Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Alone In the Big City

Two weeks. It had been two weeks. Or at least, Harry was pretty sure it had been two weeks. He hadn’t really been able to look at a calendar lately, and he might have lost track of how many days had passed. But he was pretty sure it had been two weeks since the Dursleys “forgot” him at that diner. They were just finishing their meal and Aunt Petunia suggested everyone use the bathroom before they left, since it was a long drive to the hotel. They made Harry go last, and when he came out…well, they were gone. Long gone.

But Harry had always been good at taking care of himself. He was almost eight, after all! He could cook, and clean, and he was no stranger to taking scraps of food wherever he could get them when Uncle Vernon “forgot” to feed him on the nights the rest of the family ate out. Which, since it was summer vacation, was at least four days a week. And Harry was very fast, so when someone had called after him on the way out of the diner, he’d taken off running, darting around parked cars and pedestrians, ducking through alleyways until he could no longer hear anyone behind him.

The first night was scary, though. Harry had slept outside before, when Uncle Vernon got mad at him for coming home late after a whole afternoon avoiding Dudley and his friends. But at least he’d had the shed to sleep in, then. But here...this city—Gotham, Harry was pretty sure it was called—was really, really big. Maybe not as big as London, but it was still really big. Definitely way, way bigger than Little Whinging. And somehow, in running away from that guy at the diner, he’d found himself in a place where the buildings loomed over him, dark and grimy and menacing, half of them with shattered windows, and where broken glass and brick shards and needles littered the street. And it smelled, like cigarette smoke and rotting garbage and like the time the upstairs toilet got blocked and overflowed.

That first night, Harry had found the tiniest crevice he could wedge himself into and barely slept a wink. At least it was summer, so he wasn’t cold. Then, the next day, he watched. Harry had learned the hard way that the best way to find out what was expected in any given situation was to watch everyone else. It didn’t always help Harry know what was expected of him, since the Dursleys seemed to expect different things from Harry than from Dudley. Dudley was expected and allowed to be loud, whiny, and petulant. But the Dursleys had only ever expected one thing out of Harry: to do his chores and to fade into the background, to be so quiet and unobtrusive that it was like he didn’t exist.

Harry assumed that was why they had him sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs. Normal boys got bedrooms and toys and new clothes. Harry got a worn-out crib mattress in a space that was nearly too small for him and Dudley’s tattered hand-me-downs. Normal boys were allowed to cry and get hugs. Harry wasn’t allowed to cry, and he couldn’t remember ever being hugged. (When he was smaller, and didn’t know better, he’d once asked Aunt Petunia for a hug. She’d slapped him instead, and then sent him to bed without dinner. He didn’t ask again.)

So Harry watched the people, and listened. It was amazing what you could learn when no one realized you were there.

He learned this part of the city was formally called Park Row, but everyone called it Crime Alley. And it only took one day for Harry to recognize why. In just twelve hours, he witnessed three muggings, one knife fight, and a near-kidnapping before the kid got a lucky hit and ran away. Through some of the open windows, he heard shouting and a meaty smack that meant someone got hit. When Harry got hungry and decided to try his luck in a convenience store trash, he saw another kid (or was it the same one?) run out with his arms full of snacks while being shouted at and chased by the owner. As Harry watched the pedestrian traffic more carefully, he also saw at least a dozen people get pick-pocketed.

But it seemed like these petty crimes were expected. Not exactly tolerated, but it seemed that the majority of people around preferred to keep their heads down and not get involved. Harry understood that. All his teachers at school did the same when Dudley and his friends picked on him. And the people on the street that saw him running away from them—sometimes with a visible injury—either cooed at how they were playing so nicely, or got out of the way. And the neighbors never said anything when Harry spent long hours in the hot summer sun, painting the fence or weeding the flower beds or mowing the lawn—a new job he’d started just this year, since he was now, apparently, tall enough and strong enough to push the mower.

But scary as this Crime Alley seemed, Harry quickly learned how to blend in, and more importantly, he learned how to survive. No one went out at night, except for people who looked like they were up to no good. The shouting and gunshots(!) that Harry heard on the third night only confirmed that. The few other street kids he saw took care of themselves and no one else, and everyone looked suspiciously at anyone who didn’t seem to belong there.

For the first time, Harry was glad of Dudley’s worn-out, oversized hand-me-downs. Everyone else wore worn, ill-fitting clothes, too. He fit right in, and no one really gave him a second look.

So Harry adapted. He didn’t feel right stealing, but by day four of eating scraps out of the trash cans outside restaurants and convenience stores, he realized he didn’t have a choice, unless he wanted to pass out from hunger. (It had happened once, last year. He was on day four of being punished with no meals, and his P.E. class was doing fitness tests. He’d fainted halfway through their mile run. He was fed at least once a day after that, even if it was only a piece of bread and a slice of cheese or a wrinkled apple, but he’d spent the next two weeks in his cupboard every hour he wasn’t at school.)

Harry remembered how that other kid had run out carrying things in his arms, and determined to do the opposite. Harry was good at hiding things. He had to be, if he didn’t want Dudley to steal his things or break them. So Harry tucked his baggy shirt in, creating a little pouch at his waist. He kept to the edges of the convenience store—not the same one he’d been hanging around, because he’d been starting to get some looks—and looked for the cameras. They always did that in Dudley’s spy movies. Harry could pretend to be a spy. He wasn’t just stealing crisps—no, they were called chips here—and beef jerky; he was stealing secret government plans that could save the world. He had to get them and get away so the bad guys couldn’t blow anything up.

Finding a blind spot in the cameras, and with his back to them just in case, Harry pulled a package of jerky off the rack and held it up to his face, pretending to read the label (he had to pretend, because he’d lost his glasses on his third day in the streets and couldn’t make out anything except the large print on billboards and shop fronts). Then… he dropped the package down his stretched-out collar, catching it in the pouch against his stomach. His heart pounding, Harry dared take a second bag, then slipped out the door behind a mom and young kid as if he were part of their family. (He was used to that, too, always trailing behind Dudley and Aunt Petunia, part of their group but never quite belonging.)

Harry’s heart raced, expecting at any instant to hear someone call after him, to be chased out, maybe beaten up like the kid who had failed at pick-pocketing the other day and got hit a bunch of times by his would-be victim. Everything in Harry screamed to run, to escape.

But running made you look suspicious.

He didn’t let himself run until he had walked a full block away, with still no sign of pursuit. Then, flushed with triumph, he turned a corner and broke into a run.

He didn’t have the energy to run more than a few meters, but his success still buoyed him up until he reached the hide-out he’d found for himself. It was beside a dumpster tucked deep in an empty alleyway. The space between the dumpster and the building beside it was just big enough for Harry to stretch out his legs and arms, which was slightly bigger than his cupboard had been. He could even raise his arms above his head! (though only while sitting). A huge, flat cardboard box stuck out of the dumpster like a roof, and with a little rearranging, Harry managed to close the gaps. Which was good, because if it wasn’t raining, the sun was beating down on him, and the big piece of cardboard gave him shade.

Still flushed with triumph, Harry removed his prizes—two big bags of beef jerky that, if he was careful, would last him weeks. And the bags were resealable, so the jerky would stay fresh. Opening one, Harry reverently removed a single, large piece of jerky and tucked it into his mouth. He sucked on it first, savoring the faintly spicy, salty taste, and resealed the bag. Then he tucked both bags into the torn duffel bag he’d found beside a different dumpster in the same alley two days ago, where he was keeping the few other things he’d collected.

There were only a few other things inside the duffel bag. First was a badly dented reusable water bottle with a leaky lid, and three normal, plastic bottles he’d washed and refilled in a gas station bathroom. He already knew the dangers of dehydration. That hadn’t been a fun lesson to learn, the summer he was five and first set to work in the yard in the heat of summer. So the very next day after finding himself alone (abandoned), Harry had made finding water his first priority. Gas station and convenience store bathrooms made that pretty easy. No one blinked at you if you just walked in, used the restroom, and walked out (though there were a few dirty looks).

The reusable bottle he brought with him most of the time; his pockets were big enough to fit it, and that way it stayed upright and didn’t leak. The opening was big enough that he could stash things inside, too. The other three bottles were for emergencies. He also had some bruised apples and a dented can of beans that had rolled away from an older lady’s bags while she was loading groceries into her car.

By day seven, Harry thought he was doing pretty well. He was slowly building up a stash of food, so he didn’t have to take risks stealing all the time (though sometimes he went inside a store just for the air conditioning). He had a safe place to sleep at night. He was doing really well at blending in and not getting caught. He hadn’t been beaten up or picked up by the police—because Uncle Vernon always said that if he tried to run away, the police would just bring him right back to them. And Harry didn’t want to go back, so he stayed away from the police. Things were going really well! He thought he just might have cracked the whole living on the streets thing!

On day twelve, though, Harry quickly and abruptly realized that this was not a game.

He’d already gone to ground for the night. He’d fashioned a door out of another cardboard box, and piled trash bags on top of his reinforced cardboard roof, so his hideout looked like just another pile of trash. This was after someone came a little too close to his hideout a few days ago. So Harry sat contentedly in his little space, the door pulled over the opening, his stomach no longer growling at him after another piece of jerky (though he didn’t feel full—he couldn’t remember when he last felt full). He was laying back, entertaining himself by imagining scenes of great daring and excitement, when he heard noise in his alleyway. Voices.

Angry voices.

Harry’s breath hitched, because angry voices—especially loud, deep, angry male voices—usually meant he was about to get smacked. Horrified at the tiny sound that escaped him, Harry clapped both hands over his mouth, scarcely daring to breathe. Because if he made a noise, the angry man would find him, and then—Harry shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. He wouldn’t think about that!

But he was forced to listen.

“—a deal, kid! You thought you could run away from me?”

“I didn’t—ow! That hurt, you bastard!”

“It was supposed to! No one walks away from a deal with Big Ben without punishment!”

There were several meaty thwacks, followed by yelps of pain and curses spat through gritted teeth.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to cry, not to make a sound, scarcely daring to breathe, while just twenty feet away, a kid that didn’t sound much older than himself was brutally beaten.

Finally, the voices and the thuds stopped, and a single pair of heavy footsteps receded. Harry kept holding his breath, expecting at any moment for the man to return. But instead, after several long, heavy moments of silence, he heard a new sound: quiet whimpering.

Harry exhaled shakily. What was he supposed to do now?

Harry warred with himself. On the one hand, he knew the other kid was only crying now because he thought he was alone. But the fact that he was crying at all and hadn’t gotten up to leave yet meant he was hurt pretty badly. Harry didn’t have any first aid supplies except for a banged-up box of band-aids featuring some heroes called the Justice League. It had been left on an empty shelf, clearly out of place, and after Harry had scraped his hand pretty badly moving things around his hideout, it had seemed like a good idea to just…slip the box into his pocket and walk out. It would be better than a torn-off strip from his shirt wrapped around the injury.

But some injuries were too big for a handful of band-aids.

On the other hand, though, Harry knew how lonely it was to be hurt with no one coming to help. He couldn’t do much, but…maybe he could offer company? At least until the boy—Harry thought it was a boy, anyway; it had sounded like a boy—decided to leave.

Steeling himself, Harry took a deep, quiet breath and wiped his face, then carefully shifted his makeshift door so he could crawl out.

The other boy’s whimpers abruptly cut off at the quiet scraping noise the cardboard made against the concrete, and Harry cringed, but he pressed on.

The alley was dark, as Harry had expected. But there was enough light from the street lamp at the far end for him to make out the boy’s shape as he scrabbled backward, gasping sharply in pain.

“G-go away. I ain’t got nothin’ for ya!”

“I—” Harry coughed, realizing all of a sudden that he’d barely spoken to anyone for nearly two weeks. There was no one to talk to, and his accent would draw attention anyway. “I’m here to help.”

“Nu-uh. Nobody ‘round here helps outta the goodness of their hearts. Everyone wants somethin’.”

Harry had sort of expected that. “Then…then consider it payback for making—makin’ me listen to you get beat.” He tried to copy the boy’s accent.

“Shit, you—you’re just a kid.” The other boy relaxed, slightly.

“So are you,” Harry countered.

The boy chuckled darkly. “Yeah, I guess. But you’re even younger’n I am. How are you gonna help?”

Harry hesitated. “Uh…are you bleeding? I—I’ve got…band-aids.” He held up the box as an offering.

The boy snorted. “You really are just a kid. Shoot, all right. I scraped up my elbow pretty bad when that bastard threw me to the ground. Lay one on me.” He held up his left arm, where Harry could just make out the gravel-encrusted scrape that was slowly oozing blood.

Hesitating, Harry moved closer, and when he was sitting right beside the other boy, he pulled a full water bottle from his other pocket. The boy watched him, bemused, as Harry poured a bit of water over the scrape to clean out the gravel. Then he pulled two of the biggest band-aids out of the package, one of them featuring a man in a blue and red outfit with an S on his chest, and the other wearing a green jacket carrying a bow and arrow. Harry peeled off the plastic and carefully stuck the band-aids over the worst of the cut.

“A-anywhere else?” Harry asked. He really had no idea what he was doing. Just…it would have been nice to have someone help him bandage his injuries, before.

“Not that a band-aid can fix,” the boy said darkly. He shifted against the alley wall, pain flashing across his face.

“C-can I help? You—you can share my hideout, i-if you want.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a good idea, kid. If people know where your hideout is, they can snatch your stuff, or worse, snatch you.”

“But…” Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t think you can walk, or you would have left already.”

The boy grimaced.

Harry pressed on. “And it-it’s not safe out—out in the open. Es-especially if…if that guy decides to come back. With friends maybe, next time.”

“Why’re you helping me?” the boy asked sharply. “Really. If this was actual payback, I’d be doing somethin’ for you. So why bother?”

Harry shrunk back from the boy’s tone. “B-because I know what it’s like, to be beaten up and left alone in the dark,” he said quietly. “I always wished…that someone would help me, the way I helped you. So...that’s why.”

The boy shifted again, his face dark. “Who beat you up and left you alone?”

Harry blinked, surprised at the sudden anger in his voice. “It doesn’t—”

“Yeah, it does. Kids…kids shouldn’t be beaten up. It ain’t fair. ‘Specially kids as little as you.”

“I’m not little!” Harry protested.

“You have Justice League band-aids. Those are for little kids. So yeah, you are.” The boy hesitated, then reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair, grinning.

Harry froze, his brain short-circuiting.

The boy quickly lowered his hand. “Shit, sorry, kid. I didn’t mean—”

“No-no one’s ever done that to me before,” Harry said in wonder. He’d seen people do it, of course—Uncle Vernon did it to Dudley a lot, and he’d seen other parents do it when they picked up their kids from school. It was always accompanied by smiles and laughter. And he’d always secretly wished for it, too.

“What do you mean, no one’s—but—” The boy was staring at him, his eyes wide. “Shit, kid. My dad beat me, but even he still sometimes ruffled my hair when he was in a good mood.”

Harry curled in on himself. “My uncle does it to my cousin all the time, but never me. He didn’t like to touch me unless he was pushing me around.”

“Then I’ll do it all the time. I’ll do it so much you’ll get sick of it.”

Harry blinked and looked up. “But…why? You—”

“You were right, kid.” The boy grimaced, shifting against the wall and wrapping an arm around his ribs. “I could walk, if I had to. Run, even. But it would hurt, a lot. And prob’ly make it worse. So if you’ve got a safe spot nearby, and ya don’t mind a guest for a few days…a little company wouldn’ go amiss.”

Harry lit up. “You mean it?”

The boy smiled and ruffled Harry’s hair again. “Yeah, kid. You won me over with your stupid band-aids.”

Harry grinned—the first true smile he could remember in far too long—and beckoned. “Right over here!” He led the way to his corner and shifted the makeshift door a little more so the bigger boy could fit through. The other boy crawled after Harry, grunting at the movement.

“It’s a little small, but I never needed much space anyway,” Harry admitted as he fixed the door. The last of the light was blocked out as he pulled the cardboard across the opening, leaving them in complete darkness.

“I’m impressed. I never woulda suspected there was anything more’n trash in this corner.”

Harry smiled, his cheeks getting a little warm. “Y-you can stay until your ribs feel better.”

There was silence, then some shuffling (and a few grunts) as the other boy got comfortable. “How’d you know it was my ribs?”

Harry shrugged, even though the other boy wouldn’t see it. “I’ve broken half the bones in my body. Well, my cousin did, or his friends. They liked to kick me when I fell.”

“Well, that little bastard had better stay far away, or I’ll kick him when he’s down,” the boy grumbled.

Harry surprised himself by giggling a little at the image of the skinny boy next to him kicking Dudley’s pig-sized bulk.

“See? You’re just a little kid.”

“I’m not little,” Harry grumbled in protest.

The boy laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair (again!). “Sure. Whatever you say, little hero.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Chance Encounters

In the morning Harry finally got a good look at the boy he’d helped. He had curly reddish brown hair and pale eyes, and almost no baby fat left in his face. He didn’t look too much older than Harry himself, maybe about ten or eleven. A dark bruise spread across his cheekbone and nose, and there were faint, circular scars along his arms. The cut on his elbow had scabbed over, but the boy had laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair when he suggested taking the band-aids off.

“Think I’ll keep ‘em til they fall off. To remind me of the little hero who saved me in a dark alley,” he teased.

Harry had flushed and protested the new nickname until the older boy shooed him out to get proper first-aid supplies, “because you never know when you’ll need ‘em.”

Harry came back later that day with more water, two cans of peaches, and a pocket knife he found in a gutter, along with gauze, medical tape, and ace bandages. The boy had insisted on bandaging his ribs himself, after it was dark. Harry wondered if he had scars under his shirt he didn’t want Harry to see. Harry had a few, too. (Uncle Vernon had only tried the belt once. Then he complained about Harry ruining it with his blood and never did it again, preferring to stick with his fists.)

But the boy was nice, and he kept his promise to ruffle Harry’s hair so much that he actually started to complain, though only half-heartedly. And Harry got used to the sound of someone else’s breathing nearby. It was much better than the chorus of sirens and screams that usually filled the night.

But after only four days, the boy left, early in the morning before Harry woke up. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t leave any indication that he had ever been there, except the two missing band-aids from the box and the shorter length of gauze. Harry hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until he was alone again. He hadn’t really expected the boy to stay for long, but he’d hoped.

But he couldn’t just lay there feeling sorry for himself. So Harry went back to his usual routine.

Nights he spent holed up in his hideout, trying not to listen to the screams, the sirens, and the gunshots that echoed off the buildings from blocks away, seemingly louder now than before without the other boy’s steady breathing beside him. The days Harry spent exploring his still-new surroundings, occasionally lifting a snack or something else useful that had been dropped or forgotten. The pocket knife before had been a really lucky find, dropped by a careless pick-pocketer and left in the street for Harry to find. Even though Harry didn’t really know how to use it, he felt safer wandering unfamiliar streets with it clutched in his hand, hidden in his pocket.

Another lucky find was a broken hawk pin he found in the gutter a few days after the boy had left. It was useless, and worthless, but Harry had always liked hawks. He’d learned about them earlier that year in primary. They were small, compared to other predatory birds, but they were fast and dangerous anyway. Harry wanted to be like a hawk. So he considered the broken pin to be his lucky charm, and kept it in his other pocket all the time.

Harry had never expected to see the boy again, so he was surprised to catch a glimpse of him as he headed to the dumpster he was now calling home about a week after he’d gone. The boy had spotted him, too, and flashed him a quick grin before continuing on his way.

After that, it was normal to glimpse each other in the streets, once or sometimes twice a day, share a quick smile, and move on. It made Harry feel like he wasn’t quite so alone, even though they never spoke. And before Harry knew it, it had been a whole month since he’d been left behind in Gotham. It was hard, and Harry was almost always hungry. But then again, he was used to that. It was hard to sleep more than a few hours at a time when you were sleeping on damp cardboard in a dark alley. But Harry hadn’t ever really slept that well in the cupboard, either, especially after Dudley or Uncle Vernon hit him.

It was a sad realization, that living on the streets was in some ways better than living with the Dursleys. At least on the streets, Harry was free to go wherever he wanted, and while he was still always looking over his shoulder, at least no one was specifically looking for him like Dudley had been. And he didn’t have to cook, or clean (though sometimes he wished he could). There was no Aunt Petunia banging on his cupboard door to wake him in the mornings, or Uncle Vernon shouting at him for something Dudley did.

In fact, the only thing Harry really missed about his aunt and uncle’s house was the air conditioning and the privilege of being clean. Even if Harry had to do his own laundry (and frequently, everyone else’s, too), at least he’d had clean clothes every day. On the street, he had to rely on gas station bathroom sinks, and then wear wet clothes for a day. At least it was warm enough that the sun dried them quickly. And even if the Dursleys had only allowed him a five-minute shower, at least he got that much. On the streets, Harry was only able to wipe himself down with wet paper towels or rinse his hair in (again) a gas station bathroom.

Eventually, Harry felt familiar enough with his new location to start exploring properly, beyond just the few streets surrounding his dumpster hide-out, and learn all the short cuts and hidey holes. Harry always been jealous of all the outings Dudley had gotten to go on—places like the zoo, the theater, the amusement park, and so on. And Harry missed the play park. He’d never been able to fully enjoy it because he was always running away from his cousin, but the more he wandered, the more Harry realized that, if he was careful, the streets were their own play park. Of course, there was a real park, with monkey bars and swings and everything, but everyone knew that you never went there unless you wanted trouble. A gang had claimed it, Harry heard, so unless you were part of the gang, you didn’t go there.

But the buildings were lined with fire escape ladders, which Harry had rarely seen before. There were dividers in the sidewalks and streets like hurdles, and some alleys dead-ended with fences instead of buildings. And sometimes when you had to run, the fastest way around was over. So Harry hesitantly started experimenting. Only on the days he knew he had enough food, of course, and only in places where he wouldn’t be anyone’s way. And while he poked around inside some abandoned buildings, sometimes finding useful items left behind by previous occupants (or squatters), he never went up to the roof in daylight—he would be too noticeable. But the first time he climbed a fire escape ladder all the way to the roof of a five-story building was the day Harry felt like he’d discovered a whole new world.

The air was so much fresher up above the stale alleyways. Cooler, too, because the breeze actually reached them. The sky was closer. On the lucky clear nights, usually right after a rainstorm when the usual smog disappeared, Harry could see the moon and a few pinpricks of stars, and the way the big office buildings in the Diamond District lit up the night was amazing to see. If he looked really carefully, Harry could even see the city lights reflect off the river or the bay. So on the nights Harry felt particularly lonely, or he couldn’t sleep, or the rotting garbage smell made him gag, Harry found the closest rooftop to just sit and exist for a while.

And that was how Harry discovered another of Gotham’s secrets: vigilantes.

He’d heard about the Batman, of course. The black and grey band-aid he’d put over a nasty cut on his arm from a rusty bolt on a fire escape had a cartoonish picture of him: a man dressed all in black, with a cape and a hood with little horns (or maybe they were bat ears?). But he’d never thought he’d ever see him in person. But one night in the middle of July, while sitting on the roof nearest his hideout, Harry saw two shadows against the half-moon, heading toward a signal light in the sky that Harry was pretty sure had a bat in the middle. One shadow was big, dark, and a little frightening. The other was colorful, acrobatic, and while it might have been his imagination, Harry thought he heard childish laughter carried on the breeze.

It was by far the best night of his life.

Almost every night after that, whenever he couldn’t sleep or felt a little too cramped in his little hidey-hole, Harry picked a new rooftop to try and catch a glimpse of Batman and his colorful sidekick.

Unfortunately, this took Harry outside his safe(ish) area and put him on the radar for people up to no good.

Harry had thought he felt eyes on him a few times since setting out on this particular street. He tried to keep to the shadows, hoping to stay unnoticed. But as he passed a narrow alley, he saw movement. A hand shot out and nearly got him, except Harry flinched instinctively away from the movement and bought himself a few extra seconds. And with those seconds, Harry bolted.

“Hey! Come back here, you twerp!”

Heavy footsteps—two sets of them—followed behind.

Harry didn’t dare look back.

He ducked around street lamps, hoping to use the alternating light and dark to his advantage, and took random turns, trying to lose his pursuers. His heart raced as his feet smacked the pavement. He ducked down one street, then through an alley and through to the next street, and then took a sharp right, essentially going back the way he’d come. Harry was fairly confident he knew this area, but panic clouded his judgement. When the two sets of heavy footsteps were still behind him, Harry darted into the next closest alley—only to find himself at at dead end.

He turned around, but it was too late—his pursuers had entered the alley. Seeing that he had no escape, they slowed down and instead stalked closer, menacing.

Harry backed away, his heart pounding, his breath catching in fear. He remembered his sort-of friend, who’d been beaten badly enough that he’d broken bones. He remembered the last time Dudley caught him after school and left Harry a sobbing mess of hurt that didn’t go away for almost two weeks, his pale skin mottled with ugly bruises. He remembered a confrontation he’d witnessed from a rooftop a week ago where a guy was beaten up so badly that he didn’t move again the entire time Harry watched.

Oh, god. That was going to be him.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve caught ourselves a pretty little thing,” one of the men taunted, leering at him.

Harry’s breath hitched and he kept backing away.

He remembered the working girls, who got into cars with strange men and sometimes didn’t come back.

He remembered a high-pitched cry down an alley he passed a few nights ago, and a ripping sound, then screams mingled with breathy moans that twisted his stomach with terror and made him break out in a cold sweat. Then, he’d fled as fast and as far as his legs could carry him.

Now, Harry’s back hit brick.

He was trapped.

And they were getting closer.

Harry pressed himself against the brick, his fingers scrabbling for purchase as if he could tear a hole through the wall. A tiny sob broke past his lips without his consent.

The men laughed. “You’ll be a fun one, I bet.”

They were still coming closer. Harry caught a whiff of stale cologne and unwashed body odor. He choked back another sob and squeezed his eyes shut as the men reached for him.

Fingers brushed his waistband.

Anywhere but here. Please, please let me be anywhere but here!

A whoosh in his stomach and a squeezing sensation in his whole body, then suddenly—there was no more wall behind him.

Harry’s knees gave way and he curled into a ball, biting his knuckles to stifle his sobs as his entire body shook from fear. Shouts from below only urged Harry to silence his cries completely.

Wait. Below?

Still shaking, still crying (silently), Harry let his eyes flicker open.

He was on a rooftop.

A hysterical giggle bubbled up in his chest. It had happened again. He’d been scared out of his mind, and…something, some force had granted his desperate wish to get away.

A crunching noise cut through Harry’s dizzying relief, instantly replacing it with fresh panic. He scrambled backward, gasping.

Did they follow him? What are they gonna do to me? No. Please.

“Please, don’t—” Harry’s throat closed on the words, and his hands reached the edge of the rooftop.

He was trapped.

Again.

He couldn’t breathe.

The crunching noise—footsteps on gravel—suddenly stopped. “S-sorry. I…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Suddenly several things registered. First, the footsteps were far too light to be a grown man. Or even a woman. Second, the voice was way too high to be a grown man. And the accent didn’t match at all.

Again, Harry forced his eyes open through the panic.

And shock chased it away completely.

Because kneeling in front of him, with a bulky black case hanging around his neck…was a kid. A tiny kid. Well, smaller than Harry, anyway. About his same age, or maybe a little younger. The boy was wearing a black zipper jacket with the hood up and a black medical mask, the kind you could buy at any pharmacy.

Harry sat up and scooted away from the edge, his heart still racing but the panic at least fading away.

“How did you get up here?”

Harry blinked as the other kid asked the exact same question at the exact same time.

The boy cocked his head to the side like a bird. “I climbed? But you—I saw, well, I saw you in the alley. You were there, and then—then you were here.” The boy’s eyes widened in delight. “Are you a meta? Because that would be so cool! You totally are, aren’t you? You teleported, didn’t you?! Oh, my, gosh. I met a real-life meta! This is so, so cool!”

Harry blinked again in complete confusion. “Uh…” Harry almost asked,what’s a meta, but then he remembered something he’d heard when he passed the electronics shop a few days ago, something about “metahumans” in New York. On the screen he’d seen a group of colorfully dressed teenagers fighting robots. One of those colorfully dressed teenagers moved so fast he was a red and yellow blur on the camera. Another one was green, skin and hair and everything. Another one had long red hair and orange skin, and she had been flying.

So Harry could, probably, safely conclude that “meta” was slang for “metahuman” and referred to normal people with abnormal abilities.

“Uh, maybe?” Harry hesitated. “This isn’t—this ain’t the first time I’ve suddenly found myself on a roof. It-it was an accident, though. Both times.” Harry remembered just in time to disguise his accent. The other boy’s accent sounded cleaner, somehow. More upper-class, but not quite snobby. It was clear this kid didn’t come from Crime Alley, but he’d still probably remember meeting a British kid on the streets of Gotham. And Harry did not want to be memorable.

Though, it may already be too late for that.

“Wow! That’s so cool!” the boy gushed. “If you practice, I bet you could start doing it on purpose! It’s a good thing you got away, though—those guys, well. They weren’t there for anything nice.”

Harry laughed nervously. “That’s for sure.”

The boy giggled. “Heh. Yeah. Oh! I’m Tim, by the way! What’s your name?”

“I’m…I’m Harry.” He thought about lying, or just running away. But it had been so long since he’d had a real conversation with anyone.

Had he ever had a real conversation with someone?

…No. No, he hadn’t. Not even the boy with the broken ribs had really talked when he was staying with Harry. And back at the Dursleys, every time he’d tried, he was interrupted by Dudley or he was rejected before he got two sentences out. And of course, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon preferred it when he didn’t talk at all. He’d quickly learned to stop trying.

Harry ignored how lonely that made him suddenly feel.

“Nice to meet you, Harry!”

Harry almost managed a smile. “Nice to meet you, too, Tim. What are you doing here, anyway? Uh, no offense, but I—you ain’t from around here, are ya?”

The boy shook his head. “I’m not. I—I was taking pictures.” He put one hand protectively on the bulky bag at his hip.

“Of what?”

The boy blushed, but he kept smiling. “Batman,” he whispered, like he was telling an important secret. “And Robin. Mostly Robin, though. Batman doesn’t show up well on camera.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You have pictures of them? I’ve only caught a few glimpses!”

The boy lit up. “Yeah! I have tons! Wanna see?”

“Yes!”

The boy eagerly, but carefully, pulled an expensive-looking camera from the bag, flicked a few buttons, then scooted around to sit beside Harry. He angled the camera so Harry could see the screen as it lit up. The boy then started scrolling through the photos, narrating each one.

They were amazing. Sure, some of them were blurry or too far away, but for every four or five bad ones, there was one that was absolutely stunning. Somehow, this little kid had captured just the right angle, just the right lighting, and just the right timing to get some really cool action shots.

And Harry said so.

The boy giggled, blushing at the praise. “I’ve only been doing it for a few months. I’m still practicing, so there are a lot of bad ones. But the good ones make it all worth it.”

“You follow them all over Gotham?” Harry asked in awe. Wandering around Crime Alley at night was scary enough (and look where that got him). But this kid wandered the whole city? Just for some pictures?

He was either very dedicated, or very stupid, Harry decided.

Okay, maybe stupid was too mean. Naive, maybe. He’d heard that word the other day and had been thinking about it a lot.

But Harry liked him.

Tim nodded eagerly. “It’s not that dangerous, if you know how to be careful. Though I did fall off a fire escape once and sprained my ankle. That was, um, maybe two weeks after I started? It was horrible having to stay at home after tasting freedom.”

“And your parents didn’t ask how it happened?” Parents were supposed to do that, right?

Tim immediately went still and quiet.

“Tim?”

“Um…they weren’t home.”

“Your babysitter? Nanny?”

Tim shook his head, hugging the camera to his chest. “I’m a big boy now. I can stay at home alone.”

Harry was pretty sure that wasn’t how things were supposed to go. The Dursleys always dropped him off with the crazy cat lady, Mrs. Figg, when they were going to be gone. But then again, they were also afraid he’d burn the house down out of spite or something, so maybe Harry was an exception?

But Tim looked so sad about it. So whether it was normal or not, he didn’t like it.

“But shouldn’t your parents have come home after a day or two?” The longest the Dursleys had left him with Mrs. Figg had been a week, when they took Dudley on a special trip to celebrate him graduating kindergarten. (Never mind that Harry had, too, and technically with higher marks than his stupid cousin, even if he wasn’t allowed to show it.)

Tim shook his head, curling in on himself. “They won’t be back until September.”

“But it’s July.”

Tim nodded. “They left in June,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “They left, and they said it was only for a little bit, that they’d be home by my birthday. But it’s my birthday and they didn’t come home, even though they said. They promised, but they didn’t come. They didn’t even wish me happy birthday.” Tim was crying now—silently, like Harry had—curled up in a ball and hugging his camera to his chest while tears rolled down his face.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do. Should he pat Tim’s back? Tell him his parents sucked? Or that everything would be okay?

What would Harry want?

Shuffling awkwardly, Harry opened his arms. “Uh…do you want a hug?”

Tim’s eyes went wide, then he flung himself into Harry’s arms, sobbing out loud. Harry reeled a little from the impact, then awkwardly put his arms around the smaller boy. Tim burrowed into Harry’s chest, his thin arms painfully tight around Harry’s ribs. Hesitantly, Harry tightened his arms around Tim, and the boy just melted into him with a whimper.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing while his shirt grew damp beneath Tim’s face.

After a few minutes, the smaller boy’s sobs died down, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he adjusted to be more comfortable, his arms loosening and repositioning just so in order to properly hug Harry back.

Oh.

This is nice.

Harry pulled Tim in a little closer, shivering a little at the memory of his almost-assault. Tim hugged him a little tighter, too. Then the smaller boy reluctantly pulled away.

“‘M sorry,” he murmured. “’M not supposed to cry.”

“Me, either.” The words just slipped out. He turned away, wrapping his arms around his chest. “Crying always made it hurt worse,” he whispered.

Harry didn’t know why he was sharing this with an almost-stranger. He’d never told anyone that. But he—he might have just found a friend. One who thought he was cool for whatever had let him escape those bad guys, not a freak. One who just might understand what it was like to feel so alone. And Harry desperately wanted Tim to like him.

“D-do you get hurt often?” Tim asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. “N-not often. And not recently.” He’d been knocked around by some older kids a couple weeks ago for, apparently, “being on their turf.” Nothing worse than a few bruises and a skinned knee. Shoved away by a few people he’d tried and failed to pick-pocket. He’d so far avoided all the really bad guys, or at least the bad things some of them did. Until tonight. He’d been lucky to escape. Really, really lucky, though Harry was starting to wonder when his luck would run out. (His luck always ran out eventually.)

“Do you—do you live on the streets?” Tim asked hesitantly.

Harry just nodded.

“Oh.”

A long moment passed in silence. Harry desperately wanted to say something else, but he didn’t want to talk about the streets, or bad parents, or how achingly empty his stomach suddenly felt. What did you talk to friends about?

Then something clicked as Harry remembered what Tim had said before.

“Y-you said it was your birthday today?”

Tim nodded, smiling hesitantly.

Harry hesitantly returned it, then started tracing in the dirt. Smiling a little bigger, he traced the shape of a birthday cake into the grit with his fingertip. Tim watched curiously over his shoulder.

“How old are you?” Harry asked, hesitating before he drew the candles.

“I’m eight.” Tim said it with quiet pride.

Harry tried not to pout; he was taller; shouldn’t he be older than his new maybe-friend?

At least it was only two weeks.

But Tim didn’t need to know that.

“Me, too,” Harry said instead. Well, almost.

“Really?” Tim breathed.

He sounded so earnest. Harry hated to lie.

At least it was only two weeks.

“At least, I will be on the thirty-first,” Harry admitted. He drew eight candles on top of the cake. “Happy birthday, Tim.”

Tim’s eyes widened.

“Blow out your candles,” Harry said, gesturing.

Tim giggled and blew hard on Harry’s clumsy illustration. The dirt scattered, blurring the drawing. “So what’d you wish for?”

Tim’s eyes danced. “It’s a secret,” he said conspiratorially, bringing a finger up to his mask-covered mouth.

Harry laughed. “You’ll tell me if it comes true?”

Tim’s expression turned wistful. “Yeah. I hope it comes true.” He smiled a little more, though Harry could only tell from the crinkle around his eyes.

Harry bumped Tim’s shoulder, then moved to stand.

Tim stood, too, then he hesitated. “W-will I see you again?” Tim asked, suddenly sounding so very young.

Harry bit his lip, then made himself smile. “If you hang out on rooftops like I do at night, probably.”

Tim giggled quietly. “Then I guess I’ll see you around.” Tim hesitated, then his eyes crinkled again. “I’m glad I met you, Harry.”

With that, Tim hopped onto the top rung of the fire escape and scrambled down. When he reached the bottom, Tim waved back up at Harry, then darted away, disappearing into the shadows.

“I’m glad I met you, too,” Harry whispered.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Friends, or maybe Brothers

Rescue

Harry thought he was being careful. Since almost getting assaulted, Harry had put a lot more effort into staying undetected during his night wanderings. He’d learned to jump from rooftop to rooftop when they were close enough, so he minimized his time on the streets. But there were still countless alleys and dead ends. And sometimes, Harry was forced to climb down into them from his chosen rooftops.

He’d checked. Harry was positive he’d checked before climbing down the fire escape this time. But the group of muggers must have mysteriously appeared there out of nowhere, because when he started his descent, the alley was empty. But by the time he reached the bottom, he’d barely had time to catch his breath before he was being chased again.

Choking on fear and fighting to catch his breath, Harry ran blindly. The last time he’d been cornered was still too recent, and the panic was just as bad. So when Harry darted down yet another alley and felt a hand close on his upper arm, he opened his mouth to shout.

A second hand pressed over his mouth and dragged him behind a dumpster. Harry squirmed and kicked and fought, but the arm around his chest and over his mouth were like iron.

“Quit fighting me, you idiot!” A boy hissed from behind him.

Harry froze, because he recognized that voice. It was the boy from before, the one with the broken ribs. (Obviously not broken anymore.) And now that he thought about it, the hand over his mouth was too small to belong to a grown-up.

“Don’t move, don’t speak. Don’t even breathe ‘til I let go,” the boy barely whispered.

Harry nodded against his hand. The arm around his chest loosened slightly, but still held him firmly in place. (It was oddly reassuring.) Then Harry heard voices at the head of the alley.

“They went down here, I’m sure of it!”

“Ain’t nothin’ down there ‘cept Old Ying. No one ever goes near ‘im. Those kids ain’t that stupid.”

“Thought Old Ying got arrested las’ week.”

Harry froze, because that was one of the men who’d nearly assaulted him before. He held his breath, trying not to whimper or cry. The older boy’s arm tightened around him just a little, almost like a hug.

“I ain’t riskin’ it!”

“Fine, ya cowards.”

“’S not like they’ve got anywhere to go. We’ll find ‘em another day.”

Still bickering, the three men walked away. When Harry could no longer hear their footsteps, the whimper finally escaped, his knees feeling weak.

The older boy finally moved his hand away from Harry’s mouth. “You okay, kid?” he asked softly.

Harry shook his head, trembling. “Th-they almost—almost got me. Last week,” he whispered haltingly, his breath coming in short gasps that were only now evening out. “I-I r-recognized his v-voice.”

“Yeah, he’s a real piece of work. You want to stay far away from him, ‘cuz there are rumors he kidnaps kids and…” The boy hesitated. “I’d say you’re too young to know, but you’re out here, so you hafta know. That guy, he…” The older boy shivered, then growled. “He…he touches kids, where no one’s supposed to touch, then dumps the bodies in the harbor.”

Harry whimpered again, remembering just how close he’d been to getting caught. His knees gave out, and he sank to the ground. The older boy knelt with him, his arms still wrapped around Harry’s shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s gone now. And now you know to avoid him. It’ll be okay.”

Harry shuddered, then slumped into the other boy’s chest, closing his eyes to try and hold back the tears.

“You really are just a little kid,” the older boy murmured, adjusting his arms to hold Harry better. Harry melted into the hug with a soft whimper, burying his face in the older boy’s neck.

A few minutes later, Harry took a deep breath and pulled himself together as he pulled away, averting his face. “’M sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s okay. That was pretty scary. I was scared, too, you know.”

Harry looked up and saw the boy smiling at him. It was a small smile, closer to a smirk really, but it brought warmth flooding through Harry. Other than Tim, Harry couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually, genuinely smiled at him. Harry couldn’t help a small smile in return.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I-I’m Harry, by the way.”

The older boy blinked, hesitated, then sighed. “I’m Jason.”

“Who’s Old Ying?”

Jason (Harry liked that name) smirked. “Can you keep a secret?” he whispered.

Eyes wide, Harry nodded.

“Old Ying is a mannequin.”

Harry choked on a laugh. “Really?”

Jason nodded, grinning. “Seriously. Some crazy dude somewhere on this block collects life-sized dolls or something, but occasionally he’ll throw one out. It scared the shi-the crap out of me once, then I got the idea to set it up to look real. Scare everyone else, too, so I could use this alley to hide. Now everyone thinks some creepy homeless Asian dude claimed this alley and lives in the dumpster. Us younger kids all know the secret, ‘cuz kids are more likely to investigate scary shi-stuff like that, but we’ve all collectively agreed to keep it, so this alley is a safe place for us to hide if we need to.” Jason winked. “The bad guys supply the rumors for us. We just keep ‘em going.”

“That—that’s seriously cool,” Harry said in awe.

“Isn’t it?” Jason smiled again, then got to his feet and extended a hand down. “You ready to go?”

Harry accepted the hand and Jason helped him to his feet. “Go where?”

Jason shrugged. “Wherever you usually go this time of night. How old are you, anyway?”

Harry blinked at the sudden change in subject, then smiled. “I’m eight,” he said firmly.

He ignored the fact that his birthday was still a week away.

Jason stared at him in disbelief. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” Harry repeated.

“No, you’re not. You’re too tiny.” Jason ruffled his hair.

“I’m only like three inches shorter than you,” Harry huffed. “How old are you?”

“I’m almost eleven,” Jason retorted, tilting his chin up.

“So you’re ten.”

“No. I’m almost eleven.”

“Which means you’re ten now.”

Jason huffed and grabbed Harry in a friendly headlock, knuckling the top of his head. “I’m still older than you, little hero. So show some respect for your betters.”

Harry tried to wriggle free, laughing. “Lemme go, Jason!”

“Hmm…nope. No can do. Not until you admit I’m your better.”

“We’re both street kids. No one’s better than anyone else,” Harry countered.

Jason stopped, his grip loosening. Harry triumphantly broke free.

Jason was staring at him with something like shock, but also…pride? It made Harry’s cheeks feel warm.

“Huh. You’re pretty wise for a kid. Good for you. Don’t you ever forget that. Those morons with mountains of cash can pretend all they want; they’re not any better than the rest of us.”

“Told you. So I’m never gonna admit you’re better than me.” Harry stuck out his tongue, then took off running. “See you around, Jay!”

Jason gaped after him in shock.

Harry’s Eighth Birthday

His stomach growling, Harry carefully unwrapped the chocolate muffin in his hand. He’d gotten so lucky swiping it from a round snack display inside one of the bigger supermarkets on the outskirts of the alley. He even managed to snag a candy bar from the same display. Sure, he’d had to run faster than he thought he’d ever run in his life when the security guard at the door spotted him. But he’d gotten away clean, and now Harry sat on his favorite rooftop to watch the sun set on his birthday. He’d kept careful track, watching the news reports on the TVs in the electronics shop window, counting the days with shallow scratches in his cardboard floor to be sure he had the right one.

Aside from being chased out of the supermarket, Harry had had a pretty good day. He saw Jason and taunted him into chasing Harry around the park—according to rumors, Batman had finally nailed the gang that had claimed it, making it safe (well, safer) to play at. He’d managed to snag the chocolate muffin in his hand, and he’d successfully pick-pocketed three different people after weeks of practicing, netting himself almost forty dollars. Some of it was safely tucked into his currently-empty reusable water bottle; the rest was safely stashed in his duffel bag behind his dumpster. He’d used six dollars to buy himself a new pair of jeans at a thrift shop, because Dudley’s old ones had been almost literally falling down around his ankles for weeks.

So. He had clothes that fit, a security blanket of cash, and a special birthday treat. And the sun was going down over the city. On days that were only partly cloudy, the setting sun made the office buildings blaze with gold as it reflected off their windows, and the rest of the city was bathed in a soft orange while the sky lit up in flaming reds and yellows.

Smiling to himself, Harry inhaled the heady aroma of chocolate before tentatively taking his first bite of the muffin. He moaned in pleasure, convinced that the muffin was the best thing he’d ever eaten. He’d rarely had anything sweet at the Dursleys, and treats weren’t usually worth the risk when you needed real calories to survive on the streets.

Harry ate as slowly as he could manage, letting each bite melt on his tongue before properly chewing and swallowing while enjoying the changing colors of the sunset. The muffin sat a little heavy in his stomach by the time he finished the last bite, but it was so worth it.

As the light began to fade, Harry tucked the candy bar back into his pocket to save for later, and lay back to watch the stars come out. There weren’t many to see, but each one was a reminder that the world was so much bigger than the six or eight blocks of Crime Alley that Harry was startled to start thinking of as home.

A while later, Harry had started to doze when he heard the fire escape rattle. He tensed, unmoving, and listened. It might be Jason; Harry had run into him on a rooftop once or twice. More likely it was Tim; the last time he’d seen him, Tim had hinted at doing something for Harry’s birthday. It might even be Batman or Robin, though they had their fancy grapple gun things and didn’t need to worry about climbing rusty fire escapes.

Or it could be anyone else, and that was why Harry stayed tense and motionless until he heard how light the footsteps were. Cracking his eyes open and looking around as best he could without moving his head, Harry spotted the familiar and small silhouette of his little friend. (Tim might be older than Harry by two weeks, but Harry was still taller!)

“Oh, good. You’re here! Hi, Harry!” Tim chirped as he settled on the roof beside him. He was dressed in his usual black vigilante-stalker outfit, sans the medical mask. “Do anything special today?”

“Ate a chocolate muffin,” Harry said, sitting up, “and watched the sunset. It’s the little things, ya know?” It didn’t take much thought anymore to disguise his British accent. Talking with Jason helped a lot, too, because his Gotham accent was so strong.

Tim’s lips twitched toward a frown. They’d met and chatted almost every night for the last two weeks, and every time Harry made an offhand remark about what it was like living on the streets, Tim got a little sadder, like he wanted to help but didn’t know how. Harry had insisted he was fine, and Tim never brought it up, but it still hung in the air between them. Harry was aware that he did the same thing whenever Tim mentioned his parents’ neglect and perpetual absence, so it was fair turnabout, he supposed.

The frown didn’t last long, though. With a grin, Tim pulled a container and a thermos out of his backpack. “I brought chicken and rice soup, and some cookies. Mrs. Mac helped me make both of them when she came by yesterday.” Tim passed over the thermos. “I did a little research, about good things to eat when you haven’t eaten right in a while.” He chuckled nervously. “Learned why I always get sick after Mrs. Mac cooks for me, too.”

Harry bit back several comments, from rude to horrified. Tim had mentioned that Mrs. Mac—his housekeeper—only came by once a week. She’d cook a bunch of meals and freeze them, but apparently Tim didn’t know how to heat them up without a microwave—and his microwave had been broken for weeks.

“Anyway. I learned that chicken broth and rice are usually the best, and they’re nutritious. So I brought some soup. It should still be warm—I tried using the stove to warm it up, and a lot of it burned.” Tim laughed self-deprecatingly. “But I managed to save enough for two. And I know you said you had a chocolate muffin, but cookies are good, too.”

“…Enough for two?” Harry asked quietly. “You—you’re letting me eat with you?”

“Well, yeah. It’s your birthday, and while I’m sure you’ve eaten more than a muffin, you probably haven’t had a proper meal in a while. I thought it would be fun.” Tim suddenly went shy. “Unless…you don’t want to? I mean, you can have it all, I guess. Unless you don’t like it? Then I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Shut up, Tim,” Harry cut him off, trying not to let on that a lump had formed in his throat.

Tim smiled hesitantly. “Okay. Um. Here.” He took the thermos and screwed off the lid, which then became a cup slash bowl. He poured roughly half the contents into the cup, then passed it to Harry with a shy smile.

It was still warm. Nearly hot, in fact. Harry’s mouth watered at the savory, warm, comforting aroma. Hesitantly, Harry brought the cup to his lips, blew on its contents, and drank a small mouthful.

It was warm, and good. The first hot meal Harry could remember. (Even the Dursleys had rarely let him eat hot, fresh food. It was always cold leftovers.) He almost forgot to take it slow as he gulped down another mouthful, tears welling up in his eyes.

After four mouthfuls, Harry’s stomach was uncomfortably full, and he probably couldn’t have swallowed more past the lump in his throat anyway. He set the cup down carefully on the roof beside him, still mostly full.

“Is it okay?” Tim asked hesitantly.

Harry nodded. “The best,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, trying not to cry. He felt Tim beside him, sensed him hesitate, then Tim carefully put an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

Harry broke down crying, quietly, because someone had remembered his birthday, they’d let him eat with them, not forced him to scrounge together scraps after the meal was over. Because someone had cared enough to cook just for him, and keep him company on his birthday instead of ignoring his existence.

A second arm wrapped around Harry as he continued to cry, and he found himself pulled against a small, slender chest. Harry pressed his face into the soft fabric of Tim’s jacket and let himself be eight, a lonely child who finally, finally had found a friend.

The Library

It was odd, when the first chill of autumn arrived and Harry wasn’t caught up in Dudley’s back-to-school shopping. Seeing groups of kids walking away from bus stops, some of them in uniforms, made Harry feel a bit nostalgic. He missed school. Well, he didn’t miss the bullying. But he missed learning. He’d loved hiding in the library during recess and lunch, devouring book after book about anything that caught his interest, because Dudley wouldn’t be caught dead with a book.

Sure, he’d recently learned a whole lot about how to survive on the streets, but he wanted to learn more about hawks, and other birds too. Maybe even bats. And he wanted to learn how to fight for real. Dudley had been starting to talk about taking boxing lessons when he finally went to Smeltings, that fancy private school Uncle Vernon wanted to send him to. Harry thought it would be cool to learn real fighting moves, and how to use the pocket knife he still carried everywhere.

Jason had been teaching him a little, when their paths crossed and they both had time. But Jason was really only teaching him street fighting—how to play dirty. Harry wanted to learn something like karate, and maybe some gymnastics so he could do some of the cool tricks he saw Robin do all the time. And Tim was full of random facts. Harry wished he could do more than just nod excitedly. He wanted to share things, too.

Harry jokingly complained about all this the next time he and Jason met up. In the middle of teaching Harry how to throw a proper punch, Jason suddenly brightened.

“I’ve got an idea!” And instead of correcting Harry’s finger placement, Jason just grabbed his hand and started tugging him along.

“Wait! Where are we going?”

“You’ll see!”

Harry had to run to keep up. Jason was only a few inches taller, but his legs were stupidly long.

After four blocks of stumbling and tripping and trying to catch his breath, Harry finally stumbled to a stop when Jason paused in front of a boring brick building in the middle of a dozen more boring brick buildings. Seeing the confusion on Harry’s face, Jason smiled faintly and tugged him along. He pushed the double doors open, and suddenly Harry got it.

The circulation desk caught his attention first, because there were several bright banners around it. Then he saw the tables with books stacked neatly to show off their covers. Then he saw the shelves.

Harry lit up.

Jason chuckled at the grin on his face. “And no one can tell us we’re not allowed to be here. Sometimes, the redheaded librarian gives out snacks to kids who have been in one place for a while. In the winter when it’s cold, I like to hang out here as much as I can, since it’s warm.”

“I’ve done that, too,” Harry said absently, still taking in the sight of countless bookshelves filled with colorful books. “My cousin would chase me and beat me up if he could catch me, so I liked to hide in the library because he hates reading more than he likes picking on me. And the librarian would never allow it anyway.”

“Normally I’d be offended by someone hating reading, but your cousin sounds like a jerk, so I’d prefer not to sully the honor of us readers with his inclusion in our ranks,” Jason said, affecting a fancy accent that made Harry giggle. Jason grinned at the sound. “So where do you want to start?”

“Can we just…wander?” Harry asked. “I—I like it here.”

Jason ruffled his hair. “Sure, kiddo. Want me to come with you, or do you wanna wander on your own?”

Harry hesitated. “Um…maybe you can show me some of your favorite spots?”

Jason ruffled his hair again. “You got it.” Casually, almost accidentally, Jason grabbed Harry’s hand again and led him deeper into the library. Harry trailed behind him, his attention split between the warmth of Jason’s hand around his and the books that soon surrounded them.

Jason showed him a reading nook situated deep in a corner, three big arm chairs situated around a low table with some magazines scattered across it. It was far away from the regular traffic, somewhere in the adult nonfiction section, Harry thought, since most of the books they passed looked like dictionaries or encyclopedias.

“I like to hole up here in the winter. It’s out of the way, so no one ever comes over here. I’ve gotten away with spendin’ the night a few times, too. But ya hafta be careful doing that, because if someone finds ya, they’ll call CPS on ya,” Jason said. “And then ya hafta run away from another foster home.”

Harry nodded. He noticed that Jason’s accent got thicker when he was talking about his experiences on the streets, but it relaxed when he talked about other things. Harry wondered if he did it on purpose or if it was a result of talking with Harry, who simply by virtue of growing up in England spoke more properly than anyone except the rich kids of Gotham. It was why he tried so hard to copy Jason’s accent. Maybe Jason was doing the same thing.

Jason then tugged him to several other spots he liked in the library, tossing out advice the whole time. Finally, they arrived in the young adult fiction section. “There are kid books, too, and you can head over there if ya want, but I’ve been meanin’ to check out a series here. You can look around while I find it.”

Harry nodded and (reluctantly) released Jason’s hand to look at the books further down the aisle. After some minutes just running his fingers along the spines and admiring the fancy covers, Harry pulled one down that looked interesting. There was a dragon on it, for one, and the title was in a super fancy, loopy script that he couldn’t make out. He flipped the book over to read the summary…only to see fuzzy black blurs where the letters should be.

“Oh.” Harry bit his lip and put the book back, suddenly very aware of his naked face. He’d gotten glasses when he was six. He’d worn them every day since then, except for the few times Dudley had broken them badly enough that he needed a new pair.

Harry had then lost them within three days of being on the streets.

Glasses just weren’t the sort of thing you could keep for long. And it wasn’t like he’d needed them. He could see most things fine, though edges and faces were always a little fuzzy. But small print and things up close were just a blur.

No longer excited about being in a building full of books he couldn’t read, Harry curled up on a bean bag at the end of an aisle, pulling his knees up to his chest. He tried not to cry while he waited for Jason.

A few minutes later, Jason emerged from the shelves with a book tucked under his arm, looking around with his brow pinched with worry. He relaxed upon spotting Harry, then he tilted his head in confusion.

“Harry? You okay, kid?”

Harry shook his head. “I—I can’t read.” His voice cracked. “I lost my glasses months ago, but I forgot. I—I can’t read anymore.”

Jason sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “That sucks. Glasses aren’t something you can hang on to out here, either.”

Harry shook his head miserably, hugging his knees tighter. “I really wanted to read again,” he said quietly.

“Well…I can read to you, if you want,” Jason offered.

Harry lifted his gaze, his eyes widening. “You—you’d do that? For me?”

Jason smiled and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Sure I will, little hero. It can’t be all the time, obviously. But…maybe I can show you my base? You can come around a few times a week.”

“A-are you sure? Do-do you really trust me that much?”

Jason squeezed his shoulder. “It’s only fair, since I know where your base is.” He got up and extended a hand down. “Let’s go pick out a few books for you.”

Sniffling, a small smile creeping across his face, Harry accepted Jason’s hand. The older boy pulled him to his feet.

“You can see well enough to make out colors and pictures, right?”

Harry nodded. “I can’t see things up close very clearly, or small print,” he admitted quietly.

“So you can pick covers that look interesting. I can read you the title or summary, and then you decide if you wanna keep it or move on. Believe it or not, I’ve got my old library card from…before, so we can check out as many books as we wanna carry.”

Harry nodded again, his original excitement returning. “Okay.”

Jason tightened his hand a little around Harry’s. “Anything in particular you were looking at?”

Harry nodded and led the way to the dragon book he’d seen earlier and pulled it off the shelf.

Jason nodded. “Dragon Rider. I’ve read this. It’s really good, actually. I think I read it when I was your age, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Harry took the book and held it close.

“Anything else?”

“I want to read books about…hawks,” Harry said shyly. “Facts and things.”

“Do you want lots of pictures, or lots of words?”

“Pictures.”

“Then let’s go.” Jason tugged lightly on Harry’s hand and led him to the kids’ nonfiction section. He scanned the shelves for a bit, then pulled three books down to show Harry the covers. They all had pictures of hawks and other birds.

Harry nodded his approval and Jason handed them over.

“Since these are short, we can read them here, and maybe get a longer book to take with us. Sound good?”

Harry nodded again. They browsed for a few more minutes, then Jason led Harry to the classic fiction section. He selected a few books with a secret smile at Harry, then they retreated to one of Jason’s reading nooks.

Then they spent almost two hours reading and discussing the books they’d picked out. Harry learned all kinds of cool facts about hawks, enjoying Jason’s reading voice as he pointed out the pictures.

“Why the interest in hawks in particular?” Jason asked as he set the second book aside.

“Well…” Shyly, Harry explained about the hawk pin he’d found, and even pulled it out of his pocket to show Jason. “I like hawks because they’re small, but they’re fierce and independent,” Harry said quietly. “And…I wanna be like that.”

“Hate to tell ya, kid, but I think you already are,” Jason teased, ruffling his hair. “Most kids your size and age wouldn’t last long at all on the streets, but here you are, with hardly any scars, too. Now you just need to learn to use that knife of yours and you can add deadly to that list.”

Harry flushed and ducked his head. “Then we can add martial arts to our list of subjects?” he said with a faint smile.

“You got it. Next time.”

Harry nodded. Jason grinned and beckoned him over to sit beside him in the oversized armchair. “C’mon. My turn to read.”

Hesitantly, Harry wedged himself into the chair beside Jason. They were both small enough that they could sit side by side without being squished, but there wasn’t any real space between them, either. Jason picked one of his books up, then casually draped an arm around Harry’s shoulders to hold the book open with both hands. Harry froze, but Jason just started to read out loud, and gradually Harry relaxed. After three chapters, Harry shifted to get more comfortable and ended up tucked into Jason’s side, his head on the older boy’s shoulder.

Smiling, letting Jason’s voice wash over him, Harry closed his eyes and drifted, enjoying the warmth of the other boy’s presence against the chilly air conditioning.

A poke in the side made Harry jolt awake, his head nearly colliding with Jason’s.

“Jeez!” Jason barely dodged the headbutt. “Sorry, kid. I didn’t realize you were fully asleep.”

“I wasn’t!” Harry protested—except the light coming through the nearby window was slanted at a very different angle than it had been before.

“Sorry; my mistake,” Jason drawled, smirking. “Let’s go before it gets dark.” Jason poked Harry again, prompting him to reluctantly crawl out of Jason’s side and stand up. Jason stood and stretched, then picked up their books and headed for the check-out desk. They returned the hawk books on the way, trading the three picture books for a longer, more in-depth book on, specifically, the red-tailed hawk, which Jason had pointed out was the type of hawk represented on Harry’s pin when they compared it to the pictures.

They checked out their books and Jason made it a point to wave at the redhead who was now behind the circulation desk. She was a lot younger than Harry had thought, probably no older than eighteen. She gave Harry in particular a gentle smile as he trailed after Jason, once more holding his hand.

“We’ll take these back to my base, so you know where it is,” Jason said as they left. “Come by anytime, but please don’t wander in the middle of the night. If I’m not there, you can wait for me.”

Harry nodded and, before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed Jason around the waist in a quick hug.

“Thanks, Jay,” he whispered.

He started to pull away, but Jason hugged him back tightly (well, as tightly he could while carrying four hardcover books).

“Anytime, little hawk.”

Harry flushed with pleasure at the new nickname and buried his face in Jason’s chest for an extra minute before finally pulling away. Automatically, Jason reached out a hand, and Harry took it, and they walked side by side in the evening sun, like any ordinary pair of brothers might.

Harry wished Jason was his real brother.

Selfies

The air was getting colder as October moved in. Harry knew he’d need a coat soon. He was trying to save a few dollars each time he pick-pocketed someone so he could buy a decent coat, hopefully before it got too cold. He’d heard Gotham winters were awful, cold, snowy, and wet, and Harry had no desire to catch hypothermia.

But at present, Harry would be content with just a long-sleeved shirt. Dudley’s old clothes that he’d been wearing so far were suited for an English summer, so they had been decently warm through early fall, but now the wind was bracing and Harry frequently returned to his hideout with numb fingertips and ears and a red, runny nose in the evening. And it wasn’t much warmer huddled against damp cardboard and icy metal, either.

So, that brought Harry here, to one of several donation boxes scattered throughout the city. This one was in a nicer part of town behind a big supermarket. He’d picked one in the nicer part of town because it was more likely to have suitable clothes inside. The one closest to Crime Alley was regularly filled with little more than rags, so worn and threadbare that not only could you not tell what color anything was supposed to be, but that wouldn’t be suited for wearing at all unless you were truly desperate.

Because of this, recently Harry had expanded his wanderings, so he was at least passingly familiar with most of Gotham’s middle class shopping districts, at least. He’d waited until dusk to go digging through the donation box, though, because street kids stuck out like a sore thumb anywhere outside Crime Alley and the Narrows. Harry didn’t want to get chased out of the parking lot for his ratty clothes before he found what he was looking for.

After prying off the back panel with the screwdriver from his pocket knife, Harry started digging. It was hard to find clothes in his size, because people usually kept kids’ clothes for younger siblings, or they were so ruined that they were better suited for the trash. And, unfortunately, most donated clothes were women’s clothes. Which Harry could wear if necessary, but he’d prefer not to until he had no other choice. Harry had never understood why Aunt Petunia insisted on a whole new wardrobe of dresses each year while she let Uncle Vernon wear the same suit and tie from year to year. But stupid fashion trends led to more women donating outmoded clothes than teenagers donating clothes they’d outgrown.

Through nearly an hour of sorting, though, Harry found some real treasures. First was a pair ofbiking gloves, which weren’t particularly warm, and didn’t cover his fingertips, but they looked cool and were better than nothing. Next was a grey beanie with a bird on it. Harry couldn’t distinguish what kind, thanks to his less-than-stellar eyesight and the fading light, but from the style of the logo, it probably belonged to a sports team. He immediately jammed it onto his head, and the tips of his ears stung as they started slowly defrosting.

Harry also found a couple of faded flannel shirts that were definitely men’s shirts, but would be warm and welcome when the weather got colder. He pulled one on and tied the other around his waist. Harry also found a few pairs of socks without holes, which were boring but necessary.

But Harry’s favorite find was an emerald green hoodie with some nature park logo on it that was too cracked and faded to read, and only a little too big for him. Harry pulled it on immediately. He shivered and curled into the newfound warmth, pressing his nose into the collar. It stank of smoke and sweaty socks, but Harry knew he probably smelled worse, so it didn’t bother him.

Curious as to what else he might find, Harry kept digging. After a few more minutes, Harry also found a big red hoodie and a matching beanie that he thought Jason would like, so he stuffed them into the tattered backpack he’d started carrying around to pass on later.

Happy with his finds, Harry carefully replaced the back panel and made sure he didn’t leave anything laying out. Then he made himself scarce with his new treasures, because the supermarket was due to close soon, and Harry didn’t want to get spotted while they took out the trash. He did stick around until they’d tossed all the day-old bakery goods, though, and stole two long loaves of bread and a smushed box of donuts. It would be a nice treat.

Stashing his goods into his backpack, Harry jogged back toward Crime Alley, mentally deciding which rooftop to stake out tonight to watch for Batman and Robin (and wait for Tim). Tim didn’t always show up, especially within Crime Alley itself, but over the last few months, Harry had learned that the rooftops just outside the Alley were some of Tim’s favorite spots. Or at least, Harry could reliably run into the smaller boy on a fairly regular basis. Plus they were more likely to spot Batman and Robin on the outskirts, since for some reason they tended to avoid Crime Alley itself.

Harry picked the roof of an old, mostly abandoned apartment building for tonight. He scrambled up the rickety fire escape as quietly as he could, because a grumpy older man stayed in one of the apartments right next to the ladder, and Harry always got yelled at if he made too much noise climbing up. The man’s angry shouts reminded Harry too much of Uncle Vernon, so he avoided disturbing him as much as possible.

Winded once he reached the top, Harry flopped down on the gravely roof to catch his breath, his eyes lazily unfocused as the first stars came out.

Soon enough, Harry heard the fire escape again, rattling as a small person ascended. Angry shouts echoed up from the alley below and Harry flinched for his own sake and for whoever was climbing. Moments later, there was the shuffling sound of small footsteps, then a chirped,

“Hi, Harry!”

“Hey, Tim.” Harry sat up and grinned at the other boy, who pulled his mask down and grinned back. Harry pulled out the smushed donuts and set the box between them. “I rescued these from the back of the supermarket on Eighth street. I’d make myself sick eating them all, and they won’t keep for more than a day or two.”

“Thanks! I brought hot chocolate, too, since it’s getting colder.” Tim pulled out a now-familiar thermos and set it next to the donuts. “I like your new hat, by the way.”

Harry grinned. “Thanks. What bird is it? I couldn’t tell.”

Tim giggled. “It’s a robin, actually. I think it’s from the Robbinsville Robins baseball team.”

“Huh. D’you think the real Robin would like it, too?”

“If we see him tonight, we’ll ask.”

Harry grinned, and helped himself to one of the donuts. They were super squished and extra messy, but somehow that just made them even more delicious. Tim portioned out the hot chocolate, and for a little while they sat in content silence, sipping the warm drink and helping themselves to the sweet pastries.

When half the pastries were gone, Harry put the box away. “I’ll save the rest for me and Jason tomorrow,” he said.

“Hmm. How’s the fighting going?” Tim asked, grinning.

Harry grinned back and eagerly shared the story of how he’d taken down a mugger all by himself a few days ago, after a few weeks of practicing martial arts from library books and videos Harry and Jason had found on the library’s computers. Tim knew about Jason, and Jason knew about Tim, because lately Harry had just been so excited by the idea of actually having people to talk to that he just couldn’t help himself.

Just as Harry finished his story, and Tim finished wiping the glaze off his fingers so he could use his camera without getting it dirty, a familiar flash of yellow caught their eye. Tim gasped and spun, lifting his camera and clicking away even before Robin was fully in sight. Harry watched in awe as the young vigilante did a quadruple flip as he grappled between buildings, then landed on the roof of the next in a perfect handstand.

“Please tell me you caught that,” Harry said, his eyes wide.

“That was so, so, so cool,” Tim breathed as Robin jogged across the rooftop for the next one. Batman was just behind him, with much less flashy moves. “This might just be the best day of my life.”

“You say that every time you get a good picture of Robin,” Harry said, laughing. The two vigilantes disappeared from sight and Tim turned around. This time he took a picture of Harry, mid-laugh.

Harry froze.

Tim lowered the camera, his eyes wide. “Sorry. I just thought—I mean, I—”

Harry shook his head. “I—it’s fine. Just…no one’s ever taken my picture, except for school photos.”

Tim’s eyes went wide. “What? But didn’t your parents—”

Harry pulled his knees in, but not from the cold. “I’m sure they did. But they died when I was one,” he said quietly. “I lived with my aunt until…and she never showed me any.” Harry scoffed to hide the unexpected urge to cry. “She took plenty of pictures of my cousin, though.”

Tim opened his mouth, closed it, then grinned. “Then we’ll just have to make up for it!” he raised the camera again. “Smile!”

“What?” Harry turned just in time to hear a click. “Tim!”

Tim cackled and dodged as Harry tried to force the camera down. He kept clicking the shutter as he danced around the rooftop, neatly avoiding Harry’s every attempt to stop him.

Finally, Harry flung himself at Tim’s waist, tacking the boy to the ground, and unclipped the camera from the neck strap using the same stealth that let him snatch wallets. Then he jumped to his feet and held it up triumphantly.

“Hah!” He pointed it at Tim and snapped a photo as the smaller boy scrambled to his feet and reached for it.

“Harry!” Tim’s face turned beet red.

“Payback, little stalker!” Harry held the camera up high, aiming it to still take pictures as Tim jumped for it—the extra inches he had on the smaller boy were really paying off. (In fact, Harry was certain he’d actually grown more in the last four months than he had in the whole last year of his life. He was half convinced it was the exercise and the better food he was eating. And wasn’t that a sad thought, that he was eating better on the streets than he did at the Dursleys’.)

“Harry, give it back!” Tim whined. “I’m the photographer; I’m not supposed to be in any pictures!”

“Too bad.” Harry held the camera back as Tim’s fingers grazed it, then the smaller boy overbalanced and toppled into Harry, sending both of them to the ground. After a gasp of surprise, they both burst into laughter. Harry kept holding the camera out of reach, and Tim kept wrestling him for it.

Then the flash went off and they both froze in surprise.

“Oops?” Harry said sheepishly.

“You must have accidentally turned it back on,” Tim said with a giggle. “Here, let me. I don’t like using the flash because it draws attention.”

Harry passed the camera back, and watched over Tim’s shoulder as he fiddled with the settings. Then suddenly the screen was displaying the last picture taken, the one with the flash.

It showed the two of them wrestling on the ground, eyes nearly closed with laughter. Harry’s beanie was askew and Tim’s hair was a mess, a streak of chocolate glaze on one cheek. But what struck Harry the most was how similar they looked. Having only ever seen each other in the dark, and Tim wearing a surgical mask most of the time, Harry had no real idea what Tim’s face actually looked like. And of course, he himself hadn’t looked in a mirror for months, save quick glimpses in gas station bathrooms.

They both had shaggy black hair and high, pronounced cheekbones. Both their eyes were almond-shaped, though Tim’s slanted up just a little. Tim’s eyes were a piercing blue, and a tiny mole almost disappeared into his dimples. His skin was pale, like a porcelain doll. Harry’s eyes were a darker green than he remembered, his cheekbones just a little sharper than normal, and he was tan. A darker tan than he’d ever seen in his life, from an entire summer spent under the relentless Gotham sun. (It wasn’t a dark tan by any means, but it still took Harry by surprise.)

But more than anything else, Harry saw two kids, wrestling and playing like they hadn’t a care in the world. Two kids who could almost be brothers.

Something tugged in Harry’s chest.

They both looked up in startled surprise at the same time, their eyes meeting. And Harry saw the same thoughts flicker across his friend’s face that were buzzing in his own mind.

Tim’s lips twitched upward, then he ducked his head shyly. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a twin.”

That something tugged harder. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. Harry bit his lip. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he whispered.

Tim put his hand out, smiling a little bigger. “Our birthdays are only two weeks apart. So. Twins?”

Harry’s lips pulled into a smile, even as tears stung his eyes. He took Tim’s hand and shook it. “Twins.”

Grinning now, Tim held the camera at arm’s length with the lens facing them, and leaned toward Harry, turning toward the camera. “Smile.”

Harry leaned in so their shoulders bumped, grinning widely.

“Say ‘twins.’”

Looking at the camera lens, with Tim doing the same right beside him, Harry said with him, “twins!”

The camera shutter clicked twice, and Tim turned the camera around to look at the most recent photo.

Smiling back at them were two nearly identical little boys, grinning widely, both with an unnatural sheen in their eyes.

Twins.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Rogue Attack

Halloween. Harry wasn’t entirely sure why, but he’d always hated the holiday. Part of it was definitely because Dudley had been allowed to go trick-or-treating, but Harry hadn’t, and Dudley would hold it over him for the entire month of October, then taunt him with sweets the entire month of November (and then his taunts turned to the fact that Harry never got Christmas presents, either). But Harry suspected there was more to it than that.

But holiday or not, Harry was nearly out of food, and he wanted to browse the thrift stores for a coat, too. So Harry went about his usual business. The morning was slow, so Harry kept out of the way, watching pedestrian traffic. It picked up around lunchtime, and even more so today as people were buying last-minute candy and costumes. And since it was a Saturday, there were tons of kids out with their parents.

Harry put on his nicer clothes, a worn flannel and a pair of jeans that were long enough to mostly cover his ragged sneakers. (He should probably try to get a better pair of shoes, too.) He then jammed the beanie over his head and joined the back of a family of five—two parents and three kids—to slip into the secondhand store unnoticed. Keeping one eye on the families that would be his ticket out, Harry browsed the kids shoes and outer clothing. He had just twenty-five dollars on him, and he hoped to find a coat for half of that or less. Harry glanced at his shoes again, which were so worn that the sole was peeling away from the upper. The laces were frayed in a dozen places and there were holes in the sole and where his big and pinkie toes were. The longer he stared, the more he realized that he needed a pair of boots or something first.

Going to the rack of shoes, Harry scanned for something suitable. A size up would be fine; he could stuff the toes with newspaper or wear extra socks. Most of the boots were rain boots, which were impractical for long-term wear. Snow boots were too much, and they’d be too noticeable when the weather warmed up again. Frowning, Harry looked a little harder, and his eyes lit on a pair of grey and green boots. They weren’t quite snow boots, but they were sturdier than most of the other boots available. Most of the sneakers, too. Actually, Harry was pretty sure they were hiking boots. They were a size too big, but from how quickly Harry was suddenly growing, that wouldn’t be a problem in six months—and they looked like they’d last that long, too. They were perfect!

But they were eighteen dollars.

Harry cringed at the price tag. He did have ten more dollars stashed away in his hide-out for emergencies. Harry looked down at his shoes again. He could see his big toe wiggle through the hole. Harry glanced toward the front shop window. It was raining outside. Again. He looked down at his shoes. His feet were already damp from a sudden cloud burst on the way over.

Harry snatched the boots off the rack and got in line behind a family with two kids a little older than him.

Ten minutes later, Harry finished lacing up his brand-new boots. He tapped his toes together, grinning at how warm his feet were. He still had five dollars and some change in his pocket. It was worth it.

Harry happily skipped through puddles, delighting in the way the boots repelled the water. He could get a coat later. For now, he could layer, and he had dry feet!

Fifteen minutes later, his feet were about the only thing that was dry.

Oops.

Starting to shiver in the cold rain, Harry set his path toward the library, where he might run into Jason, and where he could stand by the heater in the back of the kids’ section and dry off.

Jason wasn’t in the library when Harry arrived, but Harry hoped he’d show up soon, because he’d said he was going to return the last books they’d gotten for new ones today, and Harry already had a list in mind of books he wanted next.

Sure enough, when Harry was about halfway dry, Jason’s familiar form rounded a shelf. He started to smile in greeting, then he noticed the water still dripping off his hair.

“What were ya doin’ in the rain, dummy?” Jason asked with a laugh, ruffling his damp hair and scattering water drops.

“Um…playing?” Harry winced at Jason’s disapproving look. “But look! I got new shoes!” He held out a foot to show off the boots. “They’re waterproof! They were a little expensive, and I know I was going to use the money for a coat, and I haven’t eaten yet today, but they’re waterproof! It was worth it!”

Jason sighed. “Just when I start ta forget how young you are, because you’re ridiculously competent and smart, ya go and remind me that you’re barely eight years old.”

“You’re only ten!”

“Eleven, actually,” Jason countered, straightening his shoulders and sticking out his chest. “My birthday was in August.”

“Oh.” Harry hunched his shoulders, uncomfortably tapping his toes together, waiting for the older boy to yell at him.

Jason sighed. “I’m not mad, Harry. I’m glad ya finally replaced those ratty sneakers, before the weather got really bad. But you…you’ve never actually spent a winter in Gotham, have you?”

Harry hesitantly shook his head.

“So ya probably didn’t realize. But bein’ wet when it’s cold outside is just shy of a death sentence. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, but ya gotta be careful, kid. Ya don’t spend any more time in the rain than ya hafta ‘til it warms up again.”

Harry nodded, still half-expecting Jason to yell at him.

Jason lifted his chin with a finger. “Hey. Your new shoes are super cool. Where’d ya find ‘em?”

Harry smiled hesitantly. “The secondhand shop on Tenth and Robinson. They’re a little big, but I keep growing, so I think that’s a good thing.”

“That’s some luck ya got, kid,” Jason said. “Those are real hiking boots, and a good brand, too. I bet the shop mis-labeled ‘em,” he added with a smirk. “How much were they?”

“Just eighteen dollars,” Harry said proudly.

Jason whistled. “Damn. Impressive. Those shoes usually go for a hundred or more. So make sure ya don’t pass out in any alleys, ‘kay? Lucky they’re not bright like other kids’ stuff. ‘Else they’ll get robbed right off your feet.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think about that. I’ll be super, super careful. Promise.”

Jason grinned and ruffled his hair. “I know ya will, little hawk. Are ya dry enough to come look for books with me?”

Harry nodded eagerly. Almost automatically—like every time they went to the library—Jason reached out at the same time Harry did, and Jason’s bigger hand closed around Harry’s smaller one, squeezing lightly. Then Jason tugged him along to the camping and hiking section of the library. They grabbed the next two books in the Boxcar children series as they left the kids’ section—a series Harry had decided to try and absolutely loved.

After spending about an hour browsing and waiting for the rain to stop, Jason and Harry finally left with the two Boxcar Children books, a book on urban survival, and another book on martial arts, as well as two of Jason’s picks, one being Oliver Twist, and the other, Inkheart. They put the books in grocery bags and split them between their two backpacks, then Jason took Harry’s hand again and they headed back to Jason’s base.

Jason’s base was an empty apartment practically right in the middle of Crime Alley. Most of the building was empty, since the upper floors were no longer structurally sound. But Jason had claimed a corner apartment on the third floor, in the part of the building that was in the best condition. It was accessible by fire escape or by the stairs inside. It was a one-bedroom apartment, with the bedroom window open to the fire escape.

Jason used the fire escape in the bedroom as an entrance, but his main base was the laundry room in the center of the apartment, away from the doors, windows, and drafts. It was big enough to not feel cramped, but small enough to conserve heat on the cold, drafty nights. And it had a door that could close, so he could hide inside if necessary. The floor was wood—well, vinyl tiles that looked like wood, anyway, peeling and cracked especially around the edges. A piece of real wood had been nailed over the dryer vent, and a bucket was set up below the water line with the abandoned hose hanging into it. If Jason was careful, he could turn the water on and fill the bucket a few times a week.

There was a single built-in cabinet with a shelf above it in one corner. Jason stashed the most important things in the cabinet, behind the broken door Jason had repaired himself. He used the shelf above for extra blankets and water jugs (which were empty milk cartons and two-liter drink bottles, filled with water from the bucket). Several tattered and well-loved books were neatly arranged on top of the cabinet. In the opposite corner was a nest made up of several ragged blankets piled on top of each other, with a single, flat pillow.

Harry had been here many times, often staying the night because when Jason started reading, it was easy to lose track of time, and Harry usually fell asleep within an hour or two anyway.

Harry arranged the books on top of the cabinet, deciding which one to read first, while Jason put away the rest of his things. Before Harry could make a decision, Jason suddenly placed his hands firmly on Harry’s shoulders.

Harry looked up and caught his breath at the deadly serious look on his face.

“You are staying here all night. Under no circumstances are you to leave this room, no matter what. I want you to swear it to me. Do you understand?”

Harry bit his lip, a pit in his stomach. “W-why?”

“Because tonight is Halloween, which is every rogue’s favorite time to attack. I do not want you out there. Do you swear? No matter what.”

Licking his lips, Harry nodded. “I swear.”

“Good. I have one more errand to run. I want you to wait for me, and we can read when I get back. Okay?”

“W-where are you going?”

Jason smiled crookedly. “You said you haven’t eaten today. Neither have I. So I’m going to find us some food.”

“Will you be back before dark?” It was midafternoon.

“I shouldn’t be more than an hour. But even if I’m not back, you do not leave this room until tomorrow, after the sun is fully up. Understand?”

Harry’s mouth was dry and dread pooled in his stomach. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Jason smiled in relief, then gave Harry a quick hug before slinging his nearly-empty backpack over his shoulder and leaving.

When the door quietly snicked shut, Harry sat down hard.

This wasn’t the first time Jason had left him. Actually, they almost never hung out for more than a few hours at a time. Harry was used to saying “see you later” and then sometimes not seeing Jason for several days.

So why was he suddenly so scared at Jason leaving this time?

Harry knew about the rogues—the especially crazy villains who liked to challenge Batman. He’d heard a news report a few weeks ago about the Riddler pulling some scheme in Old Gotham, and Poison Ivy had done something in the Diamond District just last week. She had also claimed Robinson Park just outside Crime Alley, but Harry had heard it was mostly safe for kids.

But theOld Gotham and Diamond Districtattacks were on the other side of town. And as far as Harry knew (which admittedly wasn’t very much), no one had actually died. So Harry didn’t really understand what was so bad about the “rogue attacks” Jason seemed so worried about. And what would they want in Crime Alley anyway?

Either way, Harry was both terrified and confused.

And bored.

Harry tried flipping through the pictures in the survival guide, but a lot of them were small diagrams he couldn’t quite make out. The rest of Jason’s books were all words, too, in print too small for Harry to read. He amused himself for a short while playing with a stray ball of lint, then with a lonely screw. Then Harry tried to take a nap, but the gnawing hunger in his stomach woke him after less than an hour.

He found Jason’s sewing kit and repaired the holes in his socks and in one of Jason’s shirts—he’d learned how to do that at the Dursleys, Aunt Petunia insisting his small hands were better suited for clothing repair. The only reason Dudley’s clothes had lasted as long as they did once they were passed down to Harry was thanks to his skill with a needle and thread. (That skill had unfortunately come in handy one other time, when Dudley had pushed Harry into a big garbage bin, and he’d fallen on broken glass. He’d given himself five stitches on his left arm because Aunt Petunia had refused to take him to the emergency room. That was last summer.)

By the time Harry finished his self-appointed task, the sun had set. And there was no sign of Jason. For twenty minutes Harry tried to justify his absence as a growing, gnawing dread filled his stomach in place of hunger. But when there was still no sign of him, the fear started to make him antsy. Harry tried pacing, but he kept finding himself at the door about to leave. So, finally, Harry took a deep breath and pulled on his shoes, his flannel, and his hoodie, plus his beanie and fingerless gloves, and carefully crept his way out and down. He did make sure to lock the door behind him—Jason had taught him how to pick locks back in September, after he first showed Harry his base. (Jason didn’t like it when Harry called it a hideout. Said it sounded childish. Harry disagreed.)

It was dark, and eerily quiet when Harry finally made it outside. In the distance he could hear sirens and screaming. That was mostly normal. Cautiously, keeping to the edges of the street and using the shadows to hide, Harry made his way down the street.

He’d gone half a block before he realized that he had no idea where to even start looking for Jason. He’d said he was going for food, but Harry was sure he had some other goal, too—because Jason had food at his base. A few packs of dried noodles and a half-empty bag of sunflower seeds. Harry didn’t dare touch it without permission, though. Stealing from stores, Harry didn’t mind (anymore). But stealing directly from people? Harry shuddered at the memory of the time he’d tried to steal food from the Dursleys. (That was the only time Vernon had used the belt.)

Harry didn’t have time to go much further, though, because suddenly the screams were closer. Harry caught a whiff of something, like smoke. Did someone start a fire? Explosions weren’t uncommon, not in Gotham anyway. Harry had witnessed half a dozen from a distance, and one over in the Bowery, neighboring Crime Alley, had been close enough that his ears were ringing for a day afterward. So smoke wasn’t a weird thing to smell on the wind.

Was there wind? There was a rushing noise in his ears, and his head was starting to hurt. Probably from hunger. He should probably head back.

Back where? Looking around, everything was dark. Had he turned around? He put one foot in front of the other, but he didn’t know which way he was going. Was he going toward the base or away from it?

The screams were louder, almost directly in his ear. For some reason, the sound made his stomach churn. Were those voices? Something about take, go. Someone holding someone off? Was that Jason? Was he fighting someone?

The rushing noise was back, creating pressure in his head. Ooh, his head hurt. Did he hit his head? Something wet was running down his forehead, where the pain was centered.

Someone was shouting. Something about lilies? Why would someone be shouting about flowers?

Suddenly an explosion of green light erupted right in front of Harry. He reeled back. Someone was laughing. Cold, cruel laughter. The green explosion came again, and his forehead exploded in pain. He cried out, closing his eyes against the pain.

And suddenly everything came together, all at once, like a memory that had been just out of reach suddenly slotting into place.

Shouting. Laughter. Green. Cold, cruel, acid green. And pain. So much pain.

Harry screamed.

***

Harry first registered the warmth. Engulfing him, surrounding him, anchoring him. And he was cold. So, so cold. He couldn’t stop shaking.

The next thing he noticed was the voice. A singular voice, shaking, young, scared, but saying things like “you’re okay” and “it’s not real.”

Then he noticed pain. Soreness would be a better word. His muscles ached, and his forehead stung. But he didn’t seem badly hurt.

Then Harry tried to open his eyes, and he saw green, and the memory crashed back down.

***

The next time he woke up the same. First warmth, then a voice—the same as before, but hoarse now. The soreness wasn’t so bad. The sting in his forehead was a dull ache. His throat hurt a little. He hesitated before opening his eyes, wordlessly pleading, please, no green. Please.

He saw red. It soothed him. He curled in tighter, clinging to the red.

The voice faltered, then arms tightened around him and the top of his head grew damp.

***

This time Harry woke properly. Still clutched in someone’s arms, but now he registered new symptoms. His stomach ached hollowly. His bladder was uncomfortably full. His throat still hurt. Harry whined and pushed against the arms surrounding him. They loosened with a soft noise of confusion. Harry broke free and bolted to the bathroom, stumbling the whole way on stiff legs.

Relieved of one discomfort, Harry poured water from the jug beside the toilet into the tank and flushed, then stumbled out, finally blinking and taking in his surroundings.

Oh. This was Jason’s base. And there was Jason, halfway out of the doorway to their room, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. Then he ran forward and grabbed Harry in a hug so tight he was afraid for his ribs.

“Oh, thank God. You scared me, little hawk.” Jason’s voice cracked. “Damn you, I was terrified. I told you not to go out. But it’s not your fault. It’s my fault for not explaining, and for being late. God, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Harry tried to protest, but the words wouldn’t come out. He made a noise of confusion, squirming in the tight hold.

“Yeah, don’t think you’ll be talking for a bit. You…you were screaming. A lot. For a long time.” Jason hugged him still tighter, pulling them both down to the floor.

Screaming? Why would he be screaming?

Then he remembered. All of it. And Harry burrowed into Jason’s arms, his chest heaving with silent sobs.

Jason pulled Harry into his lap, holding him tightly. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The words sounded tired and worn, like they’d been spoken countless times over a relatively short period of time.

Harry could only sob. The screams, the two green flashes. The soft thump of something heavy hitting the floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understood what he had seen. He didn’t understand the how or the why, but he knew what he’d seen.

He didn’t want to think about it.

What felt like hours later, Harry’s sobs died and he slumped in Jason’s arms, exhausted and spent. He wouldn’t want to talk even if he could. Words were gone. Out of reach, inadequate to even try to describe the horror.

“You got hit with Scarecrow’s fear gas,” Jason said quietly. “It makes you hallucinate your worst fears. I think it can make you remember traumatic memories, too.” Jason exhaled shakily. “I got a bit of it, too. Remembered a few things I wish had stayed forgotten. But I came out of it pretty quickly, once I got the antidote from Batman. I gave it to you, too, but…you weren’t coming out of it.” Jason held him tighter. “God, I was so scared.”

Harry just clung to Jason’s red sweatshirt, too tired to cry but not tired enough to sleep.

And he was scared to sleep.

They sat there for several more minutes before Jason spoke again. “I did get some food. I bet you’re pretty hungry. Then we can stay in and read for a while. Sound good?”

Harry nodded. Jason gently pushed him away, then got to his feet and offered Harry his hand. Harry grabbed his whole arm, pressing into his side.

Jason chuckled softly and led the way back to their blanket nest. He grabbed a can of something orange, popped it open with the tab on top, and passed it to Harry with a plastic fork.

“You can eat those while I make some peanut butter sandwiches.”

Harry ate robotically. The orange thing was sweet and smooth.

Oh. Peaches.

A tiny smile crept onto Harry’s lips. He ate another one, loudly slurping the juice and making Jason laugh.

When the peaches were gone, Harry drank the rest of the juice. A bit of it escaped down his chin and Harry wiped it off with his sleeve. His flannel, he registered. But hadn’t he been wearing his hoodie?

(The green.)

Jason took the empty can and replaced it with a sandwich. Honey dripped off the crust. Harry bit into the sandwich, and his eyes widened. More sweet.

Jason chuckled as Harry ate ravenously. “Yeah, I figured that would cheer you up. The honey will help your throat, too.” He ate his own sandwich a little slower, then helped Harry wipe the honey off his hands with a wet wipe.

Hold on.

Harry looked around and saw that the food was way more stocked than it had been before. The honey was something brand-new. And there were two more huge packs of baby wipes beside the one at Jason’s knee. And Jason’s jeans were new—well, new to Harry. And nicer than anything out of a donation box.

Harry pointed to the wipes and the new jeans, making a confused face.

“You noticed?” Jason smiled sheepishly. “Every few months, I do someone a favor, and they give me two big bags stuffed with anything I want from the food bank and thrift store back stock. This time it was food, the wipes, and some new clothes. A few other miscellaneous things. And a few new books.” Jason grinned. “I just couldn’t resist when I saw they had some of the Boxcar Children books.”

Harry’s eyes widened, a smile creeping onto his face.

“You want to read one now?”

Harry nodded eagerly.

Jason smiled. He brushed crumbs off himself, then picked up one of the books off the shelf and settled in the blanket nest against the wall. Then he patted the space beside him. Harry rushed to take it, leaning into Jason’s side as he opened the book.

They got about halfway through before Jason’s voice gave out. But it was okay, because Harry was already nearly asleep. Moving slowly, Jason set the book aside and maneuvered them both to be lying down. Harry curled into Jason’s side, clutching his red hoodie. Jason’s arms fell around him automatically, pulling him in a little closer. Within moments, Harry was asleep.

Then came the nightmares.

Full of shouting, screams, laughter, and green. So much green.

Harry woke with a hoarse cry only hours later. Jason startled awake and was halfway into a defensive position when he realized first, that there was no danger, and two, Harry was crying. Sobbing, in fact, shaking and crying and soundlessly pleading for no more green, please. Make it stop. Make it stop. Please, no more green.

Jason pulled him in close, hugging him tightly and whispering, “it’s okay” and “I’ve got you.”

It felt like hours before Harry fell back into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Aftermath

The nightmares persisted for nearly a week. Every time Harry closed his eyes, he was greeted with screams, cruel laughter, and green. And even when awake, he couldn’t stand the color. Just seeing it sent him spiralling into a flashback.

He couldn’t wear his favorite (only) hoodie.

So Jason gave him the red one, since the color seemed to comfort him, and found a grey one for himself in the bag of clothes and other miscellaneous items he’d received. The red hoodie nearly swamped Harry, but it was comforting to have it so close, and it was soft, and warm.

Harry couldn’t speak, either. At first, it was his throat, but it had healed after two days (and a lot of honey). After that, Harry just couldn’t form the words. It was scary, and frustrating. Harry was pretty sure he’d shed more tears in the week since the gas attack than he had in his entire life, but he never once made a sound. After three days, when it became clear that Harry was physically able to speak but simply wasn’t, he and Jason returned to the library and checked out a book on sign language. While Harry taught himself to finger-spell, Jason did some research on the library computer.

An hour later, Jason pulled Harry into his lap in what Jason had started calling “their” nook—the grouping of three armchairs in the deep corner of the nonfiction section. Then he quietly explained what he’d found.

“Apparently selective mutism—the term for non-medical muteness—is a trauma response,” Jason began matter-of-factly. “I’m guessing the gas made you relive some long-buried memory, and now your brain can’t process it. So it’s basically gone into power saving mode. It’s easier to process in the background, without engaging the language centers of your brain.”

Harry blinked and tilted his head on confusion.

Jason chuckled. “Okay, ya caught me. I was quotin’ the article. It didn’t make a lotta sense to me, either. But basically, your brain is processin’ that memory, so it’s makin’ things easier by not speaking. Don’t ask me how it works, though. But what it comes down to is, we’d both better learn sign language, because we don’t know how long this is gonna last. Could be a few more days. Could be weeks or months.” Jason shrugged.

Harry smiled faintly, then pointed at Jason and painstakingly spelled out, ‘get to work.’

Jason laughed and pulled the book toward them. “Once I get finger-spelling, we’re takin’ this book home.”

Harry nodded. ‘test you,” he spelled out, smiling. He went slow enough that Jason could consult the book. Then Jason smiled.

“Yep. You can test me.”

It took another hour for Jason to confidently decipher Harry’s finger-spelling. Neither of them was very fast, but Harry did have an hour’s head start, so he was slightly faster. Then Jason tucked the book under his arm, took Harry’s hand in his other hand, and marched out of the library.

It didn’t even occur to Harry that “home” now meant Jason’s base.

It was another week of constant practice before Harry and Jason could have halting conversations entirely in sign language, interjecting finger-spelling when they didn’t know the right sign. It took the same amount of time before Harry could sleep through the night without a nightmare, and before Jason was able to leave Harry alone without either of them panicking.

At the end of the second week after the Scarecrow’s gas attack, Harry insisted on venturing out on his own, to update Tim and to retrieve the rest of his belongings—because under a dumpster was not a good place to spend the winter. And because Jason insisted they stick together.

After much arguing, mostly verbal on Jason’s part and entirely nonverbal on Harry’s, Harry finally won. With a triumphant grin, Harry layered his flannel over his t-shirt, then Jason’s red hoodie over both, jammed his grey beanie over his head, shoved his feet, covered in two pairs of socks, into his new hiking boots, then took his mostly-empty backpack and saluted before heading out.

It was midafternoon when he set out. It was chilly, chilly enough that Harry’s breath fogged in the air in front of him. But the cold made the air feel fresh, and since, other than the library trip, it was Harry’s first time outside in almost two weeks, a certain sense of freedom settled over him. He stayed vigilant, though it took running from a would-be mugger to jolt his street senses back into gear, and made it back to his old hideout without (further) incident. Checking his surroundings and finding the alleyway (and the rooftops) deserted, Harry crawled inside and was both surprised and pleased to find it completely undisturbed, if exceptionally damp. The squish of wet cardboard under his knees was a good reminder that it was safer to stay with Jason through the winter.

Harry’s tattered duffel bag was right where he’d left it. The bag itself was ruined from the water, but its contents, canned goods or otherwise packaged in plastic as they were, were spared the damage. Harry loaded up his backpack with a few water bottles, the last of his emergency cash, some cans of baked beans and peaches, a half-empty bag of jerky, and a soggy box half-full of still-functional Justice League band-aids. That made Harry smile. He collected a few other odds and ends, then tossed the ruined bag back in the dumpster on his way out. He tried to leave the structure of the hideout intact, in case he wanted to come back when it got warmer. But something told him he wouldn’t.

By now it was nearly dusk. And a full backpack was asking for trouble. So Harry quickly and quietly made his way back to Jason’s base—their base now, he supposed—to unload his things. He kept some of the band-aids, two water bottles, and his bag of emergency cash—just in case he found himself in trouble—then left Jason a note that he was going to see Tim, and to expect him back around midnight. Harry brought the rest of the half-empty notebook and the pencil with him, because he still couldn’t bring himself to speak, and the chances of Tim knowing sign language were slim to none.

That done, Harry picked his way cautiously toward his favorite rooftop on the outskirts of the alley. By the time he’d reached the top, it was fully dark. The wind was stronger up here, so Harry sat in the lee of a chimney to avoid the worst of it. It was colder than he’d expected now that night had fallen, and he sat shivering slightly in his minimal layers, his fingertips going numb until he jammed them into his armpits to conserve warmth.

He hoped Tim came quickly, or else Harry would have to leave him a note and go home before he froze to death. It would be nice if Tim brought hot chocolate, too.

Luckily, Harry had only been waiting for perhaps fifteen minutes (though it felt much longer) when he heard the faint rattle of the fire escape. Smiling a little, but still on guard, Harry waited for the person to come around and meet him.

He heard light, cautious footsteps roaming the far side of the rooftop, then venture closer. Then a familiar silhouette appeared against the sky.

Harry waved. The movement caught the other boy’s attention and he snapped around, eyes going wide.

Then Harry was tackled in a hug.

“Harry! You’re okay! I got so, so worried! I thought you were kidnapped or sold or beat up and left for dead!”

Laughing near-silently, Harry hugged the smaller boy back.

When Tim finally pulled away, he gave Harry a confused look. “You haven’t said hi back. Are you sick? Did you lose your voice?”

Harry grimaced and made a so-so gesture.

“Good thing I brought hot tea this time, then,” Tim said with a grin.

Harry smiled in relief at the sound of a hot drink. He made grabby hands at Tim’s backpack and mimed drinking.

Tim laughed and took out his thermos, then portioned out some for Harry in the wide, deep lid. He took it and sipped gratefully, the heat warming him right through. Then he set the cup aside and hesitantly signed, ‘thank you.’

Tim cocked his head. “Sign language?” He signed along with his words, and Harry lit up.

‘Yes!” Harry signed back eagerly. ‘I didn’t think you’d know it!’

Tim shrugged, continuing to sign along with his words. “I got bored last summer and taught myself. It’s a thing, I guess. Every summer I’ve taught myself a new language.”

‘Jason’s teaching me. Well, we’re teaching each other. I’m not very good yet.’

“Why aren’t you talking, though?” Tim asked.

Harry hunched his shoulders and glanced away as he signed his response. ‘I got caught in Scarecrow’s attack two weeks ago. Faceful of gas. It was…bad. Nightmares…I can’t stand the color green anymore,’ he signed, making a mournful face.

“Oh, I get it. It’s a trauma response, right?” Tim asked.

Harry furrowed his brow, but nodded. ‘Why do you know that?’ He pointed extra-vigorously at Tim as he signed “you.” ‘Jason had to look it up.”

Tim smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I did the same thing, when I was three. I…did you hear about the Flying Graysons?”

Harry shook his head and took another sip of the tea. It was so good, faintly sweetened with honey, with herbal and floral hints to it.

“They were a famous circus act, parents and their ten-year-old son. My parents took me to see their show. But someone sabotaged the act and…the parents fell from the trapeze. Died instantly. I had horrible nightmares for weeks, couldn’t make any sounds except to scream or cry.” Tim continued signing along with his words, even though Harry didn’t need him to. It helped him practice, though.

‘That sucks,’ Harry signed back. ‘For you and the kid.’

Tim nodded. “My parents hated it, though. It was right after that…that they went on their first extended trip. Since then, I barely see them for a few weeks each year,” he said quietly.

‘When the gas hit me, I saw…’ Harry hesitated. He hadn’t even told Jason yet. But maybe Tim would understand. ‘I remembered, the night my parents died.’

Tim gasped and grabbed Harry in a hug. “I’m so sorry. I’m here complaining about how I never see my parents, but yours are dead.”

Harry hugged him back briefly, then pushed him away so he could sign, ‘Not your fault. I don’t mind you talking about your parents. Don’t want pity. Just…I wish I could forget again.’ Harry pulled his knees up to his chest.

Tim settled beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Harry surprised himself by leaning into it, letting his eyes fall closed as tears pricked behind his eyelids.

For some moments, they just sat there in silence. But eventually they both began to feel the cold again, even Tim who was wearing a thick fleece pullover over his usual black ensemble. Reluctantly, Harry pulled away first.

‘I’d better go. Jason’s been way overprotective since the gassing,’ Harry signed, painstakingly spelling out “overprotective” because he didn’t know the sign.

“Oof. I’d better brush up on my finger spelling,” Tim joked. “I think you said ‘overprotective’?”

Harry laughed a little and nodded.

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you a little less frequently for a while?”

Harry scowled, but signed, ‘probably. I didn’t really tell him I was coming tonight either.’ He cringed. ‘He might actually yell at me this time.’

“You’d better go, then. I’ll see you around. Oh!” Tim suddenly went digging through his backpack. “I thought you’d like a copy of those pictures we took last time.”

Harry’s eyes widened as Tim passed over prints of the two photos of them together. Harry chuckled at the glaze on Tim’s face in the first one, grinning a little bigger when Tim’s face turned red. The second one made a lump rise in Harry’s throat. Holding the photos close to his chest with one hand, Harry signed ‘thank you’ with the other.

Tim smiled. “You’re welcome. I printed them out for myself, too. I found some empty frames. They’re displayed on my dresser.”

This time Harry’s hand was shaking as he signed ‘thank you, so, so much. Thank you…for being my brother.’

Tim smiled shyly. “Twin,” he corrected, signing along with the word.

Harry mimicked it. ‘Twin.’ Harry tucked the photos into his backpack, then gave Tim a tight hug that the smaller boy returned. Then Harry waved and, for perhaps the first time, he was the first to leave.

He waved over his shoulder as he jogged away from the fire escape, and imagined he saw Tim waving back. Then Harry hurried home. Home to his big brother.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 Holiday in the Streets

Harry finally got a coat in late November. So did Jason. They went together to check out the same street donation box Harry had found his hoodie, hat, and gloves, and found that someone had donated two winter coats, along with matching hats, scarves, and waterproof gloves, and it was all still in really good condition. It was like the family realized the kids had outgrown it on the way to the grocery store, and felt it less of a bother to toss it in the box than take it to an actual thrift store. The coats were clearly meant for young teenagers, not kids, so even Jason was swimming in the bigger one. But they were warm and waterproof, and they took the hats and gloves, too, just in case.

After several minutes of admiring their new outerwear, though, Jason reluctantly stuffed everything but the coat into his backpack. Harry tilted his head in confusion.

Jason smiled faintly. “This stuff is too nice right now; we’ll stick out like a sore thumb back in the Alley. And a scarf isn’t a good idea anyway unless it’s really cold.”

‘So we can wrestle on the street and scuff it up,’ Harry signed, grinning. He hadn’t spoken in nearly a month, though the incident with the fear gas had almost faded into a bad memory. Just when Harry thought he might be over it, though, the nightmares came back.

Jason laughed aloud. “All right, squirt. Let’s go, then.” He led the way to a stand of neglected landscape along the back of the grocery store parking lot, backing up against a tall wooden fence separating the parking lot from the apartment complex behind it. No one parked back there besides delivery trucks and the rare employee, and it wasn’t a delivery day. On a wider patch of sorry-looking grass and mud, Jason put the new winter gear back on and went into a ready stance.

“Show me what you’ve got, little hawk,” he said, smirking, beckoning to Harry.

Grinning, Harry assumed a similar ready stance, then went in for a tackle. Jason grabbed him around the waist and flipped him on the ground, but Harry caught Jason’s wrist and yanked him down, too.

“Not bad,” Jason said, laughing as they got to their feet. “Again.”

Harry obliged, this time going for a sweeping kick. They started out practicing the few martial arts moves they’d learned over the last month and a half, but after a few rounds and Harry cheating when Jason used his height to an unfair advantage, it eventually devolved into actual, playful wrestling, full of laughter and teasing insults—though Harry leaned on rude or insulting hand gestures. Neither of them minded the mud and dirt. Harry wrestled Jason onto the parking lot and made it a point to scrape their coats against the concrete as they both grappled for the upper hand.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, they both lay sprawled on the damp concrete, coats and hats askew, covered in mud and grime from the ground, panting and grinning widely up at the overcast winter sky.

Harry tapped Jason’s shoulder to get his attention, then signed, ‘Think the Alley will accept us now?’

Jason sat up, inspecting himself and Harry. He brushed off the caked mud, but the coats were still covered in scuff marks, grass stains, and smears of dirt.

“I reckon so,” Jason replied, grinning. He stood up, then offered Harry a hand down. “And if we ever need ta go somewhere nice, a quick wipe-down’ll take care of the mud.”

Harry nodded and took Jason’s hand. The older boy pulled him to his feet, then kept Harry’s hand as they skirted around the back of the grocery store and set their course back toward the Alley.

Days later, at the beginning of December, Harry helped Jason inventory and reorganize their supplies. In the process, Harry unearthed his dark green hoodie from the bottom of a stack of blankets.

His breath caught and he dropped it immediately, taking three steps back. But other than a quick flash of memory and the momentary panic, Harry discovered that he was okay.

“You all right, Harry?” Jason asked.

Harry nodded hesitantly. ‘I’m okay. I think...the color is dark enough that I don’t mind it so much.’ He smiled a little. ‘I’m glad. I missed my hoodie.’

“What, you don’t like the red one?”

Harry’s smile grew a little bigger. ‘I like it better when you wear it.’

“Well, damn. Guess I’d better put it on, then.” Grinning, Jason tossed off his grey hoodie, shivering a little in the cold air of the room.

Grinning back, Harry pulled the red hoodie off and passed it back to Jason, then, taking a deep breath, he pulled the green one back on.

Jason pulled the oversized red hoodie on, then pulled it close. “Wow. You runnin’ hot or somethin’, kid? This is super warm.”

Harry shook his head, then burrowed into Jason’s chest, smiling against the familiar red fabric.

“Love you, Jay,” Harry barely whispered.

Jason froze, then drew Harry into a tight hug, pressing his nose into Harry’s hair. “Love you, too, little hawk.” His voice was hoarse.

A warmth that had nothing to do with the hoodies settled over Harry. He hugged Jason tighter, his fingers clutching the back of the hoodie. But his eyes were open, and Harry smiled at seeing his green sleeve against Jason’s red side.

“We look like Christmas,” he whispered.

Jason laughed. It sounded wet. “Yeah, we do.”

***

Harry’s words came back gradually. Simple things he had no problem saying out loud. With more complicated or more emotionally charged topics, though, Harry mostly reverted back to sign language. And there were a lot of those as Christmas approached. It was Harry’s first Christmas alone. Although he’d always been forced to help cook Christmas dinner, clean up after Dudley opened his presents, and do tons of chores, even the Dursleys had had enough good will to give him a fair portion of the meal he helped make, and some years he even got a slice of pie. It was also Harry’s first Christmas fully conscious of his parents’ deaths, knowing that the car crash his relatives had informed him of was, in fact, a lie—and a hard one to swallow at that. He couldn’t help but wonder what else they may have lied to him about.

For Jason, it was his third Christmas on the streets, but he still held bittersweet memories of before that always crept up around the holidays. It was also coming up on the anniversary of his mother’s death. He didn’t tell Harry any details, but from other comments Jason had made, Harry had deduced that it had something to do with drugs, and that Jason had been the one to find her.

And Harry and Jason weren’t the only ones who had a hard time with the upcoming holidays. Halfway through December, roughly two weeks before Christmas, Harry went to visit Tim while Jason did whatever he did at night. He was reluctant to share, but it usually resulted in more food or extra cash, so Harry didn’t pry too hard. (He was afraid of what the answers would be. As long as he didn’t ask, Harry could pretend he didn’t know.)

Shivering even with his new coat and scarf, Harry watched the clouds gather and thicken across the sky from his favorite rooftop. He wondered if it would snow before the night was out. It might be nice. Harry had heard it snowed a lot in Gotham. Harry had only ever seen a few centimeters at a time; Surry didn’t get much snow. Just a lot of cold rain and occasionally sleet.

Soft footsteps interrupted Harry’s musings. He turned and smiled as Tim crossed the roof and settled next to him. He was wearing a dark navy winter coat now, instead of the fleece like before, and a plain black beanie. Instead of the medical mask, a thick, dark blue scarf was wrapped around his neck. Slung over one shoulder was his ever-present camera bag, and on his back hung the usual backpack.

“Hi, Harry,” Tim greeted—with considerably less enthusiasm than usual.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked aloud—the first time speaking aloud to Tim since before Halloween.

Tim gasped, then grabbed Harry in a tight hug. “Welcome back,” he said, grinning.

“I never really left, you know,” Harry replied. He kept his voice soft, the deeply ingrained instinct for silence harder to overcome after yielding to it for so long.

“I know. But you talking again means you’re over it, right? Well, not over over it, but mostly over it. Right? It took me almost six months to talk again. Of course, there wasn’t really anyone to talk to, because I wasn’t in school yet. Just my nanny, who didn’t like noise anyway. And then—sorry. I’m rambling again.” Tim smiled sheepishly.

“I don’t mind rambling,” Harry replied. “So did you bring hot chocolate?”

Tim laughed. “Always.” He pulled out his thermos and portioned it out, then passed Harry the full cup-slash-lid.

“This is why you’re my best friend.” Harry took a long, deep drink, letting the chocolate warm him from the inside out. It settled a little uncomfortably in his empty stomach—he hadn’t eaten since half a granola bar at noon, since their food stocks were running out again—but it was still delicious.

Tim flushed and took a sip of his own. For a few minutes, they just sat in companionable silence, enjoying their cocoa and each other’s presence.

Finally, though, Harry re-asked his question from before. “So is everything okay?”

Tim set the thermos aside and pulled his knees up to his chest. “My parents told me they’d be back for Christmas. But they always say that. They haven’t been here for Christmas since I was five. So I’m trying really, really hard not to get my hopes up. It always hurts worse when I do.”

Harry opened his mouth, then hesitated. But then he pressed on. “If they don’t show up...you could spend Christmas with Jason and me. I’d have to ask him, and you probably don’t want to spend Christmas in a cold, empty apartment. But I’d like you guys to meet eventually. It...it would be nice, to…” The words wouldn’t come. ‘To spend Christmas with both my brothers,’ Harry finished signing, looking away so he wouldn’t have to see the rejection.

“That’s a great idea!” Tim exclaimed.

“R-really?”

Tim nodded excitedly. “If…if my parents don’t come, maybe you could come to my house? There won’t be anyone there but me, and we can watch movies, and play games, and maybe I can figure out how to cook for real and we could even have a Christmas dinner together!” Then Tim hesitated. “Is…is it bad that now I kind of don’t want them to come? I mean, I do, I really, really do, but…I really want to meet Jason and spend time with you, too.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think it’s bad. They’re barely home. You barely know them. I…I used to…” Harry sighed and went back to signing. ‘My relatives never really let me be part of Christmas. When I was really little, I’d imagine what it would be like, to actually be part of the family instead...instead of on the outside. Imagining hurt, though, when I had to face the truth. But every year until I was six, I still looked forward to the fantasy.’

Tim nodded, pulling his knees in a bit more. “Fantasy. Yeah. I want the fantasy.” He hugged his knees tighter. “I really, really want it. But...if I get my hopes up...it’ll hurt worse when—if—it falls apart.”

Harry nodded. “Hope…hurts,” he said quietly. Because he’d felt the longing, watching families do Christmas shopping together, or playing together in the park. He’d seen the same longing on Jason’s face, too, when the older boy thought he wasn’t looking.

“Mhm.” Tim leaned into Harry’s side, shivering slightly. “But maybe, even if my parents do come, once they leave again, you and Jason can still come over, and we can do a late Christmas together.”

“Yeah.”

Almost on cue, the first snowflakes started drifting down. Tim pulled out his camera and took a few shots of the skyline. Then, with a faint smile, he turned the camera around and nudged Harry’s shoulder.

“Say it.”

Harry smiled back and the two of them chorused, “Twins.”

The shutter clicked, and Tim nudged his way under Harry’s arm as he pulled up the latest photo.

Harry almost forgot to look, because the way Tim was curled into Harry’s side was exactly the way Harry curled up against Jason when the older boy read to him. Unfamiliar emotions flowed through him, but above them all was affection and protectiveness.

Was this how Jason felt about Harry?

The idea was a little overwhelming.

Tim nudged him, and Harry refocused on the camera. The two boys on the screen were smiling, but there was a sense of sadness there.

A huge, fluffy snowflake landed on the screen, making Harry blink and look up. The snow was falling heavily now. It would be dangerous going down the fire escape if they waited much longer.

“Guess it’s time to go.”

“Just a few more pictures,” Tim whined.

“You can stay, I guess. Though I don’t recommend it. But if I get wet, I won’t be properly dry again ‘til March,” Harry quipped, only half joking. “Just be careful?”

“I will.” Tim burrowed into Harry’s side again, prompting Harry to wrap his arms around the smaller boy. “Be safe.”

“I will.” Harry pressed his nose into Tim’s hair, the way Jason always did to him. It felt nice to be the one giving the affection, instead of always receiving it. Tim melted against him, giving a small hum of pleasure that made Harry smile.

Maybe, maybe he did still have something to give.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Holiday at Home

Jason was not a fan of the idea of following some random kid home for the holidays.

“Please, Jay? He might be alone for Christmas. That’s horrible. He’s like my brother, Jay. And families should be together at Christmas. Please?”

“How well do you even know this kid?” Jason demanded. “He’s a rich kid. He’s probably from Bristol, and all those kids are brats. And how do you know it’s not a trap?”

“He sneaks out almost every night to take pictures of Batman! Why would he want to trick two street kids into coming home with him?”

Jason threw his hands up. “Hell if I know! I don’t trust anyone but you!”

“And I trust Tim! You have no problem letting me hang out with him on rooftops at night. What’s the difference?”

“First of all, I very much do have a problem with you hanging out on rooftops at night! I just know I’d never be able to stop you. I don’t have the right to, anyway. It’s not like I’m your parent or something. Second of all, the rooftops in and around Crime Alley are our turf. We know them. You know them. You know where the safe places are, you know where you can hide. Wherever this kid lives? That’s his territory. And we know nothing about it!”

“So I can get his address. We can scope it out beforehand. We can do research on his family! You could come with me the next time I see him. I don’t understand your problem with this!”

“Because I thought I was your brother!” Jason shouted.

Harry froze. The silence was deafening.

Jason’s face slowly turned red as he realized what he’d said.

“Never mind. Forget it. Go spend Christmas with this kid. See if I care.” Jason jammed his hands into his pockets and turned to go.

Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. “But you are my brother, Jay,” he whispered. “At least, I thought you were.” He blinked hard, trying not to let the tears spill over. “I guess I was wrong.” Harry hunched his shoulders and turned around. “I...I’ll get my stuff and go, then. I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t be a burden on you anymore.”

“Shit. Harry, wait!” Jason grabbed his arm, pulling Harry around to face him. Jason’s expression turned looked stricken when Harry finally raised his head. It took a moment too long for Harry to realize that was because he’d lost against the tears.

Jason opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again, and…

“Damn it all.” He grabbed Harry and pulled him into a tight, tight hug. “You are my brother, Harry. My fierce little hawk. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. You’re not a burden. You’ve never been a burden. I—I like doing things for you. Reading to you, teaching you stuff. I don’t mind sharing my stuff, either. You are my brother, Harry. I-I’m sorry. I…I guess…I guess I just got scared, and jealous.”

Harry hesitantly returned the hug. “Jealous of what? I only see Tim a few times a week, and only for like an hour or two. I spend the rest of my time with you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I overreacted. I do worry about you when you go wandering around at night. I guess…I feel like I can keep you safer than he can.”

“You definitely can,” Harry replied, finally hugging Jason back fully. “He carries a baton and a can of mace, but he doesn’t know how to use any of it. Half the time, I’m the one telling him to go home.”

Jason chuckled wetly. “And he’s supposed to be the older one. I guess I’ll have to teach him a few things if he wants to keep hanging out with my little brother.”

“’M not little,” Harry grumbled, even though he was more than happy at Jason’s casual reference to Harry as his brother.

Then he registered what Jason had said.

“Wait, does that mean you’ll come?”

Jason sighed and released Harry in favor of ruffling his hair instead. “Yeah, little hawk. I’ll come meet your friend.”

“My twin,” Harry corrected, smiling. “He looks like me, just less dirty. And he’s only two weeks older than me.”

“My mistake. Your twin. Guess that makes him my little brother, too.”

Harry pumped his fist. “Yes!” He threw his arms around Jason’s waist, squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Jay! You’re the best big brother ever!”

***

Two days before Christmas, Tim brought the sad but sort-of good news that his parents had extended their trip into the new year, and therefore would not be home for Christmas, though they promised to call.

“I doubt they will, though,” Tim said glumly. They sat on the edge of the roof this time, and Tim kicked his feet moodily.

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” Harry said, nudging Tim’s shoulder reassuringly. “So when do you want us to come?” he asked.

Tim brightened a little. “As soon as you can. Actually…” he hesitated, smiling shyly. “I was so excited I already bought you bus tickets for tomorrow night.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper and held it out. “I’ll meet you at the stop in Bristol and we can walk back to my house.”

Harry’s gut squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of directly accepting the offering. No one had ever bought him anything before, except grudgingly and with a hundred reminders of just how much of a burden he was on “respectable people” like his relatives and how much he didn’t deserve even the little they gave him.

“Harry?”

Oh. He’d been silent too long. “Sorry. It’s just…awkward, accepting things from other people. It just doesn’t happen for me…not even…before.”

“Not even your relatives…?” Tim asked, his eyes wide.

Harry shook his head. “I only ever got my cousin’s hand-me-downs. And he’s always been way bigger than me. I never even got new socks or shoes.” Harry bounced his heels off the wall moodily. “They loved to tell me what a burden I was.” He stilled his feet, staring at his scuffed but sturdy boots, which he was still so proud of himself for. “I still don’t get anything new, but…at least I get to pick it for myself. And no one’s telling me I don’t deserve it.”

“It’s sad when living on the streets is better than living with your family,” Tim said quietly. “It’s lonely in my house. Too big and empty and quiet. Maybe that’s why I like coming out here so much. It’s never quiet in Gotham, and even though it’s big, it never feels empty. Even up here, at night, when nobody’s really out, you still know you’re not completely alone.”

Harry nudged Tim’s shoulder. “Yeah.”

Tim nudged him back, then held up the printed tickets right in front of his face. “I know it’s awkward, but…it’s already done. Take it.”

Chuckling, Harry took the paper. He unfolded it to look at the departure time, and was surprised it was so early.

“Six-thirty?”

“The buses don’t run as long on Christmas Eve,” Tim said sheepishly. “And they don’t run at all on Christmas. So...this was the best option.”

“So…we’ll be staying for two nights?” Harry asked, half excited and half terrified. He did trust Tim, and he was looking forward to spending time with him. But he didn’t know how he would feel about being in a house, or sleeping in a bed, would be. Harry had actually never slept on a proper bed. (And wasn’t that another depressing thought.)

“Yep! Oh! Do you want to cook anything specific? The shops will be open until early evening tomorrow. I can buy groceries.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want—”

Tim grabbed Harry’s face with freezing fingers. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly. “You or Jason. I want you there. And I want you to enjoy it. If I can do something to help you have fun, I want to do it. Because…because you’re my brother. My twin,” Tim said quietly. “And if Jason is your brother, that makes him mine, too.”

“Okay, okay. Get your icicle hands off me.” Harry playfully (and carefully) pushed Tim away.

“So?”

“Um…chocolate chip cookies? And…maybe…fresh green beans? I can cook them with butter and salt and they’re really, really good.”

Tim blinked. “You can cook?”

Harry hesitated. “My relatives made me cook as soon as I could reach the stove,” he admitted.

“Can you make anything?”

“If I have the recipe and the ingredients, probably. I’m not as good at baking, though. My aunt usually did that. Though I think she was afraid I’d steal the dough.”

“Can you…can you make a ham? With pineapple? In the oven?” Tim asked breathlessly.

Harry blinked. “Uh…probably? You’ll have to give me the recipe. And that’s weird.”

“I saw it on a mommy blog and it looked so, so good. I’ve always wanted to try it, but…Mrs. Mac tells me it’s not an ‘acceptable combination of ingredients.’” Tim affected a Scottish accent at the end, and Harry giggled.

“If you get the stuff, I’ll try it out.”

“So we’ll have ham, and green beans. Mashed potatoes?”

Harry shrugged and nodded. “And…canned peaches?” he asked hopefully.

“With cottage cheese,” Tim said sagely.

“Uh…sure?”

Tim laughed. “My mom eats it for breakfast sometimes. She let me try it once and it was unexpectedly good.”

“And…” Harry hesitated, trying to remember if Jason had mentioned any foods he’d eaten at Christmas. He couldn’t think of anything, but… “Oh! Jason likes pecan pie. If you can find a pre-made one. And vanilla ice cream.”

“Hold on. Let me make a list.” Tim dug around in his pockets and pulled out a sleek rectangle. The screen lit up when he pressed the button on the bottom, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“That’s a smartphone,” he breathed.

“WayneTech smartphone, actually,” Tim said idly as he pulled up a note taking program. He typed in their list and the required ingredients. Then he seemed to register Harry’s comment. “Have you never seen one before?”

Harry shook his head. “Not up close. They were brand-new last summer and my cousin begged and begged for one. That was the first time I can remember my aunt and uncle saying no to him. It’s so thin and shiny.”

Tim laughed. “You can play with it tomorrow, if you want. I’d better head home, though, if I want to wake up early enough to get to the shop and clean the house up a little.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, please!”

Tim laughed again, then stood up. Harry stood beside him, then Tim pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so excited for Christmas now. Thanks to you.”

“You invited us,” Harry pointed out, his cheeks flushing as he returned the hug.

“It was your suggestion, though.” Tim hugged him just a little tighter. “Thanks, Harry.”

Harry squeezed back. “You’re welcome, then. I…guess I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Yes!” Tim bounced on his toes. “I’d better go. See you!”

He rushed over to the fire escape and started scrambling down.

“Be careful!” Harry called. “It’s still gonna be icy!”

Tim waved a hand in acknowledgement, but he did slow down. Harry watched him, hovering as though he could reach out and catch him if he did slip. When Tim made it down without incident, Harry breathed a sigh of relief, then followed him down, taking care on the icy rungs. Tim waved again as he ran off in the other direction, and Harry waved back.

***

The bus ride to Bristol on Christmas Eve was surreal. Harry and Jason had cleaned up as best they could and were wearing their best clothes. Their “new” coats had been wiped down, too. But even despite all that, and despite their tickets being scanned without question, Harry couldn’t help but tense, convinced that at any moment someone would see through their disguise, realize that they didn’t belong, and then throw them off the bus. Probably with a lot of cursing and insults.

Jason didn’t let go of Harry’s hand once from the time they left their base to the moment they reached their destination. And Jason was squeezing hard. But Harry squeezed back just as hard, his heart hammering in his chest the entire ride. Jason’s knee bounced anxiously and rhythmically almost in time with Harry’s heartbeat.

Even when they got off the bus and met Tim, whose pink nose and cheeks indicated that he’d been waiting for a while, Harry’s heart still didn’t slow down. Everything in him screamed that he didn’t belong here. He never had and he never would. And Jason was still squeezing Harry’s hand.

Tim chattered eagerly the entire two-mile walk back to his house. Harry barely heard a word; his heart was pounding too loudly in his ears. Jason made the occasional sound of acknowledgment, but it was clear he wasn’t really listening either.

Despite his nerves, though, Harry still paid attention to his surroundings. It was a lesson he’d learned the hard way one too many times, with the Dursleys and on the streets. They passed three huge estate houses with fancy wrought gates, each one at least a quarter of a mile down from the next. Their grounds were very pretty, in a sort of clinical way—fancy landscaping turned into amorphous blobs under the snow, which also stretched pristine across the extensive grounds. Two of the estate houses had three floors. Finally, Tim stopped in front of a gate with a stylized D wrought into the center. He skipped up to a real-life key pad, put in a code, then stepped back as the gate open, splitting the D down the middle.

“Oh. My. God.” Jason’s voice trembled with awe, disbelief, and some fear. “You live in a goddamn mansion.”

Tim hunched his shoulders, scuffing his toe in the slush on the driveway. “Manor, actually. And it’s not all that great,” he said. “Too many empty rooms. Not enough people.”

The gate finished opening, and Tim eagerly took the opportunity to lead them through the gate and down the long drive.

“Since it’s kinda late, I figured we could eat pizza and watch a movie or something, then go to bed early,” Tim said shyly. “Tomorrow I can give you a proper tour, if you want. And we can do whatever you want. I haven’t bought return tickets yet, in case…in case you wanted to stay longer.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that, Timmy,” Jason muttered.

Tim flushed at the nickname, but he smiled.

Soon enough, they reached the door. Tim’s house—if you could even call it that—was a little more modest than the others, though that wasn’t saying much. It had the same extensive grounds and circle drive. It was only two floors, but Harry counted at least fifteen windows across the front of the first floor. Tim fished a key out of his pocket, inserted it into the lock, and turned. There was a soft click, then Tim pushed the door open.

“Um. So. Here we are.”

Tim led the way into a shadowed entrance hall, with clean white marble tile and sterile white walls with cream-colored trim. To the left and right of the unnecessarily large space were two fancy end tables carved in dark wood, each with some kind of statue or bust on top. As Tim led the way further into the house, Harry caught glimpses into other rooms. The tile gave way to pale wood paneling—real wood, not the cheap vinyl like in their base—and the walls were lined with old statues and artefacts. Even the rugs looked too fancy to be walked on. The carpeted living room with the TV looked more like a show room than anywhere someone lived.

“This is a museum,” Harry breathed. “This…this sucks. I mean, it looks really fancy and expensive, but…it doesn’t look like anyone lives here.”

Tim shrugged. “Mom and Dad don’t let me in most of the rooms,” he admitted. “They don’t want me to damage the artefacts, so I’m really only allowed in the living room, the downstairs drawing room, the kitchen, my room, and the second upstairs study.”

“The second study?” Jason muttered in disbelief.

Harry grabbed Tim in a hug from behind. “I’m so sorry,” he said fervently. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but he just felt so bad for Tim.

Tim squeaked in surprise. “It’s fine, really. There’s nothing interesting in any of the other rooms anyway. I don’t really want to go in there anyway.”

“This…this is so stupidly insane,” Jason said, shaking his head. “And it’s such a waste! If I had a house this big, half the rooms would be libraries, then a couple a’ game rooms, a couple a’ movie rooms, and a sun room where I could read undisturbed.”

“Of course you would,” Harry muttered, elbowing Jason.

“What about you, Harry?” Jason asked.

Harry shrugged. “I’d be happy with just a cabin in the woods, as long as it was my space,” he admitted.

“Maybe that hoodie and the hiking boots infected you,” Jason teased.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t really mind being alone. I just don’t like being forced to be alone. And living in the woods…I’d be so free,” he whispered.

“Aw.” Jason pulled Harry into a side hug. “No wonder you love those Boxcar Children books.”

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Um. Do…do you want to eat now?” Tim asked awkwardly. “I just bought frozen pizzas, so I can put them in the oven. Um. I think I know how to work it.”

“Want some help?” Harry asked, hiding a smile.

Tim smiled in relief. “Yeah.”

“Since when do you know how to work an oven?” Jason asked.

“Ah…my relatives made me cook for them once I turned five,” Harry admitted. “Though I wasn’t allowed to use the oven until last year.”

Jason gave Harry a quick, indecipherable look that vanished as quickly as he noticed it. Maybe he’d imagined it.

“Well, I’m hungry, so let’s start the pizzas,” Jason stated. “Lead the way, Timbit.”

“Huh?”

“I said lead the way, Timbo.”

Tim blinked once, then twice, then shook his head and turned around. “Um. The kitchen is this way. Uh. I don’t know if Harry told you, but…I bought a bunch of ingredients. He’s gonna help me make a proper Christmas dinner. Um. You can help too, I guess. If you want.”

“Huh. He failed to mention that. What are we eating, Harry?” Jason asked teasingly.

“Um. Ham and green beans and mashed potatoes. Canned peaches with…cottage cheese? That was Tim’s idea. And for dessert…” Harry smiled a little. “Pecan pie and vanilla ice cream.”

Jason’s steps faltered. Then he smiled really big. “Aw, you did that for me, little hero? You shouldn’t have.”

Harry flushed at the nickname, glancing at Tim. He blinked, then smiled in delight, mouthing “little hero” to himself.

Harry elbowed Jason. “Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

Jason’s eyes widened. Then he glanced at Tim, and his fake smile turned into a smirk. “Aw, is the little hero embarrassed?”

“Jason!” Harry complained.

Jason just laughed.

Between more banter and teasing, Harry helped Tim figure out the oven and put the pizzas in. There was one cheese, one pepperoni, and one ham and pineapple, which Tim admitted was his favorite.

“That explains tomorrow’s ham,” Harry muttered to him, half-smiling as he closed the oven door and set the timer.

Tim flushed, but smiled. He directed Jason to get the plates, since Jason was tall enough not to have to climb onto the counter to reach. Then they all washed their hands in preparation for the meal.

“Do…do we get to shower, while we’re here?” Harry asked hesitantly, looking sadly at the dirt still encrusted beneath his fingernails despite washing his hands twice.

“Or a bath. If you want. I like baths when it’s cold outside. But yeah. We have tons of spare soaps and shampoos and stuff. And you can use the guest rooms near mine. They’re clean, and our bathroom’s right across the hall. Unless you want the en-suite at the end. Or just use that bathroom, if you don’t want to take turns. I can get extra towels, or sheets, or—sorry. I’m rambling.”

“No sweat, Timbit.” Jason ruffled Tim’s hair. Harry felt a flash of jealousy, until he saw the look of awe, shock, and pleasure on his friend’s face. Harry reminded himself that affection toward Tim did not mean Jason no longer liked him. Tim deserved a big brother figure just as much as Harry did. He could share. He could.

But it might be hard.

They got the pizza ready with minimal trouble, and ate around the protruding kitchen counter that doubled as a table or bar. They weren’t able to finish all the pizzas, but Tim just stuck them back in the fridge for breakfast or a snack tomorrow. Then Tim made popcorn and brought out a surprise: a big bottle of Sprite.

“I’m not really supposed to drink soda,” Tim confessed, “but…no one’s here to tell me no. As long as we finish it and get rid of the bottle, no one will ever know.”

“You little rebel,” Jason said in feigned shock, even going so far as to put a hand dramatically over his mouth and tip backward onto Harry. (Harry shoved him back upright, giggling.)

Tim flushed, grinning. He carried the bottle and the bowl of popcorn, and Harry and Jason carried the cups. They were glass, which was terrifying, and Harry and Jason both definitely took unnecessary care in transporting them to the living room.

It took a while to settle in, because everything looked so sterile. Harry was afraid to sit on the couch, acutely aware of how dirty he was, and that his clothes hadn’t been properly washed in who knew how long (though Harry tried to wash them on rotation in gas station bathrooms every couple of weeks).

Jason was hesitating, too. Not understanding their discomfort, Tim just urged them to sit. After a near-argument, they compromised and sat on a blanket on the floor, their big coats and extra layers left in the kitchen slung over a couple of chairs.

After some debate, they finally settled on a Christmas movie called “Home Alone,” which Tim had watched every year since discovering it, and several times besides. Apparently it was his favorite Christmas movie. It was about a boy left behind for several days while his family went on vacation, and how he booby-trapped the house to protect it from burglars. It was surprisingly relatable, and funny besides.

After it ended, Harry insisted on helping clean up, which meant Jason helped, too. There was still half a bottle of soda left that they’d finish off the next day.

“Come upstairs. I’ll show you your rooms. Or room, if, y’know, you want to share. Either way is fine.”

“Lead the way, Timbit.”

Tim flushed at Jason’s nickname, a smile creeping across his face as he obliged. He pointed out the two doors next to his, and the bathroom.

“Um. You can shower now, if you want. And you can borrow some of my clothes for tonight and tomorrow,” Tim said. “I…I can wash what you’re wearing now.”

“That—” Jason cleared his throat. “That would be nice.”

“Okay.” Tim nodded, then he nodded again, smiling this time. “Okay. Here—here’s my room.” He pushed open the second door off the hallway at the top of the stairs.

The room looked trashed. Clothes were everywhere, scattered on the floor, hanging off chairs and out of drawers. Various books and puzzle toys littered the desk and the space near the foot of the bed. School papers and textbooks were stacked haphazardly on and beside the desk, and three different-sized camera lenses were laid out on the night stand. The only place they could actually see the carpet was in the three-foot square in front of the window, but the chair next to it was piled with what Harry recognized as Tim’s roof stalking outfit and gear, with the boots tossed on the floor next to it.

He snuck out his window? Harry wondered, a little in shock.

“Oh, thank god,” Jason exclaimed dramatically upon seeing the mess. “I was starting to think you’d be as much of a neat freak as your parents.”

Tim’s cheeks turned red. “I did mean to clean it up. But I woke up late, and then I had to hurry to the shops, and…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Jason ruffled Tim’s hair again. (Harry pretended he wasn’t jealous.) “I’m glad someone’s human around here.”

Harry just looked around in awe. “Wow. Not even Dudley is allowed to leave his room this messy.”

Tim sniffed primly. “I should be offended that you just compared me to your bullying cousin.”

Harry frantically shook his head. “No, no. I didn’t mean—You’re nothing like—”

Tim cut him off, laughing. “Just kidding.” He grinned, but quickly turned shy. “Brothers are supposed to tease each other, right?”

Jason laughed out loud and ruffled his hair again. “You got that right, Timberly! Now we can gang up on Harry together!”

Harry crossed his arms, scowling. “Then I’ll tell Tim all the things you don’t want anyone to know. Like how you sometimes sleep with—”

Jason clapped his hand over Harry’s mouth. “Mercy, little hawk! I’m sorry, okay? I won’t tease you anymore.”

Harry licked Jason’s palm, laughing as he pulled away in shock and disgust and started sputtering.

“You eat out of dumpsters, Jay. You’ve touched way worse than my saliva,” Harry stated deadpan.

Jason winced. “Yikes. I knew you had a mean streak, kid, but that was just vicious.”

Tim stared at Harry, his eyes wide. “You have a mean streak? But you’re always so nice to me.”

“Oh, yeah. When you get him riled, he can eviscerate you with just a few words!”

“Ev-evis-eviscerate?” Tim stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

Jason smirked. “Eviscerate. Disembowel. Gut. Tear apart. You get the picture. In fact, let me tell you about the time Harry—”

“I’m gonna go shower now,” Harry announced loudly.

“Oh!” Tim rifled around in a half-open drawer (and ignored the fact that he knocked several more items of clothing to the floor in the process). He came out with a pair of grey sweatpants with a bow and arrow on the right leg and a matching green t-shirt (and, with a slightly red face, tucked a pair of black boxer shorts between them). “Here. You can leave your other clothes outside the door, and when Jason’s done, I’ll throw all of it in the wash together.”

Harry took the clothes, marveling at how soft they were. “Thanks.”

“And you can use any of the shampoo or soap you want, as much as you want. There’s tons of extras under the sink if you want to try different ones, too. And there’s no hurry. Take as long as you want. I showered this morning, so I’m good. And if Jason gets impatient, he can use the other bathroom in the en-suite.”

“I’ll wait,” Jason said with a shrug. “Go clean up, little hawk. I’ll be here.”

Harry swallowed, wondering how Jason read his hesitation when he didn’t even recognize it in himself. Jason smiled and waved him out. Harry managed to smile back, then padded out of the room.

As Harry crossed the hall, he heard Tim ask eagerly, “Can you tell me the story from before, where Harry evis—eviscerated someone with words?”

Jason laughed. “Oh, yeah. We were at the park, see, and…”

Harry sighed and resigned himself to embarrassment.

***

In the bathroom, Harry reverently set the borrowed pajamas—Green Arrow themed, he was pretty sure—on the edge of the sink. He checked that there was a towel, and toilet paper, and everything else he would need. He double-checked that the bathroom door was locked. He fiddled with the shower knobs, pulled the curtain, and started the shower running. Then, hesitantly, Harry peeled off his layers.

The green hoodie, then the flannel, then a t-shirt he’d found in a donation box, then the thin knit tank top—he liked to have a layer between his skin and the rest of his clothes. Then he stripped off his holey socks, his ratty jeans, and his boxers. He folded them neatly and set them outside the door, then checked and double-checked that the door re-locked.

Shivering, Harry glanced in the mirror, and was shocked at the different skin tones. His skin covered by the t-shirt was pale, pasty white. His arms and legs were a few shades darker, but now Harry wondered how much of that was dirt. And he was skinny, skinny enough to count his ribs. He’d always been scrawny, but…he hadn’t realized he was that thin.

Turning away and pushing back a faint sense of unease, Harry stepped under the steaming spray from the shower. He flinched at the heat, then let it wash over him. Harry got wet all over, then set to scrubbing. He scrubbed his entire body twice, and washed his hair three times. He was sort of horrified by the amount of dirt coming off his body, and he scrubbed and washed until the water ran clear.

Hesitantly, Harry then tried the conditioner. He used a lot, and felt bad about it, but it felt so nice as he worked it through his hair, softening the knots so he could comb them out with his fingers. And it smelled good, too, like a minty forest with a hint of vanilla. And when he rinsed it out, his hair still smelled like that.

And even though it had been forever, the water was still hot. So Harry just stood under it, letting it run over his face and neck as his hair dripped down his back. It felt so nice Harry could have stayed there forever.

But eventually, the heat started making him a little drowsy and light-headed, and his fingers and toes were turning into prunes. So, with great reluctance, Harry shut off the water and stepped out. He dried himself thoroughly, squeezing the excess water out of his hair—and when had it gotten so long? Then Harry neatly folded the towel back over the rack and pulled on the borrowed pajamas. They were so soft, and warm, and they smelled like hot cocoa and detergent.

Turning to the mirror again, Harry gasped as he saw a completely different boy. His skin had a healthy flush from the heat of the shower, his jaw-length hair already starting to curl slightly at the ends. His eyes were bright and happy, more vibrant than usual (Harry thought that was because of the green shirt. Aunt Petunia had often said to Dudley that soft baby blue shirts brought out his eyes. Apparently green did the same for Harry’s). And though his cheekbones were a little too sharp and hollow, his eyes just a little too wary, the boy looking back at Harry from the mirror looked like he belonged, in that fancy bathroom with the sand-colored walls dotted with little Greek seaside prints and blue and white tile.

Harry burrowed his nose into the collar of the shirt, curling his toes in the soft blue rug, and wished he could stay here forever.

Finally, Harry tidied up after himself, then carefully pushed the door open and padded back across the hall to Tim’s room. The door was still half open, and Harry could hear Tim and Jason chatting. From how often his name was repeated, Harry figured they were still talking about him.

Harry pushed the door open a little more and stepped inside. They both turned. Tim lit up, greeting Harry with a bright smile. Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled softly.

“There’s my little hawk,” he said, ruffling Harry’s hair. “I always wondered what you really looked like under all that dirt. I’d hug you, but now you’re clean and I’m dirty, and I don’t want to put that dirt back on you.”

“Well, the bathroom’s free now,” Harry said, ducking his head shyly under Jason’s ministrations. “Now I wanna know if your hair is actually red, or if that ugly brown is here to stay.”

“Hey!” Jason dug his knuckles into the top of Harry’s head.

Harry giggled and pulled away, then pushed Jason toward the bathroom. “Go on. And since you told Tim all my dirty secrets, now I get to tell him all of yours.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jason called, grabbing a bundle of cloth and running for the bathroom.

Once they heard the door close, Tim turned bright eyes on Harry. “Does Jason have a lot of dirty secrets?”

“Only that he acts all tough, but he’s really just a big softie,” Harry said with a smile. Then he blinked, recognizing what Tim was wearing. The sweatpants were almost the same as Harry’s, except with the black and yellow bat symbol on it, and the paired shirt was yellow.

Catching Harry’s eye, Tim smiled shyly. “I got a whole set of Justice League pajamas because I couldn’t choose my favorite. Jason’s got Wonder Woman. I…I thought it would be nice if we all matched.”

“I saw matching Christmas family pajama sets in the stores. I kinda wished I could get some for me and Jason,” Harry admitted. It had always been easier to talk about sensitive stuff with Tim, so the words came easily. “So…I like this. You…you two really are my brothers, and I know you and Jason don’t know each other very well yet, but…I hope you guys can be brothers, too.”

Tim smiled, then it turned into a little smirk. “Looks like Jason’s not the only softie.” He poked Harry in the chest, then flicked his nose.

“I never said I wasn’t.” Harry flicked Tim’s forehead in retaliation, and then it dissolved into play wrestling. After a few minutes, they lay side by side on the floor, catching their breath.

“I’m really glad you guys came,” Tim said quietly, his hand finding Harry’s. “It’s not even Christmas day yet, but…this is already the best Christmas since I was really little.”

Harry laced his fingers through Tim’s and squeezed lightly. “This is my best Christmas ever.”

Tim giggled and leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder. “Thanks for being my twin,” he said quietly.

***

A while later, Jason returned from his shower, wearing the borrowed clothes. It was a little sad but mostly funny that pajamas meant for an eight-year-old (and a small one at that) fit Jason’s eleven-year-old body. Granted, Jason was short for eleven (and Tim was short for eight). But other than the sweatpants just reaching Jason’s ankles rather than bunching around them like they did on Tim and Harry, it was almost a perfect fit.

And Jason’s hair was red. Sort of. Harry giggled as Jason sheepishly ran his hand through shaggy, chestnut brown hair. The light caught it, reflecting back a reddish tint.

“Well, that’s better than dirt,” Harry teased.

“Now hang on.” Jason grabbed Harry in a headlock, driving his knuckles into the top of head. “At least my hair’s properly curly, even wet. What’s with that half-hearted wave, huh?” Jason tugged playfully on a strand of Harry’s hair.

Harry giggled, then reached up and tousled Jason’s hair in retaliation. “At least mine’s not sticking up everywhere.”

“Hey!” Jason drove his knuckles in harder and tickled Harry in the side at the same time. Laughing helplessly, Harry tried and failed to escape and, after a minute or two of wrestling, Jason had him in a hug from behind, one arm around Harry’s shoulders and the other still holding the headlock, pinning him in place.

A clear peal of laughter drew their attention. Looking up, Tim was doubled over, laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes. They watched incredulously until Tim finished laughing.

“S-sorry,” he began breathlessly. “I—you—you act just like I always imagined brothers would act. I never realized it was so—so funny to watch,” he finished, still giggling.

Harry smiled, and Jason briefly pressed his nose into Harry’s hair. “Yep. And by the way? He’s my little brother,” Jason said, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice as Jason’s arms tightened possessively around him. “And I won’t always be nice enough to share.”

“Me, either,” Harry said firmly, grabbing Jason’s arm even as he smiled.

Tim just laughed. “As long as I get a few hours every couple of days.”

“Nope. I get full custody. He’s all mine.”

“But he’s my twin!” Tim protested, still with a playful note in his voice. “Two hours a day? And at least one weekend a month?”

“One hour. And only every other Sunday.”

“But—”

“Just because you’re both older than me doesn’t mean you get to split custody,” Harry complained. “I’ll sneak out. I will.”

Jason hugged Harry tighter. “I know I can’t stop you from spending time with Tim. But you gotta remember, you were mine first.”

A thrill and a rush of warmth washed through Harry.

But he couldn’t let Jason have the last word.

“Nope. I found you first, so really, you are mine,” Harry countered, tilting his head back to look up at Jason.

And he was glad he did, because after the shock of Harry’s retort, Jason’s eyes turned suspiciously bright.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” Jason leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “You saved me, little hero,” he murmured, too soft for Tim to hear.

Harry saw the longing in his face, though, so he opened his arms in invitation. Tim lit up and threw himself into Harry’s chest, knocking him backward into Jason as he hugged him tightly around the waist.

“And I found you first,” Tim murmured. “So that makes you mine, too.”

“You still don’t get to split custody,” Harry muttered, even as his eyes stung at two people openly claiming him, when he’d gone so long being wished out of existence. He let his eyes flutter closed to bask in the warmth of two hugs, Jason solid and strong behind him, and Tim soft and sweet in front of him.

“I love you,” Harry whispered. “Both of you.”

Tim’s breath caught and he buried his face in Harry’s neck, trembling.

Jason kissed Harry’s temple, then pressed his nose deeper into Harry’s hair, his breathing suspiciously shaky.

It took several minutes before they broke apart. It was prompted by Tim slumping against Harry’s chest with a soft, drowsy noise of contentment. Chuckling, Harry gently pushed him away, and Jason released Harry but left an arm around his shoulders.

Blearily, Tim took a step backward. “G’night,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Chuckling, Jason ruffled Tim’s hair. “Good night, baby bird.”

Tim smiled sleepily at the nickname, then waved.

Harry returned the wave and the smile. “G’night, twin.”

With that, Harry headed for the door with Jason beside him. By silent understanding, they both entered the guest room next to Tim’s. Harry sat on the bed, bouncing a little and trying it out.

Jason shook his head. “Forget it. Feels like you’re sinking into the ground.”

Harry laid back, testing Jason’s statement. He really did sink into the mattress, until he started to feel trapped. Shuddering, he pried himself out of the impression his body had made and slid onto the floor.

Jason grinned. “Told you.” He pulled the pillows and blanket off the bed, arranging them in a nest like the one they had back home. He then pulled the fleece throw blanket off the chair and dragged it over the whole thing before climbing in. Harry turned on the bedside lamp and but turned off the overhead light, then eagerly curled up beside Jason.

“You’re leaving the light on for me, ain’t ya,” Jason said quietly.

Harry nodded. “So you don’t get scared in a new place.” Ever since the sun started setting early in the evening, Harry had noticed Jason seemed uneasy in the dark, even at their base.

Jason pulled him in close and kissed his hair. “My little hero.”

Harry made a soft noise of contentment and burrowed deeper into Jason’s side. “G’night, Jay. Love you.”

“Love you, too, little hawk.”

***

Christmas Day was as chaotic and exciting as expected. After sleeping in until the sun was high in the winter sky, the trio of boys ate cold pizza for breakfast, watched Christmas movies in their pajamas, then dressed in more borrowed clothes before starting to cook their Christmas dinner around three in the afternoon.

After deftly preparing the ham—with pineapple and brown sugar and a few green spices for flavor and color—Harry was universally acknowledged as Head Chef, and he greatly enjoyed bossing the others around. It was thrilling being in charge and giving directions, and actually having them followed, but mostly he was looking forward to actually getting to eat the food he was cooking.

Of course, being acknowledged Head Chef didn’t stop Jason from hovering. He insisted on peeling and chopping the potatoes, because he didn’t want “little kids cuttin’ themselves with knives.” (Never mind that he was teaching Harry how to use one for self-defense.) And while things were cooking, Jason stood looming at Harry’s shoulder as he stood on a step-stool Tim had pulled from the pantry and tended to the beans and potatoes boiling on the stove. To stop Jason’s hovering, Harry elbowed him in the ribs and ordered him to set the table.

Tim was happy to help wash the vegetables and then prepare the beans by snapping off the ends and removing the strings, and when that was done, he fetched ingredients, his eyes bright and excited at being included at all. When he wasn’t running back and forth between cupboards, the refrigerator, and the stove, he was watching Harry with wide eyes, bouncing eagerly on his toes and taking frequent deep, appreciative sniffs.

After watching Tim’s bouncing for several minutes straight, Jason glanced at Harry—whose brow was creased in concentration as he mashed the butter into the potatoes—then sighed dramatically.

“What?”

“This.” Jason pointed at Tim, who turned wide, puzzled eyes on the older boy. “This is what a kid is supposed to look like. You’re too serious sometimes.”

“I was never allowed to be a kid,” Harry retorted sharply, surprising himself as well as the others with the unexpected heat and bitterness in his comment.

“…That was s’posed to be a joke,” Jason muttered. “You were s’posed to laugh. Or whine.”

“I don’t whine,” Harry protested. “I was beaten or yelled at if I did,” he muttered bitterly.

“…Sorry.” Jason scuffed his shoe, averting his gaze.

Harry made himself take a deep breath. “’S not your fault,” he mumbled. “I—I like cooking, but…I keep comparing this to what it was like with my relatives, and…it’s not a nice comparison. Given it’s Christmas, I guess…’m a little sensitive.”

“Can I finish mashing the potatoes?” Tim asked, hesitant but excited.

Harry smiled faintly. “Yeah. Just let me add the milk and spices.” He did so quickly, then immediately burrowed in Jason’s offered hug.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly. “I like you just the way you are—serious frown over the potatoes and everything.”

“’M sorry, too. Didn’t mean to snap at you.” Harry pressed his nose into the soft fabric of Jason’s borrowed shirt, breathing deeply and deliberately. Jason’s arms tightened around him and Harry felt him press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re forgiven,” Jason murmured.

“You, too.”

“Since you’re hugging me, I figured.”

“Shush. I’m pouting right now.”

Jason chuckled. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, Harry pulled away at the same time Tim exclaimed triumphantly.

“Got it!”

“Huh?”

Tim smiled sheepishly. “There was one little potato cube that kept escaping. I finally smashed it.”

Jason ruffled Tim’s hair (though he left an arm around Harry’s shoulders). “Good job, baby bird.”

Tim lit up at the praise and the pet name.

“Looks like everything’s almost done.” Harry bumped Jason’s shoulder with his own, then pulled away to inspect the potatoes and the beans. The timer on the ham had five minutes left.

“I’ll get the peaches, then!” Tim handed over the potato masher, then darted back to the pantry.

Ten minutes later, the food was spread out on the long counter-slash-bar. Jason insisted on carrying the roasting pan with the ham, declaring it too heavy for “little birds” to carry without dropping.

After a moment of surprise, Tim and Harry exchanged a happy grin at Jason’s pet name that included both of them. Harry put the pecan pie in the still-warm oven, even though it was turned off, so it could gradually warm up and then stay warm until they were ready to eat it.

Tim eagerly dished out the peaches and cottage cheese. Jason guided Harry’s hands as he carved the ham (though Harry didn’t need the help, he thrilled at the closeness). Then they helped themselves to everything else.

Harry watched the others take their first bite before digging in himself. At the wide-eyed, impressed look from Jason and the awe bordering on hero worship from Tim, Harry smiled shyly.

“Can I hire you as my personal chef?” Tim asked. “Please?”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal,” Jason commented.

“Jay, our entire existence is illegal,” Harry deadpanned.

Jason cringed dramatically. “And there’s that sharp tongue again.”

Harry smirked and took his first bite.

It was delicious. Even the pineapple ham. Even though the recipe hadn’t called for any spices, the hint of rosemary kept it from being overly sweet. The potatoes were deliciously creamy, with just the right amount of pepper and garlic. And the green beans were perfect, crisp without being crunchy, warm, and savory in the salt and butter.

“So can I?” Tim asked again, bouncing in his seat.

“Unofficially?” Harry shrugged. “Maybe.” He smiled and asked, a little hesitantly but still with a hint of teasing: “Would room and board be included in my contract?”

“Of course! You can stay in the room next to mine, and you can wear one of my suits to make you look all official, and we can tell everyone you’re just a midget. I can forge the paperwork and everything! And—”

Jason choked on a spoonful of potatoes, then burst out laughing. “Midget!” he gasped.

Harry turned red. “I’m not short! I’m perfectly average for my age! I even grew two inches since summer!”

“So did I, so it cancels out,” Jason countered, grinning.

“We’re just ignoring Tim saying he can forge paperwork?” Harry cut in, changing the subject away from himself.

Tim squeaked. “Um. I. I was…bored? And…I forge my parents’ signatures for school all the time. So I thought, how hard can it be?”

“You’re a diabolical little villain, aren’t you?” Jason said, grinning. “And here I thought you would be a stuck-up goody-two-shoes rich brat taking pity on a street kid.”

Tim shook his head. “Never! My parents make me act like that—without the bratty part, though; they don’t like it—whenever we go out. So I do the exact opposite the rest of the time.”

“No wonder you’re a rebel.” Jason poked Tim in the side. “Harry, I have some very important news for you.”

Harry cocked his head. “Yeah?”

“I’m adopting him. Say hello to your new brother.”

Tim squeaked, his cheeks turning red.

Harry smirked back. “Too late. I adopted him first. You’ll have to share.”

Jason narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re gonna bring up the whole custody thing every chance you get now, aren’t you?”

Harry grinned. “Yep!” Then he went back to eating, ignoring Tim’s sputtering and Jason’s laughter.

***

A while later, once they had all eaten their fill—and maybe a little too much, if the uncomfortable weight in Harry’s stomach was anything to go by—the three of them teamed up to wash dishes and put away the leftovers. The peaches and green beans were gone (and the peaches with the cottage cheese hadn’t actually been that bad), and so were most of the potatoes. Tim ate three more bites and declared the pot empty. And unless they wanted to scrape the pot (which part of Harry did, because he would never waste food), the potatoes were, in fact, gone. They boxed up the ham, then put the lid back on the pie, and put it and the ham in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer.

Tim wiped down the counters and stove while Harry washed the dishes, with Jason drying. For three kids being the cooks, there was surprisingly little mess. The whole scene felt so domestic, so natural, that Harry wished it could last forever. As he looked out the kitchen window at the fading sunset over the snow, a faint sense of loss and longing lodged in his chest. He didn’t want to leave. He liked the freedom of the streets. He loved Jason, and the base that was their space. But it would all feel a little empty now without Tim.

Jason nudged his shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Can we stay?” The quiet words were out before Harry could really consider them.

Jason hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “We can’t stay forever, kid. His parents’ll come back eventually, and so will the housekeeper. We don’t belong here.”

“I want to, though.” Harry passed over the last dish and wiped his hands, then wrapped his arms around himself.

Jason dried the dish and set it aside, then pulled Harry into a side hug. “Me, too,” he admitted quietly. “Not the big house, just…a house. One that’s ours, with heat and food and hot water and soft blankets. With you, and Timmy, just us against the world.”

Suddenly Tim pushed his way between them. “I wanna hug, too,” he said, plastering himself into Harry’s side.

Harry laughed a little. “Are you ruining the moments on purpose?”

Tim shook his head. “Just trying to make you smile.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He glanced up at Jason, who had a similarly shocked look on his face. Jason raised an eyebrow in question, and Harry nodded.

“Okay, then, baby bird.” Jason pulled Tim into a tight hug, and Harry hugged Tim tightly from behind, trapping him between them.

Tim shivered, then melted into the hug. “I wish I could make my parents adopt you,” he murmured.

“Timmy…” Jason’s eyes widened.

Tim just leaned more into the hug. “I know we just met officially yesterday, but Harry’s told me a lot, and he’s been a lot happier since you started staying together. I can tell. And…you’re so nice to me, even though you’ve already got Harry. I…I want you to be my big brother, too.”

Harry hugged Tim even tighter. “I could never have too many brothers.”

“Just what I need. Another little bird who’s too smart for his own good and gets into too much trouble. You’re both going to make me go grey before my time.” But Jason’s arms tightened around Tim, too. “I already told you, I’m adopting you, you little rebel you. I’d take you with us, but I’d never bring a kid onto the streets if they have someplace safe to stay already.”

“You can come visit. Whenever. I’ll tell Harry when my parents are around, so you know when to stay away. But any other time…I want you to come over.” Tim somehow burrowed deeper into both Jason’s and Harry’s arms. “I don’t like being lonely.”

“Then we’ll visit as often as we can,” Harry promised. “Right, Jay?”

“That’s right, little hawk. Hear that? As often as we can, baby bird. And maybe I’ll visit the rooftops with Harry from time to time, too.”

Tim nodded eagerly into Jason’s chest. “…I love you. Both.”

“You’re too sweet, Timmy. Like the pecan pie. My teeth are rotting.”

“Uh-oh. Too many emotions for big, tough, Jason. He’s deflecting with humor,” Harry murmured into Tim’s neck, grinning.

“Shut it, you.” Jason ruffled Harry’s hair, and he retaliated, getting Tim caught in the middle. He joined in, lightly shoving and teasing until Jason lost his balance and toppled to the floor, bringing both the younger boys down on top of him in a heap of laughter.

“How about a few more movies before bed?” Tim asked as the laughter finally died down.

“Something that’s not Christmas, please. Those were rotting my teeth, too.”

Tim and Harry both laughed. “Deal,” Tim agreed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Sickness

Harry survived his first winter on the streets through a combination of luck, Tim, and a healthy dose of grit and determination. Keeping an eye on the weather, Jason and Harry spent the coldest nights with Tim. The rest of the time, they were plodding through a foot and a half of snow with plastic bags around their socks inside their shoes, picking pockets and making good use of the extra pockets of their coats to sneak away with dried fruit, canned goods, packaged noodles, and boxes of tea. One of Jason’s “favors” resulted in their being granted a camping stove and two canisters of fuel. One afternoon at the library later to learn how to use it, they were able to eat hot noodles and tea three or four nights a week.

After hearing about that, Tim had gifted Harry a second thermos, so they could keep hot—or at least warm—drinks at their base for up to two days. It was a godsend, being able to come back after a long, cold day of stealing wallets and scavenging for food to a cup of hot tea, ready immediately upon arrival without having to use any of their precious fuel.

The luck, grit, and determination came in when a massive snowstorm blew through Gotham (helped along by Mr. Freeze, another of Batman’s rogues) in late January. Power went out all over the city, and the snow was too deep to venture out.

Luckily, Harry and Jason had taken shelter at the first sign of the billowing snow, so neither of them were caught in it. Luckily, the fleece blankets that were so popular at Christmas had been marked down as far as they’d go, and just ten dollars netted them a nice, thick fleece and a smaller throw blanket a few days earlier. Five more dollars got them an ugly but warm fleece-lined vest at the thrift store that was big enough for both of them to curl up in.

Not so luckily, they had used up most of their food supplies. Jason had been planning a “score,” as he called it, to get more, but the snowstorm had derailed his plans.

So they were stranded inside, with only half a box of granola bars, three more tea bags, two cans of baked beans, a nearly-empty jar of peanut butter, and half a loaf of bread. If they rationed it carefully, it could last them about a week.

“But,” Jason observed mournfully, “they’ll clear out the main roads within days. The nicer neighborhoods right after that. But no one cares about Crime Alley. We could be snowed in for weeks.”

And they had a bigger problem: they had already used up their first canister of fuel for the stove, and they had been using it in the bedroom with the window cracked because of the gas. But the entire apartment was already too cold. If they wanted to survive, they’d have to conserve as much heat in as small a space as possible.

So they had a choice: risk carbon monoxide poisoning to heat the room, or shiver under half a dozen blankets and hope their shared body heat was enough to prevent hypothermia.

On the first day, Harry had the idea to heat up all their water and wrap the bottles in extra clothes, as well as fill the thermos with tea. They could vent the door, and the cold wouldn’t be as severe. Then they could shut off the stove, close the door, and hope the steam and the combined heat of the water bottles would warm up the room enough, and linger long enough, to hopefully avoid disaster.

Jason didn’t have a better idea, so that was what they did.

It worked, for a few days. The snow was still falling intermittently, which meant temperatures were bearably cold. The heat and the steam kept the room pretty comfortable for the first day, and after that, burrowing under all their blankets, only moving to eat or use the bathroom, kept them warm enough. On day four, though, the temperature dropped dramatically as the clouds moved out, and the lingering warmth conserved by the thermos—the last of their hot water—was consumed as tea to wash down the stale bread and the last of the peanut butter.

On day five, Jason caught a fever.

On the plus side, that meant it was warmer under the blankets. On the downside, he was too hot. The granola bars and one can of beans were all they had left. They only had one bottle of water left, too. And there was still no sign of the snow being cleared. Or at least, neither of them had heard snow plows or engines down on the streets. (There was no window in the laundry room they’d laid claim to in order to check the outside conditions.)

Jason insisted he was fine, that he’d sweat the fever out overnight. Harry wanted to believe him, so he’d just curled up against Jason’s overheated side and hoped.

By day six, the fever was worse. Jason’s lips were cracked and his face was flushed, and they were out of water and basically out of food.

“I’m fine, little hawk,” Jason tried to insist. His voice was hoarse and he coughed harshly.

“You’re not fine, Jay,” Harry argued, his own voice cracking with fear. “You could die if you don’t get help.”

“’M not gonna die,” Jason tried to argue. “’S not safe out there.”

“You need water. And food. And medicine. I can go out there. I can get it. Please, Jay. Let me help you.”

“’S not safe,” Jason insisted weakly. Harry shook his head, swallowing his tears, and reluctantly scooted out of their blanket nest. Jason tried to hold him in place, but he was weak from the fever.

“I’ll be careful. I swear. And I’ll come back. I promise. No matter what, I’ll come back.”

“Harry—” Jason reached for him.

Harry stepped back. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

Ignoring Jason’s weak protests, even though each one tugged at his heart and made Harry want nothing more than to curl up against Jason’s side again, Harry pulled on all his layers of clothes. First a t-shirt, then a long-sleeved shirt. Then his flannel, the green hoodie, and lastly the big coat. He put on two pairs of pants—his own sweatpants under Jason’s jeans. He jammed his grey beanie onto his head, shoved his feet into three pairs of socks, a plastic bag per foot, and then his boots (which now fit perfectly with the extra socks), then Harry wrapped the scarf around his neck. He pulled on his biking gloves and Jason’s fleece ones. He slung a backpack onto his back, empty except for their empty water bottles and the thermos, stuffed the last five dollars of their cash into his pocket, and turned to go.

“I’ll be back,” Harry whispered, glancing back once more. Jason was curled into a tight ball, shivering and maybe crying, and Harry’s heart twisted.

But he had to go.

He opened the door the smallest amount he could manage, shimmied out, and then shut the door again. He was shocked at how much colder the rest of the apartment was compared to their laundry room. In the laundry room, spending more than a few minutes outside the blankets made his nose and fingertips go numb. But out here, Harry’s breath actually fogged in the air. And he was still inside.

Steeling himself, Harry checked out the bedroom window to see what the conditions looked like. Everything was buried in white, and from the pile-up on the trash bags in the dumpsters, it looked like there could be as much as three feet in some places. From the grey light outside, it was either early morning or late evening—and it being winter, that meant it was either eight in the morning, or about five in the evening. Probably five in the evening, from the angle of the pale shadows.

After another minute of contemplation, Harry decided to go down the fire escape. He had no idea how much snow might be blocking the back entrance, and he also didn’t want to give any extra clues about whether or not someone was staying here.

Shoving open the window, Harry gasped at the cold rush of air that stung his exposed cheeks and forehead. Harry clambered out quickly and shoved the window shut, trying to conserve as much heat inside the apartment as possible. Wind and superficial melt from the sun had left the fire escape icy, but free of snow. Harry was extra careful going down, but three feet from the bottom, his foot slipped at the same time his glove did, and he tumbled into a snow drift with a thump.

Wincing at the new bruise on his backside, Harry got to his feet, shivering, and brushed the snow off before it could sink into his clothes. Then he trudged down the street heading for the nearest corner pharmacy and convenience store. Medicine was his priority, because if all else failed, he could stuff the bottles with the cleanest snow he could find, and then just let it melt inside. As for food, they really needed at least a few things to tide them over. Harry knew (from unfortunate experience) that he, at least, could last four days at minimum without food, longer if he didn’t have to exert himself. Jason probably could, too. But food would help him get better faster.

Trudging through the back alleys, Harry was alone. He didn’t see a single other person out. When he reached the main road, there were a few more people, all on foot. One man, homeless from the threadbare clothes he wore, was dragging one of those wire-framed grocery carts that old people used through thick snow drifts. If Harry didn’t have an urgent errand of his own, he might have tried to help.

It was freezing outside, though. They needed to do something about warmth, too…

Reaching the pharmacy, Harry took a deep breath and slipped inside. His coat was nice enough that he wouldn’t immediately be pegged as a street kid. His problem would be getting in and out without being hassled about where his parents were. There was a young-ish single man browsing the snacks, so Harry would point him out as his dad if someone asked.

Luckily his coat pockets were big enough to hide a box of cold medicine. But first, Harry went to the back where the restroom was, trying to stay unobtrusive, and refilled all their water containers from the water fountain, and drank his fill, too. The full bottles made the backpack really heavy, and Harry was already tired from the trek, the cold, and the lack of real food.

But he was determined to make it back.

Idly, casually, Harry browsed his way through the snacks, slipping a bag of candied grapefruit into his jeans pocket. Grapefruit had vitamin C, right? And vitamin C was good when you were sick. He was pretty sure the school nurse back in Little Whinging had said something like that once. Then Harry swiped three protein bars. Make that five.

He passed a clearance rack. With candles. Cheap holiday ones, all marked way down. No one would miss them. Right? Checking around him, making sure he was in a camera blind spot, he took three big ones and stashed them in his backpack.

Maybe they could use one to cook with. Or at least heat water again.

As he slung his backpack back over his shoulders, Harry suddenly felt very exposed. He’d never tried to steal so much all at once before.

And the candles made the backpack feel twice as heavy.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Harry finally made his way toward the pharmacy section. Locating the man who was to be his dad if needed, Harry found the children’s medicine section. With a deep breath, Harry pulled a box of children’s cold and flu medicine off the shelf, pretended to read it (because the print was way too small for him to make out), then palmed it under his long coat sleeve and tucked it in his pocket. He was glad the bottle of regular Tylenol was only two dollars, because it would rattle in his pocket and give him away.

His heart pounding, Harry then went to the drinks section and selected a big bottle of gatorade. It was only a little over two dollars, too.

Seeing the man who was not his dad slowly making his way toward the check out, Harry hurried to the front.

The cashier barely glanced at him as he scanned the gatorade. Then he gave him a sharper look when he picked up the Tylenol.

“Little young for this, aren’t you?”

Harry shook his head, trying to look as innocent and cute as possible. “It’s not for me.” He leaned in like he was telling a secret. “My dad got waaay too drunk last night,” he whispered, glancing toward the man who was now in line, staring at his phone in one hand, balancing a carton of milk and—Harry almost laughed—a can of beer in the other. “I wanna make him feel better, but it’s gotta be a secret.”

The cashier smiled and rang it up. “I’ll keep your secret, kiddo. Total is four dollars and 94 cents.”

Harry smiled proudly as he produced five crumpled one-dollar bills from his pocket. “Just right,” he said, handing it over.

The cashier laughed, then handed Harry his six cents of change and bagged the gatorade and the Tylenol. Harry took the bag with a grin, then bounced over to the exit to wait, hiding the bag behind his back.

The next five minutes took forever. The weight of the protein bars and the grapefruit in Harry’s pockets seemed to double, then triple, as did the weight of the water and candles in his backpack. His heart was pounding uncomfortably, and his hands were sweaty inside his gloves.

But finally, finally, the man finished checking out and wandered over to the exit. Without even glancing at Harry, he continued through. Harry sent an exaggerated wink back at the cashier as he followed the man out.

When the man rounded a corner away from the convenience store windows, Harry ducked the other way and stuffed the bag into his backpack. It was even heavier now. Harry’s back and shoulders hurt, and his stomach felt hollow. They needed more food, but…Harry hesitated, then made a decision. Getting Jason the medicine was more important. Harry could go without food for a few more days, or he could go out again another day.

Nodding to himself, Harry began the long trek back to the apartment. A cold wind kicked up as the sun began to set, cutting right through all of Harry’s layers and stinging his cheeks and nose. Was it possible for mucus to freeze? Because Harry’s nose itched and ached, and sniffing was uncomfortable. Harry’s toes, fingertips, and nose were numb by the time he got halfway back. His shoulders were numb under the weight of the backpack. Lifting his foot for each step took almost more energy than he had. And now Harry was starting to see spots.

Getting to the base of the fire escape was a blur. Looking up at the distance he had to climb, Harry felt tears in his eyes. He was so tired, and so cold. Everything hurt. Maybe…maybe he could rest here for a moment?

His eyelids drifted closed.

“No!” Harry said aloud, the sound of his own voice startling him. Setting his jaw in determination, ignoring the hurts and the cold like he’d done so often in the past—and really, compared to a proper beating from Uncle Vernon, this wasn’t so bad—Harry reached up for the first rung of the fire escape and scrambled up. It hurt, and his backpack threatened to drag him back down. But after a hard struggle, Harry finally got his feet up on the first rung, his hands clinging to the rung two above it, his limbs shaking from the exertion. Harry took a deep breath that stung his throat, then straightened up. He gasped as his muscles protested. His lungs ached in the cold.

Harry gritted his teeth again, exhaling forcefully through his clenched jaw. His breath fogged the air in front of him and blew back into his face. A cold wind cut through the alleyway, and Harry clung to the fire escape, shivering violently. Then he shook himself and started climbing.

Harry had to pause after every rung, the cold creeping through his layers to bite at his core. His lungs seared in the cold, like trying to breathe in broken glass. And his backpack constantly threatened to pull him back down, all the way to the ground.

But he persevered. Right foot, left hand. Left foot, right hand. Pull up. Breathe. And repeat. Over and over. One more. Just one more.

Suddenly Harry was facing their entry window. He was shivering so hard by now that it took considerable effort to wedge his numb fingers under the lip and force it up. His sweat froze on his face and body, leeching more warmth from his skin.

There. With a loud scraping sound, the window was forced open, and Harry all but tumbled inside. Still shivering, he pulled the window shut and stomped the snow off his feet, then dropped his backpack to drag behind him, sparing his aching shoulders.

Carefully, Harry eased the door to the laundry room open and squeezed in through the smallest space he could manage. He dragged the backpack in after him, then pulled the door closed.

It was only a little warmer inside. Harry took his spoils out of his pockets and transferred them to the backpack, then he shed the coat, the scarf, the flannel, and the extra pair of pants, as well as his shoes and the extra pair of socks, leaving him in the sweatpants and hoodie with the beanie jammed over his ears. They’d learned that the extra layers under the blankets didn’t really help. The more body heat they could share, the better off they’d be.

Shivering, Harry pulled the backpack over to the blanket nest. All Harry could see of Jason was his nose to the top of his head. His face was still flushed, his skin dry, his body shaking and shivering violently. Harry knelt beside Jason, pulling out the gatorade and the cold and flu medicine.

“J-Jay? I’m b-back,” he whispered, stuttering with cold. “I b-brought m-medicine and g-gatorade. You need to drink.”

Jason stirred. “H-Harry?” His eyes opened, then widened. “Y-you’re b-back.”

“Yeah. Here.” Harry scooted into the blanket mound beside Jason and helped him sit up, while keeping as many blankets around him (and himself) as possible. Then he uncapped the gatorade. Jason tried to raise a hand, only to fail. So Harry gritted his teeth and tensed his body to control his shivering, then brought the gatorade to Jason’s lips. He tipped it slowly, letting Jason drink only a little at a time.

“G-good,” Jason stuttered, shivering.

“C-can you swallow a pill?” Harry asked. He capped the bottle and set it aside, then opened the cold and flu medicine and popped out the first tablet.

“I t-think so. H-hurry up. It’s f-fu-freezing cold.”

Harry gave Jason the tablet, then uncapped the gatorade again and helped Jason drink. He kept it up until the bottle was half gone and Jason turned away, signalling that he’d had enough. Harry set aside the bottle, but left it in easy reach, then took out two water bottles and one of the protein bars.

“Can you eat? Then we can g-get under the b-blankets.”

Jason’s face turned contemplative, then he pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not now. Y-you eat.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied. “I ate something while I was out. And look what else I got?” Harry pulled out one of the candles.

Jason’s eyes widened.

Harry grinned, and went to get the lighter they used for the camp stove. Grinning even wider, Harry lit the candle. It was a big one with three wicks, which meant it would burn hotter. Harry immediately sighed at the warmth emanating from the merrily dancing flame. Their room wasn’t completely dark; the overhead light was out, but they had a few flashlights and a folding camp lantern. The lantern had been on almost constantly since the power went out. Harry had already had to change the batteries once. They had spares, but not enough for a constant light source for however long it took to get the power back on (if it ever came back on).

With the candles, though, they could both save batteries and warm up the room, at least a little bit. So Harry set the candle on the ground a little over a foot away from the head of their nest, far enough away that reaching hands wouldn’t knock it over. He switched off the camping lantern, but left a flashlight nearby for when they had to put out the candle.

Jason grinned weakly in approval and relief. Already they could feel the subtle warmth from the candle, and the flickering light created a comfortable atmosphere. Jason caught Harry’s wrist and weakly tugged him down. Harry gave in, leaving the water, the gatorade, the medicine, and the protein bars in easy reach. Then he curled up against Jason’s too-warm side and pulled the blankets tight around them.

***

Thanks to Jason’s fever, Harry didn’t spend the whole night shivering like he had the few nights previous. Harry burrowed into his big brother’s side, grateful that he was still okay, glad of the arms around him even if they lacked their usual strength, and thankful for the warmth from the candle Harry could feel on his cold nose whenever he ventured outside their cocoon. But he grew increasingly terrified as the hours drew on and Jason’s skin stayed uncomfortably hot. Harry barely slept, worry and cold preventing him from relaxing completely. Once, Harry woke to Jason shifting and moaning, his eyes flickering behind his eyelids. When Harry tried to wake him, the only word he could make out among his mumbling was “mom?”

What if the medicine didn’t work? What if, the next time he woke, it was to Jason’s cold corpse?

And then, would Harry even wake at all?

Harry quickly shook that thought away, refusing to even entertain the idea. He burrowed into Jason’s side, pleading with everything he had for Jason to be okay. Jason stayed unresponsive, for what felt like hours. Eventually, exhausted by his vigil, Harry cried himself to sleep.

He woke to damp cloth beneath his cheek. At first he thought it was because he had cried. Then he realized the dampness covered most of Jason’s collar and chest. He still slept, shifting restlessly, then suddenly shivering violently.

It was the shivering that woke Jason. As he shivered and looked down at Harry, Harry realized his eyes were no longer hazy with fever. The dampness must have meant he’d sweated out the fever.

Harry laughed out of sheer relief and threw his arms around Jason.

“Easy, little hawk,” Jason said hoarsely. “I still f-feel like crap.”

“But your fever broke!”

“Yeah. And I’d p-probably better ch-change before I go f-from boiling to f-freezing to death.”

Harry nodded, though he was reluctant to relinquish his hold. Chuckling softly, Jason gently pried Harry’s arms off him and wriggled out of the cocoon. He shivered violently upon exposure to the cold air, and changed quickly into a spare pair of jeans and the grey hoodie in place of the red one. Leaving the wet clothes in a heap, Jason quickly burrowed back into the blankets. It took several minutes before he stopped shivering. Harry fumbled around for a new candle, since the first one was all liquid wax and starting to smoke.

Once the new one was lit, Harry blew out the first and pushed it out of the way. Then he dug out the medicine and the bottle of gatorade and gave Jason a hard stare.

“Take it. Drink. Then eat something,” he ordered.

Jason chuckled hoarsely. “Yes, doctor Harry.” He read the label on the medicine, then downed another tablet with a few gulps of gatorade. “I’d share, but I’m already sharing enough germs just breathing in your space,” he teased.

Harry shook his head. “I got it for you anyway.” He pulled out a protein bar, unwrapped it, then broke it into (uneven) halves. He handed Jason the bigger one. “Now eat.”

“So demanding. I should complain about your bedside manner.” Jason took the protein bar and started nibbling on it.

“How do you feel? Really?” Harry asked after he finished his own part.

“Head hurts. Throat’s sore. My joints ache, like an old man. ‘M sore from all the shivering. Pretty sure I’m still feverish, too,” Jason admitted. “And I’m dead tired.”

“Stomach’s okay?”

“I’m starving, but yeah.”

“Try these.” Harry pulled out the candied grapefruit. “I heard that vitamin C was good when you’re sick. That’s why I got the orange gatorade, too, even though neither of us really like it.”

Jason snorted, then coughed. “It’s a nice thought, but I’m pretty sure it’s fake orange.” Jason took the package from Harry and scanned the label by the candlelight. “Where’d you find these?”

“The pharmacy on Third and Dunkirk,” Harry admitted shyly. “It was closest, and there was a lot of snow.”

Jason popped one of the candied grapefruit pieces into his mouth. His face screwed up at the sour taste, making Harry laugh. Jason laughed, too. He ate one more, then dragged Harry back under the blankets.

“Why don’t you tell me about your trip. It’ll be at least as good as being read to.”

“Okay.”

Jason grinned, then he curled into Harry’s chest, the way Harry always did to him. Since Jason was only a few inches taller and a tiny bit broader, it worked, though it felt strange. Hesitantly, Harry wrapped his arms around Jason’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. He screwed up his nose at the damp sweat in Jason’s hair.

“This feels weird,” he complained. “And your hair stinks.”

“So does yours,” Jason countered. “You never hear me complaining. Now tell me a story, little healer.”

Harry flushed a little at the new endearment. “Is this going to be like you do to Tim? Where you just come up with words that start with H?”

“Shh. Storytime. Make it exciting. Feel free to embellish.”

“Em-embellish?” Harry stumbled over the new word.

“Lie or exaggerate for the sake of drama. Now stop making me talk.”

“You could sign.”

“Shh. You’re warm.”

Jason burrowed deeper into Harry’s chest, his hands clinging to the front of Harry’s sweatshirt. He was shivering again, too, his breathing uneven.

Swallowing a sudden lump in his throat, Harry pulled his big brother in tighter and started to talk.

Halfway through his dramatic retelling of his caper with the cashier, Harry realized Jason wasn’t just shivering; he was shaking. His breathing was shaky, and it kept catching.

It was wrong. Jason was big. Strong. Dependable.

But he fit in Harry’s arms almost as well as Tim.

Tim was eight. He was just a kid.

Jason was eleven.

Suddenly, eleven didn’t seem so old.

Jason was just a kid, too.

Feeling altogether too young and completely overwhelmed, Harry continued his story. He made it as exciting as he could without being able to use hand gestures, affecting different voices for each person. He didn’t need to exaggerate about how difficult the walk back was. Harry didn’t mention that he’d almost given up right at the base of the fire escape.

And he definitely didn’t mention how scared he’d been the entire time. Or how scared he still was, because Jason was trusting Harry to look after him while he was sick. And Harry was terrified it wouldn’t be enough.

By the time Harry finished his story, Jason’s breathing had mostly evened out. Harry pressed his face into Jason’s hair, hugging his big brother tighter and trying not to cry. A time later, they both fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

Jason’s fever broke for good on day nine. By then, even the roads in Crime Alley had been mostly cleared, and the temperature had risen from risk-hypothermia-just-by-stepping-outside cold (Jason’s term) to just freezing cold. But Jason was still weak, though he tried to pretend otherwise, and they were, once again, out of food. So Harry left Jason with the last protein bar, layered up, then left with the determination to come back with his backpack full of food.

Knowing he’d draw too much attention trying to steal that much, Harry wandered toward the main roads, hoping to sneak a wallet or two and score some cash. Luckily, the streets were mostly clear and people were going about their normal business again. There weren’t as many pedestrians as in warmer months, but there were enough.

Harry spent a few minutes lightly shivering in the shadow of a laundromat, observing, a slight frown gradually deepening as he realized that people’s coats and other winter clothes would make wallets harder to get to with the subtlety needed not to get caught. And the best targets—cold, irritable businessmen—were also the most likely to get angry at a staged collision.

Harry steeled himself. He could take a few bruises and harsh words. He scanned for a likely target, planned his route. He took a deep breath.

Then he took off running, glancing over his shoulder and laughing loudly. When he was close enough, Harry pretended to slip on a patch of ice and stumbled forward a few steps, then he grabbed the closest thing to keep him upright—the side of one man’s coat. Conveniently, his grip pulled it down on one side to be high enough to reach into the man’s pockets on the other.

The man cursed. “Watch it, runt!” The man exclaimed, trying to throw him off. 

Harry just managed to pull his hand out of the man’s back pocket before the man shoved him to the ground with another curse and a threat.

Harry immediately palmed the wallet, then screwed up his face and sniffled as though he was about to cry. (He learned how to do that from watching Dudley throw tantrums, complete with fake tears, when he didn’t get his way. This wasn’t the first time he’d used the skill, but he didn’t like to because he didn’t want to be anything like Dudley.)

“I-I’m so-sorry,” Harry sobbed loudly. “I j-just t-tripped. I’m s-sorry!” He scrubbed his hand that wasn’t hiding the wallet in his over-long coat sleeve over his face.

“Stupid brat,” the man grumbled, hurrying away as people started to stare.

Harry made a big show of sniffling loudly and climbing to his feet, then limped away with his shoulders hunched.

Once he’d gone far enough and everyone had gone back to their business, Harry darted around a corner and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he pulled out the wallet. That had better have been worth it.

Looking inside, Harry’s eyes widened. Thumbing through the bills, he counted thirty-seven dollars, plus at least another dollar in change. There were five credit cards, a gift card to a fancy coffee shop, and a full punch card for a free shake at Batburger.

There were also a dozen receipts stuffed among the bills and at least as many business cards, along with the man’s ID and bus pass.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Harry removed the cash, one of the credit cards, the gift card, the punch card, and the bus pass, and pocketed all of it. Then he removed the rest of the cards to hold in one hand, and the wallet in the other.

Then he started walking, his hands casually in his pockets, kicking playfully at snow drifts and ice patches, bouncing a little with each step—the very image of an innocent, playful little kid.

Harry dumped the wallet in the next trash bin he passed, then tossed the cards into the post box in front of the large pharmacy a few blocks down—most cards had mailing addresses on them, Harry had noticed, and at least this way people had a chance of getting their stuff back. Harry wasn’t completely heartless. Some people who looked rich really weren’t. The Dursleys were among them. Oh, they were well enough off. They’d never go hungry or cold (though looking at Harry you wouldn’t know it). But Harry had overheard enough arguments to know that Petunia’s brand-name cocktail dresses and Vernon’s new car were bought on credit that they weren’t able to pay back.

But Harry put all that from his mind. He set his sights on the local grocery store, already mentally calculating how much he could get with the money in his pocket. If he was really careful, and got as much stuff on sale as possible, he could probably get enough food to last them several weeks!

Just under twenty minutes later, Harry reached the grocery store. He walked in, shivering as his body acclimated to the new warmth. Then he grabbed a basket and started browsing the shelves.

Produce was first. At first Harry thought apples, then he saw oranges next to them. Harry didn’t want anyone else getting sick. And the oranges were on sale for only three dollars a bag! Harry put a bag of about seven in the basket. And they’d need protein. A big can of mixed nuts was four dollars, but it would last a while, and it was cheaper than beef jerky. Bread for a dollar. Cans of beans and soup for fifty cents each—Harry grabbed as many as he could carry without struggling too much with the basket, which was about eight, so four more dollars. That made…twelve dollars. Store brand protein bars, a box of eight for four dollars. Three cans of peaches for sixty cents each. That was about fifteen dollars…

Harry wandered a little more, starting to struggle with the basket. Maybe he should put a few cans back…Reluctantly, Harry put back two cans of soup. Make that three. In their place, Harry grabbed a six-pack of dry noodle soup and some chicken broth cubes. That was another five dollars together. A big jar of peanut butter for three dollars. So that made…twenty-four dollars? Close enough. Another box of tea bags made it an even twenty-seven.

Looking over his selections, Harry nodded in satisfaction. That would leave them about ten dollars of emergency cash. Pleased with himself, Harry carried his heavy basket to the front. He smiled brightly at the cashier who asked where his parents were. Harry nodded at a family by the front restrooms.

“I wanted to do it myself!” he declared.

“You must be stronger than you look, then,” she said, raising an eyebrow at his full basket.

Harry just nodded proudly.

Smiling slightly, the cashier rang him up, and Harry proudly handed over twenty-six dollars and forty-eight cents. She double-bagged the cans, then let Harry collect the bags. They were harder to carry without the basket, but he managed by hanging two bags from each arm.

And the timing was perfect. The family was moving toward the exit. Harry ran to catch up, falling in behind the oldest child, who was glued to his phone.

Outside, Harry ducked away toward the side lot, then he spent a few minutes arranging all his groceries in his backpack. He double-checked that he had his change and the leftover cash, then slung the backpack over his shoulders.

Harry stumbled under the weight, barely managing to balance himself. This…would be a long, miserable walk back. At least he’d be sweating so much he wouldn’t be cold.

And they had food! As long as he didn’t run into trouble. And apparently, it was a weekend or there wouldn’t be so many families out. Or a school holiday. Harry had long ago lost track of the actual days of the week, especially after being stuck inside for nine days, excepting his icy excursion. But either way. It was unlikely he’d get into trouble on a sunny (if cold) winter Saturday.

Halfway back, Harry began to rethink all his life decisions. His backpack was so heavy, and he was tired, and hungry. He didn’t have as much energy as he wished he did. And he still had so far to go.

His lip quivering, Harry sniffed and made himself keep going. He missed Jason. Usually they’d do this together. And he missed being warm. Despite the exertion that kept most of his body warm, Harry’s nose, cheeks, and fingers were still numb. And his shoulders hurt. His legs shook with each step.

The black spots started swimming before his eyes, too. He felt dizzy, and weak, and miserable.

Sniffling again, Harry trudged forward, tears freezing on his cheeks. This was hard. This was miserable. He wanted to go home.

And more tears fell when home summoned up images, not of the Dursleys, or even his base with Jason, but of Tim’s messy room, laughing on the floor in clean, warm clothes with Tim on one side and Jason on the other.

On numb legs, Harry kept going, navigating through vision blurred by tears and the occasional spell of dizziness. He couldn’t even think about trying to climb the fire escape. So he trudged around to the back entrance, which had been cleared of snow. Harry wrenched the door open, the hinges half frozen, and then stumbled backward and fell hard under the weight of his backpack.

Blinking back more tears, Harry climbed shakily to his feet. Looking at the stairs made him dizzy. So he shut his eyes and navigated by feel alone. When he thought he’d climbed high enough, Harry opened his eyes…just to see he was still a flight too low.

He wanted to just sit down and cry. He hurt, he was hungry, and tired, and he felt so achingly alone.

But Jason was depending on him.

Sniffling, scrubbing his face dry on the rough sleeve of his coat, Harry pushed on. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. Leaning on the wall when the corridor tilted and spun. Just a few more steps. He unlocked the door by feel, the action almost automatic now. Then he stumbled inside.

Just a little further.

Harry pulled open the door to the laundry room, stumbled in, and then fell to his knees, the backpack thudding to the floor.

Jason, who had been curled up and reading in their nest of blankets, jumped at the noise.

“Harry!” He stumbled, tripping over the blankets and closing the distance in just a few quick strides. “Harry! Are you okay?”

Harry smiled, though he was seeing double.

“I got us food. And ten more dollars. And a gift card. D-did I do good?”

Jason grabbed him in a tight hug. “You did amazing. You saved me, little hero. You saved us.”

“Good.” Harry sagged in Jason’s arms. “’M tired now. G’night.” His vision faded to black and he slumped into unconsciousness.

***

Harry woke some time later to the hissing sound of the gas stove and the smell of chicken broth. His stomach clenched and his mouth watered. He still felt weak, and tired, and very, very sore. His vision was more blurry than usual.

“J’son?”

“Harry!”

Jason’s blurry form appeared at Harry’s side. “Are you okay?! Are you hurt? You passed out, little hawk. You scared me to death.”

“’M…really tired, n’ hungry, n’ sore.” His words slurred; Harry just didn’t have to energy to move his jaw properly.

“You walked almost two miles, little hawk, carrying a backpack that weighs as much as you do. Through the snow. And on an empty stomach at that.” Jason’s voice cracked. “I didn’t realize until I was putting the food away. I know we had five protein bars after your last trip. You…you gave me all of them. Didn’t you.”

“You were sick,” Harry mumbled. “I knew I could make it a few days without.”

Jason blinked hard. “You didn’t have to do that, little hawk.”

“I know. I wanted to.” Harry blinked up at Jason, his vision clearing a little. “It…was my turn. To take care of you.”

Jason’s eyes widened, then he pulled Harry into a tight hug. “My little hero,” he whispered, his voice cracking. Harry tried to return it, but he didn’t have the strength to do more than hold on.

Suddenly Jason sniffed loudly and pulled away. “Let’s get some food in you, then, little hero. I thought we could risk a hot meal just this once.”

Harry managed to smile. Jason squeezed him one more time, then went over to the stove. He prodded its contents with a pair of chopsticks—long ago taken from a bag of Chinese takeout someone had trashed, still in their paper packaging. Then he switched off the stove and brought the thermos—which they’d been using as a cooking pot—over to Harry.

The smell of hot chicken soup made Harry’s mouth water, and his stomach growled for the first time in days. It was just noodles and a bullion cube, but it smelled like heaven. Jason helped Harry sit, then blew on the soup before offering it to Harry.

Harry took a careful sip, trying not to burn his mouth. He moaned at the warmth and the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

Jason chuckled. “Good, is it?”

“Mm.” Harry took a longer sip, not even caring that this time he burned the roof of his mouth. He slurped up a few noodles, and Jason laughed as broth splashed out. A few more gulps and a few more mouthfuls of noodles, then Harry’s stomach tightened uncomfortably. He desperately wanted more, but he knew pushing it would only make him sick. He pushed the rest of the soup toward Jason, pouting a little.

“Full already?”

Harry nodded, still pouting. “Mm.”

Jason chuckled a little, then finished off the soup with a flourish. Then he set the empty thermos aside and pulled Harry into his side, adjusting the blankets around their shoulders, too.

Harry turned into Jason’s shoulder, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Whoa. What’s wrong, little hawk?” Jason pulled Harry into his lap and hugged him tightly.

“Today was so hard,” Harry whimpered. “It was cold, and I was so tired and hungry and it hurt and it was so lonely and cold. And when you were sick I was so scared.”

Jason rubbed his back, pulling him close. “You did so good, though, getting the money and the groceries and carrying it all back here despite it all. That’s why you’re my little hero.”

Harry sniffed, then broke down crying, soft, audible sobs wracking his small frame.

Jason pulled him in tighter, tucking the blankets around them. “You’re my hero, Harry. My little hero. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry choked on another sob and cried harder.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: A New Scheme

Winter faded almost imperceptibly into spring. But with the rising temperature came a different set of dangers. Once people were no longer just trying to stay warm, they started looking for thrills. The streets filled with dangerous men once again. And instead of dodging angry cashiers and run-of-the-mill muggers, they were dodging career criminals.

In addition, Jason had reached an awkward age where he was too old to get away with some of the tricks Harry pulled—like the fake crying—but too young to do the difficult jobs everyone was asking for. And that left them with few options.

It was also a time of year without school breaks, so school-age kids running around on the streets during school hours drew unwanted attention. And young kids running around at night was no better. They managed to get by with pick-pocketing and rummaging around in the dumpsters behind restaurants and grocery stores after dark, but that only got them so far.

So they had to look to alternate ways to secure funds and/or food. In late March, Jason came back from meeting with the person who kept giving him stuff in exchange for favors with a new solution: car jacking.

Jason tried to make Harry stay behind at first, but by now Harry had more than proved himself competent, and he refused to separated from Jason longer than necessary anymore. So Harry insisted on coming.

Knowing he couldn’t win against Harry’s stubbornness, Jason finally conceded. First, they spent afternoons for nearly two weeks straight in the library—one of few places that wouldn’t question young kids hanging out more or less unsupervised on a school day—reading books and looking up videos on the internet in order to learn all about types of cars, how much parts were valued based on type and brand, and how to dismantle them with scavenged tools. Then they took a field trip to a junk yard on a warmer afternoon to practice.

Harry’s smaller size soon proved to be a major drawback in this venture, though. The few times they were able to pop a hood, Harry could unscrew things, and his smaller hands could access hard-to-reach parts that could still draw revenue. But popping a hood without access to the release inside the car was nearly impossible, so Harry was reluctantly relegated to lookout with rare exceptions. They both learned that the quickest and easiest thing to steal were tires. And Harry had neither strength nor weight on his side, so it was incredibly difficult and time-consuming for him to remove even a single tire by himself. Jason, at four inches taller and at least a hands’ breadth wider, had a much easier time.

After three days in the junkyard practicing, Jason managed to get his time down to ten minutes for all four tires. And they both learned to break into and hotwire a car. And for the first time, they both had actual weapons. Jason found a tire iron in the junkyard that was both a tool and an effective blunt-force weapon. Harry found a piece of pipe about the size of a baton, with a jagged break on one end. They also found a bent wire hanger they could use to break into a vehicle. Harry kept it concealed inside the baton, the bent wire creating enough resistance that it stayed put on its own.

So armed with steel and knowledge, the first week of April saw the debut of the Car Hawks, which term Harry had coined with so much childish innocence (and no idea of the entirely apt pun inherent in the name) that Jason had to adopt it.

Not many vehicles were left unattended in Crime Alley, so they had to venture out further than usual, and scope out numerous hiding spots they could stash their loot until they were able to sell it or in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

Their first victim was a Mustang, parked around the corner from a laundromat. Harry, being smaller and quicker, quickly cased the area for the owner. It was theoretically best to watch the car pull up and then watch the owner walk away, but beggers couldn’t be choosers—literally in this case. Seeing no one, he sent the signal to Jason to start: a trilling whistle approximating a robin’s call. He’d wanted to do a hawk cry, but Jason had pointed out that hawks were too uncommon in Gotham and someone would figure it out. So Harry stuck with the robin’s call. He did think it was funny and ironic. Jason had rolled his eyes and let Harry do as he wished. (Tim had been thrilled. Though Harry hadn’t told him why he’d learned it or what they were doing; they were legitimate criminals now, or would be once they started, and Harry didn’t want Tim to abandon him for it.)

His heart thudding in his chest as Jason returned the whistle with one of his own in acknowledgement, Harry picked a spot where he could see Jason as well as most of the alleyway, including its entrance, and melted into the shadows, his eyes trained for any sign of movement, his ears pricked for the sound of approaching footsteps.

A light thud indicated Jason had gotten the first tire off. Harry wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, taking a deep breath and looking all the more carefully around the darkening alley.

A few minutes later, there was another light thud. Harry took the cue and slipped in, then took each tire and rolled them behind the dumpster one at a time while Jason started on the third.

Just as Harry stashed the second one, he heard footsteps. Harry sent a shrill but quiet whistle in warning. There was a soft thud, then Jason rounded the dumpster rolling the third tire, just as a figure rounded the corner of the alley.

Neither of them moved, well concealed by the dumpster and the growing shadows. There was a loud noise of exclamation, then a series of curses. Harry pressed his back into the alley wall, scarcely daring to breathe. Jason gripped his hand tightly, and Harry squeezed back, feeling grease and grit on Jason’s hand and not caring.

The angry shouting continued, then slowly faded as the car owner rounded the corner again. Neither Harry nor Jason moved until the angry voice had completely faded. Then Harry turned toward Jason, looking up as Jason turned toward him, too. Their gazes met, then, slowly, matching triumphant grins spread across their faces, then Harry burst into stifled giggles.

“We did it. We did it,” he whispered.

“Job’s only half-done, little hawk,” Jason replied. “Let’s get the tires to our hiding place.”

Harry nodded, and together they rolled the tires down the alley, then down another side alley, then stashed them beside another dumpster a perpendicular block away from where they’d left the car. (If it was still there when they got back, maybe they could break in and scavenge the parts.)

It was hard work, rolling the tires even that short distance. Harry had never realized tires were so heavy. But they managed.

“Can you watch the tires for a bit? Twenty minutes, tops.”

Harry nodded. “Help me stack them?”

Jason titled his head in confusion, then shrugged and did so.

Once all three tires were stacked and pushed against the alley wall, Harry hopped on top, grinning. “No one’s getting them without going through me.” He pulled his pipe out of his shirt, tapping it across his palm in a threatening manner.

Well, Harry thought it was threatening. Jason just laughed, then ruffled Harry’s hair.

“Very intimidating, little hero. You’ll scare any would-be thieves right out of their pants.”

Harry scowled. “I’m not stupid. You’re pat-pitron-patronizing me.”

Jason grinned. “Good job, little hawk. We learned that word the other day.”

Harry nodded. “So don’t do it.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Sorry, little hawk. You’re just too cute.” Jason ruffled his hair again.

Harry squawked and pushed him off. “Go! Bring back money! I want ice cream.”

Jason laughed again. “You got it. Maybe we can finally cash in that free shake at Batburger.”

Harry nodded eagerly, then poked Jason with the blunt end of his pipe. “Get going. You’re a businessman now.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. Hold down the fort, little hero. I’ll be back.”

Harry waved, then Jason left.

While he was gone, Harry amused himself by kicking his heels off the rubber tires and tracing shapes in grease on the side of the dumpster. He kept his ears pricked for footsteps or voices indicating he wasn’t alone. He also listened for sirens, in case the theft was reported and investigated. But the alley remained silent, until, not quite twenty minutes later, Harry heard voices at the head of the alley.

“Before I take you any further, I want to see the money.”

That was Jason, deepening his voice to sound more intimidating. Harry imagined him crossing his arms, giving whoever he was talking to the same stern look he gave Harry whenever Harry tried to pass his portion of food on to Jason. (It had been worth a try, at least. But he’d screwed himself over by passing out one too many times.)

“One-fifty in tens and twenties, as promised.” It was a man, Harry decided. Probably mid-twenties? Maybe early thirties? His voice wasn’t gravely like middle-aged smokers, nor slurred by drugs. So probably legit. Harry wondered if this was Jason’s contact who had gotten them the camp stove before.

“It’s a Mustang. Three tires, minimal wear, and some damn fancy hubcaps. Two hundred at least.”

“Once I see the tires, you can haggle up, kid. I ain’t got time for any o’ yer damn posturing.”

“Show me the money.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then what might have been a sigh.

“Okay, then. This way.”

Harry then heard two sets of footsteps approaching. One set was Jason’s; Harry recognized them in an instant. The other set was heavier, but not too heavy, like a lean middle-aged man.

Once they were close, Harry hopped off his tire tower and stood to the side, crossing his arms and placing his feet shoulder-width apart, like he’d noticed men did when they wanted to look tough.

A minute later, Jason came into view, followed by a young-ish man with shaggy hair covered with a grey bandanna, wearing a worn leather jacket, skinny black jeans, and heavy boots.

“So this is your little assistant.” The man gave Harry a once-over. “Scrappy little thing, but he looks useful.”

“He’s not for sale,” Jason said firmly. “The tires are.”

The man smiled faintly. “Wasn’t tryin’ to buy him or nothin’. I don’t get into that sphere. Too messy. Too much attention.”

Harry filed away his questions about selling people (wasn’t that slavery? And wasn’t that super illegal?) and scowled lightly. But he didn’t say anything.

The man gave him another glance, then turned his attention to the tires. He examined them for a good five minutes, checking the treads, the hubcaps, and nodding at the handful of lug nuts Jason held out.

Finally, the man straightened up with a thoughtful noise. “I admit, I didn’t expec’ much for yer first score. You win, kid. Two hundred even. I look forward to continuin’ this partnership.”

He handed over a stack of bills—more than Harry had ever seen in his life—then waved them off while dialing a number on his cell phone.

Jason grinned at Harry, then beckoned and they hurried away. Once they were in another alley, Jason split the cash between himself, Harry, and both of their ever-present backpacks. Then Harry bounced on his toes.

“Batburger? Please?”

Jason laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair. “You got it. We can treat ourselves today. Then we’ll have to figure out what to do with all that cash.”

Harry laughed happily and grabbed Jason’s hand, tugging him along. Within five steps, he was skipping. Jason was grinning at his antics, letting Harry swing their hands back and forth with enthusiasm.

Fifteen minutes later, just as the light was dying, they reached the nearest Batburger. Once or twice, way back when he’d first started out, Harry had raided the dumpsters and trash of this place, but he’d never had a fresh burger before. Outside the door, they did their best to wipe grease off their hands and straighten themselves up a little. Then Jason took Harry’s hand again and they went inside.

Harry inhaled deeply. The restaurant smelled like oil and grease and he loved it. They walked up to the counter, and Harry bounced on his toes excitedly as Jason scanned the menu and placed their order.

“Two Batburger meals and one kids’ nugget meal, with two large cokes.”

“And a shake!” Harry added, pulling the (crumpled) punch card out of his pocket and handing it over. He’d taken to carrying it around as a sort of good luck charm once he and Jason had both recovered from almost two weeks of near-starvation.

“And a shake,” Jason added, grinning. “Vanilla.”

“Got it.” The bored cashier punched it in and the total sprung up. “Fifteen dollars, fifty-two cents is your total. And here’s a new punch card.” He took the crumpled one from Harry, then punched out three meals on a new one and passed it over. Harry reverently took it and slid it into his pocket. Jason handed over a crisp twenty, though neither of them were quite able to hide the cringe at the total cost.

The cashier handed over their change, then passed over two empty cups. “Self-serve machine is over there.” He gestured vaguely, then called for the next customer.

“Self-serve?” Harry asked in awe.

“Saves them time, I guess.” Jason stuffed their change and the receipt into his pocket, then led the way to the machine. They filled their cups all the way up with brown, bubbly soda. Then they took turns in the bathroom washing their hands while the other held the drinks.

Harry took his drink back just as their order number was called. Grinning again, Harry led the way to the counter, then carefully balanced the drink on his tray and carried it to the table, with Jason behind him.

“Don’t over-eat. We’re doing better than we were, but no sense in getting sick,” Jason warned Harry as he stuffed four fries into his mouth at once.

Harry choked, chewed, then swallowed. “I know! But it just smells so good.”

“It sure does. Open the kids’ meal. They usually come with a toy.”

Eyes wide, Harry did so immediately. He stuffed a nugget into his mouth as he pulled out a plastic package. He tore the wrapper off and laughed in delight at the Robin figure that fell out.

“I’m giving this to Tim,” he declared.

Jason grinned. “You do that. I bet he’ll love it.”

Harry nodded, then went back to eating. He tried to take it slow. He really did. But everything was so good that he couldn’t help himself. And then he tried the shake and he had never tasted anything so good.

In no time at all, their trays were empty save the burger wrappers and empty fry containers. Harry slurped the last of his drink, then sighed in contentment.

“I might get sick later,” he stated. “But it was so worth it.”

Jason grinned. “I hear you, little hawk. Come on. Get your Robin figure. Let’s go see Tim tonight before heading back.”

Harry nodded eagerly and took Jason’s offered hand. Then they left the restaurant, stomachs full, pockets stuffed with cash, and smiles on their faces.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Do You Believe in Magic?

Harry eagerly led Jason to his favorite rooftop on the outskirts of the Alley. It was a bit of a walk, but it was always worth it. And with full bellies, they had the energy to manage it and to spare.

Jason let Harry go up the fire escape first, then followed. The sun had nearly set by the time they reached the roof, which meant they might be waiting a while. But Harry had no trouble filling the silence with stories of his antics with Tim, some of which he hadn’t told Jason before.

“—and then they cornered me and I was terrified and one of them tried to grab me, but then there was, like, this whooshing feeling and suddenly I was here on the roof! Tim thinks I might be a meta, and I think he might be right. I’ve made weird things happen before.”

“What kind of weird things?” Jason asked, clearly choosing to ignore the fact that Harry had almost been snatched just days before they’d properly met.

“Well, I’ve teleported onto a roof once before when Dudley was chasing me. I got in so much trouble because it was the school roof. My teacher yelled at me, one of the fifth year teachers yelled at me, and then the principal yelled at me, and then Aunt Petunia shrieked at me and then—” Harry cut himself off.

“And then?” Jason prompted.

“And before that time, I turned a substitute teacher’s wig blue. And one of Dudley’s old sweaters shrank like, a lot, when Aunt Petunia tried to force me to wear it. It was so ugly, brown and orange and covered in pom-poms. I refused to wear it. And by shrank, I mean at first it would have been way too big, but when Aunt Petunia kept trying to force it on me, it kept getting smaller and smaller until it might have fit a doll, but nothing else.” Harry tilted his head sideways. “That was the only time I didn’t get punished for doing ‘freaky stuff,’ like Uncle Vernon called it.”

“Hmm. Most meta powers aren’t that random,” Jason mused. “Have you ever tried to make stuff happen on purpose?”

Harry shook his head. “No, cuz Uncle Vernon always got mad when it happened. I didn’t wanna get hit.”

“Hmm.” Jason leaned on Harry’s shoulder. Harry sat up straighter. “I can think of at least two other things you did.”

“Huh?”

“Last Halloween, when you were…out of it, I noticed you went a bit crazy at the color green. Every time you saw the sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing, you broke down into hysterics. I tried to pull it off you, but then it just…vanished. I found it later in the corner.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I did that?”

“Well, I don’t know how else it coulda just disappeared outta my hands,” Jason said with a grin. “And the second thing…I’ve thought back on it a lot, but during that snowstorm, when I was really sick and it was stupid cold? I really don’t think we should have survived. I was legit delirious with fever, and it was like ten degrees outside for three days straight. There’s no way those ratty blankets and that tiny candle would have warmed up the room enough to prevent hypothermia. When I was a little more aware, when I said you were warm, it was like you were radiating heat. Way more than your tiny body should have produced.” Jason poked Harry in the chest, smiling slightly. “So whatever your powers are, I think they saved our lives.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Really. You’re a hero, Harry, and you didn’t even know it. My little hero.” 

Harry smiled and curled into Jason’s side. “Then I’m glad my ‘freakishness’ was able to help someone for once.”

Jason wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in a little closer. “Me, too. Just the idea that I could lose you…it terrifies me.” Jason pulled Harry into a proper hug. “When you went out by yourself in the cold to get food and medicine…God I was terrified.”

“I was scared, too. That I’d come back or wake up to find you…cold. And stiff. Like—like that homeless man we found in Mr. Ying’s alley after the snow melted.” Harry shivered. “I saw him that day, you know. Pulling one of those wire carts. And then he was just…gone.”

“I’d never leave you, little hawk. Not voluntarily. Not ever.”

“Me, either.” Harry pressed his nose into Jason’s neck. “You’re stuck with me forever.”

Jason chuckled and pulled him in tighter. “I’m okay with that.”

Suddenly the fire escape rattled and a familiar tuft of black hair appeared over the edge of the roof.

“I wanna hug, too!” Tim threw himself at both of them, knocking them flat on the gravel rooftop. Harry laughed as Tim landed half on top of him and half on top of Jason and wrapped an arm around the smaller boy’s shoulders. Jason grunted as he got an elbow to the ribs.

“Easy, baby bird. I still need those ribs,” he gasped.

Tim giggled and nestled deeper into Jason’s chest, his face right next to Harry’s. “Mmm, no you don’t.”

Jason coughed a laugh and shoved them both off. “Let me breathe, little birds,” he gasped. “Damn, Timbit, you knocked my breath out.”

Tim giggled, looking sheepish. “Sorry.” He rummaged around in his backpack and produced his thermos and a container of food. “Truce?” he offered, holding both out.

“Tea or cocoa?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Cocoa. I know it’s not that cold anymore, but the nights are still chilly, and it’s kinda tradition, right?”

“What’s in the container?” Jason asked, having finally recovered his breath though he was still rubbing his sternum.

“Brownies,” Tim said with a shy smile. “I helped Mrs. Mac make them the other day. It’s just a box mix, but…”

“Gimme!” Harry made grabby hands at the container. Tim laughed and opened it, offering the treats to Harry. He grabbed the biggest one off the top and immediately took a big bite. “Mmm. So good!”

“Careful, little hawk, or you’re gonna throw up,” Jason cautioned him, amused.

“Why?” Tim asked.

“Cuz we did something awesome today and got lots of money so we treated ourselves to Batburger and ate a ton,” Harry said through another mouthful of chocolate.

“Slow down, you little heathen!” Jason grabbed Harry’s wrist, stopping him from taking another bite. “It won’t taste nearly as good on the way back up!”

“It’s been like two hours since Batburger,” Harry argued, pulling his wrist free. “I haven’t thrown up yet, so I probably won’t. And even if I do, I don’t care!”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I regret making you feel comfortable enough to argue with me.” He grabbed a brownie of his own and nibbled at it. “I miss the days when you were sweet and shy and innocent.”

“Well, I like this Harry better,” Tim stated, wrapping his arms around Harry possessively. Harry grinned and leaned into him as he polished off his brownie and reached for a second.

“I never should have let you two meet,” Jason deadpanned.

“Y’know, I’ve been wondering that. How did you guys meet?” Tim asked, uncapping the cocoa and passing it around. “The way Harry talks about you, it’s like you’ve always known each other, but I know that’s not true.”

“Well, Jason got beat up and left in an alley, where coincidentally I’d made my hideout,” Harry began. “And at first I was scared, but then I heard him crying—”

“I was not crying,” Jason interrupted. “Those were manly groans of pain.”

Tim scoffed. Jason opened his mouth to argue, but Harry started talking over him.

“And I knew he was hurt, but all I had were band-aids—”

“Justice League band-aids. You put a Superman one and a Green Arrow one on my scraped elbow.”

Harry blinked. “You remember?”

“I left them on for two weeks,” Jason stated. “They—” he glanced at Tim, then sighed. “They reminded me that someone cared,” he said quietly. “Even if it was a scrappy, naive kid in clothes three times your size and way too much trust for someone on the streets and living next to a dumpster.”

Harry valiantly ignored the stinging in his eyes and the heat in his cheeks as he continued the story. “And Jay’s ribs were broken, so I let him stay in my hideout for a few days. I stole first aid stuff to wrap his ribs, but he wouldn’t let me help. And then he just left.” Harry pouted at Jason. “I didn’t really expect you to stay, but you could have at least said goodbye.”

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” Jason muttered. “I never got to say goodbye to my mom or dad, and…no one else ever stuck around long enough for me to want to. I…didn’t wanna be disappointed again,” he admitted.

Tim and Harry exchanged a glance, then plastered themselves to Jason’s sides in a tight group hug. “And now you won’t have to,” Tim said firmly. “Cuz we aren’t going anywhere.”

“And I already told you, you’re stuck with me,” Harry added, grinning.

Jason sniffed, then tried to look nonchalant. “I’d hug you, but you’re pinning my arms.”

“That’s okay. We’ve got you,” Tim said, faux casual.

“Yep. We’ve got you, Jay. We gotta look after our big brother sometimes, too, you know.”

Jason turned his face into Harry’s hair, his arms coming up to grip both Harry’s and Tim’s forearms. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I guess so.”

Tim and Harry caught each other’s eye and shared a grin, then pressed their noses into Jason’s neck on opposite sides. And they both pretended not to notice that Jason was trembling between them.

Some minutes later, they finally broke apart. And Harry remembered the toy in his pocket.

“Oh!” He pulled out the action figure and presented it to Tim. “This was in my kids’ meal.”

Tim gaped. “That’s Robin!” he breathed.

“It’s for you.”

Tim’s eyes widened. “R-really? But—”

“But nothing,” Harry said firmly. “I don’t need toys. I wouldn’t have time to play with them anyway. I’d rather it go to someone who will appreciate it.”

Reverently, Tim took the figure from Harry and held it to his chest, his eyes shining in the dull glow from the street lamps below. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Harry just grinned. “Thank me by giving me another brownie.”

“Harry! You’ve already had two!” Jason exclaimed.

“And I’m hungry! Besides, they’ve got milk and eggs in them, so they’re healthy, right?”

Jason groaned and dramatically threw himself backward to lay on the roof. “You’re hopeless.”

Harry giggled. Tim handed over a third brownie, and took the second-to-last one as his first. Sharing what was left of the cocoa, they snickered at Jason’s dramatics as they nibbled on their treats.

“How did you two meet, anyway?” Jason asked, finally sitting up. “It’s not fair that I’m the only one being embarrassed.”

“Uh…” They both shared a look, then glanced away, cheeks flushing.

“Okay, now I have to hear the story,” Jason said. As he took the last brownie.

“Hypocrite,” Harry muttered, half-smiling.

Jason flicked his forehead. “I did not teach you that word so you could use it against me.”

Tim giggled. “I was minding my own business, taking pictures of the street and waiting for Batman and Robin to show up. Then I heard a noise and…” he smiled deviously. “And hysteric sobs on the other side of the roof.”

“I was not hysteric,” Harry corrected firmly through another mouthful of brownie. “I was upset.”

“By what?” Jason asked.

Harry froze, caught. He ducked his head. “I told you about how I teleported onto a rooftop? This was literally right after that.”

Jason blinked. “Oh.”

“So anyway, I went to investigate, and Harry was really freaked out until he saw I was just a kid. Then…” Tim bit his lip. “It was my birthday, and I was upset that…that my parents didn’t come home like they’d promised. And Harry asked me if my parents knew I was out here taking photos and…”

“And then Tim was the one crying,” Harry finished for him, stuffing the last bite of brownie into his mouth with an appreciative sigh. “And, well, I’ve never had anyone cry around me before, so I didn’t know what to do. But I know I always wanted a hug when I cried, so, I offered one. And he just threw himself at me, the kid he’d just met who probably smelled like a dumpster and didn’t look much better, who had just appeared on a random rooftop, and broke down crying.”

“And then Harry drew a birthday cake in the dust for me and even drew eight candles on top, and told me to make a wish,” Tim continued, ducking his head and smiling shyly. “And…I guess my wish sorta came true.”

“You said you’d tell me!” Harry cut in with mock betrayal.

Tim’s smile grew. “Yeah, I did. I…I think it officially came true at Christmas, when…when Jason said he was adopting me. But it keeps coming true e-every time you come back.” Tim ducked his head again. “I—I wished for a family that would choose me.”

This time it was Jason and Harry who engulfed Tim in a hug.

“And we’ll always choose you,” Harry said firmly.

“Yep. You’re our little bird now, Timmy. Welcome to the flock.”

Harry giggled. “What does that make you, then, Jay? Mama bird?”

Jason shuddered. “God no. Do not ever call me that again.”

“What about Jaybird?” Tim suggested.

Jason shuddered again. “Ew, no.”

“Bluejay?” Harry said.

“No.”

“...why not just Jay?” Tim chimed in. “You already call him that,” he said to Harry.

“Well, yeah, but that’s just from his name…”

“It could also mean the bird,” Tim said with a shrug. “Is it okay if I call you Jay, too?” Tim asked Jason.

“At least you asked,” Jason grumbled. “This kid had barely known my name five minutes before he went and gave me a nickname.”

“Like you were any better, calling me ‘little hero’ because of the stupid band-aids,” Harry retorted.

Tim choked on a laugh. “Is that why?” He burst into giggles as Harry’s face colored. “That’s cute!”

Jason’s cheeks turned pink. “I had to call him something. It’s not like we exchanged names right away. You don’t do that on the streets.”

Harry poked him in the ribs. “It was still your idea.”

“And you didn’t complain. So what are you gonna do about it?” Jason challenged.

“This!” Harry tackled him to the ground again, laughing as he dug his fingers into Jason’s ribs. He yelped and tried to push Harry off, but Harry deftly avoided him, digging his fingers in again.

It wasn’t until Jason started wheezing that Tim realized that Harry was tickling him. Then he burst into laughter, too.

“You’re a traitor, Timbit!” Jason said breathlessly. “Get this little heathen off me!”

“It is! You’re doing the same thing to me that you do to Tim!” Harry exclaimed. “Any word you can think of that starts with an H you’re turning into a nickname!”

“Are you complaining?”

“That one I am! That’s twice you’ve called me that! I’m not a heathen!” Harry hit Jason’s chest with rather more force than necessary, his face turning red.

“Whoa! Where’s all this anger coming from? It’s just a damn nickname!”

“Don’t! Call me a heathen!” Harry’s voice cracked as he hit Jason’s chest again.

Jason caught Harry’s wrists. “Relax, little hawk. I won’t call you that again. But why the sudden anger?”

Harry sniffed and sat back. “They—the Dursleys were never religious, but they still brought me to church sometimes, ‘to keep up appearances.’ And one day the preacher was talking about…witchcraft and sorcerers. He called them heathens, and spent the whole sermon on how horrible they are and that they’ll go straight to hell, a-and then…that was right before the first time I teleported to a roof. And when I got home from school that day, Uncle Vernon, he…he yelled at me, called me lots of things like ‘freak’ and—and heathen. And-and Dudley heard him and then, for weeks, instead of freak, he—they both called me a heathen and said I’d be…I’d be damned for my ‘freaky witchcraft.” Harry sniffled and wiped his cheeks.

“You know that’s all bullshit, right?” Jason said, adjusting his grip so he was holding Harry’s hands instead of his wrists. “I told you, your…whatever it is, power or whatever, I’m pretty sure it saved our lives. And no matter what religion you’re a part of, I’m pretty sure saving someone’s life is an instant ticket to heaven.”

Harry gave a watery smile. “Yeah. I guess. I…I never really believed any of that, but…I guess the preacher scared me for a while. I…I don’t really believe it now, either, but…” he exhaled shakily. “Some things are hard to forget.”

“Oh! That reminds me. I was gonna ask, but then I kept forgetting.” Tim interjected, bashful but suddenly looking eager.

“What’s up, baby bird?”

“So, after you told me about you maybe being a meta, I did some research, and…I think it might be actual magic. Like Zatanna in the Justice League, but without the weird speaking-backward thing. Maybe you don’t need incan-incantations.” Tim stumbled a little on the word. “It would be really, really cool if you could learn to do stuff on purpose. I…I read that meditation helps you access your…inner magic? It was a little confusing, but basically the articles all said that if you will something to happen hard enough, you can…manifest it, I guess? Like, maybe you desperately wished to escape those muggers, and that’s why you were able to escape?”

“That doesn’t explain how I turned my substitute teacher’s hair blue once, though,” Harry said with a watery laugh, wiping away the last of his tears.

“Maybe…maybe you really wanted to embarrass them? And your…magic, just did whatever was easiest? Or maybe it’s more like wild magic, like in Warlocks and Warriors?”

Jason blinked. “Timberly, I have a very important question for you: What the hell is Warlocks and Warriors?”

Tim blushed. “It’s a fantasy role-playing game. Some of the kids talk about it at school, so…I looked it up, and it sounded cool, so I…sorta ordered the main player’s guide? And I maybe, kinda, read the whole thing in one night?”

Jason stared, then burst into laughter. “Timmy, you never told me you were a nerd!”

Tim smiled shyly. “Um. Surprise?”

Still laughing, Jason tossed an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “We have to talk nerd stuff. Do you like reading? What about Lord of the Rings? That’s peak fantasy. You have heard of Lord of the Rings, right?”

“I’ve seen the movies. Even though I’m not supposed to, since they’re PG-13,” Tim confessed.

“What about the book? Have you read the book?”

“Um. No?”

Jason gave a cry of dismay. “That has to be remedied. Get yourself a copy. I’ll find a way to read it to you if I have to, but you have to read it.”

Tim smiled a little. “I’ll get a copy.”

“What about me?” Harry asked. “I haven’t even seen the movies.”

“That book is on my list, little hawk. If I have my way, we’ll start reading it this summer.”

“And one day you can come to my house and we can watch the movies,” Tim said shyly. “You guys…haven’t been over in a while.”

Jason clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll try to come soon, Timbo. But buses are hard to sneak onto. And no, you’re not buying us the bus fare again.”

Tim closed his mouth, pouting.

Harry laughed. “We’ll come over as soon as we can, Tim. Promise.”

“And in the meantime, you can practice your magic,” Tim said eagerly. “So that next time you come over, you can show me something!”

Harry smiled hesitantly. “Deal.”

***

Two hundred dollars, it turned out, lasted a really long time! They stocked up on essentials, Jason bought new (used) shoes, since he had outgrown his old ones—a very cool and well broken-in pair of black combat boots—and they replaced Harry’s tattered t-shirt with something better. And there was still a ton of money left over! Jason insisted they save as much as possible, but he did let them treat themselves just a little.

While they were in the thrift shop looking for new clothes, Jason picked up three new books to add to their collection: Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, the very first Boxcar Children book, and, to Harry’s absolute delight, his very own copy of Inkheart! He’d been devastated when they’d had to return it to the library. But now, now they could read it every single night if they wanted!

So Harry had no problems at all when, the very next time Harry and Jason went to the library, they checked out a couple of books on meditation and, for a change in pace, yoga, instead of new novels. One of the books even talked about reaching your “inner energy core.” From the fantasy books he’d read with Jason, Harry figured that basically meant reaching your inner magic! And a bunch of the meditation books suggested using incense.

To Harry, that sounded like a lot of fun, plus it would help him learn his magic, plus it was something extra special and useful! Their hiding place had been smelling more and more like mold and the dumpsters down below as the weather slowly warmed up. Incense would make it smell better!

And Harry was still only eight years old.

He latched on to the idea and wouldn’t let it go.

At first it was just idle conversation.

“Yeah, it’d be nice, little hawk,” Jason commented as they settled in for the night, the air unusually warm for mid-March.

“It would be super, super cool, too. And fancy!” Harry had commented back.

“Yeah. It would sure spruce up our base, huh?”

Days later, when Jason had decided to join Harry on the rooftop visiting with Tim, Harry had brought it up again.

“Ooh! Incense is actually super cool!” Tim gushed. “You know there are so many ancient cultures that use it for meditation and worship, too? Egypt, Mesopotamia, Greece, China, and so, so many more! Some even read fortunes in the smoke and ashes!” he exclaimed.

“That’s really neat, Timmy,” Jason said with a faint smile. “That’s cool that you know so much stuff like that.”

Tim ducked his head, his cheeks flushing a little. “It’s just ‘cuz of my parents,” he murmured. “They tell me things about their digs and expect me to understand, so I started researching everything I could every time they left. So when they came back, I could actually talk about stuff with them instead of just pretending to understand.”

Harry nodded eagerly. “So you’re an expert, right? See, Jay? He’s an expert! Did your parents ever use incense, too?”

Tim made a face. “I asked once, when my parents came home from a dig in Egypt, if we could try incense, just once. ‘Cuz Egypt is kinda famous for incense. They, um, didn’t like the idea. Mom complained about how cheap and artificial most incense is nowadays, and doesn’t want the smoke ‘stinking up the house.’. And Dad claimed the smoke gave him a headache when their work colleagues sometimes used it in the field. But I bet it would be really neat! It would smell really good, I’m sure, and the smoke is supposed to curl in really, really cool patterns!”

“See, Jay?” Harry pointed out. “Tim agrees it would be neat!”

Jason hummed, leaning back on the rooftop. “I never disagreed with ya there, kid. But that sh-that stuff’s expensive. And it’s a fire hazard. What if somethin’ catches fire? You wouldn’t want your new books to burn, would ya?”

“That’s why we’d be super careful. We could even burn it in a different room!” Harry argued. “That way none of our stuff’s in danger!”

“Still expensive, kid. Just ‘cuz we’re makin’ a little more money now doesn’t mean we can spend it on whatever we want. We still gotta eat. And you’re growin’ outta those jeans faster than ya should be.”

Harry pouted but let it go.

For now.

And so it went. Every couple of days, Harry would bring it up again, but every time, Jason would shut him down. He was patient at first, understanding even. But the more Harry brought it up, the more testy Jason got.

“I already told ya, kid, we can’t afford fancy stuff like that!” he finally burst out.

His angry voice startled Harry into cowed silence.

But Harry wasn’t giving up. For the very, very first time in his life, he was going to fight for what he wanted. And he wanted that incense!

So Harry got Tim on his side to help him research brands and prices available locally. He found books about it at the library and learned about all the different scents and which ones were good for meditation. He built a whole solid argument (with Tim’s extensive input) explaining the pros and cons and all the ways they could plan for and avoid any possible dangers. He even made a table!

Finally, when Harry was sure there was no way Jason could say no, and Tim assured him his argument was perfectly sound, Harry carefully confronted Jason in their base one morning.

Jason got a pinched look as Harry presented his argument. Very logically, if Harry did say so himself. He even managed to keep his voice (mostly) neutral while presenting all the facts, trying very, very hard to keep his (very strong!) feelings out of it.

When Harry was done, he stood rocking on his toes, awaiting Jason’s verdict.

Jason gave a very long, very heavy sigh and pulled Harry into a hug.

“Is…this a yes?” Harry dared to whisper.

“I’m really impressed by the argument, kiddo. I can tell you worked real hard on it.”

Harry bit his lip as Jason gently pushed him away. “But…?”

“We’re down to our last forty dollars, kid. We ain’t had any luck with jacking any new tires lately, either. And we’re runnin’ out of a lotta stuff already.” Jason put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “I’m really sorry, little hawk. But the answer’s still no.”

Harry blinked rapidly and shook his head. “No. That’s not how this is supposed to go! I asked nicely. I—I did all the work. Tim helped, but I did most of it! Dudley never had to do anything except point and scream. I—I did everything right. I—I—this isn’t how this is supposed to go,” Harry whispered, still shaking his head. Were his hands shaking? Something felt weird. Like a twist in his gut. He just wanted a stupid smelly stick so he could meditate. Just this once, Harry was asking for something.

But asking had never worked before. Maybe he should have known better than to get his hopes up.

But it’s not fair! Harry thought, lifting his head to look at Jason again.

He looked upset, but not like he was going to change his mind.

Harry felt his eyes narrow and his lips turn down in a scowl.

This wasn’t fair!

The change on the shelf rattled. A few pennies and a quarter rolled off the shelf to thud to the ground.

Jason jumped, glancing back wildly, then turning back to Harry with wide eyes. “Uh, little hawk? Maybe you should calm down?”

“It’s not fair!” Harry exclaimed tearfully. “I never ask for things! Never! You—you get all your books! Why—why can’t I have incense? I don’t care if it’s cheap and the most boring smell ever. I just—I wanna learn about my m-mag—my power. I wanna know what I can do! If I can help! I—I just wanna help!” Harry’s voice cracked and broke as tears slid down his cheeks.

Jason looked pained, his lips pressed together tightly.

Harry sniffled pathetically. “Please, Jay? I—I’ll never ask for anything else, ever again. I promise. Just...I never asked for anything before. And this is…it’s just a little thing. Just a little thing. I’m not asking for brand new clothes or—or anything crazy like that. Just…just this. To help me with my magic.” Harry blinked again, fresh tears sliding down his cheeks. “Please, Jay? Just this, then I’ll never, ever ask for anything, ever again.”

Jason’s face twisted. “Don’t—don’t look at me like that, little hawk,” he said, his voice strained. “I—we can’t—”

“It’s just a dollar. Just one dollar. Please, Jay.” Harry even went so far as to clasp his hands in front of him. “Please?”

“I—”

Harry’s lower lip trembled, more tears threatening.

Jason’s face twisted further. “Aw, come on. Don’t—don’t look at me like that.”

“Please? Can we at least go look? And—and I can pick some pockets along the way. I’ve gotten really, really good at it. That—that would cover the cost, right?”

Jason grimaced. “I don’t know…”

Harry bit his lip and grasped Jason’s hands. “Please, big brother?”

Jason crumpled, exhaling forcefully in what sounded like a curse word. “We’ll look. That’s all.”

Harry immediately lit up and threw his arms around Jason. “Thank you! You’re the bestest, most awesome brother ever!”

“I said we’re gonna look,” Jason repeated.

Harry grinned, ignoring the tears still on his cheeks. “That’s what you say now,” Harry teased.

Jason groaned. “Ugh. Get your shoes on, you little gremlin, you.”

Harry cheered and did a victory dance before hurrying to pull his shoes on. Then he grabbed Jason’s hand and all but dragged him out of the apartment, and skipped all the way to the drug store.

***

Needless to say, they did more than just look. It took minimal persuasion once the package was in Jason’s hands, while Harry held a cool wooden incense tray (that was only fifty cents!). After test-smelling the half a dozen options the drug store had available, they settled on sandalwood. Harry liked it because it smelled like campfire smoke—or at least, it smelled like the air when one of his neighbors in Surry was grilling, which had always made Harry both hungry and jealous. (He’d always wondered what it would be like to go camping, after one of his classmates came back from a break telling all kinds of cool stories about his trip to the Cairngorms all the way in Scotland.)

Jason deemed sandalwood to be the “least offensive to the senses,” after he actively gagged at two of the smells, coughed at another, and grimaced in distaste at the rest.

That same evening, flushed with victory and excitement and trying not to giggle, Harry lit an incense stick with Jason’s help, plopped down cross-legged on a spare blanket (it was warmer out now, so they didn’t need so many at night), and propped one of the books open to the diagrams. Harry couldn’t see the words, but Jason had read them out loud, and the diagrams were pretty easy to follow.

Harry started clumsily through a few yoga forms, but he was so focused on getting the motions right that he couldn’t actually think about anything else. So he gave up for now and went back to sitting, following the breathing exercises the book described.

Within ten minutes, he was asleep.

Laughing, Jason woke him when the incense stick burned out.

“I don’t think meditation and sleeping are the same thing, little hawk,” Jason teased as Harry blinked blearily up at him. The room smelled really nice, like woodsmoke in the winter. Much better than the stale, musty smell of unwashed kids and the hint of mold they’d gotten used to.

“I wasn’t tryin’ ta fall asleep!” Harry whined. “But it smells really nice and the breathin’ made me sleepy and I couldn’t help it!”

Jason chuckled. “It probably just takes practice. Come eat something, then you can go back to sleep.”

Pouting, Harry straightened up, rolling his neck and shoulders. “You do the yoga with me next time. Then I can laugh at you instead of feeling silly by myself,” he said petulantly.

Jason rolled his eyes, grinning. “Yeah, all right. Not like I’ve got anythin’ better ta do.”

So they started a routine. In the morning when they got up, they’d do yoga for as long as it took an incense stick to burn out, then they’d go about their regular day, stealing food out of dumpsters or using the little cash they had to buy it at convenience stores. They’d spend an hour or so around three or four playing at the park, because it was the only time they wouldn’t look suspicious, because all the other kids coming home from school would stop to play, too.

Harry loved the monkey bars, practicing until his hands were covered in blisters, and then callouses. Then he could swing across them quickly two, three, then four at a time, and he was even trying to flip up onto the end bar like he’d seen Robin do so many times. Jason cheered him on, laughing when he fell instead of worrying because the bars were only four feet off the ground. Then Harry would chase him around the playground, swearing vengeance. Sometimes Jason let Harry catch him, but more often, Harry was just too fast.

Then, when the kids started heading home and the work day was ending, they’d pick a few pockets on the way back to their hideout (“It’s a base, little hawk!,” Jason would always protest. “Hideouts are for little kids!” And Harry would respond, “We are little kids, Jay!”). If they were lucky, they’d jack a car, too. And a week and a half after the routine started, they’d managed to net another seventy dollars when they managed to make off with a tire, which greatly diminished Jason’s money stress.

When they made it back—sometimes late in the evening after meeting with Tim on another rooftop—they’d eat dinner, such as it was, and Harry would practice meditating while they burned another incense stick. (“You’re lucky this stuff is cheap, little hawk,” Jason would tell him in exasperation every time they had to restock, which was about every two weeks.) More often than not, Harry would fall asleep. But he was lasting longer and longer each day.

Finally, toward the end of April, Harry was able to last the full thirty minutes each time. One day, Harry felt a spark deep inside. He prodded at it, learning about it. It wasn’t something he could see, but Harry visualized it like the glowing ember at the end of the incense stick, something burning slow and steady but could flare into an inferno in an instant with the right catalyst—like Jason learned when he got a little too curious and held a scrap of paper to the ember and had it burst into flame. They’d both panicked and Jason had stomped it out with his socked foot, so now there was a burn spot on the floor and a singed hole in one of his socks. (They laughed about it every time they saw the burn spot on the cheap vinyl floor.)

After a few days, Harry learned what his magic felt like, and started trying to do things with it. His first goal was to light the room, because even when the sun was high outside, there were no windows in their laundry room, and neither of them were a fan of the dark. They usually left the door wide open to the rest of the apartment, which let in plenty of natural light during the day. But as soon as the sun set or they closed the door, it was pitch dark inside. (The overhead light that had gone out with the snowstorm never came back on. And it was too high up for them to even think about trying to change the bulb.)

In the first week of May, Harry—still deep in meditation—extended a hand out and pictured a ball of light inside. He imagined it like a candle flame, like the ones that had saved their life and brought so much comfort during that snowstorm. He concentrated hard, trying to coax that little ember deep inside him to move from his stomach to his hand and glow.

Jason’s gasp almost made him lose his concentration.

But Harry was stubborn. He hung on to the feeling—a light tingling, a faint warmth flowing up his arm—and slowly let his eyes flicker open.

And then it was his turn to gasp in wonder. There, on his hand, was a tiny dancing flame, like someone had just lifted the candle flame off the wick and let it hover over his palm, but there was no heat. His palm was also glowing slightly, like when he put his hand over the bulb of their camping lantern. The room was lit with a soft golden candlelight, brighter than a flame that size should have been able to accomplish.

“Jay…I did it,” Harry whispered, willing the tiny, wonderful flame to stay.

“That’s fucking amazing,” Jason whispered.

The curse word startled Harry so much he lost his concentration, and the flame snuffed out as if it were never there. It wasn’t the word that startled Harry; he’d heard it hundreds of times. But Jason was always so careful to filter himself around Harry (which was unnecessary, but it was a little funny and it made Harry feel warm that someone cared enough to actually watch their language when speaking around him), so the slip had startled him.

“Jay!” Harry whined. “You made me lose my concentration!”

“So just do it again.”

Harry pouted and tried, but he was suddenly so tired, like he’d just bolted away from a group of thugs or an angry shopkeeper. His brain hurt, too.

“I can’t. ‘M too tired,” Harry slurred. “And my brain hurts.”

“Then go to bed and you can try again tomorrow.”

Blinking sleepily, Harry crawled over to Jason and plopped down beside him, with his head in Jason’s lap. “’Kay,” he murmured and closed his eyes.

The last thing he registered was a soft chuckle and fingers running gently through his hair.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: One Year

Suddenly it was summertime again, and Harry had the startling realization that he’d survived a year on the streets of one of the most crime-riddled cities in America. And even more startling: despite the hardships, it had legitimately been the happiest he’d ever been. Yeah, sometimes he passed out from hunger. He’d been beaten up by muggers and once he’d fallen off a fire escape and sprained his wrist. He got singed when Firefly, another of Batman’s rogues, decided to set ablaze the building next to the rooftop Harry had been on.

And Harry very nearly learned the hard way what was meant by selling kids. He’d been taken by surprise one particular evening on his way back from visiting with Tim on their rooftop, exhausted and hungry, and he was dragged into a warehouse before he could fight back. He glimpsed a dozen other kids tied up or in crates—as in, crates meant for big dogs. As soon as he realized what was happening, Harry pitched the biggest fit he ever had in his life: kicking, screaming, biting, whacking with his steel pipe anywhere he could reach, then Harry did what he did best—he ran like hell.

When he couldn’t breathe and his vision was swimming with black spots, Harry finally took cover behind a dumpster—literally crammed between rusty metal and a brick wall, with a leaky trash bag above him balanced over the narrow gap.

After he recovered from the shock and terror and the many, many bruises, Harry had left a tip with Tim about the warehouse, who would in turn leave a tip for Batman—though Harry didn’t ask how he managed that. But apparently he’d been doing it for months.

But despite all that, Jason was beside him through all of it, and Tim was always a listening ear. And seeing as Harry had only dreamed of finding even one person who cared about him, it was beyond his imaginings to have found two. The only thing Harry found himself still wishing for anymore was air conditioning. Or at least an electric fan. And in the meantime, Harry kept practicing his magic.

It only took him a few weeks after the first time before Harry could summon his floating candle flame on demand. Many evenings were spent reading by (magic) candlelight, though often Harry was distracted moving the little flame around the room, making it do circles and loop-de-loops and giggling madly all the while. And Jason never once got upset at him for it. Sometimes Harry got a fond but exasperated sigh, but it was almost always accompanied by a hair ruffle, so he knew Jason wasn’t actually mad.

Harry was pretty sure he’d never been happier in his entire life.

Halfway through June, they finally got a good enough haul off their latest heist stealing tires that they could take a day or two off from scavenging, actually buy bus passes, and go see Tim at his house, instead of just meeting up on rooftops a few times a week. Tim was fully updated on Harry’s progress, but Harry hadn’t shown it off at all, because a random floating light on top of a building was bound to draw attention. And the last thing any of them needed was attention. So Tim was super excited to see the magic for real.

So on June 16^th, a Saturday, right after their morning yoga, Harry and Jason put on their nicest clothes—jeans with the least amount of holes and/or stains, t-shirts with hems that hadn’t completely unraveled, their ever-present hoodies against the morning chill, and Harry’s hiking boots (which still fit!) and Jason’s combat boots (which…didn’t fit quite so well). They carried their backpacks, looking like kids going on a day trip or over to a friend’s house for a school project, and hopped on the bus to Bristol.

As agreed, Tim met them at the bus stop in Bristol, practically vibrating with excitement. As soon as they stepped off the bus, Tim grabbed both their hands and all but dragged them along toward his house.

He stopped after a few minutes, because it was a two-mile walk, but then he chattered excitedly nonstop about all the research he’d been doing, and how excited he was, and how amazing it was that his twin brother was a magician (Harry preferred the term wizard; it sounded way cooler). Harry and Jason barely got a word in edgewise.

Almost the second they stepped through the manor doors, Tim turned and demanded to see Harry’s magic!

Suddenly feeling shy, Harry said quietly, “It’ll be cooler in a dark room.”

“Okay!” Tim grabbed their hands again and led them…literally to a darkroom. As in, this was the room Tim developed his photographs in.

“I don’t have any pictures developing right now, so a little light isn’t going to hurt anything,” Tim said quickly. “Now show me! Show me, please!”

Jason grinned at Harry in encouragement, so Harry took a deep breath. It took only one cycle of the breathing exercises to slip into his meditative stance, and it took only one more cycle to bring the flame into being.

Tim gasped.

“That’s not all he can do,” Jason bragged.

Encouraged, and with Tim’s enthusiasm catching, Harry smiled broader and moved the flame around in circles, then figure-eights, sending it all over the room.

Tim’s eyes were sparkling, his grin so wide it had to hurt as he stared in awe. Harry flushed a little at the attention, but he was so proud of what he could do.

“I have one more trick,” Harry said after a few minutes.

Jason gave a mock gasp. “You’ve managed to keep a secret from me, little hawk?”

Harry flushed and grinned, nodding. “I practiced at night, after you were asleep.”

“What is it? What is it?!” Tim bounced on his toes, his eyes bright and eager.

Harry smirked and willed the flame to change color. He cycled it through all the colors of the rainbow, then split the flame into seven different ones, each one a different color.

Tim laughed in delight.

Jason gaped.

“Holy shit, Harry!”

Harry giggled. “You said ‘shit.’”

Tim bit his lip, trying not to laugh.

“Well, yeah,” Jason exclaimed. “That you could do just one was already fucking amazing. Now you can multiply them? And change colors? I think that warrants a few curse words!”

Harry and Tim started giggling at the other word Jason used. The colored lights still hovered overhead, causing ethereal colored shadows to dance along the walls. Then Jason joined in the laughter. And then Harry just basked in the glow of his own little mage lights and the wonderful feeling of acceptance and pride and excitement surrounding him, rather than disgust, horror, and fear.

The lights flickered, changing to soft blues and greens with a flicker of pink and violet, as if reading the mood. Tim looked up in surprise and awe, then suddenly he threw his arms around Harry with enough force that he stumbled backward.

“You’re amazing and I love you!” Tim exclaimed.

Harry caught his breath, then hid his face against Tim’s shoulder as tears stung his eyes. “Thank you. Twin,” Harry whispered.

Tim gasped softly, then hugged Harry even tighter. “I love you, twin,” he whispered back.

“All right, enough with the tooth rotting. You’re both disgustingly adorable.” Jason grabbed them both in a tight, tight hug, pressing a brief kiss into both their hair, then turned them around and ushered them out of the room.

Laughing wetly, Harry let himself be pushed, allowing his lights to fade and the room to fall back into darkness as the door closed behind him.

“Now, I don’t know about you, Harry, but I want a shower and real food,” Jason stated. “You gonna play host, Timmy? Or do I have to show myself up?”

Tim eeped in surprise. “Ohmygod! I’ve been so rude! Demanding things and not even offering refreshments! I’m so, so sorry!” He bowed his head so low he was practically groveling.

Jason poked the top of his head. “Relax, Timbit. I’m teasing.”

Tim hesitantly looked up, and they were both shocked to see his eyes shimmering with tears. “R-really? You—you’re not gonna yell at me?”

“Why would I yell at you? You invited us over; it would be even ruder for me to reprimand you for being a bad host.”

“But you’re not a bad host,” Harry cut in as Tim’s face fell. “Besides, we didn’t come here to be hosted. I dunno ‘bout Jason, but I came here to see my twin and my very best friend in the whole world. I don’t care that you didn’t get us a glass of water or somethin’,” Harry finished fiercely. “And if your parents woulda yelled at you, then they suck.”

Jason poked Harry in the side. “You sound more and more Crime Alley every day,” he teased. Then he pulled Tim into a hug. “Now quit crying, Timberly.”

Tim sniffed as he hugged Jason back, laughing wetly at the nickname. He pressed into Jason’s chest for just a moment, then pulled back, wiping his eyes. “Um. I have some frozen pizzas. Or, um, TV dinners.”

“Pizza,” Harry declared. “TV dinners are gross.”

“You can only say that because here you’re allowed to be picky,” Jason said wryly. “But I agree. I want pizza. I don’t care if it’s only like ten in the morning.”

“And we can shower while they cook, so we can be clean when we eat,” Harry chirped.

Tim nodded, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. “I remember how to use the oven. From Christmas.”

“I’m still gonna supervise, baby bird,” Jason declared. “I don’t want ya burning yourself on my watch.”

Tim nodded, his smile looking a little more genuine. “Okay.”

“Lead the way, then, Timbers,” Jason said, gesturing dramatically.

Giggling, Tim did indeed lead the way to the kitchens. Under Jason’s (and Harry’s) careful supervision, he put both pizzas in the oven.

Then Harry and Jason exchanged a look and a smirk.

“Race you!” Harry exclaimed, and he tore up the stairs.

“Hey! No fair!” Jason raced after him with Tim on his heels, laughing loudly.

Harry made it to the guest bathroom first, hardly even out of breath. He laughed and stuck his tongue out as Jason stumbled to a stop just seconds later.

“Me, first!”

Then Tim stumbled up the stairs, huffing and puffing. “How are…you guys…so fast?” he whined.

“Running away from muggers and thugs,” Jason deadpanned.

Harry elbowed him. “Exercise. You just sit at home all day. Maybe you could try exercising.” Harry shrugged. “It’ll be something to do anyway. Jason and I are doing yoga, too.”

Tim looked thoughtful. “Maybe you could show me?”

“Sure, Timbelina.”

Harry snickered at the nickname while Tim adopted a long-suffering look that looked terribly out of place on his young face.

“My name is Tim,” he whined.

Jason grinned. “Ah, don’t lie. You love it.”

Tim stuck his tongue out. “You’re annoying.”

Jason smirked back. “But you love me anyway.”

Tim scowled. “Unfortunately, I do love you.”

Jason’s cheeks pinked. He cleared his throat and pushed Harry into the bathroom. “Go get clean, little hawk. I’m gonna help Timbit pick out the most obnoxious outfit for you.”

“No! Not Green Arrow!” Harry complained (not meaning it in the slightest).

Jason smirked and shut the door on him.

Harry laughed quietly and started the shower running. They’d been over about a dozen times by now, so they had a routine down. They’d shower pretty soon after arriving, and Tim would wash their clothes while they hung out, eating whenever they felt like it, then they’d stay the night and make their way back in the morning. The only exceptions were those few extremely cold days and nights back in January and February, and a random, extreme cold snap in late March. Then they’d stayed for two or three days in a row, until the temperature went up a little.

Harry took his time enjoying the shower, but he was also looking forward to pizza, so he didn’t take too long.

It wasn’t until he’d stepped out of the shower and dried off that Harry realized he’d put his old clothes out for wash, but hadn’t received a change of clothes in return. He thought he’d heard a knock earlier, so maybe they were on the floor just outside?

Biting his lip and wrapping one towel firmly around his waist and the other around his shoulders like a blanket, Harry peeked out.

No clothes. Old or new.

“Uh…Tim?” Harry called. He was starting to shiver, and his heart was beating hard. Harry had made the mistake once, early last summer, of washing his clothes in a gas station bathroom, but he hadn’t had anything to change into. The bathroom was usually empty. No one was ever in that gas station besides the cashier when Harry went. He’d thought he’d be safe.

Then someone had walked in on him.

Harry had stared, his whole face flushing.

The man had looked him up and down, his gaze lingering with a glint in his eye, then walked past him into a stall. And then Harry had heard moaning.

He’d pulled on his soaking wet clothes and high-tailed it out of there, terrified out of his mind. And from then on, Harry had never, ever taken his clothes off in front of anyone. Not even Jason.

There was a crash across the hall, then Tim burst out with a bundle in his arms.

“I’m so sorry! Jason was being annoying, and then we started arguing, and then I forgot!” Tim presented the bundle practically in a bow. “I’m so, so sorry!”

Swallowing hard, Harry reached out with one hand and took the bundle, but the towel around his shoulders slipped. Tim blinked, then immediately shoved the clothes at him and ran back to his room.

His heart pounding, Harry pulled the door closed and locked it again, hugging the clothes to his chest with shaking hands. After a second, Harry thought to use his breathing exercises to try and make his heart rate slow down. And a few minutes later, it finally did. So Harry got dressed, in cargo shorts and—yep, a Green Arrow shirt. Harry laughed quietly; he was never telling Jason that Green Arrow was his favorite, because a bow and arrow was so cool, and he reminded Harry of Robin Hood, whom Harry had loved since the moment he’d heard of him.

Harry was immediately ambushed by Tim when he returned to his room.

“I’m so, so sorry!” Tim blubbered. “I didn’t mean to see the scars, I swear!”

Harry tensed, then made himself relax. “It’s fine,” he said stiffly.

Jason—already showered, his damp hair curling, wearing a Wonder Woman t-shirt and cargo shorts like Harry’s—sat up from where he was lounging on Tim’s bed. “Harry? Little hawk? What scars is he talking about?”

Harry hid behind Tim. “‘S nothing,” he mumbled. Uncle Vernon may have only used his belt once, but it left a lasting impression. Harry had almost forgotten about those scars, but now that Tim brought it up, it was just one more reason why he wouldn’t ever get changed in front of someone.

Then Jason was there, hugging him tightly from behind.

“I’ve got scars, too, little hawk,” Jason murmured softly. “It’s proof we’re survivors.”

Harry sniffed and hugged Tim a little tighter.

For a long minute they just stood there, with Harry sandwiched between his two brothers(!), then Tim pulled back with a grin.

“I’ve got a list of magic things you should try! Wanna see?!”

Harry smiled a little wetly and wiped his cheeks. “Yeah. I wanna try all kinds of things now.”

Jason squeezed Harry a little tighter before letting go. “Then let’s see this list. I need to exercise my big brother powers and veto anything that sounds too dangerous.”

“Jay!” Harry complained. “It’s my magic!”

“And you were practically comatose for three days the last time I let you practice unsupervised!” Jason countered.

“‘S not my fault I fell asleep! And it always faded before!”

Jason poked him. “Don’t care. We don’t know hardly anything about these powers of yours. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Harry pouted. He would never tell Jason, but he liked that his big brother(!) worried about him. No one ever had before.

Tim giggled. “Don’t worry; I’ll cross ‘shoot lasers’ off my list,” he quipped.

They both gasped, Harry in mock betrayal and Jason in shock that it was even on his list. Tim laughed and grabbed both their hands, dragging them downstairs.

“Come on! Pizza awaits!”

The other two grinned and let Tim pull them along.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Batman

Tim’s and Harry’s ninth birthdays came and went. Harry and Jason spent both days with Tim at his house, luxuriating in the cool air, clean clothes, and all the ice cream they could eat. (Because Tim’s parents didn’t come back for his birthday. Again.)

For Harry’s birthday, Jason had kept back a few dollars from their last heist to buy him a leather bracelet with a hawk stamped on it from a pawn shop. It was, sadly, too big for Harry’s wrist and it wasn’t adjustable, so it had a place of honor in their base, and Harry spent many nights running his fingers over the elaborate stenciling with his head pillowed on Jason’s shoulder or stomach, basking in the feeling of being loved.

Harry also got Jason to finally admit his own birthday—August 16^th. Harry asked for Tim’s help for his gift. He spent hours on the rooftops with Tim, following tutorials on Tim’s phone with scrap yarn bought cheap at a craft store, until finally, Harry was confident enough to do it for real. At the same craft store, Harry spent a dollar-fifty on new colored string (about thirty cents per color), then spent another three nights on the rooftops, his tongue poking out in concentration as he carefully knotted and wove the string into a repeating pattern of spread wings in soft browns and dark reds along the length of the bracelet. He did a fancy knot that would make the bracelet adjustable, and shyly presented it to Jason on the morning of his birthday.

Jason cried as he put it on, and he never took it off. Harry didn’t even mind when it got dirty, because it reminded him that Jason loved his gift enough to wear it all the time, no matter what.

Shortly afterward, though, their money and food stores ran short again. And Harry and Jason had outgrown most of their clothes. Both of them were cuffing their pants so it looked like they were showing their ankles on purpose, and Jason had already torn the tight sleeves off his t-shirt to turn it into a tank top.Harry’s shirt showed his midriff whenever he raised his arms above his head.

Luckily, Harry’s hiking boots—still sturdy, if very, very battered by now—were now just the right size. And Jason had just gotten the new boots of his own. But the clothes needed to be replaced before the nights got cold again. And they needed food. So they started scouting for another score.

One night in late August, they were returning home after another unsuccessful day. Harry had tried pick-pocketing, but the wallet he pulled only had seven dollars in it and not much else. It bought them a few cans of beans and a box of granola bars, but that was it. Tired and hungry, they were trudging past the old theater in the center of Crime Alley when suddenly they did a double-take.

“No. Way.” Jason stared, unabashed, at the sleek black car just…parked, right there, in the middle of the most crime-riddled part of Gotham.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Jay…I think that’s the Batmobile. The real, actual Batmobile.”

Jason’s lips curled upward. “So…what do you say we mess with Tim’s hero? He’ll never believe it.”

“But it’s Batman. He’s got to have, like, sensors or something. Wouldn’t he?”

Jason shrugged, pulling his tire iron out from under his shirt. “Why don’t we try and see?”

Harry bit his lip, but the thrill of taking Batman’s tires overrode the fear of being caught. He smirked and nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Jason smirked back. “You know the drill.” He waved absently, and Harry immediately took up the lookout post. Maybe tomorrow he’d argue that he was big enough and strong enough to help take off the tires, too. But they were on a time limit.

Harry kept his eyes peeled, repeatedly scanning the whole alley and keeping his ears pricked for any sound. Harry didn’t expect much, because it was Batman. He held on to the hope that, if they did get caught, Batman would go easy on them since they were kids. Batman liked kids, right? Because Robin was a kid. Well, a teenager. But he’d been a kid when he started, according to Tim.

Harry heard two soft thuds that meant Jason had gotten the first two tires off, so Harry moved in, still watching, and rolled them away into an alley. Then he moved in a little closer, his eyes peeled.

A third soft thud. Harry took the third tire while Jason started on the last.

Would they actually pull this off? There was no sign of Batman or Robin. Though Tim had said that Robin had been patrolling alone a lot lately. So maybe Robin was somewhere else tonight. That made it less likely they’d be discovered. Unless, of course, Robin was watching from somewhere up high.

Oh. Harry should be checking the roofs, too.

A fourth thud.

Harry looked up to scan the rooftop behind them just as a shadow detatched itself from a billboard and dropped to the ground.

Harry squeaked, then whistled. Jason left the last tire and bolted.

Harry followed.

A hand closed around Harry’s upper arm.

Panic engulfed him. He was six again, and he’d been caught stealing from the pantry, and Vernon had grabbed his arm and—

“No! No! Let me go! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to take it! Please, don’t hit me. Please!” Harry squirmed and tried to get free, tears burning his eyes.

Then Harry was lifted off his feet.

He stopped breathing.

“Don’t. Touch. Him!”

Harry dropped and he scrambled away, trembling, choking back sobs. A smaller hand gripped his wrist and pulled him up and back.

His breath hitching, Harry cracked his eyes open. After a moment, his vision cleared enough to recognize Jason standing protectively in front of him, one arm across Harry’s chest and holding him back.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Jason snarled.

Harry caught his breath and looked up. He squeaked again at the large, black figure before them.

Crouched, arms low and spread to show he was unarmed.

Harry shrank against Jason’s back, gripping the back of his shirt with one trembling hand.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Batman—that was Batman!—Batman’s voice was gravely but unexpectedly soft.

Jason scoffed. “They all say that. We’ll give back the damn tires, but let us go.”

“Let me rephrase. I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. But I would like my tires back.”

“They’re in the alley. Now let us go.”

Batman slowly stood up. “Why don’t you put them back? That seems appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Then you’ll let us go?”

“Then we’ll talk.”

Jason glared at him, then stalked toward the alley. Harry kept his grip on Jason’s shirt and followed, glancing back fearfully.

Batman didn’t move. He relaxed, in fact, and just watched.

Still trembling a little, Harry helped roll the tires back, and then Jason let him tighten some of the lug nuts. All the while, Jason kept a wary eye on the black-clad vigilante, standing about ten feet away.

When the last lug night was tightened to Jason’s satisfaction, they both stepped back.

“There. Now let us go.”

“I said we’d talk. But first, I have a very important question for you two.”

Harry and Jason exchanged a look.

Batman’s stern look lightened ever so slightly. “Are you hungry?”

Harry gasped, then caught himself and hid halfway behind Jason. Jason reached back and grabbed Harry’s hand.

“If I say yes, what are you gonna do about it?”

“How do you feel about Batburger?”

Harry gasped again, this time in excitement. “Batburger, Jason,” he breathed.

Jason huffed in what could have been a laugh. “Fine. But you don’t touch Harry.”

“Or Jason,” Harry piped up, ignoring the glare Jason sent his way.

“I won’t touch either of you without your permission. I promise.”

Harry glanced at Jason, eyes wide, lips turned down just a little.

Jason gave him the stink eye. “Fine,” he said.

Batman’s mouth relaxed just a little more. (It was the only part of his face Harry could see, other than the whited-out eyes on his cowl.) “Hop in, then.” He pulled open the back door of the Batmobile. Harry inhaled, then held his breath so he didn’t squeal in excitement.

“Tim is never gonna believe this,” Harry breathed as he slid in next to Jason.

“Maybe your sticky fingers can find him a souvenir,” Jason breathed back, smirking.

Harry gaped. He opened his mouth, then glanced at Batman and reverted to sign language, turning his body sideways to partially obscure the signs. ‘I can’t steal from Batman!’

Jason glanced at Batman, catching what Harry was doing, and responded with sign language, too. ‘It would be the greatest accomplishment ever. But you’re right. Knowing him, everything is probably booby-trapped.’

Harry laughed silently, then squeaked as the Batmobile roared to life under him. He covered his mouth, glancing forward. Batman didn’t even glance at him.

‘Once he feeds us,’ Jason signed, ‘we need to try and make a break for it. We can’t afford for him to turn us into CPS, or the police.’

Harry instantly sobered. ‘Would he do that?’

Jason gave him a grim look. ‘That would be our best option. Worse…he takes us home and…’ Jason made a vague gesture.

Harry barely held back a gasp. ‘But he’s Batman.’

‘And he’s probably a rich bureaucrat, too. Powerful men like proving their power,’ Jason signed. ‘Especially at the expense of the weak.’

Harry shivered, then glanced at Batman again. He still wasn’t paying them any attention. Moments later, they pulled up in front of the same Batburger they’d visited back in March. Harry clutched the back of Jason’s shirt as they followed Batman inside.

The smell of oil and grease was familiar, but it wasn’t as exciting this time. Not with Batman looming over them. This close, Harry was acutely aware that, at any moment, he could change his mind and throw them back into the street. Literally. Or worse, beat them up like he did criminals. Because they were criminals. They were serial car tire thieves. And pick-pockets. And regular thieves. Batman beat up thieves, then left them in the street for the cops.

Bad things happened to people left injured in the streets.

Harry caught his breath and stepped closer to Jason, now clutching his shirt with both hands.

“Order whatever you want.”

“Anything?” Jason challenged.

“Anything.”

Jason glanced sideways at Batman, then stepped up to the counter (taking Harry with him).

“Two Batburger meals and a kids’ nuggets meal with two large cokes. And a vanilla shake,” Jason said confidently. (Though Harry could feel the tension in his body.)

“Anything for you, sir?” The cashier asked dully, barely even looking up.

“Regular Batburger meal with a coke,” Batman stated. (Harry’s terror took a temporary backseat to the sheer strangeness of Batman, in that same gravely voice, ordering a fast food meal so calmly.)

They loitered waiting for the meal, Harry still clinging to Jason’s shirt and always keeping the older boy between him and Batman. He could still feel the strong hand around his bicep, his heart still beating a little too fast against his ribs.

Jason’s fists were clenched at his sides, his entire body tense.

When their order was called, Batman carried both trays over to a table near the entrance and passed the second one over, also placing the kids’ meal between them.

Harry graduated from clinging to the back of Jason’s shirt with both hands to just the bottom hem with one hand. Harry reached for his fries, then stopped, looking up fearfully at Batman.

He didn’t seem to notice Harry’s gaze, but he took a deliberate bite of his burger.

Harry hesitantly put a fry in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

His stomach growled for more. Harry suddenly remembered he’d only eaten a granola bar and half a can of baked beans in the last three days.

He didn’t remember letting go of Jason’s shirt, but suddenly he had his burger in both hands and had taken a large bite.

Beside him, Jason was eating quickly but steadily, half hunched over his tray as though afraid it would disappear. Harry didn’t realize it, but he was doing the same.

For a while it was silent as they ate. Harry got the majority of the shake, though he shared it with Jason whenever he wanted. And soon enough, he reached the bottom with a loud slurping noise.

Harry froze as Batman looked up at the noise. Harry quickly put the nearly-empty cup down and shrank in on himself.

“’M sorry. I didn’t mean to make noise,” he whispered.

Batman paused. “I don’t mind.”

Harry hunched in a little more, not believing it.

Catching and holding Batman’s eyes, Jason finished off his drink with a slow, unnecessarily loud slurp. Then he did the same with the shake, being as obnoxious as possible. Not once did he break eye contact.

Batman’s lips twitched in amusement.

Harry slowly uncurled.

Once their trays were empty but for wrappers and empty cups, Harry idly unwrapped the kids’ meal toy. He smiled slightly when he saw it was another Robin figure.

“So what do you want from us?” Jason demanded. “You fed us, and you haven’t turned us in yet. So what’s your aim?”

“I just want to make sure you have somewhere safe to spend the night.”

“We do.”

“With your parents?”

Jason scoffed. “What parents?”

Batman looked visibly disturbed by Jason’s quick dismissal. “I can get you into a good home—”

“No.” Jason stared him down. “The homes they’d send us to are fronts for human trafficking. Or run by deadbeats and wife beaters. And they’d separate us. You can’t turn us over to CPS. You can’t.”

“I…didn’t realize that.”

Jason scoffed again. “Yeah. You don’t realize a lot. That anonymous tip you got for the trafficking ring a few months ago? You only got that because they almost got Harry. You think you’re helping, but all you’re doing is pushing the really bad guys deeper into the dark.”

Harry caught his breath and tugged on Jason’s sleeve. “Jay, don’t.”

There was a long silence. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. But I’d still like to help. If CPS isn’t a good option…would you like to come home with me?”

Jason immediately stiffened.

“Both of us?” Harry asked softly before Jason could speak. “You…you won’t try to separate us?”

“I won’t.”

“Why?” Jason asked harshly. “People aren’t just…nice like that. Everyone wants something. So what do you want from us?”

“The only thing I want is for you to be safe and happy. Nothing else.”

“No. That’s—that’s too good to be true. There has to be something else,” Jason insisted, his voice strained.

“Jay…he’s Batman,” Harry murmured. “No one’s paying him to clean up the streets. He risks his life every night to help people.”

Jason shook his head. “It’s too easy, little hawk,” he insisted in an undertone. “Nothing can be that easy.”

Harry gripped Jason’s hand. “I didn’t ask for anything, either,” he said softly. “Just your company.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut and squeezed Harry’s hand so hard he felt his bones grind together.

Harry didn’t mind.

A moment later, Jason’s grip relaxed, just enough that it didn’t hurt. “Are you sure about this, Harry?”

Harry squeezed back. “Air conditioning,” he quipped in a whisper.

Jason choked on a laugh. “Okay, little hawk. You win.” He straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Okay, Batman. We’ll go with you. On two conditions. You don’t touch Harry.”

“Or Jay,” Harry chimed in.

Jason gave him the stink-eye. “And you don’t turn us over to CPS. No matter what.”

“Deal.” Batman held out his hand to shake. Jason eyed it suspiciously, then hesitantly reached out and took it, shaking once firmly. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Batman extended his hand toward him, too.

Harry stared, glancing between Batman and his outstretched hand several times. Then he took a deep breath and reached out. He winced as Batman’s hand closed around his, but it didn’t hurt. He shook once, then let go.

Harry immediately grabbed Jason’s hand in both his own.

“Well, boys. Let’s go home.”

Exhaling shakily, Jason and Harry got up and followed the vigilante out of the restaurant and back into the Batmobile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: A New Home?

Harry did not let go of Jason’s hand the entire ride. Jason didn’t try to let go, either. They were both tense and nervous, with no idea what to expect.

Harry watched out the windows in an attempt to distract himself from the growing pit in his stomach, only partly due to how much food he’d just eaten on an empty stomach. After about five minutes (though with how fast the Batmobile was going, they could have driven twenty miles already), Harry was startled to recognize the Bristol neighborhood that Tim lived in. He tugged on Jason’s hand and pointed out the window, then stifled a gasp as they passed Tim’s house.

“Jay! That’s Tim’s house!” he breathed.

Jason squeezed his hand and managed a smile. “I see it, little hawk.”

At the far end of the street, the Batmobile took a sharp turn onto a dirt road that descended until it entered a man-made tunnel, then they emerged into a large cavern.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Jay. This is the Bat-cave!”

“Whoa.”

“Here we are.” The Batmobile pulled to a stop, then the back door popped open. Harry slid out, followed by Jason, who immediately took a protective stance in front of him. But he still scanned the huge cavern with wonder and awe.

Harry did the same. The cavern was huge, with actual stalactites hanging from the ceiling! There was a giant dinosaur, a giant penny, a giant playing card, and dozens of other random objects on display. Trophies, maybe? And there was also a huge computer console, and behind it a row of display cases with different versions of the Batman costume. Harry had never even realized it changed!

“Since you’re going to be staying with me, it’s only fair that you know who I am.”

Harry blinked; the gravely voice was gone. He looked at Batman just in time to watch him pull off the cowl.

Harry gaped. “You’re Bruce Wayne!” Harry had seen his face on various news programs and newspapers, the famous (or infamous, depending on who you asked) billionaire playboy philant—philander—do-gooder.

Then Harry’s eyes widened further. “Tim was right,” he breathed.

Jason, however, had the opposite reaction. He immediately backed up, pinning Harry between himself and the car. “You! You—you lied!”

Bruce Wayne—Mr. Wayne?—blinked in confusion. “What did I lie about, lad?”

“I’ve seen the tabloids! You, with your ward, you—you—” Jason couldn’t get the words out. Then he clenched his fists. “You swore you wouldn’t touch us!”

Mr. Wayne scowled (looking very much like Batman). “You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the tabloids, lad. I have never touched my ward that way, and I will never touch either of you that way, either. You can even talk to Dick, my ward. He’ll tell you the same thing.”

“He’s a good guy, Jay,” Harry murmured.

“How do you know?”

“I can just tell. I have good instincts. You told me that.”

Jason clenched his fists tighter, then very deliberately relaxed them. “Fine. Harry trusts you, and I trust Harry. But if you touch him or hit him or take advantage in any way, I—I’ll find a way to kill you and hide the body.”

Harry choked, torn between laughter and horror.

Mr. Wayne laughed. “If I ever do any of that, you’d be more than welcome to. Alfred would even help you.”

“I do hope you aren’t counting on me to help with that paperwork piling up in your study, Master Bruce.”

Mr. Wayne winced. “I told you I’d get to it this afternoon.”

“Indeed.” Out of the shadows came a man in a vest and dress pants, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “That’s what you said yesterday, too. And the day before that.”

Harry stared, because that was a British accent. That was familiar. (He wasn’t sure yet whether to be homesick or terrified.)

“I promise I’ll do it today.”

“I shall hold you to that, Master Bruce.” The man—Alfred, Harry guessed—then spotted himself and Jason. “Oh. If you would have informed me, I would have brought more tea.”

Mr. Wayne smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I...got distracted. This is Jason and Harry. They’ll be staying with us a while. Harry, Jason, this is Alfred Pennyworth, my butler.”

Alfred the butler smiled softly at the two boys. “It’s a pleasure to have you, my boys. Now I suggest the three of you head upstairs. I’ll prepare rooms and more tea. Would the rooms across the hall from Master Dick’s be acceptable?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded, sent one more quick smile at Harry and Jason, then turned and left just as quietly as he’d come.

Harry gaped after him. “A butler. A British butler.”

“Told you he was a rich bureaucrat,” Jason muttered.

“Not quite. I’ve never held office. I’m just a businessman.” Mr. Wayne smiled slightly. “Now come along. It’s getting late, and I’m sure you’re tired.”

He led the way past the computer terminal, then left them for a few minutes to change. When he emerged from a side chamber in sweat pants and a t-shirt, Harry gaped again. If he hadn’t seen him in full costume, with and without the cowl, Harry never would have believed it was the same man.

He still wasn’t entirely convinced.

Feeling an entirely different type of anxiety as he eyed the muscular bulk that the heavy, armored costume had concealed, Harry nervously took Jason’s hand again, squeezing tightly. Jason squeezed back, his shoulders still tense, as they followed the man up a long set of stone steps, through a door, then up another set of wooden steps before they emerged from the wall—behind a grandfather clock!—into a study.

“We’ll go to the kitchen first for tea, then I’ll show you to your rooms. Some of Dick’s old clothes should fit you for now. In a day or two, we can go shopping to get your own. And you should be able to meet Dick this weekend; he’s off with some of his friends now.”

Harry nodded slightly, his stomach churning with nerves and too much greasy food. Jason didn’t seem to be listening.

Mr. Wayne led them along a corridor, down two flights of stairs, and around a corner before stopping in what looked like an informal dining room. The kitchen was attached and Harry could see straight through to it. And it was huge. But then again, so was everything else in the manor. The ceilings towered over them, and the staircases were wide and sweeping. Fancy portraits and landscape prints dotted the walls, with the occasional abstract piece in places with high traffic.

The dining room itself Harry only classed as informal because of the darker colors (Aunt Petunia always insisted that formal dining should be under bright lights in light-colored rooms). The wood paneling was dark brown, with a big oaken table in the middle, and the walls stood a bit closer than Harry would expect (though the room was still bigger than the Dursleys’ entire downstairs). The lighting was currently dim, but Harry could see that there were more lights that were turned off, and there was probably a dimmer attached. The Dursleys had a dimmer in the guest room where Aunt Marge had always stayed, because she’d complained about bright lights in the morning. (Harry had always thought she just shouldn’t get that drunk.)

As if summoned by their entrance, Alfred the butler emerged from the kitchen at the same time Mr. Wayne led Harry and Jason in. He set a cup of tea in front of each them—in real teacups, too!

“I took the liberty of laying out some of Master Dick’s clothes in each of the rooms. The fit should be appropriate. And there are new soaps, towels, and toiletries in each of the bathrooms.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Mr. Wayne took a sip of his tea and let out a sigh. Alfred smiled at Harry and Jason, then retreated back to the kitchen.

Tentatively, Harry lifted the cup with both hands. It wasn’t heavy, but Harry had the terrible thought that he might drop it, and then what would happen? He took a tentative sip and found the tea lightly sweet and floral. Then as he set the cup down, Harry saw that he’d left a streak of grease on the side from his hands.

Swallowing hard, Harry tried to scrub it off with the side of his hand. But he only succeeded in smearing it further.

“Don’t worry about getting the cups dirty,” Mr. Wayne said. “They’re meant to be used. Alfred will wash them anyway.”

Harry froze, caught. Slowly he withdrew his hand and nodded. Then he kept his hands clenched in his lap for the next several minutes.

Jason finished about half his tea, then mimicked Harry’s posture.

A few minutes later, Mr. Wayne finished, too. He stood up and gestured to the two of them.

Harry hesitated, glancing at the cups.

Mr. Wayne noticed. (Did he see everything?)

(Of course he did. He was Batman.)

“Alfred will take care of the cups. Come along.”

“But—”

Jason grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged (gently). Harry closed his mouth, but he couldn’t help glancing back, then between the cups and the kitchen. It felt wrong to leave dishes behind, to leave a mess. Harry kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the shouting to start.

Jason squeezed his hand again, pulling Harry from his thoughts. Inhaling shakily, Harry gripped Jason’s hand with both of his and stuck close to his side as they followed Mr. Wayne back up to the same floor as the study. They went the other way down the corridor, then turned one more corner. Halfway down, Mr. Wayne stopped in front of a door with a faded circus poster on it.

“This is Dick’s room,” he said, gesturing. Then he opened the door across the hall and a little further down. “This will be your room, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped as he looked inside. The room was bigger than Dudley’s! Almost twice as big! There was a huge bed with a soft-looking, cream-colored comforter pushed into the far corner, next to a big window framed with cream and white curtains. In the opposite corner was an armchair and a little bookshelf that was currently empty. Beside that were two doors. On the other side of the room was a big, nice, wooden desk, and beside the door to the right was a big, decoratively carved dresser.

“Here,” Mr. Wayne continued, leading the way inside and pausing in front of the two doors, “is the attached bathroom.” He pushed open the first door to show a fancy white-tiled bathroom with two cream-colored towels hanging from the rack and a huge mirror over the sink and counter. “And this,” he pushed open the other door to show a huge walk-in closet with another (smaller) chest of drawers pushed into the back, with rods on the walls ready for hangers and shelves above them, “is the closet.”

The closet was almost as big as their laundry room base.

Harry held tight to Jason, feeling utterly overwhelmed. He couldn’t even form words, and there was pressure behind his eyes and in his throat. Repeatedly shaking his head, Harry slowly backed out, dragging Jason with him.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked softly.

Harry just shook his head, trembling, and pressed his face into Jason’s shoulder.

Mr. Wayne looked confused and lost. But then he cleared his throat and led the way out. Jason gently pulled Harry along. He pushed open the next door in the hallway.

“Jason, this will be your room.”

Jason stepped inside (pulling Harry with him), and his eyes widened. Harry glanced up, then clung tighter to Jason. The room was basically the same as the other one, only it was a soft grey instead of cream. As before, Mr. Wayne led them inside and showed off the bathroom and closet.

“Of course, you can decorate your rooms however you want. We can get you stuff for that later this week. And once I step out this time, I will never, ever enter your rooms without permission. Does that sound fair?”

“Y-yeah. Sure,” Jason stammered.

Mr. Wayne smiled. (It was a small smile, though. Barely there. It showed more in his eyes than in his mouth. Harry got the feeling he didn’t smile very often.) “Wonderful. Alfred will come and get you for breakfast around nine if you aren’t up yet.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Mr. Wayne nodded, made an aborted move to squeeze Jason’s shoulder, then stepped back. “Oh. And if you need me, my room is at the far end of this hall, through the double doors. Alfred’s is at the far end of the other hallway, past the stairs.”

“Right.”

Mr. Wayne cleared his throat. “Right. I’ll leave you to it. Good night, boys.”

He waved, then headed the other way—toward the study, not toward his room. Even though by now it was probably after midnight.

Harry immediately buried his face in Jason’s chest, shaking his head again. “Too much. It’s too much,” he whimpered.

“You can say that again. Want to stay with me? The room won’t feel so big with both of us.”

Harry nodded.

“But let’s shower first, okay? I’m sure if I touch anything with how dirty I am, something will explode.”

Harry gave a watery laugh. “Okay.”

Jason squeezed him once more, then let him go. “See you in a few minutes.”

Harry reluctantly pulled away, then returned to the other room—he didn’t dare think of it as his, no matter what Mr. Wayne said.

(Freaks didn’t get bedrooms.)

Going inside, tip-toeing because he didn’t dare touch anything more than necessary, Harry discovered a small pile of clothes on the armchair. The top pieces were clearly pajamas, soft fleece pants with the Green Lantern logo all over them, and a matching green t-shirt. They were worn, the pants faded and the t-shirt’s collar stretched a little.

That was the only reason Harry felt okay wearing them. He’d never had new clothes in his life. He didn’t think he could handle it. Even at Tim’s, the clothes weren’t new.

Carefully, Harry picked up the top bundle of clothes, finding a pair of jeans and a graphic t-shirt underneath, probably for tomorrow. He left them where they were, then tip-toed to the bathroom.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The bathroom was about the same size as the one at Tim’s house. A little bigger, maybe. There was a nice, soft tan tile line right about at Harry’s eye level (there was definitely a theme). The shower curtain had thin wispy lines up from the bottom that looked kind of like wheat waving in a breeze.

It was nice, in a stiff, formal sort of way.

Harry let out another breath and set the clothes bundle on the sink. He spotted a new toothbrush and toothpaste in a cup next to the faucet as he did. That would be nice. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d brushed his teeth.

Harry then went out to the main room and shut the door. He was pleased to find a lock on it, though it was a simple twist lock. He locked the door anyway, then locked the bathroom door, too. He double- and triple-checked the lock, then turned the water on. As the room filled up with steam, Harry toed off his shoes and set them reverently by the door. Then he peeled off his socks, t-shirt, jeans, and underwear and stepped under the spray.

It was warm. Comforting. Harry let the water run, shuddering at the dirt that ran off his body as he did. He found soap and shampoo in a little wire rack hanging from the shower head, just barely within Harry’s reach. He took the soap and scrubbed his entire body from head to toe. Twice. Then he switched for the shampoo and washed his hair. Three times. Until the water finally ran clear. Then he just let himself bask in the warmth and the soothing smell of vanilla that reminded him of Tim’s house.

When his fingers and toes were all pruny, Harry reluctantly shut off the shower, then pulled one of the towels off the rack. He gasped at how soft it was. He could sleep under a towel this soft. He hugged it for a moment, savoring the softness. But then he started to shiver, standing there dripping. So he dried off and toweled his hair dry. Then he dressed in the borrowed clothes.

They were a little too big—Harry had to roll the waistband twice and cuff the bottoms, and the shirt hung over his hips. But they were soft and comfortable. Then Harry tidied up the bathroom. He dithered for a minute for what to do with his old clothes, but eventually he decided to fold them neatly on top of the used towel and leave them on the counter. Maybe he could ask Alfred where the washing machine was in the morning.

That done, Harry reached for the toothbrush and toothpaste. As he did, he happened to glance in the mirror.

He blinked at the face in front of him. His hair reached his chin now, curling slightly at the ends and starting to stick up at the back. His eyes were bright, but wary. He was less gaunt than he remembered being. Cautiously, Harry lifted his shirt. He could still count his ribs, but there was a little bit of muscle there, too.

He…didn’t really look like a street kid anymore. Maybe it was just his imagination, or maybe it was just because he was clean. But looking like this, feeling like this, maybe, just maybe… Harry could figure out how to belong here, in this fancy bedroom in this huge manor house, with a butler and miles of land, and the freaking Bat-cave somewhere under his feet.

Pushing the heavy thoughts aside, Harry brushed his teeth for longer than necessary, enjoying the minty fresh feeling in his mouth. Then he put the toothpaste and toothbrush back in the cup and left the bathroom.

Harry immediately felt overwhelmed again by the size of the room that was supposed to be his. He hurried next door to Jason’s room, needing reassurance.

He found Jason on the floor in front of the armchair, clean, with damp hair, staring in disbelief at the space that surrounded him. He lit up when Harry came in, though, and held his arms out. Harry ran to him, nearly tackling Jason into the chair as he threw his arms around his big brother.

“You missed me that much, little hawk?” Jason teased, pulling him in tight.

Harry nodded, the earlier emotions suddenly surging back up now that he was safe in his big brother’s arms. He pressed his face into Jason’s neck, shaking again.

“Little hawk?”

“I’ve never had a room of my own before,” Harry whispered. “They—they always said freaks don’t deserve bedrooms.”

Jason went still. “Who? Who called you a freak?”

Harry tightened his arms around Jason, squeezing his eyes shut. “My aunt and uncle.”

Jason gently pushed Harry back. “Harry. I’ve never asked, but I need you to be honest with me. What happened to your parents?”

Harry stiffened, then looked away. “They died…when I was one. Then my aunt and uncle took me in. But they never wanted me. They spoiled my cousin and made me live—live in the closet under the stairs,” he whispered.

Jason froze, his eyes darkening. Then he shook himself and pulled him into a tight, tight hug. “Then I’m damn glad you got away from them.”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t get away. They…they left me. On purpose.” Seized by a sudden fear, Harry grabbed the back of Jason’s shirt, clinging to him. “You—you’ll never leave me, will you? Even though—even though we’re not out there anymore? You won’t abandon me, right?”

Jason held him tighter. “I’ll never leave you, little hawk. I promise.”

Harry burrowed into Jason’s chest, still holding on tight. “Good.”

For a few minutes they just sat there, holding on to each other as their entire world turned upside-down. Then Jason pulled the throw blanket and pillow off the chair. He set the pillow next to him, then pulled Harry down next to him and pulled the blanket over them.

Harry curled into Jason’s side, relaxing at the familiarity of the action, even though the carpet was a little too soft.

“Good night, little hawk,” Jason murmured. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Jay,” Harry murmured back, his eyes drifting closed. And even though everything else was upside-down, when he was curled up in his big brother’s arms, Harry was home.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: A New Normal?

Harry woke slowly, a little at a time, in a way that was both comfortable and wholly unfamiliar. First he registered warm and comfortable, two words he had almost never used together. Then he registered safe and soft. Safe was familiar; safe was Jason’s arms around him. Soft was less familiar. Soft was the floor in Tim’s room and, when he was truly exhausted, the nest of blankets in their base. Last, Harry registered quiet. It was never quiet in Crime Alley. But here, the only sounds Harry could hear were Jason’s soft breathing by his ear and an almost-indistinguishable hum that might be a fan or the air conditioner.

Slowly, Harry let his eyes flicker open. Blinking into focus (as much as his eyes ever could), Harry could make out a red blur. Tilting his head up, he saw the familiar blur that was Jason’s face. And as Harry shifted, Jason made a soft noise of protest and tightened his arms around him.

Harry couldn’t help it; he giggled softly. At the sound, Jason mumbled something and opened his eyes. Harry giggled again at the blank look on Jason’s face.

“Whasso funny?” Jason grumbled.

“You,” Harry teased, poking him in the chest.

Jason growled playfully and lightly headbutted him. Then Jason turned his head and tensed slightly.

“Oh.”

“Hmm?” Harry looked around, and his mouth opened slightly. “Oh. We-we’re in Mr. Wayne’s house,” he said quietly. A faint sense of unease settled over him.

Then three things happened simultaneously.

Harry’s stomach growled. A knock on the door made him jump. And a voice spoke.

“Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. I do suggest you come if you would like it to be hot.”

Light footsteps faded away. Jason sat up, rubbing his face. “Been a while since I had breakfast,” he said neutrally.

“And I didn’t have to wake up early to cook it,” Harry marveled.

Jason poked him in the side. “Then go get dressed and we’ll head down together.”

Harry nodded and got to his feet, then padded across the room, into the hall, and then into the room next door.

It was still just as grand and overwhelming as before. But maybe he was getting used to it, because the chair—with another throw blanket and pillow just like in Jason’s room—suddenly looked like a really nice place to sit and read. Or be read to.

They’d have to go back to their base for Jason’s books.

And Harry’s bracelet.

And their hoodies. Harry had left his behind yesterday because it had been so hot, and so had Jason, but it felt wrong not to have it with him. It was the very first piece of clothing he’d ever chosen for himself, and Jason’s red one had seen him through some of his hardest moments. Harry didn’t want to leave either of them behind.

Maybe they could go after breakfast. They knew where the bus stop was. And they knew how to slip on board without paying the fare. It would only take an hour, maybe.

Harry nodded to himself. Surely Mr. Wayne had work, and it shouldn’t be too hard to sneak past the butler.

That decided, Harry went to the bathroom, splashed water on his face just because he could, and brushed his teeth just because he could. He noticed his old clothes and the used towel were gone. Harry was a little sad to see them go, but it was okay. His shoes, thankfully, where right where he’d left them, hidden behind the open bathroom door.

Harry changed into the jeans and t-shirt still on the armchair. The t-shirt had something written on it, with a small picture of what was probably an elephant. It was too blurry to make out properly, though.

Maybe…maybe he could convince Mr. Wayne to buy him new glasses? It would be really nice to be able to read properly again. Maybe he could even get contacts?

Then Harry shook himself. No. He couldn’t get greedy. Mr. Wayne had said he wanted them safe and happy. Harry could be safe and happy without glasses. (Without the huge bedroom, too, but that seemed non-negotiable.)

Dressed, Harry started for the door, but he still felt like he was missing something. He glanced down at his bare feet.

Shoes. Just. Just in case he had to run. And he didn’t want Alfred to throw them away or something because they were so beat-up. Harry pulled on a pair of socks—which had apparently been left with the clothes, because they’d fallen to the floor when he picked them up—and then shoved his feet into his boots. His toes bumped up against the top, but that was fine.

Finally dressed and ready, Harry left the room to find Jason waiting for him. He was wearing jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, and his jeans were tucked into his boots. Jason greeted him with a smile, then reached out a hand.

Grinning, Harry took it, nearly skipping as they headed downstairs. This house was so big and fancy. But somehow it felt homey. And with Jason beside him, it felt like everything was going right. Maybe, if Harry was really good and wasn’t a burden and earned his keep, he’d be allowed to stay forever.

If not, he’d run away to Tim’s house.

When they got to the last set of stairs, that led down into a long, wide hallway with doors off either side, Harry heard a click and a door open further ahead. Harry was pretty sure the front door was that way, though Mr. Wayne hadn’t shown them. (Was it so they couldn’t run away?)

Three steps from the bottom, a new figure appeared in front of them, calling, “I’m home!”

Harry froze. Jason bumped into him, then steadied them both.

The new person—who had long dark hair in a ponytail and wore a dark blue collared t-shirt and jeans—froze, too.

“Who are you?” Jason and the new person asked at the same time.

The new person blinked, then smiled. “I’m Richard, but I go by Dick.”

Jason snorted.

Harry’s eyes widened, mouthing the words “Dick Grayson?” He looked nothing like Harry had imagined. (Though from Tim’s long, eager rants, Harry had somehow been picturing an older, cooler version of Jason. Not that Jason wasn’t cool.)

“What are your names?” Dick asked, still smiling.

Harry opened his mouth, then hesitated. Jason nudged him. “Say hello, fanboy,” he teased in a whisper.

Harry scowled and elbowed him back. “I’m Harry,” he announced with more confidence than he felt. “And this is Jason.”

“I can introduce myself, little hawk,” Jason muttered, smiling despite himself.

“You were too slow,” Harry muttered back.

“Nice to meet you, Harry, Jason. Come on; let’s go get breakfast!” Dick beckoned them forward, then practically skipped into the dining room.

Harry and Jason hesitantly followed.

“Hi, Alfred!” Dick called brightly. “Was Bruce ever gonna tell me he’d picked up some adorable strays?”

Jason scowled. “I’m not adorable,” he muttered.

“Master Dick!” Alfred emerged from the kitchen with a platter in hand. “We didn’t expect you back for two more days.”

“We finished early. Now where did these two cuties come from?”

“’M not cute,” Harry protested.

Dick turned and grinned at him. “Sorry, kiddo, but you are.”

“I shall let Master Bruce explain himself. He should be down at any moment. Suffice it to say that they are indeed strays that he, shall we say, took a shine to while on duty last night.”

Dick frowned slightly. “So they know?”

“That Bruce Wayne is Batman and you’re Robin? Yep!” Harry said brightly.

Dick blinked twice, then shrugged. “Okay, then.”

Alfred merely nodded, then set the platter on the table. Harry’s mouth watered when he saw the bacon and the breakfast potatoes and the fresh strawberries and cream.

“Help yourselves, lads,” Alfred said, gesturing to the breakfast spread. “If you’d like anything to drink besides milk or tea—”

“Orange juice?” The words were out of Harry’s mouth before he could think. Then he clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide and fearful.

Alfred didn’t even blink. He might have even smiled. “Coming right up, young sir.”

Harry held his breath, his eyes traveling to Dick. The older boy didn’t seem to have noticed, already digging in to his loaded plate.

Harry then glanced at Jason. He sort of shrugged, but he also looked just a little wary. Then, seeing that Harry wasn’t starting yet, Jason proceeded to load both their plates with a reasonable helping of everything. He made a point of eating first, his eyes on Harry. Harry hesitantly sank into his chair and took his first bite.

He almost moaned at the explosion of flavor, but caught himself. He still ate eagerly, half-hunched over his plate to protect his coveted meal. Alfred placed the requested glass of orange juice next to his plate, and Harry eagerly took a greedy drink.

Too soon, his plate was empty. Mournfully, Harry nibbled at the last bits of his strawberry, then pushed away from the table.

Jason was finishing up, and Dick was working on his second plate. Harry stood by awkwardly, not sure what to do. On the streets, he’d never had to wait for anyone to finish eating. And at the Dursleys, he’d be collecting dishes.

That was something he could do, at least. Carefully, Harry picked up his plate and cup (which was glass!) and carried them into the kitchen. Biting his lip, he glanced around and spotted the sink. Alfred was further down, tending to the coffee pot.

Harry tipped his plate and cup into the sink, then, standing on his tiptoes in order to reach, he turned on the water and grabbed the soap.

“Oh!”

Harry squeaked and dropped the bottle of soap, spilling it all over the sink and counter. His eyes wide, Harry scrambled to clean it up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make a mess. I’ll clean it up, I promise. Please, don’t—”

“Calm yourself, lad.” Alfred gently took the soap bottle from his hand and set it aside.

Harry flinched back, arms half-raised to protect his head before he caught himself.

Alfred took a step back, out of Harry’s space. “Easy, Master Harry. I have no intention of punishing you for a mistake. Now, I daresay we have enough soap now. Why don’t you fetch the rest of the dishes, and I’ll start washing.”

Harry nodded. “I will. I’ll be careful, sir. I promise. I won’t let you down.”

“On the contrary, I imagine you’ll do us all proud,” Alfred replied.

Harry squeaked, his cheeks heating. Then he hurried off to the dining room.

There was still food on the center platters, so Harry left them. He picked up Jason’s plate first, who gave him an odd look. Then Harry collected Dick’s plate and silverware. Dick blinked at him in confusion, then shrugged and let him, even stacking his silverware onto the plate to make it easier for Harry. His hands full, Harry headed back to the kitchen. He’d come back for the glasses. As Harry placed the dishes on the counter next to the sink, which was now full of soapy water, Alfred gave him a nod of thanks. Harry squeaked again and hurried back for the cups.

When he returned to the dining room, Mr. Wayne was there, serving himself breakfast. Harry froze, his breath catching. Did Dick tell him that he’d interrupted Alfred? Was Mr. Wayne angry that Harry had already eaten before him? Would Alfred tattle on him? It was a new day; had Mr. Wayne changed his mind? Were they about to be thrown back onto the streets?

Mr. Wayne looked up at Harry’s entrance—and smiled in greeting. (No adult had ever smiled at him in greeting before!) “Good morning, Harry. Are you Alfred’s helper this morning? Dick said you were collecting the dishes.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Harry stuttered.

Mr. Wayne waved dismissively. “No need to call me ‘sir.’ Just Bruce is fine. The same goes for you, too, Jason.”

Jason froze at being addressed, then he nodded jerkily.

Mr. Wayne—Bruce—then turned back to Harry. “Why don’t you leave the dishes to Alfred now and sit down? We have some things to discuss.”

“Do I finally get to learn why I came home to two random and adorable kids?” Dick asked cheekily.

Bruce made a noncommittal noise.

“Come on, Bruce. I should at least know where my new little brothers came from.”

Harry gaped and Jason’s eyes widened.

“Now hold on. I haven’t adopted them—”

“Yet,” Dick finished, grinning. “It’s only a matter of time. But if you don’t, then I will.”

“You’re eighteen.”

“That’s old enough to adopt.”

Bruce made a noise that was half annoyed, half resigned. “We can continue that discussion later. All you need to know is that I caught them stealing my tires and—”

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Your tires? As is the tires off the Batmobile?” Dick gave a low whistle, looking at Harry and Jason with new respect. “Damn. Okay. That settles it. I’m adopting them.”

“Dick.”

Harry tensed at the tone of voice. So did Jason.

Dick just grinned and mimed zipping his mouth shut and tossing away the key.

Bruce sighed. “Like I said. They didn’t want to go to CPS, who would have separated them. So…I offered to bring them home.”

Dick blinked. “You guys aren’t actually related?” he asked.

“Blood is overrated,” Jason said fiercely with a meaningful glance at Harry. “Harry’s my brother in every way that matters. Screw blood relations. He’s mine.”

Harry blinked rapidly and moved to Jason’s side. Jason automatically pulled him into a side hug. It was a little awkward, because Jason sitting was actually (just barely) shorter than Harry standing, but they made it work.

Dick’s eyes got suspiciously wet. “Okay, that’s adorable. I don’t care what you say, Bruce. We’re keeping them.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and elected to drop the subject. “Anyway. If you boys are feeling up to it, I thought we could go shopping today. Get you your own clothes and some things of your own to spruce up your rooms.”

Harry shook his head. “Th-the room is fine as it is. And…and we don’t mind used clothes. As-as long as you don’t need them anymore.” He glanced hesitantly at Dick. “We—we don’t want to be a bother,” Harry finished quietly.

Dick smiled and waved dismissively. “I outgrew those ages ago. But as cute as you look in my old clothes, you really do need some things of your own. You’re swimming in that t-shirt, kiddo.”

“And it’s no bother. As you can see, I certainly have money to spare.” Bruce gestured at the grand dining room. “It would be my pleasure to get you boys anything you want to feel at home here.”

Harry glanced at Jason and then lightly tugged on his woven bracelet. Jason’s eyes widened in realization, and then he nodded.

“Then…can we go back to our base? We…there are a few things we don’t want to leave behind. If…if we can get those things, then…” Harry glanced at Jason again, his face slightly pleading. Jason nodded again, squeezing Harry’s hand in reassurance. “If we can get those things, then you can buy us whatever you want.”

Bruce hesitated. “I don’t know. Even during the day, I don’t like the idea of you boys running around Crime Alley.”

“It’s not running around,” Jason interjected. “You drop us off, we go get our stuff, and we meet you back up. No big deal.”

“I can go with them,” Dick volunteered. At Harry’s look of surprise, Dick smiled softly. “There are a few things I wish I’d been able to go back for when…well, after that night. But they rushed me out in a hurry and I was only able to grab a jacket and my stuffed elephant.”

Bruce frowned slightly. “I wish you would have told me. I would have tracked the circus down for you.”

Dick waved him off. “We didn’t have much anyway. You don’t acquire a lot of stuff when you live on the road. And none of it was really that special, in hindsight. But having something else…might have made those first months easier.” He offered Harry and Jason another soft smile.

Bruce sighed. “All right. If you agree to Dick accompanying you to your…base, then I’ll allow it.”

Harry smiled tentatively. “T-thank you, Mr—I mean, B-Bruce.”

Harry watched Bruce melt at the smile and the soft words. Jason snickered softly.

Dick choked back a laugh, catching Harry’s gaze. Dick’s eyes glinted with mischief, and Harry smiled ever so slightly back.

“All right, then. Go ahead and get ready, and we’ll leave in about ten minutes.”

Harry and Jason exchanged a glance. “We’re ready.”

Dick chuckled. “Let me put my bag away. But we’ll be waiting on Bruce.”

Bruce gave Dick a longsuffering look, then left the table.

Dick gave the two younger boys another quick smile, then he hurried out, too.

As if on cue, Alfred returned and began collecting the rest of the dishes. Harry jumped up to help, but Alfred held up a hand.

“I appreciate your eagerness to assist. But it is literally my job to pick up after Master Bruce and Master Dick.”

“C-can I help anyway?” Harry asked hesitantly. “It feels…wrong not to.”

“Just this once, then, I suppose. Until you’re more settled. I daresay I don’t know what kind of background you come from, but I do wish to ensure the both of you feel as comfortable here as possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth,” Harry said quietly.

“Alfred will do, lad. Why don’t you collect the silverware for me?”

Harry nodded and jumped to comply. Jason gave him a bemused look, but said nothing.

Ten minutes later, the table was cleared, and Bruce and Dick had returned, both in different clothes and Bruce without the shadow of stubble from before.

“Ready, boys?”

Harry and Jason both nodded. Harry grasped Jason’s hand as they followed the other two toward the front door.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Overwhelmed

Their first stop, as agreed, was Crime Alley. Once again, Harry and Jason insisted Bruce wait for them, with Dick accompanying them as insurance.

Bruce was still reluctant, but he allowed it.

Jason had directed him to park a few blocks away, so they had a bit of a walk ahead of them. Dick stayed close behind them, while Harry determinedly led the way, for once not holding Jason’s hand. When they were three buildings away, Jason tried to make Dick stay back.

“Nu-uh, kiddos. I’m coming all the way. You might have been fine on your own before, but things are different now.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed. “But you ain’t comin’ inside.”

“I can agree to that.”

Jason nodded firmly, then gestured for Harry to lead them the rest of the way. When they reached the back entrance, Harry glanced over his shoulder before wrenching the door open and heading inside, Jason and Dick on his heels. They headed up three flights of stairs, and Harry marveled that it wasn’t as taxing as it usually was. Apparently two full meals really helped.

When they reached the door to the apartment, Jason directed Dick to stand against the wall while Harry picked the lock with the two bent paperclips they kept stashed behind the loose door frame. Once it clicked, both boys sent a warning look over their shoulder before slipping inside and shutting the door.

Immediately Harry noticed how strange it felt to be back here. It…it didn’t feel like coming home anymore. It felt like visiting an old hiding spot.

Jason looked faintly uncomfortable, too. He led the way over to the laundry room door and pulled it open.

The room was just as they’d left it. Harry couldn’t help but smile a little at the familiarity of it all. Jason tossed him his tattered backpack, and Harry picked up his worn and faded green hoodie and stuffed it into the bottom. He glanced over to make sure Jason picked up his red one, too. And the three tattered novels on the shelf. Then Harry carefully picked up the bracelet Jason had given him. It didn’t fit on his wrist any better now than it had a month ago, so Harry tucked it inside his backpack, too. Then he hesitated and looked around.

Did…did he really not care about the rest of it? The tattered winter coat next to the blanket nest? The glass jar that used to be a candle, now half-full of change? The thick, warm fleece throw blanket they had slept under when Jason was sick that now looked so thin and ragged?

Harry’s lip quivered. Had they really survived with so little? Had he been so used to having nothing that a few blankets and a shelf lined with food felt like paradise?

“We’re really not coming back?” Harry whispered softly.

Jason put an arm around him. “It looks like it, little hawk.”

Harry sniffed and leaned into Jason for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders and adjusted his backpack.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” Jason took Harry’s hand, and this time Harry let him. They shut the laundry room door, then left the apartment itself. Harry hesitated, then locked it back up. It felt wrong to leave the door open, even if they weren’t coming back.

As they left, with Dick silently following them, Harry slipped his free hand into his pocket, feeling first the pocket knife he always made sure to have, and then closed his hand around the tiny hawk pin that had gone with him everywhere no matter what. He held on tightly enough that its edges bit into his palm, but Harry needed the grounding pressure, because he was saying goodbye to his entire life. Even if it was, hopefully, for something better.

None of them spoke on the way back to the car. Dick’s stare was heavy on their backs, but every time they glanced at him, he smiled.

They found Bruce leaning against the hood of the car, observing the area. He straightened as they approached.

“Get everything?”

Harry nodded silently, and so did Jason. Bruce nodded and opened the back door. Harry and Jason slid inside while Dick took the front passenger seat. They seemed to have an entire conversation with their eyes before Bruce finally turned, started the car, and pulled away.

The car ride was quiet, as uncertainty and something like longing clung to the two boys in the back seat. The uncertainty turned into nerves tempered with a flicker of excitement as Bruce pulled into the parking lot outside a huge shopping center. Harry stared wide-eyed at the huge stores surrounding them. He’d never seen such a huge shopping center before.

Jason, in contrast, tightened his hand around Harry’s in apprehension.

“Here we are,” Bruce announced as he parked the car.

“Everyone out!” Dick said brightly as he opened the back door with a flourish.

Harry was first, followed by a reluctant Jason. He immediately grabbed Harry’s hand again. Harry was pretty sure it was for Jason’s benefit this time. And he was reminded, again, that Jason was still a kid, too.

And Harry remembered that letting Jason take care of him made him feel better when he was scared or unsure. He’d said it gave him something else to focus on.

So Harry skipped up next to Jason and smiled brightly. “I’ve never had clothes of my own before,” he said, making his eyes wide with wonder. “Will you help me pick some out?”

Dick and Bruce both made a strangled choking noise.

Jason started, then smiled faintly. “Yeah, little hawk. I’ll help you.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “Let’s get going, then.” He gestured for them to lead the way.

Taking a careful, deep breath, Harry kept his excited smile in place and lightly tugged Jason along. Dick and Bruce followed right behind them.

As they entered one of the larger department stores and Bruce pulled out a cart, he said, “Feel free to get anything you want. Cost doesn’t matter.”

Harry’s breath caught slightly. As he looked around the huge store, with racks and racks of clothes, shelves stuffed with toys and décor and shoes and so many possibilities, choices he had never had before, Harry suddenly felt dizzy and overwhelmed. No longer acting, Harry drew closer to Jason, closing both his hands around his big brother’s.

Jason squeezed his hand back, though he might have been shaking.

“Let’s start simple,” Dick cut in gently. “The kids’ section is over here, and we can look at shirts first.”

Harry exhaled shakily and nodded. With a smile, Dick led the way to the kids’ section. There was still a lot, and the colors were very bright, but it felt just a little less overwhelming.

Harry still hesitated before stepping out of the aisle and in among the racks, though.

“Go on. See what you like.”

With another hesitant nod, Harry stepped toward the nearest rack of shirts. Jason was just behind him and helped push the hangers to show Harry the designs.

They were all blurry and too colorful. Harry shook his head and moved toward the next rack. Jason stuck with him, but he noticed that Dick and Bruce hung back, still browsing within view but giving them space.

A few racks later, as Jason was pushing the hangers back, Harry suddenly gasped, instinctively reaching for the newly-revealed shirt.

“You like this one?”

Harry nodded. Jason flicked through the sizes, holding up one or the other against Harry’s torso, then handed him the one that seemed it would fit the best.

Harry held the shirt at arm’s length, staring at the design. He could recognize the blurry hawk shape, brown and grey against a dark maroon. But he couldn’t make out the letters below it.

“What does it say?” Harry asked breathlessly.

Jason smiled again. “‘Take to the skies.’ Appropriate, don’t you think, little hawk?”

Harry nodded, hugging the shirt to his chest. He’d have to be extra good, but just maybe he could get this one shirt.

Footsteps made Harry look up, startled.

It was just Dick. He smiled in greeting. “Did you find something you like?”

Harry nodded shyly and held up the shirt. Dick smiled. “Looks good. Want to see what else they’ve got here?”

Harry hesitated, then glanced at Jason. He needed a shirt, too, Harry decided. So he nodded.

“Great!”

With Dick’s help, they scoured the whole rack of animal-themed t-shirts. There was a burnt yellow one with a lion on it that Harry kind of liked, but, conscious of the shirt already in his hand, he started to put it back. Then Jason pointed out the saying: “Courageous and Fierce.”

Harry smiled a little.

“You like it?” Dick asked.

Harry nodded shyly. So Jason handed him the shirt with a secret smile.

The next one they found was burnt orange with a tiger on it that said “Fierce protector.” Harry all but shoved it into Jason’s arms. Then they found a dark blue one with an elephant on it that said “gentle giant.”

Hesitating, Harry pulled the biggest size off the rack and held it out to Dick.

He smiled, his eyes suspiciously bright. “Aw, you think I’m a gentle giant?”

Harry nodded.

“That’s really sweet, Harry. Unfortunately, even the biggest size is going to be too small for me. So…” Dick traded the big one for one in Harry’s size. “You’ll have to wear it for me.”

Harry’s eyes widened as he took the shirt.

“Right. I think three shirts is enough for now, don’t you?” Dick said. “So, Jason. Why don’t you find two more?”

Jason froze. Harry nodded emphatically. With a slight scowl, Jason walked over to the nearest rack with solid-colored tees, grabbed a red one and a grey one, and marched back over. He paused, then went back to the rack and grabbed a dark green one that he pointedly handed to Harry, basically scowling and ordering him with his eyes to take it.

“But—”

“I didn’t say we had to stop at three. But.” Dick smiled conspiratorially. “For every item of clothing Harry gets, Jason needs the same number. We have to keep it fair, after all.”

Jason’s eyes widened, then he scowled again. He glanced at the rack of solid t-shirts, then he crossed his arms, his scowl deepening.

Harry frowned slightly, scanning the rest of the racks. Spotting a display on the back wall, he grabbed Jason’s hand and pulled him along.

The shirts on display all had words on them that Harry couldn’t read, but he did recognize the picture of an open book on one of them, and he could make out the huge scrolling letters on the display wall behind it that also had textbooks and notebooks pictured. So Harry assumed the words on the shirts were book quotes, or funny sayings.

“Brat,” Jason muttered affectionately, ruffling Harry’s hair. Harry giggled and idly swung their hands back and forth while Jason scanned the quotes and thumbed through the racks. Finally, with a wry smile, Jason pulled a black shirt off the rack with a white phrase on it and a stylized stack of books beside the words.

“What’s it say?” Harry asked eagerly.

“It says, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’”

A soft, deep chuckle rumbled behind them. They both jumped to see Bruce and Dick just a few feet away, watching them. Harry’s eyes widened as he realized the laugh had been Bruce.

“I’d say that’s a very appropriate choice,” he said, his eyes still sparkling with mirth. “And a lesson I think we’re all learning,” Bruce added meaningfully with a nod at Jason.

Jason’s cheeks colored lightly as he stuffed the shirt into the cart with the rest. Harry followed suit, though he was reluctant to let go of the hawk shirt.

Noticing this, Bruce smiled softly. “That’s okay. You hang on to that one, okay?”

Harry nodded and held the shirt close to his chest.

“Now let’s get the rest.” Bruce started to push the cart forward.

Harry caught his breath. They were still getting more?

“How about we get pants while you get the boring stuff?” Dick interrupted. “Like socks.” He made a face, then winked at Harry.

Bruce glanced between them, then shrugged. “All right. How about I meet you in toys in a little while? Do you want the cart?”

“Hmm. Harry, do you want to ride in the cart—I mean, do you think we’ll get enough to need the cart?”

Harry’s eyes widened again at the hurried suggestion. Glancing between Dick and Bruce, he shyly nodded.

“Great!” Dick saluted, then shooed Bruce away with a gesture.

Bruce chuckled again, then turned and headed for a different section.

Once he was gone, Dick crouched in front of Harry. “Now that he’s gone, do you want to ride in the cart?”

Harry glanced after Bruce’s retreating back, glanced at Jason, then nodded. He’d always been jealous when Aunt Petunia had let Dudley ride in the cart at the store while he had to walk.

“Okay. I’m gonna have to pick you up, though. Is that okay?”

Harry nodded.

Smiling, Dick placed his hands under Harry’s arms, moving slowly to telegraph his motions, then swiftly lifted Harry high into the air so his feet cleared the top of the cart.

Harry caught his breath in a delighted gasp. Laughing, Dick set Harry inside the cart.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Tell you what. When we get home, I can start teaching you how to fly for real. How does that sound?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Fly?” He whispered. “Like—like Robin?”

Dick ruffled his hair. “Exactly like Robin.” He glanced at Jason. “I can teach you, too, if you’d like. I’d let you ride in the cart, too, but with both of you, there won’t be room for clothes. So why don’t you ride on the front? Put your feet on the metal bar and hold on.”

Jason stared. “R-Really?”

Dick smiled widely. “Really. Hop on.”

Jason did so, holding tightly to the front of the cart while Harry sat inside.

Dick then lowered his voice, grinning. “Hold on tight, and don’t tell Bruce about this next part.”

They both stared in awe. Dick pushed the cart out into an aisle and straightened it up. He glanced around, then he winked. He took three running steps while pushing the cart, jumped on the back, and laughed out loud as the cart lurched forward.

Jason gasped, his knuckles going white on the side of the cart. Harry caught his breath, then started giggling. He covered his mouth, but it kept bubbling up until it became full-blown laughter.

The cart rolled a good twenty or thirty feet down the aisle before slowing to a stop. A few nearby patrons gave them looks ranging from stern disapproval to amusement.

As Dick guided the cart to a stop, still chuckling, Harry had the sudden realization that he was still a kid, too. A big kid, but definitely still a kid. He wasn’t even that tall, Harry thought, at least for an adult. Bruce was at least six inches taller (and twice as broad).

“What. The. Hell.” Jason stumbled off the cart, his eyes wide, his face torn between horror and reluctant excitement.

Dick smirked. “Cart surfing. You’ve never done it before?”

They both shook their heads.

“I thought so. Fun, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded eagerly, all his hesitance (about Dick, anyway) completely disappearing.

“What if B-Bruce does find out?” Jason asked harshly. “It ain’t like you were quiet or subtle.”

Dick shrugged. “He’ll just give me a disapproving look and a lecture about being mature. If someone had gotten hurt, he might ground me for a day or two.” He then gave them both a pointed look. “But he will never hit me, unless we’re training. And even then he pulls his punches a lot.”

Jason still looked uncertain, but he didn’t question it any further.

“Anyway. Here we are at the pants. You need one pair of pants to go with each shirt you picked to start, okay? Then we can pick out pajamas and look at shoes before meeting Bruce in the toys.”

“O-okay.” Harry felt a little overwhelmed at the idea of pajamas and shoes after the pants. But pants first. Harry could do that.

“Let’s go, then. Tell me to stop if you see something you like.” Dick smiled reassuringly, then started pushing the cart slowly up and down the racks. Harry knelt upright in the cart so he could reach over the side while Jason walked alongside it. Harry tried to look, but there were so many choices.

“Why are there so many damn types of just jeans?” Jason muttered. “They’re just jeans.”

“Brands, mostly,” Dick replied airily. “Wrangler and Levi’s are the best, though. So why don’t you each find a pair of Levi’s?” He gestured at one of the displays with stacks of folded denim on successive shelves.

Jason grunted and scanned the shelves briefly, then frowned. “I dunno my size.”

“Do you want me to get someone to measure you?” Dick asked.

“You can do that?” Jason asked.

Dick smiled slightly. “Here you can. Is that a yes?”

Jason hesitated, then nodded.

“Guard the cart, then, fierce protector,” Dick teased, referencing the shirt from before.

Jason flushed and scowled while Harry giggled softly. Dick saluted, then scanned the area before jogging off. He spoke briefly to a young woman in uniform, then led the way back.

“This good lady is going to measure you,” Dick said. (Said “good lady” flushed a little at the title.) “She’ll need to put the tape measure around your waist, and down the inside of your leg. Is that okay?”

Jason let out a deep breath, then stepped away from the cart and stood straight, his legs about shoulder-width apart.

“I’ll do my best not to touch you,” the assistant said. “If you’d prefer, you can even hold the tape measure.”

“’S okay,” Jason murmured, his cheeks turning pink.

“Okay, then. Here we go.” She pulled a thin tape measure out of one of her pockets and stretched it out, then pulled it taut around Jason’s waist, just below his ribcage. “We’ve got 24 inches. That will be the first number on the size tags.” She released the measuring tape, then pulled it straight down from the top of his thigh. “And 27 inches for the inseam. That will be the second number.” She rolled up the tape. “If you prefer a looser fit, you can go up an inch in the waist. If you prefer the pants longer or shorter, you can go up or down an inch.”

Jason nodded.

“Should I measure the little one, too?” The assistant asked, giving Harry a smile.

Harry frowned. “’M not that little,” he grumbled. But he looked at Dick and raised his arms, silently asking to be lifted out of the cart.

Smiling widely, Dick obliged—lifting him much higher than necessary, just like before. Harry squealed in delight, then Dick set him down. Harry then stood up straight, arms out, to let the lady measure him.

“That’s 21 inches for the waist…and 22 inches on the inseam.” The lady rolled up the tape measure again. “Can you remember those numbers for me?”

Harry nodded.

“That would also be a size medium on the pants not marked by length. Large or extra-large for the older boy, depending on how long he prefers his jeans to be,” she added. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Dick shook his head, smiling cheekily. “Unfortunately, I already know my measurements. If I ever forget, though, I’ll know who to call.” He winked and the girl—because she really wasn’t that old—flushed pink.

“Right. Have a good day.”

Jason made a face. “Did you really have to flirt with her?”

Dick shrugged helplessly. “I just can’t help it.”

Jason fake-gagged, then turned back to the rack. He scanned the shelves, muttering under his breath for a moment, then pulled two pairs off the shelf, a dark-wash and a black.

“Good enough?”

“This isn’t for me, remember,” Dick said with a soft smile. “If you like them, then definitely. If you don’t, put them back and we can choose something else.”

Harry nodded emphatically when Jason glanced at him. He made another face, then put the two pairs of jeans in the cart. Harry then turned his attention to the rack. After a moment, he selected a pair of light-wash and a pair of medium-wash jeans.

Dick nodded in approval as Harry put them in the cart. “Good choices. Now let’s look for something more interesting than jeans.” He mock-shuddered, making Harry and even Jason crack a smile.

Harry held on to the cart with one hand and Jason’s hand in the other as they moved further into the pants section. They hadn’t gone far, though, when Harry’s eyes lit on a rack of skinny jeans. He pulled Jason over and pointed at the dark grey ones, and Jason obligingly flicked through the hangers to find Harry’s size. When he found it, he handed it over. And Harry grinned in delight when Jason went back for a pair in his size.

“Very stylish,” Dick complimented them. Harry flushed, grinning. Jason turned away, but Harry could still see his faint smile. “At least one more now.”

They ventured into a different section of casual pants. And this time it was Jason who paused beside a particular rack of cargo pants, his eyes bright with interest. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled a pair of khaki-colored ones and tossed it in the cart with affected carelessness. Harry tried not to giggle. He studied the rack himself for a moment, then pulled a pair of army green cargo pants from the same rack.

“Practical. I like it. Do you boys want a pair of shorts, too?” Dick gestured toward the shorts. “Maybe a set of work-out gear, for when I teach you to fly on a trapeze?” he suggested with a grin and a wink.

Harry nodded eagerly, and Dick led them to the athletic section. There, they each chose two workout shirts, a pair of shorts, and a pair of track pants. Harry chose dark green running shorts, while Jason went for a pair of black and red basketball shorts.

“Now you need proper exercise shoes,” Dick instructed them. “I’m sure your boots are comfortable, but you don’t want to be running laps or doing gymnastics in combat boots.” Dick nodded at Jason’s battered black combat boots. “And hiking boots are for hiking, not running,” he added with a nod at Harry’s.

Harry blinked, then looked down at his beloved hiking boots. He tried to imagine running around on the grounds with them, or doing cartwheels.

Cartwheels in hiking boots was an odd image, but Harry didn’t see a reason to replace them.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “They’re comfy. And I know they look really dirty, but they’re still in really good condition! I found them all by myself, and got them with money I st-got all by myself, too!”

“They are some very nice shoes. Where did you find them?”

“In a secondhand store,” Harry replied, straightening up. “They were just there, on the rack. And they were only eighteen dollars!”

Dick’s eyebrows rose and he gave a low whistle. “That’s impressive. I bet you’re really proud of that. But getting new shoes doesn’t mean you have to stop wearing the old ones. It just means you have more choices. And while those shoes will be great for hiking or long walks around the city, it’s better to have a different pair for everyday wear. Is that okay?”

“I don’t have to get rid of them?” Harry asked, his eyes wide. “Because my old clothes were gone when I woke up this morning.”

Dick smiled. “Nope. You don’t have to get rid of them. You’re just giving yourself another option. That’s all.”

Harry bit his lip, hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Great! And like before, we don’t have to stop at a pair of sneakers. So if any other shoes catch your fancy, you can grab those, too. It’s just more options. I bet combat boots would look really cool with those grey skinny jeans you found.”

Harry nodded. “I like combat boots,” he said quietly.

“Then we can take a look around once we get sneakers. Sound good?”

Harry nodded, then he glanced at Jason. Jason shrugged.

Dick took that as agreement, and led the way toward the shoe section. Dick had them measure their feet on a rubber mat on the floor, then guided them both toward the sneakers. Jason found a pair pretty quickly, a pair of classic grey and red running shoes, and tossed them in the cart. Then he hesitated while Harry’s brow furrowed as he scanned the shelves. But Harry gave him a smile and a nod, so Jason wandered toward the boots. Harry found a few pairs of sneakers he liked, but he just couldn’t decide between a pair of grey and green sneakers that almost matched the colors on his boots, and a pair of mostly dark green light-up shoes.

“You can have both, you know,” Dick said quietly after watching Harry debate for several minutes.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? We don’t—we don’t already have too much?” He couldn’t help but glance at the cart, which was already half-full.

“In my opinion, you can never have too many clothes,” Dick said in a low voice, as if sharing a secret. “But if you’re worried about the money, just remember how big the manor house is. I promise Bruce can afford it. And it won’t be at the expense of food or anything else,” Dick added gently.

Harry scuffed his toe against the floor. “A-are you sure? And…are you gonna make Jason get two pairs, too?”

“Nah. That was just because you guys were so reluctant before,” Dick said with a smile. He crouched down in front of Harry. “If you end up with different numbers of shoes, that’s okay. And if there’s something in the cart you only got because you needed one more thing, we can put it back. The same is true for Jason.”

Harry bit his lip, then nodded. “O-okay. C-can I have both pairs, then?”

Dick ruffled his hair. “Sure you can, kiddo. You take the light-up ones and I’ll take these, then we can meet Jason by the boots. Okay?”

Harry nodded and picked up the box with the light-up shoes. He replaced the lid, then stood on his tip-toes to set it in the bottom of the cart. Dick put the other box on top.

“Wanna ride on the front?” Dick asked.

Harry lit up and hopped on, holding on tight as Dick wheeled the cart around the corner.

They found Jason with one shoe off, trying on a pair of dark red combat boots. Harry’s eyes widened.

“Those are sooo cool, Jay!” he exclaimed.

Jason smiled faintly. “Yeah. They are, aren’t they.”

“So…what’s holding you back?” Dick asked.

“I…I’ve already got a pair,” Jason said, using his toes to point at his other foot, still clad in the black combat boots from before.

“Dick says we can have two of the same type,” Harry piped up. “Look, I got two pairs of sneakers.”

Jason looked up, looked in the cart, then looked up at Dick. Then he ducked his head. “R-really? C-can I?”

“Course you can. And the extra pair won’t count against anything else we buy, either. I promise,” Dick said. “We’re not going to be short on food or bills or anything to pay for extra shoes. I swear.”

Jason bit his lip and glanced at Harry.

Harry nodded. “Dick said to remember the big manor house, and that ‘Bruce can definitely afford it.’”

Jason hesitated, then looked at the red boot on his left foot. He chewed his lip, an internal debate warring all over his face.

“C-can I? Really?” Jason’s voice was small.

Dick crouched in front of him and handed him the second red boot. “Yes. You really can,” he said gently.

Jason bit his lip, this time to hide a shy smile, and reverently packed the boots back into the box before holding it close.

“Can I get a pair of boots, too?” Harry asked shyly.

“Yep. Go wild,” Dick said with a laugh.

Harry whooped and darted down the aisle, eagerly scanning all the displays. He actually sort of wanted the same boots Jason had found. They’d go perfectly with his red hawk shirt and grey pants. But he didn’t want Jason to think he was copying him, or get their boots mixed up.

Maybe he could borrow them once in a while. Jason’s feet were about his same size, right?

Then Harry’s eyes landed on a pair of black and red high-top sneakers, and his eyes went wide.

They looked kind of like combat boots, but not exactly the same. And these ones had a cool-looking design on the side. It was too small for Harry to see the details, but from what he could see, they were really cool.

He turned to go get Jason, just in time to see he and Dick enter the aisle. Jason’s eyes were a little red, and he was still holding the box close. But he looked happier. And that made Harry happy.

He darted down the aisle and grabbed Jason’s hand. “Jay, come see!” he exclaimed, pulling the older boy along.

“Whoa! Hold up, Harry!” Jason stumbled after him, glaring over his shoulder as Dick laughed.

Harry laughed instead of replying and pulled Jason to the end of the aisle. “Look!” Harry pointed eagerly to the shoes he’d found.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Those are pretty cool, little hawk.”

“What’s the picture on the side?”

Jason looked closer, then laughed out loud. “Wouldn’t you know it. It’s a hawk. I think it’s the symbol for some famous skateboarder. Do you just have magic luck or something, where you just always find exactly what you want?”

Harry’s breath caught at the word magic, but he smiled shyly. “Or something,” he said quietly. “Help me find my size? The numbers are all too small to see.”

“Sure, little hawk.” Jason scanned the boxes, then pulled one off the shelf. He checked inside that it was the same shoe, then handed it over. “Want to try them on?”

Harry nodded eagerly. Jason led him to a bench a little further down the aisle, and Harry eagerly tried on the shoes.

“Hmm. Converse brand. You’re a little style hound, Harry,” Dick teased lightly. “Best-dressed little boy in town, I bet.”

Harry flushed as he pushed his foot into the shoe and tied it up, fumbling a little with the long laces. When he finished, he held his foot out, rocking it back and forth and marveling at how cool it was.

“Hmm, yep. All the other boys will be jealous of you, I’m sure,” Dick said, grinning.

Harry paused. “I don’t want them to be jealous.” He looked sadly at the shoe.

“That’s their problem, kiddo,” Dick said, kneeling in front of him. “As long as you’re friendly, the jealousy won’t stay for long. And somehow, I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem for you.”

Harry smiled again. “C-can I get them?”

“Sure. Toss ‘em in the cart with the rest. Bruce should be meeting us soon, too.”

Harry tensed a little. “Is…is he gonna be mad we have so much stuff?”

Dick laughed and straightened up. “Not at all. If anything, he’ll be upset with me because we didn’t even fill the cart.”

“I don’t want him mad at you, either,” Harry said quietly.

Dick smiled and lightly ruffled Harry’s hair. “I’m teasing. He won’t be mad at all. Besides, we still need room for pajamas. And I absolutely insist that you both get at least one stuffed animal before we leave today.”

“Those are for babies,” Jason muttered.

“Nope. Every kid deserves a stuffed animal. I still have mine from when I was a kid. A stuffed elephant, Zitka. The real Zitka was an elephant at the circus, and she was my best friend. The stuffed animal was nearly as good once Bruce took me in.”

“I heard my name?”

Bruce circled the display and joined them in the aisle. His arms were loaded with stuff—Harry saw packages of socks, underwear, and undershirts, belts, slacks and button-downs, and a dozen other things that made Harry dizzy.

“I was just saying that these two absolutely must have a stuffed animal,” Dick supplied. Then he glanced at the load Bruce was dumping into the cart. “Do they really need all that?”

“They need at least one formal or semi-formal outfit. It comes with the territory. Especially if I end up having to go to court to get official custody—Jason at least still has living relatives. Without Harry’s last name, though, I couldn’t find anything on him.”

Jason tensed. Harry froze.

“You’re not about to turn them back over to their families, are you?” Dick demanded. “Because as far as I can see, they were all unfit guardians.”

“Of course not. But I’d rather have all the official paperwork as soon as possible. Less hassle in the future.”

“You…you actually want to keep us?” Harry asked softly.

Bruce blinked, and Harry realized it was the first time he’d addressed the man directly—or, indeed, spoke aloud in his presence—since they got to the store.

Bruce knelt in front of him. “I promised you could stay with me, and I intend to keep that promise.” He glanced at Jason, who still looked uncertain. “And I’ll make it as official as I can, as soon as possible, so you can stay with me no matter what anyone else says. As far as I’m concerned, though, you’re both already mine.”

Harry blinked rapidly, instinctively grasping Jason’s hand with both of his. Jason inhaled sharply.

“Y-you mean it?” Harry breathed.

Bruce smiled—a small but real, genuine smile. “I mean it. You’re as much mine as Dick is, and I love you just as much.”

Three gasps answered that statement. Harry was distracted from his own surprise by Dick’s, and he turned to look.

Dick’s face was hard to read, a mix of several emotions warring with each other. But mostly, Harry saw the unnatural sheen in his eyes.

Bruce looked up, too. He inhaled sharply at the look on Dick’s face, and straightened so quickly it made both Harry and Jason flinch.

Bruce put both hands on Dick’s shoulders, holding his gaze. “Dick. I mean it. You’re mine, too, no matter what, and I love you.”

Dick covered his mouth with both hands, then threw his arms around Bruce with a half-choked sob.

Bruce froze in surprise, then firmly returned the embrace.

A moment later, Dick pulled away. “You sure got over your hesitation quick,” he muttered, grinning wetly.

Bruce huffed a laugh. “I suppose so.”

Harry looked up as Dick then crouched down in front of him and Jason.

“You hear that, boys? We’re all Bruce’s, which makes you two my little brothers.” Dick grinned and opened his arms. “So can I get a hug from my new little brothers?”

Harry barely hesitated before throwing himself into Dick’s arms with a huge grin. Jason held back, until Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him forward. Jason submitted stiffly to Dick’s embrace, and pulled free as quickly as he could. But his cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and Harry could see he was making a point not to smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Hopeful

Bruce cleared his throat, making them jump, but he was smiling. “Right. So where are we?”

“Pajamas, then toys,” Dick supplied, lifting Harry as he stood and settling him on his hip. Harry squeaked in surprise. “Oops. Sorry. I should have asked first.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s fine,” he squeaked, not knowing what to do. Dick gave him an odd look, then shifted him a little more until Harry sort of fell against his chest, with Dick’s arms securing him gently.

Harry caught his breath, then melted into the hold. He couldn’t remember ever being held before, not like this, but suddenly he was exhausted, and Dick’s arms were secure in a different way than Jason’s were. He leaned his head on Dick’s collarbone, his eyelids drooping without his consent.

Dick blinked. “Whoops. I guess it has been an overwhelming few hours for you, hasn’t it. Why don’t you rest? Jason can pick out some pajamas for you, and I’ll poke you when we get to the toys. Okay? And then we can go get lunch before heading home.”

Harry nodded against Dick’s chest, his eyelids falling closed. A moment later, and the steady rhythm of Dick’s walk lulled him into a doze. He wasn’t fully asleep, because his instincts wouldn’t let him in such an unfamiliar place, full of unfamiliar people. But the darkness behind his eyelids was soothing, and the others’ voices washed over him.

Too soon, there was a light poke in his side. Harry blinked blearily, for a moment unsure where he was. The arms around him felt safe, even though he couldn’t quite recognize the blurred face above him. As he lifted his head, though, he did recognize Jason, looking at him with… something. Harry couldn’t place the expression on his face. But Harry squirmed, and the arms put him down. And now Harry could recognize Dick, and Bruce behind him.

“Jason picked you out some Green Arrow pajamas,” Bruce said quietly. “Now you can pick a few toys before we get lunch. And when we get back to the manor, you can take a nap if you’re still tired.”

Harry blinked, both to clear the sleepiness from his eyes and in confusion at the suggestion. A nap? In the middle of the day? Harry had never been allowed that, at least not that he could remember. The lists of chores his aunt always gave him were probably designed to take him all day.

“Toys first, though,” Dick repeated, grinning. “So have a look around.”

Harry blinked again and registered the shelves and shelves of toys, games, puzzles of all kinds. He didn’t know where to start.

“I…I’ve never had toys that my cousin didn’t break first,” Harry said quietly.

“Do you like cars?” Dick asked, smirking.

Harry stared at him in shock while Bruce cleared his throat with a feigned cough. Jason’s jaw dropped.

Dick laughed. “I’m teasing. Though one day I would like to hear that story in its entirety,” he said with a sideways look at Bruce.

Harry nodded hesitantly.

“How about this? I’ll list categories, and you tell me if it sounds interesting or not,” Bruce suggested. “Is that okay?”

Harry nodded again with a sideways look at Jason.

“You can chime in, too, lad,” Bruce added with a nod at Jason.

Jason blinked, startled, then he nodded, too.

“Cars?” Harry shook his head. Jason nodded. So Dick led Jason to the Hot Wheels. “Animals?” Bruce continued, addressing Harry. Harry shrugged. Bruce pursed his lips. “Dogs?”

A frantic head shake.

“Okay. What about birds?”

Harry nodded. “But not as toys,” he murmured.

“Okay, then. Building blocks?” Head shake. “Arts and crafts?” Hesitation, then a nod. “Great.” Bruce led Harry over to the art section. “What looks interesting?”

Harry bit his lip uncertainly, glancing sideways at the (much larger) man next to him. Still unsure, Harry scanned the shelf. After a long, long moment, Harry pointed at a DIY kit for making bracelets and keychains, but with cords, leather, and metal stamping instead of beads.

“Hmm. That looks pretty interesting. You might be able to teach me something once you’ve worked your way through it.”

Harry blinked, staring up at Bruce in awe. “Y-you’d want me to teach you something?”

Bruce smiled. “Sure.” He pulled the box off the shelf. “Want to keep looking?”

Biting his lip, Harry nodded.

“More art stuff, or something different?”

“Different,” Harry said quietly.

“All right, then. Let’s see, where were we…Dinosaurs?” A head shake. “Hmm. Superheroes?” A half-shrug. “Want to take a look?”

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. Tim liked them more than he did, and Harry was living with Batman and Robin.

“Okay, then. Um…trading cards?” A confused look. Bruce chuckled. “That’s a no, then. Hmm…action figures?” Another head shake. “Puzzles?”

A hesitant nod.

“Okay, then.” Bruce led them over to the puzzle section. Harry had never really understood the appeal of putting together a picture that had been deliberately broken up, but he did like puzzle toys. Tim had shared a few, during their visits, and Harry enjoyed the challenge.

Harry spent a few minutes looking at the puzzle toys, then chose two: a complex-looking puzzle ring and a classic rubix cube. Then they went to the board games section, where they found Dick and Jason debating quite passionately about all the different versions of Monopoly based on movies and books.

Harry’s soft giggle gave them away. Jason flushed and immediately fell silent. Dick looked disappointed.

“You have the worst timing, Bruce. I was about to win!”

“No, you weren’t,” Jason muttered.

“I take it you don’t want Monopoly, then?”

“We’ve already got the original anyway,” Dick said with a shrug. “I just thought Jason would like the Lord of the Rings version, but he was vicious in decrying it and all the other knock-offs.”

“Oh! We need to go to a bookstore,” Harry suddenly chimed in.

Jason whirled, his eyes wide. Harry stared back.

Dick snickered. Bruce cleared his throat lightly. “We’ll talk about that at lunch. I think Dick was insistent that you both pick a stuffed animal, so why don’t we do that, then head over to the food court?”

“Yes!” Dick exclaimed. “I’m starving!”

Jason (and Harry) gave Dick a deadpan look that made him wince.

“Okay. I’m pretty hungry,” he amended. “So let’s go pick your plushies!” Putting a hand on each of their shoulders (and Harry was surprised because Jason didn’t flinch or protest), Dick marched them toward the shelf of stuffed animals of all sizes.

Harry found a tiger as big as his head that was perfect for Jason, though he refused to admit it, and a slightly smaller grey wolf for himself because there weren’t any big hawks. Then Harry spent a few minutes admiring the mini, keychain-sized plushies. He chuckled at the tiny dogs and panda bears. Then, to his delight, he found an actual hawk!

When Jason saw it, he shook his head. “Like I said. Some kinda magic.”

“Well, we can hardly say no if that’s the case,” Bruce said, chuckling. “Let’s check out and get our bags to the car, then we can go find lunch.”

They all nodded and followed Bruce and the cart to the check-out line. The longer they stood there, though, the more apprehensive Harry felt. He couldn’t help glancing over at their full cart, cringing every time he saw one of his own things. There was so much. Harry had seen Dudley get nearly that much stuff at once before, and the grocery cart back then had usually been full every week, too.

But half of that stuff was for Harry. What if…what if Bruce saw the amount and made them put stuff back? Or worse, decided Harry wouldn’t get anything? (That wouldn’t be fair, though, because he would never make Jason put his things back. And, well, Harry was the same as Jason, right?

Right?)

It was their turn. Bruce watched calmly as the cashier passed each item under the scanner before bagging it neatly. Harry winced every time one of his things got scanned and the total jumped up. He couldn’t read the actual numbers, but he saw when it reached the triple digits…and then four digits. He couldn’t breathe.

“Total is $1,032.56,” the cashier said in a bored voice.

Bruce blinked. “Really? That’s all?” He passed over his card. “I honestly expected it to be more.”

Harry and Jason gaped.

Dick chuckled. “Told you he could afford it,” he murmured, still grinning. “Even if it had been ten thousand dollars, he probably would have said the same thing.”

“Ten—” Harry squeaked, barely able to even comprehend that much money. He could only barely wrap his head around one thousand.

Dick chuckled. “Don’t worry. Until you turn sixteen and want a car, he’ll have no reason to spend even close to that much on you.” Dick paused. “Probably.”

“Dick.” Bruce said warningly.

Dick grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Come on; let’s get lunch!” And he led the way out of the store.

They did indeed drop the bags off at the car first. Though Harry winced at seeing his and Jason’s tattered backpacks compared to all the new stuff in the back.

“Hmm. You’ll need new bags for when you start school,” Bruce mused, misinterpreting Harry’s wince.

Jason blinked. “School?”

Bruce nodded. “Of course. You’ll both have to take an aptitude test, but I don’t think it will be too hard for you to test into the grade appropriate for your age. If you’re a little behind, Dick or Alfred or I can help you catch up, or I could hire a tutor.” Bruce looked thoughtful. “I think we’ll pick up some review workbooks while we’re at the bookshop later. Then you can get a head start.”

Jason was staring at Bruce, wide-eyed. Harry was staring at Jason.

“Come on. Don’t bore them with school yet, Bruce. It hasn’t even started yet anyway.”

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s get lunch, then. You’re not too tired, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. His sort-of nap had restored his energy, and honestly, he was now feeling a little excited.

“Good. Let’s go.” Bruce offered him his hand. Harry stared at it, then looked up.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Ah. Sorry.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and strode ahead.

Dick chuckled and held out his hand. Harry smiled and took it, but he also made a point to take Jason’s hand.

Jason looked at Harry in surprise, but Harry just smiled and skipped ahead, pulling the other two along behind him.

As they passed Bruce, Dick smirked at him and held up his and Harry’s joined hands. “Gonna take more than spending a bunch of money for this privilege, old man,” he teased. Harry giggled, determined to save affectionate gestures toward Bruce for very, very special, carefully chosen moments (after he was a little more comfortable with the man, though; his large bulk and proximity still intimidated him).

Bruce rolled his eyes, but he smiled faintly.

When they reached the food court, Harry’s nose was assaulted by dozens of different smells. Grease and oil, like Batburger, plus pizza, then ginger and soy sauce, fresh-baked bread, and so many others. He didn’t know where to look, either. The whole place was bright, colorful, and loud, full of people seated at tables or standing in line, chatting the whole while.

“Let’s keep this simple. I’ll name something, and you tell me if it sounds interesting. You don’t have to choose the same place, either. There are plenty to choose from,” Bruce began. “And if you like more than one option, maybe someone else will share. Or we could get both.”

Harry nodded eagerly.

“Okay. Pizza?”

An excited nod from Harry (and Dick). A shrug from Jason.

“Chinese?”

Harry made a face. Jason (and Dick) shrugged.

Bruce smiled. “No Chinese then. Pasta?”

An intrigued sound from Harry, and a hesitant nod from Jason.

“That’s the same place as pizza, so we can get both. Dick?”

“I’m good with that.”

“Pasta and pizza it is. Unless either of you want something else?”

Harry hesitated. He’d seen a smoothie place and the pictures on the menu were making his mouth water.

“Harry?”

Harry froze at being called out. “Um.” He cringed. “C-can I get a smoothie?” he asked hesitantly.

“That sounds really good, actually,” Dick added. “We can go get a smoothie after we order our food, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“Jason? Anything else you want?”

Jason shook his head.

“All right, then. Let’s go get our pizza and pasta.” Bruce led the way over to the pizza place. “Pick whatever you want,” he said.

Harry blinked at the menu, the words all blurring together. He bit his lip and stepped closer to Jason.

“Jay? W-will you read me the menu?” he asked softly.

“Yeah, sure,” Jason squeezed his hand. “Stop me if something sounds interesting.” Jason started reading the different options aloud in an undertone. (Neither of them noticed the searching looks from Dick and Bruce.) Harry stopped him at the pineapple pizza, and again at the spaghetti in marinara sauce. When it was their turn, Jason rattled off both their orders, adding a coke to both as well and earning a smile from Harry.

“Ready to get our smoothies?” Dick asked as they stepped aside to wait for their food.

Harry started to nod, then he realized he’d have to ask Dick to read that menu for him. Not being able to see well enough to read had never really bothered him before, because he hadn’t needed to. But now…now it made Harry feel very small.

Dick squeezed his hand. “I can help you choose, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip and nodded. This time he saw the pointed look Dick and Bruce exchanged before Dick led him away. And Harry couldn’t help but feel like he was five again, back under Aunt Petunia’s scornful look, calling him stupid and lazy before she was finally convinced by the school that he just needed glasses. (Then she just called him an extra headache and an unwanted freak.)

Dick read off the smoothies that sounded like something Harry might like, and Harry eventually decided on a strawberry mango while Dick got some gross-sounding one with carrots and avocado as well as strawberries. (Harry didn’t actually know what an avocado was, but it sounded gross.)

They returned triumphantly with their smoothies, though it took a few moments to locate Bruce. Luckily, because he was so tall and broad, he was easy to spot. Harry and Dick joined him and Jason at the table they’d chosen, and then everyone dug in to their food.

A while later, when the food was mostly gone (and it was so good, and Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d had two meals in the same day), Bruce finally spoke.

“I want to clarify one thing before we go to the bookstore,” he said, looking at Harry.

Harry’s eyes widened, then he shrank in on himself.

Bruce opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke softly. “Harry. Dick and I both noticed that you had to ask Jason to read the words on the shirts earlier, and just now on the menu. Harry…do you not know how to read?”

Harry shrank further into his seat, seeking and finding Jason’s hand. He shook his head. “I can read,” he said softly. “But…words and small designs and things up close are all blurry. E-everything else is fuzzy around the edges.”

Dick breathed a visible sigh of relief. “You just need glasses. Thank goodness.”

Harry blinked, confused by that response.

“You look old enough to know how to read. If you didn’t…that would mean you’d either never been in school or had only been there a very short time before…before you ended up on the streets,” Dick supplied. “And that would have been way too sad.”

“Oh.” Harry slowly straightened up. “I-I went to school. I finished second grade with higher marks than my cousin. But I had to swap our reports because my aunt and uncle…they didn’t like me showing up their son,” Harry confessed quietly.

“You…finished second grade?” Dick’s eyes widened. “H-how old are you?”

Bruce’s gaze sharpened, though he remained silent.

“I just turned nine,” Harry said softly.

Dick gasped. “Nine?”

Bruce froze, his eyes wide.

Harry nodded, fully straightening up and squaring his shoulders. “And Jay’s twelve,” he said firmly.

Dick sat back, looking like his entire worldview had just shattered. “Great Xhal,” he whispered. “And here I thought you were like six. I treated you like you were six.”

“I didn’t mind,” Harry said, his voice quiet again. “It’s not like I ever really got to be a kid anyway.”

Dick’s face twisted. “Don’t—don’t tell me that. I already want to simultaneously slaughter whoever raised you and wrap you in a cocoon of blankets and never let you out.”

“Join the club,” Jason muttered. “I’ve only known him for a year and I spent most of that wanting to strangle or shoot someone every time he’d say stuff like that.”

“Jay!” Harry complained.

Dick blinked. “You…you’ve only known each other for a year.” He turned to Bruce. “You did the research. Did you know this?”

“I was only able to find information about Jason. Records of him ended two years ago, after a year of spotty records from foster homes. I only know as much about Harry as you do.” Bruce’s gaze sharpened again. “Speaking of which. Harry. When I officially apply for guardianship, I need to know if there are any living relatives that could contest my claim. You’ve mentioned an aunt and uncle. Will they come looking for you?”

Harry shook his head, shrinking back again. “They’re the ones who left me in the street,” he whispered.

Dick made a strangled noise. “They left you? On the street? In Gotham?”

Harry nodded.

“Your parents?” Bruce asked sharply.

Harry flinched and hid his face in Jason’s shoulder.

“Bruce, this is not the place for this conversation,” Dick said tightly. “Let’s go the bookstore, make Harry an appointment at the optometrist, then go home.” Then Dick gave him a sharp look. “But if you plan to interrogate him after that, I’m going to be right beside him.”

“Me, too,” Jason said firmly. “I barely know more than you, but I know it was bad. I won’t let you hurt him more.”

Bruce let out a long breath. “You’re right. Both of you. Let’s go, then.” Bruce got to his feet and collected all their trash. Jason leveled a glare at him as he pulled Harry against his side. Dick lightly touched Harry’s shoulder, then stepped away and followed Bruce. Jason and Harry took up the rear, walking slowly because Harry refused to move from Jason’s side.

He perked up a little when they got to the bookstore, though, intent on making sure Jason chose the books he really wanted. There was also a wall of nice backpacks and other bookbags, and Dick encouraged them both to pick two bags—a backpack, and a smaller, everyday bag they could take when they went out.

Harry hesitantly picked out a dark green backpack with grey trim, and a dark grey cross-body bag that would fit a hardcover book. There was a quote printed on it that said (according to Jason), “Books let your imagination take flight” with a few stylized feathers and a tiny bird next to the words. He really, really liked it, but he couldn’t summon the same enthusiasm as before.

Jason picked a red and black backpack and a small, dark red messenger bag. At Harry’s urging once he noticed Jason’s longing look, Jason also picked out half a dozen buttons with book quotes and other designs to decorate the bag.

And Dick fell in love with a dove grey messenger bag with what had to be a thousand pockets and insisted Bruce get it for him. Bruce had just rolled his eyes and added it to the pile.

Jason also picked out hardcover editions of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and The Hobbit. Harry added the complete volume of The Lord of the Rings to Jason’s stack with the best pleading smile he could manage.

Jason had rolled his eyes indulgently and ruffled his hair. “That one will be your book,” he stated. “You need to start your own collection.” And with that, Jason had also pushed the original Boxcar Children novel into Harry’s hands, as well as Inkheart because Harry had absolutely loved that book when Jason had read it aloud during a series of cold, rainy November nights.

When Dick saw how excited Harry was (though it was muted) at finding Inkheart had two sequels, he added those to Harry’s pile as well.

By then, both of them were struggling under the weight of their choices, so they brought everything to the front to check out. At the counter, Dick also added a pair of reading glasses, the smallest he could find. “To tide you over until you get to the eye doctor.,” he explained. “At the very least, they should help you read.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Now feeling very overwhelmed, because none of the things they’d just bought were actually essential, Harry remained silent the rest of the trip.

When they got back, Jason immediately took as many of their bags as he could carry and headed for the house. Harry hung back, though, fully expecting Bruce to thoroughly question him now that they were back and not looking forward to it in the least.

Instead, Bruce handed him one of the lighter clothing bags. “I’ll let both of you have until dinner to settle in and put your things away. If you’re feeling up to it, we can talk after. If not, it can wait until tomorrow.”

Harry stared, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he whispered.

As Harry walked away, he heard Dick ask Bruce quietly, “Couldn’t you just ask for his full name and do the research yourself? You’re going to anyway.”

Harry paused, because they were talking about him.

“No. I want him to be in control of how much he tells me. From what little he has said, I have a feeling the public record will look very different from his reality.”

“I could ask Jason what he knows?”

“I don’t even think Jason knows Harry’s last name,” Bruce said. “Even if he did, he’s hardly likely to tell anyone. He’s very protective of Harry.”

“I suppose you’re right. I guess it’s enough we’ve got him—and Jason—now, even if it is unofficial.” A hint of bitterness entered his voice. “I’m gonna carry the rest of these bags upstairs, then I’ll be in my room.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Thank you, for your help today,” Bruce added as Dick walked away.

Dick made a slight sound of surprise. “I had fun. I’ve always wanted a little sibling. Now I’ve got two.”

“And so far, you’re better with them than I am.”

“You’ll learn.” Dick’s footsteps came closer, and Harry started walking again. But not quite fast enough to miss Dick’s last muttered comment: “You’d better.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Living the Dream?

Once all the shopping bags were delivered to their rooms, Harry found himself sitting in the middle of all of them, feeling dizzy. All that stuff was his. Harry had never owned anything before that wasn’t already beat up, worn out, broken, or throw away. And now he didn’t know what to do with it. Alfred had said he was welcome to put his things away to his liking. But Harry had never, not once, had anywhere special just for him. (Well, he’d had his cupboard. But he was old enough and it had been long enough that Harry vaguely registered how wrong that had been.)

Harry felt so dizzy.

Was he dreaming?

Was he sick?

Was this—was this his magic? Giving him some kind of—of vision of everything he’d ever wanted? He’d once tried to create an illusion. (It had been number 12 on Tim’s list of 100 Things Harry Should Learn To Do With Magic.) Was that what this was?

Oh. Tim.

Tim was right next door now. And Tim didn’t know that they’d been kidnapped—adopted?—by Batman!

(And if Harry ever needed a friend, it was now.)

…Jason probably felt just as overwhelmed.

Harry darted next door to find Jason mechanically putting his things away, a far-off look on his face. His tattered red backpack was a little fuller than it had been, too.

“Jay?”

Jason startled, turned, and blinked. Then he tried to smile.

“You settling in okay, little hawk?”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head. “I…I don’t know what to do next. I—Am I dreaming, Jay? Did I fall off a roof or get hit in the head and this is all just a really, really good dream I’m about to wake up from?”

Jason helpfully pinched Harry’s arm. He yelped and scowled, only to find Jason smiling properly at him, though it still looked a little strained.

“If that hurt, it can’t be a dream.” Then Jason tilted his head. “Though I didn’t feel anything, so…”

Harry pinched him back, pouting.

Jason let slip a curse (okay, maybe Harry had pinched him just a little too hard. But Jason was being dumb).

“Okay, fair. It’s not a dream.”

“Can—it’s still light out. Do—do you think Bruce and Alfred would let us explore outside? Or—or go next door?” Harry asked.

Jason’s eyes widened, then he grinned and pulled Harry into a huge hug. “You’re a tiny genius, little hawk!”

“We can ask Dick. He sorta counts as an adult, right? So we don’t even need to bother Bruce!”

Jason grinned and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Yep. Let’s go. He said he’d be in his room, right?”

Harry nodded.

Still grinning, Jason grabbed Harry’s hand and gently tugged him along. But then Jason hesitated outside the door with the circus poster. So Harry knocked instead.

“Um, Dick?” Harry called hesitantly.

Some shuffling noises, then the door opened. Dick grinned at them. “Hiya, kiddos! Do you need help putting things away?”

Jason lightly nudged Harry forward. “Um. No? I mean, um. We…uh, can we have a tour? Of the grounds?”

Dick tilted his head. “The grounds? Not the house?”

Harry shrank in on himself just a little. “Um. It’s just...I—we’re not used to—to being inside so much. We—we’re used to going wherever we want. And, um. I—we’d really like to know…how far we’re allowed to go? Outside? You can give us a tour of the house later.”

Dick pursed his lips, then shrugged. “Sure. There’s still time before dinner. Lemme get my shoes and I’ll show you to the back door.” Dick vanished from the doorway for a moment, then came back carrying his sneakers. Neither Harry nor Jason had ever taken their shoes off, so they were ready to go.

Grinning, Dick led the way through the house, back downstairs toward the dining room, then he cut through the kitchen to a breakfast nook tucked away in the back corner of the house. A sliding glass door led out onto a covered patio, then a stone path led away toward a garden.

“There’s one other back door, on the other side of the house, but no one goes over there, so we use this one instead,” Dick explained. He whipped out his phone—and it was a smartphone!— and sent a text message. Seeing Harry’s curious look, Dick grinned and flipped the screen around. “Just letting B and Alfred know I’m taking you outside, so they don’t freak out if they can’t find you later.”

Harry and Jason both tensed, but it was Jason who asked, “…What would happen if they couldn’t find us?”

Dick shrugged. “B might yell a little, once you came back, but it’ll mostly be because he was worried. And you’d get a lecture about letting him know where you were. If you purposefully sneak out, you’ll also get grounded.” Dick grinned sharply. “I spent my whole first year here almost perpetually grounded because I kept sneaking out.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “But why? Didn’t—didn’t you like it here?”

Dick slid the door open and ushered them outside. The air was thick and humid, given it was the middle of an August afternoon.

“To be honest? No. I hated it. It was too big, too quiet, too empty, and I had just lost my parents.” Dick smiled a little as he led them down the path. “Honestly, anything you guys do, I can almost guarantee I’ve already done it at least a dozen times, and probably done worse to boot. So I can promise you, B won’t hurt you. The worst you’ll get is a stern lecture and maybe a raised voice if you really mess up. Alfred just gives you this look that makes you feel about two inches tall. So listen to Alfred,” Dick said in a fake-lecturing tone.

Jason frowned, clearly not convinced. Harry stared, his mouth slightly open in awe that anyone could hate living what was literally Harry’s dream.

Dick’s face softened a little, then he made a wide, sweeping gesture to encompass the garden around them. “By the way, welcome to Alfred’s garden! Most of our spices he grows fresh, and some of our vegetables, too. The flowers are his pride and joy. And definitely stay away from his roses.”

Harry blinked at the sudden change in tone.

With that, Dick properly began the tour. Once they left the garden—which was huge, complete with a gazebo and a little fish pond—a grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers sprawled out in front of them, going on for at least a few hundred meters, backed up against a literal forest. Harry had never seen so much open space before! And the trees were huge! Thick, tall, and so green, but all different shades and shapes!

“The grounds go back a good ways, but there’s an old stone wall that marks the boundary line all the way around,” Dick explained. “So if you haven’t hit the wall yet, you’re still on Wayne property,” he added with a wink. “However, I would not recommend exploring in the woods without a way to contact the manor the first few times; it’s easy to get lost in there if you’re not careful.”

“We’re allowed to explore?” Harry asked in awe. “Like, go anywhere inside the wall?”

Dick grinned and ruffled his hair, which made Harry jump a little. “You betcha. But again, probably don’t go exploring alone until you’re familiar with the grounds, except in the meadow where you can see the manor easily.”

Harry just stared. This—this was literally a dream come true. It was like a fairy tale come to life! It—it was too good to be true. There was no way a fr—someone like Harry was allowed any of this. It…it couldn’t last. There was no way it could last.

But.

But it was here now. And if there was one lesson Harry had learned on the streets (and with the Dursleys), it was to take advantage of every good thing while it was there. Because if you hesitated, or waited for permission or approval, it’d be gone before you could blink.

So. For right now, Harry would (cautiously) accept his good fortune. He’d wear that hawk t-shirt and the matching red shoes. He’d sleep in the soft, soft bed with the warm, soft blankets. He’d eat Alfred’s delicious and amazing food.

Because yeah, it would hurt when it was gone. It would hurt a lot. But it was better to have had it once and then lose it, than to never have it at all. The memories would be worth it. Right?

(They had to be.)

***

The rest of Dick’s tour passed in a blur of awe. And in the face of everything, Harry forgot all about sneaking next door. They wouldn’t have been able to anyway, with Dick watching them so closely. They’d have to try again another day.

They got back to the manor just in time for dinner. Harry started off with enthusiasm, but halfway through the meal he felt his eyelids drooping. Voices faded into white noise as his eyelids slid lower and lower.

Then thin, familiar arms maneuvered him out of his seat and onto a familiar back. Harry tucked his nose into Jason’s neck with a sleepy murmur, his arms and legs automatically latching on. This was familiar. Late evenings at the library, or a long day of jacking tires or running from muggers and angry shopkeepers, a twisted ankle or a scraped knee, or the second time he got really sick, Jason had carried him like this. Harry used to pout, but Jason never gave in, so Harry had given up. (He’d never admit that he loved it.)

Lulled by Jason’s familiar gait, trusting his big brother to bring him safely home, Harry let his eyes fall shut.

***

For the second time in as many days, Harry woke up somewhere unfamiliar. His eyes flew open, to see cream-colored walls, then a dozen colorful shopping bags, and then it all fell back into place.

He was in Wayne Manor.

Harry was in Wayne Manor!

Torn between horror and excitement, Harry leaped out of bed, then re-made it to immaculate perfection. No creases in the sheets or comforter, the pillows fluffed and replaced exactly as before; everything had to be perfect because it was so nice and Mr. Wayne had been so nice in letting him sleep there. Harry didn’t want to get in trouble for leaving a mess (Aunt Petunia would screech at him if she found so much as a piece of lint or a single crease).

Then Harry stumbled back, realizing he was still in yesterday’s borrowed clothes. He cringed, already hearing Aunt Petunia’s scolding because only dirty freaks wear the same clothes two days in a row!

Harry’s gaze drifted to the bags, still scattered on the floor by the dresser. One had tipped over, the shirts spilling onto the carpet.

Clean that up, freak!

Harry leapt to obey, quickly and methodically putting all the clothes away in the dresser. Except for the dress shirt and pants. Those were immediately hung in the closet, after Harry did his best to smooth out any wrinkles.

Then Harry faced a dilemma. The clothes he’d just put away were his, technically. But they were brand-new! Freaks didn’t get new things!

But Alfred had taken his old clothes. All he had were the borrowed clothes…and the new ones.

But he couldn’t wear the same clothes twice in a row. Not here, in what was basically a mansion!

And Mr. Wayne had been so nice in buying them…

And nice things had to be enjoyed while they lasted.

Biting his lip, Harry gingerly picked out the red hawk shirt and the grey skinny jeans, and a clean pair of socks and underwear (brand-new, straight from the package!). He carried it all into the bathroom and folded the clothes neatly on the counter. Then he took a quick shower because Aunt Petunia would be knocking on the door any moment!

Quickly Harry dressed in the new clothes and—oh. They were so soft. And they fit. They fit just right.

Harry sniffed, then impatiently rubbed his face. He couldn’t cry. Boys didn’t cry. Even freaks shouldn’t cry. And it was freaky to cry over something as simple as new clothes that fit.

Sniffing once more, sure that he had it under control, Harry put the borrowed clothes in the hamper. Then, as quietly as he could, he tip-toed to the door and cracked it open. He didn’t know what time it was. It felt early, because the house was so quiet.

Was he actually awake before Aunt Petunia?

Wait. No. This wasn’t Privet Drive.

But Harry could all too easily picture Aunt Petunia ordering around the house staff of a manor. Mr. Wayne had been so nice yesterday. But what if that was only temporary? What if he was actually really, really strict? Who’s to say he wasn’t exactly like Aunt Petunia?

So Harry quickly, but quietly, slipped down to the kitchen—

only to freeze in shock because Mr. Wayne was already there. And so was Dick! And Jason! And—and breakfast was already made. They were already eating!

Harry was late! Too late!

Mr. Wayne looked up, spotted him, and Harry froze.

This is it. He didn’t wake up early enough to make breakfast, and now he’d be yelled at. Probably smacked around. And maybe he’d be kicked out and—oh.

Harry thought it would last at least a little longer. (Hope hurt, but hope was all he had.)

Harry shrank against the wall and opened his mouth to apologize—

but nothing came out.

“Harry! You’re just in time!” Dick exclaimed cheerfully. “Come on; we saved you a plate!”

Harry blinked (his eyes stung). “I—I can eat?” he barely whispered. “E-even though—even though I was late?”

Mr. Wayne—no, it was Bruce; he’d said to call him Bruce—made some sort of choking noise, then cleared his throat and smiled. But it looked off. Strained.

“Of course you can eat!” Bruce insisted. He gestured to the empty place setting next to Jason.

Harry’s gaze flickered to the others in the room until he finally met Jason’s gaze. Jason looked a little angry, but once his gaze met Harry’s, he nodded very pointedly and jerked his head toward the empty setting.

Tentatively, Harry edged along the wall, keeping his distance from Bruce (who even sitting down was really, really big, his muscles showing even through the worn, loose t-shirt he wore. Then Harry took one step, then two toward the table when—

“There is no set time for breakfast in this household, Master Harry,” came Alfred’s voice as he emerged from the kitchen.

Harry flinched violently at his sudden entrance and shrunk back against the wall, wishing he could disappear because they were all staring and drawing attention was bad and he was supposed to be invisible but they were staring and he couldn’t breathe and the only time anyone paid attention this long was to yell or to hit and—

Bruce rose halfway from his chair and Harry flinched even harder, slipping to the floor and covering his head with his arms and

“Please don’t hit me I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be late I’m sorry please I won’t do it again please don’t hit me please I’m sorry—”

Raised voices. A large shadow in the corner of his eye. Harry shrank into the wall, curling up even smaller because please don’t notice me please don’t hurt me I’m sorry I’m sorry

“BACK OFF!”

Thin arms around his shoulders, a familiar chest beneath his cheek, fingers threading through his hair.

Harry choked on a sob and latched on to his big brother’s shirt. Jason pulled him in tight, almost painfully so, but if Jason was here then Harry was safe. If he was with Jason then he wasn’t there.

“Shh. I’ve got ya, little hawk. I’ve got ya. You’re okay. I’m okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Jason murmured.

Harry’s breath hitched and he held on tighter. Jason’s chest rose and fell steadily, exaggeratedly. Automatically Harry started matching his breaths to Jason’s. And gradually, the panic receded and awareness returned.

Then Harry became conscious of two sets of eyes boring into him. He hid his face in Jason’s chest, his cheeks heating.

“You back now, little hawk?” Jason murmured.

“Mm.” Harry burrowed deeper, embarrassment flooding his face and stomach.

Jason squeezed him a little tighter, then slowly let go. “C’mon. You still need to eat. I ain’t lettin’ ya leave without breakfast.”

“Mm.”

This time Jason chuckled a bit, then, with a slight grunt of effort, he lifted Harry right off the ground.

Harry yelped, his eyes flying wide.

Grinning, Jason carried him (a little awkwardly) over to the table and plopped him down in his chair.

Bruce and Dick were nowhere to be seen.

That explained why Jason was letting his guard down a little.

Jason then proceeded to load Harry’s plate with food and push a fork into his hands. “Eat, little hawk.”

Hesitantly, Harry took a bite. Then another. And another, because he’d never had pancakes this soft and fluffy before. And they were sweet, and doused in maple syrup, and this was the best thing he’d ever tasted!

Jason laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair, then returned to his own half-eaten meal.

A little while later, as Harry was finishing, he heard footsteps from the kitchen. Harry tensed, cautiously lifting his head to see Alfred coming to a stop almost ten feet away.

“I apologize most sincerely for startling you, Master Harry,” Alfred said quietly. “I will make an effort to ensure you notice me coming in the future.”

Harry hunched his shoulders, unsure what to do with an adult apologizing to him. Adults never apologized to kids. It just didn’t happen! (Except when Aunt Petunia said sorry to Dudley, but Harry suspected that had never been a real apology anyway. It was always after Dudley threw a tantrum.)

Jason nudged Harry’s arm. Harry shot him a quick glare, then straightened up, doing his best to look Alfred in the eye. “That’s okay,” Harry said quietly. “I—I forgive you.” That was the right answer, right? When his teachers had tried to make the other kids apologize, the script had always gone, “I’m sorry for…” or “I apologize for…” and then you were supposed to respond with “I forgive you.”

No one had ever apologized to Harry before, though. It was strange.

Nice. But strange.

Alfred smiled and dipped his head slightly. “Thank you. Now if you have finished eating, Master Dick informed me that you were interested in exploring the grounds further. I recommend you do so this morning before it gets too warm. And if you’re feeling up to it, Master Bruce would like to apologize as well.”

Harry’s eyes went wide. (So did Jason’s.)

“Mr. W—Bruce wants to apologize? To me?” Harry asked.

Alfred’s eyes twinkled. “Indeed. I was a bit surprised myself; he rarely apologizes for anything. But he and Master Dick were quite distressed when they realized they had scared you.”

Harry kept staring, his mouth halfway open, until Jason poked him in the ribs and nudged his mouth shut.

“You tryna catch flies, little hawk?” he teased.

Harry snapped his mouth shut and elbowed Jason in the ribs. He grunted, muttering under his breath.

Alfred smiled fondly at them. “It is your choice if you wish to hear him out. Master Bruce will be in his study most of the day.”

Harry hesitated, reaching hesitantly for Jason’s hand.

Jason tensed, then exhaled slowly. “I’ll go with you if ya want,” he said quietly.

“And I’m certain Master Dick would accompany you as well,” Alfred added kindly. “But whatever you decide, I promise it will be all right.”

Harry nodded slowly, closing his hand around Jason’s. “I—I wanna go now,” he said quietly. “Get it over with, y’know?”

Jason squeezed his hand. “Then let’s go. Then we’re spendin’ the day explorin’ the grounds. Okay?”

Harry gave a tiny smile. “Okay.”

***

Alfred gave them directions to Bruce’s study, then sent them off with a smile. They found the study without too much trouble—it was pretty much right at the top of the stairs, after all—then, steeling all his courage, Harry knocked on the heavy oak door.

“Come in,” came Bruce’s muffled voice.

Harry squeezed Jason’s hand even tighter, then with his other hand he cautiously turned the handle and stepped inside.

The study was big, bigger than Harry had thought. There was room for a huge desk and chair, a three-seater couch, and a wall of bookshelves plus the huge grandfather clock (which, Harry remembered, led into the Batcave), with plenty of space to stand or walk in between.

It was really, really intimidating.

And when Bruce looked up—and then down—to see who it was, Harry squeaked and ducked behind Jason.

Jason, who had squared his shoulders and was staring at Bruce defiantly, but who was shaking, ever so slightly, and his hand tightened painfully around Harry’s.

Thankfully, Bruce remained seated, with the huge desk between him and them. So Harry finally gathered his courage, took a deep breath, and stepped out from behind his big brother.

“A-Alfred said…you wanted to…tell me something?” Harry asked quietly, barely able to lift his gaze past the top of the big wooden desk.

Bruce seemed to tense, then he leaned forward—slowly, so as not to startle them—and looked directly at Harry.

(It made him even more nervous, but he stood his ground.)

“Alfred…was correct,” Bruce began, halting but sincere. “I…admit I am…inexperienced in dealing with…children like you outside of Batman. Dick was…difficult in his own way, but…you are not Dick, and…I neglected to consider that before acting. So I…would like to…apologize for not considering your situation before approaching.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. Alfred was one thing; he was just the butler. But this was Bruce Wayne, this was Batman, apologizing, to Harry (to the freak).

Jason was staring, too.

A few seconds passed, and Bruce started to shift awkwardly.

Then Jason nudged Harry in the ribs (again!). “Well, say somethin’, little hawk,” he muttered.

Harry snapped to attention, so abruptly that Jason jumped a little, and even Bruce looked startled.

“Um!” Harry began, then he froze at the sudden attention. “Um,” he tried again, “I, uh…forgive you,” he began awkwardly. “Y-you didn’t, um, you didn’t know. And, uh, I’m not—I’m not used to…that? I mean, it—it’s happened before, but that was—that was at Halloween, and only once or twice, um, before that, so—so it’s fine. And, and Jay, he—he knows how—I mean, he’s seen me—he, uh. He knows how to help. So. It’s. It’s fine?”

Bruce’s gaze suddenly sharpened, and Harry shrank back, ever so slightly.

Immediately Bruce sat back, and Harry felt himself relax at the increased distance.

“You said this has happened before?” Bruce asked, his eyes flicking over to Jason, who tensed.

“Yeah. What of it?” Jason challenged.

Bruce raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not judging. But, I would like to understand why it happened, so I can avoid triggering another.” His gaze sharpened once more. “Harry? Lad? Can you tell me a little about where you were before the streets?”

Harry opened his mouth, then froze, shrinking back into Jason. “Y-you’re not gonna—gonna send me back. Are you?” he asked in a small voice.

Jason immediately wrapped his arms protectively around Harry from behind, glaring at Bruce. “You’d better not,” he said fiercely.

“No, not at all. But in order for me to obtain legal custody of Harry, his previous guardians need to be accounted for. They’ll easily be charged with child abandonment, but the more information I have, the easier it will be to ensure Harry can stay.” Bruce turned his attention back to Harry, his face softening ever so slightly. “Harry? Can you tell me your full name? And who your aunt and uncle are?”

Harry shrank back into Jason, whose arms tightened around him even more. “You—you won’t send me back? Promise?”

“I promise.”

Batman promised, Harry told himself. And they don’t want me anyway. It’s fine. It’ll be fine.

Harry grasped Jason’s wrists and held on tight. “M-my full name is Harry James Potter,” he whispered. “And-and my aunt and uncle a-are P-Petunia and Vernon Dursley.”

Bruce quickly noted the names on a notepad. “How did your aunt and uncle treat you, Harry?”

Harry averted his gaze, focusing on the patterns on the bottom of the big desk. “They didn’t like me,” he admitted softly. “They spoiled my cousin Dudley, but I—I only got his hand-me-downs. He—he always picked on me, and—and blamed me for things I didn’t do. And A-Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, they—they yelled at me when I messed up, and U-uncle Vernon—”

You wanna cry, I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about!

Harry shook his head and turned into Jason’s chest, lightly grasping his big brother’s shirt. “A-and then they—they left me. On the street.”

Jason hugged him a little tighter.

Bruce made a note.

“Why were you staying with your aunt and uncle?”

High-pitched laughter.

Green.

A scream.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Jason’s chest. “M-my parents are—they—”

They died in a car crash, boy! Drunk and reckless like a couple o’ freaks! Just like you!

“They died when I was one,” Harry managed, his voice catching.

Jason inhaled sharply and pulled him in even tighter. Harry hid his face against his brother’s chest, grasping the front of his shirt with trembling fingers.

Bruce drew in a sharp breath, too. Harry heard the light scratch of a pen on paper. Then:

“That’s all I needed. You’re so brave, Harry, lad. Thank you.”

Harry caught his breath.

No one had ever called him brave before.

“You boys are free to go. With any luck, I’ll have official custody as an emergency foster placement by the end of the week, and then we can file for adoption.”

Adoption?

Batman—Bruce—wanted to adopt them?

Bruce wanted him? Him, Harry? The freak?

Harry barely registered Jason leading him away. A few minutes later, they were settled on the chair in Jason’s room. Jason pulled Harry into his lap, then Harry tucked himself into Jason’s chest, fully and completely overwhelmed.

***

It took until lunchtime for Harry to calm down and finally start wrapping his head around the fact that this was real, this was happening. He stayed quiet and only Jason’s encouragement ensured Harry finished his lunch. Then Dick drew them a little map of the grounds and handed Jason an extra cell phone (who has extra cell phones laying around? Especially a WayneTech SmartPhone!).

“If you get lost, you can call the house number, me, Alfred, or Bruce and we’ll come get you,” Dick explained. “The numbers are already programmed in. I’d go with you, but I have some stuff to do this afternoon.”

Jason held the phone like it would shatter into a million pieces if he so much as looked at it wrong. “I—this—”

“It is for your safety, Master Jason,” Alfred said, gently but firmly. “I will also be outside in the garden, so if you need something, you can always shout for me.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little. They were allowed to shout? Sure, they’d be outside, but even Dudley got reminded to keep his voice down sometimes.

Jason swallowed hard and carefully tucked the phone into the zipper pocket of his cargo pants. “O-okay,” he said, a little hoarsely.

Harry gripped the strap of his little side bag, already packed with a plastic water bottle, a few granola bars, and an apple. (Plus his pocket knife.) He was both nervous and excited, because he couldn’t wait to see the grounds, but they were also going to try to find a way to sneak next door to say hi to Tim and explain their new living situation. And if they got caught—Harry shivered. He didn’t want to imagine what might happen.

Finally, Alfred and Dick deemed them ready to go. Dick winked at them and hurried upstairs. Alfred ushered them out the same back door by the breakfast nook, then took up a seat in the shade of the gazebo with a book and a small fan. It was mostly cloudy, but the air was thick and humid.

“Do enjoy yourselves, boys, but do be careful as well. Remember, call or shout if you need anything.”

Harry nodded. “Okay,” he said quietly while Jason bobbed his head beside him. He carried his own messenger bag, too, packed like Harry’s but with some additional first aid supplies, leftovers from their base. Just in case.

Alfred smiled, then waved them off. Jason glanced at Harry, then, with a faint smile growing on his face, he grabbed Harry’s hand and together they hurried off.

They really did explore. They didn’t go too deep into the woods, not wanting to get lost, but the shade and a cool breeze was a nice break from the humid, sticky air. They also found a little creek running through, and Jason and Harry couldn’t resist the temptation to dip their feet in. Then they started angling toward the west, where Drake Manor should be. Harry even scrambled up a tree near the edge of the wooded area, with almost as much ease as climbing a fire escape, and called down that he could see the roof of the manor in the distance.

Then Harry shimmied down the tree trunk, landing with a thud and a wide grin. He grabbed Jason’s hand and ran off in the direction of Drake Manor.

It was…further than it looked. And the grounds were bigger than Harry had anticipated. By the time the border wall was in sight, half-hidden in a tangle of vines and bushes, Harry felt like he’d just run several miles all at once. His thighs and calves ached and the thick, humid air made it hard to catch his breath. Jason wasn’t any better off. Both of them were also sweaty, sticky, and covered in little scratches from the tall grass and Harry from climbing the tree.

“I dunno…if we’ll make it today, little hawk,” Jason said breathlessly.

Harry pouted. “But we’ve been meeting every other day. If Tim doesn’t see either of us tonight, he’s gonna worry, or worse, he’ll think we’ve forgotten him! We’ve gotta try!”

Jason checked the time on the phone Dick had given him (after carefully wiping his hands on his shirt). Then he blanched. “We’ve already been gone more than two hours!”

“But we weren’t given a time limit,” Harry pointed out. “It should be fine as long as we’re back by sunset, right?”

“Suns—Harry, it’s only three in the afternoon!” Jason exclaimed. “No way they’d let us run around for another four hours. Not two random street kids that were only picked up two days ago. We’ll be lucky if they don’t think we’ve already run away!”

Harry frowned. “The Dursleys never cared, ‘s long as I got back when Dudley did. Sometimes he’d spend all afternoon just chasing me around with his friends.”

“Your aunt and uncle are not normal and therefore should not be used as a baseline for any reasonable adult behavior,” Jason said firmly. “Normal adults actually care when kids are gone for more than an hour without communication. Even my mom got worried if I wasn’t home within an hour after school finished.”

“So we should just let Tim worry, then?” Harry challenged.

Jason gripped Harry’s shoulders and looked at him very firmly. “Harry. Little hawk. We’re brand-new here. We don’t know the rules. We don’t know what we can get away with.”

“But Dick—”

“Dick is an established part of the household,” Jason interrupted. “Of course he’ll get away with stuff. But we’re not him. For all we know, Bruce just grabbed us as a tax write-off or something, and that’s only if he has no other ulterior motives.”

“But Jay, he’s Batman!”

“He’s also a rich, powerful man who can do whatever he wants if he throws enough money around,” Jason said firmly. “We gotta be careful. We can’t be pushin’ boundaries this soon, or someone’s gonna get hurt. And that’s only if he doesn’t kick us out the first time we mess up.”

“But—”

Jason gripped Harry’s shoulders a little tighter. “Sorry, little hawk. But this time you gotta listen to me. I’m your big brother, right? That means I know more than you. Which means I know how to keep us safe. Right?”

Hesitantly, Harry nodded.

“Good. So we’ll head back now, because I don’t want anyone gettin’ hurt. We’ll make it up to Timmy as soon as we can, but we gotta be careful or we’ll end up right back where we started.”

Harry pouted, but he conceded. He wished he’d figured out how to send messages with magic (that was Number 34 on Tim’s list). But instead, he just sent a sad, regretful look in the direction of Drake Manor before letting Jason lead him away.

I’m coming back, Tim. I promise, Harry thought as Jason tugged him back toward Wayne Manor.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Doctors and Needles and Glasses, Oh My!

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. First up, Bruce signed them up for doctor’s appointments. Both were the very next day. But instead of going to a fancy doctor uptown, Bruce drove them toward Crime Alley! And after Jason’s impassioned speech the afternoon before, Harry was on the verge of a panic attack because what if Bruce had changed his mind? Was he tired of them already? Was he just going to dump them in the streets again?

(Was he going to leave Harry behind? Just like the Dursleys had?)

It was Jason, in fact, who calmed Harry down.

“Shh. I know where he’s taking us,” Jason said quietly. “I’ve only been a few times, and we both should have gone when you got sick, but there’s a free clinic down there. Doc Leslie—that’s what she told me to call her—is good. Helped out me and my—my mom before she—Anyway. You can trust her. I—I don’t think Bruce is just gonna dump us and leave.”

Harry just nodded and hid his face in Jason’s chest, trying to remember how to breathe.

When Bruce stopped the car, it became apparent that Harry’s mini panic attack hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’re really good with him, Jason,” Bruce said quietly as they filed into the clinic.

Jason colored and went stiff.

“That’s cuz Jay’s the best brother ever,” Harry said fiercely.

Bruce chuckled. “He certainly is. I’m glad you found each other, however it happened.”

It was Harry’s turn to flush a little, though he couldn’t help the small, shy smile as he remembered that, when they met, their roles were reversed and Harry was the caretaker.

They filed into the waiting room and Bruce spent forever filling out boring paperwork. Jason was stiff and tense, and Harry was jittery. He’d never actually been to the doctor before, unless you counted the school nurse. But even then, all he’d gotten was an ice pack and some tasteless crackers, the time he’d passed out during gym class from hunger and sprained his wrist when he fell.

Finally the paperwork was done and they were called in. The woman who greeted them—Doc Leslie, according to Jason—looked nice enough. Her shoulder-length white hair was tied back in a ponytail, making the slight wrinkles around her eyes and forehead stand out. She did a double-take at seeing Jason, clearly recognizing him. Jason offered a strained, sheepish smile in return.

“These are your new prospective adoptees?” she asked Bruce, a note of sternness in her voice that seemed more suited to a strict aunt or schoolteacher than a doctor.

Bruce smiled sheepishly. “Yes. This is Jason and Harry. I need full physicals for both of them, as well as documenting any scars they might have from…previous living situations. I also have them both scheduled to visit an optometrist this afternoon, but a quick eye exam will give me an idea of where to start.”

“Hmph. You don’t ask for much, do you?” she stated.

Harry stared. Was that…sarcasm? Directed at Bruce? How did they know each other?

Then Bruce knelt down in front of them and answered Harry’s unspoken question. “Harry. Jason. This is Doctor Leslie Thompkins. She’s an old friend, my regular doctor and Dick’s, and she looks after us both when we get sick or hurt. She’s just going to make sure you’re both healthy. I promise she won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Harry nodded, still feeling a bit nervous. Jason looked tense, too, but not because of Dr. Thompkins.

“That’s right, boys,” Dr. Thompkins said kindly. “This may or may not come as a surprise, Bruce, but I already know Jason. Though I admit I’ve not seen him in more than a year—which is a good thing,” she added when Jason shuffled awkwardly under her gaze.

Jason smiled sheepishly.

“So? Who wants to go first?”

Harry shrank behind Jason.

Dr. Thompkins barely blinked. “Would you like to watch while I give Jason his check-up, Harry?” she asked. “Is that okay with you, Jason?”

Jason hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. But don’t ask too many questions. Okay, little hawk?”

Harry nodded. He knew there were things Jason didn’t like talking about from before they met, just like Harry didn’t share the full details of his past.

“Do you mind if Bruce accompanies you? Or would you rather he wait outside?”

“He can wait outside,” Jason said firmly.

“And you, Harry? While I’ve got you, I might as well do both exams at once.”

Harry shifted nervously, hiding a little behind Jason again. “I don’t want Bruce there either,” he said quietly. He knew check-ups usually involved taking your shirt off. And Bruce was Batman, but he was still a man. And Harry didn’t like men (or anyone, really) seeing him without a shirt.

Bruce raised his hands slightly in surrender. “I won’t intrude. But there are things that Dr. Thompkins will have to share with me as your guardian.”

Jason’s head shot up, his eyes wide and almost betrayed. Harry tensed.

Dr. Thompkins raised a warning hand. “I will only be sharing essential information, such as current injuries or health issues, if any, plus basic things like height, weight, and possible future health concerns. Any further details are up to you to share, Jason, Harry, when and if you ever feel comfortable.”

Jason nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, so did Harry.

“Okay, then. Bruce, I’ll come fetch you when the exams are done.”

Bruce nodded, then, with an encouraging smile and a half-wave, he returned to the waiting room.

“Right. Here we are, boys, examination room 3. In you get, and Jason, up on the bed.”

They entered a mostly-white room with counters along two walls, a row of posters on a third, and the door they’d just entered through in the fourth. Below the wall of posters was a bed sort of like the one Harry remembered from the school nurse’s office, covered in crinkly white paper. Jason hopped up on the bed, his legs dangling down, and Harry sat on a stool next to it.

Then Harry watched in fascination and some horror as Dr. Thompson pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began poking and prodding at Jason’s ribs, arms, and legs. She took his temperature, checked his ears, eyes, and nose, then put a weird inflating cuff on his arm that she said would measure his blood pressure. Then she used a stethoscope (Jason helped Harry say the word) to check his lungs and heartbeat. She also had him step on a scale with a ruler attached to the back—without his shoes—to measure his height and weight.

All the while, she asked basic questions like, do you ever feel short of breath, when was the last time you got sick, and other things. Jason admitted to catching a bad flu in January and ever since, he sometimes got unusually out of breath after doing physical activity. (Like running around the manor grounds yesterday, Harry recalled with a touch of guilt.)

Dr. Thompkins hummed and made a note on her clipboard. Then she turned to Jason and said gently, “It’s time for the blood draw.”

Jason went stiff, but nodded.

“Jay?” Harry asked.

Jason smiled tightly. “I’m…not the biggest fan of needles.”

“Harry, why don’t you sit next to him? Chat about whatever you want while I take care of this.”

“Okay!” Harry hopped up on the bed and squeezed Jason’s hand (his left hand, after Dr. Thompkins gently indicated she needed access to his right arm). Then he started chatting about the book they’d been reading the night before and how excited he was to see Tim again and anything else that came to mind. He did watch in fascination as Dr. Thompkins pricked Jason’s elbow with a long needle and then filled a little test tube with blood, but he kept Jason distracted, which was the whole point.

When it was over, Jason got some gauze and a colorful wrapping around his elbow. Dr. Thompkins put away the supplies, tossing the needle into a little red bin on the counter.

“Great job, Jay,” she said. “And good job, Harry, keeping him company.”

Harry nodded, grinning, as he slid off the bed.

Then Dr. Thompkins asked permission to photograph Jason’s scars for the adoption case. When Jason hesitated, she reminded him that proving his past guardian unfit to care for a child, as well as documenting current injuries so none of the blame could fall on Bruce for any of said scars, would make it easier to transfer custody and then for Bruce to keep it. It took a lot of persuasion, but finally Jason conceded. He made Harry step out for that part, though.

Harry did so without question, because he knew when it was his turn, he didn’t want Jason to see his scars, either.

Harry got a little anxious as the minutes dragged on and he was left alone in the hallway, but just as he was about to knock, or else go back to the waiting room, the door opened and Jason greeted him with a tense smile.

“Hey, little hawk. Sorry for kicking you out. But there are a few things I really don’t want you knowing about yet.”

Harry hugged him tightly. “It’s okay. And, just so you know. When—when it’s my turn…I’m gonna kick you out, too.”

Instead of laughing, like Harry expected, Jason caught his breath and hugged him extra tight.

Then Dr. Thompkins reappeared. “Well, that’s you finished, Jason. Harry, do you want him here for your exam?”

Harry nodded. “Except the photographs.”

“Okay, then. Up on the bed, please.”

Harry hopped back up on the bed, and Dr. Thompkins changed her gloves before going through all the same procedures as she had with Jason, asking general questions about his medical history as she did. She and Jason both got grim-faced when Harry admitted he’d never been to a doctor before.

But Dr. Thompkins only made a note on her clipboard and continued with the physical examination. Harry flinched slightly every time she prodded at him, but she always asked before she did, which made it a little better. Then he got things stuck in his ears and up his nose, his temperature taken, and a light shined in his eyes that made him squint until Dr. Thompkins told him to look at her instead of at the light. Her face was blurry, just like everything up close was, but it was better than staring straight into the little flashlight.

The cuff felt weird, tightening until it was almost painful before suddenly going loose again. Then it was Harry’s turn on the scale, and the soft tutting noise Dr. Thompkins made caused Harry to flinch, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“I’m not angry, Harry,” she said quietly. “You’re just a lot smaller than you should be for your age. It makes me a little bit sad, thinking about what you must have gone through for that to happen.”

Harry’s mouth opened slightly. “…Oh.” He wasn’t sure how to feel about someone being sad for how he grew up, even without knowing the details. Jason worried, when he brought it up. Tim did, too.

Dr. Thompkins offered him a smile. “You’re being very brave today, Harry. Are you ready to be just a little braver? Because it’s time for the blood draw, and you’re also behind on quite a few vaccinations.”

Harry nodded. He didn’t mind needles. It did look a little scary, but Harry wasn’t nervous. Not really.

Though he’d like it if Jason sat next to him.

“Okay.” Harry pulled his shoes back on, then climbed back onto the bed. It took barely a look for Jason to hop up next to him and hold his hand.

Dr. Thompkins smiled at them, then she busied herself getting a bunch of supplies together. Jason grew tense as she pulled out a good handful of syringes. Harry squeezed his hand in reassurance, but he felt a little sick, too. One needle hadn’t looked too bad. But she had four.

Seeing where he was looking, Dr. Thompkins grimaced a little. “Sorry about this. Fancier doctor’s offices and hospitals have only two, which are sort of an all-in-one vaccine for everything from measles to tetanus and more. But we make do.”

Harry bit his lip as she pulled her gloves on and wheeled a little tray over.

“We’ll do the blood draw first, then the vaccines. Okay?”

Harry nodded.

“All right. I need your right arm.”

Harry obediently held out his arm. He watched, part fascinated and part horrified, as Dr. Thompkins stuck a needle into his arm and taped it there. Harry felt a little nauseous as he watched the little vial fill with red.

Then it was over. A piece of gauze and the same colorful tape as Jason got covered the mark. The crease of his elbow hurt a little, but mostly it looked cool.

Jason looked pale. “I don’t know how you could have watched it happen, little hawk.”

Harry smiled a little shakily. “It was…a little scary, but mostly just weird.”

Dr. Thompkins smiled. “Good job, Harry. You ready for the vaccines now?”

Harry’s gaze drifted to the other four needles on the tray. His stomach tightened a little.

“Um. Yes. I—I’m ready.”

“Okay then. You’ll feel a few sharp pinches, and your arm will probably be sore for a few days. But it’ll be over quickly.” Dr. Thompkins smiled a little at Harry’s anxious expression. “You can close your eyes if you want.”

With that permission, Harry immediately turned and buried his face in Jason’s chest. Jason hugged him tightly, but made sure to leave Harry’s shoulder free.

“I’m going to roll up your shirt sleeve to your shoulder now and swab it. It’ll be cold,” Dr. Thompkins warned.

Harry nodded against Jason’s chest. Then he flinched as cold fingers wrapped in latex rolled up his sleeve and swiped a cold alcohol wipe over his shoulder.

“Here we go. I’ll go quickly so it’s over faster. Ready?”

Harry nodded again.

“Okay. Number one.” A sharp pinch that made Harry catch his breath.

“Number two.” Another pinch, right on the heels of the first and in almost the same place.

“Three.” Harry barely suppressed a flinch.

“Four.” A tiny sob escaped, and now his shoulder throbbed.

“And we’re done.” Another quick swab with an alcohol wipe, then a piece of gauze was taped over his shoulder and held in place with more of the same colorful wrapping as Jason.

It made Harry smile. The gauze and the wrapping made it look like some terrible battle wound, when as far as Harry knew, he wasn’t even bleeding (though his shoulder ached something fierce).

Dr. Thompkins smiled. “You’re so brave, Harry. I don’t think I’ve ever had a patient who didn’t cry or scream while being pricked with so many needles.”

Harry’s answering smile was strained. He chose not to mention that he didn’t cry or scream because doing either only resulted in more pain.

“Just the photographs left. But if you need a minute, we can wait a little.”

Harry shook his head. “I—I’d rather do it all at once,” he said quietly.

“All right, then. Jason?”

Jason squeezed Harry tightly, then slid off the bed and slipped outside.

Harry immediately wrapped his arms around his stomach, already missing his big brother.

Dr. Thompkins gave him a sad smile. “We can call him back in at anytime if you’re uncomfortable.”

Harry bit his lip and shook his head. “W-what do you need me to do?”

Dr. Thompkins smiled sympathetically. “I know it’ll be uncomfortable, but if you have any big, noticeable scars, either from your previous guardians or from the streets, I need to photograph them to make sure you can stay with Bruce.”

Harry bit his lip.

“I promise I won’t do anything but take the photos. And I’ll go quickly.”

“Y-you won’t—you won’t do anything…weird with the pictures?” Harry barely whispered.

Dr. Thompkins’s face shuttered for a second before her smile returned. “I promise that they’ll go straight into a sealed envelope, and the only person who will see them besides me are Bruce’s lawyer and the judge. And that will be only for the hearing; anytime they’re not being consulted as evidence, they’ll be locked up. Then they, along with the rest of your records, will be sealed up tight. No one will ever need to look at them again unless someone contests Bruce’s guardianship.”

“D-do you swear?” Harry asked softly.

“I swear. And if you’re too uncomfortable with the idea, we don’t need to take pictures of anything under your clothes, though I would have you describe them to me.”

“B-but if I do, then—then that means it’ll be easier for Bruce to keep me?” Harry asked.

“It will. But it’s your choice.”

Harry bit his lip, then, slowly, he pulled off his shirt. He shivered in the cold air as he put the shirt aside.

“You’re so brave, Harry,” Dr. Thompkins said quietly as she readied her camera.

Harry tried not to flinch or shiver as she took pictures of the scars Vernon’s belt had left on his chest and back, and the long, jagged scar on his left forearm from when he’d fallen on broken glass and his aunt and uncle refused to take him to the emergency room, so he’d had to stitch it up himself. There were a few others on his arms and one more on his right shin. One or two were from Dudley playing rough; the rest were from the streets. And, of course, there was the one on his forehead he’d gotten on…that night.

As soon as she was done, Harry pulled his shirt back on and wrapped his arms around his stomach, curling in on himself. She had to let Jason back in, and it took fifteen minutes of Jason hugging him for Harry to finally feel okay again.

Finally, they returned to the lobby and Harry stayed close to Jason while Dr. Thompkins talked to Bruce. She did only mention Jason’s minor chest infection, easily cured with a week’s worth of antibiotics, and that they were both underweight and their growth was stunted from poor nutrition. She requested getting them both a full x-ray exam, too, because her cursory examination had raised further concerns.

At that, Bruce frowned slightly, then knelt in front of Harry and Jason.

“Dr. Thompkins tells me you’ve both been very brave today,” he began gently. “Especially you, Harry. I’m sure you’re both tired and hungry. But would you be up to a quick x-ray each before we go get lunch? It’ll be the last thing this morning, and we’ll have time for a break before your appointment with the eye doctor this afternoon.”

Harry gripped Jason’s hand with both of his and looked up. Jason looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. Harry bit his lip and nodded slightly.

“Fine with me,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Me, too. As—as long as Jay can be there,” Harry added quietly.

Bruce looked at Dr. Thompkins for confirmation.

She smiled kindly. “That can easily be arranged. The room should be free right now; it’s been a slow couple of days. So let’s go, shall we?”

They both nodded, and Harry trailed along behind Jason. He felt tired and strung-out, and his head was starting to hurt a little. And his shoulder ached. But the sooner it was over, the sooner he could rest. He didn’t want to put it off and ruin another day.

Luckily, the x-rays were quick. Harry’s took a little longer, because the first time through Dr. Thompkins noticed something weird with his wrist, so she insisted on a close-up.

“Does your wrist ever hurt, Harry?” She asked. “Or do you ever have trouble bending it in certain ways?”

Confused, Harry shook his head.

“Huh. I guess you’re a lucky one, then. The break didn’t heal exactly right, in a way that usually causes chronic pain or stiffness. But if it doesn’t bother you, then there’s no need to worry about it. I’d keep an eye on it just in case something develops, though.”

Bruce furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t it be healed correctly?”

“It could be a lot of things, but generally it means that for some reason he didn’t receive proper care or treatment while it was healing, or he chose to ignore proper care and started using it sooner than he should have—like a certain someone I could name. How’s your elbow doing, Bruce?” Dr. Thompkins challenged with a sharp look.

Bruce cringed. “It’s fine. Only acts up in the cold. A compression sleeve is usually enough.”

Jason stifled a snicker. Harry bit back a smile.

Bruce noticed their stifled laughter and cleared his throat. “If that’s everything. I did promise lunch and a break before their eye appointment this afternoon.”

Dr. Thompkins chuckled. “That’s everything. I’ll send you back any relevant results from the blood tests once they come in, and write you up the prescription for Jason once we get back to the front desk. And I’d like to remind you, Bruce, that you’re not entitled to any of their medical information that isn’t essential for their immediate well-being until the guardianship is official and approved by the court.”

Bruce nodded, chastised. “I know.”

“Very well. Let’s head back out front and finish up, then you boys can get out of here. How does that sound?”

Harry and Jason both nodded. Dr. Thompkins led them back to the reception desk, where she wrote out Jason’s prescription and a recommended diet plan to get them back up to their proper height and weight for their age. Then, finally, they said goodbye and headed out.

“Glad that’s over, aren’t you, boys?” Bruce asked as they piled back into the car.

They both nodded again. Harry was still feeling pretty overwhelmed, and didn’t go far from Jason’s side as Bruce started driving away.

“Do you boys want to go out to lunch or head back to the manor? We’ve got about two hours before your appointment across town.”

Jason shrugged.

“Harry? You seem a little overwhelmed, lad; would you prefer to head home and take a nap?”

Harry shook his head. “I want it all over,” he said quietly. “I-if we go back ho-to the manor I won’t want to leave again.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “Are you sure, lad? We can reschedule the appointment, too.”

Harry shook his head a little more frantically. “No. No. I can do it. But…can we go to Batburger? For lunch? And…and maybe eat at a park?”

Bruce smiled at him from the rear-view. “You know? That’s a great idea, Harry, lad. What do you think, Jason?”

Jason shrugged again. “Fine with me.”

“Then to Batburger and then the park we go.”

And that was exactly what they did. Harry stayed quiet all the way through the drive-thru line and to the park, and then he sat against Jason’s side and ate slowly. Jason didn’t push for conversation, so Bruce didn’t either. When he finished eating, Harry dozed against Jason’s shoulder. (He and Jason chose to ignore the soft click of Bruce’s phone camera shutter, when he thought they’d both fallen asleep.)

Roughly half an hour before their appointment time, Bruce roused them back to the car, then they drove across town to a fancy clinic specifically for the eye doctor. They were a few minutes early, and were called in right on time. After a bunch of different tests for their vision (Harry had to take more), the doctor informed them that Jason had near-perfect eyesight, but Harry did, in fact, need glasses.

With Jason’s encouragement, Harry chose a pair of dark green frames. But Harry also, hesitantly, asked if he could have contacts, too. The doctor explained that while children’s contacts were unusual, they were far from impossible. And with Bruce’s permission, the eye doctor showed Harry how to put them in and take them out, and let him practice on a dummy. Then he let Harry practice on himself. When Harry got it right on the second try, he got a sticker of a dinosaur wearing glasses, a brand-new contact case, and two pairs of contacts to go with his new glasses.

It was amazing to look around and see everything in crisp, clear lines instead of as blurry-edged shapes. And—and Harry saw Jason’s face clearly for the very first time. When Jason grinned at him—so clear, his eyes light and crinkling, looking at Harry with such open affection and approval—and gave him a thumbs-up, Harry burst into tears.

“Whoa, whoa. What’s wrong, little hawk?” Jason asked quietly while Bruce hovered awkwardly and the doctor withdrew, a faint smile on his lips.

“I—I can see you,” Harry sobbed.

Jason went still, then pulled Harry into the tightest hug ever. “Yep. I’m right here, little hawk,” he said gently. Then his faint smile turned into a smirk—and Harry could see the difference now, not just hear it in his voice.

“I’m pretty good-looking, don’t ya think? Rugged and handsome, that’s me.”

Harry burst into watery laughter and threw his arms around Jason again. “I love you, Jay,” Harry whispered.

Jason squeezed him tighter. “Yeah. Love you, too, little hawk,” he whispered into Harry’s hair.

Finally Bruce backed away and both adults gave them a few minutes so Harry could compose himself. As his tears died, Harry could hear the eye doctor talking quietly to a worried Bruce.

“—worry about it. I see the same with a lot of kids getting glasses for the first time. Couple of adults, too. Give them a moment,” he said quietly to Bruce.

They got a few moments, and finally Harry pulled away and wiped his cheeks. His eyes itched a little, though. Harry wondered if it was the combination of the new contacts and his tears.

Seeing this, the doctor began to verbally walk Harry through the care of both the contacts and the glasses—and kindly recommended that Harryswap out the contacts for glasses for now. Because, he explained,

“Saltwater and chlorine aren’t good for them. So you always want to clean them after crying, and try not to wear them in the pool.”

Flushing a little, Harry nodded.

“It’s also not good to wear them for longer than a few hours at a time. Six hours at maximum. So I would choose to wear them either only during school or only at home during the week, and never on weekends except for special occasions or for reading so your eyes can rest.”

Then Bruce chimed in, too, insisting Harry wear his new glasses out of the doctor’s office instead of the contacts.

“You’re already tired, Harry,” Bruce explained gently when Harry hesitated. “You’re more likely to fall asleep in the car or right when we get back and then forget to take them out, and you’re not supposed to sleep in them, even for short naps.”

Pouting a little but acknowledging the wisdom of it, Harry removed the contacts and put them in the case with cleaning solution like the doctor showed him. Then he put on the glasses instead. He could see just as well either way, but Harry didn’t like wearing glasses—they were an obvious target, and one that Dudley had often exploited.

And the doctor’s mention of school had Harry’s stomach churning.

When they finally got back to the manor, Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open. After he stumbled getting out of the car, Jason took pity on him. With a soft chuckle, he gave Harry another piggy-back ride from the car inside, where Dick caught them, cooed over the piggy-back ride and Harry’s new glasses and took pictures, and then dragged them upstairs to the theater room—because of course the manor had its own designated theater room—for movies.

Harry was asleep ten minutes into the first movie, curled up with his head on Jason’s lap and a blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Finally Home

They had the next two days free, so Jason and Harry took full advantage to explore every inch of the manor and grounds. It had unsettled them both being in an unfamiliar place, to the point where neither of them could sleep those nights without the other close by. The night of the doctor’s appointments, Harry had crawled in with Jason after waking from a fitful sleep and snatches of memory that morphed into unsettling dreams. The second night Jason had tossed and turned for almost an hour before finally giving up, creeping next door, and curling up around Harry. Safe in the knowledge that they were both okay, Jason had then dropped to sleep quickly.

On day six at Wayne Manor, Harry and Jason finally found a shortcut through the grounds to Drake Manor so they could contact Tim. But their expedition was cut short by Dick calling them inside…

To a visit with a social worker.

The resulting “conversation” felt like nothing short of an interrogation. The lady was nice, at least, but she asked questions they were only barely learning the answers to, and Harry barely avoided three separate panic attacks when she pressed him for details about the Dursleys and made the mistake of first, pointing out his lightning scar, and second, even suggesting he and Jason might be separated.

Actually, Harry didn’t entirely avoid that last one. They were already being spoken to separately, and one-on-one, though Bruce was just outside. Her offhand comment that “if it doesn’t work out here, we can always find you and Jason a separate home” had Harry hyperventilating. He tried to hide it, and in fact did a pretty good job, but he couldn’t control his breathing and talk at the same time, and she kept asking questions and Harry didn’t know what to do because he could try to talk but then he’d start breathing too hard, but if he stayed quiet she’d keep asking, or worse, she’d start yelling, and then hitting and then—

Suddenly Bruce burst in, curtly excused the social worker, and had Alfred fetch Jason.

Bruce kept his distance but began speaking calmly and steadily. “You’re all right, Harry, lad. Can you take a breath for me? That’s it, just breathe in, hold, and breathe out. Take your time. Focus on what’s around you and breathe.”

Harry tried. He tried really hard to catch his breath, and to follow Bruce’s instructions, but it was hard and what if Bruce got mad that he couldn’t follow simple instructions? What if he started yelling? The one time Harry had a panic attack in front of Uncle Vernon, he’d yelled and screamed and called him names before throwing Harry into his cupboard, leaving him to cry in the dark, not understanding what was happening.

Running footsteps, then familiar arms around him.

Harry’s breath hitched and he latched on to Jason’s shirt, gasping and sobbing.

“S-she said they might separate us,” Harry sobbed. “I don’t want you to go! I don’t wanna be alone again!”

Jason held him tight. “It’s okay. I’m here, little hawk. I’ve got ya. I’ll run away with you before I let ‘em separate us. I’ve got ya. I’m here. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

Harry nodded into his chest but he couldn’t stop crying—sharp, nearly silent gasping breaths as tears poured down his cheeks.

Jason just held him, for what felt like a long time. But finally, gradually, Harry managed to catch his breath and his tears slowed, then stopped. Embarrassed, Harry pulled away and scrubbed at his cheeks. He had a moment of confusion when his fingers hit the rims of his glasses, then he just pushed them up his forehead and finished scrubbing away his tears.

Then Harry became aware of Bruce, still a distance away but watching. His breath hitched, then he caught Bruce’s eyes. “Y-you’re not gonna send us away, are you? You—you’re not gonna separate us?”

“Of course not, Harry, lad. I don’t think she intended to imply that, either. But I’ll be finding a different social worker, because she should have recognized you were uncomfortable and let you calm down before continuing to press for answers. Or better yet, rescheduled for another day.”

Harry sniffed and nodded. “Okay.” He turned to Jason. “C-can we go outside again?”

“I think it’s a bit too close to dinnertime now, boys,” Bruce said gently. “Tomorrow you can go explore outside some more. I’ve also ordered your placement tests for school; they should be here in a week. So if you get too hot outside, you can start reviewing from the workbooks we bought.”

Jason went still, but in the way that meant he was excited or amused, not upset.

Harry’s stomach churned again at the mention of school.

***

Just a few days later, all the paperwork was done and it was time for their day in court. Harry had a vague notion that it really should have taken a lot longer. But Bruce was rich, and money made things happen—one of the few things Uncle Vernon had said that Harry had yet to see proven wrong.

Harry dressed in the tan slacks and red dress shirt Bruce had insisted on buying during their first shopping trip, and combed his hair. But he didn’t recognize the boy in the mirror. He felt wrong, like a kid playing pretend but worse. He didn’t belong here, something whispered in his mind. Not surrounded by fancy new furniture wearing fancy brand-new clothes (that fit). He was a freak, a blight on nice, normal people like the Dursleys (like the Waynes). Surely the courts would recognize that, and the dream would be over and Harry would be back on the streets like he never left with nothing but the aching memory of what could have been.

A knock on his door startled Harry enough that he jumped.

“Ready to go, kiddo?” Dick asked, eagerness clearly audible in his voice.

Harry tried to even out his breathing, like Mr. Wa-like Bruce had shown him the other day when the social worker kept asking questions and questions were bad and he would be asked so many questions today and he was scared and—

“Harry?” Dick’s voice was gentler. “I can hear you hyperventilating. Can I come in?”

Harry tried to catch his breath and say “come in,” but all that came out was a vague noise of acceptance.

The door cracked open, and Harry sensed more than saw Dick come closer.

“Harry?”

Harry could only look up, his wide, terrified eyes quickly filling with tears.

Dick’s face softened (and Harry could see it, the clear and naked affection, and it hurt because he didn’t deserve it because he was a freak and a blight and he didn’t belong here and—)

“Oh, buddy.” Dick’s eyes were soft, his lips curved in a sad smile. “Can I hug you?”

Dick opened his arms and Harry all but threw himself into them. He wanted Jason but Jason was probably scared, too, and Harry didn’t want to bother him because Harry was strong, he was supposed to be strong when Jason was scared but he couldn’t this time and he was a terrible brother—was he even Jason’s brother? What if they were separated? What if—

Dick’s arms closed around him, strong and gentle like Jason but not like Jason but it felt so good and was it selfish to want this forever? Was Harry, the Freak, even allowed to want a family? Was he even allowed to be selfish here?

“It’s all right. I was scared, too, when I had to tell the courts I wanted to be Bruce’s ward. But it all turned out fine, and your turn will be fine, too,” Dick said quietly. “It’s okay, buddy. Baby hawk? Jason won’t let me call you little hawk. Um. Hawkling? No. Hawky?…Hawklet? Is that okay? Can I call you hawklet?”

Something in Harry’s chest cracked wide open. He burst into tears, even as he nodded frantically into Dick’s chest. Dick gave him a nickname! A personal one, just for Harry. And it wasn’t mean or cruel like Freak or Boy. And it had hawk in it.

Dick chuckled softly. “Hawklet it is, then.” Dick held him a little tighter. “I’ve got you, hawklet. Your big brother’s got you.”

Harry couldn’t stop crying but he was so happy and hopeful and it hurt but it felt so good and maybe, just maybe, Harry really could belong here.

After a moment or two, Dick started humming and rubbing his back lightly. And gradually Harry’s tears dried up and he found the courage to pull away. He raised his hand to wipe his face, but Dick gently caught his hand.

“I have a better idea.” With that, Dick gently lifted Harry onto his hip (earning a soft squeak of surprise), then carried him into the bathroom. There, Dick took a washcloth and ran it under warm water, then gently wiped Harry’s cheeks. If a few more tears slipped out while Harry stared at his big brother(?!) in wonder, Dick didn’t mention it. The small smile on his face was unbearably soft and affectionate, and Harry still wasn’t used to being able to read emotion so clearly on faces. He’d spent so long forced to rely on body language and tone of voice that it was new and frightening to see people’s faces so clearly.

But it was also reassuring, because not once—not with Jason, Dick, Bruce, or Alfred—had Harry seen body language that disagreed with their expressions. That, more than anything else, was why he was able to finally relax and let Dick fuss over him.

When Harry’s face was clean and the panic had receded (thanks largely to Dick’s constant, reassuring, gentle touches), Dick helped him off the counter and they went to check on Jason.

Jason was also panicking, but a tight hug from Harry, plus his visible confidence, was enough to relax him—at least, to bring him down from panic to simple nerves. Then they headed downstairs, to find Bruce waiting for them. Then they were off to the courthouse.

An hour and another mini panic attack (or maybe three) later, and Bruce Wayne was officially the legal guardian of Harrison James Potter-Wayne (to be known only as Harry J. Wayne to all but the governing body) and Jason Todd-Wayne, with the official adoption paperwork filed and awaiting processing and approval.

Harry felt something in him settle when he was presented with the official forms to sign his new name. Bruce had been unable to find his birth certificate or any other official records besides school records from Little Whinging Primary School, so none of them knew if Harry’s name was legally Harry or if that had been a nickname his parents had given him. Harry didn’t like being “Harry Potter” or “that Potter freak” or “Nasty Harry.”

So, when given the option, Harry made the choice to expand his own name to Harrison. It sounded tougher and fancier than Harry, like someone who actually belonged in those huge, fancy manor halls (though he would continue to use Harry as his preferred name). He liked the middle name James, so he kept it. It felt significant somehow, though Harry didn’t know why. Harry felt no real connection to the Potter name, because his only memory of his parents was the night they died, but he didn’t want to lose the connection entirely. One day, he hoped to learn about them. (They must have been something special if even Batman couldn’t find anything!) So he kept the name Potter on paper, but for all intents and purposes, he would just be Harry Wayne.

And finally, finally, ten whole days, busy with paperwork and appointments and social workers, ten whole days full of stress, panic, insecurity, and doubt after being picked up off the streets by Batman, the newly-named Harry Wayne was finally able to visit his best friend!

It was a bright summer afternoon near the end of August, humid and muggy with dark clouds ringing the horizon, when Harry and Jason finally got the chance to climb the garden wall and drop down onto the edge of the well-manicured grounds of Drake manor. Hearts in their throats out of anticipation and fear of being discovered (because they hadn’t exactly asked permission—they didn’t want the questions for how they’d met Tim, from Bristol, while living in the gritty streets of Crime Alley), Harry and Jason walked hand-in-hand to the front door. The empty driveway was reassuring. Then, taking a deep breath, they knocked on the door with their joined hands.

Barely audible footsteps sounded inside, then the door cracked open. “Hello?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach ya not ta open the door for strangers, baby bird?” Jason asked, grinning—really grinning—for the first time since they’d come to live with Bruce. (Despite Harry’s best attempts, Jason had been skittish, anxious, and overprotective the whole time.)

Piercing blue eyes behind the door widened. “Jason? Harry?”

They both grinned. “Hi Tim!” Harry said brightly.

A tiny gasp, then the door was flung wide and suddenly Harry had his arms full of his (unofficial) twin brother.

“OhmygodHarry! Jason! IwassoworriedIhaven’theardfromyouinweeks and I thought you’d been snatched or hurt or even killed! What are you doing here? Are you okay? Ohmygod I missed you so so so much!”

Harry laughed while Jason grinned widely. “Breathe, Timbit.”

Tim pulled away, his eyes wide and a little damp. Then he blinked, and blinked again.

“Um. You’re…clean. And are those new clothes?! Ohmygod please don’t tell me you got a sugar daddy!”

Jason cracked up. “Why do you know what a sugar daddy is, Tiny Tim?”

Tim flushed and didn’t answer.

Harry laughed and threw his arms around his best friend. “Tim! Tim, you’ll never guess what’s happened! There’s been so much and I’m sorry we weren’t able to tell you earlier but a lot happened and it was scary and stressful but awesome and you won’t believe this! Jason and I tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile! And then Batman caught us, and he bought us Batburger, and then he took us home, and you were right! He’s Bruce Wayne! And he’s adopting us so now we’re neighbors and—”

Tim gasped and sputtered, trying to say a dozen things at once while Harry squeezed him in excitement.

Jason snickered. “Easy, little hawk. Let the poor kid breathe.”

Jason lightly pushed Harry aside and moved in for his own hug. Tim melted into it, then pulled away, flushed but grinning.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “You gonna let us in, Timbit?” he asked, smirking.

Tim squeaked. “Oh! Sorry! Of course!” Tim opened the door the rest of the way so Harry and Jason could enter, then he shut it behind them.

“You still running around rooftops at night?” Jason asked, grinning.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “Of course! Oh! Guess what! I saw Robin the other night! Like, really up close!” Tim gushed. “He was just one rooftop away from me! It was so, so, so cool!”

Harry snickered. “Wait ‘til I tell Dick.”

Tim gave a little gasp. “Wait. You said I was right? You said Batman is Bruce Wayne and Robin is Dick Grayson?” Tim’s eyes widened. “Wait. Does that mean you’re living with Dick Grayson?!” Tim squealed.

Jason made a face, though his eyes crinkled. “Yep. And he’s an annoying, loud, overly affectionate—”

“He’s sweet and cool and always knows just what to say and he even teases Bruce!” Harry cut Jason off. “And! And he’s teaching me some of his tricks! Well, right now it’s all somersaults and push-ups, but one day he said I could do what he does!”

Tim’s eyes went wide. “Wow! Really? Do-do you think he’d teach me? Wait! We’re neighbors! So now I can come visit you!”

“Want to come right now? Bruce is at work. I think he forgets he’s the CEO of Wayne Enterprises sometimes,” Harry said, grinning. “But Dick is here and so is Alfred—Alfred’s the butler. He’s really cool, and he’s British. Oh.” Harry deflated just a little. “Um. I should probably tell you. Both. So am I. British, that is.”

Jason laughed and ruffled his hair. “Little hawk, I figured that out within two weeks of knowing you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wh-what? But I—I tried so hard to hide my accent.”

“You did okay most of the time. But once you got comfortable around me, it started slipping out. And you had weird slang for some things—calling carts trolleys, for one. And trash rubbish. And I heard you say 'bloody prick' once about a rude shopkeeper in a full British accent.”

Harry colored. “I thought I did a good job.”

“I didn’t figure it out for a while,” Tim said consolingly. “Your accent did sound weird at first, but then when you got to rambling, it came out. It still sort of sounded like a really fake Bristol accent at first, though, so I thought you were copying me.” Tim flushed. “It was kinda…flattering? But then I listened more carefully and realized that, no, you just sound like that. And then I watched a British TV show and put the pieces together.”

Harry pouted. “Damn. Do you think Bruce and Dick have noticed?”

Jason shook his head. “Nah. Other than a word here and there, or when you slip up and use British curses, your accent is thoroughly Crime Alley.”

“But Batman has tons of resources. If he has your name, I’m sure he’s found your last known address by now.”

“Yeah.” Harry scuffed his foot against the carpet. “He hasn’t said anything, but I know he’s dying to ask.”

“Ask?”

“How a British kid ended up alone on the streets of Gotham.”

“H-how did you end up on the streets?” Tim asked. “I-if you don’t mind, anyway. Maybe it can be practice, for when you tell B-Bruce?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s not a long story. My uncle had a business trip, decided to turn it into a family vacation. They couldn’t find me a sitter, though, so they had to bring me along. Then, on the way to the hotel, they just…left me in a diner restroom and drove away.”

“Your relatives are shit,” Jason stated. “But…is it bad I’m kinda glad they did? Because if they hadn’t…we wouldn’t have met.”

“I’m glad they did,” Harry said vehemently. “I hated them and they hated me. I’d already tried to run away once. And…and maybe this is weird, but I…I was happier on the streets with you two than I ever was with them,” Harry said shyly. “And…I’m still happy, because…you’re both still here with me. And now Tim is closer than ever!” Harry gushed, grinning widely once again.

Tim grinned back, then turned shy. “So….so can I really come over? Today?”

“Sure. Alfred won’t mind,” Harry said. “He likes having lots of people over.”

“We can go to the front door and say we saw you playing in your yard and we invited you over,” Jason added. “I bet he’s noticed we’re not on the grounds anymore anyway.”

“A-aren’t you worried? That you’ll get in trouble?”

Jason tensed a little. “Not…really, believe it or not. If Bruce were here, then definitely. And Alfred has the worst disappointed look, but I know…” Jason shrugged sheepishly. “I know Alfred at least won’t…won’t hurt us. And Dick really doesn’t care what we do as long as we don’t get hurt. You know he swings from chandeliers?”

“Really?” Tim asked.

“Really.” Jason rolled his eyes. “He made a joke about it a few days ago, and I laughed because I thought he meant when he was a kid. Then I caught him in the act the other night.”

Tim giggled.

“So are you coming over?” Harry asked, bouncing on his toes.

Tim nodded. “Yeah! Just let me change.”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?” Harry asked. Tim was dressed very smartly in a collared t-shirt and khaki pants.

“No one will ever believe I was playing outside if this is what I’m wearing,” Tim stated. “Lemme put on jeans and a t-shirt. Ooh! Do you think I could bring my skateboard?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You have a skateboard?”

Tim nodded. “Yep! Okay, I’m bringing it. Be right back!” He took off up the stairs two at a time, leaving Jason and Harry in the dust.

Tim was back less than five minutes later, wearing cargo shorts, a red t-shirt, and a bike helmet. He carried a sleek-looking skateboard under one arm, and had elbow and knee pads strapped over his arms and legs. He handed Harry the skateboard to admire while he pulled on a pair of lightly scuffed red high-top sneakers…that looked familiar.

Suddenly Harry gasped. “I have those shoes, too!”

Tim looked up in surprise. “Really? That’s so cool! We really are twins!”

“I could even put on a red t-shirt and cargo pants!”

“No need to go that far, little hawk,” Jason said, grinning. “Come on. Let’s go before Alfred mounts a search party and gives us that disappointed look he usually reserves for Bruce.”

“Okay!” Tim took his skateboard back from Harry, then led the way outside. He locked his door, then followed Harry and Jason down the drive.

The walk between their houses was longer than any of them had anticipated, since the road curved and the part of the wall Jason and Harry had jumped was actually along the shortest distance between their houses. Since it was nearly a mile to walk, Tim showed them how to ride the skateboard and they all took turns riding it down the street.

By the time they reached the drive up to Wayne Manor, all three of them were sweaty and covered in dust, with a number of minor scrapes and bruises each despite sharing Tim’s protective gear. And they were all grinning widely.

When they reached the door, Jason knocked—since neither he nor Harry had their key on them (though Harry had his pocket knife, which he still couldn’t go anywhere without, and it could be used to pick the lock if necessary.)

A moment later, Alfred came to the door. “There you are, young masters. I was beginning to worry. And who is this?”

“I’m Tim Drake. I live next door,” Tim piped up.

“We saw him skateboarding and said hi. He let us try his skateboard, so we invited him over for cookies and lemonade,” Harry chimed in.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Well, lucky for you, the cookies just came out of the oven. I’ll have lemonade prepared shortly. In the meantime, why don’t you come in and clean up?”

“Thanks, Alfred!” Harry chimed.

“Thanks,” Jason said offhandedly.

“Thank you, sir,” Tim said with unexpected formality.

“Just Alfred will do, lad,” Alfred said with a faint smile. Harry started, realizing that Alfred had told him the same thing on his first morning here.

Still chatting and laughing, Harry, Tim, and Jason headed to the nearest bathroom to clean up as instructed.

They came out a few minutes later and met Dick on the stairs, summoned by the smell of freshly baked cookies.

“Is that Tim Drake?” he asked.

Tim squeaked, his eyes going wide. “Ohmygodyou’reDickGrayson!”

“He’s a big fan,” Jason said dryly.

Dick blinked. “I…didn’t realize I had any fans, but it’s nice to see you again, Tim. Since the last gala, right?”

Tim nodded, still tongue-tied.

“Ah, Master Dick. I was just about to call you.” Alfred set the plate of cookies in the breakfast nook. There were already four glasses of ice-cold lemonade set at the table.

“I was summoned by the smell of fresh cookies,” Dick said with a smirk, sliding into the bench. Jason slid in next to him, letting Harry and Tim sit side by side across the table. “I heard something about skateboarding?”

Harry started gushing about Tim’s skateboard, and gradually Tim started chiming in until he was speaking just as eagerly as Harry. Jason added his own comments every now and then, mostly with dry, sarcastic humor. Dick was a captive audience, laughing and gasping at all the appropriate moments. Alfred even lingered nearby, watching them all with a soft, amused smile. Harry even thought he’d be okay with Bruce nearby.

And as Harry sat there, surrounded by his family, he finally felt like he had found a place to call home.

~ The End (for now) ~