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2015-10-27
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I Draw the Line at Making Flower Crowns in the Sewer

Summary:

It did not help his own appearance frightened the other performers and for the most part the few months he had been there, he was locked in a cage with everyone staying away from him.

Except this boy.

This one boy was sitting outside the bars of his cage and staring.

(When Dick's parents die, Waylon takes him and runs away from the state system and the strange billionaire that's taking too much interest in the one person he still cares about. Yet, they still end up coming back to Gotham because where else is a crocodile man and his not-quite-adopted kid supposed to go?)

Notes:

Okay no this requires some explanation. Lamentforboromir was explaining her accidental angry!daddy Killer Croc feelings based on the new 52 where he keeps picking up these kids and then being really confused about how he picked them up to begin with and sorta being this aggressive asshole parent figure.

And then I was reading about Batman Earth One where he wasn't just sold to the circus but to Haley's circus and somehow this crack monster au was born.

I'm borrowing pretty freely from whatever canon I feel like it, including Earth one, the Arkham games, and the New 52 and sorta plopping that all down in the Gotham of my head which is mostly from the Pre-boot universe. Waylon is a lot less violent because unlike the Arkham games where the circus where found a home was destroyed, he chose to leave it to keep Dick safe which means he's sorta closer to Earth One Waylon.

This might turn into Dick/Bruce. Maybe. Just in case it does though I want everyone to have enough warning because I know that's not always a pairing people are comfortable with. But it would be down the road.

I have no idea what I'm doing with my life anymore.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It was not that Waylon Jones was surprised anymore at the utter inhumanity of humans.

His own family had sold him to the circus after all, and since then he had been forced to perform like one of the other animals. He didn't think the owner of the circus was necessarily a bad man, but perhaps a small minded one.

It did not help his own appearance frightened the other performers, which meant for the last few months he had been locked away in a cage. The others skirted around it, shooting concerned and fearful looks his way and not saying a word. 

Except this boy.

This one boy was sitting outside the bars of his cage and staring.

“Have you come to gawk?” Waylon demanded, his voice rusty from disuse.

“No,” the boy said, and frowned, even though staring was exactly what he had been doing. “I'm confused,” he admitted.

“About what?” Waylon asked, and wanted to curl deeper into his cage and ignore the first person to actively speak to him in days.

“If you can talk,” the boy said and paused, obviously struggling with something. “Why are you in a cage?”

“Because I'm frightening,” he snarled, and he could put enough force behind those words that the boy startled back. “I could eat you if I wanted.”

“Do you?” the boy asked, not much perturbed.

“What?” Waylon asked.

“Do you want to eat me?” the boy asked, and he couldn't seem for the life of him to be able to stand still, constantly shifting and finally he seemed to give up, going up on a hand stand and considering Waylon from the new angle.

“Not particularly,” Waylon said when he recovered himself.

The boy smiled.

“Why are you here anyway?” he asked.

“Because I'm curious,” the boy repeated and grinned. Even upside down, it was a pleased grin and Waylon tilted his head to see the expression better. “Besides, I like all the animals.” Waylon felt himself want to retreat and snarl again, and he rattled the bars of the cage to get some of his rage out. But the boy just kept talking. “But you're not an animal at all! I mean, Zitka is kind to me and I can talk to her for ages but she doesn't talk back. Not that all humans can talk either, that's not what makes a human. But you,” and he rolled out of his handstand, coming to a stop with his legs crossed. “You're not an animal.”

Waylon slunk back further into the cage and stared at him.

“Do you want anything?” the boy asked, blue eyes huge and earnest in his face.

“Books,” he rasped. “I would like... I like French books. Old French books.”

“Okay,” the boy smiled and then he was up and moving, light on his feet and Waylon almost called him back.

But he didn't, because he could barely cope with all that had already happened.

That was how he met Dick Grayson.

-0-

Things got better after that. He was eventually acknowledged as a human by the rest of the circus, and he never asked if Dick had anything to do with that or their own observations. He was let out and given his own car in the train, able to eat dinner with all the others instead of having it served to him.

And Dick brought him books. Waylon still did not feel comfortable going into the towns they stopped in, preferring to remain with the train and the tents. But Dick would go in to town when he had the chance, and always come back with two or three new books. He tended to mangle the names of the authors, but he would listen to Waylon tell him the plots and learned which authors to look for.

It wasn't entirely happy at the circus, but Waylon couldn't remember a time when he had been happier.

He was starting to make friends, beyond Dick, but it was still this boy that would drag him around by the hand as if scales and his claws meant nothing. Dick who showed him all the corners and all the ways to get into trouble when you lived and breathed the circus life.

Sometimes Waylon shared a look with Zitka as if they both despaired of this boy.

Dick's parents were wary of him but they made the effort to sit with him and invite him into their train car for dinner sometimes. There was another girl, Betsy, who he became close with when she spotted him reading one day and struck up a conversation about Dumas.

He'd gotten so used to screams, at first the cheering set his teeth on edge, but slowly he started to like the sound of the crowds clapping for him. 

Which of course was why it was never going to last.

-0-

Dick's parents died.

They came tumbling down from the big top. Waylon often watched the shows from the shadows, when he himself was not performing. He loved watching the performers do what they loved best, and this night he saw the worst thing possible occur. He caught a look at Dick's face, up above the crowds still and over the screams he thought he could see Dick's mouth opening and wondered if he was standing up there alone and screaming too.

Later, Dick was brought down and there was such a crowd around him, he couldn't get close.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

There wasn't a lot of sympathy in his heart for lost family, but the Graysons had been kind to him.

Instead Dick was surrounded by the police, by old man Haley himself, ashen faced and panicked and another man who had come out of the audience. His suit was expensive, and his face blank until he knelt down in front of Dick. Then his expression broke and Waylon wanted to get Dick away from him as quickly as possible.

Later he would take a look at the newspaper and realize that man was Bruce Wayne, richest man in Gotham. There was no reason for a playboy, rich as Wayne was, to want a circus brat.

But when the dust settled from the murders, before the culprit had been caught, there was already noise about Dick being taken from the circus and given as a ward to the state instead. Just as quickly as that happened, Wayne started making more noise about taking the boy in himself.

“Why can't he stay with us?” Waylon demanded and Haley was in a constant state of tearing up whenever anyone talked to him.

Now he dabbed at his eyes and sniffled. “They say we aren't a good place to raise a child,” he muttered. “Something about him needing specific parent figures. I don't know. I think Gotham just wants to take him away from us.”

“Gotham or Wayne,” Waylon muttered and Dick floated around the circus in those two days when people were still arguing over his head, rage and sorrow etched into his face.

It turned out Wayne was indeed quite serious about trying to adopt Dick. Billionaire playboys weren't known for adopting small children out of the good of their hearts and Waylon couldn't imagine what he wanted little Dick for.

Actually he could, because Dick was a lovely child, with fine features and a ready and easy smile, with too much care and love for everyone.

It made Waylon's stomach turn over.

“Do you want to stay here? In Gotham?” he asked, Dick sitting on top of the train car, kicking his feet and Waylon standing below.

“No,” Dick said.

“Not even with Bruce Wayne?” Waylon asked. “He's rich, you would probably be treated to a good life.”

“I want to stay with my family,” Dick said, meeting his eyes.

Well, they would never allow Dick to stay with the circus, they had made that quite clear, the child protection services and Bruce Wayne, so Waylon took Dick and ran.

In terms of life choices, he had no idea where this one fell.

-0-

For the first couple years, Waylon just tried to stay out of Gotham.

Dick at first was quiet and went wherever Waylon led, relying on him for everything and Waylon had no idea how to treat the quiet child. He wanted his boy back, the one who did handstands and smiled at him when others shrank back and called him a monster.

He started pushing.

“You can't keep mourning your parents until you join them,” Waylon said and Dick had stared at him, eyes dead in his face. “You're falling apart, Grayson. What's the point of that?”

“My parents are dead,” Dick whispered.

“I'm not saying get over it,” Waylon replied. “But you're useless right now.”

Oddly enough, and against all the odds Waylon might have bet on it, Dick responded best to that brand of tough love, blossoming back into himself.

“I'm never gonna stop missing them,” he said one night and he was curled up against Waylon's side as they hid in a train traveling cross country. Waylon had at first been disturbed every time Dick curled up against his side to sleep but he accepted it now. He was a little heater in the cold of the night. “I'm never gonna stop being mad. They were murdered and I have no idea what happened to—” he bowed his little head. “To their murderer. But,” and he tilted his head back, and Waylon could just make out his expression. “I'm gonna figure it out. I'm gonna keep going.”

And he did.

He was never again quite the same little boy, and sometimes it was obviously almost unbearably lonely with just the two of them instead of the whole circus, but he started to smile again.

One day he did a handstand and grinned at Waylon.

-0-

Except those were also hard years. Waylon got them run out of countless towns, and each time Dick's face got a little harder, a little more angry.

Even in a world with Superman, an alien admired and loved by all, and Martian Manhunter, a respected hero who could change into any form, no one wanted to hire or house a giant, crocodile looking man. Dick was getting older and while he had used to living on the move, he wasn't used to being driven out because no one could accept his companion.

He got older, started getting taller and his hair grew out shaggy and Waylon tried to figure out the last time Dick had regularly gone to school.

“You don't have to stay with me,” he said at one point.

“I'm still a minor,” Dick said and didn't add that technically Waylon had probably kidnapped him and who knew who his official guardian was supposed to be anymore.

Dick never called him papa and Waylon wasn't quite sure what he considered himself to be to this child.

Instead, Dick would often call him what he used to be called in the circus, Killer Croc. He would hang off the railing of the fire escape, grinning down at Waylon. “Come on, Killer Croc,” he said. “The Incredible Gator Man. It's not so bad.”

“Not so bad,” Waylon huffed and Dick just kept grinning at him. “You might have noticed we're broke and have no shelter again.”

“It's summer,” Dick shrugged and Waylon wanted to laugh. Or possibly punch the wall he was leaning against.

Instead he just gestured for Dick to come down so they could keep going. 

-0-

They ended up in Gotham, which was the last place Waylon wanted to bring Dick back to. But no other city had even the remotest tolerance for someone like him and Gotham at least was already stuffed full of enough villains and crazies that he thought perhaps they could slip through the cracks.

And slip they did.

He got Dick enrolled at school using false names and Dick didn't even blink at being called Dick Johnson. “That is the lamest name,” was his only protest.

“That's the point,” Waylon muttered, because he wondered if Bruce Wayne remembered the boy he had almost taken.

Dick had finally reached the point where his limbs were starting to grow out long and gangly. But his smile was still the same.

Waylon meanwhile found work in one of the underground clubs in Gotham. Oswald Cobblepot also looked strange to the rest of the world, and while he had done a double take when he saw Waylon walk in, he had chortled and agreed to hire him as a bouncer of the Iceberg Lounge.

Dick had brought home a french edition of The Hunchback of Notre Dame for him.

They still had no housing situation to speak of, and Waylon supposed they should be used to sleeping in strange places with no insulation. At first, he found an abandoned warehouse to set them up in, but soon enough it was occupied by a low level gang, and Dick didn't even blink at leaving behind all their possessions and starting over again.

Which is how they ended up living in the upper levels of the sewers.

The water, however filthy it was, felt good to Waylon, but he worried about Dick. It wasn't that Dick had a delicate constitution, but on other hand so much damp air couldn't be good for him. Dick had just hung up a hammock and lifted some booklights from the big bookstore downtown.

He promised himself it was a temporary situation until he could find something better through the contacts he was making. Oswald Cobblepot had insisted he could give Waylon housing at the lounge, in fact indicated he preferred his employees nearby.

But so far none of the other criminals knew about Dick Grayson and he wanted to keep it that way. He might be slinking further and further into the underworld but there was no reason for the boy to be taken in with him.

Except that he was a crocodile man living in the sewers and working for the Penguin, which meant of course he would eventually get the attention of a very particular Gotham madman.

He was coming down the sewers on his way home, carrying take out for Dick who would probably be back from the library, where he spent most of his free time. Sometimes Waylon fretted about him being out alone in Gotham, and Dick had laughed off his concerns, promising he was careful. As if anyone could be careful enough in Gotham.

Waylon was so focused on getting back to their little corner, he wasn't paying attention when the first batarang went zooming past his head.

It wasn't like he was a particularly good man, and had no qualms about knocking whatever heads the Penguin asked of him, but somehow he had expected to not get the personal attention of the Batman.

-0-

Batman had heard rumors of the crocodile in his city for months before he tracked him down. He was placed in so many places in Gotham, Bruce was fairly convinced that most of the rumors were just that—rumors.

But the man himself was very real and he put up a sustained fight, through nature of his bulk and strength, not, Bruce thought, because he was really trained or skilled. He knew wrestling moves, that was so sure, but not much more then that.

When he had the man down on the ground and was zip tying him, he heard splashing from down the sewer and a boy with a flashlight appeared around the corner.

Bruce froze, because something about this boy—a teenager probably, fifteen?—felt like a memory. He had a striking face at the very least.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, his blue eyes wide and Bruce straightened.

“It's alright, child,” he said, awkwardly trying to sound soothing because he couldn't read the boy's face at all—it looked like rage but it must have been relief. “I took care of him. Was he holding you prisoner down here? I can take you home—”

No, it was certainly rage and Bruce was confused.

“Home?” the boy demanded. “Take me home? Why are you attacking him? What did he ever do to you?”

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked and the crocodile beneath him groaned. He readied the himself to knock the beast out again except the boy rushed forward and dropped to his knees, ignoring the way he got soaked in the dirty sewer water. He took the creature's face in his hands, and the man slowly blinked until he could focus on the boy's face.

“Jesus, are you okay?” the boy asked, meeting the man's eyes and Bruce stood awkwardly to the side, confusion painted over his whole face.

“No,” the man rasped. “It's okay though.”

“You didn't do anything to get his attention!” the boy exclaimed. “It's not fair he's come after you.”

“He's a criminal,” Bruce felt the need to point out.

“Do you know anyone else willing to hire a crocodile?” the boy snapped and Bruce took a step back under the force of that glare.

“Dick,” the man said softly, still bound and Dick's face twisted. “We planned in case this happened.”

“I know,” Dick said, hurt and he leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to the man's cheek and he was up just as suddenly as he appeared, giving Batman another angry glare and then he was gone down the sewer again and Bruce was too shocked to go after him.

“Who was that?” he found himself asking.

The crocodile man at his feet just looked at him, resigned and annoyed. “Aren't you just going to take me in?” he asked, so Bruce did, even as he kept looking over his shoulder at where the boy had gone. 

The boy who's name was apparently Dick. 

Chapter 2

Notes:

Wow this story has sat at one chapter since October. Sorry about that. This chapter was entirely thumb typed on my phone apologizes of there are typos or format issues as I'm traveling with no computer.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne was a known philanthropist with a vested interest in Arkham Asylum, and yet every month when he went to do his rounds of the place reporters continued to show up to cover it. In their defense, depending on the month there were new criminals to ask Wayne’s opinion on, to see if they could finally wheedle a statement about Batman from him that wasn’t a mocking laugh or derisive comment, or to simply play it up as a feel good story during a particularly trying time.

This month his visit happened to fall on the day the boy Dick tried to see the man who raised him.

Bruce arrived early, so there were only a few lackluster reporters there who wanted to catch him on the way in and get it over with. But they were suddenly much less lackluster to catch a boy trying to get past the guards and clutching several thick books with French surnames on the spine.

“Just let me in,” the boy said, mouth a thin line and trying to ignore the reporters.

“We don’t allow guests,” one of the guards tried to explain as Bruce came to a complete stop on seeing the boy.

“How can you not allow guests? Isn’t that a right? Don’t you have prisoners rights?” Dick demanded and his fingers were white around the edges of the books.

“It’s just,” and one of the guards finally spotted Bruce. “Ah, Mr. Wayne. Here for your visit?”

Dick gaped at the guard before shooting Bruce a viciously angry look over his shoulder.

“Yes,” he managed, throat suddenly going dry. “Yes I am.”

“I’m sorry I thought you said you don’t allow that,” Dick snapped.

Bruce came abreast of him, vaguely aware the reporters were snapping pictures and trying to pretend he’d never seen the boy before in his life. “Well, you see here, Mr. Wayne has an interest in the Asylum. Donates a lot of money through his foundations and wants to make sure the prisoners are being treated right. He’s on the board and everything.”

“Oh, so what you’re saying is if I was rich it would be fine?” Dick said and Bruce couldn’t stop staring at him in too much confusion.

“Boy, who are you? What are you even doing here?” he managed at last.

Dick’s look was furious that he darted up to him before focusing back on the guard. “Please. I just want to see him. If you have visiting hours or times that’s fine, I’ll come back, just tell me when they are.”

“We don’t,” the guard started awkwardly.

“Who are you trying to see?” Bruce asked, cutting the guard off and already knowing the answer.

“It’s not your business,” Dick said, refusing to look at him.

The guard stiffened. “Now, that’s Bruce Wayne you’re talking to there it—“

Dick spared him a glance before stubbornly looking forward again. “Waylon Jones,” he ground out.

“And this is why we don’t have visiting hours,” the guard said. “For boys to gawk at monsters!”

Dick’s face flushed and he tilted forward. “I’m not—he’s not! How dare you call him a monster! Or that I want to gawk or mock him like like they did in the circus!” Bruce blinked and filed that away. “I want to see the man that raised me!”

Dead silence fell, and when Bruce glanced over his shoulder even the reporters looked like they were holding their breaths for a second before the first one pulled out her phone, sending a text to her boss. The others quickly followed suit and Bruce focused back on Dick and the guard who looked pole axed.
“You were raised by Killer Croc?”

“Don’t call him that!” Dick cried again. “He’s not—he’s never killed anyone.”

“So far as you know,” Bruce said and he couldn’t let go of the circus, running that idea backward and forward on his mind. Something niggled at him.

Dick whirled on him. “You don’t know him. You and that Batman you’re just the same! Judging him to be murderous and evil just because—you don’t know how hard it is. What it’s like for him. I couldn’t blame him if he did hate everyone but he doesn’t and you’re too lost in your image of what he should be to see it! Some days I don’t know why I don’t hate everyone too, the way you treat him.”

It took Bruce a second too long to focus on anything except bring compared to Batman. No one in Gotham had ever compared him to Batman because he made sure there could be no reason too. “Child,” he started, totally lost. “He’s a gangster,” he said finally, hoping that some paper had published that information already. “He works for the Penguin.”

“Who else would hire him?” Dick demanded. “Even in this town. Isn’t it pathetic?”

Bruce stared at him, realizing suddenly that left like this someday this boy might become a danger. He hated himself for thinking it. This boy, passionate and holding French literature could very well have reason to hate everyone.

Gotham produced too many like that.
“Alright,” he said suddenly. “I’ll take you in with me.”

“What?” Dick asked, a furrow appearing between his brows as the guard also protested.

“I’m allowed to visit the prisoners, it’s true,” Bruce said and flung an arm over Dick’s shoulders, feeling him tense. He gave the boy his best fake smile. “We can just visit Ki—Waylon first and then I’ll have the guards escort you out. Or you can stay until I’m done, whichever,” and he wasn’t sure why he offered the second option.

It was clear from Dick’s face he recognized what Bruce had almost called Waylon but slowly he nodded. It was, after all, his only choice.

“Capital,” Bruce said brightly and Dick considered his face intently. Bruce smiled vaguely back, aware he had flipped between personas too quickly. “Say, have you said your name yet?”

He paused and looked up sideways at Bruce, whose arms were still around his shoulders. “Dick Johnson,” he said, and there was something in his face when he said that to Bruce. It felt significant and Bruce was certain he was lying.

-0-

Dick sat carefully next to Bruce in the empty and sterile room, the books in front of him and his hands in his lap. “Sometimes it takes a while,” Bruce said. “For high security prisoners.”

“Why is he high security?” Dick asked and his fingers were white again.

Bruce paused. “It might simply be practicality considering how strong he is.” He considered the boy next to him again. “You said he was in the circus.”

Dick looked at him and then returned to staring at the door in stony silence.

“You could be more grateful,” Bruce said, voice light, playing up his Brucie personality.

Dick’s look was the most eloquent “fuck you” Bruce had ever been on the end of. “Thank you,” Dick ground out, the hard edge of sarcasm on his voice. “For allowing me to see the man who raised me. It’s very gracious of you."

Out in the hallway, which had one window into the chamber they sat in, several Arkham employees escorted Poison Ivy toward her cell. She glared at Bruce and did a double take on the boy sitting next to him. Bruce had to resist the urge to move to block anyone else’s view of Dick. Just as he was talking himself down the door opened, and Waylon was wheeled in, strapped down to a vertical stretcher.

Dick instantly sprung up on his feet. “What is going on? Why are you doing this to him?”

“It’s security,” one of the guards said, looking at Bruce who rose when Dick did.

“Can it be undone for this visit?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t,” the guard started, and Waylon finally stopped staring at Dick to open his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your mind? How did you,” and he cut off abruptly, sighing as Dick walked right up to him and hugged him, despite the straps holding him down.

“I brought you books, if they’ll let you keep them,” he said and once again Waylon just sighed.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Oh, shut up,” Dick said and there was actual affection in his voice. Bruce honestly had no idea what to do with it. Then Waylon seemed to notice him too.

“What is he doing—Dick—“ and there was a strange sort of fear in his eyes.

“No, I know,” Dick said softly and Bruce had no idea what he apparently knew, and sucked on his cheek to keep from asking. “It’s not, he was just outside.”

Waylon nodded, eyes roaming to the table. “Dumas?” he asked with a sigh.

“I found you Hugo too,” Dick said.

“In English.”

“There was plenty of Dickens there,” Dick said, almost sweetly and even tied to the stretcher, Waylon smiled fondly at him.

For the first time since he started coming to Arkham, Bruce sat in silence the whole meeting, just watching them.

-0-

“He will probably have to serve time,” Bruce said as Dick followed him toward the door. It turned out the guards wouldn’t let him leave without Bruce and he already felt too tired to stay and meet with Harvey or any of the others. He would be back at night as Batman anyway.

“I know,” Dick said. “After all, we do so like to punish the poor.”

“Your… guardian is a gangster,” Bruce pointed out. “That’s illegal.”

“Again I’d like to ask who would hire him,” Dick snapped and they were at the door.

Bruce should have expected the crowd of reporters there at the bottom of the stairs, but it seemed neither he nor Dick actually had. Dick jerked back as the bulbs started going off. Bruce recovered quickly, waving and pushing Dick down the stairs with his other hand.

“Is it true?” one of the reporters asked, jostling with those nearby. “That Killer Croc—“

Dick scowled and turned, ignoring Bruce's hand as he kept trying to push him past the reporters. “Stop using that name! He has a name and he hasn’t killed anyone! It’s not fair of you to turn something like that into a title for—for—“ he shook his head. “Stop ruining a good memory.”

No one seemed to know how to take that.
“So it is true?”

Bruce all but shoved Dick forward again. “Now, now, the boy has had a long day. Be nice everyone!” and he laughed and they laughed along. He somehow wrangled Dick into his car and slid into the back seat after him. “Alfred, please just start driving.”

Alfred peered at him using the rear view mirror. “Very good, sir,” he settled for.

Dick was tense when Bruce looked over, his eyes narrowed and his posture hostile. “And where are you taking me?”

“Wherever you want,” Bruce said. “Unless you want to go back to the reporters.”

Dick crossed his arms and looked at him sulky.

“Where are you staying anyway?” Bruce asked.

“That’s not your concern,” Dick said. “Please just drop me off next to the library.”

“Now, if you’re without a place to stay—“ Bruce started.

“I will jump out of the moving car,” Dick snapped. “Let me out near the library.”

And even knowing between them that Alfred and he could have stopped him, they dropped him off near the library. When he got back in the car, Alfred was watching him from the mirror again.

“And who, sir, was that?”

“His name is Dick,” Bruce said. “And he was apparently raised by Killer Croc.”

Alfred’s brows shot up. “Really?”

“Alfred,” Bruce said. “Take me home please.”
For a second Alfred looked pleased and Bruce refused to ruin it by admitting he was going to start stalking Dick Johnson.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Clearly someone finally saw Suicide Squad and clapped every time Waylon actually had a line which was like... twice.

Chapter Text

Dick went to school the next day, absorbed in thoughts of where he was going to stay. He could have stayed in the sewer but without Waylon there it didn't feel nearly as secure as it had, which meant for the moment he was functionally homeless. They had been run out of towns and lived in alleyways and park benches before, but it had always been together.

Focused as he was, he didn't notice everyone staring at him until he walked into home room and every fellow student stopped talking abruptly and looked at him.

Under all the scrutiny he suddenly couldn't ignore, he shifted back. “What? What is it?”

There was a moment of unsure silence before one student finally held up their phone. “Did you really go to the asylum to see Killer Croc?”

Dick froze before his eyes widened. “Don't you dare start that too.”

“Start on what?” a girl asked. “Isn't that his name? Isn't that why he's in there with all the other criminals and freaks?”

“That's not his name,” Dick ground out, still in the doorway.

“So it's true than?” one of the boys asked and Dick turned and ran away from the classroom, ignoring the whispers and looks now he couldn't ignore. He skidded around one of the corners, unsure where he was going to go or do, and ran into the solid bulk of someone much taller than him.

Staggering back, he shook his head before looking up.

“Oh, I was looking for you,” Bruce Wayne said and Dick's jaw dropped.

“What the fuck?” he blurted and the principal, standing behind Bruce's shoulder made an offended sound.

“Now, Richard,” the principal started.

“That is not my name,” Dick snapped. “And what are you doing here?” he asked, craning his head back to scowl at Bruce.

“As I said, I was looking for you,” Bruce said, and he was smiling and Dick gaped at him.

“What makes you think for a second I want to talk to you?” he demanded. The principal looked horrified again and people's whispers were getting louder and louder. “I want nothing to do with you stop following me!”

Bruce grabbed his arm, and his grip was too tight and Dick looked the offending hand and then back to Bruce. “What?” he started to ask.

“We need to talk,” Bruce said and started dragging him down the hall, even though Dick had dug his heels in and tried to pull back the whole way. The whispers got significantly louder and the principal for once looked scandalized about something Bruce did instead of what Dick said.

“Let me go!” Dick yelled and Bruce ignored him, finding an office and shoving Dick inside it. “You must be as insane as everyone else in this city,” Dick muttered. “I don't get you at all. Stop flipping between personalities like this.”

Bruce stilled for a moment too long. “I said I wanted to talk to you.”

“Yeah? About what?” Dick snapped. “I think we talked enough yesterday to last me several years. Get through your head, Mr. Wayne that I want nothing to do with you. Now leave me—”

“I know your name isn't Richard Johnson,” Bruce said and Dick froze.

“Excuse me?” he asked and then his jaw dropped. “You went looking into me?”

“Yes,” Bruce said, and his gaze was too intent.

“Why?” Dick asked, and he looked almost scared for an instant. “I haven't done anything to you I just want to be left alone.”

“Because something you said bothered me,” Bruce said. “And I wanted to know if you were Dick Grayson.”

Dick's eyes widened and he wanted to bolt again. “But—”

“You are, aren't you?” Bruce asked and he actually looked distressed.

Dick stared at him. “Does it really matter so much if I am?” he asked and paused before asking, “You remember about that?”

“Of course I remember that,” Bruce said, and there was something like pain in his voice. “I was going to take you in.”

Dick felt his jaw drop. “Yeah,” he said. “You were.”

“You disappeared,” Bruce said, and he gestured. “We had no idea what happened to you. Haley was a wreck. We found the man who murdered your parents but you were just gone!”

“You,” Dick floundered. “You did? I mean, the police did? They found him?”

“You never checked?”

“I didn't want to be disappointed,” Dick said, looking away and rubbing his arm.

Bruce took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Where did you go?” he asked. “Why did you go?”

“You kidding me?” Dick muttered. “All I knew was that my parents were gone and suddenly this billionaire playboy wants to take me in?”

Bruce reared back. “You left because of me?”

“What else does someone like you want with someone like me?” Dick asked, and poked him in the chest. “You might be known for charity, but also for insane stunts with three different models at the same time. I was nine, and totally alone in the world and you were going to take me away from everything I ever knew!”

“I just,” Bruce kept staring. “I wanted to help you, to protect you.”

“Did that include from yourself?” Dick demanded.

Bruce winced. “Is that what you think of me?”

“I had no idea what to think of you,” Dick said. “I just knew enough to be scared of you. And honestly you've done nothing to make me think any better of you.”

“I lost my parents too,” Bruce snapped and somehow Dick didn't think he usually let himself be goaded enough to drop the vacant or pleased act. “That's why I wanted to take you in, because I had gone through the same thing.”

Dick flinched. “Oh.”

“I was concerned when you disappeared,” Bruce said. “I'm glad—I'm glad to find out you're alright all these years later.”

Dick scrunched up his face and had to look away. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Except for living with a—” when Dick turned a glare on his Bruce stopped. “With someone who can't get a job. Where are you even living?”

“That's not your concern,” Dick said, and his fingers were white around the strap of his bag.

“I just want to help,” Bruce started to say.

“I don't want your help,” Dick said. “Get that through your head. I'm sorry about your parents, okay? I'm sorry you were worried but I grew up just fine with Waylon, and I don't need you. So leave me alone.”

“Why won't you even tell me where you're staying?”

“You're enough of a creep already,” Dick said and when he went for the door, Bruce didn't stop him.

-0-

Dick looked around the sewer and sat down hard on the ledge he had put his hammock up on, burying his face in his knees. “Creep or not, maybe next time don't yell at the person offering you help when you live in a fucking sewer,” he muttered to his knees.

“I was always wondering where Waylon insisted on staying,” a voice said and Dick snapped his head up, tensing and ready to bolt in a second. “Since he refused all my offers of housing.”

“Mr. Cobblepot,” Dick said, and scrambled to his feet, balancing on the balls of his feet. “How did you find here?”

“Oh, I knew roughly where Waylon was staying, but there's no reason to intrude on his privacy unless, well, there's a reason,” Cobblepot said, waving a hand. “And you may call me Oswald.”

Dick frowned at him. “I may?”

Oswald nodded, patting Dick's shoulder and almost everything he had was in his backpack. He considered running again, just because Waylon had insisted on him staying away from the people he worked with. “Yes, dear boy. See, everyone in Gotham by now probably knows your name. And you earned the respect of quite a few of us.” He patted Dick on the shoulder again and Dick's knees almost buckled. “I'm not saying the craziest of the crazies. I would still avoid the Joker at all costs, and Black Mask is a dick to anyone and everyone. But for the rest of us, well, I quite like Waylon. No nonsense, straight forward and unafraid to smack heads together. What I could never figure out is what he was hiding.”

“Sir,” Dick started.

“I did say to call me Oswald, didn't I?” Oswald asked. “Now, in Gotham you tend not to ask about people. I thought maybe he ate people on his time off, or had a gambling problem, but as long as he never brought it to work I let it be.”

“He doesn't eat people,” Dick ground out.

“Yes of course,” Oswald said and Dick scowled at him. “I was curious where the nickname Killer Croc came from as well. I don't expect anyone thought he had a secret kid.”

“I'm not technically,” Dick started.

“Oh, boy, I'm fairly certain that doesn't matter.” Dick frowned at him as Oswald gave up patting him on the shoulder and actually flung an arm over his shoulders instead, pulling him against his side. “The point is, my boy, that I consider freaks like me to be like family. We have to stick together after all. No one else is going to accept us.”

Dick bit back whatever he was going to say and nodded instead .

“And well, while Waylon is laid up in prison, someone has to watch out for you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dick said instantly, even though he had been sick to his stomach about worry of where he was going to stay. 

“Of course you can,” Oswald said lightly and Dick sighed. “That doesn't mean you have to, though. After your stunt yesterday, the judges finally moved Waylon's court date up.”

“What?” Dick's head snapped up. “Really?”

“I suspect at this point,” Oswald said. “You should probably actually go.”

“Do you think that would make a difference?” Dick asked.

“Perhaps enough of one,” Oswald said. “Not to get your hopes up. Gotham is the only city for us, but she is not a kind one either. But to know that he has someone waiting for him, who loves him, might be enough of a difference so he is not locked up and thrown away. And that I suspect is the best you can ask for.”

“He didn't deserve this,” Dick said. “Any of it.”

“Who does?” Oswald asked. “Well, besides the Joker and his ilk. But I like to think we're a slightly different class than they are.”

Dick paused, considering him for a long moment. “You do terrible things too,” he said, uncertain if he should mention that with Oswald so close, and his hired bodyguards probably just around the corner.

“Ah,” Oswald said. “Like everyone, I am what they made me.”

“That's,” Dick shook his head, snapping his jaw closed.

“You might as well say what you were going to,” Oswald said, watching him intently through his eyepiece.

“That's just an excuse,” Dick said. “For why you do the things you do.”

For a moment Oswald stared at him before laughing. “Perhaps, my boy, perhaps. If there were more people like you, perhaps there would be less of me.”

Dick ducked his head down and tensed when Oswald released his shoulders. “I can't force you to do anything,” Oswald said. “But I want you to know there's room for you. In the name of Waylon, until he gets out, I want to help take care of you. I know you can do it yourself, but why should you have to?”

Dick squinted his eyes at him. “I don't trust you,” he admitted.

“That's probably wise,” Oswald said.

“I think,” Dick paused. “I might need to transfer schools.”

Oswald quirked his brows up and shrugged. “Certainly, Gotham has several to choose from.”

Dick bit the inside of his lip, certain he was making a horrible choice. “Alright,” he said finally and Oswald clapped his hands.

“Capital,” he said. “Let's go then. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Dick sighed, hefting his backpack back on. “This is everything.”

Something flickered in Oswald's expression but he nodded, and led Dick back out of the sewers, and past the guards Dick had known would have been there. He shuddered when they fell in behind him, and hoped this wasn't a mistake.

Chapter 4

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Dick appeared the day of Waylon's trial, Oswald beside him and it caused Waylon to do a double take as he was shoved into the court room. “What are you doing?” he bellowed, because Dick was there and the whole city knew anyway.

The guards around him instantly tensed, and one readied what looked like it might have been a cattle prod, despite the fact Waylon was already heavily chained. Dick just stared at him, leaning as close as he could get over the bar separating the front of the court room from where visitors were allowed.

“It's okay,” Dick said, still unsure if it was actually was. So far all Oswald had done was throw clothes at him that mostly fit, and given him a room at the back of the Iceberg Lounge. When Dick had questioned the abundance of clothing, Oswald had muttered something about Dick's backpack. Dick dropped it. 

Finding out it personally offended a gangster that all he owned fit into one raggedy bag made his world tilt in vaguely alarming ways.

“Waylon, it's okay,” Dick said again and he was being pulled back by Oswald when the guards started to look more alarmed.

They didn't let him testify, and Oswald had insisted he be prepared for that, but the judge kept staring at him, sitting still and tense behind Waylon, who would glance at him from time to time. But Bruce Wayne did.

And Bruce Wanye did a more dramatic double take to see him sitting next to Oswald. Something angry settled into his expression and Dick found himself squirming under it. Not that he cared what Bruce Wayne thought, but he had basically thrown the man's help back in his face and thrown in with Oswald Cobblepot instead.

At least Oswald had never insulted Waylon, and had given him a damn job.

But Bruce Wayne calmly testified about what he saw the day Dick came to Arkham, and the row of jurors turned to stare at him too.

Dick refused to feel grateful when Bruce Wayne stepped down, and at the end of the day Waylon was only given a number of months in Arkham instead of years. And the judge took the time to clarify it was only Arkham because no where else could hold him.

When Oswald ushered him out of the room, Dick actually turned and looked over his shoulder, catching Bruce Wayne's gaze on him.

“Of course, when he gets back out, we'll have to find you somewhere better to live than the sewer,” Oswald said and Dick hadn't let his guard down persay, but he started to think things were going to work out.

Which is why he heard the sound of something crashing that night. Instantly he was up, shoving what he could of the new clothes in a bag and jumping when it sounded like something slammed against his door.

He considered the window, realized he was on the fourth floor, and took a deep breath. Throwing the door open he planned on bolting for it and came to a stop when he almost ran into a furious Batman.

“Are, are you joking?” Dick managed, his backpack only half over one shoulder.

“You're that boy from the sewer,” Batman ground out, and Dick took a step back. “The one who went to Arkham.”

“Look, it's flattering the whole city knows about that—”

“You shouldn't be here,” Batman said, and his voice was a deep rasp. He obviously wasn't using his normal voice and Dick thought vaguely that was probably a smart plan, all things considered.

“Where else am I going to go when you put me guardian in prison!” Dick yelled back, and looked around, realizing Batman had punched his way there. His face paled slightly to see Oswald's men sprawled out across the hallway.

“He's not your legal guardian,” Batman said and Dick craned his neck back to stare at him.

“Oh for fuck's—”

“He basically kidnapped you,” Batman said. “From this city no less. Why did you come back?”

“Look, Gotham obviously is a fucking disaster on its own,” Dick said. “But where else could we go and have even half a hope? Believe me, we tired just about everywhere else!”

He jumped when Batman grabbed him and then slung him over his shoulder. His backpack slid off his back and he grabbed at it frantically, catching the strap before it hit the ground. “Put me down! What the fuck are you doing, put me down!”

“You don't belong here,” Batman said and started walking away.

“For fuck's sake!” Dick yelled, pounding on his back. “Where do I belong then? Fuck you, you don't know anything, leave me alone!”

But Batman ignored him, carrying him right past Oswald and his goons, who were ziptied and glaring at them, something weird happening in Oswald's expression as Dick continued to scream and pound against Batman's back as he was carried through the lounge and out the door, to where cops were already roaring up in their cars.

The first one out was a dark haired woman whose eyes widened to see Batman carrying a struggling boy. Batman dropped him into the back of her car as her partner and her shared a look. “Make sure this one gets to Gordon,” Batman said and shot a rappel line up to the nearest building, disappearing into the darkness.

“I mean, he's usually annoying,” the woman's partner said. “But he's not usually that annoying.”

They turned as one to stare at Dick, who crossed his arms over his chest, his backpack tucked between his knees now. “So, should we?” the woman asked.

“Take him to Gordon? Hell, I'm not arguing with the goddamn Batman about this.”

Which was how Dick ended up at the police station, being escorted through it in angry silence, his arms holding his backpack protectively in front of him.

A kindly looking older man with glasses looked up in surprise when his door was opened, and Dick deposited inside. “Montoya, Allen, what is this?”

“Batman found this boy at the Iceberg Lounge and told us to bring him to you,” Allen said, shaking his head.

“Batman,” Gordon repeated, almost a question except his voice was too flat.

“Yeah,” Montoya said, shifting. “Abrupt bastard, isn't he?” And suddenly Dick liked her more. He filed her name away to remember it. 

“Yes,” Gordon said, with a wry twist of his mouth. “He is.” His gaze focused on Dick, who tried not to shift back too obviously. “And what can we do for you tonight?”

“Nothing,” Dick said, curling up as much as he could on the chair. “I was doing fine.”

“Were you really?” Gordon asked. “Than why would Batman deposit you here?”

“Because he's a controlling dick,” Dick muttered. “Who's a judgmental bastard on top of it.”

“We should do paperwork,” Allen said suddenly, after the three of them stared at Dick for too long.

“Right,” Montoya said, and left Dick alone with the police commissioner.

Still curled up in the chair, Dick shifted a little bit further away from him, eyeing him warily. “You don't trust police, do you?” Gordon asked, rising and walking over to the coffee pot he kept in the office exactly for late nights like this. Putting hot water on instead of coffee, he turned back to Dick whose eyes hadn't left him.

“It's hard to when you spend most of your time running away from them,” Dick said.

“And why do you spend your time doing that?” Gordon asked, keeping his tone calm.

“Because of what people like you constantly do to Waylon,” Dick said and Gordon blinked, as if suddenly recognizing him. “Hey, at least it wasn't instant,” Dick muttered. “You, asking me what I was doing, what I was thinking.”

“I admit I'm curious,” Gordon said after a beat.

“Did you know his parents sold him to the circus?” Dick said, eyes hard. “Because they couldn't stand him. Originally he was locked up in a cage with the animals, like the lions and other creatures. Because he was big and scary and had big teeth. But unlike a lion, he knows when to use them, or when not to. He can talk, he can think, he's capable of complex philosophy. But all people see of him is a damned monster and they treat him like it. We've been run out of towns, with fucking torches. And that's why I don't trust people like you. Because even in Gotham just his appearance, just the fact he's strong means he's treated like the fucking Joker.” Dick looked away, for the first time since he was shoved into Gordon's office. “It's a wonder he's not worse, the way you people treat him. You know, if you treat someone like a monster, eventually they're going to become one.”

“But you don't,” Gordon said. “You don't treat him like that.”

“I'm just one person,” Dick said, voice small. “When he can be dragged off to Arkham just because...” He shook his head. “Honestly the only good thing I can say about your department is apparently you caught the fucker who murdered my parents.”

Gordon blinked again. “Your parents?”

“The flying Graysons,” Dick said and Gordon had to sit down.

“We didn't catch him,” he said and Dick froze, before sitting bolt upright.

“Fucking Batman?” he yelled, loudly enough everyone outside Gordon's door turned to stare at it.

-0-

Gordon was waiting on the roof when Batman landed, leaning against the wall and glaring. “What the hell?” Gordon opened with and Bruce stopped in front of him.

“That boy needs help,” he said.

“And what am I supposed to do with him?” Gordon asked. “He stopped talking to me the instant he found out you tracked down Zucco. What he said before that was pretty interesting though.”

“Was it?” Bruce asked, perched on the edge of the roof.

“Yeah,” Gordon said. “He asked what we expect if we treat people like monsters.”

Bruce paused, glad most of his expression was obscured by the cowl. “I made a mistake with Waylon Jones. Alright? I heard the rumors and this is Gotham, I believed them. But if you're asking me if you think I make Gotham's problems—”

“Don't you ever wonder if you didn't make them worse?” Gordon asked.

“Of course I worry about that,” Bruce said, and he felt something shudder in him. “The boy though. He was staying with Oswald Cobblepot. I just want him—to have a good home.”

“When he was orphaned, didn't Bruce Wayne want to take him in?” Gordon asked after a beat.

“You went looking into him too,” Bruce said, wry.

“Of course,” Gordon shook his head.

“He won't go with Bruce Wayne,” Bruce said and hated the fact that made him angry. He could remember all too well the shell shocked little boy in front of him, who had looked at him with the same expression he must have worn himself when his parents died. And he had wanted nothing except to make sure that boy would be safe, to hold him and expel perhaps some of his own grief.

But the boy had disappeared, and now Dick looked at him like no one else dared to, yelling at him and glaring at him and actually scolding him, no matter which mask he wore.

He wanted to shake him, convince him somehow he just wanted the best for him.

But they had obviously different ideas about what was best.

“Than what do I do?” Gordon asked.

“Find someone,” Bruce said, because his chest was too tight, and he needed to run, needed Gotham to sooth himself. On the way off the roof, he paused for a second at the ledge of Gordon's window, watching the boy who, now that he was left alone, had fallen asleep with his head dropped back against the chair's back, clutching his backpack to his chest.

Bruce lingered there a second, and wished he could do anything. It hurt more than he wanted to examine, not being allowed to help.

So he took off into the night, swooping along Gotham's streets and not thinking of it.

-0-

“Happy birthday to me,” Dick muttered, kicking the edge of the chair. “It's your sixteenth and now to celebrate you get paraded in front of some well meaning citizen who wants to take you in.”

Standing beside him, Gordon looked over but Dick continued ignoring him. “Is it really your birthday?” he asked and Dick kept ignoring him.

Sighing, Gordon shook his head and went back to waiting. He hadn't quite dared to leave Dick at any of the shelters, and so had put out a call to Bruce Wayne to see if he could think of anyone, at least willing to offer a temporary home.

But he still wasn't sure he expected Selina Kyle to walk through the door, in her black dress and large hat.

When he looked down, Dick's eyes had widened alarmingly and Gordon almost shoved her back out the door. “Ms. Kyle,” he greeted.

“Brucie said he needed a favor,” she said. “More or less. And who is anyone to deny him?”

Dick's face instantly closed off.

Gordon was fairly sure he already regretted everything.

But he let Selina Kyle wrap a hand around Dick's shoulders and Dick clutched his bag in front of himself again, a protective shield.

-0-

“I don't know you,” Dick said, when Selina guided him into a car.

“I know that,” she said.

“And I don't trust Bruce Wayne,” Dick added.

“Don't worry, honey, I don't either,” and everything about Selina Kyle was sleek, from her car to the way she shifted gears. Dick tried not to stare.

“He said jump and you came,” he pointed out.

“That's not quite how it happened,” Selina said. “We have a history is all, and he thinks I'm, hm, unthreatening?”

Dick paused and looked over at her. “And are you?” he asked.

Her grin was sharp and Dick pressed his shoulders hard against the back of the seat. “No, but he still hasn't quite figured that out yet. Don't worry though.”

“Why not?” Dick asked.

She reached back, smooth as silk and threw a newspaper on his lap. Dick looked down at the photo of him leaving Arkham, small next to Bruce Wayne and furious. “Because we protect our own,” she said, mild and Dick just stared at her.

Notes:

Sorta like I'm taking WHATEVER I WANT for Waylon's back story, I'm doing much the same to everyone. So Selina is sort of a mix somewhere of Long Halloween/Dark Victory and The Dark Knight Returns movie. So she's actually had a relationship with Bruce as Selina Kyle in the past, it fell apart, and he still hasn't totally figured out she's Catwoman yet (Tho he will super soon) In the meantime she's posing as a member of society because it cracks her up to do so.

Chapter 5

Notes:

This au makes me insanely happy to write tbh.

Chapter Text

Dick didn’t ask and Selina didn’t tell him but within a week he caught her coming back in the window with her Catwoman garb on.

For a while they stared at each other, Dick in his pajama pants and holding a glass of water and Selina still in the window. Finally, Dick set his glass on a side table. “You’re hurt,” he said, because there was a gash on her arm, having torn neatly through the leather.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Dick said, turning for the kitchen and she closed the window behind her.

“I can handle myself,” she said, following him into the kitchen but he had already pulled down the red and white box from its home.

“Sure,” he agreed, because he was only sixteen and living in her apartment on her whim. “But I got a lot of practice with this living with Waylon.”

“Had to patch him up a lot did you?” Selina asked.

Dick’s hands tensed on the box and he shrugged. “A few times. Got run out of town a lot.”

“This doesn’t bother you at all, does it?” she asked, sweeping a hand up and down her get up.

“You’re the one who said you watch out for your own,” Dick said. “I didn’t think you meant that in a high society way.”

“You never asked.”

“Would you have told me?” Dick asked, and she unzippered the top of her uniform, rolling one shoulder and pulling the cut arm out. “What did this?”

She rolled her eyes. “I suspect you can guess.”

“Batman?” Dick asked as she sat at one of the kitchen chairs and he leaned over, starting to clean the cut.

“Good guess,” she said, huffing out a laugh. “He’s been cranky the last week.”

Dick’s eyes flickered up and down, discarding his thoughts that he might even remotely be even part of the cause for that. “Seems like a bad idea,” he said instead, still working over the cut. “Having someone with such a large impact on the city who is inclined to be cranky.”

Selina laughed, shaking her head. “Isn’t that the truth? But this is Gotham, and now Gotham has the Batman.”

Dick made an unhappy sound, stitching the cut with small and efficient motions. Selina glanced at her shoulder and back to his face. “You are good at this.”

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the scissors and cutting the thread.

She was still watching his face intently when he turned back around. “What?” he asked.

“I just admit I’m constantly surprised,” she said. “Which isn’t usual.”

Dick flashed her a grin, before starting to clean up the first aid kit.

“I meant to say,” she added, leaning back and inspecting his work. “I’ve been poking around some friends I have about emancipated minors.”

“What?” he asked, turning around.

“Emancipated minor,” she said. “You know, not having a legal guardian. Of course it means you’d have to have some sort of income, but it means you wouldn’t be booted to foster care or who knows who else if this happens again and for some reason I couldn’t take you in.”

He shifted slightly. “And do they—do you—think it’s a good idea?”

“It’s certainly something to think about,” she said. “You seem like you don’t like being beholden to anyone.”

“I don’t,” he said, washing his hands again just to have something to do. “I’ve just never been somewhere long enough to have a source of income.”

“Well, you’re a smart boy,” Selina said. “I’m sure you’d find something worthwhile.”

He hummed and for a while there was silence between them. “You’d have to use your legal name,” she said finally. “I assume you have one? A social security number, things like that?”

“Yeah,” Dick said and sighed. “I’ve probably been declared missing or dead but yeah, I do. And the only person I was trying to hide my name from already figured it out so it’s not like it matters much.”

“And who exactly was that?” Selina asked.

“Bruce Wayne,” Dick sighed and Selina’s brows shot up.

“Excuse me?”

Sighing again, Dick turned, drying his hands before crossing his arms over his chest. “When I was nine,” he started. “My parents died. Bruce Wayne was set on adopting me or something, and well,” he shrugged. “Not really something that looks good from the outside, is it? A rich playboy wants to adopt poor orphan with no one else out there to watch out for him, no family, stuck in a city where he knows no one? So Waylon and I ran away. Together.”

Selina’s jaw had dropped. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dick said. “He apparently figured it out after we ran into each other again. Persistent fucker.”

The corners of Selina’s mouth kept twitching. “I think the last time I heard someone talk about Bruce Wayne like that, I was breaking up with him.”

Dick made a sound at the back of his throat. “How did you date him to begin with? He’s so—so arrogant and frustrating and self-righteous and he flips between acting flippant and stupid and really suddenly intense.”

“Most people are awed,” Selina said. “So they miss that.” She paused. “Wait, you went by another name to avoid Bruce Wayne?”

“Yeah?”

“But you said he figured it out?”

Dick looked away for a long moment, remembering the look in Bruce’s eyes when Dick had thrown his years old offer back in his face, when he had snapped he had lost his own parents. “Yeah,” Dick said. “Creepy stalker that he is.”

That earned a grin. “I’m just trying to imagine his face,” Selina said. “It must have been fantastic to behold.”

Dick made a non-committal sound. “He’s really not used to hearing no, is he?” Dick asked after a moment.

“No,” Selina agreed. “He’s really not.”

“Well, it builds character,” Dick said, pushing away from the sink. “Maybe it will be good for him in the long run.” That made Selina chuckle as Dick walked past. “Good night, Selina,” he said, pausing in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Selina said. “See you in the morning.”

-0-

A few months later and Selina stood next to him in her large black hat, waiting for Waylon to come out of Arkham.

Before the doors opened another car pulled up, Bruce Wayne stepping out of the back seat. Both Dick and Selina tensed, watching him approach. “Can we help you?” Dick asked. “Is this a publicity stunt for you or something?”

“No,” Bruce said, coming to a stop beside them. “I just wanted to make sure things went smoothly.”

Dick looked away from him, crossing his arms and staring intently at the gates.

“Bruce,” Selina greeted when Dick didn’t look like he was about to say anything else.

“Selina,” he said, softly and she looked away too.

Eventually the gate was pushed open, Waylon walking through. He stopped when he saw that there was a group waiting, looking from Bruce to Selina warily, but his expression changed when Dick threw himself at him. It didn’t quite melt, didn’t quite turn into a smile, but when Dick’s arms went around his neck, he bent down to gently return the embrace.

“I’m glad you’re out,” Dick said and Waylon stayed there for a long moment before drawing back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, shooting another look at Bruce over Dick’s shoulder. “Is everything fine? Are you—?”

“I’m good,” Dick said quickly, still holding his hand. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Waylon was still watching Bruce like he was the last person he wanted to see so Bruce stepped forward. “Waylon Jones,” he greeted, holding out a hand that Waylon only stared at. “I don’t think we’ve ever actually met?”

“No,” Waylon said.

“I’m—”

“Believe me, I know who you are,” Waylon said, Dick still at his side.

Bruce’s mouth thinned but he seemed to accept the suspicion in Waylon’s gaze. “I know you have no reason to trust me—”   

“None,” Waylon said.

Bruce’s mouth thinned and he took a deep breath. “I want to help, though,” he said, Selina with her arms crossed behind him. “I know things are hard for you. Getting a job—”

“Are you offering to hire, Wayne?” Waylon scowled.

“What if I was?” Bruce asked. “It’s been pointed out to me that your other options are illegal—” Dick’s face paled as Waylon leaned down to meet Bruce’s eyes.

“I don’t need your charity, Wayne,” he said.

“I am trying to be helpful.”

“There is nothing I want from you.”

“What about help with a house?” Bruce said, too fast but he did not tilt away from Waylon, simply meeting his gaze head on. “You have a boy, you need some place to live. For his sake as much as—”

“I just said I don’t want your charity,” Waylon said.

“This isn’t just about my charity,” Bruce said.

“The last thing I want in the whole damn world,” Waylon said. “Is you anywhere near Dick. Don’t think I’ve forgotten—”

“That I tried to adopt him myself?” Bruce snapped, his façade breaking all over again and Dick wondered if that was a record. He'd gone through some newspapers at the library, gossip columns and social events, and every single one agreed that Bruce Wayne was an affable idiot. “Yes, I’ve been informed why that was held against me.”

Waylon blinked, leaning back to stare at Dick in surprise. “It came up,” Dick said faintly.

“Well, then you should understand—”

“That you’ve already judged me?” Bruce asked.

“Well, maybe turnabout is fair play, isn’t it, Mr. Wayne?” Waylon asked and Bruce stared. Finally he looked away, jaw tight.

“If you refuse to accept—”

“Yeah, yeah we do,” Waylon said. “Dick?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dick said, except he couldn’t quite look away from Bruce as Waylon started walking.

“If you don’t mind me giving you boys a ride back to town,” Selina said and Waylon gave her sleek car a disbelieving look. “Honestly, it will fit you both.”

“If you say so,” Waylon said and finally focused on her. “And you are?”

“Selina Kyle,” she said smoothly. “Dick has been staying out of trouble with me.”

“She’s good, Waylon,” Dick confirmed and after a moment Waylon finally nodded, getting into the car and leaving Bruce standing by the gates of Arkham Asylum as the wind blew past him.

Chapter 6

Notes:

So okay it's 2021 and I haven't updated since 2017 but never say die in fandom, amirite? (I actually saw several bookmarks bemoaning that this and some other DC stories have been abandoned and uuuuuh let's just say I'm a contrary type).

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I've used my contacts to find you a place,” Selina said. “My legitimate contacts, of course. All that money had to be good for something,” and she winked at Dick who didn't react, even as Waylon frowned.

“What does that mean?” he asked Dick, later.

“Do you really want to know?” Dick asked, and they ended up with a little row house with a yard big enough for an above ground pool.

“We're never going to be able to keep this,” Waylon said, looking around. “Not unless I get a really good job.”

“Surely there has to be something,” Dick said, with all the optimism that he'd lost over the years.

Except that didn't survive for very long, when Waylon came back from yet another job interview where the HR people had ended up sliding his resume, spotty and short as it was, back across the table each time.

“They keep saying it's because of my criminal history,” Waylon said, Dick's face increasingly stony each time.

“You think of all cities, Gotham would understand the benefits of giving people with jail time second chances,” Dick said.

“I don't think that's how Gotham thinks of things,” Waylon said, and they were at the kitchen island, because they couldn't afford any furniture yet, aside from two futons and a couple of chairs. “Just because they have so much crime, doesn't make them any more understanding.”

“It should,” Dick muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back on the stool he perched on.

“You know,” Selina said, some days later. “The person who runs the only successful program for ex-cons, is—”

Dick groaned before she could finish. “Please don't say it.”

“—Bruce Wayne,” she said. “Or rather, Wayne Enterprises.”

“Damnit,” Dick muttered.

“I can't imagine they'd hire me now,” Waylon said, slowly, like he was actually considering it.

“I think you're radically over estimating how involved Bruce Wayne actually is in the running of the everyday operations of Wayne Enterprises,” Selina said. “I mean, he can barely keep up with a basic relationship, and he never struck me as a workaholic.”

“Too many yacht parties?” Dick asked and Selina sighed.

“The yacht parties were one of the few things that made that bearable,” she said dreamily and Dick wrinkled his nose at her, Waylon going quiet as he flipped through the classifieds of the newspaper Dick had swiped from the teacher's lounge at school.

“I don't know how you dated him as long as you did,” Dick said and she grinned at him.

“There are benefits,” she said. “Beside the fancy yacht parties.”

“Oh, god,” Dick said, hiding his face behind his hands. “Forget I said anything.”

After Selina left, Waylon set down the newspaper. “Dick,” he said. “I was meaning to ask.”

Dick's eyes darted over to him, crossing his arms over his chest. “About what?” he asked, and Waylon wondered why he was so defensive. There were actually a lot of questions he wanted to ask Dick, like why he'd shown up to the trial with Oswald Cobblepot of all people, or to the prison with Selina Kyle, or what he'd said to Bruce Wayne that got him to show up at Arkham on the day of his release.

Instead he only asked, “Why did you change schools?”

Dick shifted. “Well I—I yelled at a lot of people, and then I pissed off Bruce Wayne in front of everyone—”

“What?” Waylon demanded, alarmed.

But for his part, Dick just shrugged. “He, uh, stalked me to school.”

Waylon stared at him for a long time. “Why?”

“Because he's a freak,” Dick muttered. “He apparently got so confused by our meeting at Arkham he went digging into me. He figured out about the Grayson bit, and came to, uh, ask me if that's who I really was and I just yelled at him in front of the principal. After I'd already yelled at my whole class.”

“Why did you yell at your whole class?” Waylon asked, mystified, because while he knew Dick had a temper, it rarely came out as yelling.

Dick looked down, fiddling with the edge of the newspaper. “My visit to Arkham made the front page of the newspaper,” Dick said. “I didn't really yell, not at them, but this girl was calling you Killer Croc and I sort of lost it.”

“But you truly yelled at Bruce Wayne?” Waylon asked.

“Oh, him, yes,” Dick said, not looking at Waylon straight on anymore. “He was being a creep.”

Waylon looked down at the newspaper again, Dick still crinkling the edges with his fingertips. “Dick,” he said softly. “I don't really know what else to do.”

For a while Dick didn't move, didn't look up, before his eyes flickered up. “If the choice is Wayne Enterprises or going back to Arkham, you should take Wayne Enterprises,” he said.

“That's assuming they might even hire me,” Waylon said. “Which, who even knows.”

“It's worth trying,” Dick said, pushing himself to his feet and walking outside, Waylon watching him leave.

For the most part, he'd been staying inside, even when Dick started pricing pools, because they couldn't afford one yet, and he didn't want the neighbors to react too badly. Word had already gone up and down the street when they moved in, and he knew too well the brittleness that entered Dick's spine when he saw them watching them.

He really was starting to worry, just a little, about Dick.

-0-

Except things were starting to look up. He'd been hired by Wayne Enterprises, despite a rocky interview. The hiring official's eyes had almost popped out when he walked in, and had stammered his way through the beginning of the conversation, but then a woman walked in in a precisely cut suit and had sat down on the other side of the table, taking over smoothly.

Waylon suspected that despite whatever Selina Kyle had said dismissively about Bruce Wayne, he had actually been waiting for Waylon to give in exactly like he did.

Waylon really, really wanted to hate that smug bastard, but he couldn't when he got to buy a pool to submerge himself in, and a real bed for Dick, and eventually a couch big enough for both of them to sit on it without breaking.

Dick started taking gymnastic classes at a nearby gym, and in short order he was helping teach them, because despite his form getting sloppy over the years, he still knew the rules like he knew breathing. “It's not like I could find a better job,” he said, shrugging, and Waylon noticed he was bringing more and more books home from the library.

At one point he picked one up from the stack near the couch and realized it was a law book.

Dick got his emancipated minor status a few weeks before Selina Kyle got caught by the Batman and dragged in front of court as Catwoman.

Waylon stared at the front page of the newspaper in surprise, but Dick only shrugged when he asked if he knew.

“What else did you think I meant?” he asked.

“Not that!” Waylon protested, uncertain how he felt about Dick casually spending time with her, or the way he'd been sitting by Cobblepot at the hearing.

The last thing he'd ever wanted was Dick getting caught up with those types, even when he'd needed to. He'd wanted to protect Dick, from everything, including them.

But Dick kept a close eye on Selina'a trial, even going on the last day. He hid in the back and watched, her casual disregard for the proceedings and the glares from some of the jury for how little she seemed affected.

When he got home he seemed perturbed. “Bruce Wayne was there,” he said and Waylon looked over. He never actually saw Bruce Wayne in his job as a night guard in one of Wayne Enterprises warehouses, and he didn't regret that in the least.

“Because they dated?” he asked.

“Probably,” Dick said with a frown. “He looked upset, though it's hard to tell with him.”

“Is it?” Waylon asked. “The tabloids think they have him all figured out.”

Dick snorted. “They definitely don't. When he gets upset he gets all weird.”

“Please,” Waylon said, strained. “Avoid him.”

“I try as much as possible,” Dick said.

-0-

Selina went to Blackgate, and Oswald Cobblepot eventually got out of Arkham.

“You'd think they'd at least put me in Blackgate,” he groused, showing up at Waylon's doorstep and Waylon looked up and down the street in some alarm before letting him in. “I am an upstanding citizen of this city, after all.”

“Except for the crime bits,” Dick said and Waylon stared at him as he went about making tea.

But Oswald only chuckled. “Except for those,” he agreed. “Now, Jones, don't worry about taking another job,” and Waylon just stared at him. “Wayne Enterprises is the gold standard for pretty much every freak in Gotham. I'd work there if I thought they'd let me in.”

“Really?” Waylon asked and Oswald chortled.

“Alright, no, I wouldn't. I enjoy running my own enterprises far too much to sell out to anyone, even Wayne,” he said.

“Your illegal enterprises,” Dick said and Waylon wanted to tell him to stop teasing the crime lord, but Oswald just gave him in indulgent smile.

“I assume you have more clothes these days, don't you dear boy?”

And Dick just rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I even have a dresser.”

Which was when Waylon realized Oswald being there wasn't really about him at all. He was fond of Dick, the way Selina was, and nothing had worried Waylon more since Bruce Wayne had appeared with Dick at his side at Arkham Asylum.

Dick, the kid who hadn't been afraid of the crocodile man in the cage, wasn't afraid of the super villains of Gotham either. At least not all of them.

“Dick,” Waylon said when Oswald left. “You were careful, weren't you?”

“Yes,” Dick said, and Waylon realized he should have asked more questions about the months he'd been missing in Arkham. “I was careful. It's just,” and he was putting dishes back away, standing up on his toes to reach the higher shelves. Waylon could have done it easily, but now that they had a real place to stay, Dick seemed to like putting things away and keeping it neat. “It's just, a lot of them. I think they're more like you.”

“Oswald Cobblepot isn't like me,” Waylon said.

“Isn't he?” Dick asked, looking over his shoulder. “Not entirely, no, but he's also been rejected just because of what he looks like. It's not the same as someone like the Joker.”

At least Dick was smart enough to be scared of someone, Waylon thought.

“Be careful,” he said instead of anything else. “With all of them.”

“I won't have to be,” Dick said. “Because we're settled now, right?” and he gestured around the little narrow house with its small but present yard. “You're not going back to someplace like Arkham.”

And for a while that seemed like it was going to be true.

But things in Gotham had a way of going wrong, and it didn't really matter who you were. What chance did a crocodile man have?

A gang tried to move into the warehouse, because that's how Gotham was, and in the ensuing fight things got messy, because even Waylon couldn't fight an entire gang by himself. The warehouse ended up catching on fire, and figuring no one would give him the benefit of the doubt about the fire or the bodies that had been caught inside it, he ran.

It didn't take long for the Batman to catch up.

“You're supposed to be better than this,” he said, all gravely voice and judgment and Waylon wanted to bang his head into the side of the sewer.

“Fuck you,” he snarled. “You're a detective, aren't you? Figure out what actually happened.”

“People died in that fire,” Batman said, slowly, angrily.

“I didn't fucking start it,” Waylon said, but he knew it didn't really matter. Not the way Gotham worked.

-0-

The trial was messy and chaotic, and Dick showed up every day again. At least they figured out the fire hadn't been his fault, and no one had to ask where that evidence came from, even though no one said who handed it to the police.

The Batman had tried to at least listen to him this time, and it didn't even matter when the jury looked at him and saw what they saw.

He still ended up in Arkham for a few months, and he figured by the time he got out again the row house would be gone, because there was no way even Wayne Enterprises would hire him back after being partially blamed for burning down the warehouse he was supposed to be protecting.

He just hoped this time he wouldn't come out to find Dick in a situation he couldn't get him out of.

Notes:

Waylon is just your normal crocodile shaped papa worried about his kid's friends.