go into reger mitis."
"No Damian, Ri-Gor- Mor-Tis. Say it slower." Tim corrected easily, placing Damian's empty plate on his own and stacking their dirty forks on-top of that. Tim paused, looking at the plates with an almost longing look in his eye as Damian quietens himself.
"Do you tink mama's lookin' for me?" Damian asked suddenly, unprompted. His face didn't seem sad, or particularly down; the question was asked with honest curiosity. Tim sighed and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, sliding it across and hugging him to his side. Bruce expected something of a comfort; along the lines of "I'm sure she's never forgotten," or "I bet she misses you a ton right now."
What he got was "She's probably all the way out to Mexico under the thumb of another pimp. Maybe she's dead. Maybe she's still here, hiding out in a crack-house. We'll never know, Dami; but I promise," here Tim looked down at the boy under his tiny arm, "That if she tries to pull anything like that again, Jason'll sic Black-Mask on her, just for you."
Bruce had to take a moment to process- what was Tim saying? Was Damian's mother a drug addict? An escort? And Damian wasn't living with her? Where are both of their parents? And the way Tim phrased it- your mother; not our mother, or mother, but your mother. Were they not related? And if so, then where exactly do Dick and Jason come into play? Bruce glanced over to the clock and noted that he had almost three hours before closing; the night sky was dark and there were fewer and fewer customers trickling in for a walk-in order.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and for a moment, as he looked down at the message, he had forgotten he gave his Number to Jason and Dick. The message was from Jason, and it read "Managed to get off work early, will be there to catch the other two in an hour or so."
Bruce felt a battle rage inside him; does he wait until they explain the story? But looking over to how Tim was still holding Damian in his arms, he suspected the only way to get the story was to grab for it himself. He walked over and swiped the empty plates and mugs from the table-top, smiling down at the two bright pairs of eyes looking up at him. "Did you two enjoy the cake?" Bruce questioned, watching as Damian tried to peel himself from Tim and sit himself up in the chair properly.
His grin was toothy, and Bruce felt another wave of heart-breaking remorse at the thought that anyone could ever deny these boys anything. "Yeah! It waz so good Mr. Wayne. How'd you make?"
Tim sat himself up straighter as-well, but Bruce believed it was more of a self-defensive maneuver than anything to do with wanting to talk to him. Bruce chuckled at Damian, "Call me Bruce. Mr. Wayne seems too much like what they used to call my father."
Bruce no longer felt the heavy weight of guilt and anger at the mentions of his family; he might not have his mom or dad, but he had Selina and Alfred, and while it's not exactly the same thing, it's close enough to a family. Bruce watched as Damian tried to pronounce Bruce, and just ended up saying "Bruise" while Tim attempted to correct him, slowing down his own speech.
Bruce felt Alfred approach him from behind, a hand on his shoulder as the two boys began arguing over how to say Bruce.
"Bruce," Alfred muttered into his ear, "I must make the suggestion of questioning the two men who came in to pick them up not too long ago. Sounds to me like something is amiss."
Yeah," Bruce responded, "Me too."
When Jason walked through the door, mud caked on his boots and oil gripping onto his arms and face, Bruce paused. The two boys at the counter hadn't noticed Jason's appearance yet, as they were too engrossed in their discussion on their favorite treats Bruce has allowed them to test; Damian was stubbornly with the peach cake, while Tim had moved on to the caramel cupcakes with spun sugar on-top.
Jason moved up behind Tim and placed a large hand on his head, claiming "Ya need a haircut Timmy; looken' lore like a girl every day." Tim stiffened upon contact, but melted into a scowl, bring his own hand up to his head and shrinking down to avoid Jason's touch.
"Hey! No I'm not; I just like having my hair long." Tim insists, brushing a hand through his hair and pushing his bangs back. Damian turned upon hearing Jason's voice and exclaimed, while bringing his little hand up to Jason's face "Jay!"
Jason grinned and hefted the tiny boy into his arms, letting him talk right into his ear loudly about whatever he and Tim had been arguing about earlier. He stood there, attentive to what Damian had been saying; even though half of it was unintelligible through six-year-old enthusiasm. He made sure to rise his eyebrows whenever Damian said something excessively energetic, and to turn to Tim whenever Damian managed to utter his name in a semi-scolding tone.
"Jason," Bruce spoke up, and Damian continued to babble off through Bruce, "Can I ask you a few things in the back?"
Nervously, Jason managed to quieten Damian and set him down next to Tim, convincing them both to stay there while Bruce and Jason talk. Bruce lifted the little partition up, allowing Jason behind the counter and leading him to the small room he and Alfred take their lunch in; a comfortable space, light green carpet, four large recliner chairs and two sofa's, a fridge, microwave and stove sat in a corner while the counter and cupboard was stuffed with plates, cups, all chipped and/or cracked after decades of use.
Bruce gestured to a chair, seating himself in the one opposite of Jason. It was then Bruce realized he didn't even know how old the boy was; he could be either twenty two of fifteen. Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead, stress wrinkles stuff beneath his fingers.
"Look, Jason, I overheard Damian talk about his mom." Jason, looking ever so nervous, suddenly tensed up; Bruce felt even worse for being the cause. "I heard him ask whether his mom was looking for him. Now, you know that a sentence like that, especially from someone Damian's age is cause for a lot of suspicion. Before I try and call anyone in, I'm going to give you a chance to explain exactly what the situation here is."
Jason sighed, placing his head in his hands and slouching down in the chair. It never occurred to Bruce exactly how small Jason is; none of the four boys are particularly tall, and while the eldest two were very obviously fit, Dick hadn't even reached his shoulder.
"look," Jason started, bringing his head from his cupped hands-he looked absolutely exhausted- "Dick, Tim, Damian 'n I all lived in that one apartment buildin'; the one down on Winter Street, two years ago."
Oh god.
"You mean the one that blew up two years ago?"
Jason nodded grimly.
"Dick 'ad just been emancipated a few months before. He an' his parent's wasn't exactly close. We knew each-other in passin', my ma would drop me off at their apartment 'enever she wanted to leave an' not have me attached to 'er. Tim was just barely eight, an' Damian was four. I 'ad been fourteen, an' doin' somethin' out on the other side of the city 'en it blew. Tim was in school, and Damian was in daycare. My ma, Dick's an' Tim's parents, Damian's grandfather all died in the explosion or in the hospital."
Jason took a shaky hand and ran it through his hair as the information processed itself through Bruce's head. Jason wasn't done, apparently; because he continued the explanation.
"Tim 'n I 'ad no where to go, an since his ma n' pops would drop him off at our apartment, I wen' an picked 'em up from school pretendin' to be his brother; it wasn' the first time I 'ad done it. We was stuck, man. Dick had just lost his last family, so 'e was all alone too; came over when I called 'em, not knowin' what ta do. He rushed over an picked us up from the laundry mat we were hidin' out at. Picked Dami from daycare, later in the day, and brought us all over to the court-house. Claimed since none of us 'ad family at' he should be allowed to take us in, adopt us. The judge just wan'ed us outta his office, ya know? I don' think he even read through 'is request, jus' sent it through."
Here Jason took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms roughly. God, Bruce felt horrible for asking; he could feel the sweat gather on his hands as he tried to un-clench them from his sides.
"We 'ad to stay inna shelter for two days while the request went through. Next thing I know, I'm sleepin' on the floor of Dickies apartment floor while 'e orders more beds for Me, Timmy, 'n Dami. We've been together for goin' on three years now; livin's tough, sure. Timmy back there thinkin' he needs'ta make money of 'is own. Take's school-work from high-schooler's 'n does their work for some cash. Dickie's over in the office down the street, work's for some big-shot douche, an' I work down at the shippin' docks."
Silence swallowed the room as Bruce attempted to process everything; Dick, a nineteen year old boy was taking care of a sixteen year old, a ten year old, a six year old, managed to get the last two to kindergarten and school, and still finds time to keep a job?
"Jesus christ..." Bruce mutters as Jason reclines himself in the chair, over-worked and stressed too early in his life for it to be right or respectable. Bruce inhaled and exhaled heavily before standing. Jason watched him wearily as he stood as-well, the top of his head not even reaching Bruce's chest. Bruce placed a gentle hand on Jason's shoulder slowly, calmly; approaching him as one would an angry, defensive animal.
"I'm very sorry for having brought it up," Bruce began, his voice deep and hushed, like he was telling a great secret. "But just know that there are so many people out there who would have left those two out there. You and Dick are trying too hard; a nineteen year old and a sixteen year old can't raise two young boys on their own. Especially when those two boy also both have very busy, hard-working jobs. Every once in a while, you'll need to take a break, son. You've been putting on a brave face; both for those two young boys out there, I know. But also for yourself. You're a wonderful young man from what I've seen. You've indulged Damian in his book rants, and you make sure Tim acts like a ten year old every now and then. I know what it's like to feel like the entire world is pitted against you."
Jason let out a heavy sob, bright green eyes scrunched up painfully tight to keep tears from spilling pas the lids. "How would you know what this feels like?" He asks, wiping his face with the collar of his shirt, "You've got this-this place, and your money and your-your three story building. How do you know what it's like to feel the entire world try an' bury you head first?"
Bruce felt his heart tighten at the sight of Jason heaving the tears back, wrenching his own feeling from his face to try and keep it passively blank in a natural defense against- what? Mockery? Did Jason think Bruce would mock him for crying? After losing any semblance of of his past life? He was sixteen; he shouldn't be working anywhere but some shop, maybe a restaurant. Not whatever labor left him drenched in cooled sweat, the dirt and thick oil sticking to him like glue? No, Bruce isn't going to allow another child work himself to near death just to keep himself afloat.
"I would appreciate it if you called Dick here, so we could all have a little talk. Tim and Damian can go back with Alfred in the kitchens. I'm sure he can keep them both entertained for a little while."
Jason nodded and attempted to dry his eyes, hand traveling down to grasp at his phone; meanwhile, Bruce went in the back and explained the situation to Alfred.
"Of course," Alfred agreed, already grabbing for the two ceramic mugs and a pot, placing the pot on the stove. Bruce watched Jason go out front, heard him convince the two to go in the back.
"The ol' man back 'ere's gonna show ya how ta make that hot-chocolate you keep badgerin' me 'bout. Go on, shoo."
Bruce watched Tim and Damian pass the office doorway, hand in hand as Alfred beckoned them to the kitchen. "Dickie," Bruce heard Jason through the small hallway, "Yeah well you're gonna need to take a short day and get off early. Say it's a family emergency. Yes, it is. Dick, listen you need to get here. No, they're fine. Mr. Wayne want's to talk to us-yes, Bruce. Fine, just get here."
Jason ended the call swiftly, running his empty hand through his short hair and sighing, letting his hand rest on the back of his neck as he let his head fall, looking up to the ceiling.
"Lord, grant me da patience an willpower ta make it through today; I'm feelin' like Imma need a blessin' at this point."
It took Dick fifteen minutes to get to The Cave; all the while Bruce continued to manage the front after handing Jason a Matcha Green Tea and a slice of toasted cinnamon and raisin bread with a thick layering of peanut butter spread over top. If Bruce strained his ears, he could hear a faint giggle coming up from the kitchen every now and then, and the smell of spices and chocolate slowly made its way up from the back and encircled the front of the shop.
Bruce was able to watch as Dick spilled into the shop in a flurry of half-stuffed bags full of paperwork, a wash of snow following him into the doorway as he shook his hair of the snowflakes that managed to find their way to his scalp. His hair was loose from it's knot at the base of his neck, fanning around his neck and laying in his shoulders and how long as it been since any of them have gotten a decent hair-cut?
"Bruce, what happened? Are they okay?"
Dick's voice was slightly panicked, and Bruce winced slightly at having been the cause for such distress. He raised a hand up playcatingly, halting his rushed questions. "Don't worry," Bruce said, "Tim and Damian are alright; a few issues along the lines of guardianship came up, and I've just been meaning to ask some questions, is all. I'm offering help with babysitting and the likes, but I'll need to have a discussion with you and Jason first."
Dick froze for a moment, and Bruce had the fleeting thought that maybe he'll just leave; call Tim, Jason, and Damian out to the front and pack up, never coming back. Bruce added, softly, "I understand what your doing, and as someone whose been with all four of you for these past nearly six months, I am offering up guidance and assistance. Please, let's just sit down and talk."
Dick was still tense when Bruce lead him to the back, in the room where Jason was sitting with a half-empty cup of tea and a cold slice of peanut-butter slathered toast. Jason's head jerked up when Dick and Bruce stepped through the door, his hands balled into fists on his knees and the room smelling like stale cigarette; Jason had been using an empty paper cup as an ash tray. His hair was standing up on end, like he had been running his hands through it violently and hadn't thought to fix it afterwards.
"Jason," Dick walked forward and grasped the younger boy by his upper-arm, leaning down slightly to look him in the eye, "What happened?" Jason brought his own hands up and gripped a handful of Dicks shirt and spoke lowly, calmly. " 'S all fine 'n good Dickie; we're fine. It's just a talk is all." Dick looked to Bruce, who smiled; calmly.
"Dick, Jason. You're both very young men in a very bad situation, trying to make ends meet; correct?" Dick nodded, Jason -shockingly- stayed silent. "I've been in that position; my mother and father were shot in a bank robbery many, many years ago. I was barely twelve, living with a good friend of my parents who managed to adopt me last minute, so I wouldn't be flushed down the foster-system. Alfred wasn't a father, but he tried. He worked at an old bakery for years, barely making enough money to put food on the table and keep a roof over us at the same time; it wasn't easy."
Dick sat himself down on the sofa, pulling Jason by the back of his belt so he was seated to his right, both pairs of eyes on him.
"When I was sixteen, I managed to get a scholarship to The Culinary Institute of America; dual enrollment ensure I graduated by seventeen, and the scholarship was full-ride. I came back here when I was twenty-two, almost twenty-three. Alfred and I opened this shop twenty years ago, and I'd be willing to help you all out. Since this is a very well-known business, and we've already opened almost 50 shops throughout the U.S, we're capable of sponsoring full-ride scholarships."
Dick's eyes were wide, and Jason's endless tapping of his pointer finger suddenly stopped. Jason's head jerked up to look him in the eye, his own eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And wadda ya want from us to get dat? You need workin' done?"
Bruce shook his head, "No. I'd only wan't one thing from you." Dick glanced to Jason out of the corner of his eye, asking "And what exactly would that be?"
Bruce chuckled, listening to the sounds of Damian suddenly bursting into giggles and the muffled voice of Tim yelling. "All I'd ask if you you all to come to dinner every Sunday night; Alfred loves guests and we normally make too much for just the two of us to eat."
Dick had quit his job a week ago; the scholarship to GCCC was through English-Language Arts, and Bruce would have to admit that Dick was quite the word smith. He could write anything and make it interesting; could create an entire world in seconds. Jason refused to quit, stating that "Bein' all brainy ain't my thing, Brucie." He had blown a mouthful of smoke from his lungs into the cool night air, right outside of Bruce's' apartment.
They had just left the building for a few moments, allowing Dick and Alfred to put Tim and Damian to bed after helping them both wash up. "Sides," he had continued, "This is the first time in two years now Dickies' been able ta have so much time on his hands. Imma save up for somethin' nice. God knows we've needed a bit of a reprieve from all of this."
Bruce let's Jason sit in silence for another moments before opening his mouth, question on the tip of his tongue. "I've been meaning to ask you something."
Jason hums, waiting.
"Who exactly do you work for?" Jason stills. "Because almost every day you come home-" Dick let his contract with the apartment drop. Bruce's still reeling from having four boys under his roof. "-and you're always covered in oil, or dirt, concrete. Sometimes you've even had blood on you, and I still worry whether it's yours or someones else's."
Jason sighed, dropped the dead cigarette and stomped on it. "I'm workin' under someone very powerful. He's da one who managed ta push the adoption for Dickie through. The only reason any of us 'r here right now, is because a him. I'm not gonna say he's a good guy, because he ain't. He's a decent man though, and when he noticed I'd be sleeping out on the streets near his buildin' more than I was in my mama's apartment, he took me in. I hadn't been livin' with him not two weeks when the buildin' exploded."
Jason's voice had become thick with emotion, his normally pale cheeks flushing with his emotions.
"There was some bastard named Joker- thought it'd be a riot ta terrorize the city; tried ta set up a chain reaction to blow up fifteen buildin's at once. The wires backfired, though, an' the only one dat blew was ours. Seems' he didn't care bout wantin to live. Just wanted to make people fear his name. Now, no one even knows who the fucker was."
"The man I'm working under," Jason opened the apartment door, stepped a foot inside, "Would never hut me or them- or you. Workin' for em's hard, but we're safe. Sides," Jason removed his jacket as he stepped in, the chill of Gotham's approaching winter air flushing Bruce's cheeks and reddening Jason's nose, "I'll be quittin' soon enough. By next year, I'll be workin' some normal job of haulin' concrete or sumthen."
Bruce smiled as Jason stepped up to wash himself for bed. They're not exactly a family yet- but it's pretty clear what's in their near future.