Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Lucky" was not a word Jason would have ever used to describe himself.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

He had been born in Crime Alley, for starters. From there, even if it was quite literally rock bottom, it was hard for things to go up. They never had for him, at least. Sure, his mother had loved him deeply and unconditionally, and his dad... well, his dad wasn't big on emotions but he's pretty sure his dad also loved him, in his own way. When he wasn't drunk, and when he wasn't yelling, and when he wasn't beating him bloody with fists or belts... there were a few moments in which his dad had told him he loved him, or hugged him or squeezed his shoulder. 

That had been one of the silver linings - he was born in Crime Alley, and they went more hungry than not most of the time, it was dangerous and dirty, he had gotten into more street brawls than could be reasonably counted, he had had to steal and look in the trash and... but back then, he had been lucky enough to have both of his parents. At the very least, he hadn't been an orphan, fighting for his life in the orphanages or caught in the millions of trafficking rings his father kept muttering about. 

Then again, Jason had never been lucky. 

Next thing he knew, his dad had been sent to jail, again. His mom had tried for a few days to make it seem not so bad, trying to bring food, cuddle him when the nights got too cold, patching up his ripped-up clothes... and then, just a few days after his eighth birthday, he had come home from the public school to find her sprawled on the bathroom floor, a needle sticking in her arm, eyes wide open, unmoving, not breathing.

He had never felt more alone. Nobody to call, nobody to ask for help, nobody to seek for comfort, nobody to handle things, nobody to protect him or save him... He had wanted to call her name, but the certainty that she wouldn't answer had frozen him. He didn't remember much of what had happened next, except the loneliness, the anger, the harrowing agony. 

And then the streets.

Fighting tooth and nail, every single day. Fighting not to get dragged to the orphanages that held nothing but horror stories. Fighting to find enough means to survive in the alternative: the cold, unforgiving alleys. Fighting for food, for shelter, for his own safety. 

It was exhausting, but after two years of it, it was just... life.

An unlucky life.

A life that he was pretty sure was about to become even worse. He was starving... he hadn't eaten anything in days. He hadn't found many things to steal lately, and the mob hadn't had any little jobs for him either. Besides, a bunch of older kids had beaten him up and stolen the few dollars he had managed to scrounge up. 

He had tried to ask for money or food the day before, to a few people crossing the streets, but one of them had said: "I'll give you 20 bucks if you suck me in the alley..." and it had freaked him out way too much. 

He was desperate but... not that desperate, yet. 

But today... today he had even considered it. He's too hungry and too cold, and his body still hurts like hell from the beating.

And then he sees it. 

He had been dejectedly walking back to the tiny, abandoned apartment in which he had been staying for a few days, and just a street over he sees...

Is that the fucking Batmobile?

In the middle of one of the most dangerous streets of Crime Alley?

What the fuck. 

Isn't Batman supposed to be a genius? The car's practically begging to get its pieces stolen, or to get wrecked by the hoards of people who hate the vigilante. 

His eyes land on the tires.

Those babies would sell for so much money! Enough to sustain him for the entire month, maybe even in a hotel! Maybe he could even get a few real meals: a burger, like the ones his dad would bring home after a successful job, or a box of Fruity Pebbles like the ones his mom liked. 

His heart beats hard and fast in his chest. 

He looks around. 

He doesn't have much time. If he can go through with this, he won't go hungry for ages. 

He runs to the abandoned apartment closeby, crawls in through the broken window, and snatches the lug wrench he keeps in a corner next to his only belongings: a beat-up backup with a pair of underwear and socks, a framed picture of his mom, a dirty teddy bear his dad had given him years ago, a ratty blanket, and a flashlight.

Then he runs back, panting and wheezing, his head spinning by the time he is next to the car again. 

He shakes the dizziness away and gets to work. 

It's hard, though. He has stolen millions of tires in the last two years, but these ones are... different. Much more difficult. And with how dizzy he is, and how cold the street is becoming, and how much his body is hurting, it's taking longer than expected. But he's determined, and he's nothing if not a fighter, and he's soooo hungry... and...

And...

Someone is watching him. 

He straightens up immediately, lifting the wrench in a pitiful attempt to defend himself against the looming threat. He's expecting another homeless person ready to snatch the three tires he already loosened away from him, maybe even a cop, but... shit. Fuck. Shit.

It's Batman. 

Terror grips his entire body. His legs shake as his hands tighten on the wrench. But, despite the fear, he glares at the man, shows his teeth.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man growls, low in his throat.

Ah, what the hell. Batman is probably going to beat him half to death anyways, might as well put up a bit of a fight. 

"What, are you not only dressed like a bat, but also fucking blind?" 

The man's lips press into a firm line. Jason is honestly surprised he stays put; his dad would've already given him a black eye. 

"I'm going to need those back."

"Finder's keepers!" Jason shots back. He's gone through hell getting them anyway! Batman could certainly buy new ones! He's rich, right? The car certainly says as much. "And who leaves a fancy ass car like this in the middle of Crime Alley anyway? You deserve to get robbed."

To his utter surprise, the corner of the man's mouth lifts slightly, an amused smile appearing for a split second before it vanishes. 

"What's your name?"

Jason glares at him harder. 

"Why? So you can give it to the cops and they'll arrest me? No, thanks."

"I can take you home instead."

Wh - home? So the man doesn't want to hurt him? Or is he waiting for Jason to feel safe before beating him up anyway?

"I don't have a home," he spits. 

The man frowns, the corners of his mouth jutting downward before he steps closer to Jason. Jason flinches and steps back, and the man stops. 

"The orphanage, then?" the man asks.

"NO," Jason says, lifting his hands. "No, come on, man. I don't wanna go there... it's a horror house."

The man attempts to walk closer to him again, and that is it. Jason tries to bolt. Fuck the tires, he does not want to go to the orphanage at ALL, if the stories other street kids said were true. And, despite the bravado he had been showing, he really doesn't want to take a beating from Batman. Much less when he still had fresh bruises on his body. The man is famous for sending people to the hospital with more broken bones than not... and he hates Crime Alley. He would leave Jason on the verge of death and then just drop him at a hospital or police station or orphanage to suffer an even more gruesome fate.

But not even five steps into his sprint, he stumbles on his own shoes and falls on his hands and knees, scraping them. 

The shadow looming over him terrifies him even more, and he twists around so he is at least facing him. Sitting there, on the ground, with this huge-ass black monster glaring down at him, finally breaks him. 

Tears fill his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. "I'm sorry, I just wanted... I... I'll put them back. Don't - don't..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Batman says in a low voice. 

"Let me go, please... I will never steal tires again..."

How fucking stupid could he have been? Stealing the tires of the freaking Batmobile? He deserves the fucking beating, honestly...

But then Batman kneels before him. Even kneeling, he towers over Jason.

"I want to help you. Why don't you come with me?"

A new spike of fear-induced adrenaline attacks Jason. He gets up and tries to run again, not looking back, and not knowing if the man is following him. 

He climbs into the broken window, panting, not noticing the tears that are running down his face. He is terrified. He needs to get out of there, fast. He grabs his tiny backpack and as fast as he can, stuffs his things in it. Then he turns around to bolt away... but Batman is already there. 

He screams. How did he not hear him??

The man looks around, no doubt disgusted by the filthy, 25 square meters, dingy piece of shit place he has been staying in. It has nothing but trash and dust all around, and Jason has claimed one of the tiny corners which is now empty. 

He steps backward, pressing his back against the nearest wall as his wide eyes stare at the man. 

He is trapped.

"I'm sorry..." he breathes, and realizes he is panting in terror. "Please, just leave me alone..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Batman says, again. 

"Yeah, right," he growls, swiping angrily at the tears in his eyes. He is not going to cry. He is ten years old, not five. He shouldn't be crying in the first place. Crying only gives people more reasons to keep hurting you. 

"Please, tell me your name."

Jason glares at him, but he is too scared to keep back-talking. 

"Jason," he mutters. 

"Jason... how old are you?"

He swallows, thickly. 

"Ten." 

The man frowns again, and Jason's heart beats faster. Why did that upset him? Sure, he looks a bit smaller than the average ten-year-old, but that often garners confusion, even amusement... never anger. 

"You have a black eye. What happened to you?"

"Street fight," he mutters. He didn't need more details, right? 

Batman gives another look around the apartment, nodding slightly, before looking at Jason again. 

"How about we go for a burger?" 

His mouth waters instantly, but his heart clenches in more fear. Why would the Batman offer him a burger, especially after he just attempted to steal his tires? It makes no sense. 

"W-why?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I... I tried to steal your tires. Don't you want to beat me up?"

Batman sighs a little before kneeling down, again. Jason knows he is trying to be eye-level with him, but he is still huge. Still terrifying. 

"I don't beat up kids. And I know you were stealing out of need. It's not your fault..." 

"What?"

"Just one burger... on me. Or anything you want. And then I'll let you go on your way."

"You... you won't take me to the cops?"

He shakes his head. 

"Or the orphanage?"

"No, Jason. I promise. I just want you to eat something."

Jason takes a deep, deep breath.

A burger sounds... God, it sounds like heaven. 

"Ok," he says, softly.

And then there is a genuine smile on Batman's face. 

.

.

.

The situation is... surreal, to say the least.

Bruce definitely did not expect the night to end like this: him sitting in full Batman gear inside a McDonald's (he refuses to go to Batburger ever since they introduced the Joker fries) with a tiny ten-year-old boy who a few hours ago was attempting to steal his tires. 

But he hadn't had a clue as to what else he could have done. 

He couldn't very well leave this child alone. It was more than a little heartbreaking to see him inside that empty, dingy little apartment, alone and terrified. He is way too thin, too tiny for his age, with a bruised face and wide, watery eyes. His clothes are old and ripped, definitely not warm enough for Gotham's unforgiving cold, and if he was desperate enough to steal the tires of the Batmobile, he definitely needs help. 

Putting the tires back on had been pretty easy, with the help of the kid as well, and then they had sped off.

But he doesn't know what he's going to do, though. The child is terrified of the orphanages (he needs to look into that), and taking him to the police would just be adding an extra step to have him end up in one anyway.

For now, though, he only wants the kid to eat something.

And to not be alone. 

He can see the two cashiers behind the counter staring at him wide-eyed, one of them even taking a picture on his phone before he glares at them. 

The boy is inhaling the fries.

"How long have you been living in the streets?"

Jason looks up at him, licking the ketchup off one of his fingers.

"Two years."

Bruce sighs slightly, and can feel his throat closing up. Two years is a very long time for a child to be alone in the streets of Gotham. And as far as he can see, the streets have definitely not been kind to this boy. 

"I'm sorry. I take it your parents are -" 

"Mom's dead. Dad's in jail."

He speaks so casually about such a tragedy it twists Bruce's gut.

"I'm sorry..." he says, again, lost for words.

Jason frowns a little before opening the little cardboard box with six chicken nuggets. He has slowed down, which is a sign that he is getting full. That in itself is not a good sign, because he has only scarfed down a small portion of fries. 

"Why?" he asks, finally biting into one of the nuggets. "You weren't the one who put him in jail..."

"That's not..." he takes a deep breath, trying to change the conversation to a more pressing topic. "Why are you so scared of the orphanages?"

Jason glares at him before reaching out to slurp his coke.

"You're telling me you don't know what goes on in those places?" he laughs a little, shoving another nugget into his mouth before looking down at the box. His expression softens, and he looks a little nervous again. "Hey, is it... would it be ok with you if I took these with me? I'd like to save them for tomorrow. You kinda fumbled my next pay, so, getting my next meal is gonna be a little tricky..."

Bruce's heart breaks even more. This little kid is fully expecting him to abandon him to his luck again. 

"The food is all yours," he says instead, his voice a little tight. "But tell me about the orphanages."

Jason shrugs a little with one shoulder before carefully closing the cardboard box with the nuggets and then grabbing the coke to slurp at it again. 

"A million little kids stuffed into places that are quite literally rotting away... I've heard stories that the adults who run those places hurt the kids all the time, don't feed them much, and... sell them. My dad used to say that Gotham orphanages were the easiest, quickest ways the pedophiles could get a good fuck, and the mob could get the cheapest labor. He said the orphanages feed the trafficking rings or whatever..."

That... is the worst thing Bruce has ever heard. 

If it's true, and all of this horror has been happening in Gotham without him getting even a whiff of it...

How?! Has he really been too busy to notice?!

Did some else know???

"Are you certain of this?"

"No, but... I've had a few friends getting sent to orphanages who I've never seen again. You truly never heard of this?"

"No, of course not. I would've done something about it."

Jason smiles a little before opening his backpack and stuffing the box with nuggets in it. The tiny, dirty face of a teddy bear peeks out, and Bruce's heart shatters even more. This child is just a baby...

"I guess it's hard to focus on us nobodies in Crime Alley when you're too busy hanging out with the Justice League," the boy says, before he seems to realize something. His eyes go wide and he turns to him again. "Wait, you know Wonder Woman, right?"

"Uh... yes. We work together."

"That is so cool! She's my favorite." 

"Wonder Woman is your favorite?" he asks, a little jealous. Then he sighs and turns back to the more pressing topic, "Uh, look, I look after all of Gotham. Some things slip through the cracks but every part of this city is equally important to me. You're not a nobody."

Jason stares at him for a moment before finishing his coke. 

"Uhm... thanks for the meal. I'm sorry... about the tires."

"Don't be. It's not your fault you had to resort to those measures." 

Jason looks at him suspiciously before shrugging. 

"Uh-huh. Uhm, look, it's fine, I can walk back to Crime on my own. But, thanks again."

"Wait," he says, as the child slides to get off the chair. "I can't let you leave and be all alone like this."

That seems to terrify the child. 

"B-but you... you... said you wouldn't - YOU SAID NO COPS!" he screams. 

It's a good thing the restaurant is pretty empty, only the employees around, since it's two in the morning. 

"I'm not taking you to the cops, Jason. Or the orphanage. I..." but where is he taking the little kid? The answer comes to him even before he can sit around to think it through and process it. There is nothing to decide. He simply cannot abandon this child. He can't. "Look, I have a friend you can stay with, alright? Just for a little bit. Just until we figure things out."

"A-a friend?" the boy's voice shakes. He lifts a hand to clean a tear that had slid from the corner of his eye. "W-what kind of friend?"

"Bruce Wayne will be glad to - "

"That rich asshole? Right, now I see what all of this is about."

"Excuse me?"

"You do know about the trafficking rings, you're just a part of them. You brought me here to lure me away from Crime Alley and then sell me to that rich bastard, huh?" 

Whoa. Those words definitely do not belong in the mouth of a ten-year-old. In fact, a child so small shouldn't even know about these things, or harbor such fears.

"No, Jason, God, no."

"I don't want your help, Batman. I've been doing pretty good for two years by myself!"

"Jason, don't leave. You can trust me."

"I don't trust anyone. That's how I've stayed alive."

"Look, think of it this way: it's a guaranteed warm bed tonight. Bruce Wayne will not touch you, I will personally see to that. It's much better than that dingy apartment. At least you won't be cold."

Jason glares at him for a long time, his eyes watering and his chin wobbling. But then he swallows a little and looks down at his hands. 

"Will-will Bruce Wayne let me take a shower?"

Bruce smiles.

"Of course he will, chum."

Chapter Text

Batman asks Jason to wait inside the McDonald's while he calls someone.

And then they're off. 

Jason feels nervous. His belly is churning and he feels like the fries and single nugget he ate are not sitting comfortably in there. 

The dilapidated houses become tall buildings, and then become big houses and finally... enormous mansions as they exit Gotham and get into Bristol. Jason stares out the window, wide eyes looking outside as his hands pull nervously at the sleeves of his hoodie. 

He has never been to Bristol. Hell, he's only gone a few streets outside of Crime Alley. This is new and unexpected and... scary. Other than his mom, a few of his teachers and very occasionally his dad, adults are never kind to him. And rich ones tend to be the worst - as if their money gave them the right to push the others around. 

Why would Bruce Wayne even want to take in a street rat like him, even if it was just one night? Just because Batman wants him to? Can Batman order the rich and elite around like that?

Or... were his initials suspicions true and it is Bruce Wayne who is ordering Batman around, asking him to find little kids to... to...

He tries to get rid of that train of thought by shaking his head a little and looking down at his hands. 

But he's really scared. 

Why is Batman even doing this?

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Jason."

"I'm not afraid," he snaps back, glaring at Batman. 

"Bruce Wayne won't touch a hair on your head."

"I'll bite him if he tries," Jason growls, and it earns him a little amused smile. He hates it, and glares at Batman harder before turning to look out the window again. 

Screw Batman. He will bite Wayne if he tries anything. He will. And he will steal anything he finds in that house and run right back to Crime Alley to sell it and... and make a life for himself. 

Maybe he can finally buy a couple of books. 

Maybe... if he gets enough money maybe, just maybe, he could buy schoolbooks and go back to school? Would they take him back, even if he skipped the last two years?

God, he hopes so. He would give anything to be able to go back to school. 

They finally stop right before a giant gate, and the mansion that stands tall behind it steals his breath away.

"We're here," Batman says.

It's huge. 

What the fuck kind of fortune does someone have to have to live in there?

A man exits the manor. He looks old, wears a fancy suit and shit. His face is very serious. This is not Bruce Wayne... at least not the Wayne he's seen in newspapers and on the news when he was back home with his parents. Bruce Wayne is much younger, isn't he?

He walks up to the car, and Batman lowers his window to talk to him. 

"Alfred."

"Busy night, I reckon." 

British. Who is this man?

"Alfred, this is Jason. Jason, this is Alfred."

Jason looks at him, his face heating up a little as the older man offers him a kind smile. 

"Hi," he says timidly. 

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young lad."

"Jason, Alfred is going to show you around the manor while Wayne comes home, alright?"

Jason's eyebrows furrow in confusion and he steals a glance at the clock on the dashboard. It's three in the morning and Wayne isn't home? 

"W-where's Wayne?" he asks, softly, nervously. He doesn't like it when he can't figure things out quick.

"Oh, just at a party. He'll be home in no time at all, lad," Alfred says.

A party? Oh, fuck, he's going to get home drunk, isn't he? Shit, fuck. No wonder he wants a little kid there, he wants someone to smack around. Ah, fuck Batman! Fuck the warm bed and the shower and the meal! He'd rather go cold and hungry than have a rich, drunk bastard beat him to a pulp just to throw him back in the street the next day...

"Hey, it's alright. You'll be safe here, okay?" Batman says. 

Jason glares at him, again. Fuck him for luring him with food when he was hungry, just to throw him to the wolves. Maybe this is just Batman's twisted sense of justice or whatever. Sure, he doesn't beat kids up for stealing his tires, he just sends them to rich bastards so they can do it instead.

"Whatever," he growls, pushing the door open angrily. 

He hears Batman sigh behind him, but he slams the door closed before the vigilante can say anything else. Alfred walks around the car and stands in front of Jason, the kind smile still on his face. 

"Why don't we get inside? It's frightfully cold out here." Jason sighs and nods, walking forward as Alfred motions towards the gates. "Thank you, Mr. Batman. You have yourself a safe night." The way he says it seems like a joke, like he is laughing at Batman... but why? And... isn't Alfred a little intimidated by Batman? Like any sane Gothamite should be?

"Thanks, Alfred," Batman answers, also laughing extremely slightly. "Bye, Jason."

Jason doesn't answer, still angry, and trudges forward towards the massive house in front of him. 

.

Alfred seems... nice. 

At least he's kind, and doesn't yell. And smells good. 

"So," Jason asks as they walk across the lawn, after Batman has already sped off, "are you like, Wayne's dad or something?"

Alfred huffs a little, his hands clasped behind him. 

"Not in the literal sense. I'm actually the butler, dear child."

Butler?? Like in the movies?? How filthy rich did one have to be to have a butler?! 

That train of thought gets interrupted... or more accurately, accentuated, when they enter the manor. It looks bigger on the inside, and it's so fancy. Suddenly Jason feels so out of place, and gets extremely self-conscious about how dirty and grubby he must look in the middle of marble floors, huge chandeliers, spotless vases and accessories that look more expensive than anything he's ever seen... more expensive than himself. 

"Whoa..." he can't help it, his eyes and mouth wide.

"I'm glad you find it pleasant. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you to one our guest rooms."

One of the guest rooms? Plural?? Jesus Christ.

They cross the lobby, and Jason blushes a little as he stares down at his dirty, patched up sneakers, smearing dirt on the white, otherwise flawless marble floors, but he keeps walking. Up the stairs, into a long, long hall. Then down it, until they reach a big wooden door. Alfred opens it and... wow.

"This is the guest room? Fucking hell..."

"Please mind your language."

But Jason doesn't listen. He is too preoccupied looking around. The room is enormous, bigger than his parents' house, he thinks. The bed is a king's size, the biggest one Jason has ever seen, and it's a four poster bed covered in a bunch of blankets and pillows and cushions. There is room for a desk, and a two-seat sofa, and a full-wall built-in closet. The adjecet wall holds an enormous window, the expensive, velvet drapes currently drawn.

And it has a built-in bathroom as well. 

What the fuck. 

"Isn't this the master bedroom? Shouldn't Wayne be sleeping in here?"

"No, lad. Master Bruce has his own room. So does Master Dick."

Master?? That's... a weird way to address someone. Also, Master what? 

"Who the hell is Dick?"

"Language, please," the man admonishes, still gently. "He is Master Bruce's son, but he is away for a few days - a trip with some friends."

Bruce Wayne has a son? And he named him Dick? Ugh, rich bastards are definitely fucking weird. Whatever, if the other kid is gone then he won't have to meet him and try not to laugh at his stupid name. 

"Alright... so I can stay in here?"

"Yes, you most certainly can. I took the liberty of putting a few of Master Dick's old clothes in the closet, including fresh pajamas if you desire to change into those." 

Pajamas? He hasn't worn pajamas in ages. Back at his parents' he just wore one of his dad's old t-shirts. But whatever... beggars can't be choosers. And changing out of his really dirty clothes for the first time in months did sound good. 

"Uh... thank you."

"You're more than welcome, young sir. Is there anything else you might like? Some tea, perhaps? Warm milk? A glass of water?"

"Uh... can I - would it be alright if I took a quick shower? Just a few minutes, tops."

He hasn't had a shower in ages. And Batman promised he could...

"But of course, young lad. Take all the time you need. You will find all kinds of toiletries inside. I laid out a fresh towel as well. The hot water comes in immediately, just turning the faucet to the right and downwards."

Hot water, too?! Well... maybe this wouldn't be so bad... 

"Thank you, Alfred!"

.

Bruce walks out of the cave and quickly makes his way down the hall, before he gets intercepted by Alfred just outside one of the guest rooms. 

"Alf..."

"Master Bruce, how was your party?"

Bruce huffs a little. 

"Ha, ha. Very funny. How's Jason?"

"He's alright. Taking a shower."

"Ah, yeah, he did mention he wanted one." 

Alfred hums a little and raises his eyebrows. "May I ask, Master Bruce, what you plan to do with this child?"

No fucking clue. 

"I'm not sure, Alf. I couldn't just leave him there. You should have seen him, he looked so lonely and scared."

"Ah, the deja-vu I'm having is marvelous," the butler answers as he walks past Bruce towards the stairs. Bruce follows him. "So was Master Dick, if I recall correctly."

"Yes but... but Dick wasn't beaten up. You saw the bruises, didn't you? And he was starving! You should have seen how he inhaled the fries."

"And he grabbed your attention when he dared to steal from you."

Bruce laughs a little at that. It's true. He has never seen someone so brave, and he was prepared to fight back, too. It was... endearing, and amusing. And a little heartbreaking.

They enter the kitchen.

"He did. I just... he told me a few really horrible things, Alf. About orphanages and the cops and... I'm not sure what to do now."

Alfred turns the stove on and puts a kettle on it. "I'm sure Batman will figure it out."

"Yes, Batman will figure out what to do with the system, eventually. But... what will Bruce Wayne do with the kid?"

"What will Bruce Wayne do with the kid?" 

Bruce sits down on one of the stools next to the kitchen isle and sighs, heavily. He's exhausted. He should get to sleep. 

"His mom is dead. His dad is in jail. He's been living in the streets for two years."

Alfred's shoulders tense at that, and he sighs as well. "Oh, dear. Sounds like a hard life."

He stays quiet for a moment, and suddenly remembers Dick's crushed face as he watched his parents die. The terrified, depressed and defeated expression as he sat in one of Gotham's juvie cells. He remembers not hesitating at all, fighting tooth and nail to get his custody as quickly as possible. Dick was a bright young boy now. Short-tempered and a little violent but all smiles and puns and jokes, attempting to lead his own superhero team, clever and kind and happy and...

"Do you think Dick is happy?"

Alfred sets a cup of tea in front of him and sits on the stool across. 

"He loves you, Master Bruce. But more importantly, you love him back. That is all a vulnerable child needs."

Bruce swallows hard. He's not sure about that. 

"Is it, though? I already have my hands full with being Batman, and WE, and Dick. I don't have the time for another kid. And... he deserves someone who will give him all the attention in the world."

Alfred smiles gently at him. 

"You don't have to decide anything right now. For tonight, rest in the knowledge that there is a little boy upstairs that you have spared from a hungry, cold, dangerous night in Gotham."

.

.

Jason wakes up feeling better than he has felt in ages. 

He isn't tired, or cold, or hungry. In fact, he's cuddled tightly around his little bear, on the softest bed on the planet, covered in layers of soft, fuzzy blankets and surrounded by cushions. He hadn't had time to notice last night, since he fell asleep as soon as he laid down, but the bed is amazing. He hasn't slept in a bed since the last time he went to a homeless shelter, and even then the bed was creaky, the springs stabbing at his back and sides, the single sheet ratty and smelly and... he had been too afraid to lose his backpack or get hurt with how many people had been surrounding him that he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep. 

The room is still dark, making him think for a second that it's still nighttime, but then he sees a little ray of light seeping through a small gap between the drapes. 

Then he glances at the clock on the nightstand. 

It's 11 a.m.!!! 

He sits up, startled. How did he sleep so much?? He usually never slept more than a few hours a night, what with every single place being a literal threat to his life. And even if it's warm and cozy, it's still an unfamiliar place.

But then again, nobody came in to wake him up and kick him out. 

Ah, there it is. Someone is knocking at the door.

At least they're not barging in or yelling. 

"Uh...yeah?"

"...Can I come in?"

That must be Bruce Wayne. Why the fuck is he even asking? It's his house. 

"Yeah."

The man opens the door and... he's huge. It twists Jason's gut. He's wearing a black turtleneck and grey slacks, but he can see the bulging muscles below. It always hurts more when the one doing the beating looks like they work out - he purposefully stays away from kids and adults in the streets who look like that. He swallows a little. 

"Good morning, Jason. I'm sorry I couldn't introduce myself last night - you were already asleep and I didn't want to disturb you."

"Morning..." he mutters. He doesn't know what else to say. 

"I'm Bruce Wayne."

"I know that."

The man huffs a small, amused laugh.

"Did you sleep well? Would you like some breakfast?"

Jason stares at him, confused and at a loss. 

"Uhm... ok."

"Can I draw the drapes?"

"I... it's your house, dude."

A weird, tight expression passes through the man's face and Jason cringes a little. Is the man angry at him now? He tenses as the man walks inside the room, bracing for a smack or a punch or a slap... but the man just walks past the bed and opens the curtains. Sunlight streams inside. The window is indeed huge, and it overlooks a wonderful, enormous garden. 

"Alright, follow me, then. Alfred made some oatmeal that I think you'll love."

Jason wants to ask him what the plan is. Is he going to get kicked out after breakfast? Will Batman come get him? Does Bruce Wayne want something from him? 

But he doesn't want to upset him. So he gets down, and after a slight hesitation, tries to pull the blankets in an attempt to make the bed. 

"It's alright, chum. Alfred will take care of that." Jason shrugs slightly and lets it go. "Alfred gave you those pj's, huh?"

He's wearing really warm, Superman-themed pajamas. Alfred left a bunch of options, but he grabbed these because they seemed the warmest, and the smallest ones. Even so, they drown him, the sleeves and legs going way past his hands and feet and the collar falling off one of his shoulders. He sees Wayne looking at a bruise he has on his shoulder with a tight expression and he hastily covers it up. If there's anything he has learned in the streets, it's that he should never show others where it hurts. They would just make it hurt more. 

When Wayne's eyes stay on his shoulder even though it's already covered, Jason tries to divert his attention. 

"So... you mentioned breakfast?"

The man seems to snap out of his daze and offers a warm smile before gesturing towards the doorway. "Yes, come along."

As they walk down the hall, Wayne begins describing the few rooms they pass. Another guestroom, a closed door to Dick's room, another huge bathroom... then down the stairs. To the left, the main living room, to the right, the kitchen. Jason nods along, staring wide-eyed at... everything. It is so nice. And big. But he doesn't know why Wayne bothers showing him around... he isn't gonna stay long anyways, so there is no reason to know where each door leads to. 

But whatever, the man's the boss so...

They finally walk through an enormous, open doorway that leads to an equally enormous dinner table. It's almost funny, the way there are at least 15 seats but a tiny, steaming bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice sit lonely and forgotten in one corner. He slowly makes his way to it and sits down. A small breadroll is also sitting on a napkin next to the bowl. Alfred comes in then, smiling gently as usual, with two small jars in his hands. 

"Good morning, Master Jason."

Master? What?? Is this some kind of joke?

"Uh... morning."

"Would you like some cinnamon and honey on your oatmeal?" he asks.

Jason nods timidly, and then watches as Alfred tips the jars and adds the ingredients to his bowl. He tenses when Wayne sits right next to him. 

"So, Jason... I was thinking we could go get a few things for you at the mall later today."

Jason looks up at him suspiciously as he picks up the spoon. "What kinds of things?"

"Well, I don't suppose you're carrying a toothbrush in your bag. And even if we have some of Dick's hand-me-downs laying around, you could use a few clothes of your own." 

Jason blushes a little at the reminder of his lack of things. But then again, it's better to not have a lot of stuff when living in the streets. It attracts less attention and makes it easier to move around. He shrugs with one shoulder and drives the spoonful to his mouth. 

"I'm alright."

Wayne opens his mouth to say something but gets interrupted by a loud beep. He looks down and pulls a phone out of his pocket. With a deep frown, he begins to text.

Jason takes the opportunity to pocket the bread. It will serve as a nice breakfast tomorrow. With the nuggets still in his backpack, he will be alright for a while. 

He jumps, though, when someone clears their throat behind him. He turns to see Alfred... holding his little teddy bear by the ear with two fingers. Like he's disgusted by it. It's dirty and tearing at the seams, but it's his!! He swallows thickly. He has no idea how Alfred had time to go to the room and retrieve the bear after he stole the bread, but he is certain the man is about to tell him that he will keep his only important possession in retaliation. 

"No, no," he says, pulling the bread out and putting it back on the napkin. He's gotten robbed plenty of times before but he's managed to hold on to the only memory he has of his parent's house all these years... that bear and the picture in his backpack are the only things he really, really cannot stand to lose. It would be like losing his parents all over again. No one had been too interested in the stupid little bear before, and he still kept it as safe as he possibly could. How could he have just left it lying around, where these men could use it against him at any given moment?! How could he have gotten so stupidly careless?! "Sorry, I didn't... I won't take the bread, please, I didn't think you'd miss it... please don't take my bear."

Alfred's eyebrows rise high as he looks down at him. 

"Young lad..."

Jason jumps down from the chair to get closer to Alfred. He feels tears filling his eyes and his throat tightening. "Please, I'm sorry I tried to take the bread with me... don't take my bear."

"No, no, young lad, I'm not -"

He frowns then, in a desperate attempt to not cry.

"It's mine! You can't just take it!"

Alfred sighs and lowers the bear so it's within his reach. Jason jumps and rips it out of Alfred's hands, hugging it tightly to himself. He buries his face in its belly, trying to hide the tears. 

"I wasn't trying to take it, Master Jason. I wanted to ask if I could wash it."

Jason looks slightly up from where his face is buried against the fur of his bear. Wayne speaks behind him, startling him and making him jump a little. 

"Jason, none of us will ever take any of your belongings away from you..."

"And any food we give you, or any food you find in this house, is yours. You don't need to apologize or hide it," Alfred adds. 

Jason glares at him through his tears. Yeah, right. As if food was just something that people gave away to street rats like him. 

Alfred kneels before him and Jason gives a tiny step back, hugging his bear tighter. 

"It's mine..." he complains weakly.

"I know, little lad. I just wanted to wash it. May I?"

"No," he answers. The bear is dirty and raggedy but he doesn't want to part with it, not even for a second. 

To his surprise, Alfred smiles gently and nods. 

"Alright. No problem at all. I won't take it anywhere without your permission, sweet child. You have my word." 

The butler stands up and just... walks away, disappearing through the doorway. 

That's it? They'll let him keep his bear? No taunting, no mockery, no beatings for trying to steal the bread? 

"Jason," Wayne calls, and Jason jumps again. He turns, warily, still hugging the bear against his face. "Why don't you finish your breakfast? You're alright, lad. Nobody is upset about the bread, okay?"

Jason hesitates for two seconds before walking back to the chair and climbing back up, placing his bear on his lap before silently continuing with his meal. 

He misses the sad, devastated look Wayne gives him. 

Chapter Text

Jason isn't even half done with the oatmeal before he feels like he might burst. 

But he doesn't want to let food go to waste. 

"You don't have to finish it, lad," Bruce says, looking up from his phone. "We can store it and heat it up later."

Jason looks up timidly at Bruce, trying to understand. Why isn't he getting upset at Jason not finishing his food? He has to be really angry already after he stole the bread and then threw a tantrum over a stupid toy... is he waiting for Jason to let his guard down so he can lash out and hit him? Or maybe he just doesn't bother since he will dump him right back in Crime Alley soon, and doesn't care whatever Jason does...

"Okay," he says softly. He does feel full, and doesn't want to get sick on top of everything. 

"Alright, so if you're all done, how about that shopping trip? There's a mall fifteen minutes away where we could get you some basic stuff to make you feel more comfortable."

Jason shrugs a little and looks down at the unfinished oatmeal. He figures Wayne wants to drag him over to a public space and buy him stuff to make himself look like a charitable, approachable millionaire and not a rich asshole. He supposes he could sell some of the clothes and stuff for some pocket money, or trade them for food or someplace to stay for a few nights. He won't complain about an extra coat, though. And maybe he can get Wayne to buy him thicker socks and a new blanket...

"Okay," he repeats. 

He peeks up at Bruce again, and his stomach flips as he notices the man is frowning at him. 

But then the frown vanishes, and the man smiles. 

"Alright, then why don't you change into some of the clothes Alf left for you last night while I make a few phone calls and then we can head out."

Jason nods and hurries to comply. 

.

.

The car ride is silent, and Bruce is aching to know more about Jason. But the man has always been so bad at small talk. 

At any talk, really. 

He still has no idea what he's going to do with the boy. 

"So, Jason..." he stops when the boy jumps and turns to look at him with wide eyes. His heart clenches. He wishes the poor kid weren't so scared of him. He clears his throat, "you haven't told me your last name."

Jason looks down at the backpack he's carrying on his lap. He had tried to dissuade him from taking it, but after he thought Alfred wanted to steal his toy, Bruce supposes it's fair that he's a little paranoid. 

"Todd," he says after a minute, timidly. 

Truth is, Bruce has been texting with Gordon all morning, seeing if the commissioner has any more information on Jason. He's trying not to make it too obvious that this is directly linked to the case Batman is working on regarding Gotham CPS and the whole child care system, which he is determined to start fixing right now... He can't help it, he usually knows everything about everyone surrounding him. So, at the next red light, he texts the full name to him. 

"So, is there anything in particular you'd like to get? I'm thinking a few outfits, a toothbrush, some pajamas... but Alfred also suggested that we get some snacks you might like. Or a few toys as well, perhaps?"

Jason looks away from him. 

"I dunno," he says quietly. He starts playing nervously with the sleeves of the all-too-big grey hoodie that used to be Dick's when he was Jason's age. The fact that it drowns him reminds Bruce that Jason is definitely too small for his age. 

Bruce sighs a little, feeling a little anxious as the boy seems to withdraw more and more every second. 

"I won't get mad if you ask for something, Jason."

"Clothes are fine," he says quietly. "I don't need much. I have nowhere to put it anyway."

Bruce frowns a little at that, and when Jason notices it, he stiffens and his eyes widen a bit. Bruce immediately wipes the frown from his face and tries to offer an easy smile.

"What do you mean?"

"My backpack can only fit so much."

"You don't have to stuff everything in your backpack. The clothes would go in the closet," Bruce laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood, but Jason just frowns and looks out the window. 

"I don't have a closet to put stuff in," he says bitterly. 

Bruce's throat tightens. 

"Jason," he sighs, but he doesn't know very well what to say. "I'm not sure what's going to happen, but I assure you, you won't go back to the streets. You'll - if you end up not staying with me, then you will go to a nice family that will get you everything you need. Including a closet to put all your new clothes in."

To his surprise, the boy turns to glare at him really hard, but his face has gone a little pale. 

"Batman promised me I wouldn't go to an orphanage!"

"You won't," Bruce answers quickly. 

"I would have to go to an orphanage to get into a family, wouldn't I?"

"No, Jason. Not necessarily. Batman promised you that you wouldn't get into an orphanage, and I intend to keep that promise." Jason sighs a little through his nose and opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it immediately. "What? You can tell me anything, I won't get upset."

Jason shakes his head a little before looking out the window again. But then, before Bruce can insist, he seems to change his mind and turns to him. 

"Look, man, we can do your little show, I don't mind if you parade me around so people can see how good you are to orphaned street rats like me, fine. Whatever. Just - just let me go back to Crime Alley after. I don't want another family. And I'm not stupid enough to believe your bullshit so you can just shut up and we can get this over with."

Bruce is speechless after that. He opens his mouth a few times to answer, not knowing where even to begin, but then he sees the mall up ahead and decides to park first. 

The parking lot is half empty since it's a weekday, so it doesn't take long for him to find a spot. 

Once that's done, he turns to the boy, who cringes a little but glares determinedly at the floor. He is sure Jason is expecting a smack or a punch. 

"Jason," he says softly, and the boy turns to glare at him but his hands are shaking a little, even after he balls them up under the sleeves. "I'm not doing this for publicity. I'm not sure what is going to happen but... I promise, my only intention is to make you feel safe and comfortable. And then, if you do end up going to a different family, I promise I will make sure they are kind to you and make you feel safe as well. The only intention today is to get you a few more things of your own."

Jason takes a deep breath before nodding, but Bruce knows he's not entirely convinced. 

He resolves to let the matter be for now. He also knows it will take time for Jason to trust him. To trust anyone. 

So he simply opens the door and leads Jason inside. 

. 

Jason has never been to a mall, let alone one as big and fancy as this one. 

It's huge.

And there are so many stores, filled with clothes and candy and toys and gadgets and... it's a little overwhelming.

"So, I'm thinking we could go to Macey's or JCPenney or something like that. Alfred wrote down a little list so we don't miss anything," the man looks down at his phone and scrolls a little, "toothbrush, t-shirts, jeans, hoodies, sweatpants, shorts, coats, jackets..." the man keeps reading a very long list, and Jason's gut twists at every new item mentioned. 

He doesn't understand, and it makes him nervous. Bruce Wayne might be drowning in money but... he's not just buying Jason some lunch or giving him hand-me-downs for some paparazzi to shoot a photo and call it a day, like some other rich bastards tend to do when they visit Crime Alley. He's talking about buying heaps of clothing. And other stuff, too. And there are no photographers around, or people pointing and smiling at his benevolence. It looks like Wayne is doing it out of the goodness of his heart but Jason isn't stupid enough to believe it.

There has to be something the man is getting from this, right?

Rich people don't just spend millions on little street rats. 

Wayne keeps talking as he walks forward, and Jason follows but tunes him out, his heart beating hard in his chest. 

What does he want from Jason?

They enter a huge store, filled with all kinds of shit. Clothes and home decorations and even a tiny cafe in a corner. 

And the people... look rich. Well-dressed, clean, hair shiny and just very put together. 

Jason doesn't usually care what he looks like, but he can't help feeling a little self-conscious. 

Bruce guides him to the kids' section. 

"So? See anything you like?"

Jason shrugs, head spinning as he looks at racks over racks of clothes. 

"I don't know," he says in a soft voice. 

"Okay, how about this?" Bruce answers gently, grabbing a wheeled shopping basket from a pile next to a column. "Let's begin with t-shirts. Pick out five or six that you like and then we move on to the next item, alright?"

Five or six?? What would he need six t-shirts for?? 

But he complies, afraid that if he keeps on stalling, the man will finally get fed up and show his true colors. He wants to avoid those huge fists for as long as he can. He slowly walks around the racks, pulling out a few plain shirts. A black one, a grey one, two red ones, a blue one, and just to amuse himself a bit, he pulls a light blue one with Wonder Woman's logo on it. He's never owned a Wonder Woman shirt before, or any of her merch for that matter, but he always envied the kids who did. 

He turns and shows them to Bruce... seeking approval maybe? The man just smiles and gestures for the basket, so Jason puts them inside. 

Next are long-sleeved shirts... how many tops does a single kid need? He shrugs, figuring maybe Wayne has his vision of basic necessities skewed since he grew up never giving a single fuck about money running out if he purchased anything. So again, he picks a few plain ones. 

And then three different pairs of jeans, and three different pairs of sweatpants, and four different pairs of shorts. And then wool sweaters, and a whole bunch of hoodies, and three jackets and...

"Jason? Are you okay?"

Jason's throat is tight. He hadn't noticed before but his eyes are swimming a little bit. 

He's... Why is he so scared?  

They're just shopping for clothes. 

But the basket is topped up and even for Bruce fucking Wayne it must be expensive. And the man mentioned a toothbrush and toys and blankets and pajamas and shoes... It's too much. 

Why is Wayne doing this?

Horror stories of men visiting the orphanage fill his head. 

"I'll give you 20 bucks if you suck me in the alley..."

The many fucking bastards that dangled food in front of him just to see him beg also fill his mind. And the ones who offered food just to lure him out of his hiding spots so they could beat him up to laugh at him.

Nobody ever did anything just because. 

His dad had taught him that, too. 

And with how much Wayne is planning to spend on him, the little basket filled to the brim and then some, it's terrifying. 

"Hey, it's alright. Can you tell me what you're thinking about?" the man asks, kneeling down next to him. 

"W-what... what do you want from me?" Jason breathes, trying to keep his tears at bay. 

"What do you mean, buddy?"

Jason swallows hard and steals another look at the basket. Why would anyone need this many clothes, anyway? 

"This is too much. I don't need this many things, I'm alright with what I have. I - I don't..."

"It's not, Jason. It's just a few pieces of clothing."

"What-what do you want in return? I don't have anything. I can't pay you back, I don't have - I don't want to - " he doesn't even understand most the stories he's heard from men demanding things from little boys, but he's sure he doesn't want to find out what they mean, he doesn't want any part of it. 

"Nothing, Jason. I told you. I only want you to be safe and comfortable, alright?"

Yeah, right. 

"I'm fine with what I have. I - I... your son's clothes are fine. I promise. I'll take a few of those with me. You don't have to buy me anything. I really can't offer you anything."

"Jason," Bruce says, a little harshly. Jason flinches, fighting against the urge to cover his head with his arms. Bruce wouldn't hit him here in public, right? His dad didn't, he'd wait until they were alone at home... but maybe Bruce doesn't care. He's rich, what is anyone going to do about it. "Please, believe me. I don't want anything from you. I really just want to get you a few things. Dick's clothes are old and they don't even fit you."

"But... but, why?" Jason insists. 

He's not going to believe this bullshit. He's not. He's smarter than that. 

"Because..." the man seems a little lost, as if he himself doesn't know the answer to that. Then he smiles, gently. "Because you need it."

"But I don't. I don't need this many clothes. Nobody does."

The man looks down at the basket and huffs a little. 

"I guess I got a little carried away, huh? I'm sorry, my son really loved getting new clothes. Would it make you feel better if we got less stuff? Maybe we can start off with a few t-shirts, pants and hoodies? And a coat, perhaps. Winter is just around the corner. Oh, and sneakers. Yours are a little worn out."

Jason looks down at his shoes, grimy and ripped and held together with old duct tape. 

That would be cool. At least coldness and water wouldn't seep into them but... but still...

"I... I don't..."

"Come here, little lad," the man says, his voice so fucking soft and gentle. Nobody's spoken like that to Jason in such a long time. The knot in his throat grows bigger as he steps closer to Bruce and the basket. "Let's do this, pick three t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, one pair of shorts and two hoodies. How does that sound? And then we'll just get some pajamas, a jacket, a toothbrush and head back, alright?"

It's still too much, but Jason knows his voice will break if he talks, and his dad used to get so angry at him when he cried. Especially when he cried without reason. He would 'give him a reason to cry about' and then beat him up real good. 

So he just nods and picks a few things, blinking to try to clear the tears before they have a chance to fall. 

They stop by the pajamas section next, and this time Wayne doesn't push as Jason just picks out a Wonder Woman set and another one with just a red shirt and plaid pants. 

Finally, the sneakers. Just plain white ones. They fit him so much better than the old ones, and are much softer and more comfortable. 

He looks away, trying to calm down his racing heart and swallow the anxious lump in his throat as Bruce pays. He doesn't want to look. He knows it's much more than he's worth - more than what the mob or whoever he sells his stolen goods to has ever paid him.

"Ok, buddy. I asked Alfred to buy the rest of stuff - he'll get you the toothbrush and underwear, alright? We can head back to the manor now, ok?"

Jason nods, relieved. 

Especially since he won't have to pick out underwear with Bruce fucking Wayne. 

He just hopes Alfred isn't still upset with him about the bread and the tantrum. 

They head back to the car, get inside and take off.

And Jason can't help it. 

"I don't understand why you're doing all of this," he says, hesitantly, hoping the man won't get upset at his insistence. But they're heading back to the manor now, where the man will be free to do anything to Jason if that is indeed what he wants and Jason... he just wants to know what to expect. What to brace himself for. Even if he doesn't understand it...

"Buddy," Bruce sighs. He looks pained but doesn't take his eyes off the road. "I already told you."

Jason frowns. 

"So you took in a stray kid that Batman dumped on your front door and decided to spend a bunch of money on him, to make him feel safe or whatever. Right. Makes total sense."

Bruce swallows, hard, and Jason notices his hands tightening on the steering wheel. But then he relaxes, and at the next red light, turns to look at him. 

"I know the streets of Gotham are harsh and violent. I know you've gone through a lot in the past two years, maybe even before that as well, but not everyone is out to get you. There are good people out there who want to see you grow and thrive and be happy."

Jason stares at him for a long time before looking down at his worn shoes.

He doesn't believe him. He wants to, but... he knows better. 

He's never been lucky. Ever. 

It just always hurts more when the rug gets pulled down from under him. 

.

.

Jason insists that he can put away his new clothes by himself, so Bruce helps him bring the shopping bags to the guest room before retiring to his study. 

Bruce's heart is still aching as he remembers how anguished and confused Jason looked at the simple notion of getting clothes, and the complete impossibility he currently has of reconciling the fact that someone could do something for him just to see him smile. 

He understands the paranoia. He would doubt all the intentions anyone would have if they just offered stuff to him. But he's a living target, he has many people who would do anything to see him die a gruesome death, both as Bruce Wayne and as Batman, so it's normal for him. 

For a ten-year-old kid, though... 

His thoughts get interrupted by a phone call. 

Jim Gordon. 

"Commissioner," he says, closing the door to his study. 

"Bruce, I've found some information on Jason Todd."

"Let's hear it."

"The system has him tagged as 'under CPS protection', but that's not a surprise. Apparently, kids go missing all the time from Child Services and they never report it, not if there is nobody actively looking for them. This boy, Jason, the last activity that was logged in was two years ago. He called 911. He found his mother dead in the bathroom. An overdose."

Jesus fucking Christ. 

"He found her? Was nobody else with him?"

"The report only mentions him. His father had been in jail for four months for a 20-year sentence, and there are no other family members listed. He was taken into custody for a few days, and then it says he was being transported to Saint Peter's Home for Children, but that's where his report ends. There is also some info about him attending a local public school, but it was shut down two months after this, so I'm pretty sure he never returned to school." 

"Alright. Thank you, Jim."

"Bruce, what is this about? Is this another Dick Grayson situation?"

"It's nothing."

"You know I'm bound by law to report this, don't you? This is a missing child, plucked right out of the system."

"I know. I... Do you think you can wait a few days?"

"...Bruce," the man sighs, the way he always does when Bruce or Batman ask him for a favor. "I shouldn't tell you this, but we are investigating the whole system right now. Apparently, Gotham's Child Services and the orphanages are... compromised. So, fine, I guess. I can wait a few days until this thing is resolved. But... whatever you are planning, Bruce, please let me in on it. This might be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" he asks, trying to sound uninformed and civilian-like. But he knows the mob is behind all this shit. Batman and Gordon are the head detectives on the case, after all. 

Gordon sighs again. 

"I'm guessing the kid's with you? So he's safe. That's the only reason I'm going along with this for now. Should that change - "

"Jim. The kid's safe." 

"Fine."

The commissioner hangs up. 

Bruce sighs. 

He can't get rid of the image of a smaller - even smaller - Jason being the one to find his mom dead, and having to be the one to call 911. 

And then just... facing that horrible grief all alone, in the streets of Crime Alley. 

He hasn't felt pity like this since he watched Dick curled over the bodies of his parents. And this is worse. Jason had to swallow that up and move on completely alone for two hard, grueling, cruel years. 

He puts the phone in his pocket and turns to look at one framed picture he has on his desk. Of him and Dick. The boy is smiling wide, just weeks after he moved into the manor. It crushes Bruce's heart whenever he thinks about what would've been of his son if he had not taken him in... He knows he's not the best dad out there, he knows he's made more mistakes than not when attempting to raise a kid when he was barely an adult himself, but...

Dick did turn out okay. Better than what would've happened if he hadn't. 

He can't help but wonder if the same can be said for Jason. 

But the thought of putting Jason in the system, even if he gets it fixed... terrifies him. 

.

.

 When Jason is finished putting the new clothes away alongside the hand-me-downs, he sits on the bed and looks at his ratty backpack. 

Slowly, he takes out the picture of his parents. 

He had snatched it right before they had taken him out of his home, after he had called 911. Somehow, even back then, he knew he would never return to that house, so he had hurriedly packed a few things before they came barging into the door. 

He doesn't remember much of that night, but he's glad he grabbed the picture and the bear. 

His parents look young and happy. They both look healthier than he can remember ever seeing them, smiling widely and hugging. 

He runs a finger over his mom's face. 

It's been two years, but the pain always lingers. Sharp and awful. It has dulled with time, but not a day goes by in which he does not wish with everything he has to see her one more time. To beg her to not inject herself... to ask her to hold on for him. To get clean, for him. So they can remain together. So he doesn't have to live on the streets. So he doesn't have to be here, right now, terrified and confused and just anxiously waiting for Bruce Wayne to claim his due for everything he's doing for Jason. 

A few tears escape his eyes as he lies down and hugs the picture to his chest. 

He just... wants to feel safe. 

For once. For just a little bit, he wants to stop being scared. 

Chapter Text

That night, Jason decides to put on his new pajamas before going down for dinner.

He hesitates, at first, eyeing Dick's old ones, but he doesn't want to make Bruce upset or sad or whatever. The man already purchased them, so he might as well. Besides, he thinks with a big smile on his face, he finally owns something with Wonder Woman's crest on it.

He walks into the bathroom to look at himself, a little self-conscious about the new clothes, but stops in his tracks as he notices the brand new, tiny, blue toothbrush lying on the sink, and the few pairs of underwear and socks on top of the toilet lid. He smiles a little, again, but the smile fades immediately. He had yelled at Alfred earlier and... well, sure, he had thought the man wanted to take his bear away, but now Jason isn't so sure. What if Alfred did mean to wash it and had gotten a bratty tantrum instead?

He sighs a little. 

He's been a brat, hasn't he?

What would his mom say?

He kills that thought before the lump in his throat has a chance to form and turns around to go down for dinner. 

Bruce is already at the table, looking at his phone. Alfred is serving rice on his plate. Jason's stomach twists, fully expecting Alfted to glare or snap at him.

But when the man notices him, he simply smiles. 

"You look very dapper, Master Jason," Alfred comments.

Jason looks at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, and feels a blush creeping up from under his neckline.

"Uh, thanks."

"I see you like Wonder Woman. I happen to cherish her very much as well."

Jason giggles a little at that as he sits at the table, relieved that Alfred doesn't seem to be upset.

"Really? She's my favorite!"

"Is she now?" Alfred asks softly. 

Jason nods and then looks down at his plate, getting a little nervous again. 

Alfred has been nothing but nice to him. 

"Um... I'm sorry I yelled at you," he says timidly. 

But then Alfred's hand moves towards him, and Jason can't help it, he flinches away, his shoulders coming up to his ears. It's an old reaction - someone bigger and older reaching for him is never good. Never. Especially when he's been acting bratty. Alfred's hand freezes a few inches over his head for a second and then he immediately retracts it, and Jason flushes even more. 

Another apology is halfway through his tongue before Alfred speaks again. 

"And I'm sorry I took your bear without your permission. It will never happen again, lad. You have my word."

Jason looks up at him again in utter surprise. 

A second of silence goes by before Bruce talks again.

"Jay, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Jason stares up at him with fear in his eyes, but tries to look determined. Alfred decides to retreat to the kitchen. 

"Ok?"

"I'd like to take you to see a doctor tomorrow."

Oh, fuck, no. 

"What? Why? I feel fine."

He hates hospitals. He used to go to the free clinic with his mom, when either of them got sick, and they treated them like shit, like they were dirt under the doctors' shoes. And the doctors who visited his school to give out free medicine and free shots weren't very kind to them either. They always seemed to be in a rush and would snap at them if they cried or something.

"Everyone needs to go to a doctor every once in a while, Jason. Besides, when was the last time you went to one?"

Jason glares down at his plate, remembering the doctor rolling his eyes and telling his mom that she wasn't sick, it was the drugs, before telling Jason to take her mom back home because there was nothing he could do. 

For himself, though... probably when he was like, six, and his dad gave him a concussion and a bloody nose. Most of the time, though, he had to heal by himself with his mom's ministrations to avoid suspicion.

"I dunno," he says quietly. 

"It'll be alright, Jason. She'll just give you a quick check-up, make sure everything's alright. Maybe give you a few shots."

Fuck. The sight of the needle jammed in his mom's arm shakes him to the core. He must have paled visibly because Wayne's face softens a little. 

"It's alright, Jay. It's really nothing. I just want to make sure you're alright."

Jason feels tears prickling at his eyes, but knows that he has already caused way too much trouble, so he simply shrugs. Whatever, Wayne is the king of the world and he is a sewer rat that is temporarily entertaining him. 

Why even fight it? He's never had a choice in what happens to him anyways. 

.

.

Bruce tries to make conversation with Jason over breakfast the next day, but he's even more quiet than usual. 

He had gone to bed early last night, right after finishing dinner. 

"I managed to get you an appointment with my doctor at noon," he mentions as Jason pushes his scrambled eggs around. He hasn't taken more than a few bites. "You'll really like her. She's been my doctor since I was a boy."

Jason looks up at him for a second before shrugging one shoulder and nodding. 

"Ok," he whispers. 

He has bags under his eyes, which highlight the bruised right one. With the way he flinched at Alfred's attempt to ruffle his hair last night, Bruce really wants Leslie to see him. Make sure he's alright.

"You don't have to eat it if you're full, Jay. We can always reheat it. It's alright."

Jason puts his fork back down and nods again. 

"I... I'll go get ready."

.

Two hours later, they're in Bruce's Tesla, driving to Leslie's office. 

Jason had been really excited to see the car, but he was also exhausted and anxious and nervous. He hadn't slept well - or at all. The image of his mom with a needle in her arm hadn't left him, and not only had he had trouble catching sleep, but he had also had nightmares about it. 

Really, really bad ones. 

"We can get lunch afterwards, anyplace you want," Bruce says, startling him from his intense gaze out the window. 

He shrugs a little. 

"Won't Alfred have something cooked already?"

Bruce smiles, his gaze focused on the front window. 

"Not if I let him know soon."

"Oh," he says, because he has no idea what else to offer. He's too nervous to even think about food, his throat closed and his stomach twisting. 

What is he so nervous about anyway? He can think of a hundred other scenarios much, much worse than going to the doctor and getting shots. Even if the doctor is an asshole, even if they look at him wrong or scold him for fidgeting... it's not that bad. 

But he can't help the wave of nausea as Bruce enters a tall building's parking lot. 

"Chum, it's alright. I promise nothing bad is going to happen."

Jason shrugs and rolls his eyes. "I know that."

Bruce seems to want to say something else, but he simply sighs a little and nods. 

They exit the car, go up an elevator, and are greeted by a nice, empty, clean waiting room. 

A young receptionist is at the counter, typing something on her computer. She looks up as they exit the elevator and outright blushes as she sees Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne!" she says, her voice squeaky. Jason raises an eyebrow and looks at Bruce who is...

...smiling in a way Jason has never seen before. 

He leans over the counter.

"Emily, how are you?"

"I'm good, thank you," she says softly, looking down at her computer as if she can't handle Bruce's eyes on her, "d-did you have an appointment?"

"Oh, yes. But not for me. This is Jason," Bruce says, opening a hand to gesture at Jason.

Emily looks a little startled, like she didn't even notice him. She smiles warmly at him, albeit a little confused.

"Hi there! Oh, you have an owie," she adds as she notices the bruised eye. 

"Hi," Jason answers, a bit timid. "Yeah."

"I'll let Dr. Thompkins know you're here, Mr. Wayne. You can take a seat."

"You're a doll," Bruce says, winking, and she blushes even more as she turns to the phone behind her. 

Jason glares at him. What a douchebag.

It isn't long before Emily tells them they can go inside. 

Dr. Leslie Thompkins, as she introduces herself, smiles as they enter. They shake hands with Bruce, and she doesn't look at him in annoyance or exasperation. 

"Why don't you sit at the table, honey? Bruce, you can sit in the chair," she says as she rounds her desk and sits behind her computer. Jason obeys, climbing the little plastic steps and sitting on the medical table. "Alright, then. Jason Todd. Ten-years-old. When's the last time you got a checkup?"

"I don't know... probably four years ago? I'm not sure."

She nods, typing something on her computer. 

"Alright, that's ok. Do you remember the name of the clinic or hospital you were taken to?"

"Uhm... no. It was in Crime Alley, though."

"Ok. No problem, I'll just pull up a brand new medical record for you, okay? I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions, which I need you to answer honestly. If you don't know or can't remember, that's alright."

"Ok," he answers. 

She goes through a list of questions regarding whether he has trouble breathing, if he gets dizzy often, if he has any sort of chronic pain, whether he remembers any diseases that might've run in his family, or if he's ever gotten any surgeries. Most questions are easy to answer with a simple 'no', or shrug. But then others are a bit more... touchy. 

"Have you ever tried drugs before?"

"NO!" he says, louder than he intended. Bruce looks at him with a little surprise and then... what seems like sadness.

"Ok, that's good. Alcohol?"

"No."

"Cigarettes?"

He hesitates. But she did ask for complete honesty. "...Yes."

Both adults look at him. The doctor is stoic but Bruce looks alarmed. 

"Have you tried a cigarette, or would you consider yourself a smoker?" 

"I... I've tried more than one cigarette but-but only when it was too cold and I had nothing else to get warm with. I don't... I didn't do it because I liked it."

Bruce looks even more pained, and Jason cringes a bit. 

"Okay. Okay. Thank you for telling me. Have you ever had any broken bones?"

"Yes," he answers, quietly. His dad did do a lot of damage sometimes.

"Which ones?"

"My arm, once. But it healed quick. A-and my nose. And two fingers." 

Thankfully, none of them ask him to elaborate on that.

"Do you know which vaccinations you've had so far?"

"No..."

The questioning ends after a few minutes, and Dr. Leslie types a few additional things on her computer before getting up and walking closer to him, a gentle smile on her face. She talks to him softly, explaining to him what she's doing as she inspects his ears and nose, and then his throat and eyes. She listens to his breathing from front and back and checks his reflexes. It's soothing, the way she tells him what she will do before doing it so he can be prepared. 

She's so, so nice. 

"Ok, sweetie, would you mind removing your shirt for me?"

Jason freezes. "Uh... um, why?"

"I need to check you for scoliosis, honey. It's quick."

He glances uneasily at Bruce, his heart racing. 

"It's alright, chum."

He sighs, nodding tightly, and removes his shirt very slowly. And then cringes self-consciously as both the doctor's and Bruce's eyes spot his bruises. 

He doesn't have many... at least he doesn't think so. Just one on his shoulder, a few on his stomach, and another on his upper arm. There are a few more on his legs, but it's really nothing. He's had much worse. And they've already begun fading a bit so...

"Can I ask you where you got these bruises?"

He swallows again and looks down at his hands. 

"I got into a fight with some kids. It's nothing. It doesn't hurt," he adds hastily before she can pry more. 

"Oh, Jay..." Bruce sighs. 

And then a terrible thought crosses Jason's head. He didn't really get into a fight as much as got beaten to a pulp by a few older kids who stole his money, but he wanted to sound stronger. Instead, the way he worded it makes it sound like he got into fights easily. Like any other street kid. Bruce probably thinks he's violent and angry and... and... 

He shouldn't care about what Bruce Wayne thinks, he's just a rich asshole that gave him some stuff and food. He doesn't know anything. 

His heart still stutters. 

"Did you get a few licks in?" Leslie jokes, as she inspects the bruises on his torso closely. 

He smiles a little, but doesn't answer as Bruce still looks pained and upset. 

"Well," she says, straightening up and smiling gently at him, "I have the best cure for bruises right here. It will help with the swelling."

Jason takes another look at Bruce as she turns away to grab something from a drawer nearby. Bruce can't take his eyes off his torso, and when Jason crosses his arms to cover it a little, the man simply looks away. 

That's it. Now Wayne is definitely going to dump him back in Crime Alley after this. 

Leslie returns to his side with a little white jar. She unscrews the cap and a pleasant minty smell wafts from it. Jason looks at it with curiosity before she swipes two gloved fingers over the top. 

"I'm going to apply this to your bruises, alright honey? It won't hurt, it's just a cream."

He nods, and closes his bad eye as she approaches it. 

Then very, very gently and softly, she begins smearing the ointment on his eyelid, up to just below his brow, and down to his cheekbone. 

She's so, so, so... gentle. And soft... and... and...

Nobody has touched Jason like this in years. The last person to touch him this softly and comfortingly was his mom. Right before she died. 

And then any other person who has ever touched his face has caused him pain. 

He's not going to cry. He's not. Not in front of Bruce and the doctor. 

He's not a baby. 

He's not...

A tear slides down his good eye and he closes it as well. And then Dr. Leslie shushes him a bit, the way his mom used to do when she was comforting him or cuddling him or... also trying to treat his injuries like Leslie is doing right now. And a tiny sob escapes his lips. 

"Jay..." Bruce's voice says right beside him, and he jumps a little. 

He opens his eyes and more tears slide down his face as he stares at the man who is now standing right next to him. 

"'M sorry..." he mutters around a hiccup as he fights against the waterworks. 

"It's okay, baby. You're okay," Leslie says as she moves to the bruise on his shoulder. 

Jason closes his eyes, takes as deep a breath as he can manage, and with sheer power of will manages to stem the tears and stop the sobs. 

"Sorry," he whispers again. 

"It's alright, chum. No need to apologize at all," Bruce says.

When Leslie is done with the cream, she hands it to Bruce and walks back to her computer. 

"Alright," she sighs. Bruce stays by his side, a hand right next to his leg on the table. "You seem to be healthy, Jason. I would just like you to go to a dentist appointment and an appointment with an othorrhino as soon as possible. Apart from that, I think you could benefit from some Pediasure a couple of times a day. Make sure you don't skip any meals, I'd like to see you put on some weight. I'm writing you a prescription for the bruising cream, although what's in that jar should be enough, but just in case. And finally, I'd like to take a few blood samples, to be on the safe side."

Jason swallows at that, the part he was dreading the most. 

But he was already a baby today. He's not going to cry about this. He will be brave. 

"Okay," he says, forcing his voice to sound steady. 

Bruce smiles at him. 

Leslie takes the phone right beside her and calls someone, asking them to bring a blood-drawing kit. 

A young nurse walks through the door a minute later, and just like Emily, when he spots Bruce, he blushes. He clears his throat, looking down at the red box in his hands. The doctor looks annoyed. 

"This is Jeremy, he will be the one helping us out," she says, glaring at him as an adult would a child who is misbehaving. 

Jeremy smiles. "A pleasure," he says softly. 

"Pleasure is all ours, Jeremy," Bruce says, in that stupid smile he had given Emily as well. 

Jason glares at him. Un-fucking-believable. Who the fuck was this Bruce Wayne playboy persona? 

Jeremy laughs nervously a little before walking to the table. 

Terror soon replaces Jason's annoyance as he opens the red box and withdraws a needle and four tiny plastic tubes. His heart races. 

Flirtatious Bruce Wayne vanishes as he looks at Jason's pale face. 

"Hey, buddy, it's alright. Hey, hey, look at me," he adds as Jason's lower lip wobbles when Jeremy grabs the needle and carefully opens the packaging that encases it. Jason looks at Bruce, trying to fight back tears and the image of his mom, "you never told me what you wanted for lunch."

Jason jumps as something touches his arm. It's Jeremy wrapping a rubbery something around it. Jason wants to throw up, tears filling his eyes at the memory of his mom using anything she could find to do the exact same thing. 

"There's an Italian restaurant a couple of blocks over! They have ravioli to die for," Leslie says sympathetically from her desk. 

"Italian sounds good, doesn't it?" Bruce asks. 

Jason's wide eyes focus on him as Jeremy wipes his elbow with a cotton. "Y-yes," he breathes. 

"But I'm not a fan of ravioli myself. What's your favorite Italian dish?"

A tiny sob escapes Jason's mouth as he gathers all of his concentration on not moving his arm. When he feels the prick, it doesn't even hurt, but he jumps and sobs a little more. 

"Whoa, champ. I need you to be still, okay?" Jeremy says. 

"Sorry," Jason squeaks, but refuses to look. 

"So? Don't tell me it's pizza because Alfred will throw a fit. He hates pizza."

"A-Alfred hates pizza?" he asks, his voice shaking. 

"More than anything in the world. He calls it a travesty or whatever," Bruce chuckles. "Have you ever heard of anyone hating pizza?"

"No," Jason says. Pizza was a privilege at his house. They only ordered it when his parents were in a particularly good mood. 

"Me either. When I was younger, I would tease him by ordering the most debauched ingredients just to mess with him."

"Like-like what?" Jason asks, a tiny giggle escaping him. 

"Too much onion or extra sardines or so much jalapeño it was uneatable. What would you order if you had to make the most horrible pizza in the world, huh?" 

Jason laughs a little at the thought. 

"Pineapple is the worst," he says. 

"Oh, no! I happen to be a fan of Hawaiian pizza myself, thank you very much."

"Ewwww," Jason answers, "why would you add pineapple on it when you can add pepperoni?"

"All done here," Jeremy calls, his voice sounding amused. 

Jason whips his head around to watch the nurse wipe his arm once more and put a tiny, blue bandaid on it. He stares at the tiny containers with blood. He didn't even notice when he changed the tubes or withdrew the needle. 

Jeremy throws the needle away and grabs the containers, placing them inside the red box before smiling widely at him. 

"You're such a brave kid!" he says. 

"Thank you," Jason answers, offering him a small smile. 

"Alright. Thanks, Jeremy. You can take those to the lab," Leslie says. 

"Thanks, Jeremy," Bruce answers, with another goddamned wink. 

Jeremy flushes bright red and nods with a weak smile before turning on his heel and walking away. 

Leslie rolls her eyes as she opens another drawer and pulls out a red lollipop, handing it to Jason. 

"He's right, Jason. You're really brave. You boys can go get your promised lunch. Have Bruce buy you dessert as well, sugar is good when you get your blood drawn."

Bruce smiles and chuckles. 

"Thank you, Leslie."

She pats his shoulder. "Anytime. I'll mail you his results and prescription."

Jason smiles as he gets down from the table and looks at his lollipop. 

This... wasn't so bad. 

He pockets the lollipop for safeguarding and follows Bruce outside. 

"So, chum, how does pizza sound?"

"Awesome!" he answers. 

His chest feels full and warm, for some reason. 

And he is really, really hungry... which only warms his chest more when he realizes that he won't have to hunt down his next meal. 

Bruce will get it for him. 

And Jason won't complain about that.

Chapter Text

It’s been just over a week, and Jason has been swinging between anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop, and not wanting to find out at all when and how the dream will end.

A horrible voice inside him, which sounds suspiciously like his father’s, tells him he’ll ruin everything sooner or later, but he tries to ignore it. He tries to enjoy it while he can.

He’s still nervous, he doesn’t fully trust Wayne and Alfred, but things have definitely been getting better for him.

He gets three huge, hot, delicious meals a day—and then some: snacks, dessert, tea, hot cocoa, and they even tell him multiple times he can rummage through the cupboards whenever he feels like it or ask Alfred for food if he’s hungry. He doesn’t do either. He knows better than to take those offers at face value and doesn’t want to intrude further or increase his debt. Still, whenever he gets the chance and no one’s looking, he stuffs things into his pockets and later into one of the shoeboxes under the bed. Just in case.

They’ve also let him stay in the guest room as if it were his own. They haven’t kicked him out, and more than that, they don’t even come in without asking first. They knock every time, and Alfred asks him every morning at breakfast if he can go into his room—his room—to clean and make the bed. Jason always says yes, though he still makes the bed himself as soon as he wakes up and tries to keep it as tidy as possible.

But the best part, the thing that confuses him most, is that they really act like they want him to be okay. Not just fed and safe, but happy.

Alfred makes sure to spend at least a couple of hours with him, in between or during his duties around the mansion. On the third day, he asks if Jason wants to help prepare lunch, and Jason says yes, because hello! Cooking is awesome! And useful, too. And when the man sees how much he enjoys it, he starts inviting him every day. Later that day, he finally manages to convince Jason to allow him to clean the teddy bear, and lets him watch as he gently and softly handwashes it, as if he were bathing a kitten. 

On the fourth day, he gives Jason a full tour of the mansion. Jason ends up exhausted, and conveniently, the tour ends in the main library (as if Bruce’s study library and the one next to the damn ballroom weren’t enough). This one is... wow!

It’s huge. And it has so many books.

Jason practically drools and almost cries with joy when Alfred tells him he can pick any book he wants and sit in any chair he wants.

When Jason drops onto the central sofa and dives into a wonderful copy of Alice in Wonderland with extravagant and whimsical illustrations, the man leaves him alone for the rest of the afternoon, only coming back to bring him an afternoon snack. And in the following days, Alfred sits with Jason for a while after lunch each day, and they both read in silence. Alfred seems elated to discover how much Jason loves books.

Throughout the days, he also teaches him to play chess and a few easy card games, spends hours telling him stories from his youth that Jason listens to intently, and even sits with him through most of a movie once or twice before excusing himself to get back to work.

Bruce is out most of the day, but when he comes back to the mansion, he does similar things: asks how his day went, plays board games with him, tells him stories, sits to read with them (well, he’s usually texting while Jason and Alfred read, but still), and sometimes watches movies with him after dinner, just before saying he has to leave again. He also goes out almost every night, which is strange. But Jason would be lying if he said it’s not a relief.

He's still wary of Bruce, still flinches when the man approaches too quickly, still jumps and gets nervous when the front door opens to announce his arrival. He still comes down to breakfast almost expecting the man to tell him to pack up and get out.

But… there’s also something warm growing inside him. Something in his chest and belly, every time the man smiles at him gently, speaks to him softly, laughs at his jokes.

It’s something fragile, it shatters easily every time Jason remembers how his father used to ruffle his hair one moment and shove him against the wall the next, but it’s there. And sometimes, it terrifies him.

But mostly, it feels okay.

.

.

His dad’s bloodied fist rises again, knuckles already wet with Jason’s blood, and Jason backs up until the heel of his foot hits the wall. There’s nowhere else to go. He clutches his face, blood spilling hot and fast from his broken nose, dripping through his fingers and onto the cracked linoleum floor.

His eyes flick to the bed. His mom hasn’t stirred—not even a twitch. She’s sprawled sideways, mouth slack, arm hanging off the mattress. The bent spoon and used needle on the nightstand gleam in the dull yellow light, like quiet little warnings that no help is coming. She's gone to whatever place she goes, and he knows better than to hope she’ll come back before the next blow lands.

He whimpers, voice barely more than a breath. His fingers tremble where they try to shield his face.

The man roars at him about the kitchen—about the mess, about the broken plate, about how Jason always ruins everything. His spit flies, and his shadow swells over Jason like a stormcloud. The rage isn’t just loud—it’s violent, alive, thrumming in the floorboards and rattling in Jason’s teeth.

He squeezes his eyes shut, too scared to beg, too exhausted to scream , and he can only whimper louder as the fist crashes down on his eye.

.

Jason wakes up screaming, sitting up, and when he realizes he’s no longer in that single-bedroom shithole, he breaks down crying.

.

.

Bruce has just gotten into bed when a horrible scream reaches his ears.

Startled and alarmed, he jumps up and rushes across the hallway.

He doesn’t even think to knock, just bursts through the door, eyes wide as they scan the room, fists clenched, ready to fight whoever’s hurting Jason.

Then his gaze lands on Jason, sobbing hysterically, curled up in bed, hugging his knees with his bear squished between his legs and his chest, tears streaming down his face and his wide, terrified eyes locked on Bruce.

“Jay,” he breathes, “are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason whimpers.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks again, forgetting any sense of space, privacy, or ownership Jason might need, focused only on comforting him, figuring out what hurts, getting rid of what's scaring him. He approaches, lifting his hands as if to embrace him.

Jason just shrinks back further, hands over his head, curling tighter as his back presses against the headboard.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers again.

Bruce stops at the foot of the bed, lost, uncertain. He doesn’t know what to do, what’s happening. He tries looking around, but nothing seems out of place.

"What’s wrong, kiddo? Why are you crying?" he asks.

Jason keeps weeping, his sobs growing more intense as he squeezes his eyes shut. Bruce swallows hard, trying to make sense of it all.

Then it hits him, as he suddenly remembers Dick in a similar situation years ago. Only the older boy had accepted the hug and cried on his shoulder.

“Jay, buddy, did you have a nightmare?” he asks gently, wishing he could sit on the bed and hold the scared boy to his chest.

Jason sniffles as he fights to calm his sobs, then proceeds to hug his bear tighter and bury his face in its head and his own arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice small and broken.

Bruce’s heart clenches.

“What for, buddy? Everyone has nightmares. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Jason’s body trembles harder, but his sobs slowly ease, and after a couple minutes, he lifts his face. His gaze stays fixed on his knees, not looking at Bruce, his body still curled up and tense.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he finally whispers, followed by a hiccup.

“Oh, buddy, I wasn’t asleep,” Bruce says softly. “And even if I had been, it’s not your fault.”

Jason’s lower lip trembles, and he wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his pajama shirt—roughly and angrily.

“…S-sorry,” he mumbles again, interrupted by another hiccup, but he’s stopped crying.

“…Can I sit down?” Bruce asks.

Jason peers at him cautiously through his lashes before nodding, though his whole body tenses even more as Bruce sits down slowly at the edge.

“Are you okay?” Bruce asks for the third time.

Jason nods again, wiping his nose on his wrist, eyes travelling back down. “It was just a stupid nightmare.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

“No,” Jason replies immediately. “It’s nothing.”

Bruce sighs a little through his nose. He also understands the feeling intimately - he hates talking about things that hurt or scare him. Not that he's scared of anything, mind you. Nope, not him. 

But him stuffing things down into the pitch black hole in his soul is not something he wants Jason to do. 

"Dick used to have nightmares, too, you know?"

Jason looks up at him again, something like curiosity mixing with the exhaustion and the sadness. 

"Really?"

Bruce smiles sadly, nodding.

"Dick's parent's died when he was young. Unfortunately, he was there to watch it go down. It... left some scars." He doesn't like telling people Dick's story, because sometimes when he is vague about it, like he's trying to be with Jason to spare him the details, it feels like he's talking about himself. 

Jason's head lifts higher, then, looking at him in confusion.

"Wait, Dick's not your real son?"

"Of course he is. Adopted kids are just as real as biological kids."

Jason seems... nervous at that. He swallows thickly, his eyes water again. 

"Jay," Bruce says softly. He can't always understand what upsets Jason, but he knows he should always keep on reassuring him. "It's alright, chum. You're safe here, remember?" 

Jason nods slowly, absentmindedly, his brain focused on something else before he slowly comes back to reality. 

"How did they die?" he asks, softly, barely even a whisper. 

Bruce winces a little, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"They were circus performers, acrobats. Dick, too. When he was nine, one of the structures they used for a stunt got tampered with, and they unfortunately fell from a deathly height. Dick was part of the act, so he was there," he explains, trying to be tactful and still a little vague. 

Jason's eyebrows furrow and he seems lost in deep thought for a second before he looks up at Bruce again, expression serious but calm. 

"Why did you decide to adopt him?"

The question makes Bruce's heart clench and bleed. It's said in the same whispery tone, genuinely curious, but Bruce can't help but wonder if it carries hope behind it. He swallows hard.

"I was there to watch it, too. I... I could relate to that pain. I..." he hesitates, but Jason is looking at him with big, wet eyes, still hugging his knees, still seeking reassurance, "I watched my parents die, too. I didn't want Dick to be alone. He needed someone. So..."

He decides to leave the whole part of Tony Zucco and Dick seeking revenge out. It's a story for another day. 

"You... your parents also died? In front of you?"

The question is even quieter, voice shaking. He nods with a deep sigh. 

"Unfortunately, yes."

Jason looks down at his knees again. He seems deep in thought, his eyebrow crinkled slightly. Bruce gives him a few minutes to gather his thoughts, but then the boy's eyes water again, his lip wobbles. He presses his sleeve to the corner of his eye and swallows thickly before talking again.

"I found my mom," he says, extremely quietly, so much so that Bruce has to strain his ears even sitting as close as he is. Jason clears his throat a little, but his voice still breaks, "I got home from school and found her... dead." 

"Oh, buddy," he whispers, voice thick and heart ripping apart. He wants to hug him, hold him, muss his hair and reassure him, but he doesn't want to make him nervous. "Is that what your nightmare was about?"

Jason shakes his head and clears his throat again. He straightens up, lowering his knees so he's sitting criss cross as he wipes roughly at his eyes. Bruce winces at the anger behind it, and wonders if it hurts his eye, which isn't bruised anymore but still has a few yellow specs around it. Before he can ask though, Jason takes a deep breath and his whole face changes, as if suddenly freezing or turning to stone. It's quite jarring, the way he goes from scared and sad to stoic in a second. 

"I'm alright, you can go back to bed," he says, his voice stronger and steadier, and he pushes his bear away as if suddenly embarrassed by it. 

Bruce, the expert in swallowing emotions and shutting them down so nobody can see the pain, is unpleasantly surprised at this. At how Jason, at ten, knows how to do that, and still feels the urge to do it here, where he should feel safe. 

"Jay..."

"It was just a stupid nightmare, Bruce. I..." he looks away, biting his upper lip for a second, "I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm okay."

Bruce has no idea what to do. He doesn't want this for Jason. He remembers what it's like, to be a scared little boy full of pain, trying to piece your soul and heart back together while hiding it from everyone else. He doesn't want that for Jason. He doesn't. It's too awful. 

"Jay," he tries again, but Jason turns to glare at him, fierce. 

"I want to be alone."

.

Jason knows Bruce wants to help, but he's making things worse, honestly. 

No, he doesn't want to talk about the stupid nightmare. He doesn't want Bruce, or anyone else for that matter, to know. 

Why would he?

He keeps telling himself that he doesn't care what Bruce thinks about him, but deep down he knows that's not true. He doesn't want Bruce to come to his senses and realize he's just a stupid street kid. So stupid that his own father, even though he loved him, resorted to knock him around a lot. It wasn't always fair or justified, and Jason didn't always understand where the rage came from, but the fact that it happened so often was proof enough that he was stupid and useless. 

He already showed Wayne how weak he is - crying over a nightmare like a baby. Crying itself warranted a slap, at least. According to his father anyway. 

And then, mentioning his mom... Bruce had been sharing Dick's and his own stories, so for a second there it had felt like a safe space to share the words that he had never told anyone besides the 911 operator and the policeman that came afterwards. But it hurts too much. It's a memory he seldom visits, and saying those words out loud had felt like a razor running all the way up from his throat and out of his mouth. 

So he does what he knows best: swallow the razor back down, lock it inside himself, and gather everything up to be able to sound calm and emotionless and strong and brave. Everything his father wanted him to be, everything he had to be when surviving on the streets... Everything he still needs to be, no matter how much Wayne says he's safe. 

He falters a little at the sadness in the man's face when he tells him he wants to be alone. But despite the way he stuffed his emotions back down, he knows that if Bruce stays here and keeps talking about this, he will break and cry again. And he can't. 

So he pulls his last weapon out. 

"You said this was my room and nobody could come in if I didn't want to," he says, hating himself as Bruce's face falls even more with his words, "well, I don't want you here. I want to be alone."

The man hesitates for a second before sighing and nodding. 

"Ok, chum. You're right, this is your room. I'm sorry I barged in. I'll let you get back to sleep but... please, Jay, if you have more nightmares or need anything at all, you can come to my room. I don't care what time it is. I'm always here, ok?"

Jason swallows hard and nods. 

And then Wayne nods again, and slowly gets up. 

He turns the light off. 

"Goodnight, buddy."

"Goodnight," Jason mutters, not sure if Wayne can hear him, before the man shuts the door. 

Jason doesn't get much sleep that night. 

Neither does Bruce. 

The next day, he enters the kitchen earlier than usual intent on making himself the biggest mug of coffee he's had in a while. 

Alfred is already there, sitting at the isle and reading quietly. 

"Morning, Master Bruce," he says without lifting his eyes from his book.

"Morning," he grumbles, walking directly to the pot. 

"Rough night?"

He sighs a little. 

"Jason had a nightmare."

"Oh, dear," Alfred says, sounding concerned. 

As the pot starts brewing, Bruce turns to the butler and leans back on the counter, hands curling at the edge. Alfred is staring up at him, the book closed. 

"He was screaming. It must have been a really bad one."

"Well, I'm not surprised. The poor kid has gone through hell and back." 

"Hn," Bruce says, his throat tightening. "He told me about his mom, but didn't want to talk about the nightmare."

"Telling you about his mother seems like a big leap forward, doesn't it?"

 Bruce shrugs a little, his heart clenching even more as he remembers the boy's breaking voice. Jesus, at this rate, he's going to get cardiomyopathy from pure heartbreak. 

"I told him about Dick and me losing our parents. I think he wanted to share, too." 

"You talked to him about your parents?" Alfred asks, his voice thin as a thread. 

Bruce smiles a little, knowing that it's indeed baffling for him to even go near the subject.

"He needed reassurance."

"Bruce, I am so proud of you," Alfred says as he gets up from the stool and walks closer to him. "This is a gargantuan leap for you as well." 

Bruce rubs his eyes, frustrated and exhausted. He wants to stop feeling. He never feels anything and suddenly, ever since he met Jason, it feels like his heart has been strapped to the outside of his chest and is just a huge exposed nerve, constantly getting poked at. 

"He closed up right after that. Wouldn't tell me anything at all. Asked me to leave the room."

Alfred clears his throat and offers Bruce a smile, even though it seems forced. 

"My dear boy, can you not see the similarities in your own childhood? Do you not remember that you were practically mute for a long time? Jason has been here less than two weeks, and he still doesn't know what his future entails."

Bruce winces at the reminder that he still owes everyone a decision. 

"I know," he answers softly. "But Dick was so different. Sure, he was angry and lashed out, but he was always keen on sharing his thoughts and emotions. Sometimes I didn't even have to ask."

"Yes, but you have to remember that they are different people. I bet Jason has gone through another set of experiences that have taught him that trusting adults is not safe. Something like that cannot be unlearned in a matter of days."

Bruce nods slightly. 

"Do you think it would be a good idea if Dick spoke to him? Maybe he'll feel safer with another kid around for a few days."

Alfred smiles widely.

"We will never know unless we try."

.

.

When Jason walks down the stairs to the kitchen, it's closer to lunch than breakfast, which is surprising. 

His body is used to waking up early, alert, ready to retreat if his surroundings become dangerous, so he's usually up even before breakfast is ready. 

But with the night he had, he supposes it's fair. 

After brushing his teeth and making the bed, he walks outside and is struck by... laughter. 

But not Bruce's or Alfred's. This one is loud, high, a little obnoxious and... young. 

It must be Dick. 

Jason's stomach churns. He hates meeting strangers, but this is even worse. This is Bruce Wayne's son, of whom Jason knows nothing about, besides a few comments and stories that they have told him and of course, the information he gained the night before. 

Does Dick know about him? Will Dick like him? Will Dick tell Bruce to get rid of the little street rat?

He hesitates at the door, swallowing thickly, but then decides to walk down anyway. 

Better to get it over with. 

He walks timidly into the kitchen, and Bruce notices him immediately. They are all, Alfred included, sitting at the isle, surrounding a plate of cookies lying on top of the counter. 

"Jay!" Bruce says, smiling wider than Jason's ever seen him. 

"Uh... morning," he says quietly, studying Dick. 

If Wayne hadn't mentioned that Dick is adopted, Jason would've never known. He has the same black hair, albeit messy and spiky instead of carefully combed and gelled, and blue eyes, although of a different tone. But he's also tall, and... muscular. Not nearly as big as Bruce, he's much thinner, but definitely more toned than an average teenager. 

"Hey, you must be Jason!" Dick says, his smile wide. 

"Good morning, young lad. Care for a cookie? Lunch won't be ready for another hour or so but you must be starving."

Jason feels extremely uncomfortable as he slowly walks further into the kitchen and gets up on a stool. 

"Cool pajamas. Wonder Woman, huh?" Dick says, still smiling. 

"She's his favorite," Alfred says. 

Dick laughs like it's funny and looks at Bruce. For some reason, Bruce glares at him, but is still smiling. 

"Superman is mine," Dick answers, eyes locked on Bruce like he's challenging him. 

Jason feels a twinge of uneasiness and jealousy at the obvious inner joke they are sharing, but doesn't say anything. It's better to analyse the people around him first before acting. He simply shrugs and grabs a cookie. 

"So... Jason. How do you like it here at the Manor?"

"It's alright," he answers, and then, just because Dick is looking at him expectantly, he adds,  "I like Alfred's food."

"Yes, Alfie is the best chef in all of Gotham," Dick agrees before shoving a cookie into his mouth. 

"Well, gentlemen, unfortunately, I can't join you for lunch. I have a meeting in WE in an hour," Bruce says. 

What? 

Bruce's son is visiting him, and the man isn't even going to hang around? 

"Fine, but you'll miss all the great things we're going to do today. Your loss," Dick says, turning to Jason and winking, as if they're old time friends sharing a secret. 

What is this boy even talking about?

"I'll be back before you know it, boys. And then we can go out to dinner, maybe?"

Dick shrugs, the smile never leaving his face. It is a little unnerving, honestly. 

"Whatever Jason picks is fine." 

Jason's eyebrows furrow and he feels himself blushing as all eyes turn to him. 

"Uh... whatever you want. I don't mind."

"Alright, think about it. I need to get going. Don't give Alfred too much trouble, will you?" 

"Can't promise anything," another wink. 

Bruce smiles slightly at him and then leaves. 

And then Dick turns to him and begins talking. And talking. And talking. To both him and Alfred, but barely even letting them answer. Judging by his face, Alfred finds it amusing and endearing. 

Jason doesn't know what to think. For one part, he's glad he doesn't have to do much talking himself; he's not great at that. But for the other, he's getting a little annoyed. At least the other boy seems nice and kind, which is good news. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if Dick disliked him and told Bruce to get rid of him. 

"- but Jump City doesn't have the Batburger so..."

"You live in Jump City?" Jason finally asks, interrupting him. 

Dick nods enthusiastically. 

"Yep. Well, kind of. Technically, I live here with Bruce, but I spend most of my time over there. We have a... an apartment, with a few friends."

"How often do you come here?"

"I try to come once a week, stay a couple of days... sometimes once every two weeks and then I stay longer." 

Jason frowns. 

"Where do you go to school?" 

Dick's smile fades and his eyebrows rise. 

"Gotham Academy. It's a horrible commute when I have to travel from Jump, but I manage." 

Jason doesn't miss the rush of the words, like Dick just remembered he had to explain it, but he lets it go to ask a few more questions, now that he got the nerve. 

"So you live here, but you also have your own apartment in another city. Let me guess, Bruce pays for that one, too."

He doesn't know why he still gets surprised at how filthy rich they are. 

"Well... it was kind of a joint effort with one of my friend's dads and Bruce but, yeah, he paid for half of it."

Paid. As in, not rent. They own the freaking thing. While people like him and his parents were holed up in a shitty apartment that looked more like a sewer, and then he literally had nothing. 

Dick is just a spoiled kid. He decides he doesn't like him very much. 

"Enough of that," Alfred says, as if he could read his thoughts. "Why don't you boys busy yourselves while I get started on lunch."

Despite Jason's very obvious glare, Dick smiles again. 

"What would you like to do?" 

They end up playing some weird board game Dick pulls out from his room, down in the main living room. It's a weird fucking game, with cards with weird creatures on them and a board with a graveyard and whatnot. But it's easy enough and Jason is a quick learner. And it's got strategy and a bit of a backstory, and... well, Jason has to admit that Dick is not, well, a dick. He's funny, and freaking annoying but his jokes make Jason laugh, and he seems to want to talk about things that interest Jason, too. 

But he does ask an irritating number of questions. 

"Soooo... how have you been feeling at the manor?"

Jason looks up from the board as he plans his next move to glare at Dick. 

"You already asked me that."

"Yeah, but you didn't give much of an answer."

Jason rolls his eyes. 

"It's fine. I like it."

"I know you like it. But come on, dude, tell me more. What do you like the most? Apart from Alfie's cooking."

"Uh... the library, I guess."

Dick snorts a little, but his smile is gentle as he puts another card down. 

"So I take it you really like reading, then. You must be a nerd at school," he teases lightly. 

Jason swallows at that, not willing to talk about his education or lack thereof. He doesn't know how much Bruce has told Dick about him, but he's doesn't want to be the one to tell the sob story. 

"Uh huh," he says simply, laying down his own card. 

"Do you go to the library much?"

He used to, sometimes... but not much. His school's library was shit but the librarian was nice to him, and they always had free snacks lying around... but then when his mother got sick he spent all his free time with her or scrounging enough money for their needs... and then in the streets he usually entered the Park Row public library to wash his hands and face in the bathroom, to shelter himself from particularly bad storms, and spend a few hours reading books if he had the energy, but then it got shot down. 

"Sometimes," he says, simply, and avoids looking at Dick by reading his cards carefully although he's already memorized his current hand. 

"Is literature your favorite subject at school?"

Jason shrugs a shoulder. Probably, but he can't remember.

"I think so."

"You're in - what, fourth grade?"

Jason is starting to get really agitated at this conversation. 

"I'm not - I haven't been to school in a while."

"Oh," Dick says, his eyebrows drawing together. Then he smiles, again. "That's cool, I'm not a big fan of school myself either."

He knows the other boy is just trying to make conversation but the comment bristles Jason anyway. 

"It's not cool. I was forced to leave school because I was a homeless orphan," he blurts out, despite his earlier determination of not sharing his life details.

Dick winces and lifts his hands in a placating gesture. 

"Sorry, I didn't mean - I only wanted to get to know you a bit," Dick says slowly, and then a very awkward silence follows, in which both boys pretend to look at their cards, before the older one talks again. "It's just... you haven't said much, and I don't know anything about you-"

"What do you want me to say?" Jason snaps back, anxious and uncomfortable and wanting the conversation to be over now. "That I'm happy because I don't have to sleep on a wet cardboard tonight? That I'm glad I can be sure that I'll get lunch in a bit instead of being sure that I'll go hungry for a few days? Well, I am, so there."

Dick lowers his cards down and looks intensely at Jason, and Jason thinks that Dick is about to apologize or look at him sadly and sigh and ask him if he's ok like Bruce and Alfred tend to do. 

"I'm trying to get to know you better. You don't have to be a little brat about it."

Jason's eyes widen and then narrow as he glares at Dick. 

"Who said I wanted you to know about me?" 

"It's what normal people do when they meet someone, kid," Dick bites back, also bristling. "You are living in Bruce's house, I figured I'd get to know you, too."

Living? Yeah, until Bruce gets tired of him and throws him right back in the streets. Like he'll probably do if he keeps antagonising Dick, who looks like he's getting upset as well, the gentle carefree smile gone. He swallows a little, but he's still upset. The reminder that this is temporary stabs at his heart.

"I don't care what you figured, dick. Mind your own fucking business."

"What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem! Unlike you, I'm not a spoiled brat!"

"You certainly look like one!" Dick yells back, his body tensing in anger, and Jason's heart nearly jumps to his throat. He can't help flinching, which causes Dick's eyes to widen and his posture to relax. 

"Whatever," Jason says, trying to look less scared, "I'm going to take a shower."

A bit over an hour later, Jason walks back down as his stomach rumbles. He goes timidly into the dinning room, where Dick is already sitting, slumped on a chair as he texts on his phone. Jason swallows nervously, wiping his palms on his pant legs. And then gets angry at himself. Dick wouldn't do anything to him with Alfred standing in the next room, right? 

"Hey," Dick says, a smile on his face despite their little argument before. 

"Hey," Jason answers quietly as he slips onto a chair. 

"Look, Jason, sorry about before. I talk so much I usually end up putting my foot in my mouth."

Jason looks at him, trying not to act too surprised at the apology. "Uh... that's fine. I-I did act like a brat. So. Sorry."

Dick laughs. "You really did. But I can't blame ya."

Alfred walks out of the kitchen then, carrying a tray with two warm plates and looking down at Dick. 

"Don't tell me you are already causing trouble, young lad," he says as he lowers the tray to the table. 

Dick laughs. 

"When am I not, Alf?"

"It goes without saying that you should not rope Jason in it."

Jason blushes a bit. He wouldn't willingly get into trouble. Dick can get away with it, he seems to even be cocky and proud of that, but he's Bruce's kid. Adopted or not, Bruce loves him.

But Dick just winks at him. "Only if he's up to it."

Jason looks away. Alfred humms in disapproval, but there's a small, amused smile on his face as he places a plate full of delicious-looking pasta in front of each, and two glasses of lemonade. Then the man walks away, and they're alone again. 

"Look, I brought you a peace offering," Dick says after swallowing the first spoonful. He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to Jason. 

It's... It's a small Wonder Woman plushie. And it's so cute! She has the works - the shiny crown, a tiny sword, and a glittery whip attached to her belt... He looks up at Dick, completely out of words and super confused. Why would Dick...

"I've had it for ages. Bruce and I won it in a carnival when I was about your age. I wanted the Batman plushie but we were a few points short. And the sparkly belt is dope."

Jason's eyebrows furrow as he looks between the toy and Dick a few times.

"I... I can't - it's yours."

"Nah, it's fine. I played with that plushie so much back then. Besides, I hardly even remembered I had her."

Jason's throat suddenly feels tight as he looks down at the toy again. He has no idea how to react or what to say. 

"Thank you," he says, but it comes out raspy and a little choked. 

He knows it's just a stupid toy. Dick didn't even buy it, and he obviously doesn't even play with toys anymore. He doesn't know why the gesture chokes him up, why his eyes suddenly feel warm and his throat tight. He especially doesn't understand why Dick would do this. He called him a spoiled brat, and Dick still went back to his room and spotted something he knew Jason would like and just... gave it to him. 

"Don't mention it," Dick says, his voice devoid of pity or sadness. And then he starts talking about something else entirely, like he didn't even notice that Jason almost started crying over a stupid plushie. 

When they're finished with lunch, Dick asks him if he wants to hang around in the garden, and Jason accepts although he wants nothing more than to curl into the library couch and finish his current book. 

They sit down in the grass, and for the first time, Dick stays silent for a few minutes.

Then he talks again.

"Jason, when I asked about how you're doing earlier... I really wanted to know if you're okay."

Jason looks up at him, a bit of anxiety twisting in his gut. Why wouldn't he be okay? Does Dick know something about Bruce that he doesn't? Is there... Is there a reason why he decided to start living somewhere else? Did Bruce... do something to Dick?

"Why?"

"I was the little kid suddenly living in a huge manor once, too. I know it can feel... overwhelming, and scary."

"I'm not scared."

"I didn't say you were. But... if you are, that would be completely normal. Change is always scary. And a change like this... it can be pretty hard to reconcile in your head. No matter how many of Alfred's cookies you eat."

Jason laughs a little at the joke before the smile fades.

"I don't live here. Just staying, I guess."

"Oh," Dick says. It seems like he wants to say something else, but doesn't know what. "Well, regardless, for as long as you stay here, you're safe."

"Yeah, Bruce said that. Batman, too."

"Batman?" Dick asks, his voice amused and surprised.

"I, uh... It was Batman who found me and brought me here. I - I tried to steal the Batmobile tires."

Dick explodes with laughter then, loud cackles as he grabs his tummy and launches himself backwards so he's lying on the floor.

"You... you tried to steal Batman's tires?" he asks between bursts of laughter.

Jason can't help but laugh as well. The idea is kinda funny. 

"Well, he parked in the middle of Crime Alley, so..."

Dick explodes into even more laughter, trying to talk a few times but getting interrupted by his own belly-laughs. Jason also laughs, quiet and shy but amused.

"Oh, Jesus," Dick says as he starts calming down, a few giggles still escaping him as he wipes at his eye. "That's so great. You seriously rock."

Jason blushes and shrugs, a big smile still on his face. "Got caught anyway. Had it been a cop, I'd be dead." 

"Well, then, how lucky are you that it was Batman himself?" Dick mentions, before turning a bit more serious. "But, hey, what I'm trying to say is... I know you had a rough childhood. Gotham can be cruel, especially to kids, and... the system is literal hell."

"The system?"

"Yeah. After my parents died, I got sent to juvie because orphanages were full and they couldn't find a foster home. And then they gave Bruce a really hard time when he tried to foster me."

"Oh, that sucks. But at least they didn't send you to the orphanage... horrible things happen there," Jason answers.

"Yeah," Dick sighs. "When I moved here, I was... it was scary. I didn't know what was happening, and I was still mourning my parents. And Bruce was..." he laughs a little, carding a hand through his hair, "...he was really lost, honestly, I think. We're only like fourteen years apart, and the guy suddenly had this little kid in his hands. But he's gotten better at it, I think. And no matter what happens, he will make sure that you are always safe. If you end up moving with another family or something, he will make sure they make you happy. And, while you are here, Bruce will do anything to do it, too. He's a really nice guy."

Jason looks down at his hands, aching to know more all of a sudden. Dick could answer so many questions he has. He already lived with Bruce Wayne. 

"Why did you decide to move out?"

"I didn't move out," Dick answers, gently. "At least not entirely, but... uh, my friends and I decided it would be cool to live together. Makes things easier since we do a lot of stuff together and all."

"So... not because of Bruce."

"No, not because of Bruce."

"Did..." he starts, but he doesn't know how to word his question without being too obvious. 

"Yeah?" Dick prompts, gently. 

"Did Bruce beat you up a lot, when you lived here? Did-did he get violent?"

There's a beat of silence, and Jason's stomach knots. 

"No, Jay," Dick says with such conviction and determination it dissolves Jason's doubts. "Never. He would never hurt me or you. I promise. No matter how much trouble you get in. And trust me, I got into a lot of trouble, all the time. Still do."

Jason swallows. 

"But... what if you do something really stupid? Or if he gets extremely angry, or..."

"Jay, look at me," Dick says, and Jason looks up at his blue eyes. He's serious but smiling softly. "The worst thing Bruce Wayne will ever do is talk your ear off about safety and responsibility. He will never hurt you. Ever. I promise."

Well, beating up a kid isn't the only way to hurt them. Maybe Bruce didn't throw punches but he could very well deny him food, lock him up in his room for days, throw him out in the middle of the night... or insult him so harshly it would hurt even more than a blow. Some of the words his dad used to tell him made him cry harder than his fists. 

"Hey, if he ever does anything that you don't like, have Alf call me, okay? I will come running and beat him up."

Jason smiles slightly. 

He will miss Dick when Bruce throws him out. If he's saying the truth and he ends up with another family, he hopes he'll have an older brother in his corner. 

. 

Chapter Text

Sadly, Bruce ends up breaking his promise of sharing dinner together that night. Duty calls in the from of one Killer Croc wreaking havoc, calling him and Robin into the streets of Gotham earlier than their usual patrol time.

Dick has to admit, it feels good to be with Bruce.

He loves the Titans—he really does—but being back with Bruce feels good in a way he didn’t realize he missed. There’s comfort in not being the one making the calls, not carrying the weight of an entire team on his shoulders. For once, someone else is in control, and Dick gets to just move, fight, breathe.

Croc was dealt with quickly. Now, with patrol nearly over, they stand side by side on a rooftop overlooking Gotham, the wind tugging at their capes. The city hums below them—alive, uneasy, never quiet.

Dick glances over. Might as well bring it up.

“So… when were you going to tell me you almost got your tires stolen by a kid?”

Batman turns, slowly. The glare is unmistakable.

“So you and Jason got to talking.”

“You left us alone all afternoon,” Dick says, shrugging. “And I’m Dick Grayson. What did you expect? Isn’t that why you called me here?”

“Hn.”

“…So, what’s the plan?”

“I’m still figuring it out.”

Dick hesitates. “What’s there to figure out?”

Bruce doesn’t answer immediately. The silence stretches between them, tense but not unfamiliar.

“He’s not a stray we can just… take in,” Bruce says finally. “There are rules. Systems. I’m not sure—”

“I’m sorry,” Dick interrupts, “are you not currently investigating that very system for corruption?”

Bruce exhales, sharp and tired. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that complicated either, B. He has nothing. You have everything.”

There’s a flicker in Bruce’s expression—guilt, maybe, or doubt. “I don’t want to fail him,” he says, quieter than he intends.

Dick studies him, then steps closer. “Then don’t.”

Bruce looks over, really looks at him.

“He’s not looking for a savior,” Dick says. “Just someone who won’t give up on him. Someone who won’t see him as a criminal just because that’s all the world ever has.”

Bruce takes a slow breath, jaw tight. “I don’t know if he needs me. I was… hard on you. Too rough. I didn’t know what I was doing. I pushed you too fast and—”

“Bruce,” Dick cuts in gently, his voice low. “You gave me a home when I didn’t have one. You gave me a chance. A purpose. A family.”

Bruce swallows hard, something unspoken lodged behind his silence.

But before he can respond, a scream pierces the night from somewhere below. Instinct kicks in instantly—they move without a word, disappearing into the shadows like a pair of wings slicing through the dark.

.

.

The manor is bright when Jason wanders into the kitchen the next morning, rubbing a hand over his eyes and blinking against the soft, golden wash of morning light.

Then he stops.

Freezes.

Dick is laughing—chattering away with Alfred, plate in hand, gesturing like he's telling some wild story. It almost looks normal. Almost.

Except for the bruise.

A deep, ugly blotch sprawled across his cheekbone. Faint purple around the edges, swollen. Shaped unmistakably by a fist.

Jason’s stomach clenches. His heart thumps, hard and fast and too loud.

Dick had bailed last night—some excuse about dinner plans with friends. Bruce never came home at all.

Jason’s voice comes out louder than he means it to. “Who the hell punched the shit out of you?”

Alfred startles, halfway between scandalized and amused. “Language, Master Jason,” he scolds gently, placing a plate of eggs down on the counter.

Jason barely hears him. His eyes stay locked on Dick. “Sorry,” he mutters, distracted.

Dick waves him off. “No big deal. Got into a dumb fight with a buddy last night. Some drama over a girl. You know how it goes.”

Jason doesn’t know. Not even a little. But he wants to believe him. God, he wants to believe him.

Then—

“Morning,” Bruce says, voice low and warm from behind.

Jason jumps like he’s been shot. Spins on instinct. Wide eyes instinctively scanning for threats and then... he sees it.

Bruce’s hand is bandaged.

Jason’s breath catches. His stomach drops. Something cold floods his chest.

Dick lied.

Bruce would never hurt me or you, my ass.

Jason doesn't hear Alfred say his name. Doesn’t register Dick’s concerned look. Not even when Dick takes a step toward him.

Then—a hand lands on his shoulder.

Big. Warm. Heavy. Bandaged.

Jason flinches hard. Too hard. His whole body recoils, and his hands fly up to cover his face like muscle memory. Like instinct. Like survival.

Bruce pulls back immediately.

“Jason,” he says, startled. Gentle.

Jason freezes, arms still up. His breath is too shallow, too fast. He can feel their eyes—three grown men watching him like he’s just shattered.

He hates it.

He hates feeling like this. Small. Fragile. Like he’s eight years old again in a kitchen that smells like beer and cigarette smoke, bracing for a blow.

“Jay?” Dick’s voice is soft. Careful. “It’s okay. What’s going on?”

“I—I forgot something,” Jason stammers. “In the guest room.”

He doesn’t wait. He bolts.

.

Half an hour later, Dick knocks on the bedroom door, plate of eggs and toast balanced in one hand.

“Knock knock,” he says gently.

No response.

He opens the door anyway.

Jason is curled up on the bed, hoodie sleeves over his hands, knees hugged to his chest. He doesn’t look up.

Dick steps in slowly, careful not to crowd him, and sets the plate on the mattress between them. Then he sits on the edge of the bed.

“You okay, kiddo?”

Jason exhales, but doesn’t move. “Yeah.”

Dick doesn’t push. He just sits with him.

“…Can I come in?” he tries again.

Jason mutters, “You’re already in.”

Dick huffs a soft laugh. “Fair enough.”

Jason slowly sits up and pulls the plate into his lap. Still won’t look at him.

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking?”

Silence.

Then, in a whisper: “Is Bruce mad at me?”

Dick frowns. “No. Why would he be mad at you?”

Jason shrugs, one shoulder jerky. He pokes at the eggs like they’re made of glass.

“…Are you okay?” he asks, quieter.

Dick blinks. “Me?”

Jason finally glances up. “You’re bruised.”

Dick sighs. “Told you. Got into it with someone. Wasn’t serious.”

Jason stares at the plate again.

“I saw Bruce’s hand,” he mutters. “Don’t lie to me.”

Dick’s chest aches.

“Jason,” he says gently. “It wasn’t him. I promise. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.”

Dick knows Jason doesn’t believe him. It’s written all over his face. Hurt. Fear. That awful, hollow certainty that everything’s about to collapse.

“You don’t have to protect him,” Jason says, barely audible. “It’s okay. I get it. He’s important. I’m just… some street kid.”

“Jason—”

“He’s gonna kick me out soon anyway. It’s fine.”

“Hey—” Dick shifts, voice soft but insistent. “He won’t. Jay, listen to me.”

Jason looks up again. His eyes are wet now.

“What if I mess up?” he asks, barely a whisper. “What if I make a mistake? What if I get him angry and—”

“He won’t hurt you,” Dick says, gently but firm. “Not ever. And he won’t leave you either.”

Jason shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

“What can I say to get you to believe me?” Dick asks. “It wasn’t Bruce. I swear. On my mom. On you.”

Jason goes still. Then slowly, he nods.

“…Okay.”

“You sure?”

Jason doesn’t answer. He just stands, pushing the plate away. “I’m gonna shower.”

Dick watches him go. Just before Jason slips into the bathroom, Dick calls softly, “Hey, Jay?”

Jason pauses.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

Jason doesn’t look back. 

.

The rest of the day passes quietly, peacefully.

After his shower, Jason wanders downstairs to find Dick sprawled across the floor of the game room, surrounded by a mess of old video games and mismatched controllers.

“Figured I’d dust off the classics,” Dick grins, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Unless you’re afraid of losing?”

Jason rolls his eyes but flops down beside him, mumbling, “You wish.”

They play for hours. Not constantly—sometimes they just sit, talk, laugh. Jason asks about Jump City. Dick tells stupid stories from when he lived full-time at the Manor. Jason laughs more than he expects to... and it aches. 

Dinner is served at the table with Alfred. Bruce is still out. Jason tries to ignore the ache in his chest, the empty spot at the table, the worry that maybe Bruce just doesn't want to see his face.

Afterward, Dick ruffles his hair like a big brother would and says, “Good game, kiddo,” before excusing himself with new dinner plans.

Jason lingers in the hallway long after Dick is gone.

Because the truth is… he doesn’t believe him. Not really.

Not enough.

He wants to. God, he wants to so badly. But the bruise on Dick’s cheek, the way Bruce’s bandaged hand trembled when he’d touched Jason’s shoulder—it’s all too much like the lies he’s heard before. The promises made by people who never stayed. People who hurt him in every way someone can get hurt. 

He can't. Not again.

So Jason packs. Quietly, methodically.

He folds a few of the clothes they gave him with trembling hands. Tucks them into his fraying backpack with practiced care. Then come the supplies: a handful of stolen granola bars, two packs of crackers, a bottle of water, all hoarded like he's still living out of alleyways.

Then the soft things. The bear, fur worn thin from being gripped in the dark. The creased photo. And last—his fingers hover—the Wonder Woman plushie. He presses it to his chest for a second too long, and his throat catches. He wants this. He wants this so bad, but...

He almost cries.

But doesn’t.

He zips the bag.

And creeps down the hall with socked feet, each step like a betrayal, each breath like it might give him away. The house is so quiet it aches. He makes it to the front foyer.

Hand on the doorknob.

“Going somewhere?”

Jason’s heart leaps into his throat. His pulse spikes. He spins, caught.

Bruce stands at the base of the stairs. He looks confused, dejected, a little scared. 

“I…” Jason stammers. “I was just… I couldn’t sleep.”

Bruce steps forward, calm, careful. “So you packed a bag?”

Jason swallows hard, his throat tight.

“I was gonna come back,” he lies quickly. “I just… needed air.”

Bruce doesn’t respond. He just… watches. Like he’s seeing Jason for the first time. Like he knows.

“Jay,” he says gently, “can you tell me what you’re thinking?”

Jason doesn’t answer. His chest is too tight. The backpack weighs ten thousand pounds.

“I…” His voice breaks. “I think it’s time for me to go.”

"Go where, kiddo?"

Jason shrugs with one shoulder, looking away. "Where I came from."

Bruce stays silent for a moment, his face unreadable. 

"Can we talk first?"

Talk. That word feels like a joke.

Jason doesn’t move. Doesn’t trust his voice. He just stares at the door like it’s the last lifeboat off a sinking ship.

Bruce kneels—not close, but low enough that he’s not looking down anymore. His voice is calm. Earnest.

“Jay… why do you think you have to leave?”

Jason’s hands shake. He clenches the strap of his backpack like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“...Because I don’t belong here.”

“Says who?”

Jason dares a glance up.

And Bruce’s face—God, it’s so gentle. So scared. Like he already knows what Jason is about to say and it’s breaking him.

Jason’s lips tremble. He looks down. “I mess things up. That’s what I do. I steal. I lie. I ruin good things. I’ve done it my whole life.”

"Jason..."

"You don't want me here. I'm... messed up," a small sob breaks through his chest, "and you will get tired of me. And then you - I saw Dick's face. And your hand. I know what that means."

Bruce's jaw tightens, but his voice is gentle when he speaks. "I didn't hurt Dick, Jay."

Jason flinches. His eyes water. “You don’t have to lie—”

“I don’t lie, Jason,” Bruce interrupts, his voice sharp but not angry. “Not to you. Not ever.”

Jason blinks rapidly, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to overtake him. He looks away, trying to steady his breathing. Then shakes his head. 

“You don’t know me. You don’t know how fucked up I am. What I’ve done.”

“I know enough,” Bruce says gently. “I know you’ve been through hell. I know you deserve better than the world has given you.”

Jason’s breath hitches, and he looks away, embarrassed. “I’m not used to it.”

“I know,” Bruce says again. He’s so quiet, so calm. Jason feels like Bruce is holding him together with his presence alone. Like a thread that won’t snap.

Silence. The room feels too big, too silent.

“I want you to stay, Jason,” Bruce says. “For good. I want this to be your home.”

The words land like thunder.

Jason can’t move. Can’t breathe. His backpack slips from his shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud. He stares at Bruce, eyes wide, like he’s just been sucker punched.

“You—” His voice cracks. “You what?”

“I want you to stay,” Bruce repeats gently. “Not just as a guest. As family.”

Jason shakes his head. “You… you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do.”

“You don’t know me. I—I’m not good, okay? You don’t want a kid like me.”

“I already have a kid like you,” Bruce says, soft but firm. “And I do want you.”

Jason laughs, but it sounds more like a sob. “I’ve done awful things.”

“So have I.”

Jason stares. “That’s not the same.”

“No,” Bruce agrees. “But I know what it’s like to lose people. To feel small. Powerless. Like the world doesn’t care if you disappear.”

Jason’s eyes fill fast. He looks down, his voice barely a whisper. “You didn’t find your mom in a bathroom. With a needle still in her arm.”

Bruce flinches—but doesn’t look away.

Jason’s lip trembles. “You didn’t have a dad who came home drunk and used your ribs like a punching bag. Who told you it was your fault your mom was a drug-addict.”

“No,” Bruce says softly. “I didn’t. But I believe you. And I’m sorry.”

Jason’s throat tightens. But he can't get himself to believe it. He can't. 

"I'm dirty. I've slept on the pavement, I've eaten from dumpsters, I -"

"You're a survivor. You're a fighter. I see you, and I don't see what you see. I see bravery, determination, strength."

Jason sobs harder at that.

“I don't want to leave,” he confesses, voice raw. “But...”

Bruce leans forward now, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Jason. Look at me.”

Jason hesitates. But he does.

“I will never stop wanting you here,” Bruce says, steady as a heartbeat. “There’s nothing you can do that will make me give up on you. You’re not a mistake. You’re not a project. You’re not temporary.”

Jason’s face crumples.

“You don’t have to earn love here,” Bruce says, softer now. “It’s already yours."

"I... I want to believe you but -"

"That's fine. I can work with that. And until you do, I promise I'll do whatever it takes to gain your trust. To make you feel at home, part of a family."

Jason opens his mouth to say something else, but only a sob breaks through. 

"You don't have to believe me now. But, will you give me a chance?"

And Jason breaks. Sobbing, takes a shaky step forward. Then another. And another—until Bruce opens his arms and Jason collapses into them like he’s falling apart.

Bruce holds him, firm and safe and warm. No rush. No demands. Just quiet, steady presence.

Jason clutches at his shirt like he might disappear if he lets go. His breath hitches and breaks as he sobs into Bruce’s chest.

Bruce doesn’t let go.

Not for a second.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into his hair. “You’re safe now, Jason. You’re home.”

And for the first time in a long, long time… he thinks maybe, maybe he will trust someone again.