Chapter Text
There’s no reason for Dick to be here. He knows it, Jason knows it, Alfred knows it. The only person who doesn’t, for some godforsaken reason, is Bruce.
“I’m going out of town,” Bruce had said on the phone, “and I’ll be gone for a week. To Tokyo.” A pause. “For Wayne Enterprises.”
Dick had scoffed. “Oh my god, Bruce, they’re making you do a job? You truly are a victim. Do they not know you just got that job because of your last name? They know you’re not qualified, right?”
Another pause, this one longer. “I’d like you to come stay at the Manor,” Bruce continued, ignoring Dick’s taunts, “so that Jason won’t be alone.”
“Won’t be a- I’m sorry, what happened to Alfred? Did he die?”
“He’s here.”
“So, yeah, we could leave Jason with the man that raised both of us, and who actually knows how to cook something that’s not ramen, or you could call in me, the person who still hasn’t had a successful conversation with the kid.”
There was a sigh on Bruce’s end, which annoyed Dick, because Bruce is 36, not a hundred, and because they both know Dick is right.
“This is not about Alfred not being equipped,” Bruce said in the clipped tone he uses when he thinks he’s being calm, “this is about Jason maybe needing more people his age around sometimes.”
“I’m not HIS AGE,” Dick snapped, “I’m an ADULT, and he’s FOURTEEN-“
“You’re NINETEEN-“
“I can buy CIGARETTES, Bruce-“
“I’m going to adopt him,” Bruce bit out, shutting Dick up. “And I’d like it if the two of you KNEW each other when that happens.” The longest pause yet. “Please.”
And so now Dick is here, useless and annoyed and staring at Jason, who’s staring back at him with a scowl. Alfred eats his dinner peacefully, ignoring the awkward silence. He’s lived with Bruce for Bruce’s whole life; he’s probably used to awkward silences.
Jason has lived in the Manor for six months now, and Dick and Bruce have been fighting for about five of those months, with the moments of peace scattered in eight hour chunks throughout. As a result, Dick can count on one hand the amount of times he and Jason have talked for more than ten minutes. He racks his brain for the last time he spoke to someone under sixteen years old.
“So,” Dick says, having pretended to chew on one piece of steak for far too long to keep the bit going without Jason being suspicious he’s stalling, “what food do you like?”
“Oh, so you’re like, actually stupid?” Jason says immediately.
“Hey!” says Dick indignantly, slamming down his fork, and Alfred sighs.
“Jason, please,” he says, and Dick’s jaw drops. One time he used the wrong fork and Alfred had responded with more disappointment than he just displayed.
“I don’t need a babysitter!” Jason says, gesturing wildly towards Dick as if he’s not there.
“Richard is not a babysitter,” Alfred says calmly.
“Then what the fuck is he?” Jason demands, which is a bridge too far for Dick.
“I wasn’t allowed to say HELL!” he says, but he’s ignored.
“He is my and Bruce’s family,” Alfred says, and he pauses for a sip of water. “As are you.”
Dick feels a little nauseous at this statement. Jason doesn’t look much better, and he splays his hands flat on the table while staring down at his plate intently. A moment of silence—again—passes over all three of them, and then Jason looks timidly at Alfred. “May I be excused from dinner?” he asks, his voice sounding like it’s from a different person than the one who just demanded an explanation for Dick’s presence in Dick’s house.
Alfred looks dejectedly at the full plate of food in front of Jason but nods quietly, and Jason all but bolts from the table, nearly dropping his fork in his efforts to clear his spot. As soon as he’s gone, Dick stares at Alfred in disbelief. “You let him say fuck?”
“He’s a different child than you were,” Alfred says, and Dick scoffs.
“Obviously.” Dick absentmindedly runs a finger around the rim of his water glass, then stops when he remembers that Alfred hates that. “Why am I here?” he asks, before realizing he was mumbling. He clears his throat. “Why am I here?” He asks again, louder, and Alfred takes a sip of his drink.
“I assume Bruce told you the news?”
“Yeah.” Dick sighs. “The adoption.” He twists his mouth, asking the question he’s been thinking since he got off the phone with Bruce. “If a man has a ward. And then he adopts a son. What’s the relationship between the ward and the adopted son? What is that?”
Alfred gives him a long, knowing look. “You’ll get to decide that,” he says. “But I think, right now, Bruce is just hoping that maybe you can be a friend.” He looks away, turning some words over in his head. “I know he may appear abrasive, Dick. But he is fourteen. And he has lost almost everything.”
“Got it,” Dick says. He stabs at his last piece of steak. “No fistfights with the kid.”
Xxx
Jason is able to remain completely in hiding until noon the next day, when he’s forced to reemerge by Alfred’s desire to have a shared lunch. Dick spends the whole day being useless, so he helps Alfred with lunch, hoping to offset the fact that he hasn’t done any of the things Bruce brought him here to do (he’s still not sure what those are, though). Alfred hands him vegetables and tells him to dice, and he does so rhythmically, periodically seasoning the way Alfred taught him to and asking follow up questions about whether or not Alfred wants the seeds in the peppers.
Jason appears in the kitchen and freezes at the sight of Dick, but Alfred asks him to mix the salad dressing and he does so without complaint, though with several sidelong glances at Dick. Jesus, he’s young. When Dick was fourteen, he’d already been in the Manor for six years; he already felt that it was every bit his home as much as Bruce’s. It’s obvious Jason doesn’t feel the same way—he hesitates whenever he accepts something from Alfred, he has to be told a couple of times where different kitchen items are stored. Dick wonders what Jason’s life was before this—did he help his parents cook? Did he have a kitchen?
They all sit at the kitchen table together, Dick pouring them glasses of water that Jason takes like he’s suspicious of it.
“Not poisoned,” Dick mutters, aiming for a joke, but the look Jason shoots him lets him know it didn’t land in the right spot.
Jason is mute for most of the lunch, and Alfred and Dick talk about all the normal things—how Barbara’s doing, how Dick’s apartment is, the weird new policy the mayor is introducing to actually make the police less corrupt, no seriously, he means it this time. Jason perks up whenever they mention anything tangential to Nightwing or Batman, and Dick tries to ask him how training’s going, which works for a second, but he shuts down as soon as Dick says he’d be open to come sparring with Jason some time. Then, when the conversation hits its fifteenth awkward lull, Alfred says:
“You know, Richard, there are many parts of the Manor Jason has not yet seen. That might be a worthwhile activity this afternoon—you could give him the tour.”
Dick makes a face. “What? No. You’ve been here what, half a year? No way you haven’t explored.”
Jason’s shuttered face lets him know that there is, in fact, a way. Dick turns his incredulity to Alfred. “You didn’t give him a tour?”
“Of course I gave him a tour,” Alfred rebuts. “But I have a suspicion you have a very different tour than the one I give.” He sips his water. “For example, I have no recollection of which chandeliers can bear the weight of a teenage boy.”
“Yeah,” Dick says with a grin, “but I bet you remember the ones that can’t.” He glances at Jason, who’s looking at him with something that might be amazement. As soon as he realizes Dick is looking, though, his face shutters closed again. “Let’s do it, Jay.”
“Don’t call me that.” It’s an immediate response from Jason, and Dick nods.
“Sorry. I’ll show you the weird stuff.” Jason looks suspicious, and Dick shrugs. “Look, Bruce wants us to spend time together. Letting me give you a tour of where Bruce once tripped and ate shit at a party is going to be easier for both of us than having to explain that we never talked.”
He gets a small smile at that, and Jason asks: “he really ate shit?”
“He did,” Alfred chimes in. “And spilled an entire glass of Cabernet in the process.”
Jason’s smile grows, and Dick grins back at him. “Okay, then? You down for a house tour?”
Jason looks at Alfred for one final approval, and, once he receives it, tentatively nods. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
Dick beams. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”
xxx
Jason is a hard kid to get a read on. On the one hand, he’s a kid who’s brazen enough to steal the tires off the Batmobile and say fuck at the dinner table. On the other hand, he’s quiet as a mouse, basically melting into the shadows as he follows Dick from room to room. Damn, he’s gonna be a good Robin. And look, Dick’s not stupid. He gets it. Any kid who gets to the place where Bruce feels like adopting them is the best option is a kid who’s seen their fair share of trauma, and Dick’s not oblivious to the amount of power this kid probably thinks Dick has over him. (Dick knows it’s none. As if he’d ever be able to change Bruce’s mind, even if he wanted to. But the kid doesn’t know that.) Still, though, Dick feels like he’s at a loss here. He wants to talk to the kid, but he also feels like he’s waiting for Jason to snap and call him stupid again. So he does what he does best: he monologues.
“And THAT’S the hallway where I broke a vase that cost $7000 and replaced it with one that I found at a garage sale. I wish I could say that was a while ago, but I was seventeen. I was trying to relearn how to do a kick flip on my skateboard. I knew how to do it, of course, but that was before I snapped my ankle. That’s the bathroom where Bruce got so drunk at a movie premiere that he threw up all night and Alfred made him move to this bathroom so he wouldn’t disturb my sleep. So, you know, before he mastered the art of pretending to be drunk. Anyways, it’s ALSO the bathroom where I hid a duck for three days before I realized I was not equipped to train a wild duck. Important bathroom, is what I’m trying to say. Um, yeah. That’s the room Bruce keeps the ashes of all his dead great grandparents he didn’t like, and that’s the room where he keeps the ashes of the people he DID like. Alfred says you are WELL acquainted with the library, so no need to cover that, and I’m assuming you’ve already seen the garage, too?”
No response. He turns—they’re in the middle of the third floor main hallway, a hallway known for being wide enough that if you really, really dedicate yourself to it you can build up enough momentum to run up one side—and Jason is staring at him blankly. Dick blinks. “You HAVE seen the garage, right? Like, not the parking garage. The barn?”
Jason twists his mouth. “I’ve seen the Batcave.”
“Oh my god,” Dick says in one exhale. “Bruce is so stupid. Oh my god. He has a fourteen year old kid and he didn’t think to show you the barn?”
“I’ve seen the Batcave,” Jason repeats, and Dick shakes his head.
“Dude. The Batcave isn’t shit compared to what I’m about to show you.”
xxx
One side of the Manor is above the cave that reaches around the property and is, now, the Batcave. The other half of the Manor is over the man constructed garage that they have always referred to as the barn. It’s a white garage, pristine in its clarity, with white floors and white walls and a ramp that leads to the eastern exit. And inside is every single car that Bruce Wayne owns.
They’re organized by country. There’s the Italians (Dick’s favorites) together—the lime green Lambo Huracán STO, the matte black Lambo Aventador (a precursor to the Batmobile if Dick’s ever seen one), the Ferrari F40s (3 of them), the one Pagani Hyuara (blue), the Bugattis, the Maseratis—the Germans—the Mercedes, the Porsches (a very normal 6 911s)—the Americans—some unbelievable muscle cars—the British—three Aston Martins, TWO of the total twenty five in the world McLaren Soluses. There’s more, A LOT more, those are just all the ones Dick knows off the top of his head, not that he ruins the surprise for Jason. He lets it all unfold the way it’s designed to—the runner lights that light up slower than they need to, perfectly illuminating each car. Dick’s not gonna lie, he gets chills. He does every time; it’s just too good. Yeah, maybe it’s an obscene display of wealth and Bruce will be beheaded in a guillotine one day, but also. Damn. They’re some sick cars.
Dick chances a look at Jason, and he swears, it’s like seeing someone ascend to heaven. His eyes glaze over, his jaw drops, his breathing audibly hitches. “Oh my god,” Jason whispers under his breath, and then, louder, “oh my GOD!” He looks up at Dick, and Dick realizes he’s waiting for permission, though for what, Dick’s not sure. Dick nods.
“Go for it.”
That’s all Jason needs to literally begin sprinting through the garage, his baggy T-shirt trailing after him and his tennis shoes squeaking on the floor. He comes to an abrupt halt in front of a Bugatti, yells: “why does he even HAVE this, it’s a track car!” And then keeps sprinting, stopping at a Lambo to say “holy SHIT!” And then at a Ferrari to say “FUCK” before disappearing into the rows of cars.
Dick knows the grin on his face is goofy, but he can’t bring himself to care. The first time he saw this room, he was eight, and even though he didn’t totally understand what he was seeing, he knew the electricity of it. Jason, at fourteen, clearly already understands some of the magnitude of what he’s looking at, and it’s the lightest Dick has ever seen him since he appeared six months ago. It dawns on Dick that Jason literally tried to steal the wheels off the Batmobile—a desperate move, yeah, but also the move of someone who, at some level, understands a car. God, Bruce is stupid.
Somewhere in the garage, Jason squeaks to a stop again, but this time, there’s no shouted exclamations, and the footsteps don’t start again. Dick furrows his brow. It sounds like he stopped near the Japanese cars, and Dick can’t even remember what’s over there. He picks up his pace from where he had been meandering through the garage and beelines to where he thinks Jason is, the sudden silence unnerving him. God, what if something’s wrong, what if—
Jason is standing, arms frozen at his sides, breath shallow, jaw clenched tight, eyes the size of dinner plates. When Dick sees what he’s staring at, he can’t help the smirk. Jason turns his whole head to look at Dick and says, in a near whisper: “is that a Supra?”
“Yeah,” says Dick, “that’s the Supra.”
It’s a little weird, honestly, how entranced he looks with the Supra—it’s easily one of the least expensive cars here, and not near the rarest. There is something magnetic about it, though, Dick can’t deny that. 1994, gun metal gray, it’s not just a Supra—it’s a Supra that has had the hell modified out of it, mostly by hand, by Bruce. It’s an absolute freak of a car, with a turbo chargers and a carbon fiber wing and hood and an engine tuned in a way that makes cops start sweating. It’s a car that is very, very clearly designed for one thing. Street racing.
Not that Bruce has ever mentioned it.
“Okay,” Jason says shakily, as if Dick has just confirmed it’s a nuclear bomb. “Okay.”
Dick makes a face. “I mean, it’s cool, but it’s not—it’s not like it’s the Bugatti, you know?”
Jason flashes him a look that’s almost angry. “This is a perfect car,” he snaps, and then looks a little embarrassed. He looks back at the car. “It may not be the best one here,” he says slowly, “but it’s definitely the coolest.”
“I don’t know,” Dick says, “you kind of sprinted by the Ferraris-“
“This is it,” Jason says. “The coolest car I’ve ever seen.” He looks warily at Dick, some sort of realization washing over his face. “Bruce just lets you down here whenever you want? He’s not…I don’t know, worried?”
Dick snorts. “Worried? Worried about what?”
“I don’t know, that you’ll mess one up. Or…I don’t know.” He trails off, and Dick raises his eyebrows.
“Dude. Are you implying I might steal a car?”
Jason shrugs silently, and, once again, Dick is reminded of how Jason met Bruce. “Look,” Dick says, “Bruce is family. As far as he’s concerned, I CAN’T steal from him. What’s his is mine, and all that.” He pauses. “It’s the same for you.”
Jason shakes his head. “No it’s not.”
“Yeah, it definitely is,” Dick stresses, mentally combing through every time he’s seen Bruce look at Jason when Jason wasn’t looking. Jason could burn the Manor down with Bruce in it and Bruce would still find it easy to forgive him.
“He didn’t even TELL me about this place,” Jason says, face flushing, and Dick snorts.
“That’s cause he’s getting stupid in his old age,” he says, “not because of you.” Dick hesitates, the next sentence coming out of him before he can fully process it. “You wanna take it out?”
“What?!” Jason blurts out, eyes widening again, and Dick nods.
“We can take it out. For a drive. Do you have a license?”
“I’m fourteen.”
“Right. Well, I can drive. I can drive you in it. We can take out the Supra.” He grins, his Nightwing grin designed specifically to win over skeptics. “I’m a very good driver; I’m sure you’ve seen the Batmobile footage.”
Jason opens and closes his mouth a few times before settling on clamping his mouth shut and nodding fervently, like he’s worried Dick will rescind the offer. “Okay,” Dick says, grin threatening to split his face, “easy. Let’s do it.”
Bruce keeps all of his keys in their cars, which is one of those things Dick never thought to question until he moved to an apartment where not everything had six levels of security to it. Dick climbs down into the Supra and starts it—this key has a keychain with a Gotham Zoo stamped penny as a charm, another thing he’s never questioned until now, and the radio is still on, a Nirvana tape starting up on the radio immediately. Jason stays frozen outside the car, and Dick leans across the passenger seat to pop his door open. “You coming or what?”
Jason stares at him, the same scowl from last night’s dinner in place again. “Is this…you’re not trying to trick me, right?”
Dick peers up at him, his neck at way too weird of an angle for him to hold for long. “What?”
Jason licks his lips. “Like…like you say we can take a drive, and then Bruce comes home, and you tell that we…that I… and he…this isn’t a trick?”
Dicks heart bottoms out for a second. “No, man, this isn’t a trick. That’s…ew. If I wanted you gone, I wouldn’t frame you for stealing a Supra, okay? I’d…I don’t know. Not that. Okay?”
Jason looks like this does nothing to calm him, but the desire to ride in the Supra is overpowering. “Okay,” he says finally. “Okay.” And he climbs in the Supra.