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Dick Grayson had been running the boxing gym ever since he had aged out of the Wayne Legacy Group Home—nearly ten years ago now. Since Kory had joined him in managing the Titan Boxing Gym—and with the addition of her self-defense classes—the gym had been thriving.
Still, Dick had been wanting more—something missing, something he wasn’t quite sure how to fill, though he had been wanting to give back to the kids who were still living in the rundown group home just blocks from him.
It wasn’t fair, that they were raised as hard as they were, that they had to fight to survive, that none of the adults in charge seemed to care if they got hurt or disappeared entirely. Dick wanted to do something—but what could a boxing instructor with nothing but a GED and a bare apartment above his own boxing gym do for a house full of kids?
The opportunity presented itself, strangely enough, in the form a curly-haired, sharp-edged little punk in a red hoodie named Jason Todd.
The boy swaggered into the Titan Boxing Gym one rain-whipped day at the end of October, shaking water from his curls and looking defiantly over the counter at Dick.
“So,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Can you teach me how to fight?”
Dick had to bite back a smile. The kid was small and scrappy, but there was a look in his eyes that said he would last more than a few rounds in the ring no matter who is opponent one—that was the instinct of a street kid, a survivor. “Sure,” Dick said. “Come try a class.”
Jason Todd was mouthy—ending up in the back of class doing push-ups more often than not for mouthing off to Dick or one of his instructors, Hank or Dawn. Usually Hank. Dawn was gentle with him, as she was gentle with everyone, and it seemed some days that it was the only thing that could reach him.
The others began showing up after Jason had been training for a few weeks—Rachel first, a quiet girl with wide dark eyes and darker makeup, who kept to herself but hit the bag hard, and seemed to have attached permanently to Kory after a single self-defense class.
The boys had it rough in the group homes, Dick knew that from experience, but the girls had it worse, so he moved slowly when it came to Rachel. He was not well-versed in gentleness, had not been raised in it, but he found he could try for the skinny wide-eyed kid who looked at both him and Kory with such awe.
Gar was the third one to show up, a kid with bright green hair and a surprising sense of humor, despite his upbringing, though it came, as it so often did with Wayne Group Home kids, with an undercurrent of sadness. He worked hard, though, and while he followed Jason’s lead in most things, he showed the respect Dick expected from his students. Sometimes when he was striking the bag alone, deep in his own head, he had an almost animalistic look in his eyes, something sharp and hard he had learned from the world that had raised him.
It made Dick’s chest ache to think of what would have hardened a kid like Gar, someone with such a good heart beneath it.
Connor came next. He was a tall kid, quiet mostly, but the others treated him as if he someone to protect, despite his size. He had an innocence to him, a wide-eyed look that made Dick understand Jason’s instinct to protect the kids.
Rose wandered in about three months after the other kids had started training, a long scar snaking down her face from just above her eye to nearly at the edge of her jaw. She looked as hostile as Jason Todd had, her hands curling into fists before anyone so much as spoke to her. Dick could see she had knives concealed most days, had grown used to looking for the look of a blade tucked into a jacket or boot or pant leg.
The day he saw the lump of a handgun beneath her jacket, though, he walked her straight back outside into the dimly lit alley. You never bring that here again, you hear me? he told her sternly.
He had expected more resistance, expected her to lash out in return, because she was a kid of Gotham’s streets as surely as he was, but instead tears pricked at her eyes, though she quickly wiped them away.
He set a hand on her shoulder. You don’t have to tell me, he told her. But if there’s someone you’re worried about, I can help, if you’ll let me.
She hadn’t spilled everything to him, not that day, or even in the weeks to come. The answers came out in pieces—a father she was escaping, a criminal underworld, a lifetime of bruises. He knew from experience that truth was often too potent to spill all at once, that the fragments that came out were pieces of trust, slowly building.
Last, of course, was Tim. The youngest of the group, a bright-eyed kid at least a few years younger than the rest—twelve, maybe—who followed Jason Todd around like the sun rose and set by the other boy. It could be good, Dick would find himself telling Kory after class had finished and the kids had trooped out together. It could be good for Tim, if Jason got his shit together and led him down a better path. It could be good for Jason, give him motivation not to stray too far down the darker paths that lay so abundantly before a Gotham kid from the streets.
But he worried. Of course he worried.
There was one particular night several months after Jason Todd had first begun training at the Titan Boxing Gym, a stormy April night with rain whipping against the windows and thunder cracking overhead. Whatever was going on with Jason—and Dick was sure there was something, that there was always a reason a kid lashed out—he was spinning out.
The classes provided Jason with some structure, something no classroom teacher or social worker or group home manager had ever seemed able to do, and punishing him with extra push-ups or making him sit out sparring at the end, those things sometimes worked for him. Hell, sometimes even a stern word from Dick could do it, on a good night.
But tonight there was something sharp and hard in the kid’s face, a mask Dick recognized.
There were rules, on the mats, about limiting the cuss words, about respecting your training partners and your training space, about saying yes sir to your instructors. It was an old-school kind of martial arts gym, the kind that had saved Dick all those years ago.
Without it, he thought, he would have followed Bruce Wayne down a much darker, crueler path.
Dick saw it unfold across the room—one of the fighters walked past Jason towards the locker room, on his way back from the ring, something he’d had to forbid Jason from participating in, because Jason hadn’t been holding back, had been careless and reckless in his training. It was a common enough punishment, but clearly tonight it had pissed Jason off more than usual, because when the fighter walked past Jason, his shoulder accidentally brushing Jason’s, Jason turned and shoved him.
Hard.
“Jason Todd.” Dick’s voice cracked like a whip across the mats.
The room was suddenly quiet. Rachel had flinched at the sternness in his voice, so Dick squeezed her shoulder gently, and then walked past Gar and Connor and Tim, who had been putting away their kick shields and were now watching him, wide-eyed.
Rose drew back almost instinctively, her arms folded over her chest, though the look in her face was, of course, as defiant as always.
Jason was staring back at him, jaw set, a grin twisting across his face. “What the fuck,” he said, his voice dangerously, deadly quiet. “Do you want?”
Dick jerked his head at the other fighter as he walked towards them, who nodded and stepped back, eyes narrowed as he stepped past Jason.
Jason lunged at the man, but then Dick was there in between them, and Jason stopped himself, just in time, wavering in front of Dick. He looked defiant, but there was something else in his eyes for a moment, flickering there, something of uncertainty, or even longing.
“You wanna tell me what the hell that was?” Dick’s voice was stern, but he kept it even, measured. Controlled. He knew Jason and his group of friends had seen the worst the world had to throw at them, and he was going to get nowhere with the kid if he associated Dick with the many adults in his life who had been cruel to him.
“Fuck off,” Jason told him.
Dick looked over at Kory, who called the rest of the class over to learn a new striking drill. The others shuffled over, many still casting backwards glances at Dick and Jason. “Try that again,” Dick said.
If he didn’t have an audience, Jason tended to trust Dick enough to back down. Usually.
Tonight, however, he was more livewire than boy, and his eyes were crackling dangerously. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t think I will.”
“Alright.” Dick met the boy’s gaze evenly.
Despite himself, Jason was shifting back and forth just slightly, repositioning his weight from one foot to the other. “Do whatever you’re going to do, man,” he said sharply, though his voice cracked just a bit. “Kick my ass or kick me out, I don’t care. It was always gonna fucking happen, man, so just get it over with.”
“No,” Dick said firmly. “No, you don’t get off that easy, Jason.”
Jason’s face paled slightly, but then his face twisted into a sneer again as if he could refuse fear simply by being angry enough. “You gonna go on some power trip, then? Make me pay for it first?”
“Jason,” Dick said quietly. “You cannot make me be cruel to you.”
Jason’s eyes flickered in confusion, but then he barked out a laugh. “This is bullshit,” he snapped. “I’m done. Come on,” he called to Gar and Rachel and Connor and Tim, who were all huddled near Kory, who was calmly continuing to teach some joint-based throws to the class. “We’re leaving.”
“Enough,” Dick said firmly. “You can feel whatever you’re feeling, but you may not take it out on your training partners. And you may not speak to anyone here—instructor or student—the way you have been speaking.” He pointed to the floor in front of him. “You can push the floor until you’re ready to talk about this. Respectfully.”
Most nights, when Dick simply raised an eyebrow at him and pointed to the mats, Jason dropped—albeit angrily—and began knocking out pushups, his face set.
But tonight was different, a desperate, furious shift in energy.
Dick’s instinct was to just pull the kid close and hug him, because really, how many years had it been since someone had done that for Jason Todd? But what he needed now was someone to remind him—firmly—where the boundary lay.
Jason moved, a sudden lunge towards Dick, hands out to push.
Dick side stepped him easily, applying an arm bar that spun the kid around so his back was to Dick. Dick wrapped his arms around Jason, pinning his arms at his sides. “Enough,” he repeated. “Jason, enough.”
Jason thrashed in his arms, letting out a string of curses and trying to drive an elbow into Dick’s ribs. The kid was an accomplished fighter, that much Dick had seen in the six months he had spent training here, but Dick had spent nearly three decades training and fighting to survive. He held the boy fast, and followed his instincts.
“I got you,” he said softly, his voice low against Jason’s ear. “I got you, kid. It’s okay. I’m here.”
Jason bucked in his arms once more and then he sagged against Dick so wearily it caught him off guard. The boy opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—and from the suddenly forlorn look on his face, it might have been an apology—but then he just let out a deep sigh.
“Alright,” Dick said finally, keeping his voice soft. He was sure the other students—especially the other group home kids—were sneaking glances from across the room, but he kept his body between Jason and the others, and kept his attention focused firmly on the kids. “Let’s talk more about this in the back.”
He released Jason, who staggered for a moment. Dick steadied him with one hand on his forearm. Jason looked up at him questioningly, the defiance wrapped in confusion and something more, something too painful to name. “You don’t—don’t I have pushups?” he was clearly trying to make his voice sound as rough and hard as it had moments ago, but he looked vulnerable now, painfully so.
“Come on.” Dick hooked a hand under the kid’s arm and guided him into the back office that only he and the other instructors. He shut the door behind him with a click and dipped his head at the worn black couch, the frayed dragon-embroidered blanket he’d brought from the group home slung over the back of it. “Sit down.”
Jason stood, his glare firmly back in place. “Fuck you,” he said.
Dick raised an eyebrow and waited.
Finally, with a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a huff, Jason sat down on the couch.
Dick pulled a chair from the small table at the back where he and Kory sat to balance the budget every month, and set it in front of the couch. He sat down, positioning himself between Jason and the door, in case the kid got any ideas about outrunning the consequences of his actions. “Talk to me,” he said.
“Stop,” Jason snapped. “Stop with the good guy act. I fucked up. I made a scene in your fucking gym, and you have to be pissed and why can’t you just admit it, I am sick of your fucking high-and-mighty bullshit, you—you—”
The boy sounded dangerously close to crying.
“Alright,” Dick said. “Then I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. You are not in charge here, kid, and you cannot make me treat you cruelly.” He repeated the words he had said earlier, and Jason’s body jerked as if he had been struck. “What you can do is lose privileges—like you lost the privilege to spar tonight—or earn yourself punishment like push-ups. I have high expectations for my students, and I know you are better than this. I know you can do better than this.”
Jason scraped the back of his hand over his eyes. “What if I can’t?” he said. The question sounded more forlorn than defiant. “What if I’m not?”
Dick sighed and then moved from his chair so that he was crouching in front of Jason at the kid’s level. “I am sorry you’re hurting,” he said. He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Jason froze, his body jerking slightly, but he did not pull away. “I’m—that’s not—” He met Dick’s eyes, the look in his face desperate. “I’m not,” he repeated. Finally, he managed to ask—“What are you going to do? About tonight?”
Dick could give the boy more push-ups, maybe even assign him some clean-up duties in the gym as well as an apology to the fighter he had shoved, but that felt like a temporary bandaid over a wound that was going to keep bleeding. He had an idea—one that he’d been considering since the first time Jason had mouthed off at Dick to get a reaction—but he had to tread carefully with a kid who had lived as roughly as Dick knew this kid had.
He met Jason’s gaze with an even look. “If you were my kid,” Dick said firmly. “I’d put you across my knee and spank you for your tantrum tonight.” He paused, weighing the kid’s reaction.
If it was panic—and it might be, he realized sadly—he would slow down and assure the kid that he wasn’t going to, not unless the kid agreed to it.
Jason’s head snapped up, disbelief in his face. “Like a fucking kid?” he said.
“You are a kid,” Dick pointed out, pulling a scowl from the kid. “You have certainly acted like one tonight.”
Jason opened his mouth like he was going to argue, and then abruptly his shoulders sagged. “Yea,” he said in a very, very small voice that tugged at Dick’s heart. “Yea, okay.”
That had not quite been the reaction Dick had been expecting, but he squeezed Jason’s shoulder. “Yea?” he asked softly.
Jason nodded, his head still ducked. “Just get on with it,” he said roughly.
Dick sighed and sat down next to him on the couch. “Listen to me,” he said softly. “You matter to me, kid, and I don’t want to see you acting out in a way that hurts—well, hurts yourself more than anyone else, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Jason flinched again, his eyes firmly on his lap.
“I care about you,” Dick repeated firmly. “And I think this is what you need, but that’s a lot of trust I’m asking you for. You don’t have to say yes. You can say no, and we can go back out there and you can do push-ups like you were told, and stay late to clean the gym as punishment. But I think this will make you feel better.”
Jason’s hand twisted in his lap, and then a tear escaped, cutting a track down his cheek.
Dick reached out and brushed it away with his thumb. “It’s your choice, Jason,” he said softly.
Jason nodded again. “Okay,” he said.
“Alright,” Dick said. “Then come here, please.”
He settled Jason over his lap and placed one hand on the boy’s back.
Jason was stiff, his body still.
“Before we do this,” Dick said. “I need to know, little one. Do you have any injuries? I don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”
Jason shook his head no.
“Okay,” Dick said gently. “That’s good. One more thing. You know I’m from the Wayne home too, and you know I grew up the way you did, yea? So I need to know if—” He was not quite sure how to phrase it. How would we ask the fragile kid in his charge if this reminded him of something worse, of someone who had hurt him?
Jason shook his head no. He had buried his face in the threadbare blanket, but Dick could still his muffled words—“It’s different.”
“It’s different?” Dick rubbed his back gently.
“You are,” Jason said. “I—just do it, Grayson. I’m telling you I trust you.”
He sounded annoyed enough now that Dick figured it was time to get a move on, so he brought his hand down in a hard smack to the seat of Dick’s pants.
The boy was wearing sweatpants, though they were fairly thin, and he lurched at the swat, though he made no noise.
Dick began to swat methodically, covering the boy’s upturned backside and the sit spots where he would feel this discipline the next time he sat down. After a few firm rounds of swats, Jason was less stiff over his lap, though he still had made no noise, his face buried in the blankets. “Why are you getting this spanking, Jason?” Dick asked him firmly.
Jason grunted into the blanket but did not answer, and Dick rewarded him with two sharp smacks to his sit spots.
“Jason,” he said quietly.
“Fine,” Jason said. His voice sounded wobbly. “I’m here because—ow, Grayson, damnit—because I am a fuckup.”
Dick swatted the boy’s sit spots again. “No,” he said sternly. “I let you keep your pants up this time, but if you talk about yourself that way, we can be having this lesson on your bare backside.”
Jason responded by squirming on his lap, his hips bucking at the onslaught of swats. “No,” he said. “No, Dick, I’ll be—I’ll—”
“Why don’t we go back to my question,” Dick said when the words tapered off. Jason was sniffling down, and Dick slowed the pace of the spanking, ever so slightly, to allow the kid to catch his breath. “Why do you need this spanking, Jason?”
“That’s not—ow—what you asked earlier,” Jason said, hips bucking again.
Dick shifted him and then wrapped his other arm around the boy’s waist, holding him more firmly in place. “The longer it takes you to answer my questions,” he said calmly, landing a hard swat on each side of Jason’s bottom. “The longer we will be here.”
“Ow—fuck—I’m sorry,” Jason said. “We’re here because I fucked up, okay? Because I was—I was shitty all night, the whole class, and then I—then I—ow, I’m sorry, sir—”
They were a traditional school, so students usually called their instructors sir, though Jason had always made a point of calling him Grayson the moment they stepped off the mats after class. Not now, though, apparently.
“I know you are,” Dick said, continuing to cover Jason’s backside with smacks. “I’d like you to tell me why you shoved one of your training partners.”
Jason sagged in his arms. “Because I—ow, fucking ow—because I was angry, and I wanted you to—I don’t know, I’m sorry, I am—”
Dick stopped the spanking for a moment, rubbing Jason’s back between his shoulder-blades. He gave the back of Jason’s neck a gentle squeeze. “What did you want me to do, kid?” he asked.
“I just—” Jason’s voice broke. “I just wanted someone to see me.” And then he was crying in earnest, his body going limp over Dick’s lap. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, kid,” Dick said gently. “We’re almost through, alright?”
Jason nodded, gulping for breath.
“Catch your breath,” Dick told him. “Ten more, and then we’re done here.”
He brought his hand down with a sharp swat, and Jason lurched forward, dropping his arms to cling to Dick’s leg. The boy was still apologizing, but Dick let the spanking speak for him, landing a few last hard swats to the boy’s sit spots.
He lifted Jason, who was still crying, and set him on his lap, wrapping him into a tight hug. Jason—fierce, take-no-shit, pick-a-fight-with-anyone Jason Todd—buried his face in Dick’s shoulder, his own shoulders shaking with sobs.
“I see you,” Dick told him. “I see you, and I’m not leaving you to do this all alone, alright? I got you, kid. I got you.”
#
Jason had had a few predictions for what would happen tonight: 1) Dick Grayson would finally have enough of his shit and kick him out, 2) Dick Grayson would use him as a punching bag and then kick him out, or 3) Dick Grayson would give up on punishing him at all, ignore his shitty behavior, and then just tell him, at the end of class, to get lost and never come back.
He had not expected a trip over Dick Grayson’s knee in the little back lounge for instructors. He had definitely not expected to be crying like a stupid kid in Dick’s arms.
He was stupid, so fucking stupid, and so weak, and it wasn’t okay, he needed to be strong, and get up, but Dick’s arms were warm and they felt fucking safe, and that had been a scarcity in Jason Todd’s life.
“Hey,” Dick was saying now. One warm hand carded through Jason’s curls. “Come back to me, kid. Where’d you go in there?”
“This is stupid,” Jason muttered, but he let his head stay on Dick’s shoulder. “I’m not a little kid.”
“You’re one of mine,” Dick said.
Jason felt his body tense. He didn’t dare look up at Dick.
“You and the others—Rachel, Gar, Connor, Rose, and Tim—are very important to me,” Dick said firmly. “We’ve talked about how—here on the mats, we make a family, yea? That means you’re my family. I wouldn’t have disciplined you tonight if I didn’t care about you.”
Jason’s eyes stung again. “I’m sorry,” he said.
He had caused so much trouble.
That was nothing new, of course. He caused trouble everywhere he went. Lit shit on fire. That kid would pick a fight with God himself if he could, one social worker had said. Jason had laughed and asked if she had god’s number.
But Dick Grayson had spent hours teaching Jason—but not just him, the other kids, too, and they deserved better. Gar relaxed into himself on the mats here in a way Jason had never seen him do anywhere else. Rose might not say much—or ever admit to caring about anything—but she followed Kory around like Kory was some kind of god. Rachel, who never let anyone close, let Dick adjust her stance or ruffle her hair gently when she was leaving class. Connor, of course, talked about all the instructors—Dick and Kory and Dawn and Hank—like they were actual superheroes. Tim, the baby of their group, adored Hank to the point of hero worship.
He hadn’t thought that he might fuck it up for them, too, and his selfishness made him want to start crying again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Hey.” Dick’s voice had that note of sternness again that always made Jason sit up and pay attention. “I know what you’re doing. Knock it off.”
Jason was so surprised that he chanced a look up at Dick. The look Dick met him with was kind, but firm beneath it.
“Your brain is so loud, kid,” Dick said, a thread of humor in his voice. “No, don’t do that,” Dick said, cupping Jason’s head gently against his chest. “Don’t be cruel to yourself. It’s okay to forgive yourself. I do.”
Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “Dick,” he managed. “Shit. Shit.”
Dick shifted him so that Jason was leaning against his chest. “It’s alright,” he said gently. He rocked them both just slightly, and Jason let himself—just this once—accept the comfort.
Finally, when Jason felt his eyes were growing heavy, he pulled away from Dick slightly, though he remained seated on the man’s lap. “I’m—I should make sure the kids are okay,” he said.
“Kory took them upstairs to our apartment for dinner,” Dick said.
“Shit,” Jason said. “How late is it?”
“Class ended about an hour ago,” Dick said, amusement in his voice. “You can apologize to the fighter you pushed at tomorrow’s class. For now, let’s go upstairs and get you something to eat, yea?”
“I—I can just go home,” Jason said as Dick set him on his feet. He had already been—a bother, all night long, and Dick had spent the last hour and a half taking care of him. “I don’t want to—”
“You can do as you’re told,” Dick said firmly, but the look he gave Jason was gentle. He ruffled Jason’s curls with one hand. “Come on, kid. Your friends need proof of life, I think.”
He wrapped an arm over Jason’s shoulders and led him towards a door at the back of the office, and then up a flight of stairs.
The apartment above was spacious—the space was a converted warehouse, the high-ceilings ideal for the gym below, but in the apartment it made things feel both homey and spacious. There was a fireplace, and a fire crackling within it, Kory on the couch with Rachel curled up in her side and Rose fast asleep on the couch, stretched out with her feet up on the side and her head on Kory’s thigh.
Connor was snoozing in an easy chair, Tim curled up next to him.
Only Gar and Kory were awake. Gar’s gaze was careful, hesitant, but Jason gave him a tentative smile.
“You alright?” Gar asked roughly, not quite looking at Dick.
“Yea,” Jason said, surprised when it came out sounding convincing. “Yea, I’m…I’m good, actually, man. I’m okay.”
Dick squeezed his shoulder and released him, stepping forward to press a kiss to Kory’s forehead. “Grab a plate,” he told Jason. “And take your time. We have enough space up here, and enough air mattresses and sleeping bags, plus the couch is a pullout. You can all stay the night.”
“That’s not necessary,” Jason said, though he filled his plate as he had been told. He had pride, certainly, but he knew well enough not to turn down a perfectly good meal, no matter what. “We can get home after—”
Dick raised an eyebrow at him. “I am not letting you walk home this late,” he said firmly. “Come on. Have a seat and eat your supper.”
“Can I—eat standing, actually?” Jason asked, his face flushing as he asked the question.
Dick and Kory exchanged a look, Dick’s smile slight. “Yea, of course, kid,” he said. “Or you can come sit with me on the couch. A bit softer than the chairs at the dining table.”
Jason ate quickly—again, an instinct he had developed over so many years bouncing from one house to another, from years spent as the kid that nobody cared to feed or house or give a shit about.
I see you, Dick had said tonight, and Jason could still feel the truth of that statement every time he sat down. I got you.
Jason leaned heavily against Dick as they sat on the couch in front of the fire. Kory tucked a blanket over his shoulders at one point, her hand gentle when she brushed a few strands of curls from his face.
“You alright?” she asked him.
His eyelids were drooping shut, and he was tucked securely under Dick’s arm, his head resting against Dick’s chest.
“Yea,” he said sleepily. “Yea, I’m good.”
Tomorrow would bring more shit. It always did. He’d have to go back to the group home, and he’d have to apologize to that dumb fuck Owens, or who the fuck ever, the guy he had shoved, but—but for tonight, his family was safe, and Dick and Kory, for some strange goddamn reason, really did give a fuck about him. So he shut his eyes and listened to the crackle of flames in the fireplace and the rain still falling outside—but more slowly now, a gentle, steady fall and not the near-tempest of earlier—and let them take care of him.
And later he would not ever quite remember if he was dreaming or not, but the last thing he heard, as Dick’s hand carded through his curls gently, was the low soothing sound of a voice saying—
“I got you, kid.”
I got you.