Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jason got released from the hospital on a Wednesday morning. Bruce and Dick and Tim came to pick him up. They had to sign a bunch of paperwork first and Bruce had to talk with a police officer and a social worker and sign for temporary permission to bring Jason home with him. It all made Jason nervous and he sat on top of the cleanly-made hospital bed and worried at his hands. He picked occasionally at the site of his IV port. Bruce had told him that they’d give living with him a chance and if Jason decided he didn’t like it they could still try to get him adopted or figure out a way to set him and his mom up, but that courts, and especially Gotham family courts were unpredictable and a lot of things could happen in between. He was trying to be reassuring by being upfront—and Jason did appreciate that over coddling—but right now, his mind was spinning every which way and what he really wished he was still capable of receiving was some confidence, some hope that maybe things would finally look up. Unfortunately, no matter how many times people tried to tell him that, he never believed them. 

“You’re gonna like the Manor, Jason,” Tim said, reclining in the wheelchair they were going to put Jason in when it was time to leave like it was a throne. “It’s super big and old and cool, and there’s suits of armor and all sorts of woods and grass, and a swimming pool and lots of old trees, and all sorts of empty rooms and books and old movies, and Alfred makes all sorts of good food all the time, and—“

“It can be a bit much to take in, at first,” Dick countered softly, resting his chin on folded arms on the back of the cushioned chair beside Jason’s bed. Jason was pretty sure he was hanging from his arms with his feet not touching the floor. He seemed to do weird, stretchy stuff like that a lot. “But you’ll get used to it. And it is a nice place to live, even if it is a little ridiculous.” 

Jason shrugged faintly. “I guess,” he said distantly. He picked at the edges of the tape covering the hole in his hand. Hell, he missed smoking. Being stuck in a bed for a month meant he couldn’t smoke because he’d have to go outside for that, and neither Bruce or the boys had been willing to give him cigarettes. They’d been sympathetic to his withdrawal symptoms, especially on top of everything else he had to deal with, but they and the doctors and nurses were firm in insisting that it was best if he quit while he was young and this was the perfect opportunity. 

Dick shifted one arm over the other and tipped his head to the side, studying Jason silently. Jason ignored him and picked at his fingernails. They were way too long and if he wasn’t being watched at all times he would likely have chewed them off by now. Bottom line, he needed to cut them once things settled down again. 

As if, the sneering voice in his brain said. He silenced the thought with a shake of his head. 

Bruce came back in with the cop and one of the nurses. “We’re good to go,” Bruce said. He was smiling a bit. Not a huge one, but it looked genuine enough to Jason.

Then again, he’d known plenty of false ones. He couldn’t get his hopes up, no matter what. 

He did have to accept it when Bruce, Dick, and the nurse had to work together to safely help him off the gurney and get him settled in the wheelchair; they had to wait a second for Tim to vacate it. They didn’t bother with getting shoes for him before they left; Dick and Bruce’s shoes were too big for him, Tim’s hopelessly too small, and it was getting to the end of May. He just had a pair of socks on. He wiggled his toes inside the sock on his left foot while the nurse made adjustments. He couldn’t wiggle his right toes. That foot just hung there. He knew it was planted on something solid, but he couldn’t tell. It was weird. It was like someone had suddenly shut off some white noise he’d been listening to all night and the lack of it was startling whenever he noticed it. Which, at the moment, was often. 

Another hospital orderly came in carrying a big plastic bag, looking for someone to hand it to. Tim, standing and staring wide-eyed at all the proceedings, was an easy target and the dude handed the bag at him and left the room. Tim seemed barely able to keep the thing off the floor. Jason figured it must be his brace. 

“Tim,” he said, and Tim’s head snapped up, eyes still huge. Jason rolled his own eyes and made a grabby hand gesture towards the bag. Tim obediently trotted closer and handed it off to him. Jason set it on his lap and decidedly didn’t look at it. 

“Alrighty, Jason, you are good to go,” the nurse, Shaia, told him with a smile as she stood up. She had a nice smile. Jason would miss her. She’d been real nice to him the whole time he’d been in. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled quietly, trying not to squirm under the attention too much. Shaia patted his hand and stepped back to let Bruce take the wheelchair. 

“I can—“ Dick started to say, but Bruce quietly countered with a, “Later, chum,” and glanced around. “Have we got everything?” He asked.

Jason glanced down at the small bag full of his stuff from the apartment, currently hanging off Dick’s shoulder. Dick and Tim had been nice enough to go get what little of it was left after his dad practically sacked the place on his way out. “Wasn’t much to begin with,” he mumbled.

Bruce watched him sadly, then nodded. “Alright then.” He gave the chair a gentle push. “Off we go.” 

They meandered down the hallway past the nurse’s station and towards the elevator. Jason would have preferred they’d gone faster—he felt like he was being scrutinized under a microscope, and he purposely slouched in the chair with his chin pointed down, staring at his feet—but unfortunately, it seemed like everyone in the world wanted to stop and talk to Bruce. Employees, doctors and nurses, and even random patients wanted to say hello and thank him for something or compliment him on something. Bruce responded to everyone courteously but apologetically, usually only exchanging a couple pleasantries before explaining that he had to move on to get Jason home. Thankfully, no one seemed too eager to fight him on the subject and backed off quickly. A few people addressed Dick and Tim. They were equally-polite but Jason could tell they felt awkward about it. He was grateful that no one addressed him at all. 

They finally made it to the door outside, and Jason winced at the intense heat and the thick, smoggy smell drifting up from the asphalt. He’d grown up with it, of course, but he’d been sheltered from it for the past month or so. 

It took him a bit to get his eyes adjusted to the light, which was why it also took him a bit to realize they weren’t moving. He blinked again and then stared. 

“Holy shit,” he said, a little breathless.

“Yeah.” Dick grinned, enjoying his reaction.

Bruce had actually come to pick him up in a fucking Maserati. It was painted pearl and cleaned thoroughly enough that Jason could easily see all their reflections clearly in the doors, let alone the windows. The engine was humming lowly. Did he seriously just leave it running outside?

“Sorry,” Bruce said, a bit awkwardly, opening the back door. “I thought about using something a little less conspicuous, but I uh...may have forgotten what I had, recently.”

Jason was both dumbfounded and very close to being galled by that admonition, but he was distracted when Bruce adjusted his wheelchair so it was as close to the door as he could get it. He leaned down a bit to Jason’s eye level. “Do you want help, or would you like to try to get in yourself?” He asked. 

Jason stared. Usually he would have automatically heard a statement like that as an insult or threat, but Bruce’s expression was concerned, not cruel. He was sure that Bruce was probably trying to give him some sense of agency by allowing him a choice. A cliche attempt from someone who was floundering with inexperience, but well-meant, nonetheless. 

Swallowing, Jason braced his arms against the arms of the wheelchair. “I’ll try,” he said stubbornly. 

And he did. He shoved himself up a bit on his elbows and lifted his left leg into the car to balance on. Instinct was just to swing his right foot in after it, but of course he couldn’t. It wouldn’t move. He had to push off the wheelchair with his right arm and get his hands in front of him in time to catch himself against the cream leather seats. He shifted back into an upright position once he was in, slumping against the seat with a pant. The a/c felt good on his suddenly-sweaty forehead. 

Bruce, Dick and Tim had been standing there watching tensely. Jason rolled his eyes silently, fumbling for the seatbelt and buckling in. The other three exchanged silent glances and then parted, Tim climbing in the back next to Jason, Dick getting into the front passenger seat, and Bruce rolling the wheelchair back to fold it up and stow it in the trunk. 

Tim lightly bumped Jason’s shoulder with his. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, fingers tightening just a bit on his thigh. Adjusting to this was...hard. 

Bruce climbed into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and locked it. “Everyone buckled in?” He asked. After the chorus of assents, he fastened his own belt and shifted gears. “Homeward we go, then.”

Bruce drove a clip above the speed limit, but was otherwise smooth and capable in his driving. Jason watched listlessly out the window. They were downtown, where Gotham General was located, so the sky was blocked off in every direction by skyscrapers towering above older, shorter brick buildings and smaller businesses clustered at street level. They drove through the financial district and the skyscrapers gave way to companies and apartments and abandoned townhouses and clusters of stores and strip malls. They passed the theater, and Jason suddenly realized with a jolt that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been more than five miles away from Crime Alley. 

In fact, he couldn’t remember ever being outside of the city at all. 

The further they drove, the more his misgivings grew. He picked at his bandaid again, nervously. They were going to the middle of nowhere. He was going into the middle of fuckin’ nowhere to live with a billionaire in his mcmansion.

His initial mistrust reared its head with a vengeance. There was no way they would just take him in for no reason. There had to be some motivation; but it didn’t make sense. There was nothing special about Jason, nothing that they couldn’t get somewhere else. 

Tim and Dick seemed to like him, and they seemed to like Bruce. It wasn’t quite as easy to start suspecting them as it was to start suspecting Bruce of ulterior motives. But maybe they were naive; almost definitely naive, actually. Maybe they were so desperate for a family again that they were willing to take the first thing that came along no matter how questionable it was.

Jason didn’t resent them that, but he was sure as hell not going to let his pathetic wish for someone to give a shit about him make him stupid. He would rather have no one than have someone like his dad again. He would leave himself if that happened. Sleeping in the trash wasn’t so bad. He’d done it before. 

It seemed like they drove forever, on a parkway that turned into a winding road that turned into a tiny but well-maintained path leading further and further from the city. There were hills and green and nothing to be seen but grass for forever, and it made Jason even more nervous. 

He watched tensely out the window as the tall, iron fence began drifting across the windows, and even that went on and on until finally Bruce was slowing the car and turning onto a side road. They drove another half-mile and came upon a tall, ornamental gate, security cameras posted atop it. Jason swallowed hard.

It looked like a jail.

Bruce pressed a button in the car. “Al? We’re home.”

“Just in time, Master Bruce,” the butler’s crisp voice crackled over the intercom approvingly, and there was a buzz. The gates slowly swung open. Bruce drove them in. The gates slowly swung shut behind them. Jason watched as they did, turning his head as the last few inches disappeared from under them and they locked with a click. Tim gave him a funny look as he resettled in his seat, fumbling with his fingers again. His heart was hammering. 

There was more fucking road even past the gate. They drove on and on, through wooded, landscaped acres with artistically-trimmed trees and lakes and Jason swore he saw a fuckin tennis court. 

Finally, they rounded a curve and crested a hill and the house was suddenly looming on the horizon. It was huge, built from stone, and looked like it belonged in The Secret Garden or some such old British story about crazy secluded rich men. 

Tim had unbuckled in anticipation and had gotten up on his knees. Now he was half-draped over the back of Bruce’s seat, watching excitedly. Bruce pulled them up close to the house, and brought the car to a stop next to a large concrete ramp, easily twelve feet across, that climbed up the easy incline towards an intricately-framed glass door. 

He put the car in park and set the brake. “Dick, get Jason’s wheelchair out of the trunk and set it up for him, please. You may push him up if you’ll be careful and if he’s okay with it. Tim, go with him and get the bags, please.” 

The two boys hopped out with no hesitation, and Jason was left alone with Bruce, still staring at the floor, listening to the boys bustle around the trunk in the back. 

“I know it’s a bit...much to adjust to,” Bruce addressed him quietly, even ruefully. “I’ve lived in it my whole life, so it’s not as shocking to me. Should have seen Dick the first time he came here, though. He grew up in a trailer.”

Jason blinked, surprised. He would never have guessed that by looking at him. He seemed so…..not like Jason at all. 

The door beside Jason was yanked open, and he tensed up. But it was just Dick who leaned his head in, tossing his head in an attempt to clear the long, curly black bangs out of his face. “You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?” Jason deadpanned, unbuckling his seatbelt. Getting out looked to be easier than getting in, and it was. With only a bit of difficulty, he managed to maneuver around so that his left foot would be the first one out, and just set it on one of the footrests for balance and swung the rest of his body in. He landed in the seat with an “oof,” and leaned down to clumsily pull his right foot up onto the footrest. Dick waited patiently for him to get done, drumming his fingers on the handles of the chair. “Hold on tight,” he said when Jason straightened, and Jason barely had time to tighten his grasp on the armrests of the chair before Dick was running him up the ramp, at what seemed like his full speed. The door was coming up scarily fast, but thankfully Tim passed them, nearly tripping over his feet to do so, and yanked the door open for them. They skidded with a bump up onto a smooth and shiny hardwood floor, and skidded with a squeak across it before coming to a sharp stop. 

“I do hope you didn’t reopen any stitches with that nonsense,” the butler called from the other room, in a flat tone, and Dick straightened instantly. “Shit. Jase—“

“I’m fine,” Jason rolled his eyes, resolutely clamping his fingers down tightly on the armrests so Dick wouldn’t see them shaking. 

“Good.” Dick quickly relaxed back into his normal posture, and had an only slightly sheepish expression as he pushed Jason forward through a hallway, towards the sound of Alfred’s voice.

Jason was preoccupied with the floor again, both because he was increasingly nervous and awkward and because the floor was so shiny it was glowing in the faint sunlight. The walls of the room were a pale green and there were paintings hung symmetrically on every wall. It was a huge, empty room, with nothing but floor and paintings and photos and a view out towards the garage. 

Then they were in the hall; and the ‘hall’ actually opened up instead of becoming narrower. Jason stared with huge eyes at the open space, with a cavernous ceiling so tall he couldn’t even see it. There was a crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the room, below a square of skylights. 

Then they were going through a very wide doorway and pushing through another large room, complete with a solid wooden table easily twenty feet in length, with sculpted, cushioned chairs pushed neatly up to it. A clean white cloth draped over the table nearly to the floor. 

Past that room, further in, it got slightly smaller. There were two tall, steel doors on either side, and then they were coming into a more cosy, lived-in looking space. Though still extravagant, with cabinets made of dark wood and marble countertops, it was slightly more askew. A couple boxes of kid-branded cereal stood haphazardly on the island, alongside a sprawled newspaper and an ipod, discarded with the earbuds hanging off the edge of the counter.

Alfred was at the large stovetop, simultaneously stirring a large pot atop a flickering gas burner and tossing some form of sizzling meat on a flat grill. 

It smelled fantastic in the room. Jason’s stomach growled. 

The butler glanced back at them. “Good to see you again, Master Dick. Master Jason, welcome. I hope your trip from the hospital was peaceful. I’m in the midst of preparing a light lunch for you and the other lads. A bit of a compromise, I hope. We shall have to reacquaint you with proper nutrition slowly.” He turned his attention back towards the burner. “If you would, Master Dick, why don’t you and Master Tim introduce Master Jason to those insufferable electronic games you enjoy.”

“Okay, Alf,” Dick said easily, spinning the wheelchair without a complaint. Jason, who was just realizing exactly how hungry he was, stifled a whine as he was pushed back out through the extravagant dining room towards the huge center of the house.

“Alf only dislikes the games because he can’t win,” Dick informed him conspiratorially. Jason didn’t react. He had no idea what they were talking about, anyway. 

Past the chandelier and around a couple walls, there was a nook sectioned-off by furniture. A huge sectional couch sat in front of a fancy rug, upon which Tim was somehow already seated, clicking away at the gigantic tv with an oddly-shaped remote. 

“Hook up another one for Jason, will you, Timmy?” Dick said as he set the brake on Jason’s chair just in front of the couch and exaggeratedly flung himself onto the clean white leather. 

Tim obediently clambered on all-fours up towards the tv and dug in the drawer of the huge chest it was hanging above. He clambered back with another oddly-shaped remote and handed it to Jason. “Here. You can have a black one. They look cooler.” He said with a grin, brandishing his own. He spun around and flopped down on the rug, facing the tv.

“Aw, Tim, why are you Player 1?” Dick groaned, and Tim cackled. He hit a brightly-colored label on the screen with a little too much force. 

Jason turned over the remote in his hands. 

“Be sure to add three players, Tim,” Dick said. Jason glanced at him. Dick was busy looking at the screen.

“What level ‘ya wanna do, Jason—?” Tim turned back to ask him, but Jason’s name kind of died in the middle. Dick noticed Tim’s pause and glanced at Jason, concerned.

Jason was just sitting there in his chair, holding the remote awkwardly cupped in both hands, staring blankly at it.

“Jason?” Dick ventured, after a moment. “Have you...ever played Wii, before?”

Jason shook his head without a word. 

Dick and Tim exchanged glances for a split second, and then Dick grinned brightly at him, though it seemed forced, like he’d automatically plastered it onto his face. “Well, first time for everything, right?”

With that, he scooted over so as to be sitting next to Jason’s wheelchair and gently took the remote out of his hands, showing him how to hold it and where the sensor was. Tim waited patiently, and when Dick nodded at him he went back to selecting on the game menu he’d been on before. 

“Pick an easier level, Tim,” Dick told him, in the middle of explaining something to Jason. “We wanna have fun, after all.”

“‘Kay,” Tim said with a nod, clicking one of the banners with a flourish. Irritating music played while Dick walked him through picking a character and a car. Jason let him do most of the choosing. He didn’t really care. 

They started the level. Jason crashed a bunch of times. He gritted his teeth every time it happened. He restrained the strong urge to throw the remote against the wall, though. He was never going to just smash inanimate objects because he was too much of a loser to control himself.

When the level was over, Jason’s hands dropped into his lap, the remote almost crushed between his hands. Dick side-eyed him. Jason hated how cautious he looked. “Tim always wins these things.” He said ruefully.

“Yep!” Tim said happily, beaming back at the two of them. Jason forced his face to loosen up a bit. Tim didn’t deserve his frustration. 

After another level of Jason’s barely-contained homicidal rage, Dick asked, “You wanna just watch us play a couple rounds?”

Jason nodded. He knew Dick sounded hesitant because he didn’t want to offend him or exclude him, but anything was better than the wound-tight compulsion to perform perfectly or be mocked. 

So he watched, and it surprisingly was amusing to see the cartoony cars racing along a rainbow, and especially amusing to watch Dick constantly swerve off of ridiculous cliffs and swear under his breath, while Tim sailed ahead to victory, cackling the whole way. Seemed to be a habit with the kid. 

They were halfway through another level when Bruce’s voice called from back by the kitchen. “Boys! Alfred has lunch ready!”

“Just a sec, B!” Tim yelled back, at full volume. “I’m about to obliterate Dick’s car!”

Jason watched, bemused, as Tim did just that with some sort of extra, and Dick flopped dramatically back on the couch, a deadpan expression of defeat on his face. 

“Coming!” Tim dropped his controller and ran off. Dick, with a chuckle, stood up and turned the tv off, then went back to Jason, flicked the brake off on his wheelchair, and headed back towards the smaller dining room. 

Bruce and Tim were both seated at the small but sturdy polished wood table across from a paneled window. Bruce watched them while they came in, while Tim seemed to be occupied with downing his mixed berry juice. Jason felt uncomfortable meeting Bruce’s gaze, so he just stared at the tabletop as Dick pushed him up to the table and put the brake on again, stepping back to slide into the chair next to him. 

Alfred came from the stove with the huge pot he’d had before, and Bruce reached forward to adjust the crocheted potholder sitting on the table. Alfred set the pot down and removed the lid, bringing a large ladle from somewhere on his person to scoop out what smelled to be some kind of chicken soup. He poured a healthy dose into each one of the bowls on the table. “Bread will be ready in a moment, young Masters,” he said. “In the meantime, eat up, and I will fetch some drinks.”

He left the table, and the other three started eating. Jason eyed his bowl. There were blue flowers hand-painted along the borders of the bowl, and a matching pattern painted on the plate beneath it. The soup itself had chunks of spiced chicken and carrots, and penne noodles. The smell of salty broth wafted up from it. 

Jason grabbed the silver spoon from the folded napkin beside his plate and shoveled soup into his mouth. It tasted even better than it smelled. Before he knew it the bowl was empty, and he turned to the full glass of milk that had appeared beside him and drained it in a few seconds and looked around. A basket had appeared on the table, and he reached forward and pushed back the towel in it enough to see that yes, there was warm bread in it. He grabbed three rolls and dropped two on his plate, eating one with one hand while cutting a piece of butter from the glass keeper with his other.

He didn’t realize it had gone quiet until he happened to look up and see that Dick and Bruce, and even Tim, were staring at him. 

He froze right then and there, knife still in the butter, and stared back. 

No one said anything. Jason wanted to snap defensively, but he couldn’t. A thousand stupid, obnoxious phrases flew through his brain, but he refused to use any of them. He just sat and practically held his breath.

“Do try to pace yourself, Master Jason,” Alfred said calmly, sitting down at the table and pouring hot tea for himself. “There is plenty of food when you want it. No need to make yourself sick.”

“Okay.” Jason responded automatically. He grabbed another roll and smeared butter all over it. Gradually, the others went back to eating, though Dick and Bruce kept shooting glances at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. 

___

That afternoon, Jason lay sprawled across the huge bed in the room he’d been given, on top of the covers, curled up around his burning stomach.

Bruce had gotten Dick to come with him to bring Jason to his room, and Tim tagged along just because. They’d already brought Jason’s bag of stuff up for him, and told him to put it away wherever he liked. Bruce also promised they’d get him some new clothes and furnishings he liked soon. They’d left him to rest after awhile. 

Since then, his stomach had suddenly tanked, and now he’d been curled up for what seemed like hours, trying desperately to think about anything other than food and throwing up. Of course, he couldn’t. He groaned and curled in tighter when a fresh stab of pain dug in. He was pretty sure there was a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but he was almost certain he wouldn’t make it in time if he needed to. It had taken him six minutes to climb on the bed out of the wheelchair in the first place. 

There was a knock on the door. Jason winced and gulped, wishing it was cooler in the room. Maybe if he could just get enough air…

“Jase?” Dick’s voice. Jason tried not to groan. Didn’t work. Dick heard it, because his voice had ratcheted up from hesitant to worried. “I’m coming in.”

Jason very much wanted to say, “don’t,” but talking was a bit beyond him. He heard the door open, heard footsteps approaching the bed, and when he managed to strain his clenched eyes open, Dick was standing a foot from the bed, watching him with both sympathy and trepidation. He had a small plastic cup full of some sort of white liquid, with markings on the side. Medicine.

Jason turned his face away. He didn’t want any gross-tasting slop right now.

(He never wanted to see a damn pill bottle again.)

“I know, Jay, but it helps. Seriously.” Dick stepped closer. “It’s gross, but it does help if you can stand it long enough.”

Jason fully intended to ignore him, but now it felt like his insides were twisting up in knots. Blindly, he reached forward, fumbling, and Dick grabbed his forearm and carefully propped him up against the headboard a bit. Jason’s head spun and his stomach flipped, and he snatched the medicine cup when Dick brandished it again and dumped the thing in his mouth. 

Slimy, cold, chalk-tasting gunk slid down his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth. 

“Don’t throw up,” Dick said, a mix of bemused and alarmed. 

Like I have a choice, Jason snorted to himself, but he left his hand there and tried to breathe through his nose. Suddenly, the knots in his stomach eased; not completely, but enough that he exhaled raggedly. 

Dick patted his hand. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he half-gasped, slumping back down. 

“Good. Alf was worried.” Dick glanced around. “You haven’t put anything away yet?” 

Jason shook his head. “Nah. Don’t want it too far away, anyway.” In case I have to run, he thought; but he hoped desperately that Dick hadn’t figured out that that was the reasoning behind it, and that he hadn’t just accidentally given it away. 

But Dick seemed to just take the remark to be about Jason’s injury; his face darkened and he nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets loosely. “B’ll probably take you shopping for some easier to reach furniture and stuff eventually.”

If I’m here that long, Jason thought. He swallowed and dipped his chin, closing his eyes.

Dick must’ve taken it as exhaustion—and it probably was, partially. Jason heard him saying, “I’ll leave you to nap.” It sounded like he was smiling. 

Jason weakly flipped him off with one hand without opening his eyes. Dick laughed as he gently shut the door behind him. 

____

Jason slept restlessly in the unfamiliar bed, especially after a month of sleeping in a hospital gurney with lights on at all hours. When he woke up after he had managed to get some amount of relatively deep sleep, the sky outside his window was dark except for the distant glow of the city through the smog. He unsteadily sat up. His mouth tasted foul, but at least his stomach was only aching dully. 

He glanced around at the dark and empty bedroom and scooted over toward the edge of the bed, carefully clambering down into his chair. He had to lean over precariously to switch off the brake himself, but managed after a moment of fumbling. He wheeled himself over towards the door and turned the knob, trying to strategize how to open it like this. He managed, but not before he could hear quiet voices talking downstairs. 

Wheeling forward, he hit the button on the elevator, still squelching some shock and disgust at the fact that Bruce had an elevator in his house. There was no way the others wouldn’t hear it coming up to get him. Sure enough, the conversation seemed to have hushed for a moment. 

With a bit of irritation twisting in his stomach, Jason wheeled into the lift and let it bring him to the ground floor. The door opened upon Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Alfred huddled in a little knot, clearly debating but distracted by the realization that Jason was up. Now they were all glancing at him.

“What.” Jason asked shortly.

Bruce and Alfred exchanged glances. Tim was on his toes behind Bruce’s shoulder, watching the exchange, and he tipped his chin up to look worriedly at Dick. Dick was glancing back towards Bruce’s office.

Oh. Jason realized what this was about. “You can go.” He said, subdued, gaze firmly on the floor. “You don’t have to hang around here just to keep me company.”

Bruce now glanced at Dick. “If you want one or both of the boys to stay home tonight, Jason, we can probably manage—“

“I don’t need you to coddle me through this,” Jason said, sharper than he meant to. His chin went up, defiant, and he looked straight into Bruce’s eyes. “I can handle it myself, and I know you’re needed out there. So go.”

The slight shift in Bruce’s expression told Jason that he was surprised, but it smoothed to its usual neutrality soon enough. “Alright then. Alfred will be here if you need anything. We’re usually back by 4:45 at latest. You’re free to sleep on whatever schedule you can manage. Dick, Tim, with me.” With that, Bruce turned and headed into his office.

Dick and Tim watched him go, then glanced back. After a lingering look at Jason, Dick followed, and Tim slowly drifted after him, clearly more conflicted. He slowly raised his hand and waved. “Bye, Jason.”

Jason didn’t want to wave back like a dork, but there was something about Tim that made him stifle his rough edges and try not to be so cruel as he knew he could be, and should be. He waved back; sardonically, and with one hand, but left his expression just loose enough that Tim smiled before he vanished into the study, too. 

Jason’s hand dropped into his lap when Tim was out of sight. He slumped back in the chair again. He was still exhausted, despite all the damn sleeping. 

Quiet footsteps came up behind him, slowly and deliberately. Jason half-heartedly glanced back and up at Alfred’s sympathetic expression. “The lads will be out a long while, I’m afraid, Master Jason. Would you like to watch the telly while they’re gone?”

Jason shook his head. “I hate tv,” he said hoarsely.

“A fine opinion to have, young sir,” Alfred replied approvingly, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Perhaps you would rather keep me company? I usually make myself a cuppa about now.”

Jason shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

___

Twenty minutes later, Jason was sitting with his chair pushed up to a small table in one of the wide passageways in between rooms, a silver tray of crispy scones piled around a white porcelain teapot sitting between him and the elderly butler. Jason was absently stirring his tea with milk curiously. He’d never had tea with milk before. It was a bit weird, but he thought maybe he liked it, a little.

Alfred was calmly spreading clotted cream on a half of a scone. “You seem to be a reserved boy, Master Jason. Not so much around the lads, I’d say.”

Jason eyed Alfred suspiciously, cautiously sipped his tea. He had no idea what the man was aiming at. 

“You know, I remember a time I was like you are right now,” Alfred said conversationally, pointing with his dull butterknife across the table at Jason. “I had just left home to go to training for the royal Army, and I was absolutely petrified of making a mistake. Felt like I always did ‘round my teachers and such. Had it pounded into my head that so much as one slip up in front of your superiors could have you sent home packin’ in shame. So I just—clammed up, once I was there. Wouldn’t talk to no one, wouldn’t answer any questions, nothing. I wasn’t one to be taken in.”

“What happened,” Jason asked, pretending to be absorbed in his own half-eaten scone.

“Well, as it turns out, my brilliant plan to keep from offending my superiors turned out to offend my superiors,” Alfred said dryly. “See, a soldier isn’t supposed to sit silently and refuse to take any risks or responsibilities. Risks are all being a soldier is. Bit useless to her Majesty if I never take a step towards anything for fear of tripping now, aren’t I?”

Jason chewed his scone slowly. It suddenly tasted dry and dull, and he swallowed hard. “What are you saying?” He tried to say, but it came out as more of a croak. He cursed his voice for breaking on him when it needed to be steady.

Alfred fixed him a knowing look. “I’m simply saying that I know what you’re doing. And why you’re doing it; even if, perhaps, you do not yet know. And I understand the habit and will not punish you for it. However, Master Jason, for your own good, someday that habit will have to be dropped, or it will harm you. But when that time does come, it is likely to be easier.” With that, Alfred sat back and picked up another small scone. “In the meantime, perhaps you could tell me a little more about yourself.”

Jason, still off-balance and on guard from the earlier statement, stared even more blankly. 

“Where you grew up, who your parents are, that sort of thing,” Alfred helpfully added.

Jason swallowed. “I grew up in my apartment,” he said dully. “Dad was a hired henchman through his gangs until he got himself stabbed but didn’t die. Mom’s been nothing forever but Dad still won’t shut up about it.”

“Well. That’s quite depressing,” Alfred said after a beat. He set the small jar of strawberry preserves primly on the tray and folded his hands across the tabletop. “Perhaps instead you’d like to hear about my life before coming to work for Master Bruce.”

Jason shrugged. He picked up the jar of preserves and scooped a heaping amount onto his scone. “Sure.” 

Little did he know what he was in for. Five hours later, he was still seated at the small table, listening with a barely-hinged jaw to the life’s tale of one Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth, formerly of Beaconsfield, and his progression from actor to the army, to special forces, and then to butler of the Waynes. 

The tale grew more boring by Jason’s standards when it turned to life with the Waynes, and when he awoke from a doze, he found himself still leaned back in his wheelchair at the little table, tucked under a soft, fringed throw blanket. Warm, dim light came from a lamp somewhere behind him. He was alone. The tea set had vanished, replaced with a somehow still-cold small glass of lemon water. Pushing himself up a bit in the chair, Jason grabbed the glass and drained it tiredly, then reached down to the wheels and started wearily pushing himself back towards the elevator. 

He nodded off again on the ride up to his floor, but awoke at the chime when the lift stopped. His room seemed forever away and his eyes physically would not focus. Shit, he used to be able to stay up all night without a problem. This whole getting-shot thing sucked. 

He was still in a pair of torn jeans from his own clothing, and a faded t-shirt that used to be his mom’s. There was probably a drawer full of pajamas he could make do with in the dresser in his room, but he didn’t feel like rooting through it or getting out of the chair to even begin the agonizing effort of changing, so he didn’t even bother. He clumsily shoved himself up out of the chair and onto his bed, flopping over on his stomach and dragging his arms up to fold beneath his head. He was asleep almost instantly. 

He woke up at some stupid hour of the morning all tensed up, and was disoriented until he heard low talking and heavy boots passing his bedroom. For just a moment, every muscle was locked tight and his heart was drumming against his ribs. Then, he recognized the sleepy whine as Tim’s, and he slumped back against the mattress, face down.

The door to his room creaked open a little bit, and Dick stuck his face in. He looked absolutely exhausted. He was in street clothes and his hair was wet and hanging halfway to his shoulders. “You ‘kay, Jase?” He half-slurred, blinking thickly.

“Yeah.” Jason responded in an equally-sleepy tone, shifting his cheek and crinkling his face a bit as he felt the pressure marks on his face against his bare arm. 

Dick nodded. “Good.” He huffed, satisfied, and gently closed the door. Jason heard his slow footsteps headed unsteadily off towards his own room. 

Chapter Text

“Lift it a little higher for me.”

Jason gritted his teeth and tried again.

His entire leg wasn’t useless. It was paralyzed with no feeling from the knee down. His foot might have been made of wood for as much use as it was to hold him up lately. But he could feel—and control—his leg from the hip down.

At least, in theory, when it came to the ‘control’ part. 

That was why he was sitting in a chair in some bright, airy, modern physical therapy office, which didn’t jibe so well with the sweat breaking out on his forehead or the slightly blurry metal bar he was trying to reach with his foot, or the awkward and concerned expressions on the faces of the therapist and Bruce, who were both watching his pained reactions intently, and Dick, who was laser-focused on his handheld and wincing at every pained grunt Jason couldn’t stifle. 

He wasn’t supposed to use his hands for leverage. That was why they were clenched at his sides. He gritted his teeth and ground his eyes shut. “Gah!” He yelped as he dropped his leg back, probably too fast. His foot hit the floor with a thud that jarred his knee.

Pain lanced across his stomach from the nasty scar that still marred his middle. While he’d been in the hospital some doctor had explained that the bullet had  hit him at an upward angle, entering through his lower abdomen, ripping through his stomach and slitting a small tear in his main artery, and then becoming lodged closely enough to his spine that it damaged the nerves. He fully remembered the sudden, sharp pain when Tim had put pressure on it, and now he was wondering if that wasn’t when his leg had been well and truly done in. He didn’t blame Tim; he’d been following first aid protocol and training, and if he hadn’t, Jason would have bled out even faster than he’d already started to. But it was a stinging memory to have. 

“That was good.” His therapist said, patting his good knee very lightly. “You can take a minute to rest.”

“All I do is take…” Jason panted, “fucking minutes to rest.”

“Language,” Dick said, voice oddly strained. He still didn’t look up from his handheld. 

Jason shot a glare at him, that quickly shifted towards the ceiling when he leaned back in the chair. The lights were swimming again and maybe it wasn’t as much of a glare as he was hoping.

Thank God at least Tim wasn’t here. He had a feeling the kid might cry if he saw anyone in pain, and Jason could not and would not take that. 

Something cool brushed his temple, and Jason flicked his eyes down to where Bruce was taking a knee beside his chair, dabbing at his face with a cloth full of ice. Bruce blinked back at him and continued, this time moving the ice to the exact spot of Jason’s scar, and Jason shut his eyes in relief. “How’d you know?” He mumbled.

“Just a guess,” Bruce said wryly, lightly moving the ice around the general area of the wound. Jason exhaled shakily. It did help, but as it was he was really feeling like a mess. The physical pain just reinforced the crushing knowledge of exactly how helpless he really was. He spent most of his days in his bed just because it took so much work to do anything else. If it weren’t for Dick and Tim constantly shuffling him around from activity to activity, he wouldn’t be doing anything. He could barely function, and that was with the high-grade painkillers he normally would refuse to take. Alfred was pushing the matter, though, so Jason stiffly took them at every interval, only reassured by the knowledge that Alfred would keep precise track of the dosages so there was no chance of accidentally overdosing. 

He hated this. He hated being helpless and weak. He hated how easily he was getting used to being taken care of. Even as he felt the cloth brushing against his cheek, his mind was screaming, why are you letting him do this, why aren’t you refusing it—

He wasn’t refusing it because he needed it, and that knowledge was worse than any physical pain. Except it was a physical pain, a knife in his chest and a tension in his stomach so tight it felt like it would rip itself apart if it kept up. Even worse than needing it...he wanted it. He wanted to deny it, but being around Bruce and the other boys reminded him of years ago, when his mom had been a little less dependent, a little more present, a little more loving. He used to absolutely adore being kissed and cuddled. He used to love hugs. Now he hated so much as being touched. 

He shook his head. He didn’t need to think about that now.

“Ready to start again?”

He wasn’t. But he set his teeth and lifted his leg anyway.

___

One cripplingly hot day, when even sitting at the breakfast table in the Manor was unpleasant due to the heat wafting off the windows, Dick came to a decision over day-old muffins. “Let’s bring Jason out to the pool today, Timmy.”

“Yeah!” Tim yelled excitedly, bolting up from the table and running off toward the elevator, yelling something incoherent about getting the water guns and foam footballs and such.

Jason watched him go, vaguely amused at his antics but a little bit nervous regardless. He turned back to his plate and the half-eaten muffin on it, and glanced up hesitantly once to see Dick watching him with a perceiving look. Jason wasn’t sure whether he should be angry at how quickly Dick seemed to have figured him out.

“Jase, do you know how to swim?” He asked quietly, and Jason shook his head in silence, quickly shoving a bite of the muffin in his mouth to occupy himself. 

“That’s okay. We’ll stay in the shallow end.” Dick drank a gulp of his orange juice. “I think you’ll like it. It might even help your mobility a little bit.”

Jason highly doubted that, but he shrugged.

It took a bit of doing to procure him a pair of swimming trunks. There was no way Tim’s would fit, so Dick wound up lending him one of his older pairs that he’d kept because he liked the ridiculously bright American-flag print. They were still too big, so Jason knotted them as tight as he could stand around his middle. Then Alfred insisted on spraying them all down in sunscreen thoroughly, and came out with them to set up a large umbrella for them to take breaks and replenish sunscreen under, and even brought out a huge cooler with built-in cupholders. Jason found it embarrassingly over the top considering they were within view of the house….but then again, as he considered his own situation, he was grateful Alfred put things within reach.

When they got to the pool, Dick and Tim split off to dump all their armfuls of toys either in the water or close enough to the edges of the pool to reach. Jason sat in his wheelchair and watched the clear blue water rippling while they messed around, lapping up against the edges of the concrete. The bottom of the pool was inlaid with a mosaic tile pattern of flowers and suns. 

“Alrighty, Jason,” Dick said from directly in front of him, and Jason snapped straighter in his chair, heart skipping. How had he missed him coming up?

Dick shot him a sad look, then leaned down a bit. “You mind me helping you?”

Jason glanced around and realized there was really not much way for him to get in without help, so he nodded, not meeting Dick’s eyes and trying to keep his face from flushing too red. 

Dick nodded and quickly took hold of the handlebars of his chair and pushed him down to the edge of the ramp that slowly dipped down into the deeper water in the pool. He stopped, and Jason tried hard not to go rigid, but he was genuinely surprised when Dick grabbed him under his armpit, firmly but gently, and lifted him up out of the chair. Jason held onto his upper arm, and was heavily leaning on him for a second before Dick ducked down and scooped his knees up and actually carried him easily down until the water was waist-deep.

“Get the chair and put it back under the umbrella till we need it again, Tim,”  he called to the littler boy, without pausing, and Jason was blinking in astonishment. This was definitely uncomfortable, but he couldn’t help being vaguely impressed at Dick’s strength. He didn’t look particularly muscular, per se; but it was hard to see this and not realize he was a superhero every night. 

“I’m gonna try to set you down on your feet now, Jase, okay?” Dick addressed him. “If you need to hold onto me for balance, you do that, but...I have a feeling this will be easier than it has been in a while.”

Awkwardly, Jason nodded, and Dick, true to his word, gently set Jason’s legs down. The cold water came up to the middle of his chest as he was lowered, and for a moment he did, shamefully, scrabble a hand at Dick’s shoulder. But then Dick straightened—keeping a hand on his arm in case he needed it—and Jason stared down at his feet under the water. 

Both of them were planted under him. He still couldn’t feel the right one, but it was there and holding him up. He knew the water was doing most of the work, but it was also holding him upright and cushioning him. He wouldn’t fall and hit the floor instantly now, as had happened a few times in the manor thus far. He always hated it; one or more of the others would come running, scrambling to help him but also hesitating since the first time he’d snapped reflexively upon being seen. 

“Better?” Dick asked, smiling. His eyes were happy. 

“Yeah,” Jason said absently. He was smiling, too. A stupid, awkward grin, but a grin all the same.

Walking turned out to be very near doable in the water, too. He could manage to maneuver a little better with less of his weight depending on him. He was still unsteady, but he was on his own two feet, which was more than he had been in so long that it felt like he’d never been able to walk. 

Eventually he settled into walking around the edges of the pool, just so he could grab onto the walls if he needed to. Dick and Tim were yelling and shooting each other with water guns in the deeper end; Jason was relieved that they’d settled in after an awkward setback over the game.

“No, Tim.” Dick had said, sternly enough that Jason had stared in shock. “Jason stays out of this game.”

Tim’s small face changed into an expression that actually made Jason nervous. “But the only reason I brought it was so we play it with Jason!”

“You and I can play. We can play it with him later.” The tone was so firm that it seemed wrong coming from the usually fun-loving older boy. 

Tim, who really looked to be almost shaking in full-fledged fury, stood for a moment. Then his arm snapped up straight, water gun in hand. 

“Don’t you dare throw that.” Dick snapped right back, and Jason stared between them, eyes huge. Dick softened his tone, a little. 

“I know you’re disappointed, Tim. We’ve talked about this. Put the gun down. I’ll play with you today. We can play catch with Jason...or something.” 

After a minute, Tim dropped his arm limply into the water with a faint sploosh, and Jason let out a tense breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. Dick shot him an apologetic look and made his way over to grab a water gun, himself. 

Since then, they’d been going at it, and Jason had been making his slow way around the edges of the pool. 

At least until a blast of water hit him smack in the side of the head, and the surprise was enough that he slipped to the side and went under for a split second. 

He grabbed onto the edge and pulled himself back up clumsily but quickly, but he’d been startled and a bunch of water got forced up his nose, burning and making him gag once he was in the air again. He whipped his head to the side, wet bangs flying, and his eyes latched on Tim. 

Tim, eyes huge, dropped the aim on his water gun.

Jason pawed off the edge of the pool and grabbed one of the loaded water guns from the stack. He pumped it and sprayed at Tim, hitting him square in the nose. Tim stumbled back in the water, sputtering.

“Payback!” Jason yelled, and Tim, after a short gag, pumped his water gun and fired at Jason again. Jason dove to the side and landed on his good foot, launching another blast at Tim that hit him in the head, soaking his hair. He turned to move forward, but another blast hit him with surprising force between the shoulder blades.

Tim cackled. Jason grinned. There it was. 

Tim’s cackle suddenly turned to surprised shrieking, and Jason looked back to see Dick hauling him up in the air beneath his armpits and dragging him off, rubbing his fist hard against the top of his head while Tim shrieked and laughed simultaneously. “Penalty for shooting civilians is walking the plank!” Dick declared, and dropped Tim out of the air and into the water. Tim sank like a rock but instantly thrashed and dragged himself back to the top. He grabbed hold of Dick’s arm and scrambled up onto him, while Dick tried to shake him off. “Jason! Help me crush him!” Tim cried excitedly, and Jason, rolling his eyes, waded over while Tim valiantly dodged Dick’s soft swats in an attempt to dislodge him. He was half-kneeling on Dick’s shoulder at this point, and swung a leg around to switch to his other shoulder as Jason arrived and did likewise. 

Dick, laughing, sank down a bit in the water. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” 

Tim, with a victorious whoop, leapt off his shoulder and splashed them both when he landed. Jason let go a little more cautiously, and shook his head with a laugh when Dick exchanged an amused glance at Tim’s antics with him. 

“If you gentlemen are quite finished,” Alfred’s dry voice surprised Jason and Dick, who both instantly stared at him. “I’ve brought you a lunch to the table here.”

Excited at the prospect of food, the two boys splashed off towards the shallow end of the pool. When they got to the point that the water was only barely up to their waists, Jason slowed, suddenly remembering his foot. Dick paused and glanced back, a couple steps ahead. 

Setting his teeth, Jason stepped forward. They hadn’t started teaching him to walk again—although, with a brace, they insisted he would be able to—but nothing was there to stop him from trying now. He was careful to try to keep his balance and not swing his foot too far, or drop it at the wrong angle. 

He made it four slow, shaky steps before he stumbled, but Dick was there to grab his arm and steady him. He was beaming. “You did great, Jase!”

Jason silently accepted the arm wrapped beneath his shoulders and leading him to the table, but he wasn’t as enthusiastic. “It’s pitiful. I could do it easily before.” He mumbled.

Dick shot him a sympathetic look. “You were shot, Jase. It’s never going to be the same, but you’re tough enough to work around it.”

Jason shrugged listlessly. He let Dick deposit him carefully in one of the chairs around the table and reached forward to grab the foil-wrapped sandwich sitting on the table alongside a big bag of potato chips.

Tim was already half-way through his sandwich, and Alfred was pouring lemonade into a matching set of clear plastic cups. Jason unwrapped the sandwich and glanced at it.

It was a thick sandwich on what must have been homemade bread, layered with thick chunks of grilled chicken drenched in some sort of sauce, thin slices of tomato, lettuce, and pepper rings.

He took a bite and closed his eyes for a second because holy hell, where had Alfred learned to cook. 

The rest of the sandwich vanished quickly and Jason glanced around for another, shoved down vague disappointment when there wasn’t one, and grabbed the bag of chips instead and tore it open, grabbing a handful and jamming it in his mouth.

“Can I have some chips?” Tim asked from the other side of the table.

“No.” Jason said, still chewing. “This wh’le bag s’all mine.”

“Hey—“ Tim started to say, before Dick rolled his eyes and said, “He’s joking , Timmy.”

“Oh.” Tim wilted in his chair for a second. Jason almost handed over the entire bag then and there, but then Tim straightened and grabbed his sandwich, expertly and precisely tearing one half of it down the middle into quarters. He held out one piece to Jason. “Trade?” He said hopefully.

Jason had always been a shrewd negotiator. “Deal.” He said seriously, accepting the bit of sandwich and handing Tim the bag. Tim, with a happy noise, promptly began dumping chips onto his plate. 

After lunch, Jason found himself nearly wiped out, and kept dozing off while the other boys finished their own food, somewhat slower than he had. He supposed at some point they returned to the pool, because he could vaguely hear splashing and laughing some distance away, but it stayed in the background to his exhaustion as he sat at the chair near the glass outdoor table, head pillowed on his elbow. 

He woke up when someone’s very soggy hand patted his shoulder, and he raised his head and blinked groggy eyes a split second before Dick dripped water all over him by shaking his head to somewhat dry his hair. 

“Al’s bringing dinner out here, Jay.” He said with a grin. “Just giving you forewarning to wake up.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Jason mumbled, clumsy-tongued from sleep. 

___

Bruce took Jason aside after dinner one evening and showed him a stack of official-looking papers. 

“Your mother petitioned the court for permission to visit you.” His expression was carefully neutral.

Jason swallowed dryly. “And?” He asked. He didn’t think he could take the stress of trying to read all those sheets.

“If she passes a drug test and they can’t dig up anything too concerning in her background check, they’ll probably grant it.” Bruce said. “It’ll most likely be supervised visits, at a secondary location.” 

For whatever reason, some of the tension Jason felt in his chest loosened at that statement. She wouldn’t be coming here. 

She would have loved it, though. She would love the pool and the green grass and the bushes trimmed like animals.

Wouldn’t she?

It had only been a couple months since he’d seen her, and he’d missed her fiercely, but….it was really only his surroundings that even reminded him she was gone. He’d only interacted with her while she was incoherent; the majority of the time, anyway.  

His stomach twisted warningly in a way it hadn’t in months. He clenched his fingers on the plastic armrests on his chair.

He wanted to see her, didn’t he?

Bruce watched the entirety of his reaction with a laser focus that somehow still seemed casual on the surface. “If you’re not sure if you want to see her, Jason, you don’t have to.”

“I do.” He bit out. Because he did. She was his mom. She was the only person he trusted and loved. She was the only person who loved him. 

But…

No buts. He shook his head. “Of course, I want to see her.”

“I suppose that’s good.” Bruce said. “Though I’ll warn you that if you act at all distressed in a meet-up, they’re likely to revoke visiting rights entirely.” 

Jason’s heart skipped. “What? Why?”

Bruce shook his head. “It’s just protocol. They assume that if a child has a bad reaction to being in their parent’s presence, the child is better off out of it.” Bruce looked genuinely put out when he continued, “I never liked it. It’s unfair to the complexity of a parental relationship, and it definitely puts unfair pressure on the child.” Shaking his head, Bruce dropped the thick stack back into the open file folder on his desk, marked Current/Urgent in Alfred’s neat penmanship. 

Jason’s throat was suddenly very dry. 

It was only a week or so after that that the court asked them for a meet-up date and Bruce gave one on a day he could be there. The meet was in one of the conference rooms at the family center. 

Jason didn’t want Dick and Tim along, as he very reluctantly admitted to Alfred because he was too afraid to bring it up to the others’ faces, so Bruce brought Jason in yet another stupidly expensive car. Jason stared out the window the whole time, heart racing and stomach twisting.

Bruce parked when they got there, unloaded Jason’s wheelchair and set him up in it, and pushed him inside and into the elevator. Bruce had to sign in and fill out even more paperwork upstairs, and then they led the two of them to a big, empty conference room and left them there, telling them they’d send Jason’s mom in with the social workers when she got there. 

Bruce lightly tapped on the armrest of his chair with his nails. Jason, vaguely irritated by the noise—which kept making him tense up as it echoed in the room—glanced at Bruce’s seemingly-calm expression, and realized that maybe he was just as stressed as Jason was...although for different reasons.

It seemed like they waited forever, but that didn’t make him any less petrified when someone suddenly tapped on the door twice, and then it opened. Jason went rigid in his wheelchair.

First in came a couple of social workers, complete with file folders and legal pads and pens at the ready. One of them held the door behind her, and in stepped his mom, lightly, cautiously, like she was afraid that the floor would break under her if she moved wrong. 

Jason stared. Her hair was stringy, but cleaned and combed and even tied up. She never tied her hair back. Her clothes weren’t very fancy, but they were clean, and she even had new-looking shoelaces that were tied. She looked up, eyes red under curly bangs, and saw him for the first time. Jason was forced to watch her face light up, then crumple as she seemed to take in the rest of him. 

He silently clamped his fingers down on the armrests of his chair, beneath the table. 

She looked much better. Him being gone must have treated her well. Just like his dad had always said it would. 

The social workers gestured to her to take a seat, and she did, sitting down in a huge chair that dwarfed her and clasping her hands in her lap. She looked like a kid, more than anything. He’d seen Tim wear that same pose after he’d slid down the stair railing and accidentally fallen into one of the suits of armor. 

Bruce hadn’t punished him, though. He’d been too scared that he’d hurt himself. As it turned out, Tim had just been vaguely bruised by the fall. But of course he wasn’t scared. He’d just cackled again, as usual. But he had clung to Bruce when he’d picked him up. 

“We found Mrs. Todd to be cooperative with all our tests and requirements,” one of the social workers addressed Bruce, scribbling away in their file folder. “All the drug tests came back clean.”

Interiorly, Jason scoffed. Yeah, that wouldn’t fuckin’ last long. 

With that, the social workers fell silent, scribbling away. Bruce was very not-subtly glancing at Jason in open concern. Jason had his fists clenched in his lap, beneath the table. He was trying very hard to avoid making eye contact with his mom, but every once in a while his eyes met hers for an instant before veering away. She seemed to be doing the same thing he was. He could feel her gaze on him, especially on his wheelchair and his leg. He didn’t know how much they’d told her about his injuries. Her expression was teetering on the edge of a breakdown. His own breath stuttered when he saw it, and he resolutely looked away. 

“Baby?” His mom breathed eventually. The word shook.

Jason gulped hard. It tasted like bile and pain and betrayal. He bit his tongue on the shriek of, you left me! You just fucking left me! and clenched his hands even tighter in his lap. He had to keep it together. He had to. This meeting would only last an hour or so. He had to.

Bruce started a conversation with the social workers a moment later, seeming to pick up on Jason’s struggle. Thankfully, they seemed easily taken-in. Jason had always been good at playing silent and still. The time ticked away with echoing, distant conversation about the weather and the Knights’ latest lost game and interest rates and the latest celebrity gossip and which supermodel Bruce had slept with last. Jason didn’t buy a word of that gossip even though Bruce was playing it up. He lived in the guy’s house. Bruce never brought any women home. 

Finally, the social workers were pushing back from the table with apologies that they’d have to get this meet-up over with. Bruce agreed and stood up smoothly and took the handles of Jason’s wheelchair, pulling him back from the table and steering him out the door.

Catherine was standing, too, a little bewildered, looking around like she didn’t know what to do, now. They’d have to pass her to get out of the room. She was staring right at Jason in surprise and hurt. Jason tore his gaze away again and stared at the wall. 

He felt her fingertips brush his skin as he passed, drifting over his hand before Bruce kept resolutely pushing him away. 

“Jason?” She asked, voice very faint, and Jason blinked hard against burning, angry tears. His chest felt like it was about to burst open. 

He couldn’t really tell, but it felt like Bruce was going faster as he went. He heard the elevator button being jammed. He was breathing too hard with the effort of restraining himself to pay much attention as his ears shifted oddly when the lift went down. They rolled through the lobby and into the parking garage and down two levels. Jason’s breaths were hitching now. He was almost hyperventilating with the force of them.

Bruce pulled the chair alongside the car. Jason practically threw himself against the door and wrestled the handle open, dragging himself by his upper arms across the backseat before Bruce could so much as touch him. He crumpled there, facedown on the seats, shoulders shaking. 

Bruce’s voice was hovering somewhere back there, near the door. “Jason?”

Jason, still heaving, screamed a broken, angry scream into his arms and lashed out, bashing his arm against the back of the seat in front of him. It hurt dully, and pain shot up his arm, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

There was a big hand on his shoulder, now, moving up towards his head, and he turned beneath it up to look at Bruce, still shaking like a leaf. “How could she?” He choked at Bruce’s wavering face, etched in a pained expression so intense that it looked like he’d never smile again. “How could she leave me? How c-could—“ he broke off because he couldn’t breathe for how hard he was crying, tears and snot all over his face. “H-How could she do this to me?”

He was wailing, now, more than anything, choking on his sobs so hard that another came before the first one was finished. Bruce’s hand on his head was at first just rubbing back and forth in an effort to console, but as Jason kept crying and shaking and nearly suffocating from how hard he was weeping, Bruce’s other arm came up and encircled him, pressing him against him. Jason clung with both hands to Bruce’s fancy sport jacket and sobbed into it. 

Bruce was cradling the back of his head in one hand. “I’m so sorry, Jason.” He rasped, his own voice hoarse and breaking. “I’m just so sorry this happened to you.” 

Jason kept sobbing, and screaming curses and broken pleas and angry threats into Bruce’s jacket. Bruce took every second of it without wavering, without loosening his grip, without leaving. 

Slowly, very slowly, Jason went nearly slack in Bruce’s embrace, the fight draining out of him and leaving unbearable exhaustion in its place. His eyes were throbbing and stinging and he wished he could fall asleep and never wake up. 

Bruce held him a bit longer even when he’d quieted, gave him some time before gently easing him back to look him in the eye. Jason met Bruce’s gaze listlessly, blinking in pain. 

Bruce freed one hand and felt around in his jacket and pulled out a folded white handkerchief. “Here.” He said quietly, and pressed the cloth into Jason’s hand and guided it to his face. Jason obediently blew his nose and let Bruce guide his hand to mop the remainder of the tears and sweat off his forehead and cheeks and chin. 

“Is it alright if I buckle you in? Are you ready to go back to the Manor?” Bruce asked.

Jason didn’t resist as Bruce set him back against the seat the right way. “Can you skip buckling me in?” He asked blearily, even as Bruce did it. “Wreck and let me die and collect the insurance money?”

“No.” Bruce said flatly, clicking the belt in place. “That, I won’t do.” He stood up and turned to fold up the wheelchair. 

“You’d be doing me a favor,” Jason croaked quietly, slouched against the seat like he’d been tossed there. 

Bruce set the wheelchair inside the car and knelt down, in Jason’s line of sight. “Jason, I am very sorry your mother hurt you. I can’t imagine how awful you must feel right now. But even if you feel like you’d rather be dead right now, I want you to know that I want you to live through this, Jason. It was hard because it was the first time, and if you don’t want to see her again, just say the word and I’ll arrange it. If you do, we’ll work something out, too. You’re allowed to feel hopeless and upset, but I do not want you to hurt yourself over this. You do not deserve to be punished for her failure, do you hear me? You don’t need to punish yourself, and you should not have had to bear it in the first place.”

Jason, blinking, scrutinized Bruce a bit closer, as best he could through his strained vision. “You hate her,” he realized, out loud.

Bruce looked uncomfortable, but held his gaze. “I don’t hate her, no. I feel sorry for her. Mostly, right now, I’m having to work hard not to be furious with her.”

Jason was confused. “Why?” He rasped.

Bruce’s grey eyes were soft, but there was a glint of steel behind them. “Because it would hurt you if I allowed myself to be cruel to your mother. You’re protective of her because you love her, Jason, and you have a right to be. But me? Alfred? Dick and Tim, even? We don’t know her like you do. We’re on the outside. All we see is how she’s treated you, and how it hurts you. And that doesn’t exactly make us sympathetic towards her.” 

Jason blinked his eyes shut. It was too exhausting to keep them open. “Why do you care?” He wheezed out, voice rising at the end. It sounded pathetically close to a whine.

“I care because you’re an incredibly selfless, kind, and determined kid,” Bruce said, his voice a bit sad. “I care because you risked your life to save mine before you even knew who I was. I care because you helped protect the lives of my sons for no reason other than your own will. You are a good person, Jason. Anyone would be proud to call you their child. Your parents should have been. It will take a while for me, and the other boys, to forgive them because they’re not.” 

With that, and another pause where Bruce hovered in the door and lightly placed a hand on Jason’s upper arm and squeezed reassuringly, he gently shut the car door and climbed into the driver’s seat. Jason stayed slouched in the back, sore eyes only taking in the blurry windows of the skyscrapers for a few minutes before he fell asleep, completely spent.

He woke up halfway at some point later and realized he wasn’t in the car anymore, but he also wasn’t in his chair. He blinked his eyes half-open and saw white cotton. His nose was pressed against it. The odd way he was moving made him realize that Bruce was carrying him up the stairs in the garage. 

He shut his eyes again instantly to hide the fact that he was awake, but his cheeks burned anyway. 

From then on, the visits were scheduled bi-weekly. Bruce took Jason to the same old building, they sat in the same room, the same social workers brought his mom in and sat in the room while they exchanged small talk with Bruce while Jason and his mom sat and stared or not-stared at each other. Jason got to be irritable and vicious at the Manor, and he knew Dick and Tim could tell. They weren’t avoiding him, exactly, but they hardly spoke to him, and when they did they only asked for permission to do this or that small thing. He knew Bruce noticed. He did this weird thing where he folded his hands and popped the knuckles compulsively even when they weren’t popping. Also this one vein in his forehead kind of pulsed. He pursed his lips a lot.

Jason knew tension when he saw it, and it made him nervous. On the one hand, he knew he was the cause of it, and he should feel guilty, but he didn’t. Mostly. It was necessary. Bruce couldn’t be safe. All he had to do was prove it, and then, at least, he’d know. 

But then what would he do? He couldn’t hardly look at his mom without wanting to cry or break something. And she was still with Dad. 

If the street was his only option, he’d take it. But he had to know, first. 

He kept getting dragged to his therapy appointments, and they made him try walking. He had to limp along while holding himself up on metal rails. His arms did most of the work. They had his foot in a brace to keep it from flopping around underneath him. 

One time, when he’d fallen asleep in the living room upon getting back from his appointment, when Dick and Tim had been out of the Manor doing who knew what, Jason faintly heard Bruce and Alfred talking quietly in the entryway. 

“I don’t know what to do, A. I can’t just let Dick and Tim be emotional punching bags. I know they care about him, but they don’t deserve that.”

“Of course they do not. I think Master Jason knows so, as well.”

“Then why is he doing this?”

There was a beat of silence. Jason bit his tongue and breathed as smoothly and quietly as possible. 

“Master Bruce.” Alfred said flatly. “Do you recall the incident the day of your ninth birthday party?”

There was a slight squeak, like Bruce was shuffling a toe on the shiny floor. “I don’t know which incident you mean, Al.”

“The one where you ran off into the Cave all by yourself, spent the morning talking to a hallucinated personalization of your fears, at first lashed out at me when I came to fetch you, and then proceeded to agree to come up only for ulterior motives and acted as obnoxiously jovial and childlike as possible as a front, so no one would suspect you?”

“Ah.” Bruce sounded embarrassed. “Yes, I remember that.”

“Yes. I believe the metaphor remains the same, here.” Alfred continued long-sufferingly. “You know the thought processes of a suffering child better than anyone, Master Bruce. He’s trying to test the waters and see where the lines are, doubtless assuming that crossing one will lead to the abandonment he’s expecting.”

“That’s the trouble, Al,” Bruce said lowly, and Jason’s heart was in his throat. “There has to be a line somewhere, hasn’t there? What if it keeps getting worse? What if he never stops, and the offenses get more and more towards the physical? We can’t just let him hurt others, can we?”

When Alfred replied, Jason tensed up at how cold his voice was. “At the moment, Master Bruce, do try to remember that you are handling a child, not a criminal. A child, whom I will remind you, you offered to take in. You will not cast him off because he is more challenging than your two previous ones. I will not allow it. Understood?”

“Yes, Al.” Bruce said, barely audibly. He sounded pained, he was so ashamed. 

“You handled Master Tim.” Alfred’s tone was a mite softer. 

“Tim was tiny. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he’d just never learned how to handle himself because no one was around to show him.”

A long pause. “I...just answered my own question, didn’t I.” Bruce said, self-deprecating. He sounded like he was smiling.

“Indeed.” Jason heard faint chuckles from the two of them, then quiet. Their footsteps eventually started off in different directions, and Jason snapped his eyes shut and feigned sleep when he heard Bruce’s footsteps coming towards the living room.

A few afternoons after that, after yet another therapy appointment, Jason was moping on the couch when Dick wandered in from somewhere and sat down on the couch like he thought it might break underneath him if he went too fast, and started playing some sort of video game. Jason had hardly seen him in days, and wasn’t sure if he was hanging out with friends or at Bruce’s penthouse, or just driving anywhere he could think of to avoid being at home. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately, and Jason wasn’t sure if it was all because of him, or if there was something else going on.

Either way, he was madly clicking away at buttons, very noticeably not so much as glancing back at Jason to avoid setting him off, and even though the volume was turned down, it was loud enough to be irritating as the little computerized gunshots rang out over and over. 

“Do you have to play that now?” Jason grumbled.

Dick, surprised, looked over his shoulder at Jason, before turning back to the screen with a slight shrug. “You can move to your room any time you want.” He said, tone flat and cool. 

It pissed Jason off. 

A pillow hit the back of Dick’s head before Jason could stop himself. “Dick.” Jason snapped, enunciating the insult.

Dick’s head snapped back towards him, and Jason half-recoiled because his brows were drawn together and his jaw was set and his eyes were terrifying. The controller landed on the coffee table with a sharp clack, and another, smaller, denser pillow was smacking Jason in the face before he could move.

Outright angry, now, Jason shoved himself up on his elbow and onto his feet, grabbing for one of those big squishy toys Bruce seemed to have lying around everywhere from therapy stuff and pelting it at Dick. Dick dodged with one of those weird, flippy moves he did all the time, and threw a shoe at Jason. He managed to turn fast enough to keep it from smacking him direct in the eye, but it stung. Heart pounding, he snatched the thing and pelted it back as hard as he could. 

Dick was standing on top of the couch when he threw it, probably trying to dodge out of the way or move someplace less open. But when the shoe hit him, straight in the eye, he lost his footing and fell completely off the couch. The shrill crash that followed jolted Jason so hard he was halfway off the couch and stumbling two steps forward before his heart restarted. Hands shaking, he peered over the back of the couch. 

Dick was on his back on top of the shattered remains of the glass top of the coffee table, tiny shards of the stuff littering the carpet and his t-shirt and jeans and messy hair. Hazy blue eyes flitted up to Jason, looking a mix of shocked and concerned and scared, and Jason started to back away before he even noticed the twitching as Dick tried to get up but couldn’t, or the blood at his temple and his side.

Jason was running as fast as he could for the back door when he heard Tim come running in from upstairs or somewhere just as fast. He couldn’t pick out anything but wordless distress, and he didn’t stop to care. He threw the door out of his way and clumsily ran, dragging his stupid brace, across the open field behind the Manor and past the duck pond and the tennis courts. There was a section of the fence on that side of the property that was older and didn’t have an electric charge to keep people out or in. Jason kept running until he was out of the patch of woods and could see it. He was wheezing and had a stitch in his side from a lack of physical activity for the past few months, but he didn’t stop. He half-rammed into the fence and immediately started climbing it. His stupid foot kept hanging him up, getting caught where he didn’t want it to or not wanting to lift up high enough to get him over the fence, and he stubbornly kept trying, viciously slamming his legs around without caution as he climbed. He was dimly aware that he was crying while he went, but he didn’t acknowledge it and didn’t give a shit when he tore a cut in his calf on the metal fence while swinging his leg over the top.

He dropped unsteadily onto his feet on the grass on the other side and started running again. It was a long-ass way to get back into the city from here, but he didn’t give a shit. A gleeful, repetitive chorus of, you ruined it, you ruined it, see?  was echoing endlessly in his head. It was in the forefront, with smaller, twisting cycles of what am I gonna do, they’ll chase me and Bruce will kill me, and a nagging, you can’t go back to the Alley. The apartment’s someone else’s now and everyone there would kill you, too. His steps faltered as he ran, before he finally staggered to a stop and nearly doubled over, chest heaving and tears and snot running down his face. Before he knew it his legs were giving out and he dropped into a miserable pile on the ground, still crying his eyes out into the palms of his hands. 

He’d really done that. He’d just been a little prick and thrown something hard enough to knock Dick off the furniture. That took some doing. Fast and hard enough that he hadn’t had time to dodge. Jason never fucked up in halves. 

He also was a complete fucking idiot, because he’d run out of the house without any of his stuff. He kept it stashed in one of his drawers, because they’d promised not to snoop in his personal items and so wouldn’t find it, but that was the only place he’d kept any non perishables or extra socks or flashlights or knives. He wasn’t even wearing anything on his good foot; which was probably no longer his good foot, now that he looked at it. He was bleeding in at least three places and he could still see something jutting out from one of the spots. The rest of his foot was battered. 

There was no way he could make it back to the city like this. His stomach sank and twisted up like a rock when he realized it. He’d have to hide somewhere and wait for them to calm down.

That was a fucking joke, and he knew it even as he thought it. Calm down? He’d thrown something in the house, fought with Dick over nothing, thrown something with the intention to hurt him, and had. He’d broken the table, too. And who knew how badly Dick was hurt, anyway? He hadn’t gotten up—what if he’d hurt his spine somehow? What if he wound up like Jason’s dad, or worse, like Jason? Dick was so flippy, Jason didn’t have any idea how he’d live through being unable to move freely. He felt sick to his stomach to think that he’d just left him there...but Tim had come, so they’d found him. They’d help him. He wouldn’t just lie there for hours. He wouldn’t want Jason there, anyway. 

Sniffling and wheezing in a futile attempt to catch his breath, Jason scrubbed some of the mess off his face with his shirt. He tried to slow his sobs down and take a deeper breath, but he instantly broke down again when his completely pointless conscience started in reminding him of the reality of what he’d done, and who he’d done it to. He’d never really had any good friends before, not since before both his parents went to shit, and probably not even then. He’d tried to deny it, tried to prevent it, but hell, he’d liked hanging out with Dick and Tim. He’d tried so hard not to like anything, but he had liked chatting with them, swimming with them, hell, even playing those stupid, frustrating video games with them. And why the fuck did his stupid fucking brain have to refuse to like anything while he was actually doing it, and then instantly remember the good ten seconds after he’d royally fucked it up and ruined it? 

He ruined everything. Ruined ruined ruined. He was ruined, and he ruined everything he touched. Everyone ruined him, and he ruined others in return. He was just like his dad. Just fucking like him. 

If there’d been a bridge nearby, Jason honestly might have jumped off it. But there wasn’t. There was only a flat roadway and a patch of trees, and the fence line only fifty yards across. On the other side of the road was a flat marshland that was some sort of abandoned spot where the water runout from the city collected. 

The road disappeared around a curve up ahead, a good mile away, and with another pathetic sniffle and scrub with his fist, Jason forced himself to his feet. He stumbled ahead with burning, achy eyes, going on to find someplace to hide where he’d be out of sight and out of the elements. He wandered on, only stopping to yank the sharp wooden spike from his foot through clenched teeth. He went on until he found a spot on the side of the road where the grading was interrupted to make room for a drainpipe. It was empty right now, as they were into the summer drought. Jason carefully made his way down the steep hill and clambered inside, pulling himself back against the wall. He huddled up there, tugging his too-big t-shirt over his knees as far as it would go. It was colder in the pipe than it was outside, and the sky was orange and darkening fast. Jason was surprised he hadn’t heard any cars on the road, or any shouts of pursuers—-but he remembered with a pang hearing Bruce’s conversation with Alfred earlier that week. It only made sense. They probably didn’t want him back. They knew what he was from the start, and he’d proved them right. 

If he’d had any energy left to cry again, Jason probably would have broken down then and there. But he didn’t. His eyes were throbbing and his stomach was growling, despite being clenched up so tight it hurt. He hugged his knees to his chest and half-curled against the wall on his side and closed his eyes. 

When he woke up, he was disoriented for a moment before he leaned his head out of the pipe and glanced around. The darkened sky across the plain from him was faintly lit up in a hazy yellow from the lights from the skyline, which twinkled dimly beneath the fog. 

Jason slumped back inside the pipe with a groan. His face and neck felt all sticky and there was a gross taste in his mouth. His bare, bloody foot on the metal was freezing, and his limbs were cramped and aching from sleeping upright against the wall.

There was an odd whooshing sound he could faintly hear above him, and he froze, remembering the road—and wondering exactly why he’d woken up in the first place. The whooshing grew closer and a bit louder, and then—it stopped. And someone landed on their feet on the asphalt up above. 

Jason scooched back in the pipe and held his breath. His heart was hammering in his chest.

It was still for a beat. Then, a quiet voice awkwardly called, “Um. Jason? Is that you?”

Jason went even more rigid, if that was possible. He didn’t recognize the voice at all. 

A pause, and then a sudden, “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t think there for a moment. Hold on.” Jason scooted even further back, but jumped and thwacked the top of his head on the ceiling when an upside down face appeared over the opening of the pipe, glasses reflecting the dim light from a streetlight further up the hill.

“Sorry!” The guy repeated quickly, mortified, and Jason blinked. Who the fuck was this?

“Really sorry about that, I’m...terrible with people sometimes. My wife keeps telling me. I’m uh, I’m Clark. I’m a..friend of Bruce’s. He sent me to find you.”

Jason instantly scrambled further back. Bruce hadn’t even come to look for him himself? He’d sent...what, some kind of hired grunt to punish him?

“Oh, sh—Jason,” Clark—if that even was his name—exclaimed, after a moment where he made a soft noise of despair and buried his face in his hands, “I’m not hunting you or anything. Or, well...I am, but not like that. I don’t! I…” he sighed, exasperated at himself. “I’m just better at finding people fast than Bruce is, that’s all. He didn’t want to send the police after you like a criminal or something, so he called me first.”

Jason absolutely deserved to be hunted like a criminal at this point, but he hovered there for a second, considering. 

“I really am sorry I startled you, Jason.” Clark said again, earnestly, and Jason restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “If you…is it okay if I call Bruce and let him know where we are?”

“If you’re okay with me immediately running off in the other direction, sure.” Jason startled himself with the reply, and how hoarse it sounded. 

“I mean…” Clark trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. “I won’t stop you if you do, but Bruce will probably be pretty upset. He’d already searched the Manor and the whole property before he called me.” 

Jason hesitated at that. If...if Bruce really wanted to punish him, Jason could always run off then, couldn’t he? That would give him the chance to get his stuff first. And he owed an explanation, at least—maybe an apology, too. 

“Okay.” He finally said, almost a whisper.

“Alright,” Clark said, nodding and smiling. He pulled away from the opening of the pipe, and Jason, suddenly claustrophobic, scrambled out after him. For a moment, all he was aware of was the sharp ache in his limbs as circulation returned, but then he was somewhat distracted by the realization that what’s-his-face’s sneakers were currently hovering a noticeable distance from the pavement. 

Jason’s gaze slowly moved from aforementioned shoes to the dorky face, and the man raised an eyebrow above the nerd-glasses before glancing down and instantly flushing. “Oh! Sorry about that.” He touched down without a sound. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and glanced up with a nervous grin. “I uh, forget sometimes.” 

Jason kept staring. 

Clark, still with a faint blush tinging his cheeks, pulled a phone from his pocket and hit a contact, raising it to his ear. “Hey. Found him. We’re on Outskirt Road. Yeah. Hey, maybe—“ Another, shriller voice came on, and Clark held the phone at arms length away from his ear with a wince. “Yes, Tim. Okay. Thanks.” 

The phone hung up before he had a chance to, and he shook his head and muttered “bats” under his breath before tucking the phone in his jeans pocket. 

Jason shifted awkwardly, keeping his weight on the ball of his shredded foot, but he didn’t have long to stew because soon he heard the roar of an engine coming closer, and the headlights of yet another fancy car swept around the curve and over him and Clark as it came on. It was coming so fast that Jason irrationally considered jumping for the edge of the road in case it tried to run them down, but instead it came expertly to a smooth stop in the middle of the road, and then there was barely a moment’s pause before both the doors were opening and closing and Bruce and Tim were climbing out and hurrying over.

“Jason? Are you alright?” Bruce called when he had halfway crossed the distance, and Jason wasn’t sure how to react. He was pretty sure his expression crumpled upon that being the start to this interaction, but seeing Bruce striding purposefully toward him made him take a shaky step back. He winced when his foot reminded him of its current state. 

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked instantly, because of course he saw the tiny flinch. He looked like he would run and grab Jason’s foot to examine it at any second, so Jason exhaled in mild irritation and mumbled, “S’nothing. Scraped it up while running, is all.” 

“Ah.” Bruce looked distinctly uncomfortable. He nodded shortly. “Makes sense.”

Tim came trotting up to Jason. He’d been standing behind Bruce, glaring, with his arms crossed over his chest. Jason glanced down at him, with no small measure of trepidation. He braced himself for whatever anger he got.

“You were a jerk.” Tim said, in the closest imitation of a Batman voice an eleven-year-old could manage. He thrust his chin up defiantly, like he was daring Jason to deny it.

“I know.” Jason said, shoulders slumping. 

Tim looked completely shocked. “What?”

“Your hearing’s fine,” Jason rolled his eyes. He glanced up at Bruce. “Is...Dick okay?” he managed hesitantly. 

Bruce met his gaze, surprised. “He’s fine. Just a cut on his head and another slice in his side. Neither needed stitches; they weren’t deep enough. He does have a headache, but nothing worse than usual.” 

Jason exhaled roughly. He was relieved at least that he was alright. “I...guess he’s pretty mad at me, huh.”

Bruce looked at Jason, concerned. “No. He would’ve come along if Alfred hadn’t made him stay behind. Maybe he was angry earlier, but he saw you run off and didn’t have a chance to say anything, so he was pretty worried when we got there. Kept insisting it would be his fault if you ran off back to the city and got hurt.” 

“It’s not.” Jason said tightly, his eyes shut. 

“I know, Jason.” Bruce said. His voice was steady and calm and not angry at all. Why was he doing this?

“Why do you know?” Jason shot without thinking, glaring. “I’m just a problem child. You said so yourself.”

Bruce started, shocked. “Jason—“ His eyes darkened when he saw the expression on Jason’s face. “—you heard that?”

Jason hung his head miserably. “You were talking right outside the living room,” he huffed wetly. “I’m not deaf.” He kicked his braced foot along the pavement with a scrape for emphasis. 

“What’s he talking about?” Tim was shooting a confused look up at Bruce, and Clark was also sending one of concern.

Bruce sighed. Jason closed his eyes. 

“Jason...I was wrong.”

Shocked, Jason whipped his head up. “Wh-What do you mean?” He asked, incredulous. 

Bruce met his gaze, looking distinctly ashamed. “I mean I was wrong. Alfred told me so. You heard it. He was right. I don’t think before I say things or think things sometimes. I’m the one who agreed to take care of you, Jason. That’s not conditional. You didn’t do anything the boys haven’t done before. Brothers are allowed to fight without hating each other, Jason. No permanent harm was done.”

“But I wanted to hurt him!” Jason insisted, his voice breaking. 

“Did you?” Bruce stepped forward. “Then how come you ran off crying when you did? How come you asked about him first thing?”

“I—-“ Jason choked on his words, tears spilling out again shamefully. “I can’t just—“

“Can’t just what?” Bruce asked softly, taking a knee in front of him. “Accept that I don’t hate you for messing up?”

“People don’t...people don’t just do that!” Jason insisted, vicious despite the tears pouring down his cheeks. “There—there has to be a reason! There’s always a reason!” 

Bruce shrugged. “What if my reason is that I don’t think you deserve it?”

“Then the second you think I do, you’ll throw me out!” Jason half-yelled. “I have no control either way so why—“ he broke off, sobbing harder, clamping his hands over his mouth. 

Bruce’s face was twisted in sympathy, Jason could tell even through the tears, and it made it worse. He hated this. He hated it! Why couldn’t Bruce just hate him and leave him alone…

Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder. Jason was crying too hard to care. “Do you mind if I hug you?” Bruce asked.

Jason choked on another sob. He couldn’t bring himself to nod, but he didn’t immediately pull back, either. Regardless, Bruce took his time to carefully pull him closer and wrap his arms around him.

“It’s alright, Jason.” He assured. “I was wrong. Alfred was right. I’m not going anywhere, and you don’t have to unless you want to. These things happen. It doesn’t make you a bad person, and it’s okay.”

Jason felt a smaller weight suddenly latching onto his side, and he glanced down to see Tim clinging to him below Bruce’s arm, rubbing his nose against Jason’s t-shirt. There were tears on his cheeks, too.

“Why are you crying?” Jason half-wailed, and Tim wailed right back, “Because you are. Dick said we had to be patient with you and we weren’t.”

“You were,” Jason insisted. “Y-you could be patient as the whole world and it still—“ he sobbed again. “—it still wouldn’t—“

“Hush, Jay.” Bruce said, kissing his temple. “It’s okay.” 

They must’ve huddled there for at least ten minutes, and Jason wasn’t sure if he hated it or was relieved by it. But eventually, when Bruce pulled back and Tim pulled back and they all eyed each other for a moment, Clark cleared his throat. He sounded suspiciously froggy, too. “Bruce, you all good now?”

Bruce glanced down, and gently pulled Tim and Jason against his sides. “I think we are. Thank you, Clark.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. You know that.” Clark said easily, sounding a bit embarrassed. “I was just wanting to check because Mom just called...she, uh. Made apple pie tonight.” 

Jason arched an eyebrow. No phone had rang.

“Well, by all means. We don’t want to interrupt that,” Bruce said, sarcastic but amiable at once.

“Alrighty. Evening Tim. Jason, great to meet you. Wish it had been under better circumstances. Hopefully we’ll see more of each other soon? Because Lo’s been nagging me to invite you all over,” he nodded at Bruce.

“We’ll come by the holidays, I promise.” Bruce grinned.

“Looking forward to it.” Clark smiled. “Well, then.” Jason’s eyes grew huge as Clark levitated up until he was hovering four feet off the ground. “Night, all.” With a wave, he turned, still flying, and suddenly shot up into the dark sky until he disappeared. 

Bruce shook his head. “I wish he wouldn’t do that, sometimes.”

“What else is he supposed to do?” Tim asked. “Take a bus back to Kansas?”

“At least wait till he’s outside the city to do it,” Bruce replied, only a touch sour. “Drawing attention in Gotham is almost always a bad thing.”

Tim shrugged, and pulled away to trot over and hop into the car again. That left Jason and Bruce standing there in the headlights on an empty road.

Bruce glanced down at him again. “Do you feel any better now?”

Jason shrugged. “I still feel like shit,” he said, uncomfortably, after a beat of Bruce watching him. “But I’ll live. It’s not...it’s not as close, anymore. I guess.”

Bruce nodded, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’d be punished for a normal mishap.”

Jason shrugged, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze. “I uh. I think….maybe some of the trouble is me. Because I can’t...always tell.” His voice grew strained admitting it.

Bruce was silent. Then he stepped forward and slowly dropped his hand to rest on Jason’s shoulder. His touch was light, but Jason still had to restrain himself from tensing. He did, though, because he thought it was important...and because he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the flutter of warmth in his chest when someone didn’t touch him to hurt. 

Bruce shifted until he was wrapping his arm around Jason and leading him to the car. Jason, for his part, allowed it.

Bruce only released him when Jason went to climb into the car, wincing a bit when he put his weight on his foot. He dropped into the seat next to Tim, and Tim promptly snuggled up against his side. Jason stiffened at first but then relaxed and rolled his eyes.

Bruce drove them the short distance back to the Manor. It was only maybe a five minute drive. He pulled up into the garage and parked the car. The three of them climbed up the stairs and went into the house. 

Without being prompted or encouraged, Jason headed for the staircase. He made his way up slowly, trying to avoid putting weight on the ball of his non-casted foot. He reached the second floor and limped his way forward, towards the door of the room which as of yet he had never entered. The door was open a crack. He knocked anyway. 

“Come in.”

Nervously, Jason pushed the door open and leaned his head in. He didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but whatever it was, it wasn’t as bad. Dick was half-sitting up on his elbow, a book spread open across the mattress with one sprawled hand. He glanced up at Jason, blue eyes glinting through his dangling hair. There was a butterfly bandage barely visible beneath his bangs. Otherwise, he looked mostly alright. 

Jason awkwardly took a step in. “Hey,” he said, a half-croak.

Dick raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Hey?” He eyed Jason from foot to head. “You look….not so great.”

Jason choked a harsh, hysterical laugh that only lasted a second or so. “Yeah.” He scuffed his boot against the floor. 

Dick swung his feet around so he was closer to sitting up, with only a slight twinge of pain showing on his face. He patted the bedspread. “You can come in if you want,” he said.

Hesitantly, Jason ducked his head and stepped in further. He glanced around as he went, in a mix of idle curiosity and an attempt to avoid meeting Dick’s eyes. A circus poster hung on the far wall. There was a muscle car calendar beside a bulletin board covered with notes and photos and newspaper clippings and report cards. The dresser was also littered with photos, of Dick with others his age whom Jason didn’t recognize. It didn’t necessarily surprise him that Dick had friends—he seemed the type to have plenty, as ridiculously warm and friendly as he was—but he never saw him hanging out with people here at the Manor. He wasn’t sure if he felt more jealous or hurt or lonely.

He sat down next to Dick. The bookshelf was full of fictional novels—everything from The Hardy Boys to Little House On The Prairie. There were action figures and model cars and small containers of chalk dust and empty soda cans.

It felt very lived-in. It felt very his. Jason was still sleeping on top of his bedspread half the time.

He sat there beside Dick awkwardly. He felt as if every movement made the bed creak or dip. He held stock still in response. 

Dick shifted against the headboard. He cleared his throat. He folded his hands over his knee. He said nothing.

They sat in the tense quiet, until Dick, under his breath, hoarsely said, “I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason blinked, lifting his chin to look at the older boy. “What are you talking about?” He asked disbelievingly. “I’m the one who knocked you into a glass panel.” 

Dick shrugged, gaze on his toes. “I shouldn’t have gotten so easily riled up. Tim’s done worse than throw a pillow at me, hell, I’ve done worse horsing around with my friends. I was just...pissed to begin with and I took it out on you. I should have just blown off steam some other way. I’m sorry.” 

Jason stared, open-mouthed. He sputtered helplessly for a moment, before finally choking, “What am I supposed to say to that?”

Dick shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wanna.”

Jason surprised himself—and Dick, judging by how he stiffened—when he exclaimed, “Fuck that, I’m saying something. I acted just like my dad and I’m not glossing over that shit. I should be sorry.”

Dick glanced up at him curiously, still a bit unnerved. “Are you?” 

“I—“ Jason slumped. “Mostly I’m too busy being mad at me to be sorry.”

Dick shrugged ruefully. “What good’s that gonna do?”

Jason shrugged helplessly. “I just—it can’t be that easy, okay?”

Dick made a bewildered face, but didn’t press. Jason clawed at the inside of his palm with his nails. 

“Why were you pissed, anyway?” Jason asked, and Dick shrugged again, almost disinterestedly. “Seems to be a state of being lately,” he said flatly.

Jason eyed him warily. “Is Bruce—“

Dick shook his head at the same time that he sighed a, “Jason, Jason. Look. Bruce isn’t hurting me. He isn’t and he never has, he just—“ Dick exhaled raggedly again. “He’s an adult, same as any of them. I’m almost twenty and not in school. That has a tendency to piss anyone over thirty off.”

Jason was confused. “So…”

“So he prods me all the time over it and I just want to hit him upside the head. So I leave.” Dick idly kicked his foot a couple inches across the floor. His leg flopped against the side of the bed and hung there. “Which just gives him more fuel for the fire. ‘You have time to hang out with your little clique but no time to apply yourself to anything worthwhile— ‘“ Dick’s jaw locked almost audibly and he went silent.

Jason stared at him in disbelief. “Why don’t you tell him to go shove it up his ass?”

Dick made a noise that was an unholy combination between a cackle and a snort. He shook his head at Jason in appreciative awe and it took a moment before he looked away again and shrugged, dipping his chin as he admitted, “Because I care too much about what he thinks. B—“ he snorted softly. “B’s very much his parent’s child, in a way. His dad was a doctor and his mom was a double major in business and anthropology,” his voice lilted sardonically. “He doesn’t actually have a degree, himself, but that sure as fuck won’t stop him from beating the same old drum every rich person does. Me? My parents didn’t have a day beyond high school, and Dad barely finished that. I never had any use for it beyond need. I don’t wanna waste my time trapped in a classroom, especially not working toward something I don’t want. I want to—“ he threw his hands up helplessly. “I want to do things, you know! Actually do something. Sitting around at a damn desk all day is not my idea of something. God, four years of my life, Jason, sold over to school when I don’t need any job!”

Jason silently absorbed this while Dick deflated again. “I know I sound like some rich putz,” he said quietly, hands folded, eyes downcast. “I swear I don’t think I’m too good for work. I’ll work my ass off for anything without a word. But only on my terms, for what I believe in. I’ll never believe in any company or bottom line.” 

He glanced over at Jason again, and his eyes were hard. “But none of that has anything at all to do with you, and it’s wrong for me to take it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Jason blinked, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure that’s the third time now you’ve apologized within like five minutes.”

“I need to do it three more times?”

Jason deflated. “No. And I forgive you, I guess.”

“Well that’s good.” Dick said, sounding genuinely relieved. He turned so he was sitting alongside Jason again and gently bumped Jason’s shoulder with his. “Thanks,” he said softly. 

“Sure,” Jason returned dully. He was glancing over at the dresser again. He nodded at one of the frames, an older-looking one with dark wood. “Is that your parents?”

Dick look startled for a moment, then followed Jason’s line of sight and, if possible, deflated further. But he had a sad smile on his face as he responded with a soft, “Yeah.”

Jason lifted his head with a hum of acknowledgement. He was busy studying the photo. He couldn’t exactly make out details from halfway across the room, but he could see Dick, who seemed to be front-and-center in the photo, grinning with a gap in his front teeth. He couldn’t have been older than six. Jason guessed his parents must have been holding him up between them, because their faces were both turned up and away from the camera, focused more on him than the lens. They weren’t in costumes from what he could see, just t-shirts. 

Jason still didn’t know much about them. Bruce had told him that Dick and his parents had been in a famous circus act, but that was about it. 

“What happened to them, anyway?” He asked, out of nowhere. “Bruce wouldn’t tell me.”

Dick shifted next to him, rubbing his palms against each other in his lap. “Well, uh…” He sighed, and it sounded very old for him. “I was...I was eight. We’d been on tour and had a stop in Gotham. Our act was the trapeze, but the big attraction was the quadruple-somersault in midair. We were the only act that could do it. Had ever done it. My mom and dad, my cousins, my uncles and aunts. Me.”

Jason realized all of a sudden exactly how blunt and prying it was to bring this subject up, and he bit his tongue as Dick went on, face tighter. “We didn’t have a net. More thrilling that way, right? Death-defying.” He laughed brokenly. “No net.”

His gaze settled off into space and stayed there as his words became forced and yet calm. “I was supposed to catch Mom from Dad. He was on the far trapeze and I was on the other one. They’d sabotaged the rope just before the show. It made it all the way through till they swung the full apex over to me. The rope snapped and dropped them both. I was close enough to touch her hands, but they missed, anyway.”

Dick didn’t say anything more for a long while, and Jason swallowed through a traitorously tight throat. He imagined it for a moment. His dad’s broken body sprawled across a concrete floor. Somehow, that image didn’t really fill him with any negative emotions—or any emotions of any kind, for that matter. But his mom….he imagined being minutes too late to stop his dad from beating her to death, minutes too late to keep her from downing a whole bottle of pills in a desperate attempt to get back the numbness for a little while. 

And now that he’d been looking around uncomfortably, he’d noticed another photo, tucked against the corner of Dick’s mirror. It looked like a photo from one of those disposable cameras you developed at Walgreens. It was a fuzzy, warm-colored picture of a young man lying on a battered couch with a tiny infant with a shock of dark hair asleep on his chest. The man had his cheek pressed against the small head, his thick black eyelashes shut. He looked too much like Dick to make any mistake about who he was.

Jason swallowed again. Maybe in this case it wasn’t fair to compare dads. 

“What about your aunts?” He finally asked hoarsely.

Dick shook his head without looking up. “They’d already been killed by the time the panic from my parents died down. Murdered in their van. My uncles, too. All except one cousin, and he’s still in a coma. I go visit him once every couple months. They don’t think he’ll ever wake up.” 

“Shit.” Jason said eloquently. 

“Yeah.” Dick raked a hand through his hair, flinching. Jason idly noticed a few of his fingers had bandaids on them, too. 

“I’m sorry I asked,” Jason said, barely even trying to kid by this point. 

Dick shrugged. “You might as well know,” he said dully. “Someone’ll mention it at some point and it won’t make sense unless you know what happened.”

Jason was confused. “Why would anyone ever bring it up?”

Dick shrugged. “When Bruce first adopted me—actually, when I first moved in—the press asked about it every time they came near either of us. Everyone wanted to know what possessed Bruce to foster the wild child of a couple of circus performers. There was speculation he was in it for money somehow, or publicity. Some people thought maybe I was his biological kid somehow and that was the only reason he cared—even going so far as to dig up records from my parents’ hometown and try to come up with times my mom could have been in proximity to sleep with him. Some people even thought he was only interested in me sexually.”

Jason felt guilty for having wondered the very same thing back when Bruce had first approached him. But now he truly understood how revolting of a lie it was. He’d seen Bruce with Tim and Dick. He clearly loved them both, and they loved him back. There was absolutely nothing vile in their interactions. “Fuck them,” he said, meaning it.

Dick gave a humorless chuckle. “Trust me. Bruce’s reaction...he’d dated one of the columnists at the Times, once. Since then, I have never heard him speak so viciously to a woman. Not even Harley or Ivy, or Catwoman. And he wasn’t rude at all. He didn’t cuss, nothing. But she has never written an article about him personally, since.”

“Good.” Jason leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. 

“Yeah.” Dick settled back himself. He glanced down at Jason’s foot curiously and then winced. “You didn’t clean that up yet?”

“Hmm?” Jason glanced down and was vaguely surprised when he saw the dried blood splattered all over his foot. “I uh. I guess not.”

“I’ll take care of it so B doesn’t have to fret over it,” Dick said, pushing himself off the bed. “Be right back,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Jason, not having anything better to do, waited. Dick re-emerged a moment later with a first aid kit in tow and carefully settled on the floor. He flipped the box open and dug in without hesitation, dragging out some rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandaids, and tweezers. He didn’t pause in jumping right in, and Jason did his best not to flinch as he yanked something out with a mild hiss. “Yikes, Jase.” He dropped a shard of wood that was nearly an inch long into some of the gauze. He dug around a bit more before moving to the alcohol, and he didn’t warn Jason before quickly and deftly wiping a good amount of it all across the bottom of his foot.

It stung, to put it lightly. Dick had already finished rapidly placing bandaids by the point Jason had mostly stopped hyperventilating and could see more than blurry colors again. He scrambled up onto the bed again and tugged Jason into a loose hug without pause. “Sorry,” he murmured into his shoulder, genuinely apologetic. “It’s easier if you get it over with quick.”

“Fuck,” Jason exhaled breathlessly.

“Yeah.” Dick rubbed a hand over his back. “Jase, why were you upset?”

Taken aback, Jason blinked his eyes open, but couldn’t see Dick’s face, just the side of his neck. “I—“

“I know this whole mess with your mom is stressing you out. B knows it, I know it, Tim knows it, Al knows it. But we can help you, Jason. I can see that you hate it when it gets this far as much as we do. But it doesn’t have to. Talk to us, please. Talk to me, if you want. I won’t mind, I promise. I won’t even say anything unless you—“

“Slow down, there, Dick.” Jason sighed, head hurting from trying to keep up with the rambling. The tug in his heart wasn’t helping. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to believe he could rely on Dick. But Dick...Dick wouldn’t understand. His parents loved him, they were there for him, and so was Bruce. He cared for Bruce too much, he was too good to understand—

But he’d been nothing but understanding thus far. And if Jason could sympathize over his parents, despite not understanding, why couldn’t Dick understand?

He didn’t mean to spill his guts. He really didn’t. But he was doomed the instant he opened his mouth. “I wanted to see her, I really did. I’ve done nothing but miss her the whole time I’ve been here, but there’s nothing to miss , she was always out-of-her-mind high even at home, and they say she’s clean and I know it won’t last, she’s still with Dad but she’ll come see me as if she didn’t just leave me in the hospital—“

He was vaguely aware he was almost screaming and crying at once, but Dick didn’t stop him in a panic and there was no stopping himself, now.

“She promised she’d come and she didn’t. She said she’d come see me and she didn’t. She’s—she’s still with him, even when he treats her like shit. I bet she’s hiding bruises under those cleaner clothes. Or maybe he really did stop beating her because she proved herself by dumping me and leaving, l-like he always w-wanted—“

“Jason,” Dick said, and he sounded like he was crying, too.

“She gave up on me,” Jason wailed. “She-she chose him over me! And I can’t—“ his voice broke off violently. “I want to hate her but I can’t!”

“Jason,” Dick said again, and his arms were too tight around Jason, but for once he didn’t have the energy to fight it, to care. “Oh, Jason, you don’t have to hate your mom in order to be angry with her. You’re right to be angry with her. No decent parent expects you not to ever have a problem with them. I got mad at my parents over stupid things like not getting to have pizza three nights in a row, and they never beat me over it. You deserve to be angry. You’re right to be angry.”

“But..” Jason was choking on snot, but he kept going, scrubbing his shirtsleeve against his face viciously. “But I can’t be. They, they won’t let me see her again if I’m—“

“Then don’t go.” Dick said, sounding calmer somehow, impossibly. “They won’t make you. Cancel a few days before. If you need a break, take one. You might not ever be comfortable with her again, but you can get there. We can even teach you how to keep your cool, if you want. You know how stone faced Bruce can be.”

Jason tried to take a deep breath. It took a few tries before he could manage it without breaking into another sob. “I don’t want to forgive her. I don’t—I don’t wanna go back.”

He’d known it. He’d felt the realization creeping up, little by little, and it terrified him. He’d clung to his old life so hard, for so long, because it was all he knew. It was hard to live through it. He didn’t have time or energy to wish for more. He..he didn’t want to want anything else. Wanting was the first step to being mistreated. Wanting was the first step towards being burned. He couldn’t believe better existed. He knew he couldn’t have it. He knew he wouldn’t recognize it if he came across it. He knew he could never earn it. He knew he could never keep it. 

But somehow, better had found him. And he had recognized it. And every part of him had warred against it, tried to kill it before it could take root. He couldn’t take another disappointment, and he knew it. He couldn’t take one more rejection. His father, his mother. Everyone he’d ever had. One more rejection and he felt like he’d die. But that wasn’t right. One more rejection wouldn’t kill him. That was the problem. He wouldn’t die. He’d live through it. It wasn’t his body that couldn’t take it. It was him that wouldn’t survive. And he couldn’t even mourn his own loss, couldn’t even see the loss of himself as a bad thing. He couldn’t come to his own defense. He knew the truth. He couldn’t deserve better, had no way to make better stay. He was at its mercy, and always would be. And death seemed better than relying on it.

“You don’t have to.” Dick murmured softly. “You don’t have to go back.”

And Jason exhaled raggedly. He didn’t have to go back. He didn’t have to.

Chapter Text

The next week went far smoother. Dick and Tim came back and hung out with Jason more enthusiastically than usual. The games became more wild because Jason had some mobility back. He could run if needed, but even walking was better than before. They played manhunt both during the day and at night, in the Manor and outside, and Jason couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun, or laughed so hard. He added to the game with his new discovery from the incident: he was very good at hand-eye-coordination. He could hit someone with an object from feet away. He’d never discovered it because he’d never really thrown much before, by choice. But now? Now that he knew he could throw things for fun without hurting anyone? He delighted in pelting Dick and Tim from all directions with foam footballs from the pool toys or other such small, soft things. It was hysterical to watch the item bounce off their head, and how they whipped around looking for it and missed the next. Even when they tackled him when they caught him and tandem tickled and noogied him, it was fun. 

They finally trudged in one night after Alfred came out to insist it was time to get ready for bed, and they came obediently with plenty of good-natured grumbling which Alfred took in stride. They stopped inside the door to remove their shoes and pile them in the cubbie. Dick and Tim were chatting about some detail related to the game, and Jason had been listening, but lost track when he saw Bruce standing in the doorframe from the living room, a warm smile on his face as he just stood there, listening. 

It was surreal. Jason couldn’t really pay attention to the conversation after that.

Tim was quickly going down from the excitement, as he seemed to have a tendency to do, and Dick led him off with an arm around his small shoulders. Jason was drifting in their wake when Bruce stepped up from the doorframe. “Jason, do you mind to wait a minute? I have something to discuss with you.”

Nervousness quirked in Jason’s stomach, but he nodded, anyway. “Sure,” he said too quickly, and followed Bruce as he led him into his study and shut the door.

“Jason,” Bruce said after he’d turned from the door, and his voice was so soft that Jason’s alarms went off. “Is...did my mom..” He couldn’t finish.

Bruce looked startled. “No! Jason, she’s fine. I mean, I haven’t heard anything aside from the usual social services reports.”

Jason sighed raggedly, relieved. It was stupid, refusing to see her yet worrying about her every moment. “What is it, then?”

Bruce studied him. “I wanted to talk to you about school.”

“School?” 

Bruce nodded. “It’s getting on to the middle of June. School won’t start again till September, but I wanted to talk to you early.” He crossed the room and sat down in the wingbacked leather chair behind his desk. “When exactly did you quit school?”

“I didn’t quit school. I got thrown out,” Jason bit defensively before he could stop himself.

“Why?” Bruce asked.

“I saw my mom’s dealer and I slugged him. Took him out of it for a week, at least. Besides, I couldn’t keep the money up at school. Didn’t have time.”

“And how old were you, then?” 

“Fourteen.”

Bruce seemed relieved by that answer. “So not eight, then.”

For whatever reason, that pissed Jason off. “Yes, all of us stay in school till eight then jump straight into drug work.” 

Bruce looked concerned, and then self-recriminating. “Jason—“

“No, don’t try and talk your way out of this. If that’s what you think of me—” Jason snapped. 

“Jason.” Jason stilled. He’d heard the Batman voice before, of course, but it had never been directed at him. 

“I missed two years of grade school. Two years where I was expelled. I missed fourth grade and fifth grade. Do you know why? Because I couldn’t go to school. I had panic attacks when I was separated from Alfred. I couldn’t focus on anything whether I tried or not, and I couldn’t care enough to try. The slightest bit of mocking had me knocking the other kid’s teeth out. I was home, with nothing to do, for two years. When I came back, I was so out of place I couldn’t stand it. I hadn’t kept up. Everyone mocked me. I had no friends. The teachers were tired of putting up with me. I dropped out at sixteen and never looked back. I got by. I made do. I’m rich. I didn’t need it, anyway. But I will never forget how it felt to walk into a room and feel lacking. I will never forget feeling ashamed of occupying the same space as others, because I felt fundamentally incompetent compared to them.”

Bruce fixed him with a hard stare. It wasn’t menacing, or cruel, but perhaps because of the lack of malice, it was all the more intimidating. “If you don’t want to go back to school, I will not force you. If you want to be homeschooled, we’ll do that. If you want to go to public school, I’ll arrange it. Legally, you only have to study for two more years, somewhere. If you don’t want to excel, that is your choice. But I don’t want you to ever feel inferior because you didn’t have a choice. If you never study again once you’ve done your time, I won’t blame you in the slightest. But if you want to go back to school at the same time as everyone else, without any delays or trouble, I need to know where you are so I can help you prep for start time.”

Jason was stunned into silence. Bruce, hands folded on the desk, waited. 

Jason’s shoulders slumped. “I...I wasn’t doing too great, when I got kicked out.” He admitted. “I was okay at English, but math…well. The rest was passable.”

Bruce took this quietly. “How passable?”

“I don’t know.” Jason shrugged again.

“I’ll find some of the assessment tests,” Bruce responded easily, like an afterthought. “Do you have any preference on schools?”

“I...don’t know.” Jason whispered. “I don’t think I want to go to a preppy rich school...but I’m not sure I want public, either.”

Bruce pressed his steepled fingers against his mouth. “I’ll do some asking around. Find out what’s doable.” He scribbled a quick note on a piece of paper with a pen that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

Jason just stared at the top of Bruce’s head, as he leaned over the paper, brow furrowed in concentration as he scratched down notes with vigor. Why are you doing this, he wondered, half-desperate and half-bewildered. 

“You’re not going to demand a portfolio and a long-term plan?” was what he actually said, after swallowing.

Bruce glanced up, and there was a wry touch to his expression. “Let’s focus on getting you back into high school, first.”

Jason was quiet, then. 

___

The next meeting Jason had with his mom, he and Bruce were once again sitting at that hulking table in the family center while Bruce and the social workers chatted and his mom occasionally timidly spoke up and Jason sat there with his arms crossed, staring at the table. For the first couple sessions his mom had always sat silently, like she was scared to talk, but over time she gradually started occasionally inserting into the conversations. Jason could tell that Bruce was a little frosty in his responses, but that was because Bruce’s version of ‘frosty’ was overly-bright. 

This time, the conversation had somehow drifted towards one of the social workers’ abusive mother-in-law and how she had isolated the whole family but was still trying to manipulate the coffers through some crazy, backdoor means. The whole conversation was so not Jason’s problem that he was struggling not to roll his eyes the whole time they were talking, but when his mom made a comment, he couldn’t stop himself from muttering, “You’re one to talk.”

And of course, quiet as it was, his statement paused the whole conversation and everyone in the room stared at him. Jason, flushing and glaring, didn’t lift his gaze, but went on. “You’re still with him.”

“No, I’m not,” his mom said, confused.

“What?” Now Jason looked up, shocked.

His mom met his gaze, her eyes hard. “I left him. I went to his parents and told them what was going on. They took me in while I’m in rehab.” 

Jason was blown away. He stared with his mouth open for probably far longer than he should have. 

After a bit, the conversation picked up again, slightly more awkwardly. Jason didn’t say anything more to his mom, and she didn’t say anything more to him. 

When they were getting up to leave, and the social workers had filed out ahead of them, Bruce got up and led Jason with a hand on his shoulder. Jason, without really thinking, tugged at his mom’s sleeve as they were passing her. She glanced at him, surprised, and he stammered, “I’m sorry I...I…” He hung his head. “I didn’t know,” he mumbled, very quietly.

There was a nervous pause before his mom’s hand gently grasped his chin and tilted it up so he was meeting her eyes. “Don’t be.” She told him, firmer than he’d ever heard her. “I’m only sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

Jason blinked rapidly, his eyes burning. He nodded faintly, and ducked his head again. 

His mom released his chin when he pulled back, and risked patting his arm. She glanced up at Bruce almost nervously. Bruce, for his part, said nothing and waited until she had stepped away to keep going, keeping pace alongside Jason as the two of them walked out of the center.

When they were back in the Montiago, Jason stared out the window, leaned as far as his seatbelt would allow. “She really did it,” he said, almost awed.

“Yes,” Bruce replied quietly, hands firm on the steering wheel.

“Did you know?” Jason asked, glancing over at Bruce.

Bruce looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t know. I observed.” 

Jason leaned back into his seat. “Is she actually clean?” He asked, with a broken laugh that really didn’t belong in the sentence.

“She’s trying.” Bruce replied, glancing over at Jason. 

Jason exhaled roughly. “I don’t know what to think.” 

There was a beat with nothing but road noise. “You don’t have to think any one thing, Jason.” Bruce said. “Your situation was complicated.” 

Jason slid down slumped in his seat. His mind was racing. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a chance that maybe this whole arrangement could really work out. His mom could really recover and be able to take him back. They could strike out on their own and start over, just the two of them. 

He wasn’t sure what he thought about the concept. 

___

Dick hung upside down from his knees, his arms arched over his head as he swung across the huge gap between the trapeze posts.

“The coolest part is when he switches,” Tim told Jason. It was probably meant to be in confidence, but Tim’s whispers were remarkably loud. It didn’t bother him as much as it usually did, though, because he was too busy watching, almost holding his breath.

Dick grabbed the other trapeze perfectly at its apex and let go of the one he’d been gripping with his knees, swinging across and landing on his feet evenly on the opposite side. He gave a little bow down towards Jason and Tim’s enthusiastic applause. “Thank you, thank you,” he replied mock-loftily, not quite managing to stifle his laughter. 

“Me next?” Tim asked excitedly, leaping up off the floor.

“If you want,” Dick said easily, already halfway down the ladder. “Jay can try after you, if he wants.”

“He wants to think it over for a good long while, thank you,” Jason said wryly, hoping his expression didn’t give away how nervous the thought made him.

The nervousness didn’t go away while he sat and watched Dick help Tim position himself upside down in the trapeze, a smile plastered on his face. It certainly didn’t ease when Tim actually swung on it, despite the fact that he had a safety harness on. It didn’t even ease when Tim got to the other side and jumped off, throwing his short arms in the air victoriously. 

Of course he was fine. The kid was a superhero. Hell, he did more dangerous things every night. But it was still a little scary to watch.

So when Dick glanced back at him with an upraised eyebrow, Jason shook his head. “Not tonight, thanks,” he said, standing up. “I prefer to keep my feet firmly on the ground, thank you.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tim asked, hanging from his knees upside down again. Dick just smiled and shook his head silently at Jason.

Once they’d detached Tim from the trapeze, the three of them headed back into the main house for supper. The bustle in the kitchen was friendly and energetic and Jason found himself enjoying watching it while he sat at the table and dug into his calzone, while Alfred brought out a huge bowl of salad and Dick whipped the pot of whatever was going to be for dessert, and Tim dragged some sort of big box over to climb into the fridge to get the parmesan, and Bruce tried to dodge while still scribbling in some sort of folder he had from work, sans sports jacket but still in a button down with a tie. 

A phone rang, and Bruce answered it a bit distractedly, his “hello,” becoming a little muffled as he stepped to the other side of the kitchen to take it.

“Mind the temperature, Master Dick,” Alfred remarked. “Don’t want that burning.”

“I got it, Al,” Dick reassured him, still stirring away.

“Yes sir,” Bruce’s voice said, and Jason froze. One glance across the room told him Tim had done the same, and even Alfred was glancing at Bruce. Something in his tone screamed seriously wrong. “I understand. Thank you for notifying me so quickly. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

Bruce hung up. Jason was suddenly the opposite of hungry.

“B?” Dick asked, his voice just this side of strained. 

Bruce looked at him. Jason’s stomach twisted. He looked angry. Okay, so he’d thought Bruce was angry when he wasn’t before, but no, he looked really angry. He took a deep breath. “That was my lawyer. Jason’s father is suing me and the Gotham foster system for dishonest practice.”

Jason felt his throat close off. 

“W-what does that mean?” Tim asked, very slowly climbing down from the fridge.

“It means he’s going to try and fight me for custody over the money,” Bruce said disgustedly, slamming his phone down on the counter. “He didn’t do a damn thing until now. He must have found out somehow that I was the one who’s fostering Jason. Damnit.” 

Tim crossed the room in a blink and clung to a handful of Jason’s shirt. “Jason’s not going to have to leave, is he?”

" Hell no,” Dick said, at the same time that Bruce growled, “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Both of them exchanged an unreadable glance with each other, and turned in equal unison to Jason. “Unless he wants to, that is—“ Bruce started. 

Jason felt like he couldn’t speak through the tightness in his throat, but he shook his head hard and choked out a hoarse, “No.”

Bruce nodded. “Well, I’m certainly not going to take this lying down,” he said tightly, already picking up his phone again and dialing another number as he walked away. “Hello, Jim? This is Bruce Wayne. Sorry to bother you this late, I have a...personal problem I was hoping you might be able to help me with—“ the rest of the sentence faded out as Bruce walked off. 

Tim wrapped his other arm around Jason to cling to his shirt with both hands, and Jason didn’t even want to pry him off, for once. 

___

The next morning, Commissioner Gordon came over personally to talk to Bruce and bring him a stack of files both of Willis Todd’s criminal history, and of all the circumstances surrounding Jason’s fostering. The two of them wound up commandeering the study, so a very anxious and irritable Jason wound up stuck in the living room with Tim and Dick. The irritability was not improved by the fact that the Commissioner had brought his daughter along. Barbara was 21 and was already working as an IT tech. She was also really hot. And she was apparently Dick’s ex. Why Dick had never mentioned her, Jason didn’t know. 

It wasn’t Barbara herself. Jason would have crushed on her regardless. It would kind of be impossible not to. She was cute, had a nice smile, shoulder-length red hair. She was sassy and smart and a bit crude, but kind, too. Hell, she’d been nothing but sympathetic over Jason’s situation and expressed hope that his dad would do something to get his ass kicked by the cops, which Jason had been privately hoping for, too. It was just the whole thing at once. He was stressed and scared out of his wits and that had a tendency to make him angry. Plus, she and Dick kept not-flirting in a way that made even him uncomfortable. Really, he didn’t know who they were kidding. He felt an inexplicable urge to shield Tim’s eyes and ears. Not that Tim was paying attention. He was too absorbed in Mario Kart again. 

Jason could only make out the faintest hints of the conversation behind him, but he occasionally caught snippets. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, he doesn’t ha—“ “I’m sure it’s just jealousy. Jealousy and greed.”

“Ha ha!” Tim cheered loudly, and Jason glanced back to see Barbara’s car spinning off the road. 

“No fair!” Barbara laughed, shoving Dick back from where he’d been pressing kisses against her cheek and nuzzling her with his nose. “I was distracted!”

Jason rolled his eyes so hard he felt like he’d strain them. Exes, my ass.

“My first concern is Jason’s safety,” Bruce’s low voice drifted from the locked room. “He’s made good progress here and he deserves to be able to keep that up. When my boys first met him he had a black eye from his father.”

“I understand, Mr. Wayne,” the Commissioner said placatingly. “You have my full support in this case and I’ll make sure all the evidence I have is available to be presented in court.”

“Thank you, Jim.” 

“My pleasure, you know that.” 

Jason swallowed hard. There was only a couple minutes delay before the door opened and the two of them stepped out. “Ready to go, Barbara?” The Commissioner called.

Barbara quickly pulled away from where she was half in Dick’s lap and shoved her hair back out of her face. “Yep, ready Dad!” She said breathlessly. She and Dick both had the grace to look a little ashamed (and red). 

The Commissioner, surprisingly, didn’t draw his pistol and empty it into Dick. He simply lowered his eyebrows over his glasses, and Jason instantly realized he didn’t need to draw a pistol. Dick silently sank out of sight beneath the back of the couch. 

Commissioner Gordon gave only half of a roll of his eyes before he turned back and shook Bruce’s hand. “Bruce,” he said deliberately. “Always glad to see you.”

Bruce accepted the firm grip, and shot a socially-pained glance in Dick’s direction. “Glad to see you too, Jim.”

With that, the Commissioner headed for the door, a cowed Barbara on his heels. 

The front door clicked shut, and Bruce sighed. “Dick.” He said, exhausted.

“What.” Dick’s voice was a bit high.

“Must you.”

“You were young, once, Bruce!” One accusing finger lifted over the back of the couch to point in his vague direction.

“For all the good it did me,” Bruce exhaled, raking a hand through his hair as he strode off towards the kitchen.

Hesitantly, Jason slowly got up and made his way in Bruce’s wake, leaving Dick to his embarrassment and Tim to his blissful ignorance. Bruce had collapsed at the table and was pouring from an expensive-looking bottle into his coffee mug. He paused when Jason weakly interjected, “Is it enough?”

Bruce lowered the bottle to the table, meeting Jason’s eyes. “Is what enough for what?” He asked, seeming genuinely confused. He downed a swallow of whatever foul mixture he’d just made himself.

“Enough to.” Jason swallowed raggedly. “To keep him from. From taking me.”

Bruce’s breath left him in a weary sigh, but his whole countenance softened. “Jason, your dad is not going to take you away. Not now, not ever. With even half of the facts we have on him, he will never come near you again if you don’t want him to. I promise, you will not leave this house unless you want to. Okay?”

Jason nodded, his eyes on the tabletop. “Okay.”

Bruce reached out and tousled his hair very gently. “Don’t frown so. I’ve liked seeing you better.”

Jason didn’t try to smile, but he accepted the kind phrase, anyway. 

That night, the phone suddenly rang off its hook past eleven o’clock.

Jason was out of his room and in the hall quickly, but Bruce had already answered the phone and stepped into the hallway in his pjs and tee shirt to meet the other boys’ scared gazes. “Yes, I understand, Ms. Todd,” he said reassuringly, his voice both firm and gentle. “You’re sure you’re alright? You did place a call to the police? Alright. Good. They’ll have the EMTs check you out and take your statement. You’ll be fine. Thank you for warning me. I assure you, Jason’s safe. I’ll make sure of it. Thank you again. Take care of yourself. I hope it won’t be a long wait up. Goodbye.”

He clicked the phone off, and distantly gazed down at it in his hand. The boys were silent, waiting.

Bruce looked up, and it was Batman’s stare that met theirs. It made all three of them straighten their shoulders and tense, prepped for a fight. “That was Jason’s mother. Willis came to his parents’ place and attacked her. She’s alright,” he quickly added, no doubt seeing the blood drain from Jason’s face. “He mainly threatened her. He punched her when she refused to cooperate with him. She says he wanted her to help him get at Jason. He also knocked out his father when he came to investigate the racket.”

“Is he coming here?” Dick’s voice was calm, but deadly, and a chill went down Jason’s spine when he heard it. 

“There’s no way of knowing for sure,” Bruce’s voice was hard, “but I’m guessing.” He straightened, and glanced up as Alfred appeared, dressed in his plain brown pajamas, as well. It suddenly struck Jason as odd that none of them had been occupied with patrol tonight. “Al, you have your SIG in working order?”

“Always, sir.” Alfred replied coolly.

“Good.” Bruce ducked back into his room and pulled a windbreaker on over his pajamas, his face twisted into a mix of disgust and determination. “I don’t want it used except as last resort, but it never hurts.” 

Jason backed away as Bruce came on, trying to move out of his path so he could get to wherever he was going. But Bruce stopped and sank into a crouch in front of Jason. “You alright?” He asked.

Jason shook his head tightly. 

Bruce’s mouth twisted, but he met Jason’s terrified eyes calmly. “We’ll keep you safe, Jason. I swear.” Bruce’s eyes were steady and never wavered as he slowly and deliberately promised, “He will never touch you again.”

Jason’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. He believed Bruce...but he couldn’t help but panic anyway. His dad was coming. His dad was coming, and anything could happen. He could hurt Tim, he could hurt Dick, he could hurt Alfred, he could hurt Bruce….

He couldn’t hurt Bruce. 

Bruce could hurt him.

Jason felt sick. 

But he raised his chin and put on a brave face, anyway. He wouldn’t give his dad the satisfaction of cowering. He would wait. He would see how things played out.

__

In an unspoken adherence to an inexplicable guidance, the small group made their way to the living room. It was well past midnight, but there they went, regardless, all still in their pajamas. Tim was still only in his socks, his feet swinging nervously off the couch. Dick was barefooted. Bruce had shoved on a pair of sneakers, and Alfred wore the same leather shoes he always did. 

Together they sat, in the dark and quiet. Alfred turned a single lamp on in a corner, and the warm, dim light cast all their stern faces into angular shadows. They didn’t talk, or read, or turn the television on. They just sat together, and waited. The loud sound of the clock ticking echoed through the cavernous house.

They couldn’t see the car, when it came, from the homey room tucked in the back of the house. From the front and side windows, the sweep of the racing headlights were through feet upon feet of brick wall.

But the road was deserted and hilly, theirs the only house on it. The roar of cars could always be heard from a good mile away. And one, loud motor broke their tense quiet.

Bruce was on his feet, Alfred and Dick, too. “Shall I…?” Alfred began.

Bruce shook his head. “He can’t get past the gate. I’ll go out and meet him myself.”

His tone left no room for argument. Alfred nodded solemnly, and Dick, clenching his fist so tight his knuckles were white, did likewise. Tim just looked scared. 

Jason was sure he looked like a man condemned to die, but he watched as Bruce turned and made his way to the front door. He was still in his pajamas, and he carried no weapons. 

Jason ran after him. They might have spoken, but no one stopped him. 

He shut the door behind him, shivering as the shock of heat hit him, out in the open. Bruce was walking down the driveway. Even from here, Jason could hear the gate clanging as his dad hit it. “Wayne! Come out here, you asshole!”

Jason’s stomach was somewhere around his feet, but dimly he was amazed. He wasn’t sure if his dad was more impressive or stupid. He hadn’t even made it to a trial. Probably wouldn’t, now. Didn’t even know how any of the legal rules worked, or care. He really was going up against Bruce, and for what? Not Jason. Certainly not for Jason. He didn’t give two shits about Jason. Probably couldn’t if he tried. He’d gotten greedy. That was all there was to it. 

Bruce reached the gate, and stood almost at attention, shoulders back, stance firm, head raised. Jason, watching from the distance, saw his dad puff himself up, stick his chest out, sneer. “Look who decided to show up. Asshole rich-boy himself.”

Bruce said nothing.

Willis, safe on the other side of the fence, laughed, loud and mocking. Jason wanted to kick his skull in. “You took my kid from me, Wayne. Lotta nerve to do that, you know? Rich shit like you, thinking it makes you better to come scoop up trash like us? You take him in for another damn charity case like your little flea circus, freeloader brat and your little rich twink?”

Bruce still said nothing. 

Willis, growing impatient, slammed a hand against the gate again. It was a pathetic show of strength, but the sharp sound still made Jason tense as if he’d been shot. “You just gonna stand there and stare at me, fuckhead? Or you gonna come take what’s comin’ to ya like a real man?”

Bruce silently opened the gate just wide enough for himself, and pulled it shut and locked again as soon as he was through. Jason jogged down the front steps towards the slick asphalt driveway. 

“Who’s your accomplice, Willis?” Bruce asked, voice quiet and dripping with disdain, nodding towards the idling car less than five yards behind Jason’s dad. “Friend of yours? Or an acquaintance from when you were still working for the Falcones?” 

Willis scoffed and strode toward Bruce. “You won’t have time to find out.” Jason tensed right up as he watched his dad rear back to punch Bruce even as he came forward. 

Bruce sidestepped. Willis punched the iron gate. His howl of pain raised the hairs on the back of Jason’s neck even from the distance.

He spun, angrier this time, and charged Bruce again. 

Bruce caught his fist in one hand. Willis froze. Jason watched, breathless. 

Bruce’s stance was sturdy and calm, but even from this distance, his eyes were menacing. He squeezed the other man’s trapped fist, and Jason could hear cracking. “You don’t deserve him as your son.”

With one hand, he shoved Willis back and away from him. Jason watched his dad half-crumple before clumsily catching himself on the ground, whipping his head up and snarling. It probably would have escalated from there, but Willis whipped his head to the side when he heard the sirens echoing through the hillside, coming from the city into the surrounding countryside towards the Manor.

Glaring viciously at Bruce, Willis crawled backward and scrambled to his feet, running and leaping into the running car again. Jason could hear him yelling even inside the car, and it quickly squealed into reverse and roared off. 

They wouldn’t get away. That was the only road in and out. 

Jason ran towards the gate. Bruce was still, his back to Jason, watching, and when he was certain they were gone, he turned and came through the gate again, locking it behind him. He frowned when he saw Jason, brow furrowing. “Jason? Why didn’t you stay in the house, I didn’t want you out here where—“

He cut off as Jason rammed into him and his arms locked around him and clung fiercely. 

“Thank you.” Jason whispered, his voice thin and breaking. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Bruce’s hands faltered, hovering in shock over Jason, but carefully, belatedly, he wrapped his arms around Jason in return. “You’re welcome,” he said, heart stuttering warmly at the open affection from the distant, angry, hurting boy. 

They stood out there in the driveway, heat drifting up from the asphalt, until the first police cars pulled up to the gate, and Commissioner Gordon got out. Bruce led Jason up to the car, where Gordon informed them that they’d caught two suspects, one of whom matched the description of Ms. Todd’s assailant, and asked if Jason could positively identify him.

“Yes,” Jason told the Commissioner, in his official statement. “That was my father.”

Commissioner Gordon thanked him for his help, and once he’d taken Bruce’s statement, promptly loaded his men back up and left to bring his suspects into the station, leaving a car behind to examine the scene, and leaving Bruce and Jason to traipse back up the driveway into the living room, where a group hug and a large amount of relief were waiting for both of them. 

Chapter Text

Jason didn’t go into the Cave very often. At first, when he’d come to the Manor, he’d felt he had no right to intrude into the vigilante side of the others’ lives. He kept to the house. He didn’t even listen to the news when they talked about them; that would require having the tv on a lot, which he didn’t like doing at all. 

But eventually Dick and Tim had started hauling him down to Dick’s acrobatic gym down there, and through that, he wound up coming downstairs more regularly. Sometimes he’d hang out and play video games on the big screen of the batcomputer with them while Bruce was showering. Sometimes he’d come down to share whatever midnight snack Alfred had made them. Sometimes he’d just sit there and wait for them to get back, just to say hi and make sure everyone was alright. 

So one evening, he’d fallen asleep in one of the ridiculously comfortable office chairs strewn about the Cave, but was woken up early by the batmobile roaring back into the Cave. He blinked in drowsy confusion, and sat up a bit to glance at the time on the monitor. 

It was barely midnight. They’d only left a couple hours ago.

Concerned, Jason got up and crossed the platform to look down at the ramp. He wasn’t sure where Alfred had gotten to, but he was fairly certain he was somewhere in one of the rooms in the Cave, restocking a shelf or something like that. He watched the car race up the ramp, and he carefully backed away to make room for it. It pulled up to level with the computer and slammed in park so quickly it squeaked, the whole frame jarring. Jason barely had time to do more than open his mouth when the back door was flung open and Dick scrambled out. Jason instantly felt his heart drop to somewhere in his legs upon seeing him. He was pale and shaking and had tears streaking down under his mask. His uniform and hands were smeared with blood, and Jason’s stomach turned when he saw it.

If that was enough to throw him into a panic, Bruce climbing out and a shrill, agonized scream following near-instantly, quickly dissolving into heaving cries, made his blood freeze in his veins. Because it was Tim’s voice. 

Jason half-ran forwards toward Bruce, but Dick caught him and held him back, crying himself. “Jase! Don’t—”

“What happened,” Jason choked out, breath refusing to come. “What happened?!”

Bruce was almost running toward the back. “Alfred!” He cried, his own voice shaking. Tim shrieked in pain again, hiccuping sobs, and Jason would have fallen over if Dick hadn’t been holding him up. He’d caught sight of Tim as Bruce ran past, and he was so tiny in Bruce’s arms. There was blood all over his face and his middle, and a sharp, jagged piece of bloody glass was sticking up out of him. 

He glanced back up at Dick, begging for some reassurance that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, but Dick had the same gut-wrenching terror written all over his face, and the two of them staggered after Bruce as fast as they could go. 

They burst into the small medical bay just as Alfred was coming running in from another area, and he only drew up short and murmured, “Dear Lord,” before he was moving again, grabbing the supply cart and hauling it over while Bruce steeled himself and eased Tim down onto the metal table. Tim still screamed again, choking and gagging blood even with how gentle Bruce was being, and Bruce yanked his cowl back immediately and stroked Tim’s head with both hands, stammering on desperate apologies. 

Alfred had somehow already washed his hands and pulled gloves on, and crossed to Tim’s side and started pulling back the wad of some form of cloth that had been hastily wrapped around the shard of glass to stabilize it. He caught his breath at whatever he saw beneath and quickly replaced it, looking up at Bruce. “What on earth happened?” He demanded, turning and running toward the closet.

Bruce shook his head. “It was too fast—I couldn’t—“

“We’d been trying to track Two-Face’s gang in an abandoned concert hall, but he had more guys than we thought,” Dick choked out, words bleeding together in his haste. “When we realized it was an ambush we tried to retreat, but they were shooting at the ceiling and it started coming down on us. I—I tried to cover him but he was too far away and it...it fell and ripped right into him.” Dick clamped his bloody hand over his mouth, looking like he might pass out or throw up. Jason grabbed onto his upper arm, just in case. 

Tim was still crying, whimpering quietly but harshly, and Bruce looked up when Alfred came hurrying back to set up a bag of blood. He tried to pull away to get supplies to put an IV in Tim’s arm, but Tim whimpered louder and grabbed loosely for him. “B-Bruce—“ he choked, small voice shaking. “Don’t leave! Please—!” He gagged up more blood. 

Bruce was back at his head instantly, but the look on his face was almost as agonized as Tim’s. He had to help Alfred, but...he glanced up. “Jason,” he said desperately.

And Jason’s heart felt like it was going to pound its way out of his chest, but he crossed the room and stood beside Bruce, and cupped Tim’s fucking tiny face between his own hands, said, “Hey, Timmer,” in a breaking voice. 

And Tim’s blown eyes locked on him instantly, and he visibly relaxed, even if it wasn’t much. “Jay,” he exhaled, another inhale coming almost at once. His breathing was really fast and wheezy and it was freaking Jason the hell out. 

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m here,” Jason told him, glancing up at the others every couple of seconds. He had no idea what they’d do; he’d never seen any of the three of them this hurt before. Could Alfred even fix this? Could Bruce? He didn’t think Bruce could fix this. If he could, he wouldn’t be running around the room with that look on his face. Jason swallowed hard and glanced back at Tim, whose huge eyes were still locked on his face while they reflexively leaked tears. 

“J-Jay?” Tim gulped, thickly swallowing. He made a face, and Jason winced when he realized that Tim was swallowing blood. “A-are you okay?” His little chin tilted up towards Jason, genuine worry in his face. He grasped clumsily for Jason’s hand with one of his bloody, ice-cold ones. 

Jason blinked, dumbfounded. Tim was bleeding all over the table, crying and shaking and scared and in pain, and he was asking if Jason was alright? 

“I-I’m fine, Tim,” Jason forced out, choking back the retort of “you’re the one who’s not!” that was hovering in the forefront of his mind. Alfred stepped up beside Jason and gently pulled the collar of Tim’s shirt as loose as he could, slipping a hand inside to attach a heart monitor node to his chest. Tim took a shaky breath when he saw him. “Alfred?” He croaked.

Alfred paused, and Jason started when he saw the sweat beading on the older man’s temple, the only visible sign he was distressed. “Yes, Master Tim?” His voice was impossibly gentle.

Tim’s expression crumpled, and he whimpered again. Jason teared up, too, and grabbed for Tim’s face more firmly, cupping it between his hands and stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I-it hurts.” Tim cried softly, but tears were gushing from his eyes again and Jason couldn’t brush them away fast enough. 

Alfred’s expression slipped for no more than a split second where Jason saw his fear and his pain at seeing Tim like this. But he pulled himself together quickly and allowed himself a very gentle pat to Tim’s cheek, his hand nearly covering half of his face. “I’m very sorry, Master Tim.”

Tim nodded shakily, gulped in more noisy air. Alfred stepped away, and Tim’s hand scrabbled to grasp onto Jason’s more tightly. Tim was clinging to Jason’s hand on his face and Jason ducked his head and pressed his forehead to Tim’s to hide the fact that he was about to break down right in front of him. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t scare Tim any worse than he already was. Tim’s gulping, wet breaths were right beside his ear, and it only made Jason’s heart seize worse with an unfamiliar fear that seemed to turn his limbs to jelly. If it weren’t for the table he thought he probably would have collapsed by now. 

He belatedly realized there were monitors hooked up to Tim now, beeping noisily, but it still felt like he could barely hear them. Bruce appeared from somewhere, faintly trembling hands carefully lifting Tim’s head up just enough to loop an oxygen cannula around his face and press it into his nose. Tim didn’t resist. Bruce eased his head back down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then was gone again. Jason watched him go, and realized Bruce and Alfred were arguing hotly in the far corner of the room, their voices low but sharp. He only caught snippets of it, but he could make out, “What are we going to come up with to explain this?” and Alfred retorting, “I cannot fix this for you, Bruce. This is beyond my abilities or yours, and you know it. It’s beyond Dr. Thompkins’ abilities, too.”

Jason didn’t know what they were talking about, but he was distracted when Tim made a soft sound and he refocused on him. His heart jumped into his throat. Tim’s eyes weren’t focusing on him anymore, were rolling around listlessly, half-lidded. His twitching lips were turning blue, and Jason felt terror ripping through him. “Tim!” He said sharply, holding Tim’s face tightly again, but Tim just blinked dully and only seemed to focus on Jason for a moment before his eyes rolled away again, glazed and out of it. He moaned quietly, but didn’t seem any more responsive than that. He didn’t open his eyes again as Jason gently shook him, didn’t make any sound aside from those rasping breaths coming rapidly and unsteadily. Jason couldn’t tamp down his panic anymore, whipped his head up and frantically screeched, “He’s dying, Bruce! Bruce!”

Bruce heard him, and instantly left his argument with Alfred and was at Jason’s side. “Tim,” he called, in a tone that was probably supposed to be firm but came off more desperate. “Tim.”

Tim didn’t respond to his voice at all, just lay there and kept wheezing. 

Bruce paled very slightly, looked at Jason. Jason looked back, terrified. Bruce looked at Alfred. “Call 911, now. We’ll have to get him upstairs and figure something out.” 

Alfred nodded silently, and turned on his heel to do so without hesitation. 

Bruce stroked Tim’s hair back from his forehead and frowned hard. “A car wreck might explain this.”

Dick, still covered in blood, glared at Bruce. “How are you going to fake one within twenty minutes?” He half-screamed, and Jason tensed right up. He’d almost forgotten Dick was there, but he was, and he sounded just as furious as if it were one of his normal fights with Bruce.

Bruce shot him a look. “Leave that to me. You two get his uniform off and get him upstairs.” With that, he left. 

Jason glanced at Dick, who was standing, fists clenched, shaking with rage. Jason didn’t know what to do. But damn if he was going to let Tim suffer like this, so he examined him to try and figure how to start doing what Bruce asked. Tim’s mask was gone—Jason wasn’t sure if maybe Bruce or Dick had taken it off in the car—but the rest of his uniform remained. Jason hesitantly took hold of one of Tim’s wrists and began unfastening the gauntlet. He gently worked it off once he had it loose. Tim didn’t react much, so he kept going and started taking off his boots. At some point, Dick was on Tim’s other side, taking off his other glove and boot. Between the two of them, they worked his armored leggings off. Both of them paused when they came to his shirt.

“If...if we dislodge the glass…” Jason gulped shakily, looking at the horrid thing sticking out of Tim’s abdomen. 

“Cut around it,” Dick grunted shortly, and grabbed a utility knife from the kit to do just that. Jason stepped back and watched him do it, his own hands still faintly shaking at his sides. Dick’s hands didn’t shake. He was practiced and steady while he carefully sawed off the patch around the glass, and then cut slashes down either side of the shirt so it could be taken off in pieces. He flicked the blade back into the knife and set it on the table, then slowly, meticulously peeled the fabric off from around the glass. It was stuck to Tim’s skin with blood, and Jason hid his gags behind his hand while Dick got the rest of his shirt off and steadied the medical wrap around the shard. 

Tim was somehow even smaller without his uniform. He had nothing but boxers on on the metal table, and it made Jason feel very cold. “What now?” He stammered.

Dick still looked pissed as hell, but he was at least focusing on Tim, now. He seemed to struggle with the next move for a second, before he finally bolted, calling, “I’ll get his spares. Stay with him.”

And then Jason was alone in the room with a very white and still Tim. He went closer to the table again, even though he was afraid to, afraid to even look at Tim even though he also couldn’t look away. The smaller boy’s breathing was still audible, but it was weaker somehow, and it made Jason want to drop right onto the floor and stay there. But he didn’t. He reached a shaking hand out and stroked Tim’s hair back again, like it was a reflex even though he really didn’t touch Tim often. It was always Tim who was hugging him, Tim who was snuggling up against him on the couch or clinging to his shirt when he was nervous. Tim, who got angry at him quick and forgave him quicker. Tim, who cried when Jason cried and crumpled when Jason snapped at him and lit up when Jason played with him or talked to him. Tim, who was a whole of a hell lot more than just a weird little-kid friend. 

Jason didn’t know where the hell that thought had come from, but it was true. Tim was smaller and tougher and kinder than he was, and Tim made him be tougher and kinder than he wanted to be. Looking at him, at his slack, small face and hearing the rasping wheezes of his breath, if Jason could have traded places with him and taken all that pain on himself, he would have. He had to take care of Tim. He...he loved Tim. 

He didn’t want to make it as simple as that. It couldn’t be as simple as that, could it? But he knew, with absolute certainty, that if Tim didn’t make it through this he would be wrecked. Thoroughly, truly wrecked, maybe beyond repair. And there weren’t many people he could say he cared enough about that he’d be destroyed if anything happened to them. 

He stroked Tim’s hair with both hands, pressed his forehead against Tim’s cold one, tears dripping down onto his face. “I’m here, Tim,” he reassured him, even though he couldn’t hear him, choking on his words, on his breath. “I’m here, I’m here. I’ve gotcha. You’re gonna pull through this, okay? You’ve gotta. I’ll do anything. I’ll play Mario Kart with you a billion times and let you run me off the road. I’ll let you pick dinner every weekend and I swear I won’t bitch a word. I’ll even try that dumb acrobatic stuff if you want. Just please, please be okay. Please.” 

Tim didn’t reply, but that was okay. Jason stayed at his head and held onto him until Dick came staggering back in, out of breath and arms full of clothes. He dropped his stack onto the floor and snatched a pair of sweatpants and without hesitation sprang to his feet and started pulling the pants onto Tim’s limp legs. Jason watched him do it, not yet willing to let go of Tim. 

Dick returned to his pile and grabbed a zippered hoodie off of it, scrambling back up towards Jason. “Help me lift him up a bit,” Dick panted tensely. Jason obediently slid his hands beneath Tim’s tiny shoulders and helped Dick feed the jacket under him. Dick got his arms in the sleeves and then carefully grasped the fabric over the glass and gently sawed it back and forth until the jacket was cut over the wound. He removed the old stabilizing cloth, which was stained through with blood, and wrapped a new one on over the jacket.

“How the hell are we going to move him upstairs?” Jason asked shakily. Dick exhaled raggedly in frustration, running a bloody hand through his hair, before he settled on the spinal board hanging on the wall. “Put that on top of a gurney.” He ran off to get the gurney while Jason pulled the spinal board off the wall. They stacked the two together quickly and worked to move the gurney as close to the table as they could get it.

Then came the terrifying part. They disconnected Tim from the oxygen and the monitors. The heart monitor wailed when they disabled the node, and Dick crossed the room in two steps to switch it off, but the noise had shaken both of them. Jason took Tim’s feet, and Dick cradled his shoulders, and both of them tried to brace an arm under his side so he wouldn’t fold up on the glass, and on the count of three they lifted him together and lowered him down onto the makeshift transport they’d cobbled together. Tim didn’t scream like before, but he did cry out, and if anything the sound was even worse than the screaming when it came to evoking a reaction in its listeners. If the screams stopped Jason’s heart, the crying broke it. It made him want to to stop moving Tim, to stop hurting him. But they couldn’t. As soon as he was settled on the gurney, whimpering softly with his eyes still closed, Jason and Dick were jogging him towards the elevator. Jason thanked God for the freight elevator Bruce had that went from the Manor to the Cave. There was no way they could’ve gotten Tim up the stairs. 

Alfred was waiting for them when the elevator stopped and pulled the doors open, face very pale and set. “Take him out into the yard, lads,” he ordered them, and they obeyed, running in the direction Alfred had pointed. Jason moved to stabilize the glass as they went out the back door and down the ramp, gagging even as he stuck his hands into the fabric wrapped around the shard. He had no idea where they were running to, but apparently Dick figured it out, because he took them down the driveway and off the pavement. 

Jason glanced up from the glass shard and found himself staring without meaning to. Bruce was standing there in the yard, panting, somehow having changed out of his batsuit and into pajamas and slippers. And only a few feet away was one of his fancy cars, still running noisily, the nose smashed into the trunk of a tree. Bruce was fumbling with his phone, and suddenly pocketed it and grabbed a large-width branch from the ground and marched over to the car, and bashed it against the windshield several times, full-force, until it shattered in on itself.

Dick brought them to a stop, panting for breath but glaring so fiercely in Bruce’s general direction that Jason felt an irrational urge to slip away before this turned uglier, if that were possible. But Bruce didn’t give a chance for anything to happen. He pitched the branch away into the dark and turned breathlessly back to the boys. He nodded once, shortly, at their contraption and glanced around. “I think we can just lay him down out here. Jason?”

Jason started to step forward, but he half-screamed when something ice-cold brushed his hand. Then he exhaled raggedly in relief when he looked and saw it was Tim’s fingers lightly grasping at him.

“Timothy?” Bruce was beside them in an instant, and Tim glanced up at him through barely-open lids, but pursed his blue lips and nodded very faintly. Bruce cupped his cheek briefly with a large hand and then pulled back. “Tim, we’re going to lie you down here careful as we can, okay? Help is coming, we just need you to sit with Jason.”

Tim nodded again quickly, and Jason obediently went and sat down in the grass a good distance back from the car. Dick and Bruce worked together to gently scoop Tim from the board and ease him down so he was half-lying in Jason’s lap. Tim cried again while they did it, but seemed to calm some once he was settled on his back again. Bruce yanked off his pajama shirt and pressed it around Tim’s wound, and glanced up at Dick. “Get the gurney out of here,” he said. Jason could hear sirens off in the distance, coming quickly.

“Fuck you,” Dick snarled. But he took the gurney and ran. 

Bruce winced, but glanced back down at Tim without much delay. Tim was breathing heavily, his lashes drifting closed like he was just tired. Jason wished that was all that was wrong. He glanced up at Bruce, terrified, and Bruce clapped a hand to his shoulder for a second. The sirens came closer, close enough that Jason could see the red-and-blue lights, and Bruce stood up. “Alfred will let them in. I’ll go wave them down and bring them back here. Do you have him?”

Jason didn’t. He absolutely didn’t. He didn’t want to be left alone in the yard with the dying younger boy. But he had to be, so he nodded. Bruce disappeared off toward the driveway. 

Jason held Tim’s tiny, bloody hand in his own, stroked the back of it with his thumb. He held the side of Tim’s face with his other hand, fingers laid close enough to his mouth that he could check his breathing. “It’s okay, Tim,” Jason whispered, out of breath himself. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Tim’s lashes fluttered. He didn’t seem able to talk, but he very faintly squeezed Jason’s fingers. Jason kissed his little fist. “I’ve got you. Don’t you worry about a thing.” 

He didn’t have to fake his shell shock when Bruce came back with paramedics in tow, stammering something about hearing a crash and finding Tim horribly hurt out in the yard, and he looked up into the shaft of someone’s flashlight with enough tearstained desperation to make the paramedics exceptionally gentle with him as well as Tim as they moved him to another spinal board and out of Jason’s lap, asked Bruce what his blood type was and if he was allergic to anything, started him on a transfusion before they’d even loaded him into the ambulance. Bruce promised to follow in one of his own cars, and the ambulance sped off without delay to Gotham General. Jason and Bruce wound up by themselves in the car. Dick and Alfred were nowhere to be found in the house, and neither of them wanted to delay following Tim to the hospital, especially not with the clipped way the medics had been talking. 

Jason couldn’t stop staring at the blood drying on his hands from Tim grasping him, from touching the shard. Bruce’s jaw was locked, eyes set fixedly on the road as he drove. 

Bruce threw them into the first empty space in the parking garage he could find and he and Jason scrambled out and ran full-out across the level to the entrance. Jason flagged a bit because of his braced leg. Bruce didn’t wait for him, and Jason didn’t blame him. He caught up to him as quickly as he could, and stood panting behind him while Bruce talked to the lady at the desk. She got up to direct them to the elevator to take because they were on the wrong floor. Tim had been brought into the ER, rapidly triaged, and was being stabilized as best they could, but he was going to need surgery, and for that they needed Bruce’s permission and whatnot. When they got to the floor, Bruce led the way to the right section, and found the nurses’ station. Jason hung back, still trying to catch his breath, while Bruce showed them his ID and provided some other documentation to show them that Tim was his adopted son. After that, Bruce was occupied filling out papers and talking with a doctor who’d appeared from somewhere. Jason would have just hung awkwardly behind him, but he kept having to move out of the way of passing nurses and patients and the like, so he quietly slipped away down the hall. He hadn’t gone very far before he came upon a notch of a room in the wall that was filled with chairs, vending machines, and a couple tvs, lined with windows. He stepped in and dropped into a chair in the corner. The other couple people there didn’t so much as look up. 

Jason’s whole body was aching and he was beyond exhausted. It was definitely an hour or so past midnight at this point, and he slumped his head into his bloody hands, wishing he could just fall asleep and not wake up again until this whole thing was a bad dream and nothing else. But he couldn’t even if he wanted to. His stomach twisted as he realized that he’d likely be waiting to hear about Tim for hours. He wondered where on earth Dick and Alfred were. He didn’t particularly want to be huddled alone in the waiting room the entire time, but he’d run out of the house without his phone, or his wallet, or anything, really. 

“Jason?” Someone said, and his head flew up out of his hands before he could really restrain it. There were two nurses standing by one of the vending machines, obviously waiting for it to deposit something, but one of them was looking at Jason and the other one was looking at her. “Is that you?”

Jason recognized her. She and another couple nurses had switched back and forth between them for his room when he’d been in for a month. “Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Uh, you’re—Lupita, right?”

She nodded, expression surprised. “It’s been forever, how are you—“ she trailed off as she seemed to take in his pajamas and bloody hands, and her face fell. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Jason took a shaky breath even while he shook his head. “No. No.”

The other nurse, a man, glanced at Lupita in concern, and she crossed the room and crouched down in front of him. “Jason, what happened?” She asked gently.

“My…” he started to say, then stopped, unsure of how to explain it. “My foster-brother, he….he was in an accident. At home. He—it was bad. Bruce and I followed the ambulance here.” 

Her brows rose. “Oh yeah, Bruce Wayne fostered you, I remember that.” She glanced around the waiting room. “You don’t have anybody with you?” She asked worriedly, looking back down at him.

He shook his head. “Alfred—he’s the butler—and Dick were at home, too, but we didn’t have time to get them before we left. I—I don’t know whether they know where to come. Bruce is...busy with paperwork for Tim.” 

She nodded, and glanced back at her companion. He said, “I’ll see if I can figure out where they’ll be,” and left without another word. Lupita turned back to Jason. “Do you have a phone number for them?”

___

Lupita took Alfred and Dick’s numbers from Jason and called both of them, letting them know which floor they were on and where Jason was. Then she took him to one of the family restrooms so he could wash the blood off his hands, and found him a spare scrub top to replace his messy one. Jason was pretty sure his t-shirt was going into the trash, but he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. 

Turned out she was on her break, and was able to sit with Jason until Alfred and Dick arrived, breathless and hurried. The male nurse came back and the two of them led Alfred to the nurse’s station, presumably to confer with Bruce. Jason was left sitting awkwardly next to Dick in the waiting room, the humming of the vending machines near-deafening. 

Jason noticed a slight ridge in Dick’s shirtsleeve that had the familiar shape of bandages beneath it. “Dick…?” He asked, and his voice must have shook a little bit, because Dick shook his head like he’d been asleep but quickly stammered, “It’s nothing, just got a smaller piece in my arm. Al got it out and had it stitched in ten minutes, Jay, it’s nothing.” 

Jason nodded, and went back to sitting half-slumped, pensively. “This fucking sucks,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Dick laughed sharply. “Yeah.” 

Alfred came back after a few minutes and sat down stiffly next to the boys. “The surgeons went ahead and took him back to remove the glass. They were not yet certain of what sort of internal damage it may have caused. They’re hopeful that perhaps there will be a minimum of organ damage, but they won’t know until they’re in. Master Bruce is giving a statement to the couple of officers Commissioner Gordon sent over.”

Jason swallowed. He wasn’t sure if the cops would wind up taking a statement from him or Dick, but he hoped he could at least keep himself together enough to avoid giving anything away he shouldn’t. 

Dick’s face was pale and hard, and he glared fiercely at his hands as he clasped them on his thighs. “He’s always so obsessed with covering his fucking back,” Dick hissed, almost to himself.

Jason side-eyed him, surprised and a little afraid. He hadn’t ever seen Dick this mad before, and he’d seen him mad.

Alfred, meanwhile, shot a sharp look at Dick. “I should remind you, Master Richard, that compromising on that front would put all three of you in even more danger than you are usually in.”

Dick half-recoiled, cowed, but not much. “That doesn’t excuse his bullshit. Tim should have been first fucking priority.”

Jason glanced nervously around the room. It was empty right now, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

“If we are questioned, do not lash out.” Alfred ordered Dick, lowly but not without compassion.

“I’m not four fucking years old,” Dick shot back, and Jason stifled a gasp. He got up and stalked off.

Jason was half out of his seat, but sank back down when Alfred shook his head at him. Jason grabbed at Alfred’s sleeve. “Alfred, I’m sorry—“ 

Alfred shook his head, though his face was pained. “It’s quite alright, Master Jason. He is upset, for obvious reasons.” 

Jason swallowed. “That doesn’t make what he said okay.”

Alfred studied Jason with warmth and a little sorrow. “I know, dear boy. But thank you.” 

Jason nodded and let go Alfred’s sleeve. They sat quietly again, for what seemed like a very long time. Jason almost drifted off to sleep a few times. He was still terrified, but it was late and he’d been frantic and running and carrying things, and his sleep had been disturbed. He had fallen asleep when Bruce finally re-appeared, but he woke near-instantly and sat up sharply, eyes stinging but wide awake.

Bruce looked. Crushed, in every sense of the word. Shoulders hanging, hair limp, eyes downcast and pained. There was a deep crease between his brows and his jaw was clenched. 

Jason grasped onto the arms of the chair. It suddenly felt like there wasn’t any air in the room.

Bruce looked up at them, once. He dropped his red-rimmed eyes almost immediately. “He’s in recovery,” he said, barely audibly. 

Jason exhaled very quietly, but it was all the breath he had. Thank God, Tim was alive. Thank God.

“And?” Alfred prompted, when Bruce didn’t go on.

Bruce sat very slowly in one of the chairs, as if it would break. He stared out this e windows at the dark, lit-up city outside. “They said it tore a laceration in his small intestine. They’ve stitched it up and are putting him on antibiotics. So far as they can tell no other organs were affected. He’ll need a...a lot of blood replacement.” 

The two of them absorbed that. Jason wasn’t sure what any of that implied as far as how Tim would recover from this. Alfred spoke up again. “How is he now?”

“Sleeping,” Bruce said again, barely there. “He’s on heavy painkillers. He’ll be...he’ll be out for a while. Rest of the night and into the morning, probably.”

Jason exhaled softly. He was exhausted, and he didn’t really want to be stuck sitting in this waiting room all night long. But he wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. Dick had run off, Bruce did not look anywhere near as in control as he usually was, and Alfred was busy waiting for Bruce to go on. 

Bruce drew a quiet breath through his teeth. “I need to go back to the Manor.”

Alfred blinked. “Well. While I agree with that assessment, I am inclined to ask why you need to go back to the Manor? Because I have the strangest feeling that it’s not because you want to attempt to get some sleep and come back ready to take care of your child in the morning.”

Bruce glanced sharply at Alfred at that, as if he was caught off-guard by the statement. He quickly hardened back into determination again. “I need to find Harvey,” he gritted. “And I need to lock him back up.”

With that, he shoved out of his chair and was halfway down the hallway. Jason and Alfred exchanged dismayed glances and Jason belatedly got up and ran after him.

“Bruce!” He called after him, trying not to carry too much—there were, after all, people here. But Bruce was walking very quickly, and Jason’s leg was not having a good day. “You can’t do this! Bruce!”

Bruce slowed for a split second, and even from the distance, Jason could see the guilt in his posture. But then he straightened halfway and kept going, and disappeared around a corner. Jason slowed to a frustrated stop, careful not to stagger and fall. “Damnit,” he growled harshly, his voice breaking. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and stood, chest heaving, for a second, before he made himself turn and trek back to Alfred. 

Chapter Text

Tim wasn’t in serious danger of dying—thank God; Jason would never have imagined thinking that thought several times in rapid succession, but thank God. But that meant he and Alfred had to make a weary trip back to the Manor to get some sleep. Alfred brought Jason to his room, and sent him to bed with a firm pat to his shoulder, and told him that he would come and wake him in a few hours’ time so they could return to the hospital as soon as possible. Jason nodded exhaustedly and stumbled into his dark bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

He didn’t have the energy to take his brace off, or to change clothes. He simply dropped onto the bed and dragged one of his throw blankets around himself and stared into the dark. He was so, so tired, but his heart was still thrumming in his chest and a million different fears were dancing in his head. He had no idea where Dick was. He wished he did. He wished Dick was around, and he wished Dick would reassure him and try to help him through this, because Jason couldn’t remember ever being more terrified than he had been earlier that evening. Except maybe for the time he’d seen his mom down on the street during the gunfight. The night he’d been shot.

He clenched his eyes shut and clutched his hand in his tee shirt over the scar, trying not to think of the hot, sticky, slippery feel of blood. It made him sick to know that Tim knew what that felt like, too. 

He didn’t know where Bruce was. He wished he did. He wished Bruce hadn’t left. He should be here for Tim—and he wished he would have stayed for him, too. He wanted him there, just...just as he was. As Bruce. Bruce always knew what to do. Bruce was capable, Bruce was on his side. He could trust Bruce. 

And that in itself was a staggering realization. So much that when it drifted through his head he stiffened, and he was suddenly wide awake. But it was true. He trusted Bruce. 

Which was why he was even more nervous. Because Bruce wasn’t acting like himself right now. He wasn’t as calm and capable and unshakeable as he usually was. He was jagged and raw and on edge. Who knew what he’d do, or where he’d go? Or how careful he’d be, trying to find Two-Face?

Jason didn’t know. Which was why he lay awake staring at the white ceiling, blue in the dark, for what felt like a very long time. But when Alfred woke him quietly at 6:00 a.m., it felt like he’d only been asleep for seconds. 

___

Alfred stopped and bought himself a coffee on the way to the hospital. He bought Jason one, too. Jason had hardly ever had coffee before. His mom didn’t keep a regular enough schedule to fix it for herself in the mornings, and his dad had always been more of a beer-all-day person. He didn’t even know if he would like it when Alfred handed it to him, but he drank it anyway. He was exhausted and hungry. It turned out to taste...okay. Alfred had picked the mix-ins for him, and it was just sweet enough that he could drink it down without a problem. Alfred also got him a breakfast biscuit at McDonalds, and Jason had never been happier to eat anything. 

They got back to the hospital, parked, and made their way upstairs at a  much more measured pace than yesterday. This time, they wound up in the pediatric ward, and settled in the waiting room there after checking in with Tim’s nurse. Tim was still asleep, but stable. 

They hadn’t been there any longer than an hour and a half when they heard footsteps coming inside, and a few voices Jason didn’t recognize. He straightened, and Alfred glanced up from his book.

Dick was there, and was the first one Jason recognized. He was walking practically crushed between two others—a redheaded guy with a face covered in so many freckles that he barely had any pale skin left, and a tall, beautiful girl with long, dark hair in waves around her face. A third stranger; also a redhead, who looked slightly older than the two, hovered in the background, with an expression that Jason would have called a scowl if it weren’t for the concerned pull in his eyebrows.

Dick glanced up. He looked like a mess. He was haggard and his hair was disheveled. “Hey, Al.” He mumbled, sounding almost ashamed, voice very small. “Jason.”

Alfred nodded impassively. Jason blinked.

Sighing, Dick carefully pulled away, and turned to face the three. He tugged the two closer ones into a hug, and glanced up at the last one. “Thanks again, guys. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Aw man, you know we don’t mind,” the redhead said, warm and sorry, hugging back enthusiastically. “I’m sorry you keep having to.”

The girl nodded against Dick’s shoulder. “We are glad to help you whenever you need, Richard.”

The third guy nodded at Dick, somewhat awkwardly and stiffly. “You know I get that shit happens. I don’t care.”

Dick gave him a tired grin, and pulled back from the two. “Oh, uh, guys?” He glanced back at Jason. “This is my foster brother—Jason? You remember.”

Jason froze. He was suddenly the center of attention for the three, who looked waaayy less friendly than they had a second ago. 

The younger redhead blinked at him a couple times, then waved a hand. “Uh. Howdy.”

The older redhead elbowed him from behind, and he shot back a glare and a pointed, “Ow.” The girl rolled her eyes and stepped forward, dropping to one knee in front of Jason’s chair. 

“Please excuse my two comrades. They are incorrigible at times, but they have good hearts.” She held out a hand to Jason, in a position that looked kind of like she was challenging him to an arm-wrestling competition. “I am Donna Troia. It is an honor to meet you.”

Jason blinked. He glanced back at Dick, who nodded at him encouragingly and waved a hand. Jason looked back at the girl—Donna—who hadn’t moved, just waited expectantly.

Hesitantly, Jason reached out similarly and grasped her hand. He half-expected her to break his arm, but instead she simply locked their hands together and braced her arm against his briefly, then pulled back. “Jason,” Jason said belatedly, face flushing. “But you, uh...you already...knew that, probably…”

She laughed softly as she got to her feet, and Jason tried not to choke or combust at exactly what it did to him. “I did. Richard has told us all about you and your bravery.” She glanced back at Dick, who looked like he found Jason’s reaction adorable. Jason shot him a death glare and the asshole giggled at him. “The smaller of the red-haired gentlemen is Wallace.”

“Hey!” The aforementioned kid squeaked out. “Wally! I told you, Donna, Wally!”

“Wallace is a perfectly respectable name,” she said stubbornly. “And the elder is Roy.”

Roy nodded sternly at Jason. Jason found himself instantly most comfortable with him, just because he didn’t seem to care. 

“Where’s B?” Dick asked, but his tone went all flat and cold and Jason winced.

“He is...not here at the moment,” Alfred replied, equally cool.

Dick rolled his eyes. “I can see that much; where is he?”

Alfred met Dick’s gaze sharply. “That is a subject better discussed in private, Master Richard.”

Dick winced, but his expression quickly flattened with realization. “He ran off again, didn’t he.”

Neither Jason nor Alfred said anything in response, and Dick gritted his teeth and smacked a hand against the wall. “Damnit,” he hissed. 

Jason couldn’t help but feel a sick sort of satisfaction. Maybe he wouldn’t have if you’d been here to stop him, he thought, very briefly. He made himself stop, though. It didn’t help anything. 

“Do you need assistance finding him?” Donna asked seriously, and Jason suddenly reconsidered who these three were. Did they know what they were talking about?

“No, Donna,” Dick hurriedly said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you guys in Gotham—it’s just, you know how B is about bringing people in without his permission. It would just add fuel to the fire right now, is all. I appreciate it, but it’s better if I try to handle this on my own.”

Donna nodded sympathetically, though her face was pinched in disapproval. Wally looked irritated and Roy looked unsurprised but mildly angered, as well. 

They cut off their discussion abruptly as a nurse ducked into the room and looked around for Alfred and Jason. When she spotted them, she came a bit closer, smiling.

“Your Timothy’s awake,” she said. “He’s asking for his big brother Jason.”

Jason froze. Dick looked startled, then warmed, then just a bit crestfallen. 

Jason followed the nurse with Alfred back through the hallways until she broke off to enter a room. Alfred kept going with the same firm stride, but Jason slowed, uncertainty swimming in his stomach. He didn’t want to see Tim pale and still and nearly-dead in a hospital bed. The thought of it made him sick. But...he did want to see him…

His feet wound up carrying him the rest of the way in the room of their own free will, and when he laid eyes on Tim his fears were both confirmed and oddly relieved. Tim was shockingly white, and lying very still, and looked barely awake. But he was weakly smiling up at Alfred, and his eyes shifted around looking for Jason until Jason stepped close enough.

“Hi,” Tim wheezed, closing his eyes like he was relieved just from Jason being there.

Jason fell into stance beside Alfred awkwardly, crouching to be halfway near eye level with the bed. “Hi back,” he said, voice shaking just a bit. 

Tim reached out a faintly trembling hand and Jason grabbed it and wrapped his fingers securely round it. Tim’s tiny hand was still freezing and Jason rubbed the back of it with his thumb, trying to work some warmth back into it.

“Where’s Bruce?” Tim sighed in a whistling way, and Jason glanced at Alfred. “He is...not here at the moment, Master Tim,” Alfred told him gently. 

“Oh.” Tim said, and Jason felt his heart break. His other hand found Tim’s and he cradled Tim’s hand between both his own. 

“Where’s Dick,” Tim tried again, and Jason relaxed just slightly. “He’s out in the waiting room, Timmer. We’ll call him.”

“Okay,” Tim whispered, and Alfred left to bring him back. Jason stayed, taking Alfred’s spot in the chair and holding Tim’s hand in both of his. Tim had curled his fingers into Jason’s hand, so Jason didn’t dare pull back. By the time Alfred returned with Dick, Tim had fallen asleep, and was breathing softly with his mouth open. Jason didn’t have the heart to wake him up, and was too scared to try. 

Dick took it in stride. He just quietly crossed the room behind Alfred and leaned down to gently pet Tim’s hair a couple times before pulling back. 

“Where’s Bruce,” Dick spoke softly to Alfred and Jason, like Tim would wake up if he was too loud. 

“He went off after Harvey...?” Jason said hesitantly, unsure of what that even entailed.

Dick’s face immediately went stony. “Damnit,” he swore, turning away and running a hand through his hair. Jason noted with a sudden clarity that his hands were shaking. 

“I’m concerned,” Alfred said. “Master Bruce is acting uncharacteristically irrational. I’m not certain whether he even stopped to retrieve his uniform.” 

Dick gritted his teeth. “I’m gonna have to go after him.” 

Jason glanced at him, and then at Tim. He very carefully laid Tim’s hand down on the bed. “I’m coming with you.”

“Master Jas—“ Alfred began, alarmed.

“Alfred,” Dick said lowly, and the older man glanced at him, surprised. “I don’t like it, either...but I would appreciate his help.”

Alfred blinked, considering. “If you two will promise,” he said sternly, “to take the highest amounts of caution…”

“Of course,” Jason promised quickly, and Dick echoed him. 

“Then I will allow it, only due to necessity,” Alfred finished. “But you gentlemen will check in with me every fifteen minutes at minimum, and if I do not hear from you I will come after the three of you myself if need be. Understood?”

“Yes, Al.” Dick said softly. 

Alfred laid a hand on both of their shoulders and squeezed. “I am immensely fond of both of you young men,” he said softly. “Please take care. I believe in both of you, but I will not cease to worry for doing so.”

Jason and Dick both nodded solemnly. Alfred held onto them both a moment longer before releasing them, and resuming his seat beside Tim. With a final, lingering glance at the sleeping form of their younger brother, the two of them left the room at a brisk walk. 

___

“So who were those people?” Jason asked as he climbed shotgun in Dick’s car and buckled up, and Dick started it. “Some of your friends?”

“Yeah,” Dick said quietly, adjusting the mirrors. “I’ve known ‘em since I was a kid.”

“Hmm.” Jason replied, glancing out the parking garage. “Do I know them?”

Dicm glanced sideways at him, then sighed. “Wally is Kid Flash,” he said lowly. “Donna is Wonder Girl, and Roy is Arsenal.”

“....Never heard of any of ‘em,” Jason said, completely honest.

Dick shot an annoyed look at him and backed out of the parking space. “They’re good people, Jase. We’ll leave it at that.”

“Why doesn’t Bruce want ‘em here in Gotham, then?” Jason asked curiously. “Why is he mad you hang out with them?”

Dick shrugged. “Bruce...has some lingering guilt issues.” Dick uncomfortably tossed his hair out of his face with a shake of his head. “It comes off like he hates and mistrusts everyone else, and he doesn’t, really, he just...he just has a hard time. Putting other people at risk, I guess. He doesn’t wanna be responsible for people getting hurt. It just doesn’t seem to matter to him if he’s the one in the line of fire.”

Jason eyed Dick’s hands on the wheel. His knuckles were white and still faintly shaking. 

“This has something to do with Two-Face, doesn’t it,” he stated.

Dick bit his lip and said nothing.

“There’s a reason Bruce is so adamant about you going to school, isn’t there.” 

Dick glanced sharply at him, eyes huge.

Jason looked right back. “I’m not stupid, Dick.”

Dick looked back at the road too quickly. His breath was coming sharply. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, with feeling. Jason started, and stared at him in worry, now. Dick suddenly threw the turn signal on and pulled them into one of the outside lots of the hospital, and threw the car into park. 

“When I…” he swallowed hard and went on, like it pained him to talk. He was staring fixedly at the dashboard. “When I was a kid. Not...not long after I became Robin, I was nine, almost ten. Bruce...Two-Face, Harvey Dent, decided to come after me. But it was Two-Face, not Harvey who did. He...he blamed Batman, for.” Dick clumsily gestured to his face. “For that. He wanted revenge, and he decided the best way to get revenge on Batman was to.” Dick swallowed. “To kill me. He lured Bruce in with a ruse hostage situation, and I had followed, and he made me choose between saving Bruce and a judge he’d taken hostage.”

Dick shook his head, and Jason was shocked and slightly afraid to see that there were tears standing in Dick’s eyes as he went on, near-rambling now. “I tried, I tried to save them both somehow, but I was on my own, and Dent...Two-Face...he killed the judge right in front of me. Then he...he came after me and he.” 

Dick clamped a hand over his mouth, looking scarily white. 

“Dick,” Jason half-yelped, alarmed. He reached over helplessly, switched the a/c on with one hand and pointed a vent at Dick, floundering on what to do. 

Dick shook his head, hard. “He beat me,” he admitted, voice shaking, like it was shameful. “Over and over and over and he didn’t stop, I tried to fight back but every time I moved he’d hit me in that limb and he hit hard, after awhile I couldn’t move even if I wanted to, I hoped, I prayed that if I just stopped moving he’d get tired of it, but he didn’t—“

Jason was staring in horror, and Dick had wet streaks down his face now. He dropped his hand from his mouth listlessly, staring out the windshield. “I don’t remember anything after that for a long while. I don’t even know how long I was out. All I know is I woke up, and I hurt worse than I ever have in my life, and Bruce was. Sharp and commanding and mean. And he. The first thing he did was take Robin away from me.” 

“What?” Jason was aghast. 

“He took Robin from me!” Dick snapped, still crying. “I was trying to get better and he just ripped me to shreds over everything I did wrong.”

Dick hung his head. “That was how we fell out the first time. I got better, but he didn’t let me go back. I left for a long time, stayed with friends. Alfred and Bruce tried at various times to get me to come back, but I didn’t.” He swallowed thickly. “Not till Tim.” 

Jason stared. He couldn’t...he couldn’t imagine Bruce acting like Dick was saying, but seeing Dick’s reaction, he knew he wasn’t lying or exaggerating. It had to be true. “Why did you come back?” He found himself asking. “If it...if it hurt you so badly?”

“Bruce asked me to,” Dick said miserably. “He’d adopted Tim, and Tim was. Tim was like you, but I almost think he was worse.”

Jason laughed shortly at the thought, but Dick looked at him sharply and he froze. “I’m serious. He was a mess, Jason. His parents neglected him his whole life. He was only seven, and he’d never had anyone tell him no, because he’d never had anyone hardly talk to him, or even be there. Bruce had no idea what to do. He thought...he thought maybe I could reach him, help him.” Dick laughed shortly, bitterly. “Bruce is an orphan, too. You’d think he’d assume he could get it. But he never, ever does. He doesn’t trust himself when it matters.” Dick shook his head. “He trusts me. Always trusts me not to fuck things up somehow.” 

Jason shook his head. “This is….a lot to take in,” he admitted. 

Dick snorted faintly. “Yeah,” he said, falling silent quickly. He exhaled roughly and then put the car back in drive, pawing up in a compartment for a pair of sunglasses. He scrubbed his face with the back of his wrist and put the sunglasses on, pulling back out onto the road. 

“So you and Bruce never really resolved any of that?” Jason asked, disbelieving.

Dick shook his head. “He didn’t apologize. Neither did I. It was easier if we both just...didn’t bring it up again. It hurt too much.” 

Jason couldn’t quite help his disbelieving laugh. “That sounds like some bullshit I’d say and you’d call me out over.” 

Dick shrugged. “Probably.” 

Jason sat back in his seat for a moment, deep in thought. “So how is this going to work?” He asked.

Dick glanced over sideways at him. “I’m taking us to the penthouse. Bruce has a cache of our gear there in case we need it quick. I’m gonna suit up. I’m gonna give you some body armor and a domino mask and an extra set of my escrima sticks. You and I are gonna stay as out of sight as possible, and you are gonna stay even more out of sight than that. If anything happens, you are going to run and call Alfred and not come back till you have backup. Even Commissioner Gordon if need be. I have his number programmed in my phone and I’ll give it to you, too. When it counts, he has our backs. We’re gonna go check Two-Face’s usual haunts for Bruce, hopefully find him before anything else, and drag him back out. That’s how this is gonna work.” 

Jason nodded silently. He didn’t have anywhere near the guts to joke around at a time like this. While he knew the jealousy of being the only bonafide civilian in a family full of superheroes, being thrust into the role was more than a little terrifying.

But Bruce needed them. And Jason felt that after all the kindness Bruce had shown him, he owed him this much. Tim needed him. They all did. 

Chapter Text

Dick unlocked the door of the penthouse and hurried in, locking the door behind them. Jason trailed after him, staring open-mouthed at the opulent decor. He hadn’t been in the penthouse yet, and he went presumably even more googly-eyed at the sprawling view of the city out the huge windows that made up the entire wall. 

Dick marched right up to a panel in the wall and pressed a control, and the window dimmed faintly. “Tinted and bulletproof,” he remarked to Jason, and yeah, that made sense. Jason had thought Bruce didn’t seem the type to have a copious amount of glass anywhere he intended to be secure in. 

Dick imprinted a code into the panel, and the fireplace opened up to reveal a walk-in-closet-sized room behind it. Jason followed him inside, and stared bug-eyed at the suits in glass cases, the racks of clean, brand-new weapons, and the stock of other high-tech equipment. Dick, immune to the geeking by now, made for his own suit and unlocked the case with his fingerprint. He took his uniform out and relocked the case, and then pointed Jason towards a locker. “Extra body armor is in there,” he told him. “I’d go with the cargo pants and at least a tack vest, maybe arm pads, too. Boots. There’s also some specialized braces in there. You’ll want one that’s not gonna weigh you down or be noisy.”

Jason awkwardly did as Dick said, and opened the locker. Sure enough, it was full of vests and other body armor, and in the floorboard were braces stacked like shoes. He leaned down and squinted at them, unsure of the differences between them and which he should go for. But when he turned around, Dick had vanished, presumably to change. 

Shrugging, Jason turned back and selected one that looked near his size. He cautiously sat on the small metal bench in the room and took off his brace, and carefully replaced it with the new one, slipping his foot in carefully and strapping it. Or at least, he tried to strap it—mechanized whirring interrupted him and he pulled his hands back as the straps fastened themselves and the entire interior of the brace shifted to match his leg perfectly. It was some sort of memory foam, and it was surprisingly comfortable and firm. He stood on it and found stepping made no more noise than in regular shoes. He grinned despite himself. Living with Bruce was so cool sometimes. 

Dick came back, in his uniform sans mask. Jason stood and crossed the room to the weapons rack, but wound up staring blankly at the selections. Dick fondly rolled his eyes and selected a pair of escrima sticks like his own, handing them to Jason in a pouch with a button. Jason obediently slipped the pouch onto his belt and fastened it. “Anything else?” He asked tiredly.

“Yeah,” Dick said, grabbing a handgun.

“What the—“ Jason asked, shocked. “What’s that even doing here?”

“It’s a tranq gun,” Dick said, handing it to Jason. “You know how to use ‘em?”

Jason glanced warily at it. “Yeah,” he said testily.

Dick glanced at him for a moment, then grabbed the clip and shoved it in. “It holds ten rounds per clip, and I’ve got refills I’ll give you. You can do around two rounds on the average person without risking killing them, but I don’t want you to hesitate if we run into any trouble, got it? If you have to plug someone with five to make them stay down, you do it.” 

Jason silently nodded, and Dick handed him the gun, muzzle pointed at the floor. Jason took it carefully. 

“I’ll getcha a hip holster,” Dick said, and disappeared to find it, leaving Jason staring warily at the gun. 

Dick didn’t know—he couldn’t know, Jason had never spoken of it—but he did know his way around guns. He’d robbed people before, when he was desperate. He wasn’t proud of it. It had been a long time, though; and he’d been shot since then. He wasn’t sure exactly how well he could still handle them. He hoped it wouldn’t come down to him to save anyone or stop anyone, because he was nowhere near certain he could. 

Dick came back, and Jason obediently fastened the holster to his belt and placed the gun there securely. With that, Dick glanced around the room again to double-check it, and then tapped something out on the panel inside the room. The fireplace returned to its usual position, sealing them off from the luxury apartment.

“How’re we gonna get out of here?” Jason asked.

Dick typed something else in with a slight smirk, and a door in the wall opened, revealing a freight dumbwaiter. 

“There’s tunnels underneath the building. Old subway line that eventually got re-routed,” he told Jason as he led the way inside. Jason followed a bit nervously. “Bruce thought it’d be useful in case we ever needed to leave here without being seen.” Dick grasped the flapping leather strap tied to the elevator door and hauled it shut with a solid thud. 

The elevator promptly sank and Jason swallowed at the sudden feeling of pressure above them. 

Dick’s communicator hummed lowly, and Dick glanced down at it sharply. He and Jason exchanged nervous glances before he clicked it. “Yes?”

A buzz, then Alfred’s voice, slightly alarmed, came over the line. “Master Richard, I’ve located Master Bruce.”

“Where is he?” Dick asked urgently.

“At the front entryway of the Elliot Casino demanding entry from the lackeys.”

“Demanding entry—?”

“As Bruce Wayne.”

“Shit,” Dick said quickly, and threw the dumbwaiter door open the second it slowed. 

___

A frantic sprint down a city block and through an alleyway to a hidden motorbike later, and Jason and Dick were speeding along 2nd street towards the casinos. Jason was clinging probably far too tightly to Dick’s middle, but Dick hadn’t snapped at him to loosen up. Probably because he was distracted. He had a death grip on the handlebars. 

They turned sharply out of nowhere and skidded down into a parking garage. Dick slid them neatly into a parking spot and threw the kickstand down with one foot. “We’ll have to sneak in the service entry,” he said shortly, out of breath. Jason nodded and trailed after him while he ran up towards the staircase. Their coms buzzed and Alfred’s voice cut in again. “I’m patching you through to the audio from his com.” Bruce’s voice came across the line, but clearly not speaking to them, with that over-exaggerated rich person air to it. “No, I told you already, I’m Bruce Wayne. I’m here to see Harvey Dent. Oh, don’t look at each other like that! Go up and ask him. Go on! Tell him Bruce Wayne is here and wants to talk to him. I’ll guarantee you he’ll send you back to bring me up.”

“Damnit, Bruce, what the hell are you doing,” Dick gritted out, and Jason would’ve echoed the statement if he’d had any breath to do it with. Dick pulled them both to an abrupt stop beside a metal door and he dropped to one knee next to the panel to start furiously tapping on his wrist computer. The door popped open with a click after only a couple seconds, and Dick hurried through, Jason following closely behind him. They were in a hallway filled with crates and cardboard boxes, and Dick ran ahead, Jason barely keeping up behind him. They pivoted into a stairwell and ran up that, quick and quiet. They came out on the fourth floor and Jason realized they were on a catwalk, overlooking the central atrium of the fancy building. Dick crouched at the railing, so he was hidden, and gestured to Jason to do the same. It was antique-looking, intricate ironwork, so there were gaps in the design they could see through. Down below was a massive fountain in the center of a dining room, and round tables sat in neat little rows, covered in white tablecloths. Despite the fancy set-up, there were dozens of crooks lounging around in the upholstered chairs, food scattered messily across the tables, along with ammunition and guns and knives and bomb-makings and more. In the midst of this was Harvey Dent himself, loading an AR-15 with practiced determination. Something about the sight of the man, even from this distance, made the hairs on the back of Jason's neck stand on end. Though it didn't make any sense, he felt as if any second, Dent would look up and see him, and he'd be as good as dead. A quick glance at Dick showed he likely felt the same, but worse.

"Harvey!" Bruce's voice echoed out across the ballroom, carrying up even to where they were hidden, and Dick blanched even further. Heads turned below, lackeys stood up sharply, and Harvey himself startled and spun, the weapon still in his hands. But as soon as he caught sight of Bruce, his whole demeanor changed.

"Bruce?" he asked, a little unsteadily, like he couldn't reconcile him being there. He seemed to realize he was still holding the gun and set it on the table carefully, with some hesitance, like he was struggling to let go of it.  "What--what are you doing here? You shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you." His voice dipped at the last sentence, and Jason shivered. Dick was so tense beside him Jason swore he could feel his muscles quivering.

"I'm here for you, Harvey," Bruce said calmly, like he was talking someone down from jumping off a bridge. "Because you're getting bad again, remember? I promised you once I'd always be there for you when it got bad."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did," Two-Face murmured, almost to himself. "Am I bad again?" He asked, almost sounding confused. 

"Yes, Harv." Bruce said, still as calm as could be. "You hurt a kid today. Did you know that?"

So fast that Jason barely had time to register, Harvey launched to his feet and slammed his fist down onto the mahogany table with a loud bang! that echoed through the ballroom and made all its occupants jump and then freeze. "Batman," he snarled, so deadly-sounding that Jason his behind Dick almost without meaning to. "The Bat's little tag-along brat doesn't count as a child."

"Yes he does, Harv, and you know it," Bruce went on, undaunted and even a hint agitated. "You might possibly have killed him. Does it bother you at all?"

"Why are you so concerned with Batman all of the sudden?" Harvey demanded sharply, cutting Bruce off, and Jason's throat closed. "What makes his welfare so important to you, hmmm? You work with him, Bruce? Is he on your payroll?"

Dick was white as a sheet, and Jason felt the same. Oh, God, please don't let him figure it out. 

"I'm concerned about you, Harvey!" Bruce barked. "Like I always have been. I'm your friend. I don't want you to hurt other people, and I don't want you to hurt yourself, either. Suppose you killed Robin? How well do you think that would work out for you? You know you could get the chair for that if you were anywhere but here?"

"They won't stick it to me," Two-Face growled haughtily. "I'll kill anyone who stands in my way."

"Harv," Bruce pleaded, and Two-Face paused. "You've known me since high school. We've been friends since high school. Before you got this sick. When it was still sporadic. Do you remember that? You were happy once. You had your whole life ahead of you, with infinite possibility. I want that for you again. You don't have to live like this. You were better for awhile after you got treated the first time. There's still a spot for you at the Wayne Foundation home. Always will be. I came here because I wanted to ask you. I want you to make a choice. I don't want you locked in Arkham against your will. I want you to get better for yourself." Bruce swallowed, never taking his eyes off the former district attorney, who was almost as rigid now as Nightwing. "I've got my car outside. If you'll do it, I'll take you myself and get you settled. I'll make sure they look after you, Harvey. I promise. Please, come with me."

The ballroom was dead silent. All of Two-Face's goons were staring at their boss in disbelief, wondering if he was actually considering it. Jason's gaze kept flitting from Dent to Bruce. If Bruce was afraid, you wouldn't know it. His jaw was set and determined. 

Dent straightened. The whole room held its breath.

He strode across the room, closing the distance between himself and Bruce. Jason scarcely dared to breathe. Dick was pulling his escrima stick from his back as silently as possible.

Harvey stopped not a foot from Bruce. "Tell you what," he said. He drew something from his pocket. The coin, Jason realized. "Heads, I go with you. I stay as long as I feel like it."

"Harv--"

"As long as I feel like it," Harvey cut him off. He twisted his wrist sharply to showcase the scarred side of the coin. "Tails, I shoot you, and leave you while I go raid a new drug shipment from Black Mask."

Bruce didn't react. 

Dent grinned, both sides of his face almost manically gleeful. "No objections, your honor? Fine. What will the verdict be?"

He flipped the coin up into the air. Jason drew the tranq gun almost automatically, and took as careful aim as he could.

Bruce caught the coin before Two-Face could. 

"Hey--" Harvey snarled sharply, lunging.

"Call it." Bruce stopped him short. 

Dent loomed into Bruce's face. "Tails," he growled. 

Bruce drew his hand off the coin on his wrist, and showed it to him. "Heads." He said. 

Harvey and Bruce stared each other down for a moment. Dick's hand was shaking on his stick, poised to throw. 

Dent turned around. "I'm leaving." He said. 

"What?" His goons erupted in shock, talking over each other. 

"I'm leaving!" Harvey roared, and they shut up. "And nobody even thinks about following us, or taking it up with him!" He jabbed his thumb at Bruce. "Got it?" 

"But Boss--!" a burly looking guy objected.

"No buts!" Harvey threw a hand in the air dismissively as he turned around. "The lot of you go home!"

Further disbelieving denials echoed through the room, but Dent ignored them, and stepped down next to Bruce. "Alright, Bruce." He exhaled, less theatrically and far more quietly than he had been a second ago. If it weren't for the communicator patch, they wouldn't have heard it. "You win this time. For now."

Bruce offered a demure smile. "I'm glad to hear it, Harv." And with an arm around Two-Face's shoulder, Bruce led him out the front door, where Jason knew his car was waiting, still running.

The two of them sat in disbelief in the atrium for a moment more, before Dick rose sharply and suddenly. "Let's get out of here," he told Jason under his breath, and Jason happily followed quickly, casting nervous glances back at the crowd of baffled thugs. 

Chapter Text

They made their way in silence back where they'd come, and as they were whizzing down the streets again, Jason's head was still spinning. "I can't believe he did that," he mused, still in a daze.

Dick didn't visibly react, just focused on driving the motorcycle, but his body language was still tense. 

___

They drove back to the penthouse and removed all their gear as though they’d never put it on at all. An unsettling quiet hovered over the two of them like a blanket of smoke, and Jason kept stealing nervous glances at Dick. He couldn’t read his expression, and that scared him somewhat. It was clear the older boy was lost in thought, or some sort of internal struggle, and Jason was afraid to speak up and address him, ask him what he was thinking. Of course Tim was heavily on both their minds, as was Bruce. Both in confusion and frustration. On Jason’s part, he was somewhat amazed at what Bruce had done. He didn’t really understand the relationship dynamics–now that he thought about it, Bruce had a picture of himself and Harvey at what looked like Harvey’s graduation, in the study–but Bruce never really spoke about him and Jason hadn’t realized Harvey and Two-Face were the same person. Of course everyone in Gotham knew, but Harvey had been Two-Face forever by the time Jason had ever heard of him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Harvey had once been….normal. 

Would I do that for anyone I know? He wondered. Forget how close he was to them, would he risk what Bruce had risked for anyone? 

Well. His mom, he supposed. Technically, he actually had risked everything for her. And despite his issues with her, now that he was thinking about it, he would do it again. 

It was a startling realization to come to. He didn’t like to think about being so easily swayed from reason by emotion, but he’d always sort of been that way. He had convinced himself he was above it; after all, other people weren’t worth that effort. They wouldn’t do the same for him.

But now he wondered if maybe it was just that the relationships he had been surrounded with had just never been a real sort of relationship. The ones where both parties cared, both parties sacrificed, both parties wanted what was best for the other. If his dad had ever cared about him, he hadn’t shown it. And his mom could only care so far before it was cut off. If loving him meant going against his dad, it was a no go. 

Dent could’ve killed Tim. And Jason couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce would’ve done what he did if he had killed him. He couldn’t imagine it. He certainly wouldn’t have. If Tim hadn’t made it…..Jason didn’t even want to think about it. Not with the tightness in his chest and gut and the sheer rage and despair that bubbled up inside him at the thought. 

Dick headed out of the armory, seemingly so out of it that Jason had to jog behind him as he shut the door and slid the fireplace back down. 

They rode the elevator back to the parking garage, and Jason wordlessly climbed on behind Dick again. They drove back towards the hospital, and Jason felt anxiety rising in his chest as he wondered what would happen when they got there.

They rolled up into the hospital’s parking garage and found that somehow, Bruce had beaten them there. His car was parked on the second level, and Dick silently pulled in the parking space next to him.

They wandered into the hospital and made their way back to the floor Tim was on. Jason tagged closely behind Dick and tried to swallow down the bad memories of his last time here, and the terrified emotions of this time. 

They rounded the corner to Tim’s room, and saw Alfred standing in the open door. Dick stopped at the doorframe and looked in, and Jason cautiously edged around him.

Bruce was sitting inside at Tim’s bedside, holding one small hand. He looked exhausted, but somehow still together. He glanced up and saw Dick and Jason, and the range of emotions that washed across his face hit Jason like a load of bricks, because he realized Bruce was apprehensive of what his confrontation with Dick would bring. 

Gently setting Tim’s hand down on the mattress, Bruce rose silently and approached them. He nodded to Alfred, who went to take his place with Tim, and faced Jason and Dick, hands in his pockets.

“How is he?” Dick asked lowly.

Bruce’s shoulders tensed up, but it seemed more in pain than anything. “He’s just been sleeping. The nurse said his vitals are doing well under the circumstances.”

Dick nodded silently, his head dipping.

Bruce addressed him. “Alfred told me you boys went to have my back.” He swallowed hard. “I appreciate that very much. I’m sorry I didn’t give you forewarning of what I was doing. It was unfair to you both to send you in blindly like that.”

Dick huffed what sounded like a scoff under his breath, but he had it well under control. He looked up and met Bruce’s gaze. “You’re right. It wasn’t fair.”

Jason’s throat closed up. Dick’s voice was quiet, and his tone was even, but there was an edge under it that told him that he was truly, monumentally pissed. Bruce heard it, too, and Jason could just see a bit of color leaving his face, but to his credit, that was his only reaction. He nodded slightly in….agreement? Assent?....and stayed silent, not offering argument, just letting Dick have the floor to say whatever he would.

After a pause that felt like forever, in which the mundane sounds of the hospital sounded deafening, Dick said, “I don’t think I can go home with you.”

Jason’s heart was pounding in his chest, and he swore he saw a bit of moisture gathering in Bruce’s eyes, but Bruce simply blinked twice, and said, slightly hoarse, “If that’s what you’d prefer. Do you need…..”

“No.” Dick said. “I”ll call Roy and have them pick me up.”

Bruce dipped his chin. “Alright.”

Dick, for his part, nodded sharply and held his head high. He turned and stepped purposefully into the hospital room. 

The spell was broken with his movement, and Jason rushed forward to confront Bruce. “What is he talking about?”

Bruce looked even more pained, if that was possible. “Jason, he…”

Dick stepped out of the hospital room, at the edge of a whispered conversation with Alfred Jason couldn’t quite hear. “We’ll go by the Manor so I can get a bag.” He told Bruce.

Bruce nodded silently, but Jason whirled on his heel. “Dick, what are you doing?”

Dick exhaled, for the first time wavering, but he turned to go quickly, like he couldn’t handle meeting Jason’s gaze for too long. Jason shot a look at Bruce, who almost deflated when Dick turned away, looking absolutely helpless. When nothing was forthcoming, Jason hurried off after Dick. 

He caught up to him by the family waiting room, where Dick was standing by the elevators. “Dick,” he panted, “what are you doing?”

Dick raggedly exhaled, and tilted his face up toward the ceiling. “Jason,” he sighed. “It’s not personal, okay? I just…I just don’t think I…”

“What are you doing!?” Jason snapped. “Tim needs you! How can you think about something like this at a time like this!”

Dick’s face colored with shame, but he tore back, “I’ll still come see him! Just not from…”

“I need you!” Jason hissed. “How am I supposed to…..without you, it’s just….you can’t–!”

“I can’t stand to look at Bruce, okay!?” Dick exploded. “I can’t fucking look at him.”

Jason was silent, mouth open. 

Dick swallowed, slightly ashamed of his outburst, but went on, and with more restrained venom and intensity in his voice. “I hope I’ll get over it. I really do. But if I went home with you all, I would just make things worse by being mad at him, and I’m not gonna do that, okay? I hate it, but I have to go.”

Jason felt like he was half-hyperventilating now. “But….but you–”

“Jason,” Dick grabbed him by the shoulders. “I am not leaving for good, okay? And I won’t be far. I’ll be right over in Bludhaven. Not an hour away, okay? I’m still going to come and see Tim, and I’m still going to come and see you. I swear. I’m not dumping you, Jason, I swear to you.”

Jason’s eyes burned. He wanted to scream at Dick, tell him how selfish he was being, ask how he could do this to him. But nothing came out, and his throat was so tight he was afraid to say a thing. 

The elevator doors opened, and Roy, Donna, and Wally were standing there. They must have been hanging out close by to get there so fast, Jason realized, waiting in case Dick needed them. Their expressions changed when they saw the two of them and realized the sort of conflict they’d accidentally stepped into. Roy immediately averted his gaze and walked off towards the vending machines, Wally stepped out of the elevator and guiltily stuck his hands in his pockets, leaned against the wall, and Donna joined him silently, looking sadly at them.

Her expression somehow cemented in Jason’s head that this was real. This was serious, this was actually happening. Dick was leaving. It was a scenario Jason hadn’t seen coming, hadn’t prepared for, and he realized, as the weight and breadth of it came down full force upon him, that he didn’t know how he would handle this. He didn’t know what he would do. 

“Jason,” Dick said again, and Jason looked back at him, and realized in horror that hot tears were streaking down his face against his will. 

“Jason,” Dick groaned, pained, and Jason found himself crushed in a tight and desperate hug. “Hey. This doesn’t change anything between us, okay? I swear it doesn’t. I’m not gonna forget you. I promise.”

Jason wanted to believe him, but he didn’t. 

Dick released him, and started digging in his pocket frustratedly for something. Jason just stood, listless. 

Dick tore something out of his pocket, and hissed over at Wally for a pen. Wally had one back to him instantly, and Jason blinked harshly through stinging eyes, wondering if he’d missed something or if he was losing it. 

Dick stuck the paper against the wall and scribbled something down, then shoved the pen in his pocket and handed the paper to Jason. “Here,” he told him hurriedly.

Jason looked at the paper. Dick’s number was on it in his scribbly handwriting, and Donna’s was underneath.

“If you need anything, if you wanna talk, just call me. If anything comes up, call me. Okay?” Dick asked.

Nothing made any sense, but Jason nodded just to get him to shut up. He jammed the paper in his pocket. 

Dick straightened and glanced at the others. Roy had somehow figured out the timing to a t, and had wandered back over to Wally and Donna. They nodded at Dick.

Dick spun around again, and embraced Jason once more, quickly and fiercely. Jason didn’t have time or brainpower to respond, really. “I’m sorry,” Dick said once more, and let him go. He stepped towards the elevator, and Wally and Roy trailed behind him, shooting guilty glances at Jason. Only Donna stopped in front of him, her face etched in sorrow and sympathy. “I’m sorry, Jason,” she told him mournfully, and he believed her. He nodded back sharply, and scrubbed at his eyes with his wrist. 

She got in the elevator with the others, and despite his earlier reluctance, Dick made eye contact with Jason the entire time until the elevator door shut and the light clicked on as it descended. Jason just stood there, at a loss. That was where Bruce found him a few minutes later. 

Chapter Text

Bruce ushered him back to Tim’s room. Alfred was waiting at the doorframe. “Master Bruce…”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce replied hurriedly, in a low tone filled with concern, almost panic. “I know, but we can’t address everything here and now. Would you mind to stay with Tim tonight? I need to get Jason home.”

Alfred glanced at Jason only for a second, and his expression softened when it came back to Bruce. “I would be happy to stay with Master Tim.”

“Thank you,” Bruce exhaled, and shook Alfred’s hand almost desperately. Alfred returned the gesture with some sympathy and then turned to Jason. “I’m sorry things turned out this way, Master Jason. Rest assured we will do our best to fix this situation.” He clapped Jason on the shoulder with a gentle touch. 

Jason nodded in response, because it was hard to be rude to Alfred, but he really couldn’t focus on anything. His mind was both blank and screaming, unable to face what had happened, unable to process anything, unable to accept, unable to cope. He felt disconnected from the whole thing, like it had happened to someone else, but the feelings reminded him that it was him who had seen it, him who had to go through it. Him who had to live with it.

Before he was able to think about it, Bruce had an arm around his shoulders and was leading him through the hospital and they were in the elevator already and the numbers were going down and his ears felt funny and his chest hurt and he was both so tense and so, so tired.

The car door was opening in front of him and he climbed in and buckled himself up out of sheer habit and Bruce had opened the door for him and now he was closing it with a concerned expression, and they were driving down 3rd street and Jason was staring out the window at the blurry neon sea of signs and lighted windows and tail lights and streetlights, all blanketed by the haze of yellowed smog that seemed inescapable even at night.

“This city is such a fucking hellhole,” he muttered.

“What’d you say?” Bruce asked, and Jason blinked and glanced up to see him glancing back at him in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing.” Jason turned back to staring out the window. A subway rattled by above the road beside them, filled with exhausted service workers going home at fucking 9:00 at night. The stoplight turned green, and they outpaced the train. 

“What made you think that, Jason?” Bruce asked softly.

Jason shook his head. “I don’t know.” The lights went by again for a beat. “I just get so tired of it all sometimes. It’s like…it’s like nothing good fucking happens here anymore. It’s like the town just…fucking ate us all, and now we’re just living in its stomach, like we know we can’t get out, and we just have to stay and stay and stay until it digests us and we die, but we don’t leave because we can’t. We just….” his voice cracked. “Can’t.”

The road noise was deafening.

Jason scoffed. “You probably think I’m demented.” He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, and looked decidedly out the window and not at Bruce.

“No.” Bruce said, and Jason still refused to look, because he was afraid of Bruce’s expression. “No, I. I know what you mean.”

____

It was weird to come back to the Manor. Bruce buzzed himself in with a code at the gate, and the winding paths and decor had odd shapes in the dark. They passed the wrecked car still smashed into the tree, and Jason shuddered. They pulled up to the front door, and Bruce parked the car and shut it off. The Manor loomed, a gigantic and dark shape above them, and Jason felt afraid.

But Bruce got out and came back for him, and Jason scrambled out of the car and followed Bruce up the steps as he fished out his keys and unlocked the front door, and he flicked on a lamp, and suddenly the shadows retreated and the Manor was familiar and warm and almost felt smaller somehow, with just the two of them making their way inside.

Jason hesitated in the entryway, suddenly unsure of where to go. His instinct was to run for his room, but he wondered if Bruce would think that was weird, or bad, or…..

Bruce’s voice carried from the kitchen. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”

Jason thought for a second, and realized he was, too. “Uh, coming,” he called, and wandered towards the kitchen through the dark dining room and hall.

Bruce had flicked the overhead light on over the stove, and was setting armfuls of things from the fridge onto the island. He yanked a knife out of the drawer and set on a bag of sandwich rolls. “Would you mind to er,” he said, sawing a roll in half, “find me a plate somewhere?”

Jason stifled a snort at his confusion of the layout of the kitchen, but opened a cabinet and got a plate down. Bruce took it and threw the halved roll on it, and grabbed around for the condiments he’d set next to him. “Mayo? Mustard?”

“Sure,” Jason said, and sat at one of the barstools at the island. His leg was killing him from all the excitement earlier. He’d probably overused it. He hoped he wouldn’t get in trouble with his physical therapist. 

Bruce shoved a sandwich at him, and he blinked and took it. He couldn’t even tell what was on it, but he took a bite and had to suppress a moan. He inhaled the whole thing before he realized he had started, and he blinked at the empty plate. 

Bruce chuckled, and Jason looked up at him, halfway through his own. “You want another?” he asked through a mouthful. 

“Yes.”

So Bruce made him another, and another, and somewhere halfway through the second one, Jason started to feel halfway human again, and his brain didn’t feel quite as buzzy, and he found he could look at Bruce again. He noticed anew the dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled button-down he wore, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the exhaustion that hung heavy over him, the illogical, almost fond expression he had on his face despite everything. Like he was genuinely enjoying his sandwich, and this moment with Jason, even under the circumstances.

“Dick told me some things,” Jason said, not really knowing why he was bringing it up. “About your falling out, and Two-Face.”

Bruce’s expression fell, but he finished his sandwich and sighed, setting both hands on the island and leaning forward against it. “That doesn’t surprise me. It seems safe to assume this situation would bring it to the forefront again.”

Jason hummed. “I couldn’t believe it when he told me. I can’t imagine you acting like that.”

Bruce sighed again. “I was wrong in how I handled it. Entirely. There’s not an excuse for it. The explanation for it is that I was scared shitless for him, and I didn’t explain it directly. Maybe then it wouldn’t have felt like I was rejecting him, or punishing him. I blamed myself for the whole thing. He was in the situation because of me. He should never have had to make that choice. He should never have been,” Bruce swallowed hard, “nearly killed. And I put him in that situation. If he had died, and it had been my fault,” Bruce raised a hand in an almost questioning gesture, and let it fall without a word. “I honestly don’t know what I would have done. I feel like I would have lost it. But again, that’s not an excuse.” 

Jason mulled over that for a moment. Bruce chuckled bitterly. “Batshit, isn’t it?”

Jason barely stifled a surprised snort at the joke, and looked at Bruce in shocked horror mixed with delight. Bruce returned the expression, and they both laughed helplessly for a moment, before sobering again.

“I don’t know,” Jason finally said. “I mean, you can blame yourself if you want, but I wound up in a life-threatening situation, too. I’m not justifying what led up to it, but that’s the point. You can’t know when these things’ll happen. If you could, you could just prevent it. But as it is, I don’t think you put him into that situation. It just happened.”

Bruce shrugged. “He wouldn’t have been where Harvey could get at him if I hadn’t started working with him and bringing him out there.”
“Ah, but you forget, you’re famous and he, and well, all of us, are very exposed from that,” Jason pointed out. “They know where you live. If someone really wanted to get at us, it’s easy to catch us out in public or break into the house. You are not immune to Sharon Tatesing.”

Bruce shook his head ruefully. “Oh believe me, I know. I know.” He glanced up and met Jason’s eyes. “Haunts me every day.”

Jason met his gaze, somewhat surprised at the admission. He swallowed and glanced up at Bruce, half-afraid of the answer he’d get, but wondering what it would be since Bruce seemed to be in such an open mood. “Do you think…..do you think Tim will be okay?”

Instantly Bruce seemed to age at least a decade, and he blew out a breath like the question weighed on him. He ran a hand through his bangs nervously. “I mean, physically? Yes. I think it’ll be a long, hard road to get there, though. Mentally? I’m very concerned about it.”

Jason winced. Yeah, he supposed that going through something like that would be traumatic for anyone, and especially with Tim being so young and having such a rough childhood already. 

“I’ll probably put him back in therapy as soon as he’s up to it,” Bruce sighed raggedly. “I have a feeling we all might need it associated with that.”

Jason blinked, confused. “How do you manage that? Wouldn’t that get you all turned in?”

Bruce shook his head. “No, Jason, patient-doctor confidentiality is a thing, for one thing. And for a second, yes, we have a cover story, but severe injuries are traumatic anyway. No one would be surprised to see a child traumatized after either incident. But just as a precaution, we have a therapist hired by the League we can see.”

Jason raised his eyebrows. “The Justice League?”

“Yes,” Bruce nodded, starting to gather things up and put them back in the refrigerator. “We figured it wouldn’t hurt to have someone who understood the, er, complexities of traumas we tend to deal with.”

Jason snorted. “So, Superman goes to therapy?”

“Yes, actually,” Bruce said, dead serious. “He can hear everything that goes on in the world, Jason. So, every incident of abuse, every murder, every tragedy, every disaster. He heard his own father dying in Kansas while he was in Metropolis and couldn’t get there in time. That does something to a person, even if they are from another planet.”

“Shit,” Jason said eloquently. “I had no idea.” He winced. “The poor guy.”

Bruce nodded wearily. “Even I go sometimes. We all have our scars, Jason.”

Jason fell silent at that. He hoped that Tim wouldn’t be too different. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle it if the previously fun-loving child was suddenly closed off and silent and in his head all the time. It sounded like….it sounded like him, sometimes. He didn’t want Tim to be like him, at least not in that way. 

Bruce put the last of the stuff up and finished wiping down the counter. He sighed. “Well, I suppose we’d better get some rest. It’s back to the hospital in the morning.”

Jason blinked suddenly sleepy eyes and looked up at Bruce, surprised. “No patrol tonight?”

Bruce shook his head wearily. “Not tonight.”

Jason realized the breadth of how Dick leaving would affect Bruce. He didn’t have anyone to watch his back on patrol anymore. He swallowed, feeling useless. He wished he could help Bruce the way Dick and Tim could. But he couldn’t. 

He came back to reality when Bruce patted him on the shoulder. “Up to bed, Jason. I’m going, too.”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” He shoved his chair back. “Alright, B.”

____

He went to bed, like Bruce told him, and he fell asleep rather quickly. But he woke suddenly and violently in the middle of the night and heaved for air like he’d been drowning, looked around back and forth at the dark interior of his bedroom and couldn’t calm down.

He staggered through the hallway of the manor, dragging his screaming leg behind him, until he reached Bruce’s room. He’d never been there before. 

Bruce was awake and sitting up already when the door opened. “Jason?” he asked worriedly.

“I can’t—can’t sleep,” Jason said. His hands were shaking. 

“Shit,” Bruce said, and got up.

Jason woke up much later, when the first rays of sun were coming in the window. It wasn’t his window. 

He stirred and rolled over. He was in Bruce’s bed, which was huge. He searched around the room for Bruce, and found him asleep on a chaise with a throw blanket tossed over him.

Chapter Text

Dick had said he wasn’t gone for good. Jason was beginning to think he’d lied. 

Maybe he was still visiting Tim, but if he was, he never went when they were there. Days crept by, and it was July, and August, and Tim was finally released to come home, but everything was different. Since Tim had been adopted from the Gotham foster system, a report about the accident was sent to them and there was an investigation opened. They had weekly visits from a couple social workers at the Manor, and Jason noted that Bruce made a point to be home the entire day whenever he could be. It was mostly just a check-in to make sure the Manor was a safe environment, that Tim was receiving his therapy and follow-up treatments, generally making sure Bruce wasn’t abusing him. The very thing Jason had once privately wondered, and now felt awful for ever thinking. Even the social workers seemed apologetic, assuring Bruce and the rest of them on numerous occasions that they didn’t really believe he was guilty of any wrongdoing, but the law required the check-ins. Judging by the expressions Bruce had sometimes, when he thought no one was looking (but Jason was), Jason wondered if Bruce felt he deserved punishment. 

Dick hadn’t even texted Jason. Maybe he was ashamed. Maybe he thought Jason would resent it. Honestly, he probably would. But the not hearing was worse, and he hated it beyond words.

Part of the legal requirement of the social work check-ins was that the psychiatrist Tim was seeing after the accident was agreed upon by both Bruce and the city. Apparently they’d had some issues in the past with rich families buying off a therapist to declare their kids fine. So it wasn’t a League therapist Tim was seeing, but an ordinary one. Which had Jason on edge. She came to the house for sessions, and split it half between Tim alone and half with Bruce with him. So they both had to maintain their cover. 

Tim was acting wrong, anyway. He was quiet, subdued, and generally seemed to be immensely frustrated with his physical recovery being so slow. Jason tried to keep him company and play with him, but their whole dynamic was thrown off without Dick. Dick usually was a good ambient presence to make it easier for them both to be around each other. Without it, Jason wasn’t sure what to say half the time, and Tim just radiated anger. Jason wasn't very good at dealing with anger. It was easier to let Bruce deal with it, but Bruce was always so gentle with Tim that sometimes Tim lashed out at him for it. Jason was spending a lot of time in his room lately. 

As a matter of fact, he was starting to feel like he was spending every day in his room. As day after day after day slipped by, without Dick to pop in and out and come up with some harebrained thing to go do for fun, without Tim constantly pestering him to hang out, with Bruce strung in fifteen different directions, Jason was alone. His days turned into a blur of waking up too late, laying in bed too long, eventually getting up and getting dressed because he ought to, not because he wanted to, wandering downstairs to the empty kitchen and grabbing a few protein bars and going back to his room, eating in silence, staring helplessly at the stack of remedial high school homework in a folder Alfred had left him weeks ago, going back down for a lunch that was just more protein bars and whatever else happened to be in the cabinets or fridge. Chips, leftover takeout, side dishes Alfred had presumably made for a dinner Jason missed, adding up to a stack of empty dishes Jason brought downstairs and washed or discarded himself so no one would notice they were gone. One morning his sweatpants didn't fit, so he snuck a pair of Dick's out of the folded laundry pile because it wasn't like he needed them, anyway. Every night before he went to sleep he obsessively counted the protein bars and bottled drinks and jerky he'd stashed in his old bag from home under his bed, just in case he ever needed it, and every morning he awoke with a stomachache and an exhausted outlook. One day he barely even registered anything that happened and he wandered around the manor eating until he suddenly felt sick and had to run back upstairs to his own bathroom to throw up. Shuddering on his hands and knees, staring at the baseboards and sweating, it almost felt like he was home in the apartment again. 

He flushed without looking in the bowl. Just the remains of the same thing he ate every day, and would eat again tomorrow despite the bitter taste in his throat. 

One day he went downstairs and was rifling through the cabinets again when someone moved out of the corner of his eye. He recoiled back from the cabinet and braced, but it was only Bruce standing in the doorway. Jason had almost forgotten what he looked like, and it struck him that he didn't remember the last time he'd seen him. "Bruce?"

"Jason." Bruce said. Damn, his voice sounded rough. He had quite the depression beard going, too. He still looked more put-together than Jason, though, in khakis and a button-down. "You alright?"

Jason was taken aback, but what he said was, "Course, why?" 

Bruce stared off into space for a minute, then shook his head. "Nothing, just. Alfred, um. He said something to me a couple days ago about you not wearing any of your clothes?"

Jason instantly tensed up, but shrugged. "Yeah, they don't fit. But I'm using Dick's! So it's not big deal. Like he needs them."

Bruce winced, and Jason regretted his bitter dig at the end. But it didn't last long. Bruce straightened against the doorframe. "It's fine for you to wear Dick's clothes if you want," he said, "but you should have some things of your own that fit, too."

Jason just blinked at him. 

Bruce sighed. "....Go shopping with me?" he asked. 

"Tim…"

"Alfred took him to his physical therapy. They'll be gone till this afternoon." Bruce said. "We can get burgers," he added after a moment. 

Well.

___

Jason wouldn't let Bruce take him somewhere snooty. They went to JC Penney. He grabbed three or four things in a medium to try on before realizing his mistake and going back in a huff to get larges and later extra larges in some things. Bruce had to keep quietly telling him he didn't have to put anything back if it was more than ten dollars. In the end of it all Jason got a couple pairs of shorts, a bunch of tees, some slacks and a button down at Bruce's insistence, sneakers and a pair of nicer shoes, a couple hoodies, and a leather jacket. And Bruce let him walk outside the store so he didn't have to hear the total or watch Bruce pay it. He sat next to the fountain in the outlet lobby and listened to it gurgle until Bruce came out with a boatload of shopping bags, and they headed for the car. 

Bruce wouldn't admit it, but Jason knew he had a fondness for a particular local chain diner despite his ridiculous macro-nutrient obsession. But they didn't always eat in because of Bruce's celebrity, and Jason had a feeling neither of them felt like facing it today. So they did curbside. Bruce ordered a patty melt and coleslaw. Jason ordered a triple bacon cheeseburger with fries and a milkshake. 

When an employee brought their food, Bruce took it with a gracious thanks, and handed the kid a hundred for his trouble, leaving him stammering standing on the curbside as they backed out and left. Jason stifled a scoff, but still thought about how Bruce did it like it was nothing, in both good and bad ways. 

They drove to a nearby park in the financial district that used to be a real hole but had recently been cleaned up nice thanks to some substantial donations and the help of an organized neighborhood committee who took shifts cleaning it up. Bruce parked the Camaro at the lot near the flower garden and rolled the windows down as far as the Gotham heat would allow. 

Jason handed Bruce his bag and quickly opened up his own, grabbing a handful of fries and chewing them down fast so he could start on the burger. It was perfect, of course, the best kind of smash burger with crisp edges and melted cheese, the kind you couldn't eat cleanly. Seven bites and it was gone. He was halfway through the milkshake when he noticed Bruce was looking at him. "What?" He grumbled through a mouthful of ice cream.

Bruce was sipping his ice water with an unreadable expression, but he quickly averted his gaze and suddenly became very interested in the stitching on the steering wheel. Something nervous started gnawing in Jason's gut, and he took another swig of the milkshake to shut it up as he waited. 

"Jason…" Bruce finally said after a while. "How are you?"

That took him by surprise. Jason looked up sharply. Now Bruce was looking at him, not intently, just patiently. "F-Fine," he stammered out, because he was on the spot.

Bruce chuckled. "You don't have to lie, Jason. This has been a shitty time for all of us, I think."

Jason gaped at the profanity, blinked again, and said, "I mean, I'm pissed at Dick. I don't know what he's doing that he's too good to talk to me all of the sudden. And I don't know if I'll forgive him even if he does talk to me again."

Bruce looked pained, but nodded. "I understand." He hesitated. "And I shouldn't speak for Dick, but his estrangement has absolutely nothing to do with you. It's me he's angry with."

"Well, I know," Jason muttered, "but does it matter if he shuns me just as much as he does you?"

Bruce didn't reply to the remark. He just hummed and took a small bite out of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. 

Jason finished scarfing down the rest of his fries in between chugging the milkshake. He set his empty cup in the cupholder and grabbed the bag to dig around and see if there were any extra fries in it. 

"Jason," Bruce said quietly. 

Jason's gaze snapped up to meet Bruce's, and the fact that the older man was looking at him with one of those expressions that seemed to mix sorrow and concern and trepidation made his stomach clench up. It was almost the same expression he'd worn when Dick left. "What?" Jason asked, shakier than he'd meant it to be. 

Bruce sighed, and set his own cup down. "I was hoping I could talk to you about something….something Alfred and I noticed that's been concerning us. It's…it's about you. And food."

Jason's mind immediately went to the box of perfectly arranged protein bars under his bed. "You've been spying on me?" He stuttered. 

"No." Bruce said, calmly but firmly. "Your room is yours, Jason. None of us will ever rifle through your things. But…we don't exactly have to. Alfred does the shopping. He's noticed we have a sudden distinct lack of shelf-stable foods. And…well, I just want you to know, Jason, this isn't out of nowhere. I've been concerned since you moved in. The first night you came to the Manor from the hospital you ate yourself sick, remember? And I know you've done it since then. Not from spying on you, it's just….easy to see if you're paying attention."

Jason was silent. The comment about how he'd gotten sick on his first night in the manor hit him like a freight train and he couldn't quite keep up with what Bruce was saying after that. 

"....Jason?" He heard after a minute, and said, "Yeah, yeah," automatically so Bruce wouldn't freak out on him. 

"I was just saying it's okay, and Alfred and I both understand why you do it."

"Well I fuckin don't," Jason burst out of nowhere. "I…I don't…I don't eat that much! I can't…"

"Jason," Bruce said, pained. "You were malnourished before. It's not your fault."

Jason glanced down at the bag of clothes at his feet. The XL tags suddenly took on new meaning, and he laughed helplessly. "So, what? Am I fat now?"

"No." Bruce said firmly, and Jason looked at him, surprised. "Jason, honest to God. When you moved in with us you were still weak and trying to recover. Hell, I think you were massively underweight before you were shot. And if you'll notice, you've also gotten quite a bit taller since you moved in. I think you've kind of just managed to tip the scales towards being a healthy weight. Which is good! My only concern is this sort of…mindless, desperate way of eating where you can't stop yourself. It's not a healthy way to go forward, especially in the long run."

Jason scoffed under his breath. "Sure, like you would know."

Bruce sighed, and dropped his gaze. "I know. Believe it or not, though, I do have some idea. My mother was bulimic."

" What?" Jason asked disbelievingly, glancing up at Bruce again. "Martha Wayne? The millionaire queen of Gotham?"

Bruce nodded sorrowfully. "Yes. Her mother was horrifically abusive to her for much of her childhood. She put a lot of pressure on my mom to….look a certain way, act a certain way. The Gotham press was merciless to her growing up. And she had a hard time getting over it, even when she was older." Bruce glanced down at the steering wheel defeatedly. "I always thought my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world," he murmured, almost to himself. "It hurt to know she felt otherwise." 

"I'm sorry," Jason said, because he didn't know what else to say. 

"I am too." Bruce said, looking up. "I didn't mean to make it about me. It isn't. It's about you, Jason. This is a really stressful time for us, and I'm not surprised at all that an issue like this flared up in response. I just want to make sure that you get helped. You shouldn't have to carry this in addition to everything else, and frankly, I don't intend to let you."

"...Okay then." Jason said after a moment. He blew his breath out through his teeth nervously. "So. What do we do?"

"I was thinking I could make you an appointment with Tim's therapist," Bruce said.

"No way." Jason shot back instantly. "That….that church mouse lady?"

Bruce, surprisingly enough, laughed a bit. "She may seem toothless, Jason, but she's far from it. She's actually worked with the Gotham foster system for ten years now, and she's one of the good ones. I'll vouch for her. Besides, she has expertise on childhood trauma. I really think she could help you." 

Jason sighed raggedly and sat back against his seat hard enough his shoulder blades dug into the leather. He really didn't fucking want to go to therapy. But he also really didn't fucking want to get fat, especially with high school looming around the corner like some sort of grim reaper. And he also didn't want to think about food as much as he did. Or feel guilty or weird around others when it came to food. 

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll try."

___

Surprisingly, Bruce managed to get Jason on the therapist's rotation within only a couple weeks. It was decided that Jason's therapy would be done at the Manor at the same time she was at the house for Tim's. So now Jason was sitting outside the ballroom on one of those stupid tufted benches that littered the various hallways of the Manor, picking at his nails and hands and generally losing his mind while he waited for her to come get him once she was finished with Tim. His stomach was in fifteen different knots and he found himself wishing 1. that Dick was there, 2. that Dick was somewhere getting a horrifying wedgie for dumping them, and 3. that he had something, anything to keep his mind off it. He was even craving a cigarette again, alongside images of a stack of pizzas. 

Okay, so this was probably part of the reason he was in this mess. 

The door shuttered open, and Jason's heart rate accelerated even as he stood too fast reflexively and pulled something in his knee that had him falling right back on his ass on the bench again. He faintly heard the therapist saying, "Now remember what we talked about, Tim. I want you to try very hard this week to tell people what you're feeling, in as plain a statement as you can. 'Bruce, I want to hit something because you're ignoring me.' Like that. Okay?"

"Yes Miss Cassidy," Tim said, in as prim a little voice as Jason had ever heard him make. He couldn't stifle a snort of amusement. He didn't think the little shit had it in him. 

Tim's footsteps hurried off into the house (although a trifle slower than he would have a couple months ago, which hurt Jason's stomach in a new way all over again.) The therapist's footsteps, however, echoed around the room and eventually started coming closer, and Jason shut his eyes and tried to pretend that maybe he would spontaneously turn invisible and she wouldn't be able to see him.

The clickety-clack of her high heels on the marble floor rounded the wall. "Ah! You're Jason, I'm assuming?"

Jason opened his eyes with a sigh he managed to keep internal. "Yeah, that's me," he said tightly. 

"Nice to meet you, Jason," she offered a delicate, tiny hand which Jason begrudgingly shook. "My name's Jessica, Jessica Cassidy, but you can call me Jess, Miss Jessica, Miss Cassidy, basically whatever you'd like."

"Can I call you doc?" Jason asked flatly.

Her manicured eyebrows shot up in slight surprise, but she shrugged and said, "Sure, why not? Do you think you're ready to start our session?"

"I fucked my knee up," Jason said lamely. "I don't know if I should walk over there."

"Oh goodness, that's terrible," she said, not missing a beat. Hell, she even sounded sincerely concerned, too. "If you want I could see if I could find your butler and get your wheelchair for you?"

Jason sighed. Well, it'd been worth a try. "Nah, I'll manage," he grunted, and got up. His knee did hurt, but he'd survive walking into the room, at least. 

"Alright, super. Please let me know if you need or would like any help," the doc said, and even kept an even pace walking beside him the whole way into the room.

Jason was once again taken aback at the opulence of the Manor upon entering the room. The far side was decorated with Art Deco-style engravings of giant, regal figures painted in gold leaf. The other wall had crown molding and a luxury wallpaper, and the wall facing the grounds was a giant, narrow window that ran the length of the room. In the center was a chaise and one of the leather wingback chairs from the library with a desk set up next to it in easy reach. 

"Please have a seat, Jason." The doc said, and headed for the wingback herself. Jason, blinking dumbly, limped over to the chaise and threw himself on it carelessly, watching her carefully for her reaction. She didn't seem to be paying attention, sitting down primly and smoothing her pencil skirt beneath her and quickly pulling over the desk and rifling through a stack of papers. She pulled a pen from the bun in her hair and immediately stuck it between her teeth as she flipped through pages. "So, since this is our first session, it's not really going to be much of a session at all, at least not the sort of thing you may be used to seeing on TV. This is mostly just me getting to know you, you getting to know me, seeing what you would like to accomplish with therapy and what your needs are. Does that sound good?"

"Uh," Jason said dumbly. "Sure."

"Great," she said brightly, and rifled through her stack of papers again. The noise was deafening in the big, empty room. "So, I've been looking over your file in preparation for meeting with you. Is it safe to assume this is probably your first experience with therapy?"

"Uh, yeah," Jason said dryly. 

"Okay, great." She said, and shuffled her stack into a slightly cleaner pile and set it on her desk. She resettled in the chair and took her pen in hand, sitting ready to write. "So, I'm just going to be making notes here as we go for things that I think will be important for us to talk about as we go forward, alright? I'd also like to inform you that it is your right at any point to change therapists, for any reason you may have, whether you don't feel comfortable or don't feel your concerns are being met. And if any of my behavior ever contradicts what is legal or what is laid out in the proper conduct as dictated by the state board of psychiatrists, you have a right to file a complaint to report it. That sound good?"

"Sure," Jason answered, not really sure whether it sounded good or not. 

"Great. Alright, so if you'd like, tell me a little about yourself. How would you describe your childhood? Happy, sad, scary, frustrating, healthy, unhealthy?" 

Jason swallowed. Unhealthy would be the most obvious, but somehow that didn't sound right, either. It had been so long ago already, but at the same time it was still right there, so close he sometimes forgot where he was, forgot no one would break anything except by accident, forgot no one would scream at him, forgot that he could sleep without locking his door.

"Exhausting," he said. 

Chapter Text

“So, we’ve got school coming up this week,” the doc said, rifling through her papers as usual. “How’s that feeling? Exciting, are you nervous?”

Jason shrugged. Of course he was nervous, but really he couldn’t quite conjure up much at all to feel about it, other than a dogged resignation that at fifteen he was going to be stuck finishing school regardless of what he did so he’d have to go in there with his head down and get it done. It could be much worse, of course. Bruce’s wealth was buying him a theoretical advantage, anyway; entry to some sort of fancy alternative-education school in the east end. Bruce insisted his wealth wasn’t buying it because the school was founded by a friend of his, and they were funded entirely by charity and grants and accepted kids from low-income and struggling families by lottery, and since Jason absolutely did qualify as that on paper he’d won the lottery to get in fair and square. But of course Jason knew one of their biggest funders was Wayne Enterprises. Not that it was a bad thing Bruce was doing, of course, but it was the principal of the thing. 

“I guess I’m nervous,” he said finally, “but it’s kind of buried under not really giving a shit.”

Sometimes he wished just once her eyebrows would shoot up or she’d shoot him some sort of scolding look. It was what he’d expect from Bruce or somebody who meant well for him, but she always just took his cussing and bitterness in stride, and now was no different. “Why do you think that is?” she asked easily. “Do you think it has something to do with Dick being gone?”

Jason winced. He hated how easily she could say something and it made so much sense. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it, but he had come to the conclusion after a few sessions that felt like they went nowhere that if Bruce was paying for his therapy, and he would have to go, he ought to at least actually try to dredge up what he was thinking and put words to it. So he did, and it was harder than he would have ever thought. Not just because telling another person what he was thinking was humiliating and felt dangerous, but also because he really didn’t know what he wanted to say or what he was thinking half the time. It was like PT but for his brain; over time it became easier but at first it was difficult and stiff and rusty, and hard as hell. 

“Maybe,” he admitted grudgingly. It had been months since the older boy had left and the wound hadn’t anywhere near closed, just smarted and festered and scabbed over. True to his word, Dick hadn’t dropped off the face of the earth. In fact, the switch had flipped and suddenly he was texting all the time. But Jason hadn’t read any of them. He ignored the texts and cleared them off as soon as he received them. They’d been increasingly desperate and still Jason had ignored them. He was content to let Dick squirm. It was the least he deserved for going off and doing some stupid shit like he had.

“Elaborate on that, if you’d like.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I wish he was here but if he was I wouldn’t talk to him. I don’t know if I could look at him right now. I’d…I’d want to be an ass to him, for what he did. But I also miss him and wish he hadn’t done it. But he did. So.”

Again, no tell from the doc. If anything she just pursed her lips, but that might just have been concentration as she kept writing. “Got it. I can understand why you’d feel that way. You have a right to, but I think it’s important to acknowledge you’re feeling this way because you cared so much for him, and still care. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be mad, right?”

“Right,” Jason gritted grudgingly.

“Right, so. You have a right to be mad. You have a right to choose when or whether or not to respond to any of his efforts to contact or make amends. But I would caution you not to cut all ties just out of anger. A friendship can face challenges without being thrown away out of spite. I’m not saying dismiss your anger and hurt. Acknowledge them. But don’t let them be the only thing directing your actions. If you catch yourself spiraling into anger, I want you to remind yourself that the feeling is not bad, but it does not have to control your actions. Think you can do that?”

Jason shrugged. “I guess.”

“Good.” She finally finished writing and clicked her pen off. “Well, there’s our hour. Ready to break?”

“Sure.”

“Well, you have a good first week back at school, Jason.” She stood and tucked her papers into her briefcase. “As always, call me if you need me in between, and I want to hear all about it next week.”

“Sure thing,” Jason said, still semi-awkwardly, and accepted her handshake. “Thanks, doc.”

“Anytime,” she told him, and with a smile, turned and left. He blew his breath out slowly and listened to the clacking of her heels until they faded. 

When he was sure she was gone he wandered out into the hallway. He really wanted to just go into the kitchen and decimate a bag of something, but they’d been working on acknowledging his emotions and naming the feeling and staying on your values and holy fucking shit this sucked. He grumbled and walked in as quickly as he could to grab a bottle of water and hurry off.

In the living room he passed Tim asleep on the couch. Poor little sap, his PT always seemed to wipe him out. He looked smaller than usual tucked up against the arm. Jason lightly pulled the throw over him as he passed, grateful when Tim didn’t wake up.

There was no sign of Alfred or Bruce, so he guessed they must be in the cave. Climbing to his room, he reflected on the solitude. It was both familiar and unfamiliar to him. He’d been alone plenty, of course, but seldom in a way where he could really relax. He didn’t feel like he was relaxing here, either. But the looming challenge of school might have been swaying his views a little.

He opened the door to his room and stepped in, shutting it lightly behind him with a sigh. The windows were open and a toasty smell drifted in on the slightly-chilly breeze. Alfred had hung his school uniform, a blue button down with a knit vest and khakis, out on the closet door so he could easily reach it in the morning. He stared at it with the same trepidation he’d seen Bruce stare at the batsuit with sometimes and threw himself on his bed. 

After a few minutes of just lying there staring up at the ceiling some buried, genial part of him made him reach out and grab his phone off the bedside table. He switched it on and was surprised to see no texts from Dick waiting. He pulled up the contact and just looked at the profile picture—some stupid selfie they’d taken back in May or something after seeing a movie—and tried to drum up some resistance to what he was about to do. His thumb hit the call button before he could quite manage it. 

It rang three times, which seemed like it took forever. When the other end clicked, he held his breath. 

“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice, which at first filled Jason with near-wicked delight. Ohoho, what had we here? But then he placed the slightly formal, out-of-time speech patterns, the muffled sound, like the person on the other end didn’t quite know how cell phones worked. Donna. 

“Hi, is this Donna?” He asked, just to be safe. 

“Why yes. Is this Jason?”

“The one and only,” he couldn’t quite stifle some superlative charm. “Is, er. Is Dick around?”

There was a staticky pause. “He is, but I’m afraid he won’t be able to talk.”

Jason’s heart sank, but he managed to stuff down the disappointment. “Oh?” 

“It’s not that he wouldn’t want to, Jason. He’s unconscious.”

“What?” Jason sat up in a panic, half ready to run for Bruce, leg be damned. “What happened? Is he—“

“He’s alright, I promise. I’m just watching over him. He had a shoulder dislocated in a fight earlier and we gave him some medicine after to help him sleep. He’s fine.”

Jason swallowed his panic and sat back, relieved but still concerned. “Shit,” he said, knowing how much Dick would probably hate having to rest a limb. “Never does anything by halves, does he?”

“I’m afraid not,” he could almost picture Donna shaking her head. “I worry for him. He’s been acting out of character lately. More reckless than usual.”

“….Yeah, that might partially be my fault,” Jason sighed. “He’s been trying to talk to me but I’ve been ignoring him.”

“Ah.” Donna replied diplomatically. “That would explain his behavior, I suppose.”

Jason exhaled roughly, frustrated.  “I don’t want him to get himself killed,” he grumbled angrily. “but he can’t expect me to just get over leaving us like he did when we needed him, can he?”

Donna didn’t reply, and Jason suddenly realized he was making some real asshole moves toward her. “I’m sorry, Donna,” he said, and meant it. “It’s not fair to tell you this.”

Donna hummed on the other end thoughtfully. “You don’t offend me, Jason. I can understand the circumstances. It is hard to see a friend making poor decisions and not want to get involved. I try. But I doubt he will ever be himself again unless he resolves things with Mr. Wayne.”

Despite himself, Jason couldn’t quite suppress a chuckle at her formality. “Nobody calls him that,” he snorted. 

Donna laughed lightly, then went silent. “I cannot ask you to dismiss your anger, Jason. And yet…”

“I know.” Jason sighed. “It would…mean a lot to him if I were to respond, wouldn’t it?”

“I think it would mean everything to him,” Donna said softly. “He speaks of you all the time. You and Timothy are brothers to him, in his heart if not by blood.”

Jason swallowed hard. Dick was the same to him, if he were being honest. It was why his abandonment hurt so much. 

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ll. I’ll try, I guess.”

He could almost hear Donna smile. “I’m grateful to hear that, Jason. You are a fine boy.”

Jason’s face burned. “Uh, yeah. You’re not so bad yourself, Donna.” He cleared his throat. “Just…watch over him for me, will you?”

“You have my word.” A fierceness was in her voice that reminded Jason the blood of Amazons ran in her veins. He didn’t doubt her. 

“Thanks, Donna. Er, have a good night.”

“It’s three in the afternoon here, Jason.” She said easily. And laughed again. She had a pretty laugh. “You have a good night, as well.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason smiled despite himself. After a few more pleasantries and awkward half-cutoffs, they hung up. Jason stared at his phone for another minute before tossing it onto his bedside table. 

He had almost dozed off when he sensed someone watching him and sat up to see Tim standing in the doorway, scrubbing at his eyes. “Bruce isn’t here,” he sniffled, and stumbled inside, glaring through his tears. 

Jason sat up and scooched over on the bed, making room. He helped Tim climb up without stretching his side too much and gave him some space to lay down. 

“I hate school,” Tim muttered. Jason was silent but left a hand on his shoulder. 

“I wish Dick was here,” Tim said after a moment and Jason opened his arms. Tim crawled in and sniffled against his tee shirt. 

Somehow, Jason didn’t mind. 

___

The next morning they were up at the ass crack of dawn, scrambling around in a near-silent panic trying to find jackets and bags and every little silly thing they’d need for some reason. You’d think they were going to the Pentagon and not to school. 

Alfred shook both their hands as they went out the door and wished them good luck, handing them their lunch bags. Bruce drove them in one of his casual-looking cars. Tim’s school was maybe two blocks from the high school Jason was going to, for practical age-separating purposes. Tim clambered out and accepted a hug from Bruce as he went. He waved as he walked off down the sidewalk. “Bye Jason. See ya tonight.”

Jason waved back belatedly. “Uh, yeah! See ya.” He still got caught unawares at being acknowledged sometimes.

Bruce sighed a little raggedly, the only evidence of the stress of the day, and then smiled. “Alright, on we go,” he said, and put the car in gear.

Jason slouched back against the seat and shut his eyes.

They pulled up to the school way too quickly. It was a swanky looking midcentury building with a flat roof, big windows and some sort of courtyard in the front gate. 

Bruce pulled alongside the curb and stopped, and eyed Jason’s clear reticence. “You sure you’re ready for this?” He offered. 

Jason exhaled raggedly. “Yeah,” he sighed, and grabbed his backpack with one hand without looking. “I’ll survive.”

Bruce accepted the statement with a nod. He dropped a hand onto Jason’s shoulder carefully, stopping him.

“I just want you to know I’m very proud of you for doing this.”

Jason was taken aback, but snorted. “I don’t really have a choice.”

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “Still,” he said. “It’d be intimidating for anyone. So go in there and don’t let anyone make you feel any less, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Jason sighed. 

“Good.” Bruce glanced behind him. “I’ll be here to pick you up at 3:00 sharp, alright?”

“Right,” Jason said, giving a two fingered salute as he grabbed his lunch bag. “See you then.”

He ducked out of the car, carefully placing his footing with his braced foot, and backed onto the sidewalk as he watched Bruce drive off. Well. Here goes nothing. He turned and stepped into the crowd of students heading inside the gates. 

The courtyard was absolutely packed with kids of varying ages, and Jason stepped next to the fountain to fumble with the strap on his bag. As the minutes ticked on, the gates leading outside automatically closed, adding to his nervousness. 

Eventually, an adult’s voice raised over the chatter. Jason would have expected a loudspeaker, but instead it was just one person raising her voice over the noise. “Alright everybody! Let’s head inside! Please watch for others and take our time!”

Confused, Jason trailed behind everyone, and was even more surprised when another student in front of him saw him coming towards the door and sidestepped, gesturing for him to go first. “Uh, thanks,” he managed. 

The inside of the building was surprisingly light and open, and the rooms on every side were not the classrooms he remembered from when he’d gone to school eons ago. There were no cramped rows of battered desks crammed into rooms. Instead there were long, open tables with plenty of seating and drawers for storage. Half-finished projects of various types were littered around, some sort of craft table, paints and woodworking, and even what looked like a car engine? The fuck, he thought to himself as he followed the crowd into a large room that looked like an assembly hall. What kind of school is this?

When they had all mostly filed inside, with some adults guiding stragglers in and finding them a spot, the lady who’d called them all inside stepped up to speak. “Hi, everyone, it’s great to see so many familiar faces back this year, and to all of you who are joining us for the first time, welcome! My name is Victoria Altieri and I’m the principal, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the coming semester. We like to try and keep a friendly environment here, so I want all of you to know that if you have any concerns or preferences I want to hear them, and so do any of your teachers. Now, today isn’t going to be a day where we’re going to worry about getting much done in a literal sense, today we’re going to focus on you all getting acquainted with each other and your teachers and getting to know the environment here at school. So we’re going to split you all up into groups to get to know each other, and you all will be free to explore the grounds and get to know some of the things we have to offer. So here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna have you pick a number between 1-5, and you’re gonna go to the teacher holding that number sign. They’ll tell you what to do from there. Sound good?”

A bunch of excited assents. Jason was too busy being slightly overstimulated to get excited, but he obediently glanced around at the different teacher options. He picked 3 for the hell of it and made his way over towards the sign being held up over everybody’s heads.

When he got there he was surprised when the teacher, a balding man with salt and pepper sideburns and dorky glasses, stuck his hand out. “Good to meet you! What’s your name?”

“Jason Todd,” he replied somewhat dumbly, and shook the hand quickly and let go.

“Joseph Jenkins. You a newbie?”

“I guess.”

“Great to have you!” He then gratefully moved on to someone else. Jason managed to avoid notice for a bit while more students kept coming and the teacher kept greeting them. When the flow had stopped and he looked around he started when he spotted the boy that had let him go first in the door. He was older than Jason himself, he thought. Maybe seventeen, eighteen. He was a redhead and had linebacker energy even though he also seemed very intellectual and his vest was rumpled. He seemed to notice Jason eyeing him and glanced up.

“Hey,” he said easily. 

“Hey,” Jason returned.

“Wesley Stanton. What’s your name?”

“Jason Todd.”

“Nice to meet you.” He nodded at Jason’s brace. “How’d you get that?”

Jason glanced down at his foot. “Got shot.”

Wesley’s eyebrow arched, but that was about it. “Ah. Shit.” They let you swear here? Jason glanced around but saw no reaction. “Sorry to hear that.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Wesley stepped closer, and Jason was again taken aback at how easily other students moved for him, like they were used to making space for others & they all knew each other well. He rolled up his shirtsleeve and showed Jason a crazy looking scar on his forearm. “I got that skateboarding,” he told him. “Compound fracture.”

“Shit,” Jason whistled through his teeth. “You skate?”

“Used to. That fixed me.” Wesley rolled his sleeve back down, buttoned it, and smoothed it out. “No fun going outside in Gotham these days. What music do you like?”

They were deep in conversation about an obscure Australian metal band when Mr. Jenkins announced they would move to the classroom slowly but they were welcome to split off wherever they’d like. Wesley just started walking, and Jason would have taken that as the end of the conversation, except he was still talking. So Jason tailed along, slightly bewildered and wondering when he would get distracted and leave him a moment to himself again. 

“Do you like chickens?” Wesley asked.

“Huh?” Jason blinked. “Like, in tender form?”

Wesley grinned. “No, in live form.”

“I’ve uh. Never seen one I don’t think.”

“We’ll fix that. Come with me.”

Okay?

Turns out, there was a whole grassy section fenced off on the other side of the school. There was another, smaller patio absolutely filled with plants, and a greenhouse besides. And there was a chicken coop. Wesley easily stepped in and made some sort of clucking noise, and the chickens ran out and circled excitedly around their feet. Jason was sure his expression was hilarious, but he was half worried of them biting him, or of stepping on one of them. 

When he glanced up, Wesley was holding a chicken. Like. Like a fucking cat. It was just sitting on his forearm looking as content as could be. 

“This is Shirley,” he told Jason. “She’s my pal. I hatched her in class last year.”

Jason was dumbfounded. “They hatch chickens in class?”

“If you want to,” Wesley told him. “Sometimes it’s a little rough because the chickens can be sick or disabled and they die. But it’s nice when they don’t. And we use the eggs in cooking class.”

“Cooking class?” Jason said, faintly. 

Wesley glanced up at him with that same perceptive look. “You okay?” He asked easily.

“Yeah, just.” Jason made a helpless gesture with his hands. “This is not what I’m used to when it comes to school.”

“Ah,” Wesley said wryly, and gently set the chicken down. “Yeah. It can be a lot to get used to. It’s fun, though.” He headed back towards the school. Then he turned to look at Jason. “Coming?”

Hell. He guessed so.

___

Wesley hung out with him the whole day. And he introduced him to all of his friends in the class. There was Emma Steinritz, a tall, muscular girl who played lacrosse, Theo Hahn, a guy who was into computers and botany, and Molly Jensen, a quiet, sarcastic girl whom Jason instantly pegged as being from the Narrows like he was. Turned out, she won her place in a lottery too, and her mom was an addict as well. Jason thought of his mom with a pang. Somewhere along the line in her program she had had some sort of relapse or something and her visiting privileges had been revoked by the rehab. She wouldn’t get them back for at least another month. 

3 o’clock came around shockingly fast, and even before it did, they started wrapping the day up at like 2:25. The kids were free to hang out wherever, so Jason played another game of follow the leader and wound up sitting on the edge of the fountain with Molly and Theo while Wesley and Emma played horse at the basketball hoop.

Molly snorted when Wesley missed a shot and Emma sank it. “She’s out of his league.”

Jason shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to mind him.”

“No,” Molly agreed. “He’s a good sport, just a dork.” Theo chuckled his agreement and adjusted his glasses. 

“Is every day really like this?” Jason asked.

“No,” Theo said. “Sometimes it’s busier or what have you, but it is usually this relaxed. Nobody’s gonna be looking over your shoulder demanding you hurry up around here.” 

“Huh.” He still couldn’t quite get over it. This was not how he’d pictured his day going this morning.

Wesley returned, out of breath. “What are you guys doing this evening?”

“I’ve got to catch the bus home,” Molly said.

“Probably messing with my linux. Again.” Theo said.

Wesley looked expectantly at Jason, who sputtered, “Going home and collapsing,” which earned a chuckle from the other three. What the fuck. They were even acting like he was funny now. 

“You should join our group chat,” Wesley said, yanking his phone out of his back pocket. “What’s your number?”

“Uh,” Jason said, and told him. Wesley jotted it down intently and stuck his phone back in his pocket. “We hang out after school sometimes, or get together in town. If you can make it, if not, we get it.”

“Uh huh,” Jason nodded. “Sure.”

The gates opened. Molly stood up. “I’ve gotta be going,” she said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “See you guys later. See you tomorrow, Jason!” She waved behind her as she walked off. 

“Uh, yeah.” He replied, a little too late. “Be seeing you.” 

“I’ve gotta go, too.” Theo rolled his eyes and stood up. “My dad’s probably called the coast guard by now.” 

And then Jason and Wesley were left alone. Jason got his gut together and asked. “Why are you doing all this?”

Wesley, who’d seemed lost in thought, looked back at him. “Hm?”

“You know.” Jason kicked the sidewalk. “Talking to me. Hanging out, adding me to your group like this.”

The other boy shrugged. “I don’t know.” He finally said. “You seem cool. And everybody needs a friend.”

Jason absorbed that for a moment. Huh. Another huh in a day full of them. Without quite knowing what he was doing, he stood up and offered his hand to shake. Wesley took it. 

“Thanks,” he told him, and meant it. “It means a lot.” 

“You’re welcome,” Wesley said, and let his hand go. A car horn honked somewhere in the distance. “That’s my mom. I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here,” Jason told him. And with a smile, Wesley turned and sprinted off towards a waiting car.

Jason made his way down past the few stragglers still hanging around the gates and quickly spotted Bruce down by the curb. He made his way over and waved with a smile when Bruce saw him coming. 

He climbed in and shut the door. “I take it it wasn’t bad?” Bruce smiled at his expression, pulling off to go get Tim.

“No,” Jason said. “Not at all.” 

___

That evening, Jason was lying in bed, with some 90’s tv show mindlessly playing on the screen as he straightened up his backpack for the next day. A text came in on his phone from Dick. Hey. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am I can’t be there for toda—

A text buzzed on his phone from Wesley. Hey. You up? 

He stared at the screen a moment. Then he selected Wesley’s text and started typing.