Chapter Text
"I can do it," a pause to catch breath that was fleeing too readily in the excitement thrumming beneath fair skin. "I can be Robin."
This was not a conversation Bruce was in the mood to have with Jason.
Jason Peter Todd, 13 years old. 5 foot 3 inches. Underweight at an even 100 pounds. Child of Catherine and Willis Todd. Father in jail, mother currently checked into a long-term rehabilitation program. Hide tough as nails with a soft underbelly he wasn't willing to show to just anyone. Bruce had caught the kid trying to break into the Bat-mobile one night, futilely swinging a lead pipe against one of the windows in hopes of smashing through the reinforced glass.
It was ballsy.
It was stupid.
It was desperate.
It hadn't taken long to figure out the kid's story. CPS did most of the heavy lifting in removing him from his mother's 'care'. In almost a week's time, Jason Todd was the newest ward of Bruce Wayne...
"I can do it," Jason insists again as he steps closer. He's small and wiry. Has to tilt his head back to even hold Bruce's gaze this close. "I'm tough enough. I know how to fight. I can be Robin."
"No." Bruce hears himself saying, voice grim.
Emotion flickers over the boy's freckled face, brow furrowing tightly. Anger, confusion, embarrassment, hopelessness. His fists ball at his sides as his jaw sets with tense determination.
"I can learn to do a flip. I know how to somersault. I can sorta do a cartwheel."
Bruce can't help that he snorts back a laugh. As if that was the problem, that he was worried Jason couldn't do a cartwheel. It's the wrong reaction; Jason's eyes grow cold and hard.
"Jason," He starts as he clears his throat. "I said no."
"Why!?" The boy's face flushes with fury, righteous indignation making his voice crack and peal up an octave. It's a testament to how upset he is that he doesn't cringe at himself but rather stamps his foot and leans into Bruce's space. As if he means to intimidate him into answering. It'd be cute if it didn't set Bruce's teeth on edge. He places one hand on Jason's shoulder to hold him at the correct distance away from him.
"I didn't bring you here for that purpose." He hadn't. Regardless of how Alfred had eyed him warily when he had started digging into the boy's history, combing through the details of his father's illustrious career as a petty criminal and his mother's various overdoses. How he had stopped attending school at eight years of age. Slipping through the cracks of a system designed to fail.
"I don't care why you brought me here- I'm telling you I can do it. I want to do it!" He has all hundred pounds of himself straining into Bruce's hold. There's a new note to his voice. Something that sounds a lot like desperation.
The reasons tumble from his lips easily, replayed from a conversation that feels a whole lifetime ago: You're not trained, it's dangerous, there are people who will try to kill you or worse, don't follow me down this path, stay away. Jason refutes it all.
"I can't let you." He finally settles on. Jason grits his teeth.
"But you're Batman."
"Exactly," Bruce sighs. "I'm Batman. Not Robin."
He sees the pieces click together in Jason's head, brown eyes widening.
"It's not my mantle to pass." His hand falls from Jason's shoulder and the boy sways on the spot with the loss of anchorage. There's silence between them for several long moments before Jason finally licks his lips and speaks again, voice barely above a whisper.
"Then... whose is it?"
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The ETA for the prodigal son of the Wayne Manor had been just over two hours. Two hours of which Alfred had spent trying not to catch the Young Master Todd underfoot as he pestered him over 'who' and 'why' and 'how can I help'. Normally he would not begrudge the boy for his eagerness to make use of himself; It was, after all, a trait of his that had become apparent very early on. Being waited on did not come naturally to a child like Jason Todd.
That said, he was making himself more a nuisance than an assistance as he darted about this way and that attempting to "help" in whatever way he could. Alfred was already tired of chiding him and instead merely gave a mutely irate sigh every so often when Jason's 'help' was not so helpful.
"Will Robin stay the night, you think?" Jason asks, poorly masking his excitement over the concept, as he rocks on the balls of his feet. Alfred doesn't so much as pause in his task of fitting one of the guest beds with fresh sheets.
"That would be up to him, Young Master." The boy swoops in to start hastily tucking the bedding on one side as they flutter down. Alfred feels only the vaguest sense of disgruntlement at seeing how crooked it ends up.
"Right, yeah, of course, I knew that. I was just thinking that, since you know him, if you think he would-"
"Young Master Todd," The boys mouth snaps shut and he blinks owlishly. "Might I advise of you to freshen yourself up? It wouldn't do to give... Robin, a poor first impression, would it?"
Jason immediately drags a hand through his short blond curls. Alfred is patient as he watches the gears turn in the boy's head; He gives a curt nod and hurries out the bedroom- only to catch himself on the door frame and pop his head back in.
"I told you before, you don't have to call me all that- Young Master and all. It's weird. Just call me Jason." And then he's gone with the loud thump of socked feet on the runner rugs in the halls. Despite his prior agitation with the young boy, Alfred cannot help himself but to sigh fondly after him. He really hoped this worked out.
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It was official. He was a moron.
How Jason had failed to put two and two together was frankly beyond him- but the second the front door of the Wayne Manor opened and Richard Grayson proceeded to let himself in like he owned the place it all started to make sense... It didn't stop Jason's breath from catching in his throat.
"Master Richard." Alfred bends perfectly at the waist in greeting and Jason is too busy gawking to consider if he should be doing that too or not. Richard shoulders a worn but clean backup further up his shoulder as he kicks the door shut behind him.
Richard Grayson is not someone Jason is wholly unfamiliar with. He'd seen his face on the televisions at the electronics shop, plastered on the front of ♡THROB magazine- the premier magazine for any tween looking to makeout with a picture of their favorite unobtainable celebrity dreamboat. Not that Jason knew anything about that. He'd only stolen a few issues and only because he had been really bored.
Richard is saying, something. His lips pulling into an easy lopsided smile; His teeth are bright white like a movie star's, canines a little longer and sharper than what's probably normal. Jason runs his tongue over his own teeth.
Alfred stands back up and nods to him. Jason's not sure what they said or if it's important. Richard shakes his hair back, the locks so black they look blue even in the warm yellow light of the manor. His hair is wavy and long enough that the curled ends flirt with resting against his shoulders. Jason's pretty sure most people would say Richard looked like a 'fag' but he thought the guy was the kind of pretty a lot of people spent good money trying (and failing) to achieve. The sort of pretty that usually you'd think was too good to be true, except here it was standing right in front of Jason and doing a damn good job at completely ignoring his existence.
Richard is hugging Alfred now, that long straight nose scrunching slightly with the force of his smile as the old butler pats the back of his head. Jason just stares at Richard's profile until the two part ways.
"-- said it was important, so where is he?" Sounds comes back to Jason all at once as he inhales sharply. Richard's cologne was strong, strong enough that it had overshadowed the cologne that Alfred normally wore. It makes his eyes water slightly, but he doesn't think it necessarily smells bad.
"Master Wayne is downstairs at the moment. I fear he does not wish to be disturbed at this exact time. Business. Would you care to take tea while we wait?" Richard rolls his eyes and his pretty face is immediately split with a scowl that has Jason staring at his mouth again.
"Seriously? I come all the way out here, because he said-"
"You're Robin." Jason blurts all at once.
Alfred clears his throat quietly, and Richard's gaze drops and locks onto him. All emotion has left his face which is now a hard (flawless) mask. His eyes are stunning, pupils ringed in an electric blue offset by the deep brown that edges his irises.
"What did you just say?" It's not a question. It's a dare to repeat himself. A challenge that both confuses Jason and spurs him into action all the same. He holds Richard's stare without wavering. Even if the venom in his voice has something small and fragile curling into a tight ball in his chest.
"You- You're Robin. It's your mantle to give, that's what he meant." He watches as a muscle near Richard's eye twitches, as his lips press until they're practically bloodless, and then without a word the older boy is storming away through the manor. When it sinks in that he's headed to the Cave, Jason springs into motion to follow him- Only for Alfred to catch him hard by the shoulder and stop him.
"Young Master, I would advise against that course of action."
"But-!"
"Jason." He stops tugging then and sags, grimacing as he fights back the pressure behind his eyes. It really felt like that could not have gone any worse than it did. Alfred's fingertips rub firmly into the tight muscle of his shoulder as he grit his teeth and averts his gaze to the floorboards between his feet.
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Dick had tried to keep his cool. Really, he had. It wasn't like he came to Gotham hoping for a fight, much less looking for one. It was just- the kid. The fucking kid. Could Bruce not wait? Dick had only moved to Bludhaven a few months ago and already he had picked up another kid to fill the gap? He'd been ready to ignore the skinny, freckle faced blond entirely and just hear what exactly had been SO important that Bruce insisted he come back to Gotham.
(Back home, he had said, more specifically.)
Only a few months and there was a new kid in the house and he knew. He knew. About the Batman. About Robin.
("It's your mantle to give, that's what he meant.")
He had intentions of tempering himself and being reasonable, he really did. Dick had done all his breathing exercises and little compartmentalization tricks as he stomped down the staircase behind the old grandfather clock. It hadn't stopped him from seeing red when he finally got down there and was looking at the back of the Batman's head. Right. Business.
The punch he throws never lands.
Bruce sweeps out of the chair in an easy movement and his cape billows behind him like ink in water. Dick is left folded awkwardly over the back of the chair with his knuckle throbbing from having punched a solid metal desk. Figures.
"Dick." Bruce has the gall to sound even the slightest bit surprised. Any attempt to reign his emotions in completely fails at this point as Dick pulls himself back upright and rounds on the man.
"What's your damn problem!?"
It's a blessing and a curse that Bruce isn't wearing the cowl right now. It lets Dick see the faintest traces of confusion over what could be causing Dick to lash out right now, before the World's Greatest Detective puts it together and proceeds to grimace slightly.
"You've met Jason." Dick's pulse thrums in his throat as he grits his teeth and swallows thickly. The name reverbs in his skull, just barely audible over the sound of Dick's own breathing and the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
"Who is he? No, better yet- Why does he know?" His feet carry him closer to Bruce as the snare-like tendrils of grief thread around his ribs. "Is this what you called me here for? To tell me you'd picked my, my replacement?"
Bruce's palm hits his chest. Not hard enough to hurt, no, but firm enough to stop him in his tracks. To keep him away.
(When had that started to become a thing? Or had he always held him at arms length?)
"We're not having this conversation if you don't calm yourself down, Dick."
"Like Hell! Answer me, Bruce! You owe me that much, having me come all the way out here, and- You couldn't even be bothered to see me at the door!" He feels irrational, hysterical; The ever continuous stoicism of Bruce Wayne doesn't help him feel any less unhinged.
"I hadn't realized you'd arrived..." Bruce mutters, gaze drifting off to the left of Dick. He wants to call bullshit, because the Batman knew everything, but the words die on his tongue and rot there.
"Why does he know, B." His voice sounds raw and desperate, even to himself. Bruce meets his eyes again and sighs deeply. Like this is all one big inconvenience to him. Dick pushes Bruce's hand off of him and denies the urge to hold fast to it.
"He found out on his own."
"Because you let him." Dick throws back. Bruce doesn't say anything to deny it.
"He has no one, Dick. His mother hasn't been fit to care for him for years, and his father will be behind bars for at least another seven."
"So that makes him just perfect for you, huh? Poor little Jason's practically an orphan and that's just perfect-"
"Richard." It feels like a slap to the face and he hates how it makes him immediately cow and back down.
(Could he not stand to even sound angry? Frustrated? Anything but sternly disappointed?)
He steps away, paces, runs his hands through his hair and tugs at the ends. Bruce stand still as a statue; His eyes follow Dick's movement to and fro. After several long moments of silence the man clears his throat and brushes a hand down the front of his suit.
"You're upset," He starts. Dick barks out a laugh and rounds on him, teeth bared in a facsimile of a grin.
"What gave you that idea!? Huh? Why would I be upset that you're helping a poor, disprivileged youth off the streets?" Dick is well aware he's being unfair, but it's hard to keep a lid on his roiling feelings. Bruce is trying right now. If he weren't, then he would have never sent summons to speak to him at all. He could very easily imagine a situation in which Bruce had decided to not even involve him in this. Easily.
"You're upset because you think I'm trying to replace you. Because of our disagreements." Bruce continues. It makes a lump form in Dick's throat that he immediately chokes on. Bruce takes one step, then another, towards him with a nigh imperceptible softening of his expression.
"That's not... It's not about replacing you, Dick. I..."
It's funny, really, that Bruce always gets the same look on his face when he realizes he's walked himself into a moment of emotional vulnerability. He always looks a bit sick. Constipated, or perhaps stricken with a sudden case of moderate to severe indigestion. Either way he begins to grimace as he searches Dick's face for... something. Then promptly clears his throat and turns on his heels sharply to walk three paces to the right with his hands folded behind his back.
"The boy, Jason. He wants to be Robin."
"Ah," Dick intones vaguely. What more was there to say?
"I told him... it was not my place to say if he could or could not be. Robin. That is."
(It's your mantle to give. That's what he really meant to say.)
His knee jerk reaction is to say no. No. Never. Robin was his. He, was Robin. But... that wasn't the whole truth anymore was it? It hadn't been so long now since Dick had screamed in Bruce's face that if being Robin meant always being nothing more than the Batman's kid sidekick that he didn't want to be Robin anymore. That Robin was through, finished, done for. He'd even stepped down from leadership within the Titans, much to the shock and worry of his teammates. It seemed like everyone thought they needed Robin... but Dick wasn't Robin anymore.
He was Nightwing. Something new. Someone new. He'd hopped from apartment to apartment in Gotham for a year before finally taking the plunge and moving across the state for a fresh start. But then, if everyone needed Robin...
"How old is the kid even? Ten?" Dick croaks, mouth dry. Bruce hums tunelessly before answering.
"He's thirteen. Chronic malnutrition has stunted his growth somewhat."
"Jesus, B." He breathes.
"He can do a somersault. Half a cartwheel."
"He tell you that?" An affirmative grunt. Dick drags a hand over his face and walks to take a seat in the still vacant chair before the computer. It creaks familiarly beneath him and the scent of old leather is balm to his haggard emotions. A silence drapes over them heavy as a winter blanket. Dick watches Bruce absently rub at the bat symbol upon his chest, apparently also lost in thought. Eventually Dick breaks the silence between them. His voice sounds far too loud in the quiet despite him whispering.
"I can't make a decision like this in one night..."
"I know. Alfred has prepared a guest bedroom for you. I-" Bruce blinks as if suddenly coming off autopilot. His head turns and he fixes Dick in another one of his signature unreadable stares. "... I figured you wouldn't want your old room." He finishes.
God, Dick hates it when Bruce is right about things.
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Jason isn't sure what possessed him to do this; By the time he begins to think it may not have been a very good idea there's already dye staining the sink, his hands, the nape of his neck. He stares down at the black dye crusted under his nails to avoid having to look at his own reflection in front of him. This had been stupid, he was a fucking idiot. Too late though- even if he'd shaved his head now the evidence of what he'd done was damning. That and he'd definitely gotten the hair dye all over his scalp.
Brown eyes slowly, jerkily, rise to the mirror.
It wasn't... that bad, he guessed.
Wasn't like Jason could claim this had been a waste of money, he had definitely stolen that box of hair dye. It may have been a waste of time though. Fuck, he looked weird! The black was jarring and made him look way paler than he really was, and with his light brown eyebrows and pale eyelashes he just looked stupid. Watching an involuntary grimace creep across his own face, Jason diverts his gaze back into the sink bowl.
Oh, god, no. He was going to have to face everyone like this. He was going to have to face Richard like this. Oh, fuck, god, no, why did he do this?
His hand jerks the sink handle into the on position and ice cold water begins to pour from the spigot. Its splashed up and into his face without much care for if it soaks his bangs or the front of his shirt. That had dye stains on it too, damn it. It had been a lot tougher to do than he'd assumed it would be. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It wasn't that bad. He just needed to get used to it. He'd always wanted to try dyeing his hair anyways, right? His mom had the prettiest strawberry blonde hair...
Jason shoves any thoughts of Cathrine Todd back in the dark hole they belonged in. Only one crisis at a time.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
"It's not that bad..." He murmurs aloud, forcing himself to meet his own gaze in the mirror once again. Maybe he could snatch up an eyebrow pencil, or some eyeliner next time he went to go get cigarettes. Maybe a tube of mascara? Eugh, he could never let anyone know that he was out here stealing makeup and hair dye. He'd never hear the end of it. If Bruce knew... Well, maybe Bruce wouldn't actually care? After all, he had raised Richard Grayson and that guy was one dance number away from complete flamboyancy.
Besides it wasn't like Jason was stealing lipstick and nail polish. This was just... practical. He looked dumb otherwise. Yeah.
Pushing his damp bangs aside, Jason straightens up and tries to make himself look like less of a little kid playing at being something he isn't. Which is hard. That's basically exactly what he was.
"It looks fine. Not the hair that's the problem anyways, yeah? Just gotta tweak a few things and it'll look au natural." He cracks an unconvincing grin at the mirror and cringes, tongue running over his teeth, before he frowns. Lack of dental hygiene and too many years of too-young cigarette consumption had turned his teeth a pale shade of yellow. Jason had never really thought about it because, fuck, everyone on Park Row had fucked up teeth. But...
Bruce's teeth were straight as headstones, a natural shade of off-white. Alfred's teeth were a little cramped in his mouth and tea-stained but nowhere near as jacked up as Jason's own. And then of course there was Richard with that, fucking, movie star smile of his. Were they fake? Did Bruce pay out the ass to get little Richie Grayson the best smile in Gotham? Jason chewed on his lip in thought as he vacantly stared at his own mouth. Hell, maybe Bruce would be willing to funnel some money into Jason's own dental nightmare then. He'd never really wanted braces but if it helped fix his messed up mug...
Ugh.
Ugh.
A knock at the door makes Jason jump so hard he almost slips on the discarded, ruined towel by his feet.
"Young Master Todd? Brunch is ready."
"B..." His voice dies in his throat as he stares aghast at his reflection. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Oh, no, they were going to see his stupid dye job and they were going to see his dumb teeth and his crappy freckles and they were going to realize he wasn't meant to be there. They were going to see he was just a stupid street rat kid trying to play as the perfect little rich boy and they were going to laugh at him and-
The sharp crack of his own palm connecting with his cheek jolts Jason out of his downward spiral with a gasp.
"Be out in a sec, Alf!" He creaks out. There's a pause before the sound of the butler's footstep retreating allows Jason a moment to catch his breath.
Already a red imprint in the shape of his own hand is blossoming where he struck himself. His palm sting in tandem with the tingling of his face. Crap. How we he going to explain that? Damn it, he was so messed up.
"Whatever..." Cranking the water off and rubbing his singing cheek gingerly, Jason exits the bathroom to go face the terror of a mid-day brunch with the Waynes.