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Jason curled up inside the car, grateful for the warmth of the black leather seats. He’d been near to collapsing when he saw it through blurry vision: a black car decorated with snow. There was something off about the shape of it, but Jason couldn’t make it out as he’d approached. His first instinct was to go for the tires, but his arms were so weak and his hands so cold he could barely pick up the tire iron. His new lifeline appeared when he spotted a crack between the door and the car. The owner, whoever they were, had forgotten to close it.
He opened it and saw it was the driver’s seat. The heat was still on- the owner had forgotten to turn it off before they left. Jason laughed. This person was bad for the environment, but good for him.
His stomach was empty as a balloon. Jason wanted to float like one too. How long had it been since he’d eaten? A day? A week? He couldn’t even remember his last meal. Maybe one of the bags of pretzels they had at the library. Or maybe he’d gone to a restaurant and the worker had taken pity on him and gave him the leftovers. Maybe it was a granola bar he’d snagged from an unsuspecting tourist. He could not remember, but he knew he wanted more. The food could make his stomach warmer and maybe he wouldn’t be cold. That was what happened whenever Mom made cookies during the winter.
Shivering, his hands went to the wheel. Some people liked to buy stolen cars; a few wouldn’t even need the key to make it work. And the car was nice . There were all these fancy, glowing buttons, and while he didn’t know what they did he knew they made the car expensive.
He blinked. His vision was still too blurry. Snow poured down on Gotham and showed no signs of stopping. If he tried to get the car running, it could crash. He drifted back against the seat. It was so cold, and he was so tired. He’d spent all day trying to find food, now he just wanted to nap. Maybe if he slept for five minutes it could fix his vision, and then he could go and get the car running. He’d get hundreds of dollars and he could buy food and a new blanket for the winter. It would be a thick blanket too, one he could wrap himself up in and sink into, and pretend that it was his Mom’s warmth instead.
His eyes closed. Jason knew how to wake himself up, he just needed a quick nap in the warm car. The owner was probably still out in the snow, and he’d be able to hear them if they approached. Just five minutes. Only five minutes.
Something grabbed him, forcing him awake. A black glove had grabbed him and held onto him like a vice. The car door was open. He looked up and found the Batman staring back.
“Why are you here?”
The Batman’s voice was dark, low, and dangerous, just like the stories he’d heard. Stories where Batman beat up criminals so bad they spent weeks in the hospitals. Stories where the Bat would interrogate criminals for hours and threaten to throw them off buildings. And the whispers of what Batman really did to Robin away from public eye.
“P-please,” he whispered. “Please, I didn’t know-”
Batman leaned closer. Jason trembled at the man’s cowl with the blank white eyes. Was Batman even human? “Where are your parents?”
Jason struggled to breathe. His dad had died in prison. Batman would know he was the son of a criminal, and Batman would think Jason was just like his dad, and he’d be beaten and left to freeze on the streets.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begged. He tried to get out, but Batman stepped in front, blocking his exit. “No, please, I didn’t know.”
“Answer the question,” Batman said. “It is near zero degrees outside. I need to know who is responsible for you. You could have died out here.”
He tried to breathe a sigh of relief. Batman didn’t seem angry at him. If Jason was careful, he could get out of this situation unharmed. “No one, Batman sir,” he said. “My parents- they’re dead.” A pause. “Please, just let me go. I didn’t know it was your car and I’ll never do it again, I promise.”
For a second, he expected Batman to let him go. To offer a stern warning but show mercy to him. Jason would trudge back to his safehouse, then tomorrow he might go down to a shelter for food, or maybe find a few dollars lying around to buy a breakfast bar. He would try to forget about Batman and the close call he’d had, and keep surviving like he’d done for two years.
Then, Batman pulled him forward into his arms. Jason pushed back against the man’s armor. “Let me go!” Batman stepped around and placed Jason in the backseat of the car, buckling his seatbelt. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the police station,” Batman said.
“No!” Jason screamed. “Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break into your car! I was cold!”
“You’re not in trouble,” Batman said. “But you should be in foster care. The police will find you a social worker who will find you a nice home.”
His heart froze. A foster home? Batman, who was supposed to be a hero, was sending him to foster care?
He reached for the door and pulled, desperate to escape, but to no avail. He unbuckled his seatbelt and tried to kick it open, but Batman reached behind and grabbed his jacket, pulling him forward.
“Stop it,” Batman said. “I am trying to help you-” a pause. “What’s your name?”
“Jason Todd, asshole,” he spat out. “You know, you’re such a liar. You say that you’re a hero yet you’re no better than the villains you fight!”
Those white, blank eyes narrowed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“The foster homes are just a front for the mobs!” he shouted, his voice turning hoarse. “Kids disappear, the homes say they ran away, but really they’re being trafficked.” He paused. “That must be how you could afford this car. I bet the mob pays you to beat up villains while you send them kids to be their newest whores.”
Batman’s face (the bottom half of it anyway), dropped. He let go of Jason and stared at him for several moments. “I won’t take you to foster care.”
His heart stopped. “You-” He let himself feel hope. Maybe the stories about Batman were wrong. “You’ll let me go?”
“Jason,” Batman reached for his hand. “I can’t let you stay on the streets. You’ll die.”
“I’d rather die than be a whore.” Tears watered in his eyes. “Please, I know how to survive. I’ve been doing it for two years!” Yelling at Batman was like yelling at a brick wall. He only stared at Jason, any reaction hidden by his mask. Jason sniffled. “Please.”
“I want to take you to my home,” Batman said. “I can give you food and shelter, at least until I investigate your claims about the mob.”
He froze. Batman did not seem indecisive. His posture was upright, his jaw tight, and his voice steady. There was no choice here.
Jason slumped back onto the seat. Tears ran down his cheeks. Of course Batman wanted him. Robin was getting older, Batman needed another little boy to fulfill his needs. Cries poured out of him. He could barely breathe as he continued to sob. Batman pulled out of the alley and they raced through Gotham. Jason stared out the window, trying to absorb what could be his last glimpse at the outside world.
“Buckle your seatbelt,” Batman said. The man (was he even a man?) clicked some button. “Agent A, I am bringing a guest. Prepare dinner and fix up one of the bedrooms.”
“Of course, sir,” some British person responded. “Anything else?”
“Lay out some of Dick’s old clothes.” A pause. “From when he first arrived.”
“Yes. I will see you soon.”
Jason swallowed. Of course there were accomplices to Batman’s crimes. “Whose Dick?” he whispered.
Batman paused. “My ward,” he responded slowly. “I am a registered foster parent, Jason. I can help you.”
“But you can help me by letting me go,” he protested. “I’m fine on my own.”
They raced past rows of fancy houses. They were definitely out of Gotham at this point, and in Bristol, the land of super snobby rich people. Batman lived in Bristol?
“I would rather you hate me than you be dead, Jason.”
Now they were in a dark tunnel, only illuminated by the lights from Batman’s car. He shivered as the car slowed to a stop. They were in a dark cave, with a gigantic computer and for some reason, a gigantic penny (Jason was too scared to ask). A chair sat right next to a table of medical supplies. Medical supplies that could also be used to kill him.
“Is this our guest, sir?” It was the same British voice he’d heard earlier. Jason looked up and saw an older man in a nice suit walk down the dark stairs. “I’m afraid dinner is still being made. Might I suggest a shower for the young master?”
“This is Jason. Jason, meet Alfred Pennyworth.”
“Hi,” he whispered. The man had suggested a shower, so Batman probably wanted him to be clean before they, before they-
His train of thought stopped when Batman tore off his cowl. Instead of an unholy monster of the night, Batman was just a guy. A handsome one, too, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. Then, Jason realized why Batman hid his face. Because Jason had seen that face a million times, on the cover of every tabloid in the city.
“Bruce Wayne,” he said. “You- you’re Bruce Wayne?”
“Yes,” Batman- Bruce Wayne- knelt down and touched his shoulder. “I do not sell children to the mobs, Jason. As you can see, I don’t need the money.” He paused. “I am trusting you with my secret identity.” Jason understood the subtext. Batman just gave him leverage.
“I’ll tell everyone,” he responded. “If- if you try anything, I will tell everyone who you are.”
“I know.” Batman turned to Alfred. “Take him upstairs. I have work to do.”
Alfred seemed nice. He did not ask too many questions, and Jason did not feel the need to provide too many answers. “I am making chicken and pasta,” the man said. “But it won’t be done for another half hour. Would you want to take a shower?” They were in Bruce Wayne’s actual house. Jason resisted the urge to stop and gawk at every painting and chandelier. Even the wine red carpet was probably worth more than everything Jason had ever owned. Alfred opened one of the doors, revealing a bedroom. It had a bed bigger than his old apartment’s living room, a huge bookcase and fireplace, and a bathroom attached.
“I’m not dirty,” he said, crossing his arms. Even with his leverage, what could he do if Batman came to his bedroom? He had no way to communicate with the outside world, and who would believe him anyways? Or even if people did believe him, they probably wouldn’t do anything. Jason was street rat garbage. As long as the Batman protected Gotham, who cared about the boys he hurt on the side.
Alfred gave a soft smile. “I just think a warm shower would be good, lad, especially after being in the snow.”
“And Batman?” He took a deep breath. “What if-” he clenched his fists. “What if he comes in here?”
Alfred sighed, losing his smile. “My boy, if Master Bruce ever does something like you’re thinking of, I will kill him myself.”
His eyes widened. “B- but Robin-”
“Master Richard is like a son to Bruce, though he will never admit it,” Alfred offered out his hand. “I want to make a promise to you, Jason. If Bruce ever makes you uncomfortable, you can come to me.”
Jason grasped the hand and shook it. “Can I lock the door?”
Alfred nodded and showed him how to do so. He then gestured to the bed to show the clothes laying on top. “I will knock on the door once dinner is ready. If you do not wish to eat, I will bring a snack for you.”
Then, Jason was alone. Alone, in a gigantic mansion, with Batman just a few floors beneath him. Batman, whom all the stories whispered was a pedophile. Batman, whom gave Jason his secret identity. Batman, who gave Jason a warm bed and food .
He closed his eyes as warm water poured down on him. He’d been so cold, and now he was warm. His stomach growled in anticipation for Alfred’s dinner.
Everyone said Robin was abused. But Richard Grayson was healthy in all the tabloid photos. Even if it was true, Batman still fed him. Richard went to school and even had a girlfriend, according to some of the magazines.
If Batman touched him, Jason could wait. He’d eat Batman’s food and sleep in
a warm bed and would act happy even when he was raped, and when he was 18 he’d reveal Batman’s secret identity to the world.
Jason would survive. After all, he’s been doing that for years.