Chapter Text
When Jason ran away from his last prison cell—it was a foster home, but that term is simply too nice to truly describe it—he thought maybe he would die out there in the city. It was a bitterly cold winter, and Jason had no clothes but the ones on his back, and his shoes were too big and his socks full of holes. He hid in buildings that were a relief only because the wind couldn’t get to him anymore, unless he was near a window or hole in the wall, and he was terrified to sleep for a plethora of reasons. Sleeping wasn’t safe. The buildings were never empty, other homeless people settling in around what little spots he would curl up in—some were like Jason, just trying to survive, and then there were the others, who did all sorts of things and knew none of them would ever snitch.
Jason never slept, not if he could help it. Sometimes he went to the little parks and climbed up the tallest trees he could find and went as far up as he dared, and slept in the cradle of the branches. But it was difficult, because there was always somebody—usually some annoying snot-nosed brat—who would find him. Some people would try and help him find a parent who no longer lived, and others would tell him to go find some other place to sleep, and others still would drag him down and kick him out until he was well and truly gone.
He never went to the nice parks in the rich parts of town, because he knew the cops would be called, and he never went to the shitty parks in the poor parts of town because he knew that pedophiles could climb trees.
One time he slept in the library, on one of the nice couches with a book over his chest (it was Pride and Prejudice, because he likes the book and it was comforting to read it again), and the nice lady who worked at the counter said he could come back if he needed to, but he never did. If she noticed, if she knew, then someone else would too. He couldn’t risk that.
Sometimes alleys were safe enough, if he could fit himself behind the big trash cans, and he could eat too. But workers usually found him, and always told on him, and sometimes it was hard to get himself out, and being caught was not an option. Ever.
If he was caught, he would’ve been put back in the system, and he’d rather die than do that.
Bruce seems rather horrified to hear all this.
“What?” Jason looks down at his bowl of cereal, twirling his spoon around. He knows rich people don’t like to hear how bad it is for people like him, but Bruce asked, and what, was Jason supposed to lie? Bruce and Alfred both said not to lie. But maybe he should have. He doesn’t like the way Bruce is looking at him like his heart is breaking. Which is stupid, since they hardly know each other. “There were tons of kids out there like that. I’m not some special case, you know.”
“I know,” Bruce says thickly. He has to clear his throat before he talks again. “I know you weren’t. I just…I’m surprised you never passed out.”
“Oh, I did. More than once, too. That was way scarier than anything else. At least in the warehouses, I knew there were other people around who’d wake me up if I needed to be.”
“Where did it happen, then?” Bruce looks like he doesn’t want to know, but when Jason hesitates, Bruce gives him an encouraging little smile. It’s fake, Jason can tell, but hey if he really wants the answer….
The first time Jason passed out, he was sitting outside a laundromat right on the edge of the part of town where people were annoyed by his presence but not enough to call the police. It was freezing, and he was trying to stay awake because sleeping meant dying. He wasn’t stupid—he knew hypothermia was just around the corner if it wasn’t upon him right then.
But he couldn’t help it. People watching got boring after a while, and anyway, everyone thought he was scoping them out to pick their pockets. Obviously he wasn’t—he wasn’t stupid, and sitting there so plainly staring was just about the stupidest thing a pickpocket could do—but it meant they hurried past, keeping a wide berth. It was hard to focus on them when they were gone so quick, and he ended up getting a headache.
He closed his eyes, just for a second, to give himself some relief.
He woke up hours later, when the sun was rising, and he didn’t recognize his bleary surroundings, and there was this panting noise that he didn’t know and he was sure, he was absolutely one hundred percent positive, that he had been kidnapped.
But then he realized the panting was from a dog.
And when he blinked a few more times, everything became a little clearer, and he realized he was still outside of the laundromat, except his back was on the ground, not against the wall.
With a groan, he sat up fully, trying to take stock of himself. His jacket and shoes were still on, thankfully, and when he patted his pocket, he could feel what meager change he’d managed to find. Other than his bones still feeling heavy, a weary sensation he was more than used to by then, nothing seemed off or concerning about his person. The only weird thing was the dog.
It was big, almost as big as him, and it smelled pretty bad, and—Jason peeked—his fur was grossly long and matted. When Jason looked at him, he saw nothing that made the breed easily identifiable, but then, the only people with fancy dogs like that were the richie riches, and none of them lived down here. Gotham’s animals were mutts and strays, unwanted by everyone around them.
“Shoo,” Jason mumbled, waving his hand at the dog. Dark eyes followed the movement, but other than that, there was basically no reaction, certainly no shooing of any kind.
“You ought to be grateful, you little brat,” someone said, standing at the edge of the nearby alley. “That mutt kept you safe all night while your dumb ass was conked out.”
The person was familiar to Jason—she was rather mean and hated everyone, and no one knew her real name, just the fake ones she used, but she never stood for anyone hurting the other homeless kids—and so he didn’t react with immediate anger. He snapped, “How do you know that?”
She shrugged. “I came this way ‘bout four o’clock. He was there, all curled up around you. Some bastard,” she spat the word out like poison, and Jason knew exactly what she meant by it, “tried to come an’ grab you, but he growled real mean. I came over before any fingers could be bitten off, but I have no doubt the dog would’ve caused some bloodshed if he could’ve.”
“That’s…,” Jason trailed off. He didn’t want to say it was dumb, because this woman never lied for or to anybody, but. He didn’t know the dog, had never seen it before in his life. It didn’t make any sense that it would protect him like that.
“Believe what you want,” she said, stepping out and walking away. “But you’re goddamned lucky that mutt was there.”
Jason looked to the dog, who was still laying beside him, looking stupidly happy-go-lucky. When he got to his feet, a little shaky was ridiculous—sure he hadn’t eaten in a while, but his body was used to that—the dog stood too. Jason went a few feet ahead of him, and there he was, waiting a step behind.
“Fine,” Jason said. “Fine, you can follow me.” He had no idea where he was going, what he could do—maybe try and get something from that McDonald’s worker who always dropped fries on the ground—but he still held his head up high. When you looked like you were lost, you became a target.
The dog made a small woofing noise, and followed Jason for the rest of the day.
“What did you name him?” Bruce asks.
“Fitzwilliam,” Jason says. “That’s a gross old name, I know, but I thought it was funny. Mr. Darcy was an attractive guy, you know, and the dog wasn’t, like seriously not at all, and I dunno. Made me laugh.”
He feels kind of stupid, saying it, because it’s likely Bruce doesn’t really care. Maybe he’s just trying to make Jason feel better about being his latest charity case. The one time he’s talked to Dick, he said Bruce isn’t like that, but Jason isn’t so sure.
Bruce raises an eyebrow, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little. “You’ve seen Pride and Prejudice?”
“I’ve read it,” Jason shoots back, offended. He’s always heard the movie is good but their TV was tiny and shitty and he’s never seen it. “Us poor kids do know how to read, you know.”
“Jason, I didn’t mean—”
“Anyway, this doesn’t matter. I dunno why you even wanted to talk about this shit, it’s not like you actually care.”
“Jason.”
He pushes out of his chair, taking a few steps to take his plate to Alfred in the kitchen, thank him for the meal, and head back to the room they’re letting him stay in. There’s no reason to come back out until later, once Bruce has gone to work and Jason can sneak down to the library. He hasn’t had a chance to explore it the way he wants to yet.
“Jason, come sit back down, please.” Bruce is standing, his hands on the table, and Jason has to remind himself that Dick also said Bruce wasn’t going to hit him. Swallowing, Jason returns to his seat, sitting on the edge of the cushion. It’s enough, thankfully, and Bruce sits too. “I’m sorry, I just thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. Either way, I know you know how to read, and I do care about this. I’m interested in what your life was like before you came here.”
Jason isn’t sure he believes him, but doesn’t dare question the words. “Well…what else do you want to know? And aren’t you worried you’re gonna be late to work?”
“I have time,” Bruce assures. “And I’d like to hear whatever you want to talk about.”
“Oh. I—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about Fitzwilliam? How long did he stay with you?”
Jason woke up that night with Fitzwilliam laying over him horizontally, a common occurrence. Stupidly, it was always easier to fall asleep with the dog there. He knew eventually the dog would go away, and there he’d be, unable to sleep alone like a baby needing their mo—well. Like a baby. And he was not a baby, and couldn’t afford to be a baby—bad people would exploit that and he knew they would, and he couldn’t bare to watch Fitzwilliam get hurt to try and manipulate him, so—he couldn’t afford this going on any longer.
The thought had been in the back of his head for a few days, but it was only then that he realized it had to be done fast, like pulling a tooth. The longer he waited, the more it would hurt, the harder it would be to bury the feelings afterwards.
He pushed the dog off, trying to be gentle. Just ‘cause he was about to leave didn’t mean he needed to hurt him.
The past few months, Fitzwilliam had been Jason’s constant companion, his only friend, sniffing out food and terrifying the men who got too close, and letting the other homeless kids pet him while Jason tried to find a blanket someone was willing to give up. He snuffled and whined and woofed when Jason talked to him, and sometimes he was pushy and forced Jason in arbitrary directions. He waited outside the library, and he’d jumped on Jason when he came out, his nasty tongue lapping at Jason’s face.
He didn’t deserve any meanness from Jason.
When he stood, the dog followed him. Of course he did. Tears welling in his eyes, Jason reminded himself he had to do this. He put his hands on his hips and said, “I gotta go. I can’t afford to feed you anymore, and you’re making me soft. It’s best we end this here.”
Fitzwilliam just stared up at him with his big dark eyes.
It wasn’t going to work. Jason tried, “Stay!” a few times, unable to add the lie that he’d be back, until he was fairly sure the dog wasn’t going to get up. He went to the edge of the alley, looked back one last time, and disappeared into the crowd out on the sidewalk.
He heard Fitzwilliam coming after him immediately, but Jason booked it, pushing and shoving and weaving. People cursed him, and hands tried to get him to stop, but it didn’t work. He wanted to be far, far away, so he could find some place to process what he’d done without risking the dog finding him.
He found an alleyway blocks and blocks and blocks away, and when he ran in, he paused, panting for breathing. It was quiet, the only sound mice scurrying around, and so he thought it might be safe. Maybe he could take a fire escape up to a rooftop. Fitzwilliam wouldn’t be able to smell him up there.
When he turned around, there was the Batmobile.
“So you have no idea what happened to him?”
Jason shrugs, biting his cheek savagely to keep his tears at bay. He doesn’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t made the decision that night to cut ties with Fitzwilliam, if Bruce would’ve taken him in or not. He isn’t sure if he’s glad any of this shit is happening. All he knows is that he misses that mutt. “He’s probably fine. I bet he found a new kid already.”
Bruce eyes him for a moment, contemplating something. Probably how to get him to stop crying.
“Why don’t we go and look for him? Do you think he’d want you back?”
Jason rubs at his cheek, embarrassed beyond belief and unwilling to let Bruce get his hopes up. “You wouldn’t want him in here, B. He was gross. Grosser than me. He’d stink up all your fancy furniture.”
“We’ll just have to take him to the groomer’s,” Bruce says like it’s nothing.
“But…but why? He’s a mutt, wouldn’t you ra—”
“He’s important to you, and he protected you. And I know you haven’t been sleeping well. If he’d help with that, then I want him here.”
Ignoring how that makes him feel like his insides are twisting, Jason demands, “What’s your plan? Find him and get his hair cut and then what?”
“We’ll bring him back here.”
“You’re a freak,” Jason says. Nothing Bruce is saying or doing right now makes sense. What does he want in return? To be able to say he’s got two strays instead of one?
Bruce smirks. “Uh-huh. Why don’t you go and get your shoes, and we’ll head out, hm?”
Jason doesn’t move.
“I’m not going to change my mind, if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, we might have to buy some things after we take him to the groomers, but that’s it.”
Getting his hopes up is dumb. Being excited to see Fitzwilliam again, and worried he’ll be shunned the same way he did the dog, is dumb. Wanting to believe Bruce is really this nice is dumb.
But he’s pretty sure Fitzwilliam would bite the fuck out of Bruce if Jason ever needs him to.
“Fine,” he says, reminding himself to ask where in the house Fitzwilliam will be allowed to go, and if it’s the same places as Jason. Standing, he goes to the kitchen first, and then up to the room. When he gets back downstairs, Bruce is waiting by the door with his keys.
Jason breathes in deep and ruthlessly forces away all of his feelings, and they go.