Chapter Text
It's a rare sunny day in Gotham, and Jason takes advantage of it by having his lunch at a nearby park. Although he has an hour break from his job as a mechanic, he typically goes back early. It's not because he's a workaholic, though some will claim otherwise, but he simply enjoys his job. He enjoys helping people, and there's a sense of accomplishment in resolving problems.
Jason rests his back against the tree trunk; his motorcycle is parked beside him. He's silent as his eyes snag and follow random people milling about. People watching, some call it. He never considered himself a fan of it, but the more he watches, the more he's lured into the so-called hobby. Each of these individuals is experiencing life differently. Each of these individuals is going through their own challenges, even if they don't show it on their faces. He knows it's an obvious observation, but it's one he doesn't always think about.
Everyone has their own story.
By the time Jason has finished his food, thirty minutes have passed. He crumbles his sandwich wrap paper, dumps it in the nearest bin, then ascends his bike. After a last sip of water before he tosses it in his backpack, he slides his helmet on and sets off back to the shop.
Jason's used to seeing vehicles broken down or barely running in the neighborhood. Countless of them need a multitude of fixes and paint repairs; however, he knows a lot of them don't have the finances for it all. He tries to offer discounts when he can, but he can only do so much. Thus, there's still a good overflowing handful of beaten-up vehicles around. So when he drives by a shiny silver sedan parked on the side of the street with its hazard lights on, he knows it doesn't belong here.
Driven by curiosity, he makes a U-turn and slowly approaches the car. He parks behind it, trying to assess the situation as he turns off his ignition. He almost smiles when he spots a tire sagging. Easy fix.
Jason flips his visor and approaches the driver's side.
Inside is a frantic person, speaking in a hushed tone of panic and—is that fear?—into a phone by your ear.
When you spot Jason, you jump so high it's comical. Your eyes are wide, and your mouth is open in a silent scream. Jason grins in what he hopes is a friendly manner, forgetting his helmet is covering his mouth.
"Sorry," he says, speaking a little louder than normal so you can hear him through your window. "I saw you have a flat tire and wanted to ask if y'needed help?"
It takes you a second to compose yourself, then you're fiercely shaking your head and hands.
"It's okay!" you call out, voice wavering and eyes darting around. "I have someone coming!"
Perhaps it's all the people watching Jason has done, or maybe it's just so obvious, but he knows what's making you so anxious. This neighborhood isn't sparkly like yours. It's not sunshine and rainbows, but cloudy and stormy.
Jason tries not to take it to heart. He knows his home has a reputation, but there's also good here. Some people work every day to bring that sunshine here, too. He would like to think he's one of them.
"You sure? I'm a mechanic. I can probably get you out of here faster than your help on the way," Jason says. He wants to ask you to roll down your window so he doesn't have to talk loudly anymore, but he doesn't want to frighten you more than he already has.
You wince at being caught feeling uncomfortable, but try to plaster a smile to show differently. Even though it's fake, it's still pretty.
"Yes, thank you. They aren't far," you rush, then turn your head to speak into the phone again. Jason can't decipher your exact words; however, your rigid shoulders and fast talking let him know you're lying. Your help is either not close or not on the way at all.
Jason rubs his lips together in thought. Should he keep insisting or hope you're telling the truth?
Not waiting for you to turn around, he says, "Sorry to bother. Hope you get home safe."
Jason doesn't wait for a reply and heads back to his bike. As he swings a leg over his ride, his eyes linger on the poor tire. It would take ten minutes to fix it, but there's no point in trying to convince you.
When Jason peels away, he catches your stare for a second. It's not long, so he can't be sure, but it looks like there's a hint of relief in your eyes.
Curse his heart for drooping at the sight.
Not only is he aware of the reputation of his home city, but he's also aware of his appearance. He's a big guy. The combination of sharp facial features, muscles, and height is a recipe for intimidation. Although it comes in handy when he wants to ward off potential robbers or scammers, it's hard for people to trust him easily.
"Wow." Frank, one of his close coworkers, whistles when he sees Jason drive up. "Y'nearly took ya full lunch for once!"
Jason chuckles as he parks and removes his helmet. "I stopped to try to help someone."
Frank flips the wrench in his hand, then points it at Jason with a knowing smirk.
"Of course, that's why. Why would ya ever take the full break jus' for yourself?" he teases.
Jason shrugs and walks to the computer to check the work queue. He clicks on the next job in line, reading the details and notes.
It feels weird to continue his day as if he hadn't left you stranded. However, he tries to ignore the nagging guilt. He offered to help. That was better than ignoring you completely.
Yet, he can't let go of the thought of you staying in your car, scared and alone.
Jason works the thoughts away. He distracts himself with each part he repairs, getting lost in the familiarity. He doesn't see many customer faces since he's dug his nose into his work without a break.
It's not until he's covered in grease with a sheen of sweat coating his skin that his boss calls him over.
Jason steps into Elijah's stuffy office while wiping his hands on a towel.
"Hey, boss," Jason greets.
Elijah sits up from picking something from the floor, but he hits his head on his desk, causing a few pens to roll off the surface. Jason hides his smile at his boss's clumsy nature, bending down to pick up the runaway office supplies.
"Thanks." Elijah sighs and lifts a piece of paper he's scribbled on. "Do y'mind doing a quick errand run for me? I'd ask someone else, but Frank's dealing with an upset customer, and Seb's had'a leave early for a family emergency."
Jason takes the paper, glancing at Elijah's messy handwriting. Among the list of service parts is a pack of soda.
Seeing Jason's amused smirk, Elijah says, "It's for all of us, 'kay? Don't give me that look."
Jason shakes his head and tucks the paper in his pocket.
"I didn't say anything." Jason laughs.
"Ya face did," Eljah replies, smiling despite his words.
With a bid farewell, Jason sets off for the quick errand. Thankfully, what Elijah needs doesn't require him to go to the bigger auto shop. Their supplies are more vast, but it's a drive that Jason doesn't feel like taking.
Jason greets the employees as he typically does. He visits often enough that they know him by name, just as he knows the aisles like the back of his hand. Thus, it doesn't take long to gather the supplies needed. He's in and out within fifteen minutes.
When Jason begins his journey back, the unrelenting guilt creeps over his head again. The route to the shop is different than coming from the park, so he won't encounter you. He tries to tell himself to let it go. It's been over an hour since he last saw you. Surely, your help would've shown by now.
Regardless, he can't stop himself from taking a detour.
Jason repeats that you're not there in his mind. You made it to wherever you were heading safely. He says this so much in his head that he nearly convinces himself he's seeing things in the distance. However, the shiny silver is unmistakable.
He doesn't understand why he's parking his motorcycle for the second time. You rejected him. Perhaps he should've sent one of his siblings instead. Maybe one of the friendlier ones could've gotten you out of here sooner. Though there's no escaping when your eyes meet his in your rear-view mirror.
This time in your gaze, there's a hint of desperation alongside the alarm.
Jason tries a different approach and removes his helmet. He rakes a hand through his hair as he walks to your side again, hoping to add some volume to his flat locks.
"Hi," he says through your fully shut window.
Your eyes dance around his face, taking in his new appearance. It seems you remember him—be it from his clothes or his bike, he doesn't know.
"W-What are you doing back?" you ask, leaning slightly from the window. You probably think he's come back to rob you.
"I saw you still had a flat tire," he trails off. "You positive I can't help?"
You bite your lip as you glance at your phone again. Your finger taps the side of the device like you're waging a war inside your head. Finally, you nod.
"Fine. T-That would be nice," you reply.
Jason smiles and points to your trunk. "Ya got a spare?"
"I should," you answer, turning off the ignition and popping the trunk.
Jason moves to the back of your car and lifts the floorboard. Luckily, you have a spare and the tools needed.
Jason is taking them out when you round the car timidly. One arm is across your stomach, holding onto your other arm. Your eyes are constantly moving around you.
Jason wants to reassure you that you'll be fine, but he doesn't want to bring attention to your nerves. Instead, he begins his work. After all, Elijah is waiting for him.
Your eyes settle on him, and your body relaxes slightly. You still scan your environment, but at least you look less like you're about to bolt home and abandon your car.
"You'll need to get to a shop soon," Jason says while unscrewing the last bolt. "And don't drive too fast."
"H-How soon is soon?" you ask.
Jason peers up at you, analyzing your concerned expression. He pops off the tire and slips on the spare.
"I work at a shop nearby. I can replace it for you, if you want," he offers. He's not sure if you'll accept since it took a second try to get you to agree to just this, but from your expression, your destination must not be close.
Jason's screwing on the bolts as you ripple your fingers along your arm.
"It's not far?" you ask, debating internally again.
Jason lowers the car, then pulls the car jack from under it. He tidies the tools as he replies, "No, and I'll put you next in line, so you won't have to wait long."
"You won't get in trouble?"
Jason stands and shoots you a brief smile before returning the flat and tools to your trunk.
"You worried I will?" he asks with a teasing tone.
The corner of your mouth twitches as you fight back your grin.
"I just don't want to be the cause of it."
Jason shuts the trunk and shrugs. "You wouldn't. I'll be doing my job."
You nod, then glance at the spare. Jason stands next to you idly, letting you mentally weigh your options. After a few more seconds, you sigh.
"Okay," you relent.
"You can follow me," he instructs while moving to his bike. However, he stops when he sees you reach out. Your hand hovers in the air awkwardly.
"I—Uh, thank you," you mumble and drop your hand.
Jason chuckles and nods. "It's no problem."
By the time Jason returns, Frank is working on another car, and Elijah is checking a spreadsheet.
"Took ya long 'nough, Todd!" Elijah exclaims when he hears Jason's boots shuffle on the concrete.
"Found a stray." He laughs softly and places the bag of supplies and drinks on the desk. Elijah glances at the doorway and sees you standing meekly.
"I-I'm not a dog," you timidly defend.
Elijah quirks an eyebrow and slightly lifts one corner of his mouth at Jason. He seems amused to see someone like you on this side of the city.
Jason raises a shoulder and offers you a friendly smile. "Stray cats are cute too."
Your mouth drops lightly, and your eyes blink rapidly for a second.
"She's got a flat I'ma take care of real quick," Jason explains.
Elijah nods and tears off a soda from the pack. He glances at you. "If he doesn't do a good job, you jus' come to me, alright?"
You nod anxiously. You're not aware of Elijah's teasing ways, and Jason almost wants to smack his boss on the shoulder for making you more uncomfortable.
"Come on, you can wait in the lobby." Jason gestures to the door, waiting for you to exit before leading the way.
He spends a couple of minutes getting your information into the system. As expected, you live in the nicer part of Gotham that he doesn't often visit unless he's with Bruce. You seem apprehensive as he reads over your personal details, so he makes quick work not to linger.
Jason keeps his word and finishes your repair in under fifteen minutes. Throughout that time, your name lingers in his mind like a buzzing mosquito he can't swat. Something about you has intrigued him. He can't pinpoint the reason since he's used to the weary eyes he gets when he's around Bruce's so-called entourage. Perhaps he's just distracted by a beautiful face.
You're sitting ramrod straight in your chair when he returns to check you out. The second he nods you over, you briskly walk to the counter.
"You're all good to go." He slides your keys across the wood.
"Thanks. How much do I owe you?" you ask while taking out your wallet.
"Nothing."
"N-Nothing?" you squeak. "I don't know much about cars, but surely, I need to pay for your time at least."
Jason shakes his head. "No need. Just happy to help."
Your mouth dips. There's a second where you're both still, but then you pull out two fifty-dollar bills.
"A tip then," you declare.
Jason stops your hand from leaving the money on the counter. Your hand turns rigid beneath his, but there's an odd warmth creeping up his arm from the connection that distracts him from your reaction.
"How 'bout this," Jason says. "If you ever see me in need, then you owe me one."
Jason knows the likelihood of running into you again is slim to none, so he doesn't expect you to actually follow through. You seem to reach a similar conclusion, because you begin shaking your head.
"Please, uh, Todd." The waver in your voice suggests you had tried to recall what Elijah had called him earlier.
"Jason," he corrects kindly.
"Jason," you repeat. "Please take something."
Skepticism breezes through his mind. Your insistent plea and the amount you're offering make him wonder if you pity him. You probably think he needs the money to survive. While that intention is nice, if it's true, he doesn't like the idea of being someone's charity.
Jason forgets his hand is on yours until you pull away, leaving the bills under his calloused palm.
The soft, pleading look in your eyes makes him concede, but the stubbornness in his chest makes him come up with a plan.
He folds the money and slips it into his pocket.
"I'll bring your car to the front."
Your brows knit in puzzlement because you can see your car parked close by. Though, before you can interject, Jason is already halfway toward the door with your keys.
Jason can feel your focus on him as he reverses and drives the few feet to the entrance. He leaves the car running and leans on the open door—a silent summon for you to come out.
You gingerly step out of the building to stand behind the door.
"I appreciate the quick turnaround, Jason. I'm… I'm sorry about my rejection earlier."
Jason waves it off. "Don't worry 'bout it, Stray."
Your nose turns up at the nickname.
Jason laughs. "Kitty? Cat?"
"Kitty cat!" you exclaim with a small disbelieving laugh. It's the first time he's seen your smile not mixed with fear.
"You prefer Stray?"
"I prefer my name."
"If you insist, Yn." He makes a show of enunciating your name.
The small grin grows, but you tuck your chin and slip inside the car before he can admire it.
After ensuring all your limbs are tucked in, he shuts your door. When you roll down your window, he leans down to peer at you, one hand resting on the car's hood.
"Thank you for your help, Jason," you say.
"Anytime," he replies. "Get to where you're heading safely."
"Thanks… Maybe if I see you again, I'll let you call me Kitty Cat."
Jason smirks. "I'll hold you to that."
"Okay." There's a gleam in your eyes that tells him you wouldn't mind the nickname now despite your earlier protests, but he keeps it to himself.
Jason gives one final pat on your hood before he inches away. He offers you more than enough distance before you drive off. His gaze lingers on your shiny sedan as it moves along the uneven roads. There's a bittersweet smile forming on his face as you become a speck in the distance.
Jason meets a lot of people at his job, but none have left such an impression on him as you have.
As he turns to head back into the shop, one question lingers in his mind: How long will it take you to find the one hundred dollars he stuffed in your center console?