Chapter Text
Jason stood in the foyer of Wayne Manor and felt infinitesimal. He was a spec of dust, a grain of sand, a molecule of dirt on the Mona Lisa, or something.
The Manor was made out of mahogany and brick and precious metals and crystal. It was ancient vases and Renaissance paintings. It was antiques and China cabinets. It was big and beautiful and grand. It was a place that Jason could not have fathomed. His imagination was not rich enough to think up such a place.
He thought of Audrey Hepburn, in My Fair Lady. Jason had seen the movie with Catherine, once upon a time, at the rec centre's free movie night. He didn't get it at the time.
He was starting to get it, now, when he thought about Bruce's Bristol accent compared to his own elongated vowels and clipped suffixes, the dropped r's and words all run together.
Bruce spoke like a man that lived in a Manor. Jason sounded like someone who called their buddy's car a shit box.
If accent and tone did, in fact, determine someone's prospects in society, Jason was fucked. With his duct taped converse and patched jeans, one frayed backpack strap slung over his shoulder. Even his dad's leather jacket was worn and shitty looking.
No one belongs in a house like that, Bruce had said. And christ, he was right. Opulent didn't even begin to cover it.
"Master Jason," Alfred greeted, and Jason was forced back into the present.
"Alfred," he said, eyeing a chandelier that was probably as tall as he was, which meant the ceilings were massive. Jason pointed at it and said, "I don't know how I missed that, last time I was here."
"It was a busy night, I'd say," Alfred said gently and Jason jerked his head in the old man's direction.
"I'm sorry I ran off," he blurted. "I just realized you probably came to get me, and I was gone, but I said I'd be there. I'm sorry I lied to you."
Alfred's face softened before returning to a kind sort of neutrality. "My boy, that is quite all right. I understand you were overwhelmed, I simply wish you had asked for a ride instead of walking all the way to Gotham."
Jason blinked at him. "I figured you'd just take me to Bruce."
"Jason," Alfred said, suddenly very serious, "I will never tell Master Bruce something you wish to tell me in confidence, and if you need anything, ever, I will most certainly provide it for you if I am able. Do you understand?"
Jason did not understand, but he could see that the old man meant it, so he nodded. "Thank you," he whispered and Alfred nodded, pleased.
"Come with me," Alfred said, and Jason followed him up the stairs to the same bedroom he'd used just a few days before.
"Thank you," Jason said, dropping his backpack at his feet.
"Dinner is in an hour, I'll come and collect you," Alfred said with a pointed look and Jason ducked his head.
"I'll be here."
Jason took a shower, and then he sat in the middle of the huge bed and waited. Unease clawed at his throat. It burned in his belly, the unrelenting feeling of I'm not supposed to be here and this is a mistake and eventually they'll all realize.
Alfred knocked on his door.
Jason went down for dinner.
Dick and Tim were already at the table, sitting across from each other, when Jason was led in.
The dining room was just as extravagant as the rest of the house and Jason felt dingy and wrong in comparison. His fingernails were dark and dirty against the pristine white tablecloth. And there were too many forks. Who needed more than one fork?
Jason dropped his hands into his lap and fiddled with the tensor bandage on his left wrist. It had only been five days, since Halloween. Five days, since he'd fought fucking Joker goons. Five days, since Mr. Singh had been stabbed in the chest.
Jason shook his head a little, to dislodge the thought of blood. He ached everywhere, still. That was all.
(Mostly his hand, from where he'd punched the wall earlier that day. He prodded at the bruised knuckles.)
"Jason," Dick said, grinning, "settle a bet for us—"
"It's not a bet," Tim interrupted grumpily.
"Fine, answer a question for me."
"Sure," Jason said. He was sitting next to Dick, so he had a clear view of Tim's scowl across the table.
"When you count how long you've been awake, do you count the total hours, or do you only start counting the hours after you should've gone to sleep?"
"I'm not sure I follow."
Tim sighed. "Muhammad Ali said that he didn't start counting the push ups he did until it started to burn. All the ones before the pain just didn't count because they weren't hard."
"Okay?"
"If I've been awake for seventy-two hours, I say I haven't slept in forty-eight hours because the first twenty-four are a reasonable amount of time to be awake."
"Oh," Jason said, laughing a little. "Yeah, sure."
Dick smacked his arm lightly and it made the stitches on his bicep burn. "Don't encourage him! It's just an excuse to minimize how little sleep he gets!"
Jason turned a little toward Dick, so he wouldn't be caught off guard by any further arm smacking.
"Well yeah, it's obviously stupid, but he's not wrong."
"That should be the title of your memoir." Dick spread his hands in front of him, grinning. "Tim Drake: Obviously Stupid, But Not, Technically, Wrong."
Tim threw a fork at his head and Dick caught it out of the air, still grinning, and Jason was forced to remember that these were vigilantes.
"How old are you, anyway?" Jason asked Dick very suddenly.
"You should never ask a lady her age," he said, a hand laid across his chest, scandalized.
"He's twenty-two," Bruce said from the doorway and Jason started a little at his sudden appearance. "Sorry for running off when we got here, I wanted to get started on some paperwork for Gotham Academy."
Bruce settled down next to Tim as Alfred glided into the room, plates in his hands. Jason felt uncomfortable, watching the old man lay the plates in front of them and fill their glasses of water.
"Gotham Academy?" he asked, and then, to Alfred, "Thank you."
"Of course," Alfred murmured with a smile.
"I'm hoping to get you transferred for your last semester of high school. It's only one semester, but it'll do amazing things for your transcript."
"Oh," Jason said, staring at his plate. It was the nicest meal Jason had ever seen. Steak in some sort of glaze, asparagus, some green powder over the whole thing. There appeared to be small pieces of fried onion as well.
He didn't know what fork to use and it seemed like Tim was glaring at him, but he wasn't sure if that was because of the stupid but not wrong thing or the getting another apology from Bruce thing. He really wanted to lay down.
Thankfully, Jason didn't have to say anything else about Gotham Academy because Dick started ranting about his gymnastics students.
Jason couldn't stop thinking about it, though. He didn't want to leave his school. He didn't want to leave his friends, well, he didn’t want to leave Steph. He'd never considered what his high school would look like on a transcript. He'd never thought he'd be able to go to college at all. He wanted to, though. Badly.
Jason poked at his food and then excused himself to go to bed early because he actually had to go to school in the morning.
He put the chair under the doorknob, again.
He slept with his backpack next to the bed, within reach.
He hadn't unpacked anything.
He slept fitfully, startling awake at every sound. When he slept deeply enough to dream, he had nightmares.
Nothing specific enough to remember, just flashes, images, emotions. A bleeding smile, the barrel of a gun pressed to his skull, ashes sinking into murky water, Mr. Singh's screaming, bloody face.
Willis, cinderblocks instead of shoes, sinking, sinking, sinking.
The blaring alarm went off far too soon and Jason peeled himself off the bed. He took another shower to rinse off the anxious sweat of restless sleep and headed downstairs.
He only got lost a couple times before he made it into the kitchen.
"Master Jason," Alfred greeted happily. Jason slid onto a stool at the kitchen island and watched Alfred make eggs.
"Mornin'," he said, hiding a yawn behind his hand.
"Did you sleep all right?" Alfred asked, not looking away from the eggs.
"Yeah," Jason lied and was saved from further sleep-related conversation by Bruce stumbling into the kitchen looking like death warmed over.
"Good morning, Jason," Bruce yawned.
"Mornin'," Jason said, "your extracurriculars keep you out late?"
"No downstairs business upstairs," Bruce and Alfred said in unison, though the latter seemed much more serious about it than the former, so Jason could guess who the words really belonged to.
"Let's just say I'll be taking a nap later," Bruce said.
"You can go back to sleep," Jason said, guilt settling into his gut like lead. "I can take the bus to school."
"No!" Bruce said quickly, pouring himself a large cup of coffee. "I want to take you, I promise."
And god, Jason believed him. He looked so happy, standing in the kitchen in his pyjamas and robe, his hair sticking out every which way. The man's grin only got bigger, when Tim And Dick ghosted into the kitchen.
"I'll take Timmy to school today, Alfred, since I'm around," Dick said, ruffling an exhausted looking Tim's hair.
"Since you're around?" Jason asked.
"I've got a place in Gotham where I spend most of my time, but I like to stay here a couple nights a week. Sometimes less, sometimes more."
"Cool."
"What're you doing awake before noon?" Tim asked, eyeing Bruce suspiciously.
"I am often awake before noon," Bruce grumbled. "But I'm awake today because I'm dropping Jason at school."
There was a flash of something on Tim's face, gone too fast for Jason to fully process. But it looked like anger.
Bruce caught it, too, because he spent the rest of breakfast listening to Tim talk about his latest project even though it was clearly downstairs business and Alfred kept shooting them disapproving looks.
The unease settled back in Jason's throat and he sat silently until it was time to leave.
Steph waited at Jason's locker, her textbooks hugged tightly to her chest. She wasn't even sure he'd come to school. She waited anyway.
He hurried around the corner thirty seconds before she was going to give up and Steph grinned.
"You kinda look like shit," she greeted and Jason frowned. "I thought rich people life was supposed to be restful and shit."
He did kind of look like shit. Black curls mussed, dark circles under his eyes. The whites of his eyes were a bit red, making his irises look even more green. He'd be handsome, if he didn't look so sad and tired all the time. He had nice bone structure, even if his nose was a little crooked and his canines a little sharp, it added to the charm.
Steph knew at least five girls in their graduating class that would kill for him and his eyebrow scar. Hell, there were still bruises from last week and Tammy Stevens was going feral across the hall. Tammy had always liked guys that could fight.
Steph could see the appeal, if he wasn't practically her brother. Her best friend.
Besides, Stephanie Brown had her sights set on the girls that were in love with Jason, not Jason. She wished she could explain to Tammy that she could fight too, in fact she was clearly better at fighting. You could tell by the lack of bruises.
Jason shrugged which, alone, wasn't unusual. But there was no snippy response, no smile, no complaints. Nothing.
She thought about the days Catherine had been missing — when she hadn't known Catherine was missing and Jason was just pissy and tired and mean. She swallowed her anxiety.
"What's up?"
"Nothing, just didn't sleep well."
"I'm getting déjà vu," Steph said with a shiver. "You gonna tell me to fuck off this time, too?"
Jason closed his locker gently and looked at her, actually looked at her, for the first time since he got to school.
"I'm sorry I said that to you," he said, thick eyebrows drawn together.
Steph's eyes widened in surprise. "It's okay, I get it. You had shit going on."
"Doesn't matter," he said. "It was shitty and I'm sorry. You've done a million things for me the past few weeks and I'm sorry I said that to you."
"You're really not beating the softie allegations, Todd," she said grinning. They started toward their classes.
After a moment she said, "You said you'd give him a chance," bumping her shoulder into Jason's arm. Since when was he that tall? Since when did her shoulder reach the middle of his bicep? What the fuck?
"I am."
"Uh huh." She nodded. "Is that why you're scowling and frowning and looking generally unpleasant?"
Jason frowned, before he seemed to realize what he was doing. His attempt to stop frowning was even funnier than the frowning.
"Whatever, Blondie," he called over his shoulder, peeling off toward his class. She could see him smiling, though.
"Blondie: one, Todd: zero," she whispered triumphantly, practically skipping into class.
A week went by in a blur. Jason went to class, he caught up on assignments, he goofed off with Steph, he started to feel normal again.
Bruce drove him to school in the mornings and picked him up in the afternoon. He bought him a cell phone (it was too much). Alfred and Dick took him shopping and he left with an entire wardrobe (it was too much). He got a new pair of converse and a nice pair of leather boots (it was too much).
The weather got colder, Jason still wore his dad's leather jacket, but he had a new hoodie underneath and warm gloves and a cashmere scarf and thick socks and his boots didn't slip in the slush and the snow.
(It was too much, it was too much, it was too much.)
He visited Mr. Singh in the hospital. Sat by his bedside and watched the monitors beep. A medically induced coma, they said. He should wake up, they said.
"You avoidin' me?" Steph blurted and then slapped her hand over her mouth. They were standing outside school, waiting for Bruce to pick up Jason.
Jason raised and eyebrow at her, frowning. He looked better than he had a week ago. The bruises were almost completely healed and the heavy bags under his eyes were lighter. Like he was actually sleeping.
"I'm standing right next to you," he said, which was true. Dammit.
Steph turned away, she'd just walk home, save herself this stupid conversation that she had started.
Except Jason grabbed her arm. "Wait, what's wrong?"
I'm on my period, she didn't say.
You hurt my feelings, she didn't say.
"I want chocolate and for you to invite me over," she did say, by accident. Jason's eyebrows shot into his hair.
"Fuck," he said, scrubbing his hands over his face. "I'm sorry. It's not 'cause I don't want to hang out with you or have you over I'm just being dumb."
"Go on," she sniffed and Jason actually looked distraught, which was cheering her up a bit, actually.
Jason groaned, hiding behind his hands. "I promised I'd let Bruce try but it's all freaking me out and if you come over and see how unreal it is, then it'll actually be real and I'll have to deal with it."
"Awwwwwe," Steph cooed and Jason ducked away from her, pulling his hood down over his face. She laughed brightly, practically tackling him into a hug.
"Oh my god, leave me alone or you can't come over," he whined, which was kind of fair. The embrace was really the headlock's little brother. Only vaguely hug-adjacent.
Across the school lawn, Veronica Beck — the hottest girl in the senior class, Steph spent her biology class practically drooling — frowned at them and Steph waved as Jason wiggled free.
"Your fan club is out," she said brightly, as Tammy Stevens and Jessica Rodriguez joined the leggy girl whose new box braids looked divine.
"Huh?" Jason asked, pushing the hood off his head. His hair was sticking up in every direction and she could practically see the girls restraining themselves from stalking over and fixing it for him.
"You're so clueless, Todd," Steph laughed, shaking her head.
"I am not," he said with a scowl.
"Uh huh, oh look, Brucie is here in his normal person car."
His normal person car was a Range Rover. Because of course it was. Jason had, apparently, insisted Bruce be covert. It was not, technically, working. But the windows were tinted enough that no one could tell it was Bruce Wayne driving, so that part worked.
Everyone just thought Jason had joined a gang or something. Which wasn't ideal, but it was better than the tabloids.
"Hey Bruce!" Steph chirped, sliding into the backseat.
"Stephanie," Bruce greeted wearily. Steph ignored the tone. She told herself that he was just tired, he'd probably had a long day, or a long night. He'd been working on a case, or had just woken up from a nap. He was happy to see her, everyone was happy to see her all the time.
"Can Steph come over?" Jason asked, tugging the passenger door closed.
"Of course!" Bruce said and he actually sounded...delighted? Which was weird. He shouldn't be that happy about it. Unless, to Bruce, it meant that Jason was settling in, that he wasn't going to wake up one morning to Jason gone, again.
Apparently the first time had been distressing for the guy. Which was adorable.
Steph babbled the entire drive to the Manor, hardly paying attention to her own words. She was too excited. It was even bigger than she'd imagined.
Like, obscenely big. More house than she'd know what to do with. If she built the Manor in the Sims, she'd end up making, like, ten sitting rooms because there are only so many categories of rooms and three kitchens is excessive.
Jason took her on an abbreviated tour that involved getting lost three times and ended in the home theatre because Jason simply gave up.
They lounged around for a while, eating chocolate pilfered from the kitchen and throwing the wrappers at each other until Jason's phone buzzed on the coffee table.
"Pizza Hut," he answered and Steph snorted so hard, she choked. "It's a joke, Bruce. What's up?" He listened for a few moments before pulling the phone away from his ear, saying, "Wanna go down to the Cave?"
"Yes!" Steph shrieked, launching herself off the couch.
If the Manor was obscene, the Cave was unimaginable. Her brain couldn't comprehend a space that big. The huge computer console on a fucking dais? A hospital grade medical wing? Two batmobiles just sitting there?
"Holy shit," she said for the tenth time. "Where are the boys wonder?"
"I think Tim's avoiding me, and Dick is trying to make him feel better," Jason said with a frown.
"Tim's avoiding you?" she asked the stalactites because those were a thing, above her head, in this very real, actual cave with very real, actual cave things. Like bats.
Bruce appeared from what looked like a training area and gestured for them to join him.
"Yeah, but don't say anything about it to Bruce," Jason said quickly. Steph didn't get a chance to probe that any further, because Jason was already jogging away.
Bruce, in true Bruce fashion, wanted to bond over martial arts. He'd trained Steph quite a few times, but always in private gyms in the city or the rooftops of Gotham. She was practically buzzing with excitement, to learn in the fucking Batcave.
He taught them both a basic grappling move that ended in an arm bar, meant to take down a larger opponent. Then he lectured about proper punching techniques.
Finally, they sparred.
Steph went first, launching herself at Bruce with too much enthusiasm, probably. She was too eager, he'd told her that a thousand times, but she couldn't help herself.
Stephanie was eager, she had everything to prove and loved to fight. She threw punches when she should retreat, she grappled when she should create distance, attacked when she should duck.
Bruce had her pinned in under a minute, and spent another five chastising her recklessness. (Complementing her fearlessness.)
Jason went next, falling into a loose stance, his hands at his sides. Steph could see it, now, the things that made people look at him and see dangerous.
He moved fluidly, unpredictably, fast. Jason was built like a college quarterback. Not very big, but not tiny either. Lean and fast, made to evade. Bruce couldn't catch him, and if he did, he couldn't hold him down. If Jason was pinned, he wiggled free. If Jason was cornered, he fought dirty.
It was clear he hadn't managed to win yet, though. Clear because, when Bruce's back hit the mat he yelped in surprise and froze instead of rolling to his feet. Also clear because Jason scrambled away.
He didn't gloat or celebrate. Didn't even smile. Didn't do anything but watch Bruce, eyes darting between his face and his hands. Didn't do anything but look scared.
Steph's heart ached and her stomach hurt and she couldn't bear it. She was back in the hallway, watching Willis press a gun to his forehead.
She whooped and clapped and cheered the victory so something good would fill the silence.
So, maybe, Jason would know it was okay.
So, maybe, Bruce would move again, because he was still on the mat and Steph couldn’t stand the look on his face. She'd never seen Bruce Wayne look so close to tears, and she couldn't stand that, either.