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Jason had only meant to run into the grocery store for coffee. Tim had only meant to grab a bag of marshmallows before Jason noticed. Neither of them had meant to stop at the folding table set up near the exit—three little paper angels clipped to garland, swaying gently as the automatic doors breathed cold air in and out.
Tim slowed. That alone was enough to catch Jason’s attention; an 11-year-old who usually buzzed from aisle to aisle like an overcaffeinated hummingbird did not simply stop.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Jason asked, shifting the basket to his other arm as he looked over the table.
Tim pointed at the paper angels. “They’re for kids who might not get presents, right?”
“Yeah,” Jason said carefully. “Angel Trees are for families who need a little help with Christmas presents. People pick a name, get a gift, bring it back. Then they get delivered for Christmas.” Not that Jason had been part of that bounty as a kid even when Willis was in jail.
Tim stared at one little tag with knit brows, mouth a thin, determined line Jason knew well—one part compassion, one part stubborn Drake logic, and one part Tim’s own fierce little moral compass. "Can we take one?” Tim asked.
Jason smiled. Easy. Soft. A layup of a request. “Sure.” He wasn’t going to discourage Tim’s gentle heart.
Tim exhaled… but didn’t move to take one. Instead, he reached out then hesitated before grabbing three.
Jason opened his mouth. Closed it. Then shrugged. “Three’s good too.” Two minutes later, Tim had twelve. Jason groaned theatrically as Tim reached for the last one on the display. “Kid, we came here for caffeine. Not a side quest.”
Tim blinked at him innocently. “But it’s important.”
Jason sighed. “Yeah. I know.” Of course it is, he thought. Because you decided it was. And that was that. Jason was doomed. Happily, absolutely, wholeheartedly doomed.
-----
Tim marched down the toy aisle like a general preparing for war.
A plushie brigade was forming in the cart. Behind him, Jason was pushing a second cart because the first one now held Lego sets, dinosaurs, barbies, glitter art supplies, some board games, and a remote-control monster truck that Jason insisted was for ‘one of the kids’ but Tim strongly suspected it was for Jason.
Tim paused by the dolls. A woman nearby smiled tightly at Jason. “Someone’s getting spoiled this year.”
Tim’s ears went red. “They’re not for me. They’re for kids on the Angel Tree.” He whispered softly.
“Oh!” Her sharp smile softened as she looked over the carts and then the massive stack of paper angle cards Tim had laid out on his clipboard to stay organized. “That’s very… lovely. What a very kind gesture, young man. Is your brother helping you out?”
Jason had been watching, ready to step in but was glad he’d let Tim take the lead. Leave it to the kid to be able to shut down shitty people. He opened his mouth to clarify, but Tim answered first.
“Yeah. He’s helping me make sure we don’t forget someone.”
The woman visibly softened. “Well, you boys might save Christmas for someone. I believe I remember seeing a table at one of my previous stops today, you’ve reminded me of something special. I’ll need to go back and get a few angels myself. Well done, young sir.”
Tim practically glowed as they went back to their shopping. He only looked up at Jason, a little guiltily, “I… uh, I didn’t want to correct her with everything and… well-“
Jason grinned, reaching out to ruffle Tim’s hair. “It’s fine Timberlina, brother is fine.”
They finished at that store and then went to a few others since they didn’t all have the right kind of items that were on the papers.
Tim went on to select wrapping paper and bows almost more methodically than he’d done with getting the gifts. Jason had grabbed tape and standard ribbon for wrapping but was letting Tim handle the rest.
When they had what was arguably more than was needed, Jason nodded. “Did we get everything? We’ll be wrapping for a few days and making sure the right tag goes on the right present before we turn them in.
“And then we get to see the kids open them?” Tim smiled brightly.
“No kiddo, the volunteers for Christmas Tree Angel take the presents to the homes to be under the tree for the kids to unwrap.”
Tim’s bright glow dimmed a little, “Oh.” He considered for a moment, “So then we’re kinda like Santa for them?”
“Yeah, of a sort.” Jason smiled.
Tim nodded, helping Jason wrestle with the bags. “I guess that’s still pretty good too.”
Downstairs, unpacking the last of the groceries he’d forgotten they bought, Jason caught sight of Tim’s handwriting on one of the angel tags they’d filled out. From Tim & Jason. The ampersand was huge. Practically decorative. Jason smiled at it until his eyes stung. He loved this kid. So damned much.
It was the next weekend when Jason and Tim loaded up the car. Tim had double checked every present to make sure the right tag and kid had the right items. Then they carefully loaded up every wrapped box. He was just as careful when they got to the drop off center and watched a little anxiously as the volunteer gathered everything up.
“Wow, you really went big with this.” The teen grinned at Tim.
Tim shrugged a little but continued to watch every box that went back. “I just wanted them to be special for other kids.” He reached out and re-fluffed a bow.
The volunteer took the last few presents and nodded, “I promise I’ll keep an eye out and make sure they all still look really good when we deliver them.”
Tim’s smile went a little brighter and Jason felt his chest squeeze, this kid was gonna kill him with all this pride and love.
He should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.
******
Jason only realized something was bothering Tim when he approached with That Look. Brows down. Shoulders squared. Mission mode.
“Jay,” Tim said, “we got presents for the Angel Tree kids… but what about the street kids? They don’t even get trees. Some kids don’t have coats, either.”
“Tim…”
“And gloves. And shoes. Or blankets. It’s freezing. You said winter’s bad for street kids.”
Jason rubbed his face. “Buddy, Gotham has… a lot of kids in rough neighborhoods.”
“All the more reason,” Tim insisted. “You said winter’s bad for them.”
Jason cocked an eyebrow. “I mentioned that two years ago.”
Tim’s voice went soft. “I remembered.”
Jason stared at the kid—his kid, whether any paperwork said so or not—and felt something under his ribs get unbearably full. Of course you do, Jason thought. Because Tim Drake remembered everything that hurt. Jason exhaled. “Okay. We can’t do this alone. But I know someone who can help.”
“Batman?” Tim looked skeptical.
“No,” Jason snorted. “Thank God. No, I was thinking we should talk to Doc Leslie.”
“Who’s that?”
“She runs a free clinic in the Narrows. It’s the only real neutral ground. If we want to get stuff to street kids, she’ll have some good input.”
Tim nodded solemnly, eyes bright with determination.
Jason was already doomed. Again.
Which is how he found himself walking into the clinic asking to see the doctor.
----
The free clinic in the Narrows looked exactly like Jason remembered from another life — too bright in some places, too dim in others, with that faint antiseptic smell mixing with the scent of too many people passing through. But in this world, this Jason had never stepped foot inside. Never bled on the tile. Never been lectured by the woman inside. He tried not to think about that as he pushed open the door.
The front desk volunteer gave him a quick once-over: leather jacket, tired eyes, big cardboard box in his arms. “You need help?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “I need to talk to Dr. Thompkins. If she’s here.”
The volunteer blinked. People usually came in looking for pain meds or stitches, not meetings. But she jerked her thumb toward the hallway. “Office is down the left side. Door with the blue tag.”
Jason nodded. “Thanks.” He walked down the hall, boots echoing softly. He could hear her voice before he reached the door — warm, calm, reassuring someone in the exam room next door. When he knocked, she answered immediately. “Come in.” Jason stepped inside.
Leslie Thompkins looked up from her desk. She was younger than the version he’d known, or maybe just not as tired in the way all Gotham caretakers eventually became. But her eyes were the same — sharp, assessing, and kind. “Hello,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”
“No, ma’am,” Jason said. “Name’s Jason Todd.”
She gestured for him to sit. “What can I do for you, Mr. Todd? If you’re here for medical treatment, you’ll need to check in with the volunteer —”
“I’m not hurt,” he interrupted. “I just… need information.”
Leslie’s eyebrows rose. “All right. What kind of information?”
Jason rested the box on the floor beside him and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I’ve ended up with a lot of winter stuff,” he said. “A lot of it. Coats, boots, gloves, hats. All sizes. Kids to adults.”
Leslie blinked. “… for whom?”
“For people out there who don’t have enough,” Jason said simply. “First it was for some kids my kid picked off an Angel Tree. Then we started thinking about the ones without trees at all.”
Leslie softened at that, just slightly. “Your child has a generous heart.”
“He does,” Jason agreed quietly. “He’s the kind of kid who looks at someone shivering in the cold and takes it personally.”
She smiled faintly. “Those are the best kinds of kids.”
Jason cleared his throat, nervous in a way he hadn’t expected. “Anyway… I’ve got way more than I can distribute on my own. And I know shelters, food banks — they help where they can. But I also know there are people who don’t go to them. Kids especially.”
Leslie’s face went still.
Jason continued, voice low but steady. “Some of ’em feel safer on the street than in a crowded room. Some don’t trust the system. Some don’t trust anybody.”
“You speak like someone who’s met them before,” Leslie said carefully.
Jason didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Born and whelped around this side of Gotham all my life. Till a few years ago.”
She studied him for a long moment — not suspiciously, but thoughtfully, like she was fitting pieces of a puzzle together. “And you want to help,” she said finally.
“I want to help the ones who won’t come asking,” Jason corrected. “I want to get this stuff into their hands before the temperature drops again. But I don’t know where they are anymore. Not the hidden ones. Not the ones who keep moving so no one can find them.”
Leslie leaned back, tapping a pen against her desk. “You came to me because…?”
“Because everyone knows you’re the only neutral point left in the Narrows,” Jason said. “And people who don’t trust anyone else still trust you.”
Leslie didn’t deny it.
“And because you’re not tied to the city government,” Jason added. “Or Gotham PD. Or any charity with strings attached.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly — wary, but not hostile. “You’ve done your homework.”
“I don’t bring my kid around just anyone,” he said.
That seemed to land. Leslie folded her hands. “Let me be sure I understand. You want to supply winter gear to the group least likely to accept help.”
“Exactly.”
“And you expect me to… what? Give you a map of alleyways and abandoned buildings?”
Jason shook his head. “No. I’m not trying to track anyone down. That’ll just spook them. I want a way to get the stuff to you — or someone you trust — so it can make its way into the community effectively.”
Leslie’s eyes softened with something like respect. “You’re thinking long term,” she said.
Jason shrugged one shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it right.”
She stood, walked to one of the large bulletin boards on her wall, and gestured for him to follow.
“These are the contact points,” she explained. “Places where outreach workers leave supplies that disappear overnight. People who don’t want to be seen still take what’s left where they feel safe.”
Jason stepped closer, scanning the map — small circles, color-coded stickers, names of drop points handwritten in Leslie’s neat script.
“When we tried more direct engagement,” she continued, “it scared people off. They scattered. Sometimes for weeks.”
“Yeah,” Jason said quietly. “I get that.”
Leslie glanced at him — and for the first time, her voice softened not as a doctor but as someone who recognized old shadows in someone else’s eyes. “I believe you do.” She tapped the map. “If you bring your supplies here, I can coordinate distribution through people the community trusts. No questions asked. No registration required. No strings attached.”
Jason felt something in his chest ease — relief, gratitude, maybe something heavier. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Leslie smiled. “Don’t thank me. Thank your son. He sounds like he has a gift for compassion.”
Jason snorted lightly. “He’s got a gift for trouble.”
“All the best kids do,” she said.
He huffed a laugh.
“When can you bring the supplies?” she asked.
Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh… soon.”
Leslie arched a brow. “How soon?”
Jason hesitated. “I… may have some already loaded in my truck.”
Leslie stared at him. Then began to laugh — warm, surprised laughter that filled the room. “Oh, Jason Todd,” she said fondly, shaking her head. “I think you and your son are going to keep me very, very busy.”
“Yeah,” Jason admitted with a grin he couldn’t stop. “That’s the plan. But I’m wondering if we could do this bigger for the ones that’ll come.”
“Such as?”
Jason rubbed a hand over his chin and mouth, nodding to himself. “I got a kid that’s aching to get in on helping and handing stuff out. Designated days every week where anyone can come get stuff they need for winter.” He grinned and started to outline his idea
-----
Jason waited until Tim was about done with his homework and they’d cleaned up dinner. “So, I went to see Doc Leslie today.”
Tim’s head whipped up, his eyes bright with curiosity. “What did she say? Can they use what we got?”
“Actually, she already has what we had in the truck.”
“Oh.” Tim drooped a little in his seat. “I mean, that’s good it’ll get to the right kids. Right?”
“Yeah, but we got to talking and she’s going to have distribution days every week all this month and then again in January and we’ll have everything ready to hand out to people that need it. I thought you would like to go when they do.”
“YES!” Tim leaped up, practically bouncing. “I can help hand out stuff to everyone.”
Jason laughed and leaned back, “That’s good cause we’re going to be busy getting the clothes we promised we’d have for them to hand out. She’s already reaching out to a few food banks that agreed to show up and leave food for people to take and then we’ll have some basic kinds of toys that don’t need a constant supply of power to use.”
“When? When do we start?”
“I was thinking we’d start after school tomorrow and then this weekend.”
Tim whooped and wiggled around in what was probably an excited dance.
The next day they were at the big warehouse store, pushing carts full of winter gear. Tim threaded between displays like a busy bee with a checklist.
A teenage worker stocking gloves stopped him. “Hey, dude. You know that’s, like, thirty pairs.”
Tim nodded. “Yep.”
“For a school project or something?”
“No,” Tim said. “For kids who don’t have warm stuff.”
The worker blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“…You’re cool.”
Tim flushed. “No, I’m not.”
Jason appeared behind him with a cart piled high with boots. “He kind of is.”
“Jay!” Tim hissed, mortified.
The worker grinned. “You guys need help loading? I’ll get one of the flatbeds.”
Tim glanced at Jason, who gave a small nod. “Thanks,” he said.
“No problem, little dude. You’re like a tiny superhero.”
Tim beamed. He didn’t notice Jason grimace for a second at the phrasing — but he did notice the soft smile that followed.
They did this at every store they went to, eventually having some of the store’s ship everything to the manor where Jason could bag and box everything up. Maybe he’d even buy in bulk just in case.
******
Leslie Thompkins stared at the piles of coats, boots, blankets, and toys stacked in her hallway. “Oh my God,” she said. “Jason, did you rob a warehouse?”
“No,” Jason sighed. “He bought a warehouse.”
Tim corrected him quietly, “Just the stuff inside.”
Leslie continued to look through all the boxes. “And you still want to distribute all this?”
“Yeah,” Jason said. “Safely. Quietly. If we run out of anything today we can take down the names of the families and make sure they get them next week.”
Leslie’s eyes softened as she looked at Tim. “This was your idea?”
Tim nodded, a bit shy suddenly. “It’s cold out. And I don’t like thinking about kids who don’t have anything warm.”
Leslie stepped closer, cupped his cheek gently. “You have a good heart, Tim. I guess we better get everything organized by size so we area ready.”
Tim’s face lit up, and Jason felt something warm and painful unfurl in his chest. Tim snapped to attention like a soldier. “Tell me where to start.”
Leslie chuckled. “Oh, he’s bossy. I see why you like him.”
Jason grumbled, “Don’t encourage him.” But he was smiling. He couldn’t stop.
Tim sat cross-legged on the floor, handing out items to the volunteers Leslie had called. A girl around his age, Destiny, helped him tie scarves into neat rolls.
Another volunteer, an older man who’d been living on the streets years ago, pointed at the mountain of blankets. “You sure you wanna give all this away, kid?”
Tim blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
The man laughed softly. “Most people don’t think about folks like us.”
Tim shook his head. “I do.”
Jason, overhearing from across the room, nearly dropped a box. This kid is going to kill me, he thought. In the best way possible.
Jason had forgotten what real cold felt like. Not Crime Alley cold, not rooftop-in-the-wind cold — but the kind that seeped into you quietly, like regret. It made him even more determined to stay planted right where he stood, gloved hands shoved in his pockets, watching the slow line of people waiting by Leslie’s outreach van.
Tim was at his side, bouncing on his toes to stay warm. Too small, too earnest, too determined for this kind of work — and yet perfect for it.
Leslie handed off the first box of donated winter gear. “You two can manage the kids’ section,” she said, gesturing to a folding table stacked with boots and coats. “They’ll come to you.”
Tim straightened proudly, like she’d knighted him.
Jason cleared his throat. “Yeah, we got it.” He did not have it. Not when the first family stepped up.
A young mom with two little boys approached, the kids’ noses red from cold. One clung to her coat. The other gnawed a finger and eyed the stack of stuffed animals Tim had insisted on bringing.
“Hi,” Tim said brightly. “Do you need warm clothes? We have coats and gloves and stuff.”
The mother’s eyes glossed with embarrassment. “I… if you have any spares. They grow out of things so fast.”
Jason knelt to be eye-level with the kids. “What do you guys like? Dinosaurs? Trucks? Angry geese?”
One child snorted a laugh. Jason winked. “Geese are jerks. Never trust one.”
Tim giggled softly beside him. He handed over boots, a coat, and a hat with tiny cartoon ears. The boy immediately put it on and beamed.
The mother clasped Jason’s gloved hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Jason swallowed hard. “Yeah. Anytime.”
As they walked away, Tim murmured, “They didn’t have coats like ours.”
Jason’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, kiddo.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Nope.”
Tim nodded once, firm. “We’ll help more.”
Jason—helplessly, stupidly—felt his heart twist.
The worst moment — the best moment — came when a tiny girl in mismatched shoes approached, probably four or five, holding her mother’s hand. She stared directly at Jason like she knew him. Then she pointed to the pile of stuffed animals. “Can I…?”
Tim scooped up a soft white bear. “This one looks like a snow cloud.”
She hugged it so hard Jason worried its seams would pop. Her mother whispered, “She hasn’t had a toy in months.”
Jason’s throat closed. All at once, he remembered nights on the street when he would’ve killed for someone to hand him a clean pair of socks. He remembered being younger than this little girl and already knowing the world wasn’t designed for kids like him. He reached for a scarf—bright red, soft enough to make your chest hurt—and draped it around her neck. “There,” he said softly. “Now you’re warmer than the whole city.”
The girl giggled.
Tim nudged him. “Jay. You’re crying.”
“I am not,” Jason said, rubbing hastily at his eyes.
Tim leaned against his side, gentle and sure. “It’s okay to cry if it’s happy.”
Jason stared at him. This kid. This impossible, beautiful, stubborn kid. He wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “You did this,” he murmured. “All of this. You helped so many people today.”
Tim smiled into his coat.
Jason felt something ease inside him — something old and sore and icebound. Maybe the world wasn’t frozen after all.
There weren’t hundreds that came out but those that did made a dent in several areas. Tim was already rushing around to try and help see where they’d need more for the next week. Jason hadn’t expected to feel so cracked open doing this.
He was loading up a few boxes and felt as well as heard someone coming up behind him. He glanced back, spotting the skinny teenager and turned a little, eyeing his coat. “We got a few your size if you want a new coat.”
The kid looked wary and kept glancing around.
Jason relaxed and turned the rest of the way around, letting more of the alley slide back into his accent. “I get it kid, ain’t nuthin’ free anywhere so you ain’t sure we’re real. I grew up in these fuckin’ alleys in shitty apartments and on the street. Ain’t no cops, no CPS, no shelters, nothin’ that’ll snitch on ya.”
The kid didn’t look less wary but he hadn’t taken off at a run or pulled a weapon. Jason sized the teen up and then grabbed on of the coats that looked big enough, jerking off the tags before tossing it to him.
“If you got friends or sumethin’ that could use the clothes we’ll be here next week. No cops. No CPS. No bats. This is as safe as we can make it and if something does pop up we’ll help you hide and run if ya need to.”
“Legit?” he’d caught the coat but hadn’t put it on yet. “Ya right, ain’t nuthin’ free.”
Jason shrugged, “Doc Leslie’s orders. Ya need shit, come get it next week. Bring anyone that needs it.”
The teen stared at Jason then backed up and took off with the coat.
He finished loading up what they had into the clinic and spotted Tim, if that kid spread the word at all then they might have a shit ton of people next week and the week after once people felt a little safer.
-----
That next week they had a lot more families and they made sure everyone got fully kitted out for the cold.
A group of teenagers, half-trying to look tough and half-trying not to shiver. One boy was limping; a girl’s hands were raw and red.
Tim approached first, because Tim had no fear at all. “Hi! We have gloves in different sizes. And boots.”
The girl laughed awkwardly. “You got any pride in there too?”
Jason fought a smile. “Sorry, fresh out. Learned not to stock it.”
That got a real laugh out of her. When Tim handed her a pair of fleece-lined gloves, she slipped them on and inhaled sharply. “Holy shit, these are warm.”
Another teen elbowed Jason lightly. “Your kid’s legit.”
Jason froze for a second. “…Yeah,” he said softly. “He really is.”
And then Tim was tugging at his sleeve. “Jay. Jay, do we have more of the green scarves? They’re the softest.”
Jason rustled through a box. “Yep. Here. Go wild.”
He watched his kid talk to each teen like they mattered — like they weren’t another statistic in Gotham’s winter body count. And Jason felt something he wasn’t good at naming. Pride wasn’t big enough. Love didn’t quite cover it. He settled on destroyed in a good way.
While Tim kept digging into boxes and handing out gloves and scarves Jason had an older man with a weathered face approached slowly. Hesitant. Skeptical.
Jason recognized the look. Someone helped me once, it said. And it didn’t end well.
Tim broke through the tension first. “Sir? Do you need a coat?”
The man’s voice rasped. “Don’t want to take from someone else.”
Jason stepped forward. “That’s not how this works. We have more stuff coming for anyone that couldn’t get here today. We’ll have enough for everyone.”
Tim popped up from another box and handed the man a sturdy coat. “This one’s really warm. And the pockets are big.”
The man accepted it with a trembling nod. “Bless you, son.”
Tim blinked. “You don’t have to bless me.”
“I want to,” the man said. “The world’s cold. But people like you… remind us it isn’t frozen.” Jason made sure he had a good hat and gloves too.
Tim looked up at him, whispering, “Jay… he liked the coat.”
Jason ruffled his hair roughly to hide the emotion in his voice. “Yeah. Yeah, kiddo. You’re doing great.”
It went that way both the next weeks. Jason honestly had no idea how much they’d spent for this but finally they’d given everything away. Word had spread and that last week was the biggest amount of people that it just never stopped. Blankets, coats, gloves, hats, scarves, boots, toys, books, cans and bags of food, thermal underwear, socks, sweaters, just about everything that someone might need to stay warm.
Jason had spotted a few of the gangs but everyone honored the neutral zone and nothing happened.
They’d do this again in January and Leslie had a lot of items left in case anyone showed up that needed anything. He’d left his number at the clinic for her, just in case it was needed.
By the time they got home, Tim was half-asleep in the passenger seat, head tipped toward the window, hat slipping sideways so one ear stuck up like a confused cat. Jason didn’t remember the last time he’d seen the kid this tired. Probably because he never stopped moving. Or thinking. Or feeling.
Jason carried him inside despite Tim’s half-conscious protest.
“’M awake,” Tim mumbled into Jason’s shoulder.
“Sure you are,” Jason said, nudging open the bedroom door with his foot. He set Tim down gently on the bed. The kid instantly curled around his pillow like a starving python.
Jason pulled off Tim’s shoes, then his coat, then untangled him from the too-long scarf he’d insisted on wearing even indoors. He pulled the blankets up to Tim’s chin, smoothing them out in the way Tim pretended he didn’t care about but absolutely did.
Tim blinked up at him, barely awake. “We gave everything away.”
“Yeah,” Jason said quietly. “We did.”
“Did we help enough?”
Jason sat on the edge of the bed. “Hey. Look at me.”
Tim’s eyes lifted, heavy-lidded and earnest.
“You helped more than enough,” Jason said. “You saw people who needed something, and you just… gave. Not a lot of people do that.”
Tim’s brows drew together. “But what if some kids didn’t get hats. I heard we ran out.”
“We had enough for everyone and you gave them blankets on top of the hats.”
“But—”
“Tim.”
Jason reached out and brushed the hair off Tim’s forehead, thumb lingering there longer than he meant to. “You can’t fix everything,” Jason said softly. “But what you did do today? This whole month? You made people feel warm and safe and… cared about. That matters.”
Tim’s eyes glistened faintly. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Tim shifted, tucking himself deeper into the blankets. “Jay?”
“Yeah, kiddo?”
“Were you… proud of me?”
Jason blinked hard. Ah. There it is. The kill shot. He cleared his throat, voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Tim, I am proud of you every damn day.”
The kid smiled — a small, tired, glowing thing — and Jason felt something in his chest collapse inward and expand all at once.
“And today,” Jason added, “I was proud enough I thought my ribs might crack.”
Tim flushed pink. “That’s… a lot.”
“Yeah, well.” Jason ruffled his hair. “You’re a lot.”
Tim snorted sleepily. “You too.”
Jason huffed a laugh. “Fair.”
Tim’s eyelids fluttered. He was slipping toward sleep, finally, fully.
“Jay?” he murmured, barely audible.
“Right here.”
“I’m glad you’re here and I live with you.”
Jason’s breath caught. He knew Tim meant it simply — no strings, no dramatic confessions — just truth from a tired little eleven-year-old who still hadn’t learned how to lie to someone he loved. But it still hit Jason like a punch to the sternum. He leaned in and pressed a kiss — soft, quick, instinctive — to the top of Tim’s head. A motion he never planned, never announced, but couldn’t stop.
“I’m glad you’re here too, buddy,” he whispered. “More than you know.”
Tim hummed, already half gone. “We should do it again next year.”
A laugh shook out of Jason, quiet and helpless. “Yeah,” he said. “We will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Tim drifted off with a tiny smile, breathing deep and even.
Jason sat there a long moment, watching the kid’s chest rise and fall under the blankets, something warm and heavy sitting squarely in his chest. Love. Awe. Fear so gentle it almost felt like gratitude. He stood finally, turning off the bedside lamp. The room shifted into soft shadow. At the doorway, he paused.
“You saved people today,” he whispered into the dark. “And you saved me, too.”
Tim didn’t stir, but Jason knew — somehow — the kid heard it anyway. Then he closed the door softly behind him, chest full enough to ache, and let himself feel all of it.
******
The manor was quiet. Too quiet for Jason, who’d grown up in noise — yelling, sirens, engines, glass bottles clinking in the dark. Silence still felt like a trick sometimes. He stood in the kitchen in an old t-shirt, leaning on the counter with a cup of coffee gone lukewarm. Outside the window, frost clung to every dead blade of grass. Winter had settled into Gotham like a bruise.
Jason couldn’t stop thinking about the kids they couldn’t reach. The ones who didn’t come to Leslie’s clinic because they didn’t trust anyone. The ones sleeping in abandoned buildings. The ones—like him, once—who thought the street was safer than a bed someone else controlled.
No shelter could reach them all. No food bank. No clinic. The system wasn’t built for them, and they knew it.
Jason knew it, too. He stared into his tea like it had answers. It didn’t — but Tim did. That kid had cracked something in him wide open yesterday. Watching Tim give out coats and blankets like it was the most natural thing in the world… it made Jason remember being ten years old and wishing someone, anyone, would look at him like that.
And now? He finally had the power to be the person he’d needed back then. He just didn’t have the resources. But the Drakes did.
Jason straightened slowly, an idea rolling over him with the force of something inevitable. Holy shit. He didn’t need to be Red Hood, or a vigilante, or someone living in the shadows. He had a new weapon now — wealth. Connections. Influence. Janet Drake might be a frozen bitch as a parent and a person but she cared about their image as a family and company. Jack Drake liked being able to brag about his kid, even if he didn’t know the first fuckin’ thing about him.
If he framed it right — something like “Leading an outreach to support winter outreach for Gotham’s underserved youth is something even the Wayne Foundation isn’t doing would be huge boost for D.I.” — they would bankroll the entire thing without blinking. Or at least enough that adding in other donations from wealthy families would start to come in too. New coats. Boots. Thermal blankets. Hand warmers. Portable shelters. Food packs. Medical kits. Even prepaid phones for emergency help.
Everything kids on the street needed to make it through Gotham’s endless, merciless winters.
Jason rubbed his jaw, pacing the kitchen. “Okay. Okay. Spin it right. You can do this.”
He could even create an official charity arm — something with Tim’s name on it to make the Drakes more willing to dump funds into it. Spin it so that for once Drake Industries would outshine W.E. in this one area. So, what to name it… The Tim Project. No, that sounded like a science experiment. Warm Steps? Second Winter? Safe Nights?
He groaned. “God, I hate naming things.”
But the idea wouldn’t leave.
He pictured the little girl with mismatched shoes, hugging her stuffed bear.
He pictured the teens pretending not to be cold.
He pictured the man who said Jason and Leslie sounded alike.
And—worst of all—he pictured a younger version of himself, dirty and exhausted and too proud to ask anyone for help.
“No kid should survive winter by luck,” Jason muttered. “Not anymore.”
He grabbed his phone before he could talk himself out of it.
Step one: email Janet Drake about this showcasing how much of a profit boost this will be.
Step two: pretend he was responsible, professional, and not the reformed street rat he actually was and get other rich families in on this, even if it’ll only be so they can ‘show’ how much they care.
Step three: pitch the idea as if it were Tim’s dream — because honestly, it sort of was.
He could hear them already. He didn’t give a damn if they wanted good press. They had money. He had a mission. Tim had the heart to keep it all honest. It wasn’t vigilante justice. It was… better.
Jason rested his forehead against the cold window glass, breathing out slowly. “All I gotta do,” he whispered to no one, “is get this thing off the ground.”
Soft footsteps padded behind him. A sleepy voice mumbled, “Jay… why’re you awake?”
Jason turned to see Tim in the doorway, hair sticking up like a startled bird. “Couldn’t sleep,” Jason said, gentle. “Got ideas.”
“Good ideas?” Tim asked around a yawn.
“The best kind,” Jason said. “Ones that can help people.”
Tim shuffled closer, blanket dragging behind him. “Are we doing more winter stuff?”
Jason swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Yeah, buddy,” he said quietly. “A lot more.”
Tim smiled, sleepy and bright. “Good.” He leaned against Jason’s side, trusting and warm.
And that was it. Jason’s resolve solidified into something sharp and unshakeable. He would move mountains for this kid. He would rebuild Gotham itself if he had to. And this winter? He was going to save as many kids as he could.