Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

His whole life, Jason’s mom had told him his dad was Bruce Wayne, but he’d never been dumb enough to actually believe it. They lived in a rundown, one-room apartment in the worst part of town, and in every single picture he’d ever seen of that rich bastard he was wearing a suit or sipping champagne worth more than everything they’d ever owned.

But if he wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, then what the hell was he doing sitting outside the man’s office in Wayne Towers?

He glanced at the receptionist, a pretty lady that smiled his way when she saw him looking. She didn’t seem at all bothered by his presence, as if people barged in claiming they had Bruce Wayne’s kid every day. Maybe they did. Maybe he and his mom were just one in a long line of delusional gold diggers trying to take advantage of Bruce Wayne’s wealth and reputation to make a buck.

He sank deeper into the overstuffed chair, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. He hadn’t realized things had gotten this bad. Yeah, it had been tough since Willis had disappeared, though even without the extra income he couldn’t say he was sad to see the asshole go. He thought he’d been doing a good job of making up the difference stealing tires and picking pockets, but apparently it wasn’t enough. His mom’s meds cost a lot. The heroin cost more. And maybe she was just high enough to think she could convince Bruce Wayne himself of the lie she’d told him about his father all these years. Maybe she was high enough to believe it herself.

When the elevator bell chimed he braced himself for the inevitable security guards coming to escort them out, and was surprised to see a familiar face. It was that doctor woman who worked at a clinic in their neighborhood. Dr… He tried to place her name as she walked sternly towards him, and it wasn’t until she was kneeling in front of him, face only a foot away, that it came to him. Tompkins. Dr. Tompkins.

“Hello, Jason,” she said. For a second he was surprised she remembered him out of all her patients. Then he realized she was probably only here because of him and his mom. Someone else must have told her his name. “You’re thirteen now, right?”

“Is that what they told you?” he asked. He didn’t want to give her any information that might contradict what his mom was saying. Why she’d lie about his age, he didn’t know, but they hadn’t exactly agreed on a story before coming.

She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed look. The same one she’d given him when he tried to tell her his multitude of bruises were from falling off his bike. In retrospect, it was a stupid excuse. He didn’t know a single kid that could afford a bike. “You were twelve when you broke your arm last year. I assume you’ve aged since.” Oh. She did remember him. He felt a pit in his stomach. Somehow that made this so much worse.

She pulled a syringe out of her bag and he stiffened. “Are you afraid of needles?” she asked.

“No,” he said immediately, defensive, and then wondered if he should have waited to answer until he knew what the needles were for. “Why?”

“We’re just going to take a little blood,” she said. A blood test. A paternity test. They were going to test if he was actually Bruce Wayne’s kid, and fuck he definitely should have pretended to be afraid of needles. His mom was apparently doing her part, convincing them well enough to actually warrant the test. He should be doing his part to keep the possibility alive. As was, they were going to do the test, see he wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, and he and his mom were going to get arrested. He glanced at the still closed door to Bruce Wayne’s office, and some of his nervousness must have shown through. When he looked back at Dr. Tompkins, her face had softened. “Let me ask you a question, Jason,” she said. “Do you think you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”

He hesitated too long. He should have said yes immediately. Maybe come up with some quick off-the-cuff story about how much he always looked up to his estranged father. Hell, he should have been thinking about things to say the whole time he was sitting there. But he didn’t, and it was too late now.

She pat his arm and smiled gently. “It’s okay. He won’t be mad. He might even do something to help you and your mom if you’re in a bad spot. He’s a good man.”

Jason hesitated again, looking down at the needle she held in her gloved hand. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He took a slow breath in, breathed it out, and then held his arm out for her to take the blood. The needle pricked uncomfortably, and for a second all he could see was his mom giggling with a needle stuck in her arm, blood streaking down her wrist when it fell out on its own and was left on the floor, used and forgotten. He swallowed as Dr. Tompkins pulled the needle out. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” she said. “This should only take about an hour. Do you want any books or something to drink?”

He shook his head automatically. Actually, he would love either of those, but he didn’t want to ask. He just wanted this to be over. Maybe Bruce Wayne would give them a chunk of cash. He’d have to keep it somewhere safe from his mom, so she didn’t spend it too quickly, but it would be nice.

It would be a dream, is what it would be. Not reality. He needed to keep his hopes more realistic. Hell, a twenty would be nice. Not being escorted out by security would be nice.

He offered Dr. Tompkins a weak smile as she left, then went back to staring at his hands.

When Dr. Tompkins returned, her face was much paler than it had been. That was just great. He probably had some deadly disease or mutation that she’d found in his blood while doing the test. Hey, at least that probably meant Bruce Wayne would be more likely to take pity on them. She offered him a harried smile as she strode straight through the room to Wayne’s office and knocked on the door. She entered a few seconds later, probably on an invitation he couldn’t hear.

His mom was still in there. It had been hours and he hadn’t seen her since she first marched in with his hand in hers and told the secretary that she was here to talk to Bruce Wayne about his son. He wondered if they were keeping them separated on purpose, so they couldn’t compare stories. It sounded like something they would do in those old cop shows he and his mom used to watch before they had to sell the TV for grocery money.

He watched the door, waiting for some sign of what was to come. Even the secretary, who had been minding her own business the whole time they’d been there, was looking at the door curiously. It was taking longer than he thought it should. What could they possibly be talking about? He wasn’t Bruce Wayne’s kid, here’s some money to get out of his hair, and out they go. Or he was calling the police. He could still be calling the police.

He didn’t like how long his mom had been in there alone with Wayne. The more time they talked, the more likely she’d say something incriminating, that Bruce Wayne really didn’t need to know. That the police really didn’t need to know. He really hoped they weren’t calling the police. They were on the 80th floor. There wasn’t exactly an easy escape route if the police came.

Finally the door opened and Bruce Wayne appeared in it. He was a giant man, body completely filling the doorframe. He’d be intimidating as hell if he didn’t look so distraught. His eyes scanned the room before landing on him and staying there for several long seconds. Christ, whatever disease he had must be horrible if Bruce fucking Wayne was looking at him like that.

Wayne swallowed, his Adam's apple slowly moving up his throat and back down. Then he walked over to Jason and knelt in front of him.

“Am I dying?” Jason asked bluntly. Might as well get the bad news over with as quickly as possible.

“What?” Bruce Wayne asked, the overly saccharine look on his face breaking with a small puff of laughter. “No. Why would you think that?”

“Why else would you be looking at me like that?” He waved his hand at Wayne’s face, and the man laughed again, seeming surprised at his own amusement. He caught Jason’s hand and held it between his two much larger hands. Why the hell was Bruce Wayne holding his hand? That needed to stop immediately. He tried to pull it back but Wayne held firm.

“Jason.” He took a breath in through his mouth and slowly let it out. “You’re my son.”

His first thought, when he was able to think again, was how the hell did mom pull this off? He looked at her over Wayne’s shoulder and she beamed back at him.

Wayne was still talking, apparently had been talking for some time while Jason’s brain was broken. “—set up a room for you in the manor.”

“Wait, wait, what?” he asked, turning back to Wayne. The man was still holding his hand and he yanked it back harder. This time Wayne let him go.

“I said I’d call Alfred, our butler, to have him set up a room for you.”

Jason tried to parse this, trying to figure out what exactly it meant, but his brain was still having trouble making connections. “For when I visit on weekends?” he asked, because it was the only thing that seemed to make sense. He had a friend that visited his dad every other weekend, but the thought of Jason doing that made his guts clench. He couldn’t leave his mom alone for that long, and to go stay at a strange man’s house? No way.

“No, Jason,” he said, voice too patient. The kind of patient you pretend to be when talking to someone you think is too stupid to understand otherwise. “You’re going to come live with me.”

His brain stuttered to a stop again and then roared to life fueled only by anger and panic. “That is not going to fucking happen.” Wayne winced at the curse, but fuck him. Maybe that would discourage him from wanting anything to do with Jason. Good.

“Jason.”

“No! I’m not going to leave my mom. She needs me.” He looked at his mom, and her smile faltered but didn’t disappear.

“Your mother and I have already come to an agreement,” Wayne said. “You’re going to come live with me, and I’ll make sure that she has everything she needs.”

He stared at Wayne while his still sluggish brain tried to work through exactly what that meant. When it finally reached the only clear conclusion, he turned to his mom in abject horror. “You sold me?”

“”It’s not like that, honey,” she said. “You’ll have a much better life with your father and—”

“You sold me,” he repeated. “For how much?”

“Jason,” Wayne said. He put his hand on Jason’s knee and Jason scooted as far back on the plush chair as he could. “Your mother told me a little about your living situation—” oh fuck no “—and I, we both, think that you would be better off somewhere that—” no, no, no, no “—you don’t have to—” Wayne looked distastefully at Jason’s mom, and he wanted to hit that expression off the asshole’s face. Maybe he should. Maybe then he’d change his mind about wanting to take Jason home with him. “—work to support your mother.” He made it clear from the way he said it that he knew exactly what kind of work Jason had been doing, and that just made him want to hit him again.

“Then just give us some fucking money and I won’t have to!” he yelled. “Don’t take me away from my mom!”

Wayne’s lips formed a thin line. “I’m also concerned about the drugs.” Oh, great. Had his mom told Wayne everything about their lives? He knew he shouldn't have left her alone with him. "I want to set her up in a program that will help and—" tell the authorities that she's using illegal drugs? No. Absolutely not.

"Mom, please," he said, talking over Wayne. "Don't do this."

"I know you're upset, honey." She touched his cheek and he leaned his face against her hand. "But this will be better. For everyone."

It wouldn't be better for her. He knew it wouldn't. It wasn't just the money. She needed him to make sure she didn't take too much of the drugs, and that she had enough to eat and drank some water. That she didn't just waste away on a never-ending high. "Mom, please."

"It's already been decided. It'll be better. You'll see. And you can visit me whenever you want."

He clearly wasn't getting through to her, so he turned back to Wayne. "I'm not going," he said. "I'm not."

"Jason, I know this is a shock and that it'll be a hard transition, but given time to adjust, I think you'll be happier here."

"Fuck you," he said. The nice secretary gasped, but Wayne didn't react at all. Apparently he'd already gotten used to Jason's cursing. He'd just have to try harder.

“I’m going to call Alfred and get everything set up,” Wayne said. “We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes.”

Jason glared a hole in his back until his mom’s face filled his vision. She pressed her forehead against his. “I know you’re upset, baby, but this is what I want for you.”

He kept his voice low so only she could hear. “But what about you?”

She hesitated. He hated that hesitation and the whole world of tragedy that lived in it. “We both know I don’t have much longer left.”

Tears welled up in his eyes but he refused to let them fall. “That’s why I need to be with you,” he said.

“No, honey.” She held his face between her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears were starting to streak down her cheeks and he stared at them, feeling numb. “That’s why you need to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe. I’ve thought a lot about what will happen to you when I’m gone, and I… I can’t let that happen. This is where you need to be. Okay? Please do this for me.”

His shoulders were starting to shake, and he couldn’t stop them. It was like an earthquake rolling through, destroying everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded.

“Thank you. Be a good boy for Mr. Wayne, okay?” He couldn’t promise that, so he didn’t respond. She hugged him tightly against her chest. “I’ll see you soon.” He nodded, and a few minutes later she was gone.

Wayne came back wearing what looked like a custom-tailored trench coat over his suit, and Jason felt more out-of-place than ever in his dirty t-shirt and threadbare jeans. “Are you ready?” Wayne asked. No, he wasn’t. But this was what his mom wanted, so he took a deep breath and stood up, feeling like a man on the way to the gallows. Wayne put a hand on his shoulder and he immediately shrugged it off. Wayne’s hand hung awkwardly in the air for a few seconds before settling back by his side. “This will be good, Jason. You’ll see.” Jason didn’t respond, just marched towards the elevator, Wayne a few steps behind. "You'll meet your brothers soon and—"

Jason spun on him a few feet before reaching the solid steel doors of the elevator. "Look," he said. "I don't know what deal you made with my mother, but you are not my father, and this will go a lot easier if you stop trying to pretend that you are."

Wayne looked at him for a long time, long enough that Jason started to shift uncomfortably. When he finally spoke, his voice was less consoling than it had been. "Dr. Tompkins ran the test twice, Jason. I'm your father, whether you like it or not, so you should try to start getting used to it now."

He clenched his hands into fists. "That doesn't make any sense. My mom always said, but... If you were really my father... then why the hell is this only happening now?"

"I don't know. I wish I did." He knelt in front of Jason again, and Jason hated that. Maybe he was trying to be more on Jason's level, talk face to face, but it felt like Wayne was speaking down to him. "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, Jason. Let me make that up to you now."

Everything in him rebelled against the gilded promises of some rich asshole, but he forced himself to hiss, "Fine" through gritted teeth.

He smiled sadly. "It's a start."

The elevator dinged behind him, and he wondered when someone had pressed the call button. The poor secretary had probably very awkwardly inched around them to press the button and then fled as far away as possible. He turned and marched into the elevator before Wayne could say anything else. The man followed behind him, and they rode the elevator down in silence.

Chapter Text

He’d heard rumors about Wayne Manor. That it was the size of a city, with enough servants to justify having its own zip code. That it had more pools, tennis courts, baseball fields, and fountains than a public park. That there were ghosts of party guests who’d gotten lost looking for a bathroom still wandering the halls.

At first glance, the size one seemed true, the servants one seemed false, and the ghosts one couldn’t possibly be true because the butler had already shown him the location of seven different bathrooms and they weren’t even halfway through the tour of the first floor.

“Can you just show me to my room and leave me alone?” he snapped as they walked through yet another doorway. “I really don’t care about the…” He paused to look at the new room. It had dank, wooden walls and what looked like whips hanging from one wall and leather clothing hanging from another. “Murder room.”

“Tack room,” the butler corrected, the side of his mouth quirking up.

“Right, sure, whatever. That sounds way better.”

The butler opened a cabinet to reveal a stack of saddles. “It’s where we store the riding gear for our horses. Would you like to go out to the stables and meet the horses?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head so violently it made his neck hurt. “No, I do not want to meet the horses. I do not want to see Wayne’s private zoo or wild game preserve or the freakin' underground base where he keeps his alien specimens. I want to go to my new room and be alone.”

The butler knelt in front of him. He wished people would stop doing that. He might be thirteen, but he wasn’t a child. He hadn’t been a child for a long time. “I know you’re overwhelmed young sir, but—”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

The butler took a moment to consider him before saying, “You’re right, but I’d like to get to know you. Why don’t we start with you telling me what you’re interested in? I’m sure whatever your interests are, we can accommodate them here.”

Jason hesitated, looking around at the horse paraphernalia. Another rumor he’d heard was that Wayne Manor had more books that the Gotham Central Library. “What do you have to read?”

***

That rumor definitely turned out to be true. He wandered through the stacks of Wayne’s private library, hand brushing the spines as he walked. The butler, Alfred, had left him alone here for now, and Jason was grateful for it. His mom used to walk him to the closest library every Saturday morning, back before she was sick. His heart ached at the thought. He hoped she was doing okay at home alone. It had only been a couple of hours, but he couldn’t help but worry. There was too much that could go wrong.

Their local library only had a couple of rooms and maybe a thousand books, most of them old, used ones that had been donated. This place probably had a hundred thousand perfectly pristine volumes. Had anyone ever read them? They weren't dusty—which, good, because if they were he'd throw a fit—but the whole place looked more like a museum than the friendly mess he was used to. He was surprised there wasn't a sign that said, "Look, don't touch." He finally found a book with a creased spine—maybe someone read the books here after all—and pulled it out. History of Japanese Fighting Styles. It was amazing how nothing in this house made him feel even slightly safer.

He slowly slid the book back into place, eyes jumping from title to title. Every book in this section was on different fighting techniques. The Art of War, Agni Purana, Royal Armouries, Gladiatoria, Paradoxes of Defense. Okay then.

He walked stiffly to the next aisle, shoulders bunched up to his ears. There, surrounded by the familiar warmth of classic British literature, he felt like he could breathe again. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Brideshead Revisited, Great Expectations. He felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up at that last one, but forced it down. He needed something light, that didn’t remind him of his current situation. He flipped through the pages of a few books before settling on Robinson Crusoe. He’d read it before, but it had been a while.

He’d barely settled into a chair when he heard a click like a cocking gun and stiffened immediately. Logically, he knew Wayne probably wouldn’t have brought him home just to shoot him, but what did he know? Maybe that was Wayne’s thing. Pretending all the kids people tried to foist off on him were his and then hunting them down in his own house, Most Dangerous Game style.

He looked for the source of the noise and saw a flash of movement leaving the doorway. He continued glaring at the door, waiting for it to reappear, and slowly a silver and black shape moved into view. A camera.

Fuck no. He was not going to be in someone’s porno book. He stood and stalked towards the door, but before he reached it he heard a voice on the other side.

“Tim, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Were you—”

Both voices silenced when he stepped into the hallway. It was the spoiled brats. They weren’t on as many magazine covers as their father, but enough that he already knew to hate them. The younger one was holding the camera. He was a scrawny little thing, which, hey, so was Jason, but he and his mom didn’t always have enough money for food. What was this kid’s excuse? With all the dough his daddy had, he should be the size of a walrus. The older one was also thin, but muscular, clearly an athlete. He thought he remembered something about gymnastics and Olympic tryouts. They both looked at him with wide eyes, but the older one recovered quicker. A big, if still uncertain, smile appeared on his face.

“Hi, I’m Dick,” he said, starting to step forward. Jason stepped back to stay out of reach and crossed his arms.

“Why is Stuart Little taking pictures of me?” he asked.

Dick blinked, momentarily thrown by the name. “Sorry, Tim just really likes his camera, and hasn’t quite learned that it’s rude to take pictures of people without their knowledge yet.” His voice turned stern at the last part and he stared down an equally stubborn Tim.

Tim jutted out his lip. “They’re better when people don’t know you’re taking them. You get what people actually look like, instead of just stupid smiles.”

“Yeah, well, take another picture of me without my knowledge and I’ll smash the camera, got it?” Jason said.

They both stared at him for another minute. Did high society people always look so dumb or did he just bring out the worst in them? Then Tim grinned.

“See?” he asked. “If I had caught a picture of that moment, it would have been awesome.”

“Uh, right,” Dick said, slowly and not so subtly stepping between Jason and Tim. “I think we got started on the wrong foot. Let’s try this again. I’m Dick. This is Tim. He’s eleven.” He said eleven like it was supposed to convince Jason to leave the brat alone. By the time Jason turned eleven, he was already working the tourists. Dick waited for Jason to say something. When he didn’t, Dick prompted, “You’re... Jason?”

“Sure am.”

Dick waited for him to say more. He was going to be sorely disappointed. After a few seconds, he continued, “And you’re... thirteen?”

“Sounds like you already know everything you need to know about me.”

“You’re from Crime Alley, right?” Tim asked, peeking at him from behind Dick. Jason’s eyes darted to him. Kid seemed way too excited about that.

“Yep.”

“What’s that like.” He was definitely too excited. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, clearly itching to get closer but not yet willing to push past Dick to do so.

“There were a lot less rich assholes, that for sure.”

Dick frowned in disapproval, but Tim lit up like he’d just heard the ice cream truck round the corner. There was something seriously wrong with that kid. If Jason had to guess, probably brain damage from the last person Tim took unsolicited pictures of knocking some sense out of him.

“Have you ever witnessed a crime?” he asked, eyes wide and bright.

“Lots of them.”

“Ever committed a crime?”

“Tim!” Dick exclaimed, sounding downright scandalized.

“What?” Tim asked. “I’m just checking to see if he has street cred.”

“Okay, look, squirt," Jason said. "You can’t say street cred while wearing that shirt.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“You look like an Ivy League freshman on their way to their first lacrosse meet.”

Tim looked down at his button-up plaid shirt, khaki pants—seriously, what kind of asshole puts an eleven-year-old in khaki pants?—and loafers, and said, “I think you have no idea what people wear while playing lacrosse.”

“Caught me.”

“If I change can I ask you about your street cred?”

Wayne rounded the corner with raised eyebrows while Tim spoke, and Dick looked like he’d just seen God himself descend from the heavens to create a geyser of water in the middle of a desert. “Dad! Great.”

Wayne surveyed the scene, placing his hands on Dick and Tim’s shoulders. “I see you two have met your brother.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “He’s neat.”

“Neat?” Jason repeated.

“He threatened to smash my camera,” Tim continued, not sounding at all bothered by this.

Wayne eyebrows, which were starting to return to normal, rose higher than before.

“Hey! He was taking pervy pictures of me.” Jason was no snitch but Tim struck first so striking back was fair game.

Dick covered his mouth with both hands and looked at him with what appeared to be genuine horror. He needed to get the hell over himself. Tim asked, “What’s pervy?” and Dick turned his horror on Tim instead.

Wayne cleared his throat. “Timothy, we’ve discussed this. Don’t take pictures of people when they don’t know you’re doing it.”

“Is that what pervy means?”

Wayne ignored him and turned on Jason instead. Jason glared back, making it clear what he thought of any attempts at “parenting” Wayne might try on him. They stood in stalemate for a few seconds before Wayne sighed. “Let me show you your room, Jason. I think you’ll like it.”

Dick looked betrayed and Jason made sure to send him a particularly malicious smirk as he walked past.

***

“What book do you have?” Wayne asked, nodding at the book in Jason’s hand as they climbed the stairs. He stiffened, a jolt of fear bursting through his veins. He’d completely forgotten he was holding it, and he didn’t want to face Wayne’s wrath when he realized Jason had taken it from the library.

“Alfred said I could read whatever I wanted,” he said, immediately on the defensive.

A flicker of surprise crossed Wayne’s face. “I’m not upset you have it, Jason. I’m just curious which one it is.”

Jason eyed him suspiciously, but slowly turned the cover to show him.

Wayne made a thoughtful noise. “My father read that to me when I was a kid. For years, anytime I traveled, I was convinced I might end up stranded on a desert island.”

“You were a pretty stupid kid, huh?” Jason asked, pulling the book back to his side.

Wayne’s lip quirked up. “Maybe, but I learned a lot of interesting skills while preparing for the inevitability. I still know how to make a shelter entirely out of fallen branches and palm fronds.”

“I’m sure that’s done you a lot of good.” He knew what Wayne was doing. Make a joke. Share a smile. He was trying to relax Jason. It might work better if he hadn’t met a dozen assholes who could josh around and banter with the best of them, and then turn around and stab their neighbor in the back. Literally. Even Willis had seemed like a cool guy when Jason and his mom first met him. That had ended quickly.

Wayne opened a door. Jason glanced up and down the hall, trying to remember which one it was, but it was a long hall and all of the doors looked the same. He tried to fight down the burst of panic that said he was trapped in a maze with no clear way out. Worse come to worst, he could always climb out a window. He knew how to land safely from second or even third floor jumps. It was one of the first skills you learned working the kind of jobs a kid could get in Crime Alley.

“This is your room,” Wayne said. “I know it’s a little bare right now, but—” the rest of what he said was drowned out by a low ringing that started in Jason’s ears and grew to fill the whole room. It was gigantic. He’d expected it to be big—he’d heard how rich people lived, of course, even if he’d never seen it—but this was ridiculous. This was obscene.

“Don’t you mean this is the apartment I’ll be sharing with five other people?” he asked. Wayne laughed like he was telling a joke, but he wasn’t.

The bed, by itself, was half the size of the apartment he grew up in. The two nightstands, if you could call them that, looked like significantly nicer, antique versions of the small dresser he and his mom shared. And that was just the bedroom section of the room. There was also a sitting area with bookshelves, two recliners, and a table; a couch; a fireplace, with a lit fire even though it was August. There was a full vanity area, he swore to God, with a giant mirror, counter, and a chair sitting in front of it. He could just barely see through two doors on the far side of the room that there was a giant walk-in closet and an attached bathroom. He didn’t think he could handle those right now. If he had to look at anything else, he was going to throw himself out the full wall of windows that spanned the length of the room.

“Jason?” Wayne asked.

“Is there…” Jason’s voice broke. He cleared his throat. “Is there another room I can use? Maybe a servants’ quarter? Where does Alfred live? Can I live next to him?”

Wayne laughed again. When Jason didn’t join in, the laughter trailed off. “Jason? Is everything okay?”

“I can’t—” He waved his hand around the room. “—this. I can’t this. It’s too much.”

Wayne knelt in front of him and Jason came pretty close to socking him this time. He clenched his hands into fists. “You’ll get used to it,” he said gently, holding his hand out like he was going to put it on Jason’s shoulder. Jason jerked back.

“I don’t want to get used to it!” he exclaimed. “No one should get used to this. No one should have this. Not when there are kids living on the streets and… and families with five people sleeping in one bed. You know my friend Mateo lives with his three siblings and his parents and his aunt and uncle and their two kids and their grandparents and they have less room than this?”

Wayne hesitated. “I know there’s inequity in the world…”

“No fucking kidding there is!” He was breathing too hard, breaths too quick for him to get any oxygen from them. Wayne was still as a statue, hand still hovering in the air where Jason’s shoulder used to be.

“Do you want to go back to the library?” he asked, finally dropping his hand back to his side.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He stood up and brushed off his perfectly pristine pant legs. “You can stay there however long you want, and then come back to your room when you’re ready.”

“I’m not going to be ready. I’m going to sleep in the library.”

Wayne dragged a hand down his face. They stared at each other, and for one glorious moment, looking into Wayne’s weary eyes, he thought maybe Wayne was going to say this wasn’t working out and take him back to Crime Alley. Instead he said, “I’ll talk to Alfred. Maybe there’s a smaller room you can use. This is the family wing, so I’d prefer you stay here.”

Jason’s lip curled up in a snarl. “Well, I preferred to stay with my mom, so I guess we don’t all get what we want.”

***

An hour later Jason was in a smaller room, not far from the library. It was clearly a guest room, and probably not for well-liked guests, but Jason felt like he could breathe in it. The bed was only a little too large. There was no sitting area, and, while there was a fireplace, it was a small one nestled into the wall behind a grate, not an ostentatious brick outcropping that looked like it belonged in the parlor of a Grand Bazaar. The closet was large, but not a walk-in, and the attached bathroom was only a little bigger than the one back home. It was still more than anyone needed, but more like what his imagined rich person lived in, not the nightmare that was real rich people.

He lay on the bed, shifting on the too soft mattress, trying to get comfortable. Okay, yes, the mattress back home was shit, he knew that, but at least it wasn’t trying to absorb him into it. He was barely a dozen pages into Robinson Crusoe and having trouble concentrating. It wasn’t just the seriously-way-too-soft bed—was that really what rich people liked?—he was also worried about his mom. He was worried about himself. He could already tell he was going to hate it here. He wanted his mom. He wanted his friends. He wanted his own bed, shitty mattress and all. He was starting to eye the window and seriously consider making a run for it when he heard the tell-tale squeak of an opening door.

In a flash, he was on his feet, mind already running through every scenario of perverts, drunk assholes, and enterprising criminals. Instead he saw the now familiar camera peeking through the crack in the door.

“I swear to God, if you don’t stop taking pictures of me, your camera won’t be the only thing I break,” he growled. His heart was still beating hard enough in his throat to make him feel like he was choking.

Tim stepped through the door, not looking nearly apologetic enough. Jason glared harder. “But if you don’t let me take pictures, how will we memorialize your first night here?” Tim asked.

“Maybe some of us don’t want to remember this, Timmy.”

Tim looked thoughtful as he considered this. Then he raised the camera and snapped a quick picture before Jason could react. The next second he was running out the door and disappearing into the maze of hallways.

Jason stalked over to the door and slammed it shut. He pushed the dresser in front of it. Last thing he wanted was that weirdo sneaking in to take pictures while he slept. He lay back on the bed but was too wired to read, let alone attempt sleep. He looked at the window again. It wouldn’t be hard to steal something worth a few thousand and hightail it out of there.

But his mom wanted him to stay. He kept reminding himself of that as he rolled over and glared at the door. His mom wanted him to stay in this hellhole, and honestly, he’d done worse things for money.

Chapter Text

A sharp knock startled him awake. It was too calm to be his mom’s dealer. Too early too, unless his mom got something extra without telling him. He'd just paid her latest tab a couple days ago. It could be one of the working girls looking for medical help or somewhere to hide for a couple minutes. He started to drag himself out of bed when a few things hit him at once. Too much light from too many windows. The way his hands sunk into the bed like it was gelatin. The dresser still barricading the door.

“Master Jason?” a voice said through the door. “May I come in?”

Jason collapsed back onto the bed, remembering where he was and why. It was a good thing he’d just paid the dealer. It meant no one would be coming after his mom immediately. He didn’t know what deal Wayne and his mom had made exactly, but he needed to figure it out. He hoped Wayne didn’t just give her a wad of cash. Last time he let his mom handle their money, it was gone in just a couple days. He didn’t even know what she'd done with it. They certainly didn’t have more food or clothes, and the landlord was banging on their door for rent the very next day.

“Master Jason,” the voice repeated. Alfred. The butler. Right, he’d asked if he could come in.

“You’re welcome to try,” he said.

Alfred was a smart one. He hesitated before trying the door. If someone told Jason he was ‘welcome to try’ opening a door, he’d run the opposite direction. Odds were at least 50/50 a loaded shotgun was waiting behind it.

The door hit the dresser and stopped. Jason knew he should get up and move it, but he wanted to see what happened next. You could tell a lot about a man by what he did when things didn’t go his way. That’s normally when the yelling started, but as long as it was just yelling, that was fine. It was the ones who started hitting and throwing things that you had to look out for.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Master Jason, it seems I am getting rather old and the door is stuck. Could you help me out?” That was different. Did he really think the door was jammed? He must. Otherwise he’d be mad.

“Uh, yeah, sure Alfred,” Jason said, rolling out of bed.

It took him a few minutes to push the dresser back into its spot, and the whole time Alfred waited patiently outside the door. He had to be able to hear the grunts and grating, but he didn’t say a word. When Jason finally pulled open the door, Alfred said, “Ah, thank you, Master Jason. That was quite the jam.”

He definitely knew. Jason wasn’t sure whether to feel patronized or grateful. Alfred was smiling though, gently, with no expectation, so he smiled back.

“I’m afraid we have a rather busy day planned for today,” Alfred said, and Jason settled on feeling grateful. Alfred was going to pretend nothing unusual happened. No questions about how he was feeling. No involving Wayne. He could work with this. “Starting with new clothes,” Alfred continued.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Jason asked, defensively. Yeah, they were full of holes and a couple sizes too big, but he'd earned every last thing he was wearing.

“Why, nothing at all, except I do think you need more than one outfit.” Alfred looked pointedly at Jason’s shirt and Jason followed his gaze. Right. He was still wearing his clothes from the day before.

“I didn’t exactly have time to pack,” he muttered. Inspiration struck and his head shot up. “We should get my clothes,” he said.

Alfred’s lips quirked up in amusement. “That is what I suggested.”

Jason waved his hands in front of him. “No, you were going to be weird and suggest buying all new clothes. I mean my clothes, from my apartment.” This was perfect. He could check on his mom, find out what the deal with Wayne was, figure out how to handle her dealer. Lily from down the hall was trustworthy. He patched her up whenever her clients got rough, and she warned him about gang activity in the area. Maybe he could leave some of the money with her and she could pay the dealer when he came by. He’d have to give her a cut, but that was only fair.

“We will have to check with your father.” Jason shuddered at the casual use of ‘your father’. The less often people referred to Wayne as his father the better. “And I do believe some new clothes would be nice as well.”

Jason scowled. The newest clothes he’d ever had came from Goodwill, and he liked it that way. They were already well-worn and comfortable. He imagined new clothes were stiff as a board, forcing that perfect posture rich people always had in magazines. Or worse… he cringed at the memory of Tim’s outfit from the day before. “I will agree on one condition,” he said. “No khakis.” Alfred opened his mouth to respond but Jason cut him off. “Or slacks of any kind. Or blazers. Nothing that looks like it could be worn to the office by an up-and-coming businessman. Got it?”

Alfred raised a hand to his mouth, probably trying to hide a smile, the traitor. This wasn’t funny. It was serious business. “I can agree to the terms of this deal,” he said.

“Good,” Jason replied. “Should we spit shake on it?” He spat into his hand and held it out.

Alfred eyed his hand with the sort of disgust usually reserved for finding maggots in a piece of bread you’ve already bit into. “I would rather not.”

“That’s what a fink would say.”

“Then I’m afraid I must be a fink. O judgment!” he exclaimed, suddenly sounding like one of those guys on the street that yell about Jesus. “Thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason.”

Jason stared at him, spit dripping down his fingers while his hand dangled at his side. “What was that?”

“Julius Caesar, by the illustrious bard himself. I think you’d like it. I used to be an actor before I came here.”

“And you quit that for this?” Jason asked incredulously, waving his hand to encompass all of Wayne manor.

Alfred smiled. “This has its advantages and acting has its disadvantages. Why don’t I tell you all about it on our shopping excursion today?”

Jason finally wiped his hand off on his pants. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “But you better not fink out on me you fink.”

“Heaven forbid.”

***

Breakfast was in the Grand Dining Hall. It actually had the word grand in it, which implied that there were other, less grand dining halls scattered about the manor. Jason tried to memorize the path to it, but he was still having trouble mapping this place in his head. There were too many rooms and hallways. He’d have to explore the next time he was left alone. He wouldn’t feel safe until he knew at least three escape routes and a dozen hiding places.

The Grand Dining Hall lived up to its name, with high arched ceilings, a chandelier that looked like it had freakin' diamonds embedded in it, and a long, thin table that could seat at least twenty people. All three Waynes sat at the furthest end, and their heads raised in unison to look at him when he walked in. It was like a scene out of The Stepford Wives.

“Nope, not doing this,” he said, turning around. “I don’t need to eat. Who eats breakfast anyway?” Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place as much as it was meant to be comforting. He shrugged it off but stayed put.

He could feel their eyes on his back, probably judging him, the assholes. He breathed long, slow breaths until he felt balanced enough to turn around. “Fine,” he muttered, twirling on his heel and stomping over to the only other seat with place settings. It was next to the little voyeur, and Jason seriously considered picking up his dishes and moving to the other side of the table. Tim smiled at him and he glared back with as much force as he could muster. As he sat down, he noticed the camera in the kid’s lap. He’d have to keep an eye on that.

The silence stretched. Jason wished he had food. At least then he’d have an easy excuse to ignore their staring. Finally, Wayne cleared his throat. “How did you sleep?”

“Terrible,” he replied, glaring at his place settings. He had three forks, and absolutely no idea why. Maybe one of them was for stabbing people. Or himself.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” When Wayne spoke again, his voice sounded strained. “I know it will take time to adju—”

“Nope!” Jason said again. “If you try to talk emotions with me I’m going to throw myself out the window.”

“Those windows?” Tim asked, turning to the large arched windows behind them. “I don’t think they open.”

“Thanks, Tim. Real helpful.”

Tim shrugged, apparently unbothered by his sarcasm.

Wayne cleared his throat again. Jason thought it was probably his way of exerting control of the situation. Too bad for him. “I’m going to speak with the headmaster of Gotham Academy today and try to get you enrolled. It’s late in the year to do so, but I should be able to convince him.” That was code for bribing if anything was.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jason said. “I already have a school.” It was a token protest at best. He knew there was no way Wayne would let him keep his school.

“Gotham Academy is a better school,” Wayne said, his tone slow and patient in the way that raised Jason’s hackles.

“Why? ‘Cause you throw money at it?” he asked.

“Yes. That is exactly why.”

Jason snarled at him and Wayne gazed coolly back. Jason turned his glare to the forks. If one of them wasn’t for stabbing people, it damn well should be.

“I’ll contact Alfred once we confirm you’ve been accepted,” Wayne continued, apparently undeterred by the risk of patricide. “You’ll need to do a placement test as soon as possible.”

“I’m in eighth grade,” Jason said.

“The school will want to confirm that’s the right place for you.”

Jason shot up, slamming his fists on the table. Tim jumped beside him. “What? You think because I’m poor, that means I’m dumb?”

Wayne’s lips pressed in a thin line. “That’s not what I’m saying. It’s a school requirement.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is.” He turned to Tim. “What about you, Timmy? You have to take a placement test?”

“I’m not old enough to go to Gotham Academy until next year,” he said. Jason started to turn on Dick, but Tim continued, “But, no. When I go they’ll accept my transcripts from Logerquist Elementary.”

Jason turned triumphantly on Wayne, who rubbed his temples. “Thank you, Timothy.”

Tim shrugged again. “It’s true.”

Wayne spoke slowly, measuring each word. “Logerquist and Gotham Academy are sister schools. They know that their curriculums conform to the same… standards.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Jason was still standing, hands pressed so hard on the table his skin was turning white. “Can’t trust those poor people to know what should be a passing grade. Is school spelled with one or two o’s? Who knows! Better give it an A.”

“Jason, this is an objectively better school. You’re just being stubborn. It has better funding, better teachers, a better reputation. You’ll be able to get into any college you want.”

“But only go to the one you pick out for me, right?” Jason knew he was being stubborn, but he wasn’t going to let Wayne stomp all over what he wanted and claim the moral high ground because it was for the best. Rich people always thought they knew what was best for him, and they had no freakin' idea. He thought of the time he was eight and his mom got him enrolled in some charity gift exchange. He’d been so excited about maybe getting a Lego set or book, and then he unwrapped his gift to find a brand new Xbox game. He didn’t even own an Xbox. Why would he? He sold the game for 20 bucks so he couldn’t complain much, but he still had to wonder what kind of rich asshole assumed that poor kids participating in a charity event owned a $400 game console.

Before Wayne could respond, Alfred came out carrying a platter. He and Wayne continued their standoff as Alfred approached, but finally Jason broke the gaze first and dropped into his seat. He heard the rustle of fabric as Wayne sat down, but refused to look at him. Instead he looked at Dick, across the table from him. He had a wide-eyed look that Jason wanted to smack off his face. If there was one thing Jason didn’t need more than Wayne’s self-righteous superiority, it was pity. Alfred placed the platter in the middle of the table and started cutting into whatever the heck was on it. It looked like some weird yellow, green, and pink pie.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Quiche,” Alfred said with a single raised eyebrow.

“What the fuck is that?” He had never even heard of quiche, but it sounded like something French nobility would spout at each other while smoking extra long cigarettes.

“Jason,” Wayne said, a low tone of warning in his voice.

“What, you can’t even eat like normal people?” Jason asked. “Eggs and bacon too modest for your tastes?”

“I assure you, Master Jason, this contains both eggs and bacon, but if you’d prefer something else, I’d be happy to make it for you.”

A wave of guilt hit him. None of this was Alfred’s fault. He wasn’t really doing the cooking too, was he? Didn’t this place have anyone else working, or was it all just Alfred?

“No, that’s okay,” he muttered at his hands. He would eat the stupid French cuisine, and he knew he would go to their stupid school. He just felt like it was all wearing away at the edges of who he was, trying to rebuild him into the kind of kid Wayne would actually want.

“Uh,” Dick said. It was more of a noise than a word. When Jason looked up, Dick smiled crookedly at him. “I have Fruit Loops if you’d rather have that.”

“What have I told you about those sugary cereals?” Alfred asked, but he sounded more amused than annoyed.

“I know, I know, Alfie. They have no nutritional value. Just this once?” He made the largest, bluest puppy dog eyes at Alfred that Jason had ever seen.

“I suppose,” Alfred allowed. “What do you think, Master Jason? Does that sound more to your liking?”

He’d never had Fruit Loops either, but he’d always wanted to. Name brand cereal was a luxury they couldn’t afford. They had gotten the off-brand Tootie Fruities once or twice, but he always imagined the real thing tasted better. “Okay,” he said slowly.

“Great!” Dick exclaimed, jumping up. “Be right back!”

Jason refused to make eye contact with Wayne while he was gone. Refused to even look his direction. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tim fiddling with his camera. He was no longer smiling. Jason knew he should feel bad, but all he felt was viciously glad that the kid hadn’t tried to take any pictures.

By the time Dick came back with the cereal already in a bowl of milk, Wayne had finished eating in stony silence.

“I need to go the office,” Wayne said, standing stiffly. “I’ll call later with the time for the placement test.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said as he strode towards the door. “Master Jason wanted to go pick up his clothes from his mother’s apartment today.” Tim perked up beside him.

“No,” Wayne said without even turning to look at him. Jason felt the rage building in his chest again.

“I think—” Alfred started, but Wayne interrupted him.

“No, Alfred, and that’s final. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s my neighborhood!” Jason exclaimed. “My neighborhood is too dangerous for me?”

Wayne turned only long enough to freeze Jason in his spot with a sharp glare. “Things have changed, Jason. Get used to it.” He strode out of the room with Alfred on his heels. Maybe Alfred was going to try to convince him, but Jason wasn’t holding out hope.

Jason stirred his Fruit Loops, watching the milk turn into a swirl of colors. It didn’t seem as appealing as it had before.

“I have other contraband if you want,” Dick said, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially. “Cereal, chips, candy. All the things Alfred doesn’t want us to eat.”

His gut was a swirl of shame and anger, and he couldn’t take Dick’s pity on top of it. “Fuck off,” he said. Dick’s brow scrunched up. His mouth opened, then snapped shut. Finally he sat back in his chair and ate his food in silence.

***

By the time Alfred came back to get Jason for their shopping trip, Jason’s anger had settled into steely resolve.

“Are you ready go?” Alfred asked, clasping his hands together. Jason thought he looked stiffer than before, and wondered if Alfred really had been arguing with Wayne on his behalf. Warmth flared in his chest but he quickly quashed it down. Maybe Alfred was just annoyed at having to spend the whole day with him.

“Absolutely!” Jason said, forcing cheer he didn’t feel into his voice. If Alfred was surprised at his enthusiasm, he didn’t show it.

“Excellent,” Alfred said, turning and walking through one of the arched doorways. Jason couldn’t even tell if it was towards the front or the back of the house, but he assumed he was supposed to follow. “We have a lot of places to go, and very little time to do it in. You’ll need school supplies and a phone, in addition to new clothing. Assuming your application to Gotham Academy is accepted, you’ll also need to be measured for a uniform.”

“Uh huh,” Jason said. His mind stuttered briefly at the mention of a phone, but he focused on his mission. “I think we should start with picking up my clothes.”

Alfred raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. “I assume you mean we should start with purchasing new clothing for you from a store.”

“Nah, we should pick up the clothes from my apartment first. That way we can see what I already have before we buy new stuff. Makes sense, right?”

Alfred paused with his hand on a door that looked just as nondescript as all the other doors they’d passed. “Your father said no to going to your mother’s apartment.”

“I don’t care what Wayne said.”

“He is my employer,” Alfred replied. “What makes you think I would go against his wishes?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. Doubt crept through his veins. What did make him think Alfred would go to bat for him? He’d known the guy less than a day and all the things he thought were Alfred supporting him could be easily explained away. “‘Cause you’re a good person who doesn’t want to keep me away from my mom?” He thought that was true. He hoped that was true. But as much as he tried to project confidence, he could feel the fear and uncertainty leaking through.

Alfred turned completely towards him. His voice was soft when he spoke again. “Master Bruce isn’t going to keep you from your mother. I promise.”

“It certainly sounded like he was going to try,” Jason muttered.

After several seconds of silence, Jason risked peeking up at Alfred. His lips were pursed in thought. “Alright,” he said. “We can go, but quickly. There really is a rather lot to do today.”

Relief flooded through him. He would have found a way to go with or without Alfred, but it was good to know he had one person on his side in this awful place. “Thank you. I promise I won’t let Wayne find out.”

Alfred gave him a stern look. “I won’t lie to Master Bruce, but I will wait to tell him until after we’ve already gone and explain our reasoning. He does listen to me on occasion.” His tone suggested it wasn’t often enough.

Alfred turned back to the door, and whatever else Jason was going to say was blown away by the sight within. It was a silver and chrome, multi-level garage filled to the brim with luxury cars. Each car sat under a spotlight on circular pieces of floor that Jason thought probably rotated. Jason had gotten a good idea of how much cars and their components were worth over the last couple of years, and he was pretty sure a tire off any one of these cars would pay his rent for a month. Alfred led the way to a black sedan and opened a door for him. Normally Jason would object, but he was too busy staring at the shiny red Lamborghini next to them.

“We, uh, might want something a little less flashy for going into Crime Alley,” Jason said, when he finally tore his eyes away from the Lamborghini to look at the car in front of him. It might not have been as sleek as some of the other cars, but he could tell it was a Mercedes-Benz without even seeing the logo stamped on front. Every kid in the alley would be watching for their chance to grab a piece of it.

Alfred’s lips quirked up. “I assure you, Master Jason, this is the least flashy car we have.” Jason looked around again at all the sports cars and convertibles, and had to admit Alfred was probably right. He slowly lowered himself into the car, scowling as Alfred closed the door behind him. Alfred had sat him in the back seat too instead of the passenger seat.

“I feel stupid,” he said as Alfred climbed into the driver’s seat in front of him. “You know you don’t have to chauffer me around, right?”

“Oh?” Alfred asked. “When did you get your license?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Your modern slang is so difficult on my old ears.”

“Do people actually fall for this shit?” Jason asked. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

“I’m afraid I may even be going deaf now. I can’t hear a word you said.”

Jason harrumphed and slouched in his seat.

***

The closer they got to his neighborhood, the more anxious he felt. The sugary cereal probably hadn’t helped. His bones were buzzing like his skeleton was trying to escape his skin.

Everything depended on what kind of deal Wayne had given his mom. It must have been good. He hoped it was good, that he was worth more to her than the cost of her next high.

The truth was, he didn’t know. Her behavior had gotten more and more erratic the last year. More than once she’d looked at him with completely blank eyes and he’d known she couldn’t even remember who he was. Maybe she really did think this was what was best for him, or maybe she just didn’t want to have to think about him anymore.

He saw Old Joe’s Corner Store out the window and jolted. “Stop here!” They were way too close already. He wasn’t used to traveling by car.

“We’re still several blocks from your building,” Alfred said. Jason met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I know, but we can’t just drive straight up to my building in a million dollar car.” He sized up the people outside his window. More than one were looking their way, and he thought he recognized a kid he’d once gotten in a fist fight with over custom rims. Jason had pried those rims off fair and square, but the kid thought because he was bigger he could claim whatever he wanted. “I’ll just run out, get my stuff, and come back.”

“I’d feel better if I came with you,” Alfred said. He parked on a corner and the looks people were sending their way got hungrier. Not everyone in Crime Alley was a criminal, despite what the rest of Gotham seemed to think, but you couldn’t exactly dangle filet mignon in front of a starving person and expect them not to take a bite.

“I’ll be safer without you, trust me,” Jason said. “And if you leave the car alone for more than a few minutes, you’re likely to get your tires taken.”

Alfred’s lips twitched. “Still.”

“Just wait here,” Jason said. “I’ll be ten minutes tops.” He was out and running before Alfred could object again. He hoped the old man wouldn’t follow.

Talk to his mom first, he thought, then Lily. He knew she’d be home. Might not be awake yet though. She worked late nights.

A block away, he slowed to a jog. A large truck was parked on the street in front of his building, and strange men walked in and out. His heart clenched. It could be a coincidence, but he doubted it.

He sped up again, leaping over a box and almost running into Mrs. Moeykens when he turned into the doorway. “Oh!” she exclaimed, raising a hand to her heart. “Jason! You’re out early.”

“Out late, actually,” he said. “What’s going on?”

Mrs. Moeykens was the building grandmother. Sweet old lady always there with a smile and cookies, and ready to cut anyone who threatened her grandkids. “I was just trying to find that out myself.” She glared at one of the men walking past. That glare was known to make kids and adults alike mumble apologizes and go quietly on their way. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The man ignored her and kept walking, but Jason thought he looked a little more sheepish.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Jason said. He could feel tension in the air as he ran up the stairs. Nobody liked having strangers in the building. It could be the landlord clearing people out ‘cause he got a better offer, or one of the mob bosses moving in. He almost ran into a second guy carrying two large boxes as he exited onto the fourth floor. “Sorry,” he said, darting around him and turning the corner. Several of his neighbors were gathered outside the door to his apartment. Lily was there, clearly just woken up and clutching her frayed robe tightly around her chest. Mateo and his sister Gabriela turned to him with wide eyes when he ran up.

“Are you moving?” Mateo asked, his voice strained. Mateo knew Jason would have told him if he was moving, and he certainly wouldn’t have strange men moving his stuff.

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “Hold on.” People parted to let him through and he slammed the door shut as soon as he was in.

The apartment was already half empty. It couldn’t have taken very long. They didn’t own much. It was still alarming to see their meager belongings boxed up and being carted out. His mom stood in the middle of the room and the vice on his heart loosened. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but just seeing her there and alert flooded him with relief.

“Jason! What are you doing here?” she asked. “You should be with your father.” The alarm in her voice killed his relief instantly. He’d been so worried about her, and here she was, cheerfully packing to go off to a better life. Was anyone even going to tell him or was she just going to disappear into the sunset, never to be seen again? Maybe he really was just some trading token. The ticket to greater things she’d held onto until just the right moment, and she was worried he’d already ruined it by getting himself kicked out.

“I’m just getting my clothes,” he muttered. She looked so relieved. Had she missed him at all? “What’s going on, mom?”

“Bruce—” Bruce. Apparently they were on a first name basis. “—is moving me to a rehab facility. It’s nice. I’ll have my own suite, and there will be doctors on staff.”

He took a second to digest that. It sounded more like something Wayne would have insisted on than something she would have chosen for herself. “So like jail,” he said.

“No, no,” she insisted. “Like a spa! But for sick people.”

It felt off to him. He knew what happened to addicts that got caught, and it wasn’t pedicures. “Are you sure it’s not a trap?”

She smiled gently and laid a hand on his cheek. “It’s not a trap.”

Anxiety still swirled through his gut, but he’d always known things were different for rich people. Rich people didn’t go to jail. Maybe rich people really did get pedicures to treat their addictions.

Maybe this was good. Maybe it was better that she’d be somewhere people were paid to keep her alive since he wouldn’t be there to make sure she ate and drank water.

But he wouldn’t be able to ask Lily to keep an eye on her. Nobody they knew, nobody who actually cared about her, would be around to make sure she was okay. He wouldn’t be able to sneak out here to check on her himself. He’d just have to trust her, and trust Wayne, and he didn’t.

“You should probably go,” she said. “Does Bruce know you’re here? I don’t think he’d like it.”

“Did he give you money?” he asked instead of answering. “Cash?”

“No, he’s paying for everything.” She sounded perfectly pleased with this, but he saw it for what it was. Control. Wayne could stop paying at any moment, and as long as his mother’s well-being was on the line, Jason didn’t have any choice. On anything.

“You should have asked for money,” he said. “Real money, Mom. Not 'you do what I want and maybe I’ll buy you a pretty thing' money.”

She wrapped him up in a hug that he didn’t return, arms stiff at his side. “Don’t worry so much, honey. I know you like to be in control, but you don’t have to be anymore.” He wanted to yell, that’s the problem.

“Do you at least know where you’re going?” he asked, pushing her away. If he knew that, he could still sneak out, find a way to check up on her.

But she shook her head. “Bruce is handling all of that.” Of course he was.

“Call me when you’re there, okay?” he said. She nodded like she understood. “Call me and tell me the name of the facility. The address. Any information you can find out.” She continued nodding, but he didn’t have much hope it would happen. She’d forget. She’d think about doing it so much that she’d think she already had. One time she’d insisted for over an hour that she remembered going grocery shopping even though all they had in the refrigerator was two eggs, a moldy piece of cheese, and an empty carton of milk. He never did figure out if she was remembering wrong or if she actually had gone and accidentally left the groceries somewhere. He took over the shopping after that.

“You should go,” she said again. She turned him around and herded him towards the worn dresser. “I don’t think they’ve packed any of your things yet.” Jason wondered if they were going to bring it to him when they did or burn it. Probably the latter.

He grabbed a trash bag and started stuffing anything he considered his into it. Not just clothes, but also a ratty baseball mitt he’d dug out of a dumpster, a few worn novels with crumbling covers he’d paid a dime for at Goodwill, and the only stuffed animal he’d ever had, a sticky piglet with its arm hanging by a thread named Mr. Piggers. He wasn’t going to let Wayne erase where he came from.

When he was done, he stood by the door with a half-full bag and looked back at the apartment he’d spent most his life in. It’s not that important, he told himself. It’s just things. Not even good things.

“You’ll remember to call?” he asked.

She smiled that ditsy half out-of-it smile she always had while staring in the sink wondering where their dishes had gone after he cleaned them or trying to remember what happened to the five dollars he’d given her for bread they still didn’t have. “Of course.”

He knew he needed to go, but he couldn’t convince his feet to move. He felt heavy, like all of his blood was gathering in his fingers and feet, pulling him down.

“Sweetie,” his mom said softly. “It’s okay.”

He dropped the bag and flung himself at her. She caught him and he buried himself into her chest, holding her tight. It was several minutes before either of them spoke.

“Call,” he said again, muffled against her chest. Maybe if he repeated it enough times, she’d remember.

“I will. I promise.”

He nodded and forced himself to pull away. “Okay. I have to go. I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you soon.”

He didn’t believe her.

The crowd outside their apartment had grown. Mateo’s cousins were there too, and the Circone brothers from next door.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked. “What’s going on?”

Jason shook his head. “I’m taking off,” he said, not explaining more than that. He didn’t know what else he could say.

Mateo stepped forward. “You know if you need a place you can stay with us.” Jason almost laughed. He thought about Mateo’s extended family in that tiny apartment, of his room back in the manor, and thought he should be the one offering for Mateo to move in with him. He knew Mateo meant it though. His whole family would let him move in, take up their space and eat their food, and never complain.

“Nah,” he said, trying not to sound like he was going to cry or burst into manic laughter. “I’m going to go find my dad.”

Even the Circone brothers looked concerned at that, and he was pretty sure they were enforcers for one of the crazies. Everyone knew it had to be bad if he was going looking for a dad he’d never known instead of staying with his mom.

Mateo’s heavy eyebrows scrunched together. “Wait here, just a second,” he said, motioning for Jason to stay. He waited to make sure Jason obeyed before running off. Jason was pretty sure he was going to get his mom or aunt, someone he thought was more likely to talk sense into him. Instead he came back with a small, circular candy. A de la Rosa. He tried to hand it to Jason.

“I can’t take that,” Jason said, stepping back.

“It’s yours,” Mateo said. “I made a little extra this week and got it for your birthday. I just haven't had a chance to give it to you.” Jason still hesitated. He knew how much work it took for Mateo to make a little extra, and his family needed it much more than Jason did. Mateo gave him a weak smile. “It’s not every day my best friend becomes a teenager. Take it.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, finally letting Mateo hand it to him. He thought about how many of those little candies Wayne could buy. Guilt swirled in his gut, but he couldn’t refuse Mateo’s gift. “Thanks,” he repeated.

“Take care of yourself,” Mateo said. They all knew if he was going, he probably wasn’t planning to come back. Lily bent to give him a quick hug.

“If you need anything, call me,” she said.

Jason nodded. He had to get out of there. His voice was choked and he didn’t think he’d be able to speak again without crying. For a crazy moment he thought about taking Mateo’s offer, staying and trying to keep under Wayne’s radar for as long as possible, but he knew it wouldn’t work.

“Bye,” he managed, barely a croak. Then he ran. Around the corner, down four flights of stairs, out the door, almost running into Mrs. Moeykens again. She said something as he flew past, but he didn’t hear it. He didn’t stop running until he slammed into the side of the car, scrabbling with the door for several seconds before managing to pry it open. Alfred was already starting to open his own door and step out, expression alarmed, but Jason shoved into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. Alfred slowly returned to his seat.

“Is everything alright, young sir?” His voice was as calmly posh as ever, and the bit of his face Jason could see in the rearview mirror was once again reserved.

Jason clung to the trash bag full of all his worldly belongings. The small candy sat in the palm of his hand, warmer than it had any right to be. He closed his fingers tightly around it. “Let’s just go.”

***

Night was falling by the time the car slowly wound its way up the manor’s long drive. Jason’s trash bag had been joined by a dozen bags of clothes and shoes, including a week’s worth of perfectly tailored school uniforms. They’d gotten the call midafternoon that Jason was successfully enrolled in Trust Fund Academy and would have to take the placement test in two days. Wayne had suggested picking up a study guide. Jason might have suggested that Wayne go fuck himself, but they were in public and Jason didn’t want to do that to Alfred. The poor man had enough to deal with already.

They’d gone to a bookstore afterwards and Jason had thought Alfred might actually force him to get the study guide, but instead he’d told Jason to find ten books that he wanted. Somehow that was worse than the clothes. Everyone needed clothes, and of course Wayne would want him to look presentable and insist on ridiculously expensive, brand name stuff. He got that. It was more about Wayne than him. But Wayne didn’t need to get him books. The manor had a library full of them. Alfred had insisted though, so he'd spent an hour very carefully picking books out of bargain bins and sales shelves. He pulled the bag of books over and looked at them again. The whole bag was cheaper than even just the dress shirt of his uniform, but they were the only things in the car that actually felt like his.

Those and the set of plays in the next bag over. Alfred had handed it to him after they’d already left the store. Shakespeare’s complete works, in simple playbook form. “This is a gift from me,” he’d said, “not your father.” He’d smiled warmly and added, “I think you’ll like them.”

Their last stop of the day had been an electronics store. He stroked the screen of the brand new iPhone Alfred had said he would need. Need. He knew plenty of people with cell phones, but they were usually cheap knockoffs, pre-paid or pay as you go. That’s what you got out of need, not the latest name brand model, on a plan almost as expensive as the phone.

Alfred pulled into the garage, but neither of them made a move to get out of the car. Jason didn’t want to go back in there. He thought again of Mateo’s offer and wished he could take him up on it. The candy was buried in his trash bag of belongings now, wrapped in a shirt to keep it safe.

Alfred cleared his throat. When Jason looked up, Alfred met his eyes in the rearview mirror, expression sympathetic. Unlike on Wayne, it didn’t feel like pity.

“I know it’s not my place to say, young sir,” Alfred said. Jason resisted a groan. They’d been so good at avoiding the emotional talk. “I can’t possibly claim to know what you’re going through right now, but I can suggest someone who might.”

“Please don’t say Bruce Wayne,” Jason muttered.

“Oh, heaven’s no!” Alfred exclaimed. Jason huffed a laugh. He knew he liked Alfred. “I am referring to Master Richard.”

“Who?” Jason asked. He hadn’t met anyone named Richard.

Alfred’s lips quirked up. “Your older brother?”

Jason scrunched his brow. He thought there were just the two brats. Was there a brother he missed? Then he realized. “Dick is short for Richard? How does that make sense? Did someone call him an insult and it stuck?”

Alfred pressed a finger to his mouth. He was trying to look dignified, but Jason was sure he was suppressing a laugh. “I assure you it’s a legitimate nickname with centuries of history.”

“Uh huh. So someone centuries ago called Richard an insult and it stuck.”

“Regardless,” Alfred said, soldiering on while Jason snickered. “If you would like to speak with him, he’ll be in the gym this time of day. Why don’t you do that while I take your new belongings to your room?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alfred. I’m not going to let you carry all this by yourself.” He hopped out of the car and picked up as many bags as he could fit on his arms. He was up to eight when Alfred joined him.

“I assure you, I don’t mind. It is my job.” He reached for a bag, but Jason grabbed it before Alfred could. Nine.

“Doesn’t mean nobody should help you,” Jason said, shifting the bags to try to pick up another. “Besides, I seem to remember just this morning you were too old to open a door.”

Alfred did chuckle this time, and Jason grinned in response. “I suppose you’re right,” Alfred said. He raised an eyebrow at Jason. “Let’s hope that door will be less sticky in the future.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” He didn’t think he’d be comfortable sleeping here without blocking the door any time soon, but maybe he could set an alarm to get up and fix it himself before Alfred had to deal with it. He got the feeling Alfred dealt with way too much with this family already.

***

The only gym Jason had ever been in was the little corner place owned by one of the local mob bosses. Jason had been hocking a particularly valuable stereo liberated from the car of a lost tourist. He’d been trying to negotiate with his normal contact when the guy brought him inside, probably to scare him. It had worked. The small, cramped room had dumbbell stands, a few bench presses, a punching bag in the corner, and was stuffed full of muscular, angry looking men. Jason hadn’t known how many of them worked for the mob boss, but he didn’t want to mess with even one of them. He ended up settling for half what he thought he deserved for the stereo.

Dick’s gym was completely different. It was huge, spacious, with tall ceilings. Half of the room was empty except for mats on the floor. Large pieces of equipment sat by themselves with a lot of empty space around them. A balance beam, something he thought was called a pummel horse, bars, both close to the ground and high in the air, and even higher what looked like a trapeze and tight rope.

Alfred was full of shit. There was no way the spoiled heir to the Wayne fortune, a guy who had his own in-house gymnasium, who looked like he’d faint at a thirteen-year-old saying pervy, could ever understand his life.

He was already backing out into the hallway when he spotted Dick, soaring through the air like he was born there. His back arched so far he almost touched his toes, and he cut through the air like a mermaid through water. For a second, he thought Dick was actually flying, that he was some kind of meta, like a fairy or whatever Superman was. Then his hands grabbed hold of a trapeze. He swung in one long arc before releasing the bar and flying again.

He could see the moment Dick spotted him. Dick met his eyes and actually smiled at him while upside down in mid-flip. Then he caught a bar, fingers barely touching it as he swung in a complete flip around it, body straight as a rod, and let go into a complicated twist that Jason could barely follow. He landed in a step towards Jason and kept walking like that had been his plan all along.

“Hey!” Dick called. “How was shopping? Get everything you need?” He was smiling, but his fingers tapped nervously against his leg. And why wouldn’t he be nervous? Rich brat had probably been warned against crime alley crooks his whole life. Jason scowled.

“Do you seriously have your own private gym?”

Dick stopped midstep and looked around the room. “It’s not just mine, per se.” He huffed out air in something that barely qualified as a laugh. “I could teach you some moves if you’d like?” He was still trying to smile, but it was obviously fake. Just a pretty plastic decoration hiding cracks in the wall.

“No, thanks.” Jason turned on his heel and stalked back into the hallway. He wasn’t sure where exactly his room was, but this was as good a time as any to figure it out.

The hall was silent behind him, and for a brief moment he actually thought Dick was going to be smart and let him go. Then footsteps scrambled to catch up.

“Wait, Jason,” Dick said. Jason didn’t slow down. He could already hear the argument they were going to have. Dick would say something stupid like that they got off on the wrong foot. And then Jason would yell about how there was no wrong foot, because the whole damn thing was wrong, so how could you blame one foot. Then maybe he’d punch Dick. He hadn’t decided yet. “You’re going the wrong way.”

Jason’s thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?” he asked.

“You’re trying to get to your room, right? Or the library? Either way, that’s the wrong way.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Jason asked, his hackles rising. “This place is a maze.”

This time, Dick’s laugh was a little more genuine. “I know, right? It took me two months to be able to find my way around. I actually drew myself a bunch of maps when I first got here. You can have them if you want? I’m not exactly the best artist so I don’t know how much they’d help. It’s mostly just scriggly lines with X’s marking the important spots.”

It took Jason a minute to sort through Dick’s rambling. “What do you mean when you first got here? Did you upgrade from a mansion with only 20 bedrooms?”

“Ha, no. You didn’t know?” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I grew up in the circus. I didn’t come here until I was nine.”

“The circus?” Jason scoffed. “That sounds like something you made up.”

Dick grinned. “I get that a lot. But no, it’s true. Haly’s Circus.” He lit up like a thousand watt bulb. “My mom was their star trapeze artist. I started performing with her when I was six.” Jason thought of Dick flying through the air, and it didn’t sound as fake as it could have.

“So, what? Wayne just runs around knocking up chicks and stealing the kids when he finds out?”

“No, that’s not…” Dick took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand down his face. When he removed his hand he was smiling again. That same fake smile from a guy clearly used to performing. “Why don’t we get those maps and I’ll tell you about the circus?”

Jason wanted to say no. He wanted to say screw your maps and screw your fake smiles and screw you pretending to care. The words settled on the tip of his tongue.

Then he thought about Dick offering him cereal that morning, and about another kid years earlier, smaller than him and scared in a big unfamiliar house, who probably just wanted to eat cereal and was told he couldn’t.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Tell me about the circus.”

Dick’s grin was blinding. He started walking backwards down the hallway, gestures large enough to fill the whole space. “It was amazing! I loved it there. Everyone was like a big family, even the animals. There was this elephant, Zitka, that I used to help take care of. I saw her again years later and I swear she still remembered me.”

“It sounds like a fairy tale.” He said it bitingly, but Dick just grinned wider.

“It was! We traveled all over the world performing. Huge audiences everywhere we went.” He had a dreamy, far away smile.

“So what happened?”

His smile faltered and fell. “My mom died.” The pain in his voice was stifling. Jason breathed it in with the air and it settled in his lungs. Dick swallowed twice before continuing. “She was murdered, actually, here in Gotham. Some mafia boss mad that the circus wasn’t paying him protection money.”

Jason saw flashes of Willis smashing a bottle over his mother’s head while he screamed and tried to shield her with his too small body. Of drug dealers who smiled while they casually opened a jacket to display a gun or knife and said to have the money by sunset. Of the woman killed right outside their building in a robbery. All the fears that choked him while he lied in bed trying to imagine every way things could go wrong so that he could be prepared to fight back.

“If someone killed my mom, I’d hunt the bastard down myself,” he said, painfully pushing the words through clenched teeth.

“Heh, yeah, well,” Dick said, combing fingers through his hair and not meeting Jason’s eyes. He had to remind himself that Dick wasn’t a crime alley kid. He’d probably never even considered taking matters into his own hands. “He’s in jail now.”

Dick stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking past Jason at memories Jason couldn’t see. When they started walking again, Dick turned to walk beside him instead of leading the way. “It was hard. Not just because Mom was gone, but because Dad… Well he’s not exactly the most emotionally open guy, as you’ve probably noticed. He used to come see the show whenever we were in town. Sometimes when we weren’t, just randomly show up in Germany or China. But it was always kind of awkward. When mom died, all I wanted was to stay with the circus. That was my home. My family.”

Not some guy I barely knew, Jason filled in.

“The court said I had to come here though. I hated it. The house was too big and empty. At the circus you’re always surrounded by people. Dad put me in one of those private schools right away too, and they made me start with kids a year younger than me because they didn’t think my homeschool education was up to snuff.” Jason snorted derisively. Bunch of snobs. “Thing is,” Dick continued. “They were probably right. And after a few months I made friends and got to know Dad and Tim and Alfred, and things got better.”

Jason hunched his shoulders. He could feel Dick’s eyes on him.

“I know Dad seems cold,” Dick said, touching his shoulder. He jerked away and Dick let him. “But he cares, a lot. He just doesn’t always know how to express it.”

Jason didn’t respond, and they continued their walk in silence. He wasn’t ready to accept that Wayne was actually a sweet baby lamb buried under layers of asshole, but he knew he should try to make the best of things. He was stuck here, after all, for better or for worse.

“Here we go!” Dick said, twirling on his heel and motioning grandly to the door beside him. “My room.”

Jason looked at the door, which had a colorful sign clearly drawn in crayon by a small child. The word 'Dick' was written in large, red letters, surrounded by blobby shapes that might have been elephants and tigers. Then he looked behind him at the hallway they’d walked down. He could have sworn they were still on the wrong side of the house. “Witchcraft,” he said.

Dick snorted so hard he choked and coughed into his hand. “You just gotta learn the secrets,” he said. “I’ll grab the maps and we can start with the first floor. Do you want something to eat?”

Jason hesitated. “Do you really have a stash of junk food squirreled away?”

Dick’s answering grin was devilish. “Anything you could possibly want.”

“Show me.”

Chapter Text

Dick had somehow managed to overstate how helpful his maps would be. When he'd called them 'squiggly lines with X’s marking the important spots,' Jason had imagined the map from Treasure Island, not a poorly drawn pile of snakes with X's for heads.

The X's weren't even labeled, so Jason had no idea what he was looking for. At least they mostly seemed to lead to food. That was some logic Jason could get behind.  So far he’d found a kitchen, another kitchen, a pantry, three dining rooms, and a movie theater. He wasn’t sure if the last one was marked for the movies or the popcorn.

Jason squinted at the scribbles and dots that were supposed to depict the wing he was in, trying to figure out how much further he was supposed to go before turning. Dick had said the dots usually represented doors, except when they represented statues, and this hallway had a lot of both. Where was he, anyway? The manor’s private museum? Statues—mostly busts, but the occasional full-sized one too—lined the walls. He was pretty sure he’d seen at least one of them in a book. It was a woman's face, covered in a veil. He stopped to look at the carved folds of fabric, and marked his own X on Dick’s map. He’d have to come back and look at these later.

Clothing rustled behind him, followed by a soft thud. His teeth grit automatically. He didn't need to look to know it was his own personal stalker, at it again. The kid was strangely immune to threats, maybe because he'd never had anyone follow through with them. That was going to end soon.

He made a show of studying his map while turning just enough to catch a glance of Tim crouched behind a statue, camera in hand. He’d never seen the kid without it. Maybe he’d gotten it surgically attached. That sounded like a rich person thing to do. 'Make my nose smaller, my eyes bigger, and surgically attach a camera to my hand so I never miss any important moments.'

He turned back like he hadn't seen Tim and kept walking. The patter of footsteps followed shortly behind. Kid wasn’t as sneaky as he thought he was.

Five dots, then a turn. Jason opened the sixth door to find a storage closet. Apparently he was supposed to have been counting statues after all. He looked back to see how many he’d passed, and Tim jumped behind a thin, modern art piece that didn’t completely cover him. He couldn’t actually believe this was working, could he? Had he been entirely raised by cartoons?

Jason glanced thoughtfully at the closet door, then strode in like he was confidently walking down a hallway. He doubted Tim knew what every door in this monstrosity of a house was for either. As soon as he was in, he ducked to the side and pressed up tight against the wall.

Tim followed not long after. He peeked around the doorway and his expression barely had time to scrunch in confusion before Jason grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into the room. Tim stumbled into the far wall with a loud yelp. Before he could right himself, Jason jumped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Jason leaned back against the door, feeling absurdly pleased with himself. Now he just needed something to block it with. He considered dragging over one of the statues, but he wasn't going to take the blame if Tim broke something trying to get out.

The closet behind him was quiet. After a minute, the doorknob slowly turned and he felt a light pressure of the door against his back. He pressed back harder, keeping it closed.

"Jason, come on."

"Nope! This is what you get for being a little shit." He grinned to himself, resting with his full weight against the door.

The doorknob rotated back into place. He waited for Tim to start yelling. Begging maybe. Slamming his weight against the door. Nothing happened. This wasn't very fun if Tim just accepted his fate.

He turned his head so his ear was against the door. There was a quiet shuffling noise he couldn’t place. "Doing okay in there?" he asked after several long minutes dragged past.

"No, I'm dying." The response was immediate, but sounded distracted and far away.

"You are not." He pressed his ear harder against the door. The noises had to be from the far side of the closet. There was a quiet grunt followed by a thump.

"I'm having a heart attack." There was another grunt and then a rattle. What the hell?

"You can't actually think I'd fall for that, can you?" he asked, moving along the door to try to hear better. It occurred to him that he had no idea what was stored in that closet. Little Timmy could be doing anything in there. In the Alley, that probably meant he had a weapon. Maybe even a hastily assembled bomb, but he couldn’t imagine the rich brat assembling anything more dangerous than a bubble blower.

But if he was up to something, Jason wasn’t going to just sit around and wait for him to finish.

"It's not a trick,” Tim said. “I'm having a heart attack and dying."

Jason swung the door open on the last word, fists clenched and body braced for an attack. Instead Tim stilled and stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. He was surrounded by boxes, another small one in his hands. What looked like a decorative coat rack had fallen behind him, the top of it pointing at Jason’s feet.

“What the hell?” Jason asked. Had he been making a fort?

“This is what having a heart attack looks like,” Tim said.

“It is not. What are you doing?” Jason eyed the mess again. Tim had mostly cleared out the corner he was in, but he hadn’t started there. Junk was haphazardly piled in the other corner like it had been removed and quickly replaced. The shelves had been pushed away from the far wall and sat at an uneven angle.

Tim shuffled the small box between his hands. “Nothing. Looking for a secret passage.”

Jason scoffed. Then he thought of the mystery books he’d read growing up and how many impossible murders or escapes were explained by a hidden path behind a bookshelf.  “Is there a secret passage?” he asked.

Tim rolled his eyes. “All old houses have secret passages. Probably.” He started repiling boxes in what Jason could see, when he squinted, was a clearly empty corner. Tim was full of shit.

“You are such a little weirdo.”

Tim shrugged and jumped to his feet, abandoning the rest of the boxes. He warily eyed Jason as he approached the closet door, but Jason stepped aside to let him out. If Tim was gonna learn a lesson from this, he already had. If he wasn’t gonna learn a lesson from it, then Jason just had to come up with more creative ways of teaching him. He was thinking maybe something with glue.

He started shifting his weight towards the hallway, but his feet stayed rooted in place. The closet was still such a mess. There was no reason Alfred should have to deal with this. Or any other servants if they existed. It was actually kind of eerie how few people worked in the giant manor.

He knelt to pick up the fallen coat rack. He thought he remembered it being by the bookshelf. He pushed the bookshelf back into place and squeezed the coat rack between it and the right wall. That looked right.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, watching him curiously from the doorway.

“Cleaning up so Alfred doesn’t have to.” He wasn’t sure what to do with the rest of this junk. He had a vague memory of neatly organized boxes, but nothing of which ones went where. He started piling them so they were at least out of the way.

Tim shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I don’t think Alfred minds.”

Jason scowled. “You are such an entitled—” Before he could really get his rant going, Tim took one of the smaller boxes from him.

“I think this went over here.”

Jason shut his mouth but kept scowling.

They’d mostly sorted the place back into some form of order when Tim said, “I hear you went to Crime Alley after Dad said no.”

“He doesn’t control me,” Jason muttered. Tim grinned. “What?” Jason asked, annoyed.

Tim shrugged, still grinning. “I don’t know. I think it’s cool. ‘He doesn’t control me,’” he repeated gruffly in a poor imitation of Jason’s voice. “Is everyone from Crime Alley like you?”

“Of course not,” Jason said, shoving the last box into place a little too hard. Its side crumpled against the wall. “We’re not dolls in a set.”

“So what are they like?”

“Why do you care?” Jason gave the room a cursory glance, enough to be satisfied with the current state, before storming towards the door.

“I’m just curious. I’ve never met anyone from Crime Alley before, only seen them on TV or in movies.”

“Movies treat us all like we’re criminals,” Jason said.

“Well, you are from somewhere named Crime Alley.”

“It’s named Park Row.” He twirled on Tim, and despite locking him in a closet just ten minutes earlier, the kid didn’t even flinch. “You know what, you don’t get to call it Crime Alley anymore. You have to say Park Row.”

“Huh,” Tim said, mulling this over. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jason repeated. He’d expected more of a fight.

“Sure, if you say so.”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim. “You are so weird.”

Tim shrugged again. He picked a label up off the ground and twisted it in his hands, looking around at the boxes until he found an unlabeled one. He pressed the label against the box. It immediately unstuck and fluttered back to the floor. Tim reached to pick it up again.

“I think we’re probably good,” Jason said, visions of Sisyphus dancing in front of his eyes.

He stepped back into the hallway and pulled the map out of his back pocket. Tim followed a few steps behind. He wasn’t sure how far back he’d entered the hallway, but he was pretty sure he’d passed eight of these statues. That meant he was three statues too far.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, standing on his tiptoes to look over Jason’s shoulder. Jason stepped away and hid the map instinctually, then felt stupid. This wasn’t a score he needed to hide from another Alley rat. He turned the map towards Tim and pointed at the X.

“Trying to find whatever this is.”

“Oh, you have to use the secret passage to get there,” Tim said with barely a glance at the paper.

“Funny.”

Jason opened the door between the 5th and 6th statues. Another hallway. Good. Back on track. At least this one didn’t have any statues. Instead the walls were covered with impressionist paintings. He was in was a freakin’ museum.

“You’re starting school tomorrow, right?” Tim asked, pulling Jason’s mind back from studying a painting that he swore he’d seen in some art book at the library. It had swirled images of flowers and lily pads. “Me too.”

He grunted noncommittally. He wasn’t looking forward to it. His friends in the Alley weren’t starting school for another three weeks, but apparently schools that could afford air conditioning liked to get an early start.

“I heard you did well on the test they gave you.” Tim bounced on the balls of his feet as he spoke. Jason wasn’t sure if it was excitement, nervousness, or just a need to keep moving.

“Where do you hear this stuff?” Jason muttered instead of answering. That bastard Wayne had looked surprised when he told Jason he tested into 8th grade. Like he knew anything at all about Jason.

“I listen to people.”

“You spy, you mean.”

“People shouldn’t talk about stuff in their private studies with their doors closed if they don’t want anyone to listen.”

Jason gave him the driest look he could manage. He was pretty sure the kid was joking, but just in case. “I will lock you in a closet again.”

“You can’t keep me there.”

“We’ll see about that.” He thought of Wayne’s reaction again and glowered at the map to hide his expression. “What about you? You surprised I actually tested into the grade I’m in?”

Tim made a noise as he thought about it, his face turned away from Jason. “My mom told me once that if poor people were smart they wouldn’t be poor.”

Jason’s hands clenched so tightly on the map he almost tore it.

“But I don’t know,” he continued. “You seem smart to me, and I think my mom’s probably wrong about a lot of things.”

Jason managed to relax his hands just enough that the paper was no longer in danger of ripping. “Trust me,” Jason said, trying to keep his voice under control. “Being stuck in the Alley has nothing to do with smarts.”

Tim turned towards him with wide eyes, apparently only just noticing his anger. Kid had no survival instincts at all. “Huh,” he said.

***

A blonde girl stumbled into Jason, knocking his books out of his hands. Her hair and makeup were so perfectly done that it almost made up for her unfortunate genetics. He thought about saying that to her as she tittered and said, “I’m sooooooo sorry,” in a sugary sweet voice, but instead he just scowled. This was the third time someone had run into him, and it wasn’t even noon. He wasn’t stupid enough to think it was an accident. She wafted by and rejoined her friends, laughing and whispering with them as they walked away.

Jason liked school. Jason had always liked school. He liked reading stories in the beat up old textbooks filled with a dozen different students’ notes. He liked History and Science, learning more about how the world around him worked and what made it the way it was. He even liked Math. What little he’d learned of geometry seemed useless, but his early teachers knew exactly what math mattered to the kids of Crime Alley. He’d learned everything he needed to know about budgeting and making sure the cashier at the grocery store wasn’t cheating him out of his change before he graduated from first grade.

Jason did not like Gotham Academy. He had no idea how everyone already knew he didn’t belong. He had the same perfectly tailored uniform as everyone else and Alfred had even made him get a haircut for the occasion. But apparently Crime Alley had so thoroughly seeped into his skin that the other students could smell it on him.

He trudged towards class with his books tightly clutched to his chest. The next person who tried to knock them out of his arms was gonna get brained with them.

Everything was supposed to be better here. The teachers had fancy letters after their names. The books were brand new. Even the hard wooden desks somehow managed to be comfortable. But the students just didn’t care. They chatted with their friends or played on their phones throughout the lectures, and not a single teacher ever called them on it.

And why should they care? Their parents would buy their way through high school, buy their way into a fancy college, and buy their way into a six figure job, if they even needed to work at all. Where Jason was from, getting an education meant something. It might be your ticket out of the slums, but even it wasn’t, it gave you enough smarts to work your way up the ladder in one of the city’s many criminal enterprises instead of being on the front lines of a never ending turf war. Kids at his school were there because they cared. If they didn’t care, they were already out on the streets working. No reason to bother wasting time at school if you weren’t going to get anything out of it. Public education might be free for the rich, but for the poor it cost all the wages they missed out on sitting in a classroom.

“Hey, Jason!” a familiar voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. Dick waved at him a little too enthusiastically from a dozen feet down the hallway. He was framed by a couple of attractive girls, because of course he was. At least the girls seemed about as embarrassed by Dick as he was. The blonde one covered her face with a hand, and the redhead grabbed Dick’s waving arm when it came a little too close to hitting her. He grinned sheepishly at her in response.  

Jason thought about just turning and walking away, but Dick was between him and his next class. He reluctantly trudged onward.

“How’s your first day going?” Dick asked as he approached.

“I hate it,” Jason said. No reason to sugar coat things. And hey, maybe if he complained enough he could go back to his old school.

Fat chance.

Dick winced but didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I know it’s a hard adjustment. It’ll get better.”

“Everyone will magically stop being assholes?” Jason asked. “I hadn’t realized.”

“They’re not all assholes,” Dick defended.

“Yeah,” said the blonde girl standing next to him. Her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail and she looked like she could throw some punches. He was getting a definite Crime Alley vibe from her, and oh, he realized. That’s how they know. “Just the rich people.”

The redhead laughed but put a hand over her mouth to cover it.

“Don’t encourage him,” Dick said, but he was clearly fighting a smile. Maybe Dickie boy wasn’t so bad. The jury was still out.

“Do you people have a pretty person club or something?” Jason asked. Not the smoothest thing to say, admittedly, but he’d never been good at not saying exactly what came to mind at any point in time, and all of Dick’s friends were ridiculously attractive. “Do you have to be at least a nine to hang out with you?”

“Ten,” the blonde said with a smirk. “I’m Artemis.”

“Barbara,” said the redhead. She smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you, Jason.”

“Yeah, well, you know. Always is.” He flushed as they laughed. Smooth, Jason. Real smooth.

“Very modest, Jay,” Dick said, ruffling his hair. He glared in response, already missing when Dick had been intimidated by him. “We’ve got to get to class. Keep an open mind, okay? School’s not that bad.”

“I don’t have a problem with school!’ Jason called after him as they walked away. “I have a problem with this school.” Dick just waved over his shoulder.

The bell rang right as he reached his classroom. Great. He was already one of the rich kids slacking in his studies. It was only going to go downhill from here. In a week he’ll probably be lounging on yachts in polo shirts smoking pipes and talking about stock options. He shuddered at the image.

He snuck into the room and slipped into the closest seat, trying to be as quiet as possible. Nobody paid him any attention. Half of the students were still talking, and another two came in after him. He watched the girl in the seat next to him play on her phone while their teacher handed out the syllabus. She had some kind of game with colorful shapes that she was tapping and swiping. She didn’t even look up when the person in front of her handed a pile of papers back to her. Just took them, put one on her desk, and passed the rest behind her while continuing to play one-handed.

A phone started ringing, the high-pitched chimes obnoxiously loud and repetitive. Nobody made a move to pick up their phone and the teacher just started talking louder like this was a daily occurrence. Jason seriously hated every single one of them. The phone rang for a full minute before finally going silent. Then, just as the teacher started to write on the board, it started again. The girl next to him finally looked up from her phone and met his eyes. Then she pointed a long, gold-tipped nail at his bag.

Oh, fuck.

Nobody had paid any attention to the ringing, but they definitely turned to look when he dragged his bag up onto his desk and started digging through it. He’d forgotten he even had that stupid phone. Who would be calling him? He hadn’t given anyone his number. He’d barely even touched the phone since he got it, just kept it charged and, as Alfred said, ‘on his person in case of an emergency.’

His hand finally closed around the device and he pressed any buttons he could find until it stopped ringing. He breathed the shortest sigh of relief at the silence, before noticing the name ‘Timothy’ on the screen.

Timothy? Tim? Why would Tim be calling him? Alfred must have given Tim his number. Must have programmed Tim’s number into his phone too, ‘cause he certainly didn’t do it, but that still didn’t explain why Tim would be calling him in the middle of a school day.

Wait, was this an emergency? Why would Tim be calling him in an emergency?

The phone lit up again, this time with a text.

Timothy: hypothetically what would i do if i was in park row and some guys chased me up a building

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. He had to be joking. He couldn’t actually be stupid and reckless enough to go to Crime Alley. How would he even get there? Wasn’t he supposed to be in school?

Of course he wasn’t in school. Of course he was one of those spoiled rich kids that couldn’t be bothered with school. That made perfect sense.

Jason didn’t even think about the classroom around him or the voices that now sounded like buzzing flies as he typed back: Please tell me you’re joking

Tim replied with a picture. The angle was odd, like he’d held it over the lip of a building without looking at what it was pointed at. Half of the shot was chipped brick and rusted metal. In the top corner were just parts of a few older teenagers—the head and shoulder of one, arm and side of another, feet and lower legs of a third—but it was enough to see their colors. White and Yellow. The Ivory Pythons.

“Oh, fuck,” Jason said, out loud this time.

“Language,” the teacher said. Apparently that was where she drew the line.

Jason knew a few kids from school or his building that had already joined up with a gang. He never wanted to, but he understood why they did it. Protection. A way to support their family. One kid who lived alone with his dying grandma actually made him think about it once. Said it got him enough money for food, heat, medicine. Said it wasn’t much different from what Jason was already doing for money, just with backup and bigger scores.

That was not the Ivory Pythons. The Pythons were brutal. The Pythons hurt people because they could. The Pythons were just as likely to kill a kid for his wallet as to take it and send him on his way.

“I’ve got to go,” Jason said, standing and grabbing his bag and books in one fell swoop. “Family emergency.”

He made it to shoving his stuff in his locker before his brain caught up. What was he doing? What did Tim even expect him to do? Why would Tim call him instead of Wayne or Alfred or, hey, how about the police? Not that the police gave a shit about what happened in Crime Alley, but they’d probably care if it was Bruce Wayne’s kid in danger. Did Tim think he had some magical fix just because he was from the Alley?

You know what, he probably did. The kid was an idiot.

Okay, take a breath. Think for a moment. He should get Dick. Dick had a car and… and what? His car wasn’t even at the school—Alfred had driven them there—and were they really going to drive a Maserati into Crime Alley? Besides, what could Dick do? He’d probably panic and make a mess of things.

The police were assholes. He certainly wasn’t going to call Wayne. Maybe he was the best person for this after all. He just needed to find a way to get there.

His mind went to the money he’d tucked in a deep, hidden pocket of his new bookbag. Three twenties. Enough to get him and his mom through a month. Pocket change for Wayne. He’d handed it to Jason as an afterthought, a few bills pulled out of an overstuffed wallet for ‘in case Jason wanted an ice cream or something.’

The rich asshole didn’t have the slightest… but that wasn’t important right now. It was also enough for a cab. He couldn’t call one—he didn’t have a number, and he doubted they’d drive out for a kid anyway—but he knew where to find them.

Back when he hung with Jesse, before the older kid got caught and sent to Juvie, they’d occasionally take a bus to one of the fancier hotels and break into a few heavily packed cars. Some of the best scores of his life came from doing that, but it was a lot more dangerous than lifting tires in the Alley. The fancy hotels usually had cameras and security guards. After Jesse got caught, Jason decided to stick to the neighborhood. His mom was too sick for him to risk getting sent away.

The other thing fancy hotels always had was a line of taxis, just sitting around waiting to pick people up.

He opened the Maps app on his phone. It was the only one the salesperson had mentioned that he’d bothered learning how to use. He knew how useful maps could be, particularly if things went sour and he needed to get out quick. He’d already plotted the best course back to Gotham from the manor. Looked around for where they might be keeping his mom too.

As he scanned for nearby hotels, he remembered being crammed in a bus seat with Jesse. He must have been ten or eleven, trying to look inconspicuous in the crowd of tired commuters. Jesse had some brochure meant for tourists with a colorful map that made Gotham look more like Disney World than the trash heap it was. Hotels were labeled with bright blue stars. Jesse pointed at one and said, “You can tell the rich ones because they always have International, Plaza, or Renaissance in the name.” Less than a mile from the school, he found one with two out of three.

He crept down the hallway as sneakily as he could, trying to avoid cameras and teachers alike. For all the good it was gonna do him. It’s not like nobody would notice he left.

He was going to kill Tim. Okay, maybe not kill him because that would be counterproductive, but he was definitely going to punch him in the face. Maybe kick him a few times. What kind of person skipped on the first day of school? Jason, apparently. God, he really was turning into one of the rich shits.

As soon as he reached the edge of school property, he took off running.

Chapter Text

Jason was in pretty good shape—not just good shape. Great shape. Pretty damn great shape—but he was still sweating like a dog by the time he arrived at the hotel. It was a hundred degrees out and his school uniform had a freakin' suit jacket. He hadn’t thought he could hate it more than when he’d looked at himself in the mirror that morning, but here he was.

He’d run most of the way, but slowed to a walk as the hotel came into view, yanking the jacket off as he did. He started loosening his tie too. He felt like he was suffocating. Did rich people never have to run? Is that why they wore shit like this? At least the line of cabs was right where he expected. The driver of the first one was leaned against the hood of his car smoking. He raised an eyebrow as Jason approached.

“You need someone to call your parents, kid?” he asked, dropping the cigarette and smashing it underfoot.

“I need a ride to Park Row.” He gave up on loosening the tie and just pulled the whole thing off and stuffed it in a pocket.

The driver’s second eyebrow raised to meet the first. “You an Academy kid?” he asked, motioning to Jason’s uniform. “I doubt you’re allowed to be gallivantin’ round the slums. Don’tcha have school?”

Jason bristled. “Listen to my voice,” Jason said, overenunciating his accent. “I’m from the Alley. There’s a family emergency, so I got out early.”

The driver gave him a long once over that made Jason’s skin crawl. In his experience, that was usually the look people used to determine how hard they could hit someone. He stiffened his shoulders and stood his ground. After a few seconds, the driver shrugged. “Ya got money?” Jason nodded. “Get in.”

Jason clambered in immediately, but the driver took his sweet time walking around the cab and climbing into the driver’s seat. Jason grit his teeth and tried to keep his temper in check. When he was finally seated, the driver asked, “What’s the address?”

He hadn’t even thought to ask. He wanted to bang his head against the window. “Gimme a sec.” He pulled out his phone and texted Tim: Where are you give me a street name or landmark

Where was the punctuation on this thing? He looked like an idiot that couldn’t put two sentences together. He clicked around on the keyboard looking for it while he waited for Tim to respond.

“You don’t know where your family emergency is?” the driver asked, watching him with a smug expression, like he’d caught Jason in a lie. Jason glowered back.

“Yeah, funny thing about emergencies is you usually don’t see them coming, you know?”

A map with a red pin popped up in his message box. That was useful. He needed to learn how to do that. He clicked on it and zoomed in. Tim wasn’t far from his old apartment. He tried to rotate the map in his head and picture which building that was. On the corner two blocks away… Wasn’t that the bodega? Tim’s photo made it look like he was on the roof, but he didn’t remember that place having roof access.

“It’s 620 Sidel Street,” he said, before the driver’s gaze could get any more unbearably self-satisfied.

The guy continued watching Jason long enough that he was starting to think he was going to have to find a different cab, but he finally said, “Alrighty then, kiddo. If that’s really what you want” and put the address in his GPS.

They pulled slowly out of the hotel parking lot. Much too slowly. Way slower than Jason thought was at all called for. His heart rate ratcheted up with every incremental movement. By the time they finally pulled onto the main road, he had a whole percussion session setting up shop in his chest. Now that he had a moment to just sit and think, he had no idea what the hell he was doing. His hand squeezed tightly around the phone and he forced his fingers to relax. That phone was worth more than everything he’d had growing up combined. What was he doing going into the Alley with a thousand dollar device? That was exactly the rookie mistake Tim had made. Heck, it was exactly why the asshole cab driver thought he was some rich kid making up stories.

He tapped nervously on the phone screen for a minute before finally texting Tim.

Jason: Are you okay?

Timothy: yes

Timothy: one of them tried to climb up after me and fell

Timothy: now they’re just yelling what they’re gonna do when i come down

Fuck, that couldn’t be good. He’d heard the kind of shit those assholes yelled, and he didn’t think Tim’s fragile lacrosse brain could handle it.

Jason: Where are you? On the roof?

Timothy: yes i climbed the drainpipe

Jason: You did what?

Jason had shimmied down a drainpipe once, while running from a gang leader that didn’t like an unaffiliated kid like Jason working his area, but Tim was a skinny little rich kid with sticks for arms. How the hell had he climbed a drainpipe all the way up to the roof?

“Not that I’m doubting you,” the driver said. Jason’s hand clenched reflexively around his phone again. “But if you were a rich kid looking for a thrill ride, maybe ‘cause of a bet or something, I’d recommend changing first. A kid in that uniform’s gonna get eaten alive. Which I’m sure you already know.”

Jason just couldn’t win. The kids at school knew immediately he didn’t belong, but this asshole was certain he was just some rich kid playing pretend. Jason opened his mouth to tell him off, then snapped it close. He might be an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. What was Jason thinking? He couldn’t go waltzing up to the Ivory Pythons wearing a Gotham Academy uniform. They’d turn on him in a second.

Even the people who knew him...God he didn’t want them to see him wearing this. What would they think? What would Mateo think? He thought of the candy still hidden in a bag in his closet.

“Actually, can we stop at…” He looked at the map again. Mama Geraldine’s thrift shop was only a few blocks from Tim. “572 Hoyt Street.”

“Not a problem, little man!” Jason wanted to punch him for the smug tone alone, but he settled for glaring at the rearview mirror. The driver winked in response.

Jason watched the meter as they drove the last couple of blocks to Mama Geraldine’s. $23.17. Might be $24 by the time they got there. With tip—Jason would never deny a tip to anyone, asshole or not. He knew how much a few dollars could mean to someone—$29. Maybe $30. That still meant he should get at least ten bucks change, and he wanted that money. His chest clenched and his breaths came quicker at the idea of throwing away even a couple dollars. But it had already been too long, and he could just see the driver very slowly doling out change while pretentiously asking if Jason was sure he wanted to be left in this oh so dangerous neighborhood, and meanwhile, Tim could be dying. Maybe the big guys couldn’t climb up to him, but eventually they were going to find a smaller kid they could pay a few bucks to risk their skin and climb up. The Alley was full of kids who needed money more than safety.

Tim’s life meant more than ten dollars. People were always worth more than money. When the cab pulled to a stop, he didn’t even wait for the driver to turn around and give some snarky commentary. He just shoved two twenties at him and jumped out.

***

Mama Geraldine’s was a staple of his childhood. Most of his clothes came from here or the Goodwill that straddled the border of the Alley and the nicer area to the west. Apparently Goodwill wanted the Alley’s poor people, but not the bad neighborhood that came with them. Mama Geraldine’s was right in the heart of the Alley, and the owner was one of them. Everyone he knew would rather give her money than a blank faced corporation pretending to care, but even Mama herself encouraged people to go to the Goodwill if they could get what they needed cheaper there. Everyone was just doing their best to get by.

He crept in and hid behind a rack. There weren’t many customers, luckily. He needed to grab some clothes, change, pay, and get out of there, preferably without anyone seeing him. He normally hunted through the racks for the best quality clothes, ones that wouldn’t wear out after a wash or two, but right now that didn’t matter. He just needed to fit in.

He’d found a shirt and was looking for pants that fit well enough to run in when a voice behind him exclaimed, “Jason Peter Todd, what are you wearing?”

He sheepishly turned around, automatically moving to hide his uniform with the shirt in his hands even though she’d already seen it. “Scamming rich folks?” he said.

Mama Geraldine leveled an unimpressed look at him, hands on her heavy-set hips. She brushed aside the shirt to inspect his outfit. “Where did you even get that? It’s a perfect fit.”

“Got lucky,” Jason said. “Found a bookbag with it inside.”

She gave him a look that clearly said she knew when he said ‘found’ he meant ‘stole.’ Good. As long as that’s what she thought, she wouldn’t suspect the truth.

“You’re going to have to clean that thing up before you’ll be able to scam anyone,” she said. “You look a mess. I’ve got an iron in the back if you need it.”

“Nah,” Jason said. “I’m going for the been through hard times rich kid look. ‘Help, ma'am. I just need a couple of twenties to get home.’”

She snorted. “Your fake rich kid can’t even ask for a few dollars?”

“He doesn’t realize anything less than a twenty exists.” Jason grinned at her laugh. He missed easy conversations. Every conversation he’d had in the last week had been tense, like he had something to prove, or was trying so hard to show that he didn’t. But this was normal. This was how things should be.

But then he remembered Tim and the conversation stopped being fun. He had somewhere he needed to be, and quick.

“I’m kinda in hurry,” he said. “I just need some pants.” He glanced down at his shiny loafers. “And maybe sneakers, if you’ve got cheap ones.”

“It’s your lucky day. I’ve got just the thing.” She picked some shoes out of a box of clothing waiting to be shelved. They were high-quality too—the soles barely worn down. He felt a pang in his gut. Some other kid needed these a lot more than he did. Wayne probably wouldn’t even let him wear them. He’d just have to pack them away in his trash bag of clothes, and meanwhile some other kid would be wearing shoes worn through to the heels ‘cause there weren’t any cheap, quality shoes for him to buy.

Jason forced a smile. “Thanks. Can I change? I don’t want to wear this around the Alley.”

She chuckled. “Probably a good idea.”

He changed quickly. The shirt used to have a press-on design, but enough had worn off to make it unrecognizable. The remaining swirls of color reminded him of one of the impressionist paintings in Wayne’s private museum. The pants had holes in both knees, but fit well and would be easy to run in. With the shoes on he looked like himself again. Much better than the stranger wearing a suit and tie.

He folded his uniform and handed it over the counter to Mama Geraldine when he stopped to pay. “Can you hold onto this?” he asked. He’d try to come back for it, if he could. Or be forced to if Alfred or Wayne realized it was missing. He cringed at that scene.

“Don’t leave it too long or I’ll sell it,” she joked.

He was already heading for the door, thinking through his next steps. He hesitated before leaving and glanced back at her. “That’s okay,” he said. “If you need to.”

She gave him a strange look but he was out the door and running.

***

Jason slowed as he approached the building Tim had holed up on, trying to calm his breathing and act like none of this concerned him. It shouldn’t. Just another rich kid that had wandered into the wrong area getting shaken down. It wasn’t even that unusual. He wasn’t a fan of violence, but he also hadn’t stepped in the last few times he saw something like this happening. He couldn’t even convince himself that he should have. He had his own people to take care of, and stepping on the wrong toes could get them killed. Most of those rich kids had got out fine anyway, and could cry home to daddy for a new whatever. They weren’t the ones that had to continue getting along here.

The teenagers milling around the building—four now that he could see, and maybe more he couldn’t—were all wearing the colors of the Ivory Pythons. Uppity bastards. Liked to think they were better than everyone else, and therefore everything they wanted belonged to them, regardless of who got there first. He’d lost a few scores to them over the years. A lot of people he’d fight, but they weren’t worth crossing.

The drain pipe Tim had climbed was now broken off the building and dangling twenty feet up, probably from whoever tried to follow him and fell. Near the top, where the pipe had wrenched away from the building, were what looked suspiciously like bullet holes. Had one of those fucking assholes shot at Tim? He was just kid. Annoying little shit, but that didn’t make it okay to shoot at him.

He took a deep breath and forced his expression and curled up fists to relax. Then he strolled over to the nearest Python as casually as possible. “What’s happenin’?”

The guy looked him over like he couldn’t believe Jason would dare talk to him. That was fair. Normally he wouldn’t. “Kid’s got a camera worth at least a couple thou.”

Jason whistled while mentally cursing Tim. He brought his camera? Jason had assumed they wanted his phone. He’d be surprised every gang in Alley wasn’t sniffing around the building except the Pythons had clearly already claimed him. “If I can get him down do I get a cut?”

The guy gave him another once over, this one much more judgmental. “You’re the Todd kid, right? Looking for drug money for mommy?” Okay, the guy knew who he was. That wasn’t great. For the first time, he was glad his mom had been moved. At least she’d be safe, whatever else happened. “I’ll give you a twenty.”

Jason shrugged. “Good enough for me.” Wasn’t really a cut, but there was a lot Jason would have done for a twenty just a couple weeks earlier. Not work with the Pythons, but a lot.

He approached the building, looking for a good way up. He hadn’t done a lot of climbing up buildings. Mostly he climbed down or across. The ideas were the same though. He eyed the drainpipe. That would have been his go-to way up too, but it was broken now and there wasn’t a good way to get up from where it had torn off the building. The next building over was only a few feet away though. That one had an intact drainpipe, plus large, multi-pane windows and cracks big enough to shove a hand or foot in. He changed directions and easily scaled the first couple feet by pulling himself up onto a window sill.

“Wrong building, genius,” the guy mocked from behind him.

“I’ve got this,” he replied, transferring to the drain pipe but using the heavy metal between window panes as leverage to push higher.

It was slow going, but it was going. As he neared the top of the building, he heard a loud click and almost had a heart attack before realizing it was Tim’s stupid camera again. He was really going to punch that boy. Just once to get it out of his system.

He made sure he had a good grip and turned to look at the other roof. He was high enough now to see Tim crouched behind a little lip, his camera balanced on it as he took another shot. Tim grinned and gave Jason a thumbs up. Jason sharply shook his head but that didn’t seem to dissuade him.

Before they died, probably within the next thirty minutes, Jason was going to make sure that camera died first.

He focused back on his climbing and within a few minutes managed to drag himself onto the roof. That was hard freakin’ work. How the heck did Tim do it?

The distance between the buildings seemed much larger from up here, but he’d already come this far. He took a few steps back and ran. Cheers echoed below him as he cleared the space and landed on the next building, sending a thrill through him. It was almost too bad he was about to betray them. He turned to look down at the cheering Pythons and okay, wow, that was a long way down. He would have been a pancake if he’d missed that jump.

“Nice!” Tim yelled, running over to him. “Do you do that a lot?”

“No,” he said. He brushed himself off. Then he brushed himself off again. Now that he was up here, he couldn’t believe he did that. He could have died. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he asked, turning on Tim. “What are you doing here? How the heck did you climb up here?” His thoughts stuttered as he caught his first good look at Tim. “Are those my clothes?” he asked. Tim was wearing threadbare jeans rolled up at his ankles and a too large t-shirt. He actually looked like he could be an Alley kid if not for the camera around his neck.

“Um, yeah. I got them out of your closet,” Tim said. “How do I look?”

Jason stared at him in disbelief. Of all the things Tim had done today, this wasn’t even close to the craziest but he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You went into my room. Into my closet. Into the trash bag I hid in the far back corner of my closet. And took my clothes.”

“I wanted to look like I fit in,” Tim said. “And I didn’t really know what poor people wore. I tried looking it up but it all seemed kind of like, overdramatic, you know? I didn’t want to look like I was wearing a costume. So I thought it would be better to go to a primary source.” Tim looked like he expected praise for a job well done.

“By stealing my clothes,” Jason said slowly.

Tim’s expression fell. “I didn’t really think of it like that.”

Jason pressed his knuckles into his eyes. Tim had been digging around in his stuff when he wasn’t there, without him knowing. He took a deep breath. He needed to find a better place to hide things. A mansion that big, there had to be a ton of places to squirrel things away.

“I’m sorry?” Tim said. At least he seemed to realize he’d done something wrong, even if he still didn’t know what.

“What are you even doing here?” Jason asked. He rubbed his hands down his face and tried to focus. He could deal with Tim stealing his shit later.

 One of the Python’s yelled something up at him and he ducked down to make sure they couldn’t see him. Tim followed suit.

“I just wanted to know more about where you’re from,” Tim hissed.

“Did you consider asking?” Jason hissed back. He wasn’t sure if they were trying to be quiet or squabbling like cats.

“I did ask!” Tim said, throwing his arms in the air. “A lot! You acted like I was doing something wrong.”

Jason felt like pulling his hair out. “It’s what you ask. And how you ask. It’s like I’m some dumb criminal you’ve gotten off your high horse to gawk at. I’m not a person to you. I’m a…” He waved his hand around wildly. “A research project.”

“You think you treat me like I’m a person?” Tim asked. His eyes were wide and wet. “I’m just some rich kid you have to put up with because we’re related. And trust me. I get it. That’s the only reason anyone puts up with me.”

Jason didn’t have a response to that. He sat down on the middle of the roof and flopped back to stare at the sky. Tim sat beside him.

“How long do you think we have before they copy what you did?” Tim asked.

“Not long enough,” Jason said.

They were both quiet as one of the guys yelled up at them again. Jason could almost make out the words. It sounded like he was asking what was taking so long.

Tim fiddled with his camera, turning the lens and looking through it. He turned it on Jason without warning and took a picture. Jason gave him his most unimpressed look and Tim slowly lowered the camera.

“What do you think we should do?” he asked. “You’re from here. I figured you’d have a plan.”

Jason watched the clouds lazily drifting by overhead. “Normally I’d say give them what they want and hope they let you go.” Tim clutched the camera a little tighter. “But I don’t want to risk them recognizing you and thinking they could get a much better payoff.” Or just shooting him because they felt like it.

“Or you,” Tim said.

“What?” Jason turned to eye Tim. He was sitting primly like he expected to be served tea at any moment.

“Or they could recognize you.” He worried the camera between his hands.

Jason snorted. “I think you’re overestimating my worth. The guy I talked to already knew who I am. They don’t care about some kid that grew up two blocks from here.”

“They might if they read the tabloids,” Tim said.

It took a few seconds for his words to settle, and then Jason sat up sharply. “What?”

“It was in the Gotham Inquirer this morning. ‘Bruce Wayne’s Surprise Son with Crime Alley Mistress.’ They said Crime Alley, not me,” Tim added quickly.

Crime Alley Mistress? He was going to find whatever editor greenlighted that headline and…

Then the rest of it sunk in and the righteous rage he was starting to work himself into was replaced with horror. “Did they name me?” he asked, voice croaking. How many people had already seen the article? How many still would? Mama Geraldine clearly hadn’t known. The kids at school didn’t seem to either.

“No, but they had a lot of details. It won’t be long till people figure it out. And now that one magazine’s broken the story, they’ll all be racing to get it.”

He sounded so calm and matter of fact, like it wasn’t Jason’s whole life falling apart. He’d known things were going to change, living with Wayne, but he’d thought, stupidly, that he’d always be able to go back. That he could sneak out in some old clothes and visit Mateo or Jesse or just walk around the neighborhood and everything would be the same, but it wouldn’t. It would never be the same because to them he’d be just another rich kid playing tourist. They’d never be able to look past Wayne’s money, not really, even if they tried to just see Jason and who he used to be, it would always be there in every bill they couldn’t pay, every crime they had to commit to survive, every convenience Jason didn’t even have to think about affording. The phone felt hot and heavy in the pocket of the jeans he’d bought with Daddy’s money, and oh god. They wouldn’t even want him buying things for them. He knew he wouldn’t have wanted some rich asshole buying him shit just because they could.

“Jason?” Tim asked. He sounded uncertain. “You’re breathing really hard.”

He tried to get his breath under control. There wasn’t time for this. He had to get Tim to safety. Both of them to safety. The neighborhood started shrinking around him with the realization that Wayne was right. It wasn’t safe for him here anymore.

“Jason?” Tim repeated. He reached out, but his hand hovered an inch above Jason’s skin, hesitating before making contact.

“I’m okay,” he said, focusing on his breathing. In two three, out two three. In two three, out two three. “We just… you’re right. We need to get out of here as soon as possible. We can’t let them catch either of us.”

Tim nodded. He touched Jason’s arm briefly before pulling back. Jason thought it was probably meant to be comforting. Maybe it was.

“What’s the plan?” Tim asked.

The voices below them were getting angrier. They didn’t have long before someone else tried to climb up. They might even be able to find an easier way. He’d shown them it was possible to jump between the buildings. If just one building had roof access... He stood up to survey the surrounding roofs. They might be able to use that themselves to get down, but then they’d still have to deal with the Pythons when they reached the ground. They needed a better escape plan than that.

His eyes caught on a bus heading their direction, stopped at a light a few blocks away. He knew without even looking that the next stop was a block past them, and that the bus would keep going to nicer parts of town with rich hotels.

“Do you think you could make the jump I did?” Jason asked, turning quickly on Tim, who startled at the movement.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

“Are you sure?” Jason asked. “If you fall, you’ll be a Tim pancake, and I am not taking the blame for that.”

“Our brother is one of the best acrobats in the world, and he’s been teaching me stuff since I was three,” Tim said, voice more confident than Jason had ever heard it. “I can make the jump.”

Well, that explained the drainpipe. Jason looked towards the bus stop, gauging the space between buildings. “We need to go four buildings that way,” he said, pointing. “And climb down in time to catch that bus.” He pointed back at the bus that was starting to move again.

Tim nodded and jumped to his feet. He bent at the waist to do a quick stretch, which seemed like a waste of time to Jason but if it kept him from falling then Jason wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“Ready?” he asked, when Tim straightened up. He nodded. “Then let’s move.”

He ran towards the edge and leapt. The landing hurt his ankle but he ran through it, not stopping until he reached the middle of the roof. He turned back to watch Tim, who landed in some kind of somersault. At first he thought Tim had fallen, but he popped easily to his feet at the end of the roll. “Parkour?” he said when he saw Jason watching.

“Sure thing,” Jason replied.

The yells from below got louder, and definitely sounded angry now. They must have seen the two of them jumping. Jason turned and ran for the next building. The jump for this one was shorter, but the roof was sloped. He slid backwards and grabbed a pipe to keep his balance. Exhaust pipe, probably. It would have burned him in the winter, but right now it was unused.

They didn’t have time to pause between every building, so he kept moving. He climbed up the slope and down the other side. His stomach churned anxiously, but he could hear Tim’s footsteps behind him.

The next jump was longer, and the inner roof dropped dramatically from the lip that surrounded it. He barely managed to catch himself as one foot landed awkwardly on the corner of the lip, and his momentum carried him into a two foot fall to the inner roof. His ankle definitely hurt now. He turned back to watch Tim, concerned. His roll wouldn’t work on this roof.

He didn’t need to worry. Tim landed with his hands on either side of the lip and swung down like he was jumping a fence.

“You need to teach me how to do that,” Jason said. Tim grinned back.

They had one more roof to go, and because of the lip they couldn’t make a running start. Jason climbed up and crouched unsteadily on the ledge. “It’s kind of far,” he said. “Should we climb down here?”

As he spoke, a couple of the Pythons rounded the corner, still yelling. One of them raised a gun and he jumped back just as a bullet ricocheted off the lip. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t his first time being shot at, but it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence either. He took deep breaths to calm his heartbeat.

Tim pointed at a wide chimney that raised six feet off the roof. “It’s high enough to give us leverage. Wider than the wall too.”

“We’re still gonna have to climb down, even if we make the jump.”

“Do you think we don’t have enough time?” Tim asked, shifting his weight between his feet nervously.

Jason looked at the bus, which was only a block away now, then down at the Pythons congregating between the two buildings. “I might not be great at climbing up,” he said. “But I have plenty of experience climbing down fast. You?” Tim nodded, straightening his shoulders and looking like a soldier preparing for war. “We’re going to have one chance to get this timing right.”

Tim nodded again. “We can do it.” His voice squeaked, but it was still strangely reassuring.

Jason took a deep breath. “Then let’s do it.”

Tim led the way up the chimney. He climbed like he had suction pads holding him in place. Jason followed his path, but his fingers ached from shoving them between broken bricks by the time he reached the top.

Tim braced himself like he was on starting blocks and took off running. One step, two, and then he leapt amid yells from below. He landed in a crouch and roll, and kept running, already climbing over the other side of the building as Jason readied himself for the jump.

Pain shot through his already injured ankle on the hard landing and he almost fell, but he forced himself to keep running. If they missed this bus, they didn’t have a backup plan. He could only hope the Pythons would just steal their stuff and leave them minimally scathed. It wasn’t much of a hope.

Tim had already reached the ground by the time Jason made it to the edge of the roof. From the way he kept glancing around the corner nervously, Jason could tell the bus was arriving. Here goes nothing, he thought. He vaulted over the edge onto the drainpipe and just let himself slide down. He’d done this once before, from an admittedly much lower perch, when escaping from a particularly determined cop. He squeezed his hands and thighs around the pipe as he neared the ground, but the landing still hurt. Tim grabbed his hand just as the bus pulled into view and both of them ran straight into the opening doors. The driver didn’t even blink. He’d clearly seen some shit in his days.

“Let’s go,” Jason said. “Now, now.” He could hear the yells getting closer.

“Those boys running up might also want to ride the bus,” the driver said, voice bored.

“They definitely do not,” Jason said. He turned to Tim, “Do you have money?”

“I have so much money,” Tim replied. He pulled out a handful of tens and held them towards the driver, who looked at the bills and then at them, his expression never changing. Then he took the full handful of cash and closed the bus doors. “Have a seat,” he said.

Tim dragged Jason to the back seat and they watched out the window as the bus pulled away, the Pythons still yelling behind them. “Oh my god,” Tim said as the bus turned a corner, leaving the Pythons behind. “That was amazing.”

“You’re crazy,” Jason said. “I used to think you were dumb, but no, you’re just 100% nuthouse crazy.”

Tim laughed and leaned against him. For a few minutes they just sat there while their breathing calmed and their heartbeats settled. As the view out the window changed from rundown buildings to newer, nicer construction, Tim said, “Thank you for coming for me.”

“I wouldn’t just leave you in danger,” Jason said.

“You could have,” Tim said. “I know you don’t like me.”

“I don’t know you,” Jason said. “Clearly,” he added, remembering Tim running easily across the buildings. “You do really need to stop spying on me and taking pervy pictures all the time though or I will punch you.”

Tim huffed. “They’re not pervy.”

“Oh, now suddenly you know what pervy means?” Jason asked, amused.

“I always knew what it meant,” Tim said. “I was just messing with Dick.” At Jason’s incredulous expression, Tim added, “I do have the internet.”

Jason laughed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You’re a piece of work.” He felt Tim shrug against his arm. “I’m serious though, okay? No spying on me. No taking pictures of me without my permission. No going in my room when I’m not there. No stealing my stuff. Got it?”

Tim was silent for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay,” he said. “But will you actually answer my questions when I ask? I just want to know, really. Everyone acts like I’m too young to talk to about this stuff, but I’m not.”

“I don’t think you’re too young,” Jason said. He was a lot younger when he had to learn about all the shit in the world. “A little naive, maybe.”

“Well how am I supposed to learn if nobody tells me?”

That was fair. “Okay, but if you’re an offensive little brat I’m not going to coddle you.”

“Good,” Tim said.

Jason watched the buildings out the window. He recognized some of this from his trips with Jesse. They should probably get off soon. Should they get another cab? They weren’t in a hurry anymore and he didn’t know how much money they had left. He started thinking through bus and subway maps, trying to chart the best way back to school before remembering that he didn’t even have his uniform. He groaned.

“What?” Tim asked.

“I cannot believe I skipped on my first day of school. All those shits are going to think I confirm every stereotype they have about dumb Alley kids.”

“You still have time to go back,” Tim said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “You only missed like an hour.”

“I don’t even have my uniform,” Jason said. “I left it at the thrift shop where I got these clothes.”

Tim looked at the clothes, and then at Jason’s face. His expression went from confused to determined, and he stood up, grabbing Jason by the arm as he did and pulling him along. “We need to get off,” he called to the driver.

“There is a button for that,” Jason said, but the driver was already pulling to the side of the road. They weren’t even at a stop. Apparently bribery worked.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked as they got off the bus. Tim already had his phone to his ear.

“Alex, I need a ride. Are you available? I’ll pay you double.” Tim looked around until he found an address. “1280 Taylor Boulevard. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Jason asked as he ended the call.

“I have a list of taxi drivers willing to look the other way when I need to get around,” Tim said, showing Jason his phone. The contact was entered as Alex Taxi, like Taxi was his last name. Under that were Donny Taxi, Lisette Taxi, Marcelo Taxi, Toby Taxi, and Uriah Taxi. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” Jason said. Tim handed him the phone and Jason started adding the numbers to his contact list. “That still doesn’t answer my question, though. What are we doing?”

“Getting your uniform and taking you back to school,” Tim said.

Jason’s thumb stopped mid-tap. “What? There’s not much point now. I’ve already missed one class. Probably two by the time I could get back.”

“So we’ll come up with a story,” Tim insisted. “Get Dick on your side if we need to. He can convince anyone of anything.”

“And tell him I was rescuing your ass from Crime Alley?”

“Jiminy Cricket, no,” Tim said. “Dick would freak if he had any idea where I went. Dad too. That’s why I called you.”

Dick had been decent to him. Way too chipper for his tastes, but nice. “I don’t really want to lie to him.”

“Then we’ll keep him out of it if we can.” A cab turned the corner and Tim raised on his tiptoes to wave at it. The car pulled over and the driver, Alex apparently, jumped out to open the door for them. He looked early 20’s at most.

“Hi, Tim,” he said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my brother, Jason,” Tim said, motioning to him. “He might call you sometime.”

“Cool,” Alex said. “I read about you.”

Jason forced a tight smile at him as he climbed into the cab. It was already starting.

The trip back to Crime Alley was much shorter than the trip out. It wasn’t just that the cab stopped less; it was like it didn’t stop at all. They slid through stop signs, turned corners before stoplights, and used the bike lane to bypass traffic. Honestly, it was a miracle nobody got hurt. As they pulled up in front of Mama Geraldine’s, Jason ducked down and looked both ways to make sure there weren’t any signs of the Pythons. So far so good.

“Wait here for us,” Tim said as he slid towards the door. “We’ll be quick.”

“Sure thing!” Alex said, already pulling out his phone to play with while he waited.

They sprinted from the cab into the thrift shop. Jason’s ankle twinged, but it didn’t seem like he’d injured it too badly. That was lucky.

The store was still mostly empty. One older woman looked up at their hasty entrance before continuing her shopping. Jason thought he might recognize her from the laundromat, but if she recognized him, she clearly didn’t care.

Jason led the way up to the counter. “Hey, Mama,” he said. “Can I get my uniform?”

“That didn’t take long.” She pulled it out from under the counter. “Who’s this?” she asked. Her gaze landed on Tim’s camera instead of his face. Jason should have told him to leave the stupid thing in the car. Too late now.

“Just a friend,” Jason said.

Tim raised a hand in greeting. When Mama Geraldine put the uniform on the counter, his brow scrunched up. “What did you do to this?” he asked. He picked up the shirt and eyed the wrinkles.

“Ran a mile to save your sorry ass,” Jason said.

“Well that’s gonna make this harder.” Tim put the shirt on the counter and tried to smooth it out with his hand.

Jason mentally winced, then turned to Mama Geraldine. “You mentioned an iron?” he asked sheepishly.

She nodded, still eyeing Tim. “It’s in the back.”

It only took a few minutes to iron out the worst of the wrinkles and change. Mama Geraldine watched them as Tim messed with his tie and jacket, trying to make him look presentable.

“This isn’t for a scam, is it?” she asked when Tim was finished.

Jason thought about lying, but what was the point? Everyone was going to know soon enough. “No,” he said, voice breaking on the short word. Tim glanced between them with interest. He didn’t get it, Jason could tell, but he knew something was up. “I found my father?” he added. He couldn’t help the uncertainty that crept into his voice. It was the first time, even in the privacy of his own head, he’d admitted this might actually be real.

She nodded. She looked sad, more than anything else. Like she’d heard someone had died. “Good luck,” she said solemnly. He wondered how much she’d already figured out. If she had seen the article and was putting together the pieces.

It didn’t really matter. He handed her the clothes he’d bought from her just an hour earlier. “You can resell these,” he said. “I don’t need them.”

Jason was quiet as they climbed back into the cab more carefully than they’d climbed out. They’d done their best, but his uniform was one bad shake away from erupting in a flurry of wrinkles. There was still no sign of the Pythons. Maybe they were still chasing the bus. More likely they were bursting into Jason’s old apartment only to learn he didn’t live there anymore.

“What was that about?” Tim asked, motioning back at the thrift store as they pulled away.

“Just another place I’ll probably never go back to,” Jason muttered bitterly. Tim looked confused but let it go. He gave Alex the address, then settled back into the seat next to Jason.

“Our best plan here is to play on people’s sympathies.” He messed with Jason’s tie as he talked, a corner of his mouth twisting downward. “It’s your first day at a new school, in a new social class, and it was all a little overwhelming. Think you can do that?”

It hit a little too close to home. His chest tightened at the reminder of everything he was leaving behind. Instead of answering he asked, “That what you would do?”

“I don’t usually bother,” Tim said, looking down at his kicking feet thoughtfully. “It’s what Dick would do though. Big puppy dog eyes, apologetic smiles. I’m telling you, he can get away with anything. I’ve seen it.”

“It probably doesn’t hurt that he’s Adonis personified.”

Tim laughed loudly and abruptly. “Yeah, probably. It worked when he was a scrawny thirteen year old too though.” Tim shot him a impish smile.

“Who you calling scrawny?” Jason asked in fake outrage, as if he hadn’t overheard Alfred making concerned phone calls to nutritionists asking how to fight malnutrition. Tim snorted.

Jason took a deep breath as the school came into view. He couldn’t deny that it filled him with a sense of dread, but he was going to make it work.

“Remember,” Tim said as they pulled up. “Puppy dog eyes.” He continued fiddling with Jason’s uniform, trying to straighten the rough edges.

Jason knocked his hands away. “I’ve got it. I still don’t think it’s going to work though.” He stepped out and brushed his hands down his uniform. Despite their best efforts, it still looked like he’d slept in it. Maybe he could claim that’s what he’d been doing. A nap while de-stressing.

They were going to kick him out and it was only his first day of school.

“It will,” Tim insisted, leaning out after him. “Puppy dog eyes.” He pointed at his own eyes and barely pulled back in time as Jason closed the door in his face.

“Go back to school!” Jason yelled after him as the car started to pull away. “You know that’s what normal people do!”

***

He’d been pretty sure Tim was bullshitting, or just plain wrong, but it really was as easy to get back into class as Tim made it sound. He went to the dean’s office with his best apologetic smiles and puppy dog eyes. He must have looked ridiculous, but the dean greeted him with sympathy. Maybe even pity. Jason had to keep a hand clenched in his pocket the whole time to keep his smile in place. In the end, the dean not only promised to erase the absences, he also walked Jason to his in-progress class and talked to his teacher for him.

It had to be because of this Bruce Wayne business. Wayne had pulled strings to get him into the school, and those strings were still taut.

He tried not to think about it in his last two classes, but his nerves were fried by the time school ended. Dick and Alfred were waiting for him by the car when he walked out, and from a distance he was sure they were judging him. There was no way the dean hadn’t said anything. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if Wayne had hired someone to follow him around and make sure he was staying out of trouble. He didn’t even notice he was slowing down until Dick yelled, “Come on, slowpoke!”

That didn’t sound angry. It sounded amused. And now that he was closer, he could see Dick was smiling.

Alfred still looked a little judgmental, but less at him than his jacket. Right. Jason suddenly wished they'd spent significantly more time ironing.

"Oh, Master Jason," Alfred said as Jason stopped in front of them. "You must learn to be much kinder to your clothes." Alfred brushed a hand across Jason's shoulder. Jason wasn't sure what that was meant to accomplish but Alfred looked displeased at the results.

He opened his mouth to apologize but Dick beat him to the punch.

"He's fine, Alf. Leave him be." Dick fluttered his hand at Alfred's arm until he pulled it back. "If the school wanted us to look perfect every day, they should have given us sweaters instead of suits."

Alfred's lips twitched. "Still."

"I'm sorry, Alfred," he said before Dick could defend him again. "I'll work on it." He wasn't sure exactly what he'd be working on—not running in a hundred degree heat?—but Alfred seemed satisfied with the response.

"Please do," he said. He opened the door to the backseat for them, which still made Jason feel so awkward. They were in public. People could see this happening. Jason glanced around to see if anyone was watching, but not only did no one seem to care, there were other drivers opening doors for other students on the same bit of road. So weird.

“How was the rest of your day?” Dick asked, raising a foot to rest on the floorboard but not yet moving to get in.

“Not bad,” Jason said carefully, just in case it was a trap waiting to be sprung.

“See!” Dick said with a grin. It looked genuine. “I told you it would get better.” As he climbed into the backseat, his phone trilled the first few notes of some pop song. He barely glanced at it before continuing straight out the other side of the car. “Whoops! Totally forgot I was meeting some friends. Gotta go.” He walked backwards, waving as he spoke. “Glad school went well, Jason. Later!” Then he ran off with more urgency than Jason thought any hangout session deserved.

“That was weird,” he said as Alfred settled into the driver’s seat.

“Master Richard has quite the busy social life,” Alfred said.

As Jason watched, Dick ran straight up to a fence and flipped over it in one easy movement. Right. Busy.

He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop while he wandered the halls later that evening. He barely needed the maps anymore to find his way around. Now he was looking for secrets. Invisible cubbies. Hidden passages, if there really were any. Anywhere he could stuff a large bag without someone finding it. He didn’t fully believe Tim’s promise not to snoop anymore. Every time he found a potential hiding spot though, he imagined someone finding his bag and throwing it away because it looked like trash. His guts wrenched at the thought. Maybe he’d keep it in his closet after all.

He’d just turned back towards his room when he heard voices, one of them sharp and angry. His first instinct was to retreat. He was already backing away and looking for a different path when his logical brain caught up. There were only so many people it could be, and if one of them was going to be a threat, he’d rather know it now. He crept forward instead, keeping on his toes to make as little noise as possible.

As he approached, one of the voices resolved into Wayne’s. He wasn’t yelling, but he clearly wasn’t happy either. Jason strained his ears to hear the words.

“...even doing all day?”

The response was too quiet for Jason to hear, but he had a pretty good idea what it was about. His chest constricted. What were the odds little Timmy wasn’t giving him up right now? Maybe even blaming him for the whole thing. He crept closer until he heard, “...big deal. I already know it all anyway, and my tutors will teach me anything I don’t.”

“You only have tutors because you refuse to go to school!” Apparently this wasn’t a one time thing. “You’re so smart, Tim. You could be at the top of your class if you actually tried.” Jason couldn’t hear Tim’s muttered response but Wayne replied, “It matters for a lot of things. College applications for one. What would your mother think?”

Jason was just around a corner from them now, hand pressed hard against the wall.

“I don’t know,” Tim said, voice low and more bitter than Jason had heard it before. “Think you could get her on the phone long enough to ask?”

Jason had the sudden sharp feeling that this conversation wasn’t any of his business. He started backing up. The silence following Tim’s question was long enough that Jason suspected it was a sore spot, or at least a really awkward one. He certainly felt awkward enough just overhearing it. Had Wayne taken Tim away from his mom too? Jason still had no idea where his mom even was, or if Wayne had any intention of letting him see her again. Despite her promise, she hadn’t called. He wondered if she’d forgotten.

The pain at that thought resonated more with Tim’s tone than his anger at being taken away from his mom. Being forgotten. He stopped his retreat.

Wayne was talking again. “If you don’t improve your attendance immediately” blah blah, whatever, fuck him. Jason braced himself and started walking casually around the corner, as if their discussion hadn’t interrupted his trip back to his room.

Wayne quieted and turned to look at him the moment he stepped into their hallway, despite Jason being behind him and at least twenty feet back. Jason didn’t think he was walking that loudly. Did the guy have the ears of a fox?

It didn’t matter. He wanted Wayne to notice him.

“Jason,” Wayne said. “How was school?”

“It was fine.” He waited to see if Tim, or the dean, or anyone had given him up, but apparently he wasn’t giving the world enough credit. It looked like Wayne actually didn’t know.

“I’m glad—” Wayne started, but Jason wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Tim. He’d been smart enough to change back into the khakis and button down shirt ensemble that made him look like an Armani for Kids cover model. He looked sullen, and Jason knew this was just a temporary reprieve before Wayne started lecturing him again.

“Actually, I hated it,” Jason interrupted, turning his attention back to Wayne. “The people are awful and the only thing all that money you’ve donated has paid for is a chance to hang out with the rich kids and isolate anyone not already in your little club, but sure. I’m glad this is what determines my ability to get into a good college.” Wayne pursed his lips and looked ready to launch into another lecture, but Jason didn’t give him a chance. He turned back to Tim. “Yo, Timberly, wanna play cards? I’ll teach you poker.”

Tim’s gaze brightened. “Yes. Is that what you did for fun in Park Row?”

“Sometimes.” Rarely, but he saw the adults he was selling goods to playing often enough. He grabbed Tim’s sleeve and started pulling him along after him. “The older kids would play for money, but they also cheated. Actually, my friend Jesse once—”

“We are going to talk later,” Wayne said from behind them. Jason glanced back. Wayne looked more resigned than angry.

“If we have to,” Jason said.

He let go of Tim’s sleeve as they turned a corner and Tim settled into pace beside him.

“Jesse?” he prompted.

“Yeah. You’d probably like Jesse. He’s a troublemaker too.” Tim grinned like that was the greatest compliment Jason could give him. “And…” He hesitated before continuing. He didn’t really want to say this part, but honestly he’d never expected Tim to listen to him in the first place. “It sounds dumb when you say Park Row. You can say Crime Alley if you really want.” Tim’s grin brightened even more at that. Christ, he was a weird kid.

“I’ll take the responsibility seriously,” he said like he’d just been sworn in as a judge.

Jason barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You do that,” he said. “So Jesse, not being one to worry about things like mortal danger and big beefy guys with guns, decided he was going to try and cheat one of the Maroni brothers out of his hard earned cash...”

Chapter Text

By the end of the week, Jason was sure everybody in the world had seen the article except for him. The kids at school were definitely treating him differently. Not better, exactly, but different. Nobody knocked into him in the hallway, but that was because they were too busy judging him from a distance. Maybe they hadn’t decided what they thought of him yet. Or maybe they had, and what they thought was he was too dirty to get within two feet of.

Fuck them anyway. He didn’t care what they thought, but he did want to know what the damn article said. Tim said he saw it in the manor, but Jason couldn’t find a copy of the magazine anywhere, not even in the basket of old magazines in the library. Every other magazine from the past two months was there, but not that one. It wasn’t at any of the stores close enough to his school for him to sneak to during lunch either. ‘Sold Out’, they said, which he thought was bullshit. How was everyone managing to read the magazine if it wasn’t sold anywhere?

“You could always just read it online,” Tim said without raising his eyes from his phone as he shoveled eggs into his mouth. They heard footsteps in the hallway and he quickly hid the phone on his lap and raised his elbows off the table as Alfred walked into the room.

“Good posture, Master Timothy,” Alfred said, and Tim beamed at him. Alfred turned his gaze to Jason, who slouched over the table until his chin was almost resting in his eggs. “Yes, well, we will work on it,” Alfred said, his lips twitching.

“No Dickie and Wayne today?” Jason asked, sitting up just enough to eat.

“Master Richard is visiting friends this weekend, and Master Bruce had a long night. I’m sure he will join us later.”

Jason grunted. He’d prefer Wayne kept his distance.

Alfred refilled their glasses with orange juice, picked up an empty tray, and headed back to the kitchen. The moment he was out of sight, Tim’s phone was back in his hand and elbows back on the table.

“What do you mean I can read it online?” Jason asked, continuing their conversation from before Alfred interrupted.

“On the magazine’s website,” Tim said. At Jason’s silence he looked up. “Pretty much all magazines have websites. You didn’t know that?”

“I’ve never had a computer,” Jason said defensively.

“Oh,” Tim said.

“It’s not like I don’t know how to use one.” Jason stabbed a piece of fruit with his fork. He didn’t like Tim’s expression—shocked, bordering on pitying. “My school had a few and they taught us word processing and Google.”

“Oh,” Tim repeated, sounding if anything more distressed.

“Stop that,” Jason said. “Do you really think computers were my priority when I didn’t even know if we’d eat that week?” Okay, now Tim’s expression was definitely pitying. Jason shoved the murdered fruit in his mouth and pointed his fork at Tim. “If you don’t get that expression off your face I will punch it off.”

“Right, um, well, here, let me see your phone.”

Jason held it out but didn’t let Tim take it out of his hand. Not that he didn’t trust Tim, but that phone was worth too much to gleefully hand it over to anyone.

Tim scooched his chair over until he was pressed against Jason’s side. “Okay, so, see,” he said, clicking on an icon in the bottom corner of the screen. “This is the internet and just about everything you want to know is on it.”

“I know what the internet is, asshole.”

“I’m just being thorough!” Tim said. “I don’t know what you know.” He tapped the bar at the top of the screen. “You can type the website name here or whatever you want to Google if you don’t know the name.”

He wanted to snap at Tim again, but he actually didn’t know that last part. He knew he should learn this stuff, and that Tim was trying to help, but his tone made Jason feel like he was some imbecile who’d just crawled out of a gutter and found out electricity existed.

Tim typed ‘Gotham Inquirer Bruce Wayne son’ and a list of results came up. The first few were about Dick or Tim—his gaze caught on one that proclaimed, “Wayne Heir Skips Olympic Tryouts?”—but the fourth was about him. “There you go!” Tim said, clicking on it. “You can find basically anything like that.”

Jason swallowed as he read the headline. ‘Bruce Wayne’s Surprise Son with Crime Alley Mistress’. Tim had said it, but it was different seeing it in print. More real. He wondered if his mom had seen this, if she was cognizant enough to even understand it. “Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, already reading the first few lines.

Shock waves rippled through the normally steady Wayne Enterprises tower on Thursday when a paternity test revealed that a Crime Alley teenager was Bruce Wayne’s biological son. Wayne is no stranger to children out of wedlock but this is the first time he learned about one years after their birth.

“He really had no idea. You could tell,” said Kristina Wilcox. Kristina was fired from her job as Wayne’s Executive Assistant after telling friends about Wayne’s indiscretion.

“She was what?” He was standing before he realized it. He remembered Wayne’s secretary. A perfectly nice woman who definitely didn’t deserve to be fired for daring to tell people that he existed. What, had Wayne wanted to keep him hidden away in a cupboard under the stairs but couldn’t get away with it because his secretary had the audacity to tell someone about her day?

“Jason?” Tim asked.

“Where’s Wayne’s room?” Jason asked through gritted teeth. He kept scanning the article but his brain was only registering details here and there. Someone speculating Wayne must have been looking for drugs in the Alley when he hooked up with Jason’s mom. Something about a gala the next week that nobody thought Wayne would dare bring Jason to. Of course not. He fired people who talked about Jason. Why would anyone think he’d want people to actually meet him?

Tim stood up too. His eyes kept darting towards the hallway like he thought someone else might show up to handle Jason. Bad luck for him. “I think he’s still asleep.”

“He can wake up,” Jason growled.

***

Even the hallway outside the master bedroom was way too extravagant. The room was at the end of a long hallway, but instead of a narrow rectangle ending in a simple door like a normal building, the already wide hallway expanded into a circular sitting area. It had an antique chair, a side table, and a chandelier, for fuck’s sake. Did he expect enough people to stand in line outside his bedroom that they needed a place to sit while they waited their turn? Maybe he did. Maybe he should add a magazine rack.

All of this ended in an arched double doorway as fancy as anything Jason had seen on the front of a house. Jason banged on it before he had a chance to change his mind. Doubts were already creeping in. Did he really want to do this here? In Wayne’s sex waiting room? And what did a long night mean for Wayne exactly because if there was a girl in there with him, Jason did not want to know.

Okay, never mind, fuck this. He turned to go, but before he could get more than a step the door slammed open. He jumped and almost tripped in his hurry to get away from it.

Wayne towered in the doorway wearing only boxers and pulling a shirt over his head. Just before it covered his chest completely, Jason saw bright red scratch marks standing out against his otherwise pale skin. Oh god, he was having sex. Kinky sex, apparently. Jason did not want to think about a guy who had apparently had sex with his mom being into kinky sex.

Bruce’s eyes were ice cold and Jason’s breath caught in his throat as they landed on him. He hunched down, trying to look as small as possible before he realized what he was doing. He wasn’t the kid that hid behind furniture hoping not to be noticed anymore. He straightened up and puffed out his chest. Sure, Wayne could still pound him into the ground, but Jason wouldn’t go down easy.

After a second, the ice in Wayne’s eyes melted to something closer to confusion. “Jason? Is there an emergency?” He looked past Jason, scanning the hallway.

“Yes,” Jason said, setting his shoulders and raising his phone screen towards Wayne. “This.”

Wayne looked at the phone and his brows scrunched together. “Your phone?”

Jason turned the screen towards him. It had turned off while he was waiting. “No, I mean.” He opened it back up and turned it towards Wayne again. “This.”

Wayne’s confusion cleared, but it wasn’t replaced with another emotion. Instead his face just went blank. “I see. Can we talk about this in a few hours when I’ve gotten some sleep?”

“No. We’re going to talk about it now.” Actually Jason kind of really wanted to escape right now and that would have been a good out but apparently he was incapable of accepting any offers Wayne gave him. His eyes flicked towards the open doorway. He was a little worried whoever gave Wayne those scratches was still in there.

“Fine,” Wayne said. “Come in.” Wayne wouldn’t invite him in if he had a girl (or girls. It could be multiple girls) over, right? Jason didn’t think he could handle that level of awkward.

Wayne led him into a room that was at least three times as large as the one he’d tried to give Jason when he moved in. Which meant there were a ton of places for Jason to look that weren’t the bed, and yet he couldn’t stop his eyes from slipping that way. He finally gave in and looked. Empty. Good. That was a relief. Also, it was ridiculously huge. Wayne could fit at least five girls in that bed. Jason did not think five girls big was a standard size that beds came in.

“Have a seat,” Wayne said when they reached a sitting area as big as Jason’s combo living room and kitchen back home. “I’m going to put on some pants.”

Jason’s eyes immediately flicked down to Wayne’s bare legs. He had scratches there too. And scars. What the heck kind of sexual hijinks did Wayne get up to?

He forced himself to look at the article instead. He scanned it again, slower this time, while he waited for Wayne to return. Every word ratcheted his anger back up, reminding him why he was here.

“Jason.”

He nearly threw his phone. He hadn’t heard Wayne approach at all. What kind of soundproof carpets did he have in this room? Wayne now looked surprisingly casual in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He didn’t know rich people had ever even heard of sweatpants. He looked like he’d splashed water on his face, but it did nothing to hide his bloodshot eyes and dark circles so deep they wouldn’t be out of place on a skeleton. He looked like Willis after a night of drinking and hitting people. Jason took a deep breath to push down the memory.

Wayne sat down in the other little settee chaise ottoman across from him and focused his way too serious gaze on Jason. Why was he just staring? Why wasn’t he saying anything? It took embarrassingly long for him to realize Wayne was waiting for him to speak first. Well, he was the one who came barging in here.

He cleared his throat and held up the phone again, this time making sure the screen was on before showing it to Wayne. “You fired your secretary?”

Wayne’s expression didn’t change. “She revealed sensitive—”

“Because she talked about me.”

“I need to trust that my—”

“She was nice to me you know?” Jason stood up and started pacing circles around the stupid, probably thousand-dollar antique chair. “And you fired her because, what? You didn’t want people to know I existed? I’m so sorry to be an inconvenience to your perfect little—.”

“Do you want me to tell people about you?” Wayne interrupted without sounding like he was interrupting. His voice was calm and serious. “I can have a press release out by lunch.”

Jason stumbling to a stop. He didn’t exactly want the world knowing either, but there was a big difference between him not wanting people to find out and the person who was supposed to be his father actively hiding Jason’s existence, and punishing other people for revealing it.

“That’s not the point,” he said.

Wayne’s expression still wasn’t showing any emotion. Jason hated it. He couldn’t tell if Wayne was mad, apologetic, what. How was he supposed to protect himself if he didn’t know how Wayne might react?

Wayne entwined his fingers in front of his mouth and watched Jason for a few seconds before responding. When he did talk, it was slow and deliberate. “I don’t fire people lightly, Jason. She didn’t ‘talk about you.’ She went to the press and sold the story. A lot of sensitive, classified information goes through my office and I need to trust that my assistant won’t reveal it to the highest bidder.”

Damn it, that actually made sense. Jason resumed stomping around the chair. He wasn’t ready to be done being angry yet. “What about this gala they’re talking about?” he asked, waving the phone above his head. “They’re so certain you wouldn’t want me there, and apparently they’re right because nobody’s mentioned it to me.”

“The Women and Children’s Charity Gala?” Wayne asked. He sounded so hoity-toity saying the name. “I assumed you wouldn’t want to go. These events tend to be… uptight.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you don’t get to just make decisions for me,” Jason said. “You didn’t even ask.”

“Do you want to go?” Wayne asked.

“Are Dick and Tim going?”

Wayne paused before responding, but somehow it didn’t sound like a hesitation. “They’re expected to make an appearance.”

“Then, yes.” He turned and faced Wayne with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his fists clenched at his sides. He wasn’t backing down on this. “I do.”

***

Jason had made a terrible mistake. It wasn’t even thirty minutes into the gala, and he was already regretting not just deciding to come, but also meeting Wayne, growing up in Gotham, and being born at all. He hated the tux, which for some reason needed its own fitting, despite Jason having already had his measurements thoroughly (a little too thoroughly for his tastes) taken for his school uniform. He hated how it itched at the cuffs, and how the bow tie felt like a noose wrapped around his neck.

He had no idea where Tim was. Last he’d seen, Tim had disappeared into the crowd with two handfuls of hors d'oeuvres and hadn’t reemerged. Dick was dancing with his third middle-aged woman in a row, and Jason would think it was some weird fetish except the women were clearly lining up to ask him. Which was also weird. Dick was only seventeen, and those old broads needed to back off.

Wayne was the worst. From the moment they’d entered the room, he’d had a bright, friendly smile and was cheerfully chatting with people. He could hear Wayne’s loud laughter over the noise of the crowd, and what the hell was that? He hadn’t seen Wayne smile this much since he’d come to the manor. He wasn’t sure he’d seen Wayne smile at all. He was acting like Dick and it was really wigging him out.

Maybe it was alcohol. Had he pregamed the gala? Jason inched around a group of young women in colorful dresses, doing his best to hide behind a flared skirt as he snuck a glance at Wayne. He was gesturing dramatically with an empty champagne glass while telling what was apparently a hilarious story, judging from the reactions of the people around him. As he watched, Wayne put the empty glass down on a waiter’s tray and took a new drink, downing it all in one quick swig. So yeah, probably alcohol.

He’d rather it be that than the alternative—that Wayne could just turn on and off personalities at will. That was the kind of thing psychopaths did. Jason had barely escaped enough of them to know.

“He is gorgeous,” the woman whose skirt he was hiding behind said. Jason jumped away. She was also looking at Wayne and for a second he thought she was talking to him, which, ew.

“So not worth it though,” another woman said. Jason’s heartbeat calmed. They hadn’t noticed him. He started creeping away but stopped. Why wasn’t Wayne worth it? Was it something he needed to know? “Would you really want to be his next baby mama?” Oh, right. That. All three women tittered as he escaped.

Tim had the right idea. Get food and get lost.

As far as he could tell there wasn’t a central food location. Guests had to accost one of the waiters walking around with platters to get fed. It was the rich person version of begging for loose change.

The first two waiters he tried to signal didn’t even notice him, so exactly like begging for loose change actually. The third stopped for someone standing next to him, an older lady with a dress that opened at the top like a flower. She motioned to him and the waiter startled like he hadn’t seen Jason there and then shoved the tray down at him. “Sorry, sir,” he said with real fear in his voice.

“It’s whatever,” Jason muttered as he took some cracker confection off the tray. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended because, seriously, he wasn’t that short, it shouldn’t be that easy to overlook him, or because the guy seemed so nervous. Did he think Jason was going to bite?

Judging from the way the guy hurried off, glancing fretfully behind him, the answer to that was probably yes.

“You must be Bruce’s newest,” the woman said, delicately nibbling on an hors d'oeuvre that was clearly mouth-sized.

“Technically, Tim is his newest,” Jason said. The woman laughed uproariously like he’d just completed a comedy set. Was it because he was Wayne’s kid? If she asked him to dance, he was yelling pedophile and finding Alfred.

“If you want these people to pay attention to you, you need to be more assertive,” she said. “Show them you’re the boss.”

“But I’m not the boss,” Jason said.

“Of course you are.” She turned to a waiter walking past and said in a sharp tone, “Excuse me. Bruce Wayne’s son would like an hors d'oeuvre.”

The waiter’s eyes went wide when they landed on him. Jason didn’t like it one bit. “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” He hurriedly shoved the tray at Jason.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled. He still hadn’t eaten the other hors d’oeuvre he’d grabbed, but he took another without making eye contact. The guy kept hovering so he took a bite to show that he was satisfied, and immediately spat it back out. “What is that?” he asked. It was disgustingly salty and slimy, and when he bit down it felt like water balloons of filth bursting in his mouth.

“Caviar?” the waiter replied, now sounding terrified.

“Clearly a bad batch,” the woman said and waved a dismissive hand at him. “Throw it out.”

“All of it?” the guy asked, voice quivering.

“Of course,” the woman said. “Do you want to serve bad caviar to Bruce Wayne’s guests? Get going now.”

Jason shook his head at the guy, trying to indicate that he shouldn’t, but he was already hurrying off.

“See?” the woman said. “That’s how you handle them.”

“Yeah, uh.” Jason searched the crowd for anyone he could use as an excuse to get away from her, and felt a burst of relief when he spotted Dick. He was standing with some redhead who was actively stripping in the middle of the ballroom. Just his jacket, but he was moving his hips like he was making a show of it while Dick laughed. “I’m going to go talk to my brother.”

“You’ll learn,” the woman called after him as he hurried away. The smirk was clear in her voice.

By the time Jason reached Dick, the redhead had tossed his jacket onto a nearby table and was rolling up his sleeves. Jason wished he could get away with that. Actual rich people were allowed to look disheveled. If Jason did, it would be because he lacked class.

“Heya, Jay. Having fun?” Dick asked as he approached. He reached out a hand to ruffle Jason’s hair, but Jason sidestepped it.

“Not even slightly. Some broad just told a waiter to throw out all the caviar.”

Both teens turned to look where Jason had come from. “Ms. Dubois?” Dick asked, not sounding nearly concerned enough. “Sounds like something she’d do.” The redhead snorted in agreement. Apparently this was just the latest in a trail of destruction she left behind her. “Don’t worry, the waitstaff know not to listen to anyone but Alfred.” Jason turned to where the waiter had hurried off to. That was a lot of food. A lot of money for a lot of food, and even if it was disgusting nobody should waste it. “Annnd you’re clearly still worrying,” Dick said. He put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, and Jason immediately shrugged it off. “I’ll go talk to them just to make sure.”

Dick clearly thought he was making a big deal out of nothing. He should just forget it. But he kept imagining the guy telling people Bruce Wayne’s son said they had to throw out the caviar. What happened to all the caviar? Bruce Wayne’s son didn’t like it. Or the guy just throwing it out on his own and then getting fired because he should have known better, regardless of what Bruce Wayne’s son had said. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to say, “You don’t have to.”

“Already doing it!” Dick said in a singsong voice as he walked backwards away from Jason.

“Bring me some of those mini brioches,” the redhead called as Dick twirled on his heel and disappeared into the crowd. Jason had no idea what a brioche was, but it didn’t sound better than caviar. “He didn’t hear me,” he continued, more to himself than to Jason. He started loosening his bow tie and Jason watched enviously. He wondered how long he’d be able to get away with not having a tie before someone would comment on it. With his luck, two minutes. Tops. “You’re Jason, right?” Jason snapped away from staring at his neck—probably like some crazed serial killer, what was wrong with him—to see the guy watching him with a bemused expression.

“What? Yeah. What about it?” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive. All the guy did was ask his name. He felt like he was in one of those fairy tales where opening the wrong door meant certain death and opening the other door probably still wasn’t good because fairy tales hated children.

“Dick’s talked about you so much I think I know more about you than my own family.” He muttered something as he tossed the tie over his jacket that sounded like, which is good. “I’m Roy,” he added as he turned back, already unbuttoning his top button.

“Did I miss something about this being a clothing-optional event or is that the secret party in the back?”

Roy’s fingers stilled on the button, and then he laughed. “Dick didn’t mention that. You’re what, thirteen? I think you’re a little young for the clothing-optional party.”

Jason’s cheeks heated up but he refused to let himself be cowed. “It would be more natural than wearing this.” He motioned to the suffocating bow tie, stiff cummerbund, and pointy-toed shoes that threatened to cut off his circulation.

“The good news is, if you don’t care about anyone’s approval, you can wear whatever you want.” He smiled and waved at a snooty looking guy with an upturned nose, who huffed and walked away at the attention. “Wilfred Molloy. Inherited a few million from his grandfather but managed to lose it all to bad business investments. He’s only still afloat because my dad bought his latest bankrupt business. He’ll gossip to his friends about my lack of decorum because it makes him feel superior but if I wasted my time caring what pompous assholes think I’d have no time left.”

Roy was his new hero. He thought about yanking off his tie and throwing it in a dramatic gesture worthy of Gone with the Wind, but unfortunately he did still care what these pompous assholes thought. At least enough to prove to Wayne that he could do this and not be an embarrassment to the family name, and to prove to the assholes themselves that being poor didn’t mean being incapable of getting along.

“I’m gonna go mingle,” Roy said, apparently done stripping. He was now just wearing the tux pants and a partially unbuttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Jason was surprised he hadn’t kicked off his shoes. “Stay out of trouble.” He winked at Jason over his shoulder as he easily entered the flow of the crowd. “And stay away from the after-party till you’re older.”

Jason scowled after him but he was already gone. He shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot as he watched the guests. All of the rich people were forming groups, separating, and forming new groups like it was some kind of dance. He felt like the only character in a musical who hadn’t learned the songs.

He realized he was still holding an hors d'oeuvre, the first one he’d picked up. He hesitated, but it was a different kind than the other one and he didn’t want to waste food. He took a small bite, and okay, yeah, this was also disgusting. What the hell? All the money in the world and these people couldn’t afford cocktail weenies?

Maybe he could just leave. This was their house. Surely he could just walk out and go to his room.

But then he’d be admitting Wayne was right, that he couldn’t handle this. He straightened his back and strutted towards the nearest group of reasonably young people. This whole thing was supposed to be about charity. He could hold a conversation with someone about charity.

“—with some whore from Crime Alley, can you believe it?” a voice said from close enough to his right that Jason stiffened in his stride. He jerkily turned his head to look at the man who had spoken. He was in a group of middle-aged men and women, all decked out in gold and jewels from a bulky, garish necklace to gaudy cufflinks. Charity his ass. “First a circus freak, then this. At least one of his women had class.”

A couple of people nodded and murmured in assent.

“Poor Janet must be horrified,” a woman said, holding a hand to her heart like she’d witnessed a freakin’ murder. “No wonder she didn’t stay with him. I wouldn’t be able to handle those kinds of proclivities either.”

The man nodded, his jewelry jangling with the sharp motion. “He probably has a whole harem of—”

“Ah, Ronny!” a booming voice said from the other side of the group. Oh, God no. Jason started backing up and trying to walk quickly in a different direction but it was too late. “Have you met my son? Jason, come here.” Jason reluctantly moved to Wayne’s side. He still had that goofy over-the-top grin on his face that made him look like a body snatcher.

The man who’d called his mom a whore smiled back with tightly pressed lips. “Ronald, please. It’s nice to meet you Jason.”

“Yeah, it sounded like you were really looking forward to meeting me,” Jason said before his brain could catch up with his mouth. Wayne pat his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was in rebuke or approval. Probably the first. He was supposed to be playing nice with these assholes. He tried to smile, but he doubted it looked at all friendly.

Ronny’s (and Jason was definitely going to call him exclusively Ronny) expression fell, then was quickly replaced with another tight-lipped smile. “I should be getting back to my wife. It was lovely speaking with you.” He tried to make his retreat look dignified, but he just looked like a moody penguin waddling away.

The group watched him leave, then one woman said, “He is obnoxious, isn’t he?”

“That’s what you get from new money,” said a man.

Jason stared at them in disbelief. They’d been perfectly happy to agree with their good friend Ronny three minutes earlier. What was wrong with these people?

“I’m going to go get some food,” he said. He didn’t particularly want any, but anything was better than another minute of this conversation.

“You should try the caviar,” Wayne said as he turned away. “I’ve heard this batch is particularly good.” Jason stopped and stared at him. Was that a joke? A reprimand? A coincidence? He couldn’t parse anything in Wayne’s too bright smile.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, still waiting for any clue of what Wayne was really saying, but none came. He turned and walked away. He did not get that man.

***

He was eyeing a tray of hors d'oeuvres trying to decide if any of it looked edible when he heard someone whisper, “Jason.” He thought it was Tim at first—who else would be calling for him—but when he turned, he found a boy about his age with white blonde hair partially hidden behind a column. He looked familiar, but Jason couldn’t immediately place him. The boy inclined his head in a motion to follow and disappeared into a maze of columns and plants.

Jason was about to be either murdered or inducted into a secret society, but either way it was better than standing around here. He followed.

The boy led him back to a poorly lit alcove with a few teenagers lounging on cushioned benches and sat beside an equally blonde girl that Jason definitely recognized. She was one of the girls that knocked his books out of his arms the first day of school. Now that he had context, he recognized the boy too. He was in Jason’s math class. These were people from his school.

He almost turned and walked straight out, but one of the girls, a brunette who was a couple of years older, handed him a glass of sparkling amber liquid.

“Jason, right?” she asked with a smile that made his heart thud in his chest. “Tiffany. You’ve certainly made a splash.”

“Ha, well, it’s what I do.” Why was he so bad at these things? He busied himself with swirling the liquid and watching it bubble up. “Is this Champagne?”

“We procured it from the kitchen,” Tiffany said, which Jason thought was an awfully fancy way to say stole. But then she smiled conspiratorially at him so he smiled back.

This was a test. Or an invitation. Maybe both. See if he was cool enough to hang with them. Could be a trap too, but he doubted it. They all had their own clearly drunk-from glasses. He took a sip and made a face when the bubbles immediately went up his nose.

A few of the kids laughed and Jason scowled. “Alcohol’s always worst the first time you try it,” the blonde book-knocker said.

“Isn’t my first time,” Jason said defensively. He’d snuck one of Willis’s beers once. Only drank a sip of the awful thing before pouring the rest down the drain. Still got walloped for it. “It’s just rich people food is all disgusting. You’d think you’d have enough money to buy something good.”

“What would you prefer?” the blonde boy asked haughtily. Harry, Jason thought. Or Harrison. “Steak tips?”

Jason stared at him. “If that was your attempt at naming poor people food, you failed miserably.”

They laughed again. Jason was pretty sure by this point that they were laughing at him, not with him. Like he was some zoo animal they’d brought in to study, or a monkey they’d dressed up as human and were enjoying its pitiful attempts to play the role.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was how rich people made friends. And he did want friends. He tried to push down the queasy feelings and took another sip of Champagne. It was a little more tolerable on the second sip. Strangely sharp. The beer had tasted like moldy bread, but this was more like biting into a lemon.

“This what you do at these things?” Jason asked, motioning around the alcove. It was barely more than a circular indent in the wall with seating, but the way it was tucked in an unused corner, it could be hours before anyone found them. “Find a hole to hide in and drink?”

“Better than listen to our parents drone on about our trip to Paris. Again,” the blonde girl said. Harrison nodded beside her. Or Harry. It was definitely one of the two. “It wasn’t even a good trip. Cynthia’s family went to Peru.”

“At least your family could afford Paris,” Tiffany said. Yes, Jason thought.  That’s exactly what he’d been thinking. These people didn’t know how good they had it. “We had to settle for Mexico. It’s embarrassing.”

Or not. Several teenagers made sympathetic noises, and what the fuck looking glass had Jason wandered through?

“I’ve never left Gotham,” Jason said. “I’ve never been on a vacation.”

“Ever?” Harrison asked with upturned lips like he thought Jason was making a joke.

“Yes. Ever,” Jason said, fist tightening around the stem of his glass. He was getting angry, and he didn’t know why. “I have literally never left this city. Actually, this, right here.” He motioned to the ground. “Is the furthest outside Gotham I have ever been.”

“Well, that will change soon enough,” Harrison said dismissively. Carelessly. Maybe he should be relieved that they seemed to care more about his current circumstances than his past, but it just made him angrier.

“Yeah,” Tiffany agreed. “The Waynes take some of the most elaborate vacations. You certainly won’t be going to Mexico.” She smiled as she said it, like he was supposed to agree and be relieved. Thank God, not Mexico. Was it racism or just not rich enough? He couldn’t tell. He wasn’t sure there was a difference.

“My best friend is from Mexico,” he said. “I’d love to go to Mexico.” He put as much emphasis on the word love as he could, and for the first time she looked uncomfortable.

“I mean, it’s not bad for a starter trip,” she said, busying herself with pouring another glass of champagne.

“So what do poor people do in the summer?” Harrison asked. “Watch TV all day?”

“I didn’t even own a TV.” He couldn’t stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice this time. “Or air conditioning. Sitting around’s really more of a rich person thing.” The group laughed again, and he bristled.

And you know what, maybe he did want friends, but he wasn’t desperate.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I’ve got better things to do with my time.” He handed the half drunk glass back to Tiffany. She didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks for the Champagne. Have fun being assholes.”

He heard them laughing behind him as he stalked out. Well fuck them too. If they wanted entertainment they could buy an actual monkey. He was sure they could afford it.

***

He swore there were more people in the ballroom than when he left. It felt more crowded. Suffocating. He crept around the outer walls, trying not to be swallowed by the writhing mass of humanity, and caught himself against a column when he stumbled. His head felt strangely unbalanced. Was it the Champagne? He’d barely drunk half a glass. No wonder Wayne was acting like a loon if that’s what he’d been drinking all night.

Maybe that was why the other kids had been so laugh-happy too.

Not that it mattered. Jerks were jerks. He didn’t need to know their reasons. They’d certainly never cared about his. The only reason any of these people were giving him any consideration now was because he was suddenly one of them. They didn’t magically care about poor people. That much was obvious from the sham this supposed charity event was. Nothing about this was charity. It was just a bunch of people with too much money patting each other on their backs for how generous they all were, if they even remembered the charity aspect all, which, judging from the conversations he’d overheard so far, they didn’t.

Poor Tim was raised by these people. No wonder he was such an obnoxious little brat. He never had a chance. At least he was trying. He wanted to understand.

But the other kids were raised by these people too. Maybe they wanted to understand too. They certainly asked enough questions.

Jason pushed away from the column and stormed into the crowd. Maybe they could learn, but hell, it wasn’t his job to teach them. He wasn’t going to spend his life being the poor kid that helped rich people learn humanity. They could actually afford the internet and books and fancy degrees. They should look it up themselves.

He scanned the crowd for Dick or Tim and his eyes landed on Wayne laughing his ass off. At least someone was having fun. He was already walking past when he recognized the guy Wayne was with and froze.

Everyone in Crime Alley knew that face. He thought everyone in Gotham knew that face, but if that’s true why would Wayne be joking with him like they were old buddies? Why would he be just hanging out at a party with not a single person giving him a second look?

Jason ducked behind a crowd of socialites before Wayne could see him and try to call him over. There was no way in hell Jason was going to go play nice, not with him.

Because that was Carmine Falcone, one of the main leaders of the Gotham underworld. One of the causes of the constant gang wars that wrecked Crime Alley. One of the most dangerous men in the city, made worse by the fact that he wasn’t insane, just cruel.

And Wayne was hanging out with him. Sharing a drink. Laughing at a joke.

Were they a mob family? Oh, shit, they were a mob family. Of course they were. Nobody got this rich by being honest and good. He’d always known that. Should have thought about it earlier.

It also explained why they only had one servant, not even a maid or a cook, despite it taking dozens of people to manage a mansion. All the better to keep secrets.

He snuck from behind one group to another. Someone harrumphed as he brushed too close, but he ignored them. He needed to talk to someone. Dick or… actually, not Dick. Dick was older. Dick would be complicit. He needed to talk to Tim. Tim didn’t exactly go with the flow, and clearly held some grudges. He’d be honest.

He ran into someone and stumbled back, apologies already on his lips.

“Whoa, in a hurry to get somewhere?” Roy asked, catching him with his hands on Jason’s shoulders. He was smiling, but as he looked at Jason the edges slipped downwards. “Are you okay?”

“Why is Wayne talking to Carmine Falcone?” The words tumbled out unbidden, and Jason snapped his mouth shut so quickly afterwards it hurt his jaw.

“You call your dad Wayne?” Roy asked with a sharp laugh. “Cold. I usually call mine Ollie, but I should try Queen. That would really stick it to him.” Jason stared stonily at him. “Right.” He scanned the crowd until he found where Wayne and Falcone were still chatting, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I think Bruce’s dad once saved Falcone’s life or something? He was a doctor, you know.”

Jason didn’t know that. He also didn’t care right now. “That doesn’t mean Wayne has a good reason to go around talking to mobsters!”

“Bruce talks to lots of people, especially at parties. He’s the host; he has to talk to them. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Jason took a breath. Okay, maybe he was overreacting. Half the people here were assholes, and that didn’t stop Wayne from talking to them. Also he was obviously really drunk. Jason snuck a glance back towards them. Falcone clearly wasn’t laughing as much as Wayne was. He maybe even looked a little annoyed. So maybe Wayne had just drunkenly latched onto the closest person. Maybe it really didn’t mean anything.

There was still the money. And the weird only one servant thing. Jason worried his lip between his teeth.

“Trust me,” Roy said. “Bruce is a good guy.” His lips quirked up. “He puts up with Dick, after all.”

Jason heard an echo of first a circus freak, then this and yanked away from Roy’s hands. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I am so sick of you high and mighty rich—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Roy said, raising his hands in defense. “It was a joke. A bad joke. Dick’s one of my best friends. I didn’t mean it.”

Jason breathed. He was too on edge. He should have known it was a joke. The party and all of its rich assholes were getting to him. “Sorry.”

“Dick’s going to love that you defended him though,” Roy continued, grinning.

Oh god, he would. He’d never let it go. Jason groaned. “Please don’t mention… it.” Roy’s arms were still up in a defensive posture, forearms and palms facing Jason. Familiar bruises speckled the path of his vein from elbow to wrist.

Roy noticed where he was looking and quickly lowered his arms. “Archery,” he said, grin stretching a bit too wide. “The string hits my arm. I should wear an arm guard, but half the time I forget.”

That was bullshit if he’d ever heard it. Jason knew track marks when he saw them. His mom tried to cover hers at first, wearing long sleeves on even the hottest days, but the last few months she hadn’t bothered. Her veins looked like constellations from overuse. Roy’s weren’t as bad, but the scars were old enough that this obviously wasn’t a new habit. His gaze flicked up to Roy’s eyes. His pupils were maybe a little small, but that could just be the bright lights in the ballroom. He was too awake to be using right now, anyway. His mom would drape over the couch and smile drowsily at him, pushing away any of his attempts to get her to eat or drink something. Not that he knew it was heroin Roy was on. Track marks could mean any number of things.

“Grandma’s Diné, you know,” Roy continued, words too rushed to sell the casual tone he was going for. “Trying to stay in touch with my heritage.” Jason didn’t even know what Diné was, let alone that Roy’s grandma was Diné, but he could recognize an attempt to deflect when he heard it. This wasn’t his business. This probably wasn’t his business. Until he knew whether or not it was his business, he could go along with it.

“What’s Diné?”

Roy’s expression relaxed in palpable relief. “Navajo. It’s our word for ourselves.”

“Huh.” He eyed Roy’s pale skin and red hair. Didn’t look Navajo to him, but who was he to say? He’d known enough mixed kids to know they could have any combo of characteristics.

He knew he should say something else to continue the conversation, but all he could think of were the track marks marring Roy’s skin, Wayne talking to the mob king of Gotham, those rich kids that he maybe didn’t give enough of a chance or maybe should have punched in the mouths, the waiter telling people Bruce Wayne’s son said to throw out the caviar. The whole thing was too much for him. Roy seemed to be flagging at the lack of response too.

“Have you seen Dick?” he asked finally, instead of a dozen things that would have been a better response.

“I think he’s dancing again,” Roy said. “That’s what he spends most of these things doing.”

What do you spend them doing, Jason wondered. He could see the clear path from drinking champagne in an alcove to doing drugs and he hated that he had to care. These people should be too rich for problems.

“Right,” he said instead. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He found Dick between dance partners and stepped in front of a clearly at least 40-year-old woman that was just about to ask him to dance. Did these women not have guys their own age to harass?

“Hey, Jaybird.” What the heck kind of nickname was Jaybird? “You’re looking a little flushed. You okay?”

Jason almost laughed, the question was so absurd. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he’d been less okay. But that would be stupid to say. He wasn’t weak enough to be beaten by a party.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Dick gave him a quick once over, then lowered his voice. “Why don’t you get out of here. I’ll cover for you if dad asks.”

It was tempting, but his guts swirled uncomfortably. He didn’t know what he was going to say until he said it. “Is Roy okay?”

“What?” Dick laughed, clearly confused by the subject change, but Jason barreled on.

“He’s got, uh.” He raised his arm to point at where the marks were.

“Oh! Ha, yeah.” Dick smiled cheerfully and it made Jason’s fists clench. Didn’t he care? “He does archery and—”

“That’s not archery,” Jason interrupted. Did people really buy the archery excuse? Apparently. “Those are obviously track marks.”

“Track marks?” Dick repeated, smile slipping but still clinging at the edges.

“Drugs,” Jason said plainly, since Dick was oblivious. His smile fell the rest of the way. “Do you really not know about it? He said you were one of his best friends.”

Dick searched the crowd until he found Roy and watched him for a few seconds before replying. “I, uh. I’ll talk to him. Go get some rest.”

The last bit felt like a gibe. Go get some rest and maybe you’ll stop imagining silly things like drug use and track marks. He was right and he knew it. And you know what, he decided. This was his business. Maybe if someone had done more for his mom early on, things would have been different.

“Dick,” Jason said before Dick got more than a step away. Dick turned back to look at him, expression conflicted. “They’re track marks. Trust me. I’ve spent enough time with an addict to know track marks when I see them. Don’t let him tell you they’re not.”

Dick’s expression lost its uncertainty and became determined. He nodded. “I trust you, Jay.”

This time Jason let him leave. He felt the stress that had been building all night leaking out like air escaping a balloon. The whole thing still sucked, but at least he’d done something to make it worth being here. And now he had permission to leave so he was sure as fuck was gonna do that.

A woman tried to talk to him on the way out, but he ignored her. He ducked under the ropes that cordoned off the guest areas from the rest of the house and his remaining stress released in a whoosh. He’d done it, he’d proven himself to Wayne, and now it was over.

He headed towards the smaller kitchen, the one not used for guests, to see if he could dig up some food. Luckily he knew where every kitchen was because of Dick’s detailed food treasure maps.

He was a couple hallways away when he heard what sounded like cartoon fight noises. He ducked his head into a side room. Tim was sitting cross-legged on the couch playing some kind of game. His character was fighting monsters with a glowing sword.

“Is this where you’ve been all night?” he asked after Tim defeated the last monster.

Tim glanced up at him. “Not all night. I snuck back in for food a few times.”

“I didn’t realize that was an option.” Jason flopped onto the couch next to him and Tim scooted over to give him more room.

“Do you know how to play?” Tim asked. It took Jason a second to realize he meant the game.

“Only game I ever played was Mario Kart, and that was years ago.” A friend of a friend had a GameCube. He was really popular until it broke.

“I have Mario Kart!” Tim said, exiting out of his game.

“I didn’t mean—” but Tim was already switching games. Jason accepted the controller handed to him as the start screen came up. These weren’t the graphics he remembered.

He glanced sidelong at Tim as he scrolled through the character choices. “So, why’d you skip the party? I thought those were your people.” He could play a ghost? Cool. Definitely doing that.

Tim hunched up, focusing too intently on the screen given that he’d already chosen his character and car. “They always want to talk about my mom.”

“And you don’t want to?” Jason asked cautiously.

“No.”

Jason had questions, but he figured if Tim didn’t want to talk about his mom to them, he certainly wouldn’t want to talk about her to him. “Okay, so how do these controls work?” he asked instead. “I don’t even remember the controller looking like this.”

Tim gave him a small smile and leaned over to explain the controls.

***

“How did you do that?” Jason yelled. “You can’t dodge blue shells! That’s not how the game works!”

“You didn’t know how the game worked at all two hours ago,” Tim said. He leaned with his full body as he swerved onto a shortcut, practically lying across Jason’s lap for a second before jerking back up for a turn in the opposite direction.

“Yeah, and now I know that’s impossible so stop doing it!”

Tim grinned as he flew across the finishing line in first place. Again. Jason cursed. He was getting closer, but still couldn’t quite catch Tim.

“Let’s do the Leaf Cup again,” he said. “At least you miss the shortcuts sometimes on that one.”

“That first jump is hard to make,” Wayne’s voice said from behind them. Jason jerked away from the unexpected presence, then hunched down protectively. He thought he was better at noticing people coming than that, but the game was really loud. And maybe he was starting to let his guard down a little. Stupidly, probably.

Wayne’s tie was undone and top buttons unbuttoned, so the party must be over. He’d also lost the manic grin. Maybe the waiters cut him off. His smile was probably creeping them out too.

“Jason, can I talk to you for a minute?” Wayne asked, inclining his head towards the hallway.

Here it comes, Jason thought as he stood up and followed. The smug told-you-sos and maybe a punishment for leaving early. Sure, Tim left early too, but Jason was the one with something to prove. His shoulders hunched more with each step until he was practically the hunchback of Notre Dame.

Wayne turned to face him in the hallway, expression serious. “You did well,” he said.

What the hell? Jason straightened up so quickly to stare at him he got a crick in his back.

“Much better than I expected,” he continued, because of course. He couldn’t just compliment Jason. He had to append an insult onto the end there.

“What did you expect?” Jason asked. “For me to yell at a few people and then go streaking through the ballroom?”

Wayne gave him a pointed look. “I don’t think yelling would have been out of character.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know me.”

Wayne rubbed a hand down his face. “This isn’t supposed to be an argument. I’m trying to say that you did well and I’m proud of you.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. He was sure there was still an insult buried in there somewhere. Proud for what? Not being himself? Not embarrassing the family?

“I know that couldn’t have been easy for you,” Wayne continued, “especially with some of the things people were saying, but you handled yourself well.”

“So, what?” Jason asked. “‘Handling myself well’ is not standing up for myself? Just letting people walk all over me?”

“No,” Wayne said sharply. Jason flinched, then quickly schooled his expression. He didn’t want to show Wayne any weakness. “It’s not rising to the bait. People are going to talk badly about you. Heaven knows they talk badly about me. It’s only going to get worse if you try to fight them. That doesn’t mean you can’t stand up for yourself.” A smirk danced across his lips. “I thought you handled ol’ Ronny boy perfectly.”

Oh. Apparently Wayne had heard what Ronny said. And then greeted him with a huge smile. He didn’t know how he felt about that. At least when people were yelling you knew where you stood with them. The idea that all those people were just constantly talking behind each other's backs while smiling to their faces made his guts twist uncomfortably. How was he supposed to ever know who he could trust?

“Yeah, well, maybe they deserved to be yelled at,” Jason said.

“They often do,” Wayne said with an obnoxiously sage tone of voice. What, was he going for a wise-man-on-the-mountain act? Trying to appear understanding? He couldn’t understand. He was one of them.

“Stop it,” Jason spat out. “Stop trying to act like you’re better than them. You were right there with them.” Wayne opened his mouth to respond but Jason steamrolled over him. “This was supposed to be a charity event, but nobody cared about anything except looking rich, acting rich, and getting along with the other rich people. Every person there could feed all of Crime Alley for a year without sacrificing a single luxury, but they don’t care about anything but themselves. You included.”

Wayne was silent. Good. Maybe he’d go away and Jason could get back to figuring out how to beat Tim.

“The gala raised 2.3 million dollars,” Wayne said, voice even. Jason knew that tone. It was the one people used when they were right on the edge of lashing out. He braced himself, but stood his ground. “We have a charity division that handles the distribution of funds, but perhaps you’d like to sit in on the meeting where they decide what to do with the money from this gala?”

That. Was not what he expected. He faltered, and Wayne seemed to notice. His voice softened.

“I know it might not have looked like it in there tonight, but we are… I am trying to help people.” He raised a hand as if to put it on Jason’s shoulder but stopped when Jason stiffened. He slowly lowered it again. “You have a better idea than me what would help people the most. You’ve lived it. I’m sure the charity division would appreciate your input.”

He shrugged, not meeting Wayne’s eyes. “Yeah, okay. Maybe.”

He thought he saw Wayne smile out of the corner of his eye, but when he looked fully it was gone. “Good,” he said, as if he’d completed a business deal. Fucker.

“If we’re done having a moment, can I get back to kicking Tim’s ass?” he asked.

“If you think you can,” Wayne replied.

“Hilarious.”

Tim was flipping through the vehicle options with stats open when Jason walked back into the parlor, apparently trying to build a super vehicle. Just what he needed.

“Stop it,” he said, vaulting over the couch to land next to Tim. “You’re already beating me by enough.”

“I’m just looking at my options,” Tim said, in that prim voice he used when he was being a little shit.

“You’re trying to destroy me.”

“That too.”

Jason became aware of Wayne leaning against the couch behind him moments before he spoke. It was creepy. He shouldn’t hover like that. “Mind if I join you?”

Jason scowled, wanting to say yes, he did mind, but Tim was already answering. “Where’s Dick? We should invite him too.”

“I think Dick’s still with his friend,” Wayne said. Tim typed a text on his phone so quickly that all Jason caught before he was putting it away was ‘Mario’.

Jason wondered if Wayne meant Roy. He must. That was… better than expected, if they were still talking. Jason hoped it went well. He hoped it made a difference.

“Is Yoshi taken?” Wayne asked as he grabbed one of the spare controllers. They had eight of them. Jason didn’t think it was even possible to play with eight controllers at the same time.

“Of course I’m playing Yoshi, Dad,” Tim said.

“I’ll be this rainbow-haired fellow, then.”

“You know that’s Lemmy. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Jason slowly relaxed. At the very least, he’d probably be able to beat Wayne. He’d better be able to beat Wayne. If not he was going to dedicate himself to pushing Wayne off of every cliff the game had.

Chapter Text

Jason’s second day at the manor, Alfred had told him that “Master Bruce’s” study was Wayne’s private workspace and was not to be disturbed. Jason immediately marked it as where to check for bodies. He’d read Bluebeard. He knew how these things worked.

He’d never actually looked though. He didn’t really think Wayne was killing people and hanging their dismembered corpses on the walls. If anything, it probably held evidence to all his tax evasion and paid-off women. He was starting to wonder though. He’d been wondering since the gala.

Sometimes Roy’s explanation made sense. Bruce was the host. He was drunk. He cozied up to people he didn’t like all the time, if good ol’ Ronny was any indication. So he talked to some mobster. The mobster. Big deal.

And then Jason walked in on hushed conversations that silenced the moment he entered the room or witnessed Alfred doing yet another job that really belonged to a whole household of servants. And he wondered. He kept wondering.

So he was thinking about the study. He even tried to peek in once, but the door was locked and he hadn’t quite reached picking-the-lock levels of paranoia yet.

The manor was big enough that the study wasn’t on the way to anything, but he’d been taking a circuitous path to pass it while walking between his room and the library for the last few days. He didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish. For a place that was supposedly Wayne’s ‘private workspace’, there never seemed to be anyone in it.

Which was why he didn’t notice Tim hunched up outside the door until he was practically stepping on the little armadillo. He was so used to there being nothing to see that he was barely looking. Tim raised a finger to his lips before Jason could even open his mouth to ask him what he was doing. Then he registered the muffled voices coming through the closed door.

“I don’t care what you do with your life, Dick, but you have to do something.” Jason stiffened. Wayne’s voice was more wooden than angry. That controlled tone he used instead of emotion. “Go to the Olympics. Go to college. Do something.”

“I’m already doing something,” Dick sniped back. “This is what I want to do with my life.”

Jason took a sharp breath. He didn’t know what they were talking about, but he certainly knew what it sounded like. He knew plenty of kids that went into the ‘family business’, regardless of how their parents felt about it. He glanced at Tim. The kid was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his legs and chin on his knees. He looked upset, but not surprised. This wasn’t a new argument, then. Not exactly comforting.

“I never should have let you—”

The rough laugh that grated out of Dick’s throat sent chills down Jason’s spine. “You didn’t let me do anything. This was always my choice.”

Okay, yeah, this was… He didn’t know what else he could interpret it as. He searched his mind for any other possible explanation. A hobby Wayne didn’t like? He didn’t know what hobby wouldn’t fit Wayne’s definition of doing something. Miming maybe? Was Dick secretly a mime?

Jason took a deep breath. Why was this a thing now anyway? Dick was only a junior. Except that was old enough to be applying to colleges, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d missed some big deadline?

Wayne’s tone still hadn’t changed. Judging from Dick’s growl while Wayne talked, it annoyed him as much as it would Jason. “I took the liberty of talking to Princeton’s president on your behalf.”

“No, Dad,” Dick said sharply, like he was disciplining a dog. “I don’t want you talking to any college presidents ‘on my behalf.’ I don’t want to go to college.”

“Which was fine when you were pursuing gymnastics, but you decided not to go to the tryouts.” Jason’s mind flashed back on the headline he’d seen while looking up articles. Wayne Heir Skips Olympic Tryouts. Apparently that wasn’t bullshit.

“You know why—”

Wayne spoke over him. “After I paid for your flight and hotel room.”

“You know—”

“Which wasn’t fair to your teammates, who were expecting you to—”

“You know why I did that!” Dick practically screamed.

Both of them lapsed into silence. Jason didn’t know what to think anymore, except that he did not want to be caught listening to this. He tugged on Tim’s arm, trying to pull him up, but the kid was like a boulder.

Bruce cleared his throat. “The president is willing to review your application personally.”

Dick didn’t bother responding. The door slammed open, causing Jason to jump and twirl guiltily around to face it. As it slammed shut again behind Dick, Jason positioned himself as much in front of Tim as he could. Dick’s face was twisted into an ugly snarl, fury alight in his eyes. Jason braced himself for when that anger focused on him, but the moment Dick saw him it fell away. His eyes widened and he quickly plastered a fake smile across his face. It wasn’t even slightly believable.

“Hey, Jay,” he said, voice faux casual. “Everything okay?”

“Yep!” Yep? “Just heading back to my room from the library.”

Dick turned towards the library, then towards Jason’s room, clearly pulling up a mental map, pasting some geometric shapes over it, and coming to the conclusion that this was not a logical path to take. Jason didn’t give him time to think about it. He kicked his heel back into Tim’s side. Then, making sure to keep Dick’s focus on him, he walked past Dick down the hallway in the opposite direction. “Anyway, nice seeing you Dickie. Got things to do.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick called after him.

“Nope!” Nope? “See yah.”

Tim joined him a couple of minutes later. Jason didn’t know what shortcuts that kid used, but he just appeared out of side hallway and started walking next to him, not even slightly out of breath.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“No problem.” Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, replaying the argument and Tim’s hunched position outside the door. “They do that a lot?”

“Not a lot, a lot.” He bit his bottom lip and pulled on it. “More than they used to.”

“What’s that about anyway?” Jason tried to ask it casually, but his voice cracked halfway through. Tim just shrugged, the unhelpful little asshole. Maybe it wasn’t a mob thing. Maybe it really was just about Dick skipping the Olympic tryouts, which, first off, what the hell? Jason could actually understand Wayne being annoyed about that. It was the Olympics.

But then he remembered Dick saying,'I am doing something. This is what I want to do.’ What was ‘this'?

Okay, he had to stop and just think about this for a minute. Did he really think that Dick, Dickie Wayne, the serial smiler with a treasure map to all the manor’s food, who had a crayon drawn sign on his bedroom door, would be involved in the mob? He tried to imagine Dick with a gun or torturing some guy and it was actually really freaky because the Dick in his mind wouldn’t stop smiling the whole time.

“Okay, just be straight with me,” Jason said before he could decide it was a bad idea. “Are we a mob family?”

Tim barked out a surprised laugh, and turned to look at him with a lingering, bewildered smile. That was probably a good sign. “No? What?”

Jason started counting off on his fingers. “Wayne was talking to Falcone at the gala.” Tim opened his mouth but Jason kept talking over him. He’d already heard Roy’s explanation and didn’t need to hear it again. “There’s only one servant managing an entire mansion, which is ridiculous. My mom worked at a hotel. I know how much work it is to clean, and cook, and everything that goes into maintaining a place this size, and it’s not like you can’t afford a cook or a maid. And it’s not just this conversation. It’s a dozen conversations I haven’t quite heard. Dick and Wayne are up to something.” Tim’s mouth snapped shut. Jason twirled on him and pointed an accusing finger. “See, that’s what I’m talking about. What is that ?”

“It’s not…” Tim said, trailing off without saying anything. Jason was ready to start pulling his hair out.

“If we’re a mob family, you legally have to tell me,” he pushed.

Tim laughed sharply. “I’m pretty sure that isn’t true.”

Jason made a frustrated sound and slowed to a stop. His room was the next hallway over. And he did think of it as his room now. He’d been here almost a month and it was starting to feel… normal. But maybe it shouldn’t. Maybe he should get out while he could. He still didn’t know where his mom was, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have options. He could stay with Mateo’s family, or strike out on his own somewhere else. He had the skills to get by in pretty much any big city.

“Jason,” Tim said. Judging from his scrunched eyebrows and protruding bottom lip, he was finally taking Jason’s question seriously. “We’re not a mob family. Believe me, I’d know.”

Jason did believe him. If there was one thing he knew about Tim, it was that the little asshole had no respect for privacy. He probably heard every secret conversation that happened in this place.

Still. There was something. And if there was anything Jason knew about somethings, it’s that they usually turned out to be bad.

***

Jason lay in bed with a map open on his phone. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Where his mom might be, maybe. Where he’d go if he left. Mostly he looked at escape routes. They were 11.6 miles from the edges of Gotham. 11.6 miles was a long way to walk. He should ask for a bike.

He flopped onto his back. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to leave. Not when he didn’t know where his mom was. If she was even okay. He’d like to think Wayne would at least tell him if she died or something, but what did he know? Sometimes Wayne seemed okay, like he was actually trying, but a lot of the time the guy was completely unreadable. Jason didn’t know what he really felt or thought. It was just as likely to be bad as good. Maybe more likely.

He rolled onto his other side and looked at the clock. It was almost 11:30 and at this rate he wasn’t going to be falling asleep anytime soon. He had to stop thinking about this. He had school in the morning, and it was hard enough to put on the ridiculous uniform and go interact with all the snobs when he was fully rested.

Think about something else, something neutral. Like a book plot. Like Watership Down. He’d just finished that one. He’d started it once before, when he was way too young. He’d picked it from the library for his mom to read to him because of the cute animals on the cover, but she’d stopped the first time blood was drawn. He’d been so upset, and she’d wrapped him in her arms and told him a different story about the Warren that she must have made up as she went along. For a long time, he didn’t even realize it wasn’t the real story.

Fuck. He pressed a pillow over his face. He definitely wasn’t falling asleep. He wished he knew where his mom was. He wished she’d call. He wished he at least knew she remembered him. That she still cared through the haze of drugs and withdrawal.

He slowly breathed in and out, mouth filling with the lavender scent of his pillows. He didn’t know if it was the laundry detergent or if the pillows themselves were stuffed with lavender. He’d never heard of that, but he was learning to never doubt what ridiculous things rich people would decide to do.

He threw the pillow to the side, nearly knocking over an ugly silver lamp that could probably pay his college tuition, and pushed out of bed. He stopped at the door to put on the ridiculously fluffy slippers that had just appeared in his room one day. He thought he should be embarrassed to wear them, but they were luxurious and if he ran away he was taking them with him. Besides, the floors in the manor were freezing. Either the air conditioning was on way too high, or the floors were haunted. Either seemed equally likely.

He trudged out into the hallway. He didn’t have a plan, but he found himself walking towards Dick’s room anyway. All the paths on his map led there, so he’d started thinking of it as the center of the manor, even though it was actually to the far right. Maybe he’d swing by Dick’s room and then head to the kitchen. Or the movie theater. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could remember how to get to the movie theater without passing by Dick’s room first.

As he turned the corner towards Dick’s room, he noticed that the door was wide open. He tamped down a surge of nerves. Dick would be the type of guy to sleep with his door open, exposing himself to the world. It just seemed like an invitation to get murdered to Jason.

Except when he glanced in, Dick wasn’t there. His bed was a tangled mess of sheets and blankets and definitely no Dick.

Knowing him, he probably slept in a hammock hanging from the ceiling—Jason glanced up. Nothing—or in the bathtub. He toed into the room, darting his head around to look at every dark corner. The further he went in, the harder this was going to be to explain when it turned out Dick had just gotten up for a piss. Yeah, Dickie, he thought as he crouched to look under the bed, I just thought you might sleep in a cave like a vampire. Why was I trying to watch you sleep? Good question.

He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in his bed, or under his bed. He wasn’t on top of his dresser. He wasn’t in his bathroom. He wasn’t even in his bathroom cabinets, which Jason knew because he’d checked, because he was turning into a crazy person.

Maybe Dick was just getting a snack or in the library. Maybe he had a test tomorrow. But Jason had a niggling suspicion that lead him to Wayne’s door, navigating the dark hallways with only his thudding heartbeat to accompany him.

He hesitated before knocking. What if he was wrong? How would he explain being here? He could say he was worried because Dick wasn’t in his room, but what if Dick had snuck out? He wasn’t a snitch. Maybe he could just say he couldn’t sleep. Christ, that would be awkward.

He could ask about his mom. He should ask about his mom. He glowered at his feet. Yeah, that's what he would do. He would demand to know what was going on with his mom. Now he kind of hoped he was wrong and Wayne was there and he could demand to know where his mom was and when he was going to see her. He banged on the door and waited for a response.

The last time, Wayne had come quickly. This time, nothing. He waited a few minutes and tried again. Then again. After the fourth time he opened the door.

Empty. Fucking empty. Dick and Wayne were out somewhere at 11:30 on a weeknight. Or maybe they were getting a snack. Together. Maybe they were in the study or the library or working out.

Together. At 11:30. On a weeknight.

He stomped back by Dick’s room and checked to make sure he hadn’t come back, and then started a round of everywhere they could possibly be. Everywhere that could even slightly make sense.

For some reason he checked the movie theater first. Which was stupid, but he was planning on going there anyway. Then the library because it was close.

When he rounded a corner to the family kitchen and saw a light, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. There was a logical explanation. He was being ridiculous and overreacting. Again. He still didn’t know why they were up, but they were just in the kitchen. It wasn’t that late. Maybe they didn’t sleep much.

He entered the kitchen to find Tim, alone, kneeling on a bar stool at the counter. He hadn’t even thought to check Tim’s door.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Tim jumped and nearly slipped off the bar stool, steadying himself at the last minute with a hand on the counter. His eyes darted to Jason and his tight shoulders immediately relaxed. Apparently Jason wasn’t the one he was worried about catching him.

“Just making a snack,” he said, going back to smearing a huge amount of jam across an already dripping piece of bread.

“Big snack.” Jason crossed to the other side of the counter from Tim as he pressed the jam-covered bread against an equally loaded peanut butter side. A large glob of peanut butter and jelly mix fell onto the counter and Tim ignored it in favor of sticking his sandwich in a little baggie.

“I’m hungry,” Tim said, sliding off the stool and just leaving the glob there. Maybe he was getting a paper towel? He didn’t seem to be getting a paper towel.

“Really?” Jason asked. “Judging from your size I wouldn’t think you were ever hungry.”

Tim scowled at him. “Dick was small at my age too.”

“Dick’s still small. I wouldn’t put my hopes too high. Are you going to clean that up?”

Tim blinked at him completely uncomprehendingly so Jason pointed at the mess. Tim turned and blinked at it uncomprehendingly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Jason grabbed a towel and cleaned off the counter. There were also crumbs everywhere. If Tim thought he was being sneaky, he was very wrong. There was no way Alfred wouldn’t notice this little midnight snack.

“Thanks,” Tim said awkwardly when Jason finished, like he wasn’t sure if he should say thank you or not. Honestly, it was an improvement.

Jason sat at the counter and spun on a stool, looking around the mostly empty room. His eyes narrowed as he remembered why he was there. “Do you know where Dick and Wayne are?”

Tim shook his head. “Out?”

“Out where? Doing what?” Jason asked.

Tim shrugged. “I don’t know. Working? Or with friends? Why?” Jason glared at his knees and Tim said, “Oh. You’re still worried about the mob thing.”

“I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” Jason said, hackles rising. “They’re out who knows where doing who knows what at 11:30 on a weeknight! It’s not normal.” Tim had that look he got sometimes when Jason said something wasn’t normal and Tim was comparing it to his life experiences thus far and disagreeing. Jason sighed loudly. “It’s not, okay?”

“Okay, but I promise it’s not a mob thing,” Tim said. “There are lots of reasonable explanations.” Jason grunted. Not a lot of reasonable explanations he could come up with. “Hey, why don’t we go out too?”

Jason gave him a sharp look. “What? No. That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?” Tim asked, talking faster as he warmed up to the idea. “We can go out and have our own little adventure while they’re doing whatever they’re doing.”

“We have school in the morning.”

“So?”

For the first time since entering the kitchen, Jason slowed down his overactive thoughts and actually looked at Tim. He wasn’t wearing pajamas. He was fully dressed. With shoes. There was a backpack beside the counter with his camera case in it. He’d stuck the sandwich baggie in a lunch bag. That wasn’t a midnight snack. That was something to eat on the go.

“You were already going to go out,” he said slowly. “What the hell?”

Tim didn’t meet his eyes, instead inspecting a blender like he was debating maybe bringing a smoothie along on his midnight jaunt. “Maybe.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know that? Where were you going to go?” Hopefully he was just going to hike around the manor grounds a little. That wouldn’t be too dangerous. Even if there were probably coyotes in some of the untamed parts.

“Just into the city a little,” Tim said with this forcefully casual tone, like he could convince Jason this was perfectly normal by sheer force of will alone.

“Into the city ?” Jason sputtered. “What the… how were you even going to get there?”

“Cab.” He shrugged casually, and it would have looked almost normal if he didn’t keep shrugging casually over and over again.

“I can’t believe this,” Jason said, covering his face. “Don’t you remember what happened in Crime Alley?”

“I don’t go to the bad parts of the city,” Tim said. Jason wanted to snap at him for insulting his neighborhood, but there were more important things right now.

“Do you do this often? What do you even do in the city?”

Tim shrugged again. The more times he did that, the less casual and more serial killer it became. “Climb buildings and take pictures.”

“Climb… Jesus fucking Christ on a tricycle. Does anyone know you do this? Of course they don’t. What am I saying? I’m going to tell Wayne you do this.”

“No, you aren’t,” Tim dismissed with complete confidence. He was right. Jason wouldn’t narc him out to Wayne.

“I’ll tell Alfred,” he said instead and Tim stilled. That threat he believed.

“Come on, Jason,” he pled. “I’m completely safe. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

“No.” Jason shook his head so hard he thought he might wrench it straight off. “I’m not going and you’re not either. Jesus Christ.” He thought of the gunshots he heard while curled up under his covers back in the apartment he grew up in, of the nice prostitute upstairs that just didn’t come back one day, of the kids that disappeared without a trace. And that was without being Bruce Wayne’s kid. The fact that Tim had already done this multiple times was terrifying.

Tim pouted but sat down, and Jason relaxed. He wasn’t going out. This time at least. He just had to figure out how to keep Tim from running off future nights. Maybe he could show the kid documentaries about Gotham’s ridiculously high crime rates.

“Isn’t there anything you’d want to do?” Tim asked, slumping over the counter.

Jason’s thoughts went to his mom unbidden. He didn’t know if Wayne was ever gonna let him see her again. Probably thought he’d be better off without her. He sneered at the thought.  “Nothing you could help with,” he said.

Tim raised his head off his arms to look at Jason. “Try me.”

“I want to see my mom.” It was the first time he’d actually said it out loud since coming here, and he felt both relief at the admission and a torrent of grief that he’d been holding at bay. He wanted his mom. He wanted to feel like he hadn’t lost everything that mattered to him. He wanted his friends, and the apartment he grew up in, and for life to feel like it made sense, but even if he could never have any of that back, he wanted his mom.

“You haven’t seen your mom?” Tim asked, sitting up completely.

“I don’t even know where she is.” He pulled out a drawer on the counter just to slam it. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to throw things. Or curl up in bed and just not think anymore.

Tim blinked wide eyes at him. “I do.”

Jason took a sharp breath, then held it. “What do you mean you do?”

“I heard Dad talking about it.”

“You were spying.”

Tim shrugged, which was as good as confirmation, but for once Jason didn’t care about Timmy’s voyeuristic tendencies. “Where?”

Tim didn’t answer immediately, instead chewing on his lower lip. “What if I showed you?”

“Are you seriously trying to use my mom to get me to do what you want?” Jason growled, shoving up to his feet.

“No, no!” Tim said quickly, horrified. He jumped to his feet too and waved his arms in the air in front of him. “I’m not! I’ll tell you either way, I promise, just… we could go there, and I could show you that I’m completely safe, and you could see your mom, and everybody wins!”

“I don’t believe for a second that you’re completely safe,” Jason said automatically, but he was considering it. Who knew how long she be there, if she even still was. Who knew when Tim got his information. Wayne could move her at any time. Especially if he found out Jason knew where she was. And it would be hard to sneak out during the day. Too many people around. He already knew Dick and Wayne were out, and if Tim really had done this before, then he knew how to get in and out without notice. He was the best chance Jason had of seeing his mom without getting caught.

“Fine,” he said. Tim jumped up with a grin, and Jason pointed a finger at him. “But I still might tell Alfred what you’re doing. This is dangerous, Tim, whether you think so or not. I don’t want you going out by yourself anymore.”

Tim shrugged, which was not at all an agreement. He’d push the point later.

In twenty minutes he was dressed with a small backpack of supplies, including a long, thin knife from the kitchen. Not the best weapon, but better than nothing if someone tried to grab them. Tim led the way to a back corner of the manor and out into an attached greenhouse. Then he started wiggling open a window.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked. The greenhouse was warm and damp, with pinpricks of water gathering on his skin, but he could already feel the chill creeping through the window Tim was working open.

“Most of the doors and windows have alarms on them,” Tim said. “But that door doesn’t because it’s not to the outside and this window doesn’t because it’s not to the inside. It was overlooked.” He strained to push it up a few more inches. “Also, I’m not sure it’s supposed to open.” He finally managed to wrench it up to the halfway point with a grunt. He pulled a metal chair over and climbed up onto the seat to easily slip through.

“You really have done this before,” Jason said as he followed him. He was bigger than Tim and got caught on the frame, but managed to squeeze through. Tim stood on his tiptoes to close the window behind them.

“I got caught a lot before I worked it out. Come on.” He lead the way towards the overgrown forest at the back of the property.

“Shouldn’t we be going that way?” Jason asked, pointing towards the street.

“Too many cameras that way. It’s better to walk to the neighbor’s yard and then to the street.”

Jason was starting to feel like he’d been taken under wing by a master burglar. He was pretty sure most kids didn’t have to go through all this to sneak out. He wasn’t even sure if Tim really needed to go through all this or if it was part of a grand fantasy he was making up in his head.

They walked for what felt like forever before turning towards the road. Jason couldn’t tell if they’d crossed the property line, but Tim was certainly acting like he knew what he was doing. He kept looking up at the sky and at passing trees like he was an old timey explorer navigating by stars and which side of the tree the moss was on.

As they approached the road, Jason could see a cab already idling there. At the exact spot they were heading to. Jesus, Tim really did already have it all worked out. He started changing the estimate in his head of how many times Tim had snuck out from a few times to way too many times. What kind of cab driver was willing to pick up an eleven-year-old at midnight and drive him away from his house into the city anyway?

As they hiked up a grassy incline to the curb, he recognized the same guy who had driven them into Crime Alley tapping his hands rhythmically on the steering wheel. Apparently that kind of person.

“Hey, Alex!” Tim said as he opened the door and slid in. “Jason’s with me this time.”

Jason followed Tim in. “You have no morals, do you?” he asked.

Alex just grinned over his shoulder at Jason. “Nice to see you again too, kid.”

“We’re going somewhere a little different today,” Tim said, leaning forward on his knees to show Alex an address. Alex tapped it into his GPS, and Jason subtly typed it on his phone at the same time. It came up as a live-in rehab facility. That at least sounded right. The pictures on the website looked nice, but there wasn’t a lot of information.

He squeezed his phone as they drove. He was distantly aware of Tim and Alex making small talk but he couldn’t register the words. They were going to his mom. They were maybe going to his mom. He wasn’t completely sure he trusted Tim yet, but he didn’t think Tim would lie about this. Strangely, the more he learned about the messed up shit Tim got himself into, the more he trusted him. At least he knew what ways Tim was wrong. Everyone else was hiding it.

The drive was short, the roads mostly empty this time of night. Alex pulled up in front of a skyscraper and leaned forward to look up at it through the windshield. “You want me to wait here for you?” he asked. It made Jason feel a little better that Tim’s driver didn’t just happily abandon him in the city and drive off.

“Hmm,” Tim said as he thought about it. “You don’t have to wait right here, but stay nearby? I don’t know how long we’ll be.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Alex said. “Call when you need me.”

Tim hopped out of the car and started striding purposefully around the building. “She’s on the twenty-first floor,” he said as Jason followed. “So we need to find a way to get up.”

“I hear they invented these things called elevators just for that,” Jason said, trailing behind him and looking up at the building. It was nice. White stone and large windows instead of the standard ugly brick. It looked like the higher floors even had balconies.

Tim shot him a look over his shoulder. “There are people inside, Jason,” he said like Jason was the stupid one. “They’d see us.”

“So what’s your grand idea?”

Tim entered an alley beside the building and jogged forward when he apparently spotted what he was looking for—a rickety metal fire escape. He jumped at the wall, rebounding off of it, and grabbed the lower edge of the fire escape’s ladder. It didn’t immediately come down, so he wiggled until it slowly lowered with a loud shriek of grinding metal.  

“No,” Jason said. “Just no. You know people would see our broken bodies after we fell twenty floors too, right?”

“We aren’t going to fall,” Tim said, already climbing the ladder to the first landing. “There are stairs. ”

Jason looked at the stairs in question. After the first ladder, stairs zigzagged back and forth between platforms for each floor. It certainly looked steadier than the fire escapes he’d grown up with, but that didn’t change the fact that Tim desperately needed to be referred to the country’s leading child psychologist posthaste.

“It’s fine. Don’t be ridiculous,” Tim said, jumping up and down on the first step.

“For fuck’s sake, stop testing fate and just wait for me,” Jason said. He tested his weight on the ladder, pulling down on the rung to see if it was steady. It shook more than he’d like but didn’t seem about to fall.

Jesus F. Christ, this kid was going to get him killed. If not now, soon enough for his obituary to still call him tragically young.

He took a deep breath, let it hiss out through his teeth, and climbed.

They walked up the first few flights in silence. The stairs were taller than he was used to and by the seventh or eighth floor his thighs were starting to burn. Tim seemed as bouncy as ever. He was in better shape than his skinny ass suggested. He kept peeking in windows and twisting to stare up at the barely visible night sky.

The fourth time he did it, Jason said, “If you’re trying to stargaze, you’re going to be severely disappointed.”

“Oh, ha,” Tim said. “No, not stargazing.” He looked up again, then down at his feet as he climbed the next flight. “You should talk to Dad, you know.”

“I don’t think that’s ever true,” Jason muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim said. He stopped at the next landing and waited for Jason to catch up. He didn’t seem at all out of breath, which was terribly unfair. Jason needed in on whatever exercise routine Dick had him on. “I don’t know what’s going on with him and your mom and—” He waved his hand in wild circles. “But I’m sure he’s not keeping you from her on purpose.”

“Then what is he doing?” Jason asked harshly, breaking the sentence halfway through to breathe. Fuck, he didn’t want to talk about this when he was too out of breath to argue.

“I don’t know,” Tim said. “But he wouldn’t do that.”

Jason sneered. “I don’t know about that, Timmy. I haven’t seen your mom around.” He hadn’t asked. He’d kept not asking because it wasn’t his business, and it was clear nobody wanted to talk about it, but hell if it wasn’t relevant.

Tim’s eyes widened and he took a sharp breath. Then his face closed down. It was like he was trying to mimic Wayne’s robot act, but not quite succeeding. Tears bloomed at the corner of his eyes. “That has nothing to do with dad.”

“You sure about that?” Jason asked. Because he wasn’t. Tim was a baby when he came to the manor. He didn’t know what happened behind closed doors when he was too young to remember.

“Yes,” Tim spat vehemently.

“So, then where is she?” Jason pressed.

“I don’t know,” Tim said. He turned and stomped up the steps to the next landing. “Somewhere in South America, I think,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the percussive metal ringing. “Enjoying not having a kid slowing her down.”

Jason followed slowly after him. Tim stopped halfway across the landing and stared out at the thin sliver of road they could see between buildings. Jason stopped beside him and leaned on the railing. Headlights passed by in eerie silence. Up here, they couldn’t hear anything but wind whistling through the narrow alley.

“Everyone tells me she’s just busy,” Tim said, talking out into the night instead of to Jason. “Or...I don’t know, something. She owns her own company. She works hard. She travels a lot. But I know the truth. She never wanted me and I got in the way.” Jason wanted to say he was sure that wasn’t true, to reassure Tim in some way, but he got the idea Tim was tired of reassurances. And the truth was, he wasn’t sure that Tim’s mom cared. He knew better than to think every mom was good.

Tim slowly started walking up the stairs again, no longer stomping, but not bouncing either. So softly Jason almost didn't hear it, he said, “At least your mom had a good reason to give you up.”

Jason had to say something. He had to say something. It had already been too long, and the silence weighed heavier with each step he took. Finally, he croaked, “Tim.” Tim twisted to face him, one foot up a step. “Fuck her. She doesn’t deserve you.” Elegant Jason, real elegant.

Tim laughed roughly and wiped an arm across his eyes. “Thanks.”

They kept trudging upwards. After a few more floors, Jason was breathing too hard to speak even if he had something to say. He focused on raising one foot after another. Left, right, left, right. They had to be getting close. He could hear Tim muttering under his breath every time they reached a new landing, and was pretty sure he was counting, but he couldn’t hear the numbers.

The building next to them suddenly fell away and beyond its roof he could see the cityscape. That was worse. In the narrow alley, he couldn’t really look down and freak out. With the buildings and streets around them more visible, he could tell just how high they were. He held tightly to the railing for the next flight.

Then the whole fire escape rocked with one of his steps. He clung with both hands to the railing and stared at his foot wondering what he’d done for a good three seconds before he heard Tim say, “Oh,” and looked up.

Something very brightly colored was perched on the railing of the next landing. Someone very brightly colored was perched on the railing, head jerking back and forth between them at an alarming rate. Jason couldn’t see his eyes past the mask, but the way it was stretched taught from cheekbones to forehead suggested his eyes were wide.

“What?” he said. “What are..? How..? What ?!”

Jason had never met Robin himself, but he’d always gotten the idea from people who had that he was better spoken than this.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally managing to sputter together a full sentence. Jason was already creeping back down the stairs, but he didn’t think he had much of a chance of running down fifteen flights of narrow stairs before Robin could catch him, and Tim wasn’t even making an effort to move. He’d hiss at Tim to follow if he thought he could without Robin hearing.

“Oh, hello,” Tim said. “It’s nice to meet you. Um. We’re good, thank you.”

Did he think he was at a cocktail party refusing service from a waiter ? Robin wouldn’t care that they were “good, thank you.” He’d care that they looked like they were breaking into a building.

“You’re good? You’re on the outside of a skyscraper! On the… the… the seventeenth floor! At one in the morning!”

“I did say we should take the elevator,” Jason said before his brain caught up to his mouth. Robin’s full attention immediately turned on him. And God, did he look ridiculous. If Jason hadn’t heard more than one story of people getting their asses kicked by this fashion-blind monstrosity he’d probably be in danger of laughing himself right off the fire escape. As is, he stood very still and tried not to look like he was resisting arrest.

“Shhhh,” Tim said, and Robin’s gaze immediately swung back to him. It was both a relief and nerve wracking. He’d rather Robin’s attention be on him than Tim. Tim was smaller and really, really stupid sometimes.

He braced his shoulders. “We’re not doing anything illegal,” he said. He didn’t actually know if that was true. Was climbing outside buildings illegal? It might be trespassing. He tried to sound confident anyway. “Leave us alone. Go stop a crime.”

Robin’s mouth opened and closed a few times like a creepy ventriloquist doll. “I’m not worried you’re doing something illegal. I’m worried you’re going to get hurt!”

That sounded suspect to Jason but he went with it. “We’re fine.”

“You’re eleven and thirteen!” Jason blinked at him and Robin immediately added, “Roundabouts, I assume.”

This all made way more sense suddenly. Robin knew who they were. Read the tabloids, probably. No wonder he was worrying about them instead of beating them up.

“Right,” Jason said. “Well, we’re all good and kind of busy so shoo.”

Tim had a hand over his mouth and wide eyes. Jason couldn’t tell if he was amused or horrified. Maybe a mix of both. That was probably the same way Jason was going to feel in about two hours when this was all over, assuming it didn’t end in them falling to their deaths or jail.

“I… okay, no. I’m taking you two home. Right now. Immediately. I am not leaving two children out here on their own. At one in the morning!” He was really sticking on that one in the morning thing, which was fair, Jason supposed, except he probably would have been more concerned about the seventeen floors up thing himself. Then again, this was a guy that regularly jumped off buildings.

He saw Tim out of the corner of his eye sneaking backwards to position himself more behind Robin and really hoped he wasn’t going to try to knock Robin out or something equally stupid. Then he realized Tim had sneakily taken out his camera and was snapping pictures of the two of them. Of course he was. That kid had no sense of self-preservation.

“And if we refuse?” Jason asked.

“I’ll call Batman,” Robin said.

Jason scowled. It was a good threat. Batman would be way more likely to beat them up and leave them hanging from a light post for the police. He’d seen it happen, one guy dangling from his ankle, swinging and screaming while a buddy tried to help him down. Everyone ran and abandoned him to his fate when the sirens started though.

“Jason just wants to see his mom,” Tim said. He looked nervous at the mention of Batman. Maybe he had some survival instincts after all.

“What?” Robin asked.

“His mom,” Tim said, pointing up. “She’s on the twenty-first floor. Room 2112.”

Robin turned to him slowly. Jason couldn’t tell what he was thinking behind the white lenses. His face was still, barely moving. “You haven’t seen your mom?” he asked.

Jason didn’t see why it was any of Robin’s business. Tim must have thought it made them more sympathetic though. He shook his head.

Robin’s face stayed completely still for thirty more seconds before deteriorating into a look of pure fury. Jason took a step back. He was about ready to grab Tim and run, but Robin said, “Stay here,” and jumped off the fire escape.

He’d just left them there. Did he actually think they’d stay? Jason immediately started back down the steps but stopped when he realized Tim wasn’t following.

“What are you doing?” he hissed. “Come on.” Tim just stood there looking at him confused. “Now’s our chance, you idiot.” He jumped up the steps two at a time to grab Tim’s hand and pull, but Tim pulled back.

“He said stay here.”

Jason had to remind himself that Tim had no idea how the world out here worked to keep himself from snapping. “This is our best chance to escape.”

“We’re just going to get in more trouble if we run!” He lowered his voice. “He’ll tell Batman.” He said it like Batman finding out was the worst possible scenario, and Jason was prone to agree.

“There’s no proof if we get out of here though. Call Alex and—” He cut off when the fire escape jolted again. He quickly dropped Tim’s hand and tried to look like he’d been innocently standing around waiting.  

Robin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He just climbed down and put an arm around Jason’s waist. “Okay, I found her. Hold on tight and I’ll take you to her.”

“Wait, what?” He wrapped his arms tightly around Robin even though he’d much rather be pulling as far away as possible. He didn’t want to fall to his death because he didn’t follow instructions fast enough though. “We can’t climb the stairs?”

“She’s not even on this side of the building,” Robin said. “I don’t know what you were gonna do when you reached the twenty-first floor.”

Jason looked at Tim, who just shrugged.

“Stay here,” Robin said, pointing at Tim. “Don’t move an inch or I’ll know.”

Tim nodded and stood like a toy soldier, all straight backed and arms at his sides. Jason was sure the second their backs were turned his camera would be back out.

Robin jumped off the fire escape and Jason shrieked embarrassingly before he felt the line of Robin’s grapple hook catch. This was insane. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. For the first time, he wondered if it was all an ultra realistic fever dream. That didn’t sound as unlikely as it should.

They swung in a wide arc around the building, leaving Jason’s breath far behind them. He knew he should close his eyes and embrace the safety of darkness, but instead they were wide open and… wow. The city flew by in a blur of lights. If it wasn’t so terrifying, it would be pretty amazing.

Robin must have pressed some kind of button on the grapple hook, because they zipped quickly upwards and landed on a solid surface. Jason’s knees almost gave out when they touched down, but Robin held him steady. They were on one of the balconies. A nice, solid, ground-like balcony. He had the urge to drop to his knees and kiss it.

Then he saw the room through the large, glass doors. It was nice. As nice as the pictures made it look. Comfortable looking furniture. Soothing art on the walls. Not crazy big like the rooms back at the manor, but still bigger than their little apartment. And his mom, asleep in a bed. He stepped forward and touched the glass. She was just a few feet away.

“We should probably let her sleep,” Robin said.

He got the idea that if he pushed it, if he insisted on going in right now and waking up his mom and hugging her, that Robin wasn’t going to stop him. But he didn’t push. He just wanted to know she was okay, and she probably did need her sleep.

“You’ll see her again soon,” Robin said, stepping up beside him. “I promise. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason didn’t think Robin could make that promise. What was he going to do? Beat up Wayne? Sneak Jason out of the manor himself? But his voice was so sincere and determined that Jason believed him.

Robin leaned down so that they were eye level, face as earnest as it could be when half covered with a mask. “But you need to promise me that you’re not going to sneak out again. It’s really dangerous out here at night.”

Jason couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. He knew. He’d just made that same argument to Tim an hour ago. But he wasn’t going to tell Robin it was all the eleven-year-old’s idea. He nodded.

“Okay.” Robin didn’t make any move to leave. He didn’t even suggest it. But Jason didn’t want to leave Tim alone for too long, even if he could have sat here all night watching his mom sleep. She looked okay. She looked healthy. She looked better. He was good with that.

“We can go now,” Jason said.

Robin nodded and bent down to hold him tight as he readied the grapple hook again. This time, it felt less like a death grip, and more like a hug.

***

Five minutes later they were standing with Tim at the curb, waiting for the Batmobile. Robin had assured them that Batman wouldn’t be in it—Jason had even heard him call in that he’d found a couple of kids and was borrowing the Batmobile to take them home—but he’d believe it when he saw it.

“How’d you get out here anyway?” Robin asked.

“Walked,” Tim said immediately. Robin eyed him suspiciously and Tim added, “It took a really long time. We left at like ten.”

Robin looked down at their shoes, looking for, what? Evidence of wear? It was stupid. Of course they hadn’t walked twelve miles. But when Robin turned to him, Jason said, “What he said. The walk sucked. Thanks for giving us a ride home.”

Jason didn’t think for a second that Robin believed him, but he stopped asking questions.

When the Batmobile arrived, Robin ushered them into the backseat. It was spacious like a limousine. Even had a refrigerator of drinks that Tim immediately raided, without even waiting for Robin to leave. Brave kid. Stupid, but brave. Jason was a little more interested in the heavy glass separating them from the front seats and the lack of handles inside the doors. It was fancier than most cop cars, but this was still a place they put criminals.

“If I put in the coordinates for your house, can I trust you to get yourselves back inside?” Robin asked. He was still looking at Jason like he was the ringleader of this whole thing. Jason shrugged. “It’s either that or I walk you to the front door myself, ring the doorbell, and tell everyone what you did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jason said. “Nobody will be there.”

“Alfred will be there,” Tim said between sips from the juice box he’d found. Why the heck did Batman have juice boxes ? How many of the criminals he picked up were children?

“Doesn’t Alfred have his own home to go back to?” Jason asked.

“No,” Tim said. He scrunched his brow and sucked on the straw until the juice box was crumpled in and grinding. “I mean, I don’t thinks so.”

“Do you need me to take you home personally?” Robin asked.

“No, we’re good, Bird Boy, thanks,” Jason said, distractedly waving him away before turning on Tim. “How do you not know if Alfred lives in the manor? You’ve known him your entire life.”

“It’s never come up?”

Robin smiled, a strangely fond expression. “I’m going to check on you later.”

“Sure, if you want to be creepy about it,” Jason said.

He got the distinct impression that Robin was rolling his eyes, and then he closed the door. A few minutes later the car started running. Tim watched out the window until Robin was out of sight before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He opened Alex Taxi and texted him: got a different ride home thanks

As soon as the text was sent, Tim deleted it from his phone.

“I think I was worrying about the wrong family members,” Jason said as Tim put his phone away.

Tim laughed. “What, you think I’m a mobster now?”

“No, but you’re clearly a born criminal.”

Tim held a hand to his heart. “I promise to only use my powers for good.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Tim rustled through the fridge and pulled out two more juice boxes, handing one to Jason. Jason caught a glimpse of the inside before the door shut. There were waters, soda, actual bottles of juice. Tim was choosing the juice boxes on purpose. Jason laughed and stabbed the straw into the box. He hadn’t had one of these since he was six or seven. He wondered if Tim had ever had one. He had trouble imagining that Alfred had ever allowed juice boxes in the manor. Poor Timmy had probably grown up on only freshly made juice in solid gold sippy cups. He certainly seemed to be enjoying the juice box, if the way he sucked the whole thing empty in one long gulp was any indication.

“Did you see your mom?” Tim asked when he was done.

“Yeah,” Jason said quietly. “Thanks.”

Tim smiled down at his empty juice box. “Anytime.”

Jason believed it.

***

He felt like he was going to die the next morning. It was after two by the time he settled down enough to sleep and Alfred had woken him up at 6 a.m. sharp. He was never letting Tim convince him to do anything ever again.

He remembered the image of his mom sleeping peacefully and smiled. Maybe he’d take it on a case to case basis.

He ran into Dick on his way to breakfast. Dick looked awfully energetic for someone who still hadn’t been home when Jason got back. He’d checked.

“Morning!” Dick said in a singsong voice that Jason was not awake enough to handle.

“Morning,” Jason muttered. He glanced sidelong at Dick as they walked. “Where were you last night?”

Dick didn’t hesitate at all before responding. He didn’t even seem surprised to be asked. “At my girlfriend’s place. Don’t tell Dad.” He winked.

“Wayne wasn’t here last night either.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Dad was probably also at his girlfriend ’s place.” He put a different emphasis on girlfriend this time. A fling then, or a one night stand.

Jason could believe it. He’d wait a few days to see if he did believe it.

Dick stopped outside the dining room and held a hand in front of Jason to stop him without touching him. “Hey,” he said softly, the stupid smile falling off his face. “You know you can talk to me right? About anything? If something’s bothering you?”

“Does it seem like something’s bothering me?” Jason asked.

“Yes, it does,” Dick said seriously.

Jason looked towards the dining room’s double doors, then down at his feet. After a minute, he asked, “When am I gonna see my mom?”

Dick’s gaze turned to steel. Jason remembered the argument from a few days ago. He still didn’t know what it was about, but he knew Dick didn’t just go along with whatever Wayne said. That was… a relief, actually. No matter what else was going on. “Let’s ask Dad right now.”

Jason smiled, already feeling a weight off his shoulders. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Chapter Text

Dick flung the double doors of the dining room open like he was a cowboy storming into a saloon. Tim started in his seat and darted his eyes between Dick and Wayne nervously. He also looked way too awake for how late they’d been out, but that might be the adrenaline. He kept shooting surreptitious looks at Wayne, probably trying to gauge his reaction, but at most Wayne looked mildly curious. He put aside his newspaper and steepled his fingers, looking for all the world like he was just waiting to hear out whatever this was about before going back to his article. Anger bubbled up in Jason again. How dare he not care?

“Can I help you?” Wayne asked, like he was a goddamned disinterested shop employee trying to hurry them on their way.

“Why hasn’t Jason seen his mom?” Dick asked.

Something flickered across Wayne’s face. It was almost emotion, but more like fluttering shadows left by birds flying by. Then he was back to fully composed. “Perhaps this is something I should talk to Jason about privately.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re handling that so well,” Dick said. “I’ll take him to see her myself if you won’t.”

Wayne closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be moving at half the speed of the rest of the room. Tim was still jerking his head back and forth like a spectator at a tennis match, except this particular match was being played with bombs and Tim was keeping an eye out for an escape in between making sure he knew exactly where the bomb was headed. Jason remembered trying to hide behind a too small kitchen table while Willis yelled—at his mom, at a neighbor, at his own friends he’d brought over—hoping that it would only be yelling. Jeez, they shouldn’t have had this argument in front of Tim. Knowing Tim though, if he wasn’t there, he’d just be crouched outside the door listening.

“I’m not keeping him from his mother,” Wayne said slowly, like he was explaining a difficult concept to children. “She’s in rehab and it’s—”

Dick snorted derisively, the noise echoing around the spacious room. “Like that’s an excuse. I’ve already gone to see Roy in rehab.”

A start of surprise momentarily overcame his anger. Roy was in rehab. He had wondered if anything had come from Dick’s talk with him at the gala, but he didn’t think it was his place to ask. This was good. Hopefully this was good. He hoped it helped. Then he saw Tim’s eyebrows scrunch together and his mood dipped. Tim didn’t know about Roy. If it wasn’t Jason’s place to ask, it damned well wasn’t Dick’s place to just throw that information around. He scowled down at his feet. He’d yell at Dick but it would just turn the conversation away from his mom. Wayne would probably like that, the asshole.

“That is a very different circumst—”

“It doesn’t seem that different to me,” Dick interrupted.

Wayne stared stonily at Dick, his lips pressed into a thin line. Jason could practically hear him saying in a toddler’s voice, ‘if you’re not going to let me finish my sentences I’m not going to speak at all.’

After several minutes of the two of them staring each other down like they were having a shootout at high noon, Alfred cleared his throat from the doorway. Jason wondered how long he’d been there.

“If I may, perhaps this weekend would be a good time for young Master Jason to visit with his mother.”

Jason kept his eye on Wayne instead of turning towards Alfred, and he was damn sure he wasn’t imagining the look of displeasure that flashed across Wayne’s face. When he spoke, though, his voice was as even as a politician’s. “The gala’s fund distribution meeting is this weekend if you still want to attend,” he told Jason.

Was that was supposed to be a difficult decision or something? “I’d rather see my mom,” he said, because obviously. It wasn’t Sophie’s choice.

“We can do both.”

It still felt like some kind of test. Jason eyed him suspiciously, but Wayne just looked back like he was waiting for an answer. “Okay,” he said cautiously.

“Okay,” Wayne repeated with the air of someone who had finished the conversation and moved on. He picked up his newspaper and returned to reading. Jason scowled but stalked over to sit next Tim.

Dick continued staring Wayne down for another minute before following. “You can be an ass sometimes, you know that?” he asked as he sat down.

“Thank you, Dick,” Wayne replied without looking up.

***

Jason was ready to hate the charity team before they even got in the freakin’ limo to go to the ‘fund distribution meeting’. Was everyone arriving in limos? He imagined a repeat of the gala, with women in fur coats and men in tuxedos standing around, sipping champagne, and suggesting that maybe they should buy the poor people cake with the funds they’d raised.

It didn’t help that he was basically alone with Wayne in the limo. He’d tried his best to sit shotgun next to Alfred but neither Wayne nor Alfred, the traitor, would budge on that one. So now he was sitting across from Wayne in a car big enough to store a bed, trying not to make eye contact. It reminded him of the Batmobile, actually. The same divider between the front and back seats. The same mini fridge. No juice boxes in this one though. He couldn’t imagine Wayne ever getting within a square mile of a juice box. Just wine and bottled water.

Wayne cleared his throat, but Jason refused to look. He hoped Wayne just had something stuck in there and wasn’t preparing to talk. He cleared his throat again, and Jason looked out the window at the extremely interesting patch of woods they were driving by. How much land did the Waynes actually own? He and Tim had walked a while before getting to the next property, and that was just in one direction. Half of these woods could belong to the Waynes.

“Jason,” Wayne said, which had the distinct disadvantage of being something Jason couldn’t pretend to misunderstand, but luckily, he was still perfectly willing to ignore it.

Wayne sighed. There was silence for long enough that Jason thought he might actually let it go, but then he said in a business-like tone, “The fund distribution meetings usually last for a few hours. They’ve already prepared a list of potential charities, including ones we’ve donated to before, but they’re interested in your input.” When Jason didn’t respond, he continued, “There will be eight people there today. The full charity division employs over a hundred people, but the ones you’ll be meeting work specifically in charity research and fund distribution.”

Let them eat cake!, Jason’s brain supplied. He remembered that stupid game he got. He wondered if it came from a Wayne charity.

At his continued lack of response, Wayne lapsed into silence. Jason hoped it would last this time. When he cleared his throat again Jason had to repress a sigh.

“I’m…” Wayne hesitated. It was enough to almost make him look up. Was Wayne actually unsure about something? Must be a miracle. “...not happy with your mother for keeping you from me,” he finished. Jason’s breath caught. He hadn’t been expecting that. He finally let his eyes wander over to Wayne, even while he kept the rest of body facing the window. “But I never intended to do the same to her. Or to you. I would never prevent you from seeing your mother.”

“Then what do you call what you’ve been doing?” Jason asked, letting some of the anger and frustration that had been building for weeks seep into his voice.

“Rehab is not a kind process, particularly to those who have been addicted longer. It makes people… angry, sad, desperate. Lash out. I didn’t want you to have to experience that.”

“You think I haven’t seen worse?” Jason asked. He’d taken care of his mother single-handedly when she was so high she didn’t even seem to see him, when she hadn’t been able to get a fix for days and was snapping if his socked feet were too loud on the carpet, when she was begging him to find her dealer and do something, anything, to convince him to give her just one more hit.

“I know you have,” Wayne said quietly. He sounded so goddamn sad that Jason wanted to hit him. He didn’t have the right. Jason and his mother had gotten by. They’d been fine. Who was he to come in thirteen years late and try to change things?

He turned back to the window. They were in the city now, but not a part he recognized. Nice buildings, several of which had actual dollar signs on them. Probably the financial district. This wasn’t the type of place that should be determining the lives of people who had to decide between food and heat.

“You didn’t ask to see her,” Wayne said when Jason didn’t respond. “I thought until you did I could… delay it.”

“I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you cared what I wanted,” Jason spat.

“Of course I care what you want,” Wayne said. His voice was tired. Poor guy, having to work so hard at caring.

“Do you? Or do you just care about what you think is best for me.”

Wayne was silent long enough for the answer to be plenty clear. When he responded, he said, “I care about both.” Jason snorted. “A parent’s job is to do what’s best for their kids even when they disagree, not to let them eat candy for dinner or play instead of going to school.” Jason thought that last bit was a shot against Tim. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care what you want.”

“You’ll just pick and choose whether or not what I want matters,” Jason said, clenching his hands into fists.

Wayne sighed again. “Someday you’ll be glad that I didn’t give in to everything you wanted.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Jason was already considering texting Dick and asking him to pick him up, but he was pretty sure Dick was out with friends again. That guy had a better social life than a Kardashian.

The building they stopped at wasn’t Wayne Tower, but it still had huge Wayne Enterprises branding stamped across it. Heaven forbid anyone not realize what company it belonged to.

Alfred opened Wayne’s door while Jason let himself out. “Pick us up in three hours,” he heard Wayne say. Jesus. Three hours. He really might text Dick. Or even Tim. Tim could probably have a taxi to him in under five minutes.

You agreed to this, he reminded himself. Someone had to make sure poor people got something decent out of that disaster of a charity event.

He took a steadying breath and followed Wayne into the building. They walked in deafening silence, their footsteps echoing in the glass-tiled lobby. Wayne didn’t try to speak to him again, and by the time they’d trekked across the lobby, waited on the slowest elevator in the world, and glacially approached the twelfth floor, he almost wished he would. Not enough to initiate a conversation himself, though.

They finally reached a conference room in the furthest back corner of the twelfth floor. A few people were already there, getting food and coffee or sitting at the large table that spanned most of the room, but they all turned to look at him and Wayne when they walked in. Jason tried not to fidget.

“You must be Jason,” a woman said, walking over and holding a hand out to him. He hesitantly shook it. She was younger than he expected, probably not even his mom’s age. More casually dressed, too. She wore slacks and a button up shirt, with her hair in a loose bun. She looked like she could be one of the shopkeepers a neighborhood or two over. “I’m Ellen,” she said, leading him towards the table. “Do you want a muffin or anything? There’s juice.” He had a feeling she was sucking up to him because he was the boss’s son. They probably only cared about any of his opinions because he was the boss’s son. It soured his mood, but there was no reason to take it out on the muffins.

“Sure,” he said. “Chocolate chip?”

There was a muffin place a few blocks from where he grew up that had the largest, fluffiest muffins. Back when he was real young, before things got so bad, he and his mom would go on special days and split one. The muffin Ellen got him was smaller and crispier. He wondered if it was more expensive too. Probably.

“Thanks,” he said.

“We’re waiting on a few people, but then we’ll get started,” she said, still with that large smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Yeah.” Her friendliness was making him uncomfortable. He wished he knew what she wanted, other than to get in good with Wayne. That might be enough. She was young enough that his good opinion could change her whole life.

Most of the people here were younger than he expected, actually. There were a couple of people with white hair, but otherwise almost everyone looked like they were in their twenties and thirties. Was this like the throwaway department for interns?

Ellen introduced people as they arrived, but he couldn’t keep track of all their names. There was the guy with five bagel halves covered in cream cheese piled on his tiny paper plate, the half asleep woman with a coffee cup resting against her lips while she napped, the older woman who looked like someone’s grandma who had accidentally wandered in with cookies, the guy who looked like he was ready to start working and was annoyed nobody else was. Wayne sat in the back of the room, away from the conference table, and observed. Jason wondered if he’d ever been to one of these meetings before. Probably not. Half the interns must be shitting themselves.

“Okay!” Ellen said, a little too enthusiastically, when everyone was seated. Coffee Girl woke up enough to take an actual sip from her cup and Bagel Boy paused in eating to listen. “As everyone knows we’re here to determine the distribution of funds from the Women and Children’s Charity Gala. I have slides for each of charities that we’ve worked with in the past, as well as some potential new charities, but first I want to introduce our special guest.” Oh, god, no, Jason thought. “Jason,” she finished, motioning to him. “He grew up on the streets, so has first-hand knowledge of what charities help.”

“Not exactly on the streets,” Jason muttered.

“Well, yes, I mean.” She faltered briefly. “Poor.”

Everyone was looking at him now and he wasn’t sure what was expected of him, so he said, “Uh, yeah. Park Row. My mom and I relied on charity sometimes. I don’t know the actual, you know, names of the charities that helped us, but I know what kind of things helped. And what sucked.”

Bagel Boy perked up at the last part. “What sucked the most?”

Jason fiddled with his muffin wrapper. Bagel Boy had a spot of cream cheese on his upper lip that was really distracting, but at least if he looked at that he didn’t have to look at all of the eyes on him. “Items weren’t always great. Like, I got an Xbox game from a Christmas gift thing, even though no one I knew had an Xbox. And one time we got like, I guess it was supposed to be a kitchen starter kit, but it had a Keurig in it? We couldn’t afford Keurig pods. That’s like a dollar for a cup of coffee. We sold both of those. Even things like pots and pans or curtains or bedding… I mean, I guess it was nice to have newer things, but we already had pots and pans and curtains and bedding, and we couldn’t sell our old ones for very much, so we really didn’t end up any better off than we were before. Money to buy things we actually needed would have been better.”

Ready To Work Guy frowned. “The problem with just giving people money is you can’t guarantee they’ll spend it on things that will improve their lives.”

Jason’s fingers tightened around the muffin wrapper and it ripped down the middle. “What makes you think you know what’s good for people more than they do?”

The guy rose his hands placatingly, like that changed anything. If someone spewed shit, it was shit no matter how placatingly it was said. “People don’t always make the best decisions. They might spend it on drugs or alcohol.”

It felt like a jab at his mom specifically, and yeah, she wasn’t always the best with money—that’s why Jason managed it for her—but that didn’t mean that her life would have been better if she had some rich guy only giving her the exact thing he thought she needed at any point in time. “So, what then?” he asked. He could hear how angry his voice had gotten but he didn’t care. “You’re not going to give them money and that’s going to solve their addictions? Do you think that helps?”

“Jason,” Wayne said quietly, but Jason ignored him.

“If you’re so concerned about them not spending money on drugs then maybe you should help them get better instead of being so high and mighty about what your money goes to.”

“Jason,” Wayne said again.

“You know why people use drugs and alcohol?” Jason asked, raising his voice and steamrolling over him. “Because they’re poor and miserable and desperate for some kind of escape. Because it’s cheaper than a TV or fancy galas or heat. Than medicine. You know that’s why my mom started using? Because she was in pain and heroin was cheaper than pain medication. Maybe if she’d had money to spend on the things she actually needed instead of some fancy new curtains and a coffee pot then she wouldn’t have gotten addicted in the first place.”

The table was silent. Ready To Work Guy looked like maybe he wasn’t so ready to work after all.

Jason realized he was standing, his hands trembling against the table where they held his weight. He sat back down.

“Well!” Ellen said, her voice still much too chipper. “That is a helpful take. We’ve worked with some rehab facilities in the past, but I’m sure we could do more to help people with addictions get treatment. We’ll discuss some options.”

“Did you get medical treatment?” Coffee Girl asked. She seemed more awake now, but her cup was still hovering close to her mouth.

“Yeah,” Jason said dully. His anger had drained out and now he just felt sad and tired. He’d probably embarrassed Wayne again too. Not that he cared what Wayne thought, but he could kiss goodbye to ever coming to one of these again. “There was a free clinic we went to sometimes, if I was really sick or the time I broke my arm.”

“What about check-ups? Physicals?” she pressed. Jason shook his head.

“Dentist?” Bagel Boy asked.

“Never been.” Wayne tensed behind him. Jason had a feeling he’d be going to the dentist soon. “I brush my teeth,” he added, annoyed. “It’s not like it was necessary.” They were already talking amongst themselves though.

“What did help?” Coffee Girl asked. Except she’d actually put her coffee cup aside. Bagel Boy had eaten all of his bagels too. Jason might have to actually learn their names. “Food? Clothes?”

“Food is good,” Jason said. He looked down at the torn muffin wrapper in his hands. “Clothes are fine. Newer clothes are better. A lot of the stuff we got people only donated ‘cause it was about to fall apart anyway so it didn’t last long. Best coat I ever had was a donated one though. I wore it pretty much 24/7 for months ‘cause we didn’t have heat.”

“Why didn’t you have heat?” No Longer Bagel Boy asked.

“Because we didn’t have money,” Jason said. “Food and clothes don’t pay for heat.”

“There are charities that pay for heat,” Grandma said, with a gentle, calming voice usually reserved for kids having nightmares.

“Well, I didn’t know that,” Jason said, hunching in his seat. “Maybe we missed their door-to-door solicitors.”

They talked for a few minutes, saying things like, “outreach campaign” and “bus shelter ads.” He mostly tuned them out. At least they seemed to be actually listening, not just nodding and smiling while Wayne was watching and then moving on. They were actually trying to make plans based on what he was saying.

He felt uneasy thinking about his outburst earlier. Maybe he had overreacted. He couldn’t always tell. His anger felt so justified at the time. But now they were talking about how to help kids like him get heat, how to get his mom rehab, and he felt like a kid throwing a tantrum over spilled milk.

Then he remembered Not So Ready To Work Guy saying you couldn’t trust poor people with money because they might buy drugs and the fire in his belly rekindled. Fuck that guy. He didn’t know anything.

He felt more raw than he expected. Like his whole life was being cut open and judged for what it lacked, and he couldn’t even fight against it because they weren’t wrong. He should have had heat. He should have had clothes that didn’t fall apart. He should have been able to go to a doctor before it became an emergency, before the flu turned into pneumonia and he spent three weeks curled up in every blanket in their too small apartment.

He glanced sidelong at Wayne, trying to gauge his feeling on this whole thing, but now that he was apparently done lecturing Jason, his face had gone slack and guileless. He actually looked friendly, which was weird because he never looked friendly unless he was drunk. Had he snuck alcohol in that stupid gold-plated travel mug he’d brought with him?

“What about a community center?” Grandma asked kindly. Jason tuned back in to the conversation. “Somewhere families could go to learn about their options and get connected to medical professionals who will take charity patients.”

Jason scowled reflexively at the thought of rich folks coming into their neighborhood and telling them what to do. “People aren’t going to go if they feel like it’s a bunch outsiders trying to tell them what’s best for them.”

“Hire people from Park Row,” Wayne said from behind him. Jason turned to look. He still had a genial, glazed-over look, but there was something sharp in his eyes. “People from the community. Have the local clinics recommend it. Dr. Thompkins knows which families need help. Offer free daycare, things that get people through the door.”

Jason frowned. “Maybe,” he said, cautiously. If it actually was part of the community and not just a friendly mask on a bunch of judgment. “Depends on how it was done.”

“Well, yes! Great suggestions from Mr. Wayne,” Ellen said with clear surprise. Jason wasn’t sure if it was because Wayne had added to the conversation, or because he actually had decent ideas. Wayne smiled vacuously at her. He was so weird around other people. Was this not an alcohol thing? Was it a talking to people thing? “We can start going through our slides, but I think we know what we want to focus on!”

Ellen’s slides had way more details about charities than he’d ever thought to consider. Outcomes, transparency, efficiency, accountability, turnover, reputation. They didn’t define what it all meant, but he picked it up well enough. They didn’t want charities that paid their CEO more than they donated, or whose numbers were too sketchy, or that had a lot of employees leaving. They wanted to make sure the money actually made it to the people it was for, in some form or another. It was reassuring, actually, even if he still thought they should just go to Crime Alley and start handing out cash.

“Let’s all thank Jason again for coming,” Ellen said as the meeting was winding down. Jason awkwardly raised a hand and smiled. Ellen clapped, which prompted other people to clap, and then they were all clapping for him and he really wished they wouldn’t. He didn’t deserve applause. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever deserved applause for coming to a meeting.

He stayed seated as people started petering out. Coffee Girl looked like she was falling back into a fugue state now that the meeting was over. Bagel Boy grabbed another bagel and waved it at Jason on his way out. Grandma pat his hand before standing and said, “Thank you for coming. I know this can’t have been easy for you.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Any time.”

“You’re welcome to come any time, if you really mean that,” Ellen said enthusiastically as she gathered all of her papers and filed them neatly into a binder. “Your input was so helpful!” He was starting to think that maybe she wasn’t putting on a show. This might just be her personality.

“You’re really happy,” he said.

He heard a suspicious cough from behind him, but Ellen just said, “Aw, thank you so much,” even though it definitely wasn’t a compliment.

Ready To Work Guy loitered nearby as she finished collecting her things. Jason refused to make eye contact with him, instead focusing on sweeping crumbs off the table and throwing them out. There were still some muffins. Maybe he should grab a couple for Tim and Dick.

He was very aware of Ellen leaving with a cheerful, “Goodbye!” and then it was just the three of them left in the room. He tensed as Ready To Work Guy approached. “Hey,” he said. Jason could feel more than see Wayne sidle up behind him. Ready To Work Guy hesitated. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

Jason wasn’t sure how to take that. Sorry, why? Because Jason was stuck with a drug addict mom? That would be just like some stuck up asshole, to think the problem was his mom and not how people treated her. His hands tightened into fists and his breath quickened.

But he didn’t actually know this guy. He didn’t even know his name. Did he really want to be the kid that threw a tantrum every time someone might have said something insulting? He just spent three hours watching these guys try to help people like him. Like his mom. Maybe Ready To Work Guy did have a problem with drug addicts. Maybe he only wanted to help the “good” poor. Maybe he was an asshole. Or maybe he wasn’t wording things well. Maybe he just didn’t understand.

Jason forced himself to take a deep breath, to loosen his fists. Then he gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Thanks,” he said. Ready To Work Guy gave him a tight smile and nod. As he followed the others out, Wayne put a hand on Jason’s shoulder that felt disgustingly proud.

“I scheduled a dentist appointment for you on Wednesday,” Wayne said as they left, Jason snagging a couple of muffins as they passed the table.

“What?” Jason twisted around to look at him. “Already? How?” Wayne had been in the room with them the whole time.

“I texted Alfred and he called the dentist.”

“Oh, so Alfred scheduled a dentist appointment for me,” Jason clarified.

“It was a team effort,” Wayne said grandly.

“Does Alfred do most of the work for all your team efforts?” Jason asked.

“Almost certainly,” Wayne said, the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. It was weird.

The limo was parked right outside the building when they walked out. Alfred stood beside it like an old-timey coachman outside a carriage. He opened the door for them as they approached.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Wayne said, climbing into the car.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jason mumbled, not meeting Alfred’s eyes. He didn’t like having the door held open for him. It made him feel like some impotent blowhard.

“Of course, sirs,” Alfred said before closing the door behind him.

Jason sat in uncomfortable silence as the car pulled away from the curb. He glanced at the glass between them and Alfred. He was really pretty sure that Alfred couldn’t hear him, and it wasn’t like he was saying anything bad, but he still felt awkward as he asked, “Why don’t you have any other servants?” He shifted as Wayne looked at him. “You know, maids, cooks—” He inclined his head towards the divider. "—an actual chauffeur. Isn’t that, like, multiple jobs?”

Wayne was quiet for a long time before answering. Long enough for Jason to feel like the answer might actually be some big family secret. He really hoped they weren’t a mob family. He’d almost decided that they weren’t, but moments like this racked his nerves. He tensed as Wayne opened his mouth.

“I... don’t like strangers in the house,” he said slowly. Jason felt the tension leave his body. That was not at all what he was expecting. It was almost a normal person answer. “And,” he added before going quiet again. It was another minute before he said, “Alfred isn’t really a servant.”

Jason scoffed. “Does he know that?”

“Try telling him,” Wayne said with another hint of a smile. He straightened his sleeves, dusting off the edges. Jason had seen him do that before, just before entering the gala. He’d assumed it was some rich guy ritual of making himself look proper, but he was starting to think it was a nervous tick. “He raised me,” Wayne said, his words slow and halting. “After my parents died. There were more servants back then, but after… I couldn’t…” Jason could feel the weight of every pause, the suffocating press of the words Wayne wasn’t saying.

“How old were you?” Jason asked.

“Eight,” he said, and then nothing else.

Jason knew the bare bones of the story, of course. Everyone did. All three Waynes wandered into Crime Alley, and only one of them made it out. Big deal. A lot of kids lost their parents to Crime Alley, and most of them had to keep living there afterwards. Bruce Wayne wasn’t special. He was just rich enough for people to care.

But he couldn’t say that. He felt bad even thinking it.

They pulled to a stop sooner than he expected. His breath caught as he looked outside. He knew this building. He knew the fire escape intimately. He sat frozen in his seat, torn between running out and the realization that Wayne didn’t know he’d been here before, wouldn’t expect him to recognize the building, might be suspicious if he did.

Wayne straightened his sleeves. Jason’s eyes followed the motion. “I know it’s been a long day already,” he said, “but I thought we could stop here before heading home.” He hesitated. Jason waited on edge for Wayne to just say it so he could go in. “This is where your mother is. It’s a very nice rehab facility with a great—”

Jason didn’t listen further. He opened the door and started for the building, Wayne following quickly behind him.

“I don’t want you coming in with me,” Jason said.

“I still need to walk up with you and check you in.” Wayne put a hand on his shoulder, but Jason just shook it off and walked faster. He reached the elevator before Wayne and pressed the up button while Wayne talked to a security guard. He could probably slip in and get the elevator moving before Wayne could catch up, but he wasn’t supposed to know the floor.

This was so stupid. He shouldn’t feel like he had to hide sneaking out to see his mom. It was Wayne’s fault for not bringing him here earlier. If he said something though, Wayne would probably get mad and make him leave. He wasn’t gonna risk that.

He glared at Wayne from inside the elevator until he finally stopped flirting with the guard and came over.

“Should I be worried about baby number four?” Jason asked as Wayne pressed the button for the twenty-first floor.

Wayne’s finger hovered over the button as the door closed. He barely moved for the first two floors, then turned to Jason. “Because I talked to a woman?” he asked.

“That was quite some talking,” Jason scoffed

“We needed to check in to enter the building,” Wayne said. He finally dropped his arm. “The elevator wouldn’t move without her unlocking it.”

Huh. Maybe climbing the fire escape made sense after all. “So you had to flirt permission out of her?”

“Talking to a woman is not the same thing as flirting.”

“Maybe the way most people do it.”

Wayne looked like he wanted to protest more, but the door opened. Jason wouldn’t have heard it if he did say something. His heartbeat was thudding too loudly in his ears. He stepped out, taking everything in. The lobby was nice. Clean. More like a fancy apartment building than a doctor’s office. There were a couple of couches around a glass table, and a desk. A receptionist stood behind the desk with a bright smile.

“Welcome to Prospect Recovery Center. How can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Catherine Todd,” Wayne said.

“I don’t want you coming in with me,” Jason repeated quickly.

Wayne raised his hand as if to put it on his shoulder again, but seemed to think better of it. “My son would like to see her while I wait out here.”

“Oh, of course,” the receptionist said, smiling down at Jason. “Let me just let her know she has a guest.”

Jason nodded sharply. This could still go bad. She could come back out and claim his mom said she didn’t want to see him. It might even be true. She’d never called. He told her to call, and she promised she would, but she never did. Did she just forget? Did she not want to see him? So many weeks of waiting to see her and now that he was here, he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer. Maybe knowing she was okay was enough. Maybe he didn’t actually need to see her.

Wayne sat on one of the couches while they waited, but Jason paced around the lobby staring at framed paintings without seeing them. He was pretty sure they were abstract, or maybe he just wasn’t focusing enough to register the shapes.

Finally the receptionist returned and motioned for him to follow. She might have said something too, but he didn’t hear it. He followed numbly, both wanting and not wanting this with all of his soul.

He peeked in rooms as they passed. There was a TV room with several plush couches, an actual kitchen with a round, wooden table and checkerboard tablecloth. It was nice. Not luxurious. Not rich with marble fixtures and million dollar paintings, but nice. The kind of nice that he always dreamed he could provide for his mom someday if he worked hard enough. Comfortable.

“Jason!”

He stopped at his mom’s voice, stupid tears already forming in his eyes. Then her arms were around him and he burrowed his face into her shoulder.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she said, pressing her face into his hair.

“Then why didn’t you call?” He hadn’t meant to ask it immediately, but it just came out.

“I didn’t have your number,” she said.

“I gave it to you, mom. I gave it to you.”

“Oh.” She sounded distressed. “I don’t remember that.”

He pulled back to look at her. Her skin was pale, washed out, with deep black circles under her eyes. She didn’t look healthy, not by a long shot, but her eyes were clear. Clearer than they’d been for years. He hugged her again. “It’s okay.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes. He breathed in the fruity, tropical scent of her hair. That was new. Not just the fruity scent, which had to come from a new shampoo, but that her hair was clean at all. In the last few years, it was rare that she could get up the energy to wash it, and when she did it was always part of a grand plan to turn her life around that never lasted.

“Come see my suite,” she said, pulling back but holding his hand in hers. “It’s so nice. You won’t believe it. I have three rooms to myself.”

He let her lead him inside. It was bigger than he’d realized looking in the window a few nights before. She didn’t just have the room he saw her sleeping in, though that was the biggest room. There was also a small, attached sitting room with a TV and table, and her own personal bathroom that was almost as big as his back in the manor. He couldn’t help smiling while she led him around, pointing out her favorite parts. The showerhead had multiple settings and detached from the handle. The view showed so much of the city they could almost see their old apartment building. The sheets were soft and silky, nothing like the scratchy sheets they’d had back home. She had him touch them three times.

His sheets back at the manner were at least this soft. Softer.

His fingers curled tightly around the sheets, almost pulling them off a corner of the bed. “Mom...” He hesitated, looking down at the creases forming in the sheets instead of at her. “Why didn’t you ever tell…” Wayne, his brain supplied, but he felt weird calling him that to her. He definitely wasn’t going to call him Dad though. “...Bruce about me? We could have… it would have changed our lives.” He didn’t want to have grown up in the manor, couldn’t even imagine it, but they could have had rent every month. They could have gotten his mom into rehab sooner. They wouldn’t have had to rely on assholes like Willis to get by.

His mom gently extracted his hand from the sheets and held it between both of hers, her thumb stroking his knuckles. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He could feel her trying to meet his eyes, but kept his gaze down.

“Do you really think you would have? Dick lived with his mom until she died. Tim…” He thought about their conversation on the fire escape. “Well, it sounds like Tim’s mom willingly gave him up.”

She squeezed his hand with a small, sad smile. “I don’t think your father would have wanted you staying with me.”

He wondered again how they ever got together, how they even would have met. The tabloids seemed to think she was a prostitute. He didn’t think she’d ever done that, but he wouldn’t have blamed her if she did. Maybe even just a one-time thing, back when she was working at the hotel she’d been a maid at when he was born. A rich guy like that could pay several months of rent… He pushed the thought away before it could go much further. He did not want to think about it.

But he couldn’t help imagining how much different his life, their lives, would have been if Wayne… if Bruce… had just known. As angry as he was that Bruce hadn’t been there, it wasn’t really his fault was it?

He pulled his hand away from his mom’s. He looked at the sheets, the art, the TV. The trappings of a life they could have had.

But maybe it was better this way. His mom probably knew what she was doing, and Bruce was still a rich asshole.

His chest clenched uncomfortably at the thought. He took a few deep breaths, forcing air into tight lungs until breathing came naturally. Then he gave his mom a weak smile. “Why don’t you show me the rest of this place? What do you do all day?”

She smiled brightly back and lead the way out, already talking about therapy sessions and fancy meals. He touched the sheets one more time, thinking about what could have been, before following.

***

He spent two hours with his mom, only occasionally wondering if Bruce was still waiting in the lobby. He didn’t feel too bad if he was. That’s what Bruce got for keeping him from his mom for so long.

His vindictive spirit lasted until he came out and actually saw Bruce sitting in the same seat he’d left him in, looking at his phone. He hadn’t actually thought Bruce would wait the whole time.

Bruce looked up as he approached. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Aren’t you busy?” Jason asked instead of answering.

Bruce pocketed his phone as he stood. “I’m the CEO. I can take a Saturday afternoon off.”

“Still, I’m sure you have better things to do than sit in a waiting room all afternoon,” Jason said, brushing past him towards the elevator.

“Would you rather I left?” Jason didn’t respond, just repeatedly jabbed the down button on the elevator until it arrived. “I wouldn’t leave you alone somewhere unless we’d already discussed it and had a plan for how you would get home.”

Jason stared at the closed elevator doors as they ascended. There was a TV mounted inside with news and stock prices. There must be businesses in the building too. Either that or the type of people who went to rehab here really cared about their financial portfolio.

“This is… nice,” Jason said finally, when the door opened on the bottom floor. “I’m glad mom’s in rehab now. I really thought…” The way things had been going the last year, the close calls they’d had... He was doing his best, but he didn’t think—no, he knew—she didn’t have much time left. But now… she could live for years. Decades. He felt himself choking up and swallowed it down. He didn’t need Bruce to see him like that. “Thank you for taking care of her,” he said quietly, much as it pained him to thank Bruce for anything.

“Of course,” Bruce replied. When Jason glanced at him, he was looking away. Maybe giving him privacy. Maybe he just couldn’t stand to look at emotion himself. Either seemed possible.

Bruce gave the security guard an entirely too friendly smile as they walked out. Jason didn’t understand him. Was he socially awkward or a flirt? Was he smart or ditzy? Was he bad at emotions or did he just not have them? It was like he put on a face for the public the same way most people put on clothes. Jason wondered if Bruce put on a face for him too.

The smile fell as soon as no one was looking. They exited into the bright, late afternoon sunlight. Bruce held a hand over his eyes to scan for Alfred and the limo turned the corner as if called by his search.

While they waited, Bruce reached a hand towards him, then dropped it before it made contact. He was looking at the car instead of Jason when he said, “You can visit your mom anytime you want.” His hand lifted and fell again. “You don’t need to ask my permission, or even tell me.” Jason nodded. The words eased a pressure in his chest he hadn’t known was there. “Just get Alfred or Dick to bring you,” he continued. “Don’t sneak out and come alone.”

Jason started at the last part. Did he know? He glanced at Bruce, but he didn’t seem like he was making an accusation or giving him a lecture. Apparently he just thought Jason was the type of person who would sneak out, which, despite having already kind of been proven true, was still an unfair assumption.

Alfred pulled up in front of the building, sliding into a spot no limo should logically fit into. Jason stepped forward to open his door but was stopped by a stern look from Alfred. He walked around the car in a strict and dignified manner and held the door open for Jason and Bruce.

“Thank you, Alfred,” Jason said meekly.

“Of course, Master Jason.” It was less of a ‘you’re welcome’ and more of a ‘see, this is how it’s done.’

As he sat in the car, Jason tried out the idea of Alfred as the stern patriarch trying to teach them all proper behavior. It fit more than he expected.

“Home, sir?” Alfred asked as Bruce sat across from Jason.

“Yes, Alfred. Thank you.”

Bruce watched him as the car slid out of the tight spot with unnatural grace. Jason looked out the window so he wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “Did you have a good day?” Bruce asked.

“It was fine,” he said. It wasn’t exactly fine. It was sometimes great, sometimes depressing, and overall exhausting. He supposed it averaged out to fine.

Bruce didn’t respond. Jason peeked at him. He was still watching Jason with the unnatural stillness of a marble statue. Jason turned back to the window. They weren't far from Crime Alley. Walking distance, at least. And still about as far from it as you could get.

“Would you have taken me away from my mom?” Jason asked, the words spilling out before he’d given them conscious thought. “If you’d known about me years ago?”

He could tell he’d taken Bruce by surprise. His eyes widened minutely, then his whole face shut down. “I can’t say because I wasn’t told,” he said, his voice almost cold. Jason hunched up in his seat. He wondered what his mom’s experience with Bruce was. Why she was so sure he would have taken Jason away. If she was right. Bruce’s voice softened. “I would have made sure you were okay, no matter what else happened.”

Okay. What did okay look like to Bruce? He had a feeling it wasn’t a one-room apartment in the neighborhood that killed his parents. It wasn’t the public school where most of Jason’s best memories were. It wasn’t a mom who tried hard, but fell short.

“I wish more than anything that I’d known,” Bruce said quietly. His voice had an undercurrent of regret—and of anger.

“I know,” Jason said. He did. Whatever else he thought, he knew Bruce would have wanted to be there. To fix things. To change things. To do what was best for him. The phrase sunk deep into his gut and stuck there.

Silence fell over the car like a pall. After a few minutes, Bruce cleared his throat. “Do you want to get ice cream?” he asked, his voice stiff. Jason scowled. Did he think he could just buy Jason’s affection with sweets? That everything would suddenly be okay? He turned to tell Bruce off, but his eyes caught on the way Bruce was straightening and dusting off his sleeves. He hesitated.

“I’m not a child that you can bribe with ice cream,” he said, not sure himself if it was a joke or a reproach.

“So, no?” Bruce asked, hands stilling.

“Nah, I’ll eat your ice cream. You just won’t get anything out of it.”

Bruce cracked a small smile. He pushed some kind of intercom button and said, “Alfred, change of plans. We’re stopping for ice cream.”

“This better not be some ridiculous rich person ice cream with gold flakes that costs a thousand bucks but tastes like you’re eating rocks,” Jason said.

The intercom was apparently still active because Alfred responded, “I’ll make sure it’s a class appropriate ice cream, sir.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Jason said sincerely. “I’m counting on you.”

Chapter Text

Jason carefully turned a page of the copy of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens he’d found in the manor’s library. All the Peter Pan books he’d seen at the public library either had the Disney character on the cover or another redheaded kid in a green tunic. This one was different. Its green suede cover felt old and the image showed a baby sitting in a tree with a large black bird. The pages were stiff, but not yellowed or crumbling. Was this what the Disney movie was based on? He’d never actually seen it, but the little six-year-old down the hall had once claimed she was Tinkerbell for Halloween. None of them had gone out, because they weren’t idiots, and the only costume she’d had was a wooden spoon she called a wand and a bookbag she called wings, but they’d all spent the night pretending they were flying and ignoring the screams outside anyway.

A loud chime almost caused him to drop the book. It was immediately followed by another, then another, at different tones. He turned to try to find where it was coming from. It wasn’t quite like an instrument or music. It was more like…

Was that a doorbell? Did they have a doorbell? He carefully put the book back on the shelf and took note of its position to come back to later. Now that he thought about it, it was weird that with Dick’s apparently neverending supply of friends, none of them had ever come to the front door.

He trotted down the stairs towards the foyer, wondering who’d be there at 4 p.m. on a Friday. They’d only gotten back from school half an hour ago. Dick was already out with friends, and he wasn’t sure Tim even had friends. Wouldn’t most people be at work? Bruce wasn’t, but that was because Bruce apparently worked whenever he felt like it. So far, Jason had seen Bruce stumble down the stairs at almost noon on a weekday, go into work at 2 p.m., and then apparently work through midnight. He guessed you could get away with that when you owned the company.

Alfred strode past as Jason reached the first floor landing, looking like he was on a mission. Were there police at the door? He had no idea why there would be police, but it was the only immediate explanation he could think of for Alfred’s severe expression.

Maybe Jason didn’t want to barge in on whatever this was. He backtracked into one of the side rooms and started making his way through a winding path of connected rooms and hidden service corridors towards the foyer. The manor’s first floor was like a labyrinth, but he was starting to feel more like the Minotaur than one of its victims. He went through a kitchen, past a bedroom-sized closet, and peeked out a door that he was pretty sure was meant for servants to take guests’ coats and subtly disappear.

The woman standing in the foyer looked like she could murder a man with her high heels and her only regret would be ruining a good pair of shoes. He couldn’t name any of the brands she was wearing, but from the perfect, crisp cut, he could tell they were expensive. Maybe even custom. At Bruce’s appearance in the main doorway, a large, insincere smile spread across her face. “Ah, Bruce. I have exciting news. I’m taking Timothy to a historic archaeological dig in the Balearic Islands. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Her voice didn’t match her words. It was too professional, too practiced, like a telemarketer trying to sell a cruise.

Jason ducked behind the doorframe more from instinct than any conscious choice. He felt like a mouse that had unexpectedly found himself in the presence of a cat. Bruce’s eyes flickered towards him, but didn’t acknowledge him further. Probably for his own safety.

Bruce turned his full attention to the woman that Jason was starting to, terrifyingly, suspect was Tim’s mother. “Tim has school.”

“Oh, I’m sure he can afford to miss a week,” she dismissed with a sharp wave of her hand. “He’s still getting straight A’s, of course. I would expect no less from him. This is a learning experience that he won’t get from that sham of a school you have him enrolled in.”

Bruce rubbed his temple like he had a budding headache. “Logerquist is one of the best primary schools in the country.”

“But not the best, is it?” she said like she’d won a point. “Besides, he would be better off at École des Roches or Westminster, away from the States’ grisly educational policies.”

“Janet, I’m not taking Tim out of school to go on a last minute trip to Spain. He has a test this week.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Janet said. She leaned to the side and put her hands on the shoulders of a man that Jason had entirely failed to notice before now. He had no notable characteristics, and didn’t seem like anything that would hold Janet’s attention for more than a minute, but she displayed him proudly. “Jack is an archaeologist,” she said slowly. Bruce’s temple rubbing became more intense. Jason could see the deep lines he was pushing up into his forehead. “He does important things. Things that I would like to share with Timothy.”

Jack looked up from the phone he’d been engrossed with to Janet’s hands on his shoulders, then at Bruce. “Oh, hello.” He waved his phone. “I’m reading the most fascinating research about...” His eyes drifted back down to the phone and stayed on it.

When it became clear Jack wasn’t going to continue, Bruce turned back to Janet. “I think this sounds like a great experience for Tim,” he said through gritted teeth with what sounded like a lot of effort. “When he doesn’t have school. Perhaps we can schedule something for his next break.”

“Oh, who knows what we’ll be doing then,” Janet said disdainfully. “I don’t understand why you need to be so unyielding. Is this some power fantasy you have?”

Jason was starting to understand Tim far more than he’d ever wanted to. He decided it was time for a strategic retreat, but as soon as he started backing away, Janet’s eyes snapped to him.

“Is that the new one?” she asked. She raised her eyebrows at Bruce. “I’ve heard some—” She paused before continuing delicately, “—interesting rumors about him.”

Jason couldn’t see Bruce’s face, but his shoulders tensed. Then he turned to Jason with a forced smile and said, “Jason, come meet Tim’s mother.” Jason hesitantly crept forward. “Janet, this is Jason.”

Janet gave him a thorough once-over that made him feel judged to his core. “A pleasure,” she said, tone bored. “Tell me, what do you think of this whole debacle?”

“I think people should mind their own fucking business,” he said on automatic, then winced. One of these days he would learn to think before he spoke.

A smile spread across her face, far more genuine than any she’d given Bruce, but still with a sharpness that he knew could make him bleed. “You seem like a smart young man. Unpolished, but heaven knows that’s easier to fix than stupid.”

“Why don’t you go get Tim?” Bruce asked stiffly, words meant for Jason even as his gaze stayed locked on Janet. Jason nodded and hurried away. He could feel Janet’s eyes on him until he turned a corner.

“So, what’s the actual story there?” he heard her say before he left earshot. “I don’t believe for a second all this nonsense ab—” He slowed as her words quieted. He itched to turn around and listen, but he could already imagine all the things she’d say. He didn’t need to hear more insults of his mom.  

He jogged the rest of the way to Tim’s room. Tim was sitting on the floor sorting through a large pile of pictures and sticking them in an album. Jason saw a couple of him as they slipped into plastic sleeves.

“Your mom’s here,” he said.

Tim froze with a picture sticking halfway out. “Oh no,” he said, eyes widening in alarm. Jason bristled. If she’d hurt him… “Did you talk to her? I didn’t have a chance to prepare you.”

Jason’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “She asked me a couple of questions.”

“Did you answer right?” Tim stressed. He shoved the picture the rest of the way into its sleeve with less care than he’d given the previous photos.

Jason shrugged. “She smiled and said I seemed like a smart young man.”

“That could mean anything!” He jumped to his feet, leaving the album and pile of pictures where they were. His pants were a little rumpled from sitting on the ground, and he stared down at them like they’d betrayed him in battle. Jason followed him into his walk-in closet and watched as he inspected and dismissed half a dozen perfectly pressed pants.

“Uh…” Jason said.

“She’s just a little particular,” Tim said before Jason could find his thought. He finally grabbed a pair of pants and a new button down shirt that looked almost identical to the ones he was already wearing.

Jason turned around to give him privacy while he changed. When Tim joined him a minute later, he looked just as much like a miniature office worker as always, but his demeanor was calmer. He smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his shirt. “Okay. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Janet gave Tim a once-over when they walked into the foyer. He must have passed her review because she didn’t say anything and Jason had a feeling they’d all hear it if he failed.

“Good news, Timothy. We’re going to Metropolis for the weekend.” She said it like that had been the plan all along. Bruce gave a tight smile from the side. Jason wondered what that argument had been like. “A little pedestrian for my liking, but I’m sure we can find something to do.”

“Can Jason come?” Tim asked. Jason stiffened as all eyes turned to him. “He’s never been on a vacation.” Jason didn’t remember telling Tim that. He remembered telling some kids from his school, but not Tim. He narrowed his eyes at Tim, but Tim was looking at Janet with large puppy dog eyes that he had to have learned from Dick.

“Don’t give me that simpering look, Timothy. It’s undignified.” Tim immediately dropped the puppy dog eyes, but he seemed unsure what to do with his face when they were gone. He bit his lip and Janet heaved a long suffering sigh, turning away from him to look at Jason. “I suppose he can come,” she said. Jason’s stomach roiled. He didn’t particularly want to spend a weekend with Lady Steel and the Drag-along, but if Tim wanted him there… Well, he wasn’t going to just leave Tim with adults that made him uncomfortable just because they made him uncomfortable too.

“I’m not sure—” Bruce said stiffly.

“Of course you aren’t, dear,” Janet interrupted, patting his chest. “Decisions are hard. I’ll take care of it for you.” Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin, white line. “Go ahead and pack for the weekend.” She looked down at Jason’s shirt with distaste. “Preferably clothes you don’t mind being seen in public in.”

What the hell was wrong with his shirt? He looked down at it, but Tim was already grabbing his hand and pulling him away.

“I’ll help him!” Tim said.

“Janet,” Bruce said tightly, as they rounded the corner.

“Oh, calm down, Bruce. It will be fine. Heaven knows the boy could use some culture.”

Jason bristled. He wanted to turn around and give her hell, but Tim still had a tight hold on his hand.

“Sorry about her,” Tim whispered as they climbed the stairs. His face was flushed. Was he embarrassed by his mom? It wasn’t his fault she was like that.

Jason remembered his words on the fire escape. She never wanted me. I got in the way.

“We don’t have to go,” Jason said. “If you don’t want to. Just tell Bruce.” He had no doubt that Bruce would put his foot down if Tim said no, no matter how much of a fit Janet threw.

Tim turned to him slowly with wide, vulnerable eyes. He did want to go, Jason realized. He wanted his mom to want him.

This weekend was going to be a nightmare, he just knew it, but he suppressed a sigh. “Okay, so what counts as a shirt I can wear in public, because I’m literally wearing a polo shirt right now. Nothing says idle rich more than polo.”

***

Bruce followed them to the front door. He had the blank expression he got when he didn’t want people to know what he was thinking, but his hands kept moving. “If there are any problems, anything at all, call me or Dick.”

“I do know how to take care of children, Bruce,” Janet said as she hustled them out the door. Jason had tried to put his clothes in a bookbag, but Tim had insisted on a tiny, rolling suitcase, which seemed ridiculous for a two day trip. Not that they had packed for a two day trip. They’d packed for a three week journey that included trips to Antarctica, the Caribbean, and at least two fancy parties.

“It’s better to be prepared,” Tim had said. Jason had briefly wondered if they were being kidnapped, but reminded himself that if Janet had wanted to keep children, she wouldn’t have left Tim with Bruce to begin with.

Bruce followed them all the way to the car, still giving them precautions. He had a friend in Metropolis they could call, Tim knew the number, and remember if it was an immediate emergency they could just yell for Superman.

“Honestly,” Janet said when they were all in the car and driving down the Manor’s long driveway. “The way he smothers you like you’re infants instead of teenagers.”

“I’m eleven,” Tim said.

“Don’t be pedantic. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim’s mouth snapped shut.

Jason slid his hand along the stiff leather seat. This was the cleanest car he had ever been in, even including all of the Wayne vehicles, and he was sure Alfred didn’t slack on cleaning. Was it new? Had they bought a new car just to drive over and pick up Tim?

Jack hummed off-key to some old song on the radio as they ambled slowly down the drive. Jason turned to watch the manor disappearing into the trees. He could imagine Bruce still standing on the terrace watching them go. His level of concern was kind unnerving, actually, like he thought Janet might drop them off in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves.

He pulled out his phone, glad he’d remembered to grab it in the rush to leave, and texted Tim: Your mom’s not going to murder us, is she?

Tim glanced at his phone and snorted.

“Surely you boys can find something better to entertain you than your phones,” Janet said, as if her—husband? boyfriend?—hadn’t been engrossed in his phone the entire time they were at the manor.

Tim obediently put his phone away. Jason thought about really showing off being on his phone just to spite her, but he was here to support Tim. He scowled and stuck it in his pocket.

There were more interesting things to look at anyway. The sky outside his window brightened more the further they drove from Gotham. At first it was just like a particularly sunny day, the gray sky briefly tinged with blue, but it kept becoming more and more blue until it looked like something out of one of the picture books his mom would read to him when he was a kid. It looked fake, like a surrealist painting or a CGI background in a bad old movie.

Was it being in the country instead of the city? But the sky only seemed to brighten more as they reached the outer limits of Metropolis. Jason pressed against the window, trying to see the approaching city better. Everything about Metropolis was bright, from the white, metallic buildings to the gold trimmings. Maybe it was just the sun reflecting off of all the metal, but it was the most light Jason had ever seen. He had to shield his eyes against the glare. For the first time he understood why people would wear sunglasses.

He glanced back to see if Tim was taking it all in too, but Tim was just watching him with an amused expression. Jason pulled back and glared at him.

“No, no,” Tim said quickly. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jason dismissed, even as his gaze crept back towards the window.

“Have you seen the Daily Planet building?” Tim asked. “It has a huge globe on it.”

Jason moved just his eyes to scan the horizon, but he didn’t find it before skyscrapers surrounded them and blocked out the skyline.

“We’ll see it later,” Tim said.

“I remember being impressed by Metropolis as a child,” Janet said. Jason scowled deeper, but her voice didn’t have as much ire as he expected. “I think it was the first city I saw outside of Gotham too. I came with my father on a business trip. Of course, Timothy saw a dozen more beautiful and culturally significant cities before he turned one.” Tim stared down at his hands. All those places he couldn’t possibly remember that his mom apparently liked more than him. “In a couple of years, Metropolis will barely be a blip on your radar.” Janet waved her hand dismissively. “Just another overcrowded East Coast city.”

They pulled up right in front of the large, arched doorway of a building that looked like it was more glass than stone. A man hurried up to the car as they stepped out and took the keys from Jack. A valet, Jason realized. There was a valet who would babysit Jason when he was young, one of his mom’s coworkers, who told stories about taking the customer’s fancy cars on joyrides. He always described the cars in such loving detail; it was probably where Jason’s interest in cars came from, long before Jesse taught him how to steal tires. They’d laugh about the rich fucks who didn’t deserve what they had. The valet’s eyes flicked over Jason and Tim as they got out and waited on the sidewalk. Jason wondered what he saw.

He looked away, embarrassed, but even that felt wrong. Like he was a rich prick who couldn’t be bothered to look at the help.

A bellhop joined them and started loading their suitcases onto a dolly. Jason used to ride those dollies down the halls, until he almost ran down a guest and management yelled at his mom to keep a better eye on him. Back before she was fired for failing a drug test. When money was still tight but they got by, before they needed to count on assholes like Willis to survive.

He followed Janet into the hotel lobby, hazily registering details. A check-in desk like he used to read behind, barely out of view of irate guests, though this one was bigger with more potential hiding places. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling instead of the glass light piece that Jason always thought looked like a bouquet of roses. The whole lobby was larger, three stories tall with a spiral staircase climbing one corner and a door to a bar on the far wall.

His mom’s hotel had a bar too. The bartender had taught him how to mix drinks when he was six, using juice instead of alcohol. The drinks were always lavished with shish-kebabed fruit, and Jason felt fancy drinking them.

Water trickled down the wall behind the desk into a glass pool. Columns were carved with intricate designs like they were pulled straight out of a Greek temple. His mom’s hotel had always seemed pretty fancy to him, but he had a feeling people like Janet wouldn’t step foot in it.

He’d spent so much time in hotels, or skulking around the outside—first as the kid of an employee, then as a thief, taking what the guests clearly didn’t need—but he had never once been there as a guest. It felt wrong, like changing sides in a battle he’d never realized he was fighting.

Tim clearly didn’t have any of his concerns. He separated from Janet before she reached the front desk and flopped into a chair. If anything, he looked bored. Jason wondered how many hotels he’d stayed in, if he’d spent as much time watching the employees as Jason had watching the guests.  

Jason followed and sat in the chair next to him. It looked ornate, like something that would be on display in a museum, but it felt stiff and uncomfortable to sit on. More of a decoration than actual furniture.

“My mom used to work in a hotel,” he said, turning to take in the full room.

“You told me,” Tim said. “As a maid, right?” Jason nodded. “Do you know all the secrets?”

Jason snorted. That would be what Tim cared about. “I know how much people who work in hotels hate the guests.”

Tim started and looked at the bellhop waiting a few feet behind his mom. “Really?” he asked, his hands clenching uncomfortably.

“Probably not every guest,” Jason said. “Just most of them.”

Tim watched as his mom gave strict instructions to the front desk host, then looked down at his hands. “Mostly I meant, like, secret passages.”

“I could probably find the laundry room.”

Tim laughed in a soft huff. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Boys,” Janet said with a sharp gesture. They followed her to the elevator. Jack had joined them—back on his phone, Jason noted. Janet certainly wasn’t telling him to find better things to entertain himself with.

“Honestly,” Janet said. “Trying to tell me how to raise my own child. The nerve of some people.”

Jason glanced at the bellhop, who had slotted himself and the cart neatly against the far wall. Janet hadn’t acknowledged him once, and apparently had no problem bad-mouthing his coworkers in front of him.

“I’m sure she was just trying to follow hotel policy,” Jack said.

“Anything that can be overridden in five minutes isn’t a policy; it’s an excuse to preach.”

Jason thought he saw the bellhop roll his eyes. He tried smiling to show he understood, but the bellhop’s gaze stayed forward.

The elevator stopped at the second highest floor and Janet strode out, not waiting for the bellhop to maneuver the dolly out into the hallway. Tim kept having to skip for a step or two to keep up.

“Your room is 3205,” Janet said, handing a packet of keys to Tim. He fell back a few steps to give one to Jason. “We’re upstairs in 3300.” They had their own room? Guess he knew what hotel policy they were breaking. He’d been staying home alone and doing chores around the neighborhood since he was eight, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle a night away from the adults in charge, but he was pretty sure Bruce wouldn’t approve. Actually, he was pretty sure this was exactly the kind of thing Bruce wanted them to call him over. Tim unlocked the door with practiced ease, though, so it didn’t look like it was anything new.

He got one step through the door before having to pause and reassess. This was not a room. A room was two beds, a tv, and an attached bathroom. He’d lived in apartments that were rooms. A fold-out couch or air mattress, a few dingy shelves, a stove and refrigerator against one wall. This was a house. They walked in through a full eight-by-eight kitchen, complete with island, dishwasher, and kitchen table. Past it he could see a living room with a couch, love seat, and chair circling a glass coffee table and big-screen tv. He glanced in one of the two connected rooms. There were the beds and connected bathroom. He could barely see another bed, probably a queen or king, in the room across the way. He was pretty sure the couch was a pull-out too. There was plenty of room for all of them, with privacy even, and he’d bet anything Janet’s room on the top floor was even larger. There was no reason to have two rooms, absolutely none, except so the adults wouldn’t have to bother themselves with the two children they’d apparently been saddled with. How many times had Tim been left alone in a room much too large while Janet went off to enjoy not having the responsibilities of being a mother?

Jason glared at a vase of flowers, back turned to Janet so she wouldn’t see. He was sure it wouldn’t be proper.

“Dinner will be at 6:30 sharp. Make sure you’re ready.” He felt Janet’s eyes on his back as she added, “Both of you.”

“Yes, Mom,” Tim said.

The door clicked shut, but Jason didn’t turn around. He heard Tim rolling his suitcase towards one of the rooms. “I claim the king bed!” he called.

Jason forced his voice to be joking, even while his face felt stiff, “What, you don’t want two beds to yourself?”

Judging from the long silence, he didn’t think he’d quite pulled it off. Whatever Tim thought, though, he decided not to comment. “No, you can have all the fun. Make sure to jump between them a few times.”

Jason imagined Tim with this whole room to himself, debating which bedroom he wanted, jumping between the two beds, sitting around waiting to be paid attention to.

Actually, strike that. He knew Tim. There was no way he just sat around an empty room waiting.

As if on cue, Tim came back out to the living room and leaned against the large glass window, staring as far as he could down the street. “You want to go see the Daily Planet building now?” he asked. He pressed harder against the glass like he thought it would let him see further. “I think it’s only a few blocks from here.”

“Are we allowed to leave?” Jason asked, knowing that the answer didn’t really matter.

“They won’t notice,” Tim said.

Or care, Jason filled in. “Why not?”

***

“So is this how you started your criminal career?” Jason asked as they weaved through the narrow spaces between people on the busy sidewalk. A few people looked startled as they passed, but not many.

Tim paused to look down a cross street, face scrunching up like a squirrel’s. So far they hadn’t asked for directions. Jason was keeping track of turns so they’d know how to get back, but other than that he was letting Tim wander. This whole place seemed safer than even the richest Gotham neighborhood. Gotham always felt like there were murderers lurking in every shadow. Metropolis didn’t even have shadows.

Tim apparently decided against turning. He darted across the street as the walk sign turned to a flashing red hand. “What do you mean?” he asked when they reached the other side. “Sneaking out?”

“Yes, sneaking out,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “Midnight trips to the city. Climbing buildings.”

“Not exactly?” Tim said. He separated from Jason as they took different paths through a particularly crowded segment of sidewalk. “But also kind of?” he added when they joined back up. “I guess I never saw the point of staying put when everyone else was out or… busy.”

Jason heard the pause before busy and wondered what it meant. Work? Sex? He had a feeling no one had ever paid enough attention to Tim.

“Don’t you have an actual criminal record?” Tim asked. He stopped briefly to look down another side street before quickly dismissing it.

“No. How dare you?” Tim turned to give him a thoroughly disbelieving look and Jason smirked. “I never got caught.”

Tim snorted. Then he stopped so quickly two different people ran into him going opposite directions. “Look,” he said, pointing up as a flash of red and blue flew past in the same direction they were walking. Superman.

“That’s creepy,” Jason said.

Tim barked out a surprised laugh. “You think Superman is creepy?”

“Say what you will about Batman, but at least he and his freaks stay on the ground. Ish.”

Tim laughed again, his mouth stretched into a grin too big for his face. “Are there any vigilantes you like?”

Jason thought about it. “Wonder Woman seems pretty cool.”

Tim kept grinning like a maniac. Little weirdo. “Yeah, she does.”

They continued walking, Tim staring up in the direction Superman had gone. “I think we should turn at the next road,” he said thoughtfully.

“We are still going to the Daily Planet building, not stalking Superman, right?” Jason asked.

“Ha, yeah,” Tim said, grinning in a way that made Jason really not trust him.

“Good, ‘cause there are probably killer robots or something stupid like that where Superman’s going.”

“Nah, he probably just defeated all the killer robots and is heading home. If he were going towards danger, he’d be flying so fast we wouldn’t see him.” Tim said it like it was obvious. Like anyone could figure it out if they just thought about it for a second.

“Of course, he would be,” Jason said. “Creepy.”

Tim laughed, then straightened quickly when they looked around another corner. “Oh! There it is!” He scampered down the road and Jason had to jog to keep up. They slowed in front of a large white building with stone steps leading to a pair of golden revolving doors. Tim craned his head to look straight up and Jason followed suit. He could just barely see the curve of a gold globe at the top.

“Well, that’s underwhelming,” Jason said.

“It’s better at more of a distance.” Tim backed up a few steps, and Jason stuck an arm out to stop him before he wandered straight into traffic. “Or from higher.”

“We are not climbing the building,” Jason said.

“We don’t have to.” Tim turned to look across the street and Jason followed his gaze. Another hotel was directly across from the Daily Planet building. “It’s time for your secret knowledge to come in handy.”

“The laundry room’s usually in the basement,” Jason said.

Tim elbowed him and sprinted across the street, barely stopping to look both ways. Jesus fucking Christ. He was not taking responsibility when Tim inevitably ended up in traction. He waited like a sane person for the cars to actually stop coming before crossing.

“What’s our first step?” Tim asked as they walked towards the ornate front doors. This was at least as fancy as the hotel they were staying in, and that one required a keycard to ride the elevator. Jason thought of the spoiled kids who had bossed around the staff at his mom’s hotel. It would be easy enough to tell someone they were staying there and lost their key. They certainly looked the part, and if they put up enough of a fuss the poor clerk probably wouldn’t even check their reservation. But, God, he never wanted to become one of those people.

“Hi,” he said to the first employee he saw, a friendly looking woman straightening up the lobby. “We want to look at the big globe on the Daily Planet building. Do you think we could go up for just a minute?”

“Oh!” she said, sounding surprised. She quickly glanced around the empty lobby, then waved for them to follow her to the elevator. “Our rooftop bar’s closed right now,” she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “There shouldn’t be anyone up there.” She held her keycard to the sensor and pressed a button labeled R. “Just make sure to come straight back down, okay?”

“Okay,” Jason said awkwardly. “Thanks.” She smiled warmly at them as the doors closed.

“Magic,” Tim said.

Jason laughed, some of his residual awkwardness dispelling. “What? Asking nicely and getting what you asked for?”

“My mom always says you have to demand anything you want to get out of life,” Tim said. Jason glanced at him. He stood in the back corner looking up at the floor numbers as they slowly clicked upwards.

“Your mom seems like—” He discarded his first thought and carefully finished, “—kind of a jerk.”

Tim shrugged, eyes staying firmly on the numbers no matter how long Jason watched. He was embarrassed, Jason thought. By his mom, or by what Jason thought of her. Or because of what Jason might think of him because of her. But he still wanted Jason there. Jason frowned and turned to watch the numbers click slowly by. He didn’t know what to think of this whole thing, or how Tim wanted him to act. He had no problem telling her off if that was what Tim wanted, but he didn’t think it was.

The floor counter clicked from 53 to R, and the door opened on a vestibule, barely big enough for the small table of coffee, hot chocolate, and tea squeezed into a corner. Tim’s eyes lit up and he started towards it, but Jason grabbed him by the collar.

“I’d rather not get arrested for stealing,” he said.

“They wouldn’t,” Tim said, eyes wide. “Would they? It’s free.”

“It’s free for people who belong here,” Jason said, dragging him towards the door that led out to the roof. “You know, at my mom’s hotel, the employees used to let kids get food from the free breakfast, ones that didn’t have food at home or didn’t have a home worth returning to.” He stopped at the door, watching fairy lights strung outside whip around in the wind. “Then a guest complained about the ‘grimy children ruining her breakfast’ and management threatened to have them arrested and to fire anyone who let non guests eat the food. Waste of money, he said.” He felt his lips curl into a snarl unbidden. That had included employees and their kids. They’d all been a little hungrier after.

Tim shifted uncomfortably next to him. “They wouldn’t do that to us, though.”

“A couple of rich kids like us that could call daddy’s lawyer?” He swung the door open and the wind caught it, slamming it against the wall. “No, they wouldn’t.”

The wind hit him like a freight train when he stepped out. It was at least twenty degrees colder up here than the sidewalk. Water rippled in an empty swimming pool that took up half the roof. A bar to their right was locked up tight, even the water spouts muzzled. This place was probably crowded summer nights, but right now Jason was starting to wish he had a coat. He slowly breathed in the chilled air and scanned the surrounding skyline. He didn’t see the globe.

“It’s, um, down,” Tim said, following behind him. He pointed to one side of the roof and they both walked to the balcony and looked over. Sure enough, at least ten floors below them, a giant gold globe seemed to hang in mid air. He couldn’t see where it connected to the building beneath it.

“I guess it’s not that special,” Tim said awkwardly after the silence had stretched several seconds.

Jason studied the golden curves, the traces of continents he could barely see carved into its surface, the ring around it that he thought had letters on it. He raised his eyes to the white, stone buildings that surrounded it. Everything was so different here than what he was used to. It was like being on a different planet instead of an hour’s drive away.

“I never thought I’d leave Gotham,” he said, tears budding in his eyes. He blinked furiously until they went away. “I never even dreamed it. I thought maybe if I worked hard, if I was lucky, I might be able to get enough scholarships to go to Gotham U, but even that seemed unlikely.” His voice broke. He thought of the dreams he’d barely wanted to even admit to himself, when he’d watched most of the older kids join gangs or drop out to get minimum wage jobs to support their families, when he knew he’d do whatever he needed to take care of his mom.

“You’ll be able to do anything you want now,” Tim said, hesitantly. Probably unsure what to do with his apparent mental breakdown. He blinked more against the tears still threatening to form.

“It’s not fair,” he said. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that he’d be able to do anything he wanted, but Mateo and Gabriela and Jesse and Lily never would.

Tim watched him for a long time, then looked back down at the gold globe. “I guess it isn’t.”

They stood there until Jason’s face started to go numb and his fingers curled into the crooks of his elbows for warmth. Finally he pushed away from the banister. “We should head back. We don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“That would be the worst,” Tim agreed, shivering. At the cold or at what Janet’s reaction would be, Jason wasn’t sure.

The employee who had let them up was still in the lobby when they left. She winked and gave them a secret wave as they walked out. Jason’s heart hurt as he waved back.

Chapter Text

They got back to the hotel with fifteen minutes to spare. Tim anxiously darted between rooms, grabbing clothes and spreading them out on the couch.

“You didn’t unpack anything,” he said, as if he hadn’t been right there when Jason had arrived. Did he think Jason had snuck off to unpack while Tim was claiming the other room? He hadn’t even touched his suitcase since they arrived. “Everything’s wrinkled now.”

“Why would I unpack?” Jason asked. “We’re literally only here for two days.”

Tim stared at him liked he’d grown an extra head. “Of course you should unpack. You can’t live out of a suitcase.”

“I definitely can,” Jason said. And had. For a few months after his mom lost her job, they’d shared one corner of a neighbor’s apartment. They hadn’t had anything to sleep on, let alone a dresser.

“You shouldn’t,” Tim corrected. He did his best to smooth out the fabric with his hands, then glanced at the clock. “Well, we don’t have time now. We just have to live with it.”

“You’re being overdramatic,” Jason said, taking the shirt Tim had picked for him and holding it up to the light. “I don’t see any wrinkles. It looks fine.”

“Wear the blazer too,” Tim said, holding out a jacket Alfred had bought him, but that Jason had so far refused to wear.

“Do I have an job interview?” Jason asked.

“You have an interview for high society,” Tim said seriously, shaking the jacket until Jason took it. “And not many people are accepted.”

“You know that’s ridiculous, right?” Jason asked, even as he took the jacket.

“What people think of you matters, Jason,” Tim said, sorting through his own shirts until he found one he liked. “And whether you like it or not, what you wear is part of that. Why do you think I wore your clothes when I went to Crime Alley?”

Jason frowned at the outfit Tim had picked out for him. He understood dressing to the part—he’d been doing it since he moved in with the Waynes—but the only kids that wore clothes like this were on magazine covers being flaunted as miniature adults. And Tim.

“Jason, five minutes,” Tim urged. Jason sighed and took the clothes to get dressed. He even put on his school shoes, which Tim had packed. Jason had never even considered wearing them outside of school, but they were his shiniest shoes, which he guessed was something that mattered.

Janet knocked on the door at exactly 6:30 and let herself in. Tim immediately lined up at the edge of the kitchen for her approval. Jason slogged after him and slouched against the counter. She came in like a general inspecting her troops, walking around Tim and looking him up and down, before nodding once. It was barely anything, but Tim beamed liked he’d just won some fancy award. Then she turned to Jason and tsked.

“Stand up straight,” she said, reaching to smooth out the same invisible wrinkles that Jason had been sure Tim was making up. “I suppose it will have to do. We don’t have time to call a maid to iron it.” Jason scowled because that was definitely not the maid’s job, but Tim elbowed him before he could say anything. “And do try to control your expression,” Janet said. She demonstrated what she must have thought was a pleasant smile, but it just made Jason shudder.

As they walked down to the lobby, he eyed Jack, who noticed him looking and offered an awkward smile. Jason guessed it must be weird spending time with your significant other’s kid you barely know, let alone the kid’s half-brother you had absolutely no relation to. Jason didn’t have great experiences with stepfathers, but Jack seemed harmless. Less than harmless. Docile.

Honestly, he had no idea what a woman like Janet would see in a man like Jack. Bruce he got. Bruce was the personification of everything Janet seemed to value. Half the time, Jason forgot Jack was even there. He wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t charming. He seemed to be wearing the right clothes, but Jason would be shocked if Janet didn’t dress him. Jack didn’t strike Jason as someone who would pay any attention to clothes beyond what it took to put them on.

They took a car to restaurant. Not a cab. Not their car. But some kind of luxury driving service that picked them up in a Cadillac, even though the restaurant was closer than the Daily Planet. It took them less than five minutes to pull up next to a glinting, silver building nestled beside a park. Jason could see the shapes of tables through a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooking flower-filled gardens. How did they even have that many flowers this time of year? Were they fake? Or was it some gardener’s job to replace flowers every time they died?

They walked into a spacious lobby with no one waiting. Jason looked around at the empty corners and potted plants. That was usually a bad sign, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been to many restaurants, but he was pretty sure people waited to get into the good ones.

“Reservation?” a man in a suit asked as they approached.

“Drake,” Janet said.

The man checked a list, nodded, and led the way into a huge room with fewer tables than the little cafe next door to Jason’s old apartment building. Every table had impeccably dressed people, including miniature adults even smaller than Tim. Heads turned to watch them as they walked by. Jason had the feeling it was the kind of place you went to be seen. He self-consciously reached up to smooth out the wrinkles he still couldn’t see, but Tim stopped his hand before it got too high. Right, Jason thought. Don’t show weakness.

The man didn’t offer them menus, and Janet didn’t ask for them, so Jason sat awkwardly with his hands in his lap counting forks. There were even more than there were back at the manor. He’d gotten the hang of the basic pattern of it—start with the outermost fork and work your way in—but was that different when there were this many?

He realized they hadn’t gone out to a restaurant since he moved into the manor. He hadn’t thought about it because he and his mom never went out to restaurants either, but they didn’t have money. Did the Waynes usually go out to restaurants? Were they not going because of Jason? When they did go, would it always be like this?

A waitress in a suit as nice as anything the patrons were wearing came to the table. “Good evening,” she said, with a small bow. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A bottle of Château Ducru-Beaucaillou,” Janet said. Jason assumed that was a drink, but it mostly sounded like nonsense syllables strung together. “And water for the children.”

“Of course,” the waitress said, bowing again before leaving. She didn’t ask about food. She didn’t even mention food. Did everyone just eat the same thing here? Jason glanced around at the other tables, but they were too far away for him to see much.

His fingers itched for a menu, or anything really that he could stare at to avoid the suffocating silence at the table. Tim sat perfectly straight with his hands in his lap and a small, polite smile on his face. It was so fake, like the way Tim sometimes quickly straightened up when Alfred was coming to get the butler’s praise.

Jason put his own hands in his lap and tried to mirror Tim’s posture. It felt so unnatural. Did anyone actually sit like this normally or was it all part of some upper class scam that claimed doing things that were unpleasant somehow made you better?

The waitress came back with a bottle of wine and a second, just as fancy, blue-tinged bottle of water, with a cork on it and everything. As if water didn’t come out of a tap. Then they started this whole pageant of testing the wine. The waitress removed the cork, and handed it to Janet, who sniffed it and gave an air of consideration before handing it to Jack. He sniffed it too, and nodded. Jason was willing to bet he had no idea what he was supposed to be sniffing for. Actually, he bet Janet didn’t either. He bet this whole thing was another scam. What were they going to do if they didn’t like the smell of it? Send it back? Throw it away?

Finally, the waitress poured wine into two glasses, but only an inch each. And then she stood, and waited, as Janet and Jack both picked up their glasses and swirled them and swirled them and swirled them. Was there a point to that? Was it supposed to make it taste better? Then they sniffed the wine again, probably because swirled wine smelled differently or something. Jason was about ready to grab the other bottle himself and pour him and Tim some water, but Tim was still waiting patiently so apparently this was just something they were supposed to do. Finally, finally, Janet and Jack sipped from their glasses and nodded their approval. The waitress poured them some more wine, still less than half a glass but apparently that was just the amount of wine they were supposed to have because no one complained. Then she turned to pour water for him and Tim.

Jason was still reeling from the wine ordeal, so he didn’t notice the bubbles in his water until he took a sip and nearly gagged it right back out.

The waitress made a small noise of alarm. To her left, Jason could see Janet’s lips pursing in disapproval. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Janet said, a fake smile easing into place. “Just a little cough. Isn’t that right, Jason?”

Jason forced his own smile and nodded. The waitress still looked uncertain, but said, “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

When she was out of earshot, Janet turned to him. “Is there a problem?”

Jason held up his glass. “Why is my water carbonated? Who would do that?”

Janet didn’t bother responding, just gave him a look. He glanced at Tim, but Tim shrugged. So this was normal then. Great. Rich people were stupid.

He took another sip and his face scrunched up by its own volition. Guess he was going thirsty. Hopefully the food was at least edible.

After several agonizing minutes of silence, the waitress approached with four large plates on a platter. Okay, this was looking promising. There were no other tables nearby so she had to be approaching them, and the plates were huge. He straightened up to try to see what was on them. Steaks maybe? Lobster?

She placed a plate in front of each of them and he stared down at the tiny circle of… food? He guessed? In the middle of the plate. It looked like two slices of grilled pepper topped with plants pulled straight out of an overgrown field and one single raspberry.

Janet was watching him, clearly just waiting for him to throw some kind of fit. He wasn’t stupid. This was obviously some kind of multi-dish meal, and this was their sad excuse for a salad. Alfred usually served at least a salad and main course at the manor, so he knew how this worked. Salad fork was the one furthest from the plate.  

He hesitated when he realized there was a small fork on the far side of the spoons and knives too, but no, it wouldn’t be that one. It was too small, and the salad fork would be with the other forks. Why was that extra fork even there? He’d already moved beyond why did they have twelve-thousand pieces of silverware when you could get by with one of each (or just one total if you used it right). Rich people liked to show off how much they had. He got it. Why an extra small fork? Why not? They had extra forks sitting around and wanted everyone to know. Maybe it was used for a single dish that just had to have its own specialized fork. Maybe it was just another way to show off how much better they were because they memorized an arbitrary rule that they’d just made up.  

He picked up the salad fork, throwing a bland smile at Janet for good measure, and ate his two bites of food. It was fine. It tasted like salad. It probably cost more than fifty bags of lettuce from the grocery store.

Janet looked amused. She probably just loved watching the poor kid struggle with fancy rich people customs. Well, fuck her. He wasn’t going to give her the pleasure. He could out-rich the best of them.

The next course was oysters, or more specifically one single oyster in a shallow, ice-filled bowl that had to have been made just for it. It looked disgusting and tasted even worse, slimy all the way down, but Jason ate it without ever breaking eye contact with Janet. He waited just long enough to watch what they did and copy it so they couldn’t even say he was embarrassing them with his lack of knowledge. The little tiny fork was apparently for putting a little tiny bit of sauce on a little tiny oyster and then they took it away, so that certainly wasn’t a huge waste of resources.

The courses kept coming. A giant bowl with three spoonfuls of soup, some kind of mush patty with a white vegetable he didn’t recognize on top, what he swore was sliced fruit topped with charcoal powder. He just kept moving one fork or spoon inward with each dish. It actually wasn’t that hard when you knew the basic rules, though he did have to switch from a fork to a spoon on one dish that had definitely looked like more of a fork dish to him at Janet’s pointed stare.

He almost sighed in relief when the waitress finally brought out a normal chicken leg. It was even a decent size, unlike all of the previous dishes. He wanted to immediately pick it up and chomp in, but he’d been at this long enough to know there had to be some trick. Sure enough, everyone else at the table picked up a knife and fork and started daintily slicing into the meat.

“You know this is ridiculous,” he said, before his brain could order his mouth to stay shut. “It’s a chicken leg. Just pick it up.”

Janet gazed at him with that same tolerant smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She crossed her knife and fork on the plate before speaking. “Many of the people here are wearing multi-hundred, or even thousand-dollar outfits. I’m sure they’d prefer not to smear duck—” She put extra emphasis on the word, the ‘k’ a syllable on its own. “—all over their clothing.”

Right. Not chicken. Of course not. Why would it be? And how dare he forget to worry about their clothes. He kept his mouth shut and followed suit, slicing a tiny little bite-sized morsel off the leg. Janet waited until he’d taken a bite before picking up her fork and knife and continuing to eat. He could see Tim in the corner of his eye with his face down, eyes firmly on his food.

This was ridiculous. He wasn’t going to sit in silence all night. The other tables were talking. They obviously didn’t have to be quiet. “How are you doing?” he asked, in his best imitation of that particular tone women at the gala had used. Tim raised his face, and Jason was pretty sure he was repressing a smile. “How’s your research going?” he asked Jack. He didn’t expect a response, it was just the kind of small talk people made, but Jack responded with as much enthusiasm and sincerity as if he’d been asked by a colleague at a conference.

“Oh, wonderfully,” he said. “There have been some fascinating developments in the field. Just this morning, I was reading an article on a four-thousand-year-old skeleton discovered in Peru. They’re analyzing the collagen to learn more about the diet of the Norte Chico civilization. Exciting times. Maybe this will finally resolve the great seafood debate.” He chuckled, so it might have been a joke but Jason wasn’t sure. Tim chuckled too in what Jason had to assume was a polite reflex to laugh when other people were laughing.

Jason thought maybe he should respond, but before he could come up with anything to say, Jack continued, apparently unbothered by his silence.

“Not to toot my own horn,” he said with another short chuckle that Tim immediately echoed, “but we had a similar discovery a few months back. Our skeleton wasn’t quite as old, but we found some of the first scientific evidence of ferns being used for medicinal purposes in ancient Balearic culture.” He paused, probably for applause, before continuing, “It’s really a fascinating story.”

Jason glanced at Janet and was surprised to see her watching Jack talk with a fond smile. Apparently something about this did it for her. Jack was as different from Bruce as you could get, but, hey, her thing with Bruce didn’t work out anyway, so maybe that was a good thing.

As they ate, Jack spun a whole tale about his adventures that Jason was pretty sure was supposed to make him sound like Indiana Jones but instead of death-defying feats and immortal knights, he did dental work on a dead guy. It wasn’t bad, actually. Jack didn’t talk down to them, and the information was interesting enough. It was better than silence.

Jack’s lecture continued for three courses and into dessert, or at least what Jason assumed was dessert. He only had one fork left, and the dish looked like some kind of pastry with cream and raspberries between layers of crackers. It tasted good enough, he guessed, but he’d rather have chocolate cake.

He really wanted to know how much this nonsense cost, but he never even saw a bill. The waitress whisked away Janet’s credit card as soon as it was pulled out and Janet had barely signed the receipt before it vanished. Maybe the restaurant didn’t want patrons thinking too long about how much it cost, or maybe any reference to money at all was too rude to be tolerated.

“We almost used radiocarbon dating instead of TPS if you can believe it,” Jack continued with a scoff. Jason could believe it. He had no idea what either of those were. “As if we were a graduate program.”

Jason was itching to stand up. He had no more silverware. The bill was paid. It had to be time to leave, but they were all just sitting around. He had no idea what they were waiting for.

“We had to rally some last minute funding—”

Janet made a soft, “ahem” sound that Jason could almost believe was a politely smothered cough if it wasn’t for how Jack immediately stood, mid-sentence to offer her an arm.

“—but it was well worth it to our investors.”

Janet stood gracefully and brushed his collar. “Of course it was, dear. Your research will benefit generations.” Apparently that was their cue. Tim stood when Janet did and Jason quickly followed suit.

They barely took a step before a man approached from another table. Jason had to assume this was a social faux paux, but when the man said, “I couldn’t help overhearing, were you one of the writers on the Mediterranean Project?” Janet draped herself proudly over Jack. Nevermind, then. Maybe being recognized in public was its own kind of status.

“Yes, he was. I’m Janet,” she said, inserting herself easily into the conversation. “This is our son, Timothy.” Our son. As if Tim belonged to Jack at all. As if Tim belonged to her at all. She’d given up the right to have a son. But Tim put on his bland society smile and shook the man’s hand. “And his brother Jason,” she continued smoothly. “I’m sure you’ve seen the absolute nonsense the newspapers have been printing about him. Bruce will sue, of course.” She said it like it was obvious and the man nodded along, offering Jason his hand. Jason took it robotically, hand clenching as he tried to keep his emotions under control. He thought he squeezed too tight, but the man just squeezed back so maybe he accidentally did a pleasantly firm handshake. How was he supposed to know? People didn’t go around shaking hands in the Alley.

Was Bruce actually going to sue? He didn’t think so. Bruce certainly hadn’t said anything to him, if so.

It didn’t have to be true, he realized as Janet, Jack, and the man continued to chat. Janet was just getting the idea out there. It would spread, and soon it would be public knowledge among the Richie Riches that Bruce was suing the newspapers over all the false things they were saying about Jason.

But they weren’t false. They mostly weren’t false. Janet just wanted them to think that so she wouldn’t have to be embarrassed about associating with him.

He managed to wait until they were actually leaving to storm off.

***

He walked back to the hotel. He didn’t care if it was embarrassing. He knew enough of the neighborhood to easily find his way. Even at night, Metropolis was brightly lit. They must have spent all of their gargoyle budget on light bulbs.

He shouldn’t have left Tim alone, he thought halfway there. No matter how he was feeling. He didn’t think they’d hurt him, not physically at least, but he was supposed to be here for Tim and instead he was having temper tantrums and storming off just because some rich jerk lied about him to make herself look better in front of her friends.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was how different everything was. All the stupid fancy rich things, and all the ridiculous rules.

And how much easier it was getting to follow them.

He was doing this for Tim. Mostly for Tim. It was just too easy to imagine the him of a few months earlier at that dinner, and to realize that he was no longer the same person. That he’d never be the same person again. Which would be easier to accept if he didn’t feel like everyone around him thought this version of him was so much better and the old version of him was… was wrong. Gross. He thought of Bruce suing the papers. Embarrassing to even remember he once existed.

When he’d first stormed off, he thought maybe he’d stomp around for awhile, blow off steam, but he walked straight to the hotel and most of his steam was gone by the time he got there.

He didn’t see any sign of the car, and they weren’t waiting for him in the lobby, not that he really thought they would be. Maybe he somehow managed to get there first and he could go hide in his room until it was just him and Tim and he could apologize.

His hopes were dashed when he opened the door to their suite, and the first thing he saw was Janet perched on a stool in a way that would have been awkward for the average person, but on her looked like the stool was built specifically for her to confront people who had wronged her. She sipped from a glass of wine that had to have come from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out where.

Tim and Jack were nowhere in sight. He could hear a shower running, which probably explained Tim’s absence. Maybe Jack had already gone upstairs. He slowly shut the door behind him, closing himself into the room alone with Janet. He wasn’t scared of her.

Actually, he was terrified of her, but he wasn’t going to let her see that.

“Jason,” she said oh-so-pleasantly. A shiver ran down his spine at something in her tone that his ears couldn’t register. “Did you have a nice walk?”

He reminded himself that she’d never hurt Tim, not physically, and she probably wouldn’t hurt him. At worst he’d lose, what? Social status? Like he cared about that.

“It was great, thanks,” he said, trying to fake a smile as bland as hers.

“Timothy was worried.”

“Oh, like you care what Tim thinks,” he said, the words spilling out before he could stop them. She didn’t respond, just raised her eyebrows as if inviting him to continue. “You barely pay any attention to him. You can’t even stand to share a five-room suite with him!” He swung his arm in a wide arc, motioning to the room, the suite, the whole damn floor she wasn’t staying on. Her expression didn’t change. “You don’t care what he wants. I don’t think you even know what he wants.”

“Do you think I invite random children to travel with us?” she asked mildly. “You’re here because Timothy wanted you to be.”

“Yeah, and that must be such a disappointment to you, Timothy—” He imitated the way he said Tim’s name, all long and pretentious. “—choosing to spend his time with such an embarrassing street kid.”

“Is that what you think?” she asked. She still sounded mild, but something in her tone had changed, more the contemplative feel it had had when she talked about her first trip to Metropolis.

“Well, yeah,” he said, hesitant now. Something felt off in this conversation, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “You’ve been trying to correct my behavior to make me a proper little rich kid since we met. And you told that guy all the articles about me were fake.”

Janet put down the empty wine glass and stood, her clothes falling perfectly into place without a single crease. He stood his ground despite his instincts telling him to step back, run, run, predator closing in. "You think I care where you're from?” she asked. Her tone was fierce now, and different in a way he couldn’t quite recognize. Less posh and pretensions, underlined with something distinctly street. “The Waynes are Gotham royalty, wealth that breeds wealth, but we Drakes worked for every cent we have, building ourselves out of nothing. I don't care where you're from. I care where you're going."

Jason looked at her, at the tailor-made clothes, the ruby encrusted necklace and earrings, the perfectly styled hair, the glass of wine she could apparently summon out of thin air, and the attitude that held it all together. He remembered Tim, back at the manor, the first time he mentioned Janet. My mom said if poor people were smart, they wouldn’t be poor. He hesitated. “You were poor?” he asked.

“My father was poor,” she said. “He started a little business, and I built it into an empire.” Jason’s brain tried to reconcile this. He tried to imagine Janet as one of the kids in his building. Or, not even that, as an average, middle-class kid. Not wanting, but not getting everything she desired. He couldn’t do it. Janet was his stereotype of wealth, everything he’d imagined all rich assholes to be when he was wearing rags and looking at magazines covered with limos and pearls. “Timothy has had opportunities I never dreamed of as a child,” she continued as if she didn’t notice his brain breaking. He didn’t believe that act for a second.

“He doesn’t want opportunities; he wants you,” Jason said when he could speak again, not because he thought it was the best thing to say, but because it was true. That, at least, was something he understood.

“Timothy is perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” Janet said, waving her hand dismissively. “I raised him to be independent and mature, despite Brucie’s best attempts at turning him into a sniveling, spoiled rich kid like his brother.”

Jason’s breath caught in his throat. “I like Dick,” he choked out.

“Of course, you do,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “He’s very likable. But I guarantee you he’ll end up a useless forty-year-old living off of daddy’s money and knocking up half a dozen women just like his father. My Timothy will be better than that.”

Every word made Jason feel sicker. It was an echo of things he had thought about Dick and Bruce before he knew them. Things he still thought when he looked at other rich kids. But when she said it, it sounded wrong.

He understood then. He got it. Learning the rules, learning how to play the role well enough that people didn’t question where you came from, but never losing that bitterness at others who’d had it all handed to them on a silver platter. He understood it too well. He could see how easy it would be for him to become that, and he hated it.

“Mom?” Tim asked from the doorway of his room. He was wearing silk pajamas—seriously. Silk. Like he was Ebenezer Scrooge on a midnight journey—and had wet hair.

“Hi, honey,” she said, smile back in place. “I was just making sure Jason got back okay.”

“Yeah…” Tim said hesitantly, like he didn’t quite believe her. Jason didn’t blame him. It was extremely unbelievable.

“Have a good night,” she said. She leaned down to kiss him on the forehead, and Tim looked so absurdly pleased at such a simple show of affection that it made Jason angry all over again.

Janet gave him a look on the way out, but he wasn’t sure what it meant. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to know.

Tim waited until the door was closed behind her to ask, “Are you okay? Did she say something?”

Jason hesitated too long before answering, “No, it’s fine. Sorry about running off.”

Tim smiled wanly at him. “I get it. Sometimes I want to run out of those things too.”

Jason wondered if leaving Tim with Bruce was Janet’s way of making sure he’d grow up more comfortable in rich culture than her. He wondered if she knew how badly she’d failed.

“Do you want to see how much room service and pay-per-view movies we can get charged to your mom’s card?” he asked instead.

“Yes,” Tim said, immediately reaching for the hotel phone.

***

They fell asleep on the couch instead of in their beds, and Jason woke up with a crick in his neck that told him he’d gotten spoiled. He’d slept in much worse places than on an overstuffed couch without so much as a twinge. He looked down at Tim, who was still asleep, curled up as tightly as a napping cat. An alarm was going off in another room. Tim’s. That probably meant they were supposed to be awake.

Jason stretched, feeling like his spine was snapping back into place. “Tim, wake up,” he said, pushing on Tim’s shoulder. Tim curled up even tighter, arms going over his face in a way that only increased the cat resemblance. Jason would let him sleep if he wasn’t so sure Tim would be an anxious mess if he woke up late.

He pushed Tim off the couch. He landed on the plush carpet with a loud squeak, but at least he was awake.

“Jason!” Tim complained as Jason got up to explore what the kitchen had to offer. There were leftovers from room service the night before, but most of it hadn’t made it into the refrigerator before they fell asleep. His stomach twisted at the idea of wasting that much food. It was probably still okay? The microwave would kill most bacteria.

“Your alarm’s going off,” he said distractedly, poking at a half-eaten burger.

Tim shot up and ran to the bedroom, followed by a blur of, “Oh, thank you, sorry.” He popped his head back into the family room a second later and said, “Don’t eat that. You’ll die,” before disappearing again.

Jason was 100% certain that wasn’t true, but he left it for now.

Fifteen minutes later they were dressed, and Tim was running him through the agenda for the day while obsessively straightening his clothes. “We are to be at breakfast at 7:30 sharp.” Are to be. Jason snorted internally. He was willing to bet those were Janet’s exact words. “Then we’re going to the Museum of Modern Art, getting lunch at Le Gavroche, and going to the symphony this afternoon.”

That actually sounded fun. He was sure Janet would find some way to ruin it, of course, but he hadn’t been to a museum in… he blanked on the exact time period. He and his mom used to go on free days when she had more good days than bad, but that had been awhile. They should go when she got out of rehab. A smile grew across his face when he realized that was a real thing that they’d be able to do. Soon, too.

Tim looked up at a sharp knock on the door, his eyebrows scrunching together. This wasn’t part of their carefully planned schedule, and Tim clearly didn’t like it. The door opened before either of them took a step towards it, and Janet entered. Tim looked more concerned than Jason thought he would if it was a stranger breaking into their room.

“Timothy,” she said as she bustled in. Jack waited in the hallway with their suitcases.

Wait, suitcases?

“Something has come up and we must leave immediately,” she continued. Jason was looking at Tim, so he saw the way his face crumpled, then immediately smoothed into a controlled expression. “Your father mentioned having a friend in town. Could you have him pick you up?” She turned to walk out without waiting for a response.

“But…” Tim started, cutting off quickly when she turned to give him a sharp look. “Yes, of course,” he said quietly.

Jason watched Tim’s face contort in his attempts to keep it calm and unemotional as she left. Proper. Dignified.

Jason turned on her just as she was reaching to close the door. “It can’t possibly be that important,” he said.

“Jason,” Tim said quietly, reaching  towards him, but he stood his ground.

“It can wait a day. It has to be able to wait a day,” he said, hands clenching into fists.

Janet stood in the doorway, eyeing him with that look of supreme disapproval she’d perfected. “I have an important business deal I had thought was settled, but apparently the president needs someone to soothe his over-inflated ego before he’s willing to sign the final paperwork.”

“And it can’t wait one day? What’s the worst that could happen?”

She took in a long, slow breath and sighed deeply before listing off, “The deal falls through, we’re forced to close a division of the company, laying off thousands, the company never recovers, bankruptcy, destitution.” She gives him a sharp look. “Not all of us are born to money. Some of us have to work for it.” His breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t talk as she turned to Tim and said, “Be good, Timothy. I’ll check in on you soon.” The door snapped shut.

Jason wanted to throw something. He wanted to pick up a lamp and throw it against a wall, smashing it into tiny pieces, and maybe stomping on the bits that remained, but he didn’t. He didn’t because he didn’t want to scare Tim, because he didn’t want to leave a mess for the maids who would have to clean up after them, because he didn’t want to become the memory in his mind of Willis throwing things when he got angry.

“Uncle Clark?” Tim said behind him, voice small. Jason turned and saw he was already on the phone. “Can you pick us up?”

***

They cleaned while they waited. More accurately, Jason cleaned, and Tim followed behind him, wiping counters that Jason had already wiped or straightening piles of sheets that Jason had stripped. They hadn’t slept in the beds, but Jason knew that didn’t make a difference. The sheets still had to be washed, and he wanted to make things as easy for the maids as he could. He felt bad throwing away the food, but he knew that was better than leaving rotting leftovers out on the counters or in the fridge for someone else to deal with.

Tim didn’t speak until they were in his room, removing unworn clothes from hangers and putting them in his suitcase, much less carefully than when they’d packed to come.

“I used to think it was possible to be good enough for her,” he said, staring down at the shirt he was folding. “I thought… I thought criticism was caring.” He laughed, small and self-deprecating. “And that if I did everything she asked for in exactly the way she asked for it. If I had perfect attendance and perfect grades. If I wore the right clothes and went to the right social events and talked to the right people and said the right things, that… that…” His voice got quiet and embarrassed. “That she’d stop leaving and maybe she’d…” he trailed off, but Jason heard what he wasn’t saying.  

He took the shirt from Tim’s clenched fingers, thinking about his conversation with Janet the night before. He wasn’t convinced that criticism wasn’t caring for her, in some twisted way. That she thought she was somehow helping Tim. But that didn’t matter. Intentions meant shit in the face of a hurt child that just wanted his mom to love him.

“You deserve better,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, his voice quiet, but strong. “I do.”

A knock rang out in the other room, and Tim darted for the door immediately. That was a lot quicker than Jason was expecting. They weren’t being kicked out, were they? Janet must have checked them out before she left, but they wouldn’t kick them out immediately. Right?

By the time Jason reached the door, Tim had already opened it and was hugging a large man in a checkered shirt. Uncle Clark, apparently.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” Clark asked, pulling back to look at Tim. He was a lot… nerdier looking than Jason had expected from a friend of Bruce’s. His shirt was rumpled with a small stain on the collar and he wore glasses much too big for his face. He didn’t look like he’d be able to get a reservation at an Applebee's, let alone be friends with a billionaire. “You should have told me you were going to be in town. Kon would love to see you.”

“It was last minute,” Tim said. “You know my mom.”

“Yes, I do,” he said with a sympathetic smile. Somehow that smile managed to express full understanding of the situation without any judgment. Not even the “unfortunately,” that clearly should have been at the end of any sentence about knowing Janet. He raised his eyes to Jason. “You must be Jason,” he said, reaching out a hand for Jason to shake. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Only bad things, I’m sure,” Jason said, shifting uncomfortably. He carefully shook Clark’s hand. The size of it made Jason nervous, but nothing about Clark was the least bit intimidating.

“Not a single bad thing,” he said with a friendly laugh.

“Then what did he say?” Jason asked. He instantly chastised himself for how confrontational it came out, but he couldn’t think of any way Bruce could have said a lot about him without at least half of it being bad.

“That you’re smart, strong, extremely empathetic,” Clark said, counting things off on his fingers. “He said you’re probably going to take over your grandmother’s charity work when you’re older.”

“Oh,” Jason said, hating the way his cheeks flushed. The idea of Bruce talking about him to his friends, let alone saying good things, was so surreal. “How do you even know Bruce? You look… I mean, no offense,” he finished quickly. Why the hell was he insulting how this guy looked?

Clark laughed, not looking offended at all. “I’m a reporter. I work for the Daily Planet, down the street.” Oh. Jason guessed that explained how he got there so quickly. Was Clark really at work at seven on a Saturday morning? Reporters worked weird hours. “I interviewed your dad a few times early in my career, and we got along surprisingly well.” He scratched the side of his head. “Surprising for everyone, really.”

Jason could imagine. “Have you written any really scathing articles about him?” he asked.

“Oh, tons,” Clark said with a grin. “It’s one of my true joys in life.”

Jason repressed the mirroring grin threatening to form. Tim was beaming like, see? I told you he was cool.

“Let’s get your suitcases,” Clark said, ruffling Tim’s hair. “Do you boys want to do anything before I take you home? I can’t promise anything as fancy as your mom would have taken you to. ”

“Jason’s never been to Metropolis before,” Tim said.

Clark smiled at him. “Then we have at least ten things we should see before we go. Have you been to the Daily Planet yet? It has a big gold globe on it.”

They finished packing quickly, and Clark easily hefted both suitcases. It was as weird leaving the hotel as it was arriving. The employees they passed gave them polite, distant smiles and wished them a good day. He remembered that script from when it was his mom and her coworkers reciting it, and how little they meant it. He wanted to engage them, start a conversation, show them he was on their side, but he just smiled politely, distantly back and said, “You too.”

He should go see how the people at his mom’s hotel were doing. He wondered if they were all still there or if they had moved on. If they could move on. A lot of people couldn’t.

He should go see Mateo and his family. He hadn’t talked to Mateo since the day after he moved in with Bruce, when his mom was moving out and Mateo offered him a place to stay. He missed him.

He should go back to the Alley, before he forgot who he was.

Chapter Text

“Guess what, Jaybird!” Dick exclaimed, swinging the door to Jason’s bedroom open so hard Jason swore the doorknob embedded in the wall. He flinched, fingers stilling in the act of buttoning up his uniform shirt. 

“You have no sense of privacy?” he asked. Dick was better than Tim, at least, but he still showed clear signs of having grown up in a traveling commune. 

Jason didn’t even mind the lack of privacy so much. This was his first time ever even having his own bedroom. It was just hard to convince his brain not to panic every time a door slammed.

“I’m driving us to school,” Dick continued as if Jason hadn’t said anything. 

“Why?” Jason asked, turning fully towards him. Alfred hadn’t said anything about taking the day off. There were probably reasons other than being on his deathbed that Alfred would slack on his duties, but Jason couldn’t immediately think of any. 

“Dad had something come up and Alfred’s helping him with it,” Dick said easily enough, so he probably wasn’t covering up for anything. “I figure we could use it as an opportunity for some brotherly bonding.”

“On the fifteen-minute trip to school?” Jason asked doubtfully.

“After school. We don’t have to come home right away. Think about it.” With that, he left as quickly as he came, probably to harass Tim next. 

Jason finished buttoning his shirt and pulled on his jacket. What did rich kids do for fun anyway? Skydiving? Horseback riding? He seemed to remember that the manor had stables. Did they own horses? He’d never seen any horses, but with how large the grounds were they could probably hide a whole zoo without him noticing. 

He glanced at one of his dresser drawers, thinking about what he had hidden inside. Actually, there was one thing he’d been wanting to do, and he probably had a better chance of convincing Dick than most the rest of the family.

He shoved the thought aside for the moment and finished getting ready. He’d test the waters later. See what Dick was open to.

Dick owned a sleek, bright yellow sports car that stank of money even more than the limo Alfred drove them around in. Jason traced a hand reverently along the curve of the hood. Nobody should have a car like this. A seventeen-year-old definitely should not have a car like this. He wondered if Bruce would buy him one when he got his license. 

No. Bad. Wrong. He yanked his hand away and climbed in. The seats were almost too soft to be leather. He’d never even be able to afford a jacket made of this, but God, he wanted one. 

“Buckle your seatbelt,” Dick said with a grin that should disqualify people from being allowed to get licenses. Then he slammed on the gas, driving full speed at the garage door before it was even fully open. 

“Jesus Christ!” Jason yelled as they swerved in a half circle and shot down the driveway. Dick just grinned wider. 

They made the fifteen-minute drive in six and half minutes. Jason thought he should be mad. He might be, if he could stop laughing long enough to breathe.

“You’re a crazy person!” he said when he was finally able to speak. “If Alfred ever saw you driving like that, he’d encase your keys in cement and drop them in the Sprang.” 

“It’ll be our secret,” Dick said, climbing out the open roof instead of opening the door. Somehow despite the roof being down the whole trip, Dick looked like he was posing for a model shoot. Jason was sure his own hair was already being considered by at least a few birds for their new home. 

“I think you mean blackmail,” Jason said.

Dick laughed loudly, the asshole. He could at least try to look threatened. 

They got five feet before Dick was surrounded by his never-ending supply of friends. Or fans. Sometimes Jason couldn’t tell the difference. He heard someone exclaiming about the “sick drifts” while he continued to the school alone. 

He maneuvered around small clumps of students loitering in the hallways before first bell and made his way to the library. He’d found a little spot—near the back and up some steps in the rarely used microform section—that had a chair so hidden that not a single person had stumbled across him while he was sitting there. And he sat there a lot. Before school? Library. Lunch? Library. After school if there was any reason Alfred wasn’t going to pick them up right away? Library. Bruce was starting to float the idea of him joining a club and he was avoiding it like the plague. The school’s biggest sport was lacrosse. Lacrosse. He couldn’t possibly find a club he’d like at a school where people genuinely, without any irony, talked about how good the previous night’s game of lacrosse was. 

He curled up with the library’s copy of The Odyssey that he was slowly working his way through twenty minutes at a time. He was only eighty pages in, but he was pretty sure he hated Odysseus. He’d thought about picking up something different, but the idea of not finishing a book was too terrible to even consider.

After awhile, the first bell rang, but he continued reading. His classroom was only a couple of halls over, and if he arrived too soon, someone might try to talk to him. He took his time finishing the page he was on, marked his spot, put the book back on its shelf, and slowly ambled to class. He managed to sit in his seat just as the second bell rang, which, as far as he was concerned, was perfect. 

The classes weren’t as bad as he thought they’d be on the first day. The students weren’t as bad. But it was… different, and he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. In French class, they wrote their own commercial scripts, filmed them with the smart phones every student owned, and played them for the class on a screen big enough to rival a movie theater. In Literature, they barely even talked about the books. They talked about the authors, the time periods, the wars or religion or racial relations that influenced the books. It was interesting, but he liked reading because he liked the stories. 

In History, they spent a day every week just building a whole new society. They wrote and ratified a class constitution, created laws, assigned jobs. Jason was a laborer, which he thought might have been meant as an insult, but laborers were important. Their class had way too many doctors and judges and politicians. While they argued over who should be in charge, he built all of the things they wanted to buy and was slowly accumulating a fortune. He’d realized early on that despite growing up rich, most of these kids had almost no understanding of money. They weren’t even familiar with the most basic scams that Alley kids learned how to avoid (and how to run) before they ever stepped foot in a school. He’d started running a simple insurance scam the second week of school, and none of the other students had noticed. The teacher had given him a couple of pointed looks, but hadn’t said anything, so Jason assumed it was allowed. Maybe, if they were still underestimating him at the end of the semester, he’d take over the whole damn government. 

His hardest class was Geometry. Everyone else had clearly learned the basics the year before, and he just hadn’t. Math had always been a practical class in the Alley, and measuring shapes had never seemed particularly practical to him. So now they were three weeks into building bridges out of toothpicks, and he was the only one whose bridge couldn’t hold at least a five-pound weight without collapsing. He was starting to understand the practicality of measuring shapes. He was also starting to hate it. 

“Can someone help Jason with his bridge today?” the teacher asked before class even started. Jason had to fight down an answering glare. He did need the help, but it was embarrassing. He wasn’t used to being bad at school. 

Across the room, Harrison (he was almost 100% sure his name was Harrison) raised his hand. Harrison’s bridge had no problem holding a five-pound weight. Harrison’s bridge could handle rush hour traffic. Harrison had probably gotten his bridge design approved by the Department of Transportation and it was only a matter of time before they were using it to cross the Sound. Jason gave him a tight smile as he walked over. 

Harrison took five seconds to inspect Jason’s bridge and announced, “You need more triangles,” in a tone of snobby superiority that grated at Jason’s nerves. 

“I’m using triangles,” Jason insisted. “My whole bridge is triangles.” The teacher had said on the first day of the unit that triangles were the strongest shape, and then repeated it like twenty more times, so he knew. Use triangles. 

“Yes, but you need more,” Harrison said. He started cutting and gluing toothpicks onto Jason’s bridge without asking permission. Jason gritted his teeth, but followed suit. 

They’d been working for a few minutes when he noticed Harrison peeking up at him. Oh, great. He could feel the weight of whatever Harrison wasn’t saying. What was it going to be this time? His surprise that poor people even knew what shapes were? Some comment about sleeping under bridges? He’d already gotten that from one of the lacrosse players, which he guessed was this school’s version of a jock.

“I haven’t had a chance to thank you,” Harrison said, throwing Jason for so much of a loop that he almost missed the rest of the sentence. “For standing up for me at the gala.” 

“What?” Jason asked. He didn’t remember standing up for Harrison at the gala. He remembered Harrison saying some dumb shit about poor people and Jason ripping him a new one. 

“When the other kids were laughing at me,” Harrison said, stiffly. 

Jason tried to remember the other kids laughing at Harrison. It had been over a month since the gala and he’d mostly tried to forget it. Harrison had said something dumb about poor people eating steak, Jason had told him how dumb it was, the other kids had laughed, and… okay, he guessed he got it. He’d been pretty sure they were laughing at him, though. Then he’d called them assholes and left. Had Harrison thought he was calling them assholes for laughing at him?

It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Jason, but he wasn’t gonna fight it. “Well, they were being jerks,” he said, trying to gallantly shrug it off. 

“Still, I appreciate it,” Harrison said. 

Jason couldn’t think of a response to that, so he focused on trying to make his tiny triangles as solid as possible. 

His bridge managed a whole ten pounds this time, so he probably wasn’t going to fail. Which wasn’t much of a relief, he thought as he shoved his things into his bookbag. He’d gotten the occasional B growing up, between taking care of his mom on her worse highs and hunting down grocery money, and even a C once when they got evicted and didn’t know where they were going to live, but mostly he’d strong-armed his way into A’s even when it meant studying in the hallway, or bathroom, or breaking into an empty apartment for a few minutes of quiet. And now when he had no responsibilities, nothing preventing him from studying, now he was at risk of failing? He just had to work harder. Ask about extra credit. It wasn’t his fault he’d missed when they were taught the fundamentals of this shit, but it would be his fault if he didn’t learn it now. 

Harrison joined him as he walked out into the hallway. First period lunch was starting, so the hallways were a mess of younger kids ambling around, deciding what they wanted to do for lunch, while the older kids shoved through trying to get to class on time. 

“What do you do during lunch, anyway?” Harrison asked. “I’ve never seen you in the cafeteria.”

Jason wasn’t sure he wanted to give away his hiding spot, so he just shrugged. “I find ways to entertain myself.”

“You could always sit with us if you wanted.” Harrison shrugged like it was a casual, spur of the moment invitation, but his shoulder twitched on the shrug and his voice was a little too stiff. 

Jason tried not to scowl at the memory of the last time he’d hung out with Harrison’s “friends.” Harrison seemed like he was trying to be nice; Jason could return the courtesy. “Are the other kids from the gala going to be there?” he asked, not quite keeping the biting tone out of his voice. 

“We don’t always hang out with the gala kids,” Harrison said dismissively. Of course not, Jason thought. What happens at galas stays at galas. “But my sister and Tiffany will be there. And Archie. Did you meet him? I think he was still with his parents when you left.”

Jason had no idea who any of the kids had been, except he thought Tiffany might be the pretty brunette who hated Mexico. “I don’t even know your sister’s name,” he said.

Harrison shot him a surprised look for some reason. Did he just expect everyone to be following their daily affairs? “Jessica.”

“Great,” he said. He debated giving some excuse and making a run for the library. He didn’t actually want to try hanging out with these people again, did he?

He thought of Janet, old and bitter and never able to adjust.

He thought of the charity meeting, of good people who said the wrong things ‘cause they didn’t understand.

He thought of tipsy kids at a gala, laughing just a little too much.

He took a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out slowly. “I guess I can try it out.”

Harrison seemed way too pleased with that.

Jason was already regretting his decision as they approached the cafeteria. He was pretty sure that the last time he saw Tiffany he called her a racist. She might be a racist. 

Or maybe she just hated vacations at beaches. Fuck, he didn’t know. No matter what, this was going to be awkward as hell. 

By the time they reached the table with their food, his face was stretched into a tight, fake smile like he used to see plastered across the faces of his mom’s coworkers all the time. Why yes, I do want to hear all about the problem you have with the pay-per-view you ordered. Please describe it to me in detail.

Both Tiffany and Jessica looked so surprised to see him that he almost kept walking past. He could pretend that had been his plan the whole time. Sure there was a wall that way so he’d have to do an awkward 180, and everyone would be staring at him, and Harrison already knew he’d been planning to eat there so he wouldn’t actually be fooling anyone, but, really, would that be any worse? 

Tiffany gave him an awkward smile. He took a breath and sat down.

“Jason!” Jessica exclaimed with a wide smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Fancy seeing you here? At least he wasn’t the only one who said weird things.

Before he could respond, Harrison said with the pompousness of a returning prince, “He didn’t know your name.” Jason stiffened. Was Harrison already throwing him under the bus?

“What?” Jessica asked, smile faltering as she turned to look at her brother.

“It’s true.” Harrison smirked. “I had to tell him on the way over.”

This wasn’t about him, Jason realized. Harrison was teasing his sister.

“What? But…” She turned on Jason, eyes ablaze. “I introduced myself on your first day.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jason responded indignantly, the words coming easier than he expected. “You ran into me and knocked my books to the ground.”

She pouted, her bottom lip sticking out so far it had to be exaggerated. “Well, at least I was memorable.”

“You were the third person to do it.”

Harrison laughed, and even Tiffany looked like she was hiding a smile behind her hand. 

“You were one of the few people I remembered from that day?” he offered. Not positively, but he guessed it was true.

She perked up immediately, so apparently that was all she wanted. 

“Hello,” a new voice said. A kid who clearly cared too much about his hair, judging from how much gel must be in it, sat at the end of the table. “Jason, right?”

Jason thought the, “right?” was added to be polite. His tone suggested that he not only knew everything about this, but also about anything he could ever conceivably encounter. 

“Yeah, that’s me” Jason said, letting the street hang heavy in his voice. The boy smiled in apparent amusement. “And you are?”

“Archie,” he and Harrison said at the same time. Jason’s eyes flicked up to his stylized brown hair and he realized, stupidly, that he’d expected a redhead. His brain had heard Archie and immediately filled in the comic book character.

“Right,” he said, embarrassed. 

“How are you enjoying the gentry class?” Archie lolled, spearing a red potato and gesturing with it like a baton. 

“People in the gentry class didn’t have jobs,” Jason said, automatically. “I’m pretty sure we’d be merchant class.” Though modern American wasn’t exactly Regency England. He thought of Janet’s comment, wealth that breeds wealth. Just because Bruce had a job, didn’t mean he had to, and meanwhile Jason had been working random jobs since he was eight. That had stopped when he moved in with Bruce, so he was certainly gentrying it up right now. 

He thought of the idle lives they lived in Pride and Prejudice, learning art and culture instead of trades. That wasn’t so far off from his current life. Bruce was even talking about putting him in martial arts, which he thought was stupid. He knew how to fight. There was nothing he could learn in the yoga equivalent of exercise that would protect him better than street brawling. 

He realized Archie was raising an eyebrow at him. “I just meant, you know, rich.” He’d lost some of his know-it-all tone.

Then you should have said that, Jason thought. “It has its ups and downs,” he said instead, with a shrug. 

“What’s the worst part?”

“The people,” Jason replied immediately, with a challenging gaze, but Archie just laughed.

“I’m pretty sure people suck everywhere.”

Well, he couldn’t exactly disagree with that. 

“I did go to Metropolis a couple weeks ago,” he said, looking down at his food and dragging his fork through his pasta. He wasn’t completely sure why he brought it up. These were people who thought that trips to Paris were pedestrian, but it was a big deal for him. 

“Oh!” Tiffany said. She’d been quiet since he arrived, but she looked up then. “You’d never been out of Gotham, right?” He was surprised she remembered. Though he guessed he did kind of make a scene over the whole thing. “How was it?”

“Very different.” He thought of the bright light and glittering skyscrapers of glass and steel. He thought of the feeling of freedom and possibility, of standing on the roof and for the first time being able to see more than a few feet ahead of him. “Worse, obviously.”

They laughed, and this time he didn’t feel like they were laughing at him. Maybe they never were.

Feeling bolstered, he gave them his most winning smile, the one he’d mostly used to scam a few dollars out of lost tourists, and said, “So, now that I’ve started my world tour, where do you suggest I go next?”

After school, Jason found Dick outside, leaning against the hood of his car like a scene out of a movie Jason had seen once. He couldn’t name the movie or when he’d seen it, he just knew that this—I’m-not-posing-this-is-just-what-I-look-like Dick dressed in a rumpled school uniform and propped up against a car that never should have left the race track—had to have been the first introduction of the main character in some movie that he definitely saw. 

“Jay!” Dick yelled as he approached, attracting everyone’s gazes the way he always did. Jason knew Dick loved the attention, but he wished it didn’t result in so many eyes on him.

“Hey, Dickhead,” Jason said, walking past and getting in the car before Dick had even pushed himself off the hood. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do for our brotherly bonding?” Dick asked, sliding into the seat next to him. 

Jason had. Quite a bit, actually. “So...” he hedged. “You know, Bruce told me you could take me wherever I wanted and I didn’t need to get his permission.”

Dick laughed. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Jason said. It was close enough. Bruce had only actually been talking about visiting his mom, but Jason could infer. “He said we didn’t even need to tell him.”

“So where did you want to go?” Dick asked. His eyes were twinkling and his mouth twitching. He was just humoring Jason, and then he was going to suggest they go get ice cream or… dirt bike riding or something, he didn’t know.

“Nevermind,” Jason said, looking out the window. 

“No, seriously,” Dick said, scooting closer than he should have been able to with the console between them. “Tell me.”

Jason watched the parade of uniformed kids walking past, most getting into Bentleys or Mercedes. Jessica and Harrison waited for a chauffeur to open the door of a limo not much different from what he and Dick were usually picked up in. Beyond them, a sleek silver bus waited to ferry the scholarship students back to their neighborhoods. 

“I want to go see my friend Mateo,” he said. “In Park Row.” 

He winced as the words left his mouth. He never called it that, wasn’t ashamed of where he came from. But… he guessed he thought he had more of a chance of being allowed to visit a place called Park Row than Crime Alley.

Allowed, he thought bitterly.

“Yeah, okay,” Dick said easily. Jason jerked to face him in surprise. 

“Seriously?” he asked, searching Dick’s face for any sign that he was joking. 

“Sure, could be fun!” He winked. “And we don’t have to tell Dad.”

Sometimes he forgot that Dick was cool. 

Dick drove more carefully, but not less confidently, through the busy streets of Gotham towards Crime Alley. The car had a built in GPS diligently tracking their location, but Dick didn’t put in an address, or even glance at it as he navigated the maze of one-way streets. Did he just have the whole map of Gotham memorized? 

He did have a friend from the Alley, though, didn’t he? What was her name? Artemis? Maybe he’d been there before. It made Jason feel a little better about Dick’s ability to handle the Alley, even if he was still essentially driving a treasure chest onto a ship of pirates.

“You know like five people are going to try to steal your car, right?” Jason asked.

Dick was humming loudly to a pop song on the radio, tapping the wheel along with the beat. “That’s fine,” he said cheerfully. “I have insurance.”

Was he… joking? He couldn’t seriously not care if someone stole his million-dollar car because he could get a new million-dollar car. Dick shot him a quick grin and Jason flushed and stared down at his hands. Asshole. He deserved to get his car stolen. 

Dick drove straight to Jason’s building without any instructions, which… was weird. It felt weird. He guessed someone, probably Bruce, must have told Dick where he lived, but the idea of them talking behind his back about… of course they were, of course they would have talked about this. Dick was the oldest, Bruce had probably told him to keep an eye on Jason, but that was different from knowing exactly where he lived. How to get there without even looking at a map. Had he and his friend cased the joint? Talked about what kind of life he must have lived there? What kind of people lived there?

He pressed the heel of his hand into the leather seat. He didn’t care. He didn’t care what they said. He wasn’t ashamed and if they said bad shit that said more about them than him. 

He shouldn’t assume it was bad anyway. Artemis was from here too. But when he tried to imagine the two of them looking up at the building and talking about him, he could only see disgust or pity. 

Fuck. The last couple months had been messing with his head. That’s why he needed to come back here. Ground himself. 

Dick reversed suddenly into an empty space right in front of the building. 

“This isn’t a parking spot, Dickwad,” Jason said. “There’s a hydrant.” 

“I’ll move if there’s a fire,” Dick replied, already climbing out of the car. Jason would have stayed in the car in protest except Dick had already closed the door and wouldn’t be able to hear him complaining. 

“It doesn’t matter if there’s a fire, idiot, you’ll get towed,” Jason said, scrambling out after him.

“I’m sure the car will be stolen long before that happens,” Dick said with a grin. When Jason didn’t smile back, he sobered. “It’s fine, Jay, seriously. It would take us an hour to find a spot around here. If we get towed, I’ll just pay the impound fee. No biggie.” 

One of Jason’s neighbors, Mrs. Whittles, had gotten her car towed once and then just didn’t have a car anymore because she was never able to afford the ever-increasing fees.

“It’s two-hundred dollars at most,” Dick said. 

Dick had always had money, Jason remembered. He might have played the part of a circus kid before his mom died, but he always knew who his dad was.

“It’s your car,” he muttered, mind going to a bundle in his bag, carefully wrapped and hidden, that he’d grabbed that morning before leaving. 

“It’s just things, Little Wing,” Dick said, ruffling his hair as they walked towards the building. “It’s not that important.”

Which Jason thought was easier to say when you could afford whatever things you wanted. 

Lily was slouched against the building smoking as they approached. She’d been trying to quit the last time Jason saw her, was always trying to quit, but she must have had a bad week. 

“Hey, Lily!” he called, forcing his voice to be cheerful. 

She looked at the car first, then at Dick, her gaze lingering on his face long enough that Jason was sure she recognized him. Of course she did. Dick’s pretty face had been in enough magazines. 

“Jason,” she said with a broad smile when she finally turned to him. “Moving up in the world?”

“Ha,” he said instead of answering. “Does…” He hesitated, moved closer. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked back to Dick. “Does everyone know?”

She dropped the smile. Her eyes were tired, but that wasn’t new. She’d been tired for as long as he’d known her. “It’s more rumor than fact but… Yeah. The articles didn’t say everything but…”

They’d said enough. His first name, his age, where he was from, that his mom was an addict. They were filled with false speculation, but there was enough truth. He knew there was enough. He knew…

“Do they hate me?” he asked, his voice breaking. He heard the shift of Dick turning towards him, but didn’t look, couldn’t look, his eyes solely on Lily.

“Oh, Jason,” she said. “Nobody hates you. Jealous, maybe.” She gave him a wan smile. “Definitely.”

“It’s not that great,” he muttered.

“Don’t go becoming one of those rich folks who claim that money doesn’t buy happiness,” she said, taking a long drag from her cigarette. “It would certainly buy me happiness.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” He didn’t know how to explain how he felt, like he’d moved to a different country where he barely even had a grasp of the language and everything worked differently. How people always thought he must be so relieved to be with them now instead of back in the Alley, like being one of them was just inherently better than who he was before. Of course he wanted money. Everyone wanted money. But he wanted the comfort of money without losing his friends, and his home, and his way of life. He wanted to be him, who he’d always been, and also rich, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t be both. He was pretty sure he’d already lost who he used to be.

“I know,” she said, quietly. “Be careful, okay?”

He wasn’t sure if she meant here or back with the Richie Riches. Both, maybe. He didn’t really fit with either anymore.

As Jason started for the entrance, Dick asked, “You want me to wait down here?” 

He’d almost forgotten Dick was there. He turned back to where Dick was standing next to Lily. He didn’t really want Dick to come with him when he talked to Mateo, and out here he could keep an eye on the car…

He narrowed his eyes at how close Dick was standing to Lily and the bland, hapless smile on his face. 

“Be good,” he said.

“I’m always good!” Dick replied.

“Right,” Jason said, turning away. He didn’t actually think Dick would try something, and it wasn’t like Lily would turn him down if he did. None of his business. 

“Lily, was it?” he heard Dick say as he entered the building. “You look exhausted.”

He stopped just inside the door and looked around at the small lobby. He’d never thought about how worn down everything was, because he’d never had anything to compare it to. His apartment, the stores around the neighborhood, his school, they all had the same used feeling, like the clothes he got at Mama Geraldine’s. 

The lobby had probably been nice once. The fancy moulding where the walls met the ceiling, chrome lamps, and wooden floors weren’t so different from what they had in the manor, but paint flaked off of the cracked moulding, the lamps were rusted and the dim light that came from them wasn’t enough to fill the room, and the wooden floors were rotted away in spots that he’d quickly learned to avoid when his foot got stuck in one of the large holes and he’d almost lost a shoe. 

He walked slowly up the slatted metal stairs, hand trailing along the wall where a railing would be if they had one. 

He stopped at the fifth floor, one floor above where he had lived with his mom. The carpet in the hallways was matted from decades of use. 

A wave of nostalgia surged through him as he knocked on a door, the third one to the right. He didn’t need to look at the number. He’d run up the one flight of stairs and knocked on this door so many times. It had always been as familiar to him as his own apartment, as the streets around them, but now everything felt wrong. Like he’d walked through Coraline’s door and was seeing a twisted version of familiar surroundings. Or like he’d lived his whole life in the twisted version and was only just now seeing the truth. 

Mateo opened the door and Jason offered him a hesitant smile. “Hey.”

Mateo’s eyes widened, and then he crossed his arms with an unimpressed scowl. “Looking for your dad, huh?” 

“I found him?” Jason offered. 

Mateo rolled his eyes but stepped aside to let Jason in. Gabriela was at the stove with Juan, wrapping tamales in corn husks for steaming. Jason smiled at the waft of familiar spices. They’d had some fancy meals at the manor, but nothing that smelled so much like home. 

Luca and Elisa were sitting at the large table that filled most of their small space, with books and notebooks open. Homework, probably. Another set of books was at an abandoned chair. Jason and his mom hadn’t had a table since before he could remember, but Mateo’s family had opted for a table everyone could sit at over a couch or chairs. They even had room for guests, and Jason had eaten more than a few meals with them. 

Mateo’s apartment was a little bigger than the one Jason had grown up in. He could see Mateo’s grandmother taking a nap through the open doorway of one of the two bedrooms everyone shared. She hadn’t been well for awhile, but everyone was pitching in to make her as comfortable as possible, for however long she had left. 

Mateo’s oldest brother wasn’t there, probably at his job at the grocery store. He was the only one of the kids legally old enough to work, but they had all found little jobs around the neighborhood that would pay them under the table. Mateo himself had been sweeping and stocking shelves at Old Joe’s Corner Store for almost a year now. 

“Jason!” Elisa yelled when she saw him. She was the youngest, and Jason had looked after her a few times. It didn’t come up often with all the family members she had to take care of her, but every once in awhile they could use an extra hand. 

Gabriela and Juan both looked over at his name and he waved sheepishly. 

“Jason!”

“Is it true?”

“—Bruce Wayne really—”

“—ing to Gotham Acade—”

“How did you—”

“—living in a—”

Mateo dragged him away from the cacophony of questions and into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. It was the only room where they could get any semblance of privacy. Though given it was the only bathroom in the apartment, that wouldn’t last long. 

“So, things pretty much the same here?” Jason asked with a muffled laugh as the voices continued on the other side of the door.

“Not everyone can suddenly become a billionaire,” Mateo said, sitting on the closed toilet. Jason lowered himself onto the thin edge of the bathtub. The bathroom was small enough that their knees knocked together. “You’re okay?” he asked quietly after the silence had lingered. “They’re treating you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s…” He tried to find the words that weren’t anger or fear, between the yelling and the panicking and trying to protect Tim. When it was just him and his brain. “I’m getting used to it, but I feel like I’ll never really fit, and I’m not even sure I want to. But I can’t come back here either and I feel so…” He took a deep breath, vocalizing the feeling that had settled deep into his bones. “...lost.”

Mateo entwined his fingers between his knees. “The offer’s still open. You could come live with us.”

Jason laughed, swiping at his eyes. “Bruce would never allow it.” 

“Who cares?” Mateo said forcefully. “You’re our family. They don’t even know you.” 

Jason felt something tight in his chest releasing, something that had been sure he wasn’t their family anymore, that all that was left here was the rubble of a home he’d once had. “They’re okay. Tim’s a brat but I’m pretty sure little brothers are just like that.” Mateo huffed in agreement. “And he can be cool sometimes. And Dick’s stood up for me more than once. He really seems to care.”

“And your… dad?” Mateo said the word like it was from a foreign language he was just learning. Jason felt that.

“God, I can’t call him that yet.” The yet just slipped out. Like maybe he thought he could, someday. “He’s… I think he’s okay. Could be worse.”

He wasn’t looking at Mateo, but he could feel the way the other boy gave him a once over, looking for marks, tenderness, weirdly placed weight. He’d gotten pretty good at hiding it when he needed to, but Mateo could always tell. 

He guessed he passed Mateo’s inspection because his voice was calm when he said, “If that ever changes, you know we’ll fight for you. Or hide you. Probably hide you, that would probably go better.”

Jason laughed and rubbed at his eyes again. “Thanks. Really. Speaking of…” He reached into his bookbag and pulled out the hidden bundle. Mateo’s eyes widened as Jason unwrapped it.

“Dios mio,” Mateo breathed, sounding for a second almost exactly like his mom. “How much money is that? Did you steal it?”

Jason counted again through the bundle of tens, twenties, and one hundred dollar bill that he’d kept hidden in his underwear drawer back at the manor. “It’s almost everything Bruce has given me since I moved in.” 

“You’ve only lived there two months!” Mateo exclaimed, his wide eyes not leaving the mass of bills.

“Yeah, he has a problem,” Jason said. He held the bundle out to Mateo who stared at it uncomprehendingly. “It’s for you,” he said. “For your family.”

“I can’t take this!” Mateo said, leaning back as if that could possibly move him out of grabbing range in the tiny bathroom. 

“I don’t need it. I’m never going to need it. And I don’t want it. I don’t want to be one of those rich people hoarding money just for the sake of having it when I already have everything I need.” It felt painful, giving away so much money when he’d spent years collecting every cent he could find just for the chance of surviving, but that was also exactly why he needed to do this. “I want you to have it.”

Mateo’s posture slowly relaxed and he took the money, eyes still wide. “Dios mio,” he said again. “Thank you.” 

“Please don’t thank me,” Jason said uncomfortably. “I didn’t do anything to deserve that money. I just had it handed to me too. The whole thing is bullshit.” 

Mateo cracked a small smile and hid the money in his pocket. As much as someone could hide a thick wad of bills. Jason was sure he’d share it with his mom and dad later, when he didn’t have to fight with his siblings over it. 

“I’ll bring more when I can. Whenever I can.”

He could see Mateo physically resisting the urge to say thank you again. He appreciated the restraint. The world was unfair. It was about time it was unfair in their favor for once. 

“So what have I missed?” Jason asked. “Did Candy have her baby?”

He heard hushed voices as he left the building. Lily and Dick had moved away from the door, and were leaning against the brick wall closer to the car. As he approached, he heard Dick ask, “There’s nothing you can do? It doesn’t seem to me like his—” He waved his hand amorphously in the air. “—gang war or whatever—” She snorted. “—has anything to do with you.”

What the hell? 

“You’ve never had a job, have you?” she asked, sounding more amused than annoyed. She offered Dick her cigarette, and to Jason’s surprise, he took it. 

“Just volunteer work,” he said, gesturing with the hand holding the cigarette, “but I’ve definitely had an asshole boss.”

“It’s not quite the same. You could just quit.”

“Yeah,” he said with a huff of skeptical laughter. “Quit.” He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. “Why am I holding this? I don’t smoke.”

She burst out laughing, and for a moment, actually looked like the college student she could be if things had gone differently. She noticed Jason lurking as she took the cigarette back. “Jason! Your brother’s hilarious. Bring him by anytime.” 

Jason swiveled his head back and forth between them. “Do you have super powers?” Jason asked Dick. “Do you just magically get along with everyone?”

“It’s called being nice, Jay,” Dick said, lips twitching as he pushed off the wall. 

“I’m nice.”

Lily gave him a half hug, pulling him close with the arm not holding the cigarette. “You’re good. That’s not always the same thing as nice.” A tired look came back into her eyes. “Trust me.”

He thought about how charming Willis had been when his mom had first met him, all of the promises he’d made. He thought about Bruce’s harsh, almost emotionless exterior, but the little cracks he’d seen of something that he thought, hoped, was goodness underneath. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. 

Dick ruffled his hair and he yanked away with a squawk. Dick pulled a Superman wallet out of his back pocket and rustled through it. “I don’t have a lot on me, unfortunately,” he said, pulling out a few twenties and handing them to Lily. She didn’t protest the way Mateo had, just sticking them in her bra where they’d be safe from pickpockets. “But alsooooo…” He dragged the word out as he continued to search, then said, “here!” as he pulled out a gold-embossed business card,  because of course Richard Wayne, professional billionaire’s son, would have business cards. Jason leaned in to look as he handed it to Lily. Besides the gold border, it just had his name and phone number. “Call if you need anything, or if this whole situation with your boss gets worse. Seriously. I’m happy to help any way I can.”

She tilted the card back and forth, watching the way the gold glinted in the light. “I might take you up on that.”

“Do!” he said, grinning. Turning to Jason, he asked, “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “See you around?” he asked Lily.

“Whenever you bigwigs find time to come down here,” she said. She leaned in and hugged Jason. He was almost as tall as her, he realized. Well, at her chin, but he could have sworn she was at least a few inches taller the last time he’d seen her. “We miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said, leaning into the hug briefly before pulling away. 

“Look forward to hearing from you!” Dick called to Lily with a wink as he climbed into his car. 

Jason waited until he was in the car and buckled in before saying, “I have no idea if that was flirting.”

“I’m both always flirting and never flirting,” Dick said cheerfully as he pulled the car sharply out into traffic. “I’m Schrodinger’s flirt.” 

That… seemed accurate, actually. All flirting, no follow through. 

Dick easily weaved in and out of lanes, passing cars like they were parked. Had he been taught by a professional NASCAR driver? Jason wouldn’t be surprised. 

The streets outside looked grimier than he remembered. He’d always known Crime Alley was a “bad neighborhood.” Of course he’d known. He’d heard rich fucks say it enough. But it had never seemed grimy to him. Not more than normal. But his new normal was clean, unbroken sidewalks lined with trees, businesses with large windows framed with colorful curtains and flower pots, and friendly little parks that dotted every few blocks. 

“Where do you volunteer?” he asked as the sidewalks became less cracked and the trash in the gutters vanished. 

“Oh, you know,” Dick said. He switched the radio station from a news report about whatever latest disaster Batman had been involved in to one playing music. “Soup kitchens. Visiting the elderly. There’s this one children’s ward at the hospital that I’ve been volunteering at since I was twelve. I don’t make it as often as I should, but…” He shrugged. 

“Can I come along next time you go?” 

“Of course!” Dick said, turning to smile brightly at him in the middle of making a left turn across three lanes of traffic. Jason’s hand tightened on his bag. At least they’d die together. 

They somehow made it safely to the next road and then turned sharply onto the highway that would transport them more quickly across the city towards the manor. 

“How was your visit?” Dick asked.

Jason thought about his answer as he watched the city fly by. It seemed so much smaller while riding with Dick. It had always seemed insurmountable big on the bus. He thought about the first time he went back to Crime Alley, when he went to rescue Tim’s scrawny ass, his breakdown on the roof.  “I thought I was never going to be able to come back here,” he said slowly, processing his thoughts as he talked. “Because… because people wouldn’t accept me or would hate me for the money. But they haven’t changed.” He took a breath. “I have.”

Dick tapped mindlessly on his steering wheel to the rhythm of Billy Jean on the radio. “I felt like that the first time I went back to the circus,” he said. “I wasn’t the only kid there, you know. I was the only one who performed, but Betty’s dad was a clown and Al’s mom was the animal trainer. I'd been looking forward to seeing them again for weeks, but then afterwards…” He laughed awkwardly. “I cried the whole way home. I thought we had nothing in common anymore. It wasn’t even the money. I’d always had money, if I wanted it. It was staying in one place and school and… clubs or whatever. Things even you wouldn’t think were weird, but for kids who had spent their whole lives with the circus, it might as well have been living on the moon.”

Jason slouched further down in his seat, staring at his brand new bookbag, and the little clip he’d bought to go on it in Metropolis just because he thought it looked cool and Tim had encouraged him to get it.

“But you know what?” Dick asked, shoving his shoulder. “We’re still friends! I got a letter from Al just last week, and I spent a few days with them over the summer. Maybe we don’t have as much in common anymore, but that’s fine! It just means we have more stories to tell, and let me tell you, nobody thinks my school stories are as funny as they do.” He kept pushing on Jason’s shoulder until Jason turned to look and then flashed him a smile. “And they’re always gonna understand a part of me that no one else will. People are multi-faceted, Jay. You can share parts of yourself with so many people. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

Jason thought about the kids at lunch, Harrison and Jessica and them. Maybe he wouldn’t ever be best friends with them, but maybe they could be friends. And maybe even if he and Mateo didn’t stay best friends, maybe that would be okay too. Jason wouldn’t lose him completely.

His heart still ached.

“So, are we done bonding for the day?” Jason asked, voice thick. 

“Only if you want to be.”

Jason stared out the window, letting his thoughts drift back to that morning, when Dick had first suggested brotherly bonding. “I was wondering,” he said slowly. “Do we have horses? I know we have stables.”

“No, but we can get some,” Dick said, turning sharply off the highway as if he knew exactly where to find horses and they’d be on—Jason glanced at the exit sign as it flew past—Moench Row. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“I bet we could sneak one into the barn before Bruce gets home.”

“That really doesn’t seem like—”

Dick grinned brightly at him. “It’ll be great.”

Jason hesitated. There was no way Bruce would let them keep a horse. He wasn’t even sure he wanted a horse. But sneaking an animal larger than Bruce past him Three Stooges style? He could get behind this type of brotherly bonding. 

“Okay,” he said. “But only if we can name it Artax.”

“Fight against the sadness, Artax!” Dick crowed, navigating the city streets with the confidence of someone who never questioned what they were doing.

Jason let himself smile as they whizzed through traffic. The Alley was always going to be a part of him, but this was a part of him too now. And as he watched Dick searching excitedly for where they could buy a horse on a whim, he thought maybe he was okay with that.

Chapter Text

Bruce hadn’t been impressed by Artax when he got home, but it had been three weeks and she was still there so apparently they just had a horse now. 

“I really don’t like horses,” Tim said from ten feet back while Jason brushed her coat. Jason had never been this close to a horse before, and it was a strangely meditative experience. Tim clearly didn’t agree.

“Have you ever even seen a horse?” Jason asked. Horses didn’t hang out around Crime Alley, but maybe Tim had a long history with horses. The stables were here for a reason, after all. Or maybe Tim had just had a traumatic merry-go-round experience. 

“No,” Tim said, taking a step back like he thought Artax might lunge across the yard to reach him. “But I’ve never seen a cobra before either and don’t need to be bitten by one to know that I don’t like it.”

“Are you worried Artax is going to bite you?” Jason asked, genuinely curious. This was the closest Tim had gotten to Artax since they brought her home, and he was pretty sure that was just because Tim was more dedicated to following Jason around the manor today than he was to avoiding the horse. 

“Or kick me,” Tim said. He took another step back. At this rate, they’d have to start yelling to hear each other. “Did you know that twenty people are killed by horses a year?”

“Yeah, well, twenty people are killed by other people an hour and you don’t seem to be avoiding them.” He stopped brushing to peer around Artax’s muzzle at Tim. “When did you look up how many people are killed by horses?”

“As soon as I heard we had one.” Tim shifted subtly towards the front of the horse, despite being almost fifteen feet back now.

“You have a problem, you know that?” He resumed brushing. The woman they’d bought her from said that daily grooming was important to prevent disease, and he didn’t trust Dick to remember, so he’d made it his job. He kind of liked it. The repetitive motions were soothing, and it gave him time to think.

Tim crossed his arms, building himself into a righteous huff. “I just like to know the risks of anything I might encounter.”

“You literally sneak ou—Hey, Dick!” he called loudly, cutting himself off when he saw Dick cresting the hill to the stables. Judging from Tim’s completely oblivious expression, he wasn’t going to be shamed by his hypocrisy anyway. 

“I brought carrots!” Dick called back, waving the vegetables in the air like a flag. 

“Carrots are snack food,” Tim said immediately. Apparently it wasn’t just risks he’d looked up. 

“Who doesn’t like snack food?” Dick asked. He held a carrot out to Tim, wiggling it enticingly. “Wanna try feeding her?” Tim took another step back. “Okay!” Dick said. He stuffed the carrot in his pocket, the tip sticking out like a budding plant. Then he swept Tim up into his arms bridal style.

“Dick, no!” Tim yelled, kicking his feet in the air and trying to twist out of Dick’s arms. Dick held firm and carried him over. Tim’s wild movements stilled as they got closer, eyes wide and fixed on Artax.

Jason held a hand firmly on the horse’s back as Dick turned Tim so that his upside down face looked up at hers, but if she was at all disturbed by having a human child shoved in her face, she didn’t show it. 

“Tim, this is Artax,” Dick said. “She’s harmless.”

“Twenty people are killed by horses a ye—”

“Yeah, yeah, you said the same thing about dogs.” 

“Actually fifty people are killed by dogs a year,” Tim said, managing to look sullen even with the blood rushing to his face.

“See?” Dick asked cheerfully. “Safer than a dog. Feed her a carrot.” He fetched a carrot from his pocket without loosening his grip on Tim and dropped it on Tim’s stomach.

Tim’s teeth tugged on his bottom lip. Still upside down, he took the carrot and held it over his head towards Artax. The second her mouth closed sloppily over it, he jerked back, but that seemed like enough for Dick.

“I told you, right? Perfectly safe.” He flipped Tim back onto his feet, holding a hand on his back until he caught his balance. 

“Not perfectly,” Tim muttered.

Dick tsked, shaking his head in a show of disappointment. “Artax died in the Swamps of Sadness for us. She deserves your respect.” 

“She what?” Tim jerked his head up to look at Dick like he thought they might actually be interacting with a dead horse. To be fair, it was Gotham. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.

“You’ve never seen The Neverending Story?” Dick asked, gasping dramatically and clutching his chest.

“I haven’t seen it either,” Jason said. He resumed brushing at Artax’s flank, trying to finish quickly. Now that Dick was here, he had a feeling his few minutes of peace were over. 

“What?” Dick asked, turning on him with an utterly flabbergasted expression. “But you named her!” 

“I named her after the book,” Jason said. “I’ve never seen the movie.”

Twenty minutes later they were in manor’s theater, popcorn popping in the bright red vintage machine at the back of the room. He had been to the circus once with his mom, when he was too young to remember much of anything, but he remembered a popcorn machine that had looked almost exactly like that.

He realized, suddenly, that Dick might have been performing. It would make sense. If any circus had a reason to come through town, it would be the one with Bruce Wayne’s kid. He tried to remember a trapeze act, but nothing came to mind. He’d probably never know. He didn’t remember enough to figure it out, and by this point his mom probably didn’t either. 

The theater had about fifteen seats on risers. Some of them were single-seaters, but others were more like sofas that fit two or three people. He sat in one of the single-seaters in the middle of the theater. Controls on the arm let him raise the foot rest and lower the back separately. He didn’t think he’d ever been in a fancier chair, and this was in a room rarely used enough that this was only his second time in it, the first being while he was following Dick’s map around the manor.

“Let me know if it needs more butter,” Dick said, handing Jason a bag of popcorn as big as his torso. His own bag of popcorn. Dick was holding a different one, and Tim, who was settling into the seat next to Jason despite there being plenty of other places to sit, had a third. He experimentally tasted a kernel, and it was like fireworks exploded in his brain. This was way better than the microwave popcorn he and his mom had occasionally eaten instead of dinner when money was tight. 

“It’s alright,” he said.

“Great!” Dick said, flopping into the seat on Jason’s other side. Seriously, there were so many other seats they could sit in. It wasn’t like any of them could possibly be bad. Tim leaned his chair so far back Jason thought he might be taking a nap instead of watching the movie, and Dick didn’t even touch his controls, just curled up and twisted his limbs like he was trying out for the part of contortionist. 

Jason suppressed a smile. Weirdos, both of them.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about watching The Neverending Story movie. He hadn’t had a chance to watch many movies, so he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen a movie adaptation of a book, but he disliked it on principle. Why ruin a perfectly good book by being force-fed other people’s wrong interpretations? He already knew what Fantastica looked like, thank you very much. The movie didn’t even call it the right thing. They changed the name to Fantasia.

He was able to keep that attitude right up until he was sobbing, tears actually running down his cheeks, over a fictional horse dying on screen. Dick placed a hand on his forearm and he immediately shook it off. Why did he name their horse after this? He needed to go hug her. 

As Atreyu trudged away from his horse’s final resting place, Jason glanced at Tim to see if this was changing his opinion of Artax. He looked unmoved, the heartless prick. 

By the time Bastian was yelling Moonchild’s name out the open window (what, did he think she wouldn’t hear him otherwise?), Jason was down to the last dregs of his popcorn. Mostly because Dick had finished his an hour earlier and had taken to snatching handfuls of Jason’s when he was distracted.

“How many wishes do I get?” Bastian asked on the screen.

“As many as you want,” Moonchild replied.

“Well, that’s a lie,” Jason muttered. 

“Hm?” Dick asked, glancing his way. Jason shook his head. In another minute Bastian was riding around on Falkor while the music swelled. Was this the end? It felt like the end, but they hadn’t even told half the book. Where were Bastian’s adventures in Fantastica? Where were the consequences for him making too many wishes, and his friendship with Atreyu?

Instead Falkor chased off Bastian’s bullies, which Jason guessed was a feel good ending, even if it discounted most of Bastian’s character development. 

At least Artax was alive again. That was one improvement the movie made to the book.

“That’s not how the book ends,” Jason said as credits started rolling. He went for another handful of popcorn, but all that was left were kernels. He glared at Dick munching on the last of the good stuff.

“No?” Dick asked, mouth full.

“There’s a sequel that covers the second half of the book,” a voice said behind them. Jason startled and turned to look at where Bruce stood at the back of the room. He hadn’t heard the door open. “But they changed the plot significantly.”

“You’ve read the book?” Jason asked.

“It was one of my favorites when I was a child,” Bruce said with the hint of a smile.

Jason climbed on his knees so he could see Bruce better over the top of his chair. “I didn’t know it was that old.”

Dick snorted beside him. 

Bruce cleared his throat. “Yes, well, thank you,” he said dryly.

Jason rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t saying you’re old.” He paused a moment to think about it. “I mean you are, but that wasn’t what I was saying.”

He tensed automatically. He’d been testing his limits lately, seeing how far he could push before Bruce struck back, but Bruce just gave a long suffering sigh and changed the subject. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Oh!” Dick said, popping up and going straight over the back of his seat to where Bruce was standing. “That reminds me. We’re going to a street carnival downtown tomorrow.”

“You and your friends?” Bruce asked. He pulled down on the lip of Dick’s popcorn bag to glance inside, but it was so picked clean Jason thought Dick might have been gnawing on unpopped kernels. 

“No, us.” Dick motioned around the room. “The family.”

Bruce very slowly raised an eyebrow, which was a response all on its own before he even spoke. “You didn’t think this was important to tell us?”

“I heard about the carnival today and decided,” Dick said with an easy shrug. “I just hadn’t gotten around to letting everyone else know we’re going.”

Tim tried to mimic Jason, sitting on his knees and looking over the back of his chair, but he was so short his eyes barely peeked over. “What kind of carnival?”

Dick swung his arms in a wide gesture. Bruce plucked the popcorn bag out of his hand before it went flying. “Games! Rides! Food!”

Jason and Jesse had gone to something like that a couple years earlier. Jesse said it was a great place to pick up a few bucks and scavenge for nice shit other people didn’t want. They’d managed to convince a woman to buy them chili dogs from a cart, and it was one of the best things Jason had ever eaten.

“I’m in,” he said. 

“Me too,” Tim agreed immediately, just a beat behind Jason.

Dick beamed at Bruce until his stony exterior broke. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Dick said.

“Sundays have schedules too. Maybe next time you can tell us about the plans you’re making for us a few days in advance?”

“We’ll see,” Dick sing-songed. 

It didn’t occur to Jason until they were entering the streets cordoned off for the carnival that this was his first time out publicly as a Wayne. It wasn’t that he’d never gone anywhere with them. Ice cream with Bruce, hanging out with Dick. Heck, he went to Metropolis with Tim. But this was a family outing that he was doing with the family. In a very public place. With lots of people. He spotted three different groups trying to surreptitiously take their picture within minutes of Alfred dropping them off. 

Tim touched his arm and gave him a small, encouraging smile, so apparently his discomfort was obvious. He took a breath. This wasn’t that different from the gala or the fancy restaurant. Different audience but same idea. Smile, look confident, pay the gawkers no mind. 

He focused instead on the three-story tall Ferris wheel in the middle of the road. How did they even get that through Gotham’s narrow streets? They must have had a special truck for it or something. Or maybe it came apart. It was the only ride he could see, but that was still pretty impressive for the middle of Gotham. 

Vendors lined the street to either side of them. Smoke rose from grills covered in burgers, hot dogs, and shish kebobs. Open air shops sold jewelry and art. A woman painted caricatures of two grinning kids. Vibrant yellow, orange, and red leaves adorned many of the tents, as if trying to make up for the lack of trees. He guessed this was some kind of harvest celebration. It was only a couple of weeks until Thanksgiving. 

Jeez, what was Thanksgiving even like with the Waynes? He and his mom had always tried to have something a little nicer for Thanksgiving, even if it was just a bit of meat when they hadn’t been able to afford it for awhile, or a small dessert if the year had been better, but the Waynes probably did the whole feast he saw on billboard advertisements. He wondered if they’d let him spend Thanksgiving at his mom’s suite. He’d probably be more comfortable there. 

A precarious tower of fishbowls caught his eye. Small white and orange fish swam in idle circles, waiting to be awarded to kids throwing ping pong balls at a table of similar bowls. He remembered this game from the last time he was at one of these. He’d wanted to try it, but didn’t have the money to play, and wouldn’t have been able to keep a fish even if he’d won.

He didn’t notice he’d veered towards it until Tim tugged him back by his sleeve. “You already have a horse,” he protested.

That warranted any number of responses, from it wasn’t his horse, to a horse and a fish aren’t mutually exclusive, but he went with the one he knew would set Tim off the most. “I could win you a fish, Timmy,” he said. “That’s a good starter pet. I think even you could handle it.”

“Noooo,” Tim whined, taking a step back and pulling Jason with him. 

Jason smirked. This was by far his favorite part of suddenly having a younger sibling. “You can’t possibly be scared of being bitten by a fish.”

“Piranha do exist, Jason,” Tim said self-righteously. 

Jason turned to give a very long, pointed look at the docile fish wiggling around in their bowls. “I’m pretty sure the carnival isn’t giving away piranha.” 

Tim huffed. Then he mumbled, so softly Jason almost couldn’t hear him, “That’s a myth anyway.”

“What?”

“That piranha eat people. It’s a myth.”

Jason blinked at him. Tim wasn’t meeting his eyes, his bottom lip jutted out stubbornly. “Then why’d you say it?”

“I was making a point.”

Which he’d immediately contradicted so that Jason would know that Tim knew it wasn’t true. Right. 

“Come on, let’s just…” Dick and Bruce were no longer with them, Jason realized suddenly. They must not have seen Jason and Tim stop, and there were so many people that it didn’t take long for them to disappear into the crowd. Well, people did say to stay put if you got lost. “...try it out,” he finished as if he hadn’t noticed their absence. 

Tim pouted but followed him to the booth. People were throwing balls from all along the counter on three of the four sides, so there wasn’t a line so much as a mass of people shoving their way to the front as soon as the crowd parted, like Moses approaching the stage at a concert. 

“Gimme five bucks,” Jason said when they reached the counter.

“You have money,” Tim complained.

“You have more,” he insisted. 

Tim rolled his eyes and pulled a twenty out of his professional little leather wallet, because apparently he didn’t carry lower denominations. 

“As many as this buys,” Jason said, handing the twenty to a scrawny teenager behind the counter, who looked like he’d rather be doing anything in the world other than helping people play carnival games.

“Hey!” Tim protested. 

The teenager didn’t even blink. He just swept a waterfall of balls into a bucket and handed it to them before moving on to the next customer. Jason placed the bucket squarely between them, and then, when Tim didn’t seem to get the hint, handed him a ball. 

Tim half-heartedly threw it towards the bowls. There were about a hundred of them, evenly spaced in a large square. Some of them had little plastic fish floating inside. A vaguely worded sign seemed to suggest you’d only win if the ball went in one of the bowls with a fish in it. Jason handed Tim another ball. He didn’t even bother aiming, just obediently threw the ball when it landed in his hand. 

Jason rolled a ball between his palm and fingers, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “You know we don’t actually have to get a fish if we win, right?” He hadn’t been trying to actually bother Tim, just tease him a little. 

“I know that,” Tim muttered, but he seemed to relax anyway. He took a ball from the bucket and aimed it this time. It hit the top of a bowl and rolled around the lip before falling out. 

I’m doing you a favor, you brat, the Willis in his head yelled, yanking Jason closer by his collar and ripping the already weak fabric. So why don’t you say thank you?

Jason threw a ball at the row of bowls, missing by a wide margin. He didn’t think either of Tim’s parents would go that far, but… Do things they thought Tim should like and then get mad when he wasn’t happy? He’d believe that of Janet in a heartbeat, and even Bruce… he didn’t always seem to know the difference between what he thought was best and what people actually wanted.

“I think you should give Artax a chance,” Jason said as he tossed another ball. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to. It’s okay not to like things.” 

Tim shot him a surprised look. After a few seconds, he said, “She seems cool enough.” He was obviously lying, but the effort was nice. 

They were down to six balls when Dick and Bruce finally found them.

“You can’t just wander off,” Bruce said, but the anger Jason was expecting wasn’t there. If anything, he sounded worried. 

“We didn’t wander off,” Jason countered. “We stayed in the same place. You left us.” Tim nodded in agreement at his side. 

Bruce took a deep breath in, held it for five seconds, and breathed it out in a heavy sigh. “Next time you want to play a game, just ask.”

“I remember this game,” Dick said, reaching for one of their balls. 

Jason slapped his hand. “Get your own balls,” he said. “Tim and I paid for these.”

“I paid for these,” Tim said.

“I paid for these with Tim’s money,” Jason corrected.

Bruce started to pull a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Whoa, no,” Jason said, reaching out to stop him. “Doesn’t anyone have a fiver?”

“I’ve got it,” Dick said. He handed a crumpled one-dollar bill to the operator and got three balls in return. He threw the first one in a high arc and it landed perfectly in one of the glass bowls with a floating plastic fish. The next two followed suit, stuffing the bowl so full water dribbled out the top. 

Jason stared in disbelief. “Are you good at everything?” he asked. Jason lobbed his last ball to punctuate his point and it rolled lazily around the outside of a bowl before falling to the table and bouncing down an aisle between the bowls.

Dick just winked and didn’t respond. Smarmy asshole. It was probably some circus trick he’d learned as a kid.

The teenage operator plucked one of the fish bowls off the pyramid of live fish that was a disaster waiting to happen and brought it over with the most unenthusiastic “congratulations” Jason had ever heard. 

“No, thank you,” Tim said in his best little businessman voice. “We decided we don’t want it.”

The teenager gave them a look like he didn’t make enough money, and couldn’t conceive of ever making enough money, to deal with them. 

“Here,” Jason said, taking the bowl. Tim looked betrayed for all of a second until Jason handed it to a little kid standing near them who looked about seven. “You want a fish?”

“Yes!” the kid yelled, grabbing the bowl and turning around immediately to run off and show it to his mom. Jason winced when the kid tripped, almost dropping the bowl, but he righted himself.

“It’ll probably be fine,” Jason said.

“Technically, that was my fish,” Dick complained, but he didn’t actually sound upset. 

“Raid a pet store,” Jason said. He clapped his hands together. “Now, more importantly, when do we get food?”

Jason was still eating his second chili dog when Tim and Dick got in line for the Ferris wheel. He’d ride it later, when he didn’t have more important things to be eating. 

Bruce stood stiffly next to him, watching as Dick and Tim got a seat. He’d been pretty relaxed all day, and this was their first time alone together so, yeah, it was definitely because of Jason.

“Why did you like The Neverending Story so much?” Jason asked, saying the first thing that came to mind. The subject had changed pretty quickly the night before, so he hadn’t gotten a chance to ask. 

Bruce was quiet for awhile, watching the Ferris wheel start to turn. “I suppose the story resonated with me. The power of creativity. The dangers of apathy. The risk of the world ending because people didn’t care enough.” He glanced down at Jason. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do, I just… I don’t know.” He took a large bite so that he had time to think while he chewed. “It always seemed kind of wishy-washy to me. The idea that you could just imagine things better.” He’d spent a few too many nights hidden under his bed imagining other lives to think the power of thought did anything.

“I think the book is about a lot more than just imagining the world better,” Bruce said thoughtfully. “Imagination is a double edged sword that can be used to help and hurt, and trying to do the right thing doesn’t always have the right results. That doesn’t mean it isn’t important to try.”

They watched Tim lean over the railing to take a picture while Dick pulled him back by his shirt. That kid was scared of all the wrong things. 

“After my parents died—” Bruce said. 

Jason stiffened. How the fuck had they ended up in a conversation about dead parents? Bruce apparently noticed because he paused and gave Jason a small smile before continuing. 

“After my parents died, I had trouble caring about anything for awhile. Or rather…” His fingers flexed at his side. “I alternated between severe depression and complete numbness. I felt the Nothing on a granular level. Not just the risk to the world,” he said, repeating his earlier words, “but as a risk to me. The ability to be anything more than nothing.” 

Jason imagined a small child that looked a lot like Tim sinking into the Swamps of Sadness. 

“Maybe it was wishy-washy at first, but I needed to believe things could get better.”

Jason thought again of hiding under his bed, closing his eyes against a world that didn’t go away just because he wanted it to. “Believing things could get better never did much for me.”

“But they are better now, right?” Bruce asked. For once he managed to sound like he was checking on how Jason was doing instead of telling him how much better off he was. 

“I guess,” he said. “But not because I did anything.”

“You’re just a kid.” Bruce looked down at him with such a gentle expression, and Jason scowled. Being ‘just a kid’ had never saved him from anything, so it shouldn’t excuse him either. “You have plenty of time to find ways to make the world better. But first you have to believe it’s possible. Without that, you’re as lost as Artax.”

Tim and Dick’s passenger car stopped at the highest point and Tim stood up to take a shot of the carnival grounds. Jason wondered what they looked like from up there. Stiff and uncomfortable, probably.

“But, Jason…” Bruce waited until Jason looked at him to continue. “I think you’re already accomplishing more than you realize.”

Jason flushed and looked away. Jesus. “Is every conversation about books going to come back to your parents because that’s, like, half of what I know how to talk about and I’m not sure I could handle it. Emotionally.”

Bruce smiled wanly. “I’ll try to stay more on topic next time.”

“Great. Glad we agree.”

The Ferris wheel turned slowly, letting people off. Tim was sitting back in his seat now, looking at the pictures on his camera instead of taking new ones. 

“I’m glad the stables are being used again,” Bruce said. He didn’t specify, but Jason was sure that was another thing that had changed since his parents’ death. It seemed like there wasn’t anything in the manor, or for Bruce, that had escaped unscathed. “Would you want to take lessons? Learn how to ride?”

Horseback riding seemed like such a prissy, rich asshole thing to do, but when he really thought about it, he thought about the knights of King Arthur, of Legolas and Aragorn, of Atreyu. 

“I guess I could give it a try,” he said. 

Tim jogged over, Dick following behind him. “Jason!” Tim called. “Want to see my pictures?” 

“Sure,” he said, relieved for an excuse to step away from Bruce. The conversation had gone better than he would have expected, but it was still awkward as hell. 

But maybe it wouldn’t always be. He could hope.

Alfred joined them just before the parade started. Jason had no idea where he’d parked the car in this mess, but he was sure that, unlike Dick’s parking, it was perfectly legal and respectable. 

Alfred eyed their caramel apples as he approached with the demeanor of a man who had tried very hard to make a gaggle of kids eat healthily. 

“Special occasion, Alfie,” Dick said.

He harrumphed, but didn’t comment. 

They’d found seats on the curb along a long stretch of road. Bruce had offered to go buy them folding chairs, but Jason thought that was stupid. Besides being a waste of money, they wouldn’t even be able to sit as close if they had to find a place for chairs. They could deal with a little dirt. 

“Do you want me to get you a chair, Alfred?” Bruce asked, starting to stand.

“Please, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, dusting off the curb with a handkerchief and sitting down. “I am not that old.”

Alfred was his favorite.

The first paraders that rounded the corner were dressed less like they were celebrating the harvest and more like Mardi Gras had just started. It was probably for the best. Anyone who could keep a consistent theme in Gotham was usually a villain.

Dick eyed the glittery, feather-covered costumes like he’d rather be out there wearing one than sitting with them. 

“You ever think about going back to the circus?” Jason asked.

“Think about it?” Dick repeated. “Sure. Would I actually go through with it? Probably not.”

“Why not?” Jason asked. Dick was obviously born to be a performer. Or, at the very least, to be at the center of attention. 

“It’s just not my life anymore, and that’s fine.” He gave Jason a playful wink. “But maybe I’ll do a one-time encore and you can come see.”

Jason imagined Dick flipping through the air in a tall tent filled with clowns, lion tamers, and contortionists. He’d never seemed more at home. “That could be cool.”

Dick reached out to ruffle his hair and Jason quickly ducked out of the way. He grabbed Tim on the other side of him and pulled him towards Dick’s hand, trying to offer him as a sacrifice. 

“Hey!” Tim said. He turned his camera on Jason like a weapon and snapped a, probably awful, picture of him. 

Dick just laughed and wrapped his arm around Jason’s shoulders instead. “Get a picture of us, Tim,” he said. 

Jason scowled while Dick grinned for the camera, but Tim was smiling when he looked at the resulting picture so it must have turned out okay. 

A marching band dressed in full-body turkey and pumpkin costumes passed by next, followed by a couple of cars that he assumed were decorated as cartoon characters he didn’t recognize. Either that or some people had awful ideas for car modifications. 

Next was a float covered in black glitter that glimmered in the late afternoon sun. It had a bright yellow Bat-Signal in the center, and was surrounded by men and women dancing in sexy Robin costumes. 

“This is such a weird parade,” Jason said.

“It is rather… gaudy,” Alfred said diplomatically.

“It’s completely inappropriate.” Bruce braced a hand against the curb like he was going to stand up and march over right then and there to tell them just how inappropriate it was.

“It’s hilarious,” Dick said. “I love it.” Bruce sighed and settled back down. “You’re getting pictures, right Tim?” Tim nodded, face to the camera. Judging from the number of clicks, he was taking hundreds of them. “Print one for me later, okay?”

Bruce was still all stony-faced so Dick shoved on his shoulder. “Have a sense of humor.”

“I have a sense of humor.”

Dick shoved him harder. “Have a good sense of humor.”

Jason stifled a smile as they continued to quibble. Tim flipped through his pictures, pausing on one of Dick looking way too excited by the Batman float and Bruce frowning in the background. It was cute. 

“We should get a picture of all of us before we leave,” Jason found himself saying. “First family outing.”

The smile Tim gave him was so bright it was almost embarrassing. 

“Nevermind,” Jason said.

“No take backs,” Tim said. “We’ll have to find a place with a good backdrop, maybe near the vendors with the Ferris wheel in the background.” 

Jason let him ramble on about getting the perfect shot while a group on bicycles wearing horse costumes turned the corner. The bicycles were wearing the costumes, not the people. He was glad he was sharing this experience with others because otherwise he might think it was all some weird fever dream later. 

“The bicycles were wearing the horse costumes, not the people,” he specified, sitting on his mom’s couch. 

She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound that he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed in the years it had been silent. “I’m glad you had fun,” she said. 

“Yeah, it was a… a very different experience from the last time I went.” He wondered again why she hadn’t told Bruce about him, an intrusive thought that was getting harder to repress the longer he was living in the manor, the better things got. They could have had this his whole life. Fun trips, and nice things, and his mom getting the help she needed. Why hadn’t they?

“Oh, I might be getting a new place soon,” she said cheerfully. He looked up sharply. Why would she want a new place? She was doing so well here. “Just upstairs,” she specified at his expression. “It has all the same facilities and access to therapy, but offers a little more independence. Like a halfway house.” 

“They think you’re ready for that?” he asked cautiously. 

“Yes.” She took his hands, rubbing a thumb along his knuckles. “And I think I’m ready. I know you’re worried, honey, but this is just the next step in my recovery. There will still be nurses observing us and regular treatment.” She squeezed his hand. 

This was… good. This was definitely good. Great even. He wondered if the next step after that was getting a real apartment. Close by, probably, so it would be easy for her to continue going to therapy. Apartments around here had to be stupidly expensive, but Bruce would probably be willing to pay for it, and that would be so much better than her going back to Crime Alley where the temptation would always be there. 

And maybe… maybe he could live with her again. His heart stuttered at the thought. Bruce probably wouldn’t want that, but the idea that maybe they could have the good times again, like back before the drugs, when he was small and his mom was his whole world…

He wondered again why she’d never told Bruce. Why they couldn’t have had this years ago.

“Mom…” he started, but stopped because he’d already asked her. There was no reason to ask again. Not for another vague nothing answer. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” she asked.

He licked his lips and asked a different question that had been plaguing him instead. “How did you and Bruce get together anyway? How did you even meet him? Did he stay at the hotel?” He had no idea why Bruce would have. He had a mansion five miles away.

“Oh, you know,” she said, laughing awkwardly. 

“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m asking.” He shifted in his seat, averting his eyes. “You know it’s okay if it was, like…” Jeez, this was so freaking awkward. This was why he hadn’t brought it up. “If it was like, a money thing. I’d understand.” Half of the articles were saying that already, and it made sense. More sense than most things. He certainly had no illusions that they met in a coffee shop and fell in love.

“Oh, no, honey, it wasn’t like that.” He looked back up at her. She was wringing her hands so hard the skin was white.

“Then what?” he asked. “Did he come to the neighborhood? Were you at a charity event?” She just kept wringing her hands, eyes focused on a blank spot on the wall behind him. His breath stilled, an old certainty coming back to him. “He’s not actually my father, is he?” He groaned, rubbing his hand down his face. “Of course not. It never made any sense. Why would I have believed that for even a se—”

“Honey, no,” his mom said, grabbing his hands. “No, he is your father. I promise.” He met her eyes, and there was a fear in them he didn’t understand. “The truth… the truth is… I…” She sucked her lips so far into her mouth that they disappeared completely. “You know I love you, honey. I love you so, so much. You’re my son. You’ll always be my son.” He felt his heart slowing, and stopping. His breath stilling in his chest. “But the truth is that I’m…” His blood stopped flowing through his veins. The whole world stilled to just her. Her averting her eyes. Her squeezing his hands a little too tightly. Her licking her lips, the moisture glistening as her mouth opened again. “I’m not… your mother. Biologically.” 

“What?” he breathed through lips that no longer worked, with lungs that couldn’t replace the air they’d lost. 

“There was a woman who stayed at the hotel. A doctor. I don’t think I ever even met her, but I cleaned her room when she checked out, and there was a little tiny baby there. Weeks old at most. Maybe even days.” Her eyes met his again, locked in a moment that might have been seconds or hours. “You. With a note to Bruce Wayne pinned to your blanket.” He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t thinking, was a puppet with his strings cut, just waiting to fall. “I never wanted to tell you,” she said, squeezing his hands tightly enough to bring some feeling back to them. “You’re mine. My son. No one could have loved you more than me. You’re my baby boy.”

His ears weren’t listening anymore. His eyes weren’t seeing. He didn’t know how he got from her room to the limo. He was numb, a zombie barely aware that he was upright, unable to utter more than monosyllabic grunts. He thought Alfred had probably been concerned, but he couldn’t even remember his face.

He stared out at the blurring lights of the city as the limo wound its way through the narrow streets. It couldn’t be true. That had to be it. He didn’t know why she would have lied about that, but that’s what it had to be. A lie.

Maybe her agreement with Bruce said… no, why would it. Or maybe she just thought he’d be happier if he cut ties with her? But she didn’t want to cut ties. She’d been insisting that he was her son even as he left. So why?

They arrived at the manor before he was even aware of leaving the city. He pushed out of the door before Alfred could open it for him, before he could even finish turning off the car.

“Hi, Jason!” Tim greeted as he cut through the foyer. “Do you want to—”

Jason brushed past him, his eyes and mind both failing to focus on him. He didn’t stop until he reached Bruce’s study, slamming the door open without knocking. Bruce was standing near the old grandfather clock in the corner.

“Jason,” he said sternly, but Jason steamrolled over him.

“My mom said she’s not my mom,” he said, not giving his mom and Bruce any chance to confer, for Bruce to prepare a response. 

Bruce’s lips tightened and Jason felt his stomach drop. 

“You knew.”

“Of course, I knew,” Bruce said, voice stiff. “I know I have a reputation, but I do know who I’ve slept with.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, hating how his voice sounded like a child’s, high pitched and starting to crack.

“What was I supposed to say?” Bruce asked. “Would you have even believed me, when you first came here?”

Of course, he wouldn’t have. He probably wouldn’t have believed Bruce if he’d said it yesterday. Or he would have assumed Bruce had some ulterior motive for telling him.

But what was Bruce’s ulterior motive for not telling him?

“Is this…” Jason started, brain starting to make connections it hadn’t before, connections he wasn’t sure were actually there. “Is this why you didn’t let me see her at first?”

Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face. “I didn’t lie to you, Jason. I didn’t take you because I was…” His hand paused over his mouth and he took a slow breath in. “...because I was angry, and because part of me would prefer if you didn’t want to see—”

“So you’d rather keep me away from her forever?”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “I think I have good reason to not particularly like—”

“And you just, what? Hoped that I’d forget about her?” Jason asked, starting to pace in a tight circle. 

“I think I’m being rather generous considering that I could have had her arrested for kidnapping,” Bruce said, loud and sharp.

Jason stilled. 

Bruce pressed at his temple. “That’s not… I wouldn’t actually…”

Jason didn’t let him finish. He twirled on his heel and stormed out. His brain barely registered Tim, just outside the door, staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth as he darted past.

“Jason!” he heard Bruce yell behind him, but he ignored it. He didn’t stop until he reached his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. A few minutes later a knock came, but he went into the bathroom and turned on the water so he couldn’t hear it or any words that came with it. 

He stared into the mirror as it slowly fogged up, looking for any sign of his mother. His coloring obviously came from Bruce, but he thought maybe his nose, or the shape of his chin… But no. There was nothing there, and there never had been. He took a slow shuddering breath, and turned off the water. 

The knocking had stopped when he went back into his room. He stared at all the trappings of a life that he had never wanted. That had never fit right like his life with his mom had. He choked down a sob that was trying to escape. 

Fuck Bruce. Fuck all of this. 

He grabbed his book bag and dumped out the books, filling it instead with shirts, pants, underwear. He wasn’t paying attention. Just shoving in anything that would fit. 

He creaked the door open and made sure no one was waiting for him in the hallway before creeping out and closing the door behind him. 

He remembered the path Tim had shown him. Through the green house, out the window, to the neighboring property, and then to the road. Call Alex. With any luck, they wouldn’t notice he was gone until morning.

Chapter Text

Gotham City Plaza wasn’t the fanciest hotel, but at six Jason had thought it was a palace and that all of the guests were visiting royalty. He also thought that meant all royals were assholes, because the guests certainly were. At least the ones that had stood out.

He stared at the building from where Alex had dropped him off across the street. It wasn’t as big as he remembered, there were fewer turrets, and the arched front windows weren’t quite as bright, but yeah, if he really looked, he could still see a castle. 

A valet and doorman huddled together under the glass overhang, making small talk while they waited for guests. They weren’t supposed to be seen “goofing off” so if anyone who looked even slightly guest-like approached, they were supposed to separate and stand as still as chess pieces awaiting their first move. 

“Hey,” Jason called as he crossed the street. They both looked up and immediately straightened. 

“Good evening,” one of them said. The doorman, Jason thought. They wore the same uniform, but he was closer to the door, hand already positioned to reach out. “Is your family staying here?”

Jason stumbled in surprise. He didn’t expect them to know who he was—it had been years since his mom had worked there and neither of them looked familiar—but he still, for some reason, expected them to recognize him as one of their own. 

But no, of course they didn’t. He was wearing designer jeans and a button-up shirt. No kid he grew up with had ever worn a button-up shirt. 

“No,” he said, pushing past the lump in his throat. “My mom used to work here. I was looking for some of her old coworkers?” He turned to the valet. “Is Rickie here?”

“Rickie,” the valet repeated slowly, eyes glazed over. “Oh, wait, Rick Adams, right?” Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever actually known Rickie’s last name, but he nodded. “He moved downtown. Over at the Renaissance, I think.” 

“Oh,” Jason said. That was one of the fancier hotels. “Good for him.” It was probably a promotion. The people were richer, at least. Maybe that meant they tipped better. Maybe not. “What about Tanya, the bartender?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s still here.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the door, and Jason stepped forward. The doorman rushed to open the door before Jason could reach for it.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly. 

As the door started swinging shut behind him, he heard the valet mutter, “His mom used to work here? Think she married rich?”

The doorman’s hushed replied carried through the empty lobby. “Actually, I think that was the new Wayn—”

The door clicked shut and Jason stood rooted to his spot. He knew people were going to start recognizing him, but it felt so wrong here, in a place that used to be a second home to him. Once upon a time, the people who worked here were like his family, a community that helped raise him when his mom was struggling. 

He shook it off and turned for the arched, glass doorway that led to the bar. They’d renovated since he was last here. There were new light fixtures, more modern than the chandeliers that had hung throughout the bar before. The tables had changed too, he was sure, but he couldn’t quite remember what they'd looked like before. He tried, imagining dark wood… something more traditional and old fashioned, but he couldn’t be sure if that was a real memory or just his mind trying to fill in the blanks. 

“Jason!” a deep, feminine voice called. He felt a rush of relief at the familiarity of it as he turned to see Tanya standing behind the bar, waving him over. It had been five years since he’d last seen her, but this, at least, felt exactly the same. Tanya had to be getting close to fifty, but she didn’t look like she’d aged a day in the whole time he’d known her. She had the same black curls pulled up into a tight puff and the same men’s uniform with the tie because she hated the ascot. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Tanya,” he said with a weak smile. “I had a couple of questions if you have time?”

“Sure, have a seat,” she said, motioning to the stools. He was pretty sure those were new too. He didn’t remember the bright silver and blue. “Do you want something to drink?” 

A man sipping a beer a few seats down gave them an alarmed look, so Jason asked, “What do you have on tap?”

She laughed. “I’ll make you something special.”

The man looked like he might actually get up and go report this to someone until she started mixing fruit juice and soda water. 

“You’ll like this one.” She stuck a couple of pieces of pineapple and a cherry on a wooden pick and plopped it into a drink that faded from orange at the top to deep red at the bottom. “I call it Sunrise Anywhere But Gotham.”

“Good name,” Jason said, turning the drink to look at all the colors. “I went to Metropolis a while ago actually.”

“Really?” she asked. “How was it?”

“Strangely bright and shiny.” He sipped the drink. It was really good. He wondered if he could convince Alfred to… He stopped the thought there, focusing on Tanya and the drink instead. “You should make a drink called Places that Aren’t Gotham Actually Have a Sun.”

“I might do that.” She smiled at him and pulled out a rag to wipe down the counter. “So what’s up, baby doll?”

“So, uh…” He lowered his voice. “I assume that you’ve, uh, heard.”

“About your dad?” she asked just as quietly. “Yeah.” 

“You were here when I was born, right?”

Tanya busied herself cleaning glasses. Jason could tell it was fake busywork because there weren’t enough customers for there to be that many dirty glasses, and she was pulling them from the same pile she’d gotten his drink glass from. “Yeah,” she said vaguely.

“She… my mom…” He paused, and tried again. “She said that she’s not really my mom.”

The guy a few stools down suddenly seemed very interested in their conversation so Jason turned his face away. The last thing he needed was some rando going to the tabloids with this. 

Tanya put down the glass she’d been cleaning, washcloth still wrung in her hands. A tiny part of him that still refused to believe it hoped she’d shoot him down. That she’d say she clearly remembered his mom being pregnant with him. That the whole thing was ridiculous. But he knew before she even opened her mouth that it wasn’t true.

“Yeah,” she said instead, voice so quiet he had to lean in to hear it. “We knew that. She just showed up with a baby one day. I still don’t understand the bit about your dad because how did that happen? But she had you. She said that a friend of hers was in trouble and had dropped you off with her, just for a while. Then it was a year, two years, and we kept saying, you know your friend’s not coming back, right?” Tanya laughed, a fond, distant look crossing her face as she remembered. “At some point she started just introducing you as her son, stopped mentioning the friend.”

Jason tried in vain to remember any time his mom had talked about a friend that dropped him off, but he would have been way too young even if she had said it in front of him. 

“She said…” He leaned as far over the bar as he could and spoke barely above a whisper. “She said that I was the kid of a guest. That I was left in a room she was cleaning.”

“Jesus,” Tanya breathed, leaning her full weight against the counter in front of her. “She never told us that.”

“She said my, uh. My mother was a doctor?” He didn’t know what he was looking for. It had been thirteen years. “Do you remember..?” 

Tanya was shaking her head before his question even started. “I have no idea. I’m sorry. You know the guests all blur together.” She stared down at the bar, lips pursed. “I’m not sure anyone would remember. Even reception…”

“Yeah, no, yeah,” he said. “No, I get it. I wouldn’t expect you to remember.”

He pulled back. What was he even doing here? Why had he thought this would help anything? He sipped his drink, trying to imagine his mom, eighteen years old with a baby that wasn’t hers. “She… she loved me though, right?”

“God, yes,” Tanya said immediately, voice raising. “She loved you so much. You were her world from the moment you came into it.”

“But she really…” He slowly untwisted the knot at the top of his wooden pick. “She didn’t seem like she was lying when said it was just for a while?”

Tanya thought longer this time, reflexively cleaning the already very clean glass. “No. I can’t remember ever doubting it, at least. She really seemed to think it would be just a few weeks, at first. Then a few months. And then it stopped coming up.”

He wondered what that meant. Had she tried to contact Bruce? Had she planned to take him to the police? Did she think his mother would come back for him?

A couple of guests in short skirts stumbled into the bar, looking like they’d already had a couple of drinks, and leaned heavily against the far end of the counter giggling. “Be right back,” Tanya said, giving him a comforting pat before moving down the bar to get their orders. 

Jason nodded, more to himself, than to her. She was already gone. He sipped the last dregs of his drink, trying to figure out what to do next. He could go the Renaissance, try to talk to Rickie, or back to the Alley. Maybe someone knew something. Knew about...

What was he even looking for? 

He looked down the counter at where Tanya was mixing a drink. He didn’t know what to say when she came back. Didn’t know what to answer if she asked any questions. 

He took a twenty out of his wallet, fingers pausing on the small wad of bills. It wasn’t enough to run forever, but he had more than enough experience getting by on less than this. If he really wanted to, he could make this last weeks. If he really wanted to, he could steal and scam and hide and never go back. 

He put the twenty on the counter. Tanya would never ask him to pay, but she needed the money more than him. Everyone needed the money more than him.

He slipped quietly out, gone long before she could notice he was leaving.

He found himself on the roof of a building not far from the hotel, staring out at the Upper East Side. He wasn’t high enough to see Crime Alley, was barely even high enough to see the hotel he’d come from, but there was something calming about being able to look down at the cars and pedestrians from a distance. He was starting to understand why Tim liked it so much.

When he was little, his mom would make popsicles in the freezer, and they’d eat them in front of the open window of their apartment on hot days. One of his earliest memories was his popsicle breaking and falling on the ground, and his mom giving him hers. He could still feel the rush of love that had filled his tiny body. It had seemed like such a sacrifice at the time, such proof of her love for him. 

His mom had been everything to him for so long. He’d never cared who his father was. Didn’t care that she lied—he choked out a laugh—lied about Bruce Wayne being his father. She was offering him a fairy tale he didn’t need, because he had her. 

But the fairy tale was the only thing that was true. 

Had she tried to return him? Or had she just seen a baby and thought, mine now. 

She loved him, he reminded himself. She really, really loved him. 

But was that really enough?

He shivered in his light jacket. It had actually been pretty warm earlier that day, one of the last good days before winter, but now it was dipping towards freezing. The sun had set at least an hour earlier. It was hard to tell how long it had been. Time both seemed frozen and speeding far too quickly towards a future he didn’t understand. 

What was he doing? Was he just going to freeze to death on a roof out of spite? But when he thought about going back to the manor, or to his mom, or even to Mateo, his mind ground to a halt.

A doctor. He was the son of a billionaire and a doctor. He pressed his face against his knees. Nothing he had ever believed about his life, about himself, was true. 

I could have had her arrested for kidnapping.

He took a deep, shuddering breath that didn’t quite reach his lungs. He felt like he was suffocating, even as he continued to breathe. 

Metal clanged against stone and he looked up sharply as the fire escape he’d climbed up jostled. He scrabbled his hand against the roof, looking for a loose brick or metal bar that he could use as a weapon. This wasn’t as dangerous an area as his old neighborhood, but there weren’t many reasons someone would be climbing a fire escape. Getting to a kid they’d seen loitering alone at the top was high on that list. 

A smaller-than-expected head popped over the side of the roof, and his hand slowly relaxed. It was another kid. It was so unexpected, it took him several confused seconds to recognize—

“Tim?” he asked.

“Jason!” Tim yelled, sounding relieved as he scrambled onto the roof. “The men at the hotel Alex dropped you off at said that you went this way and I saw the fire escape ladder hanging down so I thought maybe, but I wasn’t sure—”

“Tim,” Jason repeated, synapses still struggling to fire. “Are you wearing my clothes again?”

“Oh,” Tim said, looking down at the oversized jeans and hoodie. “Yes. I actually thought you’d go back to Crime Alley so I dressed for that. Left the camera at home this time, too.”

Jason stared at him long enough for Tim to start shifting uncomfortably in place, then laughed. It was ragged, but genuine. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

Tim smiled weakly and walked over, hesitantly lowering himself onto the ledge next to Jason. 

“Does Bruce know you’re here?” Jason asked, scooting over to give him more room.

“No, but he knows you’re gone and he’s freaking out.” 

Jason snorted derisively. He couldn’t imagine Bruce ‘freaking out.’ 

“He is,” Tim insisted. “I know what freaking out looks like on him.” Tim fiddled with the hoodie’s drawstrings, looping them around his fingers. “I, uh… I heard.”

“I know,” Jason said, the image of Tim wide-eyed outside the study flashing back into his mind. 

“Are you—nevermind that’s a stupid question.” He ducked his head.

“Okay?” Jason finished. “No, I’m not.”

“I know,” Tim said softly. “What…” He swallowed. “What are you doing? Are you actually running away, or..?”

Jason laughed brokenly and covered his face. “I don’t know. I didn’t really make a plan before I left. I think I had some half-baked idea that maybe I’d go after her.” He glanced at Tim to see his reaction, but Tim was just sitting and listening patiently. “I thought I’d ask around and people would just magically know who she was, and it would be an easy trip to find her, and I’d… I don’t know.” He scrubbed at his eyes. “Why would I even want to find her? She clearly didn’t want me. What kind of person leaves a baby in a hotel room?”

Tim, who had been giving him his best, most practiced sympathetic look up until then, startled. “I don’t know. Is that what happened?”

“That’s what my mo…” He swallowed. “What... what Catherine said.” Her name didn’t sound right on his lips. She wasn’t Catherine. Had never been Catherine to him. “That I was left in a hotel room with a note addressed to Bruce. That’s how she knew.”

The edges of Tim’s mouth pushed down into a deep frown too big for his face. “That’s awful. You could have died.”

“I might have died!” Jason exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. “She doesn’t know. She has to… she has to know I never made it to Bruce, right? Didn’t she ever check on me? Make sure I was okay? Or did she just leave me and then forget she ever had a child?” Jason covered his face with both hands. “I don’t want to see her,” he said, his voice muffled. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t want anything to do with her.”

Conversations drifted up from the street below. Not words, but voices—a man’s, a woman’s, a child’s laughter.

Tim shifted next to him, their clothes brushing together. It struck Jason as surreal, suddenly. Tim in the grungy, torn clothes bought thrice-used from a thrift store, Jason in the latest styles of the wealthy elite. If things had gone just slightly differently, this could have been their lives. Jason could have been the one who grew up rich, and Tim could have been the one abandoned in a hotel room. 

It was warmer up here with the two of them, even as the moon continued to rise and the temperature fell. He leaned against Tim, feeling his body heat and watching the ever-present clouds drift across the moon.

“Bruce…” He swallowed, tried again. “Bruce said he could have had her arrested for kidnapping.”

Tim pulled the drawstrings tighter around his fingers, until the tips started turning purple. “He didn’t, though. He won’t. He knows how much you love her.”

Jason heard what he wasn’t saying. It was obvious in the tightness of his hands and the way his legs kept kicking off the wall. “You don’t think he’s wrong, though,” Jason said.

Tim peeked over at him, guilt obvious on his face. “Do you?”

Jason wanted to shout yes. He wanted to say Bruce had no right to take him away from his mom. No right to him at all after thirteen years of not being there.

But he wasn’t there because he didn’t know about Jason. He didn’t know because his mom, because Catherine, had purposely hid him. Because she knew… she knew she had no claim to him, that he’d be taken away if she said anything. Did thirteen years of raising him, loving him, doing her best really make up for that?

He dropped his face into his hands. “I wish she didn’t tell me. I wish I never knew.”

Tim shifted closer and awkwardly put an arm around where Jason sat, without actually touching him. Jason laughed wetly. He wasn’t sure if Tim was actually, for once, trying to respect his boundaries or if he had just never learned to comfort people correctly. The latter seemed more likely. Jason turned and hugged him tightly, eyes squeezed shut to keep the tears from leaking out. Tim squeaked, then carefully hugged him back.

“I think…” Tim said after a while, his voice muffled against Jason’s chest. “I think it’s okay to have mixed feelings about your mom. I thought for a long time that I had to love my mom because she was my mom. That that was just how things were. But I don’t. And I think it’s okay for you to love your mom even though she did bad things.”

“My mom abandoned me in a hotel room,” Jason said flatly.

“Not her.” Tim shook his head. “Your real mom. Your mom that matters. Blood doesn’t make family.”

“It’s what made us family,” Jason said, pulling back enough to look at him.

“No,” Tim said, wiping at his wet eyes. “It’s not.”

Jason smiled despite himself. “You’re a corny little asshole, you know that?”

“Hey!” Tim objected. “I’m trying to be sincere!”

“I know.” Jason rested his forehead against Tim’s. “Thanks. You’re the best little brother I’ve ever had.”

Tim smiled wetly, bottom lip quivering. 

“Hey, uh…” 

Their heads jerked sharply towards the voice, which hadn’t come from the roof they were on. Across the street, on the edge of a roof a couple of floors higher than them, a guy wearing bright red and yellow waved. He stood out so sharply against the grayscale Gotham skyline that Jason was shocked they hadn’t seen him coming like a meteor about to smash into the city. 

“Just wanted to let you know I’m here before I jumped over so I didn’t scare you off the roof,” he said, voice a great deal friendlier than any Gothamite’s voice had a right to be.

“Isn’t that a West Coast vigilante?” Jason muttered quietly to Tim.

“Speedy,” Tim supplied. That was right. The one that stole a name clearly meant for a speedster. He was either dumb or really inconsiderate. 

Tim pulled on Jason’s arm and they slowly climbed to their feet and backed up to the center of the roof, Jason keeping a wary eye on the new vigilante the whole way. He wasn’t sure what the brightly colored teen was doing in Gotham, and he didn’t particularly want to find out. Speedy waited until they were settled before jumping over, handling the two-floor drop as easily as if he were jumping down the last few steps in a flight of stairs. 

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked, puffing himself up like an alley cat preparing for a fight even though he was sure this guy could wipe the floor with him. He still had tears gathered in his eyes, but he refused to wipe them away. “Aren’t you supposed to be running top speed across America?”

“Funny,” Speedy said. “You’re the first person to make that joke.” 

Jason shrugged, unbothered. Sounded to him like Speedy should have thought a few more minutes before choosing his name.

Speedy’s voice gentled. “I’m looking for you. Your family’s worried.” His eyes flicked over to Tim and back. It was brief, but enough to show that he hadn’t been expecting Tim there. Honestly. It was a good thing Jason had come along because somebody needed to notice all the shit Tim got up to. 

“We’re fine,” Jason said, including Tim even though Speedy hadn’t. Tim had enough abandonment issues without thinking nobody had noticed he was gone. “It’s only been a few hours, Christ. Did they call the whole Justice League in?”

“Not the whole Justice League,” Speedy said easily.

“Guess that’s what money gets you,” Jason muttered. “Maybe you could go investigate an actual crime? You know, in your actual state? You’re not even dressed appropriately.” He motioned sharply at Speedy’s short sleeves, which could not be protecting him from the icy wind wailing across the rooftop. He had long yellow gloves, but they didn’t even reach his elbows.

Jason’s focus narrowed to the bare skin of Speedy’s inner elbows. A series of dots and dark lines rose out the top of his glove and trailed up his arm. Oh, of course. Why would he even be surprised that someone with the name Speedy did drugs. Was drug use part of his theme? 

The marks were still pretty light, though, so he probably hadn’t had the habit as long as the name. They were barely noticeable in the dim light, less like his mom’s and more like…

Archery. I should wear an arm guard, but half the time I forget.

He froze, his eyes flicking from the familiar marks to the bow and arrow on Speedy’s back to his very recognizable red hair. 

“Roy?” 

He felt Tim startle beside him. Speedy’s eyes widened, then quickly reset to calm nonchalance, but it was too late. Jason had seen his surprise. 

“Who?” he asked, with a casual smile. “I think you’re confused.”

“Roy,” Jason repeated. “Roy Harper. I recognize your track marks.” 

“You…” Roy looked down at the the marks, then covered them self-consciously with his other hand. “I have got to start wearing long sleeves,” he muttered. 

A rush of pride shoved aside any remaining awkwardness Jason felt. Everyone from street thugs to national reporters were trying to figure out who these people were, and he’d tagged one within five minutes of meeting him. “Does Dick know about this?” Obviously, his brain answered before Roy could. That’s why a vigilante from a different state was here. Dick had called his friend for help.

“Please do not tell your brother about this,” Roy said, dragging a hand down his face. Which, Jason noted, wasn’t actually an answer. “Actually, don’t tell anyone. You know that, right?”

“I’m not stupid,” Jason said. He almost started laughing when he thought about what all the stuck up assholes at the gala would say if they found out. His mind flashed back to Roy saying, 'you can wear whatever you want if you don’t care about other people’s approval.' He eyed the ugly yellow cap and ridiculous gloves. It had never been more true.

He also wasn’t stupid enough to think it was the stuck up assholes that Roy was worried about. He’d heard the whispered offers in the Alley for anything on vigilantes. Knew what they’d do with that info if they got it.

Tim stood beside him, head swiveling back and forth like an off-kilter bobble head, with an utterly befuddled expression.

“He’s Roy Harper,” Jason said. “Dick’s friend.”

“I got that much,” Tim said slowly, like it was the only part he understood. 

“Will you please stop saying my name like that?” Roy hissed, searching the shadows of the roof for anyone who might be just hanging out up there, listening.

Which, it was Gotham, so fair.

“Okay, Speedy,” Jason said. His eyes fell back to the track marks still peeking out around Roy’s fingers. “I thought you were in rehab.”

“I was,” he said, frowning. At Jason knowing about the rehab or about the rehab itself, Jason wasn’t sure. “I’m out.”

That wasn’t very long, Jason thought. But, well… It had been two months, and Roy wasn’t like his mom. He hadn’t been addicted for years. He was just a kid. Maybe that was enough.

Just a kid. He looked at the costume Roy was wearing, and tried to remember how many years he’d been hearing about Speedy. 

“Are you doing okay?” he asked. Roy looked like he wanted to give a smart aleck response, but faltered at Jason’s tone.

“Yeah,” he said, softly. “Better. Definitely better.” He took out his phone, and Jason felt the moment passing. He’d contact whoever he needed to—the police, or Dick—and they’d all move on. But instead Roy fidgeted with the phone, staring down at its still dark screen. “It was easier, in rehab,” he said. “But you get out, and all the reasons you used are still there.”

Jason thought of all the times his mom had tried to quit, the times she’d come so close, when he was sure she was actually going to make it, and then there was a bill they couldn’t pay, or an abusive boyfriend, or just her dealer showing up and offering her a free hit, and it all spiraled out of control again.

“You ever think about making a change?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Roy said, voice distant. “All the time.” He seemed to shake himself, and then Roy was gone and it was just Speedy. Speedy wasn’t a person with problems. Speedy had a job to do. He turned on his phone and started typing. 

Jason carefully inched to the side, trying to make the movement look natural. Tim gave him a look, like he wasn’t a little hypocrite that spent half his life spying on people. Just another couple millimeters, and Jason was able to see the little bubbles of text on Speedy’s screen.

Blue bubble: ive got jason

Blue bubble: also tim did u know he snuck out too

Gray bubble: aodfnadawsdkfn

Blue bubble: im bringing them home now

Jason turned to Tim and tried to look like he had been just casually hanging out on the roof as Speedy lowered his phone. He guessed that answered the question of whether or not Dick knew. 

Speedy stuck the phone in a pouch on his belt and crossed his arms. “Are you going to give me any trouble about taking you home?”

Tim looked at Jason, waiting for his lead. The rush of adrenaline that had come with Speedy’s arrival slowly petered out as he remembered why he was out here. He didn’t want to go home. Not really. He didn’t want to face Bruce. He didn’t want to think about what all of this meant, for him and for his future and for his relationship with his mom. He didn’t want to go to his too large, too empty room and realize what he’d lost. 

But he had to face it all eventually, and he wasn’t going to find any more answers out here. 

“No,” Jason said, offering his hand to Tim, who took it with a smile. “I’m ready.”

“Good,” Speedy said, ushering them towards the fire escape. “Let’s get you back before you give your old man a heart attack. He’s elderly. He can’t handle the stress.” 

Jason snorted and Tim looked between them like they were singing an Italian opera and he couldn’t quite follow the plot. 

“We know him,” Jason tried again.

“No, I get it,” Tim said. 

Jason shrugged. He’d catch up eventually.

They stood at the front steps of the manor as Speedy pulled away in his way-too-flashy red Ferrari. It was like he wasn’t even trying to hide that he was a billionaire. How had no one made that connection? 

He guessed people were used to that kind of thing from vigilantes. It wasn’t like Batman had any shortage of flashy vehicles. 

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tim said quietly as they loitered at the bottom of the stairs, not quite approaching the entrance yet. 

“Did what?” he asked. Run away? He thought they were past that.

“You figured out his identity—” Oh, yeah, that. He opened his mouth to explain his brilliant deductive reasoning, but Tim wasn’t done. “—and then just said it. Like it was nothing.”

His mouth snapped shut, and he actually thought about what Tim was saying. Tim, the kid who skulked about the house and listened, who had just hours earlier spied on his confrontation with Bruce. “You already knew,” he realized. Because of course he did. Tim collected secrets like they were stamps. If it was said even just once in the manor, he’d know. 

Tim’s lips twisted towards a smile, but didn’t stick the landing. “For years.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Tim stared down the dark driveway, after where Speedy—where Roy—had disappeared, then up at the manor. When he spoke, his voice was faint. “I guess I thought if people wanted me to know, they’d tell me themselves.” He shook his head. “We should go in before they send a second search party after us.”

They trudged slowly up the stairs. The closer they got, the more Jason wanted to turn around and run again. What were the odds they could sneak straight up to their rooms and pretend this never happened? Just avoid a conversation about it at all. Go on with their lives and act like nothing had changed.

The door opened just as they reached the top of the stairs, and Alfred stood silhouetted by the light inside. That was not good timing. That was Alfred watching them and waiting for just the right moment to act. They’d never had a chance. 

“Young sirs,” he said in a tone of voice that was more of a reprobation than any punishment Willis had ever given him. 

“Sorry, Alfred,” he said. 

“Do you know how worried everyone has been?”

“It was only a few hours…” Jason tried, but just the twitch of Alfred’s mustache made him swallow the rest of his excuse. “Sorry,” he said again. 

The foyer was empty when they entered. Maybe they had a chance of sneaking up after all. They could bribe Alfred or try to slip away while he got Bruce… Then loud, quick footsteps sounded down the hallway from the direction of Bruce’s study. 

“What were you thinking?” Bruce demanded as they burst in and Dick tried to engulf Jason in a giant hug.

“No, no, no,” Jason said, pushing against Dick’s chest until he relented. Dick turned to hug Tim instead, but stopped when he got a good look at him.

“What are you wearing?” Dick asked, hands on Tim’s shoulder as he fully took in his appearance.

Tim looked down at himself with clear alarm. They’d forgotten all about his clothes. Jason had a quick, illogical thought that they should have switched outfits, but that made no sense. Then Tim would have been wearing clothes two sizes too big for him and that would have raised its own set of questions.

“I…” he said slowly, like he thought he might come up with a good explanation if he just took long enough to say it. “...just…” He looked to Jason for help.

“Stole my clothes like a little weirdo,” Jason supplied.

“Yes, that,” Tim said, sounding relieved.

“Why?” Bruce asked.

Tim’s eyes got wide again. He hadn’t been prepared for follow-up questions. 

“I just…” he started again, slowly and deliberately. “...thought that I should be prepared… in case... I went to Crime Alley.” He looked as surprised as anyone at where that sentence ended.

“In case you what?” Bruce asked, voice more furious than Jason had ever heard it. He instinctively stepped in front of Tim.

Tim shrunk backwards, but rallied himself after a few seconds, standing straight and defensive. “I went to find Jason. And I found him. So you’re welcome.”

“Too far,” Jason whispered. Tim seemed to realize that too and shrunk back again. 

“You could have died,” Bruce said, his voice breaking. The anger drained out, leaving it hollow. Jason remembered that his parents had died in Crime Alley. “What would we have done if something happened to you?”

“I thought I had a better idea of where to find Jason than anyone else would,” Tim insisted weakly. “And I did!” He motioned to Jason as if to say, see?

“Then you should have told us,” Bruce said. “You shouldn’t put yourself at risk. Leave that to the police, or to Batman and Robin.”

Tim’s face crumpled. “That’s not fair,” he said. “You…” He looked between Dick beside him and Bruce a few feet back. “I…” They waited, but Tim faltered, finally looking down at his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Please just promise me you’ll come to us, or to Alfred, instead of doing anything dangerous,” Bruce said.

Tim raised his eyes to Bruce, something burning in them that Jason didn’t recognize, but it sure as hell wasn’t regret. “I promise,” he said.

Jason didn’t even slightly believe him. 

Bruce scrubbed a hand down his face. “We are going to discuss this,” he said to Tim. “But first, Jason.” Jason stiffened as the attention turned to him, but if there was one benefit of Tim’s whole fiasco, it was that all of Bruce’s aggression was gone, replaced with a deep exhaustion. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Jason just nodded and followed as Bruce led the way out of the entrance hall. He didn’t know if he was about to be punished, or… He didn’t know what to expect at all, really. The anxious bubbling in his stomach grew the closer to Bruce’s study they got. 

“Have a seat,” Bruce said, motioning to the couch as they entered. 

Jason trembled as he sat. He took deep breaths, trying to control his traitorous body, but the day had been too long, and just too much. He couldn’t stop remembering when Willis had lead him into secluded areas. His calm, almost content demeanor right up until they were alone. 

But that wasn’t Bruce. That wasn’t Bruce.

Instead of yelling, or crowding into Jason’s space, Bruce circled to the other side of his desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a small, yellowed envelope. He rubbed a thumb along the edge, looking at it instead of Jason as he spoke. 

“I should have told you the truth. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

Jason’s shoulders jerked back in surprise. Not yelling was one thing, but he’d never expected an apology. He found himself shaking his head. “No, you were right. I wouldn’t have believed you. And I…” He looked down at his hands in his lap. “I didn’t want to know.”

Footsteps approached from the desk, and a weight settled on the couch beside him. The envelope entered his range of vision. Faded blue ink read, “Bruce Wayne” in an unfamiliar handwriting, much too narrow to be his mom’s. Even before the drugs made her hand unsteady, her letters had large loops that filled any empty space. The envelope’s edges were crumpled, like it had been handled often—by Bruce, or by his mom, he didn’t know. His hands shook so hard as he took it that the flap gave him a paper cut. 

“Catherine gave this to me when she brought you to the Tower. It’s from your…” Bruce faltered, as uncertain what to call her as Jason. “...your biological mother,” he finished, finally.

Jason stared down at the envelope in his hands. The proof that he wasn’t who he’d always thought he was. 

It took him two tries to pull out the single sheet of paper. “Dear Bruce,” was scrawled across the top in a neat, practiced script. Nothing to him. It didn’t say his name at all, he realized, scanning down the full letter. Catherine must have given him his name. 

The whole thing was less than a page long. It didn’t even fill half of one side of the piece of paper. He flipped it over just to make sure, but the back was blank. No explanations, no apologies, nothing to the child she was leaving behind. Just a perfunctory this is your child from the fling we had in blah blah, he didn’t care. He doubted even Bruce cared. He remembered the way Bruce had run out of his office and looked at him when the results of the paternity test had come in. He didn’t think what mattered to Bruce was when they had the fling. Heat built behind his eyes as he put the paper back in its envelope.

“I can tell you about her, if you want,” Bruce said gently. 

Her. Sheila Haywood, according the signature. A name that meant nothing to him. Because of her. Because of the choices she made.  

Jason shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He stared at the envelope, wondering if there had ever been anything more to it. If she’d ever even thought about leaving something for him. If she’d thought about him even once since walking out the door. 

“No,” he said, voice strangled. “She’s not my mom. She’s not anything. I don’t want to know.”

“If you ever change your mind...” Bruce said.

Jason held the envelope out to him. “I know where to find you.”

Bruce took the envelope and smoothed it out before sitting it on the coffee table. Then he just continued to sit there stiffly, looking at Jason. Jason shifted uncomfortably. Was he supposed to say something else? Was he supposed to leave? What was Bruce waiting for? Jason couldn’t handle anything else tonight.

“So, uh…” Jason said, starting to inch towards the door. All he really wanted to do was get in bed and shut off his brain for as long as he possibly could.

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’d like to hug you,” he said woodenly.

Jason stared at him, the words failing to register for a full thirty seconds. “Jesus,” he said finally, the huff that escaped less a laugh than a heavy exhalation. “You’re even more awkward than Tim. And that’s saying something.”

“I’m aware,” Bruce said, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

Jason held up two fingers. “Two seconds,” he said. “That’s it.”

Bruce leaned forward and wrapped his arms slowly around Jason. Jason’s heart thumped in his throat, the instinctual panic he couldn’t suppress at a huge, muscular man in his space. It was different from hugging Tim, or even Dick, who was bigger and definitely set off some of his alarms, but somehow managed to be soft enough to feel safe. Bruce could really hurt him.

But he wouldn’t. Jason… Jason believed that. He slowly hugged Bruce back, leaning into the embrace.

He swore Bruce counted off exactly two seconds before pulling away. Jason wiped his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to bed now. For real.”

Bruce nodded. “Get some sleep. I...” He reached towards Jason’s shoulder, but didn’t touch. The hug was over, and he was respecting Jason’s space. “I know I’m bad at—” His fingers flexed. “—expressing how I feel. But you’re my son, Jason. I love you.”

Jason didn’t know what to do with that so he just said, “Thank you,” like an utter moron. He took Bruce’s still outstretched hand and squeezed it, also like a moron. Jesus, he needed to get out of there. 

He shuffled awkwardly to the door, but paused in the doorway. This might not be the right time, but it needed to be said, and if he put it off now, he might put it off forever.

“You need to pay attention to Tim,” he said, hand gripping the door frame as he looked back over his shoulder at Bruce. 

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed. “I pay attention to Tim,” he said.

“No, you don’t. Not enough.” His eyes swept the hallway, making sure a few seconds too late that Tim wasn’t there spying on them. “I get it,” he said, turning back to Bruce when he was sure they were alone. “Dick and I demand attention. But Tim deserves attention, whether he demands it or not.”

Bruce’s expression closed off, his eyes distant. Maybe he was thinking about his interactions with Tim. Maybe not. Jason had done his part.

“Just think about it,” he said. “Goodnight.” 

He swung by Tim’s room, even though it was in the opposite direction of his. The light was off and the door mostly closed. He knocked lightly and pushed it open. Tim was lying curled up on his side with his arms wrapped around a pillow. 

“You okay?” Jason asked. 

Tim’s arms tightened around the pillow. “You know I’m two years older than Robin was when he became Robin?”

Jason remembered Bruce telling Tim to let Batman and Robin handle things instead of sneaking out to do it himself. Good advice, as far as Jason was concerned. “You’re not Robin,” he said.

Tim rolled over so his back was to Jason. “No,” he said, voice muffled. “I guess I’m not.”

Jason hesitated. He wouldn’t have reacted nearly as well to Batman or Robin finding him on that roof instead of Tim. He probably would have run, or hidden, or fought. He would have been a lot angrier about being brought home.

“You’re better,” he said. Tim’s head popped up and snapped to him in surprise. Jason offered him a small smile. “Thanks for coming for me.”

Tim gave him a watery smile in return. “Anytime.”

“Christ, hopefully it never happens again.” 

Tim laughed and flopped back down. Jason really didn’t think he should be encouraging the sneaking out, but… just this once was probably fine. 

“Goodnight, Tim,” he said as he closed the door.

He walked slowly back to his room. He’d left the backpack downstairs, but it was sitting beside his bed when he arrived, already unpacked, like nothing had happened. 

He sat on his bed and looked around the room, trying to imagine having lived his whole life here. It wouldn’t even have been here, in this room. It would have been the room in the family hall that he’d turned down, the one much too big and opulent. But he wouldn’t have thought that. It would have just been home. He would have never known what it was like to be hungry or scared that he wouldn’t have a place to live. He wouldn’t have needed to steal or con people to survive. He wouldn’t have had to deal with assholes like Willis. 

And somehow that all felt like a loss. He thought about the charity meeting, about being able to tell them what it was actually like. He’d be able to do good things because he didn’t grow up rich. 

And maybe that was all just rationalization, but he still couldn’t help thinking that things were better this way. That he was better this way. 

But when he turned off the light and lay with his eyes closed, trying to sleep, all he could think about was the mother he’d never had and the life he should have lived.