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It’s a fluke that they meet.
See, Dick isn’t supposed to be anywhere near Park Row that night, his route keeping him well clear of it. At fifteen, he’s allowed to patrol on his own, but it’s painfully obvious to him that he’s only got so much freedom. Actually patrolling Park Row isn’t something he’ll be allowed for a long time, he can just tell.
At the same time, he’s only following the rules. He had to chase a mugger down frankly way too many blocks, and ended up closer to Park Row than he’s been in quite a while. And Dick is a curious person, so it’s not like he isn’t going to take up the opportunity to make sure everything is calm.
He’s probably going to be punished somehow—he despairs at the thought of not being able to call any of his friends—but really, it’s worth it.
Stealthily, he climbs a fire escape back up to the rooftops, peering down.
Park Row looks like every other street in Gotham, rundown and dim, the streetlights flickering uselessly. Trash cans filled to the top line the buildings, and the smells of beer, drugs, and urine cover everything. Dick used to gag at that smell, but now he’s pretty indifferent. There’s the faint sounds of a baby crying, various muffled voices, the slow and lazy beat of a song somewhere far off.
Dick closes his eyes and takes it all in. Gotham is his city as much as it is Bruce’s, and he finds it pretty easy to love it, no matter how—
There’s a childish shout, clear enough not to be inside one of the apartment buildings, quickly followed by loud male guffaws.
It doesn’t take long at all to pinpoint where the sounds are coming from. There’s a tiny alley that offshoots from the main one, caught between a restaurant and a laundromat. A giant dumpster takes up most of it, but Dick can see a small area between it and the brick wall. Cardboard covers the ground in a way Dick has become familiar with in the past few years.
Standing his ground in front of it is a child. He’s utterly tiny, but whatever weapon he’s got in his hand—a knife, certainly, but whether it’s a pocket knife or not, he doesn’t know yet—is something he’s clearly comfortable with.
Dick can’t tell, at first glance, why he shouted. He’s not holding either wrist like it’s sprained or broken, not standing in any particular way that people do when their ankles or knees are hurt. The lighting and angles are bad. If he’s bleeding, Dick can’t see it.
But he can see the men surrounding the kid. Three of them, all a certain kind of man Dick unfortunately encounters often. Beer-bellied, scruffy, swaying from a crossfade, and angry at the world and everyone in it. Taking that anger out on the most convenient target, which near always happen to be the homeless. Homeless kids especially.
He takes in all of this information in seconds, and yeah, Dick is definitely going to get in trouble—coming to Park Row is one thing, but putting himself in danger there is another—but he knows Bruce won’t be too mad. Protecting kids is their job, after all.
Just as one of the men reach out, attempting to grab the kid, Dick—Robin—drops down in between them.
The man’s wrist is caught tightly in Dick’s hand, and he has to force himself not to grind the delicate bones together. Dick finds hurting children especially despicable, and he would have no qualms about it if it weren’t for the kid behind him. This close, he can hear how hard he’s breathing, shivery little sobs through clenched teeth. It’s seriously heartbreaking.
“If I were you,” Dick says cheerfully to the two other men, and totally ignoring the one attempting to pull away from him, “I’d go back home and forget any of this ever happened. Forget you saw me, and definitely forget about the kid. Be the good, upstanding citizens I know are buried deep inside you.”
He’s morally obligated to give them a second chance, an out. But if he’s aware of the way they probably feel—like Dick isn’t a real threat, just a kid playing dress up—and maybe goads them a little bit, well, there are no rules against that.
All three of the men look up the rooftops fearfully while he talks, expecting Batman. But when no caped figure makes his presence known, they look back to him, smug smiles on their faces. Even the one who’s caught in Dick’s clutches.
“We don’t got time for you, kid,” one of them says, daring to come closer. “Go on home to Bats. This little bitch deserves what’s coming to him.”
“Yeah!” The other crows, an angry glint in his eyes. “You don’t just steal from us and get away with it.”
The kid behind him shuffles back, closer to the cardboard spot. Actually, hmm. Dick moves with him, pushing the kid back into the more defensible place while dragging the man with him. Now the man winces, still tugging futilely.
“What, are you scared?” One of them taunts, falling right into the trap and coming closer.
Not close enough, dammit.
“Is whatever he stole really worth all of this?” Dick demands, stalling.
His question gets a round of laughs, but at least it brings the creeps nearer. “Trust me,” the other says, “he ain’t worth your time. Street trash like him? Who cares. Now move along and let us settle the score, and you don’t gotta get hurt.”
It’s a dumb, cliched thing to say. Dick’s heard it many times on his patrols, and he’s learned to find the humor in it. Except this time it doesn’t bounce off harmlessly.
He doesn’t bother with a witty quip, just pushes his captive towards the others forcefully, knocking all three of them off balance. It’s easy, from there, to use the brick walls as leverage, to flip through the air and knock each of them out. They don’t put up much of a fight—for one thing, they’re inebriated and clearly underestimate him, but Dick gets the feeling even without those restrictions, they just aren’t good at it. All it takes is a kick to the head here, a slam against the wall there, and a simple punch to finish it off.
Wiping a bead of sweat off his brow, he considers them for a moment. Does he bother moving them off to the side? They’ll probably wake up before sunrise, and no car is going to be able to fit in this part of the alley, so there’s no threat of them being run over.
Deciding to leave them, Dick turns to the kid. He can see him better now, pale skin unlike his own, a dirty mop of dark hair hiding part of his face. He’s leaning against the wall, tracking Dick’s every movement with sharp eyes. His knife—definitely of the pocket variety—is still clutched in his hand, and Dick has no doubt that he’s willing to use it if he feels threatened.
Dick makes himself small, and doesn’t approach too close. The spot if defensible, yes, but it’s also hard to escape from. It’s obvious the kid is aware of that, his eyes occasionally darting part Dick.
He says, voice soft, “Hi there. I’m Robin. I won’t hurt you, promise.”
The kid gives him an annoyed look, standing up a little straighter. Dick can see, now, that his lip is split, and one eye is dark with a bruise. When he speaks, his accent is thick, his voice shaking just enough to be noticeable. “No shit.”
The corner of Dick’s mouth quirks up, because it’s either find something funny about this or get angry at those men again, and the kid obviously doesn’t need the second option. “No shit,” he agrees. “What’s your name?”
After another look—dubious, this time—the kid says, “Jason.”
“Jason. Nice to meet you. Wish it could’ve been better circumstances, though, which reminds me. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” He doesn’t mention the shout he heard, but it’s at the forefront of his mind. Was it because of emotional pain, or physical? He supposes it could be the black eye, but Jason doesn’t seem the type to cry out over that. Homeless kids, Dick has found, rarely cry out for any reason unless they know Batman is around and listening. It’s pretty obvious that none of them had expected a cape tonight, though.
Jason pauses, eyes a little wide. Then, before he can contain it, his lip wobbles. Dick moves a bit closer, ready to comfort or give first aid as needed. Crossing his arms defensively, Jason shrugs. “I can handle punches,” he says haltingly, “Those are nothin’. But—but they—”
Dick’s heart drops and he freezes several steps away. Rage and protectiveness pounding in his ears, he tries to sound gentle as he asks, “What? What’d they do?”
Jason slides to the ground, a few tears spilling down his face. He doesn’t drop his knife, nor cover his eyes like most kids would, just stares at the ground. “The leader guy, he…he grabbed my arm and pulled and it hurt so bad. I got him to let go, but then he said if I was really that hungry, I’d have to find some way to pay for it.”
“Is that what they were saying you stole? Food?”
Jason shrugs uncomfortably.
Leaving it for now, Dick focuses on the other thing the kid said. “Can I see your shoulder? It sounds like he dislocated it, and I can put it back for you.”
After a moment of suspicious silence, Jason nods and scoots a little closer. Dick kneels down beside him, gingerly feeling the small shoulder, which is definitely dislocated. Jason listens as Dick explains how he can put it back, unsurprised to hear it’ll hurt. He leans against the wall, looking away with a grimace. When Dick pushes—as quickly and carefully as he can—Jason bites his lip in a failed attempt to muffle a whimper.
The sound cuts through Dick. God, he hates it when kids get hurt. “I’m sorry, I know it sucks, but you did good,” Dick tries to comfort. When Jason doesn’t react, he says, “Hey, do you wanna get something to eat?”
Jason turns his head, eyes shuttered. He scowls. “What? Why are you asking me that?”
“Well,” Dick stretches the word out. “It’s been a long night of patrolling, ya know, and anyway, I don’t wanna eat alone.”
“I don’t got any money,” Jason says, staring at Dick like he thinks he’s got some kind of ulterior motive. “And I’m not about to do shit for you, I mean thanks for the help and all but I didn’t ask for it so I don’t owe you anything—”
Dick wishes he could say he’s surprised by the kid’s words. “No, no, I don’t think you do. I wanted to help you, and I’m glad you let me, but no. You don’t owe me anything.” At Jason’s scoff, Dick tries another tactic. “And anyway, I’m mostly asking because I don’t know what’s still open at this hour and thought you might. I’ll pay for whatever you wanna eat, no favors or anything required.”
“Uh-huh,” Jason mumbles, but he still stands. Dick does too, bouncing back a few steps to give him more room. “I’m not a charity case,” he says, stepping around Dick hesitantly. In contrast, his words are said strongly, with a conviction Dick has no intention of challenging.
“Duh,” Dick laughs. He follows Jason’s lead out of the alley, though he’s much less careful of where he steps. “You’re my new friend.”
“We aren’t friends,” Jason snaps immediately.
Dick grins and doesn’t reply. He has a feeling that by the end of the night, Jason will be proven wrong. Very, very wrong.
They end up in a fast food place that’s open 24/7. The exhausted worker doesn’t even blink at Robin’s presence, nor when he orders five burgers, two fries, and two milkshakes.
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” Jason hisses once they’re seated, “but I can’t pay you back for any of that.”
“I already told you, you don’t gotta pay back anything. All I want is for you to sit and eat with me, okay?”
“Shouldn’t you be eating with Batman?”
Dick shrugs. “He’s busy.” It’s been long enough without contact that Bruce will probably be tracking him down soon, though, so maybe he will end up eating with Batman. Maybe they both will. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Okay….”
“What kind of knife do you have?”
Jason only hesitates for a moment before they get to talking. Jason explains about his knife up until they get their food, and then Dick divvies it up, giving Jason a burger, fry, and milkshake. For a while, they don’t talk much, other than Jason asking why Dick gets to have four burgers and he only gets one.
“If you want another, you can, but we gotta save one for Batman.”
“He should just buy his own,” Jason grumbles grabbing a second one for himself.
Dick laughs. This kid is hilarious, and he can’t wait to see how Bruce’s reaction to him. “I dare you to say that to him.”
Jason looks up, smug and defiant. “I will! I’m not scared of that big boob.”
Dick’s cackle is probably way too loud, but he finds he doesn’t exactly care.