Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick used to love wintertime. It’s easy to love anything when you’re a kid. Back when Dick was allowed to enjoy things without implanting survival into the equation, he would go to sleep every night of winter wishing he would wake up to five inches of packed snow in the morning. Now, at fourteen years old, Dick spends his nights wondering how he and his brothers will push through to the end of the season without freezing to death.

Surviving was so much easier when Dick still had parents to do all the heavy-lifting for him. Kids aren’t meant to comprehend how hard the adults work to put food on the table, to keep a roof over their heads, to make sure there’s a fresh tube of toothpaste in the morning. Kids don’t know the sacrifices that come with living until much later; it would take away the magic.

Dick trudges through the slush caked on the sidewalk, the ice seeping in through his sorry excuse for shoes and freezing his frostbitten toes to the bone. It’s only six blocks between the diner Dick busboys at and home, (he uses that term, home, loosely), yet the added fear of pesky afflictions like hypothermia and the medical bills should he slip and fall make it feel twice as long.

A plastic shopping bag swings from Dick’s cold fingers, so stiff and numb he’ll need an iron to flatten them back into shape. He shivers under all three of the shirts he owns and his barely-counts-as-a-coat. It’s hardly thicker than a windbreaker, but Dick gave the first good coat he found to Jason, who spends far more time outside than Dick does. The second one went to Tim.

Dick shoulders past clusters of people in warm clothes and cars with heating vents, and he hates them simply for the crime of being better off than he is. Dick is tempted to duck into a store, just for a few minutes to thaw, but he’s late enough as it is. Jason and Tim are waiting for him at home.

It’s nights like this when Dick misses his parents more than ever. The circus didn’t pay much, but it never mattered how much the Graysons did or didn’t have. It never stopped them from giving their son the magical, joy-filled childhood that every parent wants for their kid.

Dick doesn’t know how they managed it, but he’d love a few pointers because he doesn’t know how much longer he can do this. He can barely keep his eyes open as it is. He can’t remember what it feels like not to be starving. And no matter how much he wants to quit, to close his eyes and give up, he can’t. Because he has two little brothers who depend on him. He needs to be functional for them. His own survival comes second.

It’s a heavy burden, being the oldest.

Dick’s stomach growls, threatening to digest his own insides layer by layer. All he’s eaten today was a banana and some lukewarm ramen. And this has been a good week. He hasn’t had to miss a single shift since Tim got over that flu from last week.

Dick works at Casey’s Diner nine hours a day and shines shoes on weekends—the only two jobs in the area willing to employ a fourteen-year-old kid other than working a corner or pushing drugs. It still isn’t enough to support the three of them. Even with Dick’s wages and Jason’s pickpocketing, it won’t ever be enough.

Dick hoards every penny he makes just to keep himself and his brothers afloat. He goes hungry three days a week because he has two other mouths to feed and there just isn’t enough to go around. He insists he ate earlier as he watches Jason and Tim scarf down their lousy excuse for dinner, mentally calculating if there will be enough left over to pay the rent at the end of the month.

Soon, the quiet, battered voice in the back of Dick’s head whispers. Soon they’ll figure it out. Soon Dick can rest longer than the five minutes of shuteye he catches between shifts. Soon they’ll be out of this godforsaken city, somewhere in which survival turns into living . Soon, soon, soon.

Dick pushes open the splintered door to their hovel of an apartment. Luckily for the three of them, Jason figured out how to get the busted space heater he found at the junkyard working again before the cold front struck.

The three boys sleep every night squished together on an old lumpy mattress Jason scored last year off a parked U-Haul. They shiver in the tiny room Dick guilted the landlord into letting them rent for sixty percent of the cost. Unfortunately, that means they get no heat or electricity. Tim sits on the bed now in a nest of threadbare blankets, playing with his favorite toy car.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says, rubbing the kid’s hair as he passes. He dumps his shopping bag onto the overturned box that serves as their dining table. He found some off-brand Lucky Charms on clearance, so the forecast is looking like cereal without milk for dinner tonight.

“Got something for you,” Dick says. He digs in the pocket of his ratty jeans and pulls out some broken crayons he stole during his shift. Every time a family leaves behind the crayons that come with the kiddie menus, Dick swipes them to bring home for Tim.

Tim grins, looking half his age with the gap where his front teeth used to be. He delightedly takes the crayons. “Thanks, Dickie. I was running outta green. You can’t color Poison Ivy without green.”

Tim has used up every crayon he has on drawings of Batman and his assortment of foes. The walls of the apartment are covered in scraps of receipts and paper peeled off soup cans, all depicting sketches of black shadows and brightly colored villains. If he weren’t so hell-bent on keeping Tim happy, Dick would have told him the harsh truth years ago. Everyone knows the Batman is nothing more than an urban legend spun by people just as desperate as they are for a beam of light in this pitch-black city. It’s escapism for the anguished.

Dick doesn’t have the guts to pop Tim’s rosy bubble just yet. He’s only six years old. He’s not ready to be thrown into the stress and despair that every other soul in Gotham has to face every time they leave the house.

Dick stuffs his wages for the day into the coffee can that serves as his bank account. He surveys the empty room. “Where’s Jay? He should’ve been home hours ago.” They do their best to make sure one of them is always here to look after little Tim during the day, but it doesn’t always work out that way. This time of year, the sun sets so early they have to cram as much into the daylight hours as they can.

Jason spends his time scavenging the city for whatever he can get his hands on that will catch a good price at the local pawn shop. It’s a pain to get him to abide by Dick’s strict rule against going out after dark. Gotham is dangerous enough as it is; kids like them aren’t safe traipsing around at night. Not alone. Not in this city. Dick lies awake most nights, wrapped protectively around his brothers and wondering if it will be the night that a burglar or worse finally takes advantage of the flimsy tarp covering the front window and discovers the three defenseless children inside.

Tim shrugs. His attention is firmly on his new colors as he arranges them in rainbow order. “Haven’t seen him since you left.”

“Did he say where he was gonna be?” Jason’s never stayed out this late before. It’s their one rule.

Tim shakes his head. “Dunno. It’s okay, Dickie. Batman will keep him safe.”

Dick refrains from scoffing. As if the Batman’s gonna be the one scraping together his meager wages to buy Jason a new pair of shoes when he grows out of his old pair. As if the Batman will keep the three of them out of foster care. Dick slips his shoes and coat back on with a sigh.

“You’re going?” Tim asks, a betraying hitch in his voice. He clutches his crayons tight enough to crack them.

“We’re going. C’mon, let’s get you dressed.” As much as Dick doesn’t want to be dragging little Tim around the city in the dark, he likes the idea of leaving the kid alone and vulnerable in this sketchy building even less. He’s never fully comfortable until he’s got both his brothers within arm’s reach.

Dick maneuvers Tim’s arms into a puffy coat and winds a scarf around Tim’s neck, bundling him up the best he can. “It’ll be quick, I promise. Ten minutes, tops.” It’s not safe for Jason to be out so late by himself, knowing the shady parts of town he frequents. Jason isn’t indestructible, no matter how much he thinks so.

“But it’s dark out,” Tim says.

“Batman’s protecting us, remember?” Dick taps the faded Batman symbol on Tim’s t-shirt—a stolen birthday gift from Jason last year—as he zippers up the coat. The zipper’s been broken since last winter, so it only goes up halfway. Dick hopes the scarf will cover it enough to keep Tim warm. The last thing they need is one of them getting sick again. “I’ll even buy us some hot chocolate on the way back. How’s that sound?” It’s more than they can afford, but if Dick skimps on toiletries for the next few days, it should be fine.

They set out into the chilly night, scouring the dark streets for a red coat and black hair. They go to all of Jason’s usual haunts. Sometimes he hustles pool at the local pub for extra cash. Occasionally he’ll root around in dumpsters behind the more upscale restaurants in the area. No sign of him.

Hope surfaces briefly when Dick finds Jason’s friend Molly loitering outside of the local shelter. According to her, Jason mentioned that he’d try jacking tires in Crime Alley tonight. Dick tries not to let his worry show, but it’s a losing battle. Jason, what are you getting yourself into?

Dick keeps a vice grip on Tim’s cold hand, keeping the kid close to him as they head for Crime Alley. He glares at every figure they pass, trying to give off the image of someone stronger than a preteen playing grownup.

“Dickie?” Tim asks after several minutes of stomping through snow and stumbling on ice. His hand tightens around Dick’s. “Is Jay gonna be okay?”

“‘Course he is,” Dick says automatically. “Jay’s always okay. He just loses track of time sometimes, is all.”

They’re two blocks into Park Row when they hear a panicked shout, high and reedy and tragically unmistakable. Dick’s stomach drops to the asphalt. He bursts into a sprint, pulling Tim along behind him. They arrive at the mouth of the alley just in time to watch Jason slam a hulking man in the gut with a rusty tire iron. “Paws off, asshole!”

The man lets go of Jason’s jacket, stumbling backward with his hand instinctively wrapping around his stomach. Dick doesn’t stop to think. He throws himself between Jason and the attacker, shoving Jason safely behind him where the stranger can’t reach. He feels Jay pull Tim close to his side.

The man straightens up with a low groan. His face comes into view for the first time, illuminated by the lone flickering street lamp yards away. Dick’s breath freezes up in his throat because that’s Bruce fucking Wayne in front of him, which means they’re fucked. There’s no other possible ending to this. They’re royally and totally fucked. Never mind that Wayne is larger than the three boys put together and looks like he could bench-press a tank without breaking a sweat.

This is the most powerful man in the city. And Jason attacked him with a tire iron.

Wayne winces and rubs the forming bruise under his expensive coat that probably costs more than everything Dick made last year put together. “You pack quite a punch, young man,” he tells Jason. There’s an amused gleam in his eyes that makes Dick want to grab his brothers and flee as far from here as he can take them, no matter that Wayne would catch them in seconds. Probably throw them in juvie, or worse.

“Y’shouldn’t have fuckin’ grabbed me then,” Jason snarls. Dick hisses at him to keep quiet. “What? He did!”

Wayne huffs a chuckle. “Fair enough. Though, I do think it is well within my rights to keep myself from being robbed.”

Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Dick casts his gaze down the alley where the most expensive car he’s ever seen sits on the pavement. Its front tires are missing, and one of the back wheels is halfway loosened. Dick’s stomach churns.

“Mister Wayne,” Dick speaks up, stepping forward. He musters all the courage he doesn’t have, one hand clutching Jason’s arm and the other knotted protectively in Tim’s coat. “I’m real sorry for my brother. He’s just a kid, alright? He never would’ve done it if he knew it was yours. He’ll put the tires back and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

Except he knows that it won’t be enough. The crime has already been committed. This isn’t an apple swiped from the fruit stand. There’s nothing stopping Wayne from calling the cops on all three of them just to be spiteful. The cops will then contact child services, who will call whatever free homes they can scrounge up to take care of the street rats.

“I can pay for it,” Dick adds quickly, swallowing his fear. He thrusts his hand into his pocket and pulls out some crumpled bills. “It’s not a lot, but I can repay the damages how—however you want.” He tries not to look at frightened as he feels, tries not to wonder what a man with as much power as Wayne does with scrappy kids in his free time. Whatever he wants, Dick will give him.

Dick has done all he could over these last few years to keep himself and his brothers from turning into the kids he sees working street corners at night and getting snatched up from parks to be put to work by traffickers. He’s sacrificed his youth and dignity to avoid that fate, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if that was what it took to protect Jay and Tim from suffering in his stead.

Wayne looks down at the three of them, a thoughtful wrinkle in his brow. It’s hard not to shrink under his stare. “Where are your parents?”

None of them answer. They can’t. Answering means the police. It means CPS. It means being split up.

“You don’t have any parents,” Wayne concludes himself when he receives no answer.

“We don’t need ‘em,” Jason grumbles, hackles raised. Dick can’t summon the will to scold him.

The corner of Wayne’s mouth lifts slightly. “I have to disagree with you on that. How old are you kids?”

“Old enough,” Dick says. “We’re fine on our own. Have been for a while now.” Just let them go, he pleads in his head. Take me, do whatever you want to me, but let them go.

Wayne frowns, thinking on their predicament. “Well, you know I can’t just let you kids go.”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Dick scrambles for an escape plan. Their backs are to a brick wall. They could theoretically bolt for the street, but Wayne will catch them easily with Tim’s short legs slowing them down—slower if Dick carries him. Going left means dodging around the car blocking their path. Dick and Jason together might be able to ward off Wayne long enough for Tim to escape, but Dick is unarmed and Jason didn’t do much damage with the tire iron. Tim won’t last the night alone on the streets.

“No,” Jason says before Dick can settle one way or the other. He’s got an arm braced in front of Tim while the other twists nervously at Dick’s back. “I know what creeps like you want, and it’s not fuckin’ happening. You’re not hurting them.”

For a moment, Wayne looks confused. Then sicked. “You think I— no. No. You’re misunderstanding me,” he says, raising his hands like he’s calming an animal. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jason snorts without humor. “Yeah, right.”

Wayne’s eyes land on little Tim where he peeks out from his hiding place behind Dick’s leg. His scarf has slacked to the side, exposing the patchy Batman symbol on his chest. Wayne kneels on the icy ground so he’s at Tim’s level. Dick’s heart rattles his ribcage.

“Hi, kiddo. Do you like Batman?” Wayne asks with a gentle smile. Tim nods shyly. “I’m good friends with Batman, you know. He and I talk quite often.”

Tim's eyes go wider than Dick’s ever seen them. “Really?”

Wayne nods. “Yep. And I know he would be very disappointed in me if I let you three go back home by yourselves. It’s not safe for children to be on their own. I know some very nice people who would be happy to find a proper home for you.”

“No,” Dick says. He tugs Tim back behind him, cringing at the thought of Wayne handing them off to some snake. “Hell no. No way are you splitting us up.” They need me.

They’ve gone down this road before. A foster family won’t know how to comfort Jason after a nightmare. A foster family won’t know that Tim can’t sleep unless he’s tucked in and told a story. A foster family won’t be real. It won’t be the family they need.

Wayne’s stare is heavy, but not unkind. Dick doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. “All right,” he decides after some thought. “You win. No social services.” Dick doesn’t trust it enough to exhale. “Then what do you say to coming home with me?” Dick’s pulse jackrabbits, but Wayne is quicker than Dick’s fight-or-flight.

“I understand that you don’t trust me, and I don’t expect you to. I’m sure you’ve seen me in the newspapers and on television. You know that I have a big house and plenty of food. You can stay for as long as you’d like while we work out alternative arrangements for you three. Ones that don’t involve separating you from each other.”

Dick twists to meet Jason’s eyes; they’re just as doubtful as his own. As tempting as it is… “What’s in it for you?” Dick demands.

Wayne lightly kicks the shiny hubcap on the ground. “For one, I could use some help reattaching my tires.” He lifts an eyebrow at Jay. “It seems that some hooligan stole them from me.”

“You shouldn’t have parked your ride in a place called Crime Alley, then,” Jason says, entirely unrepentant. Tim giggles.

“For another thing,” Wayne says, smiling softly at little Tim, “My butler, Alfred, makes blueberry pancakes on Wednesday mornings.”

Tim tugs on Dick’s hand. “Pancakes! Can we, Dickie? Can we?”

Dick appraises Wayne, untrusting, but…a house. Food. Warmth. What kind of a person would he be if he denied his brothers the chance to be comfortable for once? Even one night would be better than nothing. It would be a chance.

“Alright,” Dick says. “One night. But don’t expect us to stick around.”

“Of course,” Wayne says. “We’ll find a proper home for you boys in no time.”