Chapter Text
Jason’s last two months at Uni transform all of a sudden, with the explosive arrival of one Timothy Drake into their lives.
There goes his peaceful, lazy bliss. He planned to kick back this semester, so he took advantage of his ill-earned fame and cleared out most of his obligations beforehand. Being a forty some year old man with a kid—and a belligerent asshole besides—meant that most of the professors were accommodating about such things. He had defended his senior thesis with Dr Turner last year and sat most of his exams. He only has Modernism in Eastern European literature and a seminar in East Asian and postcolonial literature. Hardly a demanding course load. He hadn’t planned on going to class, and Dr. Wei and Dr. Ivanova hadn’t expected it of him.
Unfortunately, Tim is in his second year at Gotham Uni, which means the campus has suddenly become the optimal meet-up place. Best-made plans of mice and men, hey?
(April 10th, Wednesday)
“Come on,” Jackie says, tugging on his sleeve. “His class is ending in ten minutes.”
Jason tries not to roll his eyes too obviously, gulps down his coffee and grabs his backpack. “I’m going, I’m going, calm down. Where did my cute Jackie go? Who is this snarling menace—”
“Jay,” Jackie whines, elongating the a like a twit. “Don’t be old. You need to be cool. One of us needs to be.”
“You’re the coolest kid in the world,” he says, arching his brows. “In the world. And your friend thinks so too, so relax. Do you wanna bring him a snack? We can grab a box of doughnuts along the way.”
It’s Tim’s last class for the day, so he’ll be heading home, after. He types up a quick message to Janet, asking if he can hang out with Jackie if Jason drives them back home. Don’t think about what you’re doing, Todd. If you don’t confront the truth that you chat with Janet Drake about playdates and healthy meal plans for teenage boys, it doesn’t exist. It’s the rules.
“Do you think we should? Does Tim like doughnuts?”
Christ. “He’s a sixteen-year-old boy; a bottomless pit, in common parlance. He likes doughnuts.” This is not to say that the doughnuts sold at campus are any good, cause they’re not. “We’ll get extra, just in case. Both you monsters could do with some feeding up.”
Nobody pays attention to Jason and Jackie in their neck of the woods anymore. The science side of campus is uncharted territory, however. It’s beyond amusing, the way the maths and compsci kids stare at them like a pack of startled meerkats who correctly identified predators in their midst. All except one Timothy Drake, who tries and fails not show how flattered he is that the tattooed guy and his genius son are going out of their way to hang out with him at least once per day.
“Jay, Jackie,” he calls, giving them a small wave. The whispers around them increase. They will have to get bored with it eventually, but it’s only been two weeks. “Hey, wow. Are those doughnuts?”
Jackie nods, grin wide and happy. “Yeah. Jay thought you’d be hungry.”
“I just had Computer Architecture,” Tim says, adding in a theatrical groan. “I need sugar or I need Prozac. Preferably both.”
Spoiled little brat. It’s charming, so he lets it go, but this Tim is going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person one of these days and get smacked for it.
“Nothing wrong with SSRIs,” he still says. He hadn’t meant it badly. “Jesus knows my life woulda been a whole lot easier if my fucked up brain responded to chemical regulation. Either way, c’mon. Let’s find a sunny spot to eat and let Timmy cool off that big brain of his.”
Jason’s acceptance letter to Gotham Uni’s Law School arrives on an otherwise chill Saturday. Jackie outwardly plays it cool but wastes no time to snap a quick photo and post it online. When the congratulations and demands to celebrate start pouring in from the confusingly large number of people, he puts his foot down.
“Graduation ceremony is exactly a week away,” he tells B, the most likely person to go behind his back to organise a sneak celebration. “We’ll have dinner then.” He pauses. “Graduation ceremony I hadn’t wanted to attend, mind you. Still. I’ll throw something together for all you hyenas then.”
“It’s a deal. Alfred is already preparing a menu. Apparently, you are forbidden from cooking on pain of eternal damnation.”
Jason rolls his eyes. Idiots. “Fine, whatever. You lot organise it then, it’s no skin off my back. Just—nothing crazy, yeah? It’s already embarrassing. I’m forty-three, in case you forgot.”
“I will do my best to rein in Alfred and Ms Kim, but I make no promises.”
“Good luck.”
Nobody is surprised when the graduation ceremony is a shitshow, least of all Jason.
Jackie, wearing custom-made, bright red Doc Martins, a tailored tux and a biker jacket, sits with the Kims. Mariya and Hosook even came—not a small gesture, considering Mariya lives in Iraq and Hosook in mainland China. Jackie is sandwiched in the middle of all four Kims—Jackie, bracketed by Masha on his right and Sook on his left, who are bracketed by Mama Rita and Daehyun. Christ.
Tim sits behind them with B and Al on one side and on the other Zai and her fire-fighter boyfriend Ryan, who radiates so much concentrated himbo energy that he must be some kind of a spectacular fake. You can be big, pretty, blonde and dumb or you can survive adolescence in Gotham, but most certainly not both.
Noise was made about Jason wearing a gown and hat. Not very loud and not for very long, but the fact they were says a lot about the inherent lack of self-preservation on the admin side of things. Jason hadn’t even had to say anything, he just ignored them until they went away. Unfortunately, the admin people have, over the years, had time to interact with Jason quite a bit and have developed protocols for handling him. Meaning that they tracked down Glenys who went straight to Jackie. So, Jason isn’t wearing a gown—even Jackie wouldn’t have thought that was on the table—but he is holding a stupid hat in his hands and a rope around his neck. Alas.
Jesus Christ, she’s still yammering on. Where did they dig this woman up? In Gotham? Really? You’re giving an uplifting, cheesy speech to motivate a generation of young Gothamites? Are you lost? Does the Dean have a gun to your children’s heads?
“—Today, you become not just graduates but torchbearers of knowledge and agents of change," the lady says, expression set in, to his eyes, sincere fervour. "Carry the lessons of your alma mater with you, and let your actions speak to the values instilled in you. Remember that the power to make a difference lies within each of you."
Good grief. She must be drugged. They don’t got metas or magic in this world, so she’s probably not a victim of direct mind control. Poor thing. Here’s hoping the faculty had shelled out for security to escort her back to—Palm Beach or wherever she’s from.
“Thank you, Ms Henderson, for that inspiring commencement address,” President Anderson says, having bustled to the podium. The pause, probably, was meant to give the student body a subtle hint that it was time to applaud. As it is, all it does is give a blank slate for Jason’s snort to be heard loud and clear, quickly followed by a ripple of hushed giggles. “Ahem. Yes. I am sure I speak for all of you when I say I am both honoured and humbled that you took the time to come in person to—”
They must be lovers. Well—He tilts his head and takes them in. Tall, fit, shiny hair, surgery-symmetrical face. Chubby, middle-aged, married, always smells oddly of cabbage and/or snails. Probably not, then, but not for lack of trying.
“—without further ado, the moment you all have been waiting for has arrived: the presentation of degrees.”
Another pause. Jason could have been the bigger man and let this one go. Alas, it would have been bad form to ridicule the lady and give him a pass. She meant well, the lamb. So, he modulates his voice with his best Timothy-Wayne-Drake-Is-Judging-You flavour of tedium.
“Yay.”
The kids burst into applause started, very appropriately, by this Universe’s Tim. Life is funny like that.
“Ahem. "Will the graduates please rise?" the President says, voice tightening with irritation.
Finally, some fucking action.
With that said, six hundred kids are waiting for this nonsense, and they all take up at least a couple of minutes, and Jason is in the second half. To make matters worse, there are two distinct protocols in play. There is the basic, streamlined one, where the student walks up, picks up the diploma laid out for him on the table, gives a wave to their audience and skedaddles. Jason dubbed that on the Less Terrible One. And then there’s the other one.
“Among our distinguished Summa Cum Laude graduates, there is one student who has truly exemplified academic excellence throughout their journey. Connor Peters—”
Ye Gods.
He should probably take his hands out of his pockets, he acknowledges. He should also stop scowling, straighten his posture and try to look somewhat honoured.
Too bad, so sad. He’s not strangling the idiot with the rope they put around his neck like he’s a prize bull they’re advertising; that’s absolutely the most anyone can ask of him.
“James Peters,” Anderson continues, "not only maintained a perfect GPA but also received the prestigious Gotham’s University Insight Award for his exceptional insight and creativity in the field of literary critique—“
Bullshit. What award?! There was no award. He’s a measly Undergrad; he hasn’t even published a paper. Why is this jackass telling lies—
“—his dedication to his studies, his peers, and his community has set an example for us all."
Anderson is saved from being bodily thrown into the gaudy fountain he had set up ‘for ambience’ by two things. One, Jason is frozen with shock and rage. Two, the breathless silence of the student body who has gotten to know him over the years is broken by Jackie’s no-shit wolf whistle.
That damn brat.
Still, the timing is good; he’ll give him that. The audience bursts into laughter, which goes a long way to chase away the fury. That Anderson thinks he is somehow humiliated by this and is being smug about it, boosts his mood more. What a goober, honestly.
“Don’t worry,” whispers the honorary speaker, looking up at him with guileless, worried eyes. “They don’t mean it badly.”
“Ma’am, my kid is out there laughing the loudest,” he says, reluctantly charmed. Bless her. Bless her and her hair and her nails. If you stay that sweet that long you are either exceptionally hard-headed or exceptionally lucky, and he respects both. “But thank you. You’ve made this whole thing into less of a nightmare than it would have been.”
“Wow, Jay,” Jackie says, as he finally gets his dumb piece of paper and throws it at B’s head. “Chatting up his crush was a low blow. She’s still looking at you”
“Ms—” Damn, what’s her name? Damn and blast. “The lady is a sweetheart,” he says. “She deserves the world and probably has it.”
Jackie’s eyebrows arch up-up-up, as do most of his family. All except Zai and the Mama Kim, which absolutely tracks. They know how valuable uncomplicated goodness is in a partner, especially if you’re as fucked up as they are.
“You know, I didn’t think you were chatting her up, but now I’m not sure.” Jackie pauses. “Were you?”
Hah.
“Absolutely not,” he says. “I am a Gotham alley rat, and that shit doesn’t work out past Disney cartoons.” Jackie’s getting a rebellious look, abort, abort. “And I’m not interested enough to do the work it would take, even if she was. Which, she probably isn’t, because she doesn’t even know how much work that would be.” Wait. “Why are we discussing my non-existent love life? Jesus—”